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gravitywonagain · 6 days

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House Party

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

The house is very easy to spot. The building itself doesn’t stand out in any way on this street full of giant, expensive interpretations of log-cabin-chic. Upper Biling is full of this style of architecture. No, it’s the cars in front of it, in both sheer number and apparent condition. Almost none of them were made in the last decade. Almost all of them are plastered with bumper stickers (Wei Ying’s favorite is the white silhouette of a snowboarder on a chairlift that says “Do you even lift?”).

The music is loud enough that the beat can be heard from the driveway, but not loud enough for lyrics. The combined smell of weed and beer filters through the pine trees from, presumably, the back patio, along with wood smoke and happy voices.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan walk up the stairs to the front door and scrape their feet off on the snow grate to the right of the welcome mat before entering.

It had been surprisingly easy to convince Lan Zhan to come to the Peruvians’ house party once they’d invited him. He hadn’t previously understood that the invitation was open to pretty much all of the employees at Cloud Recesses, including all levels of management. Once Wei Ying told Diego to ask Lan Zhan in person if he was coming (“make it casual as fuck,” he’d said and Diego had nodded along and delivered spectacularly with a “hey, Boss, you like any particular flavor of fizzy waters? I’m stocking up for the party on Tuesday”), Lan Zhan had a very hard time saying no.

Stepping inside, Wei Ying immediately realizes it’s too loud in here for Lan Zhan. Realistically, it’s too loud for Wei Ying, too, but he’s used to it so he’d live with it for the warmth and the friends. Lan Zhan has no problems with the cold so they decide to keep their shoes on, wipe them off on the ratty, pink towel that’s been laid out like a mat for this purpose, and stay off the carpet on their way to the patio -- via the kitchen, of course.

Wei Ying makes a point of saying hi to almost everybody they pass. Quick little greetings, nothing that will drag him into a conversation, but just enough to make his and Lan Zhan’s arrival known.

He finds Ben and David in the kitchen. David points Lan Zhan to the fridge where he pulls out a can of carbonated water, just as Diego had mentioned (loquat flavored, because the man fucking follows through). Ben offers to make Wei Ying a mixed drink, but Wei Ying begs off.

“Nah. Nothing hard for me tonight,” he says.

“Cool, man,” says Ben, entirely unbothered. “Beers are out back!”

The thing about winter parties in a ski town is you never run out of ice.

As they walk out the sliding-glass door to the back patio, they see there is a berm built around one side of the fire pit area with many varied cans of beer sticking out of the snow. It’s super easy to build your own backyard refrigerator as you shovel over the course of the season. And it’s always fun to see what melts out of it when spring rolls around.

It’s quieter out here, but still very much part of the party. There’s an Alexa speaker playing the same music as is playing inside and a handful of other people out here either to smoke or to escape the noise. They snag a couple of chairs by the beer wall and sit down next to Remy and Elizabeth. They’re both instructors in Juniors’ Club so Wei Ying pulls them into conversation easily, placing Lan Zhan between them and himself so he feels included. And he is included. The women ask him his opinions, they prompt stories from him. They don’t make him feel weird either for being there or for not being there before. It’s good. It’s easy.

The fire is close enough that Wei Ying doesn’t even need to keep his hands in his pockets. He gestures when he talks and it only gets worse the more he drinks. The vanilla porter he’d grabbed when they first sat down is almost gone already and he contemplates his next drink. He’s just decided to see what the fuck Luponic Distortion tastes like when he hears his name.

“Hey, Wei Ying,” it might be Nick from Rentals, “is that an 805 by your head?”

Wei Ying turns his head to survey the cans in the snow, finds the black and silver label he’s looking for, and tosses it easily into maybe-Nick’s waiting hands.

“Thanks, man!”

“You got it!”

Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan and grins. “Usually I get tipped for that kind of service,” he says with a wink.

“Do you work at a bar?” asks Lan Zhan, head tilting slightly to one side. It’s an absurdly cute look on him.

“Only sometimes. Yanli-jie lets me pick up a shift or two when I ask.”

“Why would you need to ask?”

“She’s not a mind-reader, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows are unimpressed.

Wei Ying cracks up at just how bitchy he looks. “Okay, sorry, sorry,” he says and then continues, “The resort pays me enough to cover food and rent and to pitch in for the car, but sometimes I want a little extra. So I pick up a shift at the Lotus Tavern and whatever I make in tips, plus some under-the-table hourly, I can spend on whatever I’d like.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, you know what I like, Lan Zhan.”

He’s not sure if he’s matching the heat in Lan Zhan’s eyes or the other way around, but they lock eyes either way. It’s intense.

Wei Ying is so into it.

“Snowboards,” he says finally, still not looking away.

“Mn.”

“Mhm.”

Remy clears her throat subtly. Wei Ying hears it but doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until she says something about her dogs and Wei Ying jolts out of whatever trance Lan Zhan had trapped him in.

“Okay,” he says, “I need another beer.” He stands because suddenly he has all of this energy with nowhere to put it, but realizes that he does not, in fact, need another beer as he’s barely started in on this one, the can still heavy and full in his hand. He doesn’t let that stop his momentum. “Do you want another water or anything, Lan Zhan?”

“I’ll try a beer.”

“You --? You don’t have to. If you don’t want to drink, it’s fine.”

“Can you drive us back?”

“Uh... yeah. I’ll stop after this one,” he says, gesturing with the mostly-full can.

“Then I would like to try a beer.”

“O-okay. Sure. Yeah. What do you want?”

“You’re the bartender. What do you think I’ll like?”

Wei Ying laughs off the flirtation in Lan Zhan’s voice because he is trying, okay? Lan Zhan is stepping outside his comfort zone, even more now, and Wei Ying needs to respect the boundaries that have been set. No matter how hard Lan Zhan wants to make him. It. It, not him. Obviously. Pull yourself together.

Lan Zhan’s lips curl in a tiny, almost-smug smile and Wei Ying knows he’s doing this on purpose. He hates it. He loves it.

“Let’s start you with something a bit mellow. You’ve never had beer before, right?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan confirms, “I tried baiju once, on my twenty-first. I don’t remember it.”

Wei Ying laughs and says, “Okay. Beer will be easier on you, I think.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying selects a Fat Tire from the wall and wipes off the top of the can before he hands it to Lan Zhan.

“Alright,” he says after the crack-hiss of the tab being opened, “this is an amber ale. It’s not too hoppy, but it’s not sweet either. It’s a pretty average beer. A good quality, average beer.”

Lan Zhan waits until Wei Ying is finished explaining before he lifts it to his mouth.

He takes a sip -- a tiny sip -- and immediately scrunches up his nose at it.

But he goes again. Another sip, slightly bigger this time. His nose wrinkles only slightly less.

Wei Ying laughs, his smile stretching his cheeks. “You don’t have to like it, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I’ll finish it for you if you don’t want it.”

Something not unlike a pout begins to form between Lan Zhan’s lips and he holds out a finger, “Give me a moment.”

The faces don’t stop over the course of the next few sips, but they don’t seem to impede Lan Zhan’s determination so Wei Ying leaves him to it and drinks his own beer.

He’s adorable, Wei Ying thinks as he watches Lan Zhan, so fucking cute.

The alcohol works fast in him, it seems, as it’s not very long before Lan Zhan begins to slump in his chair. His eyelashes flutter as if trying to stay open. They fail. Wei Ying catches the beer can as it slips from Lan Zhan’s long, loose fingers.

It’s a little bit insane, but Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan might be asleep.

He lifts the can of Fat Tire and shakes it gently in his hand: half of the beer is still left. Did Lan Zhan really just pass out after half a can of beer? Half a can of pretty tame beer?

Lan Zhan’s lips are slightly parted and, as soon as they are free of the beer, his hands settle clasped together in his lap. The firelight dances across his sleep-slack face and Wei Ying can’t help but stare a little bit in wonder.

He’s aware he should probably wake him. This cannot be what Lan Zhan expected from this night. Not that anybody has even really noticed, but it could be awkward, Wei Ying supposes, to have fallen asleep at a party surrounded by coworkers -- if Lan Zhan is still Lan Zhan and hasn’t realized that he’s One of Us yet.

But just as Wei Ying makes the decision to stop staring and Do Something, Lan Zhan’s eyes blink open.

He looks a little glassy. Wei Ying thinks that maybe he’s just groggy from the surprise nap he just took. But then Lan Zhan looks up at him and Wei Ying knows -- despite the composure he maintains as he rights himself in the chair, despite the perfectly stoic set to his face -- Wei Ying knows immediately that Lan Zhan is -- actually, really, in real life, somehow -- drunk.

It’s in the subtle tilt of his body, leaning toward Wei Ying like he’s leaning into a turn. And then… and then he starts becoming… a little bit… clingy.

It wouldn’t even be noticeable were it anyone but Lan Zhan. Just a few small touches: knees bumping together, elbows, shoulders. Lan Zhan’s full attention focused on Wei Ying. But it’s not obvious to anyone else, it seems, and it’s nice. Wei Ying is enjoying it, possibly a little more than he should. So he’s prepared to just let it ride for the time being. Let Lan Zhan be comfortable with himself for a moment.

That is, until Shawn shows up.

When Shawn walks out onto the patio, it’s clear to Wei Ying that he’s there with a purpose. Wei Ying can even hazard a guess to what that purpose is. He’s not surprised when Shawn spots him and nods before making a bee line for where he’s sitting with Lan Zhan. He is surprised, however, to see Lan Zhan not quite glaring at Shawn as he approaches.

Shawn notices it too and makes a small, uncertain wave of his hand, like he’s trying to convince Lan Zhan that he comes in peace. When nothing changes, Shawn shrugs it off and squats on the other side of Wei Ying’s chair.

Wei Ying knows what he’s going to ask, he knows why he’s getting so close to ask it. The hot chocolate machine in question is still a secret, after all.

“It broke again?” he asks and Shawn nods.

Shawn leans in closer, presumably to give details, and Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan’s hands close around his forearm and bicep. His head whips around so fast, he almost smacks his chin into Shawn’s cheek. Lan Zhan never initiates this kind of touch. It’s jarring and wonderful and so not the time.

Wei Ying turns back to Shawn, schooling his face into a cool nonchalance and trying to block Lan Zhan from his view. He missed whatever details Shawn had given him, but he doubts that it really matters.

“Yeah, man,” he says with an easy smile, “I can take a look on Monday.”

Shawn takes his cue and stands to leave. He says his thanks and grips Wei Ying’s shoulder before he goes. When he does, Wei Ying looks back to Lan Zhan and sees… well…

Since their conversation on the chairlift, Wei Ying has noticed certain changes in Lan Zhan’s behavior. There’s been a playful undercurrent of flirtation. It’s subtle, a look from across the room or a murmured comment by the lockers. This is… not that. This is possessive. Pouty and jealous in a way that seems specifically designed to break Wei Ying into pieces. Hot and suggestive in a way that has Wei Ying’s pulse racing.

Lan Zhan looks like he wants to crawl into Wei Ying’s lap, right now, in front of all these people. And, while Wei Ying would absolutely love that, Lan Zhan has very specifically said that he would not, so Wei Ying needs to… do something. As soon as he can get his brain back online.

“Let’s,” says Wei Ying, giving himself a moment to think, “let’s go for a walk.”

He stands and Lan Zhan looks up at him with eyes like honey. He holds out his hand to help Lan Zhan to his feet and, though Lan Zhan takes it, the man stands with a fluidity and grace that can really only be called seductive. Wei Ying just hopes that he’s the only one to notice. Somehow he doubts that he is.

He pulls Lan Zhan back inside and through the house back to the front door. He makes excuses as he goes but whether anyone actually buys them, he has no idea. He stops by the fridge to grab another fizzy water for Lan Zhan, waves his thanks to Diego, and gets himself and Lan Zhan back out onto the street. He’s fairly certain he manages to play off Lan Zhan’s drunken clinginess as drunken instability, but he’ll probably never know. He just hopes Nie Huaisang will help him out with that one.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath as they step off the driveway. The night is cold away from the fire, but Lan Zhan is warm against his side. Their breath condenses into small clouds that waft away in the light breeze.

They walk together down the twisting streets of Upper Biling, past houses that Wei Ying couldn’t even guess the price of, and through neighborhoods that lay almost empty for three-quarters of the year. Summer homes and winter homes to people who can afford five houses and put snow tires on their sportscars.

While they walk, Wei Ying rambles.

It’s easy to talk to Lan Zhan. He’s a good listener, a good friend. When he does choose to interject it’s always with something relevant and often with some new perspective that pushes Wei Ying out of his own spiral.

Or, at least, he is when he’s sober.

Drunk Lan Zhan still listens -- actively even, nodding and humming at appropriate intervals. But he also wanders off mid-sentence to try to climb his way to the top of a very icy snow berm.

When Wei Ying directs him away from the potential death trap, Lan Zhan pouts again, harder.

“Boring,” he says, and Wei Ying can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, ‘boring,’ is it?”

Lan Zhan nods.

Wei Ying laughs. “Is this what you secretly want to be like all the time?” he asks. “Clingy and flirty and cute?”

“I am not cute,” says Lan Zhan, sounding almost offended at the implication.

“You are adorable.”

“No. No, I’m cold and ‘hostile.’” He says it like a quote. Like something he’s heard before. Wei Ying wants to find out who it was who said that and throw them off a mountain.

Since that is not an option available to him, he jokes instead. “Ah, yes. So hostile, Lan Zhan.”

“People are afraid of me.”

Which, annoyingly, is true, but, “People are idiots.”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

Wei Ying scoffs so hard he thinks he might hurt something. “I was a little afraid you were going to jump into my lap and claim me when Shawn was just trying to ask me for a favor.”

Lan Zhan looks at him and hums. It’s not dismissive or in any way negative. A smirk even starts curling in the corner of his lips.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” says Wei Ying. “You’re secretly possessive, too.”

“That’s not much of a secret.”

The intersection is one Wei Ying recognizes. If he’s honest, he’s maybe a little lost. But he is pretty sure that up this road is a park that he has walked to with Jiang Yanli, his sister, and Jin Ling, her son. Like eighty percent. Sixty-five. It’s fine. Lan Zhan follows him easily as he steers them toward it.

“Oh no?”

“I’m rich. Doesn’t that automatically mean I’m possessive?”

“I think the only thing that automatically means is that you have money.”

“I don’t want it.”

“The money?”

“It’s my parents’ money. It’s still supposed to be theirs.”

Dead parents are not a super fun topic of conversation at the best of times. At the drunk of times, the tone can get very sad very quickly, and that very much is not where Wei Ying wants this to go. Lan Zhan doesn’t need to get maudlin drunk, preferably ever. So Wei Ying deliberately brushes past that.

“You’re twenty-six. Wouldn’t your trust fund have kicked in by now, anyway?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Ah?”

There are swings in the park. The black rubber of them is dusted with snow, easy enough to brush off. They sit, turned toward each other still in a way that, once they start swaying a little, causes that awkward torsion in the swing.

“It was my birthday last Sunday.”

Wei Ying’s mouth drops open. “Lan Zhan! Happy birthday! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?”

“Whatever you wanted me to.”

“Hm… Whatever I wanted?”

Suggestive. But it’s not Wei Ying’s rules they’re following tonight. “Anything.”

Lan Zhan cocks his head to the side. “You wouldn’t have told everyone?” he asks. “Thrown a big party?”

“No,” Wei Ying laughs, “you’d hate that.”

“But I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh. Oh no.

Does Lan Zhan think that this is what Wei Ying wants from him? Did Lan Zhan agree to come just because he thought it would make Wei Ying happy?

Oh fuck.

Wei Ying stops swinging and grabs hold of the chain of Lan Zhan’s swing too, turning him, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Lan Zhan,” he starts, “I’m not trying to change you. I just want you to see that you’re welcome here. That people like you. Not that you have to want this all the time. Just… that you can have it… when you want it.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow with something that’s probably skepticism but might be genuine curiosity. He repeats Wei Ying’s words, “When I want it.”

Wei Ying nods hard and fast. And then, “Which you don’t have to! I just--” he takes his hand back and wraps it around his own swing chain. “You seemed so lonely.”

Silence settles between them. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable, either. It just is. The kind of silence in which words are processed. Feelings are processed. Wei Ying doesn’t want to rush it, but there’s an emptiness to it that crawls under his skin.

He pushes against the ground with one foot, swing creaking back into motion.

“But I would never force this on you for your birthday!” He gestures vaguely in the direction he thinks the party might be. “That would be absurd.”

“Absurd?” Lan Zhan’s voice is warmer around this repetition. A genuine question, this time.

“Yeah! Your birthday should be about you. Not anybody else. If all you wanted was to drink tea and read, then you should have that.” Wei Ying shakes his head, “I would just like to have bought you the tea.”

“What if I wanted you there?”

“Then I would be there.”

“What if I want you now?”

Wei Ying tenses. It’s not so much that Lan Zhan’s tone has shifted or his voice has changed. He still speaks with the same smooth baritone, the same stoic serenity, that he’s had all night. But it’s like the air around them charges with electricity. A chill shoots up Wei Ying’s neck. He drags his toe to slow his swing again.

“Ah… haha. Now is a different story. You’re drunk now. After,” Wei Ying raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, still in disbelief, “half a beer...” Like that’s a thing that happens in real life.

There’s a sound like a pine bough cracking under too much snow and then Lan Zhan is standing in front of him. His long fingers wrap around the chains on either side of Wei Ying’s head, arresting his momentum as he looms, beautiful and radiant in the soft light. His eyes are bright with intention. He’s so close, Wei Ying can feel the heat of him.

“Ah… And because you’re drunk,” Wei Ying says very carefully, “I have to stick to guidelines as previously discussed.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t look convinced. He drops to his knees slowly, fingers dragging down the chains. The sight and sound send shivers down Wei Ying’s spine. Without asking, his thighs spread wide as Lan Zhan settles between them. The snow beneath Lan Zhan’s shins crunches and then starts to melt.

He smiles and it’s devastating. “So you don’t want me to…”

Lan Zhan’s palms are hot on Wei Ying’s thighs, searing even through the thick denim of his jeans. Wei Ying bites his lip to keep from whining at the touch. They slide higher and higher until Wei Ying draws on all of his meager self-control and stills them. He takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut against the stunning vision of Lan Zhan, wanton and willing, looking up at him from his knees.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” he groans. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me the responsible one. I’m not good at it.”

He opens his eyes and that small, infuriating pout has returned to Lan Zhan’s face. Wei Ying has to take another breath before he can move.

He grips Lan Zhan’s hands and brings them both to their feet. His arousal is obvious in his jeans and Lan Zhan definitely notices, but Wei Ying ignores it, ignores Lan Zhan’s raised eyebrow, ignores the way he licks his fucking lips. (The man is a menace, truly.)

Wei Ying clears his throat against the lust threatening to choke him. He walks Lan Zhan back over to the other swing and gets him sitting down on the cold rubber again. He moves behind him so he doesn’t have to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, wraps Lan Zhan’s hands around the chains, fingers lingering longer than strictly necessary, then starts pushing him.

The motion is good, distracting. Something to do that doesn’t involve actively ignoring the heat in Lan Zhan’s gaze, the pout on his lips. If he holds Lan Zhan’s waist a little too tight, nobody else needs to know.

When Wei Ying regains control of his body, he lets himself chuckle a little. “You’re probably not even going to remember this in the morning, are you?” he says, watching his breath condense.

Lan Zhan just shrugs and hums a non-committal sound.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and says, “I bet you only had one shot at your twenty-first.”

The night is quiet except for the metallic scrape of the swing as Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan in an easy rhythm. He tries not to think about other rhythmic activities and to focus, instead, on the cold air biting his cheeks and on keeping Lan Zhan upright on the little plastic seat.

The cold is good. Sobering. Wei Ying breathes it into his lungs and lets it soothe him. There’s woodsmoke in the air, too, from somebody’s fireplace or backyard pit.

He looks down at Lan Zhan who is listing to the side like he’s falling asleep. His jeans are wet-dark around the knees and down his shins and Wei Ying realizes that he needs to get Lan Zhan inside somewhere before he freezes or becomes too tired to walk. Wei Ying is strong, but he’s not sure he can carry a passed out Lan Zhan up Northwoods Blvd. Or down Northwoods, to be honest.

Wei Ying still doesn’t remember how to get back to the Peruvians’ house from here, but he does recognize this park as the one he’s visited with his sister and nephew. Jiang Yanli’s house is actually fairly close and Wei Ying is pretty sure he knows the way.

Lan Zhan is pliant and amenable when Wei Ying asks him to stand. He’s still listing to the side so Wei Ying gets an arm around his waist and tries to think about anything but the press of Lan Zhan’s body against his own. It turns out to be easier than he thought because the worry takes over. Lan Zhan is cold. He’s leaning hard into Wei Ying’s side and even if he is playing it up a little -- as Wei Ying suspects he might be -- he still needs to get to a bed soon.

It’s only about four blocks to Jiang Yanli’s house from the little park. Wei Ying sees her mailbox sooner than he expects and points it out to Lan Zhan. Wei Ying and Jin Ling painted the little silver and gold stars on it together.

Lan Zhan smiles at them and Wei Ying’s knees buckle, which is sweet, but they’re about to climb the driveway and Lan Zhan still requires support so Wei Ying really has to pull himself together.

Jiang Yanli’s house is huge. Wei Ying always kind of forgets until he’s standing in front of it, but it’s an obscenely large house. The driveway climbs almost fifty vertical feet from the street and the house rises two stories from there. Hidden from street view, the back of the house drops another two stories down the side of the mountain with a wooden deck that gets near-panoramic views of the valley. Floor to ceiling windows in the living room. High, vaulted ceilings. All pine and granite. A fucking elevator.

It’s way too big for a single family but Jiang Yanli married Jin Zixuan, scion of the Gold Peony Resort Jins. A family that owns hotels and golf courses in three countries. Jin Zixuan, himself, owns the Lanling Golf Course in Caiyi Town.

Bad enough he’s a golfer, but Jin Zixuan was a real jerk to Jiang Yanli when they were teenagers and Wei Ying has never forgiven him for it. He can admit, however, that he’s treated her well since he managed to get his shit together and ask her out properly. They’ve been married for more than five years now. It’s fine.

He texts Jiang Yanli instead of ringing the doorbell because children have bedtimes, Wei Ying, and it’s like 11pm and that seems awfully late for a four-year-old to be awake. Lan Zhan curls closer into Wei Ying’s arms as they stand in front of the door and wait.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t text back but Wei Ying can hear movement inside the house and sees a light turn on inside before the porch light attempts to blind him, and she opens the door in her slippers, a pair of sweats, and what Wei Ying assumes is Jin Zixuan’s high school mascot t-shirt. (A wolverine, he thinks.)

“A’Ying?”

Her voice is thick with sleep and guilt churns his stomach until he remembers that he’s not really here for himself.

“I’m so sorry, Yanli-jie,” says Wei Ying, “I know it’s late, I just didn’t know where else to go and hypothermia was becoming a concern.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyes go wide and she takes in the man who may or may not be asleep on his feet in Wei Ying’s arms. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” Wei Ying says, quick to reassure her but still trying to keep his voice down. “He’s fine. Just drunk. And a massive lightweight. Seriously, I’m never going to let him live this down.”

It’s then that Jin Zixuan pokes his head around his wife’s shoulder, eyes squinting against the (really, incredibly bright) porch light.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks, recognition and concern screwing up his face.

“Okay…” says Wei Ying, looking to his sister. “Why does your husband know my boss?”

Jin Zixuan, not as useless as one might be tempted to think, steps out and gets his arm around the other side of Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wakes up at the new contact but seems to recognize him and allows this so, together, the three of them start moving toward the guest bedroom, following Jiang Yanli down the stairs.

“We were rich kids on the high school downhill team together,” says Jin Zixuan, and Wei Ying struggles not to laugh.

“See,” he says, “that’s the kind of thing I would have guessed, but I would have done it in a mocking way. You just said that with so much aplomb that I can’t even make fun of you for it now.”

“Oh great, he’s using words like ‘aplomb.’”

Wei Ying can’t actually see Jin Zixuan in their current configuration, but he knows an eye roll when he hears one.

“Shut up, I’m more literate than you are, Business Degree.”

“A’Ying,” Jiang Yanli chides from below them.

“Sorry, Jie.”

They settle Lan Zhan on the guest bed which, because Jiang Yanli is a real adult, is a real bed with a real comforter and far too many useless pillows. Wei Ying kneels to take off Lan Zhan’s shoes which, along with his own, have tracked road dirt and snow all through Jiang Yanli’s beautiful house. Lan Zhan is no help in this, but he does, to Wei Ying’s great relief, agree to take off his own pants.

Wei Ying gets him tucked under the covers and Lan Zhan falls asleep almost immediately.

Wei Ying sets a glass of water on the nightstand. He fishes Lan Zhan’s phone out of his jeans and sets it next to the glass along with a pair of ibuprofen tablets. He has no idea if Lan Zhan gets hangovers or not -- if someone can even get a hangover from half a beer -- but better to be prepared.

Wei Ying takes off his own shoes and carries them with him as he goes to meet his sister and her husband out in the kitchen. He sets them by the door, next to Lan Zhan’s. He tries not to think about his and Lan Zhan’s shoes together in his sister’s shoe rack, like they’re dinner guests or visiting on purpose rather than too drunk and too lost to find their way back to the car.

In the kitchen, Jiang Yanli has a kettle on the stove already and is plating what looks like rice cooker bread, because she is a literal angel. Jin Zixuan is sitting at the counter helping her sort through their many teas. Wei Ying does have to admit that he is a very good husband. Golf course or not.

“Oh no,” says Wei Ying, eyes widening with a startling realization as he sits on the counter next to his sister and looks imploringly at Jin Zixuan, “please don’t tell me he golfs. I like him too much to stop now.”

It’s a joke (mostly) that Wei Ying hates golf. And golfers. Environmental concerns aside (which they really shouldn’t be), it’s a mind-numbingly boring sport. Wei Ying loves to poke at Jin Zixuan with this particular stick whenever it comes up.

Jin Zixuan huffs. “Why would--? Nevermind. He does not golf. You’re safe.”

“Oh, thank god,” says Wei Ying with an exaggerated sigh. He turns to cover up the even more startling realization that he would probably still like Lan Zhan even if he did… occasionally golf. Wei Ying elects to keep that to himself.

The bread melts in his mouth. It’s so delicious that his eyes actually close on their own. She’s a goddess, his sister.

Even though it’s clear that Wei Ying pulled them out of bed, both Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan stay up with him for a little while as he finishes the bread that keeps appearing on his plate and the water that keeps refilling itself in his glass.

“I’m fine, Yanli-jie. I only had two beers. It’s Lan Zhan I’m worried about.”

Which, unfortunately, prompts a conversation about why he and his boss were wandering around Upper Biling together while drunk -- “Not drunk!” -- and courting hypothermia.

Wei Ying is not subtle in his diversion as he directs the line of questioning away from how he feels about Lan Zhan. How Lan Zhan feels about him. It’s not-- It’s not the time for that talk. Not now. Not when Jiang Yanli is stifling yawns behind her hand and Jin Zixuan is still right there for some reason.

If they were friends, though, Wei Ying does have a question for him.

“Were you at his twenty-first?”

Jin Zixuan nods, looking uncomfortable at where this might be going, but still answers, “I was.”

“It was only one shot, wasn’t it?”

There’s a pause, and then Jin Zixuan sighs and nods again, “It was.”

#wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #fanfiction #skii resort au #fpitpt #my writing #for anyone who's never worked at a ski resort just know that loads of mostly college students come up every winter from south america #it's a whole thing #they work at the resorts and get international credit for school #or at least that's how it worked for the ones i knew #they all go in together on these massive fuck off houses and put like twelve people in a four bedroom #but it's kind of a blast #they throw extremely fun parties #and if you're working the next day well that's what the long chairs are for :)#also northwoods is The Most Dangerous Road in my hometown because it's just a straight shot up the hill #who fucking decided that was a good idea in a town that (rather famously) experiences winter??? idk but they were fucking wrong

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batboyblog · 8 months

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Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week.

The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau put forward a new regulation to limit bank overdraft fees. The CFPB pointed out that the average overdraft fee is $35 even though majority of overdrafts are under $26 and paid back with-in 3 days. The new regulation will push overdraft fees down to as little as $3 and not more than $14, saving the American public collectively 3.5 billion dollars a year.

The Environmental Protection Agency put forward a regulation to fine oil and gas companies for emitting methane. Methane is the second most abundant greenhouse gas, after CO2 and is responsible for 30% of the rise of global temperatures. This represents the first time the federal government has taxed a greenhouse gas. The EPA believes this rule will help reduce methane emissions by 80%

The Energy Department has awarded $104 million in grants to support clean energy projects at federal buildings, including solar panels at the Pentagon. The federal government is the biggest consumer of energy in the nation. The project is part Biden's goal of reducing the federal government's greenhouse gas emissions by 65% by 2030. The Energy Department estimates it'll save taxpayers $29 million in the first year alone and will have the same impact on emissions as taking over 23,000 gas powered cars off the road.

The Education Department has cancelled 5 billion more dollars of student loan debt. This will effect 74,000 more borrowers, this brings the total number of people who've had their student loan debt forgiven under Biden through different programs to 3.7 Million

U.S. Agency for International Development has launched a program to combat lead exposure in developing countries like South Africa and India. Lead kills 1.6 million people every year, more than malaria and AIDS put together.

Congressional Democrats have reached a deal with their Republican counter parts to revive the expanded the Child Tax Credit. The bill will benefit 16 million children in its first year and is expected to lift 400,000 children out of poverty in its first year. The proposed deal also has a housing provision that could see 200,000 new affordable rental units

#good news #thanks Biden #Joe Biden #Democrats #climate change #student loans #poverty #housing

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sayruq · 5 months

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Three days ago, the Israeli military dropped flyers ordering displaced people and residents of Rafah to leave. In the orders where people were told to move out of Rafah, the military said it was “about to operate with force against the terror organisations in the area”. A UN estimate says there are 1.2 million people sheltering in dire conditions in Rafah, Gaza's southern city. The "full-blown famine" that has taken hold in the north of Gaza has spread to the south, Cindy McCain, the head of the World Food Programme, confirmed over the weekend. There are roughly 200 Palestinians that are being forcibly displaced from Rafah every hour, the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (Unrwa) said on Wednesday. During an online press briefing, medical doctors and humanitarian aid workers reporting from the ground in Gaza spoke about the impossible feat of moving people from Rafah, as people are ridden by famine plus a collapsed transportation and healthcare system. "There are children and elderly that are so starved that they can barely walk. These people cannot just relocate to another area, to so-called 'safe zones'. It is not possible," Alexandra Saieh, head of humanitarian policy from Save the Children, said. Several aid workers have expressed that there is no "safe" area in the Gaza Strip for people to relocate to. "The concept of safe zones is a lie," Helena Marchal, from Medecins du Monde, said. Aid workers also reiterated the difficulty of getting aid both into Gaza and then distributing it. Both the Rafah and the Kerem Shalom crossings, through which most aid reached the besieged Strip, have closed since Sunday evening. Roads across Gaza are largely destroyed or blocked by people sheltering, contributing to the difficulty of movement of both goods and people. Only a very limited number of routes, especially between the north and south, are available for humanitarian use, Jeremy Konyndyk, from Refugees International, explained. Another issue is overcrowding. "In Deir al-Balah and the Mawasi area on the outskirts of the Rafah and Khan Younis governorates, there is barely any space. There are tents everywhere, on the beach, on the sidewalks, the streets, the graveyards, the courtyards of the hospitals, in the courtyards of the schools," Ghada Alhaddad, from Oxfam International, said. Saieh explained that it took her team six weeks and four failed attempts to move a couple of hundred food parcels from Rafah to the north of Gaza. "One litre of fuel cost $40 yesterday," according to Ranchal. Fuel enters through the Rafah crossing. If the fuel is cut off, the aid operation collapses," Konyndyk said.

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #rafah #all eyes on rafah #rafah under attack #famine #gaza genocide #genocide

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endzithefangirl · 28 days

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"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 #formula 1

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luveline · 1 month

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How did reader react when Spencer was exposed to anthrax? (I normally request stripper or bombshell reader but I want to leave up to you which reader - shy, confident, bombshell, stripper, not mentioned here)

Thank you 🖤

“This is unacceptable.”

Spencer looks at you through plastic. He opens his hands, his hair already soaking wet, huge streams of water running down him as a woman in a hazmat suit sprays him down. He ends up giving you a glare. A bold choice.

“Spencer Reid.”

“What do you want from me?”

“For you to make less ridiculous decisions.”

“I didn’t exactly choose to get dosed with anthrax.”

You think it’s pointless to deny all accountability in this situation. When Derek rehashed the story to you down the phone, you’d assumed he was making a sick joke, but no, your Spencer is alright with endangering his life.

“Spencer, you aren’t a child. You know what you were doing.”

“If you’re here to shout at me, can you not?”

“Can you take your clothes off?” the woman in the hazmat suit asks.

Spencer cringes but begins undressing.

“Spencer, somebody needs to. All Hotch will do is give you a disappointed shake of the head, he won’t even write you up.”

“Maybe he realises it was accidental!” Spencer says hopefully, shivering as his shirt hits the floor. He grabs his boxers and holds them in place as he kicks off his pants, water spraying everywhere now, pattering against the plastic sides of the haz-gazebo as it bounces off his naked skin.

“Doubtful.” You raise your eyebrows. “Shouldn’t he take his boxers off, too?”

The woman in the hazmat suit sighs. “I’m afraid so.”

Spencer sputters as she sprays his waist with the hose. “I’m so cold.”

Sympathy grows. You wrap your arms around yourself and feel at the cashmere sweater that stretches over your elbows, thinner softness, warm in the sunshine. You have a hundred things to be stressed about and Spencer’s at the top of the list when he shouldn’t be on it to begin with. “Can’t you use warm water?” you ask, more gentle than you had been.

“Sorry,” the woman says. “I’ll be quick.”

“And then he’ll, what? Get to ride in the ambulance?” you ask.

“That’s the plan. Dr. Reid, can you turn around?”

Spencer gets washed from head to toe with ice cold water. His shivers turn full body, his lips pressed firmly together when they finally let him out. He’s quickly wrapped in a towel, then a foil blanket, and packed into the back of an ambulance with three EMT’s and an insistent you.

He’s going to be assessed en route.

You sidle past an EMT to sit by his head, out of the way, but close enough to brush his wet hair from his forehead. “You okay?” you ask.

“You’re being nicer to me.”

“Spencer, I’m aware that nobody really deserves to be poisoned.”

“But I took an unnecessary risk.” He sighs deeply, then coughs, to your internal horror. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m being mean.” You cover his forehead with your hand in hopes of warming him.

Spencer relaxes now he knows you aren’t mad, his shivers occasionally resurfacing, his worry plain as day across his features. Brown eyes squinted like he’s pained, his mouth twisted.

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” you say, rubbing a quarter circle at his temple with your thumb.

“I’m just so cold.”

His weak laugh is lost on you. You can’t cover him up anymore than he is while the EMT’s work to check his vitals and take his blood for testing. You lean down, the bumpy road nearly forcing you to kiss his cheek. “You’re doing well,” you say, “we’ll be there soon. You won’t be cold all day.”

You blow warm air at his cheeks. They turn pink, but you let him blame the hosing.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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that-one-p00k1e · 3 months

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───〃★ didn't see that coming? ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡

✧ summary: kissing them unexpectedly ft. Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Ren Kaji, Mitsuki Kiryu, Akihiko Nirei, Chika Takiishi, & Jo Togame

✧ content: fluff, gn!reader, OOC (especially w/Chika's since I haven't read the whole manga yet), lots of pure kisses, established!relationship

✦ a/n: no more screen time of my beloveds till next year 😢

— HARUKA SAKURA | You were at his house, feeding him food and medicine to tend to his fever. He kept insisting that he was fine and was able to take care of himself, but you wouldn't budge no matter how much he argued back. Due to his sickened condition, his energy to complain was quickly drained out. In the end, he let you do your thing and even tuck him to bed. You watched him close his eyes, cool cloth placed on his forehead as his brows let loose and his breathing calming down. The sight made you feel slightly more at ease. Before deciding to leave, you placed a quick peck on his forehead and whispered, “Get well soon, sweetheart.” His fever rose higher the next day.

— HAYATO SUO | He was always the one to initiate something unexpected, which made you determined to get back at him for once. You walked home with him holding an umbrella under the rain, and you saw how he was focused on the road. Seeing the clear opportunity, you went on your tippy toes and squeezed your eyes shut, kissing his cheek before looking away flustered. His eyes went wide for a moment, before smiling and retorting, “My, my. I see you've gotten quite bold, my dear.” Although he was smooth with it, he internally admitted your attempt in catching him off guard was successful.

— REN KAJI | A pout has been tugging his lips all morning. Ever since you came along with him on patrol, you felt the grumpy aura he emitted despite him acting all nonchalant with it. Little did you know that he was sulking. When he came to pick you up this morning, he reached out a hand to hold yours when you turned back to retrieve something; when he considered to lend you his headphones, you bumped into Sakura and the gang; when he reattempted to hold your hand, Lisa came jumping into your arms. He was fuming. Thankfully, at the end of the day, you realized. “Ren?” He looked at you silently, waiting for you to continue as he rolled the sucker in his mouth. “Can you take the candy out real quick, please?” He was confused, but complied either way. With that, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, before pulling back with a fond smile. He was confused yet again, but this time, he wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, relishing in the feeling of finally being able to hold you.

— HAJIME UMEMIYA | Today was a gardening date, where you'd help him out with his garden at the rooftop. Like usual, he proudly exclaims how the plants have grown fast and healthy. It was like seeing a proud father boasting about his children. His smile when he held up two pots of tomatoes was brighter than the sun that was shining upon the both of you, and it was endearing to the point where you couldn't help it anymore. You quickly cupped his face and pressed your lips against his before pulling back and saying, “My sweet, gardener boyfriend.” He immediately placed down the pots, almost dropping them before swooping you up in his arms and twirling you in the air.

— JO TOGAME | You looked up at the sky, hearing cracks of fire as it bloomed into colorful sparks. After strolling through stalls and winning prizes, the festival's main occasion finally made its arrival. Turning to your boyfriend next to you, you tugged at his sleeve and called out to him quietly, “Jo…” gesturing that you had something to say. Just as he leaned down to listen, you gently pulled his face and connected your lips to his. He didn't see that coming, but he wasn't going to complain as he wasted no time and melted into the kiss– pulling you closer by the waist and savoring this sweet moment under the flashing fireworks that lit up the sky above.

— MITSUKI KIRYU | Nothing wrong with taking a break from your small screen gadgets and entertain yourself with something slightly more traditional. Other than the games on his phone, Kiryu was surprisingly good at the ones at the arcade as well. From basketball toss to Pac-Man, you both competed on who could earn the most tickets. Of course, he was taking the lead. He was currently focused on the spinning light, calculating the right moment to press the button and hit the jackpot. When suddenly you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, causing him to lose focus and accidentally push down the button, missing the awaited jackpot. “Hey, that was cheating.” He still won in the end, but gave his tickets to you anyway.

— CHIKA TAKIISHI | He always looked so aloof– like there were no literal fucks he'd seriously give, and everything others say were just a broken TV's buzzing. Oddly enough, you found that trait to be adorable. Sometimes, you find yourself gazing and staring at his majestic self as he looks off into somewhere or nowhere, holding the familiar empty gaze you've grown used to. He was like an innocent, introverted child during a family gathering– the ones who choose to space off and act cold to those who tried to approach or tease him. The sight was so irresistibly cute, you couldn't help yourself but to squeeze his cheeks between your palms and press a quick kiss on his cheek. “You're so CUTE!” He remained unfazed and gave no reaction, but slithered an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

— AKIHIKO NIREI | Seeing and hearing him yap about the things he took interest in has always been a trait of his that you found endearing. And right now, you couldn't help but marvel at the way he was so passionate about something to the point of writing it down in his notebook. You listened to it all– nodding and throwing in responses here and there to keep the conversation going. In the middle of his babbling, you leaned forward and gave a quick peck on his forehead. “And then what happened?” you asked innocently afterwards like it was nothing. Meanwhile he was left a stuttering, blushing, and questioning mess of a nerd.

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luulapants · 1 year

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Existential despair is so common in a person's twenties, I think, because up until that point, we've had a pretty clear road map for what's expected of us and we haven't had much reason to question that map. There are still a few milestones outlined for us (start a career, get married, make babies) but more and more young people are entering the post-school world and realizing:

A) that career thing just isn't happening like they said it would

B) I'm not ready to get married/I don't want to get married/marriage isn't the sort of life-altering event that it used to be

C) I'm not ready to make babies/I don't want a baby/I can't afford to raise children right now (see point A)

And in the absence of these milestones to shoot for (which one could argue weren't the promise of fulfillment they claimed to be in the first place), what we're left with is this aimless abyss of "the rest of our lives" sprawling out ahead of us with no indication of how it will go or what we should be doing to shape it. Young people start their first jobs, find they hate them, and think to themselves, "Is this it? Am I just supposed to do this job until I'm too old to do it or die first?"

Which is, yeah, really fucking depressing!! So here's my best attempt at an alternate roadmap for young people that don't vibe with the old model. Please feel free to add in your own suggestions!

Learn how you work and what you want out of a job. Unless you've been in a job-specific training program that gives you hands-on experience, your first jobs should be experiments. Learn how a full-time job feels for you, what elements are more or less difficult. Different workplaces have different cultures and expectations - what do you need out of a job environment? Do you need to find fulfillment in your job or is it enough for it to pay the bills and leave you time to find outside fulfillment? Do you want to climb a corporate ladder or are you content to hunker down as long as your bills get paid? This period of experimentation is exhausting and may feel like it's consuming your whole life.

Learn how to make time for things outside of work. Adapting to a full-time work environment often leaves you feeling so drained that you can't do anything but go home and collapse on the couch every day. That's fine - for a little while. But it can also become a habit. You need to learn how to do things after work or you'll go crazy. Go to a trivia night. Start an exercise schedule. Take a class in your community. Find volunteer work. Join a band. You will find that putting more things into your day makes you feel like you have more time, not less.

Find a community. Making friends as an adult can feel impossible. Where do you find these mysterious friends everyone seems to have?? This goes along with #2, though. As you start regularly attending the same activities, you will find that repeat interactions with the same people turn into friendships or at least friendly acquaintances. Say yes to invitations. Get involved in your local community. Strive to be connected enough to bump into people at the grocery store.

Unlearn bad lessons. We all internalize some messed up things when we're growing up. As you start off your adult life, that's the time to actively work at unpacking the things you've brought with you from childhood and deciding which things are helping you and which things are harming you. This might mean therapy or joining a spiritual group or reading new things or just making special time to be in your own head.

Learn the lessons you missed. In this, I mostly mean practical things. "Adulting." Areas of your day-to-day practical life that are causing you extreme stress are probably related to a knowledge or experience gap. Do you hate cooking and cleaning or were you not taught how to do it properly? Are you afraid of making medical appointments or is it just something new you're not used to? Does money make you queasy or do you need to learn how to make a budget?

Find something fulfilling. This can be your job. It can be volunteer work. It can be faith. It can be a hobby. It can be creating things. It can be challenging yourself physically. It can be activism. It can be going for walks in nature. Everyone finds fulfillment in different places. If you're not finding it where you are, look somewhere else.

#adulting #advice

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chlorinecake · 6 months

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I was thinking about illegalracer!jungwon as your bf. He takes you for late night rides on his motorcycle that finish with him fucking u on his place, it's like a normal routine now...

Imagine Illegal Racer Jungwon…

Who had a frisky side since the day you met him, living for the thrill of the night and earning himself a name of admiration and infamy on the streets as an underground racer…

Illegal racer Jungwon who turned every road into his personal racetrack, drowning out his thoughts with the roaring pulse of his motorbike engine.

Illegal racer Jungwon who never expected you to become a part of this side of his world, but enjoyed having you around regardless… internally smirking at the startled look on your face whenever his wheels took off in a race, or the labored breaths you’d let out once he returned to greet you with a victory kiss in front of every one watching.

Illegal racer Jungwon who made you sit on the back of his bike one day, inviting you to fully understand his love for the wild life, and you’ve been hooked ever since.

“If you hang on tight enough, I might reward you with something once we get to my place,” he’d say, revving the engine but refusing to take off until your arms were wrapped securely around his waist, nearby neon lights blurring into both your peripheral visions as the smoky wind whipped through your exposed hair.

Illegal Racer Jungwon whose eyes sparkled like onyx as these late night joy rides became a part of your normal routine, adoring how you learned to trust him when he’d speed down narrow alleyways, or come a mere centimeter from colliding into destruction.

You two had even been chased by the police before, but Jungwon always had a way of outrunning them, especially when he had a certain goal in mind to get you alone with him for the night…

Illegal racer Jungwon who with every harsh drift, loved it when you held onto him tighter, stealing kisses at red lights as silver rain painted the streets and your dewy leather jackets.

Illegal racer Jungwon who would park his motorbike under a tree, helping you take your helmet off with his protective hand at your hips, finger playfully linking in the hoops of your jeans as he buried his face in your neck, kissing you desperately in between whispering how badly he had missed you…

Illegal racer Jungwon who usually left the back door to your little secret place unlocked, mostly because it was reserved for one thing and one thing only.

Illegal racer Jungwon who always looked especially attractive in his damp biker suit, watching with lust-ridden eyes as you stripped him of his leather layers to grant you better access to his broad shoulders.

“Love it when I take you out just so I can fuck you, huh?,” he teased, almost cooing at the way you rushed to take off his belt.

Illegal racer Jungwon whose sultry voice tantalized your ears whenever he spoke dirty to you, taking your face in his free hand to force your glossy eyes back on him.

“That’s my good girl- shit… keep fucking yourself on my cock,” he’d grunt in between having you bounce in his lap, sounds of skin against skin filling the room, “does it feel good, baby?… hmm?”

“Feels s-so good, Wonie,” you hummed with a broken moan, throwing your head back as he continued guiding your hips, “gonna come… f-fuck- gonna come so hard for you, baby…”

Illegal racer Jungwon who let his eyes roll in the back of his head every time you clenched around him, his pouty mouth leaning forward to suck, bite, and lick on your skin anywhere he could.

Illegal racer Jungwon who would always finish on your stomach because he never remembered to bring a condom, once again, enjoying the subtle risk of potentially forgetting to pull out of you.

Illegal racer Jungwon whose soft “I love you’s” after a reckless night never failed to make your heart flutter, taking a short cut to bring you back home even if it was past two in the morning.

Illegal racer Jungwon who liked kissing you goodnight at your doorstep on nights like this, his hand playfully smacking your ass as he whispered in the cool air, “You better call me first thing in the morning, alright?”

Illegal racer Jungwon who chuckled to himself whenever you waved at him like he wasn’t the guy you fucked every night, driving off into the distance with his final thoughts being your pretty face, a flushed red hue from the love he made to you...

took me forever and a day to answer this ask (my sincerest apologies, anon), but hopefully you get to read it sometime soon !!

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr + the link to my masterlist ~

#enhypen #enhypen ff #jungwon smut #yang jungwon #jungwon ff #jungwon hard thoughts #jungwon hard hours #jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard headcanons

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rebelfell · 6 days

Text

rub one out┃(for your viewing pleasure-verse)

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

a cheeky (pun intended) bit of filth based on part of my blurb series. I was trying to keep the snippets short, but this just kinda poured out of me over the past couple days.

cw: sex work, simulated adultery, oral (fem receiving)

18+, MDNI┃2.8k

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You couldn’t escape the nagging thought as you stepped outside, tightening the belt on your fluffy white bathrobe, tugging at the terrycloth tail and twisting it in your fingers. Your eyes flitted to each member of your crew, all of them in position waiting to get this show on the road.

Why were you so nervous? You’d certainly done this enough times before not to get stage fright. So why did your stomach feel more tangled than the box of electrical cords in Lenny’s truck?

Part of you almost wished it would rain, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you didn’t have to go through with this. But the concrete remained solid under your feet, and the sky overhead showed no signs of altering its radiant blue color. Perfect.

It’s gonna be fine, you thought in an attempt to soothe yourself. It’s all gonna be fine.

And you almost believed it would be.

Sammy, who was barely a step up from an intern, had swiftly been promoted once the plan for you to replace your no-show leading lady was set in motion. You weren’t worried about her, though—she was smart and a quick study; she knew all the shots you needed, and she had a good eye.

If you couldn’t be behind the camera yourself, she was pretty much the only one you trusted.

Well…maybe not the only one.

Eddie’s eyes met yours as soon as you stepped out of the trailer. The sunlight hit his deep brown irises, making them glow the color of rich honey. But behind the liquid gold, you could see his own nerves and it made your stomach flip, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he came up next to you. “You good?”

For a moment, you considered lying. Flashing him a thumbs up or shooting him finger guns like one of those tools you used to do this with. But you knew better by now when it came to Eddie.

“Nope,” you chuckled. “I’m kinda shitting myself.”

“Well, that’s just what the guy about to fuck you wants to hear,” he chuckled back.

A real smile breaks through your tense, fake one and a genuine laugh bubbles up out of your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine when he hears it and the sight makes your chest feel all warm inside.

“No, you’re right,” you said. “I’m okay, I just…don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

His plush pink lips pressed into a straight line, his tongue poking out as he licked them. He reached out a reassuring hand and placed it on your shoulder, rubbing it through your robe.

“You’re gonna be great,” he assured, sounding a lot more certain than you felt.

Easy for him to say. He’s a fucking natural.

Even on your best day doing this, you never felt like you were great at it—competent, sure. Maybe even above average. But not great. Not at all the way you felt since getting behind the camera.

You nodded tightly, your hesitation still written all over your face. His eyes scanned over you and he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He then leaned in and placed his lips beside your ear.

“You look…really beautiful,” he said.

His warm breath rushed across your neck, the heat coming off his skin making your ears buzz. An explosion of fluttering began in your stomach, like there were butterfly cocoons in your cereal that morning and now they were all hatching.

“We should get moving,” you said, pulling back. “Burning daylight.”

Eddie straightened. He nodded and you nodded back, sliding past him to do final checks before you started rolling. Telling yourself he must have pumped or popped a Viagra to explain away that bulge in his pants that definitely wasn’t there before he came over to talk to you.

The nerves didn’t disappear once you started working, but your body and brain did snap into a kind of performance mode you remembered well.

You started with some still photography for the VHS box art—shots of you in progressing states of undress, your robe dropping off your shoulder, Eddie pulling it open to reveal your body, his hand running up your thigh in a slow caress.

He let it trail all the way up your stomach and chest until he curled his finger under your chin and tipped your face toward his, letting his lips hover just inches away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart raced, thinking he might close the gap and actually kiss you—

But after the shutter snapped, he simply let his hand drop and backed away.

The loss of his body heat sent a chill down your spine and you shivered despite the blazing sun overhead. Eddie’s eyes caught yours, the nearly imperceptible lift of his brow asking, ‘you okay?’ You nodded and another shiver skittered across your skin as you pulled your robe back up.

For the next shot, you climbed up on the massage table and he got into position behind you. His body pressed yours down, your back arching under him as he dipped his head low to take the lobe of your ear between his teeth, palming your exposed breast with his large, strong hand.

You let your mouth hang open, not even needing to fake the look of desperation on your face. And let yourself believe Eddie’s excitement you could feel digging into the fat of your ass was real too. The little grunts and whines he let out when you wriggled against him certainly didn’t sound fake.

After the photos, there was nothing left to do but move on to the main event.

You and Eddie reset—him standing in frame, you just outside of it. Sammy panned the camera around, establishing the setting, zooming in on the fountain feature in the pool and then coming around to film Eddie as he snapped a fresh towel and laid it out on the massage table.

From your spot off-camera, it’s impossible not to be mesmerized by the sight. Biceps rippling, tendons in his arms flexing as he smoothed the towel flat. His tattoos stood out even more than normal with him in white slacks and a white polo meant to give the impression of him being an employee of the resort. And the little twist your hair and make-up girl Jael did is something new that only further accentuates the thick column of his neck and his angular jaw.

He’d left off his rings and bracelets, as was typical when he was filming, and you couldn’t help but think about that day in the editing suite. When he’d touched your knee, and you felt the silver ridges press into your flesh. It had jarred you somewhat, how right it felt to have his hand there and how you’d nearly leaned in to meet his lips when you saw his face getting closer.

You hadn’t kissed him that day—promptly removing yourself from temptation in an attempt to salvage some shred of your professionalism. And you (mostly) felt good about that decision. It would have been reckless and destructive and your entire working relationship might have been compromised. You’d made the right call that day, you were sure of it. Mostly…

But today was different. Today, it wasn’t going to derail your career. If anything, your career was mandating you give in to those urges that had plagued you so relentlessly. And that was when it hit you all at once—the realization about as subtle as a train crashing through a wall.

You were going to fuck Eddie.

You’re going to feel firsthand what it’s like to have his face and cock buried between your legs; what it’s like to suck on his fingers and soak them with your spit before he presses them to your clit; what he sounds like when he comes all over your stomach or tits (you can’t quite recall what the script specifies, you just know it’s meant to be outside so he can dotingly clean you up after).

The barrage of thoughts that storm through your mind are so consuming, you nearly miss your cue to enter the scene. But once you do, you’re rather grateful for the distraction of the set-up dialogue:

“It’ll just be me, today. My husband has a meeting he couldn’t get out of.”

“No, no, it’s not his fault. I got it as a surprise for our anniversary—I should have known better than to book it without checking his schedule.”

“I’m afraid I never know how much to take off for a massage…what do you suggest?”

Eddie answered your last question with a smooth, “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” and a smile so warm it would melt the ice caps.

Giving him a smile of your own, you slowly pulled at the tie of your robe. It fell to the ground in a heap at your feet and Eddie’s dark eyes roved over you hungrily. Now revealed to be completely naked, you feigned some degree of shyness: ducking your head low, looking up at him from underneath your lashes, brushing your hand over your stomach as though to hide it while really drawing his eyes to its plush softness.

“Is this alright?” you asked him with a coy smirk. Eddie grinned, still drinking you in.

“Absolutely,” he breathed. And the raptness in his eyes almost had you believing him.

You took your time getting up on the table, propping yourself up on all fours, letting him (and the camera) take a good, long look at the fullness of your hips before you settled in place. Arms at your side, you took a deep breath as you laid flat on your stomach, relieved there wouldn’t be much dialogue needed for this next part.

Through the little donut headrest at the end of the table, you saw Sammy’s feet as she moved in close—filming tight on Eddie’s hands while he pumped massage oil onto them and warmed it by spreading it between his palms.

Your chest tightened, nerves coiling in your stomach as you anticipated his touch, forcing your body to keep still so you didn’t pull focus.

He smoothed some oil over your skin, starting at the ankles and thoroughly coating your calves. The smell of clary sage filled the air, earthy and warm. And underneath it, a clean and woodsy scent you recognized as Eddie’s soap wafted up to your nose when he leaned in closer.

His fingertips began to knead your muscles, slipping and sliding easily over your skin that was slick with the oil. He made tiny circles with his thumbs, alternating back and forth as they moved in a steady pattern up your calf.

Oh, that’s right…

In all the hubbub, you’d forgotten the whole concept for this shoot was borne on the fact that Eddie went to massage school for real. He’d told you before, after he left his hometown (shit, what was it again? Hawk-something…) that he started collecting different jobs like merit badges.

Just bounced from thing to thing, trying his hand (sometimes both) at whatever life presented. And that included porn. He’d said he only auditioned for that first film he did because someone he’d slept with a handful of times knew a casting director and suggested he’d be good at it.

“He certainly had the dick for it” were her exact words, if you recalled. Strange to think in a way, you might owe that girl your career.

Through the pleasurable haze your mind dipped into having Eddie’s capable hands erasing every ounce of stress you carried in your muscles, you realized he was moving the scene right along while you just lay there humming and moaning with relief at his practiced touch.

He’d lowered his voice to that deep, rumbly register he always used when he was building towards the next phase. His DM voice, as he so affectionately dubbed it. Rough and gravely, yet even and tempered, guiding both you and the audience along on the journey of this fuck.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying…but your husband’s a jackass for missings out on this.”

Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as he moved to your thighs. His fingertips dug into your flesh, kneading it like dough, letting his thumbs swerve dangerously close to your center.

“You deserve someone who puts you first…who knows what he has and worships you…”

One of his thumbs swiped briefly over your puffy lips, and you knew he felt how wet you were.

“You know, I’d never let you out of my sight if you were mine…”

His words dripped slowly and intentionally past his lips, his hands creeping higher and higher up your legs. At last, they slid over the globes of your ass and he groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, spreading you apart to see your center, soaked with arousal that had been pooling there, truth be told, from the moment Eddie had told you how beautiful you looked.

You heard Eddie’s next line in your head before he said it, “If you really want to relax, I can try a very special technique. I don’t do it for just anyone. It’s a little bit…unorthodox…”

And you were more than ready to take him up on his offer once he delivered the line.

But Eddie went off script.

Instead of hearing words, you felt the wet heat of his tongue glide through your folds as he buried his face between your spread ass cheeks. Your head popped out of the headrest, letting out a breathy moan of surprise and delight.

The shock on your face was evident as Sammy pushed in close to capture your expression, but so was your pure and utter elation. You’d never felt anything so good in your life…

And it seemed you weren’t the only one.

Eddie groaned loudly as he lapped messily at your folds, his spit mixing with your slick that covered the bottom half of his face. And it was only after a few blissful seconds of eager licking that he even realize what he’d done.

“I’m—mmph—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” He panted out in between sinful swirls of his tongue, his he words muffled by your ass cheeks because he couldn’t stand to pull away even a little, even long enough to speak. “I had to taste you…”

”It’s okay,” you answered, voice already wrecked beyond belief. “It’s okay, just keep going—”

The command is directed at him as much as it is the crew, who only panicked slightly. Eddie never did stuff like this and they just weren’t ready.

They got back on track quickly enough, Sammy signaling the boom mic to get as close as he can without dipping into frame in order to pick up every lurid slurp and suck of Eddie’s mouth.

After no more than a few minutes, the fluffy towel under you was bunched in your fists and your hips squirmed as Eddie continued to eat you out like a mad man. His tight grip on your ass cheeks held fast, spreading you wider still so his tongue could probe deeper. The sounds he pulled out of you didn’t even sound human to your ears, let alone recognizable as your own voice.

But you didn’t care.

However you sounded, however you looked, it was superfluous to what Eddie was doing and the precipice he brought you to. Your orgasm hit harder than any drug, than any physical blow. It had you shaking uncontrollably, reaching back to grip the hair at the crown of his head as your hips pushed back to meet every thrust of his tongue while you rode out your exceptional high.

You felt its tingling sensation spread to every inconsequential inch of your body, like an ocean of fire that crashed over you in wave after wave of scorching pleasure. Drowning you in it.

When you finally found the strength in your limp limbs to roll over onto your back, Eddie’s eyes were waiting to meet yours. You could see on his face how sorry he was, how worried he was he’d fucked up. And you tried to communicate with him in that mind-melding, wordless sort of way you and he always did that it was fine—that people were going to love it.

Cocking your brow at him, dipping into a more salacious tone to really sell the transformation from demure housewife to lusty adulterer, you threw in a little adlib of your own.

“That’s some technique you’ve got there,” you teased him, propping yourself up on your elbows. “My husband’s certainly never done that before.”

Eddie’s sly smile returned, his lips curling as he reached out to grip your waist. He hauled you closer with one jerk, bringing you to the edge of the table so your hips were flush with his. The bulge in his white pants was harder than ever when it pressed against your cunt, and he grinned wickedly when he felt just how ready you were for more. He yanked up the shirttail of his polo and whipped it off his body, tossing it behind him where it landed half in the pool.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he tutted softly, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Tysm for reading! 🛸 comments and reblogs keep your skin clear and your crops watered 🫶🏻

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things au

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wileys-russo · 12 days

Text

regular visitor II m.león

you exhaled shakily as you flashed your ID badge and peeled into the training complex, almost running over several pigeons pecking at the ground on your designated parking spot as your engine cut off and your head thumped against the steering wheel.

heart rate refusing to slow down from the various road rules you broke this morning you hustled to grab your things out of the car and hurry inside, well aware that due to some awful morning traffic you were running almost over an hour and a half late now.

yes it was definitely the traffics fault and not the fact you'd accidentally set your alarm for 6pm and not 6am, and considering you'd like to think of yourself as quite the punctual and professional person being on time was late for you, so this situation was something new and you loathed it beyond belief.

it wasn't a game day thankfully but you knew this would set you back dreadfully as you had appointments lined up all morning back to back, jona wanting almost all of the girls to have a quick check up and check in since most of them had only just returned from international break.

with a groan you shifted uncomfortably trying not to drop anything with your arms more than full, attempting to kick your car door shut behind you as your one free finger probed at your hips where your keys hung trying to find the lock button.

"oh hijo de puta!" you cursed as you struggled to hold everything, finally kicking your door shut but dropping your coffee and jumping back as it narrowly missed soiling your brand new white sneakers.

"un lenguaje tan grosero." you jolted in shock and almost fell over at the unexpected voice, a tattooed hand hurrying over to grab your bag right before it hit the ground as the other pressed against the small of your back to stop you toppling over.

"mapi." you exhaled with relief at the familiar face, the girl making sure you were steady on your feet before handing you back your bag, ignoring your protests as she took a few of the medical books stacked in your arms into her own.

"está bien, déjame ayudarte. quiero hacerlo!" the defender dismissed your concerns with a flick of her hand, sending you a dazzlingly white toothed smile as you took a moment to collect yourself.

"you are a little late today, no?" the girl questioned, the two of you falling into step as you smiled at her accented english.

despite the fact you did speak and understand most spanish you appreciated that a lot of the girls who spoke english did their best to do so around you, knowing you did get homesick every now and then having been born and raised in england up until around a year ago when you'd made the move to spain from manchester.

"i could say the same for you león." you quipped back making the defender send you a grin and knock her shoulder into yours. "i was allowed to sleep in. no fitness testing when you have been here training all summer." mapi smiled but you recognised it didn't quite meet her eyes as your features softened, not knowing the whole story but enough to know there were reasons she no longer played for spain.

"did you go to the library first chica?" the zaragozan teased quickly changing subject, jostling the heavy textbooks in her arms and reveling in the laughter it pulled from you as the pair of you made your way inside making small talk.

"gracias por su ayuda!" you exhaled gratefully, shifting your bag on your shoulder and holding out your arms for the books which mapi carefully placed down into them as you reached where you'd be parting ways.

"anytime." if mapi had planned to say more she didn't get the chance as you shot her another grateful smile and hurried away, the girl exhaling with an annoyed grumble at herself and wandering off toward the locker rooms.

"bon dia!" you sang out with a rushed smile, swiping your card at reception and practically sprinting toward the physio's wing, arriving to your office with a sigh of relief seeing there wasn't a line of disgruntled players yet.

"jona called a captains meeting to get everyone on the same page so everything's been pushed back, i took care of the younger girls who had the first appointments and rearranged the rest to come in after breakfast, you're fine amiga. breathe!" carmen the other physio on today assured as you collapsed at your desk with a groan, a thump sounding as you dropped everything and your limbs burned from the effort.

"thank you!" you gestured up to the sky making the woman laugh and sit down across from you, running you through the schedule for the day as you hurried to tidy everything up, grabbing out your diary and scribbling down the changes.

"so andrés and peter are in for the afternoon too?" you clarified, the tests for the girls hoping to be returning from injury this weekend having been moved to after lunch as carmen nodded and you were relieved to hear you'd be sharing the load.

"sí. makes it smoother to go through everyone on the list without having to rush anything or hold anyone back later than needed." the woman explained as you nodded in agreement.

a knock at the door gained your attention as you looked up to see a familiar face hovering in the doorway. "bon dia mapi!" carmen greeted her, taking her copy of the schedule and promising she'd be back soon for your upcoming meeting with a few of the other staff, and with a coffee in hand for you as you blew her a kiss with a grateful sigh.

"long time no see león." you teased as the defender gave you a grin. "i had to make sure nobody moved my chair." mapi huffed nodding to the padded massage chair she'd gotten all too familiar with during her rehab the last few months which you'd headed.

"moved it since you were sat in it...yesterday? you know maybe i should just get you your own personal bench at this point, with your initials and everything." you continued with a wink as mapi perked up and your gaze dropped back to your diary in front of you.

"are you here for help or for a chat maps?" you asked, half serious and half joking as you did have a busy day ahead, the defender rolling her eyes playfully.

"it is a professional visit, but we will chat anyway." mapi nodded confidently which you couldn't deny, but the footballer also had no leg to stand on as she did often find herself hanging about in your office in little bubbles of free time with no real reason bar wanting to talk to you.

though if you knew the real reasons why she seemed to hover, and if you'd caught on at all to the way she often shamelessly flirted with you, you'd made no move to show her so.

"tape time?" you laughed knowingly, a flurry of nods greeting you as you gestured for her to take a seat.

"so how was being back home?" mapi questioned with a smile, grabbing out what you needed as she hauled herself up onto the bench.

"like, overnight? it was fine!" you chuckled with a shake of your head. "no! during the break. you were gone for a week." mapi blushed slightly and hoped you hadn't heard the shake in her voice as you hunted around for another roll of tape.

she'd wanted to speak to you about it yesterday but all of this week you'd been busy preparing for everyone returning and the impending season, not having had much time to sit and talk with her like you normally would.

"oh that, it was nice." you smiled politely, not giving much away. "so whats troubling you today then?" you asked moving to stand over her as a panicked look crossed her face.

"qué? what do you mean?" mapi frowned in confusion, shuffling back a little to give you more room. "with the tape. what do you need taped mapi? your knee?" you chuckled, the girl exhaling with a noise of understanding.

"oh! sí. the knee, i went for a run last night and it has been a little...tight since." mapi shrugged as you nodded in understanding, the defender cleared for mostly everything now since her initial recovery and rehab.

"mm yeah there is a little tension. have you done much in the way of hard cardio outside of training since we cleared you?" you asked, massaging her knee and thigh expertly in your hands as mapi opened and closed her mouth, distracted temporarily by the way you were touching and squeezing her.

the girl loathed how around you her tongue and her words seemed to fail her, confidence not something she had ever ever struggled with but for some reason all it took was a bright eyed smile and a laugh from you and her mind would go blank.

"mapi?" you asked with a concerned frown when she didn't answer, the defender shaking her head for a moment. "oh! sí a little. i have been trying to fix my sleep schedule but when i cannot sleep, i try to go for a run." the girl admitted with a small smile and you pretended not to already know she was in therapy given it was part of her rehab program anyway, but you knew better than to every question any of the girls on things outside your realm of qualifications.

"that makes the nap you took yesterday make more sense." you teased with a grin as she scoffed. "i did not sleep! i was uh...how do you say? resting my eyes." mapi defended herself with a scowl making you laugh.

"oh? i did not know people snored when they rest their eyes." you smiled, the knot in her knee a little less prominent mapi tried to pretend she didn't miss the feelings of your hands on her as you backed off to measure out the tape.

"i do not snore!" mapi huffed, crossing her arms. "sure." you drawled sarcastically with a smile, gesturing for her to stretch out her leg as you wrapped the tape around expertly.

"vamos! off you go. if you are late for strength training carlos will have my head on a platter." you chuckled as she hopped down and you sat back at your desk. "head on a platter?" the girl gave you a face of confusion as you smiled.

"i would get the blame." you explained, shooing your hands at her and nodding at the door as you opened your laptop, fingers clicking away against the keys and mapi paused in the doorway for a moment.

"oye. would you want to-" you looked up with a quirked eyebrow and the eye contact seemed to suck the question from her as the spaniard shook her head, mumbling something and hurrying out of the room.

you'd just finished your check ups with a few more of the girls later in the day when you the familiar face poped back in only a few hours after you'd already seen her.

"again! what can i do for you this time maría?" you chucked, turning around and missing the way pina shot her a knowing look on her way out, shoving the girl and muttering something in her ear as she left the room.

"my calves are locked up." mapi pulled herself to sit up on the bench again as you hummed, grabbing out a bottle of massage oil and gesturing for her to lay down.

"did you overload the leg press again?" you sighed as she gave you a guilty smile and you shook your head. "mapi you know that if-" you started to lecture as she groaned.

"sí, lo sé! i have to be careful even if i am cleared. there are still risks." mapi parroted the words she'd heard from you time and time again. "then use these to listen!" you warned, tugging playfully at her ear as she chuckled.

the girl breathed a sigh of relief as you began to massage out the knots and tension in her lower legs, and though that wasn't the reason she'd really come here, it was a bonus.

"so how was your time back home?" mapi questioned again, propping herself up on one arm to look at you over her shoulder. "you already asked me that, it was nice!" you reminded with a laugh, the midfielders face flushing bright red in embarrassment.

"gah! more than nice. what did you do?" mapi asked, persistent to get a little more out of you which amused you. "saw family, spent time with my friends, caught up on all my paperwork because my patients don't listen to instructions about not overdoing it!" you answered with a wink, mapi's head thumping back down onto the bench as she looked to the floor.

"i do not always overdo it." you heard her grumble and merely smiled, the defender seemingly giving up on her questions as a comfortable silence fell between the pair of you.

"vale! all done." you squeezed her ankle and moved to wash your hands. "esperet! my uh, my shoulder is a little tight. we were doing...throw ins!" mapi quickly sat up as you narrowed your eyes.

"mm well we can't have that." you gestured for her to turn around as you gave her shoulder a squeeze. "higher or lower?" you asked, the spaniard guiding you to where her 'pain' was.

"okay, shirt off." you instructed as mapi quickly stripped off her training top leaving her in only a sports bra, and you ever so briefly caught the pink tint which coated her cheeks before her head faced the wall.

"so...what are you doing after work today?" mapi asked, wincing at the awkwardness in her tone, again never finding herself so tongue tied around anyone else.

"going home." you chuckled with a smile, working through the basically non existent knot in her shoulder but choosing not to say anything. "oh! cool." mapi nodded, pulling a face which she was grateful you couldn't see.

"you know, if you have something to ask me mapi, you can just ask." you encouraged, unsure if you were misreading the situation but having a feeling she was dancing around her true intentions and had been for awhile now.

"because you know if you wanted to ask me out you can just do it. instead of making up all of these injuries and excuses to come and hang out with me in here during work hours." you spoke casually but the words caused mapi to choke on air as she spun around and pulled her shirt back on.

you watched with amusement as the footballer opened and closed her mouth clearly in shock, causing a grin to curl into your features not used to seeing her so flustered.

"you're cute mapi, but we gotta work on your confidence!" you patted her leg with a smile, stepping back a little. "i have confidence, lots of it!" she blurted out with a frown as you hummed, waiting a moment for her to say anything else and chuckling when nothing followed.

"i'm free tonight, if you were wondering." you sat down at your desk and pulled out alexia's file, seeing her for a one on one next. "oh. oh!" things clicked for mapi as you raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to add some more on with a subtle wave of your hands.

"dinner. would you like to go and eat dinner, with me. a date! will you go on a date with me por favor?" mapi finally managed out, the pink flush creeping up her neck causing her to tug uncomfortably at the collar of her training top.

"sí, i'd love to." you answered softly, watching as her face lit up like that of a kid on christmas morning.

"vale. bien! genial!" mapi nodded happily, making a beeline for the door as you cleared your throat and she came to a halt. "would you like my number so we can make a plan for dinner?" you asked, her face perking up even further as she nodded.

you held your hand out for her phone, saving your number in it and handing it back to her. "you better text me león." you warned playfully as she backed out of the room. "i will! promesa." you melted at the dopey grin on her face as she left, hearing her footsteps thud away.

"estás muy guapa hoy!" your head lifted up as hers popped back in, sending you a charming grin before disappearing again, racing off away to the gym as you let out a laugh and focused back on your laptop in front of you, smile unable to be wiped from your lips the rest of the day.

#in such a mapi era rn i’m feral #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #woso x reader #woso community #woso #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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roturo · 2 months

Text

Gojo Satoru who’s beginning to fall in love with his sugar baby!

read pt 1 before continuing.

As you slept soundly beside him, Gojo stared at the ceiling, the silence of the room amplifying his internal struggle. He reached for his phone again, scrolling aimlessly through messages, trying to distract himself. He considered messaging another of his reliable sugar babies, seeking a familiar escape.

In the days spent together, Gojo had learned things about you he had never thought to ask his other girls. Your favorite books, the way you liked your coffee, the stories behind your scars—small details that painted a fuller picture of who you were. It had always been clear that this was just an arrangement, a job with no strings attached. Talking about the other sugar babies had never been an issue for either of you.

But for the string to tense, it needs both sides to feel, but as stubborn he is, he never pulled the car off the road to the lookout, if so he would have followed his fears all the way down and choose what he really wants.

The weight of his phone in his hand grew heavier, and with a sigh, he set it aside. Getting up from the bed, giving you one last glance before he starts to get ready and leave this time. The thought of reaching out to someone else felt wrong, a betrayal not just to you but to himself. He was beginning to see that what he felt for you was different, deeper. But acknowledging that meant facing his fears, his insecurities, and the possibility of real emotional connection.

As weeks passed, Gojo Satoru was just starting to become a stranger whose laugh you could recognize anywhere, the moments of passion now turned into his rage being dumped into you while he fucked you. Saying your name over and over again like if he stopped you would disappear from his embrace.

Gojo Satoru glared at you, his eyes dark and full of fury. "Strip," He commanded, his voice rough as he stared at your beautiful body in somewhat awe with the new lingerie set he bought for you.

You hesitated for a moment, the tension in the room palpable, before complying, peeling off your clothes. Gojo's gaze raked over your body, his expression with a hint of satisfaction and doubt.

"On top of the bed. Get on your knees," He growled, his voice monotone.

You did as he commanded, your heart pounding in your chest. The air was thick with the tension between you, he couldn’t stop the feeling of loss.

Gojo's hand grabbed the back of your head, forcing you back into a kneeling position. "I'm going to fuck you now, and I suggest you to enjoy it," He warned, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You shuddered, your body trembling under his anger. Gojo's cock was hard and ready, his size intimidating. He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

With a hard thrust, he entered you from behind, his size stretching you in a way that left you gasping. "God, you're so tight," He growled, his voice thick with lust and need.

Gojo began to move, his hips slamming into you with brutal force. You cried out, your body arching under his rough handling. His hands gripped your hips, his nails digging in.

"Take it, sugar," He snarled, his thrusts harsh and unforgiving. "Make sure you remember this when you’re fucking another guy that isn’t me."

You whimpered, your body quivering under his rough treatment. Gojo's anger fueled as he thought of you being with someone else, each thrust stronger than the last. You clenched your fists, your body trembling under the onslaught.

His hand cupped your breast, his thumb rolling your nipple teasingly. "You like this, don't you?” He asked, his voice laced with venom. “You like to unpuzzle me piece by piece right?”

"What?..." you whispered, your body growing tense with the mixture of confusion and pleasure.

He smirked, his hips jerking faster. "Sshit," he growled, his grip on you tightening. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

The room echoed with the sounds of your sex, the cries and moans of pleasure and pain intertwining. Gojo's riled up emotions fueled his thrusts, his own pleasure nearing its climax. "Cum for me, you little tease," He spat, his eyes never leaving you.

Your moans grew louder, your body trembling under his aggressive actions. You were at his mercy, your body aching for release. "Gojo, I...I can't take it anymore," you panted, your nails digging into the mattress.

Gojo's eyes darkened with hunger as he watched your reaction. "Good, then let it all out," he growled, his hips slamming into yours, his need for you clear in each thrust.

Your moans grew louder, your nails digging into the floor, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure built like a tidal wave. "Satoru, I...I need you to claim me, completely," you panted, your need for him overpowering any sense of control you still had.

Gojo's eyes blazed with an indescribable emotion as he watched your body writhe beneath him.

It’s been a while since your last encounter, and he couldn’t stop himself from visiting you again after he went shopping supposedly for his other sugar babies but ended up considering which clothes, jewels, and things would look good on you or in your apartment. It was like airplane mode once he finished up shopping and went straight to your home, opening the door with the shared key you gave him.

Ever since he tried to distract himself from you, your body, your smell, your smile, your eyes, he has found himself going anywhere he wants, just not home.

He has lost someone once, and he couldn’t risk losing the new piece of emotion he found in the darkest place of his interior, Deciding to set it away and be as far as possible from it. But something wrapped all of his past mistakes in barbed wire, setting a string that pulled him out of strangers arms into coming back to you.

Every single time.

So when he knocked on your door, willing to throw away every second thought of insecurity, fuck even considering to stop being a sorcerer to spend all his time devoted to you, his biggest fear.

He could go back in time and change it, never meet you, but he can’t. So if the chain is on your door, he understands. But this is him swallowing his pride, standing in front of you, saying sorry for interrupting you with another man.

A/N: pt3? really turn this into a serie?

tag: @staruus @bloopsstuff

#gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo satoru angst

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bloodmoonmuses · 3 months

Text

come back to me | mark lee

summary: your boyfriend, mark, drunkenly recounts the day the two of you met. (mostly to prove to haechan and johnny that love does, in fact, exist. even in the most unlikely of places.)

genre: mark lee x reader, established relationship kinda... but, like, also a meet cute? young love and all that jazz lol

It’s cold outside, the beginnings of winter trickling in with bitter fervor, yet you’re warm. Or rather, being warmed by the illusion of heat that courses through your veins: liquid courage. Now on your second bottle of soju, your form feels pliant, watery even, as you sway in the wind of your friends’ joy.

In a booth (the leather of which is crackling at the seams) that forms a sort of semi circle, sits you, Mark, Johnny and Haechan. The wooden table before you is littered in plastic shot “glasses” and fried chicken wings that have been picked clean, and the bar is quite lively despite it nearing one in the morning. You lie your head against Mark’s shoulder, lost in the feeling of his muscles tensing and relaxing repeatedly beneath it.

“You good?” Mark whispers to you, shimming slightly as if to jostle a response out of you.

The words that escape your mouth feel fuzzy on your tongue, staticky around the edges. “Never been better.”

For some reason, the night has taken a nostalgic turn, fueled by the alcohol in everyone’s system. Haechan and Johnny have been arguing about their love lives for the better part of an hour. It never fails to amuse you how much they like bickering simply for the sake of it. You tuned out about ten minutes ago when Haechan brought up Johnny’s commitment issues only to be met with a rebuttal about him using humor as a coping mechanism. Both comments clearly strike a nerve in the men respectively, deciding to psychoanalyze their exes in chronological order in an attempt to disprove the validity of one another's assertions.

“I don’t like that we can’t make fun of Mark right now,” Johnny confesses when he’s finished talking about an ex who turned out to be a closeted sasaeng, turning his attention to you and Mark.

Haechan scrunches his nose, gazing upon you as well. “Look at you two… All cozied up- it’s disgusting.”

“Hey man,” Mark starts, “don’t blame me for the lack of love in your life.” You punctuate his declaration with a kiss on the cheek, giddy and lovey-dovey in your drunken state. “See?”

Johnny pretends to gag.

“How’d you meet anyway?” Haechan asks, “-so I can avoid any scenario involving… that.”

“Mark hasn’t told you the story in, like, excruciating detail?” you scoff. “He’s told everyone.”

Haechan shakes his head.

“Oh God, don’t get him started,” Johnny groans. Mark sits upright, effectively knocking your head off of his shoulder, ecstatic with the chance to relay the way you met each other in its sappy glory.

“Spring,” Mark starts. “I was seventeen, so I had just debuted a year before, and-”

The cherry blossoms. They were stunning, you remember. Glistening and quivering under the weight of all the raindrops that had accumulated on them. The sheen of puddles scattered on the roads and sidewalks... You took the bus to work, a little cafe job you worked while finishing up your requirements at the international school you attended, and during that time of year, those bus rides were some of the most peaceful times in your day to day life.

You think back to your youth, bright eyes aged only seventeen years, and how the world then seemed filled to brim with possibility. One day in particular, a chilly one towards the end of spring, you remember watching Mark enter the bus, his boyishness evident in his untied shoelaces and clunkily carried guitar case. On his back was a spiderman backpack, you remember vividly, and his hair is frizzy from how light he’s bleached it. He comes off a bit frazzled as you watch him stumble into a seat, precariously balancing a flimsy pair of headphones on his head, and settle in it with his knees bent.

Once he’s gathered his bearings, he takes off his backpack and retrieves a notebook and pen, placing it on his knees, and begins to write frantically- like if he doesn't put pen to paper in this exact nanosecond, the idea will leave and never return. In a world of sloth and languidness, you’re fascinated by his urgency. You take off your own headphones to hear how he sounds in the context of silence, it is seven in the morning after all, and it only draws you in further. The scratching of the pen against the paper, orchestrated by the humming that just barely escapes his lips lulling you into a state of hypnosis.

Periodically, he furrows his brows, tries out a different melody, then writes some more- over and over again, until the pattern becomes more fluid. More succinct. Like the beginnings of a fully fledged song. He’s smiling now, and you find yourself unknowingly mirroring his joy, the fuzziness of it spreading up your neck like a campfire consuming its kindling. You’re enraptured.

You want to live inside his head. What a superpower to have; to breathe life into written language. And then suddenly, he’s stuffing his notebook into his backpack as quickly as he had taken it out. His stop must be coming up soon, you had thought to yourself.

After putting his feet back on the ground, he gingerly places his palms against the bus window- as if to test its temperature. When deemed cool enough, he exhales against the glass, quickly etching a heart onto its foggy surface with a squeak. His fingers are calloused, that much you can tell even from across the bus, and he’s tired- if the bags under his eyes are any indication. Then, the bus crawls to a stop, and he stands. Again, you’re mirroring him instantly, body moving before your mind can catch up. It’s not your stop, yours is another three down, but you exit nonetheless, too enthralled by the boy in front of you to let him out of your sight.

You walk about a block, maintaining about a ten foot distance between the two of you, and watch him hobble down the sidewalk with his huge guitar case. He grunts occasionally, adjusting and readjusting his baggage when the weight becomes too much, humming all the while. Until, of course, he turns around, tearing the headphones off of his head, and asks, “Are you following me?!” in a frustrated huff.

You stop in your tracks. Oh wait, you had thought, you are sorta following him. Well, the cafe is in this direction technically but-

“You’re not one of those people with a fansite, are you? Look, dude, I know we debuted last year, but I want a normal life just like-”

“I’m not a fan. I mean, not yet, I guess. Well- no. I was just… I’m not following you. Mostly.” you stammer.

Mark scratches his head. “Then, what are you doing…?”

“You were writing a song on the bus,” you look at the ground, staring at your shoes in search of some solace, reprieve from the then stranger’s prying eyes. How did you think this would turn out any other way? “I thought maybe, you could… sing it. Like, out loud.”

Mark sighs. “Look, dude, I have practice and-”

“Right. I’m sorry for being weird, you just looked… Nevermind. Have a nice day- sorry to bother you.” You turn on your heels, in the complete opposite of the cafe you’re supposed to be going to, and make a break for it. As you trek up the hill, you shatter your reflection over and over again, the splashing of puddles beneath your feet the only sound tethering you to reality.

“It’s not finished-” Mark starts, voice cutting through the rustling leaves and bustling city with piercing clarity. You’re frozen, still facing away from the hypnotist behind you. “-but I could show you the idea. Because that’s what it is right now. Just an idea.”

You turn to face him. “Um. Sure. If that’s okay.”

Haechan interjects Mark’s storytelling, words warbling from his completion of a third bottle of soju for the night. “No way you actually sat down and played the song for-”

“Shh!” Johnny says, “This is the best part.”

“See, I knew you secretly loved this mushy-gushy stuff,” you say.

Mark giggles. “So, like I was saying-”

You sit on a bench freckled cherry blossom petals and just-dried droplets of dew, knee bouncing nervously when Mark plops down beside you. Mark sets his guitar case down, flat in front of him, and opens it. Retrieving his notebook from his backpack once again, he places it on your lap, surprisingly enough. Wordlessly, he puts his guitar in his lap, throwing the strap over his neck and shoulders, and cranes his neck to re-familiarize himself with his feverishly scrawled ideas. Just before he strums the first note, he says, “Just an idea. Keep that in mind.”

Then he sings. A mix and hesitant laments of love lost, then found, yearning for the past, but hopeful for the future. But other words are not words at all. They’re more, like, messily sung runs. Like he’s sketching lightly, so he can erase later. He’s got a hook. He sings it three times, and the way his Adam's apple bobbles is now permanently etched in your mind. When he’s done, he opens his eyes slowly, assessing the damage done. He almost looks surprised that you’re still sitting there.

You whisper, voice whisked away in the gentle breeze, “I never asked your name.”

“Mark. Just Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, ‘Just Mark’.”

“What do you think? How do you feel?” Two entirely different questions, both of which hit your ear in a way that makes your stomach leap- or maybe it’s the gravelly timbre of his voice and unsure eyes.

“Good,” Mark’s eyes spur you on further, silently asking you to elaborate, “The song sounds good and I feel good.”

“Is that the only adjective you know? ‘Good’?”

“I know a lot of adjectives. I’m just… nervous. So, yeah.”

Mark grabs his notebook and returns it to his backpack, packing up his guitar as well. As he stands to leave, he turns and says, “Your name.”

“What?”

“You never told me your name.”

“_______,” you reply meekly.

“And your hand,” he urges, “give it to me.” You extend your arm and Mark delicately grasps your wrist. Then, Mark nervously scrawls his number on your palm, pen digging into your skin slightly.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“If you have any thoughts beyond it being ‘good’, gimme a call.” And just like that, he’s gone, running down the hill to make it to practice on time.

As Mark ends his retelling of events with a wistful hum, Haechan chortles. “Yeah. You two disgust me.”

#bloodmoonmuses #mark lee fic #nct 127 #nct 127 fluff #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream fic #mark lee imagines #nct #nct fanfic

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ssahotchnerr · 5 months

Text

speculation - aaron hotchner x reader

aaron confides in you his suspicions haley is cheating on him.

cw: bau!reader, takes place in s3 timeline - before the divorce, angst, mentions of adultery and unfaithfulness, aaron's sad but not really showing it (naturally), light foreshadowing that someday aaron and reader get together <3 wc; 1.2k

aaron's hands gripped the steering wheel and his stare was pointed forward, the atmosphere heavy in the car. grey clouds had been rolling in all morning, and now the rain was just beginning to fall, a light sprinkle pattering on the windshield.

the two of you had just frequented a crime scene, departing after a rather tense situation - one of the investigators had nearly disrupted the crime scene in a lazy wake, and aaron had thoroughly allowed him to know his mistake.

while aaron was always stern, it was... different this time.

"hotch?"

at his name, you managed to pull him from of his thoughts - you could tell by the way his jaw moved, his grip on the wheel ever so lightly loosening.

aaron didn't respond though; figuring he wasn't too keen on sharing whatever was on his mind, you put your focus out the window, watching the rain begin to slowly collect on the road.

"haley's cheating."

your head turned towards him in an instant, a sickening dread beginning to pool in your stomach at the blunt confession. "what?"

"haley's cheating on me." he fought against the brokenness that dared to ache in his voice, remaining solid and firm in his words. he released a breath, as if saying it out loud made it real; the final confirmation he needed himself. "i may just be paranoid, creating something out of nothing. but things have been... strange."

"oh." your shoulders slumped, the back of your head hitting your headrest.

"strange enough it's been noticeable."

"what's been going on?"

"weird phone calls." he bit his lip as he gazed off to the side, as if he were recalling an instance internally, his hold tightening once again. "she's been more distant. uninterested. sometimes, when she comes home, she won't look me in the eye."

ouch. "i'm sorry."

it was rather surprising, in an odd way. to the naked eye, aaron was someone who was well put together; phenomenal at his job, a clear key-in for potential director of the bureau someday. from an outsider perspective, one could infer he lived a perfect life, and therefore had the perfect family to go along with it.

if he wasn't confiding in you, that's what you would've thought.

aaron didn't talk about his personal life - that's one thing you quickly learned upon your addition to the team, a month or two ago. you could recall what penelope had for breakfast, what books spencer had read in a day, what color underwear morgan had currently on.

anything about aaron, nothing.

whether it was because he was your boss, or because he wasn't an openly expressive person, you always went back to the guilty thought - has anyone at least ever asked?

while you all went out for drinks after a long day, aaron never usually attended. but he had a family at home, of course he would go home to them - that's where his priorities laid.

the constant secrecy surrounding him was the reason you've been so intrigued by him since day one - spending so much time with someone you knew nothing about.

and if you learned anything now, he wasn't going home to the home you had previously thought. it was barely a home, he was more so a guest. you were slowly beginning to understand more why he rarely smiled.

aaron hotchner was just as human as anyone else.

even now, he wasn’t showing much emotion. it was evident he was extremely hurt, and had all the emotions one could imagine. but would he distinctly let that on, letting his vulnerability show - no.

aaron opened his mouth to respond, slight hesitation before he spoke. he began to deflect, "but i could just-"

"no. listen to your intuition." you interrupted softly, grounded. "like you said, if you're taking notice, something's going on."

he nodded in agreement, the motion of his head strained. he did force out a chuckle, a terribly sad laugh. "part of me doesn't blame her-"

"don't say that. she's your wife."

"exactly." aaron sighed out, eyeing the wedding ring on his left hand. "there's something i could've done to prevent this. to keep her interested. to solidify i'm still here for her despite the long hours and schedule. instead i'm the husband and father who's never home. and it's difficult to be the husband i want with the possible betrayal."

"she's your wife." you repeated, solemnly. "so she should know you. you're the husband and father who stops at nothing to catch the criminals who walk amongst us. you're this job, and asking for understanding on that isn't wrong. regardless of what you say you're doing wrong, or have done wrong, it doesn't give haley the excuse to... do this."

you didn't want to say cheat. not for his sake - the depth of the word felt harsh and prominent in your chest.

"i appreciate you saying that." his eyes met yours briefly, the tone of his voice genuine. "but i messed up. i guess what they say about getting needs met elsewhere is true."

you quieted.

aaron also added after a moment, in an exasperated near-whisper. "and besides... i don't think she's known me in a while."

silence filled the car once more, and you let out an exhale. you felt for him, and his marriage. you couldn't imagine what it felt like, or how he felt: the person who you thought was your forever slipping through your fingers - like trying to catch smoke. it was there, you just couldn't grasp it.

you hoped you weren't overstepping boundaries with your next question. "does she know..."

"that i know?" aaron asked, and you nodded. he kept his stare forward, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. "i believe so, yeah."

you waited for him to speak again, while he was confiding in you, you didn't want to pry - none of really this was your business. you at least hoped it was clear you were offering support within the silence.

and you must've, because he continued. "i feel sick to my stomach it could be happening in my house. in my bed. with our son in the next room over." he shook his head angrily with the last sentence, in disbelief as he clicked the windshield wipers on, the rain falling more heavily now. "i lie awake at night when we're gone, just thinking what's going on at the moment."

"i wouldn't do that." you offered quietly, although you knew that advice was nearly impossible to follow. "you will make yourself sick."

aaron vaguely shook his head again, defeated. "i don't know what else to do."

you weren't sure what to say, or exactly why he was telling you all this. again, you didn't know him well. and not only, in a way, he terrified you, in more ways than one. the only way you could describe it - when he looked at you, he really looked at you. you were terrified of what he could make you realize about yourself.

"so, what are you going to do?"

"i don't know."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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