#and i seriously don't mind any time frame

[cptnpike-a]

am i the odd one, or you guys?   cause a lot of times i see people apologizing for taking a while to reply to memes, and i’m always like ???    and maybe that’s cause i have a terrible short term memory, but i always forget whom i have sent memes to / when i did.

and i personally see the memes i received as...   suggestions and reply to them as i want / as i please, if i have ideas?    i delete them sometimes if i don’t see where to go with this / i don’t feel like writing what is there.

yes, memes have become a lot more important than starters in the past few years, there has been a shift in the way a lot of people write, i think.    but i still tend to value drafts / plotted starters more, and see memes as something...   almost personal sometimes.    cause i know a lot of people won’t continue the memes (and even if they do...    i don’t feel as obligated to reply to that as i do to a proper thread, as there was no binding contract saying this was a thread that was going to continue).    while i love people continuing memes, and i encourage them, like, in my mind, its not a proper real thing yet.

does this make sense???    

[sescoups]

on my knees - choi seungcheol

masterlist

summary: your best friend and roommate is out of the country, and you come home to find nothing short of a disaster. who else would you have called but her brother?

word count: ~9k oops

a/n: I have no fucking clue what happened to me, but I just started writing and then didn't stop for like 4 hours so. here you go. you're welcome and also I'm sorry.

18+ MDNI!! warnings under the cut!

warnings: heavy kissing, seungcheol is the epitome of a Simp, p in v sex, unprotected sex (don't), oral sex (f receiving), slight size kink, let me know if I missed something!

You had been best friends with Sua since you were both six years old. One of the older boys had pushed you onto the ground, wanting to be ahead of you in the line for the slide. Most of the other kids had laughed as tears started pouring down your cheeks, your knee rubbed red and raw and your pretty dress covered in dust and gravel.

“Are you really so immature you can’t even wait your turn?” a small voice had piped up.

Through the haze of your tears, you had seen a pretty black-haired girl kneel down to help you out. She had brushed away the worst of the dirt from your dress, and leaned in to look at your knee.

“I don’t know much about scrapes,” she said thoughtfully, “but I think you should clean it. That’s what my mom always says to me and my brother.” Then she smiled before standing up and glaring at the boy again. “You’re a poopyhead, and I will never play with you.”

Thinking back on it as adults, you always laughed at her phrasing; even more amusing was the way the little boy had taken Sua’s comment way too seriously and tried to fight her in the playground. Before any of the adults had been able to intervene, Sua’s older brother had stepped between the two of them menacingly, arms crossed across his chest. He was three years older, so the other boy quickly back-tracked when faced with Seungcheol’s nine-year old frame. After the little boy had run away out of fear, crying, the two siblings had helped you off the ground and to your parents.

The rest was history; playdates as children, study dates in middle and high school, and spending every single summer vacation together. You had gone from climbing trees to shopping at the mall, and from learning the alphabet to crying your way through chemistry together. Well, you more than her, but still. The suffering was mutual.

Your dynamic remained largely unchanged throughout the years. You were the crier, and Sua was the fixer. You hated the way you cried at the smallest inconveniences, and often felt bad for Sua for having to fix it, but she always said it was cute. She said you were just like that, and that was okay. Sua had her own quirks, mainly being quick to anger - you reassured her that you didn’t mind holding her back from fights and silencing her before she could yell insults at undeserving people, so really, you were the same. Just, you know, in a different way.

Another thing that never really changed was the way Seungcheol took care of the both of you. He helped out with homework when he could, taught Sua how to fight (truly a dubious decision considering her anger, but that was his business and not yours), and scared away any icky boys that were mean to you.

It was a very different dynamic to how other siblings seemed to act, but since you were an only child, you wouldn’t really know. Though, to be fair, he seldom held back the snarky comments when the opportunity presented itself. He would roll his eyes whenever you cried, call Sua an idiot when she didn’t understand a math problem, and generally be a dick when you played games together. It was all in good fun, you supposed.

Now, being 24 years old and two years out of college, Sua was your roommate and your rock. She was the one who put up with your generally messy habits and lack of cooking acumen, and she only complained once a month or so. In return, you were the one to make sure bills were paid on time and keep the freezer stocked with ice cream during the hot summer months. A symbiotic relationship, if you’d ever seen one.

You saw significantly less of Seungcheol, though he was far from an uncommon fixture in your household. He knew the code for the keypad on the door, so sometimes he just showed up unannounced to raid your kitchen and take a nap on your couch, but you didn’t mind. He did tend to fix anything that was broken and clean up whatever you couldn’t be bothered to, so the transaction was fair in your opinion.

One fateful Tuesday, you received a call during your lunch break at work. Usually, you wouldn’t answer, preferring to take your 45 minutes to scroll down your social media feeds aimlessly while eating your food, but Sua had always had special privileges, so you picked up anyway.

“Hey, sorry, I know I’m interrupting your scheduled vegetable time,” she started, and you snorted in response.

“I am not eating anything with vegetables in it, and I think you know it.” You were opening the store-bought lunchbox while speaking, your phone tucked between your elbow and your cheek.

“If I didn’t cook you dinner every day, you would have scurvy,” she shot back without a second’s hesitation. “No, dumbass, I meant your own brain-turning-to-vegetable time. Duh.”

“Oh, that,” you replied, unphased by her insults and generally snarky tone. You were used to it. And also kind of deserved it.

“Yeah. Well anyway, something came up at work and I’m gonna have to take an unscheduled work trip.”

“Cool. Where to?”

“Tokyo, so not that far,” she sighed, and you could picture her running her fingers through her hair. She never did well with unexpected travel plans. “I have to leave tonight. I just thought I’d let you know, so you can make plans to get takeout tonight.”

You scoffed down the line, placing a forkful of bulgogi in your mouth and chewing quickly. God bless convenience store lunchboxes. “I know how to take care of myself, mom.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you slob.” Again, you could picture Sua’s nose crinkling in disgust. “I’m kidding, by the way. I know you can take care of yourself. Just letting you know I’m leaving so you don’t think I’ve been kidnapped or killed or something.”

“Thank God I don’t have to deal with the paperwork for a missing person,” you deadpanned and took a drink of your Sprite. “No but for real, enjoy the trip. I’ll be fine, and so will you.”

“Thanks,” your best friend sighed back. “I’ll be back in a week or so. I’m gonna go home and pack now, so if anything’s a mess when you get home- actually, nevermind. That doesn’t bother you at all. Bye.”

“Hey-” you started to protest, but the line went dead and you rolled your eyes.

Well. At least now you could have sushi for dinner without having to listen to Sua complain about the smell of raw fish.

You were so ready to become a couch potato as soon as you came home. One of the new employees at work, Jun, had screwed up a pretty important document, so you’d had to stay late and help him fix it. It wasn’t his fault, he was still new, but you were tired nonetheless. You took your shoes off by the door and turned the lights on in the kitchen, placing the bag of takeout on the counter before you heard it.

The water.

You had never had any issues with the pipes in your apartment, but something had obviously gone wrong with the pipes under the bathroom sink, because the floor was absolutely flooded. You gasped and shut your eyes tightly for a second, willing the problem to be miraculously gone as soon as you opened them again. Alas, no such luck.

The tears pressed behind your eyes, begging to make their escape. You tried to hold them back as you thought about what to do to solve the problem. The faucet wasn’t on, so it was definitely the pipes. Damn. You thought about calling the apartment management and asking for help, but their turnover time was two days at the best of times, and the office was already closed for the day. You heaved a deep sigh as you settled on the best option you could think of. You pressed the name in your contacts and begged the universe that he would pick up.

“What’s up?”

Seungcheol sounded relaxed and unbothered, and you could hear the chatter of a TV in the background. You hated to bother him, but hey, it was his little sister’s apartment too. You cleared your throat to try and get rid of the thickness in your throat brought on by the tears.

“Hey, Cheol,” you began, and you heard him sit up immediately and pause whatever was playing on the TV.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He sounded worried; he usually only called you an endearment when he was worried or teasing you. Clearing your throat had evidently not been enough to get rid of the tears in your voice. Some of them finally escaped in tracks down your cheeks, and you swore, leaning your forehead against the doorframe.

“So uh, I just got home, and Sua isn’t here because she’s in Tokyo and I-”

“Y/N, I don’t care about Sua right now. I know she’s fine, she landed half an hour ago. What’s going on with you?”

“The guest bathroom is flooded, like completely, and I don’t know what to do.”

You heard the rustling of clothes and what sounded like keys jingling through the phone. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were fucking dying,” Seungcheol scolded, and you hiccupped a little, apologizing. “No, don’t worry darling, I’m coming over to help, okay?”

“Okay.”

You were sniffling, and you heard him curse under his breath. You hung up after a quick goodbye, and then you were left alone with the mess again. Looking closer, you realized that the bath mat was soaked along with a towel left on the floor. You sighed and took your socks off, deciding to do something productive while waiting for your knight in shining armor.

You took a picture and sent it to Sua, who replied immediately with a bunch of question marks and swear words directed to the apartment management. She also realized they would be no help at this hour. Great.

Once the soaked bath mat and towel were hung up and dripping into the tub as opposed to the flooded floor, you started clearing out some of the decorations that were taking up floor space. There was a giant plant, two laundry baskets, and a really heavy wooden dresser that held all your clean towels - you didn’t want the wood to rot.

You heard the door open while you were in the process of moving the plant. Honestly, you should have waited for Seungcheol to move this one; the plant was heavy as fuck and really awkward to carry, and you could feel your back protesting before you had even gotten it outside of the bathroom.

“What the hell, Y/N.”

The voice was closely followed by a pair of hands grabbing the plant from you and heaving it outside of the door in mere seconds. Showoff.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asked after placing the plant down on a towel, grabbing your upper arm gently. You nodded, and he sighed, squeezing your arm. “Let’s see the- oh fuck.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Hysterically. The bathroom floor was covered in two inches of water, and the sound of more spraying out was echoing off the walls. Your best friend’s brother glared at you for two seconds before he started laughing too. It wasn’t funny, but it kind of was. How had this even happened? And how had Sua not seen anything when she was home to pack?

“Sorry, Cheol,” you giggled, wiping under your eyes to get rid of the tears that were still falling. Typical. “I, uh, wanted to move the plant and the dresser to make more room and-”

“Darling, that plant was almost heavier than you are. Not to mention that dresser. What were you thinking?”

His voice soothed your panic. He had been solving your problems for the past eighteen years, after all; this was nothing he couldn’t handle. He looked ruffled, you realized. He had been relaxing after a long day at work when you called, and had gotten to your apartment as fast as he could just to help you. And now he was here, being all nice and caring and calling you sweet names. You felt like a stupid child.

“I-I’m sorry. For calling you, I shouldn’t have, I-”

“Absolutely not. You can call me about anything at any time, you got that?” he asked sternly, gazing directly into your eyes. You swallowed, but nodded. His words gave you unwelcome butterflies, the intensity of his gaze making you look away.

“Got it,” you replied when a nod didn’t seem to be enough for him. “Uhm, so how do we deal with this?”

For a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady spray of water coming from under the sink. You realized that all the products underneath would be useless now, and you would probably have to change out the entire cabinet housing the pipes. You felt a migraine start a steady throb against your temples, and you deflated even more, resting against the doorway.

“It’s okay, I’ll fix it for you, darling,” Seungcheol said softly, pulling you in for a hug. Your stomach erupted in butterflies again. You seriously needed some psychological help.  “Just go change, okay? You must be exhausted.”

You shook your head, but relented when he lifted an eyebrow at you. You went to your room and closed the door. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at nothing. Your bathroom was flooded. And your best friend’s brother was helping you fix it, calling you sweet nicknames and saying shit straight out of a romance novel - as if your dumb crush on him needed any more encouragement. You sunk onto the edge of your bed for a moment, just breathing deeply and blinking back more tears. Enough was enough.

When you were fourteen or so, you’d had a crush on Seungcheol. Who wouldn’t? He was tall, pretty, smelled good, and helped you with your homework. Ever since then, it would come and go, usually at the most inopportune times. You appreciated his looks pretty often, particularly when he came over to fix stuff for you and Sua, but you tried not to think about it much - mostly out of self preservation. He was still pretty, still nice, still smelled good, and whenever you let your mind wander for more than five seconds, you knew you were in danger.

You definitely should get it under control. First of all, he had known you since you were six. He had seen all your weird phases, watched you find your own identity, and that came with some really cringy stuff. Additionally, you were his little sister’s best friend. You had some loyalty to her, sure, but more than anything you were sure that he saw you as an extra sister or something. Considering the amount of time you had spent at their house growing up, that would only be logical.

Armed with the reminder of why he would never be into you, you shook it all off. You located your regular home attire - bike shorts and a big t-shirt which origins you forgot - and put your hair up and out of your face. Then you steeled yourself again, vowing not to cry at the sight of the water, and walked back towards the accursed bathroom.

You found Seungcheol on his knees in front of the open cabinet from where the water came. He was hunched over, hand in front of him to block some of the water and seemingly looking for something. His white t-shirt had been sprayed with water, and it was sticking to his chest. You gulped at the sight, repeating that he saw you as an annoying crybaby to yourself in order to stop the stupid butterflies that had seemingly taken up permanent residence in your guts.

“Do you need a flashlight or something?” you asked timidly, making him look up at you. He paused and blinked at you once, twice, before clearing his throat and nodding. You got out your phone and turned the flashlight on, carefully stepping in behind him so as not to splash him.

“I, uh, think we need to remove this middle shelf from the cabinet,” he said, having positioned himself to shield you from the spray.

“Alright,” you replied, placing your phone to the side and leaning to grab the shelf before being stopped by one of his hands. He had placed it carefully on bare skin so as not to get your clothes wet. Damn him. “What? I’ll just grab it and get it out of the way for you.”

He scoffed. “You’ll get wet.”

Now it was your turn to blink at him stupidly, eyes wide and questioning. You could feel your cheeks burning, as did your arm where his hand was resting. This stupid, stupid man was going to make you fall in love with him, and that just couldn’t happen. At all.

“Who cares, Cheol? It’s just water. Let me get it out of your way, and I’ll hold the flashlight again, okay?”

He grimaced, but let go of your arm. You grabbed both sides of the shelf and lifted it. It took a bit of pressure, but eventually it came loose. You backed up slowly and brought the shelf over the tub with the soaked bath mat and dirty towel. Gross.

Even though you had been fast, Seungcheol had been right; your entire torso was soaked with water. You decided that you could do something about it after the leak was dealt with, and so you just ignored it and grabbed your phone again. Your friend was staring at your front with a wrinkle between his brows, mouth open a little, and you rolled your eyes affectionately.

“Cheol.” He looked up at you. “It’s fine. I know you wanted to shield me or whatever, but it’s just a shirt. Now please, help me solve this?”

He nodded wordlessly and turned back to the considerably more spacious cabinet, taking a deep breath. His pout was cute, and you hated your heart for beating faster at the sight of him.

Seungcheol seemed to finally have found what he was looking for, and reached into the cabinet. You altered the angle of the light to make sure he could still see what he was doing despite the shadow of his arm. He grabbed ahold of something and started tugging, his biceps flexing distractingly and his eyebrows screwing up in effort. You were definitely not holding the flashlight in a particularly helpful way anymore, but thankfully your helper didn’t seem to mind.

After a second or two the water slowed before stopping completely, and you cheered out loud. The sound had somehow become grating after only an hour, and the silence was very much welcome. Seungcheol stood up with a wince, holding a hand to his back like an old man. Without thinking, you pulled him into you and gave him a bear hug. You felt tears prick at your eyes again, but held them back. You were just so grateful to have him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You felt him laugh against you before he wrapped an arm gently around you and returned the hug. You pressed your cheek to his chest, just standing there and enjoying the embrace for a while before your brain would inevitably come back online. You felt his chin press against the top of your head for a second before he pulled away suddenly.

“Shit, sorry, I’m all-”

“I said I don’t care, stupid,” you scoffed, but your cheeks were definitely getting red now. How could you have just grabbed him like that? And embraced him? You would have cried if you hadn’t been so tired your head felt like it was full of cotton.

Now that you thought about it, you were extremely tired. It felt like a movie effect, the way your blood pressure just suddenly dropped and you swayed to the side. You were expecting a splash and a very uncomfortable kiss with the tile floor, but instead you found yourself back in Seungcheol’s arms. Oh.

Again with the stupid romance novel shit. The universe was testing you for sure. How were you supposed to resist him, really? You were doomed. Even the thought of your infatuation with him being one-sided could no longer bring you back down to the ground. You were simply fucked.

“When was the last time you ate anything?”

And he cares? Fuck the universe, seriously.

“Uhm, I think it was lunch. I stayed pretty late at work, so-”

“Please tell me you have food.”

“Y-Yeah. It’s uh, it’s on the counter in the kitchen.”

Without hesitation, the man picked you up and carried you into the kitchen. Your heart was going crazy, as were the butterflies in your stomach. You were at a loss for words, just going limp in his arms as he brought you to the dining table and placed you on one of the chairs gingerly. You continued to simply blink at him as he disappeared back into the hallway and came back with his hoodie, pulling it over your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

You wanted to scream and kick your feet, because was this man even real? You had no idea how you had deluded yourself into thinking your feelings toward him were sisterly, because currently, your pussy was screaming for him to come ruin you. And honestly? Both your heart and your head kind of agreed at this moment. You were so screwed.

When he came back with your sushi all plated and a glass for the drink you had bought, you couldn’t help but let the tears come back. You hated that you were so weepy, especially in front of a man you apparently were head over heels for, but it was just who you were. You were sad? You cried. Happy? Cried. Angry? Waterworks. You were helpless to it, and apparently to him, too.

“Good job picking up food on the way back home,” he teased, placing the plate in front of you. Then he poured your drink into your glass for you, promptly ignoring the way you were wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Shut up, I’m an adult,” you pouted back. He snorted loudly and sank into the chair opposite you, looking at you as you picked up your chopsticks and got ready to eat.

“Sometimes, maybe,” he drawled with a smirk. You glared at him, but your teary eyes had little to no effect, and you knew it. “I’m kidding, baby. I know.”

He was still studying your face as you placed the first piece of heaven into your mouth, sighing happily and smiling in delight. It made him smile, too, and you could have died at the sight of his dimples. At this point, you had just accepted the butterflies and their claim to your stomach; doing anything else seemed futile.

“I’m sorry I’m so weepy, Cheol,” you said between bites, pouting a little. He shook his head but you interrupted him before he could speak. “No, really. There was no reason to cry so much, or so many times, but I just- I don’t know. I literally got home right before I called you, and that was, what? At around-”

“9.30.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair and tilting your head back in exhaustion. “9.30. I’m just tired, is what I’m trying to say.” You sat back up and huffed, sending him an embarrassed smile.

“And what I’m trying to say,” Seungcheol said while you readjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, “is to not worry about it. I know you’re an emotional person, but that’s okay.” He paused for a second, smiling when you almost dropped your sushi into the soy sauce. “Being emotional is just a tiny part of who you are. You excel at so much; it’s okay to have a few flaws. We all do, I promise. Besides, being emotional isn’t really a flaw, it’s just part of being human.”

At this, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. First of all, he was way too well-spoken to be a man in his twenties. Second of all, if he was implying that he, of all people, had any flaws, he was dead wrong. You had never seen him fail at anything, had never seen him do something awkward, even as a child. God, you wished he had, because maybe then he could have remained the brother of your best friend instead of becoming so incredibly meaningful to you.

“As if you have any flaws,” you mumbled, sticking another piece of food in your mouth. At least the sushi was good.

“Oh please, sweetheart. I’m twenty-seven and single. There’s plenty wrong with me.”

You shook your head vehemently. “Being single is not a flaw, you dummy. It’s just a relationship status. Who cares.”

“As if that’s all it is,” he laughed back.

“Okay, so the fact that I’m single reflects badly on me? ” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

Your plate was empty, and your chopsticks were resting on the edge of it. The only sound in the apartment was a steady, slow drip from the drying bath mat in the bathroom. You were staring at one another from across the table. Why the tension suddenly was so thick was anyone’s guess. All you knew was that the air in your little kitchen suddenly felt suffocating.

“You’re single?” he asked after a while, and you laughed a little.

“Yeah, Cheol.”

“What about that dude, what was his name… Mingyu?”

“Ew,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “God no. We went on like, one date and then decided it was weird to be anything other than friends. He feels more like a brother than anything.”

“What about Chan?”

“Wh- Chan? That was four years ago,” you laughed, shaking your head. At the curious tilt of his head, you kept going: “He was fine, we just got stressed during college and broke up. It happens.”

Something about this line of questioning felt momentous, for a few reasons. One, he was inquiring about your dating life, a topic the two of you generally never talked about. Two, he remembered the name of potential partners that had been in your life, even ones that hadn’t stuck around for long (or at all, in Mingyu’s case). And three… the way he looked at you was different. There was something in his gaze that you couldn’t place, something you didn’t know if you dared hope for.

“Well he’s obviously an idiot,” Seungcheol said under his breath. You were probably not supposed to hear it, but you did. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he looked at you guiltily, as if he had done something wrong. “I just meant that- uhm.”

A few seconds passed in silence. You barely dared to breathe. You were hoping he would keep going, hoping he would clarify before your thoughts went way too far again. The tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Finally, he let out the heaviest sigh you’d ever heard.

“No, you know what, I meant it. He was an idiot for breaking up with you, because anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Time stopped. What do you say after that? You wanted to scream with joy and jump his bones, of course, but you couldn’t exactly do that. What if he didn’t mean it like that? If he didn’t feel the way you hoped he was implying? Because he, or more specifically his sister, was such a huge part of your life, and awkwardness was just not an option.

“Are-” you started, but blinked and started over. “Are you… serious?”

“Of course I am, Y/N.” He sounded almost exasperated. He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, making it fall over his forehead in the most attractive way you had ever seen. Fucking. Unfair. “I’m not- I mean. I get it if you don’t feel the same or anything, but-”

“Feel what, exactly?” When he stared at you in confusion, you elaborated. “Please be clear with me, Cheol. I don’t want to keep guessing.”

It had come out as a whisper, but he had heard you. His expression softened, and the wrinkle between his brows disappeared. His mouth was slightly open as he seemingly looked for the right words. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you almost felt it in your throat.

“Baby,” he started, and it made your breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as dense as you are.”

“Hey!”

“No, seriously,” he kept going, not a single trace of evidence that he was joking, “do you actually mean to tell me you don’t know how I feel about you?”

“Look, I don’t-”

“I guess you don’t, and in that case, that’s my bad.” He got up from his chair and rounded the table, crouching next to your chair and grabbing your hand. “I am so ridiculously into you, it’s not even funny. Sua literally won’t stop teasing me about it, neither will my parents or my friends. No matter how hard I try I can’t stop thinking about you, but I’m honestly not sure I would want to even if I could. You mean so much to me, Y/N, and I really don’t want to be overbearing but I- fuck, I can’t-” he shuts his eyes in an attempt to collect himself, “I love you, baby, and if you don’t feel the same that’s fine, but I at least need you to know that I’m on my goddamn knees for you.”

Your glass, still containing some of your soda, toppled over from the force with which you left your chair. The way you threw yourself at Seungcheol forced him back, but you took the opportunity and placed yourself in his lap as you kissed him deeply. It took him half a second to respond, but then he was kissing you so ardently that you never wanted him to stop.

His arm wrapped around you from behind and pressed you to his chest. You could not give less of a shit that he was sprawled on your kitchen floor, or that you were down there with him, because you were kissing him. You were kissing the man that you most definitely had been in love with since you were a teenager, and fuck did it feel good.

“I, uh, take it you feel the same, then?” he asked after having reluctantly pulled away. You pressed your forehead to his.

“I bet that I have loved you longer.” You were breathing heavily, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours.

“Absolutely not,” he replied before kissing you again.

This time, you couldn’t hold back. You nibbled gently on his lower lip before soothing it over with your tongue. Seungcheol groaned deep in his chest and brought his left hand into your hair, pressing you even closer to him. He opened his mouth, letting your tongue tangle with his, and you felt the way he became jelly underneath you. You were not faring much better, your panties hot and sticky and your hands shaking. Despite this, you snaked one hand into his hair and tugged on it; his hips jumped in response, the action seemingly completely involuntary. You didn’t think you’d ever experienced anything hotter.

“Please, baby,” he heaved as you trailed your lips down his neck, “I can’t take it.”

You rolled your hips against his slowly, and that seemed to be his breaking point. He rolled you underneath him before standing up and taking you with him, carrying you into your bedroom while you followed the shape of his jaw up to his ear with your mouth. A shudder streaked through him as you sucked on the spot behind his left ear, his arms tightening around you and a hoarse moan leaving him.

You barely noticed him closing your bedroom door, only brought back to reality by the sensation of falling when he dropped you on your bed. You whined at the loss of contact, which made him smile; he loved the way you craved him, because honestly, he felt the exact same way about you. So he was quick to cover your body with his, his lips back on yours with a shuddered sigh from the both of you.

He felt so big above you, and yet you felt so safe. Not once had he done anything to hurt you. In fact, he had always been the one to take care of you and prevent you from being hurt. (Along with Sua, but you didn’t really want to think about her at that moment). His weight on top of you made you shudder in delight, your hands starting to wander. You played with the hem of his white t-shirt, still damp from the earlier bathroom catastrophe, but you didn’t care at all. All you wanted was to feel his skin against yours.

He was breathing as if he had run a marathon when he pulled away from your lips. He stared into your eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance, but not finding any.

“Are you sure, darling?” he asked, and your heart swelled about three sizes.

“I’m so sure, Cheol. Please, please, I need you.” You were properly whining now, but you were far past caring.

“Okay baby, okay,” he breathed, pulling away to get his shirt up and over his head. He was about to lay back over you, but froze and let his eyes wander your body. He shut his eyes, his forehead wrinkling once again as he took a few deep breaths. “You in my hoodie and underneath me, I can’t- Y/N, baby, I need a second, I’m so-”

You giggled a little before grabbing the hem of said hoodie, pulling it up and over your head. Apparently, that didn’t help, as Seungcheol’s grip on the sheets tightened and he cursed under his breath.

“I thought this would be better,” you said in confusion, blinking up at him.

“I’m actually going to die,” he gritted out, sounding as if he was genuinely in pain. “I don’t think you realize what seeing you in a wet t-shirt did to me earlier, sweetheart. What it’s doing to me now is just torture.” You flushed at his words, having forgotten that little detail. “Wait. Is that my shirt?” You glanced down and flushed even more when you realized it must be. “Fuck, gonna be the death of me, gonna fucking-”

He cut himself off by pressing his lips against yours again. Your head immediately got fuzzy again, the only thought you could formulate being that of his dick inside of you. When he ground his hips against yours and you felt the outline of it, you let out the most sinful moan Seungcheol has ever heard, which caused his hips to keep grinding into you without his brain’s permission. You disconnected your lips from his for just long enough to pull your wet shirt off your alarmingly hot body, and the man on top of you didn’t even have the strength to look at you without a shirt. He might actually have came in his pants if he did.

You didn’t even mind, because you finally had his skin pressed against yours. The heat of him poured over you, driving you absolutely insane and making you whimper against his lips. If he didn’t do something in the next minute, you would just have to take care of yourself.

“Cheol-”

“Please say it again,” he begged, his lips trailing down your neck toward your breasts.

“Cheol,” you sighed, and he moaned against your skin, his dick grinding perfectly against your clit even through four layers of fabric. You barely recognized your own sounds even as you felt them leave your lips, so high on his proximity you couldn’t have produced a thought if you tried.

When you repeated his name one more time he finally closed his lips around your right nipple, his deft fingers playing with the other and his cock still pressing deliciously against your pussy. Your hips lifted to grind back on him, and he actually whined for you.

“Seungcheol,” you whined, and his only response was a harsh thrust of his hips and another whine. “Please, take my shorts off, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

He let go of your nipple, chuckling as he looked into your eyes and dragged his hands down to rest on your hips. “Want these off?” he asked, flicking the elastic of your bike shorts against your skin. You nodded frantically, pressing your hips up into his again. He looked like he wanted to protest, so you decided to do the only logical thing and beg for his cock.

“Cheol, please please please, take my shorts off? I need it, please,” you begged, your eyes big and innocent as you stared into his. “I want your cock, baby, want it inside me, please.”

Honestly, it was no surprise that his confident facade crumbled along with his will to tease you any longer. If he was telling the truth, and you had no reason not to believe him, he had been in love with you for a long time. You had played dirty by begging him for his cock when he had already been on the verge of losing his mind - especially with those big, innocent eyes of yours. How was he supposed to say no to you?

“Evil, evil woman, fuck,” he muttered to himself as he all but tore the shorts down your legs along with your panties.

The sight of you, his absolute dream, naked beneath him made him believe in God for two whole seconds, for who could have accomplished something like you but an almighty deity? He must have shaped you with his own two hands, he thought, before coming back to his senses and thinking that no, you were a creation of your own. No one but you could have accomplished something like you.

With very little preamble, Seungcheol lowered himself between your thighs, kissing up the inside of each thigh as he went. He looked up and met your gaze, and you had never seen a more erotic sight. Sure, other people had gone down on you before, but none of them had been Seungcheol; none of them had been the one that counted. His big brown eyes met yours, and you swore you saw raw hunger in them.

“May I, baby? Please?”

“You- You’re begging to eat me out?” you asked, in complete and utter shock. You had figured this was somewhat of a chore to him, something that needed to be done both to woo you and to prep you for his cock. One look at his glazed eyes had you changing your mind.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. His voice was hoarse and his eyes desperate, that simple look giving you enough material for many fantasies in the future. “Please, let me eat you out?”

What were you supposed to do, say no? Absolutely not. You simply nodded at him, and he fucking dove for it. His tongue explored your folds gently but firmly, and as soon as the flavor of you met his taste buds, he was in heaven. His hips ground into the mattress of their own volition as he was lapping at you, his tongue mapping you out and figuring out what brought you the most pleasure.

Seungcheol’s eyes were shut in pleasure, your juices covering his chin all the way up to his nose, but he couldn’t think of anything better. He wanted to drown in you, on his stomach between your legs, or - if he was allowed to dream - underneath you while you were grinding all over his face, taking all the pleasure you could from him.

You weren’t exactly complaining, either. His tongue felt divine, moving to gently circle your clit before he sucked it into his mouth. When your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging in pleasure, your lover let out a grunt that sent vibrations traveling through your entire body.

“F-Fingers, Cheol, please-”

He just grunted an affirmative and pressed his middle finger into you slowly. The warmth surrounding his finger drove him insane, making his hips press harder against the mattress and his eyes squeeze tighter. Having something to clench down on brought your pleasure to even greater heights, and you started to feel the familiar tightening signaling your release. You had felt the outline of his dick earlier, and you knew you would need another finger to make him fit.

“Another, I need you to fit later, baby.”

Your voice came out shaky, but the man consuming your pussy like it was the best meal he’d ever had didn’t seem to mind. He simply let his ring finger join his other inside you, grunting when he felt how tight you were around him. The tightening in your lower belly grew more and more intense by the second, the filthy noises of Seungcheol devouring you bringing you that much closer to the edge. You let out a mewl that sounded like it came straight from a porno, and felt his grip tighten on your thigh.

“I’m so close, baby, so close, please-”

“Come for me,” he growled hoarsely before resuming his delicious torture of your clit.

You followed his request a second later, moaning loudly and squirming around on the bed. His free hand pressed down over your hips to keep you still as he coaxed you through it, and he didn’t stop until the overstimulation almost hurt.

His fingers left your pussy gently, absolutely covered in your slick. You blushed as he put them in his mouth, moaning at the flavor as if you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. And to him, you were. He would remember the flavor of you until the day he died.

Your chest was rising and falling as you gulped down air. The way Seungcheol couldn’t help but grind into the mattress again made you want to cry, because how could he be so perfect? And how could he want you, of all people?

When he kissed you again, you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and you loved it. It was a reminder of just how voraciously he had just eaten you out, and you took the opportunity to reach down and cup him over his underwear. He hissed and pulled his hips back, panting already.

“I- you can’t.”

“But, baby I just want to return the favor-”

“My love, if you touch me again I can’t guarantee that I will have faculties to be inside you.”

His words made you laugh, both because of how ridiculous his phrasing was, but also because of the effect you seemed to have on him. Had he really been driven so far by making out with you and making you cum? It seemed like it.

“I love you so much,” you ended up breathing out. He gazed into your eyes so adoringly you felt like time stopped again.

“I love you more, Y/N.”

His response prompted you to kiss him, and he deflated on top of you. As he sunk further into your embrace, his still-covered dick brushed against your wet core, and the whine he let out was almost pathetic.

“I hate to ruin the moment, but please, let me be inside you now. I think I’ll die if I can’t,” he confessed. You laughed out loud again before nodding, kissing and sucking a trail down his neck while he removed his boxers. “Condom?”

“I don’t have any, but I have an IUD and I’m clean.” You could practically see Seungcheol’s brain grind to a halt. “But, I mean, if you don’t want to we can just wai-”

“No!” he almost yelled, his entire face flushing pink. “No, I’m clean too, and I- fuck, I would love to be inside you without a condom.”

You nodded, and he took a deep breath. The thought of having him inside you without a barrier excited you to no end, and it seemed he felt the same. You kissed him passionately again while he lined himself up with your core, and moaned through a sigh as he pushed into you. He didn’t have a monster cock or anything, but it was still bigger than what you were used to taking.

As he bottomed out, he let out a punched out sigh. You could feel him shaking on top of you, and did your best not to move or clench down on him. Unfortunately, your pussy didn’t exactly obey you and clenched down anyway. It made Seungcheol’s breath hitch, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight so as not to look at you while he was trying not to cum.

“I swear,” he wheezed, “you are going to kill me.”

His words made you chuckle, which in turn made him groan and bury his face in the crook of your neck. You were ready for him to move, and told him as much, but he still needed a second. You could feel tears sting the corners of your eyes, as per usual feeling weepy as soon as you felt a big wave of emotion. To distract yourself, you locked your lips with his and kissed him with all the passion you had left to give.

As your tongue tangled with his he groaned low in his throat, and his hips thrust into you of their own accord. Once he had started, he couldn’t stop, and you didn’t want him to. He started out fairly slow, taking his time to make sure you weren’t hurting at all. Then you accidentally clenched down on him, and he could no longer hold back.

He started pounding into you, his cock reaching the deepest parts of you and making you dizzy. You moaned out every time the tip of him hit the spongy spot inside you, and you couldn’t help the way you were clenching around him. You were hurtling toward your end so fast it was almost alarming. He filled you up so perfectly, so perfectly thick and long, it was as if you were made for one another.

Seungcheol was mumbling an endless stream of praise, grunting every time your cunt squeezed him a bit tighter. He felt like he was in heaven, your slick walls molded around him in a way that made him mourn the time spent doing anything other than this. He wanted to keep you like this, impaled on his cock and making you feel as good as you ever had.

Sadly, he was so wound up he wouldn’t be able to last as long as he usually did. While he didn’t blow immediately as he had been worried he would, he started feeling his balls drawing up around five minutes in. The way your nails were scratching down his back wasn’t helping his situation.

In an effort to save himself from cumming before you, he lowered a hand to circle the nub of your clit gently. The extra stimulation was exactly what you needed to build the rest of the way to the edge, and you tangled your hands in his hair as your thighs shook.

“Please, Cheol, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Oh thank God, please cum around me, baby, wanna feel it,” he begged, and it did the trick.

Your orgasm was spectacular, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as you exploded around him. You were moaning his name, clawing at his back and arching your back to the high heavens. Your toes actually curled. It was the orgasm of orgasms.

Seeing you like that, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he brought you pleasure was enough for Seungcheol to follow you over the edge. He came so hard he saw nothing but white, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into you. His face was pressed into your neck, but his moans could not be concealed even if he tried.

You both lay there, panting and soaked in sweat, for a pretty long time before he finally pulled out and rolled off of you. He sprawled on his back and stayed like that, his eyes shut in complete and utter bliss and his heart beating out of his chest. Your hair was an absolute bird’s nest around you, and there were tear tracks running down your cheeks and into your hairline.

You clumsily flopped over to rest against his side, and he pulled you in until your head was resting right over his heart. You slung your bare leg over his waist, and he groaned in what sounded like agony.

“You can’t do this to me,” he whined, and you giggled lightly at him.

“I just put my leg on you, baby,” you said, looking up at him innocently, and he had to shut his eyes for a second and remind himself he wasn’t dreaming. You, yourself weren’t entirely convinced all this wasn’t a dream; and if it was, you never wanted to wake up.

“Okay, well you’ve just seen what seeing you in a hoodie and bike shorts does to me, so,” he reminded you, and you bit back a grin. It was good to know you could tease him easily.

You laid in silence for a while, just listening to his heart beating against his ribcage. Every once in a while it would slow down, and then he would look down at you and it would speed back up. Your heart seemed to match the pace of his, and you found that you loved it that way.

“So, “ Seungcheol started, and you pulled yourself up on your elbow to look at him as he talked. “That… just happened.” You snorted into a laugh, and he joined you, flicking your forehead gently. “I uh, I’m going to a work thing on Friday. I usually don’t bring a date because, well, because I’m usually single, but maybe, this time, I could bring you?”

You blinked at him slowly, admiring him in the light from your bedside lamp. He was pretty no matter what, but with his cheeks glowing and his eyes glittering, he was beyond what was natural, in your opinion. You stroked a bit of his hair behind his ear and hummed.

“I mean, are you not single anymore?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uhhhh-” he was interrupted by your laughter, and he pouted at you jokingly. “Don’t do that! I get scared I fucked up,” he said and rolled over to wrap his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” you giggled, “I just don’t know either.” You paused. “Hey Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

At your words, his entire face lit up. He started giggling and buried his face in your hair, trying to hide from view. Even still, you knew he would be blushing. His arms squeezed tighter around you as he pulled you even closer, and you didn’t even mind that you couldn’t breathe.

“I was going to ask,” he ended up whining once brain function had returned to him. “Can I?”

“I mean, sure?” you answered, trying your hardest not to just lean in and kiss away his pout. Your willpower sucked, so you did it anyway.

“Great! Hey, Y/N, would you be my girlfriend?”

You bit your lip to hold in your laughter, but all it did was summon your boyfriend’s gaze to your mouth. You released it and broke out into a huge grin, nodding.

“I would love nothing more.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Sua said thoughtfully, “you finally put him out of his misery?”

It was a week later, and you were sitting on your balcony with Sua and drinking coffee. The bathroom floor was now dry, and while the stupid bath mat had been unsalvageable, everything else had been fine. The apartment management had gotten the leak fixed after five days, proving that calling Seungcheol had been the right choice for more reasons than one.

Even thinking about him, you couldn’t help but smile. Your boyfriend. The one who had brought you to a work function as your first date, and the one who had gotten jealous because you had greeted a coworker of his when he was getting you a drink. The one that had helped you save your apartment from water damage. The one you had loved for the past decade.

“Okay but how could I have put him through misery if I didn’t know he liked me, hm?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at your friend. She had her eyes closed, face turned toward the sun like an old lady.

“You cannot be serious,” she said incredulously, turning toward you and opening her eyes wide to show her shock. “You’re telling me you didn’t know Cheol was in love with you? He has been so down bad for you since we were like fourteen, man. He bought you flowers for your graduation. He reminded you to take your allergy pills before going to a dog café.” You flushed a little at your own blindness, but Sua just sighed and turned back toward the sun, her eyes closed again. “At least it will be easy to kill him if he hurts you.”

a/n: if you liked this, please don't forget to like and reblog! <3

masterlist

[gigizetz]

Hi gigi!! I hope your day is going well :) I had a few questions about the creative process with Mr Jalapeño, if you don't mind answering or if you're at liberty to answer

First, how early does Jorgy Gorgy approach you with the request to do an animatic for the livestream? Wisdom Saga came so soon after the Thunder Saga, but you still did pretty lengthy animatics for both those sagas AND the Sufferring and Scylla animatics on your own channel (like, seriously, are you God?? How do you crank out these high quality animatics so fast??)

Secondly, we've seen Jay's reference videos that he sends to artists, but I was wondering if you get any creative liberty in this process, too? I'm asking because I found it strange/funny how the reaction of Calypso hearing about Ody's wife was more "oh my god no what the heck he's taken" rather than "oh I'm gonna kill this woman" which was prevalent both in the original demo of the song and the animatics that sprouted from it! Was this change a direction you took, or was it one Jorgy wanted?

Sorry for the long ask, and I completely understand if you cant/don't want to answer some of these questions! Hope you have a lovely day tho :D

it's totally fine to ask that :D

for both animatics he approached me roughly 20ish days before the release of the songs (I think with Mutiny he might've reach out earlier but I can't remember), and we quickly go through which parts of the saga I'll be able to work on within that time frame.

And I do have a lot of creative liberty in those works. This specific Calypso moment was all Jay though!

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗢𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Y/N and Matt are in a complicated relationship, where Matt is still stuck in the past with his ex. In an angsty pathway, Y/N suffers when she realizes that Matt will never love her as she wants.

WARNING: Crying, panic attack, comparison, ANGST.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N adjusted her stunning dress in front of the mirror. The bright red silk fabric hugged her curves in a way she knew would make heads turn that night. Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, meticulously styled by her curling iron, and her makeup highlighted her features impeccably.

There was a palpable excitement in the air, an expectation of Matt's reaction; she always expected to receive showers of praise from her boy, just as she did for him. The party they were about to go to - a fancy one that celebrated the launch of the new Space Camp line - would be the perfect opportunity to show everyone, and especially him, how hard she worked to be perfect.

The low sound of the bedroom door's handle turning sounded through the silence, Matt's figure appearing through the wooden frame, and all Y/N could feel as she watched him through the mirror's reflection was her racing heart. He looked stunning in his black suit, the crooked tie relaxing the seriousness of his attire.

She waited for the compliment, for the spark in his eyes that would confirm that all the effort had been worth it.

"You look beautiful, Y/N." Blue eyes traveled over her body for some seconds, but before she could absorb the joy of that moment, he finished. "Did you know that Amanda has a dress similar to yours?"

Y/N felt her stomach tighten painfully as her heart felt like it was being broken by a hammer three times its size. Amanda. Always Amanda. Matt's ex-girlfriend was a constant shadow between them, a specter that Y/N could never completely dispel.

She forced a smile, swallowing the anguish rising in her throat.

"Oh, really?" Was all she could say, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands shaking slightly at the side of her hips.

Later that day, the party continued with Y/N ​​by Matt's side, but her mind was far away. Every time someone praised her, she remembered Matt's comment. Even surrounded by people and with Matt by her side, she felt incredibly alone.

Her thoughts revolved around a single question: Why couldn't he see her for who she was instead of always comparing her to Amanda?

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few weeks later, a new day brought a new blow. Matt was in his shared room with Y/N, sitting in his gaming chair with his upper body resting on the wooden surface, his hands on his Macbook, busy answering emails sent to the triplets' mail.

Y/N entered quietly, carrying two glasses full of fresh watermelon juice, knowing that Matt would definitely be thirsty and hungry after hours of sitting there. But as she got closer, she saw his computer screen. The messaging app was open, and the open window wasn't just any texts — it was old conversations between Matt and Amanda.

He read them with a melancholic smile, his eyes shining with a longing that Y/N knew all too well.

"Matt..." Her voice came out in an involuntary whisper, the broken tone sounding louder than it was expected.

The boy startled, closing the laptop quickly.

"Babe, hey, you scared me!" The boy turned around suddenly, clearing his throat and laughing awkwardly, trying to look casual. "I was just... clearing out some old stuff."

Y/N just nodded, the pain growing inside her chest.

"It's fine. Here, I made this for you." She raised her hand that held the fullest glass, smiling brokenly and keeping her eyes open, taking note on how Matt didn't notice the tears shining in her orbs or pretended not to.

She knew he was lying. She knew he was stuck in the past, that Amanda still dominated his thoughts and his heart. But once again, she chose to ignore it, to stifle her own suffering out of love for him.

Because losing Matt was a fear that outweighed any pain she might feel.

Right?

Right! Until things reached an unbearable point.

Y/N had an appointment at the beauty salon, something she did to feel a little more in control, a little more beautiful in a reality where she always felt insufficient. Matt said he couldn't accompany her, claiming he had videos to film with his brothers. She understood, or at least she tried.

It was Saturday, they didn't film on Saturday.

Sitting in the salon chair, while her nails were being done and her hair was treated, Y/N took out her phone to pass the time, holding the device awkwardly for fear of smudging her sparkling nail polish.

Scrolling through Instagram while her ears caught some conversations around the salon, her heart almost flew out of its place and up her mouth when she saw a photo that one of the celebrity gossip pages had just posted.

Matt was in a coffee shop with Amanda.

His smile was radiant, a kind of joy Y/N hadn't seen on his face in a long time. He looked so… complete, so genuinely happy.

Y/N felt the world come crashing down around her. Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back, looking around at all the other radiant women before turning her attention back to the news, clutching her cell between her left fingers, a low "sorry" scaping her lips when her right hand trembled against the manicurist ones.

She didn't give a shit that they were talking in a cafe, she didn't mind if they wanted to be friends again - even though she had destroyed Matt, and Y/N was the one to put him together again -, it was something else that bothered her.

Matt had lied to her. He said he was going to film. What the fuck was he doing out with Amanda?

But the truth was right there, raw and painful: Matt would never be fully hers. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she sacrificed, he would always be stuck in the past in the love he had for Amanda. He would always go back to her.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a smile as the manicurist applied red nail polish to her nails on her left hand. The color perfectly matched the feelings she felt at that moment; dark.

Every move by the salon professionals seemed like a desperate attempt to beautify her for someone who would never see her true beauty. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop her mind from going back to that image of Matt smiling with Amanda. It was a smile she could never get out of him.

"You look amazing, Y/N!" Cintia, the girl's hairdresser for years now, praised excitedly, straightening the last strands of hair just finished and turning the chair so that Y/N could see herself in the mirror. "Matt will love it."

Y/N looked at her reflection, but all she saw was an improved version of herself that, despite all her effort, would never be enough for Matt. She would always be just a shadow, a pale substitute.

"Thank you..." The girl tried to say, but her voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

The room around her seemed like a golden prison, full of mirrors that only reflected her internal pain. Every compliment, every word of encouragement, sounded hollow, meaningless, because the person whose opinion mattered most was, at that very moment, laughing and smiling with another woman; the woman he truly loved.

When Y/N finally left the salon, she felt exhausted, as if she had run an emotional marathon. She walked slowly to her home, opting not to call an Uber.

Her hands fished her phone out of her half-open purse, and, with trembling fingers decorated in red, she sent a text to Diana, her best friend.

"Diana, are you home? Can I sleep there tonight?"

As she waited for the answer, her mind wandered through a whirlwind of thoughts. The pain was constant but mixed with a new resolve.

She needed to get out of there. She needed space to breathe, to think.

"Of course, babes!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Getting home was an automatic process. The house she shared with the triplets seemed colder and more hostile than ever.

Y/N walked past the living room where Chris and Nick were sprawled awkwardly on the gray couch playing video games, their excited laughter, and screams a cruel contrast to the pain she felt.

"Y/N!" Nick smiled brightly when he saw his best friend out of the corner of his eye. "Want to play a round with us?"

"No thanks, Nick. I'm tired." She murmured, smiling wide and fake - even though he wasn't looking at her directly -, trying to appear normal.

She walked slowly down the path between the living room and kitchen, each step a reminder of what she was about to do.

Her hands worked automatically on the door, entering her shared room with Matt, closing it behind her, the sound of the lock clicking echoing like a period in her mind. She looked around, taking in the details that made the space a home - the photos on the wall, the personal items, the memories. But now, it all felt empty.

She grabbed a suitcase stored at the back of their shared closet and began filling it with her necessities. The simple act of opening the suitcase caused a wave of despair to hit her.

Every piece of clothing and every object that her hands roughly touched and threw blindly into the suitcase was a small stab in her heart. The tears finally started to stream down her face, and she didn't try to stop them. Reality was imposing itself in a cruel way.

Her movements became slower and slower, while her thoughts became more chaotic.

"I'll never be enough for him."

"I'll never be her."

"He'll never love me the way I love him."

"I'm destroying myself for someone who cares little about me."

"What did I do wrong?"

These thoughts repeated like a cruel mantra in her mind. She felt her breathing quicken. Her lungs seemed unable to take in enough air. The room, which had always been a refuge, now felt like an oppressive cell. Panic began to set in. Her chest felt tight, her hands shook, and the air seemed to escape.

The tears flowed like hot, relentless waterfalls. The suitcase was open in front of her, half full, but it seemed like an insurmountable abyss. Y/N tried to take a deep breath, but each attempt only resulted in more despair.

The sobs came strong and uncontrollable. The girl stopped in front of the bed, standing, after throwing the last piece taken by her hands, bending her upper body over the suitcase, gripping the edge of the thick fabric with such strength that it made her fingers take on a whitish color, fully throwing her weight on her arms as if they were a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

"Why am I not good enough?"

"What is wrong with me?"

"Why can’t he love me?"

She felt completely alone, drowning in her own pain. The panic attack took over, stealing any trace of control she still had.

The walls of the room seemed to close in on Y/N, the contours of the furniture becoming indistinct and threatening as her breathing became increasingly rapid and shallow. Her heart hammered in her chest with an almost painful force, each beat ringing in her ears like deafening thunder. The air felt thick, sticky, and impossible to inhale properly.

"Am I really that hard to be loved?"

"I wish I was her."

"He was never mine, right?"

Her hands shook uncontrollably, her fingers tingling over her suitcase as a feeling of numbness spread through her arms. Sweat dripped down her forehead, leaving her feeling sticky and uncomfortable, while the cold began to spread throughout her body, generating incessant chills.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room distorting into restless shadows that danced and pulsed, transforming the room into a place strangely familiar and frighteningly alien at the same time. Each sound seemed amplified and distant, the ones of laughter and the clicks of long and simple kisses played in memories in her head like a record player at its highest volume, creating a surreal echo that only intensified the feeling of isolation and despair.

Exhausted, Y/N let herself sink to the floor, her sobs echoing in the empty room, an expression of the pain and loneliness that she felt suffocating herself relentlessly. Her legs folded in front of her body, the front of her thighs sticking firmly against her stomach as her arms served as a shield for her head, her hands involuntarily going up to her own hair, gripping the strands tightly, trying to ground herself.

Meanwhile, Nick ran towards her and Matt's room with quick, excited steps. He had just finished the last round of his video game with Chris and was looking forward to seeing the outcome of Y/N's salon day, hoping it would make her happier after noticing the inconsistency in her voice when she got home.

His closed fist lightly knocked on the door before opening it, the smile on his face instantly disappearing as his eyes met the scene before him.

Y/N was on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, her hands now grabbing her arms in a desperate hug. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes wide and fixed on a distant, indistinct point. Her breathing was ragged, labored, as if she were trying to pull air through a narrow, clogged straw. The sound of her panting was interspersed with heavy sobs, creating a symphony of anguish that made Nick's heart tighten in his chest.

"Y/N!" Nick called, his voice thick with panic. But to Y/N, his words were like distant whispers, drowned out by the deafening noise of her own frantically beating heart.

Her mind was in a whirlwind of chaotic, disorganized thoughts, each competing for attention and increasing the feeling of panic. She felt trapped in an endless cycle of terror, unable to escape the downward spiral that consumed her.

The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on her chest, making every desperate attempt to breathe difficult. The seconds seemed to stretch into a torturous eternity, each second carrying a new wave of fear and despair.

Nick ran up to her, the panic on his face intensifying by the second. He knelt beside Y/N, trying to find a way to reach her, to bring her back from that abyss of despair. His hands shook as he gently pulled her close, enveloping her in a tight, protective hug.

"I’m here, Y/N, I’m here." He repeated, his voice choked with emotion, praying to whatever was watching them to make her listen to him. But she didn't seem to be able to do it, lost in her own spiral of panic.

Nick closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to stay calm. He knew he needed to be strong for her, and he needed to find a way to calm her.

"Y/N, look at me, please." He pleaded, voice softer, trying to break the invisible barrier that kept her trapped in her own fear. The brunette held her face with his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Breathe with me, okay? Breathe slowly."

He began to breathe deeply, exaggerating his movements so she could follow. He breathed in slowly and deeply through his nose, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling through his mouth. He felt Y/N tremble in his arms, but he kept pace, trying to convey calmness through each breath.

"That's it, keep going, you can do it." Nick encouraged, feeling a small change in her breathing. Her panting began to synchronize with his, although it was still irregular. He continued to whisper words of comfort, repeating that he was there, that she wasn't alone.

Slowly, very slowly, he felt the stiffness in her body begin to ease. Y/N's breathing became a little steadier, although she was still shaking. Nick kept the hug tight, feeling her heart beat against his own chest. He knew she was still scared, still trapped in her mind, but she was starting to come back.

"You're safe, Y/N. I'm here." Nick said once again, his voice firm and reassuring. He didn't let go of her face, maintaining eye contact, grounding her to reality. "Let's get through this together, okay?"

Finally, after several minutes that felt like hours, Y/N began to breathe in a more controlled manner. Her sobs subsided, and her eyes, once wide with terror, began to focus on Nick's. Her blurred vision cleared a little, the walls of the room seeming less threatening.

Nick sighed in relief, still holding her tightly, feeling the tension gradually ease in her muscles.

His own heart was still beating fast, but now, for a different reason. He looked around, trying to understand the situation better, when his blue orbs stopped on the open suitcase above the bed. The sight of the packed suitcase made his heart sink. Confusion and fear settled in his chest. What was happening? Why was she packing her things? The thought of Y/N leaving caused him his own panic, an intense worry that he tried to suppress, deciding that the questions could wait.

With a conscious effort, he looked away from the suitcase and focused on the immediate task of taking care of Y/N. He stood up slowly, maintaining eye contact to ensure she didn't feel abandoned for even a moment. The boy grabbed the pink bottle of water from the bedside table on her side of the bed and quickly returned, sitting next to her on the cold floor again. The hard ground beneath him was a sharp contrast to the softness of concern he felt for Y/N.

"Here, drink some water." He asked softly, handing Y/N the bottle.

The fragile girl took the bottle with hands that were still shaking but managed to open the cap and take a few small sips, each one firmer than the last. Nick watched her every move, his mind still spinning around the suitcase. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unasked questions. He waited patiently, without pressing, standing by her side like a pillar of support.

After long seconds of silence, Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze shifting from the bottle to the suitcase on the bed. She knew she needed to explain. Nick deserved to know what was going on, especially after helping her get through that panic attack. She straightened up a little, trying to find the strength to speak.

"Nick..." She began, her voice still trembling. "I... I'm packing because I need to get out of here for a while. I can't stay here any longer, the way things are between me and..." Her voice trailed off into the air before she could mention the name of the boy she loved most in the world.

Nick felt a lump form in his throat, but he remained calm, waiting for her to continue. Y/N took another sip of water before continuing, her words coming out in a halting, painful stream.

"I saw Matt with Amanda today, you know? They were together, and he looked so happy… happier than I've ever seen him with me." Her voice cracked again, but she took a deep breath and continued. "It made me realize that no matter how much I love him, he will never love me the same way. And I can't keep destroying myself like this. So, I'm going to spend the night at Diana's house. I need some time to think, to calm down. Get away from here. Get away from him. And maybe make him miss me... Or finally notice that I'm not what he wants." The last part came out in a broken whisper, her gaze lowering to her crossed legs.

Nick felt a wave of relief upon hearing that she wasn't leaving his life forever, but the worry and sadness over her situation still weighed heavily on him. He wanted to say something, anything to ease her pain, but the words seemed inadequate. Instead, he just nodded, offering silent support.

"And please, Nick, don't tell Matt anything yet." Y/N asked, her eyes pleading. "I need a little time to understand what I'm going to do. He really hurt me, but I can't act on impulse."

Nick held her hand firmly, offering her an expression of understanding and support.

"Of course, Y/N. I won't tell him. I promise." He murmured sincerely. "You can have all the time you need. And I'm here for you, no matter what. I love my little brother, but I won't defend him when he's in the wrong end. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, Y/N. Someone who loves you completely, without shadows of the past."

They sat there for a few more minutes, sharing that moment of stillness and understanding. The cold of the ground seemed less intense with each other's comforting presence.

Eventually, Y/N stood up, with Nick helping her place her suitcase on the floor. She took one last look at the room she had shared with Matt, pain visible in her eyes but also a growing determination. She knew she needed to step away to heal, to find her own strength again.

"Let's go." Nick's voice woke her from her reverie, his hands picking up her suitcase and walking it to the door. "I'll uber you to Diana's house."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt returned home with a beaming smile on his face, his heart still racing with the joy of the friendly encounter he had had. He had spent the afternoon with Amanda, talking and laughing like old times, and the feeling of familiarity and happiness was undeniable.

The boy climbed the stairs of the house with quick steps, eager to see Y/N and share his good mood with her. He wanted to hold her close on their bed, bury his nose in the curve of her neck, and smell her soft and natural perfume as he told her about his day.

But when he opened the bedroom door, a strange feeling of tension in the air made him stop. The environment felt different, as if something had changed, but he couldn't identify what it was. He entered the space, leaving the door open behind him, turning his body and letting his eyes roam the four walls, trying to find what was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance: the bed was made, his clothes were in the same place, the books were on the shelf, and the computer was on the computer desk. But there was an absence he still couldn't understand.

It was when he opened the closet that reality began to form in his mind. Y/N's side was almost empty. Where her dresses, skirts, and t-shirts once hung, now there were just a few lonely hangers. The empty space where her suitcase sat now felt like a black hole, sucking in all the light and joy he had felt moments before.

Matt felt his heart stop for a second, a feeling of panic starting to take over his chest.

"Y/N? Hey, baby? Are you cleaning out the closet by any chance?" Matt's broken voice sounded through the room in an echo, seeming to escape out the door and travel the entire floor of the house, his blue eyes still fixed on the empty hangers as his mind created the expectation of hearing the sweet, melodious voice back.

But nothing came.

Nick appeared silently in the doorway, watching his younger brother with a serious expression. Matt was so absorbed in his desperate search for answers that he didn't notice Nick's presence until he heard his voice.

"She left."

Matt turned abruptly, his wide, confused eyes meeting Nick's. The older triplet's expression was one of deep sadness, mixed with calm determination. Matt felt a wave of despair rise up inside him, like an overwhelming tide ready to swallow him.

"What do you mean 'she left'?" Matt asked, his voice trembling accompanied by an expression of terror. "Where- Where did she go?"

Nick sighed, taking a step forward, eyes shining with suppressed anger.

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is that you need to decide what you really want, Matt. She saw you with Amanda today, you know?"

Matt felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. He looked around the room again, this time with a clear understanding of what was missing. Y/N, the constant, loving presence in his life, was gone.

"I don't understand..." Matt muttered almost to himself. "I thought we were fine."

"Only you saw this. Seeing you with Amanda was the last straw for her. She loves you, she really does, but she can't keep living like this, Matt, not when she knows that you still have feelings for your ex." Nick scoffed, a disgusted tone echoing with his words, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in suppressed anger. "And you can't continue like this, dividing your attention between Y/N and Amanda. This is destroying Y/N, and you don't even realize it."

"But I... I was just trying to be friends with Amanda again. I don't have feelings for her anymore." Matt spluttered, confusion and guilt beginning to mix in his chest.

"Then why do you keep seeing her?" Nick countered, with no softness in his words. "Y/N loves you, Matt. She loves you so much that she is destroying herself because you don't treat her like you should. She needs you, and you're here, acting like nothing's wrong. And if you continue like this, you will permanently lose the only girl who has truly stuck by your side through thick and thin."

Matt felt a lump tighten in his throat. He tried to speak, but words failed him. The image of Y/N, the woman he loved, suffering in silence because of her insensitivity, was unbearable.

He felt foolish and insensitive. How had he not realized how much Y/N ​​was suffering? All he wanted was to be able to hug her now, tell her that he loved her, and that she was the only person that mattered. But at that moment, he realized how late those words could be.

"I didn't cheat on her, Nick. I really was with Amanda, but I didn't… I didn't do anything wrong." Matt's voice sounded choked, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as anxiety rose through his body like rafters.

"You think you didn't, Matt. But sometimes, it's not about what you do but about how you make the other person feel. And honestly? Giving priority to your ex, the girl who broke you and made you suffer for days on end, over Y/N, who you say you love oh so much, is low blow. Right now, Y/N needs space to breathe to understand her own feelings. And you need to truly analyze what you did and recant with her when she is ready."

Matt walked with shaky steps towards the double bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, burying his face in his hands. The weight of guilt and regret was crushing. All he could think about was how he wanted to turn back in time, do things differently, show Y/N that she was the center of his world. Never have lunch with Amanda.

"I need to talk to her." Matt tightened his fingers around the brown strands of her hair, sniffling. "I need to tell her that I'm sorry, that I love her. I really do, Nick."

"I know. But give her a little time, Matt. Forcing a conversation now might make things worse. Let her process everything, and then you can try talking to her." Nick advised, watching him closely before he turned, walking towards the door. "And next time, treat her like the wonderful woman she is, not like a replacement."

Matt nodded slowly, begrudgingly, knowing his brother was right, the despair turning into a silent, constant pain. The room around him, which had once been a haven of love and shared memories, now seemed like an empty, desolate space. The mattress beneath his body, where both of their bodies lay together just the day before, now felt like an icy surface, sending horrible shivers through his body.

His mind betrayed him by making him remember the moments when he had treated Y/N with indifference and neglect, moments that he now saw with painful clarity. Each memory was like a stab to the heart, revealing the depth of his callousness. Y/N's smiles that he had taken for granted, the nights she waited up for him while he lost himself in thoughts of the past, the comparisons...

He could now see the small changes in her expression, the way her eyes sparkled less, how her smile became rarer with each passing day. She was withdrawing, and he was blindly contributing to that withdrawal.

Sitting there, now alone in the room, Matt felt the weight of his own guilt and regret. He realized that he had never made Y/N feel like the most important woman in her life. Instead, he had relegated her to the background, allowing the shadows of his former relationship to contaminate the present. Y/N's love and dedication towards him contrasted painfully with his own indifference.

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[jolapeno]

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

“I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Grey?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Give hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝

NEXT CHAPTER

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

[sweetbans29]

Varsity Jacket - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You and Caitlin keep it light and playful at a game (based on THIS request)

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Is this not everyones dream?

It's the first time in the state's history of WBB that they decided to play basketball in a football stadium. A piece of history that has been led by one girl allowing thousands to benefit.

The game was chosen to be an exhibition game, a kick-off to the season, naming it the Crossover at Kinnick. They laid the Iowa WBB court within the confines of the outdoor football stadium, drawing a near 55,000 fans to be a part of the first game in Caitlin Clark's senior year. A NCAA record-breaking 55,000 fans. The first of many records Clark would break this upcoming season.

The game followed a lot of football Saturday traditions. The way the team was called out, a stadium flyover, and your favorite part - the Hawkeye Wave over to the kids in the UI Stead Family Children’s Hospital. You had done it before when your team had danced at football games and were excited to be a part of it today.

You are proud to be part of the Iowa Hawkeye dance team - have been for the past three years now. It is what brought you to IU in the first place.

Growing up dance had always been something you enjoyed. Unlike most of the other girls on the dance team, you didn't start taking dance classes until halfway through middle school. When you learned you had a natural talent for it, you started taking it more seriously. You joined your high school's dance team and decided it was something you wanted to try your hand at in college. When you auditioned going into your freshman year, you were one of two freshmen to make the team.

Since then you have captained the team for two football seasons, going into your third. Yet here you are, freezing your azz off because you forgot your damn coat.

Upon arriving at the stadium, you should have been prepared. You should have thought through how it is November in Iowa and how it is about to be winter but that doesn't cross your mind until you are shaking courtside.

"Didn't you bring a coat?" One of your teammates asks. She is currently bundled up in two jackets, ear muffs, and hand warmers.

"If I did, don't you think I would be wearing it?" You snap and immediately realize. "I'm sorry babe, I am just freezing."

You are trying to hide your shaking body and keep moving around to generate any sort of heat that you can.

A part of being on the dance team was being visible during the whole game. You weren't the cheer squad but your team had to be posted up next to them every game. It wasn't bad, it was just cold.

As halftime approached you directed your team to stretch out again, not wanting them to pull anything while dancing. You did the same, as you watched your basketball continue to do what they do best.

Once everyone was stretched, you all bunched together ready to take the court.

"I am still freezing my ass off," you say rubbing your hands together and huddle close to your friend. "I can't believe I didn't bring my freaking overcoat."

The team was coming off when someone bumped your shoulder causing you to take a few steps back.

"Hey! Watch it," you tell the 6-foot frame.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," the girl says. You pull down your skirt and smooth it over. Once you are satisfied with your outfit adjustment you look up.

'Of-freaking-course', you think to yourself as you make eye contact with none other than Caitlin Clark.

"I didn't see you there," she says, the slightest smirk peaking out.

"Very funny Clark," you say trying to hide your own smile and keep it serious.

"Oh, keeping it professional now are we?" She says. "It's cute, but you can call me Caitlin."

"That is so kind of you," you say, kind of surprised she is still there talking to you. You finish your sentence with, "Clark."

She just smiles and shakes her head. You hear the music come on and you know it's your cue. Caitlin doesn't follow the rest of the team back through the tunnel, rather stands to the side and watches you and your team take the court.

Caitlin knows she should be back with her team. More so to warm up but she couldn't nor wanted to take her eyes off you. She stood there watching you and your team keep everyone entertained during halftime. A smile resting on her lips the entire time.

She has seen you around before. How could she not, you were at practically every sports game. Caitlin would frequent the Hawkeye's football games but never really got close enough to see you perform (something she will probably never admit to you). If it wasn't seeing you in passing there, she noticed you would go and watch other sports just for fun. She has to think about it but if she remembers correctly she has seen you at both the men's and women's volleyball matches, women's soccer, and even some track and even the women's swim and dive meets.

Caitlin cheers on your team as you finish your routine and runoff, making way for the cheer squad to perform their routine next. As you make your way back you see Cait standing in the same spot she bumped you in. She is smiling at you and clapping as you make your way over. You walk up to her despite the murmurs you hear from your team, only making out your name and Caitlin's in their muffled conversations.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, Clark?" You ask as you cross your arms over your chest. You may have just performed a 6-minute dance routine but the chilled air was unforgiving.

"Wanted to stay out here and watch - making sure your little frozen ass doesn't fall off," she says, her eyes never leaving yours.

"The team is great," you say with a smile choosing to ignore the second part of her statement and refusing to be the first one to break eye contact.

"I wasn't watching the team," she says, that stupid smirk playing on her lips again. You could feel yourself losing this battle.

"That's a shame, they are great," you say trying to regain any part of this conversation.

"Maybe, but not as great as who I had my eyes on," she says. You blush and look away. You felt like you were being interrogated by the freaking CIA not flirting with your school's superstar.

"Okay, Clark, you win," you say as you crumble under her gaze.

She rubs the back of your arm, letting her hand linger on you. You look back up at her.

"I should get back," she says not wanting to leave you but knowing her job isn't done.

"You should," you say, agreeing for her - the first time since this conversation has started.

"Thanks for umm, thanks for watching," you say, your nerves peaking out. She nods and heads in the direction of her team.

What the hell was that? You make your way over to your team and they are all chattering about the interaction. You take your seat next to your co-captain who is just looking at you.

You keep your head forward still processing it all. Caitlin Clark was just talking to you. Not only that, but she waited and watched you perform then proceeded to flirt with you about it. Her hand was on your arm. You were thankful it wasn't skin-to-skin contact because you probably would have never let her walk away. She was teasing you.

You are too caught up in your own thoughts to see when someone had walked up to you. Your co-cap tapping your leg and nodding at the woman who was standing in front of you.

"Oh hi," you say and stand.

"I was told to bring this over to you," she says holding something, you look down and it's a jacket.

"Oh thank you," you say grabbing it.

"She wanted me to say it is from Caitlin," she says, emphasizing the name. "Told me I had to emphasize the name."

The woman walks away and you unfold the jacket to see 'CLARK' on the back right above the number 22. This girl is not serious right now. If you were under any other circumstance, you would not be putting it on but since the only time you have stopped shaking was while you were performing you decide to put the jacket on.

If your team was whispering about your interaction with Caitlin before, they are shouting from the rooftops now.

The basketball team comes back out and you find yourself looking for a particular someone. To your delight, she is making her way over to you.

"You got it, good," she says, wrapped in an Iowa jacket of her own.

"You didn't need to do this," you say but make no move to try and hand it back to her. It has been the warmest you have been the whole game. She lets out a little laugh.

"Sure, says the one who was shaking like a chihuahua," she says taking in the sight of you in her clothing. She could get used to this.

"I appreciate it, Clark," you say and she groans.

"Caitlin," she says.

"Clark," you retort.

"Cait," she responds.

"Clark," you are not giving in.

"CC, Caity, C - anything but Clark," she says frustrated.

"Why does it bother you so much that I call you by your last name?" You ask now the one who has the slight edge in the conversation.

"Clark, get your butt over here," one of her coaches yells at her.

"That's why," she mumbles and gives you one last look before running back over to the team.

"Get it Clark!" You yell after her, earning some whistles and shouts from your team.

You're thankful it is still cold out because the redness on your cheeks can easily be taken as cold, hiding your blush.

Your team doesn't shut up about the fact that you had talked to Caitlin but she gave her varsity jacket to you to wear. All the girls were staring at you and taking in the sight of the player's jacket.

A ball gets swatted out of bounds and you catch it before it can hit anyone on your team. Caitlin sees where it goes and books it to grab it from you.

Here is the thing about Caitlin, she is the last person to go and catch a ball that has been hit out of bounds. Her whole team was aware of this. So it is to everyone's surprise when she is the first one to hustle after the ball when the whistle is blown.

You hold up the ball for her.

"Careful there Clark, could have hurt someone," you say.

She laughs, "Ya right."

"Since when are you the first one to run after a loose ball," you say exposing that you may have watched her more than a few times. Could anyone blame you? Caitlin has been drawing the attention of the whole nation.

"Didn't want to miss the opportunity to come talk to the pretty girl," she says with that damn smirk.

"You are too kind Clark," you say faking flattery.

"Oh, I was talking about the girl next to you," she says teasing you.

You sit there speechless as Caitlin finally takes the ball.

"I'm kidding, but you should see the look on your face. It's priceless," she says winking at you before heading back over to inbound the ball.

'Oh it is on Clark' you think as you watch them finish up the last quarter.

Caitlin, of course, plays amazing. She finishes the game off with her first triple-double of the season. You watch as she celebrates with her team - all of who were excited to start the season on a high note. You are celebrating with your team when they all go quite in front of you and stare at something behind you. You turn around before Caitlin can tap your shoulder.

"Ahh, so we meet again," you say with a smile. "Well done Clark."

"Okay, enough with the Clark. You are wearing my jacket for goodness sake," she says and shakes her head.

"Oh, ya, thank you for this," you say and begin to take it off. She stops you by putting her hand on your arm - the second time today you note.

"Hold on to it, if you take it off now you will start shaking again and I don't really care to see you looking like a little chihuahua," she says and scratches the back of her neck. You raise your eyebrow at her. If you don't give her the jacket back now, that means you will need to see her again to return it.

"And who exactly am I supposed to get this back to you?" You ask.

"Well that is actually why I came over here," she says and you can tell she is a little more nervous than she had been before. You don't notice but both of your teams are watching the interaction between you.

"Okay," you say encouraging her to continue.

"How would you feel about going out with me this weekend?" Caitlin says as she has to mentally remind herself to keep her breathing steady and to not rush her words.

"I don't know..." you start. "I was thinking I could just have someone swing the jacket by one of your practices."

Caitlin's face looks mortified and you immediately bring your hand up to hers to ease her, your joke being taken a little too serious.

"I'm kidding Clark," you say and give her hand a squeeze. "I would love to go out with you this weekend."

She smiles widely.

"Great," she says. "I'll text you details," she begins walking backward.

"And how are you going to do that without my number?" You say as she is now just out of reach.

"You're cute," she says, now back in control of the conversation. "I've had your number for a while, now I just get to use it."

You stare at her, mouth agape. You don't know how to get the last word in so she does.

"Talk to you soon babe!" Caitlin says and runs back towards her team.

AN: This was a cutie. Hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support 🤍

[imloyaltoscoups]

it's fiction | jeon wonwoo

Wonwoo leans on the door frame, his arms crossed, looking at you focused on your laptop. Your fingers keep typing nonstop, the clatter of keys the only sound in the room.

"You've been engrossed with your laptop for days," he says, breaking the silence.

You stop typing and close your laptop immediately, turning your head to look at him. "It's just some research stuff," you reply, trying to sound casual. But the truth is, he has no idea you're writing a fanfic about him—not just any fic, but a R18+ one.

You stand up and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a hug. "Soo how's the progress on the album with Hans?" you ask, hoping to divert his attention.

He rests his chin on top of your head, his arms encircling you in return. "It's going well," he says softly. "Just preparing for the MV maybe this coming week or so... But I'm more curious about what you've been working on."

You feel your cheeks heat up, your heart racing as you hold him tighter, "I'm just searching for a new game that's all," you reply, trying to sound convincing.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Your chrome isn't even open."

You look up at him, caught off guard. He points to his glasses. "My vision is clear," he says, smiling.

You let out a nervous laugh, your mind racing to come up with another excuse. But the way he’s looking at you, with that teasing glint in his eyes, makes it hard to think straight. So instead, you tighten your grip around his waist, hiding your face in his chest.

"Okay four eyes, you caught me," you mumble into his shirt. "But it's really nothing."

He chuckles, his hand coming up to gently stroke your hair. "Alright, I'll let it slide for now. But next time, maybe you can show me what you've been working on?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you can only hope he never finds out the real reason behind your late-night typing sessions.

He then gently removes your arms from around his waist and he directly head straight to your workstation. Panic sets in as you rush to stop him, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind.

"Yaaaa, wait!" you plead, trying to hold him back. "You said you will let it slideee."

He laughs, a deep, genuine sound, and continues to move forward, dragging you along with him. "What are you hiding, hmm?" he teases, enjoying your struggle.

"Seriously, it's nothing!" you insist, your grip tightens.

He pauses, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder, still smiling. "You know, you're making me even more curious."

You groan, knowing he won’t give up easily. "It's just… embarrassing, okay?"

He turns around fully, facing you, his expression softening a bit. "I won't judge, you know that," he says gently.

You hesitate, then sigh, loosening your hold on him. "Fine. Again don't judge me and don't even laugh." as you point your finger on him.

He grins, reaching out to lift your chin. "I promise."

With a reluctant nod, you step aside, watching nervously as he approaches the table.

Wonwoo sits on your chair and opens the laptop, starting to read. You panic and cover his eyes as he begins to speak, "Really, babe?"

"Stop, stop," you nervously plead.

He removes your hands from his glasses and looks up at you. "I thought you didn't like being rough, but here? You even describe my dick well, props to that," he says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You cover your face with your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your waist and settles you on his lap, and you nudge your face into his neck, mumbling, "It's just fiction."

He chuckles, "But the details… wait, am I a mafia boss here?"

You blush even more deeply. "And how do you know this kind of position? We haven't even tried this one yet," he continues.

"Stop reading." You plead, but he ignores you and keeps reading.

"Have you been watching porn while I'm away?" he asks.

"It's just for reference, Won," you reply weakly. "You know I have more experience than you, right?" he counters.

"Well, then it wouldn't be fiction, it would be like your diary or something," you retort, looking at him. "And my readers like this kind of stuff."

He laughs and scrolls down, continuing to read. "And you even make me a cold, possessive jerk? Really, babe?"

You bury your face in his shoulder, mortified yet unable to suppress a giggle at his reaction.

"Well, this is already a fanfic since you made me a mafia boss," Wonwoo remarks, pausing in his reading. "You make Mingyu my rival... wait, will he... uh, fuck around with the female lead too?"

He's now fully invested, and you try to cover the screen, but he removes your hand, his expression turning serious. "Behave," he instructs firmly.

"Why is the female named as Y/N?" he asks, his tone softer now as he realizes you're writing a reader-insert fanfic.

You hesitate to answer, but he catches on, teasing you, "So you're imagining yourself being fucked by a mafia boss, huh?"

"It's not like that," you deny it quickly,

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You know, you're missing some details in this sex part," he points out, gesturing to the screen.

"What's wrong with that?" you ask, feeling defensive.

"Since you haven't tried this position, you need to experience it firsthand to be able to describe it accurately," he explains matter-of-factly.

He then stops reading, setting your laptop aside. You think it's over, so you stand up. He does too, but to your surprise, he grabs your hand and drags you to a nearby couch in the room.

As Wonwoo positions you on the couch, he bends you at the waist, your upper body resting on the cushions while the arm of the couch supports your hips. Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, he swiftly removes your shorts along with your underwear, making you gasp in surprise and arousal.

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "You know, I read something in your story about fingering and sucking first," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Before... before fucking her hard."

You shiver at his words, feeling a rush of heat pooling between your legs. "Y-yes," you manage to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without further preamble, he descends upon you, his lips trailing hot kisses along the curve of your neck. But his touch is not gentle; it's rough, demanding, leaving marks of his passion in its wake. He bites down on your skin, his teeth grazing against your flesh, leaving you gasping for more.

As his lips find their way to your shoulder, With a wicked grin, he murmurs against your skin, "Let's see if I got your story right." he grips your thighs tightly, parting them with a force that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. His touch is possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as he explores every inch of your body with a hunger that leaves you trembling.

Your breath catches in your throat as his words send a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You nod, unable to form coherent words, your heart pounding in your chest.

And then, without warning, he lowers his head between your thighs, his mouth claiming you with a primal urgency. He doesn't hold back: his tongue is rough and insistent, lapping at your core with a fierce intensity that threatens to drive you over the edge.

But it's not just his tongue that drives you wild; it's his teeth, sinking into your flesh with a delicious sting that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. He bites and sucks with abandon, his mouth a whirlwind of sensation that leaves you teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

You then gasp as Wonwoo inserts his fingers roughly, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His roughness only intensifies as he continues to suck and lick you, driving you to the edge with each relentless stroke.

When you finally reach your climax, the pleasure is so intense that you can't help but squirt, your juices spilling over his face in a hot, sticky mess. He doesn't flinch; instead, he stands up, slapping your ass roughly as you continue to leak your essence, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

With a primal growl, he positions himself between your legs, straddling you as he forcefully slaps his cock into you like an animal. In this position, there's no room for romance—no eye contact, no kissing, no caressing. It's pure, raw, animalistic fucking, and you revel in it.

As he takes you from behind, you can feel his gaze burning into you, consuming you with lust as he uses you for his pleasure. You lowkey love it—the feeling of being dominated, of being nothing more than an object for his satisfaction. It awakens something primal within you, igniting your submissive side like never before.

As Wonwoo continues to pound into you with primal intensity, his breath ragged and his movements rough, he begins to utter possessive lines, echoing the ones you wrote in your fanfic.

"You like it when I degrade you, don't you?" he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You love being used like this, don't you, you filthy little slut?"

His words send a shiver of excitement down your spine. You find yourself nodding eagerly, unable to form coherent words as pleasure clouds your mind.

He continues, his voice dripping with possessiveness. "You're mine, Y/N," he declares, his grip tightening on your hips as he drives himself deeper into you. "No one else can have you like this. You belong to me, body and soul. Say it."

You moan in response, unable to resist his command. "I'm yours," you gasp, the words coming out in a breathless whisper.

"That's right," he murmurs, he then delivers a sharp slap to your ass. "And don't you forget it. You're mine to use, to pleasure, to fuck however I want."

Wonwoo's thrusts grow deeper and rougher, each movement driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your bodies collide with a primal rhythm, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.

He hisses in pleasure, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "You're so tight," he gasps, the words slipping out between clenched teeth. "Even after all this time, you still feel so fucking good."

With a final, powerful thrust, he releases his hot, sticky essence deep inside you, filling you completely with his fluid. The sensation sends you over the edge, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Wonwoo pulls his cock out, releasing the last of his cum onto your back. You breathe heavily, reveling in the fact that this is the first time he's been so rough with you during sex. He then gently picks you up and settles you both onto the couch.

As he plays with your hair, he smirks and asks, "So, who’s the better fuck—the mafia version of me or the real thing?"

You squint your eyes at his absurd question, trying to suppress a laugh. "It's just fiction, Babe, Mere fiction," you reply, shaking your head.

He chuckles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. "I know, I know," he says, his voice gentle. "I was just curious... At least you got to experience the sex position you wrote about," he added as he resumes on toying with your hair. "And if you need to try more for the sake of realism in your stories, I'd be open to it. No need for extra research when you have me."

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning against him. "Whatever." But he's not done yet, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Are there other stories you've written that I haven't read? Are they rated 18? And do you write about other members too?" he fires off questions.

Before he can ask more, you hush his mouth with a kiss, which he eagerly reciprocates, pulling you closer. You sense there might be another round, but this time, he'll be gentle like he used to be.

....... ≿━━━༺WONWOO༻━━━≾ .......

[kadwrites]

office scandal | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; polly takes you with her to run an errand.

warnings ; arranged marriage trope, bad writing?!! , typos maybe (english isn't my first language)

a/n ; i almost lost my mind writing this. hopefully the accents are better and polly is well portrayed? lmk what you think <3

_

you're still on your bed, your friends are on it too this time. madeline and fiona , are on either side of you, kneeling on your mattress.

"what do ya mean y're gettin' married ?" madeline looks at you with a crooked smile, she thinks you're messing with her.

fiona is just staring at you with her head tilted

"i mean i am to be wed, betrothed, spoken for,"

"okay stop." fiona puts a hand up , "when did ya decide to do that? i thought ya were waitin' to get swept off yer feet"

you sigh, leaning back and letting the back of your head hit the bed frame "it just ... 'appened..."

madeline and fiona look at eachother before looking at you

"what are ya not tellin' us?"

"yeah , what are ya hidin' ?"

you look at them both, you contemplate telling them. you haven't really spoken about this whole ordeal to anyone , not really. and its been a week and a half already

"i um" your eyes drop to your hands "my parents chose 'im for me"

"yer parents?" fiona asks with a raised brow "and how exactly did they convince ya to do that?"

"its a long story" you wave a dismissive hand

"so ya know who he is?" madeline copies fiona, tilting her head too "do we know 'im as well?"

"i think everyone in birmingham knows 'im" you mutter under your breath

"who the fuck are ya marryin'?the king of england?"

you just stare at them, you lick your lips "ya got to keep yer knickers intact."

they both nod,

"its thomas shelby"

"what?" fiona's face drops , her voice does too.

madeline just snorts a laugh and then then goes quiet and just looks at you, "y're jokin' right?"

you take a deep breath "no , i am not jokin' "

"what do ya mean y're marryin' thomas shelby?" madeline gets closer to you "how?"

"i don't know..." just look back at them, your voice soft too.

"do ya want this?" madeline asks again

"it's complicated really..."

"no its not, ya either do or ya don't" fiona's hands grab yours "do ya not want this?"

you lick your lips, you take a moment to think , howare you going to even phrase this "i do,"

"ya do know who he is right?" madeline stares at you with a confused look "he isn't just any man"

"i know who he is..." you sigh

"then how are ya willing to marry 'im?" fiona never spoke so seriously before

"i 'ave my reasons"

"i hope that they're good enough for ya to put yourself through this" madeline chimes in again

you just close your eyes and let yourself plop back against the mattress, fiona and madeline share another look.

" 'ave you seen 'im?" madeline laid next to you

"yeah" you say with a chuckle , your mind flashing images of him on the sofa.

"is he really a dish?"

madeline smacks fiona on her arm and fiona rubs it with a frown "what! ya were thinkin' that too!"

you roll your eyes, but a small smile plays at your lips "he isn't bad lookin' i suppose."

madeline looks at you with a raised brow

"fine, he's a dish, happy?" you mumble , as if it pained you to admit it

"at least one of us will be fuckin' someone attractive"

"i thought ya liked callum" madeline frowns

"i love ya madeline i do, but callum isn't exactly a sight for the sore eyes"

"when's the weddin'?"

you look at madeline "i dont know , we 'ave yet to speak about that"

"i bet it's gonna be grand , ey?" fiona wiggles her brows

"well if i'm marryin' one of the wealthiest man in birmingham i might as well make at an occasion"

"wait , did you 'ave an engagement party already?" madeline asks, with a gasp and a hand on her chest

"if i did, ya would've been there."

"he has a son , ya know" fiona's voice goes back to its soft tone

you hum and nod "he told me about 'im"

"he did?" madeline asks with a smile

"what did he say?"

"that he wants a wife that can take care of 'im,"

"won't be long till you start poppin' out babies too" fiona mumbles

"whats that supposed to mean?" you ask with a chuckle

"with a husband this good lookin'? i give ya three months, and ya'll have a little one in that belly"

"don't speak that into existence!"

"i mean..." madeline says with a smirk "look at celest, she got pregnant with sarah , what? 4 or 5 months after she got married?"

"please don't open this topic of conversation" you beg as you rub your hand over your face "im stressed as it is."

all the of you turn to look at the door when you hear is open and celest's head peaks in "polly gray is here"

madeline and fiona turn to look at eachother then at you

"why?"

"i don't know but she's waitin' for ya" celest shrugs

"i'll be right there" you get off the bed and open the doors to your closet, looking for something to wear

"polly gray ? she's the shelbys aunt isnt she?"

"what does she want with ya?"

you change your clothes in a hurry, mind racing with possibilities "im not sure" you just mumble as you put on your blouse.

they watch you as you fix your hair and then go downstairs.

"mrs gray" you say with a polite smile as you walk into the living room "to what do i owe the pleasure"

she looks at you with a look thats eerily similar to her nephew's,and you try to not turn and walk back up the stairs

"we 'ave some business to attend to"

"we do?" your brows furrow "at this time?" it was 6 in the evening after all.

"yes"

"okay." you try not to snap your own neck at that response.

you get into her car as she drives, you two sitting in awkward silence "where are we goin' ?"

she glances at you before glancing back at the road and you just don't ask again but then you see your destination, shelby company limited and you think you might just not get out of that car but you do. your heels click against the floor when you walk through the dark halls.

there aren't many people there considering the work day has already ended, but you see a woman. she's young, around your age maybe. and she greets polly, completely ignoring you but you chalk it up to maybe the fact that it's polly gray is standing next to you.

"good evenin' , mrs gray" her voice is almost sickly sweet

"do you know who this is?" she asks her, nodding at you.

she looks you up and down and then shakes her head "nah, i can't say i do."

"she's tommy shelby's fiancé."

"i didn't know he was engaged" her lashes flutter and her lips twitch as she tries to maintain her smile.

"ya do now , don't ya?" polly stares that woman down "an' i hope it doesn't escape yer mind"

you just watch as the color drains out of her face as she excuses herself and scurries back to her work.

"what the fuck was that about?" it escapes your mouth before you even think, polly turns to you "that poor girl"

"in a place like this , ya either put yer fucking foot down and let everyone know what yer place is before they decide for themselves." her voice is stern, its firm and it makes you stand straighter "an' that poor girl wants to fuck yer fiancée"

"what?" your voice is squeaky, its high pitched. "how could you possibly know that?"

"anyone with eyes can fuckin' see that."

"i.." your words die when you look at her and you realize, she's helping you. "why are ya doin' this for me?"

"i know ya might not had the control that ya wanted over who yer husband is" her tone doesn't change when she speaks "so i'll give ya one piece of advice, ya can't marry tommy if ya don't 'ave a backbone. it'll be easier for ya to kill yerself than to live with 'im."

you know polly, but not well. she and your father knew eachother as children , your father is part gypsy himself. you remember meeting her a handful of times as a child but you were always too scared to talk to her for very long.

ironically, your mother didn't like the lifestyle her nephews led, she didn't want her children to be involved in it so you didn't get to see polly much throughout your life.

but you do remember one thing vividly and its her telling you to bite your brother back whenever he bothered you "or ya'll just show 'im that he can treat ya like that for the rest of yer life, ya dont want that now do ya?" . and you did do just that when abraham tugged on your braids a mere 10 minutes later, and polly winked at you , as she sipped her tea and you just stood there smiling proudly even though your mother was yelling at you for making your brother cry.

when you hear another pair of steps walking towards you, you both turn to see tommy. he's in his usual getup sans the jacket, a cigarette hanging from his lip and his glasses are on , his hands in his pocket.

"are ya done terrorizin' my secretary?"

polly just looks at him and walks past him "i'll leave ya two to it then."

and you were left there with him, blinking at that interaction.

"terrorizin' ? thats a bit of an exaggeration"

_

@tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator

[enkvyu]

3:19pm — gojo satoru;

"you have to be out of your mind!"

gojo only smiles in response. "now, now, it's best if you calm down." he gestures for you to lower your volume but the action is only seen as a taunt in your eyes. "if you listen to me, you'll find that i'm actually very sane."

the two of you stand alone in a classroom following the chime of a bell, your students having rushed out before you could say your last few words. when your door had reopened, you were surprised to find gojo seeking you out for a favour, and even more surprised as four words tumbled out from his lips and into your ears.

"gojo, stop joking around! you want me to, to, i can't do that!" you stammer around the topic, hoping to dance around it forever. you're aware of the heat in your cheeks but you can only pray that he takes it as disgust, rather than being flustered.

despite your protest, gojo remains unphased, still calming you down like you were a wild animal. his smile never wavers as if your reaction brought him great entertainment, and you didn't doubt that it did.

sighing, you catch your head in your hands. "say it again."

"calm down?"

"no, your favour. i think i heard it wrong."

"go out with me?"

your fury comes back tenfold at his careless attitude. you had never imagined that your first confession would be from your stupid co-worker that you'd rather be dead than caught dating. his sickening sweet smile, the way in which he believed he could bat his eyes and everything would go his way, the fact that he was probably right, everything about gojo satoru was enough to drive you mad.

finally, after quelling your anger, you turn around and leave him unharmed. "where's shoko?" you ask instead.

"where are you going?"

"to shoko's." you say, passing him to reach the door closest to you. "i think i need a drink."

"but you haven't answered yet!" his arm traps you from leaving the room, palm holding down the door, his presence overbearing behind you.

you narrow your eyes at the door in front of you. "what are you doing?"

"waiting for your response? don't just leave a guy hanging, that's too cruel."

you mumble something incoherent about playing with someone else's feelings as being cruel, but you bite it back. most of your brain power was occupied with ignoring the fact that his chest was hovering just a few moments from your back, and if, say, you were to lean back in the slightest, you would be met with him.

you turn around to face him, meeting his eyes through his blindfold. "no." you answer. you find some joy in seeing his expression fall. "now can you let me leave? you're seriously pissing me off."

despite the fabric, you swear you can see him blink. he tilts his head in question for a few seconds before speaking. "i don’t like that answer, it’s wrong. want to give it another shot?"

you flare up again. "there's no right answer to a confession!"

gojo smirks. "of course there is! rejection is a wrong answer especially if the person who's asking is me."

true, you were sure that gojo had never experienced any type of rejection in his life. you were pleased to be his first dose.

“well, there’s a first time for everything and i’d be happy to be the one teaching you that lesson.”

gojo studies you. “why are you so mad? don’t tell me you’re the romantic kind. would you say yes if i came back with a bouquet of flowers and some chocolate?”

“gojo, fuck you—”

the rest of your insult dies in a sudden bang, and you turn your head just in time to catch another door further down the wall of the classroom being slammed open. pink hair peaks around the door frame before gojo steps in front of you, effectively blocking your view.

"hey!" you say in protest, just as the newcomer speaks, drowning out your voice.

"gojo!" itadori’s words dies on his tongue as he faces his teacher standing in an awkward position, trapping some person in his arms. his brain short circuits as he wonders, is his teacher seriously flirting with someone in the classroom right now? oh god, this is so embarrassing. 

"yuuji." gojo says pleasantly, just as two other heads poke around the frame, effectively freezing straight after. "megumi and nobara. what are you guys doing here?" the question seemed normal enough, but looking up, you could make out a vein on his jaw.

megumi looks between gojo and the hidden woman. he only looks once, but its enough for him to gather the picture. "bye." he says calmly, and turns to leave the room, nobara following behind with red cheeks and glancing away, less calm but with similar good intentions.

yuuji stands alone.

until nobara comes back, reaching over and drags him out the door. "sorry!" she squeaks, and the door slams behind him.

a silence settles over the pair. gojo sighs to himself, looking down at you only to find you giggling to yourself.

"what's so funny?" he asks.

"they totally think you’re hitting up someone in their classroom. oh my god, i am so embarrassed for you." you squeal playfully behind your fingers. “their respect for you has definitely dropped to hell at this point.”

"you’re awfully calm considering that this whole affair includes you."

"they wouldn't believe you." you defend. “do you seriously think anyone would pair us together as couple? one playing around during school time, no less? maybe you, but definitely not me.”

gojo raises an eyebrow at that, what part of him doesn't seem to fit with you for you to say that, and leans marginally closer as if to win you over. "you can't stop breaking my heart like this."

"i can and i will. now can you please get off of me before more people see? if any rumors spread i am so killing you."

he releases you reluctantly and watches as you make a show of dusting yourself off. he notes the way you didn't even seem flustered, and blames the fact that you were used to his antics. sighing, he reaches into his pocket for his last resort.

"okay, okay, i'll reveal myself." that gets your attention. you look over, curious, and ignore the fact that he was sulking.

"what?"

pulling out two pieces of colorful paper, he waves it in your direction. "i won two tickets for free entry into a carnival. if we go as a couple, we can get free food." 

your emotions drain from your face. "this is what this was all about? you asked me out just to get free food?"

gojo steps forward again and interlaces your hands with his. "please?" he whines.

you grimace and pull away, breaking away to shake his gross germs off your hands. "if you said that from the start, i would have said yes, idiot! why’d you have to go and make things weird?" still, you find it in you to smile. "to think you would have just broken up with me after that, anyway."

his head perks up at your last words. this time, he is the one to ask. "what?"

“nothing.” you slide open the door and spare him a glance. “you promise there’s free food, right? then let’s meet up after class and head over. i’m warning you though, gojo satoru, you better not be playing with me.”

you close the door behind you and leave him.

gojo watches you go and sighs into the empty classroom. running a hand through his hair, he readjusts his blindfold and pockets the two tickets, pocketing his runaway feelings too, as they threaten to beat against his ribcage and chase after you, hoping to tell you the truth. but it’s impossible, gojo worries he’ll lose another friend, so he shuts his mouth for once and leaves the room, his traitorous heart looking forward to when he’ll get off work.

[i-cant-sing]

What are your thoughts on the yandere haikyuu teams x their manager?

Boring. I need some spice in it. How about-

Yandere Daichi as a cop and his darling is a civilian and now he's so obsessed with her that he murders her husband, frames him as a criminal and will literally stop at nothing to get darling in his arms because again... who will suspect good old, everybody's best bud COP Daichi to be able to do heinous crimes???

Yandere Sugawara as a psychiatrist because come on- he gives major "master manipulator" vibes and now he's obsessed with his darling patient and will continue to do malpractice and gaslight her and prescribe her all the wrong meds until she loses it and he gets to admit it her under his "special care" and now he can play with her mind all day long🤍

Yandere Oikawa is now a pro volleyball athlete and he just saw Ushijima's little sis, the same one he used to bully and even rejected (and ofc, HUMILIATED) when she confessed to him back in highschool. But now Oikawa's obsessed with her and also still hates his nemesis Ushijima, so what's better than killing two birds with one stone??? And Oikawa still has a very devoted fanclub, only now it's larger and more powerful than ever so now he uses them and his socials to peer pressure you into dating him and eventually, marrying him because he ain't getting any younger honey and he needs some cute babies out of you ASAP.

Yandere Kuroo who is the smart IT tech guy at your office but in reality, he has his own cyber security company that he uses to spy on you, controls your entire life through your socials and don't even get me started on your online banking shit. If its any consolation, he's very rich so... yeah. He may not look like a million bucks, but he does have them. In several offshore accounts.

Yandere Kita who somehow ended up as a mafia leader, probably inherited it as family business and he has like severe OCD so he wants everything done to perfection or so help you, you will 1000% end up 6 feet under. Mafia Kita who has this vision of you being the perfect wife, solely based om the one time you offered him your handkerchiefs because he had a nosebleed from stressing too much and now Kita thinks you're an absolute angel and he wont let you destroy that fantasy of his. Seriously. He will pick out your outfits, tell you how to act and all, punish you if he must, but he does love you.

Yandere Ushijima who is a farmer and has decided that the reader whose car broke down and came to his door asking for help, will now be his wife and be a countryside mom to many kids (u can't say no, okay? He wants a big family) and animals! But hey, he's a very caring husband and will massage your feet, give you baths and feed you his homegrown veggies and meals daily once you are round with his babies🥺

Yandere Bokuto who is now a popular politician and he needs an obedient wife to keep up appearances and play the "family man" image up. So he decides to threaten reader who had a one night stand with him, and Bokuto somehow has very intimate images and videos of you and he uses them to get you to marry him. And now he controls every aspect of your life and tells you to do exactly as he says, and he abuses this privilege more as he gets more powerful and you could only imagine the horrors he would inflict on you if he does actually win elections, but you can't run away because again- he has eyes and contacts everywhere.

[anantaru]

cw. none, calling him a petname for the first time, gn! reader

a/n. this was actually so much fun to write that i already plan to post headcanons with the same trope <3 enjoy!

"this dinner is important, okay?" you, in a determined muse, sing over to alhaitham. you knew he would attempt to wiggle himself out of this serious situation yet ventured to carefully twist your voice into his mind, until it's walking over the tunes expelling from his earphones.

you move on, "plus— it's not just 'any' dinner, don't call it that!" while, in all your pearly brilliancy, glance over to your boyfriend from under lowered brows, your amused expression being crocheted in a pettish course of action.

"so don‘t be late, —okay?"

under different circumstances, the thought of practically ordering your boyfriend around for something such as this would never even cross the simplest thought of yours, yet the mentioned dinner in particular was one held of graven significance for a future endeavor— to say it was to be taken serious was an understatement.

"understood, there's no need to repeat yourself." alhaitham notes, wilting a little in the glaring confidence of your words.

irregardless of his choice in mannerism and tone— it being as dry as the large deserts in sumeru and parched, if you didn't know any better it audibly sounded as if alhaitham was actually rolling his eyes at you.

it's not like he wasn't your biggest supporter, because in reality, he was. there hadn't been an instance in your life where your boyfriend wasn't the most important pillar of assistance and aided to navigate you through a severe spell or serious time.

yet, if you consider paddling back to actually give yourself a moment to observe his sweet frame of mind, the perception of inscribed responsibility was purling into alhaitham‘s bones and tensing muscles a little too quick, jolting through his limbs— because, he downright abominates working overtime, or perhaps it was something different this time.

was the oh so renowned and fetching acting grand sage of the nation of wisdom, a victim of the so called, 'nervousness' scholars were chatting about? might be, or maybe, only maybe, he was simply not looking forward to doing something grating instead of spending a nice evening in his safe home together with you.

but he makes you smile, there was a spark of interest in his eyes before;

"thank you my love."

uhm— okay wait. hold on. just this second.

given that it was the evening approaching and alhaitham had been working all day, he, at the outset, had not seriously noted the last two words of your sentence, well, not before you inched closer to where he was resting at— the large green couch in his living room more inviting than prior to this winsome situation.

"you're the cutest and sweetest and bestest my love." you do not move any closer, instead, you shyly tangle your legs over his own before half way smushed in his lap.

on a dime, alhaitham curses the inability of himself to control his body when he was around you. how does one possibly respond to this?

a nickname, he never had been called something of that sorts by anyone, not in a positive regard— except the usual mean spirited ones from his roommate. but the scribe never viewed them as something that had to be used or maybe he never thought about it more upfront.

"my? love?" he slants his head to the side to look at you, a heave following from his chest at your proclamation, "yes, my love." you smile back, undoubtedly catching a sheer fade of redness planted on his scorching cheeks, in addition, there was a heaviness in his arms, but a warm feeling in his heart.

"that's a new one." alhaitham mutters and notes it in his memories.

"most of the times i'm being called a jerk." it's true, he was, however luckily you weren't just anyone. you angle your body closer to be comfortably seated on his lap now, before bending your head forward to settle an airy kiss on his cheeks. "you're not a jerk to me though."

alhaitham didn't respond, the thought of prolonging this conversation was as tiresome as the dinner you had planned out for later. nevertheless, what he did do was smile, distantly, scarcely perceivable.

but you caught it, how he noted it yet again and on how priceless and wonderful you were to him.

2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[konigsblog]

calling tf141 + könig "babygirl" and slapping/grabbing their ass(their reactions)

masterlist

warnings: brief mention of smut; spanking with a belt, spanking,

also LMAOO the gif, i had to use it it's fits so well with this, if you have any submissions please send them in! :)

simon ghost riley

you saw it. he was inthe kitchen, wearing the tightest looking trousers you'd seen him in ever. as he bent over you reached out and slapped his ass, hard.

he froze immediately. slowly, his head turned towards yours. the look in his eyes revealed anger, "love, what was that?" he questioned, you'd be lying if you said that you weren't slightly intimidated.

"your ass looked good... what can i say?" you smirked, throwing in a playful wink before running off, just as you took off he dropped whatever he was doing and chased after you.

as you landed on your shared bed, he straddled your thighs, "seriously? slapping my ass?" the look in his eyes revealed lust, as he flipped you onto your stomach before bending you over his knee.

it's safe to say that the bruises on your ass tought you a lesson.

captain john price

you could hear him typing away on his keyboard and scratching his pen on paper, he insisted that he had a lot of emails and phone calls to be made, and that he would come out later.

little did he know that you took this time to plan, you planned your own mission. the same way he would. you would go up there and speak to him, distract him by asking; "what do you want for dinner?" or "are you thirsty, im going to go downstairs for a drink?" and whilst he was distracted you'd drop his pen onto the floor, far enough away were he'd have to get up and bend over to get it, and then you'd pounce, grab his ass. the same way he did to you last n-

you made it clear that you were coming by knocking on his door, "come in!" he announced out to you. "hey baby, i was wondering what you wanted for dinner? i can't make up my mind." a smirk grew on your face, he wasn't facing you yet though. he turned, "why don't we order a takeaway? chinese sound good?" you came closer to his desk, pretending to wipe something off his face while your other hand was throwing his pencil off the desk. "sounds good!"

it had worked, so far. you hid behind the door frame, watching as he looked for his pencil before noticing it on the floor next to his bookshelf.

just as he bent over, you grabbed his ass. something came into your mind halfway through and you decided to fake-thrust into him.

his eyes shot towards your laughing face. "the fuck was that, love?" his deep voice could send shivers down your spine but you were too busy laughing your ass off.

before you knew it he bent you over and playfully dry humped you. "hey!" you laughed out. fair play.

john soap mactavish

he was working out in your small home gym, it wasn't anything big or luxury just a spare room you both didn't know what to do with.

his muslces tensed as he lifted weights, sweat visible dripping from his forehead. you saw a trend on tiktok about slapping your partners ass and recording their reaction. you took his phone, preparing to send it to his friends for the laugh of it.

as he placed down his weights he stayed there bent over, trying to get some composure before he moved onto his next set. you quickly but quietly sped over, slapping a handful of his juicy ass. he squeaked in fear as you doubled over in laughter. running out of his room so you could send it.

he chased after you, yet not quick enough before you sent it. realizing what you did he ran over, trying to get his phone of you but you squirmed out his arms. regardless, it was too late. they all saw it and he got laughed at because of his girlishly squeal.

kyle gaz garrick

you knew he would be home late today, he was going out with his friends to drink a bit before heading back.

however little did he know what was coming for him. you heard the doors open, a sigh from kyle that sounded relieved to be back with you in your shared house.

as your were lying down you pretend to be asleep, you kept one eye open on the lookout for kyle, as then you saw him. he was humming a song, just as he looked at you, you quickly shut your eyes. he played with your hair before making his way over to your dresser, bending down to get some pajamas.

he removed his shirt leaving him shirtless. quietly you got up, his humming blocked out all noise coming from you. as he stood back up he felt a hand slap his clothed ass, he let out a high-pitched squeak and scream as he jamp backwards nearly falling on you.

"[name] what the hell?! oh my god!!" you hunched over in laughter not able to contain whatever noises came out of you. he flipped you over his shoulders throwing you onto the bed, "let's see how funny it is now, hm?" as he discarded his belt, making a loud snapping noise with it.

you still couldn't contain whatever noises came out of you, but this time they were lustful.

könig

könig was sat on the couch, watching some romcom that wss on tv, he seemed to get bored rather quickly. you knew this because you had been watching him for 15 minutes. that would sound creepy to someone who didn't know your was cheeky plan.

he rose to his feet, stretching his back. he had knocked the remote on the floor and kicked it away accidentally when he stood up. he muttered some german curse words.

you sprinted over, but because of his fast reflexes he jumped around, grabbing and pinning you to the couch. "maus, what are you running for? i didn't know it was you." he laughed, you sighed in defeat, huffing and trying to get yourself free from his embrace.

"ugh, i was gonna do this tiktok trend, noo!" you groaned out, seemingly frustrated. he always had quick reflexes from his training in the military. "yeah? what trend?" he smirked at you, laughing at your noticeably annoyed face. "basically you slap your partnes ass..." his eyes widened and you smirked, "really now?" he flipped you onto you stomach holding your hips up and pining your hands above your head. "let's see how funny this is." as he removed his belt and pulled down your pajama shorts.

it hurt to sit down for the next few days, not only from his belt.

[vivwritesfics]

Hungry Like The Wolf

Chapter Four

She hadn't seen her best friend, Lando, in years. She didn't run into him the last time she was visiting her father and she doubted she'd see him this time. Things were different now. She wasn't aware of his furry little problem. Just like she wasn't aware of the vampires plaguing the town.

1.2K

Vampire!Oscar x Reader x Werewolf!Lando

Series Masterlist

Something hit her window.

It was the middle of the night, and the object wasn't big enough to cause any damage to her window, but it did wake her up. Her body jolted as she opened her eyes, not quite realising where she was right away.

Her father's house. She was in her fathers house. Her breathing evened out as she remembered that.

When she sat up, something hit her window again. She switched her bedside lamp on and pulled her cardigan over her body. Wrapping it up tight around her body, she walked over to the window.

"Oh, no way," she whispered and pulled the window open. Leaning out, she looked down at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He grinned at her, his smile cheeky yet award winning. "I have barely seen you since you got here!" He shouted up to her. "I wanted to hang out!"

It must have been freezing out there. And, yet, Lando wasn't wearing a shirt. She had no idea how he was standing out there, how he wasn't freezing.

Suddenly, Lando looked to the left. "It's your dad!" He hissed up to her. "Meet me around back in ten minutes!" And, just like that, he took off, running into the darkness.

She shut her window and sat on her bed. It was the middle of the night and Lando wanted to to hang out. He was crazy. She knew he was crazy, but it made her want to do it all the more.

A knock came from her door. Standing up, she pulled it open, coming face to face with her father.

"You know I never liked that Norris boy," he said as he stared down at her.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, dad," she said, leaning against the door frame. "I had no idea he was going to show up like this."

Toto raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to... hang out with him?" He asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Would you be mad if I did?"

"You're in your twenties now," he said. Clearly he had no idea just how old she actually was, not well enough to know specifically. "You can do what you'd like."

She wore a small smile as she nodded. But, before she could shut the door and get dressed, Toto stopped her. "I'll have my phone on through the night. Text me if you need anything."

With those parting words, Toto returned to bed. He turned off the stairs light and crept back towards his bedroom.

She got dressed quickly and walked down the stairs, her footsteps light. She grabbed her keys from the hook and walked out of the back door.

In the darkness she could see nothing. "Lando?" She whispered, searching around. But she could see nothing. Nothing at all.

Suddenly, hands grabbed her from behind. She let out a shriek trying to push the hands off of her, but she was quickly being turned around. Quickly coming face to face with Lando Norris.

Even in the darkness, his eyes seemed to glow. She hit his muscled arm. "Asshole," she whispered. "You can't scare me like that."

"Sorry," he said, his smile still charming. "So, you wanna hang out or what?"

She rolled her eyes as she looked at him. "No, I'm out here in the middle of the night because I don't want to hang out." She placed her hand on her hip. "Seriously, what did you have in mind?"

Lando didn't say anything else. He held out his hand and she took it, trusting him completely. That was until he led her into the woods.

At the tree line she pulled her hand out of his. "C'mon Lando. I'm not going in there," she muttered and nodded her head towards the woods.

"You scared of the dark?" He challenged, grin teasing. But, when she glared, he dropped the grin. "C'mon," he said and held up his arm, flexing his muscle. "You know I'll protect you."

She rolled her eyes but allowed Lando to pull her into the woods.

He led her around the trees like he could see in the dark. He didn't take her too far in and, before she knew it, they were stopping. Lando made a drum roll noise with his mouth and pointed up. "Here we are," he said.

"Here we are, where?"

But, when she looked up, she spotted it.

When they were kids, when she used to spend more time in town, Lando's father and her father had built them a tree house a little way into the woods. Back then they had gone to the tree house every day after school, but it must have been empty for years.

Lando started climbing the ladder, and she was quick to follow. When she got to the top Lando helped her up and switched on the battery powered torch that hung from the ceiling.

"Holy shit," she said as she looked around. There was the makeshift table they used to do homework on and the crates they used to sit on. It was incredible that it was still there, that it hadn't fallen into disrepair.

The new addition to the tree house was the crate of beer beneath the window. Lando grabbed a can from the crate and passed it to her. "Drink with me?"

So, they drank as they talked. Lando told her what he could of his life over the last few years and she told him everything. When something in the woods howled (something Lando could identify as Daniel), she visibly stiffened up. But Lando wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

"Do you know Oscar Piastri?" She asked as she laid her head on his shoulder.

Lando sucked in a breath. He didn't want to tell her about the run ins he'd had with Oscar, couldn't tell her, in fact. "Heard of him," he answered and took a sip of his drink. He wouldn't get drunk, couldn't get drunk.

"He's taking me out to dinner," she said, a small smile crossing her features. "I can't wait."

Lando let out a breath through his head. He shook his head as it dropped forward. "Be careful around him," he said. "Please. I don't know him too well, but I do know some of the people he hangs with. They're... not great. Promise me you'll call me if anything happens."

"I promise," she said and finished her beer. "I can't believe we're still here, still in the tree house," she muttered as she ran her fingers up and down his arm.

Lando wasn't about to tell her that he was the reason the tree house was still standing. He didn't tell her that, when there was a hole in the roof, he was the one to fix it. He made the floor stable and reinforced the walls. It was the only piece of property he had on the packs land. On his first transformation it had been is safe place. (There was still bits of fur attached to nails).

Lando ran hot, hot enough to help put her to sleep. Well, it was a combination of that and the alcohol in her system. Lando tightened his arm around her as she slept against him. He pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

He'd watch over her while she went on her date with Oscar. He'd protect her, even if it meant breaking the treaty.

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[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // may 22 // prompt: control // words: 1169

“We should eat soon. Do you have any preference?” James asks as he glances into his rearview mirror.

“No, I'm easy,” Regulus replies. He swipes at his phone again, mindlessly opening the calculator before closing it again. He's been alternating between the calculator and the weather app for the better part of an hour now, nothing else to do on his phone and a deep reluctance to have an actual conversation with James.

He looks up at James when there’s no response. It takes a second for his own words to register and with a sigh he adds, “I meant easy to please.”

Again, the double meaning snatches James’ attention. “I'm just not picky,” Regulus grounds out.

“Yeah,” James scoffs. “I can tell.”

Regulus drops his phone on his lap, turning his head to give James his full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” But evidently it is not nothing, because James waits barely a second before continuing with, “It’s just that you barely waited for the bed to get cold.”

“Excuse me?” Incredulity bleeds into his voice.

“I heard that you went out a lot.”

“With my friends.” Late nights wallowing on the couch were only accepted for so long until they started tugging at him with impatient hands, dragging him out of the house and into this club, then that one.

They told him that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, but Regulus never did take anyone home. Any pair of hands that didn't belong to James made his skin crawl.

“And we all know how your friends feel about you,” James says harshly.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your damage, James?” Regulus twists in his seat, staring holes into James’ side profile. His messy hair and wire-frame glasses. His cheeks are flushed with anger, but Regulus doesn’t think James has anything to be angry about.

“What's my damage?” James asks, eyes flitting over to Regulus. “What are you, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Regulus laughs, short and joyless, before dropping back into his seat. His eyes fall shut as he lets his head thud against the headrest. “And I remember, suddenly, why this didn’t work.”

“Yeah? Was it your incessant need to be in control?”

“No, actually. It was your complete and utter inability to listen.”

“Oh, I think I hear you loud and clear,” James scoffs, and Regulus resists the urge to just crawl out the car window. He’s slight enough, he thinks he could fit. As a matter of fact —

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“You heard me, stop the fucking car.”

“Regulus, you're not walking all the way to Sirius' house. We still have three hours to go.”

“I don't care. Stop. The. Car.”

“What's your damage?”

“My damage is that I'm stuck in a car with you with nowhere else to go!”

It's silent for a beat. Then two.

“Well, I'm sorry you feel that way,” James says eventually, before harshly twisting the dial to turn up the volume.

They drive to the roadside restaurant in silence. Or well, as silent as can be with the music playing loud enough that Regulus can’t hear himself think. Just as well. He wasn’t thinking anything nice.

James makes the executive decision to pass by a drive-through, probably to prevent having to spend more time in each other’s company than strictly necessary. Regulus can’t say that he minds.

No words are exchanged as they eat, but when Regulus reaches for his drink in the cupholder, James speaks again.

“Do you still like vanilla milkshakes?” He inclines his head toward the cup in Regulus’ hand. James always teased him about choosing the most boring flavor, but vanilla is a classic and Regulus stands by it.

Regulus has the urge to make a snide comment, but he swallows it down. Glances over at James, tense in his seat, both hands on the steering wheel. It unnerves Regulus a little, seeing James like this. He is supposed to be loose limbs and easy smiles. Not… this.

“Yeah, do— do you still like those cherries?” Regulus asks, holding out his cup for James in case he wants the maraschino cherry that sits on top of the whipped cream. James plucks it out of the swirl with ease, like they never stopped doing this.

“Do you still go to the diner down the street?”

They used to go often. The 24/7 diner, red and white tiles on the walls, cracked leather in the booths. They spent late nights there, when studying took priority over cooking and everything else was closed. Appearing again on a Saturday morning, soaking up the alcohol that still lingered in their systems. Salty and sweet kisses shared next to the jukebox.

“No, it—” Regulus catches himself before he says something embarrassing like it hasn’t been the same without you. “It’s been a while,” he says instead.

“I see.”

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, black spots swimming in his vision. Then, before he can chicken out, he asks the first thing that comes to mind.

“Does your mom still collect those novelty plates?”

James laughs at that, the sound of it comforting and familiar, and he seems to relax in his seat. Even if just a little.

“She’s actually moved on to novelty shot glasses. My dad had to get rid of five plates he’d bought in advance. I still have them, though. I just know she’ll return to the plate thing soon enough.”

They pass the time like that, dragging up memories and habits, questions flowing between them. Regulus finds that he likes it. He’d missed James’ easy nature, his way of telling stories. He also finds that he is secretly relieved that James hasn’t changed a lot in the time they spent away from each other.

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

Do you still forget to clean your glasses? Do you still keep a picture of you dad in your wallet? Do you still like your coffee the same way? Do you still—

Say yes, say yes.

“I got the internship, by the way,” Regulus says at some point. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but stretching fields of green are slowly giving way to houses again. “The—”

“—one at the publishing house?” James cuts in excitedly. His head whips to the side to look at Regulus, joy evident in the little crinkles around his eyes. “No way!”

Regulus’ heart stalls and stutters. A heavy beat in his chest. Say yes, say yes.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” he breathes.

Silence stretches between them and for a moment, Regulus thinks the conversation has died down again. It was nice while it lasted.

But then, so soft like he hoped Regulus might not hear, “I remember everything about you.”

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

“James. Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

Say yes, say yes.

Thankfully, James doesn’t need to be told a third time.

[fortuna-et-cataclysmos]

Season 5 and the symbolism of pancakes

Guys, I swear I have a life outside of speculating the meaning behind pancakes in Miraculous...

But seriously, they're important. They symbolise the future (as made explicit in Pretention).

[Small note: they look like pancakes, they're called "pancakes" in the French dub, I don't know if they taste like pancakes, but I do know that they are not "French toasts" as the English dub claims. So I'll stick to "pancakes"]

Illusion

So we are introduced to the pancakes in Illusion, where for the first time Adrien sees his father in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Seems benign enough. Gabriel is even considered enough to ask Adrien how he likes his pancakes. He likes them "well-toasted."

Illusion is an episode where Gabriel fakes having changed, and him giving Adrien a choice is in line what that change. Of course, he still manipulates him into making him think that he has the freedom to not be the face of the Alliance, by basically threatening to withhold his newly expressed fatherly love if Adrien refuses to agree with him (more on that in this post). Pancakes are just a device for Gabriel to add to his illusion of good parent, and the illusion that Adrien has a choice.

Passion

Adrien and Gabriel are in the kitchen. Adrien is looking at his extremely decorated pancakes.

As we learn from Nathalie a second later, he likes his pancakes plain. She tells him to not eat them "to please his father", while Gabriel seemingly naively points out that if Adrien didn't want bananas, he could have told him.

Sure he could tell him, except that the last time Adrien asked for something from Gabriel -to not be the face of Alliance-, he emotionally manipulated him to withdraw his request, and even made him wear the said Alliance.

The bananas and the fancy toppings are basically a metaphor for the fancy model life Gabriel wants to give Adrien, while Adrien really doesn't want any of it. And just as many people like toppings on their pancakes, they also would like to have a life of fame, hence think Adrien is lucky (as seen in the S4 Finale). Meanwhile, Adrien doesn't want any of it, he likes his pancakes and and his life plain and simple, "au naturel".

Nonetheless, Adrien still continues eating his father's pancakes, saying that he doesn't mind, that he likes them.

Pretension

This is where the pancake business gets serious.

First, we learn that indeed, Gabriel's pancakes taste bad. Plagg cheers for being saved from eating another serving of Gabriel's pancakes. This is bordering to over analysis but, given that Plagg couldn't eat them while Gabriel is in the kitchen, I assume that's Adrien's opinion which he must have confessed to Plagg at a more appropriate time. And still, Adrien keeps eating his father's pancakes.

Later in the episode, the pancake/future metaphor is expressed very clearly by Gabriel. He tells Marinette that she can have her pancake and life however she wants it, but the one thing she can't do is to share it with Adrien.

He says very clearly:

You think that you have a choice, but all you have is the illusion of a choice. And I decide which choices you get.

And where do we get this exact claim in practice? In the episode Illusion, where Gabriel manipulates Adrien into thinking that he has a say over his future, while Gabriel is the one making all the choices that matter.

And he gives two "choices" to Marinette:

To eat the pancake, receive Gabriel's backing and be a famous designer

To refuse the pancake and have nothing

Once more, the way he frames it, Gabriel gives the illusion that Marinette has a choice, while neither of the two choices includes being with Adrien. So he basically leaves her with no choice but to break up with him.

Now comes the breaking point. Marinette fully understands that the pancakes are a metaphor for her and Adrien's future, and she continues the same metaphor to get her message across to Gabriel (talk about power move).

First, she refuses to eat them. She has "lost her appetite."

This refusal is in contrast with Adrien who kept eating them even though he didn't like them. Unlike him, Marinette "doesn't even need to try them to know that they are bad."

Normally, this is to be understood as her making the choice no 2: refuse the pancake and have nothing.

As such, she is escorted out the kitchen. The scene composition clearly shows that she is stuck between Gabriel on the one side, and the Gorilla on the other.

Because, she refused the pancake. Per Gabriel's rules, she is supposed to have nothing.

But Marinette defies that. Not only she runs upstairs to hug and tell Adrien that she'll never abandon him, but she also gets back downstairs without needing to be restrained by the Gorilla, hence protecting her composture.

Look at how she goes down the stairs, having not only the physical but also the moral high-ground:

She looks so intimidating that in the next frame, even the Gorilla steps aside to let her pass. Both Gorilla and Gabriel are surprised by her move, if you zoom in you can see it in their faces. Gabriel did not expect her to do something outside the two "choices" he had given her.

And then comes the death blow, where Marinette tells Gabriel:

You know what's your pancakes problem? They have too much flour and not enough butter. You use an outdated recipe, no one likes them like that anymore.

Yup. She calls Gabriel's entire fashion, but also life practices, outdated with one simple metaphor. My girl slays.

At the end of Pretention, during dinner (no pancakes here sorry), we see that a parallelling breakthrough happens in Adrien's front.

Gabriel tells Adrien that he can spend as much as time as he wants with Marinette, for he will be in London next year. Again, Gabriel is creating the illusion that he is free to date Marinette, except that, as Adrien now realises, he is not. Adrien gets visibly furious at his father for the first time.

He does quickly calm down, but what is his reaction? He says that he has "lost his appetite," just like Marinette did. The boy who kept eating badly made pancakes with the toppings he didn't like finally refuses to eat the illusions his father is feeding him.

This, coupled with Adrien's terror at going to his room at the beginning of the episode, leaving Marinette alone despite himself, become a turning point for him: he finally acknowledges that he isn't free, and that his father keeps forcing his decisions onto him. Maybe also getting one step closer to discovering/accepting that he is a sentibeing.

All this story, told through pancakes.

[marleyybluu]

Scream

Spooky Diaz x f!reader

Word count: 821

Content Warning(s): 18+, smut out the ass, mask kinks, p in v, little bit of porn, little bit of plot, Spooky's big fucking arms, I picture spooky hella tatted, the reader is not race-coded, reader speaks and understands Spanish, no one is pulling out (I seriously have a problem), backshots anyone? mirror sex anyone?, I'm toasted rn so sorry for the mistakes, lmk if i missed any or if i forgot to tag you

A/N: if yall know me well enough, you know what kind of state of mind I'm in 🍃and I just thought I'd write a little quickie since Halloween is next week and I don't think I've ever written anything in regard to Halloween so here we are.

(not mine, got it off Pinterest. i could koala cuddle those arms fuuuuck)

It started off as a joke. You'd become influenced by the amount of Ghost face masks you'd seen on TikTok, girls buying their boyfriends the infamous Ghost face mask so that they could put it on and pretend to be the killer from the movie, a few even accessorized with a fake knife and the women always seemed to get off on the idea. It was weird to you, at first, but then you became curious about what he would look like with the mask on. Maybe you'd open up a new kink for yourself, or maybe not but it was worth a try. 

So you went to Spirit Halloween and travelled over to the mask section where only two of the Scream masks were hanging. It seemed like you weren't the only inquisitive one. You bought some other things to decorate the porch with and headed back home. You called out to your boyfriend saying you needed a favour. He sprints into the living room where he sees your hands behind your back and that smirk on your face, you were up to no good. 

You present him with the mask and he chuckles shaking his head. You tell him that you want to know what he'd look like in it, but you don't want to see him try it on in front of you, you want him to walk into the room like the videos you'd seen. You hand him the mask and trot upstairs and into your shared bedroom where you sit patiently on the bed. 

It took a few minutes but you'd finally heard the creaking of the stairs, your heart raced with anticipation and a familiar tingle in your fingers and toes. All over your body really. He emerges from the dark hallway into your dimly lit room and leans against the door frame. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and your thighs squeeze together. He had upped it a bit by removing his shirt and all he had on was a grey wifebeater and sweats to match. His arms were so big and his chest was so large, his broad shoulders adding to the attraction and his scattered tattoos were a bonus. 

You blink and before you know it those clothes, accompanied by your own, have been disregarded and scattered all over the floor. And somehow, here you were, face shoved into the mattress and back arched professionally. His enormous hands gripped your waist as he pulled you into his thrusts making you feel every inch, every vein that was prominent on his shaft. You whine, fingers gripping the sheets for dear life as he pounded you, the bed shaking and creaking to match his rhythm. 

"Look up, mi amor, this what you wanted right?" He mocked, you raise your head with the little bit of strength you had and looked up at the mirror across from the end of your bed, you bite your lip, the sight was something out of Twitter porn. The mask, his arms, the grip he had on your flesh, the way your ass recoils every time it collides with his pelvis-- Oh it was almost magical. "Fuck! That feels so fucking good." You whimper, your toes curl and you feel another orgasm approaching, only the gods in heaven knew what number this one was. You cried as you felt your hands, with a mind of their own, move from their position as you tried to crawl away from him, it was too much, the sheets were damn near soaked and sticky. 

Spooky caught on and pulled you back. "¿Adónde vas, cariño? Hm? Can't take it?"

You gasp as he draws you close to him, his strong arms hooked around your waist, your back pressed against his chest. "Oh, fuck, fuck,fuck!" Was all you could get out before your walls squeezed him, your head in the cloud and your vision completely fucked out. Your head falls back on his shoulder while he continues to slam into you, his own high slowly creeping over him. He takes off the mask and kisses your neck, licking and sucking enough to leave his mark. 

"You want me to come for you, bebita?" He grunts hotly in your ear, you moan and nod as an answer. Usually, he would tell you to use your words but considering your current sex-dazed state, he'd leave it alone for today. He buries his dick deep, his throbbing erection painting your walls making them extra sticky. You smile drunkenly when he affectionately nudges the back of your shoulder with his nose. "You always feel so fucking good, baby, I fucking swear." He praises, now kissing your skin. "Te amo." You manage to squeak out. 

He chuckles. "Te amo, mamita." 

He playfully smacks your ass before easing his way out of you, you fall on to the bed and sigh, completely and utterly satisfied. 

Thank god for TikTok trends.

If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

see you in the next one. peace and love 🤙🏾

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