#it was important for me to see something like this

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[kxsalt]

“My favourite student.” The teacher remarks with a touch of sarcasm. “…You asked me to stay after class?” Nervously fidgeting on the other side of the desk, the student stands at attention in the empty classroom. “This isn’t the first time you’ve fallen asleep in my class. You always seem so interested in the subject, but lately I can tell your mind is wandering.”

The girl nods sheepishly. He continues; “I just wanted to check in with you, see if there’s anything I can do to help.” She bites her lower lip. A long pause, punctuated by a shake of the head. What’s she thinking of… The teacher tries to read the mind of his student. He sits her down at his desk to finish the work she missed during her nap.

They work in silence together. Occasionally, he looks over at her. Mindful of his student’s wellbeing, he tries to think of other ways to help.

It’s so warm in here. The fans aren’t enough. Maybe if I was a little more lax on the dress code... He stares at her chest. Let her unbutton her shirt some more, or even take it off. A shorter skirt. She doesn't need panties. What if she didn’t wear a bra, either? I could call her up to the front of the class, let the breeze waft through her legs. I could see her pussy through her thigh gap. He catches himself, pushing his inappropriate thoughts out of his mind.

Maybe she’s just undisciplined. Perhaps I’ve been too soft on her. An old-school punishment might help… She gets up for a drink of water. The teacher watches her bum sway back and forth as she walks. A firm spanking. Turn her ass pink. Bend her over my desk and tell her how naughty she is for misbehaving. Have her pull her skirt up. Show everyone what happens to bad girls. Slap her asscheeks raw. Pull her panties down and force my fingers into her little cunt. Snapping back from his fantasy, he rubs his eyes as she sits down at his desk again.

Does she respect me? Authority is important. Can’t have some brat getting out of line. His eyes roam over her small, light body. I should put her in her place. Push my cock deep in her throat, face-fuck her. That would show her who’s in charge. Grab her pigtails and pull her onto my dick. Use her little pussy as my cum dump. If I fuck her whenever I want, however I want, that should keep her in line. She won’t be so proud once I break her pussy on my cock.

“Sir? I finished my work…” His eyes shoot up from her body to her face. She smiles meekly as she pushes the schoolwork across the desk. “I really hope I did good… I do like your class a lot, and I’m sorry for causing trouble.” The girl apologizes bashfully. “I really appreciate the extra attention…”

“Yes, ahem, uh… anything I can do to help my students…” The teacher desperately tries to collect his thoughts. “Anything?” She chirps. “Can I have some tutoring? My family is out of town for a bit, so I have lots of time… and I think something more in depth would help.”

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Do you have a list of good sex ed books to read?

BOY DO I

please bear in mind that some of these books are a little old (10+ years) by research standards now, and that even the newer ones are all flawed in some way. the thing about research on human beings, and especially research on something as nebulous and huge as sex, is that people are Always going to miss something or fail to account for every possible experience, and that's just something that we have to accept in good faith. I think all of these books have something interesting to say, but that doesn't mean any of them are the only book you'll ever need.

related to that: it's been A While since I've read some of these so sorry if anything in them has aged poorly (I don't THINK SO but like, I was not as discerning a reader when I was 19) but I am still including them as books that have been important to my personal journey as a sex educator.

additionally, a caveat that very few of these books are, like, instructional sex ed books in the sense of like "here's how the penis works, here's where the clit is, etc." those books exist and they're great but they're also not very interesting to me; my studies on sex are much more in the social aspect (shout out to my sociology degree) and the way people learn to think about sex and societal factors that shape those trends. these books reflect that. I would genuinely love to have the time to check out some 101 books to see how they fare, but alas - sex ed is not my day job and I don't have the time to dedicate to that, so it happens slowly when it happens at all. I've been meaning to read Dr. Gunter's Vagina Bible since it came out in 2019, for fucks sake.

and finally an acknowledgement that this is a fairly white list, which has as much to do with biases with academia and publishing as my own unchecked biases especially early in my academic career and the limitations of my university library.

ANYWAY here's some books about sex that have been influential/informative to me in one way or another:

The Trouble With Normal: Sex, Politics, and the Ethics of Queer Life (Michael Warner, 1999)

Virginity Lost: An Intimate Portrait of First Sexual Experiences (Laura M. Carpenter, 2005)

Sex Goes to School: Girls and Sex Education Before the 1960s (Susan K. Freeman, 2008)

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex (Mary Roach, 2008)

Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution (Revised Edition) (Susan Stryker, 2008)

The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women (Jessica Valenti, 2009)

Not Under My Roof: Parents, Teens, and the Culture of Sex (Amy T. Schalet, 2011)

Rewriting the Rules: An Integrative Guide to Love, Sex and Relationships (Meg-John Barker, 2013)

The Sex Myth: The Gap Between Our Fantasies and Realities (Rachel Hills, 2015)

Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science That Will Tranform Your Sex Life (Emily Nagoski, 2015)

Not Gay: Sex Between Straight White Men (Jane Ward, 2015)

Too Hot to Handle: A Global History of Sex Education (Jonathan Zimmerman, 2015)

American Hookup: The New Culture of Sex on Campus (Lisa Wade, 2017)

Histories of the Transgender Child (Jules Gill-Peterson, 2018)

Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Workers' Rights (Juno Mac and Molly Smith, 2018)

Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex (Angela Chen, 2020)

Pleasure in the News: African American Readership and Sexuality in the Black Press (Kim Gallon, 2020)

A Curious History of Sex (Kate Lister, 2020)

Boys & Sex: Young Men on Hookups, Love, Porn, Consent, and Navigating the New Masculinity (Peggy Orenstein, 2020)

Black Women, Black Love: America's War on Africa American Marriage (Dianne M. Stewart, 2020)

The Tragedy of Heterosexuality (Jane Ward, 2020)

Hurts So Good: The Science and Pleasure of Pain on Purpose (Leigh Cowart, 2021)

The Right to Sex: Feminist in the Twenty-First Century (Amia Srinivasan, 2021)

Love Your Asian Body: AIDS Activism in Los Angeles (Eric C. Wat, 2021)

Superfreaks: Kink, Pleasure, and the Pursuit of Happiness (Arielle Greenberg, 2023)

[sibylsleaves]

the thing that really kills me about the Buck-Eddie-Chris dynamic is that it's not just that Buck is ALWAYS going to be there for them. It's that Eddie KNOWS that. It's that Eddie EXPECTS that. It's that he's had that expectation since before the tsunami.

He knows Buck loves them. He knows he loves Chris. He knows that Chris is and never has been a burden to Buck. He dropped his eight-year-old son off at his depressed best friend's apartment and said BYE HAVE FUN. like. that wasn't a request.

And EVERY time since we've seen Eddie entrust Christopher to Buck, it's never framed as a request. It's an expectation. It's a fact. It's an intrinsic truth he has never questioned. The will is obviously the most glaring example but the expectation is there EVERY time. it's in the way in 5x13 he apologizes TO Buck for scaring Chris. It's in s6 when Eddie asks Buck if Christopher is telling Buck his secrets, fully expecting that if there's something HE doesn't know about his son, Buck will. it's during the lightning strike when Chris demands to go see Buck and Eddie capitulates, because Chris's relationship with Buck is not something he can or ever will stand between. it's in the way in 7x01 Eddie says "Nothing. Not yet. I was kinda hoping...you would!" sounds almosttttt like a request but the way he says it very much isn't. It's "i do not know how to handle this so I am handing it off to you. BYE HAVE FUN."

Buck is not Christopher's dad. But he IS Eddie's coparent. That's pretty indisputable at this point. He treats him like one in almost every way. He doesn't just KNOW Buck will be there for Chris even when Eddie can't. he EXPECTS it.

And the thing is, Chris expects it, too!!!!! He called Buck in s5. He sat down with Buck and opened up about his complicated feelings about his mom in 7x01. Buck has been the most stable adult figure in Chris's life other than his dad for almost SEVEN years at this point.

The other thing is, I don't think Buck even realizes how important it is that they have that expectation. that they're ABLE to rely on him and trust him so intrinsically. that it's never been a question for either of them that Buck is supposed to be with them. HE knows he'll always be there for them, no matter what, no questions asked. ("I'm here, what can i do?") but I don't think he understands how monumental it is that Chris and Eddie both know that, too.

[honeytonedhottie]

maintaining/creating a social life⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧁

ok so i used to have HORRIBLE social anxiety and i think that the contrast between me with social anxiety and me now is INSANE. in a good way ofc. so im not going to talk about how i overcame social anxiety, instead im going to talk about how i created a social life ✨

MAKING FRIENDS ;

the science of making friends is simple and im about to explain it. so go to where there are ppl that u can relate to/want to relate to. example being school, clubs, etc.

next, observe who u want to befriend and make sure to start with a compliment. starting off by introducing urself just makes for an awkward conversation but starting with a compliment puts u and the other party at ease.

something thats rly important is ur CHARISMA and ur magnetic energy so be CHARMING ✨ if u find that the other party is not reciprocating its either they're uncomfy, uninterested, or just a weirdo. and in all cases, you should stop.

MAKING FRIENDS THRU FRIENDS ;

make friends with your friends friends -> make friends with their friends -> and so on and so forth. this is how you network and create a friendly status with lots of people.

if ur in a school setting like i am, make friends with people in ur own grade or in a higher up grade, i dont usually make friends with ppl in lower grades but ofc there are always exceptions.

making friends through friends is how u get invited to parties, have more opportunities be available to you, and ofc network for more connections. guys connections are literally EVERYTHING.

MAKE TIME FOR UR FRIENDS ;

make sure to learn who u call friends. when is their birthday? do they have specific preferences? what kind of music do they listen to? knowing ur friends makes them feel special and thats how u learn to be a good friend. i can make a whole POST about being a good friend cuz i've learned and grown so much with that.

THE POWER OF A COMPLIMENT ;

make it ur mission to give a compliment everyday cuz first off, being nice is HOT so pls be nice and second of all, if ur trying to talk to someone and u start with a compliment i promise that it'll go so much better.

if ur thinking "thats so awkward how will i do that" then the category dont be shy is one that u gotta read cuz girl 💀. if u need an example i'll provide one from my own experience so u can see the power of a compliment.

there was this girl in my spanish class and i always thought that she was so pretty and she seemed so nice. one day we bump into each other in the bathroom and i compliment her hair and makeup, she responds well. we continue to have friendly interactions throughout the rest of the school year and now we are good friends on and off campus.

DONT BE SHY ;

when u make friends please please PLEASE work on ur confidence first. you need to be SURE of yourself. if not, when ur being friendly it could come off as desperation and ppl will humiliate, make fun of and take advantage of u. and thats NOT hot.

be CONFIDENT, you literally have nothing to lose. when u shed ur shyness (thru things like exposure therapy etc) a whole new world is opened up for u bcuz sometimes the only thing holding u back is urself and ur limiting beliefs about urself.

MAKE UR PERSONALITY SHINE ;

make sure that know ur own personality and from knowing that u can find ways in which u can make it shine. no matter what ur personality is though, something that i cannot stress enough is BE NICE.

be friendly and amicable with everyone and stay out of drama and if drama comes to you then stay unbothered 😭. dont try and uproot ur own personality to copy someone else's.

[gobstoppr]

Tetris Fanart.

I've been playing tetris while listening to horror podcasts. and yeah

[rinneverse]

✶⋆.˚ SPONSOR A WIP FOR GAZA .ᐟ 🍉

hello oak nation and friends! life has finally slowed down enough for me to make this post - i will be participating in the @ficsforgaza initiative!! while i was initially very anxious about making this post, i realized that i want to do something meaningful and contribute what i can to the fundraising efforts for gaza. i highly recommend checking out their blog for more info + see the other participants!!

this post was last updated: 05.28.24 !

﹙🍉﹚HOW CAN I PARTICIPATE?

great question! i've outlined the process below.

the rate is $1.00 USD = 100 words.

make a donation to a vetted fundraiser/charity of your choice; you can find some here!!

screenshot proof of your donation. send it via ask to me with ALL PERSONAL INFO redacted and mention the fundraiser you donated to. (do NOT send me any screenshots you've used for other creators: they will be shared with @/ficsforgaza to verify.) i will not be publicly posting asks.

then in that same ask, just let me know which wip (out of the ones listed below) you'd like to sponsor!! i will be updating this post minimum once a week (hopefully more) with any updates to wc/donations/status etc etc.

example: hi oak! i've donated $x.xx to [chosen fundraiser] and i'd like to sponsor your vampire blade wip. thanks!! (attach your proof here!)

once a fic is fully sponsored, completed, and posted, you will be mentioned as one of its sponsors !! (you may opt out of this part, just let me know while sending your ask!)

﹙🍉﹚WHAT ARE YOUR RULES, OAK?

another great question! for starters, here is my blog rules post. i also have a couple more for this initiative below.

i am not accepting money directly. please donate through the vetted fundraisers!

since i am an 18+ blog, i am requiring that all asks should be sent OFF ANON and your age must be easily accessible on your blog. YOU MUST BE 18 YEARS OR OLDER TO SPONSOR A WIP. your sponsorship is null and void if you do not follow this rule.

i am a slower writer, so it may be a hot minute before wips are fully edited and posted after reaching a goal. that being said, the main goal is to raise awareness as well as donate to an important cause!! i vow to do my very best to make sure everyone's donations are honored. this is my first time doing something like this, so lets all be kind here!

MINORS, BLANK, AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. nsfw + dark content is included in the wips featured below the cut.

﹙🍉﹚OAK'S WIPS AVAILABLE TO SPONSOR!

✩ you're so handsome (when i'm all over your mouth) — vampire!blade x f!reader

summary: your mother has always warned you to never to stay out long after the sun sets; the lord knows what may be lurking after night falls. in your carelessness, you are lost at sundown, with no grasp on your location nor the path home. time for you to learn just what kind of beast hides in the shadows. -> sponsored wc: 0/10,000 -> written wc: 0/10,000

✩ little bird, won’t you sing a song for me? — yandere!sunday x f!reader

summary: you’ve lived nearly your entire life in captivity. you yearn for freedom, to escape your gilded cage, but your keeper urges you otherwise. he is adamant in his refusal to set you free, and you are all the more resentful of him for it. (or: you wish to leave the planet despite sunday’s wishes. this does not bode well with him.) -> sponsored wc: 0/10,000 -> written wc: 0/10,000

✩ *take a bite — satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

summary: your roommate, satoru gojo, always has his pretty dark-haired friend over to your shared apartment as a frequent guest. one night, when the three of you play a little drinking game together, things get much more heated than you could have ever expected it to. (no curses/modern au!) -> sponsored wc: 0/10,000 -> written wc: 0/10,000

— if you've made it this far: thank you!! if you don't take interest in any of my wips in particular, i implore you to explore the creators featured on @ficsforgaza and see if there is something more your cup of tea.

*regarding the wc of these wips (take a bite in particular), i am unsure of how many words these fics will be. i will start with a baseline of 10k, but if i find that i will be needing wayyyy more than that, i will increase the donation limit. so keep ur eyes on this post!!

[khaylin27]

The Alchemy

pairing: oscar piastri x norris reader; lando norris x sister reader; talks about carlos sainz x norris reader (past relationship)

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: the alchemy is a term coined in the old days before chemist but back then the aim was to produce gold from other elements by mixing certain chemicals. knowing that she is now with the man of her dreams; she came out of the dark in which she has stayed in for a very long time and found the person in which there was 'no denying the alchemy' that if they were together, there's gold, which to her means love.

warnings: literally none because it's all fluff

author's note: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT YOU'VE GIVEN THIS SERIES 🥹😭🩶 also i had a different collage for this but i didn't like it so here's a new one

This happens once every few lifetimes These chemicals hit me like white wine

Marriage happens every few lifetimes, but not for you. You once thought you were going to marry Carlos. Looking back now, you're extremely grateful that you didn't marry Carlos last year. The 'chemicals' of love that you had with Carlos had an intoxicating effect similar to white wine.

I circled you on a map I haven't come around in so long But I'm coming back so strong

After the Australian Grand Prix, you and Oscar decided to spontaneously get married here since all of the important people in your life are here in his home country. The wedding ceremony was being held at the beach that Oscar's parents had private access to.

As you're walking down the aisle with your father, you start tearing up seeing Oscar wait for you at the alter. Everything you've always wanted is finally happening.

Once you reach the alter, your father gives your hand to Oscar. "Take care of my daughter." Your father smiles as tears form in his eyes.

"Forever and always." Oscar says to your father and takes your hand from him. Oscar walks you up the alter and you both look at Zak. Zak was officiating the wedding ceremony.

"The bride and groom have decided to say their vows to each other." Zak looks at you telling you to go first.

"Oscar Jack Piastri. I can't believe we're getting married after 4 months of knowing each other." You smile in disbelief that you're actually getting married. "I remember when we first met, we had a shot of tequila together cheering to new beginnings for both of us. That night Lando ended up wasted while I was a little bit tipsy. You drove us back to our hotel on an empty Las Vegas Strip. The song 'Downtown Lights' by the Blue Nile started playing in your McLaren and we found that we both loved this song. We sang it loudly while Lando was passed out drunk in the back seat. I didn't know it at that time but it was going to be alright because I found the love of my life." Oscar wipes the tears falling from his face while you continue to speak.

"That week was the first time coming back to the paddock in so long. I remember breaking down in Lando's room because of something an ex said about my papaya family and I. You were so worried about me even though our relationship was barely building. I remember you told me 'it's time to crack these locks from him and start throwing rocks at that past relationship.' After that night I circled you on the map of my heart and came back so strong." You finish your set of vows and the Oscar speaks his.

Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

"Y/N Marie Norris. If you're shocked that we're getting married after 4 months of knowing each other. Well honey, I'll do you one better. I'm surprised I'm marrying a MILF." Everyone including you two laughed at the joke Oscar made about you being older. "But in all seriousness, I'm so happy I'm getting to marry you. I remember when you told me that night in Abu Dhabi that you loved me. I was the happiest man alive because I started to love you too." Tears start dripping from your face as you recall the night in Abu Dhabi.

"I know you have been through the slammer in your past relationship, but the universe knew your heart was always reserved for me. There was no reason to fight to alchemy because you're the one for me."

Once Oscar finishes his vows, Zak continues with the ceremony. You two put your rings on each other and Zake announces you two as Mr. and Mrs. Piastri.

yourinstagram thank you to the man that dumped me, i found the man the universe reserved for me 💍🤍✨

oscarpiastri i love my milf wife 😏

yourinstagram LOVE, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO GET ME PREGNANT BEFORE YOU CALL ME THAT landonorris you're basically a milf @/yourinstagram yourinstagram i'm only 26 😭 landonorris you're basically 30 at this point sister, you can't deny it. please give me a niece/nephew soon 🙏 leo can't be my only nephew, he needs a cousin charlesleclerc i agree with this. @/yourinstagram @/oscarpiastri please have a child soon so leo can have a play mate. alexandrasaintmleux preferably a human one so i can convince charles to give me one too @/yourinstagram @/oscarpiastri oscarpiastri i'll start working on it soon 🫡

user1 OSCAR'S COMMENT IS SO UNHINGE I LOVE IT HAHAHA

user2 i love that lando is playing along with it too HAHAHA they were always meant to be family 🥹 user3 i love that alexandra and charles are playing along too user4 maybe baby piastri might be coming soon 👀

oscarpiastri honestly, who are we to fight to alchemy? mr. and mrs. piastri 💍

yourinstagram the love of my life 🥺🤍✨

liked by author

logansargeant so glad you found the girl of your american dreams

liked by author and yourinstagram

landonorris STOP RUBBING OFF ON MY MAN HE'S AUSTRALIAN yourinstagram excuse me @/landonorris he's legally mine now step aside

zbrownceo congrats @/yourinstagram and @/oscarpiastri 💍🧡

liked by author and yourinstagram

yourinstagram thank you zak for officiating the wedding. this wouldn't have happened without you 🥹

mclaren the papayas are now married 🥹🧡 congrats @/yourinstagram and @/oscarpiastri 💍 now we need papaya babies

racerbia please we need a papaya baby around the paddock @/yourinstagram and @/oscarpiastri 🥹👶🧡 yourinstagram we're working on it @/mclaren @/racerbia 🫡 user1 BABY PAPAYA IS IN THE WORKS!!!

f1news A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN: After 4 months of knowing each other, Oscar Piastri and Y/N Norris, Piastri's teammate's sister, decided to tie the knot. This is definitely better than the disaster of a wedding Norris had with Ferrari driver, Carlos Sainz.

Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Piastri!

user1 the way she went from thinking she lost the love of her life to then finding the love of her life on the team where she truly belonged at 🥹🧡

user2 CARLOS BETTER BE CRYING AT WHAT COULD'VE BEEN

user3 papaya love 🥺🧡

****

I haven't come around in so long But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

After your wedding and honeymoon, you shortly found out that you were 10 weeks pregnant. You didn't notice you were pregnant at first with all the traveling you do until you took a break on your honeymoon. At the end of the trip, you felt like you had a stomach bug but it wasn't. When you went to the doctor to check what was wrong, she calmed you down by telling you that you were pregnant.

You've never seen Oscar so happy in your life other than your wedding day; you were shock on the other hand. At the doctor visit you asked your doctor when she thought the baby was conceived and she said January 22. That was the night when you made love for the first time.

"I still can't believe I'm pregnant," you exclaim as you two were relaxing on the couch. Oscar puts his hands on your stomach and starts rubbing it. "I don't think I can go to the races anymore."

"I know honey, it's okay." Oscar kisses your lips softly. "I know you'll support your favorite guys no matter what."

"Actually you're my favorite, Lando is ..." As you were about to continue you started to remember the comment Lando put on your wedding post. "Lando is going to be so happy that he's getting a niece or nephew soon."

"I understood the assignment Lando, Charles, and Alexandra told me to do." You laugh together recalling how they all wanted you two to start having a child as soon as possible.

****

For your 27th birthday, you decided to celebrate in Miami where Lando and Oscar were racing at. Even though Oscar wasn't on the podium that day, you were so happy for Lando. Finally Lando got his first ever win in F1.

Once Lando got away from the crowd and back into his private room in the garage, you decided to congratulate him. "Congrats little bro. It's been a long time coming." You hug Lando tightly but then he pulls away feeling your 15 week baby bump.

"Y/N are you pregnant?" Lando asks still on his high of happiness, you nod yes and Lando gets more excited. "YES THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!"

"That's why she hasn't been coming to the races because we wanna make sure the baby is safe." Oscar explains to a very happy Lando.

"My doctor finally approved me to travel to certain countries. I'm making a comeback to where I belong." You smile as Lando hugs you one more time.

****

The next race you went to was Emilia Romagna Grand Prix, you were currently 18 weeks pregnant. You decided to stay in Oscar's private room since you wanted to ditch the crowds.

Once the race was over and the crowds went home, Oscar, Lando, and Charles with Alexandra came into Oscar's private room to see you. You had messaged Alexandra earlier telling her you wanted to catch up with her and meet baby Leo.

"Hey Y/N ..." Alexandra stops talking after seeing your growing baby bump. "OH MY GOD YOU'RE PREGNANT!!!" Charles finally comes in with baby Leo in his hands.

"You understood the assignment." Charles smiles at Oscar and gives him a side hug. "Congrats my friend."

Your celebration of happiness was interrupted by a Spanish man knocking on your door, "Lando where are you?"

Lando opens the door wide to let the Spanish driver in, "What's up Carlos?"

"I just wanted to congratulate you on getting 2nd. It was one hell of a fight." He smiles at Lando until he looks around and is confused what's going on. "Why are you guys here?" Asking Charles and Alexandra.

Alexandra, happy for your bundle of joy says, "Y/N is pregnant. Isn't it exciting?"

"It is," you smile at Carlos with your pregnancy glow radiating off you. "Oscar was so excited when we found out we were going to have a baby girl. As soon as we told Lando about the gender, him and Oscar were online shopping on the couch together." You look back at Alexandra telling her about your pregnancy.

"My niece needs to have the best of the best. Oscar and I were looking at the McLaren merch to see if the factory can make baby versions of it." Carlos didn't care what Lando was saying because all of his attention was on you. Oscar's hands were wrapped around you and your midsection. "Carlos are you listening?"

"Yeah," Carlos coughs. "Congrats on your pregnancy Y/N and Oscar." Carlos says and leaves the McLaren room.

Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads Beer sticking to the floor Cheers chanted, cause they said There was no chance, trying to be The greatest in the league Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me

It was the end of the Monaco Grand Prix, Charles had won the race and Oscar was in second place. As soon as Oscar parked his car and ran out to you so he can hug and kiss. All cameras were on you two as this was the first time you were showing your baby bump to the public. Before Oscar went up to the podium, he kneeled down and kiss your baby bump.

The rest of the McLaren plus Lando, lifted Oscar away from you so that he can get to the podium. There Oscar and Charles got their trophies while you and Alexandra were smiling happily at them. Once the national anthems were played, the drivers got to spray each other with champagne.

There's no chance to be the greatest in league due to Max's dominance in F1, but you knew Oscar was on a high right now in life. From getting married, to soon having a baby girl, and now getting his first podium of the season. Life was just beautiful.

These blokes warm the benches We been on a winning streak He jokes that it's heroin but this time with an "E"

Once Charles was done with his post race interview, the interviewer starts talking to Oscar. "Congrats Oscar on your first podium of the season and becoming a father soon. It's amazing how these two happened weeks apart."

"Thank you for the congratulations. From getting married at my home country, to finding out we'll be having a baby girl, to now getting my first podium of the season. I'm truly on a high with life right now." Oscar smiles at the camera knowing that you're watching the post race interview with Lando.

"Right now McLaren is in 3rd place for constructor's standings compared to last year's standings at 6th place. Tell me what you and Lando are doing for the team." The interviewer asks.

"Well Lando has been on a winning streak getting podiums after China but to be honest we're not doing anything different. It's all my wife's doing. I joke with her that she's like heroin but this time with an 'E' at the end." Everyone except for Carlos in the room laughs at Oscar's little joke.

"And soon you're going to be having a baby girl." Charles adds to the conversation. "You'll have two lucky charms on track." They both smile at the interviewer before they move on to Carlos' interview.

This happens once every few lifetimes

yourinstagram this happens once every few lifetimes 🌊 ✨

tagged oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri thank god for the alchemy or else our love would've never created this ✨

liked by author

taylorswift congrats mama can't wait to meet her

liked by author

user1 mother swift approves of oscar and y/n using the alchemy lyrics 🥹

user2 MOTHER IS ACTUALLY BECOMING A MOTHER AHHHHH

mclaren BABY PAPAYA COMING SOON 🥺👶🧡✨

liked by author

baby papaya coming soon 🧡

tagged yourinstagram

mclaren baby papaya is already so loved by the mclaren family 🥺🧡

liked by author and yourinstagram

racerbia yay! i get to be a tita aunt to a little papaya 🧡

liked by author and yourinstagram

landonorris IM CALLING DIBS ON BEING THE GOD FATHER

yourinstagram i already picked a god father and it isnt you landonorris WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT ISN'T ME? charlesleclerc it's me and alex landonorris WHAT!! @/yourinstagram @/oscarpiastri say sike 😭 oscarpiastri she's messing around with you of course your the god father landonorris thank god 😅 charlesleclerc have another one already so i can be the god father to that one yourinstagram LET ME HAVE MY BABY FIRST

user1 not lando and charles fighting over who's gonna be the god father 🤣

user2 i love how they’re calling the baby "baby papaya" instead of "baby piastri" 🥺

f1news BABY PAPAYA COMING SOON: After Oscar's first podium of the season, the couple has announced that they are expecting their first bundle of joy weeks after getting married. The driver had made it know that Y/N Piastri, his wife and teammate's sister, was expecting after running to her before he went on the podium.

Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Piastri on your bundle of joy!

user1 OSCAR MOVING IN THE FAST LANE WHILE CARLOS IS GETTING HIS HEART PUNCTURED LIKE HIS WHEEL 🤣

user2 wonder how carlos is feeling after seeing his ex fiance go from getting married to now being pregnant in a span of a few weeks

user3 who cares because he missed his shot of having this in his life

user4 did you see that carlos was about to cry while oscar was talking about y/n and the baby? 😭

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

[dontexpectmuch]

i know how much you guys love this series, so i give you a new part. this one how ever will be;

comments/feedback is highly appreciated! please, im getting desperate :d

Habits Jude Bellingham might develop before you guys get into a relationship!

(a Lost in Madrid drabble!)

it is no secret that jude just loves to talk. he genuinely enjoys it so much to share any and every thought that goes through his mind, no matter how small it might be. he couldn’t tell when it started exactly, but suddenly he found himself on his way to you, a tired student that just wants to finish their work. as soon as he lifts his hand, knocks on your door and enters the room his lips start moving, talking so lively and fast that you need some time to register what is even happening.

“what do you mean ‘m talkin’ your ear off? you literally study literature and shit!” - “it’s more about reading, jude.” you sigh, wishing for any kind of help at this moment.

it is also nothing new for you to receive messages from jude during your quiet evenings when you decide to stay home. jude recently got into sending audio messages, you being his number one victim [forced] friend, whom he shared this new passion with. and most of the times he won’t even say anything important. he’ll just sing a new spanish song he has learned that past week. and he will sing. no matter how terrible it sounds and how much it makes your ears bleed. though, you also always listen to those audios, even though you know what the content will be.

“jude?” opening your door after hearing a desperate knock, you did not think that you would see your [not] friend standing there. he looks tiredly at you, clothes wrinkled and sandals on, “mum wanted me to bring you some cake she baked.” he gives you the tupperware filled with slices of cake, energy low. you feel your shoulders relax as you look up at him, “tell her i love her, please.” he just nods. and even though he always complains to you about how he is not some delivery boy, he can’t help but get excited at the thought of seeing your soft eyes when you receive food his mum made. it makes him feel giddy inside.

he makes you trip purposely whenever you walk in front of him, and then giggles and jogs away to join the others on the field when you send daggers his way with your glare.

he forces you to play two-touch, even though you have told him multiple times already that you cannot play really well. he quite literally forces you to become better, giving you tips while making you pass the ball against the wall back and forth. “i don’t want to do this anymore, jude.” - “well, that’s too damn bad.” his gaze serious as he corrects your form once more. “bitch.” you murmur under your breath, praying for him to just disappear somewhere and leave you alone.

“what?” you ask as you look up from your notes, eyes wide as you watch jude place a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll onto your desk. “i heard that you like sweets, or whatever.” he says, [desperately] wanting to look cool. your heart starts to pick up in speed when you look back and forth between jude and the things he just gave you, warmth spreading through your body. “thanks.”

“watch me.” he smirks at you, who looks quite annoyed tired at him. “i’ll hit this first time.” - “like you did to me on my first day here?” - “dude! i told you not to talk about it anymore, ‘t’s a sensitive topic for me, ‘kay?”

heartfelt conversations between you are not as rare as one might think. whenever jude comes to you to talk your ear off while toi work on your research, you sometimes tell him about your own stuff. that leads to various topics you two discuss, which also results in sharing some intimate thoughts. it makes jude, who usually looks so confident and well put together, look more human, like a 20 year old guy who also learns something new every day.

—————————————

surpriseee! hope you like it!! :)

[gay-dorito-dust]

May I please request any comfort fluff with Jiyan from Wuthering Waves if you're open to those requests?🙏😔 I need bro to comfort me

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry?’ You asked, looking up to see Jiyan stood over your seated form with conceding lacing his golden eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ He repeated, sitting down next to you, ‘you’ve been acting differently as of late and I feel as though there’s more to it than just a shift in personality.’

You chuckled humourlessly, the jig was up and you knew it but were too stubborn to accept help from anyone, especially from one who had more important matters at hand than your slight decline in mental health. ‘It’s nothing, honestly, I’m just a little-‘

‘Tired?’ Jiyan cuts you off and suddenly your throat felt drier than a desert and he must’ve known that he caught you in your one lie as he levels you with a stare, leaning slightly towards you. ‘How often have you used being tired as an excuse because people in your past have proven themselves ill equip with handling a difficult situation, despite saying false promises of being there for when life gets hard.’

‘Way too fucking often.’ You replied. ‘It’s like they were only in my life to take something from me, why? I’ll never know because they’re all gone and fucked off, like they didn’t just tore my souls to shreds snd left me to pick up the pieces.’ You concluded and it wasn’t until then did you realise that you had started to cry when Jiyan wordlessly wiped one away with his thumb.

You had let your guard slip, the one thing you’ve promised yourself to never do again in the presence of another person due to how they made it all about them; not to mention how they gone on about how suddenly they couldn’t handle your baggage before ghosting you completely whenever you tried to reach out to them again. You didn’t deserve that type of treatment and you know it, but you’ve less yourself to believe that their reaction will be how others would perceive your situation, and so you never bothered reaching out for help and instead letting it bottle up inside until you cracked.

‘I’m sorry.’ You gasped as you began to violently wipe away at your eyes when Jiyan held your wrists in his hand and brought them away from your face.

‘Don’t apologise,’ he started, ‘never apologise for your own emotions nor the people who’ve made you believe that others would turn a blind eye to your plan, for that is simply not true, but I understand that this is a hard mentality for one to unlearn after so long.’ Jiyan wasn’t well versed in comforting others, seeing as how he spent most of his life in the frontlines of the battlefield as both a medic and general, but that didn’t stop him from recognising that a misdeed had been committed against you and that he wouldn’t allow; So for you, jiyan would try his best to provide comfort that you needed.

‘Oh yeah? And who’s going to change that then you?’ You scoffed.

‘Yes.’ Jiyan answered without hesitation and a seriousness you’ve only ever seen in battle and that alone had you choke on your own words.

‘Why?’ You asked, looking into his eyes in hopes of getting the answer you wanted, you wanted to look for a lie within his eyes but his eyes only told you that he was being genuine with his words.

‘I want to prove that if there is one person who’s willing to shoulder your burdens with you, it’s me.’ He tells you. ‘I will not allow you to suffer alone during you’re in pain. So please, allow me to lend you aid in these difficult times.’

You stayed silent for a bit and Jiyan thought that he may have overstepped a boundary or two but his own worries were put to rest when you gripped onto his hand just as he was about to pull away. ‘If it’s not too much trouble for you.’

‘I wouldn’t have suggested such if it was, which it isn’t.’ Jiyan cuts you off softly.

‘Then I guess it couldn’t hurt.’ You said, slowly beginning to grow hope for this seemingly small promise.

[gunsatthaphan]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

[aettuddae]

business matter — chapter 42.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

a blonde-haired girl wakes up after hearing commotion in her apartment. voices, disguised in whispers, but still loud enough to cause a disturbance. it sounded like two people fighting in the distance. she got up from the bed disoriented, her heart beating rapidly at the thought that something bad was happening to one of her members. with her vision blurred by not having yet gotten used to the tangible world, she roamed around her room. visualizing her acoustic guitar, she wobbled to it and reached out to grab it, trying to shake the sleep from her body along the way.

she opened the door to her room with a rough yank on the handle and hurriedly ran down the hallway, raising the instrument over her shoulder, ready to throw it or use it as a hammer at whoever had barged into her home.

"come in!"

"i don't want to!"

“i told you to take off your shoes and come in!”

“i'm not going to let you see my socks… WHY DOES SHE HAVE A GUITAR!?”

“MINJEONG, PUT THAT DOWN!”

"what's going on!?"

winter dropped the guitar and admired the situation anxiously, swaying from side to side as if at any moment she would have to run away. in front of her was her leader, with her elaborate makeup and elegant wardrobe, barefoot and stressed, pulling on the arm of jang serim, who was in the hallway, clinging to the door frame, refusing to enter, objectively more disheveled than her member. there was a strong aroma of alcohol in the air, and after assimilating what was happening, she understood that it was coming from the guest.

“serim is drunk and she doesn't want to go in.” karina explained with annoyance in her voice, lifting her leg and resting her foot against the wall so she could increase the force with which she was pulling serim into the apartment.

"why?" the youngest took a few steps until she was next to her member, stopping to look at the oldest of the three in confusion.

“it's just,” karina let go of the other party, causing her to fall sitting on the floor. “she says it's not respectful to come in drunk when other people are sleeping here.”

“i am a well-mannered baby.” serim spoke, forming a pout with her lips, but her words were barely understood since they came out in a blur. after that, she lost her balance and fell on her back.

“oh, she's gone.” winter judged.

“she didn't eat anything before drinking." her roommate explained, walking over to the girl who was on the ground.

"she didn't?" the vocalist followed her.

“she didn't, because she wanted to make me upset!” karina complained as she put her hands under serim's arms to lift her up.

"that's true." jang admitted and then began to laugh frantically.

"be quiet." karina ordered, using all of her strength to move her inside while minjeong pulled her legs.

“we had to leave early because the idiot got drunk, so our manager brought us here.” she continued contextualizing as she carried the eldest. “when we were in the car i managed to get her to unlock her phone and i notified her staff, but they will come in an hour, so she has to stay here until then.”

once in the living room, she let go of serim, instructing winter to do the same, letting her fall. the blow and roar woke up the member of heaven, who clumsily stood up, leaving her standing statically with her back to both aespa.

"where am i?" she questioned, lost as she analyzed the place and realized that she didn't know it.

she abruptly turned around, trying to discover the entire room, only to find the girls who had their eyes glued to her. winter couldn't contain her laughter and karina was rubbing her temple with a burdened grimace.

"oh, it's you." serim left the alert position in which she was and her face showed disappointment when she met the dark haired woman. “and giselle!” she regained her energy upon seeing the other person and pointed at winter excitedly.

“i'm winter.” she said simply and laughed covering her mouth.

"please don't rob us!” ningning exclaimed, appearing from behind her friends in her pajamas, throwing various stuffed toys into the air, trying to hurt the criminal who was in her house, but not hitting anyone because she had her eyes closed in fear.

“giselle!” the drunk girl repeated before the arrival of a new individual.

"where?" the youngest opened her eyes to look for the japanese one, finding the disastrous situation. “jimin!” she squealed with displeasure.

“no, i'm serim from heaven.” she introduced herself politely.

“i am jimin." karina corrected her coldly.

“no, you are karina.” she shook her head. “i know because i had to repeat it many times to learn it.”

“why didn't you tell me that serim was here?” the maknae protested, fixing her hair.

“because i shouldn't be here,” the oldest remembered.

"oh no…" vocalized minjeong.

"stay still!" the leader of aespa shouted, going to catch the girl who began to run towards the door.

“she's so funny.” ningning said as she bit her lip and undid the last button on her pajama shirt.

"what is she doing?" jang murmured to karina, who had successfully caught her, staring at the chinese woman, while being held firmly by her waist by yu so that she wouldn't run away again, but this one only looked at her out of the corner of her eye angrily.

"what's going on?" giselle joined the meeting, appearing down the hallway with hiro in her arms.

“giselle!” the guest threw her hands in the air happily. “and the dog i definitely don't hate." she pointed at the animal.

“serim is drunk and she has to wait here for a moment until her manager comes to pick her up." karina repeated. “sorry for waking you up, go back to sleep, i'll take her to my room,” she noticed.

“can she come to my room?” ningning intervened.

“ning!” aeri reproached her.

"alright." serim accepted, trying to walk in her direction.

"get away from my baby." jimin nagged at her, hitting her arm.

"then can i sleep with giselle?" she wondered with a strange hint of innocence.

"serim!" the main rapper amended her.

"cheater..." ning muttered in disbelief.

"stop." karina pretended to start crying while she tried to keep the eldest still.

"why not me?" asked winter offended, as her leader started to drag the guest to her room.

the puppy had decided to change his sleeping partner and entered karina's room following her and serim. once the animal was inside, the resident closed the door. the vocalist stood in the center, looking vacantly around her, her body moving beyond her control due to the alcohol in her system.

hiro walked past her, heading to her bed. with a single jump, he went up and lay down comfortably. he looked warm and happy, so serim was tempted to try it on her behalf, walking there and then plopping down on the mattress.

"sleep and i'll let you know when your manager comes." karina advised seriously, leaning her back against the door.

“i shouldn't fall asleep in your bed." said the oldest, but ironically her eyes closed on their own and her words came out in whispers.

"i'd rather you fall asleep than keep talking."

"you are so mean." she took a big breath of air trying to regain clarity, raising her head a little and resting her weight on her elbows so as not to fall asleep. “it's your own room, are you going to stand there?”

“do you want me to lay with you?” she crossed her arms.

“it's your bed." she made obvious. “and i think we are already committed enough to each other to share it.” she let her head fall against the pillow.

karina looked at her from where she was, taking a moment to think. she began to wander removing all the accessories and makeup that she had on her, finally leaving her earrings on the nightstand and sitting next to her workmate. serim had her eyes closed, but she lifted her eyelids when she felt the weight next to her. she looked at the younger from below, who was focused on watching what her dog was doing. since he was asleep, serim, still intoxicated, realized that she was just trying to avoid eye contact.

“see that we can coexist?” she tried to break the ice.

“didn't i tell you to go to sleep?” she contradicted bitterly.

“you're more irritable than usual." she observed, doing her best to speak properly.

“i have to live with you,” she answered, still not looking at her. “and then when we have an event you get drunk.”

"i don't think is that." she dismissed without getting affected. “you are like this because of your boyfriend.”

“can you not mention it?” she blurted abruptly, quickly turning her head so that she couldn't see her expression, and fixing the position of her body.

“see how is that?” knowing that she was right she laughed, and because of her drunkenness, she couldn't stop it.

“no, i'm sorry, but you're not always right.” she frowned and finally turned to her. "can you stop?" she asked seeing that she wouldn't.

“serim, it's crazy how happy it makes to be right.” she criticized her angrily. “serim!” she held her shoulders with her hands as if she was about to shake her to make her reason, but she only exerted pressure to hoard her attention, intending to make her shut up. the named one connected her eyes with hers and little by little she stopped her fit of laughter. she raised one of her hands and placed it on karina's, which was on her shoulder. keeping the smile on her face, she explored the features of the blackhaired woman with her gaze, who would keep her grip until serim's joy was erased from her face. serim gently squeezed the hand she was touching and accompanied it with an unconscious lip bite.

“i can't believe you, you're horny already.” she quickly pulled away from the older one. "gross."

“you were very close!” she noted merrily. “and i'm not horny, i just have a lot of love to give.”

she let her arms fall spread all over the bed, accidentally resting her right one on the other's lap, making them both look at it expectantly. they remained silent, still. the atmosphere was peculiar, there was a different tension than the one that usually created between them, and it seemed as if one of them made an abrupt movement, it would dissipate. in the dancer's gaze, it was clear that she wanted jang to stop touching her, but nothing in her body language matched that, she did not move to push her away. the vocalist slowly raised her limb, gently bringing it up to the girl's face, to touch her cheek and caress it, gaining her attention, getting her to observe her without any emotion.

“karina,” she called and received a hum. “you know that if you kissed me now i wouldn't remember it tomorrow, right?” with her knuckles she tenderly drew her traits.

“i don't want to kiss you." she stated, still in the same position.

“stop thinking about that guy.” she ran the tip of her thumb over her bottom lip.

“while you ask me to kiss you?” she took the focus off of her. “he is my boyfriend, i can't cheat on him.”

"cheat? but if you're not together and he hasn't spoken to you for two weeks." she let out a giggle full of irony. “and i'm not asking you to kiss me, i'm just saying that if you wanted to i wouldn't stop you.” she leaned on her forearm, slightly separating herself from the mattress.

“we are taking a break." she lowered her head.

“whatever that means.” she took her chin between her fingers and made karina face her.

“serim.”

“if you don't want to, why don't you get away?”

the girl hadn't noticed how she leaned into serim's touch, and how it had drawn her into her personal space. they were at the perfect distance so that they could touch each other just by lowering her head a little, and so that the smell of alcohol the oldest one emanated made her a little dizzy.

serim was right, wasn't she? jongin had disappeared. at first, she didn't believe that he would be so brutal, but who had been her boyfriend for over a year simply asked her for some time and erased himself from her life from one day to the next. and now she didn't know what he was doing, or where their relationship stood.

what does taking a break mean? if he had already cheated on his ex, what could assure her that while they were apart he would not be with other girls? is it okay to want to make him feel bad for leaving her?

if they weren't together as of now, it wouldn't be infidelity, right? serim was probably right. as usual.

karina leaned in, reaching the older girl's lips with hers and trapping them in a kiss. serim moved her grip, sliding her hand down her cheek to her nape, and from there she pulled her closer. the dark haired woman moved closer to the center of the bed, held her opponent's face from both sides and gently pushed her, making her lie down completely again, remaining on top of her.

they were kissing slowly, but intensely. in the end, it was not a loving kiss, but one motivated purely by desire, attraction, and resentment, they did not have to be sweet with each other when they could continue battling as they always did. they pressed against each other and held themselves as close as they could, karina's nails were digging into serim's cheeks, who could only concentrate on maintaining resistance so as not to completely lose control.

until the screen of her phone turned on, and more than it concerned her, it was yu who moved far from her to see where the light was coming from.

“your manager is calling you, he must be downstairs.” she straightened up, sitting properly on the bed and stretching her arm out to reach the device.

“no, he's not.” the senior refused and lifted herself, trapping her face in her touch again to connect their pupils, running her lips from her shoulder to her neck, causing her to close her eyes enjoying the attention, a sign that told her to continue on karina's jaw and cheek, until it reached her mouth another time and they kept going as if the phone wasn't still vibrating.

leaning on the embrace that serim had on her waist, biting her lips while she got lost between them and met her tongue, she convinced herself that she could vent her anger towards jang in this way more often. although she would surely change her mind as soon as it was over. and suddenly she forgot how jongin had treated her. although she would surely remember after serim left.

they were completely immersed in each other, until hiro's growl replaced the silence of the room, forcing them to put an end to it to check what was happening to the dog, who was standing firmly ready to throw a tantrum.

“it seems like someone is jealous..." the drunken one pointed out in a flirtatious tone, making jimin laugh.

perhaps the first time she made her laugh.

“it's okay, don't worry.” the puppy's owner spoke softly to calm him down.

when she made sure that hiro was already appeased, serim took advantage of her grip on karina's torso and hugged her carefully, but also surely, to which she responded by reconnecting their lips, but not for a long time.

serim's scream was possibly heard on the upper and lower floors of the dormitory and woke up all the members again. the girl jumped on her feet over the bed due to the pain and since she was still completely numb she lost her balance and fell to the floor, which made her yell again.

all as a result of the fact that hiro had not really chilled out and as soon as he saw that his guardian was still kissing someone else he couldn't stand the wrath and bit hard the hand that the stranger had on jimin's waist.

“i can't believe i just made out with this loser.” karina talked to herself, covering her face in shame. “i'll cure you and you'll leave, your manager has already waited too long for you.”

(!)

— taglist [CLOSED]: @yoontoonwhs @cwpiqwon @aliceiwk @xen248 @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @aeriuchinarga @multiliker @somedaydream @impossiblesharkcashrebel @yjiminswallet @haerinsloverr @yerimbrit @73vyn @dni-unavailable @lovemariana @sewiouslyz @yeetaberry127 @masuowo @yallatalla @aerithykly @chaenniefirst @minfolio @xszn @starrynini05 @hotluvlet @wmnrhot @mineige @lisaswifey @brocoliisscared @fae-the-wanderer

[we-are-maladaptive]

a story in which katsuki's bratty son tries to blackmail his mother! how terrible

— characters. katsuki, reader, katsuma (the son)

— contents. fluff, katsuma is a little shit

— word count. 600

— authors note. GJFCK MFGVFDXK GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDOMESTICTRASFJNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGJBJFNVDSLM

Your son is alot like his father, in good ways mostly.

He stands up for himself at school, and is mostly independent. For the most part, Katsuma was a pretty easy kid.

However, he can also be the most major little shit on the planet, much like in the situation you're in now. He's learned what blackmail is, and he loves it.

You were in the kitchen, baking cookies, when you heard Katsuma’s voice from the living room. "Ma! What's this?" he yelled.

You turned to see your five-year-old holding the pregnancy test you had thrown away earlier.

Oh no.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Katsuma, where did you find that?" you asked, trying to stay calm.

"In the trash," he said with a mischievous grin. "I'm gon' tell Dad unless you give me extra cookies- and I wan' that brand new hero figurine at the store...AND I wan' my own bb gun- AND!!! I wan' a brand new pair of boo-"

"Katsuma." you sighed. You've known your son to be a major handful all his life, but also know realizing he did indeed have you in a tight spot. "Katsuma, this is important. I wanted to tell your dad in a special way."

Katsuma pouted, crossing his arms. "Fine, but I still want extra cookies...and the figure...an' can I still have the bb gun?" You sighed once more.

"Alright, you can have two extra cookies- AND the figurine... but you have to promise to keep this a secret for now," you said, hoping to buy some time.

"Deal," he said, his eyes gleaming with pride.

As you handed him the cookies, you couldn't help but feel frustrated, yet a bit amused. Katsuma was a lot like his father—brash, stubborn, and always wanting to be in control. You watched as he stuffed the cookies into his mouth, crumbs falling everywhere, and shook your head with a small smile.

Just then, you heard the front door open. Katsuki walked in, looking as intense as ever. "What's going on in here, hm?" he asked, sensing the tension.

Katsuma jumped in before you could speak. "Mom's got a secret, but she won't tell me!"

You shot a look at Katsuma, then turned to Katsuki. "It's not like that! I just…I found out something today and wanted to surprise you..."

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's that?"

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was now or never. "Katsuki, I’m pregnant. We're having another baby."

For a moment, he just stared at you, processing the news. Then, a rare, genuine smile spread across his face. it was sadly short lived, and replaced with a smirk instead. "Oh really?".

Katsuma looked between the two of you, his earlier mischief forgotten. "So, does that mean I get a little brother or sister to boss around?"

"Katsuma, you will not be bossing your them around." you said, ruffling his hair. "You have to be a good big brother, okay?"

Katsuma's eyes widened. "I’ll be the best big brother ever! Can I teach them how to play hero games?"

You chuckled. "Sure, but you'll also need to help take care of them."

Katsuki walked over and pulled you into a gentle hug. "I'm really happy, you know," he said quietly. "This is good news."

You relaxed into his embrace, feeling a wave of relief. "I was so nervous about telling you."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Why? You know I’m always here for you, no matter what."

Katsuma tugged at Katsuki’s pant leg. "Dad, does this mean we need to buy more baby stuff?"

Katsuki laughed. "Yeah, it does. And you can help pick it out." "Good! Yknow dad...when we go to the store,I wanted to see if you could buy me a new figurine..or a bb gun...or a brand new pair of boo-" "No." "Oh.. DAMNIT!"

The rest of the evening was filled with excited chatter about the new baby. Katsuma kept asking questions about what it would be like to have a sibling, while Katsuki suggested names and joked about teaching the new baby how to be tough like him.

Later, after dinner, you all sat together in the living room. Katsuma was snuggled between you and Katsuki, half-asleep from all the excitement.

Katsuki looked over at you, his expression softer than usual. "You know, I never imagined myself having a family like this," he admitted. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Me neither. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?"

He nodded, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "Yeah, we have. And it’s only going to get better from here."

[somewhereincairparavel]

˚➳❥“Can I put makeup on you, Dada?➳❥

Jason Grace as a girl dad! Hcs list

Warning: aged up Jason Grace! (duh), just cuteness overload tbh

-He would so be a girl dad. I can see him having atleast 3 girls lol

- ugh he's the attentive and spending quality time dad- all he ever wanted from his own father was time. So no matter what, he's always paying his kid attention, it doesn't matter if it's the most insignificant thing ever, hes going to listen to his children's yapping

- he'd let his kids give him design ideas for his temple diorama project, and he'd actually use their ideas by changing it up a bit 🥹 he just wants his kids to feel included and important.

- a very patient dad. Wouldn't yell or raise his voice at his children no matter what. I feel like he himself hated being yelled at it when he was a child, and he'd hate to do it to other people, let alone his own children.

- but he's pretty strict when it comes to his children being good people and having strictly healthy morals. He doesn't care if his kids get bad grades or don't excel talent wise, just don't be a bad person and be nice to people.

- he ain't raising no ungrateful brat. Hes been happy his whole life recieving less than the bare minimum, so he knows ungratefulness when he sees it.

- definitely cried when his kids were in their "neglecting-their-parents-and-being-moody" teenager phase :( he'd think he had done something wrong and immediately have nagging thoughts that he turned out like his own dad 🥺

- his kids would be so hella polite, and I mean, elegant "please and thank you" royalty kind of polite.

- would so take his daughters on a piggyback ride and little flying trips 🥹

- he'd pretend to be an airplane while having them on his back and goes "jason grace airlines, ready for take off!" And all that cute shit ughh

- would tell his children so many dang stories, we know that this is technically canon with jason telling his grandkids stories in his vision- like he doesn't care how busy he is or if he had an argument with his kids that day, they are still getting spoiled with bedtime stories. Nobody's going to come between that.

- speaking of arguments, I feel like jason is super hard to anger, so if does get mad at his children then it's probably because they risked their lives, or got themselves hurt physically emotionally or mentally that really drives him over the edge.

- when it comes to disciplining his children, he does it sternly but gently at the same time. He doesn't overwhelm them with harshness, but gets his point across clearly

- kind of overbearing but in a sweet and endearing way I swear. Like his children would get a minor paper cut that even they don't care about but he'd freak out and hug tf out them while asking them if they're okay atleast 3 times.

- speaking of which. Hugs. Such a good fucking hugger. He gives his children bear hugs every day. - he's the "no you can't go to class before giving me a hug I don't care if you're late" type of dad

- He doesn't care if his children are like 45, like you're still my precious little girl, you always are and always will be. (He'd say this trust)

- is very verbal with his affection. Hes been brought up in a very intimidating and cold environment where people couldn't even hug properly without it being awkward, so he'll not be ashamed to be openly affectionate. Hes had enough coldness for 15 years

- overall just a big sweetheart of a dad that his children adore with all their heart and vice versa 🥹💙

[icarryitin]

Help Me?

spencer reid/gn!reader

i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳

masterlist

word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+

“Try it, see what happens.”

You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.

The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.

Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.

The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.

A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.

Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.

“Can you walk?”

A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.

“Help me?”

Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.

Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?

Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.

Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.

“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.

A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.

“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.

“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”

The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”

“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.

“Then we’ll call it even.”

You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.

And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.

The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.

You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.

JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.

Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.

He could kiss you.

Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.

He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.

Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.

Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?

And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of that, not now.

So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.

Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.

It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.

“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.

The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.

“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”

Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.

“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”

“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.

Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.

The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.

You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.

“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.

“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.

Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.

You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.

Spencer is going to have to undress you.

It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.

“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”

It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.

The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.

“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”

Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.

There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.

It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.

Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.

He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.

It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.

Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.

Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.

Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.

yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡

[pshcomforts]

➳ spring snow | psh.

bestfriend!sunghoon x fem!reader

“cause i’m falling slowly in love with you”

synopsis: you became sick, and your best friend, sunghoon, has offered to take care of you.

warnings/content: written in third pov. fluffy fluff! tiny bit of angst. best friends to lovers. a little bit of idiots in love. nicknames like ‘idiot’ ‘dummy’ and ‘loser’ used. down bad sunghoon <3

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 4.6k

a/n: self-indulgent bc i’m sick right now, and currently obsessed with lovely runner </3

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: spring snow by 10cm

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

0:39 ───|──────────────── 2:42

a cough erupted out of y/n as she fought for her life. her nose was stuffy, and her throat was aching from the cold she randomly caught.

she heavily sighed, cursing to herself for missing an important lecture.

“i should’ve gone..,” she softly whimpered.

as she fumed a little longer, a sudden notification had caught her attention.

sunghoon <3:

Where are you?

Are you running late?

panic spread across her face when she read her best friends texts, quickly typing back with quiet coughs leaving her throat.

y/n:

sorry, hoon! i’m actually not feeling good so i decided to skip the lecture for today…

sunghoon <3:

Are you lying, or are you really sick?

y/n:

why would i lie to you about this..

sunghoon <3:

So you don’t have to hear my scolding? 😒

y/n:

i swear, sunghoon, i’m sick! do you want me to send an audio of me coughing or something..

sunghoon <3:

.. No

the girl breathed out a laugh once she found no more texts from him. she widely grinned as she thought about the handsome boy, easily imagining his displeased look in her head.

her heart fluttered and butterflies erupted in her stomach. she fisted her hands to stop the sensations forming around her body as she shook it off.

“stop it, y/n, he’s just a friend.” she murmured to herself, unable to make the imaginary hoon in her head disappear.

“this cold is really getting to me…,”

y/n huffed out a sigh before wrapping herself in her warm blankets.

“maybe a nap will do..,” her voice squeaked, body already falling on borderline exhaustion. she yawned out a little more before resting her eyes and eventually knocking out.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

about a half hour had just passed and the girl was still sound asleep when a few knocks had been heard at the door.

she grumbled out a sigh before checking the time.

“who’d even be here at this time?” she sighed, still finding the sun brightly beaming down on every view she could find.

the knocks had been heard again and she quickly checked to see if anything could be related to whatever was outside. indeed, she found a few missed texts from her beloved friend.

sunghoon <3:

Open the door

Are you asleep??

Hello..?

she exhaled a breath as her stomach flooded with nervous bubbles.

“why is he here..?” she muttered under her breath.

the girl dusted herself, and though she was sure she still looked like a train wreck, she couldn’t be too bothered with how much her sickness took over.

she slowly cracked the door open and found an adorable sunghoon patiently waiting.

“finally!” he shouted. “took you long enough, i was almost gonna call you.”

maybe not that patient.

y/n scrunched her brows in confusion. “why are you even here, hoon?”

his heart slightly dropped at her questioning, but he only nervously laughed it away.

“you’re sick, dummy. you need to be taken care of.” sunghoon murmured, pinching one side of her cheeks.

she quickly swatted the hand away as she still remained puzzled.

“you’re gonna take care of me?” her voice mumbled, causing him to shyly nod. “but you never do this..?”

hoon only sighed as he joked, “well do you want me to leave? because i still can.”

“no, no.. i’m just a little shocked right now.”

y/n’s heart was about to burst. he was fueling her delusions about the potential thought of them being together, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

she heard him give a chuckle when he set his backpack down. “i care about you, y/n. are you that shocked?” his simple grin sent heart throbs, making her tired body tingle even more.

“well you always tease and make fun of me so.. yeah, i’m shocked.”

the girl sniffed away her snot that ran down from her cold as he laughed again.

“don’t be too surprised that i’m a caring person.” sunghoon uttered, shaking his head while hiding his huge smile away. “i’m usually nice to you anyway.”

y/n guffawed out a scoff, sending a soft smack towards his arm as she muttered, “yeah right! you weren’t nice when i asked for the lecture notes 40 minutes ago, and you said no!”

the male giggled as he thought back to their texts, heart melting at his friends stuffy voice. “well who told you to stay home? that lecture was really important!” he teased back, lips instantly curling at her gasp and eye roll.

“if you’re just here to bicker with me then please leave, hoon. i’m too sick to argue.” she huffed, shaking her head.

“okay, okay, fine, i’m sorry.” he slightly pouted, causing her to softly smile. “i really am here to take care of you though.”

sunghoon ruffled her hair, letting it run messy everywhere as his eyes twinkled in the scene of his friend struggling to leave his teasing act. his lips coiled again, unable to hide his facial expressions with how much he adored her.

“sunghoon!” the girl yelled, pushing his hand away.

his heart pounded at the sound of his name leaving her lips, making him stop the ruffles.

“your friend is sick and you’re really doing this to her!”

hoon chuckled at her words before the word — ‘friend’ — hit him. his heart stung a little and he retracted himself back, officially putting a stop to all of the teasings as y/n still huffed with hair pieces around her face.

“can i go back to sleep now?” she mumbled, throat immediately running dry.

sunghoon clicked his tongue, shaking his head while replying, “what’s the point of me being here if you’re just gonna sleep?”

“you volunteered to be here!”

“exactly, which is why you need to stay out here while i reheat my moms soup for you!”

the girl wore a frown, but her stomach betrayed her when it rumbled at the mention of food, causing her friend to chortle out a laugh.

“see? your stomach wants me to stay.”

he wore a shit eating grin, making y/n playfully roll her eyes and nudge him. “now go stay on the couch, i’ll reheat it up for you.” he sweetly muttered like a boyfriend.

her heart instantly raced and a few coughs suddenly bursted from her as the thought of him being a well-mannered boyfriend flooded her mind.

“get a hold of yourself, idiot.” she said under her breath.

“did you say something??”

her head whipped up at sunghoon and she quickly shook her head. “no! um.. just don’t burn my kitchen down… please.. i know you suck at cooking.”

he scoffed out a ridiculed laugh. “it’s just reheating soup, how bad can that get?”

bad, because within seconds, the boy let the pot heat up on the stove too long, making the cold soup instantly smoke up when he added it in.

the alarms rang off the hook and y/n’s ears rang like crazy; and if that wasn’t enough, sunghoons deep voice screaming at the steam was the cherry on top.

“sunghoon!!” she shouted, giving a faint scold as she fanned beneath her smoke detectors.

his cheeks flushed and his ears instantly became red while he stood in the kitchen like a six year old getting yelled at.

“sorry…,” his soft voice murmured, feeling self-conscious with the way he embarrassed himself in front of his friend.

“i didn’t know there was a time limit with how long the pot had to heat up…,”

y/n huffed out a sigh, instantly dropping her slight annoyance when she came face to face with the boy who was softly pouting. a laugh escaped from her and she only shook her head.

“you’re an idiot, you know that?” she joked, causing a faint grin to be placed on him. “of course it’s gonna smoke when you leave it on high heat for 10 minutes.”

“stop it, y/n… i’m embarrassed, you don’t have to acknowledge what i did wrong.” sunghoon covered his face with his hands, blocking off every facial feature but his ears that were still brightly colored red.

the girl chuckled, grin widening as her sickness almost left her when he remained shy in his actions.

“i don’t know if i should trust you in my kitchen ever again..,”

hoon rolled his eyes and smiled. “okay, it wasn’t even that bad!”

“you literally set off my smoke alarms!”

“okay.. but nothing caught on fire!”

y/n shook her head, hearty coughs still leaving her throat as she heaved her chest up and down.

“you were supposed to take care of me, but stressed me out instead!”

he seethed air through his teeth in guilt, head low while he chewed on his lips. “sorry…,” the male muttered. “i swear i was trying so hard not to do anything that’d make you get up!”

she laughed at his words and replied, “that’s sweet of you, hoon, but you did.”

“i know…, i’m still embarrassed.”

he placed his hands over his face once more, but peeked his eyes through separated fingers to catch her reaction. y/n wore a huge smile, eyes creasing into half moon crescents that caused butterflies to flutter in his stomach.

he softened his gaze once he felt it and they instantly twinkled with a deep warmth that was only for her.

the remaining words that spewed out of the girl had quickly been deafened as he continued to stare at her, making her snap at him — “sunghoon?? did you even hear me?”

“oh.. um… yes!” he tried to cheese a grin, but she obviously wasn’t convinced.

“and what did i say..?”

“something about… your cold being worse..?”

he pressed his lips into a firm line, forming a bread smile as her tongue clicked in disappointment.

“you weren’t listening.., what’s even distracting you?”

her, but he couldn’t say that.

y/n folded her arms while she awaited for an answer, making him gulp.

first, he invited himself inside. second, he almost burned down her kitchen. and now, he wasn’t even processing whatever she had to say.

“um..,” he swallowed down a lump in his throat, trying to find whatever could be distracting. “your snot, y/n! it’s uh.. dripping! yeah, that!”

the girl felt her heart drop and she immediately ran around to find tissues. what dumb luck did hoon have that she actually was dripping with snot?

he breathed out a sigh of relief, hand clenching onto his chest with how close he was to getting caught.

y/n quickly came back, cheeks slightly tinted pink. “back to what i was saying… how about i just heat up the soup myself?” she suggested, causing him to widen his eyes and shake his head.

“no, you’re sick. i can’t have you walking around when you should be resting.”

her brows scrunched and her head slightly tilted as a soft laugh escaped from her. “hoon.. you literally made me run around my apartment to stop the alarms…,”

sunghoon thought back to her constant feet pattering he heard not too long ago, and sighed. “anymore. i won’t have you walking around anymore,” he firmly corrected himself.

she took a sigh as well, finally falling to defeat as he proudly pushed her toward her couch.

“don’t stress about it.., soup will be in your much-needed tummy soon!”

y/n couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at his words, but eventually let him continue with how eager he was to do something so sweet.

with the man in the kitchen, she felt her pupils dilate whenever she laid her eyes on him, heart almost jumping out of her throat with how quick it was beating.

sunghoon was instantly looking like a boyfriend to her, and she couldn’t fight those thoughts anymore — his tall figure, the oversized hoodie perfectly fitting him, his pretty face gleaming at the bubbling pot.

of course, he did almost burn down her kitchen, but he was redeeming himself right now.

the girl was almost soaring with how much she was falling for him. though she was still fighting for her life, sunghoon being there for her was already making her feel better — even if he stressed her out for a second.

but she swiftly shook it off once the friend had turned around with a proud look spread across his face.

“it’s done! this soup will instantly make you feel better when you eat it.” he murmured, lips still curling at his final success attempt of reheating his moms soup.

y/n softly reflected his grin back as she sat across from him. “your mom’s the best, hoon!” she quickly dug in, heart melting and tummy warming at the soothing broth.

sunghoon tried to hide away his obvious beam but couldn’t help it. his eyes were glistening, his fangs were flashing, and his mind was going crazy with the girl he liked in front of her.

was this how it’d always be if she got sick, and he’d offer to take care of her? (yes)

his heart swelled with the possible future in his hands as the girl continued to eat.

“you don’t want to eat any?” she murmured, but he fully shook his head and pushed the bowl further to her — “it’s all yours, loser. my mom packed it specifically for you.”

she quietly coughed at the sudden nickname, scowling back a look while he only chuckled.

“you didn’t think i’d grow a soft spot for you just because you got sick, did you?” he teased mercilessly.

y/n playfully rolled her eyes before going back to chomping. typical sunghoon. one minute he was sweet, the next he was just a guy who loved to tease a little too much.

he continued to wear a huge grin though as she munched, making the girl fully unaware of how much love he held in his eyes.

once her stomach was full, hoon forced her to sit on the couch with a blanket wrapped around while he cleaned the dishes.

the feeling of him taking care of her was strange, but she liked it. it was something she could get use to if he liked her back (idiot).

when sunghoon finished, he plopped directly next to her on the couch with an idiotic grin, eyes full of hearts and stomach bubbled from feeling nervous.

“um, sunghoon?” y/n poked. “shouldn’t you sit a little further away? i can get you sick.”

he scoffed and laughed as if she told the funniest joke ever. “if i didn’t want to risk getting sick, i wouldn’t have chosen to come over… dummy.” he chuckled at the name he gave her while rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

“do you want me to move?”

her face instantly flushed with a hue of pink and she subtly tried to turn away from it. “no.. you can stay if you want.”

“do you want me to stay?”

sunghoon’s heart quickly thumped with every surge of confidence he got from her shy reactions.

his eyes flickered at her turned head, tilting his own in confusion before muttering, “are you that sick that you can’t look at me?”

“i can! my throat’s just.. itchy so i don’t want to cough in your face,” she tried to shoot back.

he huffed out a slight laugh at her lame attempt of an excuse. “is it that hard to stare at my handsome face?” he asked, knowing that she’d face him right after.

“what!” y/n’s hoarse voice spoke. “i can!”

she quickly laid her eyes back onto him and almost instantly, the two felt their hearts explode with fireworks.

sunghoon took a noticeably large gulp, blinking repeatedly with how quick their nose tips touched. she was much closer than she should’ve been, and the boy was flustered.

“y/n.. you’re um…,” he swallowed another lump, adams apple bobbing as every butterfly in his stomach multiplied.

“see! i can look at you!” she yelled, honestly unaware of how flushed her friend was becoming.

“yeah, you win.” he replied, nudging her forehead away before she could hear his loud heartbeats.

hoon held onto his chest, trying to calm his nerves when y/n only clicked her tongue.

“tried to challenge me but lost instead.. idiot.” she mumbled to herself, giving crunchy coughs afterward.

a grin plastered onto his face after her words processed. “yeah.. i lost” — but he didn’t, because he felt like a winner with how close her nose tip accidentally grazed over his.

he bit his bottom lip to hide away another smile as he muttered, “i think it’s time for you to take some medicine.”

y/n’s face scrunched in disgust. “i know i’m sick, but i hate taking cough syrup.”

“well you need it because you’re coughing like you’re on your death bed.”

an audible gasp was heard from her and she quickly smacked his arm. “sunghoon!” she yelled, earning a laugh from him.

“i’m just stating the obvious!”

he flashed a heart-throbbing grin and she almost melted at it, vision quick to lose sight with how alarmingly charming it was.

“you didn’t need to say that..,” she scowled.

his fangs were still brightly shown as he murmured, “come on, just take the medicine. it’ll benefit you.”

his hands offered a cup of the cough syrup that y/n hated. she downed it quickly but her lips pursed together like she tasted lemon.

sunghoon hollered out another laugh, eyes squeezing shut at how she shook her head in disapproval.

“that was gross!!” she exclaimed, making happy tears well up in the boy. “stop making fun of your sick friend, she doesn’t appreciate it, you know?”

he continued his laughing streak until he deemed it enough, wiping away a tear drop as he watched y/n roll her eyes.

“okay, sorry, hoon is acknowledging that.” he replied, giving a little play on her third person usage.

her lips coiled into a smile as she sent another soft hit to him. “you’re stupid.”

“and you’re sick, so get back in your blankets.”

before she could protest, sunghoon was quick to wrap it around her, giving her no time to react at the way his arms enclosed them together.

he tugged the sheets around her shoulders, gaze completely concentrated on the amount of blankets that covered her.

his face was leaned in, close to the point where her lips could ghost over his cheeks for a soft peck.

she felt her face heat up at the very thought, mind instantly craving for that moment while she watched his thick, dark brows scrunch for complete focus. she couldn’t help but linger her gaze down to his other pretty features.

being this close to her handsome friend felt mind numbingly crazy.

when the boy had finished, he gleamed a half smile before pulling away, proud of how he was able to ensure every blanket had securely been wrapped around her.

she quietly gasped for air after hoon’s brows raised in satisfaction of his work. “there! now you’re warm!” his voice yelled. “you can go to sleep now.”

y/n flickered her gaze to him, watching the way he softly patted his shoulder. she let a puff of air slip by her lips in disbelief as she shoved him.

“why are you being so sweet right now?”

was it not obvious to her that he wanted to feel her rest her head on his shoulder?

sunghoon’s lips pursed together while trying to find the right words. “you’re sick, y/n, why wouldn’t i be sweet right now?” he awkwardly laughed, stomach rupturing in butterflies. “i don’t want my friend to get bad treatment while she’s sick.”

he cheesed a grin and she only shook her head, eventually complying to his offer and laying on his shoulder.

his heart instantly raced at the little bump her head made against him, and he couldn’t help the huge smile that took form on his face from it.

“what should we watch?” y/n mumbled, unconsciously cuddling closer.

“what are you feeling?” sunghoon softly gulped as he forced his attention to stay on the device in front of them.

“mm..,” she thought. “oh! wanna watch lovely runner??”

he raised his brows in confusion. “lovely.. runner?”

“hoon, you need to watch more series…,” she scowled back at him. “let’s watch it!”

the boy was about to make a remark but stopped himself, agreeing with her suggestion since it was her sick day after all.

the drama played, episode after episode as the two stayed glued on the couch, holding each other close — both forgetting that they were just friends.

when another episode had finished, sunghoon’s eyes carefully watched the end credits. he chuckled, excited to start on the next one.

“should we watch another?” he murmured, waiting for an answer when nothing from y/n had been heard.

another minute passed and soft snores had finally erupted out of her.

he scoffed out a laugh, lips quickly curling at her quiet noises before turning his head.

“you’re really asleep?” the boy said, voice kept small to not wake her.

in seconds, the episode was paused and sunghoon carried his sick friend to her bed with ease.

laying her down carefully, his movements were slow and steady. the only thing audible were y/n’s continuous little snores and hoon’s heavy breathing.

the girl was finally set down, wrapped in blankets as he glanced at her state. his heart was pounding in his ears and his fingernails were scratching his palms to calm himself.

even when she was sickly pale, she was still someone who caught his attention timelessly. he loved her, and every little thing that complimented with him.

his lips curled at her, gaze softening as he quietly murmured, “i like you, dummy. can’t you notice me?”

sunghoon sighed, feeling stupid at how he confessed to his friend who still remained asleep. his heart began to shatter, shards painfully stabbing him as he started to head for the door.

however, a hand grab was quick to stop him, holding him back from moving any further. his heart dropped at the fast realization, mind instantly going through scenarios of y/n rejecting him.

slowly, he turned with a fragile mindset, ready to be declined from his crush.

“y/n…,” the male gulped.

she only beamed a half smile when she sat up as her eyes still drooped in fatigue. “i do notice you, loser.” she admitted with flushed cheeks. “because i like you too.. i like you a lot, actually.”

hoon’s face lit up in shock, eyes being blown wide as he felt adrenaline rush through his body. “you like me??” he questioned, falling in disbelief of her words.

y/n bit her lips, hiding away her smile while nodding. “i’ve liked you for a while now… and honestly, you taking care of me made me fall in love with you even more.”

her gaze trailed up to his face, watching how he proudly wore his wide grin made her heart flutter.

“stop looking at me like that..,” she uttered, softly pushing his shoulder, but he couldn’t help it. the girl he’s longed for finally said the words he’s been wanting to hear.

sunghoon flashed his charming fangs at her as he smiled in delight. “what else can i do? my friend’s in love with me.”

“i said like, not love!” she defended.

“i heard love…,” he teased back, causing her to scoff and roll her eyes.

he gave another chuckle before leaning in, lips yearning for hers when she dodged away.

his head tilted in confusion and she only laughed at that. “i’m still sick, hoon. i don’t want to get you sick.” y/n muttered, earning a ridiculed taunt to come from him.

“you think i care about that? the girl i’ve loved for so long has just confessed to me so i’m gonna kiss her.”

sunghoon quickly leaned in again, close to kissing a flustered y/n when she pulled away once more. he softly pouted, face frowning as his gaze stay locked on her lips.

“sunghoon,” she called, but he didn’t answer. the boy continued to be mindlessly stuck on the sight of her lips.

she sent a soft hit to his broad chest, finally catching his attention as his eyes grew hungry.

“i seriously don’t want to get you sick,” she mumbled, face scrunching to emphasize her worry.

hoon only scoffed, biting his lips as he replied — “and i seriously don’t care.”

before she could say more, he swiftly crashed his lips against hers, swooning the girl in seconds. she gasped, earning an entrance for sunghoon as he smiled against her — enjoying the shocked reaction he was able to receive.

his hands firmly held her cheeks, cupping them so she could stay put while she held onto his arms, softly gripping onto his hoodie with the evidential crave in his kiss.

y/n finally pushed against his chest, giving him the signal to pull away and he did. his face continued to linger near hers, eyes searching for flushed cheeks.

“sunghoon!” she quietly scolded, earning a chuckle from his attractive voice.

she felt his lips softly curl against hers and she couldn’t help but to smile as well.

“now you’re gonna get sick.”

her gaze peered into his, making his heart melt while he raised his brows. “i guess you’ll have to be the one to take care of me now.”

he grinned as she rolled her eyes, cupping her cheeks once more for sweet kisses on the lips. he gave soft pecks, continuing on and on before y/n turned her head away.

“i know you like me, but i’m still sick! don’t kiss me right now.” she huffed, trying to swat him away.

sunghoon chuckled. “you should’ve told me that minutes ago, now i don’t want to stop kissing you.”

he leaned in again but the girl dodged her head away. “no, sunghoon!!” she giggled, attempting to push at his chest.

“just one!”

y/n sighed before complying, pushing herself closer for a soft peck on the lips.

“one more?”

her face morphed in disbelief, eventually leaning in for another. a quick plant on his lips was made and he only smiled.

“another?”

“hoon… no.” she folded her arms and shook her head. “my throat is hurting and i’m about to cough if i lean in again.”

sunghoon raised his thick brows mischievously. “so i’ll lean in then.” and so he tried, closing his eyes and expecting a kiss on the lips when he met her cheek instead.

“why don’t you want to kiss your new boyfriend?” he softly whined, becoming clingy within seconds.

y/n scrunched her face as she grinned and nudged him. “because your new girlfriend is sick and wants to rest.”

his lips pushed together and presented duck lips, pouting while wrapping his arms around her. “fine then, let’s rest, hm?” he murmured.

the two laid beside each other, facing one another as his eyes twinkled with love, mind in complete disbelief of how he was able to get his girl.

“i’m so lucky,” his voice uttered in the silence.

“hm?” sleepy y/n replied back.

“i’m lucky you fell in love with me.”

“and i’m lucky you loved me back, and also didn’t burn down my kitchen.” she murmured, voice almost gone from her cold.

sunghoon chuckled and let a huge grin plaster onto his face as he leaned in once more, placing a longing kiss on the tip of her nose.

“get to sleep, pretty girl.” he whispered.

y/n yawned, nodding her head and complying without an insult with how exhausted she was.

he pulled her closer into his arms, engulfing her into his soothing embrace as he muzzled his head on top of hers.

she breathed in his scent, feeling at home when she easily rested her hands at his chest.

the two cuddled, holding each other close to their dearest hearts with a new relationship that just unfolded.

✩ ‘all my life is you’ ✩

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★