#there is NOTHING like jumping on an email the second you get it

[autiespring]

i totally get why some people only read completed fics but honestly there is absolutely nothing better than getting an email midweek that the fic you’ve been hanging off every word of has updated and getting to read it on your lunch break or before you go to bed and getting the adrenaline of wanting to know what’s next

[luveline]

would you do a james fainting fic 🙏🙏

—James doesn’t like you, but he’ll come to your rescue. fem, 1.5k The office is hot. 

James dabs at his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Remus rubbing his eye. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You look up from the paper on your desk. When you realise he isn’t asking you, you look away, your lips pressing into a tight line. James tries not to show he’s noticed. 

“Fine,” Remus mutters. “Fucked off ‘cos of the portal changing again. I hate these long passwords.” 

“Are you hot or is it just me?” 

You clear your throat. Usually, unless it’s Remus who’s spoken first or James has said something you find ridiculous, you won’t interrupt. “I’m really warm,” you say, “do you think I can open the window?” 

“Like you can reach it, shorts. I’ll do it.” James jumps up from his seat. Whether you’re short or not has nothing to do with it. James is taller, and he holds it against you diligently. 

He rounds your desks. The sun is worse on his skin than the heat alone. He can’t imagine how awful you must feel to have it on the side of your neck all day; in the half minute he stands there opening the window, the heat makes him queasy. 

He tugs the blinds down enough to shield you. It’ll help the entire office, he thinks. Not just you. If you thought he was doing something nice you’d only interrogate his motives until you both turned irate, and that’s the last thing anyone needs today. 

James isn’t sure how you and he ended up not liking one another. He’s never met anybody he didn’t like that wasn’t a massive wanker, and you are but you’re not, not really. When you first started he’d actually thought you were cute, and funny, if a little quiet. It didn’t matter because James is used to quiet people. But one thing turned to another, he’d used your mug without washing it, you’d left him off of the department emails for the quarter, then the snipping started. Constant nitpicking and bickering. You make it too easy, and so what if he likes how you look when you’re mad? It doesn’t hurt anybody to put your mug in the stockroom and your lunch on a different shelf. If anything, he’s keeping you vigilant. 

You don’t look vigilant. You don’t say anything as James sits back down, even though he hits his knee for the hundredth time on his desk. You usually love it. Sometimes when you’re tired he does it on purpose to give you a reason to keep going till 4:30. 

“Are you okay?” James asks finally, eyeing your face. “You look funnier than usual.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” He should stop being mean. You look like you’re gonna pass out. 

Remus peeks over his computer screen. “You don’t look well,” he says. 

“I’m fine.” You roll your seat back. 

James pushes back at the same time. “Wait a second–”

You’re standing before James can stop you, but he stands up anyways, and he takes your elbow into his hand though he shouldn’t. You give him the most peculiar look, almost like you’re enjoying his touch, just for those two seconds, before your chin dips down and your eyes squeeze closed, and all of you goes slack. 

James grabs you at the precipice of a bad fall. 

You’re still as a doll in his hands. He leans back with a quick sigh, his arm curling over the small of your back and upward. Your legs aren’t holding your weight, and you begin to slip. 

James could keep you up, he doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, but Remus rushes to his aid and pushes your chair back, helping him set you down on the floor. “What do we do?” Remus asks urgently. 

James puts his hand behind your head. You’re slack. When he touches your face, your skin is as hot as the heart of a furnace. 

“Can you get some water?” he asks Remus. 

James is peculiarly calm. He knows you’re just hot, it’s not uncommon for people to faint in high temperatures, and he’s honestly confident in his ability to look after you. It’s very sad to see you unwell, of course, and his heart is beating fast as he takes in your slack mouth. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, cupping your cheek gently. He gives your face a little shake, reluctant to be rough with you while you’re vulnerable, even if some force would help. “Hey, can you hear me? You’re okay, can you open your eyes?” 

Nothing. He leans down a touch to listen for your breath, and it’s fine, if a tad fast. 

Remus comes back with a cup of water and Sirius, which is predictable but not super helpful. “Jesus,” Sirius says. “I’ll call an ambulance.” 

“She’ll die of embarrassment,” Remus says. 

“She’s coming around,” James says, patting your cheek, thrilled when your eyelashes twitch. “I think we should go into the break room, is it empty? We can sit her on the sofa.” 

“You don’t think we should do something a bit more drastic?” Sirius asks. 

James feels rather defensive of you. Remus is right, you would die of embarrassment if they called an ambulance, and he’s sure you’re fine. You have to be fine. “She just fainted, it’s so hot in here. Go open a window in the break room and we’ll wait for her to come around.” 

Sirius glares playfully at being told what to do, but he goes, and Remus kneels down beside James with a cup of water. Someone from the front of the office asks if you’re alright, but James misses what they’re saying as you let out a whine. 

All of a sudden, his attention is fully yours. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes open slowly, lashes heavy like they’re thick with honey. You take in a deep, deep breath through your nose, and you blink, and you turn into his hand where it’s holding your cheek with all the familiarity of a lover. “James,” you mumble. 

His stomach aches. He ignores it. “You okay? Can you look at me properly? I need to make sure you’re fine.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, face pressed to his hand. 

“Just look at me. Just for a second.” 

You pull yourself with clear annoyance from his hand and open your eyes properly. He can pinpoint the moment you realise who he is, how you're touching, and he can’t explain the pang he gets when you rush up and away from his touch. “Oh, fuck,” you mumble, dropping your head, your fingers to your forehead and your thumb covering your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t move around so much.” He continues to be soft. You might have realised who it is that’s trying to look after you, and you might not want him to, but he’ll be damned if he lets your bickering stop him from making sure you’re as okay as he’d claimed to everyone else. “Are you okay?” 

“Did I…” 

“You fainted. Don’t worry, I caught you. Take it easy, okay? Have this.” 

He presses the cup of water into your hand.

Somewhere behind him, Remus has moved away, and is seemingly fending off the masses of people coming to offer assistance. 

You see them looking at you behind him and cover your face. 

James shuffles forward quickly. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let anyone see you. I’m saving this embarrassment all for myself. Please drink your water.” 

“Did everybody see me fall?” 

“They saw us engaged in a loving cwtch. It was very romantic.” 

You sip your water. In truth, you don’t look much better for passing out, and James can’t get the feeling of your face out of his hand. He wants to touch you again, his fingers hesitating an inch from your knee. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “You don’t control the weather. Do you?” 

“Of course I don’t.” 

“Then why are you sorry? It was alright. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? We just want to make sure you’re okay. Sirius wanted to call an ambulance,” —you visibly baulk— “and I told him no, don’t worry. Then all the attention would be on you, and not me for my valiant rescue.” 

“Was I heavy?” you ask, your mumbling nearly friendly. 

“I can bench press two twenty.” 

“That… doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

“You’re nothing I couldn’t handle, shortcake. Do you think you can stand up? I’ll take you into the break room. You can lay down on the sofa.” 

You make a soft sound James won’t soon forget and put your hand out for his help. He doesn’t have to force you. You don’t have to ask. He helps you stand and keeps an arm behind your back, shielding you from the worried and curious gazes of your coworkers. 

You press your cheek to his chest. 

Remus looks at you both like you’ve been body-snatched, but it’s too late to wuss out now. 

[taeiun]

this love is small.

synopsis: some of the little things that they do in your relationship

who: zb1 x gn!reader (not including yujin)

categories: fluff, some crack, headcanon styled scenarios

warnings: mentions of food in jiwoong + taerae's parts, light swearing

word count: 1.1k

✧ JIWOONG !

✧ jiwoong gains a newly formed sixth sense when it comes to your needs; he knows your favourite snacks by heart and also picks up if you guys are low on them without even looking at the cabinet.  you don’t even need to ask him to grab a snack for you because he’ll just know. probably knows when those foods are on sale before you even open your mouth to tell him. like, he’s probably already picked up three bags of those chips you really enjoyed last time and they’re waiting on the counter for you.

✧ will send you a notes app shopping list so that you don’t get jumped scared by the random appearance of shrimp chips and sour candies constantly and wonder how they got there half the time when you both haven’t even talked about being out of them.

✧ ZHANG HAO !

✧ hao keeps a collection of short, vlog-like recordings of the two of you in a private, for his eyes only folder on his phone. he watches these whenever he misses you or feels down and needs a pick me up. these videos will range from past dates, his commentary as he records you sleeping, to not even a two second moment of you laughing. you might find the angles unflattering, but he treasures each and everyone, watching them with a goofy ahah smile on his face.

✧ the others have 100% definitely, not even up for question, walked in on him in the middle of a watching session. he’ll just be sitting curled up in bed, blanket draped around him, with the lights turned off and earbuds plugged into his phone. this ends two ways. 1) the member leaves before he can notice and all is well or 2) they tease him only to end up with a pillow to the face

✧ HANBIN !

✧ whenever he’s on tour or can’t see you for long periods of time, hanbin will keep a list of things that happen throughout the days he’s gone to share with you. he never wants you to feel left out of his life and wants full communication with things. he can send you all the pictures you want of his travels, but nothing beats the actual stories.

✧ he mainly keeps tabs of things he did but will include the members’ shenanigans if he thinks they’ll make you laugh. starts a new list every time he has to leave and each one is dated, the activities labeled for what day and the time gone written at the top.

✧ MATTHEW !

✧ a big chatterbox when it comes to you, especially when it comes to his family. phone calls, messages, will even in emails to relatives, the conversation will drift to you no matter the topic. the only criteria needed for this to happen is for someone to simply breath in his direction.

✧ matthew pivots the conversation so fast that it gives his family whiplash. they aren’t complaining though; it’s nice to see him so happy and they can tell just how much he cares about your relationship. he wants them to love you as much as he does and by telling them these fond memories, he’s sure they will.

✧ TAERAE !

✧ the silly man he is, taerae will send you selfie updates throughout the day of where he is. you could probably make and sell your own bootleg, limited edition, taerae of zb1 pcs with how many you get from him. from walks to the company building to convenience store runs, he’s always sending you a picture of when he leaves to when he arrives at the destination as a way of assurance he’s safe.

✧ stores all of these in a folder labeled “for yn and yn only” and refuses to post them publicly, no matter how good you tell him some of them are. the background settings of his photos are always interesting. sometimes the members will be there, sometimes it’s while he’s in a storage closet. it’s funny until you wake up to find selfies of him at mcdonalds at 4 am with a handful of chicken nuggets shoved in his mouth.

✧ RICKY !

✧ spoils you so much. he knows that love doesn’t mean the amount of money you spend on someone but he can’t help but buy trinkets that remind him of you. the thought process is basically just: “oh. this kind of looks like yn.” and proceeds to checkout with a ditto keychain. ricky pays close attention to what type of accessories you tend to wear and prefer for this very reason. if your ears are pierced, you’ll find a new pair waiting for you on your desk that look eerily similar to his… like what? nooooo he totally didn’t go and buy subtle matching stuff pfttt nah- ok yes. please wear it; coordinate matching outfits with him.

✧ also, don’t bother asking for the prices of these things. he’ll never tell you because he knows that you’ll pay him back and he doesn’t want that. he doesn’t expect anything back and wants to make sure that you understand that he wants to do these things. you also probably won’t want to know because oof scary.

✧ GYUVIN !

✧ omfg he will abuse voice memo privileges to hell and back in order to let you in on dumb jokes and random thoughts. gyuvin constantly has his phone close within his reach just because of this so that he never misses the chance to blow your mind with… whatever falls from his mouth. even when in bed. the voice memos range from “i love you so much i don’t know what i’d do without you” to “did you know you are always within three meters of a spider?”. you never know if you’ll be swooning or sleeping with one eye open with these.

✧ the worst ones come at night for sure; he’ll wake up suddenly, blindly search for his phone, string together a weird ass sentence that only he’d be able to decipher, send it, then knock himself out again and sleep without remorse for his actions. he should be paying for your icloud with how much storage he clogs with those messages.

✧ GUNWOOK !

✧ he’s classically cheesy in a way and sends you screenshotted song lyrics that describe his feelings or remind him of you. “#LiterallyUs” and it’s paper rings by taylor swift. can be unserious about it though. one time, you couldn’t hang out with him because of exams and he responded with “tell me why / ain’t nothin but a heartache”.

✧ there are times where gunwook will not only send the lyrics, but also a clip of him singing that certain part of the song. he mainly sends these versions at night from the bathroom, and you wonder how none of the others have stormed into the room and told him to shut up.

^ . _ . ^ !? told myself to take it easy and not post again this week but um... this is a heavily edited fic from my old blog @/luvjiun that ive been meaning to repost. hehe ok junjun out >_<

© taeiun 2023. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim any of my writing as yours.

[lazyjellyfish300]

The Stuffed Rabbit🐇💌💕

Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader s/o

Happy Valentine's Day, Miguel Nation! 🌹💌

Synopsis: One of my Valentine's Day specials. The other one is posted now too. Woot woot! Bringing you and Miguel back from the same universe as In a Vial Around Your Pretty Little Neck. It's your second Valentine's Day together. And all you want is to go to Build A Bear. You plan an emotional surprise for him too that you hope he'll love. The quote: "Grief is love with nowhere to go," by Jamie Anderson helped inspire this. Word count: 2.7k

TW: Minors DNI since this one has suggestive content(but no smut), little angst, grief, other than that just Valentine's fluff.

-----

"Tienes demasiados peluches, mi vida." (You have too many stuffed animals, my life.) Miguel smirks at you as he stands in your kitchen, loading the Keurig with his cup of Joe for the morning.

"Well, I need more." You say firmly, crossing your arms.

Miguel shakes his head. "The fact that they take up nearly the entire new shelf I bought you is crazy on its own. You sure you don't want a fancy dinner, maybe a little vacation, just you and I? Movie? Some earrings?" He tickles your earlobe and you swat him away playfully.

"No way. Build-a-Bear or bust."

Miguel smiles, won over by your persistence. "Well, it seems I don't stand a chance against you this time." He sighs and pours the steaming coffee into a mug, blowing on the hot drink lightly. "I'll take you to Build-A-Bear, if I can choose the restaurant we go to afterwards?"

You press your fingertips together like a villain making a deal.

"Very well, O'Hara. You drive a hard bargain, but alas, I shall concede this time and let you have jurisdiction over our choice of dining."

Miguel shakes his head. "I'll do without the theatrics."

You walk up to him, craning your neck to look up at him and lean forward into his chest with both hands on either side of his waist. "Let me be dramatic in peace. You know I can't stand surprises when it comes to food."

Miguel sets his mug down and holds your face in his hands. "Are my restaurant picks really that terrible?"

You suck your cheeks in like a guppy and Miguel leans in to give you a little peck. "Nah. But preferably not Subway again."

Miguel's face curls into a smirk and he tickles your sides which you start giggling in response, trying to to push him off. "Thought you wanted to go to the place where they 'make the food in front of you'?" he says teasingly.

"Stahhhppp it!! I- *giggles* I-I meant teppanyaki, genius! Not freakin Subway."

Miguel starts kissing your cheeks, alternating between each one, causing your stomach to flutter.

"My apologies, baby...you're right, I'll make sure to pick somewhere extra special this time."

His hands slip under your shirt, making you get a little weak and your eyes droop.

"Mmm-promise...?"

He gives you a soft lingering kiss, and mumbles quietly against your lips, "Te lo prometo, cariño." (I promise you, dear)

-----

Your plan worked. Now you just had to get some help from Lyla. You wanted your own stuffed animal for Valentine's Day of course, but you wanted something extra special made for Miguel that you could give him at dinner, too.

You stood in front of Miguel's desk with Lyla, drumming your fingers anxiously as she was trying to download and email the file you were needing for his present before he returned from his lunch break.

"How much longer, Lyla?...." You asked, trying to keep the impatience in your tone in check.

"Almost there, almost there....." Lyla chided, jumping from one end of the holographic screen to the other. "Annnnnnd.....okay I sent it! He's gonna cry when he sees it dude, I hope you're ready."

You smile and then jump when you hear Miguel's voice. "Ready for what? And what are you doing here in the middle of the day?"

You whirl around and Lyla dissipates, trying play it off like both of you weren't up to anything.

"Nothing! Lyla was just saying uhm...she was just making sure I'm ready for tomorrow because apparently you chose a really fancy place for dinner this time." You grin, your heart racing in your chest.

Miguel gives you a suspicious look, but it turns into a smile as he scoops you up, planting you on his desk with your legs on either side of him. He gives your thighs a little squeeze and looks at the screens behind you as though he didn't buy your excuse entirely. "Hmmm...I did choose a fancy place for dinner tomorrow. I just hope Lyla didn't spoil it already..."

Lyla regenerates next to Miguel's ear. "Secret's still secure, boss!"

You nod, backing her up. "Honestly, she didn't tell me anything. Even though I was begging."

Miguel smiles and presses his forehead against yours. "Someone's impatient."

"I'm just excited! That's all..." You lean in , putting your hands on Miguel's shoulders and he helps hoist you back down.

He nods. "Trust me, you'll love it. But, dare I ask what you and Lyla were actually up to before I walked in?" He gives you a little smirk as he moves past you, setting up his workstation once again.

You quickly avert your gaze, doing your best to shield your true intentions. "Um...well, maybe there is gonna be a little surprise for you tomorrow too." You look up at him and he has a warm smile on his face.

"Really? Surprise f'me, hmm?" He pulls you back in by your hips.

You smile and rest your hands on his shoulders. "Yep. But key word: surprise. So you won't get to find out until tomorrow."

Miguel nods and ruffles your hair. "Very well, as you wish, ma'am." He calls out to you as you head for the exit. "I'm gonna try and guess what it is all day now!"

You turn your head and shoot one last teasing smile his way, "Love you baby!"

"Yo también te amo."(I love you too)

------

Next day, Valentine's Day

You and Miguel walk arm in arm into Build a Bear. You smile giddily and run up to the bins with all the different animals to choose from. Miguel smiles and stays a few paces behind you. He sees a cute couple with their little daughter and it pulls at his heart strings a bit. He looks around the little shop at the other families, and little kids running around and it creates a lump in his throat. He was afraid of this happening today. Valentine's Day and any other holidays would always end up reminding him of his sweet little girl every time going forward. It was bittersweet in its own way.

You were like a shower of rain upon the aching desolate plains of his heart, bringing with you a special happiness he never thought he'd be able to feel again. He fiddled with the ring on his pinky that held your blood in it as he watched you.

One of these days he wouldn't keep you waiting any longer.

He's ripped out of his thoughts when you call for him.

"Baby, I'm having a hard time choosing which one I want."

Miguel walks over to you where you have a yak in one hand and a red teddy bear in the other.

"Get em both." Miguel says, kissing your forehead.

"But..." You start to protest but Miguel shakes his head, already escorting you to the line in front of the stuffing station. "Thank you so much baby. You spoil me."

Miguel chuckles and says with a small wink. "Well, it's Valentine's Day...but don't expect this to be a regular occurrence."

You smile mischievously, "Oh, well in that case I'm going to milk this opportunity for as long as I can."

Miguel wraps his arm around you and sighs. His wallet may be on fire by the end of the night but anything for his valentine.

He watches you with a tender expression as you scrunch your nose slightly and close your eyes when you make a wish and kiss the small red plush hearts that go inside both stuffed animals. The employee takes them with a smile and hums as she stuffs both of them for you.

Miguel watched, fascinated by the machine as the stuffing churns and gently brings each animal to life.

"Alright, honey, give both of those a hug for me and make sure they're stuffed just right."

You hand Miguel the red teddy. "Can you make sure he has enough stuffing, babe?"

Miguel looks a little bewildered at first but gives the teddy an awkward little squeeze. "Umm,...he feels soft enough to me, I guess. Maybe he could use a rounder belly?" He points out the bear's small pouch.

The employee smiles, "Good call!" She stuffs the red teddy a little bit more and hands it back to Miguel. "How's that?"

Miguel gives the red teddy a fresh squeeze, his belly a little bit more full and firm now. "Perfect." He hands him back to you and you take it with a smile.

"Thanks, baby!"

Miguel's watch goes off with an incoming call from Lyla. "Perdóname..."(forgive me) You nod and give him a reassuring smile and watch him walk outside to take it, unaware that you and Lyla orchestrated the distraction.

Perfect. Everything was going to plan. You walked back to the bins and scanned them looking for the perfect one. You chose a tan, fuzzy rabbit with droopy pink ears and handed it to the employee. "Can I get this one too, please?"

-----

Later, you and Miguel are walking to his car with three cardboard stuffed animal carriers. "Can you carry this one baby?"

The corner of Miguel's mouth raises. "Got yourself an extra one?"

You smile. "Nah I got that one for you! But you can't look at it until we get to the restaurant. It's your big surprise."

Miguel smiles and looks at the box curiously. He wasn't used to receiving little presents and surprises like this until you came along. He felt a warm fuzzy feeling in his veins as he looked back at you. "You shouldn't have."

You smile and kiss the back of his hand you're holding. "Course I should have. You're my valentine."

Miguel gives you an affectionate smile in response and you two drive to the restaurant, a gentle flurry of snowflakes begins to dust the rooftops of Nueva York as the daylight wanes.

----

Your hands start to get clammy as Miguel leads you into the mystery restaurant, eyes closed. You hear the familiar restaurant clatter and rush of the indoor environment, then you feel the chilliness of the outside again, then quiet and warmth greets you in an unfamiliar, new setting.

"Abre los ojos, muñeca..." (Open your eyes, doll)

You look and your breath catches in your throat at the sight around you. Miguel reserved a clear, outdoor igloo on the rooftop of one of Nueva York's finest restaurants. The night was turning an imperial blue now, the light now scarce with grey clouds smearing the corners of the sky except where the snowflakes were falling through.

Source: Pinterest, from this online article.

Twinkle lights adorned the inside and outside of the igloo, creating a whimsical feel with tall outdoor heaters supplying warmth. There was an inviting couch with several decorative pillows and blankets adorning it. A sleek table sat in the front of it complete with soft glowing candles, antipasto on a wooden plank, and two wine glasses.

Your heart melted almost as quickly as the tears rushed to the corners of your eyes as you stood on tiptoe to give Miguel a kiss of gratitude.

You felt him smile against your lips. "You like it?..."

"Baby, I love it. Thank you so, so much..."

Miguel sits you down and you both get cozy underneath one of the blankets, lifting up your wine glasses to toast the evening.

"To you....let tonight become another sweet memory we can look back on together," he says.

You smile in agreement. "And here's to my ring finger not staying vacant for much longer."

Miguel chuckles as you click glasses. "It won't, baby, I promise you that..."

You feel your heart pound in your chest at the words he spoke combined with what you know is coming next. You turn and pick up the cardboard carrier, presenting it to him. "Time for your surprise, babe..."

Miguel grins and takes the cardboard box from you. He jokingly shakes it as though a feral animal were really inside, then cracks it open.

You giggle, then bring your hands to your lips in anticipation.

Miguel's eyes widen as he finds the tan, fuzzy stuffed rabbit with floppy ears, then his lips fall open as he takes it out.

The rabbit is dressed in a little blue soccer uniform and has a little red bow on one of its ears. Miguel's heart freezes in his chest at the familiar realization. He looks at you with surprise. "Baby...is this..?"

The tears have gotten to you already. You nod, trying to speak through the lump in your throat. "Press its paw..."

Miguel presses the rabbit's paw.

His favorite voice in the world...one that he hadn't heard in such a long time...the one that brought him so much happiness but also ached his soul. The sound that signified all his grief. His love with nowhere to go.

The voice of his little girl is heard... clear as day.

"Te amo y te extraño, papá. Eres el mejor padre del mundo. Besos de Gabi." (I love you and miss you, papa. You are the best father in the world. Kisses, from Gabi)

Miguel just sits there in awe, unable to speak. He presses the rabbit's paw again, as though to make sure he heard it correctly. Gabi's sweet voice speaks again, and he brings the rabbit to his chest, clutching it. Miguel is silent with his eyes closed, and then you notice his shoulders start to gently shake as his quiet sobs can't be contained anymore. He's just a loving father missing his baby girl.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love..." You whisper, taking Miguel into your arms.

He lays his head against your chest, still clutching the rabbit, hot tears still running down his cheeks, unable to speak.

"Thank you..." He says at last in a hoarse whisper. "I miss her..."

You nod, his head still tucked in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby...I'm here...."

For the longest moment in time, it's just you two holding one another, the sweet rabbit sandwiched between your two hearts that surely can't contain the overwhelming adoration that has just blossomed and brought you two even closer together from this tender memory. No words are needed, but when he finally regains his strength, his brings his eyes to look at you, two sweet rubies glossy with a window of tears.

"I love you so much...you have no idea how precious this is to me..."

Your face melts, your own lovely eyes caked in emotional tears.

"I love you, sweetheart. You'll never know how much I do..."

Miguel shakes his head. "I have a pretty good idea...it's my love for you that you will never be able to comprehend, mi vida..."

You bring your lips closer and he greets them with his own. Warm and cozy, you two let the emotions of tonight speak for themselves in this soft gesture. Two souls in love in a little starlit igloo while the Valentine's Day snow carries on outside, the love between you two more than enough to keep you warm.

-----

Later, you two are chest to chest, your neck craned a little bit as you gaze up into those vermillion eyes, a love song accompanying your casual sways back and forth, fingers interlocked in a loving clasp.

The sweet stuffed rabbit, Gigi, sits among her two new friends, Yogurt, the Yak and Maraschino, the red teddy on your pillows which will be greeted by you and Miguel shortly.

Miguel drags his thumb along your bottom lip, pausing in the middle. His warm, sweet breath greets yours and you let him in, the caress of his tongue quickly making the kiss quite passionate as your lips move softly together.

You break apart, his eyes locked deliciously on you. Your chest rises in shaky, excited breaths as you feel his hands gently make their way to your clothed breasts.

Miguel notes your flustered reaction and smirks a bit. "Tired...?"

You flash him a little smile and press your forehead against his. "I can afford to lose another hour..."

A soft groan rumbles in his chest and he moves his hand to the back of your neck, skimming past the chain that holds the little vial with his blood over your delicate heart.

You feel the tiny vibration of your zipper buzz against your back as he drags it down.

Miguel whispers, "Let's make that two..."

-----

💌🥹💕

[turcott3]

First of all thank you for the Rempe content

Second of all, I’ve been thinking about this:

You’ve been dating Matt since just after he got to Seattle. You’re openly aware of his fighting and you don’t mind it but once he gets to the NHL you can’t help but let the media and the backlash get to you about Matt fighting. When he gets ejected from a game on a match penalty, you find yourself going down to see him, clearly upset and trying to drill into it him that he doesn’t have to fight all these people, he has nothing to prove. He doesn’t see it that way and you two go back and forth for a little while. He turns to you and says ‘this is who I am. I am working on it, I ask you to accept that’ or something like that and then you have to accept that his fighting is a thing but it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it still. So now every time he gets in a fight he brings you flowers and chocolate after the game

kisses

matt rempe x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, mild arguing, fluff, kisses

masterlist

-

“matthew rempe.” you yell busting open the door.

“jesus you scared me.” he jumps, giggling.

“what have i fucking told you matt.” you say sternly as the boy sits down in front of you.

“what?” he shrugs.

“matt please for the love of god stop all this fighting crap. i mean it.” you press, tears welling up in your eyes.

“it’s fun, i never mean any harm by it.” he replies.

“matt, i know. but please. just stop. for your own sake and the sake of your health please. it hurts my heart having to stitch you up after every game. please just at least take a break from it, or only fight when it’s necessary. i just wanna see my boys face healthy again.” you say wiping a tear of frustration that fell.

“come here baby.” he says lowly, opening his arms for you to sit on his leg as you brushed his soft hair from his face.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know you felt that way. i’ll try to dim it down okay? this is just the kind of player i choose to be y/n, and that’s how it is but i promise im gonna try to dial it down for you.” he says pressing a kiss to your temple.

“but just know if any guy ever chirps about you they’re dead, okay?” he giggles wiping your tears away gently with his thumb.

“okay.” you smile lightly, finding it hard to ever stay mad at him.

“and i’m sorry for getting ejected again, i know you like staying for the whole game.” he giggles with his chin rested on your shoulder in a hug.

“it’s okay baby. i can’t be mad at being able to have you at home sooner. i always miss you when i can’t come.” you giggle, scratching his scalp with your nails, something he always loved you doing.

“is it bad that i feel that way too.” he says pulling away, locking eyes with you.

“no it just means you love me.” you smile, squishing his cheeks like a baby before he pulls your hand away.

“would you stop that, you know i don’t like it.” he laughs

“well i think it’s funny, and i feel in this moment you deserved it.”

“touché”

-

“matt.” you mumble under your breath as you sat on the couch with a load of emails on your laptop, the game on your tv. of course, another fight. a much more evenly matched one this time. you shut your laptop with anxiety waiting for the final buzzer of the game to sound, eventually dozing off as your mind scrambled at what possible injuries you would have to ice or stitch tonight.

“y/n?” you wake up to the sound of matt’s voice in a low volume, trying not to startle you as his hand rested softly on your leg.

“what, huh? oh my gosh.” you say realizing that you had fallen asleep.

“i got you these.” matt says, revealing the gorgeous bouquet of roses and your favorite chocolate.

“awe matt what is this for?” you ask with your lip pouted, observing the sight in front of you. a beautiful bunch of roses and your beautiful boyfriend.

“for breaking my promise. i’m sorry baby.” he says as you lean over to kiss him on the lips.

“it’s okay my love, you know how hard it is for me to stay mad at you for literally anything. these are beautiful.” you smile lightly at him.

“i had to hand pick them, only the best for my beautiful girl.” he smiles kissing your hand delicately.

“but seriously, promise after tonight, im gonna try to be better.” he swears, setting the objects on the coffee table.

“all i ask is for you to try.” you reply as you stand up, wrapping yourself up in his large frame.

“i’ll think of you out there, every game. every time i get challenged. i swear to god i will.” he mumbles into your hair as he kisses you on top of the head.

“i love you so much.” you say looking up into his deep brown eyes.

“i love you too.” he smiles, leaning down to attach your lips once again.

-

[joelmillers-whore]

Hard Light | Chapter 1

summary: when a new english professor begins teaching your class for the duration of your semester, you can’t help but develop an innocent crush on him. he’s as off-limits as he can be, but that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. after a drunk night, you accidentally email him something that wasn’t intended to ever be seen by anyone. but that doesn’t matter. it triggers a misunderstanding that manifests into an affair with your professor who is twenty years your senior. nothing good could come of this, right? 

pairings: professor!joel x college student!reader

word count: 2.2K

series or one-shot

warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, no mention of Y/N, alternate universe, professor/student relationship, eventual smut, self-esteem issues, workaholic, joel x female!reader, infatuation bordering on obsession (stay delulu friends), some sexual thoughts, masturbation (f), joel being a huge tease lol, (will add more tags as i write)

AN: i am so excited by the response that my joel one-shot got a few days ago and i’ve been itching to get something else out to you all. big, giant forehead kisses for those who want one, i love you all. so, anyway, a mini-series about professor joel is coming at you fast. i’ve written the first few chapters, so expect those in the near future. i’m thinking once a week? this fic is going to be something else and i’m so excited to share it with ya’ll. enjoy, and let me know what you think. find my ao3 here for more content and other fandoms.

You were running late for your shift at the coffee shop on campus, rummaging around your dresser, trying to find the low-cut black top you always wore when you had a shift. You weren’t usually one to feed into the peer pressure of those around you, but push came to shove when you found it nearly impossible to keep yourself afloat as a twenty-something student without the added extra tips from your part-time job.

So what if you had to show a little bit of cleavage? Right? There was no harm. Student loans were a bitch and on top of rent and food costs, you had to get a job at the coffee shop and balance a full course load just to make ends meet. 

A thought popped into your head and you rushed to your laptop, throwing it open as you checked the time; 5:45 AM. If you busted out your lightning-fast typing skills, you would have enough time to catch the next bus and make it to campus with five minutes to spare. If only your crappy second-hand computer would work.

The thing honestly sounded like a chopper engine, getting ready for lift-off. You were surprised you’d gotten this far with it. Not that you weren’t appreciative, your older brother had passed it down and it had relieved a huge weight—  and expense off of your shoulders. 

You tabbed into your school portal, typing in your credentials and selecting your English course. You sighed heavily, as you skimmed over the assignment for this week, something to do with a sonnet that you couldn’t care less about. You loved school but ever since becoming an English major, the spark that you once had for literature sort of just evaporated.

You couldn’t tell if it was because of how busy you were with everything else that you just couldn’t find the time to enjoy it, or the thought that really scared you, you had fallen out of love with it. 

It had been two years of go, go, go and you were, for lack of a better word, burnt out. You’d tried dropping courses last semester, thinking that you just needed a little bit of ease when it came to your course load, but when that didn’t solve the problem and only made things worse for you, you spent the last two semesters trying to catch up and get yourself to a place where you could finally breathe.

But it wasn’t easy. You were only now caught up to where you had been, the illusion that you were someone who could afford to take time off and slow down was a distant memory. 

In bold letters, the words Paid Internship jumped off of the screen. You smiled as you leaned in closer to the screen, making sure you read through everything correctly. This was the break above the surface that you needed, the reprieve that you had been chasing. A paid internship was exactly how you’d be able to make more money and maybe have a little breathing room before you worked yourself into an early grave.

You clicked the mail icon at the top and clicked into a new email, deciding that the worst-case scenario was that you wouldn’t get the internship. All you were doing was inquiring about the application process. Best-case scenario; you’d get it and make some extra pocket money. 

You saw the time, cursing under your breath as you slammed the laptop closed, grabbed your phone out of the charger and ran out of the door. You couldn’t be late, not again. You texted your co-worker Jeremy to open the shop without you and explained to him that you were running a few minutes late, as you barely made it to the bus. You climbed on board, scanned your student pass and found a seat near the back. Your chest was burning from the rush of trying to make it on time, but you could breathe easy now.

You checked your messages mindlessly, scrolling through a bunch of unread ones that you didn’t have the heart to answer. 

Before you knew it, the familiar monuments and buildings of UT Austin came into view, and the subtle change of scenery from downtown to a more densely packed area made your heart skip a beat. It was the same each time you were back on campus. Which, these days, was often. Sliding out of the seat, you made your way to the front, thanking the driver as the bus came to a complete stop. 

The coffee shop was only a short walk from the bus stop but even still you quickened your pace. You didn't want to leave Jeremy alone for long, you already felt bad enough about letting him open by himself. You stifled a yawn as you pushed open the door to the small cafe, leaning your body into the door, slightly cringing at the shrill sound of the bell. 

"There you are", a male voice called, making your head snap up. You wiggled your nose, the familiar timbre of your ex-boyfriend's voice ringing in your ears. "It's about time you got your ass down here". 

You snickered, shrugging your heavy bag off of your shoulder, and dropping it behind the counter, turning around and greeting him with an unamused smirk.

Jeremy and you had gone out for a few months last year, it was your first and, as of right now, the only short-term relationship that you'd had in college. 

Dating your co-worker, even in a relatively small place like the coffee shop on campus, almost always spelled trouble, but Jeremy was not the type to hold something like a failed relationship over your head. He understood that school was a priority for you and making a living for yourself came first, even above something like a relationship. It might not be the healthiest way to live, but it was how it always was. 

Jeremy and you had developed a fast friendship, one that went beyond the romantic relationship that you'd had last year. You parted amicably and now, you had someone you could confide in, someone you could trust. 

"Why don't you say that to my face?", you teased, raising a brow at him over the milk frother you were setting up. 

Jeremy threw his rag down and stalked over to you. "You're snippy this morning", he chided. 

You banged into his shoulder playfully, "Doesn't help that I have to see your ugly mug first thing in the morning". 

You snorted out a laugh and Jeremy looked at you, feigning defensiveness, "Ouch", he paused, returning back to his post near the coffee machine, "Remind me how we ever went out?". 

You scrunched your nose and threw your rag at Jeremy, hitting him square in the face with it, "That was rude". 

He shrugged his shoulder, "You started it".  

You both devolved into a fit of giggles and fell into a comfortable silence, setting up and getting the coffee shop ready for the day. You had a half-day shift to look forward to and then you had class until the late afternoon. The days were long and the nights were longer.

You usually found yourself nose-deep in your textbooks, more often than not, or some classic novel that was required for class, not moving from the couch until your eyes were red and you were seeing double. 

Only then did you retire to sleep, crashing hard until you had to wake up and do it all again the next day. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The coffee shop had been bustling with people since six in the morning, and at one in the afternoon, it hadn't let up, only now you had to go to class. Waving Jeremy goodbye, you sidestepped Tara, the fourth-year who was covering the rest of the afternoon and closing shift. 

You'd crossed the far side of campus, passing by the science building and one of the massive libraries that had acted like a second home to you back when you’d been studying for exams when you were a freshman. You could thank your obnoxious roommates for that one. 

Entering the lecture hall, bodies pressed into you as you weaved through the growing crowd, trying to find a spot in the middle where you could see and hear your English professor. But also blend in with the masses. As if the universe had other plans in mind, and everyone suddenly showed up to the Tuesday lecture all at the same time, you found yourself picking a seat near the front, an exasperated groan leaving you. 

You hated sitting at the front, not because you didn't want to get called on to answer something or because you didn't know the answers, but because you did. You wanted to get through your four years as quickly and unscathed as possible and if people knew, mainly professors, that you knew more about the subject matter than you needed to, you'd surely get called on more often, making you stick out in ways you didn't want. 

It was a terrible curse, going through life with the self-esteem that you did. But it was how you were raised. Blend in. Don't be too loud. Be quiet and only observe. Nerves rapped at your insides when you thought about getting called on when class started. Your heart rate ticked up and you found that your hands were beginning to get clammy, your throat constricting with each breath.

You rubbed your hands up and down your thighs, grounding yourself with the sensation of the material. 

With a jump, you sat up straighter in your seat, being jostled from your thoughts by a loud slam. You snapped your head toward the entrance, eying the person who had startled everyone. It was a man carrying a briefcase.

Your lips tilted up at the edges, amusement tickling you when you thought of anyone using a briefcase nowadays. But here this man was, head down as he made his way to the front of the room, toward the desk. 

You couldn't help keeping your eyes trained on him. On how his slacks tightened around his butt, moulding to the shape and curve of it. You bit your bottom lip out of reflex, your eyes dragging down the length of the mystery man who had crashed your lecture. Maybe he was a TA? Your brows furrowed when you thought about how your professor was nowhere in sight. 

The man with the briefcase placed his case on the desk, turning to face the audience of students who blinked back at him, who now settled down enough to hear him speak. Air caught in your throat when his eyes flicked momentarily to you, and lingered on you for half a second longer than you'd expected. He had massive, warm brown eyes, and soft wrinkles that danced at the edges of his eyes when he smiled, making him seem more boyish than he appeared.

He looked older than a TA would but then again, who were you to judge someone's position in life? You thought that his age did nothing to undermine just how attractive he was, if anything it added to it.  

The man, who may or may not have been moonlighting as your English TA cleared his throat, nodding his head, "My name is Joel, well, Professor Miller to most, but 've always been a little bit more informal than my peers". 

He began to circle the wooden desk nervously, his large hand finding the edge of it and stroking it far more sensually than necessary. You flexed your fingers, gripping the arm of your seat to stabilize yourself. "So, you can call me Joel from here on out... since we'll be seeing more of each other from now on". 

Murmurs began to break out around the lecture hall, and confused and hushed whispers followed. 

Professor Miller— Joel, mumbled something incoherent, and you were unable to hear it from where you sat. He cleared his throat again, "Professor McCarthy has taken a leave of absence, so I'll be filling in for him for the remainder of the semester". 

You crossed your legs, feeling heat rise and a furious blush break out across your face, and shuffled in your seat, a loud creak emitted from it and you stilled, praying that the loud sound had only been heard by you and no one else. But when you lifted your gaze, Joel's eyes were already locked on you, blown and brimming with cautious inquiry. A touch of a smirk graced his lips. 

"And I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you, personally". His eyes were still on you, not ready to release you from their hold. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you couldn't help but stare. You had every reason to look away from him, he was your professor and given the clear age difference, he was someone who was off limits. But when he didn't look away from you either, trapping you with his gaze, your face heated up, suddenly aware that he was purposely staring at you. 

You swallowed thickly, heart hammering as Joel's eyes finally drifted away from you and back to the faces of your classmates. He continued on with addressing the class, and you noticed that he avoided your eyes for the rest of the lecture. 

Only one thought rang through your mind as you tried and failed to focus back on the lecture. This was going to be one long semester. 

[dduane]

Hope this isn't an ask you get all the time, but how do you track your progress when you're doing editing?

Everyone talks about word goals, and that seems fine for a first draft, but doesn't make sense to me when it comes to revisions. Do you have any kind of system for setting daily goals for your revisions?

Actually, I don't think anyone's ever asked me about this. :) So no sweat.

Briefly: I think you're wise in not attempting wordcounting in this phase of dealing with an MS—or trying to push yourself into a structure so rigid. ...There's this, too: there's a whole lot too much emphasis out there at the moment on trying to force yourself into other people's writing and editing paradigms—so many of them riddled with bar graphs and "demonstrable" daily progress. You need to find what works for you. More words dealt with in a day, sure, that's encouraging in its way. But are they the right words?

Today’s Writer Take that will probably strike some as Hot (and ask me if I care): Some kinds of writing progress are just neither graphically nor numerically quantifiable. And damned to the least TripAdvisorally-acceptable regions of [insert your preferred underworld here] be those who’ve tried to sell people the idea that they are.

(sigh)

Now, for what it's worth: here's how I do it. Which may be useful to other people, or not so much so. And that's fine, because I'm not editing their novels. :)

(Adding a break here. Under the cut: advice + advice = advice, and some images of text I shouldn't be letting y'all see just yet... but WTF.)

Revision for me is a fairly relaxed business—unless my editor has told me WE NEED THIS ON TUESDAY, which thank sweet Thoth on his e-bike is very rare.

It also helps that I like revising. (When I was a kid, I liked liver, too. And spinach. Just call me Miss Outlier and let's move on.) I really enjoy the feeling of the work’s rough edges being filed down and the sparse places being filled out.

And also: second draft/first revision draft is nowhere near as tense for me as first draft. Because, thank God, at least there's a book.

First draft is where I sweat blood and otherwise suffer. While I can see the story just fine in my head, it's not really real for me until the first draft, whole in narrative and action, is complete on paper/in the machine. And till it's achieved at least that level of reality, I can't relax.

But by the time I hit my second/revision draft, I can be confident that any really serious problems in the novel have already been solved—because I'm an outliner. In the outline stage, potential thematic or structural troubles will routinely have revealed themselves way long ago: before drafting even got started, as I first wired the story's bones together. The successfully-executed first draft acts as proof-of-concept for that structural wiring. By the time that draft’s done, it’s immediately apparent whether the skeleton can successfully stand up by itself. And gods is that a relief when it does! You’re tempted to jump around yelling “It's aliiiiiive!" as the lightning strikes around you.*

However, if after submitting that draft my editor's found something structurally or thematically troublesome in it that I've completely missed until this point, my first order of business becomes to fix whatever their notes involve and submit the fixes. Nothing further happens until the editor sees what I've done about those problems, and until I get agreement that whatever intervention I've enacted has now sorted the problems out.

After that, everything happens in bed.

(...casually noting that for a line to use somewhere else...) :)

But seriously: I do my best revision and editing before getting up in the morning.

Some of this is because, for me, the mind's nice and quiet and (theoretically) at least moderately well rested, right after sleep. I might take the briefest glance at my email first to make sure nothing urgent needs attention... but once that’s done, I refuse to let myself go any further down that hole. That early-morning calm is a mental state I'm glad to exploit, and one I jealously guard. On days when I'm forced to do without the working lie-in**, I use a different approach: when there's a pause, sit down and do nothing—no reading, no video, no music, no phone, nothing—for half an hour: then start editing. Routinely, the quiet I need will once more have fallen.

The in-bed-editing approach also works for me because (since I'm working in Scrivener) it's absolutely no big deal to finish a day's editing on a file by exporting a version of the file containing the day's edits to ebook format, and into my Dropbox. From there, in the morning, without ever getting out from under the covers, I can pull that .epub file into my tablet and read it as an ebook, making corrections and notes there.

This is what it looks like (on a page without too many corrections) if the app you're using is "Books" in an iPad. The second image is what you get when you touch on the marginal yellow square of the note to examine it.

Then, when I'm finished looking over the previous day's/evening's writing and adding notes to it, I go downstairs, get some caffeine in me, and make the changes in the main Scrivener file. (If I was running the project in question on the iPad version of Scrivener, I'd just make the change right there. But who knows when I'd actually get up, then? Better to do it this way.) :)

In the normal flow of things I'll attempt to deal with a chapter or two a day in this mode. (Always bearing in mind that my chapters in early drafts typically run long—often 10K or so—and I'm likely enough to rebreak them later.) This first level of revision is the easy one: catching typos and bad or clumsy phrasings, reworking character interactions that need smoothing out; adding better descriptive passages (with particular emphasis on staying in the visual, audio and tactile senses), etc., etc.

So again: no way I'd ever bother worrying about word counts, with these. What seems to count for more is giving yourself time to recognize, gradually, at a reader's pace, what's working in the prose and what isn't. Rush—or try to force the pace to a given number of words per day—and you run the risk of missing something vital. To me, at the tracking level, it seems sufficient to note which chapters have been dealt with, and which are still hanging fire. (I can change the chapters' color labels in Scrivener to make this status visible at a glance, if I need to.)

When everything's dealt with on this pass—which if I'm lucky will take no more than a couple/few weeks—I try to take a couple weeks off before dealing with the MS again. Sometimes that's possible: sometimes not. The longer you can leave the book alone to let your perceptions of it rest and reset themselves, the better. Distance—mental or temporal—seems to lend clarity.

In any case, for me, next comes another pass, tougher to describe. Casually, I refer to it as the "Missed Opportunities/Complications" pass. This is a thing that one of the very best writers I know, John M. Ford, used to do. One of his editors (I think it was) came across him working on an MS one time, and asked him what he was doing. "Complications," Mike muttered. "Removing them?" said his editor. Mike shook his head. "Adding them," he said.

In this pass you look for in-novel connections you've previously missed making. Some dramatic moments have their impact significantly increased if you've found a way to connect them, even casually, with previous events, situations, character thoughts, or dialogue. (The cheap and easy mnemonic for this kind of thing: "Say a thing twice, and it echoes. Say it three times, and it resonates.")

Equally, events (and people) may turn out to require more complex backstory than you've given them in your first draft; so this is where you take care of that. And of course there are almost certainly character and emotional interactions that can use attention; fewer words, more depth, more complexity. What things do these people, in this situation, need to say to one another that they haven't? And also, what drama got scamped or passed up on because you were just too damn tired in the last draft? —Because you too, poor baby, are human; and that state can, entirely logically, make you want not to deal with any more damn drama just now. Even though drama is the lifeblood of your narrative, usually, and tying a tourniquet around it really doesn't help. You are the conduit of power into your narrative, and your varying ability to conduct it is always an issue… so you need to keep an eye open for places where the flow may have temporarily failed.

This pass, ideally, might take no more than another few weeks or a month. And again, I'm not sure any attempt at wordcount tracking would do this work any good. Because, again... are they the right words? And to make the narrative more effective, you may wind up removing as many words as you added in previous passes.

Finally, with all things taken together, I usually reach a point where (by myself, anyway) I can't think of anything to do that'll make this book any better. That's where there then comes—and again, impossible to assign a word count to it—a time when you know you're as Done As You Can Be. If you've been doing this long enough, you may even hear a strange kind of sigh in the back of your head, as the book gives up and lets go...

...into the next stage of production. But even then you keep an eye on it… because in my experience it’s rare that any book's ever that easily just finished. Even in page proofs, something may happen to surprise you.

Anyway, that's when I throw the book the hell out of the house—because no matter how much I've loved it previously, by that time I'm usually seriously tired of it—and wait to see whether the editor feels it needs one more draft. (Disclosure: this has never happened. There might be a few notes that need to be handled. But another full draft? Never yet.)

Anyway: hope this is of help to you.

But the heart of it all? Find your own way, and screw the bar graphs.

*That line, too, is an indicator of trouble to come. "It's?" Not "he's"? Tsk tsk.

**Usually sort of 7-9 AM. Sometimes way earlier, depending on the time of year. Dawn comes real early in the summertime in Ireland…

[gureumz]

if only you knew (that i can see you)

rating: explicit

member: jay

premise: you're enhypen's new manager and it's palpable how instantly this one member takes a liking to you. you're adamant about keeping things professional but he's very persuasive.

notes: fem!reader, dom!jay, slightly dubious consent, dirty talk, mentions of vomiting, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, a quickie (but a very hot one imo), office romance-ish (?), mentions of drinking, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: fourth of my 1k follower special! oh, writer's block is a bitch. one whole month of nothing and i churn this out in one night. big, big apologies if i've become rusty over the past month, but i couldn't get this story out of my head. also, title is by from madame swift's 'i can see you'. please enjoy!

you feel like throwing up. right this minute, right at this very second.

you're fully convinced that you're about to hurl all over your pristine brand-new sneakers, spewing chunks of this morning's breakfast (a single cup of iced coffee) on the company's shiny, newly-waxed floor.

you're moments away from it, you can feel something catch in your throat. this is it, you know this is it. goodbye to your new job, your company benefits, goodbye to this godforsaken earth—

"sorry, are you lost?"

you whip around, eyes wide. towering over you is a man, sharp-featured, lean, and unbelievably handsome.

you swallow, trying to find an answer to give.

"i'm the new assistant manager. sejin-sunbaenim told me to come straight to dance practice room 2," you manage to say with as minimal tremor as you can. the man raises both eyebrows.

"oh, it's you," the handsome stranger says, bowing. "you're ______."

you nod, chest loosening at the sound of your name. so you're in the right place, after all. one less thing to worry about.

"that's me," you confirm, bowing back.

"cool. i'm jay," the man responds with an easy smile. he reaches out and you grasp his hand in yours.

oh, he's so warm.

"i...know," you mumble out, chuckling nervously.

jay grins. he drops your hand, motioning to the door behind you.

"sejin-nim is inside. so are the others," jay informs, reaching over for the door handle. you sidestep, and for a moment, you feel like a nervous bunny, jumping all over the place and flinching at the slightest sound.

in your defense, the last thing you want is to cross any boundaries on your first day.

jay smiles at you again, pulling the door open. "after you."

you blink, momentarily distracted by the dimple on his cheek. you quickly regain your bearings, smiling sheepishly as you step into the room.

you're quickly whisked into a flurry of introductions. each enhypen member seems equally excited, or at least pleased, to meet you. they shake your hand, bow, and greet you with bright, boyish smiles.

you're dazed by the end of it all, but at least you're not thinking about throwing up anymore.

"you have the calendar i shared with you, right?" sejin, your superior, asks after the members have difted off, busying themselves with warm-ups.

you recall the zoom conference you had with sejin a week ago, how you pored over every phone number, email, and address pertinent to your job as enhypen's new manager.

"yes," you answer.

"everything's there. all orange tasks are mine, and all blue ones are kyungjun's. he's not here now, but you'll meet him probably tomorrow. you can pick another color for your tasks in the mean time," sejin explains.

"i'll email you every morning with things i need help with and you can add those to the calendar afterward," he continues. "for today, i just want you to shadow me to see what a typical day looks like for us."

you nod along, occasionally glancing at your phone, the managers' calendar flashed on your screen.

you ignore the way your heart drops when you see the stacks of orange and blue piled on each tile.

as if reading your thoughts, sejin chuckles beside you. "it may look like a lot, but the boys make it easier. they're total professionals."

you laugh along, turning back to the group. your eyes immediately settle on jay who's quick to catch your gaze.

he smiles and you smile back.

---

"________-nim! how was your first day?"

you look up from your phone, momentarily abandoning the email you were composing, an inquiry sejin assigned you to send to a local media franchise. you were on your fifth reread.

you realize with a start that it's jay.

he sets a large paper bag down on the table. you're late to notice the drink carrier he has in his other hand.

"well, however it went, i got you a drink and dinner to commemorate your first day," jay adds, taking one out of the two drinks from the carrier. he slides the cup towards you and your cheeks immediately heat up.

"you didn't have to," you say, laughing nervously. "you're too kind, jay."

jay beams at this. he pushes the paper bag towards you as well.

"this is from all the members," jay informs. "as thanks for working hard today."

before you can reply, jay bows briefly before waving goodbye and walking away.

you stare at the paper bag for a few moments, a weird flutter taking over your body.

---

jay is...strange.

or, at least, you think he's been acting strange.

it's only been a little over a month since your first day. it was easy for you to fall into a routine, seeing as the group is in between promotions. a photoshoot every other day, a pre-recording once a week, dance practice every day after dinner. the most stress you've had so far was when you forgot to phone the van driver about a change in schedule, leaving you and half the members stranded at a certain broadcast station.

jay had comforted you then, as you were near tears. he laid a hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against your sweater in an attempt to soothe you.

"it happens," jay had said. you didn't even notice his hand had moved from your arm down to the small of your back.

"you're doing great," he added before withdrawing his hand.

you thought about that moment the whole night. how warm his touch was, how gentle he handled your near-breakdown.

he was your responsibility and yet jay was the one that came to your rescue.

you went out on your first official team dinner a few days after that, with the whole managerial team present along with the members. sejin recommended a quaint, yet highly-acclaimed restaurant off one of the side streets around the company.

jay had squeezed in beside you at the table, so close you can feel his body heat radiating off him. a few times his knees knocked against yours but neither of you acted like you noticed.

it was then the first inkling of suspicion rose in you.

could jay be...?

surely not. he was just being nice. he's the literal definition of a gentleman. it's just the way jay is.

of course. it's totally in his character to bring you coffee almost every day. it's normal that he rushes to open every door you walk through. there's definitely nothing weird about him gifting you an expensive box of chocolates for completing your first month on the job.

he's not flirting with you. that would be silly.

you sigh, shaking off these thoughts as you approach the small practice booth at the end of the hall. you can hear the sound of a guitar from the inside.

"jay?" you call out, knuckles knocking against the glass door. the guitar stops.

"yeah?" comes a muffled voice from inside. you slowly push the door open, peeking your head in.

jay is seated in front of the computer, his electric guitar cradled in his arms. he's sporting a loose white shirt and black joggers. his hair is unstyled, black tresses falling over his eyes. he brushes it back with his fingers.

"you have a recording like—," you pause, checking your watch. "right now."

jay gives a start, checking his phone. he groans, setting his guitar down on its stand.

"right," he mutters under his breath. he sighs, rising up from his seat.

you watch as he stretches, the bottom of his shirt riding up to reveal the top of his boxers peeking out from his pants. you catch a glimpse of a very thin sliver of skin.

you try your best to ignore that.

"you better hurry before the producer kicks both of our asses," you urge lightly, crossing your arms. you've been trying to be more assertive with the members lately, seeing as you've already had enough time to know more about them and how they're supposed to be spending their days under your supervision.

"yes ma'am," jay replies, approaching you. you step out of the doorway to let him pass.

he doesn't move for a few seconds and you peer up at him with a questioning look on your face.

"can i ask you something?" jay blurts out, shoving his hands in his pockets.

you glance around to make sure no one is nearby. you have a feeling he's about to ask something that's a little less appropriate for work.

"are you single?"

you nearly choke on your own spit. you had a sense of what he was going to ask, but you never expected him to be this direct.

"may i know why you're asking?" you reply, treading carefully. one wrong move and you can end up dismissed from this long-coveted job of yours.

jay shrugs. "just curious."

you chew on your lip, contemplating how to go about his question. you let out a breath, deciding that there's no harm in being truthful.

"i am," you confirm.

jay nods. "same."

you quirk an eyebrow at this. cocking your head to the side, you ask, "really? how come?"

"i'm sure you see how busy we are," jay counters with a smirk.

it's your turn to shrug. "that doesn't stop jake from texting that girl from—"

"you know about that?!" jay cuts in, his voice dropping to a whisper.

you snicker, shaking your head.

"i know a lot of things, jay. i'm with you guys almost every waking hour of the day," you inform.

jay looks at you with an unreadable expression. something between fear and confusion. it makes you giggle.

"i technically should take it up with HR and higher management, but the other managers and i agreed that until you guys decide to go sneaking off on late-night dates, we'll keep it under wraps."

jay's mouth hangs open, still in disbelief.

"so, if you're planning on taking some girl out, you better let me know," you say, giving jay a pointed look.

jay's expression changes then as he ducks his head to avoid your eyes.

"not gonna happen," he says.

jay gives you a curt nod and smile before pushing past you out into the hallway.

---

you and jay don't talk about that night.

you know that he knows that you know the reason he asked about the state of your love life. he definitely did it on purpose to open up the discussion.

you're determined to squash the notion before it develops further.

you're not doing it to be mean. you'd never want to hurt jay on purpose. but you have a job to do and a reputation to keep.

jay knows that. he should know that.

you get the impression that even if he did, he doesn't care. not when he's sauntering over to you now, a bag of food and an iced coffee in his hands.

"mind if i join you?" jay asks, already sliding into the seat across you. there's barely any other people in the hybe cafeteria but a nervous chill still runs up your spine.

this is nothing. just a friendly lunch between a manager and her member.

"you didn't leave me much choice," you say with a laugh.

jay shrugs, winking at you playfully. you quickly avert your eyes. better to not say anything.

"i like your outfit today," jay compliments, taking a sip of his coffee.

you glance down at yourself. you're in a plain, short-sleeved blouse, white and a little sheer. you paired it with comfortable black corduroy pants and sneakers.

nothing special. to you, at least.

you had to feign ignorance on the way jay had stared at you the whole morning while you were in a meeting.

"thank you," you reply curtly, taking a bite of your kimbap.

"i'm taking you guys home tonight." you quickly revert to another subject.

"kyungjun-sunbaenim has to attend to other things so he assigned me to make sure all of you get home safe and in one piece for today."

jay nods. "got it."

"you guys don't have anything scheduled after 11 so i expect all of you to be at the lobby by that time," you add.

you can feel jay staring as you continue to pick at your food. you fight the urge to look up.

"will do," he finally says.

---

"do you need me to walk you guys up?"

you lean out of the passenger side window, watching as the members file out of the vans in front of their apartment building. thankfully, they all heeded your word, showing up at the lobby at 11:05, ready to head home for the day.

as if to prove that the heavens were on your side, the ride home was awfully quiet, too, which was a surprise considering that it was jay, jake, and sunghoon that decided to ride along with you.

jungwon shakes his head to your question, walking up to your side of the van.

"we're good, _______-noona," jungwon says. "you get home safe, though!"

riki nods along, skipping up to you. "yeah, or else jay hyung is g—"

the youngest is cut off with a sharp elbow to his ribs by jay. riki splutters out in disbelief, complaining, but he's herded off by sunoo.

"good night," jay calls out over his shoulder, waving at you.

you wave back, observing as the boys enter the building, finally letting yourself relax as the last of them disappear through the doors.

---

a vibration jolts against your cheek and you gasp as you're ripped right out of your deep slumber.

you realize in your sleep-hazed mind that it's your phone that woke you up, ringing incessantly. you must have fallen asleep with your face against it.

you press the 'answer' button, the faint beginnings of irritability creeping up your chest.

"hello?" you say, voice sharp.

"_______-noona? i'm so sorry for waking you if you were sleeping, but i didn't know who else to call. we're sorry but we went out to drink after you dropped us off and jay hyung had a little more alcohol than he could handle."

the voice rambles on and it takes you a second to remember who it belongs to.

"jungwon? where are you? who's with you?"

a short pause. you hear the faint sound of a voice, rapidly complaining. you think it's sunoo.

"we took a cab back to our apartment but jay hyung won't get up so we're out here on the front steps," jungwon explains.

"he's just too heavy for sunoo-hyung and i while he's in this state, and the rest of the hyungs are already passed out upstairs," he adds.

you press a hand on your forehead. this can't be happening right now.

a million thoughts run through your head but you will them to quiet down, focusing instead at the task at hand.

"how about riki?" you ask.

"nothing is going to wake him up now, noona," jungwon says, exasperated.

"please, we're not in the—hic—best state, either," jungwon continues. you can still hear sunoo in the background.

you fight the urge to groan.

"okay, okay, i'm on my way," you finally say.

---

you practically fly out of the taxi, not even bothering to wait for your change. you see three figures at the front of the building and you immediately recognize them as jay, sunoo, and jungwon.

"what the hell, jay?" you ask, rushing over. sunoo and jungwon have resigned themselves to sitting on both sides of jay's sprawled figure on the stairs.

jay is on his side, hands tucked under his head as if sleeping on the most comfortable bed instead of rough concrete.

"we tried," sunoo says with a pout. his eyes are glassy, but his speech seems fine. probably tipsy, you think.

"i can carry him just fine," jungwon speaks up. his speech is definitely slurred. "but that's when he's conscious and when i'm not drunk off three bottles of soju."

"jesus christ," you say under your breath.

"okay, i'll grab from under his arms, sunoo you grab his legs, and jungwon, support his torso and that big fat ass of his," you instruct, positioning yourself at jay's head.

jay giggles suddenly, eyes blinking open slowly.

"you think my ass is fat?" jay asks, barely comprehensible with how drunk he is.

"shut up," you respond, huffing. you tuck your hands at his armpits, hooking your arms through.

sunoo and jungwon follow suit.

carrying a nearly six-foot-tall man weighing more than what you can deadlift in the rare times you're at the gym was exactly as difficult as you expected, even with additional help.

it took the three of you ten whole minutes to haul jay towards the elevator and about fifteen to get him down the hall to their unit.

only god knows where the apartment's security guard is amidst all this.

"just a little more," you pant as you combine your efforts to drag jay towards his shared bedroom with jake.

you kick the door open as you heave all your might into getting jay across the threshold.

the room's empty. jake's probably in heeseung's room.

your legs give out before you can get jay to his bed. sunoo and jungwon fall to their knees as well, all three of you breathing heavily from the effort.

"i need to throw up," jungwon declares, dashing out of the room.

"i need...," sunoo pauses, a hand held up as if to silence you, despite you not having said a word.

"i need water and an aspirin," sunoo finally says, stumbling out of the room as well.

he's gracious enough to close the door behind him.

you get up, feeling around for a bedside lamp, muttering a soft 'yes' when you finally feel a switch between your fingers. you turn the lamp on, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.

you turn to see jay's slumped figure, his back resting on the foot of one of the beds. you approach quietly, kneeling down next to him.

"you're such an idiot," you whisper, brushing back some of the damp hair away from jay's forehead. "who told you to get this drunk?"

"no one," jay responds. you nearly jump, not expecting jay to be lucid at this point in time.

"you know i'm gonna have to tell the other managers about this," you softly berate jay, tugging off his jacket. he giggles, holding his hands over his chest.

"why are you undressing me? do you wanna fuck me or something?" jay asks in his drunken stupor.

you roll your eyes. "no, stupid, i'm making sure you're as comfortable as you can be while in this state."

"liar," jay counters. "you so wanna fuck me."

"i could report you for inappropriate behavior," you reply quietly, throwing jay's jacket to the side. you reach for the topmost buttons of his polo.

"see? you're getting me naked," jay continues, reaching out to take ahold of your wrist.

you stop to look up and you realize that jay has his eyes open, pupils focused on you. his grip tightens around your wrist as he pulls you closer.

"you know right?" jay asks.

your first instinct is to feign innocence, to ask him what he's talking about.

but you do know.

"you're drunk, jay," you supply rather simply. "we'll talk tomorrow."

jay smiles, reaching out to cup one side of your face. you freeze, letting jay's thumb run along your cheekbone before traveling down to your lips. he traces the curves of your mouth, staring intently.

you don't know whether you leaned in or if jay pulled you down, but a moment later, your mouth is against his, a desperate, messy press of lips. he licks right into you, and you can't help the groan that escapes you.

you can't be doing this. this is a clear breach of protocol, this is illegal, even.

"jay," you whisper against his lips. "jay, please."

jay pauses, pulling away slightly. he nuzzles against your cheek, waiting for you to speak.

"we can't keep doing this," you say, prying jay off you. "at least not when you're still drunk."

jay gives you a long, hard look. his eyes are half-lidded as if a step away from sleep. his mouth is parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"i'll remember this tomorrow," jay declares.

you sigh, leaning in to peck his lips one last time.

"we'll see."

---

the whole thing blew up in the members' faces. and yours.

you got a good telling-off from sejin, but thankfully nothing reached upper management. the whole group was called into one of the conference rooms the next day and sejin spared no one in his heated scolding. not even riki.

('i was sleeping!' riki had argued. sejin planted his hands firmly on his hips and listed the many different ways ni-ki could have contacted any of the managers to at least inform us of the older members' whereabouts)

you stood very still in the corner, having already received the tamer, abridged version of sejin's speech.

it's been a week now and everything was as normal as it could be, the only difference being that the whole group would be required to have their locations turned on at all times for the next few weeks until management was sure they wouldn't pull another stunt like that again.

oh, and you've been avoiding jay like the plague.

you're thankful that he made no effort in approaching you outside of what was appropriate for work and whenever he did, he'd look anywhere but your face.

it hurt you a bit to see him like this, knowing that he's probably embarrassed with the whole thing. though, you're not quite sure if he's also affected by or if he even remembers the incident in his room.

you're so deep in thought while storming down the hallway, that you nearly run into someone. their firm arms reach out to keep you steady as you try and regain your balance.

you look up and all air is knocked out of your lungs.

"oh, hi jay," you greet, stepping back. your palms clam up as memories of that night the week before flash in your mind.

"hi, ________-noona," he replies.

seconds tick by and no one talks. you know you should say something, anything. an apology, a snarky remark, or a lame excuse to get away. but nothing comes to mind.

"i'm sorry about what happened," jay finally cuts through the silence.

you shake your head, offering him a smile. "we've been over it, jay. quite thoroughly, if by sejin-sunbaenim's standards."

"that's not what i meant," jay continues. he's looking you in the eye.

you gulp, your insides churning.

"that's fine," you begin, keeping your voice as steady as you can. "we can just forget about it."

jay sighs. "i'm not sorry that it happened. i'm sorry that i needed to be drunk to let you know how i was feeling."

you're struck speechless, your brain going haywire. how do you respond to that?

"jay, you know we can't," you deflect, taking another step back. jay follows, standing over you. you feel so small, so vulnerable under his gaze.

"why not? the worst that could happen is you'll be transferred to another artist, another department," jay protests. he takes another step forward.

all you can do is stare down at the floor.

you want it, too. so bad. but you can't risk it. you're not ready, everything's still too uncer—

you feel a pair of hands on your face. you gasp, eyes darting around to see if anyone is in the vicinity.

"j-jay, not here—"

you're pulled forward, jay's strong grip around your arm. he practically drags you to a nearby supply closet, yanking the door open and pushing you in.

worry gnaws away in you as you remember the surveillance cameras in the hallway. those thoughts are immediately pushed away when you feel jay press up against you. you hear him rummage around for a switch, and suddenly, the cramped space is illuminated with dim, yellow lighting.

the closet couldn't be more than a few feet wide both ways, just enough to accommodate two people standing practically on top of each other.

jay grabs your hips and presses himself to your frame. you stifle a gasp as you feel him poking through his pants.

"i want you," jay says lowly, large hands traveling down to your ass. he holds them firmly, squeezing with all his might.

you moan, your hand flying up to your mouth.

"you want me too, right?" jay asks. he slips his hands beneath your denim skirt, a timely choice of clothing for this situation.

you don't know whether to thank or curse the heavens for that particular choice you made.

"we can't—," you begin once more.

jay shuts you up with his mouth, kissing you with so much force it drives you back against the storage shelves. jay cages you between his arms, planting his hands on the wood behind you. he devours your lips as if they were his last meal on earth.

he reaches one hand down, pressing two fingers against your mound. jay groans against your lips when he feels the wetness in your underwear.

"see? you want me, too," jay says, pulling away. he bunches up your skirt around your waist.

"keep it up," jay commands and you oblige, gripping your skirt with shaky hands. you watch as jay unzips his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear, just enough to let his already hard cock spring free.

jay yanks your panties aside, tapping your legs, signaling you to open up. you part your thighs, reaching up to steady yourself on jay.

you yelp when jay pulls one of your legs around his hips, giving him a better angle to slide in. and he does, slipping in so easily between your folds and right into your waiting hole.

"j-jay," you gasp out as he fully sheathes himself within you.

"fuck, you feel amazing," jay compliments, wrapping an arm around your midsection. "already so wet for me."

he pulls you even closer and that's when he starts to move. jay's thrusts are intense, plunging into you fully before pulling back nearly all the way out, and then sinking right back in. your eyes roll back as jay picks up the pace.

"sshh, that's it," jay coos. "we gotta be quiet and we gotta be fast."

you let out a muted whimper, burying your face in jay's chest. soft thuds can be heard as he fucks you against the shelves, your back digging painfully against them, but you can't be bothered to care, not when jay's cock is splitting you open so well.

"still gonna say 'we can't'?" jay says through gritted teeth. you look up to see his forehead creased in concentration, his pupils blown wide. sweat drips down the side of his face.

"god, you look so good like that," jay whispers. "so helpless on my cock. this is what you wanted, right?"

you nod frantically, arms wrapping around jay's neck.

"yeah," you breathe out. "wanted your cock for so long."

jay grunts, throwing his head back. "yes, keep talking to me like that."

his movements quicken and it takes everything in you to fight against the urge to let your knees buckle underneath you.

"please jay," you whimper. "fuck me harder, fuck me the way you've always wanted to fuck me."

"shit," jay mutters.

you're briefly left breathless as you feel your other leg give out, neither of your feet planted on the floor. it takes you a second to realize that jay has scooped you up in his arms, holding you up completely as he continues to ram into you. you wrap your legs tighter around jay.

jay has full control now and all you can do is hang on for dear life.

"yes! jay, yes!" you cry out against his neck. jay pants directly in your ear, fucking you at a speed that's nearly unimaginable to you.

"i-i'm gonna cum," jay manages to get out.

"do it," you quickly answer. jay pulls back to look at you.

you hold his face in your hands, nodding. jay covers your mouth with his as he gives the last of his thrusts, stilling inside you after a while. he presses himself deep within you and you moan against his mouth, feeling him pulse and twitch against your walls.

you cling onto jay for a whole minute before he stumbles back, letting you down on your own two feet. he snaps your underwear back in place, kissing you passionately as he does.

"keep it there for the rest of the day," jay mumbles against your lips, smiling.

you laugh breathlessly, unsure whether it really is jay saying all these things.

you hear a faint buzzing sound and you jump, remembering that you had your phone in your skirt.

well, before jay nearly ripped it off you.

you spot your device on the ground, snatching it up to quickly answer the call.

"hello?"

"_______? have you seen jay?" sejin's voice cuts through the silence inside the closet. you meet jay's eyes and he, too, is perusing his phone.

"no," you lie right between your teeth. "i haven't. why?"

"he has a schedule in a bit and he's not answering any of my calls," sejin says. you're not quite sure if he's worried or irritated. probably both.

"i'll try calling him," you offer. jay grins wolfishly from your side, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

"great," sejin says. "let me know if you reach him."

you hang up, pocketing your phone.

"you're hot when you're breaking the rules like that," jay says against the column of your throat.

it takes all your willpower to push him away.

"there won't be any rules to break if i get fired," you say matter-of-factly. you lean in to kiss jay square on the lips.

"so you better get your ass out of here before that happens."

[joocomics]

caught red handed (18+)

pairings: non idol!gunil x fem!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni!

summary: you’re paired up with the nerdy, introverted guy from your class for a group project, only to find out you may have more in common with him than you thought

contains: nerdy loser gunil, dom!reader but nothing hardcore, explicit language, unprotected sex, oral sex (m/f), overstimulation (m), bondage (m), dirty talk, college setting

a/n: inspired by a spicy convo me and @n034sy had in the chat - dedicating this one to her ♡

!! this is pure fiction for entertainment purposes

Gunil slams his laptop shut, when you storm into his dorm room, without even knocking.

“Where’s your roommate?” You ask, taking off your jacket.

“Uhm, he has classes today.” Gunil responds in a restless tone, while not letting you out of sight, as you tour the small almost empty male room.

This isn’t the first boy room you visit in this dorm. Yet, you always find yourself scanning for something intriguing, before realising they’re all the same. You keep talking casually about the place, without giving too much thought to Gunil’s uneasy, almost, trembling like a lief posture.

His sweaty palms rub on the fabric of his pants, as he closely follows your light, quiet footsteps. He sighs in relief, when you sit down on his bed to open your bag.

“Should we start?”

“Uhm, yes, sure.” He makes a few steps, before deciding to put away his laptop with red circles on his cheeks, that he prays to God you don’t notice.

“Oh, shit,” you sigh with a guilty pout on your face. “I forgot to bring my notes with me.” Gunil blinks at you with a rising concern. “Wait, I have them in my email. I can just log in from your computer and we’re good to go.”

You decisively toss your bag on the floor, then bounce from the bed towards Gunil’s small desk, but out of nowhere, he jumps in front of you, taking the laptop before you. You glance at the weirdly panicked way he holds it to his chest with both hands.

“I’m not gonna steal your fancy laptop, relax.” You giggle, and return to the same spot.

Gunil’s lips curl up, trying to force a smile very badly. He’s clearly embarrassed from his behaviour, so you try to change the subject.

“Anyways,” you let out a deep breath. “Let’s get to work. I have classes in the afternoon, I don’t have the whole day.”

“Oh, uhm… Sorry.” He looks around the small room, before sitting clumsily beside you. You eye up and down his stiff figure, and you’re almost sure you see fear in his eyes.

After sitting several seconds next to you, Gunil decides to move his position, as far as possible. Sadly the bed is for one person, so he couldn’t distance himself that far as he would’ve liked to. You look at him amused from the other side of the mattress.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he says quietly, placing the computer on his lap.

You always knew he was shy, introverted and kind of a classic game obsessed loser, but you had no idea it was that bad. At least he could show more excitement from the fact you were here. No other girl from your class would be willing to waste her time like this.

“Then why are you running away from me?” You ask, coming closer, which results in Gunil moving a pillow, so he can lean almost sideways against the wall.

“I-I’m not.”

You follow his gawky gestures, as he tries to position the computer in a way you cannot peek at the screen. Could he be more obvious?

“Are you hiding something?”

“N-no, it’s nothing.” He stutters.

“You are,” you squint with your eyes suspiciously. “What are you hiding there?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gunil’s voice trembles harder with every word, as he becomes more irritated from the way you keep on insisting.

You grin widely, moving next to him. The blue sheets shuffle under your body while you sit on your knees. The boy’s cheeks flush from being so close to you all of a sudden. Sweet scent of perfume tickles his nose, while he tries his best to control his breathing. For the first time he feels such a close presence of a pretty girl being next to him.

You decide that Gunil needs a push, so you take off the excited grin of your face.

“Open it then,” you say boldly through teeth, gazing at his side profile.

You suck on your bottom lip, as you wait for any reaction.

He’s handsome, you realise. You’ve never taken the time to look at Gunil closely before, however, now that you stand here next to him, shoulder to shoulder, you notice that his nicely sharp features are attractive. His lips have a sexy sensual shape, that makes you come to the conclusion that with some practice he could be a good kisser. And his ams… You’re surprised to see muscles, very nicely formed from the white shirt he’s wearing under a striped knitted vest.

His brown hair falls in his eyes, as his hand roams nervously over the laptop. Without hesitation you pull the device from his lap, and immediately open it as fast as you can.

The screen lights up in your face when Gunil’s body comes on top of you, trying to shut it off.

“Stop,” you shout in amusement. “Let me see!”

Because his computer runs fast, you’re glad to see the internet browser opening without a problem after you click enter. Your excitement rises in your chest, as your eyes scan the porn site he’s been entertaining himself with, before you come here.

The video starts playing, and it doesn’t take long for you to gasp. A provocative scene of a naked man on his knees, being slapped on the face multiple times, makes something in your body flutter in surprise, as you’ve never would’ve guessed a guy like Gunil would be into this kind of perversions. The man begs to lick the woman hovering over him, promising her that after he makes her cum with his tongue, he’ll make her cum again from his big cock. She giggles erotically, before shoving his head between her legs. The lewd, sloppy noises fill the room, making Gunil cover his red ears from embarrassment.

“Turn it off,” he begs. “Please…”

You chuckle, putting the video on pause. Turning around, while still laying on your elbows, you find Gunil nervously pacing around with hands inside his pockets, but when he feels your gaze on his body, he picks up one of his pillows, sits on the corner of the bed and buries his face in it.

“You shouldn’t have seen that,” he mumbles, making you laugh out loud.

“Don’t be such a little kid.”

Your laidback and confident personality only intimidates Gunil more, making everything even worse right now. Also, what if you tell someone about this? His heart drops from the sudden thought of anyone finding out. You probably will, he assumes, and there’s nothing he can do to stop you.

“I watch porn sometimes too,” you add and Gunil doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re speaking through a cheeky smile. “Everyone does.”

Suddenly Gunil’s panting starts to normalise, but he’s still not sure what to do or to say. He feels so exposed, and the fact it’s in front of the most beautiful and wanted girl from class makes everything feel like a fever dream.

While he contemplates on the situation, Gunil flinches from a sudden touch. When he looks up from the pillow to turn around, he sees your feet pressing into his thigh.

“Do you know that you will look so much better without that vest?” Your voice comes out in a lower than your usual tone.

Gunil swallows, trying to think the question through, but your leg that keeps stroking his thigh is so distracting. His vision suddenly gets blurry, as he stares at your toenails through the black thin tights, that formed your leg so charmingly. Warm pressure starts growing in his underwear, making his entire body freeze in one place. He immediately tries to cover it with his hand, but not very successfully. Again, he’s too obvious.

“I haven’t thought about… that.” He answers cautiously, after clearing his throat.

“I’m sure you haven’t thought about a lot of things.”

You slide your body down a little, so you can get closer to him, causing more of your thighs to reveal underneath your skirt. Your leg rubs on Gunil’s crotch, making him gasp from the unexpected friction. He was so nervous, and you could only imagine how needy he was. For touch. For release.

“You’re more attractive than you realise, Goo Gunil.”

The seductive change in your tone blasts in Gunil’s head like a fire alarm he wanted to turn off, but couldn’t. Why are you doing this? he asks himself over and over again.

You sit up, while your right leg is still upon his lap, your left one - behind his back, trapping him like a dog in a cage.

“Did you cum?” You ask innocently.

“W-what?” He exclaims almost outraged. “No… No, I didn’t do anything.”

“Poor, baby boy,” you coo through a pout, stroking his toned biceps with your fingers. He definitely goes to the gym. “Y/N ruined his fun.”

You squeeze his muscle lightly through the clothing, imagining how he’d look without it.

“Take off that vest. I hate it.”

Gunil looks at you for the first time in awhile. His face is tizzy, and you can read the clear confusion and uncertainty all over his features. His pretty lips are slightly parted, releasing heavy breaths.

He stands on his feet, after you raise a brow at him.

“See, that’s so much better already,” you state when you see the vest coming off, messing up his hair. “You may have better grades than me, but I know a lot of other fun things, that you don’t.”

Gunil watches you, from the centre of the room, feeling on edge. How you move around in his bed where he sleeps every night, how you distort his own bed sheets. His laptop is still there open next to you with the filthy image glaring at him. His mind starts uncontrollably drifting to other places… What porn do you watch, and do you touch yourself while doing it too?

He squeezes lips, fixing the colar of his shirt.

“For example, I know you have a hot body, that a lot of girls would love to fuck if you’re just more confident in yourself.”

“What are y-you saying right now…” Gunil exhales deeply, and you see the way his fitted shirt emphasises his chest.

“I’m saying that I want to suck you off,” you spit out, and get on your knees. “Before I make you eat me out like that.” You point at his bright screen.

Gunil couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, nor the sight of you taking off your top in front of him. Everything seemed like a sick illusion.

“Come here,” you purr, reaching with one hand.

You immediately start unbuttoning his shirt, getting heated, as more of his skin reveals at you.

At this point Gunil is speechless from your sudden interest in him. Too much thoughts are tangling in his mind, making it all foggy, and all of them revolve around you - the greedy unfamiliar way you look at his body, your irresistible boobs held by your lace bra he desperately needs to suck on. Simply the fact you want to blow him.

When his shirt is finally off, you stick out your tongue, and trace it onto Gunil’s toned stomach. With hands around his waist, you lick from his lower tummy all the way up to his chest, placing a few smooches here and there. You hear his heartbeat racing through his warm skin, while you move to his left nipple to gently suck on it. You learn he’s sensitive after you hear a soft moan, when you playfully bite it.

“These abs must look really nice after you paint them with cum,” you speak out lowly, while your fingertips shape circles, causing him goosebumps. You can’t get enough, so you continue covering his stomach with pretty scarlet marks.

You look up at him, sinfully through your long lashes, when you decide to move onto removing his belt.

“Don’t hold back your moans from me. I love it when boys whine.”

The words make Gunil’s insides swirl, but he manages to mumble a response.

“I won’t.”

“Good boy.”

Your lips curl up when you free him at once from the repressing underwear. A trail of drool almost runs from the corner of your mouth, when you see his cock bounce up, once you slid the fabric down his legs. It’s thick, and a lot bigger than you expected it to be.

“Mmm…” you hum, eyeing it a little closer. Gunil’s eyes widen, not sure what to make of your reaction. “It’s so pretty… and big.”

“Is that… good?” He asks with a doubtful note.

“It’s perfect.”

Gunil gnaws at his lips, intoxicated by the look of his erection pointing right at your gorgeous face. You take it in your gentle fist, brushing the salty tip on your wet lips, enjoying the feeling of his veins against your skin. This makes Gunil’s head spin like a spiral, and he shuts his eyes. Until you speak up again.

“Do you want to fuck my mouth?” You slap your tongue with the flushed head of his cock, making his jaw drop.

You didn’t have the patience to wait for a response, which wasn’t a problem. His answer was already pulsing into your tight fist; delicately dripping precum between your fingers.

When you slide it in your mouth, Gunil is no longer humming awkwardly above you. While you move your head back and forth, twirling your tongue around his thick length, and your wrist around what’s left of his base, he turns into a groaning mess. He has to tug on your hair, so he doesn’t collapse on the ground. He promised himself that he’ll keep his emotions under control, that he’ll not make a fool of himself again in front of you, but his mind went blank the second his cock hit your throat for the first time.

“O-oh my… ‘m gonna…” His half-shut eyes watch you pull out his member just in time, leaving him with an open jaw, whimpering and shaky. “F-fuck, I-…”

“You’re gonna what? Cum?” You tease him by cupping his sensitive balls. “Already?”

“Mm, I-I can’t help it…”

“Fuck my mouth first.” Gunil blinks at your glinting from spit mouth. “Fast,” you add in a bold tone. “And don’t stop unless you don’t want your cum in my tummy.”

After he’s deep in your mouth, Gunil’s hips gradually pick up a steady quick pace, as his hands are wrapped around your head, holding you in place like a sex doll. His cock is throbbing desperately for release, while he jerks sloppily into your face, getting absolutely absorbed in the unfamiliar feeling. With his right leg up on the bed, aiming for harder deeper spots in your throat, his abs clench at the way your small mouth expands to meet his every thrust. The lewd noises emerging from your throat mix with the loud smacking of his hardening ballsack against your chin, causing his upper body to fall forward from overwhelming pleasure.

His jerk off sessions cannot compare even slightly to the euphoric experience of being in a real mouth, especially an experienced like yours.

Gunil’s voice gets louder, as it doesn’t take him too long to reach his peak, and higher pitched when he feels your gags vibrating nicely around his squirting head. He doesn’t rush into pulling away, instead, he waits for the thrill to wind down, as you warm him up. You focus on breathing through your nose, soaking the sheets with spit, as the last drip of his hot cum slides down your throat.

“That was pretty good, baby boy.” You speak up trough your own heavy panting, after Gunil empties your mouth. You stick out your tongue, showing him you swallowed it all to the last drop. “How does my throat feel?”

He watches you, lightheaded, how you lightly lick your upper lip with the tip of your tongue. There’s a little bit of a mess left on your chin, a slick mixture of cum and spit. He’s eager to lick it all off, but something is holding him back.

“So… nice.. amazing.”

“I think it would feel even better if it’s inside my pussy.” You say, removing your bra. “Do you agree?”

Gunil’s woozy gaze moves from your bare breasts to your hips, where your fingers unzip your skirt. You toss the clothing to the floor, and stay sat on the mattress, only in your black transparent tights, letting Gunil to take a nice look of you.

“Have you ever tasted yourself?” You ask him, wiping off the sticky leftovers of his cum from your mouth. Gunil shakes his head, too mesmerised by your actions to speak out. When you make sure your fingers have enough of the mixed juices, you massage one of your nipples until it’s wet and sloppy, watching the boy in front of you, getting lost in your motions.

Even before you’ve removed your hand from your boob, Gunil was already on his knees, crawling between your legs like a puppy. He opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out to lick everything off. You feel goosebumps covering the skin of your arms, when your nipple perks up from his tongue, causing Gunil to smooch it whole with his lips.

“Ahh, yes, baby, lick it all off. That’s it.” You run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the muffled sounds of his moaning against your skin. “Mm, poor baby boy, must feel nice finally having a nipple to suck on, you must be so, so horny.” You take his free hand, moving it on your right breast. Gunil immediately begins squeezing it like a stuffed toy, without pulling his mouth from the other. “Bite on my nipple.” You moan, as Gunil’s spit drips down your neckline, all the way down to your bellybutton. “Harder,” you pull on his hair, emphasising your need. When you feel his teeth grip on your hardened nipple stronger, you feel the familiar warmth, spreading like wildfire in your lower region. “Mmm, yeah, that’s what I wanted. You’re so obedient, baby.” You pull away his face from you, by gripping his chin. “Now get on the bed for me.”

You eagerly climb up on Gunil’s body when his bare back hits the mattress, and you press your lips onto his. His hands hang loosely in the air, not sure where to go, before you take his wrists, and pin them above his head.

Warm thrill shoots through your body, when you playfully rub your still clothed cunt on his tight stomach. You had no idea you’d end up so turned on when you started this, but here you are - grinding on his body just like you did on your pillow during your high school days. You can feel yourself only getting wetter, the more you look at his pretty sweating face, framed from his two firm muscled arms. He looks strong, like he can pound into you with hours, holding you in a headlock, while your insides get ruined from his cock, and you know he’s capable of doing that, but he doesn’t know it yet.

You’re the only one, that can get this side of him out, but not today.

Right now, you need to see him fall apart.

“You have to return me the favour now.” You say against his open mouth.

A breathy moan escapes your mouth, after you feel his desperate attempt to shove his tongue through. You wait for it to travel around yours, so eagerly and pushy, before pulling away with a string of spit connecting your mouths.

“Have you eaten pussy before?” You lick off the spit of his chin.

Gunil tilts his head, looking away embarrassed. On the moment, you snap at him by grabbing his jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“No!” Your manicure presses into his cheeks. “You will look at me when I speak to you, do you hear me?”

Gunil nods, locking eyes with yours. He feels his cock twitching as a result of your demands.

“I want to see in your eyes how much you want me.” You let go of his hands, after one last suck on his neck.

A sudden ripping sound caughts Gunil’s attention only to find your nails going right through the fabric of your tights. He swallows, staring at your now exposed panties. Your vagina is sitting on top of his lower abs, and that suddenly makes him not want to stay still anymore.

“I-I want to…” He hesitates a little before continuing his thought. “Can I touch you?”

You grin approvingly at his sudden involvement. You reach behind your back with a drop of spit in your palm, to grab his cock, that just got relaxed and much softer. Its perfect girth feels so nice when you hold it, and you can’t stop daydreaming of having it inside you.

“Where do you want to touch?” You ask, stroking the length slowly. Squeezing just a little when you reach the red tip. It immediately starts twitching, suddenly forced to bare a new wave of stimulation.

“Aah… ‘m…” Gunil’s words roll off his tongue incoherently, making him even more attractive in your eyes. “Everywhere,” he tries raising his deep voice, hoping to sound more assertive, but it just comes out like the rest of his whining.

“That’s not specific enough, honey.”

He makes an attempt to sit up, when the edging becomes too overwhelming, but you immediately stop him by pressing your free hand to his chest.

“I didn’t say you could move yet.”

You chuckle loudly when he drops back down with a defeated look in his face. His lips are getting puffier from constantly biting on them, as your hand slides up and down his stiffening cock in an unbearable speed.

“Here,” you tell him, leaving his cock to drop on his lower tummy, and position yourself above Gunil’s face. You pull your panties to the side, hovering over his mouth. The warm breath coming from his parted lips, brushes against your wet pussy, sending shivers down your spine. His breathing alone makes your hole clench in desire, and you couldn’t believe it. “Make me feel good with that pretty mouth, and I will let your hands touch me wherever you want. But for now, keep them away.”

Sweet relief flows through your body, when you finally feel the attention you’ve been so badly craving. Just as you expected, Gunil starts slow. His tongue moves nervously with little kitten licks between your lips. It feels nice, but only that… while you needed more. You’re just about to speak up, helping him out, when you feel his lips pressing against your folds harder, while his full tongue shoots pleasure right into the sweet knot, that waits to be crushed, making you gasp in surprise.

Noticing the change in your reactions, Gunil repeats the same motions, but with more pressure on your clit. He sucks on it, stimulating the sensitive ball of nerves, before pulling away to catch his breath, then returning to make out with your pussy. He spreaded your lips with his mouth beforehand, as much as he could without the help of his fingers, which were now gripping the sheets with knuckles turning white. You cannot help, but mewl in higher volumes, as he begins slurping on the increasing wetness. Those were the prettiest sounds he’s ever heard in his life, and he didn’t want them to stop.

“Fuck, Gunil, h-how…” You throw your head back from the unexpected satisfaction, that keeps on building up. “You’re doing so good… just like that, y-yes.”

Gunil’s fingers grip tightly in response to your praises, and your thighs trembling harder around his head. He feels the urge to squeeze on them as firmly as he could, but his submission to you was stronger, so he controlled his emotions. However, the way you so sensually rolled your sweet lips against his face like a porn star, made him wish he could grab and eat you whole. It seems the more he has of you, the thirstier he gets, which causes his tongue to become increasingly aggressive, making your hips dance in the same rhythm.

“O-oh my god, someone’s greedy…” You pull on his hair, while grinding on his flattened tongue harder, rolling your eyes back at your skull. “Good boy, mmm… you’re being so good for me, baby. Fuck, eat me up with that pretty tongue, just like that…”

Your dirty talk was the last straw for Gunil, and he doesn’t think twice. His hands grab onto your ragged tights, and rip everything apart, before you even have the time to notice.

“Gunil!” You gasp, looking down at him. Your hips freeze in one place. “What are y-“ The sudden feel of your exposed butt cheeks being roughly grasped on makes your question fall through your lips in a weak whimper.

Gunil’s now filled hands grip, squeeze and smush your cheeks, as if he was a little kid, playing with a toy for the first time. He pulls you closer, spreading your cheeks, craving to slide his finger inside your hole, and see what it feels like.

“I didn’t say you could do that,” you grumble, as Gunil slides one finger through your walls, and you feel how they immediately start pulsing around it, begging for friction.

The electrifying feeling of his nose, rubbing your clit tightens the warm knot in your tummy, causing you to cuss loudly, as he adds another finger. Curled nicely, he begins to pump both of them inside you. His free hand holds your ass, while also supporting its movements, so you can ride his face faster towards your high. He could barely breathe, but he doesn’t care.

“O-ohh my god, don’t fucking stop… don’t…” Your hole squishes his fingers, not wanting to let go of them, harder and harder. Your hands reach backwards to hold onto his chest, as you keep moving your hips, feeling your orgasm closer. “Fuck, f-fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make m-me cum… Gunil, ‘m so close.”

You let out a deep throaty moan towards the ceiling, that definitely went through the walls of the room, while you rode intensely through your peak on Gunil’s face. His fingers barely move, blocked from your tight walls, as your whole body vibrates from pleasure, making you dizzy.

Gunil’s chest rises up and down from his heavy panting, as you lay beside him with your legs uncontrollably shaking.

He turns to look at you, not fully grasping what just happened. His whole face glints from juices, while some of his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“I told you I know more than you, silly boy.” Before you know it, you’re spitting on his cock, spreading the saliva all over by twirling your hand around maybe a bit faster, than Gunil expected, cause his thighs immediately start shaking.

“I knew there was a dirty rough side to you somewhere, and I just unleashed it. Why were you hiding it from me all this time?” You make eye contact, and Gunil can almost see how your eyes sparkle from yearning for sex.

He groans when the stimulating thrill flows through him like an electric wave, forcing him to move a hand over his face. You immediately freeze, when you see him trying to cover up, causing him to almost jerk up from the sudden feel fading away from him.

“N-no, no, p-please…”

“What did I tell you?” You cut off his begging.

“I-I’m sorry, please… p-please I need more… more, plea—…”

You resume pumping him very slowly, getting out surprisingly a swear from him. Something you didn’t expect to hear from Gunil’s mouth ever.

“You know that boys get punished when they misbehave, right? You’ve seen what happens to disobedient boys.” You form a cheeky smile, and Gunil nods, squeezing his lips together.

“Shit-t, this feels ‘mazing… m-more…”

“I wonder…” You speak up with a thoughtful tone, after dropping his cock. This makes him hold his breath in desperate anticipation. “What should I punish you for?” You lean over him with your hair tickling his face. “For not doing as I say, or for hiding your delicious cock from me?” You bite and pull on his bottom lip.

“Both.” He whispers in your open mouth without hesitation, and for the first time you couldn’t think of what to say.

“You’re full of surprises, Goo Gunil. I like it.”

Gunil’s lips curl up slightly into a flustered smile.

After you jump off the bed to get out of your ruined tights and underwear, you feel his eyes sliding on your body, leaving warm traces everywhere they go. You go to his wardrobe and easily find a tie, that would do the job.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me.” You return to him, spreading your bare legs wide open right in front of him.

Gunil comes closer, positioning himself between your thighs. He’s glaring at the welcoming sight of your pussy. So pretty, so appetising, making his heartbeat race like crazy.

“Let me touch you… p-please.”

You pout at his cute pleading.

“I wish I could, honey, but I can’t. I have to teach you a lesson first.”

You sit up, and push him on his back, causing Gunil to wince under your rougher touch. A slight bit of relief loosens up his body, when you straddle his lap, taking the lead. He obediently gives you to tie his wrists to the headboard, letting them hang over his head, restraining any movements, that could lead to touching you.

“I don’t want to do this, baby, but… maybe know better next time.” You rub his clenching abs, making him already shift in his place.

“Spit.” You bring one hand to his face.

A nice thick trail of saliva escapes Gunil’s lips, and you coat your entire cunt until it’s dripping. You slap it playfully two times, producing sounds that make his mouth suddenly go dry.

“Make me feel good again, baby boy,” you coo in sweet voice, that quickly turns into a demanding tone, which makes Gunil shiver. “And don’t you dare cum before me. We don’t want to add another punishment on the list.”

“I-I won’t.” Gunil shakes his head at the possibility.

You take the base of his cock, and brush the red colored tip between your slick lips. His brows immediately knit together from sensitivity, but he does his best to endure. You watch his fingers form shaky fists.

“Mmm, yes, lets shove that big cock inside, baby…” You persuade him, although he can’t do anything.

Gunil holds his breath, expecting to have his whole cock sucked in, but his face shifts into painful expression when you start slowly massaging only the tip with your tight walls.

“Mh’, n-no, no, please…” He pants with his head moving left to right. “This is t-too slow, I-I can’t…”

“Be patient, baby.”

“It’s too m-much…”

“Shhh…” Your hand crawls from his chest to his face, rubbing along his trembling bottom lip. His face is clenched in displeasure, when he shuts his eyes, baring the slow pumps that are draining everything from him. “You gotta stretch me nice first, honey, I can’t take that big cock all at once. You don’t want to hurt me, right, baby boy?” You say, still playing with his mouth. Brushing through his teeth, pressing the back of his tongue.

Every new word you spit out, makes Gunil’s mind more scattered, leaving him speechles and out of breath. His body jerks up, when you bounce off, and his poor needy tip feels the sudden cold air. His throat groans, as you hover over his cock for a few seconds, before sliding down again, taking more of him this time.

“Mmm, filling me so nice…”

The fact he could feel how every inch of him stretches your small hole is enough to make him flood your vagina with cum already, but he tries to not think about it.

Your jaw drops the second you finally feel his whole member twitching inside.

“Ngh, soo big…” You bite your bottom lip until it stings, as you stay in one place, holding it in.

You open your eyes to see Gunil’s hands resisting the binds, as the temptation to thrust is too strong.

“Ahh, pull out, p-pull out, ‘m gonna…”

“You sure?” You tease in a sweet tone.

When you hear his multiple loud yes-es, you move up, and his cock hits his stomach. He whines like a little boy, as his thighs shake uncontrollably under you, making your body jounce.

“Y/N, p-please… I don’t t-think I can do this… it hurts…”

“Punishments usually work like that, honey,” you explain, as you lean in to nibble on his exposed neck. His head is tilt on the side from exhaustion. “But you’re doing so well. Just a little more, baby.”

Your entrance sucks his cock back. Now you’re able to roll your hips freely, as you got used to his size and there’s no pain, just pure pleasure. Overstimulation washes over Gunil’s body once again, making him squirm under you, as his girth massages your aroused walls in a steady pace.

“Oh, god,” his moans quiver, making you swallow from the delicious sound. “You’re so t-tight.”

“Am I?”

“F-feels so good…” You lightly sway side to side, as his tortured body begs to jerk up for quicker, deeper pums.

“Should I go faster?”

“Please…”

You begin to spasms around Gunil with an increasing force, when you quicken the motions of your rolling hips, pressing both hands on his toned abs. The lewd wet sounds escaping from your dripping hole, clash with his own whimpering, as every part of him is trying desperately not to finish and ruin his own punishment.

However, just when you start feeling the sweet rush coming closer, you make it wheedle away.

“You’re being so good, baby.” You compliment Gunil, after you peel off his cock. “I told you you can do this.” He cries out softly, arching his back, not hearing a single word. His chest moves up and down furiously out of breath, as his skin burn like it’s on fire. He’s trying to hold onto what little control he has left in him.

“No more, please…” Gunil sighs, feeling his flushed cock throbbing faster than his heartbeat. His cheeks are embarrassingly red from having to beg so much.

“Not yet,” you reply, as you let his thick length cram into you again, refilling the room with sloppy noises.

“S-shit, shit, shit…” Gunil’s arm muscles flex, as he pulls his wrists from their restraints. He tries to bring himself up, getting hypnotised from the way his cock disappeares inside your pussy. “You’re so good at t-this. It feels so good…”

“What feels good?”

“You,” he breathes out, repeating the word over and over again, as his halfway shut eyes stop on your bouncing boobs. “Y-you feel s-so nice… inside you.” His voice gets shakier, the quicker you ride him, chasing your high. “Ah, you fuck me so good, Y/N, p-please let me… c-cum… plea-”

His last few words almost melt in the air, as you wrap your hand around his throat. The movements of your hips intensify, as the sensation below increases from his tip, hitting at your cervix.

“You’re becoming more babbly as I fuck you.” Your fingers put a little more pressure around his neck, causing him to roll his eyes back. “So cute.” You shut your eyes for a moment sinking in how good his cock feels, even though his pulsing neck vein, creeping under your hand makes your tummy clench up even harder. “You’ll cum when I say so, you hear me?”

Gunil hums poorly, as a way to respond. His jaw stays dropped open, tongue almost out. At this point, his focus is only on trying to not release accidentally, as his cock meets your g-spot repeatedly with full force.

“Hold it,” you growl at him, but he’s barely listening to what you’re saying between your moans. “Fuck, your cock fills me… ‘o good… love it…” You manage to say, as words begin to fall from your lips more incoherently. “Look at me.” You tilt his head, gazing at his dark teary eyes. “Do you wanna cum, huh? Wanna be a good boy and fill up my pussy?”

“Y-yes, yes, ‘ll be g-good, p-please…”

As the pleasure goes higher, forming anything that’s not noise of desperation, clashing with the sounds of your bodies slamming against each other, becomes too much for both of you.

“C-cum for me then, cum and fill me u-up..”

The second you throw your head back with your jaw falling open for a soundless scream, Gunil cries out, too overwhelmed from finally being able to release. With arched spine, he forces his hips upward as much as possible, while you make your last few sloppy bounces, before collapsing on his chest. His legs shift around out of control, while his tip loads your cunt.

“Mhmm, well done, filling me very nice, baby…” You mewl, loosing up the grip around his throat, while your walls get painted with hot ropes of cum.

You stay put with drained bodies, trying to regain energy to come back to your normal reality, as the effects of your highs clouds your minds.

“Shit,” you look around the room, which has gotten darker from how much time has passed since you got here.

You jump off Gunil to check what time is it, and immediately freak out when you see the digits.

“Oh, no, class starts in less than fifteen minutes, I’m gonna be late.”

You quickly untie him from the bed, and quickly try to put yourself together. Gunil is still sprawled on the bed when you rush around the room looking for your shoes. Just when you grab your bag, and toss it around your shoulder, he remembers.

“Wait, what about the project?” He shouts with a raspy voice.

“Another day.” You shout back.

“But… It’s due next week.” He says towards the already shut door.

He drops his head back onto the mattress, and gazes towards the ceiling, feeling like he’s still living in a dream from which someone is going to wake him up any moment soon.

The last thing he sees before drifting to sleep, are your forgotten ripped tights, laying on the floor of his dorm room.

[writerpetals]

between then and forever | ❤️

; optional male lead fluff |  ☁️

w; kinda angsty. mentions of anxiety.

He can tell when you’re getting low again. When your mental health is at its worst and sometimes you cry, or become distant. Other times you’re overwhelmed before you shut down, keeping quiet, keeping him at arm’s length and he doesn’t know how to help you, or where to even begin to try. 

Lately, he realizes the stresses, the insecurities, the anxieties pile on and release in the form of irritation, and you lash out in small ways, but it’s noticeable to him. You might not kiss him as often, or say I love you as much your heart wants to. And it doesn’t take long for him to begin to lose hope. He gets upset and angry, too. He’s only human. 

The two of you had an argument the night before. He can hardly remember what started it, but he recalls the topic of visiting his parents for the upcoming holiday popping up, while you made excuses not to go. It’s not that you don’t want to join him on a trip to see his family. After being with him for so long, you’ve grown to love them just as much as you love him, but home seems so much safer and your mind spins with a million worries of why you should cancel your plans of visiting. 

It’s a long trip back home. How much money will you spend? Who will check on your place while you’re away? Will you be able to hold it together around his family? Will they notice? Will they even care?

He already knew the questions running through your mind, just like they always do when you get like this. When you’re so burdened with your own thoughts that you can’t crawl out of the negativity long enough to realize it’s only your mind being cruel to you. He knows how you get. He’s only human, after all, and he becomes frustrated with the vicious cycle. 

You worry. He tries to comfort you. You push him away, out of guilt, or out of your own thoughts convincing you he can’t help anyway. The two of you went to bed in silence after that. No goodnight kisses or I love you’s. He didn’t even hold you to keep you warm, but he was scared of being pushed away for a second time. 

You have already left for work by the time the sun peeking through the blinds pulls him from his slumber, and part of him regrets not being able to make amends after waking up to an empty, cold bed. He glances at his phone after pulling it off the charger in hopes of there being a message from you like there would be a normal day, but all he gets is a reminder for a meeting next Thursday, and a notification of a few spam emails. 

He sighs and wonders if he should reach out, but he has his own insecurities. It crushes his heart each time you turn away when he tries to help, and each time it hurts a little more than the last. The rational part of him knows you don’t want to be a burden, and the part that loves you screams at him to stop at nothing to help you. The more human part, that’s afraid, and worried, and sometimes gets down as well, has him putting his phone back on the nightstand before he jumps out of bed to get dressed. 

You remain on his mind all morning, and his heart is heavy. He wonders about your day, but now he’s waited too long to ask how it’s going. After breakfast he shakes his head as he realizes he’s being ridiculous. You’re not strangers. He loves you, and cares, and he runs to grab his phone to send you a message, but his hands are heavy and his fingers just don’t seem to move as he stares at your previous conversation on the screen. He reads the last two messages, telling one another I love you, and you’ll see each other soon. That was two days before the weekend, where you would spend Saturday beginning to clean out old winter clothes and shoes from your closets and dressers you realize you never wear in hopes of making more room in your small enough space you live, and Sunday when you would argue after eating take-out before falling asleep without words.

He loses his nerve, and he hates himself for it. He isn't sure why, because it’s never been as bad as this. He remembers all the times your mental health would dip and he would be right there comforting you, putting the pieces back together, and offering a shoulder to cry on.  Why does he feel so hopeless? Why does it feel so much worse this time?

With his shoulders slumped, he sighs and looks over the two bags full of coats and sweaters that haven’t been worn in years. You always loved your spring cleaning, hoping to have a fresh start somewhere and feel like you could breathe a little better. So he gets the idea that he should help on his day off, making his way to the closet to swing the door open and pull the chain to the light. Maybe if he makes some progress, neither of you will feel as suffocated. 

He gets to work taking care of his clothes, at least. He tosses an old sweater his grandmother knitted for him to the side, smiling while remembering how he told you it was itchy, and ugly, and was too big for him, but kept it because you couldn’t stop talking about how sweet a gift it was. He reaches for a varsity jacket and some t-shirts with old bands from high school days next, wondering why he ever kept them so long when he hasn’t touched a single one since he graduated and moved into this place with you. He shakes his head and tosses them into a pile on top of the full garbage bag next to the closet.

He fingers through the rest of the clothes on the hangers one by one, deciding most of the items are yours and he doesn’t want to give away something you might need. Instead, he reaches for a pair of old sneakers on the shelf above, noticing the dirty laces and stains on the soles, nose wrinkling when he realizes they don’t smell too fresh, either. He chucks them aside with a careless toss behind him and reaches up to the shelf again, standing on his tiptoes and his palms skim farther back until his knuckles bump into a box. He reaches a bit more to grab the edge, wondering if he’s somehow forgotten that he placed another pair inside, and brings it out down his chest.

The box is lighter, so it’s definitely not shoes. He reads over the sparkling decorated box top a moment later, smiling when he sees your name outlined with pink and purple markers, and a warning in bold, black letters that says to keep out. His grin widens as confusion takes over. Clearly it’s something you have kept from high school as well, and as he settles on the floor in front of the closet, he flips off the top to take a look inside. 

Little folded up pieces of paper grab his attention. The edges are crumpled and torn a bit, but what catches his eye is spotting his own name in black ink soaked through the paper. His brow furrows as he sets the box in front of his criss-crossed legs before unfolding the paper, heart racing and smile returning to his lips as he recognizes your writing and reads the note to your best friend dated August 22nd.

Did you see the new kid? Apparently he just transferred here. He’s kind of cute, but he talks too much and his jokes aren’t that funny. Anyway, if I get paired up with the new kid AGAIN for labs I’m going to be pissed. Why can’t we have classes together this year? Love you~

He chuckles and reads the note for a second time, remembering how nervous he was so many years ago to be going to a new high school. He didn’t have many friends, but he tried to remain friendly with a positive attitude, and it didn’t take long to fit in. Though, he was curious of the student sitting next to him which turned out to be you, the one he would glance at from the corner of his eye just to get a peek at you to make his heart flutter. The one he would watch playing with their hair while chewing on the cap to their pen, and the one he would eventually fall in love with, though you had no idea.

He can’t stop smiling as he sets the note aside to pick another from the box, noticing the date is only a month after the last. 

I really HATE HIM. I hate his smile, and the way it makes my heart race. I hate his dumb jokes, and I hate that I can’t help but to laugh at them because I hate that he’s actually kind of funny and fun to be with. I hate how he smells so nice, and how deep his voice gets when he’s talking to only me. I hate his beautiful eyes, and cute nose, and how soft his lips look. I hate that I want to kiss him. Why do I want to kiss him? I hate it. I hate him. I hate how his hands brush against mine when we’re working on this stupid project and I HATE that I got partnered with him.

Help me. I hate it because I like it so much. :(

He can hardly contain his laughter as he reads the words. He remembers getting paired with you and thinking he was so lucky to have his partner be the one he was crushing on at the beginning of senior year. He can even recall the smell of your hair when he would get close enough, how it always had a hint of coconut that reminded him of the beach. His heart flutters the same way when he thinks about the two of you alone, trying to concentrate on the project but he would get lost in your eyes whenever you looked at him, and he couldn’t stop smiling even though you would smack your lips and tell him to focus because there’s no way you’re getting less than an A. 

You were apparently a lot better at hiding your feelings than he was, and he realizes as much as he pulls the next note from the box, unfolding it and allowing the words to take him back in time.

So I don’t know if that nosy boyfriend of yours told you or not, but the new kid asked me to the dance and I know we promised each other that they are stupid and not worth the stress of doing dumb stuff like picking out dresses and spending so much money but… since it’s him that asked me, I kind of want to go. I don’t know why. I’ll look stupid trying to keep up with him at a dance. I’m nervous but I think I’ll hate myself if I tell him no. Plus… I bet he looks amazing in a tux.

p.s. Nosy boyfriend if you’re reading this over her shoulder again, I will literally kill you. 

He keeps his grin from growing wider by biting his lip, images of that night flashing in his mind. You ended up telling him yes, picking out dresses with your best friend while she had plans to go to the dumb, expensive dance with her boyfriend. When the four of you arrived at the hotel, you became so nervous from the large crowd that you whispered in his ear after pulling him aside, asking if the two of you could skip the dance all together. You told him you felt horrible, and he kept it to himself that it didn’t matter to him if the two of you went or not, as long as he got to spend the night with you. You ended up in a 24/7 restaurant down the street, pigging out on pancakes and bacon he bought with the twenty bucks his dad gave him, and you talked for hours getting to know one another. You told him you still felt guilty, but all he remembers is it being one of the best nights of his life. 

Another note is snatched up from the box, and he can hardly control the smile on his lips as he reads, noticing little read hearts drawn around the words as the butterflies fill his stomach.

The new kid has the softest lips I’ve ever kissed. That’s all...

He remembers your first kiss like it was yesterday. He lacked the nerve to kiss you the night of the dance, and he hated himself for it. He went home thinking about kissing you, dreaming about kissing you, waking up dying to kiss you. He made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t chicken out the next time he saw you, and that following week he asked you out for a study date to the same small diner you got to know one another in. He tried to focus on homework and upcoming tests, but it became difficult the more you talked and the more he thought about the moment your lips would touch and he would feel like he was on cloud nine.

He took you home a few hours later, the two of you lingering near your front door. He wondered if maybe your parents were watching and he should give up then, but the confidence took hold of him as he thought it’s now or never. With a shaky hand, he lifted your chin in the gentlest of motions, leaning in slowly, pressing his lips to yours and he felt like time stood still. Even in the cool breeze the heat washed over him, and when he felt you kiss him back he knew he could never be happier than in that moment. 

Later you would laugh while telling him how your mother just knew something happened between the two of you from the look on your face. You couldn’t stop smiling no matter how hard you tried to play it off, making it clear as day just how happy he made you as well.

He can’t resist picking up another note, but his heart begins to ache just a bit as he takes in the words, dried ink running on the page in ripples from your tears while you scribbled your thoughts down. 

We had a fight. Our first fight. I know couples fight, but I didn’t know it would feel so terrible. I’m mad at him, but I feel guilty. I don’t even remember what started it. I just got mad, slammed the car door, and ran inside when he dropped me off. I thought he would come after me, but he didn’t. Now I’m even angrier, but I miss him. I hate fighting with him. I hate being without him… I don't care anymore what the fight was about. I just wish I could kiss him, and hear him tell me everything was alright. 

At that age, any fight feels like the end of the world. Any problem feels like the worst thing to ever happen, and it becomes so easy to lose hope. Luckily for the two of you, you were able to talk through your feelings and work past them, just like you always promised to do from then on out. He has always been by your side, no matter the problem. No matter how hard the times get or how often the two of you get mad at one another. You’ve always been thankful for him being so understanding and patient with you, and he’s always appreciated the way you trust him with your heart to be one of the few people you would let in.

He picks up another note, though the thought crosses his mind that maybe he’s reading more than he should be allowed to see. He makes a mental note to explain to you how he happened to come across the box thinking it was nothing more than shoes, and how his curiosity got the best of him, hoping you won’t be too upset at him prying on your high school notes to your best friend.

He unfolds the paper, and notices this one is longer than the rest as the date reads April 29th.

My parents have been fighting nonstop. I hate hearing the yelling. I go to bed hearing them arguing, I wake up to doors slamming. I hate the loud noises. It’s hard to sleep. I feel like I’m drowning in all of it because they don’t even care how I feel anymore. I can’t breathe most of the time, and most of the time I sneak around because when they’re not yelling at each other, they’re yelling at me… or worse. Sometimes I don’t even want to live anymore, but I have you and him to make it better. I snuck him in my room last night. I wanted to sleep feeling safe for once. I wanted to drown them out for once, instead of being lost. I fell asleep on his chest and he held me all night long, and we made it out of the house before sunrise. I don’t know what I would do without him. He helps me breathe better. I think clearly with him. He comforts me without any words. He stays by my side and guides me through my worst moments, when I can’t stop crying, when I can’t even take a deep breath. He’s so patient with me, it’s almost too good to be true. I don’t deserve him. I wish I was a better person, so I could be what he needs, because he is everything I need. I want to tell him I’m sorry that I am the way I am, but I’m a coward because I don’t want to face it. I hope he never gives up on me. I love him. I swear I’m going to be with him forever.  

It takes a few seconds for him to remember how to breathe. Guilt fills his chest, believing more than ever that he shouldn’t have been so nosy. It’s like listening in on a private conversation. Before, the notes were innocent, and cute, and filled his stomach with butterflies. But the memories come flooding back of all the nights you called him upset, but were too afraid to tell him why. All those times you would cry, but couldn’t explain the tears, and all the times he held you close, not needing a reason other than he loved you, and he would do anything to make it better. 

After the last note, he folds the papers and places them back in the box, but before he can stand to return it to the shelf, the sound of keys entering the lock at the front door interrupts him. How long did he spend reminiscing? Long enough for you to be home from work, he realizes, leaving the box and hopping to his feet to greet you. 

He spots you slipping your heels off at the door with a tired look on your face and a bag of take-out in your hand, but there’s a light flickering in your eyes the moment they land on him. You open your mouth to speak, to apologize for the night before and tell him you got dinner from his favorite place, but his arms wrapping around your body to pull you against his chest stop you. 

He holds you close without words. You melt into his embrace. He’s always so warm, so comforting and gentle and patient, just like he was from the first time you needed it. You return a half-hug due to one arm holding the food, but the stresses melt away in that moment. Nothing else matters when he holds you like it’s the last time he’ll see you. None of those cruel thoughts can harm you, or worries of the past or present can resurface when you’re with him, and now it all seems so silly to worry over little things that don’t matter in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and it catches you off guard. You assumed you should be the one apologizing to him after making excuses not to visit his family, getting upset, and then pushing him away, but he squeezes you tighter and repeats the words. “I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t mean to brush you off like your feelings aren’t real. I know how real it is, and I’m… I’m sorry.”

He loosens his grip, but keeps his hands on your hips, and you look up at him just as the tears begin to well in your eyes. “I really don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he tells you with a shake of his head, and his tone is stern, as if he’s more serious than he’s ever been. “Please, don’t say that. You deserve me because you love me. That’s all I could ever ask for. We deserve each other because no matter how many arguments we get into, we know we’ll always work it out. And I deserve you because you always see the best in me, and you never give up on me, either.” 

His words have your heart beating twice as fast, leaving you speechless while wondering where all of this is coming from. It’s not like your anxieties are anything new, leaving you with moments to push him away only to try to make it up to him after talking through it and working out the problem. But there’s something different this time. 

“Where is this coming from?” you ask, sniffling as the first tear hits your cheek. He doesn’t hesitate to brush your face with his thumb, soothing you just like he always does. “Why are you making me cry like this?” He chuckles and leans in, pressing his lips to your own, allowing time to stop, the heat to wash over both of you, and when you pull away, neither of you can stop smiling. 

“I have to be honest,” he begins, heart pounding against his chest, “I was going to finish cleaning out the clothes from the closet and I came across this box…”

“Oh no.” Your eyes grow wide. “Not the box, right?” His face falls flat, and you can’t help but to giggle from alarming him.

“A box with notes in it…”

You smack your lips, playfully rolling your eyes. “She gave me that box when she moved out and was clearing out her old bedroom. She told me I would need those notes to read over whenever you and I had a fight, but I guess… you read them?”

He nods bashfully, lowering his head and grinning like a child. “I got curious, and after reading the first few about how much you hated me, I couldn’t stop.”

“Oh, God!” You shove the bag of food in his grasp before covering your face with your hands. You can feel the warmth swelling your cheeks, embarrassed that your highschool sweetheart read those notes about him when the two of you were actually in high school. Oh, how young and in love you were, being dramatic over the smallest of things, but you recall the time spent with him the best times of your life. It doesn’t hurt that you feel each day gets better, and each moment you feel luckier than the last. “I didn’t hate you, obviously. I actually, really, really liked you from the first moment I saw you, but you know how it is.”

“Mhm,” he hums with a smirk, but all smiles fade before his tone turns serious. “I did read a note that made me realize something, though.”

“What’s that?” you ask, reaching for him to wrap arms around his neck, and leaning closer to press your lips against his in a chast kiss before he begins to explain. “I know times get hard, and we will have our arguments. All couples do. But I promise you, I’ll always remain patient with you, and I’ll always stick by your side, if you allow me to. If you let me in, I’ll never stop trying to help you, whatever the problem is. I want to always be here for you, to wipe your tears, or comfort you, or give you a shoulder to cry on, but please, don’t push me away, okay? You will never be a burden to me. I love you.”

Listening to his words with love and care in every syllable has the tears falling again. Even with a bag of take-out between the two of you, you lean in and kiss his lips in a promise that you won’t push him away anymore. He’s always been the one you leaned on in hard times, and he’s the reason you’ve made it this far. And in that moment, you swear for the second time that you will be with him forever. 

[dazzlingjaeyun]

𝐳𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧 - 𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

idol!jake x gn!reader

warnings: jake is a little mean, swear words, suggestive, reader is kinda down bad for jake

word count: 796 (0.7k)

a/n: this is highly inspired by that one tiktok ai audio hihi, readers thoughts are written in cursive

↝ dazzlingjaeyun's bookshelf

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

he looks unnecessarily fine there, you thought to yourself as you zoomed in on the photo that had been taken just some days before. however, your thoughts were quickly interrupted as the door sprang open, revealing no one other than the man whose face you had zoomed in to just a second ago.

"for fuck's sake, don't you know how to knock on doors?"

jake. of course. the other members would have knocked, you thought.

jake was an overall lovely person when it came to his fellow members, as well as his fans. he was kind and courteous to staff most of the times, too. but he was extremely impatient, sometimes lacked basic manners and whenever something did not quite go according to his plan, he would turn into an asshole. how childish.

"i took this tiktok with sunghoon, just quickly give permission to post it", he said nonchalantly, not sparing a second to even consider apologizing.

being part of their management team, you recently acquired the position of managing their social media accounts. that also meant reviewing their own content before they post it.

"jake, i'm preparing to post the comeback teaser photos right now", you explained, earning an annoyed expression from him. "i can see it after that, okay? you know they have to go online at exactly-"

"can you shut the fuck up for a minute and watch this tiktok for me? pretty please"

while the first words were uttered harshly, the last ones were added with the dearest, most innocent smile - the tone of his voice sweet like honey.

jake was always like this. mean, only to be a sweetheart the second after - and while you should be either concerned or annoyed about the sudden change in his mood, you couldn't stop your heart from performing a small jump. every. damn. time.

at this point, you didn't know if you wanted to strangle or kiss him - if you wanted him in your bed or six feet under. oh god, i think i'm the pathetic one here.

trying to shrug all of it off, you rolled your eyes.

"fine. send it to my email, i'll watch it", you replied shortly, hoping that would help getting rid of him.

"so much work for nothing", jake mumbled, before stepping closer to your chair, stopping right behind it, and placing his phone down on your desk. without hesitating nor asking if you were ready, he started the video.

feeling his presence so close to you made it ten times harder to focus on the video, honestly. you had worked with him for a while now, so being near him wasn't new - but he had never been this close to you. unnecessarily close. so that his cologne almost blurred your senses, that you could feel his breath on your neck and that you swore you would have even heard his heart beating if the video hadn't been playing.

while you felt your mouth grow dry, your hands got all the more wet with cold sweat. all because he's just inches closer than normally?

"so?", jake's voice snapped you back into the moment as he grabbed his phone from your desk.

admittedly, you hadn't paid too much attention to the video. not very professional. not professional at all. but hell, you were not going to admit that the close proximity made you lose focus. so, you decided to just risk it and nod in approval, "it's fine."

he stepped away from behind your chair and made his way to the door, but turned back to you before opening it.

"also, we'll go for food and some drinks after practice today. jungwon said i should ask you to join us", he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

you raised an eyebrow in confusion. "jungwon asks me to join? how come?"

jake's eyes widened only a tiny bit, before his gaze went back to normal. "uhh... well, he said something about how someone from the management should be around or something, y'know"

you pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh. "you're good at almost everything but you can't lie if your life depended on it"

for the nth time in your life, you could see jake rolling his eyes. "shut up. just look good for me, deal?"

you slightly bit down on your lower lip, replying with just a tiny nod, as you could feel heat rushing through your body and straight to your cheeks. yep, i'm definitely the pathetic one here.

jake gave you a short grin and opened the door. just as he stepped out the room, he turned on his heels and looked at you again.

"also, if you wanted to look at my face so bad, you could have just asked me to come", he tilted his head towards your computer screen, before finally closing the door behind him.

oh god. i never zoomed out of the picture.

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thank you so much for reading up until here. it means the entire world to me and i hope you guys enjoyed it. please do not copy. ❤︎︎

feel free to leave feedback & interact!

- dazzlingjaeyun

[abiiors]

the boy next door // matty healy x reader

valentine's week - day 3: stupid cupid

a/n: a cliche stuck in an elevator with your hot neighbour fic cw: verrrryyyy suggestive, bad flirting, alludes to masturbation, sex toys wc: 3.8k

your package is out for delivery. 

the old email notification catches your eye while you’re doomscrolling through meaningless tiktoks, spread on your bed like a starfish. it’s not like you have no other work to do and yet you can’t help but refresh and refresh your email some more for any other updates. it’s four hours old by now and right at the top of your inbox. and yet the package isn’t here yet! you huff a bit and loudly curse at the delivery company. 

this is an important package, damn it! plus there’s the anticipation churning in your gut…

because you don't know how much you can trust the promises of a “discrete packaging.” what if the delivery driver just left it at your door? what if instead of plain cardboard packaging it has a massive red dildo on it and the words vibrator inside printed on top. 

it’s an insane thought, you know it is, still you already have a whole tongue-lashing ready for your best friend. 

“get a tiny pink bullet for yourself,” beth had said and then closed her eyes in delight, “especially the two-in-ones.” 

you had to slap her thigh before the conversation became any lewder but the thought stuck in your head, worming its way into the forefront of your mind at random times of the day. and no matter how hard you tried, you could not get it to go away…

especially with the thoughts of the neighbour—

no!

you will not think of that obnoxious boy, you will not think about his wild, messy curls and certainly not about his cheeky smile. you will not think about his sweaty tank top sticking to his body and how his stupid tattoos stand out against his stupid, toned arms. you will not think of matt–whatever his name is!

you huff, refreshing the email again, and jump when you see a new email has come through—literally one second ago. 

your package has been delivered. thank you for choosing cupid.

wait, what? 

you still in place, waiting to hear the shuffle of footsteps outside your front door. did you just miss someone ringing the doorbell? did this person just knock and leave the package outside? feeling like a lunatic for hyper-focusing on this one thing, you chuck your phone back on the bed. maybe the email was a mistake, maybe you should just wait for another hour or two and then launch into calling customer service. 

a tiny part of your brain tells you that this is exactly why your best friend had asked you to buy a toy for yourself…so you can relax a little and not be so wired all the time. but look at you now…stressing about the one thing that’s supposed to be relaxing. 

“you suck!” you type on your phone petulantly, a text to beth. but you know she will call you and laugh at you for five minutes straight if she found out.

rather maturely, you stick your tongue out at the phone too and flop back on the bed. why couldn’t you have had a busy day today of all days? unconsciously, your hand drifts lower, toying with the strings of your shorts now. you're not even particularly needy or turned on; just bored. and your mind is clearly occupied with one thing…

the thin cotton tank top you're wearing does nothing to hide your hardening nipples. your fingers touch and tease—the insides of your thighs, around your belly button, right under the waistband, and you find your thoughts drifting to the boy again. 

he’s hardly a boy; he looks like he’s the same age as you, and yet you can’t help but think of his boyish grins and shameless, open flirting. you're sure you have heard him trying to flirt with david, your sixty year old mailman before, although he might have been drunk then, judging by the wet kiss he’d placed on the old man’s cheek. the mailman had only laughed and swatted him away.  

you remember his voice; smooth and sweet like honey, full of laughter. his pretty curls that fell in his eyes. his eyes…framed by lovely, long lashes that rest on his cheeks. his eyes that make you feel like the only girl in the world if he ever looks at you. 

your fingers dip lower, almost touching the bundle of nerves, one hand touching your nipples as your toes curl into the mattress.

why are you even thinking about him? you should be thinking about one of your other crushes. you should be thinking about andrew garfield or oscar isaac or one of the several other men you have watched thirsty edits of. instead, your thoughts linger on messy curls and sparkling brown eyes. 

your face flushes deep and hot at the first brush of your fingers. so what if cupid doesn’t deliver? you’re perfectly capable of getting off by yourself, you’re not that desp—

you almost jumps out of your skin when the bell rings—extra loud and extra harsh. 

your heart thuds in your chest so hard that it almost crawls out of your throat. fuck! you have to clutch your chest to steady yourself a bit. fuck, fuck, fuck!

deep breaths…

one, two, three…

another deep breath…

there we go…

the bell rings again and you glare its general direction. first, they’re late and now they can’t even be bothered to be patient? muttering to herself like an old witch, you stomp towards the door. 

“couldn’t even give me two minutes?” you yank the door open hard enough to make the hinges creak and then freeze in your tracks. 

it’s not a delivery person. it’s the boy, looking at you with all the interest in the world. 

he’s simply dressed in a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants—the slut uniform, you think darkly. but you can’t help the way your eyes linger on how snugly the t-shirt fits, how the sleeves cut off at just the right place so you can see the muscles peaking out from underneath. in return he does the same; shamelessly lets his eyes run all over your body. and suddenly you hyper aware of how you look. 

hardened nipples poking out from under the tank top, face flushed and hair messy, the strings to your shorts are no doubt undone. you defensively crosses your arms over your chest and jut your chin up at him. nothing but haughtiness and challenge. 

“what do you want?”

fuck, why is your voice so breathless now of all times?! and that’s when you see it, the plain brown box in his hands. 

“this was delivered to me,” he smirks and then proceeds to read out your full name off of the box. “yours, i’m guessing?”

you try your hardest not to snatch the box out of his hands because the longer it’s in his hands, the longer your brain tries to remind you of what—who—you were thinking about two minutes ago, the longer you have to actively refrain from dwelling on him saying your name in that stupidly sexy voice of his. so you make a show of tapping your foot impatiently and hold out your hand. 

it’s painful to just stand there and not thank him but you will not feed into his arrogance! you simply refuse. 

the boy shrugs his shoulders and gives you another once over, then places the box in your waiting hands. “looks like you don’t need it to get the party started though.”

your jaw drops to the floor as incredulity floods your body. the sheer AUDACITY! 

the boy simply presents you with a mocking little bow and turns on his heels. then he strolls away like he owns the place. and you remain standing at the front door, speechless and fuming, trying not to stare at his infuriatingly cute butt.

the boy is infiltrating your dreams. 

well, no, infiltrating is perhaps not the right word. but the boy is there now, smirking like he knows everything about you. somehow, in your dreams, he’s shirtless, only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants. your body betrays you as your eyes stray lower, dying to find some evidence of what’s on his mind. if it’s the same thing you have had on yours. 

the insufferable tone of his voice grates on you, saying your name over and over again, each time with a different inflection in his tone—commanding and needy and sultry until your head spins and loses all meaning of the word. 

the dream plays out the same way each time; he steps closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin, feel the goosebumps rise in its wake. you don’t touch, you never touch yet somehow, you feel the heat radiating off him and permeating through your veins. the heat, like molten lava, mixes in your bloodstream and flows through your entire body before, inevitably, it pools between your legs. 

the boy says your name again, only a whisper this time but it sounds so real that you almost call out to him, reaching out. but you always wake up, hot and gasping for air, before you can feel his skin under your hands. 

not that your brain would know what that feels like. 

as you sit up on your bed, head still spinning, trying to get your breathing under control, your mind flashes with the tiny pink bullet currently in your closet. 

it hasn’t been unboxed yet. you refuse to do it until you’re sure you can get your thoughts under control, until you’re sure you won’t think of his pretty curls tickling the insides of your thigh. 

but now, as you clench your thighs together for some friction, you desperately want to.

helplessly, you stare up at the ceiling; 6:53 am, there’s no point in going back to sleep for 7 more minutes. besides, you're too worked up to fall back asleep. 

the morning turns out to be a disaster. absentmindedly, you use bodywash to wash your hair, put an extra teaspoon of sugar in your coffee, accidentally drop your favourite red lipstick when it’s halfway rolled out of the tube. 

all in all, by the time you're ready to get out of the door, you're frustrated, nearly in tears and ready to just call in sick and go back to bed. 

on top of that, only when you’re already downstairs do you realise that you’ve forgotten your phone at home. resisting the urge to stomp your feet like a toddler, you turn around and enters the lift once again and press the circular number 10. 

a moment later, the metal doors are about to close, only an inch-wide gap left between them when they stop in place and start opening again. 

god, what now?! 

uncharacteristically annoyed and feeling extremely petty, you do the one thing you shouldn’t—you jab your finger into the “close door” button. repeatedly. 

and that’s the exact moment the boy wedges himself in the gap and raises an eyebrow at you. his entire face changes when he sees the annoyed expression on your face, going from puzzled to delighted to cocky in under a second and his mouth quirks up into a smile that can only be described as evil. you stare at your feet, face flaming, clearly caught red-handed until the doors finally close. 

“in a hurry?” he prods. “you look peeved.”

you look at him in annoyance, trying very, very hard not to stare at any part of him at all—not at his slightly damp hair, or his tank top. not at the gym bang slung casually on his shoulder, or his sweatpants (black this time). you definitely do not look at all the tattoos on his arms that you hadn’t seen before. 

“‘m fine,” you mumble quickly and look away. he clicks his tongue. 

“boyfriend pissed you off?”

you stare straight ahead, willing the ancient lift to go faster. the boy doesn’t give up. 

“oh shit,” he whistles lowly, “girlfriend pissed you off?”

“no one pissed me off.” besides you, you think darkly but reign the thoughts in. there’s no need to be a bitch just because you’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed. 

“sure,” he shrugs and you’re rewarded with a blissfully silent second. just as you’re about to thank your lucky stars, the boy opens his mouth again. 

“i’m matty,” he smiles. “we’re neighbours.”

“oh i know, i’ve seen you around.”

he hums and puts his hands in his pockets, leaning against the metal wall of the lift. it’s unusually slow today, creaky and janky while going up when you should have already been at the tenth floor by now. matty’s eyebrows furrow. unconsciously you mimic his expression, and the elevator groans loudly. 

a hint of panic shoots through your body, and you whip your head to look at the display that flickers with a faint blue number 7. the whole thing wobbles, frantically, you throw out at arm, grasping at the first thing you can find which just so happens to be matty’s (very toned) arm. his eyes go round too. you murmur a couple of curses, the lights flicker. and then it all goes silent. 

with a last whine, the lift comes to a grinding halt and both of you mumble “fuck” in unison.

“stuck on an elevator with my pretty neighbour, what a cliche,” he snorts to himself, and you resist the urge to gape at him. 

his pretty neighbour, you conceal the little smile making its way onto your face and pointedly ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks. matty, however, looks at you with all the interest in the world. 

“where were you headed? somewhere special?”

“it’s a…wednesday, matty,” you deadpan, staring at him like he’s grown two heads but he clicks his tongue like you’ve just missed the most obvious thing in the world. 

“well… it’s valentine’s day.”

oh. yeah, that it is. a slight flush of embarrassment creeps up your cheeks and you try not to feel like a loser at not clocking it instantly. well, doesn’t matter anyway, does it? you’ve basically announced to him that you’re absolutely alone today of all days. so single, in fact, that you didn’t even remember the existence of valentine’s day. 

and then there’s the fact that he knows about the vibrator. 

“can you call someone?” you scramble to change the topic and look around the tiny metal box for any hint of an emergency exit. “i left my phone back home.”

“i don’t have any bars,” he frowns and crosses his arms in front of him. his biceps bulge and you avert your eyes immediately. 

“so we’re proper stuck then.”

“i guess. i mean… someone has to come looking for us right?”

matty thinks for a moment, rolling his tongue inside his mouth, briefly catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “sure, david makes his rounds at noon.”

“noon?!” you screech and matty bursts into a fit of giggles. 

“you are so uptight!” he teases, “i’m sure the building security already noticed this absolute disaster.”

you resist the urge to deck him and take a deep breath. 

one, two, three…

another deep breath…

there we go…

“matthew—”

“oooh!”

“matty! focus!” that shuts him up for about two whole seconds before he’s trying to stifle a smile again. “how long have we been in here anyway?”

“about five minutes. why? are you not having a great time?” he winks, he actually fucking winks, and you choke on air, trying not to cough violently while matty presses a hand to his mouth and looks at you in amusement. 

“you’re laughing at me!” you accuse and that just sets him off even more. 

“if i said yes? what will you do about it?”

really what you want to do about it is wipe that insufferably gorgeous smile off his face. stupidly, you wonder what would happen if you kissed him right now… not even a grand, romantic kiss, just a random one to see how he’d react. would he blush and fluster? or would he kiss you right back just to see how long it would take you to back down. 

suddenly, the space feels so much smaller than it is. this is not what you should be focusing on right now, not your hot neighbour who flirts with everyone. you should be trying to find a way out of here, and figure out a way to reach work on time. matty seems to be bothered by none of that. 

he simply puts his gym bag down and sits on the floor of the elevator as if this were his living room. 

“don’t worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. you’ll be fine.”

you make a tiny strangled sound at the back of your throat, something that can only be described as a squeak. 

“you’re not worried at all?”

“what? after—” he checks his phone, “ten minutes? not really no. ‘sides you’re great company.” 

matty eyes you properly then, blatantly checking you out, and you wonder how insane you must look. you wonder if your hair’s all crazy and poofy and hurriedly smooth it down. 

“sit,” he suggests. 

“on the floor?” you wrinkle your nose, shuddering at the thought of all the dirt and germs crawling on the floor but matty smirks. 

“would you rather sit on my lap then?”

“oh my god!” your blood heats, “what the fuck is wrong with you!”

“alright,” he raises his hands in surrender, “thought i’d offer, y’know? considering…”

“considering…?”

“oh don’t pretend like you weren’t checking out my arse the other day.”

you sqwak indignantly, stammering out denials and gesticulating wildly while matty’s amusement grows steadily. he even has the nerve to wave you away and pretend like you aren’t blushing to your roots right now. like his nonchalance doesn’t do something funny to your chest. 

“you never even thanked me,” he teases. “i could have easily kept the package you know? real useful stuff…”

any hopes you had of him not knowing what it was drains away instantly. there’s no reason he would have that shit-eating grinning on his face if he didn’t know exactly what it was. your brain picks that exact moment to conjure up an image of him with that tiny little bullet—buzzing fills your head, along with images of matty running it along his stomach, his thighs, going lower. images of his lip caught between his teeth and his eyes rolling back. 

“you’re so–so—” you stutter, unable to come up with a single word. 

“attractive? charming? irresistible?”

“annoying!”

he clutches his chest dramatically, the tank top moves and you get a glimpse of another tattoo on his chest, one you’ve never seen before. matty’s eyes follow your gaze and his eyes twinkle playfully. 

“would you like me to take it off, sweetheart?”

your face feels like it's on fire, and you scramble to find words, any words, to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory it's heading. "no, no! will you stop flirting with me for a second and focus on getting out of here?”

matty chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “you’re so fun to fluster. and what are you gonna do? pry the doors open with your bare hands?”

“if i must,” you huff and wonder if it might be too insane to at least give it a try. 

matty snorts, clearing reading the look on your face. “it’s like we’re in a rom-com—”

“ew!”

“next thing you know,” he continues as if you’d not spoken at all, “we are giving into our base urges and tearing each other’s clothes apart.”

“absolutely not, there’s a camera in the corner!”

a surprised laugh spills out of matty, sharp and high and you whip your head to him so hard you almost get whiplash. it’s the first genuine laugh you’ve heard from it, the first one that doesn’t sound like it has a hidden agenda. it’s funny and impish, it settles into your bones. and before you know it, you’re giggling along too, shaking your head at how silly the situation is. 

“she jokes!” he giggles and you roll your eyes, this time, it’s even a little affectionate. 

“fuck off. the lack of oxygen is getting to me.” 

you both snort again, exactly at the same time and it leads to another round of giggles. you’re so caught up in it that you barely even notice when the lift wobbles again and jerks up. matty jumps up. and the doors finally ding open to the corridor of the eighth floor. 

“fucking finally,” you whoop and run out of the metal contraption, doing a silly little dance the moment you’re fully outside. matty follows suit and stops to stare at you. 

his eyes are full of warmth, his mouth quirks up into another genuine smile. “maybe we should get stuck in lifts more often if this is what i get to see after.”

“shut up,” you swat at his arm, dying to feel it under your hands again, to feel the muscles tense up as you grip onto them tightly. 

“make—”

“don’t you dare!” but it’s too late, you’re already shaking your head at his antics. begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that he is pretty funny. more than that, he’s pretty fun to be around. 

maybe, possibly, you even want to be around him more. 

“so, now that we've narrowly escaped a brutal death, what's the plan?” matty asks, glancing around the hallway. you take a moment to collect your thoughts and realise that you still need to retrieve your forgotten phone and that’s it’s probably too late to go to work now. 

“i don’t even know,” you frown, “i’ll probably just call in sick from work.”

“so you’re free then.”

“i guess i am…”

“and it’s valentine’s day.”

“i guess it is…” you narrow your eyes and stare at him, at his suggestive smile and pretty face. “are you asking me out matthew?”

“so hot when you call me that.” he giggles and dances away when you try to flick him. “so violent,” he mumbles and you shake your head at him. 

“fine, yes. i am asking you out.” 

“tempting,” you stick your tongue out at him and turn away to the stairwell. “but you’ll just have to try again, pretty boy.”

you make sure to add extra sway to your hips when you walk away, feeling his very obvious and burning stare on your ass the whole time. satisfaction floods through you and you smile to yourself at how the tables have turned. 

“oh i will, sweetheart,” he calls out just as you’re about to turn round the corner, “can’t let such a pretty neighbour just get away like that.” 

lemme know what you think <33

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[thegildedbee]

Do-Over: May 20 Prompt from @calaisreno

Program Note: Since there are a bunch of these posties, I've also stuck them onto my ao3 site since that's easier than my going back through tumblr later if I end up trying to make them grow up into a real fic :-) You can also find them at the May 2024 Prompts collection, in the company of multitudes of breathtakingly creative ficsters and their fics to read and treasure, organized by @calaisreno -- what a maestro they are, with setting in motion this whole fantabulous outpouring of mayday-mayhem and orchestrating it all month long, amirite? Yes, I am! :-) ........................................................................... “Really? Really? I can’t even open a goddamn email message without getting knocked about and run over and pissed on,” John fumes, trapped in a fight-or-flight reaction that is equal parts fight and equal parts flight, making his head feel like it’s going to explode. He throws his coffee cup against the wall, and his only regret is that the effort does nothing in terms of relieving any of the pressure. “Of course it doesn’t,” he says through clenched teeth.

The last weeks have been an agony. The first weekend in February had ushered in heavy rains and sharp winds, which had him making his way across London while dragging his boots through grimy slush that inevitably trickled its way inside his socks in icy rivulets. He landed on his arse at one point while crossing the road, which annoyed the already angry drivers who leaned on their horns as they skidded around him.

He’d stayed inside for the next four days, until the sun appeared for a brief flirtation with the city before being swallowed up by the charcoal ash-smudged clouds once again.

He knows, obviously, that one month out from Sherlock’s funeral, that it's still early days for being able to have any sort of balance inside, but still, he hadn’t thought that there were bottoms below the bottoms to which he’d already plummeted. But whether he acknowledges it forthrightly or not, part of what is driving his internal fury is the incessant advertising for Valentine’s Day. It makes him want to take his gun and shoot a skull and crossbones into the nearest brick wall.

Staring at the mess of ceramic shards and wild splatters of coffee, he puts his hands on his hips and hangs his head. “You need to get it out, John,” he spits out in a whiny, imitative falsetto. “Say it now, John. Say what you didn’t say.”

There was the huge British Airways billboard, of a blue sky with a white fluffy cloud in the shape of a heart, with a jet and its contrail slicing through it like a cupid’s arrow:

“London to Singapore: This Valentine’s Day, Say it With an Escape Voucher.”

Escape. Right.

There was the Twitter campaign on the Underground, with large mock-ups of sarcastic dating tweets, like:

*finds a soulmate.* *swipes left in hope of finding a hotter soulmate.*

The mass text message from Angelo’s, advertising the Valentine’s Day prix fixe dinner:

“Eat with Your Heart.”

Today, though. Could this be any more ludicrous? It was nothing but a mundane email message, to be sent to the trash in a trice. But.

It was one of those emails, where the writer puts an inspirational quote underneath their signature.

“There are no do-overs, but there are second chances.”

Oh, yes, he was feeling so uplifted, now. So appreciative of the earnest guidance. So motivated to become more self-aware.

" . . . there are second chances."

Like hell there are.

He hears the sound of the door opening, and of his sister bustling into the vestibule, chattering and gesticulating her way toward the kitchen with her usual noise and bluster.

"Hey, Johnny? You home?” she asks, as she rounds the corner, stopping short at the sight of the smoldering vibrations he's giving off. “Oh. There you are. What happened?”

John shakes his head, giving her a sardonic smile. “I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. The mug just jumped right out of my hand and ran into the wall.”

She looks at him sideways, immediately aware from his tone that something is clearly gravely amiss, that the shattered cup is just the tip of something harsher. Although, when wasn’t he finding something amiss? It's been a never-ending rotation of anger, depression, anger, depression, anger, depression. 

“I picked up some groceries," she says, cautiously. "There’s some of that ice cream you like. Also fruit and veg if you’re going to take a stab at fighting off the scurvy you've got coming on.”

John walks into the kitchen, his demeanor collapsing from rage to stoicism. “Hey. Let me help.”

“Sure, thanks, Johnny. Oh, I wanted to ask you for a favor – it’s a bit daft, but I thought I’d just give it a shot."

“Okay.”

“Trina wants to go to a film on Valentine’s Day. Would it be possible for you to watch her two kids for a few hours at her place?”

John stares at her in disbelief, pulling back his neck and peering at her with skepticism.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says, hurriedly. "I see that’s going over real well. Never mind.”

John shakes his head. "Harry, it's just that I have no idea if I can be in charge of someone's kids right now. I imagine I could, but it’s not exactly in my wheelhouse. I mean, safety first, with kids, and I'm not in the best head."

Harry brushes her shoulder against his, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you serious? Can you handle kids? What about living with Sherlock – you said it was like running a day nursery sometimes. And you kept him out of trouble just fine, kept him in one piece -- ”

Her hand flies to her mouth and her eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, Johnny, oh no, I didn’t think, I just let my mouth run on.” She looks at him standing there, rigid except for a slow inhale, and a scary length of time holding his breath, until he finally begins to let it escape in stingy exhalations. She tries to explain, with, “It’s just, you know, you always said it was like managing a child at times" -- and his expression is really alarming her now -- "oh no, never mind, I will shut up. Right now. I'm so sorry."

John says nothing. He turns his head to the side and looks behind him; looks above him; looks at Harry; looks down at his feet; clenches his hands; unclenches his hands; clenches his hands again; starts to say something; stops; shakes his head; looks at Harry again; rolls his eyes; and throws up his hands.

“That’s it. Harry, this isn't because of the last few moments, it’s just I'm at the end of my rope after a very bad few weeks. Look. I just need to get out of here. I'm going to go away for a few days. I appreciate what you're doing for me, and for being able to be here, but just for now, I need to get away."

“Okay, John," she says, placatingly, contrite. "I’m sorry, I really –” she stops when he holds up his hand.

“Not the issue, Harry. Truly.”

“But where are you going to go? Are you going to be okay?” she says urgently, worried about this sudden turn of events, and what it might mean.

“I don’t know," John says plainly, shrugging his shoulders. "I may just go to the train station and throw a dart at the departures board. But, look, I’m going to grab a few things and then I’ll be off. Best have me out the way for yourself as well.”

Not stopping to double-guess himself or to have to explain himself further, John jogs over to his room and hastily grabs at the first few things he sees that he might need, stuffs them into his rucksack, puts on his heavy coat, and gives Harry a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll let you know where I land.”

"Promise, Johnny?”

“Promise.”

John practically runs out the door, feeling like he's flying apart, and wanting to get outside and to start moving toward something, somewhere, even if it’s just pretend. He loves London, he does. So much, but he's been so many places around the city with Sherlock for so many different reasons, it’s an atlas of emotion that he is always aware of. To be honest, he also doesn’t want to leave London right now, for the same reason; London means Sherlock, and he wants to hold on to as much of him as he can right now.

Fight or flight.

He wonders: should he visit Sherlock's grave? Would that help him shake some of this? No, the gravesite is an ending, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of endings, of feeling like he's being ground into the pavement by a merciless force.

Some place that is a memory of beginnings? Bart’s is out, he says to himself with a harsh chuckle. Not 221B. 

Where then?

He thinks back to those first days, and pulls up his general knowledge of London transport and pleads with it to find him an answer.

Paddington, it says. Paddington? Ah, he knows this. All right, then: Paddington.

He’s going to Cardiff.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

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.............................................................................

[heaven4lostgirls]

reconciliation (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader, billy russo x reader implied

warnings: angst, jealousy, kind of toxic?

summary: your conversation with steve has left him reeling to try and get you back, and you've just dropped the biggest blow to his chances of trying to win you back.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i'm really sorry this took so long to get out, uni has swamped me with work but here i am ig! maybe another update will get out during the weekend? dont hold me to that tho lmao

tags: @blackhawkfanatic , @buckys-wintersoldier , @witchychanel , @nicoline1998enilocin

part 1, part 2, part 3

You weren’t sure what you were expecting after your conversation with Steve if you could even call it that. It had been a couple of weeks and surely but surely you had started warming up to him again, it started with small nods in his direction as a greeting but that soon moved into small conversations. It had been a slow and torturous process for Steve, but he knew just as well as you did that, he was nowhere near even being able to exercise the ability to complain about his situation after what he had put you through.

The real heartbreak hit him when he realised, you’d been looking for apartments and job hunting, for some reason he had assumed that although you no longer joined the avengers for meeting briefings and were off the last few missions, you were just taking a break. Evidently, he was quite wrong, you had been spending your time responding to ‘work-related’ emails regarding a company called Anvil run by Billy Russo.

Now, Steve hardly kept up with any news that was not regarding his position as Captain America and very loosely he kept up with the NFL, so he knew next to nothing about Billy Russo until he was listening to your conversation with Tony in the kitchen.

You had walked in to make your breakfast and just as Steve and you had good morning to one another, Tony strolled through the open door on the phone with Pepper, adamantly in an argument with something to do with Tony’s public appearance at some gala.

“Pep-honey-, yes I understand but-“ Tony rolls his eyes and what Pepper says next and as you make your way to give him some privacy, he holds up his hands to make you wait and as your quirk an eyebrow, you lean against the kitchen counter waiting for the conversation to end. “Fine! Whatever you want! Just please don’t seat me next to that mayor” he pauses “yes! That one! He always smells like cheese” Tony shivers and you and Steve share a quick smile of amusement before you look away with flaming cheeks.

Tony hangs up the call and looks at you with a sly smile.

“Anvil huh?” he asks as he makes his way around you and Steve to the coffee machine, with a quick good morning to Steve, he looks at you expectantly.

“Oh, come off it Stark, I put in my two week notice ages ago, knowing Friday, he probably already told you when I applied” you reply with a joking eyeroll.

An automated voice floods through the system and you nearly jump out of your skin” I would never Miss Y/L/N” you’ve still got to get used to that. 

“Anvil?” Steve questions tersely with pursed lips, you can’t tell if it’s out of anger or worry.

“Yeah! It’s a private military firm and since I used to be in the Navy, Billy reached out to me and offered me a position as his personal assistant!” you reply enthusiastically and through your excitement, you fail to notice how Steve’s face falls and Tony’s eyes light up with humour.

“Billy huh?” Steve’s strained smile makes you pause for a second before Tony snorts into his coffee and as you turn to glare at him, he shrugs innocently.

“Yes. Billy. He asked me to call him that because we’ll be working together” you reply curtly and fight the urge to lash out at Steve and let him know he has no right to be jealous because he no longer has anything remotely more than friendship connecting the both of you.

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s good looking either” Tony remarks and yelps as you swiftly throw one of the knives near you towards the cupboards right next to his head.

You shake your head and move to leave the kitchen before you turn around to the both of them and remark “I shall now be going to set up a meeting time with my boss if that’s okay with you two idiots?” you smile sarcastically, and Tony just waves you off.

Steve frowns as he watches you leave with an ugly feeling of jealousy bubbling underneath his skin, he glares at the counter in front of him before his anger is interrupted by Tony’s voice floating through the silent room.

“You know, you were her boss once” he remarks, after he had comforted you as you sobbed in his arms, he had been particularly harsh and unwelcoming to Steve even though you had spoken to him about Steve trying to work whatever your relationship with him was.

“I’m aware” Steve responds as he grits his teeth whilst fighting the urge to break the granite counter under his fingertips. He scoots his chair out as he makes his way to ask Bucky to train with him, he’s got some anger to work out and Bucky is realistically the only person that could handle his full super soldier strength pummeling at them.

You had successfully set a meeting time to go over your contract with Billy with his current personal assistant since she’d be taking her maternity leave in the next couple of weeks.  Your mind had kept wondering to Steve’s reaction to you getting a new job, you understood his jealousy all too well since that wasn’t even the beginning of your deep-rooted jealousy and insecurities that affected you by Steve’s relationship with Sharon.

Still, you knew that it was no longer your responsibility to worry about his own emotions and how he coped with them. You no longer felt complied to comfort him whenever you saw his sorrowful longing gaze towards you whenever you walked into a room, or when hurt and pain flashes through his gaze whenever you referred to him as ‘Rogers’ in front of the others.

Meanwhile in the training room, instead of focusing on the hand-to-hand combat Steve had asked Bucky to help him with, he was basically interrogating his friend.

“What do you know about some guy called Billy Russo?” Steve panted as he tried to dodge Bucky’s jabs as he moves swiftly and quickly around the mat.

“Not much mate, just that he’s stinking rich for his age- hey! stop fucking jumping around like a goddamn bunny punk” Bucky huffs out at Steves insistent buoyancy.

“I’m just light on my feet!” Steve defends.

“Yeah, if you were on a fucking bouncy castle” Bucky rolls his eyes and winces as he doesn’t dodge Steve’s punch in time.

“Is he good looking?” Steve asks and Bucky has to pause to look at his friend with a weird expression. Steve just stands there with a serious expression and widens his eyes as if to say go on.

“Sure pal, the dude’s good looking, he was in that fuckin Forbes magazine for Millionaires under 30” Bucky says and watches as Steve loses focus, Bucky aims for his weak spot on his right shoulder and watches as his best friend collapses onto the mat, out of breath.

“What’s with all the questions punk?” Bucky frowns as he holds his hand out for Steve to take and as he pulls him up, he watches as his friend’s winces at the question.

“Y/N is going to work for him” Steve says and Bucky nods with a pitying smile on his face that Steve hates. He doesn’t want pity, he wants to fix this, except he doesn’t know how.

You’ve never looked better the past couple of weeks after yours and Steve’s separation, it’s almost as Steve was constantly sucking the life out of you and now you looked just as good as the first day, he met you.

He hates the idea of you going out into public and working under someone else just for someone to see what he once saw in you, now that he knew that you were unattainable for him at the current time but attainable for people like Billy fuckin Russo made him feel closer to possessive and feral than he’s ever felt.

“Then we’ve got work to do mate” Bucky slaps a hand on his shoulder as he maneuvers him out of, the room, chatting away about a plan to win y/n back. Steve is hardly listening and is planning to kill Billy Russo in 300 different ways before he’s even able to think about having a chance with you.

[yubnubforhire]

I’ve seen a lot of people decry criticism of the rwrb movie as simply either homophobic or anti-cringe, with the statement ‘let queer people have our cringe rom-coms’ a common defense. This idea is flawed for many reasons, not least of which being that this movie is like… barely queer. Sure it’s about a queer couple, but that’s about where it stops.

First off there’s the blatant bi erasure, with no discussion of Nora’s sexuality, no June/Nora/Pez, the word bisexual only being used once or twice in the whole movie, etc. Second off is the complete lack of queer education or community: where is Alex learning about the gay lib movement and feeling like he understands something new, deep within himself? Where is Henry talking about his role amongst the erased queer figures of the past? Where are the crowds supporting both of them, in the US and the UK? (the scene at buckingham where you don’t even see the crowd felt so cheap) Where was Amy’s role as queer elder and protector? Where was Luna, and Alex’s realization as to why he looked up to him so much and why his betrayal hurt so bad? Where was Alex realizing he and Liam had actually ‘had a thing’ when they were younger, and reconnecting with him as someone who can fully be himself? Where was all the support when they got outed? Where the fuck was Catherine? Where were Bea and Catherine fighting for them during the confrontation at buckingham? Movie!firstprince feel so isolated and without community, which is just SO not the world CMQ created in the book.

More broadly, the movie just felt so shallow. I completely understand the need for adaptation and translation to a new medium, but so many of the things they changed either lower the stakes or remove them entirely. Bea is a non-character, with no depth or backstory. Nora only exists to tell Alex to fuck Henry. Pez gets all of one line in the entire movie. June does not exist, which should completely change things because Alex does not act like the only/eldest child of the POTUS. We never really see the emails and a lot of them are adapted to onscreen dialogue, so what exactly was leaked? Why are they called the Waterloo letters? No one watching the movie alone will know. Who leaked them? I figure the movie implies it was Miguel, but then why have Richards be a character at all? CMQ was making a point with the Richards/Luna story, and the movie having a new side character as the “villain” is just… so disappointing. We don’t see any of the scenes of Henry acknowledging how fucked up the monarchy is (other than a few throwaway jokes), the comparison to the Empire, any of the Bea storyline, or him trying to avoid military service and renounce his royal inheritance, so the one line towards the end when movie!Henry has an outburst about the monarchy being antiquated is just completely unearned and comes out of nowhere.

They kept the line where Oscar tells Alex that ‘sometimes you just have to jump and hope it’s not a cliff’ but it’s now completely devoid of the context— that line is about Oscar telling Alex he doesn’t regret getting together with Ellen, no matter how it ended. It doesn’t work the same if Oscar and Ellen are still happily married! (Justice for Leo also tbh)

In the confrontation at Buckingham, the king (don’t get me started on the things they changed to avoid comparisons to queen liz) still suggests to Henry that they should claim the leaks are deepfakes and deny it, but Alex already gave the live televised speech in the movie timeline! It’s out already! The entire scene with the king honestly just does not work if Alex has already made the speech. Also side note, there’s absolutely no way in turbohell that Alex would make that speech without talking to Henry first.

There’s so much more I could talk about, from more script shenanigans to the Pip of it all, but this is honestly already way too long. All I want to say now is that it’s obviously everyone’s prerogative to like a movie or not, and nothing anyone else says should change the way you personally feel about a piece of art. That does not mean, however, that any criticism of said art is incorrect or unwarranted. You can like something and still acknowledge its flaws. And no, cringiness is not this movie’s main flaw.

[pokechbi]

Healing Simon (Chapter 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Psychiatrist!femreader

MDNI !!

WC: 2.1k

enjoy lovies <3 I missed you all! pray to the writing gods that I get out of this funk lol

You stared at the email on your laptop, the cursor blinking on the empty reply line. You chew your nail as you think of a reply. You had given your email to Simon to contact you whenever he needed to talk outside of your office, but never expected him to actually use it considering how he was practically forced by Price to attend your sessions. Although something in you knew it wasn’t so forced anymore. It had been a week since your last session, the night before you’d see him again. 

Having a hard time tonight. Can you talk? 

-LSR 

You typed your reply, hitting send without a second thought.

Absolutely, Simon. You have my number :) 

-

Less than a minute later, your phone rang. You let it ring twice before picking it up. 

“Hello?” You say, a slight shake in your voice. You definitely weren’t used to clients calling you personally. Especially this late. 

“Up at this time?” He says smugly. You hear the smirk in his voice. You smile, scratching the skin behind your ear. 

“Couldn’t sleep. What about you?” You reply. 

“Same here. Don’t you have to be up early?” 

You lick your lips, biting back a smile at his concern. His voice gruff, yet gentle and warm in your ears. 

“I’ll be alright, Simon. What’s been on your mind?” 

He takes a pause before speaking. The line is quiet, a stark contrast to your TV running in the background. You grab the remote, muting it. 

“Just need to talk, love. That’s all.” His change of tone has you concerned, realizing you need to distract him. But nothing has you captivated more than his painfully British nickname for you. Love. It flows off his tongue so easily, so sweetly. Feels like sugar running through your veins, sweetening you. 

“I’ve been gardening lately. Probably not the right time, considering how it's almost winter.” You chuckle. You replied on a whim, knowing he probably could not have cared less about your failed gardening experiments. You hear him chuckle on the other end, the sound shocking you as you haven’t heard his genuine laugh in the months he’d been seeing you. 

“What are you growing? Or trying to, at least.” His sarcastic remark makes you smile wider, a small giggle leaving your lips. It was nice, being able to hear how he sounded outside of your office, talking about things that seem small and insignificant. Like a close friend. 

“Well, I’ve managed to sprout a few tomato plants, some green onions too. Those things grow like crazy.” You respond. 

The line goes quiet again. You fill the silence. 

“I’ve got some nice indoor plants too, they’re less complicated to care for, you know?” 

“What kind?” He asks. 

“The easy kind” You reply, the smile evident in your voice. He chuckles. You feel good, knowing you’re helping him. Even if it’s the smallest bit. 

“I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life. Just got no time for it.” He continues with a gentle sigh. You smirk to yourself, imagining Simon overwatering a plant, thinking he was helping it rather than killing it. 

“I can show you a thing or two, if you want?” You ask. You don’t know what came over you, or why you thought he’d want to learn how to care for a plant by his psychiatrist. “I’m no expert, though.” You continue, not wanting to break the moment. 

“I’d like that.” He seems to jump at the opportunity, not regarding the insinuation that he’d need to come to your apartment to do so. You lie down, turning on your side as you stare at the wall ahead of you. 

“Who knows, maybe you’ll become good at it.” You say gently, a hint of hopefulness in your voice, fully knowing Simon was not the type of man to be good at gardening. It couldn’t hurt to try, though. 

“I’m sure with a teacher like you love, I’d be good at anything.” He catches you off guard, your eyes widening and mouth hanging agape. You try to find the words, but he interrupts you. 

“Thank you for taking my call.” He says, his voice sounding distant. “I needed it.”

You take your lip between your teeth, biting back a smile. “Of course, Simon. I’m here for you. Always.” 

“Night, love.” He says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Goodnight, Simon. See you tomorrow.” You hang up. Your mind races miles a minute, repeating his words in your head. 

With a teacher like you, love, I’d be good at anything. 

So you weren’t the only one feeling it. 

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You sat at your desk, the clock creeping to 2:00PM. Your appointment with Simon was in less than 10 minutes, and you were still strongly feeling the effects of what he said to you last night. 

Am I overthinking this? Is he just being friendly? Is he naturally flirtatious? 

The questions ran through your head and swarmed through your subconscious. There was no possible way he was actually into you. There were plenty of factors at play. You had been the only one picking at his brain for the past six months, the only one who seemed to care enough to know what was going through his head. Was it that? Or was it the fact that you had been the only consistent thing in his life, and it was taking a toll on him? 

You got up, pacing behind your desk as you waited for him. Sure, you were attracted to him. You liked his presence, his strong, unwavering aura. He was a man who was sure of himself, and that was a guaranteed turn on for women who had only managed to attract the wrong types of attention from all the wrong kinds of men. 

And yet, there you were: spraying extra perfume in all the most intimate places. Behind your ears, your upper forearms, your ankles. Today, your dress being shorter than the pencil skirts you usually wore, the v-cut just a tad bit deeper. Your heels just a bit higher and your legs just a smidge more shaved than usual. 

A knock at the door brings you out of your head. You throw your hair behind your shoulders, walking over to the door. You pause for a moment, then swing it open. Simon stands there, in his usual attire. You notice his eyes shift under his balaclava, a glint of something different in him today. You take notice of this, stepping to the side as you let him in. You close the door behind you, directing him to the chair as if he hadn’t been sitting in it every week for months now. You walk to your desk, your strides slow and calculated. 

“I like your dress. What’s the occasion?” He asks suddenly. You turn to him, noticing how his eyes slightly struggle to stay above your chest. You smile to yourself at him noticing your change in attire. 

“No occasion, I just felt like looking nice today, that’s all.” He hums in response, nodding his head slightly. 

“You always look nice.” You chuckle softly. You walk towards the chair across from him, sitting slowly, keeping your eyes on his. You notice his gaze flit to your legs, and back up to your eyes. The boldness of his glances made your heart leap in your chest. 

“Well thank you, Simon. I’m glad you think so.” You fidget with your fingers, keeping eye contact with him. “Do you want to pick up where we left off last week?” You open your notepad and uncap your pen. “What’s on your mind today?” 

“Not letting me forget why I’m here, huh.” He chuckles softly, resting his right ankle on his left knee. Simon was often hard to read. And he knew that. He only expressed what he wanted people to see, and it frustrated you. You were putting some serious elbow grease into picking at his brain, yet he kept his walls impenetrable, letting you in slowly but surely. 

You capped your pen, setting your notepad aside. You looked at him and smiled gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned back in your chair, folding your leg over the other. You had a feeling this day would come, when Simon needed a break from the professional shrink-talk. He needed a friend, one that didn’t constantly remind him of his duties as a soldier. Someone to get away with. One that wasn’t legally obligated to share his thoughts and innermost secrets with his superiors. 

You see a hint of amusement in his eyes as you continue to exchange looks to each other. The silence was growing, but not uncomfortable. He watched as you got up and walked over to the door where your jacket hung. He kept his eyes on you while you put it on, your dress rising slightly as you raised your arms. 

“You like coffee?” You ask, grabbing your purse and opening the door. He chuckles, rising from his seat and following you out. 

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“They’re closed.” Simon says, bending down to read the cafe’s open hours. You peer inside, seeing nothing but chairs on the tables and the lights completely off. 

“Well, shit.” You say, laughing to yourself. He looks down at you, and you swear you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. “What now?” You say shyly, the embarrassment evident on your face. 

“Your offer for the gardening lesson. Does it still stand?” He says. You smile, hearing the smirk in his voice. Your breath catches in your throat, thoughts racing through your head. Surely it would be unprofessional. It was completely forbidden in the psychiatry world to allow a client into your home, much less a client who had unbearable tension with you. It scared you. The thought of being alone with him, in close quarters. What would happen? You’re sure Simon wasn’t stupid. He knew what was at play. The stolen glances, the slight flirting between you two over the months. It was obvious. 

“Of course. We can have coffee at mine instead.” You say, breaking the silence. He nods, following you back to your car. As you walk back down the street, the wind picks up and your hair flies everywhere. You give up on trying to keep it in place, letting it flow wild. The wind blows your dress uncomfortably high, and you feel a breeze hit you in places that shouldn’t be hit. You look back to Simon, noticing how he watches you struggle to keep it down. You smile at him, smiling nervously. How embarrassing. 

You reach your car, pulling your keys from your jacket pocket. Before you could pull the door open, you feel a strong hand wrap around your wrist. His touch on your skin feels comfortably warm, in contrast with the biting cold. You turn, meeting him eye to eye, your lips hanging agape. He takes a step towards you, your chests only inches apart. 

“Thank you. For getting out with me.” He says, the look in his eyes sincere. You stare up at him, looking between his eyes. Oh how badly you wanted to reach up and kiss him. The urge settles deep in your stomach. You place your hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. He looks at your hand and places it over yours. He takes it in his, interlacing your fingers. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout your body, settling in your core. It was strong and big, his grip unwavering and protecting. 

“Anytime, Simon.” You reply, the shake in your voice giving you away completely. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, tightening your hold on his hand and wrapping your other arm around his neck instinctively. 

What the hell has gotten into me? This can’t happen. It feels wrong. He’s my patient, for Christ's sake. But fuck, does it feel so good. He’s so warm. So..big. 

You feel his hand rest on your hip, squeezing slightly. You relax into his touch, his body heat practically melting you. You open your eyes, and take a step back. 

He wastes no time in lifting his mask, and pressing his lips to yours.