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moon-stars01 · 4 years

Text

-A Song For You-

Woozi x Reader

Author:nari97

Summary:Woozi is having trouble writing a song,but your there to remind him of what he’s capable of.

Pairing:Woozi(Svt) x Reader

Gene:fluff,cute

Rating:General Audiences

Word Count:2431

•A Song For You•

A yawn escaped your lips as you lifted your arm up above your head; your legs stretching out along the length of your sofa as you lazed back against the armrest. Today was a relaxing day, and you were relishing in the peaceful quiet that engulfed your living room as your eyes scanned the words in your favorite book. You had just gotten to the climax of the story – and although you already knew what was going to happen, you found yourself getting lost in the action once again. You were so entranced by the story, in fact, that you failed to notice the other presence that had made its way into the room. It wasn’t until you heard a heavy sigh resounding from the kitchen that you finally tore your gaze from the pages.

As you sat up and peaked over the top of your sofa, you were met with the sight of your boyfriend hovering over the counter – hands resting on the edge of the cool countertop and his head lazily hanging down. A small smile danced across your lips as you took in the sight, but it soon fell upon realizing how visibly tense he was.

“Woozi” you called; a guilty grin crawling across your features when he slowly lifted his head. Dark circles rested below his eyes, and his hair was a tangled mess – which you could only assume was due to the countless times he had frustratingly ran his fingers through it. A small smile appeared on your boyfriend’s lips when he met your eyes, and you placed your book down on the table next to you before standing up and navigating through your main room. As you made your way over to him, he pushed himself away from the edge of the counter and held his arms out. You willingly let him wrap his arms around your waist as you pulled him into a big hug – your fingers trailing up to play with his disheveled locks.

“You work too hard,” you mumbled, but he only groaned in response.Woozi had only been home for a few days, and he had spent most of it cooped up in your shared bedroom. He had promised himself that he was going to sit down and write a song, but the task was turning out to be more difficult than he had initially predicted. After another moment, Woozi pulled away from you, and you took that split second to place your hand on the side of his face. A content sigh sounded from your boyfriend as he leaned into your touch – his eyes closing when he felt your thumb started slowly stroking circles along his cheek. He began to hum lowly as his head pressed harder against your palm, but you pulled away all too soon - causing him to pout.

“Woozie, you’re going to fall asleep standing up,” you giggled. A dopey grin spread across Woozi’s lips as he slowly opened his eyes once again, and you took this moment to poke the end of his nose. His face scrunched up at your action, and you let another giggle slip past your lips.

“You need to rest,” you sighed, “you’re way too tired to do anything – let alone write a song.” Woozi exhaled deeply; his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling.

“If I don’t finish this by the end of the week, I’ll get scolded for it.” His voice was hoarse from not speaking for hours, and you felt a tingle run up your spine at the sound of his sonorous tone.

“Why don’t you let me help you?” you suggested, but Woozi immediately began shaking his head. He let his head fall forward again to meet your gaze.

“This is for me to worry about,” he replied, “not you.” His words were stern, but you could clearly hear his resolve fading away.

“Come on,” you sang, “at least let me give you suggestions. Then you at least have something, right?” Woozi narrowed his eyes at you, causing you to rustle his long, curly locks in return.

“It’s only Tuesday, baby,” you continued, “stop stressing yourself out too much.” Unfortunately for you, Wozzi was stubborn as a rock, and he refused to budge. He continued to stare at you with the same disapproving look on his face; arms hanging lazily at his sides while he struggled to stay awake. You supposed desperate times called for desperate measures, regardless of how much you hated your plan.

“Oppa,” you cooed suddenly. Woozi's eyes widened slightly at your sudden use of the word, but he was still persistent. Bringing your hands up to cross over your chest, you lightly stomped your feet.

“Let me help you, oppa,” you whined, and you could have sworn you saw Woozi fighting a smile. With every ounce of dignity that you had left, you widened your eyes and jut your bottom lip out into a huge pout, and that was the last thing you needed to do for Woozi to begin beaming from ear to ear.

“Fine,” he chortled, “but only suggestions, alright?” You nodded fervently as you grabbed his hand and led him towards your bedroom; giggles erupting from both of you as you jogged down the hall.

To say writing a song is difficult is an understatement. You and Woozi had spent hours huddled over the small corner desk in your room before he threw his hands in the air - pencil landing on the desk in front of you.

“This is impossible,” he groaned. His hands came up to slide down his face as he sighed heavily.

“No, it isn’t,” you reassured, “I know you can do this Woozie. Write about what you know.” Woozi glanced over at you with an annoyed look on his face.

“I know a lot, love,” he retorted, “the problem is narrowing it down.” You hummed as he let out another sigh; mind searching for any answer to his predicament.

“Maybe you just need a new point of view,” you said. Woozi raised a quizzical brow at you, causing you to hold up a finger in response.

“Give me a minute,” you went on, “I’m thinking.” A slight chuckle sounded from Woozi as he watched you rack your brain for answers.

“A-ha!” you exclaimed after a few silent seconds, causing woozi to nearly fall out of his chair. You shot him an apologetic grin before getting up out of your chair and heading for the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” he called, but you only shushed him in response as you skipped down the hallway. You had an idea, and it had to work.

Once you arrived in the main room of your apartment, you looked around for things that Woozi loved. Anything from music to art to large hoodies were thrown into a basket that you had retrieved from under your couch-side table. With a cup of steamy hot cocoa stacked to the brim with marshmallows and a proud smile on your lips, you headed back to the bedroom.

Woozi looked up from the empty sheet music in front of him when he heard you re-enter the room, and a grin spread enveloped his features at the sight of the hot cocoa in your hand.

“Now,” you began, “we’re going to talk about what you love.” Woozi looked at you in confusion briefly, but the grin that was there previously reappeared when you handed him the cup of hot cocoa.

“You always write better when you’re writing about things you love or things you feel,” you stated, “so let’s start with some material items.” You reached into the basket and fished out the large hoodie that you had grabbed from the back of your couch. You extended your hand to take the warm drink from Woozi’s hands – causing him to pout in the process – and then beckoned him to stand up. You stood on your tippy-toes to pull the cozy material over his arms and cover his white t-shirt.

“There,” you smiled, “now you’re comfy.” You reached into the basket once again and pulled out a small picture frame. Inside the frame was a small portrait of you that Woozi had painted, bringing back a plethora of memories. Regardless of Woozi’s protests at the time, you had insisted on getting it framed, and he finally gave in after weeks of begging.

“Look at how talented and creative you are, Baby,” you beamed. Woozi’s cheeks burned a bright red as he looked at the portrait in your hands.

“I still don’t think it’s that good,” he murmured, but you were quick to shoot him an offended glare.

“I think it’s amazing, and I refuse to have my portrait painted by anyone else other than Vincent Van Gogh’s apprentice himself.” Woozi smiled as he picked up the discarded mug and took another sip of hot cocoa. You placed the portrait down on the desk beside you two and reached back into the basket, knowing that the next item was something you treasured dearly. You carefully pulled out a copy of Seventeen’s album, 'An Ode,' and attached to it was a copy of the lyrics for 'Second life .'

“Look at this masterpiece,” you sighed, “you worked so hard, and it was worth it. You truly do deserve all of your success, Baby.” Tears began to well in Woozi’s eyes at your words, but it wasn’t until he saw the final item that you had brought that caused them to spill. When you pulled a red envelope out of the basket, Woozi immediately recognized it as the love letter he had written you two years ago. You smiled warmly as you opened the letter, and your heart swelled when you were once again met with the mess of curves and lines that Woozi had written on the page.

“You have such a way with words,” you whispered, “Woozi, I read this every night.” Woozi’s jaw fell agape at your sudden confession - much to your amusement.

“Really?” he asked; voice barely above a whisper. You nodded as you felt tears start to brim your own eyes, and before you could continue to talk about how amazing your boyfriend was, he placed the mug of hot cocoa back down on the desk and pulled you into a huge hug. You heard him choke out a sob as you held him tighter, and you let a few of your own tears spill.

“I know what I’m going to write about,” Woozi mumbled into your shoulder, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

“I’m glad,” you responded. He held you as tight as he could for a brief moment before letting go; a teary giggle slipping past his lips as he brought his hands up to wipe away the access tears on his face.

“Go back to reading,” he smiled, “I’ll be out soon.” You responded with a small nod before rustling the locks atop of his head once again, and then left him to his work.

Just as he had said, Woozi emerged from the bedroom a few hours later. This time, however, he was carrying a few sheets of staff paper in his hands, and you were overjoyed to notice that there were music notes plastered all over them. Woozi didn’t say a word as he walked up and grabbed your hand, and within a few moments, you two had ended up at the keyboard that sat on the other side of the main room.

“Sit,” Woozi commanded, and you did as he said; a small laugh escaping you when he tried to organize the sheets along the stand.

“I took some of the English words that you suggested and put them in so that it would flow better,” he said. You couldn’t help but notice that the tension that rested in his shoulders before had vanished, and he was smiling so wide that you thought his jaw might break. You felt your heart speed up as you watched him try and rearrange his space; your eyes filled with curiosity and wonderment. Soon enough, Woozi sat on the piano bench next to you, and he shot you a small smile before his fingers began to play the first set of chords.

Woozi’s song started off slow, but it eventually evolved into an emotional ballad. By the time he had finished playing it, you couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down your cheeks as you replayed his words over and over in your head. The song told of a boy who loved little things like large hoodies, art, and music, but most of all he loved the girl that reminded him that the little things were always there to remind us of how much we love the bigger things. He had poured his heart and soul into his work, and you could feel the pride radiating off of him. You remained silent as you watched his hands lift off the keyboard, and when you didn’t say anything for a few moments, the expression on woozi’s face turned to one of worry.

“Do you like it?” he asked; voice quiet and nervous. You brought your hands up to wipe away at the tears under your eyes and let out a choked laugh as you looked up at him.

“I love it,” you responded, “and I love you. So much.” Woozi smiled warmly at you before taking his thumb and stroking way the stray tears that had poured down your cheeks.

“I love you too,” he whispered. He then leaned in and placed his lips against yours, and you swore that you could feel all the love and passion behind his sudden display of affection. When he broke away, you gazed into his chocolate eyes and placed another longing kiss on his lips, trying to pour every emotion you were feeling into it as you gripped the hem of his hoodie. He smiled at you as he pulled away and wrapped an arm around your waist, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder as he hummed his new song to you. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and woozi were meant to be; coexisting as two souls who refused to be torn apart, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#woozi scenarios #svt woozi #woozi x reader #woozi fluff #seventeen fanfic #kpop #stories

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kunstnurii · 3 years

Text

sungchan x gn!reader

pairing : sungchan x gn!reader

warnings : mention of past abuse

genre : fluff

word count : 1.5k

song recommendation : - The Lights Behind You - Surl

summary : moving to Seoul, you never thought you’d fall for your -extremely loud- neighbour.

disclaimer : i am not using capitalised letters on purpose. it’s my ~aesthetic~

growing up, you never really had what you could call a best friend. you were in a very friends group, sure, but you were never the person people looked forward to seeing in the morning, always being the last choice when your friends looked for someone to hang out with. it did bother you at first, you wanted to have sleepovers, dumb hangouts with friends, inside jokes, and just having someone to share your day with. but, as time passed, you noticed it wasn’t as bad, you started feeling less lonely even if you were alone by the end of the day, it was also an advantage as you didn’t have anything holding you from moving countries on your own, being the independent person you had become.

so here you were, on your way from the airport to your new flat, as your company had rented it before you would be moving to Seoul. you had recently been appointed as chief of the marketing department of your company’s branch in Seoul, and thus, had achieved your high school dream. you looked out of the window of the taxi you were currently sitting in, thinking back on the hardships you had gone through to come to this point in life; the abuse you went through whenever you came home, the loneliness you felt in school, and in general, you proudly smiled, considering you were now in your dream city, about to work as one of the higher-ups you never even dreamt of becoming. you were positive you had become successful.

as the taxi driver helped you move the suitcases to the front of the very tall looking building, a tall figure was approaching the entrance door holding two huge bags of snacks (was he really going to eat that all by himself,,,,?) and noticed your struggle as he sped up to quickly drop the snacks he had been ordered to buy by his roommates. he came back down to help you move the suitcases as the driver had now headed to his next customer. you smiled in appreciation and noticed him smile back even through the dark mask he was wearing. you were now both awkwardly standing in the elevator with two very heavy suitcases waiting for the doors to close.

“which floor are you going to?” he asked in the sweetest voice he had managed to let out.

“18, please.” you smiled.

“oh! i live on that floor too! that means we’re neighbours!” he had squeaked out in excitement. cute, you thought.

as you both exchanged names, you noticed how cute this man, well, sungchan, as you had learned his name, was. you were also hoping you’d get to be close in the future because of how nice he was. he helped you move the suitcases up to the front of your door and headed to the flat number 69, while yours was the number 70. you exchanged good nights, as the sun had already set a few minutes before your plane landed, and each headed to your own house.

it was all fun and games at first, you finished installing your furniture (which really, only consisted of a mattress, a side table and a clothes hanger) and your personal stuff in the span of the first week, and adapted pretty well to the rhythm of the city. there was, however, one big issue; your neighbours. they were very nice, very respectful and very cute, but you truly wondered what they did during the day for them to be so loud during the night. sungchan and you had become a bit closer, having short conversations when going down the elevator together, you had found out they were artists, and that all of the group lived in this building. you wondered how many they were for them to be living in different apartments, and also because of the amount of noise that comes from their apartment at the most random hour of the night.

the noise didn’t bother you for the first month, as you were also up pretty late because of the jet lag, trying to adapt to a new timeline was harsh. however, as you got back to your original sleeping schedule of going to bed at 10 p.m, you noticed just how loud they were. there would be yellings at 3 a.m about how someone was being a sore loser or even just screaming and laughing. what bothered you the most was that you recognised one of the loud voices: sungchan. he probably was one of the loudest of the group.

as another month passed, you had decided to gather your courage and confront them about the lack of sleep they induced on you. it was currently 2 in the morning, you were dressed in sweats and a hoodie as you do most of the time you were home, and the lack of sleep had given you a newfound courage for confrontation. you were now heading towards their door, about to knock, before realising you didn’t have the confidence to speak about it and thus, stepping back with a sigh, deciding to go back to your own apartment before the door suddenly opened.

“uh? what were you doing in front of our door?” came the voice that you would recognise anywhere now, considering how loud it was every. single. night.

“oh,,, sungchan,,,hi.” was all you could say in pure awkwardness.

“it’s 2 a.m, why are you awake?” he sounded so soft when asking this, that you wondered if he gets possessed every time he enters his house.

“actually, i can’t sleep because of you guys.” that was it. you had finally said it!

“huh?! why?” he looked like a very cute confused puppy with the attention span of 3 seconds and it made your heart ache with how much you wanted to hug him at the moment. (wait what? hug him?)

“you guys make a little too much noise at night…” yeah, just a little too much.

“oh, i’m sorry, i’ll tell the members to tone it down.” he was now feeling guilty as he assumed you were probably about to tell them that before he opened the door to go to the convenience store.

“but where are you going at this hour?” you were now wondering why he had opened the door at 2 a.m.

“oh i felt hungry so i was going to eat some noodles in the store down the street, and no one wanted to come with me so i decided to go alone.” he smiled a little, his mouth watering at his awaiting late night snack.

“now that you mentioned food, i’m hungry too.” you hadn’t eaten dinner as there was nothing to cook with and you were too lazy to order, and thus stuck to eating the last yogurt inside your fridge.

“wanna go together?” he had sparkles in his eyes from thinking about spending time with you outside of the elevator. (why was his heart beating so fast?)

“you know what, sure, let me grab my wallet.” you were about to head to your apartment when he held your hand and headed towards the elevator.

“my treat.” he smiled down at you.

so here you were, at 2.30 in the morning, tasting sungchan’s special noodle recipe (which really was just cheese on top of it) in a convenience store dressed in your most basic attire (so was he, and boy did he look soft and cozy in that hoodie). you were feeling content at the moment, having someone to eat with for the first time in years aside from acquaintance at work, and genuinely enjoying someone’s company. you felt your cheeks go warm when he talked about random stuff with sparkly eyes and a pure smile on his face. was it the noodles? or was it that you were slowly developing feelings for the man sitting in front of you?

sungchan was feeling a little bit self conscious at the way the person in front of him was staring quietly at him while he was blabbering about how his teammate Jeno dropped Soy Sauce on the carpet when trying to cook, he was slowly starting to get a crush on his neighbour and he didn’t want them to find him stupid or weird.

“why,,, why are you staring at me that way?” he asked with a low whisper while trying to hide his big frame behind his chopsticks.

“it’s just, it feels nice to have someone to eat with and talk about random stuff.” you smiled a little and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“i’m happy i get to be that someone.” it was now your turn to try to hide behind your chopsticks because you felt your cheeks darken and didn’t want the boy to notice.

“also because i think i’m starting to have a crush on you and would like to have your consent before i try to flirt with you.” you choked on the noodle soup as he said that. you never expected him to have a crush on you, and even less expected yourself to like that he had one.

“uh,,, yeah i guess you,, can flirt with me,,, i don’t mind.”

you knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight either, but this time it wouldn’t be because of the noise.

#kpop #kpopimagines #kpopimagine #kpopscenarios #kpopscenario #nct #nctsungchan #nctimagines #nctimagine #nctscenarios #nctscenario #sungchan #sungchanimagine #sungchanscenarios #sungchanfluff #fluff #nctfluff #it felt nice to see a new member who's my age #and who's also left handed

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

Text

Like We Used To: 12

A/N: *WARNING* SMUT!!!!!!!!

I’ll put **** at the beginning and end of it so you can skip if you want. This chapter makes me soft and suuuper sappy. Give me your feedback. What do you want these two crazy kids to get up to? Any clue where you think this is headed? I’d love to hear your theories and input.

Don’t forget to like it!!!!

[Read Previous Chapters Here]

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CHAPTER TWELVE

The first morning back home was pretty grey and it looked like it might rain. Today was Elizabeth’s last official “day off”. Harry still hadn’t called her, and all she wanted to do was eat, watch sappy romantic comedies, and mope around all day. She decided to put on ‘Crazy Rich Asians’ and plopped on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a cup of tea under a warm throw blanket when her doorbell sounded. ‘Weird. I don’t remember ordering anything’ she thought to herself, dragging her feet to the front door and pulling it open. Her mouth fell and he stood there in shock.

“Is that my hoodie you’re wearing?” Harry smirked, wearing casual black jeans, a white t-shirt, and sunglasses. He had his duffel bag hanging on a shoulder, a guitar strapped to his back, and carried two large brown grocery bags.

Elizabeth looked down, realizing that she was still wearing his hoodie, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious of her sloppy appearance. She stepped to the side allowing him to come in, slicking back some loose hairs that strayed from her messy bun and stammering, “What the hell are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?”

He stepped in and set his stuff down by the front door as she closed it, hanging his sunglasses on the side of his overnight bag. “I had to call Lewis for your address as soon as he got off the plane. You said that we needed time apart to think about what we really wanted out of this.”

“Yeah?”

“Well...I thought about it.....”

“Harry, it’s only been twenty four hours,” Elizabeth laughed.

He chuckled, “Yeah well that was enough time for me. I already know what I want. More time with you. So I thought that if you weren’t going to come with me, then I was going to come to you.”

She looked down at all of his things, “And how long do you plan on staying here? A month?”

“There’s more bags in the car.” he laughed, “I’m off until Saturday morning then I fly out to LA for a week to do some press. So I plan on spending the next four days trying to convince you to come with me.”

Elizabeth looked at him incredulously. This man was out of his fucking mind! Still, she couldn’t help but be slightly impressed with him and the amount of effort he had put in. She decided that she would entertain his crazy idea. It was only four days, anyway.

She gave Harry a quick tour. The kitchen overlooked the dining area and living room. Her bedroom wasn’t huge, but it did have a balcony, and the second bedroom was converted to an office/reading room, though she hardly used it for that because she always wound up taking her work to the living room. She had done a lot of decorating since moving in a month ago, trying to make her home feel more cozy now that she was living on her own. Her place wasn’t big, but she was proud of it.

There didn’t seem to be any judgment from Harry as he complimented her designing capabilities, heading back to the living room. He grabbed one of the brown bags that he had brought, and carried it over to the couch, pulling out items.

“So, when I got in my car to leave yesterday, I found these,” Harry explained, showing the box of plastic spoons they had bought at the grocery store the night of the dare, “So I obviously had to stop and pick us up some ice cream,” he took out two personal size containers of chocolate ice cream and two of his magnum white chocolate ice cream. “And I also got some oreos, and some ingredients to make some pasta tonight for dinner because I know pasta is your favorite.”

Elizabeth beamed at him, shaking her head and joking, “I either must have been really good in bed, or you just really want your hoodie back.”

Harry’s dimples deepened when he laughed, “I told you, I wanted to spend more time with you….and you were really good in bed.”

She blushed, “So what’s in the other bag?”

“Oh, that’s for later,” he smirked.

Elizabeth eyes him suspiciously before they decided to eat some of their ice cream for lunch and continue watching the rest of the film. Hours had passed and all they managed to do was make a mess with the popcorn and talk throughout multiple movies when the sun finally started to set. They had taken the ingredients that Harry had brought to make chicken mozzarella pasta with sun-dried tomatoes to the kitchen and start the prep. Her kitchen was pretty small, so it was a tight squeeze, but they managed to make it work with lots of laughter.

It had stopped raining by then, so they decided to take their dinner out to her balcony to eat because her flat sat up on a hill and they were able to get a nice view of the city from there. It was one of the main reasons she decided to move there. It was pretty romantic with the string lights and candles lit. They ate and talked about the dreams they had when they were kids, comparing it to where they are now. Harry seemed humbled by the success he’s had. Even Elizabeth was happy with how her life had turned out. She’s had her fair share of struggles, but seemed to be on an uphill climb when she had her career change.

They had long since finished dinner and were leaning each other on the patio couch when Elizabeth finally remembered, “So what was with that other brown bag you brought?”

Harry grinned and stood up, “Stay here. Don’t come in yet,” and slipped back into her room, closing the sliding door and blinds so she couldn’t see.

She heard his footsteps disappear and then reappear. After about ten minutes and a lot of rustling around she noticed her bedroom lights go off, but a slight glow was noticeable through the blinds.

Finally, the door slid open and Harry’s head popped out, “Ok, stand up and close your eyes.”

She did as she was told, giggling, “What the heck are you doing?”

Elizabeth felt his soft hands grab hers and he slowly led her inside, the soft scent of spices and florals filled the air. Her eyebrows furrowed when he finally whispered, “Okay, open.” Her eyes fluttered open and she let out an audible gasp. Lit candles and rose petals scattered the entire room.

She turned to Harry, stunned, and whispered, “Why?”

He smiled lovingly at her, “You were unimpressed the first time I brought you to my room because I didn’t have candles and rose petals. So I made sure I didn’t make that mistake again.”

“Harry,” she breathed, getting emotional.

“Look,” Harry said, taking her hands and leading her to the edge of the bed, “I know this weekend has been...kind of a whirlwind. And I know that you’re still a little hesitant to trust me after what I did last time, which I understand. But I’m just trying to show you how much you really do mean to me. And I understand that it’s still too early to have any labels on us so, in the words of you, maybe we can just take it slow and have fun?”

Elizabeth collected herself and looked into his green eyes, transfixed. How is this boy even real? It’s not possible for someone to be this perfect. Suddenly she felt herself being filled with exhilaration and she said, “Harry Styles, if you don’t kiss me right now…”

**********************************************************

He flashed a quick smile before crashing his lips onto hers. As they slid further onto the bed, they both hastily started ripping their clothes off of themselves, tossing them wherever. Elizabeth pushed Harry down on his back and his hands by his head as she trailed kisses from his lips, lightly biting his neck, and down further towards his chest and his waist. When she finally reached his stiff cock. He lifted his head to watch as she lightly ran her hand up the length before taking a firmer grip, pumping. She smirked up at him and let her tongue glide from his base to the tip before letting a wad of her spit fall onto it for lubrication and taking him into her mouth.

Harry grunted and threw his head back as she took him further into her mouth, pumping the base with one hand while the other hand massaged his balls. He forced himself to grab himself out of her and roughly flung her around so that she was now laying back onto the bed. He fixed her legs on either side of him and bent down, tongue circling her nipples, tracing his tongue down to navel, and then her clit, lifting her legs onto his shoulders. He flicked his tongue on her before taking her into his mouth. His tongue trailed the length of her pussy and he sucked on her clit as she moaned. With every moan, he gripped onto her ass harder, pulling her even tighter to his mouth. The stubble around his lips massaged the lips of her pussy which made her grab a fistfull of his hair and squeeze.

“Fuck me,” she begged.

Harry lightly bit her thigh sitting up straighter, her legs still on his shoulder, and taking hold of his penis. He pressed it to her pussy, circling her clit. She was wet enough to lubricate his tip and he slowly slid inside her, forcing her to breathe in hard. Harry began to pump faster in and out of her, harder and harder, gripping onto her legs that rested on his shoulders, kissing them when her back arched in pleasure.

“I’m almost there,” Elizabeth squeaked.

This made Harry pump faster and harder, panting, “Cum for me.”

Elizabeth tensed up and held her breath before letting out a scream, body shaking. Harry took this as a sign of her finishing and quickly pulled out, flipping her over onto her hands and knees and pushing himself inside of her, doggy style. He pushed her head down towards the bed and grabbed her hips, pulling her into him, going deeper inside her.

“Fuck, Lizzy! You’re so sexy,” He whimpered, watching her ass ripple every time he collided with her.

“Harder!” Elizabeth begged.

He felt himself near climax, “I’m gonna cum.”

He pulled out and Elizabeth quickly, wanting to taste him, spun around and took him back into her mouth, tasting her juices on him. She quickly bobbed her head onto his cock and felt it throb as he filled her mouth with cum. He let out a grunt, holding onto her hair for support before releasing it and collapsing on his legs. Elizabeth swallowed and wiped her mouth, falling backwards onto her bed.

*****************************************************

“Wow,” he breathed.

Elizabeth laughed, “Yeah.”

After a minute to catch their breath, Elizabeth got up from the bed, went to the bathroom to relieve herself, brushed her teeth, and grabbed the pack of oreos from downstairs before taking it back to her bedroom where Harry was now sitting up on her bed. She only just noticed that her balcony doors were still open and she laughed again.

“Well, the whole neighborhood could probably hear that,” she tossed the pack of cookies on the bed, crawling beside him, both of them still naked.

He ripped the pack open and shoved a cookie in his mouth, “It’s only 10 PM on a Tuesday.”

Elizabeth bit into a cookie and chewed before saying, “Just to warn you, I have my alarm set for 7AM because I have work in the morning. I do have a few online meetings but I’ll take it to the office.”

“It’s okay, I’m a morning person anyway.”

Elizabeth grimaced, “Ew. The worst kind of person.”

They shared an entire sleeve of oreos again before putting it to the side and getting under the covers, deciding they should go to bed. Elizabeth nuzzled into Harry’s neck and he held her, stroking her arm and he whispered, “I’m glad I came back,” before they fell asleep together.

KEEP READING

#Harry Styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #one direction #one direction fanfic #one direction fan fic #smut #like we used to

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someonefantastic · 4 years

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If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad…

More migraine Shawn and roommate stuff! Basically I headcanon that Shawn, Gus, and Juliet all lived in the loft together between s8 and the first movie. Also if you want more fics on Shawn and migraines, then feel free to check out my day 3 or @bijulesspookyohara's day 5. Shoutout to the folks of the psych discord, primarily @victoriantrashjohn for coming up with the concept and jackal switch for a lot of these migraine remedies. Oh and also @tonystarksspoopyhouseofkids because she drew this adorable pic of Shawn that inspired a scene in this. And shoutout to @chaosintheavenue for beta reading this! Summary: Shawn has a migraine. It's a good thing his best friend and his girlfriend are there to help. Warnings: migraines, nausea, ambulances ___ Shawn groaned as he snuggled deeper into the couch, barely even able to open his eyes. It had been an incredibly long day- he had spent most of it trying to infiltrate an illegal jewelry ring with little success, just another failure on his quest for Juliet’s engagement ring- and he was in the middle of a full blown migraine. He had seen it coming, recognized that the sharp pains in his brain and the small ripples of nausea could easily lead to later pain, but he had ignored it, instead letting the image of his girlfriend (fiancėe’s) elated face spur him to work harder.

And now he was suffering the consequences. No ring, no joyous girlfriend (fiancėe), just a massive, brain pounding, vision blurring migraine.

He sighed, pulling the fluffy blanket tighter around him. He was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, blanket over his head, its soft fabric enveloping him. A pair of child-sized kitty earmuffs were placed squarely on his temples while the sounds of 80s heavy metal filled the air. The shades had been drawn keeping the sun from invading- not that there was much on a rainy San Francisco evening- and the room was cast in a red glow, the source being a small red LED candle that Jules had bought him. It was cozy and nice and he could almost forget the incessant pain in his head.

There was a jiggling at the door and Juliet and Gus walked in, their loud joyous laughter causing him to wince. They paused, and he caught Juliet frowning as Gus walked over and collapsed into the armchair besides him.

Juliet’s hair was falling out of her half-ponytail, Gus’ tie was slipping from its knot, they smelled like coffee.

“Headache?” He asked, voice much quieter.

Shawn barely nodded, squeezing his eyes tight as sharp pains radiated through his skull.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Juliet’s soft voice spoke from his side. Warm fingers gently brushed his hair and he relaxed into her touch. “Did you take anything?”

His voice was strained, “Ibuprofen, a few hours ago.”

Gus spoke up, “He could take acetaminophen. It works differently than ibuprofen so it won’t cause any problems.”

“Perfect,” Her lips pressed against his forehead, “I’m going to go get changed and get you some meds.”

“Thank you,” He muttered, sad when she pulled away.

“Can you get me some too?” Gus asked, beginning to undo his tie, “My side is killing me.”

“Sure thing.”

After her small footsteps faded away, Shawn cracked an eye open. “What’s up with you?”

Gus frowned. “I pulled a muscle lifting boxes for that cute girl in marketing.”

His memory flashed back. A woman in blue, long black hair, Gus doing the thing with his nose. “Michelle?”

“Yeah… it was all for nothing, I overheard her talking about some dude named ‘Levi’.”

“Tough luck bud. That’s a solid name.”

“You know that’s right.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed Gus rubbing his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “Hey, where is the heating pad?”

Shawn jerked his head back, groaning as the motion caused the throbbing to double. That wasn’t his brightest idea. “Under Jules’ side of the bed. Just make sure to put it back when you’re done, she needs it for cramps.”

“Ah,” Gus nodded, standing up, “Sure thing.”

A stain on Gus’ pant leg, the carpet was rumpled, an empty can under the chair.

He shut his eyes tight again, trying to stop himself from noticing, an in vain attempt to ward off his abilities. Instead he flashed backwards, various images and memories jerking to the forefront of his mind, waves of nausea close behind.

His blue bouncy ball in fourth grade, divorce papers being signed, a bright smile on a beautiful blonde.

His jaw clenched, swallowing roughly as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down. He leaned forward, trying to focus on the music around him. The beats moved in and out, giving him something to concentrate on.

“Babe?”

His eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sight of his girlfriend (fiancėe). Her hair was now all the way down and she had pulled on his Thunderbirds sweatshirt. Even though she was only wearing the hoodie because it smelled like him, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride- after all, she usually refused to wear any football team’s merch aside from the Dolphins’.

“Here.” She handed him some pills and water which he promptly took, noting how Gus did the same.

The cool water felt nice but did little to soothe the ache in his head. “Thanks.” He frowned, noticing how her knuckles were bruised, “Did you get into a fight?”

“What?” She glanced at her hand, giving a good natured shake of her head at his abilities. “No- well, kind of. I was sparring with Sam and accidentally punched him square in the jaw.”

He chuckled, “That’s my girlfriend.” Not noticing how she frowned at the term.

Now that his eyes were open, his brain leaped back at the chance to pick up on things.

Small smudge of mascara under her right eye (probably missed it when washing her face), a few crumbs above Gus’ lips, dog hair on the hoodie sleeve.

He groaned as a sharp pain erupted in his head, vision blurring and stomach churning dangerously.

“Shawn?” Juliet’s voice was worried and he soon found her sitting next to him, guiding his head to her lap. She shushed him, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. “I need you to stop thinking, okay? Just focus on my hands.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed, allowing himself to fixate on her and only her. He felt warm and safe in her arms, her presence always serving to be a beacon in his crazy mind. Honestly he couldn’t imagine life without her, ever since he walked into that dinner nine years ago she had become a permanent staple in his life. He loved her so much it made his heart hurt. Even though the idea of marriage still terrified him, he knew deep down that he didn’t want to marry anyone else but her.

“I love you,” He muttered, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

“I love you too Shawn,” He could hear the soft smile in her voice, “Get some rest.”

He snuggled deeper, a small smile on his lips. Her hands would occasionally drift over to his temples, rubbing where the earmuffs weren’t situated. It was very calming and soon he felt sleep begin to overtake him.

Somewhere between Judas Priest and Holy Driver he heard a groan- and not from the music. It dragged him out of his sleep. Vision blurry and head foggy, he cracked open his eyes. The groan sounded again. He barely registered Juliet’s hand pausing it’s soothing motion and her concerned voice, instead his eyes were on his best friend. Gus was clutching his side, the color draining out of this face.

Jerking upright, he ignored how his head throbbed. “Gus? You okay?”

There was no answer as Gus’ eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.

“Gus!” Shawn and Juliet yelled in unison.

In a flash they were both at his side, Juliet’s fingers on his neck and his hand being held tightly by Shawn. “He’s still alive, I’ll call an ambulance.”

Memories flashed through Shawn while his mind burned.

A large crowd, pain in his side, sweating, collapsing, a white room.

He should have noticed sooner, should have seen the signs. If it wasn’t for his headache-

“I think his appendix burst.” He all but shouted, words tumbling out of his mouth. This was all his fault, he should have noticed, he was trained for this for pete’s sake. The one thing he was good at was picking up on information, little things that most people didn’t notice.

He had failed Gus.

Looking back, he remembered the time between Gus collapsing and the ambulance coming so clearly but in the middle of it all, it frankly felt like a blur of regret and blame and worry.

As he watched Gus’ unconscious body being loaded into the ambulance, his hands shook, tears threatening to fall. Juliet grabbed his hand, beginning to lead him to her car. The paramedics only had room for one person but selfishly he needed Juliet to be his rock. He wasn’t sure if he could hold on without her.

She squeezed his hand, wide, worried eyes gazing up at him. “He’ll be okay.”

Nodding mutely, he followed her to the car. All he could hope was that she would be right.

#whumptober2020 #no. 26 #if you thought the head trauma was bad #migraine #psych #shawn spencer #juliet o'hara #burton guster #migraine tw #nausea tw #ambulance tw #angst #shawn whump #fanfic #psych fanfic #skipps writes

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years

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Day 13: Adrenaline

(The road may seem long.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 13: Adrenaline

Word Count: 2701

Relationships: Anxceit, Logince, Moceit (past, NOT consensual), Moxiety (past)

Warnings: Rape mentions, rape aftermath (mild imagery/description), blood mentions, physical violence, mention of PTSD symptoms, cursing. Please let me know if I forgot any!

A/N: i was SO close. almost had it on time, grrr. anyway, here’s the ending to the series of short fics in this universe that i’ve built up for whumptober! i will be posting these fics as a single chaptered story on ao3 for easier reading, so this will be updated with the link when i get around to that!

Red.

It’s all red. Not just figuratively, not just the kind borne from anger. It’s not just the red that hazes your mind when you’re so livid that you can’t help but scream and yell and kick and punch and scathe and burn and lash out. It’s also the literal kind of red. A red that drips into his eyes, floods the rims of his waterlines, bathes his vision in claret. He smells the metallic aroma, breathes in the blood, and he’s seeing red.

The chains keeping him stuck to the wall are ripped from the hook.

Virgil doesn’t really remember much after that. He knows that he doesn’t hesitate for a second after he comes loose. He knows that he lunges at Patton, shoves him away without a second thought. He knows that Delilah dropped to the ground, barely able to catch herself in time, and he remembers the bruises. He remembers the bruises, the ones he gets as he beats his fists down on any open patch of skin, how his knuckles split from the force of punching his stupid face over and over and over and over and--

He remembers Delilah whimpering in fear. He remembers standing up on shaky knees and turning away from the unconscious Patton without a second thought. He remembers holding his hands flat up in the air as he approaches Dee, reassuring her that he wouldn’t hurt her. He remembers her crying. He remembers asking if it’s okay to touch her. He remembers pulling the chains from her wrists, metal falling away from skin rubbed raw, and he remembers the strangled noise she makes when the shock sets in.

Virgil pulls her into his arms.

She doesn’t cry for long, and Virgil doesn’t know if it’s from the shock or if she really is that brave, but he’s proud of her regardless. She sniffles into his neck when he uses his arm to support her, and her breaths are shaky when he helps her up the stairs. Locking that basement door feels like leaving a prison, leaving a life behind, and it’s true for both of them.

Delilah manages to sit gingerly on the couch with nothing but a small hiss, and Virgil is still angry at himself for not getting to her sooner. He could have prevented this, he knows he could’ve. But now, as Dee rests with her eyes drooping and her limbs curled up to her chest, he can’t lament for times passed and mistakes made. He needs to focus on the present, focus as he pushes the dining room shelf in front of the basement door.

It’s hard. It’s hard to watch as Delilah falls apart a second time in the middle of Virgil’s 911 call, and it’s even harder when he has to help her get dressed. He brought her some of his own clothes (not Patton’s never Patton’s ever ever ever again), the most comfortable ones he could find in the depths of his dresser drawers. It’s just a soft hoodie and some sweatpants, but she can’t stand long enough to step into them, and Virgil can feel angry tears welling up in his eyes. She looks at anything but him when he pulls the pants up over her bare hips, then meets his blurred gaze by a wet one of her own when the hoodie passes over her head.

Virgil is still hugging her when the first responders arrive.

“Virgil?” comes from behind him, a voice that’s all too familiar to him. Roman stands there in full uniform, badge shining on his chest, and Virgil can feel Delilah relax in his arms. Of course, she did say she was taken when she was younger. She must have had adults tell her about emergency calls when she was younger, and most children at that age really look up to first responders. He remembers being entrances with the firefighters themselves, how they seemed invincible when they rushed into the flames to save civilian lives, and he still has a respect for that line of work even now. “You better explain later.”

“E-Excuse me, sir… are-- are you a police officer? Y-You arrest bad guys?” Delilah asks, shaky and stuttering when she’s too afraid to keep eye contact. Roman’s eyes immediately soften, and the tone immediately lets him know to be delicate about this. He’s been to plenty of elementary schools to do presentations on what to do if you’re being kidnapped, or what to do if there’s an active shooter, and talking to children is like second nature to him. This child just has an older body than most of them, is all.

“Yep, that’s my job. I help keep people safe and make sure bad guys don’t hurt people. What’s your name?” Roman asks, clear and gentle as he sits down a respectable distance away from them, sinking into the couch as he signals for another officer to start in on getting through to the basement.

“O-Oh, I’m-- I’m Delilah. Dee,” she responds nervously, silently checking to make sure it’s okay with Virgil to share her name. Virgil can’t help but feel awful when met with the knowledge that she even feels she needs to ask. She should be able to trust people, should be able to trust the police, but she’s been down there so long, there’s not really any way for her to know much past what she was told when she was a kid. “You… are you gonna make P-P-- make Patton go to jail?”

“Of course. He’s a bad guy. He’s going where he’ll never be able to hurt you again, okay? You’re gonna be alright now, I promise,” Roman reassures, and Virgil has no problem giving him credit for not even hesitating a second when the name doesn’t match the body. Then again, he is married to Logan, so it’s not like trans people are a new concept to him. Virgil still loves hearing about how they met, loves listening to the ridiculous story and laugh because it was just such a Roman thing to do.

“Ro… is Logan here with you? Please… please get him. I need to talk to him. Urgently,” Virgil insists, imbues his voice with exigency, and Roman gives him a solemn nod. He reaches out to Dee, stop short and waits for her to give permission to lay his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of compassion, and the small smile she gives in return fills Virgil with a hope he didn’t know he’d lost.

Everything goes by in a blur. It feels like time is passing by too quickly. It’s all like a dream, a hazy end to a nightmare. He feels odd when Logan asks about their injuries. He feels ashamed when he describes their recent encounter to his paramedic friend. He feels angry when he tells Logan that Dee needs a rape kit. He feels drained when he asks to stay with her to make sure she remains calm and has a familiar face to lean back on for comfort.

They get into the ambulance and begin the drive to the hospital, and Delilah squeezes Virgil’s hand from where she rests on the gurney, and Virgil’s just glad that she doesn’t have to see Patton face-to-face again until she’s ready to put him where he belongs.

“Dee, it will be fine. I’m sure they won’t just stop loving you simply because you aren’t a boy. And if they do say something, they’ll have to answer to me,” Logan informs with a neutral voice, squeezes Delilah’s hand from where their arms are linked at the elbow. They’re walking down a street in San Francisco, avoiding patches of snow, and Dee sighs even as she looks at the Christmas lights and bustling shopfronts displaying clothing and toys and electronics in wonder. It’s getting much colder, and Delilah has taken to wearing scarves and sweaters and leggings, which Logan doesn’t really get. Leggings are thin, and it’s 20 goddamn degrees outside, so why not wear something that will actually keep you warm?

“I know, I know, it’s just… I can’t look like a girl yet. What if they forget to use the right name? Or what if they just say they won’t? I don’t-- I don’t want to finally meet my parents again for the first time in twenty-something years and have them not accept me,” Delilah mumbles, and although the repetition is somewhat exasperating, Logan gets it. He remembers what it was like telling his dad that he was Logan, not Madeline. He can easily recall the joy he felt when his dad clapped him on the back and asked him if that meant they could go on father-son fishing trips now, even as his mom looked at him in disgust every time she was around. Logan is unabashedly glad that she left them soon after. He grew up to be successful, with an amazing husband, a well-paying job, and doing work that saves lives, so it’s her loss, anyway. He wishes that it didn’t take him so long to realize that, but he’s okay now, so there’s no point regretting decisions that led him to a fulfilling life eventually.

“It’ll be okay. No matter what happens, I’m here, and Roman’s here, and Virgil’s here, and I know that even if they couldn’t be here to support you today, they’re probably still encouraging you telepathically all the way from Florida, anyway. Although telepathy is impossible, at least at this point in time, I have a feeling they’re still trying anyway.”

And then they’re sitting down at a table inside the warm, cozy cafe, and Delilah’s parents are somehow exactly what Logan expected them to be.

Her mom is a petite woman, curly brown hair and hazel eyes to match her daughter’s. She has prominent smile lines, and a soft voice that sounds like how honey tastes, and she reminds him of how his own mother used to be before she left them. “You’re… you’re here.”

The two are hugging soon afterward, immediately joined by her father. Dee’s father is a stocky man, sturdy and tall, and yet he hunches over in a way that makes him appear nervous. His voice is low in register, but unexpectedly shy, and he seems just as kind as his wife.

And… the child, the one that is sitting at the table in the corner, the one that Logan hadn’t been expecting to see. She looks remarkably similar to Dee herself. There’s no question as to who she is. She has long, bouncy locks, despite her age, and bright blue eyes to match her father’s. Logan wasn’t aware she existed. It’s a wonder nobody told Delilah she had a sister.

“I-- I know we’ve talked on the phone, but I just… it’s nothing like seeing you in person. We… your father and I have waited so many years for this moment. And you’re… here. Our child,” Dee’s mother says, tears filling her eyes, and her lightly wrinkled hands shake in her husband’s gentle grip. Delilah’s sister sits up more in her chair, confused and curious, and Logan gives her a small wave when she stares at him from her own chair. She waves back.

“I… I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about him. I should’ve known. I should have been able to figure it out before…” Delilah trails off, and her own eyes look misty too. Her words prompt an incredulous exhale from her father, and he speaks fully for the first time since they all sat down.

“Nonsense. You can’t blame this on yourself. You were a child. Your mother and I… we spent a very long time feeling responsible for what happened. Over the years, we thought of every ‘What if?’ scenario you could possibly imagine, and it took us even longer to realize that this whole situation is nobody’s fault but the evil man who hurt you. It’s not our fault, and it certainly isn’t yours, either.”

They spend more time talking. They discuss how life has been without their child, and how much Delilah missed them. They introduce her sister, Caitlyn, and Dee reassures them that yes, she knows they didn’t replace her. In turn, Dee introduces Logan to them, and tells them about how much he, Roman, and Virgil have been helping her. Although Logan would never cry in front of strangers or in public, he does feel oddly touched that she thinks so highly of him.

“I like your eyeshadow,” Caitlyn speaks up at the first bout of silence that comes along, and the metaphorical elephant in the room is brought to everyone’s attention. Logan can hear the tiny sound as the air catches in Delilah’s throat, can sense the hard swallow as she shifts uncomfortably in her chair, and Logan reaches out to hold her hand tightly in a tactile version of comforting words.

“Oh-- Uh, yeah. Roman did it for me before the flight out here,” Delilah chokes out, and Logan rubs the back of her hand with his thumb. Her father’s brow furrow, and he stays quiet to simply observe. Her mother’s mouth falls open minutely, painted red lips parting with no sound to come from between them, and Delilah takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m not Ethan anymore, mom, dad. I’m Delilah. I’m a girl. I really hope you can respect that.”

And her father tilts his head, smiles softly when his wife lets out a sob, and Caitlyn flicks a straw across the table towards Logan. Logan flicks it back.

“Sweetheart, I’m just glad I have my baby back. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re my daughter instead. I love you no matter what, and so does your father. And I’m sure Caitlyn is happy to have a big sister to look up to.”

Logan feels like he’s intruding when the three of them get up to hug again, but he and Caitlyn are in an intense match of the newly coined Straw Soccer, so it doesn’t really matter much in the end.

“Hey, Virgil?” Delilah asks one day, leans against Virgil’s desk and looks down at him with a serious gaze. Virgil perks up, cranes his neck to look at her from where his head is rested in his arms, and lets out a hum to let her know he’s listening.

“Do you still love Patton?”

Virgil can’t control himself when he immediately shoots up, sits back straight and rigid in the chair at the mention of the name. The question feels loaded, like any wrong answer is a step in the wrong direction, the pressure that will set off the landmines surrounding him. Why is she asking? It’s been three years. It’s been three years since Dee first got out, and she’s still thinking about this? Has she been wondering all this time?

And… Virgil hates this. He hates every single moment of this, because he can’t lie to her.

“Yes,” Virgil whispers, manages to get out through the lump in his throat. Dee’s been better. She started HRT, is slowly working her way towards displaying the type of body she’s supposed to have. She got her name legally changed, has a new wardrobe, friends, a job, a stable life. She has a service dog named Lucy, and still gets panic attacks and flashbacks when she hears yelling, but she’s doing better. They’re dating, and she’s healing, and starting to try new things that she’s been uncomfortable with for so, so long. She’s taking her life back. And Virgil’s just ruined it with a single word.

“I’m sorry,” Delilah says, and Virgil can’t even meet her eyes, even as his heart feels like it’s splitting in half.

“I’m sorry you still love someone you also hate. That must be really hard,” Delilah murmurs sympathetically, and Virgil is taken aback, and tears spill over his lashes, and Virgil presses his wet face into Delilah’s soft white turtleneck sweater.

“I love you, Dee, I love you so fucking much. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

And Delilah just holds him tightly, presses a kiss to the crown of his head, and they’re going to be okay.

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