#i finish one table and go to the next and after five minutes the first one is already trashed

[ruairy]

.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | serving yourself less (tiktok trend)

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : serving your formula one boyfriend more than you serve yourself

୨ৎ : genre : comedy - tiktok trend ୨ৎ : word count : 1547

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i got a final exam tmrw and i already know im beyond cooked

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

immediately looks at your plate, then at his, then back at yours.

“that’s it?”

scoops food onto your plate without asking. “you didn’t see me doing that.”

mutters under his breath the whole time: “ridiculous. you think i’m gonna eat all this while you nibble on two leaves?”

makes you sit down while he fixes you a proper plate.

“you’ll thank me later when you’re not starving in two hours.”

yuki tsunoda

jaw drops. full betrayal.

“why is your plate sad? do you hate food?”

takes food off his plate and puts it on yours like he’s rescuing it.

“you need to eat or u will be grumpy. and you know what happens when you're grumpy.”

glares at your plate for the rest of the meal to make sure you don’t sneak food back.

will literally feed you if he has to.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

stares at your plate like you’ve just insulted everything he stands for.

“darling... that’s not a meal. that’s a sad sample.”

immediately puts his fork down. “what’s going on? why are you eating like a bird?”

gives you a speech about nutrients. you don’t even make it five minutes in before he’s switching your plate with his.

“eat. i’ll make us smoothies after. with oats. and peanut butter.”

glares at anyone else at the table who doesn’t say anything.

kimi antonelli

freezes mid-bite and just blinks at your plate.

“...wait, is that all you’re eating?”

awkwardly tries not to panic but can’t stop glancing at your food.

“you want some of mine?” pushes his whole plate toward you like a puppy offering a toy.

you say you’re not hungry and he goes quiet.

five minutes later: “okay but… what if i just gave you half of everything i have?”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

eyebrows instantly scrunch together.

“bébé… where’s the rest?”

literally keeps waiting for you to go back for more.

when you don’t, he starts panicking gently: “is this about something? are you okay? are you mad at me?”

puts things from his plate on yours like it’s no big deal.

whispers “please eat, i hate when you don’t” like you just told him you’re leaving forever.

kisses your temple and goes “merci” when you take a bite.

lewis hamilton

side-eyes your plate with a little smirk.

“you planning to go back for seconds… or is that a cry for help?”

smooth as hell while sliding his fork over to your plate, spearing some of his food, and holding it to your mouth.

“open up, baby. i know you're hungry.”

if you say you’re not, he tilts his head and gives you the look.

“don’t make me get up and fix you a real plate. because i will.”

makes you finish at least half of his meal too, while rubbing your back the whole time.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

stares at your plate. then stares at you.

“what’s that?”

full dramatic gasp. clutches chest. “you’re joking. that’s the appetizer, right? where’s the rest?”

scoots your plate next to his and starts transferring food over like it’s a formula one pit stop.

“you’re not doing this ‘cute portions’ thing again. eat properly or i’ll call your mum.”

makes airplane noises while feeding you a bite just to be annoying.

you try to glare but you’re laughing too hard to stop him.

oscar piastri

doesn’t say anything at first, just silently eyes your plate… then yours again.

“that’s... all?”

furrows his brows slightly. “is something wrong? are you okay?”

super calm but will not let this slide. adds food to your plate like he’s just “helping,” not completely panicking inside.

casually: “you can finish mine too if you want.”

when you finally take a real bite, he visibly relaxes and says, “thank you” like you just took your meds.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends not to notice at first.

then eyes your plate like it's personally disrespecting him.

“you’re kidding. right? that’s not dinner. that’s—snack behavior.”

takes your plate, loads it up himself, and hands it back without a word.

“eat,” he says, deadpan.

if you protest, he hits you with the eyebrow raise and mutters something in Spanish under his breath like “mi vida está loca.”

cuts your food into pieces and says “better” while sipping his wine like the crisis has been handled.

lance stroll

instantly frowns when he sees your plate.

“hey… where’s the rest?”

full concerned rich boy mode: “did the chef mess something up? do you want me to order something else?”

scoots closer and starts offering bites of his meal.

“you want a bite? actually—here, have all of it.”

if you take even a few bites, he goes, “that’s my girl” and kisses your forehead like you just saved his life.

100% sneaks extra dessert onto your plate later. plays innocent when you call him out.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

dramatic gasp. like cartoon-level gasp.

“okay, what is that? no really, explain. is that a bite? a sample? a decoration?”

“i’m calling your mom. i’m calling your best friend. we’re staging an intervention.”

takes your plate and starts adding food while lecturing you.

“you’re hot and smart but your portion control is a war crime.”

kisses your temple like he didn’t just drag you and says, “eat up, pretty girl.”

continues feeding you from his plate like a clingy golden retriever boyfriend.

carlos sainz

freezes when he sees your plate. stares at it. stares at you.

“is that all you’re eating?”

you shrug. he sighs and sets down his fork. full concerned boyfriend mode.

“mi amor, that’s not enough. seriously.”

pushes his plate toward you and waits until you take a bite. then goes soft.

“tienes que comer bien, cariño.” (you have to eat well, darling.)

“te necesito fuerte y feliz, no con hambre.” (i need you strong and happy, not hungry.)

spoons extra food onto your plate every time you’re not looking. smiles like he’s done nothing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

gasps like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

“wait wait wait. THAT’S your plate? you’re kidding.”

points at it dramatically. “someone get the girl a real meal!”

piles food on your plate himself while mumbling, “she thinks that’s gonna get her through the day? she’s insane. adorable. but insane.”

offers to feed you personally if it means you’ll eat more.

“open up. no, seriously. i’m not letting you leave this table hungry.”

won’t let it go for a week. “remember when you tried to survive on three leaves and half a tomato?”

esteban ocon

doesn’t say anything right away. just side-eyes your plate with increasing concern.

“is that enough? are you sure? you’re sure?”

when you insist it’s fine, he just sighs and very gently starts moving food from his plate to yours like it’s a covert operation.

“just in case you get hungry later,” he says softly.

watches you eat like a hawk. when you finish, he smiles like it’s a personal win.

mutters to himself in French the entire time — something suspiciously close to, “elle va me rendre fou.” (she’s going to drive me crazy.)

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

does a double take. then slowly turns to you.

“so you hate food now? or is this performance art?”

chuckles but immediately adds more food to your plate. “this feels illegal.”

makes jokes the entire meal, “you need a magnifying glass to see that portion.”

but side-eyes you so hard every time you put your fork down.

halfway through, scoots his plate between you both. “just share mine. easier.”

whispers “you’re actually feral for that” in your ear, but kisses your cheek while handing you a bite.

isack hadjar

absolutely scandalized.

“quoi?! that’s not dinner. that’s—what is that!”

full-on offended. places a hand on his heart like you’ve betrayed his entire French culinary heritage.

literally gets up and remakes your plate. “you eat what i give you. this is criminal.”

gives you a “look” every time you try to protest. you know the one.

softens immediately when you take a real bite. “bon. merci, mon cœur.”

kisses your head like a reward and mutters, “don’t scare me like that again.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

immediately dramatic. like, eyebrows raised, jaw dropped, wine glass in hand.

“you trying to break my heart? because that’s what this is.”

pokes at your plate with his fork. “this is… decorative. c’est rien.”

slides his plate next to yours and starts serving you from it.

“eat, mon ange. i need you strong enough to carry this relationship.”

flirts relentlessly until you give in.

“you’ll eat for me, right? be my good girl?”

smirks like he just won the Monaco GP when you take a real bite.

jack doohan

doesn’t say much. just blinks at your plate.

“is that enough?”

you say yes. he nods.

five minutes later he’s quietly refilling your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“i just thought you might want more.”

casually puts a piece of his food on your fork and waits.

won’t push you, but his quiet worry is palpable.

kisses your temple when you finish and mumbles, “thank you,” like you saved his appetite.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

raises an eyebrow. says nothing for a full thirty seconds.

“...that’s it?”

sips his drink, pretending not to care. he cares so deeply it’s physically hurting him.

eventually breaks. sighs and says, “give me your plate.”

doesn’t ask — just starts adding food to it.

“you’ll thank me when you’re not lightheaded later.”

kisses your forehead once and mutters something like, “don’t do that again, yeah?”

gabriel bortoleto

visibly stressed.

“babe? love? angel? why is your plate empty?”

starts rapid-fire listing all the food options: “do you want rice? bread? i can go get something else—”

won’t start eating until you’ve got a full plate.

watches you take every bite like he’s tracking your hydration levels too.

ends the night making you tea and saying “you scared me,” while cuddling you for the next three hours.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[likeumeanit9497]

| after hours c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: chris practically begs his best friend to massage his back, but after an awkward discovery, y/n finds it difficult to keep her hands -- and her eyes -- on the job.

warnings: smut; established friendship; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; hand job; squirting; unprotected p in v; dirty talk(!!!!); 18+

notes: whew! long time no see! life has been putting me through the absolute ringer lately! i haven't felt like a real person in months! i still don't tbh! im working on it! but i have absolutely missed writing and tumblr and u all so much! pls forgive my absence on here i literally haven't even been able to open this app since october when my life went south. my semester is over now so i have one major thing off my plate, so im hoping i can be a bit more consistent with writing. I MISSED U ALL SO SO SO SO MUCH and i hope u enjoy this chrissy one shot that i started months ago and just finally finished it today. love u all <33333

“No Chris.” I chuckled, standing up from my couch and walking to my kitchen to put away our leftover dinner. “Please,” I heard him whine behind me, “My back is killing me Y/n.” I turned around, facing my best friend still sitting on the couch where I left him. I laughed at his fake expression of misery, and the hand pressed to his lower back was a nice touch. “Chris, you know I’ve made it a rule not to massage my friends in my free time.” I explained, putting my hands on my hips. He groaned dramatically. “But why? You have all your stuff in the next room!” He began standing up from the couch, being sure to make it seem like a painful struggle.

He was right. I was a licensed massage therapist, and had recently started my own practice from the comfort of my home. I had turned my den into a massage room, fully equipped with a massage table, calming music, and essential oils. But I had made it clear to all of my friends — especially Chris — that I wasn’t going to massage them after-hours. Of course, I would treat them free of charge, but they had to book during normal hours. I was brand new in this career, and I wanted to ensure professionalism right from the start.

“You already know why.” I replied, turning away from him and opening up the fridge to put away my leftovers. As I leaned down into the fridge, I gasped as I suddenly felt a hand press against my lower back. “Just right here.” Chris whispered behind me, circling his thumb along my lower back. “It’ll only take five minutes.” I shuddered at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his touch. Chris had a habit of turning on his sex appeal when he needed something from me, and even though him and I were only friends, it unfortunately worked.

I turned around and closed the fridge, coming face to face with my friend. His eyebrows were knit together in what I could only assume was faux pain, because there was a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair before pointing at the closed french doors leading to my massage room. “Go in there, take off your shirt and lay on the bed. Call me in when you’re under the sheet.”

A smile consumed his entire face, and before I could change my mind he walked over to the room and shut the door behind him.

Chris’s POV:

As I shut the door of the massage room behind me, I stood for a moment to take in the room. She had never let me in the room before, in fact she made it known that she considered it separate from her home and so she didn’t like going into it when she wasn’t working. I always joked around with her because of that, asking her if it was really a secret torture room, but as I saw it for the first time, I couldn’t help but smile. It was professional, but still had personal touches that made it clear that it was hers.

The lights were dim, enough to see clearly but dark enough that everything had a blurry haze to it. It smelled like that shit she diffuses in her bedroom — I think she told me once that it was lavender or something. I noticed the various candles dotted around the room, and took it upon myself to light a few of them. As I lit the last candle on the small table beside the bed, I noticed an old phone connected to a small speaker. Finding that the phone didn’t have a password, I opened it and hit play on the playlist that showed up first, smiling at the title: music that makes strangers fall into my bed.

I chuckled to myself. Not so professional, sweetheart.

Typical spa music filled the small space, and I couldn’t lie, it did add to the meditative atmosphere of the room. Looking at the massage table in the middle of the room, I remembered what I was actually in there for and felt a wave of excitement hit me. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that my back had been hurting — not exactly, at least — but I had definitely been exaggerating. The truth was, I just really wanted to see what her hands could do. Not wanting to waste any more time, I took of my clothes and climbed onto the table, slipping my lower half under the thin white sheet.

“Y/n!” I shouted, “I’m all set!”

Y/n’s POV:

From my place at the kitchen counter, I heard Chris’s voice and my stomach did a flip. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, I had given a few of my other friends massages before, but for some reason I had been dreading the idea of giving one to Chris. Maybe it was because him and I had such a playful relationship, and I was so used to being professional with my clients, I couldn’t quite envision how combining my two personalities would go. Still, I took a deep breath and headed for the room.

Once I opened the door, I noticed the candles were lit and soft music was already playing. Looking at Chris, laying face down on the table, I chuckled. “I see you made yourself comfortable.” I remarked. Heading towards him, I noticed the pile of his clothes on the floor, including his sweats and boxers. “Uh Chris,” I began, stopping at the top of his head, “I said you only had to take off your shirt, remember?” He lifted his head from the table, looking up at me briefly. “I know. It’s just that the pain goes pretty low down my back and I figured it would be easier to just take everything off.” There was a playful look in his eyes. “It’s what I’ve seen them do in the movies.” He added softly, making me chuckle.

“It does make it easier,” I replied, moving so that I was now standing on his right side. “It’s really just about what you’re comfortable with.” As I spoke, I began running my hands down his back, from his shoulders down to his tail bone, to check for any tightness. He remained silent underneath me as I applied pressure on certain areas. “So, you said right here is sore?” I asked, pressing down on the same spot that he had when demonstrating on me. I heard a muffled hiss and watched as he nodded his head. “And the pain kind of shoots down to here.” He added, awkwardly moving his arm behind him and trailing it from where my thumb was down to just below the white sheet.

I hummed in acknowledgment, pumping the bottle of massage oil beside me and rubbing it in my hands. “Okay, I’ll get started. Let me know if the pressure is too much.” I said the same thing that I said to all of my clients robotically, before working against his muscle. It was pretty tight, but definitely not as bad as he was making it seem before on the couch. Like I do with my other clients, I stayed silent to encourage him to relax against my pressure. A few groans of pain fell from his lips as I worked, but he encouraged me to keep going each time I asked if he was okay.

I noticed him shuffle a few times under the sheet. “Are you uncomfortable?” I asked him softly, wondering if maybe the massage table was too hard. “N-no, I’m fine.” Was his reply, and even though there was a slightly panicked edge to his voice, I took his word for it and continued working my hands lower down on his back. I felt my cheeks grow hot as my hands pulled the white sheet lower to gain access to his pain. I had never seen this much of Chris’s body before, and even though I was trying to be professional, I felt like the act was a little too intimate.

I rushed to finish up, and after about fifteen minutes I was satisfied that the knot in his back had improved. “Alright, I think I’m done. Want to flip onto your back for me?” I asked, pulling the sheet up slightly. “W-why?” Chris asked, his tone filled with alarm. “I usually finish every session with a neck massage. Sometimes the neck gets stiff from the way it lays when you’re on your stomach.” I replied. “Oh, uh, it’s okay.” He replied, refusing to move. I rolled my eyes. “What? Not even 30 minutes ago you were begging me for a massage, and now you’re turning it down?” I crossed my arms and moved over to his head, “Come on, turn over. It won’t take long.” I reassured him.

He sighed, and, holding onto the edge of the sheet, slowly turned over. I stifled a gasp, because between his legs, the thin white sheet had tented, and I could clearly see the outline of his erection. I was thrown off, unable to take my eyes away from it, but quickly recovered — clearing my throat and dropping my eyes to his face. His eyes were still closed and his cheeks were flushed; I could tell he was embarrassed. In a normal circumstance, I would think that I would have made a joke about it, and he would have just told me to shut up. But at that moment, there was something so real about his exposure and humiliation, and so I knew that I would just ignore it.

I began massaging his neck, trying to focus on my actions and regain my professionalism. But, I couldn’t stop looking at the white sheet; it being the only thing between his cock and my eyes. I could tell that it was huge, and I watched as it grew harder and harder as I continued working his neck. It went from standing straight up and wobbling in the air as Chris breathed, to being pressed right against his front. The sheet draped around it, perfectly outlining its girth, and I could see a small bead of dampness taint the sheet a translucent shade of white at its tip. My mouth watered and my mind wandered. I felt my own body begin to react to the sight in front of me, and the tension in the room began to grow so heavy that I began to gasp for air.

“I-is the pressure okay?” I asked, doing my very best to keep my voice strong as I worked his neck. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously before nodding his head. “It’s good, Y/n.” His reply was so simple, but there was something about the gruff undertone, the almost indiscriminate breathlessness as he said my name, that caused my knees to weaken and my throat to turn into a desert. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the soft music playing throughout the room as my blood pumped deafeningly in my ears. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his bulge for more than a few seconds at a time — it seemed so hard that it had to be painful. My eyes continued to flutter between his flushed face and pulsing member until suddenly, when my eyes returned to his face, his bright blue eyes were wide open and staring right at me.

I felt a new wave of heat crawl up my face at the fact that I had just been caught red-handed staring at the one thing in this room that both of us had been actively ignoring. I opened my mouth to attempt to explain myself, but his words beat me to it. “I’m sorry.” He murmured sheepishly, his face turning the same shade of red that I imagined mine to be as he squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately, I began shaking my head rapidly. Partially as a reassurance to him and partially as an attempt at erasing the last two minutes of my life. “No! Don’t be sorry. It happens all the time.” I rushed out, doing my best to make light of the situation. “No it doesn’t.” He replied flatly, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. I forced a chuckle. “Okay fine, it doesn’t happen all the time. But its not not normal.” I tried again, brushing a soft curl out of his face.

Chris was silent for a moment, his eyes still squeezed shut in either embarrassment or concentration. I had stopped massaging his neck, but my hands were still on his damp skin; my thumbs drawing gentle circles against his rapid pulse. After a moment, an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. “It won’t go away.” He said, his voice laced with genuine disgust. “I’m sorry Y/n, this is creepy.” A forced laugh, then another sigh.

The room fell silent again as I tried to find the right words to fill the space. Words that would reassure him more genuinely than more “it’s okay’s”. Because, from the way my pulse had quickened, and from the way my core had grown so slick from arousal that I could feel it dripping steadily onto my panties, it really was okay. It was more than okay. So, instead of trying to find the words that could possibly portray just how okay it was, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.

I felt him tense at the first brush of my lips against his, clearly shocked by the sudden close proximity of our mouths; closer than they had ever been before. So, I pulled away for a moment, finding his piercing eyes to search them for whatever thought is running in his mind. They were wild, racing across my face trying to make sense of what just happened. But there was something else there, something erotic that was blurring the line between right and wrong. Between professionalism and spontaneity. Between friends that fuck around and friends that fuck. I could tell that we were both balancing on that same fine line, but when I brought my lips back down to his, and when he opened his mouth to welcome mine with the kind of hunger than can never be satiated, I knew that we both came to the same conclusion.

Our lips moulded together in rhythmic wonder as our tongues explored each other. Immediately, I felt his body relax as his hands reached up and wrapped themselves in my hair. A soft moan of satisfaction fell from his lips as I nibbled on his bottom lip, causing my body to react in a way that was foreign to me. I felt goosebumps raise up across my skin as if his hands were all over it. He pulled his lips from mine and used his grip on my hair to tilt my head to the side, giving his swollen lips access to my neck. He sucked and nibbled against my electric skin just below my ear, and I felt as though I could fall apart and dissolve into a puddle just from that. “L-let me make you feel better.” I managed to moan out through the waves of pleasure I was feeling. My eyes wouldn’t leave the rock hard bulge under the white sheet, just barely out of my reach. Chris groaned against my neck at my words, and I watched as his cock twitched under the sheet as if it heard my words itself and was begging me to help it.

After another moment of Chris devouring my neck, tasting every inch of it as if he couldn’t get enough, his grip on my hair loosened and he allowed me to straighten up. I looked down at his face, now even more flushed than before. His lips had gone bright pink and were so beautifully swollen from their journey against my skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and, after a short moment, his eyes fluttered open and landed on me. “You sure you want to do this?” He asked, his voice slightly tentative, and I knew what he meant.

A kiss between friends is one thing. It can be brushed off as a slight moment of weakness, can be something that the two friends can one day laugh about as they look back on their friendship. It can be never spoken of again, can be hidden from their other friends deep in the vault of the minds of the two people that shared it. But anything more than that, any other touching, or licking, or exploring of the other person is not as easily ignorable. In friendships there is deep love and strong understanding of the other person. Once that love and understanding collides with the act of literally merging together, of being as physically close to another that you can be in this lifetime, it’s not so easy to ignore. My mind may not be able to shut out the events that transpire with Chris tonight ever again. We may never be able to chalk it all up to a moment of weakness, or keep it a secret from our mutual friends. We may never have the same friendship we had before I agreed to this massage. But there is no way to know that for sure. What I did know for sure in that moment, with Chris staring up at me with eyes filled with intoxicating desire, with my own body vibrating with lust, was that I wanted this.

So without a word, I walked down his body towards his beckoning cock. I took a moment to just gaze at it, closer to it now than I had been all night. I rested a hand on his thigh hidden beneath the sheet, and watched as his cock once again twitched. I chewed on my bottom lip in an attempt to keep myself from moaning just from the sight, and after a moment let my eyes flutter back up to his face. “I’m sure Chris.” I replied softly, searching his expression. “Are you?” I asked, realizing that he was likely considering the same potential outcome that I had been. He kept my gaze for a brief moment, his eyes focusing on different parts of my face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He replied finally, a cheeky smile growing on his face. I felt my own expression mirror his own, and without wasting another second I began peeling the thin sheet down his waist.

My smile fell the moment his bare cock was finally exposed, and was replaced by what I knew was the expression of desperate hunger. His length was impressively long, and I felt my mouth water at the thought of running my tongue along its veins up to its swollen head. Reaching to my left, I pumped some massage oil into my hand. I brought my cupped hand above his upright cock and let the oil drip between my fingers and coat him. He released a sharp hiss at the feeling of the oil as it trailed down his length towards his base, and I watched as his hips thrust forward desperately from the barely-there contact. A bead of pre-cum suddenly dripped from his slit, and I used my thumb to collect it before finally pumping my hand up and down his shaft. Immediately, a deep moan fell from Chris’s lips as I worked his oiled cock in my hand. I focused on his body language as I adjusted my movements to figure out exactly what he needed to feel good.

When I went slow, I watched his breath grow steady, telling me that I should pick up the pace. When I used a softer touch as I moved along his cock his hands would stay relaxed at his side, but I knew he liked it when I used a bit more pressure along his tip as his hands would tighten into fists against the sheet. But when I used both hands, twisting in opposite directions with the occasional brush against his balls with my pinky, I discovered that was what he liked most of all. A deep grunt followed by a moan fell from his lips, and his right hand flew to my upper thigh; where he gripped so hard I was sure that he would leave a bruise. “Fuck, Y/n.” He breathed out as I continued with these movements.

His hand traveled further and further up my leg until his fingers slipped under my loose-fitting shorts. I continued to stroke him with both hands, even when I felt the tip of his fingers just milimetres from my trembling core. They brushed against the ever-so-soft place between my pelvis and my pussy, and I bit back a moan. Subconsciously, I adjusted myself so that my legs were wider apart; giving him access to touch even more of me. My hands continued to work his cock as his fingers inched closer and closer, before finally, I felt the very tip of just one of his fingers reach my core and dip into its warmth. My knees buckled at the barely-there contact just as he released a muffled moan. “Jesus fuck, Y/n,” My eyes flew to his face and the translucent arousal that I found all across it was almost enough to push me over the edge. “Put that on my face right fucking now.”

His demand was so jarring, his voice so gritty and raw, that I didn’t hesitate before peeling my shorts down my legs, lifting myself onto the massage chair, and straddling his face. Immediately, his hands gripped onto my thighs and pulled them apart; giving his eyes untethered access to my glistening core. “You’re fucking soaked.” His words came out in an almost-whisper, as if he hadn’t actively planned on speaking them aloud. Still, they shot straight to my lust and I leaned forward, resting my head against his chest to allow him to see even more of me.

I gasped as I felt his thumb against my slit, collecting my arousal. I heard a wet sound and then another deep moan. “So good.” He whispered before suddenly his warm mouth was suctioned to my clit. Immediately, I dissolved into a puddle of desire as his tongue swirled and licked against my sensitive bundle of nerves. Moans fell from my lips as my brain turned to mush from the relief of finally having his mouth on me. I began moving my hips against his face, chasing a high that I so desperately needed. Satisfied moans slipped from his mouth into me, and I felt a sharp slap against my ass cheek that added to my intense need.

I had turned into nothing more than a dead weight on top of him, his lethal tongue paralyzing me. But as I opened my mouth to release a guttural moan, I felt my lip brush against the tip of his cock. Without a second thought, I slipped his cock into my mouth and began pumping up and down. Another moan fell from Chris, vibrating against my clit and causing me to moan around his girth. “Fuck.” Chris muttered against me, and I responded by deep throating his cock until my nose pressed against his bare thigh. “Mmmm, Y/n.” Chris breathed, removing his mouth from my clit. I stopped my movements as well, waiting on shaky legs for him to continue.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.” He began, gently running his knuckles against my ass cheek. “And I don’t want to do that yet.” He slipped two fingers into my core effortlessly, causing me to immediately begin rocking against them. “Mmm. Thatta girl.” He breathed, presumably watching for a moment as I rode his fingers just inches above his face. “What I want you to do is focus on making a mess all over my face, then after that I want to cum with these tight walls wrapped around me.” His words caused my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and a sharp moan fell from my lips. “Sound good?” He asked, his voice muffled as he reattached his mouth to my throbbing clit. I nodded my head maniacally as he resumed his impressive movements against my nerves. He kept his fingers inside of me, and as I slid my soaked cunt against his face, I cried out at the added sensation of his fingers filling me.

“Fuck C-Chris.” I moaned, my words nearly incomprehensible as I grew closer and closer to my climax. He could tell that I was quickly approaching, and tightened his grip on my ass cheek with his free hand; pressing my cunt so hard against his face I was afraid that he would suffocate. “G-gonna cum!” I warned him just before the tumultuous waves of my orgasm took over. My body began shaking as I came hard against his face. I had never before felt so out of control of my own body, and relished in the feeling as my back arched and a plethora of moans fell from my mouth. I felt a gush as I squirted against Chris’s mouth, and trembled at the guttural moan he released as he began lapping me up.

Once my mind reattached to my body and my orgasm had finishing ripping through me, I rested my head against his stomach as he ran his hands along my tense back and dropped gentle kisses against my sensitive core. He let me lie there on top of him for a few moments, catching my breath and slowing my heart rate, before gently lifting my limp body off of him and sliding off of the massage table. I sat up on the edge of the table, facing his standing figure before me, and my gaze landed on his excruciatingly hard cock. He grabbed my chin and lifted my head up before pressing his wet lips harshly against mine. He tasted like me, and immediately a new wave of arousal filled my core.

As his tongue flicked into my mouth, I reached between our bodies and began stroking his cock. He thrusted into my hand instinctively, and a moan fell from his lips as his hand shot to my core where he drew torturously slow circles against my over-stimulated clit. Caught up in how good we were making the other feel, our kissing slowed and our mouths eventually turned into matching O’s; eyes shut in pure bliss. I dropped my forehead against his bare chest, and watched as our hands worked on the other’s body, slowly working up the nerve to do the one thing we hadn’t yet done with each other.

“You still want to do this?” Chris asked, his voice strained. I jolted slightly at his words, shocked at the fact that he seemed to be reading my mind. A sharp wave of pleasure hit me from his fingers and I moaned softly before looking back up at him. “Mhmm.” I breathed, meaning it. “Do you?” I asked in return as I felt his cock jump in my hand. “So much.” He replied before lowering his head and planting another deep, wet kiss against my mouth. After a moment, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. He took a moment to admire my bare chest before kissing each of my painfully pebbled nipples. “God, you’re unreal Y/n.” He moaned, running firm hands against my completely naked frame. I arched my back against his touch and shut my eyes blissfully.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along my collar bone. “You ready?” He asked. I felt his hand replace mine on his shaft, and bit my lip as I felt him line the head up with my soaked core. He used his free hand to hold firmly onto my lower back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist; using the grip to press him against me. “I’m ready.” I replied breathlessly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Without wasting a second, Chris kept his glazed eyes on mine as he slowly pressed his hips into me. My jaw dropped as his girth stretched my walls out further than I thought possible, and the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that can not truly be described with words turned my brain into mush.

Chris hissed as he bottomed out in me, his cock taking up every inch of my cunt. He remained still as he rested his forehead against mine, his breath erratic and hitched. “Fuck.” He finally groaned out, his body more tense than I’d ever seen it. “You okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck. He nodded. “I’m gonna cum in, like, record speed here Y/n.” He replied, taking deep breaths and keeping his forehead pressed to mine. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay Chris,” I replied, running my hands through his hair. “Just give me what you’ve got.”

My last seductive whisper seemed to give him the motivation to power through, because immediately he snapped his hips into me. I released a sharp moan from the depth of his movements, and that was enough to bring him fully back into it. Using the grip he had on my lower back, he plowed into me relentlessly. My eyes were rolled into the back of my head as I felt my walls stretch with each thrust; allowing him to hit my g-spot each time. “Jesus!” I cried out, gripping onto his shoulders in a weak attempt at holding onto my sanity.

“You’re so f-fucking tight.” Chris groaned into my shoulder as he continued to drive his ruthless cock into me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies smacking against each other, adding to the indescribable arousal I was filled with. Chris’s hands began travelling all across my body, taking his time on my tits as his thumbs drew circles around my hardened nipples. He gave my tits a harsh squeeze before travelling down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin as he reached my clit and began rubbing it in rhythm with his thrusts. “God, keep going baby.” I moaned, wrapping my legs even tighter around Chris’s waist, “F-feels s-so good!” I cried just as Chris lifted me up off the table and slammed me into the wall. I released a sharp gasp from the shock, but as he continued pounding into me, my pleasure was intensified.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Chris growled as he nibbled against the skin on my neck. “You always this fucking wet?” His dirty words make my head spin. “N-no. I’m n-not.” I reply honestly, feeling my juices spread all over his front. A wicked smile covers his face. “Just for me then, huh?” His tone was arrogant, but there was an undertone of overwhelming arousal in it that told me he needed it to be true. I nodded my head rapidly. “Y-yes Chris! O-only this wet f-for y-you.” I managed to reply just before my second orgasm swept in and overtook me.

Just as I began riding my high — my nails digging into his skin and my mouth sputtering out profanities — Chris stilled inside of me and released a ragged “Oh fuck!”. I felt his cock pulse inside of me, painting my walls with his warm seed as my orgasm milked him dry. He released soft grunts against my neck as he rode through his own high, and I relished in the feeling of his cum as it dripped from my cunt.

After a while, both of our bodies relaxed and we rested against one another as we caught our breath. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of regret to wash over me, as one would expect it to after fucking your best friend, but it never came. In fact, I was so relaxed in that post-sex liminal space, pressed against the wall with Chris’s softening cock resting in my core, that I almost couldn’t believe that we had never done that before.

I was pulled from that thought by Chris placing a deeply passionate kiss to my lips. There was no lust, no untethered desire attached to it; it was almost as though this kiss was the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of a new, more exciting one. Our lips moved in slow motion, as if we had kissed like this a thousand times. With his lips still on mine, Chris slowly helped me down so my feet were on the ground. After another moment of our mouths merged as one, I pulled away and was immediately wrapped in a hug. Chris’s warm body felt so familiar, even more familiar than before, and I closed my eyes and took in the moment, as I knew it was the start of something new.

“Well, I think we have some things we should figure out,” Chris said, and I felt a soft chuckle against my head tucked into his chest. “Because I don’t know about you, but there is no way I can go the rest of my life without doing that again.” It was my turn to laugh, and I pulled myself out of his arms and looked up at his face. “I think I am officially under your spell.” I replied, feigning a smile. “Let’s go sit down and figure this all out.” I grabbed my discarded shirt and threw it over my head before walking towards my living room. “Oh by the way Y/n,” Chris grabbed me by my waist from behind as we walked through the door, “My back feels great now, in case you were curious.” I rolled my eyes with a smile and continued walking. “You have magical hands.” He whispered, and all I could do was laugh and give him a half-hearted shove.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[fromrory]

Where’s the dog !

POV: Fem!Reader & Damian Wayne Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Titus Word Count: 1K .Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) requested by: @simpingmyassoff sorry it took long!!! I was finishing classes A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: It's kind of inspired in how @fromdove (💕💞💓💗💖💘💝) writes damian. . .,please GO CHECK HER BLOG ! ! ! !

———

“He hid again,didn’t he?” 

‘’Pffft– what? Of course not!”

©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

POV: You

Dog-sitting Titus should be easy. I mean, come on. He’s a dog. A big dog, sure, but mostly a big, fluffy, lovable dog who just wants to nap, chew his squeaky toys, and occasionally judge me for my lack of treats.

I’d done this countless times before. Titus stayed with me while Damian was off doing who-knows-what, and I’d happily take care of the giant fluffball. Feed him, walk him, throw his favorite toy until he got tired, repeat.

Simple.

Today was supposed to be just another normal Titus-sitting day.

And yet here I was, standing in my living room with my hands on my hips, heart thumping, and pillows thrown all over the floor like a tornado had hit my apartment.

Because Titus had vanished.

Literally.

It started an hour ago. I was cleaning up after one of Titus’s enthusiastic toy-chasing sessions, when I glanced around and noticed he wasn’t at his usual spot by the couch. No gentle snoring. No wagging tail brushing against the carpet.

Nothing.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇:  I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Oh great.

Great.

Because Titus was nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” I muttered, dropping onto my knees, scanning the floor for any signs of him. “Keep calm. He’s probably hiding. He loves hiding.”

Except that usually, when Titus hid, I could hear him. His nails tap-tap-tapping on the hardwood, or the faint squeak of his favorite red toy being tossed around. This time? Silence.

And the clock was ticking.

Damian’s text came again.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇: I’m five minutes away.

I was about to text back a frantic, “Hey baby! Um…I think I lost your dog,don’t kill me. xoxo” but I knew that would only make things worse. Damian’s eyebrow raise would be legendary.

No. I had to find Titus before Damian showed up.

So I launched into full search mode.

First, the couch cushions. I flipped and dug through every crevice, fishing out dust bunnies and a couple of crumbs, but no Titus.

Next, under the coffee table. No wagging tail. No big eyes staring at me.

“Come on, Titus,” I whispered, voice catching. “Please don’t make me look bad in front of Damian.”

I moved to the kitchen, thinking maybe he was trying to steal some snacks, but no. Empty floors.

The balcony door was closed, so no chance he escaped outside — plus, I was pretty sure he’d never survive the drop without some serious bat-gadgets.

Then I heard it. The tiniest squeak.

My heart jumped.

Titus’s toy.

I followed the sound, creeping around my bookshelf — and suddenly, there he was.

Curled up in the tiniest corner behind the books, happily gnawing on his red squeaky toy like it was the best thing in the world.

Oh my god.

Relief slammed through me in a tidal wave.

“Titus! You little stinker!” I scooped him up before he could run off again. His tail thumped against my arm as if to say, “I was just having some alone time, chill.”

I didn’t care.

I hugged him tight.

And then, because I was officially losing my mind, I looked around at the disaster zone my apartment had become.

Pillows from the couch tossed everywhere.

Blankets flung like flags of defeat.

My coffee table now sporting a suspiciously large scratch.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I told myself. “Damian’s coming. You can do this.”

Almost like the universe heard me, the doorbell rang.

My heart jumped again.

“Okay, Titus,” I whispered, setting him down. “Time for Operation: Don’t Look Like You Lost Him.”

I straightened my hoodie, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Damian stood there, expression unreadable, as usual.

His dark eyes flicked from me to Titus—who was now sitting politely by my feet, tail wagging.

“Welcome back,roohi! ,” I said, voice a little too cheerful.

Damian’s lips twitched—maybe the closest thing he had to a smile.

“You seem… relieved.”

I flushed. “Really? You’re making up things again”

He took the leash from my hand and clipped it to Titus’s collar.

Titus immediately jumped into Damian’s side, tail wagging furiously.

Damian glanced back at me, then said quietly, “I suppose I won’t ask where he was.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

But the way his eyes softened told me he already knew exactly what had happened.

And maybe, just maybe, he was choosing not to make me explain.

POV: Damian Wayne

I texted her fifteen minutes ago.

I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Simple enough.

When I arrived at her place, I expected to see Titus sprawled on the floor, maybe half-asleep, or at worst, begging for a walk.

Instead, the door swung open, and there stood her—looking disheveled, slightly flustered, and clutching Titus like he was a fragile treasure.

My eyes scanned the room.

Pillows were strewn everywhere.

The coffee table bore a fresh scratch.

Blankets were tossed haphazardly.

The couch was upside down.

Clearly, some kind of Titus-related chaos had ensued.

I kept my expression calm, though inside I was amused.

“Titus,” I said softly, kneeling down to the dog’s level.

The giant mutt wagged his tail, tongue lolling happily.

Relief was written all over her face.

“You seem… relieved,” I said quietly, not really expecting a reply.

She flushed and gave a small laugh.

“Really?,” she said, “ You’re making up things again”

I clipped the leash to Titus’s collar.

The dog immediately pressed against my leg.

I didn’t press.

I glanced back at her.

“Where was he?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Some things were better left unsaid.

[pathologicalreid]

everything is gonna be alright | s.r.

in which Spencer comforts your seven year old when he feels like he's unable to live up to the expectations set for him

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: dyslexia, boy dad!spencer, bearcia, bullying, feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders at only seven. word count: 1.96k a/n: listen i know i'm usually pushing the girl dad!spencer agenda but there's something about boy dad!spencer that i think would be so healing for him and i especially love jamie and his little teddy bear with matching glasses :-(

There was a heavy fog that had settled itself over the Reid household, Spencer could feel it in the air the moment he walked through the front door. Instead of being met by two running kids, excited to see their father after he was gone for two days, he found you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. 

Your youngest was sat at the kitchen table, scrawling the answers to her math homework on a worksheet while music played softly in the background. It might’ve looked perfect to the average passerby, but something was missing from the image. Someone. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, leaving his go bag in the mudroom and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

Not looking up from the cutting board, you hummed in response, “Hey, baby.” Any other day, he might’ve assumed he’d done something wrong to cause you to be short with him, but this time he knew. It was what the day had done to you that had caused your sour mood, not caused by the actions of another person. 

Spencer squeezed your hip comfortingly, “How did it go?” He asked, your five minute phone call before the jet had taken off hadn’t left much time for details, just the Reader’s Digest version. 

This time, you set the knife down, laying your palms flat on the countertop and sighing, “Exactly the way we expected it to.” You were disappointed, despite the fact that you’d been given the answer you’d been expecting, you had dared to dream. A mistake, as it turned out. “He’s upstairs in his room. I couldn’t get him to come out for a snack after we got home, but I thought maybe he’d let you in.”

He nodded in understanding, “I’ll go check on him.” He offered, separating himself from you before making his way to the kitchen table, “Hi, Rosie.” 

Your three year old sighed despondently, “Hi, daddy.” Her voice was tired, as if spending the day at preschool had really taken it out of her. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asked, making a quick pit stop to crouch next to her, a small cushion beneath her so she could properly reach the tabletop. 

She pouted down at him, “Math.” 

Her disdain for the subject had become apparent in the weeks since the school year had started, while she seemed to enjoy every other subject that school had to offer, she and math were off to a bad start. Though, calling her homework math was a bit of a reach, all she needed to do was color in the correct number of fruits for each problem. Spencer certainly wasn’t going to be the one to point this out to her. “How about this? What if you finish up your work, and I’ll come back down and check your work before we put it back in your packpack?” 

Rosie beamed at his proper use of the word packpack, nodding excitedly at the offer of having her dad check her homework. She turned back to her worksheet, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Are you gonna see bubby?” 

Spencer nodded softly, “Yeah, I’m gonna go talk to him for a little bit.” 

“Mommy says bubby’s sad,” she told him mournfully. “Can you make him happy?” 

He frowned at the sensitivity of your youngest child, her wish to make everyone happy had a tendency to make him sad. It wasn’t the first time his heart ached at his inability to make the entire world happy, just to put a smile on his daughter’s face. “I’m certainly going to try my best,” Spencer answered, reassuring her that he’d do what he could to make her big brother smile. 

Ruffling her hair, Spencer stood up and walked away, making his way upstairs to James’ room. Unsure of what he was walking into, he paused before knocking on the door. It was silent for a moment, the soft scratching of paper could be heard on the other side before a small voice spoke, “Yeah?”

Slowly, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open so Jamie could see who was home. “Hey, buddy,” Spencer whispered, his heart breaking at the red-rimmed eyes that stared back at him. 

“Hi,” Jamie said meekly, shoving something behind his pillows before fiddling with the colored pencil in his hand. “Is it dinnertime?” 

Spencer shook his head, walking inside and closing the door behind him, making sure no little siblings would accidentally wander into his room. “Not yet, I just got back though, and I wanted to see you before we had to sit down to eat.” He sat down on Jamie’s bed, leaning against the wall and peeking at the page he was drawing on, “What are we working on?” 

Silently, Jamie handed the paper over, letting his father look at his most recent project, “Scarabs,” Jamie answered, pointing to the one that was still being colored in. “Rosie thought they were scary, but I told her they were rainbow colors,” he explained patiently. “She wants a purple one to put in her cubby at school.” 

He looked around his son’s room, all along the walls were different drawings that he had done over the past few years. His sister’s room had one wall that was dedicated to drawings from her big brother, the fridge was almost solely occupied by his artwork, and each member of the BAU had a specially made drawing for them. Bugs had been his favorite lately, a common interest for seven year old boys, and when he wasn’t chasing his little sister around with pictures of spiders, Spencer found himself in complete adoration of his son’s talent. “Do you remember the word I told you to describe the rainbow scarabs?” 

“Iridescent,” Jamie answered, sounding out the word from memory and pointing to the sticky note that Spencer had made for him, now hanging over his bed in a place of honor. “I wanted to make this one yellow,” he said, pointing to a colorless beetle on his paper, “but the colored pencil is running out.” 

Spencer hummed thoughtfully at the sight of the yellow colored pencil, sharpened into an oblivion, nothing but a nub. “We’ll get you new ones this weekend,” he offered. “We can go to the art store near mommy’s work, and you can pick whichever ones you want.” 

Your son shook his head dismissively, “No, I can just use the crayons.” He pointed to his art supplies, separated by things he was allowed to use in his bed and things that were for deskwork only. Too many sets of sheets had been ruined before you had to put those rules in place. 

“We’ll get you the colored pencils,” Spencer repeated, worry flooding his chest, that Jamie was somehow punishing himself for things outside of his control. 

Jamie nodded, setting down his yellow-green colored pencil and shifting uncomfortably on his bed, “I’m sorry.” 

And there it was, the proverbial shoe that Spencer had been waiting to be dropped. Of course, Spencer already knew what had happened, and there was no reason to make your seven year old recount the events of the day. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Spencer assured him, ruffling his hair softly and silently willing the solemn expression on his son’s face to go away. 

His creative, gentle, caring, perfect son had been taken down by a test result, and it broke his heart that he couldn’t do anything to make it all go away. “Am I stupid?” 

“No,” Spencer answered immediately, nipping any use of the word stupid in reference to his son in the bud. He would never tolerate anything like it. Stupid, dumb, idiot - they’d all be banned words in this household if that was what James needed. “You’re not stupid,” he corrected him, “You have a learning disorder. Being dyslexic doesn’t mean you’re stupid. In fact, I never, ever want to hear you use that word again, okay?” 

Jamie nodded slowly, fully processing his father’s words. “Is that why I can’t read good?” 

He opened his arms for Jamie, letting him climb into his father’s lap like he had when he was much smaller, but Spencer’s arms would always be open for him. “Yeah,” Spencer admitted, “Do you remember when you told mommy and me that when you read sometimes the letters get all mixed up?” 

The seven year old nodded, “Yeah, and we had alphabet soup for dinner.” 

When you first decided to get Jamie tested for dyslexia, you’d sent Rosie to be doted on by the BAU ladies for an evening so you could talk to Jamie in private, and you’d given him alphabet soup because he said that was what his brain looked like. It had given you something to use when you explained dyslexia and that you wanted to get him tested. 

You’d gone in for the test last week, but this afternoon was when you went over the results with the educational psychologist. It had turned out exactly how you suspected, but no number of childcare books could’ve prepared Spencer for how awful it was that his son was being so hard on himself. “That’s all it is, Jamie. Your brain just works differently than other people’s. It doesn’t make you any less intelligent, okay?” 

Jamie didn’t look entirely convinced, “Roger told me that I was dumb when I couldn’t do my reading aloud in class.” 

Spencer’s chest ached, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard Roger’s name in relation to name-calling. He just hoped that was the extent of the bullying, making a mental note to call his teacher tomorrow. “Roger’s wrong, and I’d imagine he has no idea what he’s talking about. You’re not dumb, you’re lightyears from it, really,” Spencer promised him. “You just need a little help figuring out what works for your brain, and mommy and I are going to help you, okay?” 

Nervously, Jamie nodded, “Okay.” He smiled shyly up at Spencer, “You’ll help me read?” 

“Yes,” Spencer confirmed, hoping Jamie knew how much he intended on keeping this promise. “We can read together every night if you’d like. In person or over the phone - whatever you need, lovey.” 

Leaning his head against his father’s shoulder, Jamie sighed in relief, “Thank you.” 

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Jamie’s head before asking, “What were you hiding in your pillows when I came in?” The question made him nervous, afraid of the answer and hoping it was something simple like a snack that he’d snuck from the pantry, which is why he was surprised when Jamie clambered off of his lap, producing a familiar stuffed animal that had been wedged between the pillows. 

The brown bear brought a warm feeling to Spencer’s heart, recognizing it immediately without seeing its face. “I don’t sleep with him every night,” Jamie insisted, feeling the need to defend himself. 

Spencer shook his head, “You can sleep with Bearcia all you need, bubby,” using Rosie’s nickname for her older brother. “And you don’t need to hide him beneath your pillows,” he mock scolded, “He won’t be able to breathe.” 

Jamie looked fondly at the bear, and Spencer wondered if he thought of the same memories as him when looking at the thick black frames, stitched on by his namesake, that so closely mirrored the frames of James’ own glasses. “Then maybe he can stay on my bed again,” Jamie concluded, holding the bear tightly in his arms, just like he did when he was three and the scariest thing out there was thunder and lightning. 

Smiling at the memory, Spencer reached out, gently pushing Jamie’s glasses up on his nose before repeating the motion for Bearcia. “I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Spencer agreed.

[sempiternalmuze]

And we go on.

dr abbott x third year resident who feels with her whole soul. late night chinese takeout is how they connect

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, jack calls reader kid ONE TIME, more off a slice of life deal we've got going on here, reader probs has anxiety ngl, full scope of relationship never really established, just kind of implied, jack abbott please save me pookie, reader loses patient, probably medical inaccuracy (sorry pitt and greys you raised me better), first fic in five minutes but I NEED this man, no use of y/n, female reader

enjoy and let me know <3

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

"That's enough. Clock out. Now." Robby whispered, firmness and anger dripping from his tone.

You looked up at him, jaw clenched as you pushed around him, past Dana despite her best attempts to reach you, and straight to the elevator. You practically punched the fading 4 and waited for the doors to close. When they met in the middle you slid down the wall, breathing heavy.

Head pounding, fingers flexing as you recounted every step you'd taken on the patient. It should've been easy. Bag them, push the meds, step back. But something happened. She coded, her heart refused to cooperate. Robby had walked in, and that's when your head started spinning because god forbid you lose a patient in front of him. He'd told you to stop compressions five minutes ago. It wasn't fair.

The elevator stopped, you stood up, entering one of the empty rooms. This part of the hospital was empty, and the beds were heavenly after a shitshow in the Pitt. You sat, took down your hair. You glanced at your hands. They were shaking. A sob escaped you, a quiet, strangled sound that you fought hard to keep down.

The patient had been in her sixties, she was frail for her age. It probably wasn't your fault, but that didn't mean you weren't going to take it to heart. She had a life, a family. She woke up this morning, and now she was dead.

The tears had long run out. The AC was turning off and on, the buzz kept you awake. Your shift was over, but you didn't really want to go home. A buzz lit up your phone. You grabbed it, the text message bright as day.

Come downstairs, from Jack. You sighed, stood up and went back to the elevator.

When the doors opened, there he was. Dark washed out jeans, a tight blue tee, curls a bit disheveled.

"Robby called me." He barely had time to finish the sentence before you were pressed against him, arms holding tightly around his neck, as you breathed him in.

He didn't say anything, his arms wrapping around you, strong hands rubbing up and down your back. His head rested on yours, letting you take your time, regain your peace.

"Wanna get some Chinese?" You laughed and looked up at him, his soft eyes already looking down at you. You nodded. He presses the basement button, and the elevator moves. You two stand side by side, fingers brushing softly as the hum of the fluorescent lights sing around you.

You elect to grab your things during your next shift and soon enough you and Jack are off, walking in a hushed silence with the promise of orange chicken awaiting you.

At the restaurant (which is so courteous to be open late for the hospital workers or the loud college kids) Jack pays, much to your protests ("During my third year I could barely pay rent, you're not paying for your dinner") and you two sit in a booth in the back.

The food comes, the zesty warmth like a hug on what has been a shit day. After a few bites Jack pushes his white rice to the side and reaches across the table to you, his hand quick to find your own, fingers rubbing tiny shapes across the back of your palm.

"What happened out there today kid?"

Kid. It was such an arbitrary nickname that he'd assigned you when you two had first met. It made you feel small, like he didn't see anything past your age, past the gap of years between the two of you.

"I couldn't help her." Was all you could muster, barely looking up at him.

"No, you couldn't. She threw a clot. There wasn't anything anyone could do at that point. Not Robby, not me...not you sweetie." He leaned closer, his hand traveling to your arm now, pressing thumb into your forearm.

"You couldn't save her, but you've still got your pulse. You carry on. I'm not saying you should move on, I'm the last one to be giving out that advice." He smiles. And when Jack smiles you have to look, because its almost rare, almost a foreign action from him. So you look, and he catches your eyes, and you can't look away.

"I know you love with everything in your heart. I know you feel it all, its part of why I love you so damn much. But this work—and its work you are damn good at—you gotta pack it and set it on the curb."

You nod. His words have such power, they're so calculated but genuine. Never has Jack made you feel like your problems were small and stupid, or that you needed to get over it. But he did make sure you knew that you had to pack it up and move on to the next.

"How else are we supposed to live? We don't have to remember the reason, we just have to know its there." He'd told you after the fourth date.

You and Jack pack up the rest of the food, lunch for the next shift. He walks you home, he comes inside. Its quiet, the way you two interact. He doesn't push you, you don't need to thank him, because you both know where the line is, where the other person's head is at, and its so perfectly meshed for you both.

Its 10:43 pm when you crawl into bed, Jack laying beside you.

"You don't have to stay." You whisper.

"I know." Is all he whispers back, pulling you so your head rests against his bare chest, his arm hugging you close against his body. The night takes over, and you tangle your body with his.

And your head quiets.

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

a/n: lol posting for the first time in MONTHS and I hope this is enjoyable. if you liked please like/reblog, it helps so much. give me feedback, I felt like I could see this "oc" coming together in my head and i'm wondering if I should make some sort of series from it. lots of love - muze

[touchme-teezme]

I'm Sorry.

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!seonghwa x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, strangers to lovers, one night stand situationship, idk man he came over to build legos, there’s some attempted flirting and teasing, lots of making out, lots of tongue, unprotected vanilla sex, seonghwa lowkey a bop, bruh i am so bad at tagging bye i give up

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Seonghwa needed a break. He also decided something had to change — and that led him to a few unexpected places in one night, including something dangerously close to his disaster feelings and while you were clearly the escape, he ran the other way.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | …hey…. how y’all doing?… sorry i was getting cheated on and also started a really important internship. It just ended (the internship and the relationship) so… we’re so…back? Thank you for being so sweet in the inboxes, this was a long one. i finished editing during valentine’s day i think? i was thinking about hwa’s slutty fingers after seeing that one concert video and ugh my mind went places oK omg i will shut up now. Bye, enjoy.

Inspired by 'Do You Like Me?" by Daniel Cesar. I have been listening to that NEVER ENOUGH album so much lately.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

This was going to be the first and last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung.

In his defence, he’d hit a new low. Lower than rock bottom. Which is why the resident exemplary student, honour roll with a self-imposed 9 p.m. bedtime was standing outside the hottest nightclub in Itaewon, sporting a fresh haircut and an outfit entirely stolen from his roommate’s wardrobe.

His dating life chewed him up and spat him out, and now he was determined to do the absolute most to cope. He was hurt and hell-bent on distraction from whatever the fuck was even going on in that part of his life.

How he ended up getting ghosted by his situationship wasn’t nearly as baffling as how Wooyoung had somehow convinced over half their friend group to spend their Friday night here, of all places. They weren’t really party people — well, half of them weren’t. The ones who were into it had conveniently been excused from showing up.

Yunho, on the other hand, had been on the dance floor non-stop, while Wooyoung played hype man from the booth, cheering him on like it was a solo concert.

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa’s shoulder with his knee from the top edge of the booth like a gremlin surveying chaos.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you all night.”

Seonghwa shot him a flat look. “And?”

“And,” Wooyoung slid down from his perch and dropped onto the seat beside him with a dramatic sigh, “Yunho and I are taken, and those two are a lost cause.”

Seonghwa glanced across the table. Hongjoong looked like he was losing a battle with sleep, while Yeosang scrolled through his phone, sipping from Hongjoong’s drink. He hadn’t smiled once all night — clearly here for the same reason Seonghwa was: moral support. But the chaos of the club made heart-to-hearts impossible.

“That leaves you,” Wooyoung said matter-of-factly. “Dude. She’s hot and interested. You’re hot and miserable. Classic rebound opportunity.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” Wooyoung shrugged. “But I’m also right. Just look.”

He reached over, grabbed Seonghwa’s chin, and turned his head toward the bar.

And there you were — leaning back with easy confidence, swirling your drink, eyes locked on him with a smirk that stole the air right out of his lungs.

“Trust me,” Wooyoung grinned. “She’s perfect for helping you forget that loser.”

This would go down as the second and definitely the absolute last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung. Five minutes later, he’d been kicked out of the booth with one order: Don’t come back without her number.

That’s how he found himself now, seated next to you, drink in hand, trying to remember how to function like a normal human.

“Not a fan of clubs?” You asked, leaning slightly nearer to him to yell over the loud music.

“I hate it. I think I’m having an identity crisis,” He blurted out as he shook his head, the liquor loosening his lips faster than his brain could catch up.

You laughed, but not unkindly. “I'm sorry to hear that. Well… I don’t live far if you wanna have some peace and quiet.”

“Oh. Uh…”

“I…have a cat, too. She loves company if you like cats.”

Your invitation slipped past his defences smoother than the drink in his hand. One last sip, and he was already on his feet—jacket in one hand, your purse slung over the other shoulder.

That was all it took.  Seonghwa couldn't help but wish it was the way you were looking at him or how your skirt was riding up coincidentally the longer he sat next to you. But nope, it was the thought of being able to distract himself and pretend like this night out never even happened and getting him far away from whatever this hellscape was.

Clubs really weren’t his thing.

He barely registered the triumphant double thumbs-up from Wooyoung or the way Yunho covered his dropped jaw as he watched the two of you walk out together.

Seonghwa’s heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. Taking a cab to your place with a confident, effortlessly cool girl like you was far outside his usual playbook. For a second, he wasn’t even sure what to say.

Thankfully, conversation came easily to you.

The ride melted into light chatter about university — shared gripes about professors, mutual hatred for certain classes. You discovered you were in the same course but at rival schools, which only added to the banter. There was laughter, playful jabs, and an unexpected comfort that settled between you.

By the time the cab pulled up to your place, Seonghwa was far more at ease than when he’d left the booth.

Your apartment was warm and cosy, lit with soft golden light that cast slow-moving shadows across the walls. Seonghwa stepped inside and hesitated in the middle of the living room, awkwardly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, unsure of where to stand or sit.

You smiled as you hung up your coat, amused by his stiffness.

“Relax. Make yourself at home.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry.” He took in the space again, then gave you a sheepish look.

“So… is this the part where you admit you don’t actually have a cat?”

“Would you be mad if I did?” you teased, stepping a little closer.

His heart stuttered. He opened his mouth to respond, but then-

“Oh, shit!”

His eyes went wide as they landed on something across the room — a pristine box of a Lego orchid set sitting on the coffee table. He practically rushed over.

“I’ve wanted this for so long!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, his excitement too endearing to be upset over what the box represented.

“Oh, yeah. It was a birthday gift for someone… but I never got to give it to him. I was going to return it tomorrow or something.”

He glanced down at the box in his hands. “Have you ever built a set before?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t have the patience for Lego,” you admitted.

He held out a hand, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “This one’s easier than my last build. We’ll be done in no time. I promise.”

Somewhere between sorting bricks and swapping stories, Seonghwa realized he was actually getting to know you. What started as throwaway chatter had spiraled into a shared spiral; bad dates, worse decisions, and the Valentine’s Day disasters that landed you both at that club.

Now sitting cross-legged beside you, he was down to the last few pieces, fitting them together with ease —until your voice cut in again.

“I still think it’s insane how yours just ghosted you,” you voiced your opinion once his story was over as you laid on your stomach, “If I was in that position, I’d be running for a second chance, like that wouldn’t have even been a question.

Seonghwa’s hands faltered, fingers tightening around a tiny brick as he felt heat rush up to his cheeks. He let out a breathy laugh, snapping one of the last pieces into place. Then, a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it was my fault. I come on too strong sometimes and… it just didn’t work out.”

“Which is exactly why I think it’s crazy,” You clarified, with your chin resting in your hands, propped up on your elbows. “Like, if I had you chasing after me? Wow.”

You were only yapping away, if anything it was to keep yourself awake. You let out a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of saying something like that to someone you literally just met, but you caught the way he was looking at you. And maybe… the way you said it didn’t sound so hypothetical anymore.

His fingers tightened around the last brick in his hand, looking down at it.

“…What would you do?” he suddenly asked, the words slipping out before he could think them through. “If I was chasing you?”

You shrugged, still focused on finishing your flower, but there was something different in the air now. You could feel it. The way his voice had dropped, how his eyes lingered just a moment too long.

“I don’t know… anything you’d want. Like, come on.” You tried to brush it off with another laugh, but even you could notice the shift in the air between you both.

“Come on… what?”

He didn’t laugh back. Instead, he leaned in a little, just enough to close the space between you. His gaze was intense as it focused on you but the question still hung in the air.

You slowly looked up at him, you knew exactly what he was doing.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

He huffed a quiet breath, trying to ground himself. “You didn’t invite me here for some peace and quiet, did you?”

You felt your carpet under the palms of your hands as you sat up, still watching him. “Technically… I invited you back for peace and quiet away from everyone else.”

“To do what?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” You couldn't bite back that smile. “Me inviting you is one thing, but why did you come?”

He didn’t respond, just held your gaze. You leaned in and your fingers found his jaw, light and slow. With that, you closed the gap, pressing your mouth firmly against his. Your hands roamed down his hard chest, tracing the contours and marvelling at how he flexed beneath your touch.

A low moan escapes his throat as he returns your kiss with equal fervour, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your tongues moved together, exploring every nook of each other's mouths.

The kiss momentarily broke for him to trail his lips along your jaw. You slowly rose up from your knees with his guidance. His hands firmly on your sides with no signs or intentions of letting you go just yet. His lowered eyes focused on you as you helped him out of his black tank top, throwing it off over the jacket he laid out neatly on your couch.

You took his hand straight to your bedroom door. Opening it, your tuxedo cat jumped out before making its way to the zip line for the kitchen where her bowl of water and food was waiting. You turned to Seonghwa who looked back at you, delightfully surprised.

“So you do have a cat.”

“I was lying about her being a fan of people though,” You shrugged. “Come on.”

He smiled as he looked down at you, his gaze locked on yours with a mix of curiosity and anticipation and as you both reached the edge of the bed, you gently pushed him down onto the mattress.

His lips pressing together nervously as his eyes drank the sight of you stripping down.

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“Yeah… just not… it’s been a while…” Seonghwa was blabbering.

He was in the middle of an internal battle, wondering if this was a mistake. You were just nodding along to his words, finally slipping out your skirt before straddling him, hooking your arms behind his head to continue kissing those lips of his.

Seonghwa was without a doubt a kisser. He knew exactly how to do just how you like it, how to hold you and move his tongue – the way he moved with yours with practiced precision sent shivers down your spine.

It was no wonder you were already getting soaked between your legs, and he wasn’t even naked… but he was hard, and from how he was rubbing it up against you, you could tell he was more than eager.

His kisses felt tender yet intentional, and it was driving you insane. He was holding down the sides of your throat to kiss your neck and collarbones.

“Fuck, Seonghwa please—“ You reached down to the bulge clearly wanting to be freed, looking up at him when he had you pressed against the mattress on your back.

It felt good to be wanted and to be desired. He wasn’t lying when he said it had been a while, especially with someone like you, who carried yourself with such certainty.

“Shhh… let’s take our time.”

His hands found their way onto the mounds beneath the lace of your bra which he had pushed above your breasts teasing your left nipple with fingertips he had wet with his tongue. Your knees pressed together, as he showered the other one with feathery kisses.

He took your hand from behind his head, intertwining it with his fingers before planting it right above your head. When his skilled tongue found its way against yours again, you had to let out a deep moan in his mouth — especially with his fingers teasing your slick folds through your panties.

“Oh my god…” You rubbed up his arm in encouragement.

“Where do you want me, beautiful?”

You swear you could’ve melted from how gentle his voice was and how his eyes were glossing at you.

“Anywhere.” You unhooked your own bra out of sheer impatience, getting chills from how he smiled at your shamelessness. “Everywhere.”

“Let’s start… here.” His hands dipped in between your legs.

Seonghwa's hands moved with a confident grace, exploring every inch of your core with a precision that spoke of practiced skill. His thumb traced gentle circles over your clit, eliciting a soft grunt from you as the sensation washed over you. Your core tightened in response to his focused attention, and your hips began to move involuntarily, grinding against his fingers.

You were lost in a fit of absolute pleasure and enjoyment, your body arching off the bed as Seonghwa's fingers delved deeper into you. In a moment of pure instinct, you grabbed his chin, pulling him closer. His mouth was open, and before you could think twice, he sucked your fingers into his mouth, his lips and tongue working over them with a hunger that mirrored your own.

You noticed the glint in his eyes as he watched you, his gaze flickering between the action and your reactions with a possessiveness that lit up his eyes. "Are you just going to watch?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

Your fingertips brushed his smile, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned down. "But I like watching you," he murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His fingers continued their tormenting, curling and twisting inside you in a way that had you squirming beneath him. He could feel your wetness coating his fingers, and it only spurred him on further.

"I n-need a little more," you whispered, but your words were swallowed by the intensity of another finger joining the first, and everything around you seemed to fade away.

Seonghwa groaned, quickly undoing his button and fly with one hand, while the other ensured your legs remained parted. Before you could compose yourself, he dropped his head and began lapping at your clit as if he were starving. At first, it was just his tongue and lips, but when you felt his fingers curl back in, you let out a loud moan of pure pleasure. You didn't even notice his growls of approval as he continued the motion, flicking his tongue faster and faster, as if you might run away at any moment.

The sight and feeling of having such a beautiful face devouring you distracted you from how he was advancing towards you, appearing in front of your face just to dip down and kiss your chest. Distracting you, he was getting ready to take out his hard-on, pumping it in his hands, coating it with your own slick.

“Do you have uh…” He started to ask, but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about that, just… now… p-please,” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled a little at you, leaning down to hold you with one arm snaked around your waist and the other hooked under your knee as he laid you both on your side. Holding onto him by his broad shoulders, you braced yourself for what was to come.

“Ah, fuck..”

He took your lips between his as he finally had you around him. The way he teased your bottom lip with his teeth, the way his tongue had explored every crevice of your mouth — it reminded you just how much you personally missed the feeling of being this intimate with someone.

Seonghwa groaned into another kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he rolled his hips, grinding his slightly curved cock deeper into your stretched folds.

"Mmm,” he murmured against your lips, nipping at them playfully before trailing his mouth down your neck. "Is this what you wanted?”

You bit back a grin, nodding aggressively as you continued to moan out all while his shaft slipped in and out at a steady pace with your hands clutched onto the back of his neck.

He caught a pert nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “You smell incredible, I’ve wanted to tell you that all night.”

You scrunched your nose, “I smell like the club.” Cigarettes and liquor.

To emphasize his point, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before placing an open-mouthed kiss there. “I mean your skin, babe. Fuck me…” He suckled lightly, intent on leaving a subtle mark.

"How does that feel?" He asked in a low, seductive rasp as he continued his sensual stroke a little quicker.

Your breathy silent approval ignited something primal in him.

“Yeah? Faster?” He complied, increasing the pace of his thrusts. The new rhythm had him driving into you harder, deeper, the thick ridge of his cockhead kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

It was wild how he seemed to anticipate your every move before you could even react or give him instructions. The fluidity of his actions felt almost surreal, which sounds absurd when you consider how quickly everything unfolded. You had just met this stunning stranger, with hair flopping over his eyes – you were building brick flowers merely moments ago and now here you were focused on a different set of bricks.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as the other tangled in your hair, resting his forehead against yours intimately as he pounded into you. His lips brushed yours in fleeting, feverish kisses between ragged breaths.

"Yes, just like that," you grunted, feeling the sweat on his brow against your forehead. “Whatever you want, just take i-it.”

You felt Seonghwa's hands curve around your skin, to press down on your stomach. As his fingers dug in, it was as if they were anchoring you to the moment, making it impossible to escape from under him. Not that you even planned to.

He rocks into you with an increased urgency, driven by the overwhelming desire of how your body is responding instinctively. His eyes locked on yours, a mix of possessiveness and adoration that made your heart race. The way his muscles flexed with each thrust, sweat glistening on his skin, and his lips parting in a shameless moan.

"I-I’m…i’m almost there," He rasped, while his hot breath fanned over your skin.

Just as you're teetering on the brink, he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. With a guttural roar, he stills, his cock twitching as he fills you.

When the pulses gradually slowed, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer intensity of you both unravelling at the same time. His lips sought yours in a tender, lingering kiss, pouring all your affection into the simple gesture.

"Oh my god…" he breathed, still reeling as he brushed a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“God…” You chuckled, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “I needed that so badly.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement with an eyebrow raised as your bluntness, “Glad I could’ve helped–”

You placed a finger to his lips, silencing him momentarily before you flipped him over to straddle his chest. Your eyes sparkled with mischief despite the exhaustion etched on your face. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and the sight of you climbing atop sent a thrill through his veins. His semi-hard cock twitched in anticipation as he idly watched you position yourself and slowly shift downwards, making sure to plant butterfly kisses all over his lower abdomen as you made your way down his happy trail.

You looked at him with a playful smile, your eyes glinting with excitement that you were going to taste yourself off him. Then you leaned in, capturing his cock in a deep mouth. Your tongue danced with the tip, exploring every inch of it as you savoured the taste of yourself and him. He groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow as your warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock.

You took your time, lavishing attention on every inch, your tongue swirling and dancing along the sensitive underside. The sensation of tasting yourselves together was intensely arousing. He threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

"Mmm, shit, that feels incredible," he praised, his voice thick with pleasure. "You look so good with me around your mouth."

You hummed in agreement, the vibration sending shivers up his spine. You picked up speed, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder, your saliva coating his shaft.

"Don't stop," he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair, guiding your movements. You could feel the tension building in his body, the muscles in his legs and arms tensing as he neared his climax again.

With a final, powerful thrust of your throat, he let out a guttural roar, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he released once more. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, and then pulled back, licking your lips clean. You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction and a hint of mischief. He was breathless, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're something else.” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and admiration as he watched you clean after yourself so well.

You smiled, leaning into his parted lips.

The whole thing was deliciously reckless… Yet, easy. It started off as one of those nights where the music was too loud, the drinks too strong, and yet somehow it led you here – it led him here. Seonghwa didn’t plan on meeting anyone, let alone ending up tangled in someone’s sheets, laughing at your terrible jokes between kisses that felt way too good to stop for the rest of the night.

By the time the sun started creeping through the blinds, you were both wrecked in the best way. Not just tired, but happy-tired. Wrapped up in each other like it was the most natural thing in the world — just easy conversation, lazy kisses, and that warm, quiet buzz of maybe-this-could-actually-be-something.

“So, what do you think about dinner? My place this Saturday?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Isn’t it Saturday already?” he replied with a chuckle.

“Then I guess you’ll have to stay.” You muttered with a cheek pressed against his chest.

He let out a small laugh, pulling you closer. You drifted asleep first, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back as his chin pressed lightly down the top of your head. He wasn’t tired yet, but he had a few things on his mind until his phone started going off in the other room.

He carefully untangles himself from you. His movements were quiet, practiced. He slipped his boxers on and cracked the door open to quietly head over to shut that stupid thing off.

It had to be one of the guys. That’s what he told himself. It had to be them asking if he got your number, if last night was good, if he was even still alive after stumbling out of there with you.

That’s why it came as a shock when he finally registered what he was reading on his phone.

DO NOT ANSWER Missed call (2)

DO NOT ANSWER I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to but Donghyuck said he saw you and your boys last night and… that you left that trash place with someone?

Did not know you were that kind of person…

Can we talk? I need to see you. I’m at your dorm.

It didn’t matter if it was inappropriate, offensive, or downright insane to come back after all the mental acrobatics Seonghwa was put through because his body was already moving, back to your room to quietly pull on the rest of his clothes. Every few seconds, he glanced back at you, at the way your hair fanned across the pillow, at the warmth still lingering in the sheets. With a quiet sigh, he grabbed a sticky note from your desk.

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what felt worse: leaving you, or running back to the person who only came back when he was one foot out the door, just to prove how wrapped around the finger he was. He didn’t know how to feel about any of it — but knew that he had to go. Because even if this could’ve been the start of something real, something he might’ve actually needed… he thought he needed to be there, chasing the comfort of old chains that he knew all too well.

By the time you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the emptiness beside you. The second was the way your lips still tingled from the night before, still smiling as it remembered what he tasted like and how he treated you, recalling everywhere his lips grazed, even though he had already left. He had been for a while, he could’ve woken you. He also could’ve taken the Lego orchid with him. The day was almost already gone by now, but a part of you was looking forward to seeing him again later.

It wasn’t until you reached for a glass of water that you noticed the note, neatly pressed under a fridge magnet in the kitchen that the hopeful smile you carried around your apartment dropped instantly.

"Thanks for last night. I don’t think I can stick around for that dinner. I’m sorry."

The words weren’t sloppy or rushed. He had taken his time. Like he meant it. Like that had made it better.

[mischievousmoony]

𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

⟢ poly!marauders x reader ⊹ 1.5k ⟢ your boys all have their own way of kissing you goodbye in the morning (ft. how each of the boys take their coffee)  ⟢ warnings/tags: reader wears makeup, fluff

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Monday mornings are the worst. The adjustment from carefree weekends to the beginning of a long work week is never easy, but at least you have your boyfriends to ease the blow. 

You’ve always been an early riser. Not because you are particularly a morning person, but because you need ample time to adjust from your deep sleep state to full alertness. 

Although, you’re never the first to rise; that’s always James. As soon as the sun is up, it seems that so is he. Sometimes, he even beats the sun to it. 

He does have the earliest start time out of all of you— him being a professional rugby player who’s due at practice as early as seven in the morning— but even if he didn't, you’re sure he would be up anyway. His morning regimen is even longer than yours, but aside from that, he is a true morning person. 

He's good at keeping quiet, though. At least until the rest of the house is awake. You don’t even hear him pad into the kitchen as you’re stuck in a trance-like state, watching your drip coffee maker slowly fill the glass jug with the steamy, black beverage. It’s been five minutes and the steady drip of coffee is hypnotizing to your sleepy mind. 

It’s only when James’ arms snake around your waist that you notice his presence; and you’re not startled at all as James nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck. You’ve come to expect him around this time, it being nearly time for him to leave for the day. 

“G’morning, love,” he murmurs into your skin, pressing a tender kiss there. 

Your hands slip away from the granite countertop where they were waiting and come to rest over his hands that join over your stomach. 

“Good morning, Jamie,” you whisper softly, letting your eyes flutter closed as you feel his warmth behind you. 

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes while you let the coffee machine finish its task. James has always been the touchiest of all the boys, and it almost seems like he can’t start his day properly without a lasting embrace before he leaves. 

When the coffee machine fizzles to a stop, James begins to ease away from you with a sigh, kissing your cheek on his departure. 

“Smells good,” James comments, rummaging through the cabinets to retrieve his travel mug and a porcelain one for you. 

You watch fondly as he pours your coffee first and fixes it the way you like it. He slides the mug down the counter and you gingerly take it into your hands. It’s still too hot to drink but the warm porcelain is always a treat for your skin. 

James prepares his own cup next, complete with milk and plenty of sugar. He has always liked the sweeter things in life, although he doesn’t always indulge himself. But his coffee is the one thing he’ll never skimp sugar on. 

With his coffee in one hand, he takes you by your waist in his other, pulling you a step closer to him. 

“I better go,” he says, a small pout displayed on his lips at the thought of leaving you. 

You nod understandingly and tilt your head up, giving him the access he needs to press his lips to yours. His goodbye kisses are always tender and lingering, him taking his time to savor the moment.

When he does finally pull away, he gives your waist a warning squeeze before the feeling of his lips on yours becomes a memory. Before he completely withdraws, he brushes your noses together, mumbling, “Miss you already.” 

“See you soon,” you reassure him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, eyes twinkling with warmth as he makes his departure. 

A content sigh leaves your lips as you pull a mug that matches your own from the cabinet. After filling it to the brim with black coffee, you take it and yours to the table. 

You take a sip of your coffee as you settle into your chair, humming happily and thinking of James fondly for making you the perfect cup. 

It’s only a few minutes later when Remus joins you, settling into the seat next to you. 

“Good morning, darling.”

“Morning, Rem,” you say, smiling happily as you watch him take his seat.

Remus returns your smile, taking the mug from the table with gratitude as he thanks you before taking a long sip of the dark beverage. 

Remus always likes to spend a little time with you in the morning before he leaves for work, which sparked this tradition of enjoying your coffee together. Sometimes you have a conversation, but Mondays mornings are usually spent in a comfortable silence. Still, Remus makes his presence known with a hand on your thigh under the table, tracing circles into your skin with his thumb. 

When you and Remus finish your coffees, you take the mugs to be rinsed in the sink. At the same time, Sirius bounds into the kitchen with purpose— always the last to rise even though he has to be the second out the door. 

“Good morning, my loves,” he says, his voice ringing out with the exuberance of midday, despite the early hour.

You and Remus greet him as he beelines for the coffee pot. His own travel mug is swiftly retrieved and he doesn’t waste any time before pouring the last of the coffee into his cup. 

Every morning, Sirius always tries a sip of the coffee the way Remus likes it as if one day his perspective will be changed. But it always ends with him wrinkling his nose and curbing the bitterness with more milk than there was originally coffee in his cup. 

He takes another sip and hums, “Much better.” 

Remus chuckles at Sirius’ antics, never understanding why he doesn’t just make the coffee he likes in the first place. His laughter draws Sirius’ attention, and you watch as he approaches Remus with haste. 

Sirius rounds the table to settle behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he bends down and begins leaving sloppy kisses to his neck and jawline. 

“Something funny?” he asks between kisses. 

"No," Remus denies, turning his head to catch one of Sirius' kisses with his lips. "Course not," he adds, his words slightly mumbled before Sirius moves a hand to the back of his head, deepening the kiss.

You lean against the sink, watching the interaction between your boyfriends adoringly. Sirius' eyes flutter open, feeling your eyes on them. He smirks into the kiss with Remus as your eyes meet, savoring the moment for a little longer before he breaks it.

After he ruffles Remus' hair in parting, he saunters over to your with a hungry look in his eyes. His hands come down on your sides firmly when he reaches you, pulling you in until you're standing hip to hip. Sirius is touchy too, but in a different way than James.

"Thanks for brewing the coffee, beautiful," he says coolly, a certain level of charm always present in his voice as if he's still trying to impress you after all this time.

He expresses his gratitude by capturing your lips in an intimate kiss. His hands slide around your body, settling on your lower back for leverage as he pushes you impossibly closer. Sirius' mouth moves against yours hungrily, his hands roaming your body still, traveling lower.

You're breathless when he pulls away. "It's seven in the morning," you comment, winded.

Sirius smirks and presses a final peck to your puffy lips.

“A bit past, actually. Which means I’m late,” he says, feigning concern as he glances at the clock over the stove.

He pats your backside before slinking away, retrieving his coffee and wasting no time to make his exit.

“I love you both!” he calls as he makes his way out of the kitchen, and you and Remus shout your affections back in response as he disappears from view.

The remaining two of you slip back into your own morning routines, finishing getting ready for the work day.

Remus leaves before you too, but first he settles against the edge your vanity to watch you put the finishing touches on your makeup.

When you put your tube of mascara down, Remus gently takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth. He presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll see you tonight, dove,” he remarks, bending down to kiss the top of your head. He places your hand in your lap to opt for cradling the side of your head, stroking your hair fondly.

“Bye,” you whisper, looking up at him with equal affection.

His face hovers near yours. “I love you,” he says in between pressing kisses to each of your cheeks.

“I love you too.”

With that Remus presses a final peck to your lips and leaves for work.

You’re not too far behind him, locking up the house a mere ten minutes later.

When you arrive at work, beaming and energized, one of your coworkers makes their usual comments.

“You’re awfully cheery. You do know today’s Monday?”

But how could you not be, with the ghost of your boyfriends’ recent affections lingering on your lips.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[the-internets-girlfriend]

The First Night - George Clarke

George Clarke x Reader

It started with a drink, a smile, and a quiet kind of pull. She didn't know who he was - only that something about him felt like home.

warnings: alcohol consumption,

masterlist x

Chris smirked before Max even finished the sentence as he sat in the podcast room.

"So," Max said, turning to him across the studio, "you've known George for years, live with him. You've gotta have a story. Like... first time he a brough a girl home or something."

Chris barely contained a laugh, "oh, I've got that story."

George gave Chris a look - pleading for him to stop.

But Chris just leaned in. "This was before anyone knew who he really was. Before the recent collabs. He met this girl in a random bar..."

George, across from them, just smiled - now realising it was in fact going to be a good story, one he wanted out for fans to know. His fingers tapped once against the table.

Max grinned. "Go on."

I hadn't meant to stay out that long. A bad day turned in to a missed train, no charger, freezing wind - the perfect combo.

I ducked quickly into the first open bar I saw after leaving work - an attempt to stay out of the cold weather, and the raining beginning to make it's way to central London.

The bar was warm, the lights creating a hue over the bar, and quiet music humming in the background, as groups nestled around small tables chatting.

I order a drink - nothing too fancy, something just to help time go by.

I was halfway through the drink, cheap cider - and pretending to be busy as I fiddle with the coasters sat on top of the bar - when a voice cut in beside me.

"You look like you're trying to convince yourself to like that."

I turn to see him - soft brown hair, easy smile, dark washed hoodie. A little stubble, and a lot cute.

I decide to engage in conversation, hoping for the time to go by quicker as I wait out the rain, "it's not working," I said, nudging the half full glass. "But I've committed now... Well at least until the rain stops."

He gave a toothy grin, "name?" He asked, as he pulled out the leather stool next to me and sat down.

"Y/N."

"I'm George. So what brings you here tonight?"

I gesture to the rain outside and my work bag sat on the ground at my feet. "I worked late, and missed the train so just waiting until the rain disappears before decide my next course of action, what about yourself George?"

"My mates just left," he starts, my faces becoming confused as to why he didn't leave with them, so he continues, "but I was looking at you for a while, and would've hated myself if I didn't come and say hi before I left."

A grin replaces my puzzled look, a faint pink blush rushing to my cheeks.

We continue talking. Nothing too deep - just banter. He was funny, but not loud about it. Kind, but never too polite. Said he worked in "media", whatever that meant, I didn't pry him for answers.

Eventually an hour had passed and the bartender alerting us the bar will be closing soon. I glance out to the rain still pouring outside, and pull out my phone thinking it would be best to call an Uber.

My phone was flat. George takes notice of the black screen on my phone and offers, "I live five minutes away. You want to come back? Just to charge your phone, honestly. My flat's got a ridiculous window view."

I pause, unsure of what to do - he seemed safe and respectful.

He added, "You can leave the second it gets weird."

I smile. "Only if there is a cup of tea in the equation then lead the way."

His flat was a brief walk from the bar - a walk that was shared with giggles and constant banter. The flat looked like three men lived there. It was warm and messy in the way that felt lived-in, not lazy.

As we entered, George took my coat from me and hung it on the coat rack to dry. I admire more of the flat - spotting two guys sat on the couch, of who were both staring at me.

"This is Y/N," George said carefully. "Chris, Arthur." George continues, pointing at the two boys.

The two boys gave a smirk in the direction of George, and I put two together and figure these were his friends from the bar.

"Evening," Chris said, already eyeing George like something was up.

Arthur gave me a polite nod and a smile.

The two boys turned to look at each other, and let out a whisper.

George ignored both of them. "Come on - I'll show you the view then make a cup of tea for you."

I follow George to the other side of the living space, a large window sat centered - an amazing view of London. The lights scattered like gold, the hum of the city distant and soft.

"Okay," I whispered, "I get it, this view is amazing."

He leaned close to me, our shoulders nudging each other. "Told you."

When I glanced at him, he was already looking at me - not in a creepy way, just like.. he was really seeing me.

Then, quietly, he said, "tea?"

I followed closely behind George, a mug of hot tea steaming clutched between my palms. George was taking me to his bedroom, where I would be able to charge my phone and wait for the rain to settle.

As the bedroom door closed behind us, I still felt the eyes of the housemates on me.

George sat his tea on his bedside table and took mine, settling it beside his - like it belonged there. He took a long cord and passed it to me, allowing for my phone to begin charging.

"You can stay as long as you like. No pressure."

I knew my phone would need a while to charge and I nodded. I took a seat on his bed, my back against the headboard as I took my tea and began sipping at it.

I felt the bed dip beside more, and then move again, I saw George standing and making his way to his wardrobe.

"Here, you must be freezing." He passed a grey hoodie, towards me and I took with no argument, wanting to feel the warmth of something other than my tea.

We both now sat on the bed together engaged in conversation - both unsure of the space between us but wanting less space.

After a while, George asks, "want to watch something?" Already reaching to grab the remote.

"Sure," I said. "Whatever you like."

He didn't ask. Didn't listen options. Just was on a mission to find something casual to watch.

The screen blinked to life. The opening swirled in - blue, spinning stars and that familiar, eerie theme.

Doctor Who.

My breath caught - that chord hit lie muscle memory.

George sat up sharply. "Wait - oh god, I can turn it off. I just picked something old and that I love, I didn't think -"

"No!" I said, grinning. "Don't. Are you kidding?"

He blinked. "You... like it?"

I grew up on it. My mum and I used to watch every Saturday. Ten was my Doctor. I cried so hard when he said he didn't want to go."

George visibly relaxed, a smile gracing his lips as he looked down at me. "You're joking."

"I literally has a sonic screwdriver. This is, like... my childhood."

The smile continued to bloom on his face, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "You are the coolest person I've met this month!" He exclaims.

He shifted, settling beside me.

And then - soft, unsure - he reached over and pulled the blanket a little tighter around both of us, his arm brushing mine.

"You don't mind?" He asked.

I shook my head. "No. I'm good." I take the next move with shuffling closer to him and leaning my head against his shoulder.

We didn't talk during the first episode. Not much, anyway. Just a few whispered lines, little gasps, shared glances.

But then a second episode started, and we didn't stop it - my phone charging long forgotten, just happy to stay with George.

Halfway through our second episode, he leaned in closer - his breath was felt on my ears as he said, "what was it about Ten that made him your favourite?"

That was it - the start of something.

We kept talking. About favourite episodes. About things we loved that no one else really got. About childhood fears and comfort movies, and what we'd do if we had a TARDIS.

As we spoke, we both moved closer to each other, George even moving his arm I leant against and draping it around me pulling me closer - but he didn't try anything. Just sat with me as we used each other for warmth.

At some point of the third episode, I must have drifted off. I woke hours later to find the lights have been dimmed in the room, a blanket tucked around me, and closing the door softly behind him with two glasses of water in his hands.

"You stayed up for me?' I whisper, taking the offered glass of water from him.

He sat down in the bed, placing his glass beside the empty tea cups. "Didn't want you waking up alone."

The softness in his voice did something to my chest.

So I stayed the rest of the night.

And then I kept staying.

Chris finished the story to the camera with, "we thought she'd vanished by morning. But she didn't, she sat at the kitchen bench with a cup of tea in her hand."

Max leans forward with a grin on his face - already knowing the answer to his question he was about to ask, "so...who was she?"

There's a pause.

George now realises what the plan between Chris and Max was - it started when George mentioned he was finally happy to go full-on public with his relationship, and now realises he has been set up so he can't back out.

George clears his throat.

"She's my girlfriend," he says finally. "Still. Going on one year together."

Chris whoops, and Max claps his hands in amusement.

"Oh, I never would have guessed." Max says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

George gives him a look. "Max you have literally met Y/N, I've just been set up by Chris telling the story." He says, with a chuckle.

Chris and Max go on to tease George.

George just smiles.

And somewhere, I'm listening to podcast once released - and still wearing that same hoodie I was given over a year ago.

I hope you all enjoyed this little one-shot. The idea came to mind when I was rewatching Doctor Who last week, and obviously is inspired by when Chris reveals the first time George bought a girl home.

See you next time,

mwah x

[synkqngel]

I REMEMBER YOU (WHERE THE NIGHT LEFT ME).

jimin turned 25 yesterday. what about her celebration caused you to wake up in her sheets?

cw. light swearing, mentions of dying/kms jokes (happens only like once i swear)

tags. non idol!karina x fem!reader, friends to lovers, cooper is mentioned once, aeri is practically their cupid

a/n. everyone shut up its yu jimin's day (and user synkqngels tumblr comeback 💔) this isn't proofread bcs it's like 4am and the ending is SO ass oh my hod i apologise deeply

pain is the first thing you feel as you come to your senses — your head is throbbing, and you swear you feel dried drool on your cheek as you rub your eyes. the sheets feel..cooler, softer, against your body as you cradle your aching head in your hands. your bed feels strange— the duvet feels heavier and the sheets too soft and the mattress strangely hard. taking a deep breath in, you count to five.

after five, i'll open my eyes. fuck, i need ibuprofen.

one.

in — out. your chest heaves with every pained breath.

two.

three.

four.

i'm going to be sick, you think to yourself.

five.

you peek from behind your closed fingers, pulling the covers back. the room is…obviously not your own, and you're met with the sight of someone’s back; not bare, thank god, but you're still in bed with someone. you're still in bed with someone following a birthday party involving alcohol, none the less. somehow, the shock of your surroundings outweighs the hangover.

and the faint smell of blackberry with a hint of bay leaves hits you. groaning, you roll over to face the other side; the side which wasn't facing the unforgiving sunlight. your eyes squeezed tightly shut, you silently curse yourself for your actions the prior night. ears ringing and body aching and weak, the only option left for you is to go back to sleep.

something feels missing, however. your body is cold rather than warm.

“i'm twenty-five now, im getting old.”

jimin huffed, however her lips were pulled into a toothy grin as she clinked her glass against your own before she downed her drink. you watch as she giggles at something aeri said. jimin’s appearance is comical: glittery birthday hat and a chrome silver sash reading: ‘birthday girl’, but despite this, she doesn't look odd or silly at all.

you're tired.

it's a friday, the last day of the week that you have to work, the weight of the past five days weighs heavy on your shoulders. face flushed and red from the alcohol in your system, your dulled senses allow you to effortlessly converse with the group— even with the morsel of goguma cake you've bitten off in your mouth.

laughter bubbles up around the table, stories from each girl’s week float around; from what happened at yizhuo’s fashion school, to the squirrel cooper had chased up a tree on his last walk to minjeong’s inability to do her own makeup. nodding and smiling absentmindedly, you laugh along with them, sharing your thoughts and input. the cakes slight sweetness leaves your throat tingling slightly.

as if noticing your behaviour, minjeong nudges your shoulder. “you okay?”

you nod and offer her a smile. “just a little tired,”

maybe thirty minutes had passed since then, maybe it had been an hour— or two, but the buzz had softened, the apartment quiet (and the cake long finished).

minjeong had decided to leave first; then it was ning, who decided to leave with the former to save money on an uber, or something.

and then there were three: you, aeri, and jimin.

with your head rested against the table’s cool surface, you missed aeri as she gathered her belongings. the redhead had leaned into jimin’s side, whispering something in her ear. pulling away, she slipped her shoes back on by the front door, calling out a, “yn! i'm going home, i'll text you later!” before the door clicked shut.

you had missed the way jimin had flushed red at aeri’s words.

the next thing you know, she placed a hand on the small of your back, coaxing you into her arms. the overwhelming scent of her perfume hits you almost instantly as her arms wrap around you: blackberry with hints of bay leaf.

fuck, i'm done for.

wallowing in your pain, you force yourself to open your eyes once more. right, it was jimin’s birthday party. you were drunk, how could you have possibly driven yourself home?

it hits you then.

the woman next to you, you notice, has pale skin and a blunt, black bob cut. you had never left jimin’s place after all. the perfume from earlier: blackberry— jimin. it's jimin’s perfume. oh, god.

the realisation and shock alone is enough to make you sit up and stare at the person next to you, no, jimin— before taking in a breath you didn't even realise you were holding. thank god she's a deep sleeper, and thank god she wakes up late. then, in another wave of realisation, you glance down at your attire— sleepwear.

a hand flies up to your mouth as you procure not to scream: she saw you naked. no, she didn't just see you naked— yu jimin had undressed you and put clothes on you last night. holy fuck.

this thought alone is enough to shake you completely awake as you scramble out of jimin's bed, tripping over yourself to change back into your own clothes. shit, shit, shit! you silently curse at yourself, albeit silently as you hurriedly slip your shoes back on and dash out the front door.

your headache from earlier long forgotten, you rummage through your purse for your car keys. the elevator dings and comes to a stop. and when the doors finally open, you dash out the apartment lobby as if jimin was going to appear right behind you if you wasted any time. after fighting with your jammed car door for another minute, you start the engine and let your head fall against the steering wheel.

and you yell.

in frustration and confusion, you scream against the leather wheel and kick your legs. “oh my god, i'm gonna kill myself, this is so embarrassing!” it's comical, really, and to anyone walking by, you look borderline insane. “how do i face her now?!”

(in hindsight, you don't. you don't face her.)

-

jimin wakes up alone.

she stares at the cold space on her mattress for a while, before noticing the neatly folded sleepwear resting on top of the pile in her laundry basket.

her morning doesn't change — she brushes her teeth, cleans the place a little before sitting at her kitchen island with a cup of green tea. opening her phone with a huff, she taps on aeri’s contact.

jiminie: ur actually evil - sent at 11:04 AM.

aerichan: oops! - sent at 11:05 AM. read at 11:05AM

no new messages from the group chat, a few happy birthday messages from relatives and acquaintances that she passively responds to before her manicured thumb hovers over your contact. her lips are bitten; her mind is at the crossroads. fuck it. after typing out a short, “thanks for coming, y/nie,” jimin shuts her phone off, finishing the rest of her tea.

-

to tell the truth, you saw the message and just didn't bother opening it. how could you, anyways? you let yourself, drunk and inebriated, find solace and warmth in the bed of your own best friend (of five years, no less), and now you're reaping the consequences of your actions.

the consequences, however, is the gnawing shame and feeling of impending doom. the feeling of: ‘holy fuck, jimin knows. jimin knows i like her and there's nothing i can do about it.’

“i'm so stupid.” you whine into your pillow, throwing your phone across the bed. “i wanna die.”

‘you're overthinking it.’ is what aeri had told you over the phone earlier. “she doesn't get it. it is that bad.”

-

over time, your replies to jimin's messages lessened until you stopped.

you stopped replying, returning her calls, and eventually reading her messages.

“it's actually killing me!” jimin groaned, venting to aeri over beer and some tteokbokki she'd ordered from the shop near her apartment complex. “i messed up! it's your fault, i hate you.” she took another sip from the can, the liquid burning her throat as she leaned against her couch.

“she hates me now.” she sulked. “i'm never taking advice from you again.”

rolling her eyes, aeri took a swig from her own can, crinkling her nose at the sensation of the cool liquid. “i swear, you're so extra, jimin.” she lunges forward, playfully hitting the older girl on the back. an attempt to lighten the mood. “you're overcomplicating things.”

“just wait it out.”

-

another week passed, your game of cat and mouse growing more intense. but it you're not opening up to jimin, she's coming to you. she bangs on the front door of your apartment, a bouquet of tulips and a bag filled with candy clutched in her other hand. “y/nie! it's jimin, can you open the door?”

when she's met with silence, jimin doesn't back down. instead, she continues knocking, hellbent on reaching you.

another minute of silence passes. something isn't right.

eyebrows furrowed, she searches for the spare key you'd mentioned to her once. jimin pulls the silver key from under your doormat and mentally applauds herself for her discovery — as if any norma person wouldn't think to check under the doormat. she pushes the door open and slips her shoes off, quietly as to not disturb you.

“hello? y/n?”

no response again. weird.

the door to your room is slightly ajar, and jimin’s met with the sight of you bedridden, tissuebox resting atop your bedside table. her eyes widen and she's by your side in a second, already pressing the back of her palm against your forehead. “oh my god, are you okay?” jimin gasps, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pulled into a frown. “you're burning up.”

“why are you here…?” you mumble, wrinkling your nose at the contrast in temperature: her cool hand against your burning forehead. it feels gross. you feel gross, with your baby hairs sticking to your skin uncomfortably, your throat scratchy and your lips unusually dry. why is she..?

jimin’s frown deepens. “you were ignoring me.” moving your hair out of your face, she continues. “ever since my birthday, you've been ignoring me.”

the fever is rendering you unable to form a coherent thought and youre delirious. at this point, you're only able to come clean— it's impossible to hide a secret for jimin, and before you're able to stop yourself, it comes out at once. “i'm sorry— i really, really like you, like, ever since last year i've liked you! i'm sorrypleasedonthateme.”

breathless, you blink at her pathetically as she kneels at your bedside.

“you're so stupid.”

“what?”

“why do you think i did that, huh?” jimin huffs. “i literally sent everyone else home so you could stay with me.”

the silence that follows her admission is deafening. you're only able to stare at her in shock as you process it. “you…”

she cuts you off, moving to hold your hand. “yes, i like you. but i'm still mad at you for ignoring me. i hate you for that.” jimin wraps her arms around your frail body, letting her sickeningly sweet fragrance cling to the air, now softer. “but i was worried, so worried.”

yes, jimin was supposed to give you medicine, but for now, you seemed content with her embrace and warmth.

and maybe later, she would thank aeri.

[strawbewee]

begging for ANYTHING fix it related for the most recent season !!!

five x reader and they are married?? it would be nice if the reader had a more relaxed job in comparison to five in the CIA (the reader used to also work for the commission but wanted a calm life)

like maybe working in a daycare or flower shop?

i’m honestly begging for anything sweet please if you’ve got the time !

THIS HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD. YES, I WILL WRITE THIS FOR YOU <3 I ALSO HATE THE WAY THEY CHARACTERIZED FIVE IN THE NEW SEASON. This will be very domestic :3 And it's been a while since I've written Five, I hope he's not too out of character, let me know if you have any pointers :3

The door to your apartment creaks open and heavy footsteps enter, the jangling sounds of house keys hitting the ceramic bowl reaching your ears with a sigh following.

"Good evening, Jerome." You coo.

"I did not pick that name, quit calling me it." Five huffs as he shrugs off his suit jacket, entering the living room. He looked tired, but he was okay with that. He didn't want to settle for some repetitive job he'd be bored as hell at. Even if they gave him stupid aliases like Jerome.

"You could have at least asked. That's embarrassing, telling people your name is Jerome. What about...Ethan? Or even something that's close to Five. Like, Finn, or something." You answered with a chuckle, while Five crumpled on the couch next to you.

"There isn't any point. It's not like you need to go around calling me that name." He said, taking off his tie and laying it across the arm of the sofa. "Anyway, how was work?" He asked, taking off his brown Oxfords and laying them nearby but out of the main walkway. He reached over to the stack of papers on the coffee table and looked at the first page. "Jesus, this is the sloppiest handwriting I've ever seen."

"Ah yes, because children who still have shitty motor skills are going to be writing in perfect print. That's why they only have to write their names, not write full-fledged essays." You said sarcastically, plucking the piece of paper from his hands. You looked over the assignment your kindergarteners were given. The instructions were to count the different types of bugs on the paper. There were no more than 9 of each bug. 4 butterflies, 7 caterpillars, 1 beetle, 8 spiders.

"I was never that dumb." Five said a little snarkily, pointing to the answer spot that said there were only 5 caterpillars.

"Don't be such a prick." You huffed, getting out a blue pen. You didn't like to use red, too harsh. You circled each answer wrong, not making any corrections.

"How are you even meant to teach them this? It's basic counting." Five asked, sort of actually curious.

"We'll just go over it in class tomorrow. Everyone will count together."

"Then what's the point of the homework?"

You groaned. "We are not having this conversation anymore, old man." You pulled out a pack of stickers, putting one on each sheet of paper.

"You're just as old." He countered with a smirk, leaving you to roll your eyes and continue 'grading' the papers. He did shut up and drop the subject, letting his hand stray to your hand that wasn't busy grading papers. He wasn't ever one for physical affection in the past, but ever since getting to this place? He was more lenient. He was never hanging off of you, but his touches were gentler. Each contact of skin was a small way of saying 'I love you', because it was hard to say it out loud after years of isolation.

The biggest way of him saying he loved you was twisting the ring that nicely fit on your finger like he was doing right now. Like he was making sure you were aware of its presence and meaning.

You finished the papers in less than five minutes. You did not envy the fourth-grade teachers who had actual homework to grade. "Your dinner is in the fridge." You told him, taking his other hand and playing with the black band that adorned his ring finger.

"Not hungry." He said shortly, like he was offended you'd ever assume he wanted to do something aside from this. He wouldn't ever say that out loud, of course.

"It's sushi. Made by yours truly." You added, holding back a chuckle when he sucked in a deep breath, very torn between the options. It was weird, able to sit and think about something. He wasn't rushing home to eat and go to bed, he got to do domestic shit with you and fuck did he love it.

"..." Five stayed silent like a brooding teenager.

"I'll come with you." You reasoned, and he reluctantly sat up. You smiled and got up with him, the two of you traversing to the kitchen. He opened the door to the fridge and grabbed the small Tupperware of delicious looking sushi. You were not a fan of Commission cafeteria food, and you took pride in buying the best ingredients for you and your spouse. You were already grabbing him a pair of chopsticks, sitting with him at the kitchen island.

"...thanks." He said after eating a roll. He was stubborn, but he really did appreciate you taking the time to make more for him when he got home late. It was so nice to come home to a homemade meal. It reminded him of Grace.

"Of course, honey." You smiled, sitting in silence while he ate. He savored every moment. After being in the apocalypse for forty years, he really grew to appreciate the things he didn't have. He swore he would never take this life for granted.

He never questioned why, because the whole reason was sitting right next to him.

[odairmultiverse]

This is my first fanfic here, yeyyyyy!!! I'm so excited.

I must say that english isn't my first language so you might find misspellings, anyway, enjoy and let me know your thoughts, mwaaa!

About you - The 1975

➜ Baku (park humin) x reader

" What happens when two best friends return to each other's lives when they least expect it ? "

The soft hum of the city created the perfect atmosphere for the small group of friends who had been walking around all day.

"Guys, I know a place that makes the best fried chicken—I think in the whole world," one of your friends said, taking a few steps ahead of the group. "I promise, it's like kissing heaven. Follow me," he said, taking the lead.

You only groaned, exhausted—your feet aching from walking the entire day.

"Do we really have to walk? I'm sure there's a bus that can take us."

"Nuh-uh, food tastes extra better when you're starving."

You looked down in defeat.

After 30 minutes of walking, the group finally reached the restaurant. Something in the back of your mind recognized this place, like one of those déjà vu moments, but you couldn’t figure out why it felt so familiar.

As the group entered, an old man gestured toward a large table for the five of you.

"Can I take your order now, or should I come back later?" he asked, holding a notepad in his hand.

"I'll order for them," said your friend—the one who had insisted on coming—grabbing the menu and pointing to the order.

You got lost scanning the place. It wasn’t fancy. It looked cozy. Apart from your group of friends, there was only a couple and what seemed like a work celebration.

"How did you find this place?" you asked, resting your face on your hand.

"This has been my secret for so long," your friend said, extending his arms dramatically. "A friend of mine recommended it to me," he continued, a wide smile on his face.

While waiting for your order, you chatted with your friends about school, upcoming exams, and a little bit of everything.

"Are you okay?" asked the friend sitting next to you. "Since we walked in, you've been scanning this place like crazy."

You let out a slight laugh. "This place feels familiar to me, but I can't remember why," you frowned slightly. "I'm sure it's nothing. I bet it's just because my tummy is screaming for food." You brushed it off.

"Here's your order," the waiter said, arriving with the food.

You turned your head toward the waiter, and in that instant, everything made sense.

You had been here before. You remembered it. You remembered him. How could you have ever forgotten him?

"Park Humin?" you whispered in surprise.

He turned his head toward you, his eyes widening in shock.

"You—you… Are you really here? Or am I dreaming again?" He pointed at you, his voice trembling as if he had just seen a ghost.

You stood up from your seat and took a few steps toward him.

"It's good to see you, Baku," you said with a wide smile, embracing him in a hug.

He tensed for a moment. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was really you—hugging him like you used to, calling him by that familiar name with your voice. Then, he hugged you back, tightly.

Your friends exchanged confused glances, trying to understand what was happening. You had never told them about Humin before.

You pulled away from the hug and turned to them.

"Guys, this is my childhood friend," you said, your smile growing wider. "Park Humin."

He looked at you with big puppy eyes, tracing every feature of your face before turning to your friends.

"I'm Park Humin. It's my pleasure," he greeted them.

The rest of the night was filled with questions from your friends about Humin. You answered them, trying not to sound too excited.

After finishing your meal, it was time to pay and leave.

One of your friends paid the bill, and as you were preparing to go, you felt a soft hand grab your wrist.

It was him.

"Can we talk for a moment?" You noticed the nervousness in his voice, but his eyes never left yours.

You only nodded, letting him take you outside the restaurant, separating you from your group of friends.

Looking at him felt like nothing had changed. You had to leave the city because of your parents' jobs, and at the age of seven, that had felt like the end of the world.

Mostly because you hadn't wanted to leave him—scared he might forget you one day.

That fear had made the move even harder than it already was. But with a painful ache in your heart, you had said your goodbyes to him.

"Humin… I'm leaving," you had confessed, fidgeting with your fingers, too scared to meet his eyes.

He had looked at you in confusion, sensing that something was wrong.

"My dad got promoted, so we're moving to Japan next week," your voice was filled with sadness and regret. You felt guilty, even though it wasn’t something you could control.

He hadn’t said anything—just stared at you, which only made you feel worse.

"Baku, can you ple—" you had stopped talking when you felt his arms wrap around you—hugging you tightly, afraid to let go.

Now, outside the restaurant, his grip on your wrist never loosened.

Your eyes locked. Neither of you spoke—just staring at each other.

"I thought you had forgotten about me," you confessed, whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

"Do you think I have forgotten about you?" His voice matched yours in softness. He continued, "How could I ever forget you?"

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He hadn’t changed.

"That’s good to hear."

"Let’s meet up again—just us," he asked, finally releasing your wrist. "I’m sure we both have a lot to say."

You nodded and handed him your phone. "Put your number here. I’ll call you later."

He took your phone, entered his number, and saved his contact as "My Baku, mine."

You laughed. He was still your Humin—the same as you had remembered.

As you turned on your heel and walked back to your friends, you glanced over your shoulder at him.

"You better pick up when I call you, Park Humin."

He smiled, watching you go—maybe staring longer than he should have.

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Jenni Hermoso x Teen!Reader

Summary: Alexia doesn't know you

Jenni.

That's the first thing Alexia thinks of when she sees you.

You're fourteen, playing a five a side game at La Masia. Alexia's dropped in to watch the training session, a few hours early to a meeting she's meant to be having.

Jenni's the one that Alexia thinks of.

You look like her. In your face. In your height. In the way you shoot and find the net.

In the way your face crinkles as you turn to celebrate.

A young Jenni.

Jenni is the first thing Alexia think of when she sees you next.

You're fifteen now and growing into your lanky limbs.

Not much has changed in you since that last time, apart from looking much more self assured. You take shots from distance now. You're accurate as well, the ball going in nine times out of ten.

You've grown into Jenni's features now and Alexia's awestruck by them.

She passively mentions you at the next camp.

Jenni's face goes cloudy, something between annoyance and rage.

"I have no family in Barcelona, Alexia," Is what she says, conversation closed.

But Alexia's not so sure.

She doesn't broach the topic again until a year later.

It's been a while since Alexia has watched a Barcelona B match. She's familiar with a lot of the girls who move up and down into the first team when injuries allow.

Vicky has been the star so far.

Martina too.

You've never been moved up though but Alexia isn't surprised by that. Their front line is packed and with the introduction of Ewa, it's hard to give minutes over to a young striker like you.

Alexia wonders briefly if you'll leave like Julia did or if Barcelona will want to keep you close and send you out on loan.

She'd prefer to keep you.

A La Masia Jenni would be a boost to anyone's team.

You pop goals in like they're easy, grinning and Alexia knows now that Jenni has been lying to her.

Hermoso is what is on your shirt.

You're family and Jenni is a liar.

You turn sixteen at a restaurant in central Barcelona.

Alexia is there but only by accident.

It's after one of her matches and she goes out with her mother and her sister.

They've already sat down when the host comes down to move you and a woman into the table next to them.

You haven't even noticed Alexia, talking to the woman opposite you in rapid Catalan that would never fall from Jenni's lips.

It's your birthday, if the big birthday badge on the front of your shirt is anything to go by.

You dig into your meal happily.

"A gift from your father," The woman says, placing an envelope onto the table.

You were smiling before but your face goes cloudy now, the same kind of cloud that Alexia saw on Jenni's face a few years ago. Annoyance and anger.

You shove it away.

"I don't want it," You say and Alexia doesn't even pretend she's not eavesdropping.

"You need to save up," The woman reminds you," You age out of the system soon."

You look away from her. "I don't need his money."

"You do."

"I don't want it."

"I don't really think it's up to you," The woman says," Think of your future."

You don't answer for a moment before you push your half finished plate away from you.

"I'm done."

"Y/n-"

"I'm finished."

"Not even dessert? You've been wanting the cake from this place for a while now."

Tears spill from your eyes but you keep your voice steady. "I'm not hungry anymore."

You leave your birthday badge at the table along with the envelope.

Alexia doesn't see you for a long few months after that but you never leave her mind.

She keeps up to date with your training, with the way that your coaches have nothing but glowing remarks for you. She thinks you're doing well, in football at least because the next time she physically sees you, you're a mess.

Your hair is unkempt and messy. Your shoulders are slumped and even though you bang in goals, you don't celebrate even when everyone else does.

It's almost like you don't care.

It's almost like you have no passion for football anymore.

"I don't have family in Barcelona, Alexia," Jenni says again when she tries to broach the subject again.

"I know but there's this kid...this girl-"

"I don't have a sister!" Jenni snaps and Alexia takes a step back.

"I didn't say anything about a sister."

Jenni seethes, glancing away as she runs her hand through her own messy hair. "Good. Because I don't have one."

"Just come to a game." Alexia can't stop herself from pushing. She doesn't know what it is, what strange aura you have around you that pushes her to campaign for you. "Just one."

She doesn't know what it is about you that she just needs Jenni to see. What spark in you that she needs Jenni to acknowledge.

"I don't want to. I'm busy."

"I know you're going to a party with Mariona," Alexia says," I know you'll be in the city during one of her games. Please, Jenni. Just one game. You don't even have to talk to her. Just watch."

Jenni agrees only after days of badgering.

Somehow, you look worse than before.

You still bang in goals. a hattrick in the first half and Jenni's thoroughly disinterested, even if you wear her surname on your jersey.

Your hair is a mess and your kit is askew. There are bags under your eyes and your shoulders are hunched over.

You curl into yourself even more when you walk through the tunnel at halftime. Your eyes catch Alexia's.

She's been coming to these matches a lot recently but it's not her that causes you to stop.

Jenni looks down at you from the stands, her face neutral and one singular brow raised when you deign to meet her gaze.

Alexia frowns as your eyes drop and your posture tightens up again, head bowed as you walk away.

"You're still playing? I thought you were told to stop."

"He can't tell me what to do."

"Can't he?"

"Well, he's not exactly my father, is he?"

"You wear his name."

"It's my name!"

"Is it?"

"Don't-Don't tell him. Please."

"He'll find out sooner or later. A club like Barcelona, what were you thinking?"

"Please...Please."

"Quit while you're ahead, kid. Finish up your season and find something else to do."

"I-"

"It's for your own good, okay?"

Alexia rounds the corner at the end of the match.

You're sobbing, tears rolling down your cheeks as you slam your head against the stone wall.

"Hey...Hey!"

Alexia shoves her hand between your skull and the wall, trying to pillow the impact as much as possible.

You're still sobbing and Alexia pulls you into her arms, pressing your head into her neck as you shake.

"I-I have to quit."

"No you don't," She says," It's okay. You don't have to quit."

"I do."

These are the first words she's even spoken to you.

You know she watches you. You know that she lurks and analyses and sees something in you that keeps her coming back again and again.

You don't even know her. Not personally anyway.

Everyone knows Alexia Putellas. Everyone knows who she is, a legend.

You know her the same amount that you know your own sister.

Which isn't much.

She doesn't really know you either. Knows the same amount about you as your own sister.

But here she is, holding you as you sob after one of the best games of your life, holding you after you've been told to leave this all behind.

"It's okay. No one's going to make you quit if you don't want to."

"I have to."

"You don't," Alexia promises," I'll make sure of it."

[emmiesoverthemoon]

AISLE BE DAMNED

one: this could've been an email

wc: 3.1k ss count: 6 < previous | navigation | next >

tuesday, 10:10am

you arrive five minutes before your agreed time and glowing, the sun warming the backs of your legs as you slide into the booth opposite your cousin. she’s already halfway through an iced oat latte and a cinnamon pastry the size of her head.

“oh my goodness, hey gorgeous,” she greets, mouth full, rising to hug you. “that skirt is everything!”

you smile, returning her embrace. “i do it all for you. brunch is sacred.”

the café is airy and tiled in dusty hues, the smell of espresso tangled with vanilla and morning heat. it’s the kind of place that makes you believe in new beginnings, in soft restarts, in easy joy.

after classical so-how’s-life small talk, your cousin leans across the table, eyes bright. “so, i have a proposition for you.”

you sip your chai. “hit me.”

“you plan my wedding.”

you blink. “like… help you plan it?”

“like… plan it. fully.” she shrugs, hopeful. she’s a little anxious, you can tell by the waver in her voice. “start to finish. i trust you. you’re good at this stuff, and you have taste, and good planning skills, and the magic brain. and i’m overwhelmed and incapable of choosing between chairs without crying.”

your first instinct is to laugh. the second is to say yes, of course.

because you love her. because weddings are your favourite genre of event, because planning and decorating are your thing. because she looks like she might dissolve if you don’t.

“i’ll do it,” you agree, instantly, reaching for your phone. “we’ll build you a pinterest board first. there’ll be light installations and garden paths and—”

“okay, yes, love all of that,” she cuts in, voice suddenly small. “but… there’s a catch.”

you pause, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “what kind of catch?”

she winces and takes a slow sips her drink. her eyes dart to anywhere but your form, refusing to make eye contact.

“i already kind of… have someone helping me.”

your smile begins to wilt. “oh?”

“he’s just a friend of ours, well. more so the fiance’s friend than mine,” she rushes, waving her hands haphazardly. “he offered when we were freaking out last month about things, and i didn’t know if you’d be available, and he’s… helpful. intense. but helpful.”

you narrow your eyes, unsure of the whole ordeal. you just wish you could have done it alone is all! “what’s his name?”

a beat passes, her hesitance unsettles you.

“minho,” she names. “lee minho.”

your stomach drops a little. the name tastes like paper cuts and perfectly aligned spreadsheets.

or is it just the bitter aftertaste of unexpected collaboration?

“he’s really not that bad,” she attempts to comfort quickly, “he’s just… very structured. very type-a kind of guy.”

“you’re saying i have to co-plan this wedding?”

“i’m saying it’ll be amazing. you’re the heart. he’s the brains. together you’ll be unstoppable.”

you stare at her. she stares back with the slightly manic optimism of someone who is very much not going to be part of the actual disaster.

“he can be sweet,” she adds, like a peace offering. “i swear. deep, deep down. you’re amazing, i’m sure you’ll crack through his shell quickly.”

you exhale slowly, reaching for your croissant. “fine. i’m all yours.”

she lights up, and immediately retrieves her phone from her purse to send you his number.

and just like that, the sun over brunch feels a little too bright.

tuesday, 1:53pm

you get home still smelling faintly of syrup and vanilla, the warm rush of brunch already fading into something more sour.

you throw your phone on the couch. it bounces once, screen-down, like even it is ashamed of what comes next.

you take a moment to kick off your shoes and toss your keys to the designated tray. you fill the silence of your home with a slow, theatrical sigh. then: you sit, unlock your phone, and start drafting a message.

polite. breezy. kind of professional, but not stiff. maybe a hint of charm, just enough to make this less painful. you reread it three times. edit an emoji. delete it. press send.

and then you wait.

two minutes later, your phone buzzes. his replies are short. clipped. vaguely insulting. you stare at your screen in disbelief.

who talks to someone new like that? and totally unprovoked?

lee minho, it seems, is all bones and no sugar.

you toss the phone down again and sink deeper into the couch, legs flopped dramatically over the armrest, sighing like a woman in a period film who’s just been informed her betrothed is “adequate.”

"this is going to be amazing," you mutter aloud, glaring at the ceiling.

then, lower, like it’s a confession: "i hate him already."

once you send your availability as requested, your phone buzzes again. it’s probably just a rude command, and you are yet to have the energy to read it.

you don’t respond immediately.

you’re too busy imagining all the ways this could go wrong. and, quietly, the strange, unwelcome twinge of curiosity blooming beneath your irritation.

thursday, 10:35am

you give yourself until the morning of the café meeting to spiral.

by the time sunlight spilt through your blinds, you had looked over your mood board six times, printed out a potential invitation design mock-up that absolutely no one asked for, and chosen your outfit with the intensity of a woman dressing for war.

soft but commanding. romantic but sharp. approachable but not easily walked over. there is blush on your cheeks and steel in your spine.

you talk to your reflection while curling your lashes.

“he’s just a guy. a type-a, emotionally constipated, spreadsheet guy. you’ve met worse. you’ve dated worse. you’re not going to let some polished little control freak ruin this for you.”

you nod and hold eye contact with yourself like it’s a trust exercise.

“you are composed. creative. you are unbothered. you are—”

you think of how he spoke to you in his messages. a hand runs itself over your forehead; the next long period of time spent with someone like this? really?

“you are… not... gonna kill him,” you mutter.

you decide you won't allow some man with a rude tone best you. this is your element! and you're doing your cousin a huge favour here.

because you’re nothing if not committed to a challenge.

and this?

this feels like the start of something awful. or brilliant. or both.

thursday, 11:15am

the café you both have arranged to meet in is pretty in a way that tries very hard not to be. pressed flower menus, exposed brick, a feature wall of trailing ivy that begs to be photographed. you pick a two-seater table in the corner—neutral territory—and set your materials out like armour ready to defend whatever attack is to come.

you spot someone enter the cafe, who your intuition told you was the person you're here to meet. he looks all clean lines, silver watch, zero visible humanity. it had to be him. you watch him scan the café like he’s assessing the structural integrity. he’s in a black button-up like he’s coming from a funeral or a business seminar (you're unable to tell). he approaches the service counter and orders something unintelligible from your distance.

once the order is ready, you see his sharp eyes rake over each patron. when he spots you, he approaches and gives a short nod, not a greeting. he sits without adjusting his expression.

you blink. nice to meet you too.

he lifts the cup, sips once, then sets it down. “you remembered to come. good start.”

you press your lips together, fighting the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your skull. does he think of you an idiot?

“like i would forget.”

you open up your planner. minho lays out his laptop. you bring up centrepiece colour palettes; he brings up guest list conflicts and structure. your visions have artful chaos and romance. his have rigid order and rules.

the next twenty minutes are mental gymnastics in practicing patience. you bring up florals— he talks about logistics. you float the idea of a champagne cart— he shuts it down before you finish the sentence. you suggest golden hour lighting— he reminds you sunset is unpredictable in late spring.

he doesn’t interrupt, not exactly— but his silences are so loud they feel like corrections.

and worst of all?

he’s good at what he's doing.

frustratingly, insufferably, disgustingly competent. you watch him reroute an entire potential reception layout because a hypothetical potential florist had an incompatible delivery method in no more than two minutes, and it was elegant. efficient. infuriating.

“you know,” you say eventually, reaching for your drink, “i think we have very different definitions of what a wedding should feel like.”

he doesn’t even look up. “it should feel seamless.”

you snort. “it should feel unforgettable.”

“seamless is unforgettable.”

“you sound like a walking brochure.”

he glances at you then, just briefly. “you sound like a pinterest board with a wifi connection.”

you stare at him, open-mouthed.

“you’re lucky i'm doing this for my cousin,” you mutter.

“and you’re lucky i like being prepared,” he replies, tapping his pen once against his page. “this would be chaos without me.”

“you think i bring chaos?”

he smiles. not sweetly. “i think you bring… flair.”

“you said that like it’s a disease.”

“i didn’t not mean it like that.”

after an hour that feels like five, you gather your things, already mentally rewriting everything he wrote down on his snobby little laptop.

“venue walkthrough’s next week,” he informs, “i’ll send over my availability.”

“don’t strain yourself.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i won’t.”

you offer him a perfect smile, all sugar and spite. he gives you nothing in return. just walks off, black coffee still in hand, like you were a task on a to-do list he couldn’t wait to tick off.

you watch him disappear around the corner, teeth clenched.

“this,” you say aloud to no one, pulling your phone out from your pocket, “is going to be so fun.”

once minho got in the car, he tossed his laptop onto the passenger seat, shut the door with a soft click, and sat there for a moment. hands still, eyes on the dashboard. the sunlight hit hard across the steering wheel. his jaw felt tight.

he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened messages. no notifications. he scrolled anyway. checked the time. turned on the engine.

a soft mechanical hum filled the space. he let it settle. then, finally, thumb hovering, he opened his chat.

he ran a hand through his hair.

he was here to help plan a wedding. not… deal with whatever that was.

he locked his phone and pulled out of the carpark.

he didn’t think about it again.

not really.

the next thursday, 8:55am

the forest opens slowly, like a held breath. sunlight drips through tall trees in long gold ribbons, dappling the moss-covered stone steps that lead toward the main clearing. the world smells like rain-soaked bark and white roses in bloom, the silence broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes and the occasional birdcall echoing somewhere deep above.

it is—if you’re being honest with yourself—stupidly beautiful.

the kind of place where people whisper even when they do not have to. the kind of place that looks like it came with its own filter. the kind of place that makes you believe in soft promises and forever.

you exhale through your nose and murmur, “okay. not bad.”

“just ‘not bad?’”

you don’t have to turn around. you’d recognise that voice anywhere now— clipped, smooth, with the exact tone of a man who does not believe in whimsy.

minho appears beside you, dressed like someone who doesn’t trust nature to behave itself. black again. always black. he holds a rolled-up blueprint under one arm and a coffee in his other hand, which feels offensive somehow.

you don’t dignify his sass with a response.

instead, you both drift toward the heart of the venue— the open-air clearing where the ceremony will take place. it’s framed by a white pergola, wrapped in fresh wisteria, with vintage chairs laid out in perfect rows that slope gently toward the altar.

“she's going to cry when she sees this,” you say, softer now.

“she’ll cry regardless,” minho says. “but yes. it’s nice.”

you glance at him.

he doesn’t look moved, exactly— but his eyes are locked on the treetops, the subtle shift of branches moving above the altar. for a second, he’s very still.

you look away before you can start projecting a personality onto him.

the venue coordinator joins you, clipboard in hand and smile too big for this quiet forest. she runs through the ceremony outline and power supply details, marking off lighting placements and “wet weather backup” logistics while you both follow, mostly silent.

except for minho. minho is never silent when he has an opinion.

“these cables will have to be repositioned,” he mutters, crouching to inspect the outer edge of the aisle. “if the musicians set up here, they’ll be blocking the view from the fourth row. not to mention the audio balance—”

“oh my god,” you sigh, crouching beside him. “can you give it five minutes before you start rearranging the trees?”

he doesn’t look at you. just gestures to the uneven slope of the ground. “do you want the bride to trip walking down the aisle? is that what your ideal “vibe” is?”

you lean in, dangerously close. “the vibe is a nice wedding. not a safety seminar.”

he glances sideways at you.

you glance back.

you’re close enough to feel his shoulder shift when he breathes. the forest is very quiet.

you both look away.

the coordinator leaves you to “walk the space” and finalise creative decisions. which, of course, means arguing.

“i still think the florals should be elevated,” you think aloud, gesturing toward the seating rows. “just on low plinths. it frames the aisle better in photos.”

“or it blocks the view for half the guests.”

“not if it’s arranged correctly.”

“which you think you’ll do personally?”

“i would if you’d let me within three feet of your spreadsheet.”

he exhales sharply— an almost laugh, except not nice.

“you’re not the first aesthetic genius i’ve worked with,” he quips, turning toward the altar.

“and you’re not the first control freak i’ve had to try to tolerate,” you shoot back.

the silence that follows is… heavier than it should be.

you step up beside him under the pergola, where sunlight pours like honey between the beams, spilling across your feet. minho glances at the lattice above.

“the light’s good here,” he murmurs, half to himself. “the bride’s dress will glow.”

you blink— it’s the first time you’ve heard him say anything that sounds like a feeling.

“see?” you say, a little too smug. “you can do romance.”

he turns to you, expression unreadable. “i never said i couldn’t. just that i prefer function over fantasy.”

“they’re not mutually exclusive,” you say, chin lifted, “not everything has to be entirely cold and practical.”

“and not everything has to be entirely whimsical and unrealistic.”

you face him fully. he’s standing closer than necessary. the air shifts, just slightly.

“i’m trying to make something beautiful,” you say.

he looks at you for a second too long.

“…so am i,” he replies quietly.

you both look away at the same time.

the final stop is the reception hall.

arched windows, soft chandeliers, walls the colour of antique lace. the breeze curls through the open doorways, catching stray petals off the tables left half-decorated for today’s walkthrough. the room smells like lemon cake and eucalyptus.

you walk in first. he follows.

“twenty tables,” he says, eyes scanning. “we’ll need to rotate two of them if we want to avoid congestion.”

“i already accounted for that,” you reply, pulling a mock layout from your folder.

he blinks at it. tilts his head.

“…this is good.”

you turn slowly, dramatically. “did you just compliment me?”

“don’t let it go to your head.”

“you just admitted i was right.”

“i said it was good. not perfect.”

“that's a compliment, coming from you.”

he exhales again. quieter this time.

you can’t help it— you smile. just a little.

you part ways in the gravel parking area with nothing more than a glance. the wind ruffles your papers. minho’s already opening his car door.

“i’ll send an updated schedule tonight,” he calls.

“make sure it includes time for feelings,” you call back.

he doesn’t reply. but you think—maybe—you hear the ghost of a laugh before the door shuts behind him.

you stare at the trees overhead. the branches sway like they know something you don’t.

you have no idea how this is going to work.

but, god help you, you are kind of looking forward to the next disaster.

kind of.

thursday, 7:32pm

later that night, your apartment is a mess of ribbon samples and open notebooks, your laptop glowing faintly beneath a half-eaten box of macarons. you sit cross-legged on the couch, phone in one hand, scribbling notes with the other, still high on adrenaline and candle-scented air.

you should be exhausted.

instead, your brain is running like it’s on stage, spotlight bright, full of centrepieces and dance floor placements and the exact shade of ivory the linens need to be.

you keep thinking about that moment beneath the pergola—how the sun lit the edges of his jaw. how he spoke softly like he meant it.

it’s infuriating.

you shake your head. type something aggressive in your planning document in attempt to alleviate some tension.

note to self: stop thinking about lee minho.

as if the man of the hour is listening to your thoughts, your phone buzzes.

you can almost hear the smugness through the screen.

across the city, minho sits in his dark kitchen, screen tilted back, a faint hum of lo-fi playing into the quiet. his notes are neatly filed, tasks ticked off. he stares at the seating chart for a second longer than necessary.

then opens your shared drive to scroll through the moodboard. he takes a moment to pause on a photo of candles in various antique candelabras, immersed in the decor, the light flickering like hushed giggles.

he tilts his head, feeling the corners of his lips curl slightly.

"hm."

and that’s all.

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here’s chapter one !!! ty for reading :)

stay tuned for chapter two and beyond <3

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[eclipixels]

Babysitting

Jason Todd x Reader

Content: You and Jason get tasked with babysitting

[1,917 words]

      You and Jason had been called in at the last minute to babysit Dick and Kori's daughter, Mar’i. Damian had more important things to do (probably brooding somewhere), and Wally, well, he wasn’t trusted to babysit anymore after a certain incident. That left you two—definitely not parents, but trusted enough to make sure their kid didn't accidentally set the house on fire.

      Jason had made a comment earlier about the whole thing being a bad idea. "I'm not built for this," he muttered, sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. "You know I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

      You had just rolled your eyes. "She’s not that bad, J. Besides, it’ll be fun. You’re good with kids."

      He shot you a skeptical look. "When did that happen?"

      "Let’s see… maybe when you stopped acting like a psychopath and started being halfway decent to people?"

      He grumbled something under his breath but let it go, giving in. That was Jason Todd for you, more complicated than a five-page essay on why not to mess with Gotham.

      Mar’i was busy in the living room, stacking blocks in her little fortress-building project. Her black hair, inherited from Dick, was tied up in pigtails, and her emerald green eyes sparkled with mischief as she concentrated on making sure no two blocks were out of place.

      You were on the floor next to her, organizing some blocks into colors when Jason casually asked, “What’s she building again?”

      “A fortress.” You glanced at the little girl, who nodded sagely.

      “A fortress?” Jason raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

      “Defending against bad guys!” Mar’i chimed in, her voice full of excitement. “Like you!” she added, pointing directly at Jason.

      Jason snorted and leaned back on the couch. “Me? A bad guy? Why am I always the bad guy?”

      "Because you're the only one who can be bad," Mar’i said with a grin, somehow more confident in her statements than she probably should’ve been at her age.

      “Alright, little one. You’re about to see just how bad I can get,” Jason said dramatically, getting to his feet.

      You shook your head but smiled, knowing Jason had a soft spot for his niece despite his tough exterior. “Uh-huh, you’re really selling it there, Romeo. Let’s just finish the fortress so we don’t lose this round.”

      Suddenly, there was a loud noise above you, a scratching, scuttling sound that definitely didn’t belong. But to your surprise, Mar’i was nowhere near the ground anymore.Y

      You blinked. “What the...?”

      Jason turned to look, his face full of confusion as Mar’i’s voice echoed from above.

      “Guys! I’ve got a better idea!” she shouted, her voice coming from the ceiling. Your eyes darted upward, and sure enough, there she was, clinging to the ceiling.

      Jason’s jaw dropped. “How—?”

      Before he could finish his sentence, Mar’i dropped down from the ceiling, landing on her feet with the precision of an acrobat. She grinned like a little troublemaker. “I made a tunnel! The bad guys won’t even know what hit them!”

      You blinked again, trying to comprehend what had just happened. “Did you just—did you just crawl on the ceiling?”

      Mar’i shrugged innocently, her tiny hands on her hips. “Yup. Mommy and Daddy taught me. It’s like an easy trick.”

      Jason rubbed his temples as though trying to process the entire situation. “Okay, first of all, why is that an easy trick? And second, why did your parents teach you to do this?”

      Mar’i looked at him, deadpan. “You want me to go back to my fortress and defend it?”

      Jason’s expression softened. Despite the fact that his brain was still trying to make sense of the fact that this little girl could defy gravity at such a young age, he smiled. “Alright, alright. You win. I’m the bad guy. You’re the hero. But know this…” He leaned forward, making a show of cracking his knuckles. “I’m not going easy on you.”

      “Bring it on!” Mar’i yelled back with a devilish grin.

      You just sat there, slack-jawed. “You’re seriously going to go along with this?”

      Jason shot you a look that said, You know what? Why not?

      You sighed and stood up. “Fine. But if you break anything, I’m calling the big bat before I call Grayson”

      Jason raised an eyebrow, already getting into character. “He’ll probably reimbursh for everything. You know he’s got a soft spot for Mar’i”

      Mar’i was already back in her fortress, peeking around the corner with only her eyes visible. “Come on, bad guy! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

      Jason nodded, cracking his neck as he casually strolled forward, pretending to ignore the fact that Mar’i was doing some acrobatic backflips around the room. “Alright, kid. Get ready. This fortress? It's going down.”

      Just as Jason reached for one of the block towers, Mar’i leapt from a shelf on the opposite side of the room, landing on his back and immediately trying to knock him over like a wrestler. “Gotcha!”

      Jason stumbled for a second, then grinned. “Not bad. But you forgot one thing.”

      “Oh yeah? What’s that?” Mar’i asked, tilting her head.

      “Never underestimate the bad guy,” Jason said, spinning around and scooping her up off his back. He tossed her in the air and caught her, grinning. “Your fortress might be safe, but you’re not getting away that easy.”

      “Wait a minute, you’re supposed to be the bad guy! You can’t just—” Mar’i laughed, but then she twisted around and pointed at you. “Help! The bad guy is taking me hostage!”

      Jason smirked. “Oh, you’ve already lost. It’s game over.”

      As the two of them continued their playful “battle,” you couldn’t help but laugh. Sure, it was chaos, and things might get a little out of hand, but you’d never expected babysitting to be this entertaining. Mar’i had her parents’ adventurous spirit, and Jason, well, he was having way more fun than he’d like to admit.

      And you? You were just here for the ride. Even if you did have to deal with the aftermath of broken furniture and very strange, upside-down ceiling crawls.

      But hey, that’s what you signed up for.

      Jason would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little sad when Grayson came back to pick up his daughter. It wasn’t the usual case where Jason would be happy for things to go back to normal. No, today was different. He’d spent the last few hours getting a crash course in chaos, laughter, and, for once, not being the one causing all the destruction.

      Mar’i had attached herself to his leg as soon as Dick had walked through the door, her little arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. “Daddy, don’t go yet! Can you come back another day to play? I want to build another fortress!”

      Dick chuckled, bending down to scoop her up. “You know I have work, sweetheart. Maybe next time, okay?”

      Mar’i pouted, clearly torn between her desire to keep her fortress intact and the fact that she had to say goodbye to her most favorite "bad guy" in the world. “But I like Uncle Jason! He’s fun!”

      Jason gave a half-hearted shrug, though a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He had to admit, having the little girl look at him like that was a strange kind of feeling. “Don’t get too attached, kid. I’m a dangerous criminal.” He threw a glance at Dick. “Right?”

      Dick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re real dangerous, Todd.”

      “Okay, fine. Just—don’t forget me!” Mar’i finally relented, giving him one last hug before she was gently placed into her father’s arms.

      Jason chuckled as he watched them go, a weird, unfamiliar feeling settling in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the way Mar’i’s laugh still echoed in the air, or the fact that he had actually enjoyed himself. Maybe it was the fact that for once, he had been the one to show someone else how to embrace the chaos.

      When the door clicked shut behind Dick and Mar’i, Jason let out a long sigh and fell back against the couch. He stared at the door, his lips pressing into a thoughtful line.

      You, still sitting on the couch beside him, couldn’t help but notice the change in his demeanor. His usual tough-guy act had faded for a moment, and there was a softness in his expression you rarely saw.

      "That was cute," you said, humming softly as you stretched out on Jason’s lap, trying to get comfortable after the whirlwind of the afternoon.

      Jason’s hand immediately slid to the back of your neck, absentmindedly stroking the skin there as he looked toward the door. His voice was low, almost contemplative. "Yeah. Made me think... maybe having one of our own wouldn’t be such a bad thing."

      You nearly choked. “What?”

      His hand froze, and he turned his gaze to you, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You heard me.”

      For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. The idea of Jason Todd, your Jason, the one who made sarcastic comments every other minute, saying something like that threw you completely off balance.

      Now that you thought about it, he would make a pretty damn good father.

      You tried to hide the laugh that bubbled up. The guy who still had a tendency to hold grudges over the smallest things, was talking about fatherhood like it was a casual weekend hobby.

      “As fond of the idea as I am, I’m not sure if the world is ready for a mini Jason Todd and Y/n L/n,” you said, finally breaking into a smile.

      Jason grinned, leaning in closer to you. “Maybe not. But you’ve got a point. We’d probably make one hell of a team. Think about it—our kid would be the perfect mix of stubbornness, sarcasm, amazing survival instincts and, of course, good looks.”

      Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked at him, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Jason, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself here.”

      He let out a laugh, his hand still lazily resting on your neck. “Hey, I’m just saying. We’d get to see Mar’i more for playdates”

      You let out a breath, feeling the warmth of his hand on you. “There are other ways to spend time with Mar’i than giving her a cousin.”

      “Fair” He put a hand on his chin before pulling you in closer on top of him for a kiss, “but I like my idea better.”

[karinab00bs]

Can i request Karina x Male Reader office sex?

Cubicle Rival

Karina x male reader

tags: nipple play, fingering

Nearly everyone in the building had left for the day by ten minutes after fifteen; the janitor had even switched off the lights on purpose to prevent anyone from working overtime. Karina and you remained in the same room where they'd been working; the woman had taken off her blazer and was draping it over the back of her chair, while the man had rolled up his long sleeves to his elbows. As long as their report received approval and they could return home, their looks held little concern.

"Mr. Ethan hasn't replied?" Karina asked you since you had been refreshing your email. Waiting for the first message in their inbox determined whether they could go home early or stay in the office longer.

"Not just yet.” Perhaps sloppily or exhausted, you respond, "It's still being checked."

Karina says, her tone unpleasant to hear: "It's half past eleven; is it crazy that Mr. Ethan still wants to check the report?"

"Why are you anyway blaming Mr. Ethan? You know he is a perfectionist. He promised to wait until today; hence, he will wait until twelve. You are the one who is wrong; why would you hand over such a critical report to an intern who is already on his way home at five? It's not going to be right," you ramble, drawing visible eyebrows furrowing on Karina.

"Why are you blaming me? Blame Ms. Je for putting the director's daughter in our division. What do you think I can do if she's nagging me to do a report? Tell her you can't do your job like that?" Karina started pounding on the table; maybe both of them were already tired, so they were more sensitive and easily ignited.

"You could try pointing the finger at other people. You brought Mr. Ethan and now Ms. Je; pointing fingers at others won't make them do anything or prevent such incidents in the future. Do you also intend to hold the intern responsible, given his obvious ignorance in preparing the report? Indeed, it is your responsibility to consider this matter. How can a child, lacking any knowledge, solve such a significant problem? You, equally irritated, began pointing at Karina as if assigning blame.

"Now you're blaming me?"

You didn't have time to reply to Karina's words because a call came into your cell phone from Mr. Ethan.

"Yes, sir? Yes, thank you very much, sir. I'll send it later. I will finish it in 15 minutes. Thank you very much, sir." You disconnected the phone and looked at Karina. The man sighed softly before saying to karina, "The report is okay; I just need to check for typos. I'll finish it first. Can you get me a coffee?"

Karina was silent for a second before responding, "Fine." 

Upon seeing Karina exit the office, you instinctively shut your eyes.

Although Karina was really terrified to visit the pantry by herself since all the lights had been turned off, she couldn't resist your demand so that everything would be finished rapidly and she could head home. Under low lighting, she began preparing two cups of coffee in paper cups, using a combination of saset coffee and sugar, to ensure you wouldn't have any complaints about the taste. She carried the black coffee paper cups with both hands, but her foot stumbled on something, and one cup of coffee spilled on her chest. "Ah." Karina turned to show a faint smile. Indeed, it appears that she has paid the price for all her mistakes over the past year. Why is this so unlucky?

She took off her shirt, which was full of spilled coffee, and then she walked back towards her office.

She gently opened the door, and she found you closing your eyes and leaning on your chair. Okay, the initial plan was for Karina to stealthily walk to her cubicle, retrieve her blazer, and put it on before you woke up. Karina then crept over, set the coffee she had produced next to your laptop, and hurried to her cubicle.

You blinked up at the scent of coffee, but your attention quickly went from the paper cup on her desk to the figure of Karina, who was unclasping her bra. Fuck.

"What on earth are you doing?" you inquired, your voice quivering with disbelief. 

"My shirt is all sticky from spilling coffee," Karina answered, her bare back now showing.

"Are you not afraid of me doing anything to you?" You asked while getting up from the chair to get a box of tissues. The man was now sitting on Karina's chair, and you could clearly see the girl's large, saggy breasts. While the woman sat at her desk.

"You and I fight every day; I doubt you have any desire to do anything to me, even though I'm naked in front of you right now," Karina replied confidently.

"Do you think if I were naked in front of you, you'd be horny?" Your question made Karina snort in annoyance.

"No, it's crazy to lust after you," Karina said, folding her arms across her chest, making her breasts pop out even more as if challenging you.

"I have submitted the report, and Mr. Ethan accepted it. You raised one eyebrow and said, "All that remains is your business with me."

"What business is it? I have nothing to do with you. Better turn back; my body is all sticky and a little blistering thanks to the hot water dispenser," Karina said, looking down at her coffee-sticky chest.

"You're sure you won't lust after me, right?" you asked again.

"No."

"I'll just clean it so it's not sticky and then go home," you said. "Shut up." You looked down and swept your tongue over every inch of Karina's breasts to clean the coffee off her skin, occasionally giving the man a light sip.

"What the hell are you doing?" Karina tried to keep your head from coming closer to her body, but then she froze as the tip of your tongue rubbed against her nipple. Damn. It was so good.

"They say it's better to use saliva or running water when it's hot." You soaked Karina's upper body, including her skirt, with the remaining water from the glass she used to drink.

"Fuck, what are you doing? I swear.. I'm wet.."

"Wet, huh?" You lowered your head and took one of Karina's nipples into your mouth, sucking gently, while your other hand wiped Karina's body with a tissue.

Karina bit her lip, both hands clutching the edge of the table she was sitting on. "You won't lust, right? There's no way you'll lust after me; after all, I'm just cleaning you."

"Hurry up and clean it.. I'm going back." Karina's words made you smile.

You took a tissue and, using both hands, rubbed Karina's nipples with it. While closing her eyes, the girl looked up. She hadn't felt a touch on her body in a long time, so a touch like this sent her into a trance. Indeed, your skill level is beyond reproach. Just observe how the tissue continues to twist both Karina's nipples, creating a more pleasurable sensation. You idly pinched Karina's nipples so hard that she couldn't help but moan.

"Don't be horny; I'm just cleaning it," you said half-mockingly.

"I'm not fucking horny." Karina's answer made you laugh. You pulled down Karina's panties and let them fall to the floor.

"It's just wet," you teased with a finger that had rubbed Karina's pussy. "I'm just cleaning it; you don't want to feel uncomfortable."

"What the hell are you doing- ahhh ..." Your tongue entered to explore Karina's pleasure hole with your finger stroking the small object on it, creating a stifled moan from Karina's lips, which made you smile because, after all, Karina's sigh had made you win. You deliberately inserted two of your fingers, then scratched Karina's pussywall rather roughly, causing her affection to shift to her clitoris. "A-ahhh.. ahhh.."

"Why mm? Is it good? You said you wouldn't lust after me, but you're so wet, Rina." Karina stared resentfully at your face as she bit her lower lip, deliberately holding back a moan so as not to feed your ego. "Why do you want to end it?" you asked, bending your two fingers precisely at Karina's weakest point, and soon her pleasure juices melted away.

"Damn you.." said Karina in the end, while catching her breath.

"1-0, there is no need to deny that you are also horny for me," you said with a chuckle, and you lowered your head to lick Karina's pussy, which had just reached its release.

"Watch out; I'll get you back."

"I can't wait," you replied as she helped put the blazer on Karina's body.