#with a desperate need to understand what he encountered or what he is becoming and how to undo it

[somejazzinthemorning]

playing cupid.

Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: Mentions of sex and some curse words. There are some inaccuracies, such as in this short story, Carlos has an apartment in Milan] Word Count: 9.7K

You're in this situationship with Carlos Sainz—no fuss, no drama, just sex. But then your dads become friends, and Sainz Sr., with a soft spot for you, decides to introduce you to his son, whom you've been... acquainted with for a while. To make things more interesting, he's on a mission to play Cupid, all while Carlos enjoys the thrill of keeping your little secret, playing along with his dad.

this was a request! always feel free to request and if i have some free time, I'll try to write something 🫶🏼

“Apparently, our dads met”, you say, rolling off Carlos's lap, still flushed and your breath ragged. The soft bed cushions your fall as you curl up beneath the deep blue blanket that usually adorns the foot of Carlos's bed, but this time is just part of the mess.

Carlos studies you with a faint frown, tousled hair spilling over his forehead. He looks incredibly handsome, basking in the afterglow of your encounter. If it weren’t for the late hour and your impending early morning, you would consider straddling him again. However, it’s nearly 2 a.m. and you need to be at the atelier by 9, so you just wish to sleep.

“Really?” There’s an undertone you don’t quite understand.

“What?”

"You just killed the mood.” He lays back on the bed and turns to face you. His hands seek out your shoulder, and his nimble fingers begin tracing delicate patterns on your skin, a clear indication that he’s not ready to let the night end just yet. “Mentioning my dad right after I cum inside you? Not exactly what I expect.”

“I just remembered it, and now I know you’ll get your hands off of me and let me sleep.”

“Oh, that’s not what I was expecting, as well.”

You pout, mocking him. “Poor you,” he rolls his eyes and falls dramatically against his pillow. “I’m just expecting a good night of sleep because some of us have work to do during the week and not just on weekends.” He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know that sometimes you work during the week.”

Carlos opens his mouth to retort, but he doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. In an instant, he sits up, looming over you, and seizes both your wrists, pinning them against the headboard. With his other hand, he's ready to tug the blanket over your form.

"Don't you dare tickle me, Carlos Sainz. Or I swear to God—"

"What are you going to do?" Carlos interrupts, his mischievous grin returning. As you lock eyes with him, you realize there's very little you can do, and oddly enough, you're entirely fine with that. Except,

"Spit in your face."

His playful smirk remains as he leans in closer, his voice a sultry whisper. "Spit in my face, huh?” he taunts, his fingers inching closer to your sides. “Think I’m going to risk it.”

"Sainz,” you squirm under his touch, desperately trying to maintain your composure. But he’s already grinning, and his fingers are approaching your sides. “I'm warning you..."

And suddenly, it's too late. He pounces, his fingers dancing across your sides, and you burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter, some of them louder than you expected them to be. Carlos knows all your ticklish spots, and he exploits them shamelessly. It’s been what…? Four months since you first slept together. By now he knows your body better than any guy ever did. And honestly, you’re not sure what to feel about that.

"Carlos, stop!" you manage to gasp between laughter, trying to wriggle free from his grip. It's a futile effort as he continues his relentless assault, determined to elicit every giggle and squeal he can from you.

Finally, he relents, his laughter joining yours as he releases your wrists. You pant for breath, your cheeks flushed from both the laughter and the earlier efforts. You take the opportunity to jump out of bed. “You’re the worst. I gotta pee.”

You disappear into the bathroom, to pee, clean yourself and try to comb your hair, and by the time you go back to the bedroom, you’re expecting him to be asleep. But you find him awake. His eyes shine brighter when you go through the door, and he watches you with a tender smile as you enter the bed and curl against him, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

The warmth of his body against you is comforting.

"I think I'll let you sleep now," he voices low in your ear, as he pulls over the comforter and covers you both.

"You better.”

Carlos's chest rises and falls rhythmically beneath your cheek as you nestle closer. You can hear the faint hum of his heartbeat, and it lulls you into a peaceful state. He smells like Bleu de Chanel and the lingering traces of your passion. With every breath, you inhale the essence of the man who has woven himself into the fabric of your life, in more ways than one.

Just as you're about to close your eyes and drift off to sleep, it hits you like lightning—the visit your mom mentioned, the whole reason you brought up his dad’s name.

You nudge Carlos gently, rousing him from his half-asleep state. "Just remembered something."

Carlos doesn’t even open his eyes. "Hmm?”

“My dad invited yours over,” you were not sure if you should be excited or nervous. Not for the visit itself, but for Carlos’ reaction to the idea of you meeting his dad.

After all, you had just been sleeping together, barely leaving your apartments, except for that one time he took you out to dinner, and that was probably because it was your birthday and perhaps Carlos would feel bad about just booty-calling you and ignoring the whole birthday thing.

“Well, that’s a nice way to introduce you to him.”

“What?”

Carlos just pressed you closer to him, like you weren’t practically glued together already. "It's okay, cariño. They’ll love you. Now sleep."

It all started at Milan Fashion Week when Carlos was representing Ferrari at an event. You were there, lurking in the shadows, taking in the magic of the fashion show. Your mentor had gotten you there, a favour you'll always be grateful for. There's a lot you can't remember about the event, about the whole night to be fair, but you remember the man awkwardly sitting in the front row. Fashion is not his thing, you thought. You kind of knew that. You kind of knew him.

He drives for Ferrari, he's handsome, he has a thick Spanish accent and hair I would pay to touch.

And that was more than enough to make you introduce yourself at the end of the show. From there, making out in a club took a little more than two hours. To his bed, just a little bit more than that.

You continued to see each other, booty-calling each other when you were feeling horny, bored, or just lonely. Your situationship was a good deal for both parties. No strings attached, which you enjoyed because you had little time and no patience to make any kind of effort to actually maintain a relationship. And Carlos, well... he was also busy as hell, so... all good. So you never went on dates, never needed to put on expectable amounts of makeup for over-the-top dresses. Except for your birthday, when he decided to take you out, and you had to make the effort. But that was your birthday.

Other than that, you would only leave your apartments to go get food at a 24-hour store or McDonald's. You remember that one time you wanted gelato and Carlos took you to his favourite place in Milan, but... other than that, it was just sex. Okay, just sex and marathons of Game of Thrones and House of The Dragon (that led to more sex) and some cooking too. You once taught him how to make your nana's lasagna and how a true Italian bruschetta is done. And a few days later, he cooked you his mom's carbonara—not a real carbonara, not at all. And, let’s be fair, he often brought you pizza from your favourite place in Milano and expensive bottles of wine.

But… “That’s a nice way to introduce you to him”?

You were not expecting that at all.

The idea lingered in your mind all night, and you woke up thinking about it too. You left his apartment while Carlos was still in the shower, just shouting goodbyes while you gathered your stuff and ran to the atelier. He would be out of town for a couple of weeks, away at some races, and you would have time to figure out how your parents met and when said visit was going to happen. All good.

Turns out you didn't have as much time as you thought.

That afternoon, your mom calls you, excitedly recounting their amazing trip to Canada and how much fun your dad had at the race. So, that was where they met. She also shares her plans about taking your brothers to Monza in a couple of months. You nod absentmindedly, your attention more focused on the magazine in front of you than on her words. It's often like this.

Your dad travels for work and actually works. He's a sports manager, deeply passionate about football and motorsports, especially Formula 1. Lately, he's been leaning more towards the latter, especially since he's contemplating retirement. On the other hand, your mom, an ex-model who married a well-off man, has chosen to focus on being a wife and a mother, a role she fulfils with dedication. So, when they’re back home, dad has work to do, contacts to keep and your mom has… well, more than enough time to tell you everything.

"And your dad and Sainz met at the golf course, you know?" your mom continues, her voice full of admiration. "A charming young man. He was golfing with his dad too. Your father had to tell them you refused to join him on the greens."

"In that, he's absolutely right."

"So, they kept talking. They even played together, I think. And he mentioned we were going to the race, and Sainz suggested he could call, and he'd arrange a garage tour. We met him at the paddock, but we ended up not getting the tour because there were already enough guests in there, but… Isn't he just amazing? And so incredibly handsome, piccina. So handsome."

You cringe inwardly at your mom's thirst for Carlos, unable to shake the image of her ogling your... friend. But you hum in response, unable to voice your discomfort because the next moment, she's raving about a dress she bought for you and the amazing designer she met in New York just before returning to Milan, and that topic steals all attention.

But just before she’s about to hang out, you remember why she called you in the first place.

“Mom, about the visit you mentioned? The dinner?” you interject and she chuckles; you can almost envision her rubbing her temples.

"Oh, silly me. I actually called you to discuss that," she sighs. "He's coming to visit us this weekend! You have to come home and meet him; he's really looking forward to getting to know you."

"Doesn't he race this weekend?"

"The young—Since when do you care about F1?"

"I don't. I just—” You quickly think of something, but you’re not quite sure if you want to tell your mother that you’ve been fucking Sainz. The younger one. Of course. “I saw something on Twitter."

"Oh, I see. Well,” she clicks her tongue. “It's his dad who's coming. Weren’t you listening? And his mom. We invited them both. Your dad wants to take him to the club and network a bit and you know… I’m always down for making friends and Reyes seems like a lovely woman. She wasn’t there, but I’ve heard about her around. Even her name is super elegant. Isn’t it?” Once again, you hum, frowning, thinking about the movie where you just found yourself in. “So, please, come home.”

“Noted. So, this weekend?”

“Yes. Do you need Dad to pick you up tomorrow after work?”

You move in your seat. “I’m just so busy with work right now, mom. The new collection and—” She cleans her throat and you just nod to the empty room. “Okay. Yes, please, tell Dad to pick me up.”

Of course, the second you hang up you text Carlos. He’s probably busy, it’s Thursday so he’s doing interviews or something, and, as you expected, he doesn’t reply to your text right away. Despite everything, he doesn’t take too long.

Not surprisingly, he’s very nonchalant about it all.

hot wheels guy: just tell them we know each other, no big deal hot wheels guy: and we’ll tell them more when i’m back

But, yeah… You can’t help but frown looking at the phone. He’s golfed with your dad, met your mom, met again with your dad and he’s not even feeling weird about it all?

you: hm? no? hot wheels guy: why not? you: you went golfing with my dad!!! hot wheels guy: and? hot wheels guy: how would i guess he was your dad? you: how many Y/LN do you think there are in milan? you: he told you he’s from milan!! there are not a lot of us in here hot wheels guy: do you have any idea of how many people i meet every weekend? you: 🙄 hot wheels guy: stop being a brat you: 🙄 hot wheels guy: i don’t see a problem in golfing with your dad hot wheels guy: is that supposed to be weird? you: YES !!!! hot wheels guy: stop being dramatic hot wheels guy: if they say anything, tell them you know me hot wheels guy: if they don’t, don’t you: they will hot wheels guy: so you know what to do

Friday’s dinner went exceptionally well, with conversations flowing effortlessly between food and wine, despite the inevitable sports-centric discussions that seemed to dominate the evening. Your brothers were beyond ecstatic to have Carlos Sr. as a guest in their home. They'd had their fair share of famous athletes sitting at the family table, but never had they been as excited as they were when Carlos Sr. entered the house. As a result, you found yourself somewhat on the sidelines, listening more than speaking throughout the meal.

And you were grateful for that.

The same didn’t happen on Saturday. Your dad took the morning to showcase some of your work and discuss your future prospects in the fashion industry with both Carlos and Reyes. In what you think was a gesture of gratefulness, Reyes displayed a lot of interest in your little atelier, located by the pool, in what used to be a shed for the gardener. So, you spent the morning around there, talking with them about fashion and business, and then joined them for lunch in one of your dad’s favourite restaurants.

Let's be fair, you have an extraordinary way with words and a charm that makes your mother proud. It was easy for you. By the time dinner came, you were already adored by the Sainzes. Without making an effort, you found yourself talking about art and travel, and letting Sainz Sr. explain to you the magic and the challenges of Dakar.

However, it isn’t until the next morning that you find yourself alone with him.

You both sat down for breakfast on the patio, and he’s now engrossed in reading the newspaper, while you’re drinking your cappuccino and doing your best to ignore the fact that the man sitting in front of you is, in essence, your… fuckbuddy’s dad.

There’s the usual “good morning” and the “hope you got some rest”, to which the guest always has some lovely comment to say about the bed, or the room, or the house in general. It’s an amazing guest house, you have to admit. And Sainz is no expectation. You exchange a couple of pleasantries and he’s back at reading the news, so you let your guard down.

Then, unexpectedly, Carlos Sr. turns his attention from the newspaper and directs it squarely at you. Grey eyebrows lifting at the same pace his eyes fill with a weird glint.

“I would love to introduce you to my son,” he says, and a faint frown tugs at your lips as words form in your throat, only to wither away unspoken. "I'm not implying anything," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice, "just that I believe the two of you would get along well."

You respond hesitantly, "Oh, I know him."

"I know you know him," he laughs, and you realise that something might have gotten lost in translation because when he talks again he says, "But what I mean is that you should meet. I'll make sure to introduce you two next time we're all in town."

And well, you feel too embarrassed to correct him, so you just smile and mumble an “I can’t wait. Excuse me”, before getting up from the table and sprinting up to your room.

you: great news. your dad wants to introduce us you: what do i do?

He takes a couple of hours to text back.

hot wheels guy: why didn’t you tell him you know me already? you: i tried to!

The next time you’re all in town happens one week and a half from there, when Carlos is finally back in Italy after a few races and a couple of days in Madrid. And, because the universe is a pain in the ass, you’re swarmed with work to the point you’ve been falling asleep right after dinner, even before the time Carlos usually rings you up.

It’s a terrible schedule.

You’ve been waking up at 5 am to be by the seamstress at 7, to have some work ready to show at 9 am, between your mentor’s arrival at the atelier and the time he leaves for some meeting or brunch with models somewhere in Milan. Somehow, during that interval, he has time to break your work to pieces, destroying it (and destroying you in the process) with criticism. Critique leaves you on the verge of tears, and by the end of the day, you’re a mess—stressed, irritable and utterly exhausted. Not to mention the ever-present sexual frustration, with vivid dreams of a certain Spaniard leaving you hot and bothered in your sleep.

The perfect recipe for a restless night.

Apparently, Carlos got to Milan on Wednesday, because that night you woke up at midnight on your couch, a half-empty glass of wine by your side, your unfinished sketches scattered before you and three missed calls from Carlos, accompanied by a series of texts. Thursday, the same happened. The texts were nothing too dramatic, just variations of “u up?”, “cmon its 10 pm”, and “you can’t be asleep”.

On both days, in your half-sleep haze, you manage to reply as you shuffle your way to your bedroom something similar to “sory, talktomorrw”.

And then Friday arrives, and your calendar pings with the reminder that in one hour your dad will be picking you up for dinner. You’re sitting on your vanity and already dreading the day your dad decided to go to Montreal.

You’re not feeling it.

Firstly, you have to slather on a ton of make-up just to feel decent. Your dark circles are as pronounced as ever, you’re skin is pale and your acne is acting up, probably all due to the lack of sun, sleep, rest of any food that isn’t reheated pizza or store-bought noodles.

So, yes, the prospect of dinner and being introduced as Carlos’ whatever doesn’t exactly lift your spirits.

The anticipation gawns at you as you finish getting ready. You can’t shake the feeling of unease, a nagging doubt that you’re about to step into a situation that might be more than you signed up for. Carlos’ dad seems nice enough, and his mom absolutely adores you, but this is different, especially because his dad is expecting to introduce you and well… you’re way past that.

As you stare at your reflection, you take a deep breath and remind yourself that this isn't just about you. Your brothers are looking forward to meeting Carlos, and your dad seems genuinely excited about his friendship with his dad. So, you summon a smile, albeit a forced one, and decide to make the most of this evening, even if you're not entirely sure what to expect.

Yeah. Scratch that. The dinner is about you.

As you approach the restaurant, a different sense of anticipation washes over you. It feels like a scene from a movie where you're about to meet an arranged husband. The Sainz family stands by the door, engaged in lively conversation. Reyes waves at you when she sees you making your way to them.

Your eyes naturally gravitate toward Carlos. Firstly, because you kind of miss him. It’s been a while since you last saw him and there’s no point in looking for comfort somewhere else, so you are, let's say… slightly needy. And secondly, because he’s clad in a baby blue button-up and pristine white pants. A vision. You're only human, after all, with eyes and perhaps a few too many hormones.

In summary: You’re fucked. Dinner will be fun.

From your back and close to your ear, a whisper arises. “Be nice,” your mom says. As you turn to her, her lips are curling into a wide smile. “Carlos! Reyes! Such a delight to see you both again. And, Carlos,” she turns to the younger one, “it’s an absolute pleasure to finally see you in a more personal environment.”

You take a deep breath.

Your brothers, bursting with energy, practically race each other to get to Carlos, almost taking you down in the process. He skillfully engages them in conversation, a grin playing on his lips, until your mom intervenes.

"Now, now, boys. You'll have plenty of time to chat," she chuckles. Your mom swiftly moves your overeager brothers and offers an apologetic smile to Carlos. "Apologies, they're just excited.”

“No problem,” he says, in Italian, something he doesn’t do often when he’s alone with you. He claims he still needs to learn dirty talk in Italian. You love to teach him by whispering it into his ear. More than that, you love watching his face as he slowly grasps their meaning.

Your dad, then, approaches him for a way-too-manly handshake, but a warm smile reigns on his lips. “Carlos, great to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir. Likewise.”

In the meantime, you went to Reyes. She graced you with a compliment, a kiss on the cheek and the promise to visit your atelier in the near future. Then, it’s time for her husband, and you’re already wearing your best smile because that man is beaming as he’s watching you.

“My dear,” after two kisses on the cheeks, he slightly turns to Carlos. “So nice to see you again. Son,” he calls, and Carlos turns to you, his smile radiant, his eyes sparkling under the warm, ambient lights of the restaurant. “Let me introduce you to Y/N.”

"You're even more beautiful than my mom described," he remarks, his words catching you off guard. You manage to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, opting instead for a faint smile. “My dad has shared so much about you. Couldn’t wait to meet you.”

A surge of mixed emotions washes over you. On one hand, there's a twinge of frustration that he didn't tell his family about your connection, correcting your mistake and saving you from embarrassment. Yet, as his adoring gaze meets yours, it's hard not to be swept away by his warm compliments.

“Oh,” you murmur, feeling something shift inside you. Your own words surprise you, leaving you momentarily at a loss. "Thank you. Likewise."

Unknown to you, you echo almost exactly what Carlos had just said to your dad. The similarity draws a chuckle from Senior, who seems to find the exchange quite entertaining. Carlos chuckles as well and motions to the restaurant with his head.

“Should we?”

As the evening progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Carlos when you think no one is looking. You catch his eye occasionally, and he responds with subtle winks and sly smirks that send shivers down your spine. It's almost like a secret language only the two of you understand. He’s sitting in front of you, of course.

“Piccina,” your mom calls. “Why don’t you tell Carlos about your job?”

With a smile, you turned to face Carlos. He raises his eyebrows in curiosity, and you have to take a second before answering. He’s no stranger to your job. Not at all. Sometimes he even lands a helping hand, providing some foot massages while you’re working through tight deadlines and he doesn’t take “no” for an answer when he asks if he can come over.

So you simply say, “I’m a fashion designer.”

“Oh,” it’s the polite oh, not the filled-with-curiosity one. You know he’s about to say something stupid when his tongue peeks through his lips and the corner of his lips starts raising, moulding his mouth in a smirk. “So you just play dress-up for a living?”

Laughter bubbled up from one of your brothers, earning him a scolding look from your mom. They’re just nine, which makes them fifteen years younger than you. Fondly referred to as "an accident" by your parents, they were the light of your life, even if they were quite the whirlwind.

“And you, Carlos, you just play with cars on the weekends?” Carlos's eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked down, a chuckle escaping him. Sr. Carlos wore a pleased smile, and a delightful warmth settled in your belly.

"Some might find it hard to believe, but we do manage to squeeze in some actual work during the week," Carlos chimed in, earning a laugh from you. "Have you ever been to a race?”

“No, and I don’t intend to.”

"The boys are the true racing enthusiasts,” your dad chimes in. “The girls prefer to stay at home, or walk around when we travel for a Grand Prix.”

Turning to you, Carlos's eyes danced with mischief. You remembered a previous conversation where he'd tried to persuade you to attend the Italian Grand Prix, just a few weeks away. Wanting to stop him, because he’s so predictable that you just know what he’s about to say, you try to change the subject.

“Talking about races, are you playing on doing Dakar again next year, Signore?”

Carlos dismisses your question right away. "I think your perspective might change once you experience a Grand Prix firsthand.”

And this time, Carlos Sr. joins him. "Why not extend an invitation for them to visit the garage? I'm sure the kids will love the opportunity. And, Y/N, I’m sure you’ll find it all exciting. You seem like a curious girl.”

Carlos beamed. "Consider this an invitation. I can't wait to have you all there.”

Your brothers practically have a collective stroke, their young minds struggling to process the idea of visiting Carlos in the garage. As for your dad, despite his time in the paddock, had never had the chance to visit the Ferrari garage, so, despite keeping his composure, you know how much it means to him—he’s undeniably the most fervent tifoso you'd ever known.

With a grateful smile, you spoke up. "That's incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

Carlos leans comfortably against his Alfa Romeo parked in easy reach of your dad’s Audi. Your brothers are sleeping in the back seat, while your parents conclude their chat. They’re getting along well, which is weird but comforting to some degree.

You shoot Carlos a serious glance. “How much longer are you going to keep up with this little thing you started?”

“Me? May I remind you that you were the one who didn’t tell him we met?” You roll your eyes at his words and grab the door knob. “Wait. Don’t you see he’s trying to set us up?”

“And?”

“Play along. Let him have it.”

There's a moment of silent understanding, the shared secret between you adding an extra layer of intimacy. Despite it all, you crack a smile.

“You’re so childish.” You say. “You’ll be the one who’s gonna tell him.”

“I’ll tackle that when we get there,” Carlos assures. And slowly, a playful glint shines in his eyes. “Should I swing by your place on my way home?”

“No way. I have work tomorrow, a lot of work to do and I can’t afford to be tired to do it.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You can stay at mine, then. And I could drive you to work. It’ll give you an extra thirty minutes of sleep.”

You chuckle, impressed by his attention to detail. “You don’t even know where I work.”

“Of course, I do,” he assures.

That’s new. “Well,” you take a deep breath and discreetly hand him over your apartment keys. “I won’t ring the bell because the old lady on my floor will listen and I think she’s spying on me. I’ll call when I’m there.”

As you're about to bid him goodnight, your dad's voice calls out from a distance, catching Carlos's attention. He waves warmly and flashes a friendly smile, which Carlos mimics.

“Golf on Sunday?” your dad asks.

Carlos's eyes light up with enthusiasm. “Absolutely! Can't wait!”

You can't help but interject, “Golfing with my dad, again? What the heck are you doing?”

Carlos grins. “Finding a golfing partner, since someone here,” he gestures playfully at you, “refuses to join me. And unfortunately, my dad isn't always around in Italy to tag along.”

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. “Alright, Sainz. Nice to meet you. See you soon.”

He drives you to work and to your surprise, he actually knows where that is. How? You can’t tell. Apparently, he also remembers that you bring breakfast for your mentor on Saturdays because just before he drops you off, he offers to join you for a few minutes, just to pick up breakfast with you.

“Since you’ve got no time to eat with me, I’ll just tag along and annoy you for ten minutes more.”

You let him enter the coffee shop with you and he hovers on your back while you order two moccas and two brownies to go with it. Your mentor is not picky, and this Saturday breakfast tradition only started because you wanted to thank him for granting you a few hours from his weekend to help you with your designs. Technically, it’s not work, but it’s just as demanding.

You can feel Carlos’ breath against your hair, and the faint smell of his cologne, still hanging in his shirt from the previous night. This morning, the buttons are undone, and the sleeves are folded up. His hair is tousled and his beard is imperfect. Yet he’s the most handsome man around.

“First time picking up breakfast together,” he says as you’re walking towards the door. “Is this the equivalent to marriage in your dictionary?”

“Don’t make me regret all the past decisions I’ve made.”

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head. “What could I possibly make you regret?”

“Simply the fact of accepting to be introduced to you,” You let an exaggerated sigh leave your lips. “I’m living the nightmare all over again.”

Just before leaving a kiss on your cheek, he whispers. “Didn’t sound like a nightmare when I made you come thrice last night, baby. But go off.” He then kisses you on the cheek. “Have a good day.”

Carlos is too busy that night, and your Sunday is reserved for a family gathering. By Monday, you're back to your routine of nodding off right after dinner, so by the time Tuesday arrives, you’re already missing him. Not him—just his body in your bed, the sensation of his thick lips sliding down your navel and the sound of your name rolling off his tongue, wrapped up in that beautiful deep Spanish accent of his. You know he’s driving next weekend, so you spend all Wednesday staring at your phone, trying to summon a text from him.

When it finally pings, around 5 pm, it’s from your dad.

papà: heading to squash in an hour. up for a game? papà: no use in saying no papà: you already missed two weeks you: 🙄🙄🙄 you: i’ll meet you there!

You were the one who introduced your dad to squash, and gradually, it evolved into a bonding activity for both of you. Words don't flow easily with him, and you’re not great at demonstrating feelings so it’s difficult to connect with your dad. On top of that, you moved out really early. Slowly squash became a great way to connect and have quality time with him, release some steam, and stay in shape.

“I’m surprised. You never mentioned that you play squash,” a voice chimes in from behind, and you can't help but let out a sigh when you turn around.

It's Carlos, donned in a stupidly tight turquoise shirt that perfectly hugs and draws the contour of his chest, and sporting the briefest shorts you've ever seen him wear. He smiles. He knows he looks hot.

“How could I?” You reply, trying to not showcase how weak your knees just turned. “We only met like… five days ago.”

Carlos chuckles. “You’re funny. Did I tell you that yet?”

“Hmmm. You haven’t had the chance, yet.”

Sainz Sr. approaches you both, moving at a leisurely pace, absorbed in his phone. When he looks up, his frown disappears and an adoring smile takes his lips. His hand rests on his son’s shoulder as he remarks, “Didn’t I tell you today would be a perfect day for a match?”

Carlos turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "You did. What a coincidence.”

"Indeed," you chime in. "May I challenge you, sir? My dad’s still on a call and I have no partner."

“Oh, Carlos can join you,” he suggests with a nod in Carlos’ direction. “I’ll wait for your dad. We have some matters to discuss. Carry on, you two.”

Of. Course.

As the two of you step onto the squash court, the competitive glint in Carlos' eyes is hard to miss. And the tension in the air is palpable, you feel it in your bones. But you take a deep breath and push it aside, focusing on the game ahead.

"Why the sudden cold shoulder?" Carlos inquires as you prepare to start.

You glance at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm getting radio silence from you��no calls, no texts. You're not picking up my calls, either. What’s going on?"

You roll your neck, trying to ease the tension. Yesterday you just collapsed onto your couch, once again. You were living in survival mode. And wouldn’t be there playing if it wasn't a long-standing tradition with your dad.

"Work's been keeping me busy," you shrug.

It's not entirely a lie. But it’s not totally true either.

Let’s see—you've been involved in this situationship for almost five months now, seeing each other sporadically, sometimes even daily, if Carlos is in Milan. Yet, it's all so casual. You can recall the day he mentioned introducing you to his parents, of course. As a matter of fact, that talk has been looping in your mind for the last few days, but… it was a joke. Right? Sure it was. Why would he want his parents to meet his... whatever?

You could have texted him earlier. You would have texted him a few weeks ago, before all this. You can’t quite figure out why you’re panicking and why you’re behaving like a rom-com character, but you are.

"Come on, that excuse won't stick with me."

“Too bad. Can we play?" You grip the racket, twirling it in your hands. You look back, at his dad sitting on the benches, watching you from afar. “Please?”

He lets out a sigh and nods. Finally, you think.

"Is this a date?" he asks, grabbing a ball from his shorts and meeting your gaze.

"No." You're firm, and once again, he frowns. "It's not. For one, you didn't invite me. We just happened to both be here. It's coincidental.” He laughs here, slightly tilting his head back. You both know it is not coincidental. “And two, that's not what we're doing."

He cracks a smile, almost teasing. "So, what are we not doing?"

"The dating thing. We're not dating."

"Aren't we?" He smirks, his tongue peeking out, licking his lips.

You shake your head. "Nope."

"Alright, cool. Just wanted to be clear on that," Carlos replies with a nonchalant shrug, though you detect a glimmer of amusement in his voice. He’s as annoying as he’s pretty.

The first serve is swift and precise. The sound of the ball hitting the wall reverberates through the court. You dive into the game, putting your all into each movement. It's a dance of strategy and agility. You’re exhausted, but you put on a fight, using banter as your weapon. On the outside, your parents are watching, and you can’t help but notice Sainz Sr. is thoroughly enjoying this.

Sweat starts to bead on your foreheads, but neither of you shows any sign of slowing down. He wants to win and well… you want to make him lose. As you play, you steal glances at Carlos, his concentration evident in the set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes, in the curse words he whispers under his breath, ones that frustration draws from him. You’ve heard them before. Oh, God, you’ve heard so much worse. But it all combined? This is a side of him you haven't seen before, and it's exhilarating.

After a particularly intense rally, Carlos manages to secure a point with a deftly placed shot. He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "You're not making this easy," he remarks.

You grin, determined. "Wouldn't want to go easy on you, now, would I?"

The court echoes with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the thud of the ball hitting the walls. Time seems to blur as you lose yourself in the rhythm of the game. He makes you laugh and shout insults in his direction, to which he laughs.

Finally, after a hard-fought match, Carlos clinches the victory. It's a close call, and you’re about to pass out. It’s a shitty mixture of disappointment and pride. Leaning against the wall of the court, you try toth catch your breath.

"You're pretty good at this," Carlos admits, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel.

"Yeah, well, I have to stay in shape to keep up with you," you quip.

He chuckles, "Am I that demanding?"

"Am I that demanding?" You repeat, forcing a Spanish accent and a deep voice. He chuckles and stands up straight. "Did your dad tell you to come here today?"

"Yes. For some reason, he really likes you. Like I told you he would."

You can't help but chuckle at Carlos's words. "Well, he’s certainly enjoying playing cupid. But hey, fun game.”

Carlos nods a genuine smile on his face. "Yeah, it was. Finally got to see you outside the flat. It's quite weird to see you with clothes at this point."

"Oh, God, you're such a prick."

He laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Can I drop by later today?"

You glance toward your parents, who are engaged in a lively conversation, and then back at Carlos.

"No. Early morning tomorrow. And I still have work to finish today.” You’re not lying to him, you’re lying to yourself. Even when he’s looking at you with puppy eyes, you don’t go back with your words. Instead, you stand up straight and fix your hair. “Should I expect to coincidently meet you somewhere else in the next few days?"

You know the answer to that question. You know he’s going to be away for two weekends. And you kinda know he knows you know, because when he answers, there’s the faintest smile on his lips.

"I'll be off for two weeks. Hungary and Belgium.”

"Good luck at those, then.”

“Really appreciate it.”

Yeah, so…. That night, Carlos texted you. Not a casual “u up?”, but a “it was so fucking unfair to see you in that skirt and not being able to fuck you in it” and naturally you couldn’t help but to let out an exasperated groan and promptly respond with a “come over.” So, twenty minutes later you were being screwed against your kitchen counter.

And now you’re on the couch, his head buried between your legs, eating you up like a starved man. Yes. You need to be fit to keep up with this man’s stamina. He’s that demanding. But you can’t complain.

It’s been like this. A lot of pleasure. And then a lot of peace of mind.

Afterwards, he reclines on the chaise lounge, scrolling through TV channels, looking for something remotely bearable. You go get your sketch notebook and use his torso as a pillow. He watches tv and you work, until sleep creeps over you and you fall asleep in his arms.

Five months of this. You can’t put a label on it, but you can’t imagine living without it.

Carlos only wakes you up to take you to bed, and that night he sleeps over, sprawled across your bed like a starfish, leaving you clinging to him to not fall over. In the morning, you make out in bed, lazy and sleepy. He fucks you in the shower, and then he’s off again. He texts you when he's at the airport, and once more when he lands in whichever country he's racing in. Meanwhile, you carry on with your everyday life—a bit more mundane than being fuckbuddies with a Scuderia Ferrari driver but just as busy.

As it became regular, you exchange a few texts while he's away. It's become a ritual—complimenting him on how handsome he looks after his sessions, and him requesting a selfie so he can return the favour. He sends you snapshots of random things that made him think of you, and if truth be told, you do the same. You share selfies as you stroll by the Ferrari store in Milan and send him memes (which sometimes require a brief explanation). Without fail, he sends you a good morning and a good night, and whenever you're awake, you make sure to reply.

And life happens for those two weeks.

It’s boring. It’s dull. It’s ordinary.

And then on a Monday evening your bell rings and you can’t help but leave your apartment and wait for him on the landing, right in front of the elevator, not caring if your neighbour is watching through the peephole.

“Missed me?” he quips, already unburdening himself of his backpack as he steps out of the elevator. Sunglasses perched atop his head, skin kissed by the sun, eyes wide like the moon. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.

“Never,” you jest, but it's a flimsy façade, quickly shattered as you pull him close, urgency coursing through you.

Damn, you've missed him. You crave him.

And he craves you too. He's straightforward in showing it.

After you both shower, you settle on the couch. You ask him about why he had two races that weekend and he teases you because you finally demonstrate an interest in F1, and only then, after you’re insulting him and threatening to not go to Monza, he actually explains to you how a sprint weekend works, but he’s being so nerdy and so adorable and his eyes are sparkling so much that you just get back in his lap and ride him again, but this time slower, and more passionate, like you’re feeling something materialise inside you. And you come on his lap, and he kisses you slowly, and you tell him you actually missed him.

For dinner, you agree on sushi and night falls while you’re watching The Office for the only-God knows-how-many time, curled up in each other and drinking wine.

Apparently, there’s a mandatory period of vacations in F1 and unfortunately, it doesn’t match your own. So, Carlos is away with friends and family, in boats and islands in the Mediterranean, and you’re torn between Roma, Venice and Milan, assisting in campaign photoshoots.

Your days are long, exhausting and you’re tired and wishing you could be suntanning somewhere in Greece, but you’re sitting on a train, pushing small talk with your colleagues so you won’t fall asleep and drool over yourself.

Until a notification pops up on your phone, and you drop everything you’re saying because there’s a small chance that is a photo from Carlos, or some text, or just a reminder of his existence. You mentally slap yourself. When did you get that dependent?

But it’s just an email. And it’s from your mom.

You frown.

She doesn’t usually use email. Nor is interested in art galleries in Madrid.

You read through the details and you notice something interesting. The invitation has been forwarded from none other than Carlos Sainz Sr. And it makes you laugh. You take a screenshot that you send to Carlos.

you: so, your dad's moonlighting as an art promoter now? did you fire him? hot wheels guy: seems like it. he said he was going to invite you hot wheels guy: and no, i didn’t fire him primarily because he doesn’t work for me you: well it actually does sound interesting hot wheels guy: so you’re coming? you: perhaps hot wheels guy: it’s a good chance for you to meet my sisters you: don’t you have like a dog for me to meet, too? hot wheels guy: two, piñon and oil hot wheels guy: oli is a really jealous girl. i doubt she will like you you: looking forward to meet them. and your sisters too, of course hot wheels guy: and about me? you: i already met you twice. don’t need another introdution

One week later, you’re in Madrid. Sainz Sr. arrives home while you’re talking with Reyes in the kitchen, while she cooks gazpacho for lunch. Oli is in your lap, licking your cheek as your fingers get lost in the small white waves of her fur.

“Hope you get here easily. Did you take an Uber?” Sainz says right after gracing you with a small hug and two polite kisses on the cheeks. Before paying, he also leaves a pat on Oli’s head.

“Carlos picked me up at the airport, actually.”

A pleased smile creeps across Sainz Sr.'s face, like a child in a candy shop. He glances over at Carlos, who's lounging on the couch, a few meters from you.

“She’s a guest.” He points out. You didn’t even realise he was listening to your conversation. You wonder if he was listening to what you and Reyes were saying before. “I wouldn’t have let her take an Uber.”

“You’re getting along well,” the dad points out. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Between the art and the hushed corridors of the gallery, you often find yourselves alone. A stolen kiss in the quiet garden, where the fragrance of blooming flowers mingles with the electric charge between you. And then another, amidst the art, when the room empties and you’re left in the silence of creativity, where the only beauty that matters is reflected in the depths of his eyes.

He holds your hand and listens to your explanations about art and strokes and colour theory. And he calls you a nerd. Of course, he does. And you laugh and look at each other, and kiss again, not caring if there’s someone around.

When you come back home, his sisters and parents are still in the living room, so you sit with them, still wearing your cocktail dress and Carlos still looking gorgeous in his tuxedo. You picked up churros on your way home, so you’re just basking in the serenity and the domesticity of it all. Conversations flow effortlessly, laughter weaving through the air. You share stories, revealing snippets of your lives to his family, like they’re slowly becoming yours.

Ana. Blanca. Oli. Reyes. Carlos. And your Carlos, who looks at you with a warmth in his eyes that is capable of melting every cell of your body.

You can get used to this.

You only spend one night in Madrid. You sleep over at the Sainz’s—Reyes didn’t let you consider a hotel, so she prepared one of the guest rooms in advance. Surprisingly, it’s not the first time you and Carlos sleep under the same roof without having sex, but it’s the first time you do so in separate beds. And you feel restless. You lay in bed, your gaze fixed on the wall as if by sheer will, it will become transparent and grant you a view of him sleeping—the contours of his face softened in serenity, his lashes grazing his cheekbones.

According to Google, Autodromo Nazionale Monza is exactly 39 minutes away from your flat by car. Which isn’t a lot.

You’re not sure what to wear, or what’s exactly going to happen.

It’s Friday. It’s his birthday. He looks gorgeous in the photos that everyone is posting. You just need to get to the track, meet your parents and take your family to the garage. It’s as simple as that.

But you haven’t seen Carlos for more than a week, and the idea of finally seeing him is consuming you.

So you dump your worries in your wardrobe. You search for the few Ferrari pieces you have in your closet and you put out an outfit, and make-up and pretend you’re just going to an event you know nothing about. Because that’s almost the case.

Between the small crowd and the electric atmosphere and the midst of the symphony of roaring engines, you spot your parents and your brothers—their eyes wide with wonder. They’re donning Ferrari shirts and hats, each one with a different number on their clothes.

This blend of family and racing feels strangely comforting.

There’s a guy waiting for you by the entrance, with your passes. You follow him. He asks about the ride to the circuit, if it's your first time, and you can actually relieve some of the anticipation with that small talk. But you’re taking so long.

The corridor leading to the garages seems to stretch endlessly, each step an eternity.

"He's in the garage, preparing for the session. You'll have to be quick," the man informs you, but his words are mere background noise. All that matters is Carlos, and he's waiting. That's all you need.

Stepping into the garage, the noise amplifies. It's a chaotic dance of technicians and engineers, each absorbed in their tasks. You scan the frenetic scene, searching for him, but his absence is louder than the noise.

“Carlos must be arriving. Boys,” he drops to your brothers. “Want to see the car up close?”

Of course, they say yes, and they follow the man. Your dad tags along and your mother? Well, she’s apparently very interested in the sport, as well.

The first Sainz you see is Carlos’ cousin, to whom you’ve been not introduced yet, but who quickly recognizes you. You introduce yourself, and he chuckles and you say you’re “Carlos’ friend”. And then Sainz Sr. appears, with Carlos right beside him, talking to a tall skinny guy.

And God. He’s a vision in that damned racing suit.

Time seems to slow as he approaches, and when he turns to you, his eyes light up with a radiant smile. The world fades away.

“Happy birthday,” is all that occurs to you.

And a “thank you for being here,” is all that he can say before being dragged away to the screens.

This time it isn’t Reyes or Sainz Sr., but Carlos who invites your family for dinner. It's an offer you simply can't refuse, and even though your brothers are practically nodding off from fatigue, the moment they step inside the Hotel de la Ville, and notice where they are, exhaustion seems to magically dissipate.

The entire day was amazing, but you’ve barely had a chance to be near Carlos. So, as he finally takes his seat across from you, the desire to kiss him simmers just beneath your skin, burning you whole. He's clad in his signature red shirt, his unruly hair falling playfully over his forehead. And he’s wearing white jeans, which makes the colour of his tanned skin intensify.

Caught in the act of admiring him, you see him move his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and swiftly adjust your position in the chair, refocusing on your dads’ intense discussion about the latest football market moves.

“Piccina,” your mother chimes in. “You never told me about the Madrid trip. The gallery. Was it nice?”

You glance at your mother and then at the whole table. Carlos has that playful twinkle in his eyes, clearly anticipating to hear you stutter as you try to talk about the exhibition. Well, you did pay attention to the art, of course, but what remains in your mind is the way Carlos’ eyes always managed to drift to you, no matter which room you were in.

“It was beautiful, Mom,” you reply, offering her a warm smile. “I’ve already told Carlos how grateful I am for the invite.” At the head of the table, Sainz Sr. smiles at you, with a simple yet approving nod. “The other Carlos tagged along with me. He got to learn a lot about art. Right, junior?”

Carlos leans to you, propping his elbows on the table, a trace of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I have to admit, you managed to make even the dullest of rooms seem interesting."

Thankfully, Sainz Sr.'s hearty laughter momentarily steals everyone's attention, giving you a chance to regain your composure. Your cheeks are warm, and from the feeling of them, you know they’re red. You managed to make even the dullest of rooms seem interesting. And he smiles, because he knows you badly you’re falling.

"Well, that's impressive,” your dad chimes.

And you're not sure if he's complimenting Carlos's smooth line or your ability to be a guide. So you ignore him and try to play it cool.

“So,” your mom continues, her hand resting on your arm, her curiosity fully piqued. "You two spent a good time together in Madrid?"

You share a subtle glance with Carlos before nodding. "Yes, we did. It was a great exhibition."

A brief hush falls over the table and you can’t help but feel like you’re under a microscope and everyone can see through you. Carlos’ gaze, steady and unwavering, is locked onto you, and you feel yourself softening, captured in his attention.

“Well,” Sainz Sr., who's been quietly observing, interjects with a warm smile. "It seems like you two have been getting along quite well."

Carlos chuckles and looks down, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his glass. You both exchange a quick look, a silent understanding passing between you.

It’s time.

"Actually," you start, "we've been getting along really, really well."

Reyes leans in. "Oh? Do tell."

“We’ve been…” You hesitate, glancing at Carlos for support.

He meets your gaze. “Dating,” he completes your sentence with a confident smile. “We’ve been dating for a while now. Six, seven-ish months?”

Sainz Sr.’s eyes light up, and then he furrows his brows, clearly processing the information. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch the gears turning in his mind.

“That’s before—way before I… introduced you.”

“In my defence,” you chime in. “I did try to tell you we’ve already met before. Blame your son. He’s the one who decided to play with you for so long.”

“Well, this is… wonderful news.” Sainz Sr. beams. You steak a glance at Carlos, knowing he’s definitely going to tease you about how genuinely pleased you looked after revealing the truth. “So, seven months, eh? Okay. When’s the wedding? And when do I get Carlos the 3rd?”

I had so much fun writing this one!!! I used every little break at work to write this. It's a bit different than what I usually write, so all feedback is appreciated. Thank you for the request! 🫶

#Carlos Sainz #Carlos Sainz Jr #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Carlos Sainz x You #Carlos Sainz Smut #Carlos Sainz Fanfic #Carlos Sainz Imagine #Formula 1 x Reader #Formula 1 x You #F1 x Reader #F1 x You #F1 Imagine #F1 One Shot #Driver x Reader #F1 Driver x Reader #Driver x You #F1 Driver x You #F1 Fanfic #FanF1ction

[keikikait]

ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜɪꜰᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part two. for part one, click here!

pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 2k

summary: after a rude encounter with your next door neighbour, you decide to spend distance yourself from him, spending most of your nights at a friends house.

warnings: SMUT (masturbation, f & m), MINORS DNI 18+, suggestive flirting, not proofread (oops), jealous megumi, slight self deprecation talk (so ig a slight angst warning)

a note: i promise part 3 won't be delayed as much!

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Things have gotten worse since you last spoke.

Each day begins with the jarring sound of his motorcycle revving right outside your window, shattering the tranquility of the morning. The noise reverberates through your whole apartment, making it impossible to ignore. And to make matters worse, he started blasting the worst rap music you’ve ever heard from a portable speaker while he works on his bike on Saturday afternoons. The cacophony of noise fills the air, making it impossible to concentrate or find any semblance of peace within your own home. 

Even though you’ve been trying to avoid him, checking outside your window a few too many times before leaving so you don’t run into him, he’s still been plaguing your mind. You had caught him like a cold or the flu, and now you’re praying that you’ll one day be immune. Sleeping was practically impossible, even the strongest earplugs and the loudest white noise couldn’t block out the sound of his, frankly, stupid fucking bike. You go to work irritable and exhausted, having to hype yourself up in the bathroom before clocking in. You dread going home, begging your manager to let you work late, trying to find every excuse to hang back and avoid your inevitable negative interaction with Megumi.

After days of sleepless nights and endless worry, you had finally reached your breaking point. With a heavy heart, you had mustered up the courage to do something you'd been dreading — ask a friend for a favor. With trembling hands, you dialed your friend Yuji’s number, hoping that he would understand. To your immense relief, he listened patiently and without judgment. You poured out your heart, sharing the sleepless nights and the constant fear that had become your reality.

To your surprise, Yuji didn't hesitate, offering you a place to stay for the days Megumi would wake up early to head to work, a sanctuary where you could finally rest and recharge. You accepted his offer, overwhelmed with gratitude, knowing it would give you the solace you desperately needed. The nights before Megumi's shifts became a routine. You would gather your belongings and head to Yuji's place, seeking refuge from the darkness that seemed to engulf your apartment. 

Each night, you would lie awake in your friend's spare bedroom, listening to the sounds of the outside world. The gentle hum of traffic, the distant laughter of passersby — these were the sounds of a life that seemed so far removed from your own. Part of you loved your time spent away from Megumi. Part of you didn’t. Even though he was annoying, stuck up, and frankly a bitch, he was so pretty to look at. You couldn’t help yourself sometimes, sneakily taking glances at him through your window while he worked on his bike, shirtless and sweating under the Japanese summer sun.

You felt guilty in a way. He hated you, yet you didn’t hate him. Why are you hanging on so tight? You wanted to hate him so badly, especially while you were laying propped up on your bed, had between your soft thighs as you thrust two fingers in and out of your cunt. You couldn’t help yourself, biting your duvet cover to keep yourself from moaning his name too loudly while you came, hips bucking into your hand while you imagined the ways he would talk you through it. You couldn’t help but imagine how handsome he would look with you all over his mouth, grinning at you as you beg to cum. Would he let you? Sometimes you would get carried away, sliding your fingers over your clit to draw out another orgasm, one that would leave you silent curled in a ball on your bed. Megumi seemed like the type to overstimulate you just for fun, after all. He clouded your mind, engulfing you with visions of him encased in smoke. He was beautiful, finite, a shining white light you had a hard time looking at. You were, quite frankly, down bad. 

Suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

On the other side of the plaster wall, Megumi was having a similar experience. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, hoping if he revved his engine loud enough in the mornings you would come outside, all cute and grumpy with bedhead, yelling at him to quiet down. Maybe you would only be wearing a T-shirt too. He wondered what panties you would be wearing. Cotton? Lace? None at all?

He noticed your glances while he was working on his bike. After all, he did it shirtless hoping you would stare. All he wants is your attention, and can you blame him? You’re so soft and pretty, and all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you before bending you over his desk, his hand gripping your hair at the root as he fucks you dumb. He thinks about what you would sound like while he fucks you as he jerks off, one hand playing with his balls while the other strokes his cock up and down, teasing the tip with his fingers. He wonders what you would look like on your knees next to his bed, his cock draped across your face as you suck on his balls. He moans quietly when he cums, the liquid splattering onto his chest and abs and he wishes you were around to lick it up. Maybe after he would tug on your hair and have you thank him.

Megumi noticed a lot of things. He couldn't help but notice certain the frequent absences from your usual routine. With each passing day, Megumi's curiosity grew, and he started to pay closer attention to your whereabouts. That’s when he saw it, a dark blue car consistently parked at the entrance of the alleyway leading to your apartment building, the one you would climb in and out of on the days you were gone, the days you were away from him. Of course he took a note of the car, writing down the make and the model and the license plate, just in case.

Something else Megumi started noticing was your moans. You got braver and louder each time, and soon he noticed the way you would gasp and whimper and the little noise you made before you came. Megumi soon started feeling something he hadn’t felt in a while, jealousy. You had a boyfriend or a fuck-buddy, and whoever they are was able to make you cum. That part irritated him, he wanted to be the only one that could make you cum and shake on his cock or his tongue. The semantics of your relationship didn’t matter to him, but you were with someone who wasn’t him. So he waited for you to return, leaning against the railing of his small porch. He knew your schedule now, and you should be home any second. 

As the car pulls up, its headlights shine directly onto him, causing Megumi to avert his eyes. He watches as you step out of the car, bidding the driver, whom he can see now is a guy, farewell before making your way toward your door. The gravel crunched as the car reversed and smoothly drove away, leaving you and him standing alone in the tranquil evening. With a nimble hop, he crossed the railing and approached you, a faint smile playing across his lips. The world seemed to pause for a moment, as if time itself stood still, as you locked eyes with each other.

“Hey.” He says, climbing up onto your porch, swinging his legs over the barrier, and landing on his feet.

You don’t look up as you search for your keys. “You could’ve used the stairs.”

He grins. “Maybe I wanted to impress you.” The comment makes your cheeks warm, but you don’t reply as you continue to search through your seemingly endless tote bag. He sighs, “Listen, I have a question.”

You look up at him, and gods he is so pretty. You feel your blush deepen, trying not to gawk at the way his shoulders and arms look in that fucking black compression shirt. “Ask away.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, you got a boyfriend?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “No. Why?” You finally find your keys, pulling them out as they jingle loudly from all of your keychains.

Megumi scoffs, keeping his arms crossed. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. I hear you moaning through the wall, you know.”

Your stomach lurches, your throat constricting. “Tha-that doesn’t mean anything.”

Megumi laughs, letting his arms drop to his side. “What about that guy that drives you everywhere?”

You put your key into the lock, swallowing hard. “He’s just my friend. I’ve been staying at his place recently-”

Megumi suddenly reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling the key out. “Don’t walk away. We’re having a conversation.” You gulp, holding onto your keys. He was right, that was kind of rude. “Continue.”

You take a shaky breath, unable to look him in the eyes, your gaze flicking around from the ground to the sunset behind him. “He’s just my friend. Nothing more.”

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Megumi asks, trying to get in your line of sight. “Don’t look over there. Look at me.” You nod, looking at him, muttering an apology. Megumi smirks. “Good girl.”

Your throat dries up. This man is driving you crazy, and you can feel your thighs getting slick under your skirt. You subconsciously squeeze them together. “He-he isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just my friend.”

Megumi nods. “But you sleep together, right?”

“No.”

Megumi hums in response, getting closer to you. You instinctively back up until you hit the other railing. He towers over you, and you’re greeted with the smell of his cologne and shampoo as he smirks down at you. “Then what has you moaning so prettily, hmm? Is there another guy in your life?”

You shake your head. “N-no, I’m doing it, you know…solo.”

Megumi’s shoulders drop in relief. You don’t have anyone else. Does that mean he can have you all to himself? “What do you think about? When you touch yourself?” His voice is deep and smooth, right in your ear, causing your knees to buckle.

You gulp. “Nothing in particular.” He smirks. He doesn’t believe you. He reaches out to brush some hair out of your face but you move away, clutching your keys in your hands. He tries again, reaching for your arm this time, but you move away again.

You feel weird. He’s making an advance, one you aren’t opposed to, but you can’t seem to let your guard down and let him approach you. You sweat, shakily putting your key into the lock. You wanted to turn around, to throw your arms around him and let him take control of you, but you felt the familiar feeling of dread eating at your insides, sliding up your throat like bile. This almost felt too good to be true. You had spent weeks wishing for this exact moment, but now that it’s unraveling in front of you it’s hard to believe it’s happening and isn’t some sick, twisted joke. Had you stretched your self-worth too thin? Were you foolish for thinking Megumi would actually want you?

Megumi says your name so softly you almost didn’t hear it, concern etched on his face and laced in his voice. You ignore him, quickly unlocking your door and sliding inside your apartment, shutting the door in his face.

Megumi stands there, both confused and concerned. Had he come on too strong? Did he waste his one and only chance by scaring you? He reaches out to knock on your door before hesitating. He wanted a second chance, an opportunity to tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or scared, but he couldn’t bring himself to press his knuckles onto the wood. He drops his hand and walks away, back to his apartment, feeling like he just ruined everything he could’ve had with you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part three is here

★taglist: @whereflowerswenttodie, @rosieandthethorns (reply to this post if you want to be included in the taglist!)

#keikiwrites #f!reader #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi smut #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #✿: megumi!

[tainsan]

misfits X

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: anxiety, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of abuse, heavy emotions

⇥ word count: 10.5k

⇥ a/n: i have been gone for a very long time, i am so sorry to all of you who have been patiently waiting ;-; i've been very sick and unmotivated to write so it has been hard to keep up with the story.

⇢ masterlist ⇠

previous chapter ⇠ ⇢ next chapter

--- THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ---

It has been mere days since the shocking revelation that your so-called friends from high school are not only alive but also present in your life once more. The grief that consumed you when they left, tearing at your heartstrings, seems to be the dominant emotion that courses through your veins. The rollercoaster of emotions leaves you stumbling, struggling to find solid ground amidst the chaos.

In the wake of their return, you have found refuge in Jisung's company. Thankfully, he managed to scavenge up some of your clothes from his messy wardrobe, sparing you the agony of stepping foot into the shared house that now carries a weight of dread. His kind gesture offers a small hint of comfort in an otherwise turbulent existence.

Despite your better judgement, you have been avoiding your lectures, terribly aware that Mingi awaits you outside your classroom, desperate to offer his apologies. The thought of facing the other members of Ateez, their familiar faces and the flood of memories they bring, fills you with an overwhelming sense of fragility. The mere prospect threatens to further unravel the fragile threads of your sanity.

Now, as Monday arrives, you know you have to summon the strength to go to class, as the lecture holds significant importance. In your heart, you would definitely pass by it all, preferring to remain cocooned in the solace of your (Jisung’s) bed, shielded from the harsh glare of reality and the potential encounter with the eight men you are struggling to avoid. Their lies, like menacing vines, consume you from within, gnawing at your fragile state of mind.

Thoughts race incessantly through your mind as you gaze into the mirror, meticulously adjusting your hair for what feels like the thousandth time. The act itself seems almost trivial in the grand scheme of things, a futile attempt to regain a semblance of control in a world that feels increasingly chaotic. Deep down, you question why you even bother to fuss over your appearance, knowing all too well that if you were to cross paths with one of your roommates, instinct would drive you to run in the opposite direction.

Despite the turmoil that has engulfed you, an internal battle rages within your soul. You yearn to harbour resentment and despise them for the pain they have caused, yet the magnetic pull of attraction, love, and sympathy overrides your every attempt to sever the ties that bind. The conflicting emotions leave you entangled in a web of emotional turmoil, struggling to make sense of it all.

“Are you almost ready?” Jisung’s voice sounds from outside of the bathroom door. In these past few days, Jisung has become an unwavering presence by your side, recognizing the delicate state of your emotions and the potential for a downward spiral into a deep, depressive abyss. He understands the fragility of your heart during such times, and he remains vigilant, refusing to leave you alone even for a moment. His solid support serves as a lifeline, anchoring you amidst the tumultuous storm raging within.

Not only Jisung, but Minho as well, has stepped up in caring for you with meticulous attention. Their devoted care feels overwhelming at times, as they anticipate your needs and comfort you through the darkest moments. Their steady presence and genuine concern provide a sense of solace amidst the chaos that engulfs your heart. Though you might initially find their efforts to be over the top, your gratitude swells within you, recognizing the immeasurable comfort they offer as they surround you with love and understanding.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you meekly smile at Jisung, who gives you a warm smile in return. Walking closer to you, he rests his hands on your shoulders, straightening out your oversized t-shirt that belongs to your best friend.

"You look amazing," Jisung's voice whispers softly, like a gentle breeze caressing your weary soul. His words carry a sense of warmth and tenderness, creating a serene haven where you can momentarily find rest from the turbulent storm within. You absorb his words; a flicker of a smile graces your lips. The genuine care and kindness reflected in his eyes and words offer a reprieve from the storm of emotions that swirl within. It is a gentle reminder that amidst the chaos, you are seen, cherished, and valued.

The morning sun casts its golden glow upon the bustling streets as you and Jisung embark on your walk to campus. An air of tension hangs heavily around you, evident in the way your steps falter and your gaze remains fixated on the ground. Anxiety tugs at your every nerve, as you dread the mere possibility of encountering even one of your roommates, the very individuals you have been actively avoiding for the past few days.

Approaching the school grounds, your heart lurches in your chest, threatening to escape its confines. Eyes darting around anxiously, scanning the surroundings in a desperate attempt to avoid any potential encounters. But fate, it seems, has a different plan in store.

Amidst the crowd of students, your gaze locks onto a familiar face - Jongho. Panic courses through your veins, urging you to flee from his impending presence. With a quick, desperate glance at Jisung, you silently implore for his support, hoping that you can slip away unnoticed.

But fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of timing. Before the two of you can make your escape, Jongho spots you, his eyes widening with recognition. Determination etches lines upon his face as he closes the distance between you, a sense of urgency in his stride.

Heart pounding in your chest, breath catching in your throat, as you brace yourself for the conversation you have been desperately trying to avoid. Jisung, ever the pillar of support, remains steadfast at your side, offering a calm presence amidst the whirlwind of emotions. Yet, you can't help but feel a mix of fear and curiosity as Jongho approaches. A whirlpool of thoughts churns within your mind, unsure of what Jongho might want to say and how it may impact the delicate balance you have been trying to maintain. The world seems to slow down as Jongho draws nearer, his voice calling out your name in desperation, catching the attention of curious onlookers.

Jongho comes closer to you and Jisung, a pang of concern grips your heart. Even from a distance, you can discern the telltale signs of exhaustion etched upon his features. His eye bags, once barely noticeable, now seem to protrude beneath his weary eyes. The paleness of his complexion accentuates the prominence of his cheekbones, a stark reminder of the toll recent events has taken on him.

A wave of empathy washes over you, accompanied by a deep ache within your chest. It becomes painfully clear that Jongho's fatigue extends beyond the realms of mere sleep deprivation. The visible indicators hint at a deeper struggle, one that transcends the boundaries of physical weariness. The realisation dawns upon you with a heavy weight — he has likely neglected his own well-being, rejecting the basic needs of nutrition and rest.

Jongho nears, you find yourself torn between the desire to hold onto your guarded stance and the instinctual urge to offer him comfort. With these thoughts swirling within you, you brace yourself for the conversation that awaits.

Instinctively, Jisung pushes you behind him, covering you from the sudden attention of people walking past. When Jongho reaches the two of you, before he can utter a single word, Jisung speaks for you.

"Jongho, please leave us alone," Jisung's voice rings out, his tone not harsh, but laced with a trace of resentment. Yet, as he takes in the hurt and desperation etched upon Jongho's face, a subtle shift occurs within him. The hardness in his eyes softens, and a glimmer of empathy flickers in the depths of his gaze. As he locks eyes with Jongho, Jisung senses a shared burden, the weight of regret and remorse. Though he had harboured slight anger, witnessing Jongho's sorrow evokes a sense of compassion within him.

In Jisung's gaze, there is a flicker of understanding. While he may not fully forgive or forget, he sees the layers of Jongho's struggle, the internal conflict that mirrors your own. It is in this moment, amidst the tangled emotions and unspoken truths, that Jisung hesitates, a hint of compassion softening the edges of his heart.

“Please can I speak with her?” Jongho’s voice is soft and the traces of hurt, and grief are evident in his voice, cutting through your heart.

“That is for ____ to decide.” Jisung replies, encouraging you to speak, knowing Jongho will not leave until he hears it from you.

Emerging from behind Jisung's protective stance, your eyes meet Jongho's, and in that electrifying moment, the world around you fades into insignificance. The image of Jongho, once perceived through a lens of set notions and distant encounters, undergoes an intense transformation before your eyes.

Gone is the label of the rough boy you initially encountered during tutoring sessions, replaced by a sudden flood of memories and shared moments. Unveiling the true heart of Jongho that had remained concealed until now. You recall his endearing shyness, the gentle laughter that would escape his lips as he blended seamlessly with his group of friends. The image of him occupying that familiar spot on that damn brown couch, a constant presence in your shared space, is etched into your memory with startling clarity.

The realisation washes over you like a bittersweet wave, leaving you both captivated and shaken. The complexities of Jongho's character, once overlooked or overshadowed, now come into focus with an overwhelming sense of resonance. It is as if you are peering beneath the surface, uncovering a fragile soul who, like you, is also grappling with his own demons.

“Please, ___. Just come home and let us explain everything.” Jongho exclaims, quietly, his voice almost breaking under the weight of the situation.

Caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, you find yourself locked in a silent battle within your own mind. The weight of the decision to step foot in the house once more hangs heavily upon you, tugging at the fragile threads of your resolve. Each part of you wrestles with its own desires, yearning for resolution yet wary of the vulnerabilities it may expose.

One part of you longs for answers, craving the closure that can only come from hearing their explanations. Years of unanswered questions echo through the corridors of your thoughts, begging to be heard, to be acknowledged. The alluring possibility of understanding their motivations, of finding relief in their words, beckons to you like a siren's call. Yet, another part of you hesitates, wary of the profound impact their presence may have on you. Stepping foot back into the house could unravel the defences you have carefully constructed, blurring the boundaries between forgiveness and vulnerability. Their mere presence, with all its comforting familiarity, threatens to lure you into the embrace of forgiveness.

The struggle within you intensifies, an intricate dance between the desire for closure and the fear of falling back into old patterns. The decision carries immense weight, one that requires a delicate balance between self-preservation and the pursuit of understanding. As you weigh the consequences of your choice, the echoes of their absence reverberate within you. The house, once a sanctuary, now stands as a threshold that divides your past and your future.

In this moment of contemplation, you find solace in acknowledging the significance of your own growth. You recognize the power that lies within you to navigate this maze of emotions, to determine what is truly best for your well-being. Whether you choose to step foot back into the house or forge a new path forward, it is your strength and resilience that will guide you towards the resolution you seek. Even if you get the closure you desperately need, there is no saying you have to forgive them.

All you do is nod at Jongho, before turning away, with Jisung to walk to your class.

As the weight of the moment settles upon Jongho, it seems to hover in a state of suspended bliss. The heaviness that once consumed the atmosphere dissipates, replaced by an ethereal lightness that dances in the air. Emotions, once chaotic and burdened, now give way to a sense of hope and possibility.

In that decisive moment, you chose to open the door to hearing them out, to grant them the opportunity to share their truths. It is not a guarantee of forgiveness, nor does it absolve the pain of the past, but it signifies a willingness to explore the possibility of a shared future. By extending this invitation, you offer them a lifeline—a chance to keep you in their lives.

For them, this realisation dawns upon them with a poignant clarity. Through the trials and tribulations of the past few years, they have come to understand the significance of your presence in their lives. The understanding that they have a chance, however slight, to keep you by their side fills them with a renewed determination. They understand that it will require effort, growth, and vulnerability on their part to earn back your trust. But they are willing to embark on that journey, guided by the profound realisation that your existence in their lives is an irreplaceable source of joy and comfort where they can find nowhere else.

---

The hands of the clock slowly inch towards the final moments of your last class, time seems to stretch into an eternity. Each passing minute feels like a lifetime, the weight of the impending encounter with the boys growing heavier with each tick. The room feels suffocating, as if it plots to delay your agony, amplifying the anticipation that swirls within.

The professor's words echo in the background, lost in a haze of restless thoughts. Your mind races, contemplating the choices that lie before you. Should you muster the courage to face the boys, to honour your commitment to at least listen to what they have to say? Or should you succumb to the temptation of avoidance, prolonging the inevitable moment of confrontation?

In this moment of contemplation, the weight of your decision bears down upon you. The prospect of returning to the house, confronting the boys, feels like crossing an unstable path fraught with uncertainty. A part of you yearns to retreat, to shield yourself from the potential pain and vulnerability that lie ahead. It whispers enticingly, urging you to continue ignoring them, maintaining the safety of distance. Yet, you find yourself drawn to the unsaid promise you made to Jongho. The mere act of indicating your willingness to listen, to provide them with an opportunity to express themselves, tugs at your sense of integrity. It is a test of your strength and resilience, a reminder that you have the capacity to confront the complexities of the situation head-on.

As the final words of the professor hang in the air, the moment of truth draws near. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the knowledge that this choice holds the power to shape the path of your journey. The path ahead may be uncertain and scattered with challenges, but your willingness to at least hear them out serves as a witness to your unwavering spirit. With resolve in your heart, you gather your belongings and prepare to face what lies ahead. The weight of your decision lingers in the air, mingling with the fear and hope that swirl within you. As you step out of the classroom, the path stretches before you, beckoning you to embrace the unknown, to confront the boys and the truth that awaits within the walls of the house.

Walking down the well-known street, the familiarity of the surroundings adds a bittersweet tinge to your journey. Each twist and turn feels etched into your memory, the winding roads leading you closer to the house that now holds a complicated mix of emotions. Despite the hesitation that grips your heart, you navigate the route almost instinctively, the path fixed into your consciousness.

The daylight begins to vanish, casting long shadows along the familiar streets, you know that the time draws near for all eight of your roommates to gather in the house. The anticipation weighs upon you, the knowledge of their presence amplifying the nervous flutter in your chest. The prospect of confronting them, of delving into the depths of their shared secrets, feels like tiptoeing upon a fragile precipice.

Approaching the house, the nerves intensify, your fingers fidgeting restlessly. Doubt clouds your mind, tempting you to turn back, to postpone the conversation for another day. Deep within, a sense of fairness emerges, reminding you that they too have carried the burden of hidden truths for far too long.

Acknowledging the pain that they have endured, the empathy within your heart stirs. It becomes clear that it would be unfair to keep them waiting, to prolong the revelation that hangs in the air like a heavy blanket. With this understanding, you brace yourself, reminding yourself of the importance of confronting the truth, no matter how difficult or frightening it may be.

The fear and anticipation intertwine as you stand outside the house, its walls holding secrets that have shattered the foundation of trust. In this moment, you confront the choice between fleeting comfort and the pursuit of resolution. The weight of your decision hangs palpably in the air.

Summoning your strength, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the understanding that this conversation is an essential step towards healing. With your heart pounding in your chest, you push your key into the lock and open the door, stepping into the threshold of truth, ready to confront the tangled web of secrets that has bound you all together.

Stepping inside the house, a disquieting stillness envelops the familiar space, casting strangeness over the once vibrant home. The silence hangs heavy in the air, an eerie contrast to the usual symphony of sounds that greeted you upon entering. There was no Hongjoong engrossed in his favourite television show, no wild laughter or heated exchanges from upstairs, no uproar of gaming frustrations echoing through the halls. It feels as if the very essence of life has been sucked out of the walls, leaving behind a detectable tension and an unspoken grief.

The sudden absence of the usual noise, the absence of the positive vibrations that always greet you, sends a jolt of unease through your being. It hits you like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder that something is missing. The once comforting and lively atmosphere has been replaced with a ghostly silence that creeps around every corner, coating the walls with a layer of sombre tension.

Standing frozen in the hallway, you take a moment to steady your racing heart, attempting to calm the tears that threaten to overflow. The weight of the situation settles heavily upon your shoulders, pressing down on your chest, and you can't help but feel an overwhelming heaviness seep into all of your nerves.

Summoning your determination, you continue on your path towards the kitchen, a glimmer of hope guiding your steps. It is there, in the heart of the house, that you anticipate finding at least one familiar face. As you approach the kitchen door, a mix of apprehension and curiosity courses through your veins.

Peeking your head around the doorframe, your eyes widen as they meet the gaze of eight pairs of shocked eyes fixated on you. The burden of their collective surprise hangs in the air, their gaze evidence to the significance of your arrival. Amidst the sea of bewildered expressions, you lock eyes with Jongho, and in that moment, his grateful smile speaks volumes. It is a silent acknowledgement, a wordless exchange of gratitude for upholding your promise to listen, even amidst the uncertainty and fear.

In the middle of the tense silence, a glimmer of connection flickers. It is a fragile thread that links you to these individuals, a reminder that, no matter the pain and secrets that have plagued you all, there is still a bond that is held, even though it is fragile and close to absolute deterioration, it is still there. With a deep breath, you step further into the kitchen, ready to face the uncharted territory of conversations and revelations that lie ahead.

With each unsteady step that carries you closer to the kitchen island, a collective sense of uncertainty radiates from the eight figures gathered there. Their eyes, filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope, fixate upon you as you navigate the space between you. The empty seat beside Yeosang and San beckons, a silent invitation that holds comfort for your legs that are having a difficult time keeping you steady.

Your gaze sweeps across the faces gathered around the kitchen island, a wave of emotion washes over you. Each face bears the unmistakable marks of weariness and exhaustion, mirroring the expression you witnessed on Jongho's face earlier. The toll of sleepless nights and the weight of the situation are etched upon their features, an unspoken testament to the impact it has had on each of them. A mixture of sadness and relief floods your heart as you realise that you are not alone in your heavy burden. The sight of their tired eyes and the fatigue carved upon their faces serves as a bittersweet reassurance. It signifies that you are not the sole bearer of the pain and turmoil that has enveloped your shared lives.

You settle into the vacant chair. In this suspended moment, the depth of their anticipation is mirrored in your own hesitant presence.

Amidst the collective hush, a voice breaks through the stillness, trembling with raw emotion. It is San, meekly calling out your name, his voice laced with tears and the influence of sleepless nights spent tormented by his own thoughts. His words carry the weight of prayers answered, a great relief washing over him as he utters your name. The tears that well in the corners of his eyes bear witness to the depth of his feelings, the feeling of uncertainty and longing finally finding release. It is an indication of the immense magnitude of your presence, a ray of hope that pierces through the darkness that has consumed them all.

San's voice lingers in the air, the collective tension begins to give way to an unspoken understanding. In this hushed atmosphere, time seems to stand still, as if the universe itself holds its breath. The conversations that will follow, the revelations and vulnerabilities that will be shared, hold the potential to reshape the very fabric of your shared existence. With a blend of anticipation, trepidation, and hope, you brace yourself for the words that are threatening to spill out of your mouth.

“So,” you begin, and you visibly notice how the men around you hold their breaths, “I would like some answers, please.”

The silent exchange among the eight men speaks volumes, their eyes shifting from one another as they grapple with the weight of their collective emotions. The question lingers in the air, a wordless plea for guidance on who should step forward, who should bear the burden of answering the questions that weigh heavily on your heart.

San, Mingi, and Wooyoung wish to lend their voices to the conversation, to offer their words and share the depths of their own emotions. Yet, their throats feel constricted, choked by the overwhelming surge of emotions that threaten to spill forth. Their gaze flits between their companions, seeking solace and support amidst the tangled web of feelings that entwines them.

Among this silent deliberation, the focus gravitates towards Seonghwa and Hongjoong, their presence commanding attention. Their eyes meet yours, and you can discern the shimmering tears that cling to the edge of Seonghwa's gaze, mirroring the pain that echoes within your own heart.

Yet, it is Hongjoong's visage that strikes you with a profound sense of shock. The once playful, teasing glimmer in his eyes is replaced by a heartbroken expression that etches lines of sorrow upon his face. The stark contrast between his usual demeanour and the raw vulnerability that now radiates from him leaves you breathless. It is as if you are witnessing the unmasking of a side that has long been concealed, revealing the depth of his own pain and remorse.

“Ask us anything, we will answer truthfully.” Hongjoong says, his voice carrying its familiar authority, yet laced with a tenderness that wraps around you like a comforting embrace. His words hold a weight of sincerity, a genuine desire to be heard and understood. It's as if the sharp edges that once defined his voice have been softened, replaced by a warmth that melts the barriers between you.

You are not sure where to start, your words feeling as if they are stuck in your throat, you start with the most obvious question, even though it sounds absolutely absurd the second it leaves your mouth.

“It is you, right? KQ Fellaz?” you question, looking between each male.

With a collective display of understanding and respect, each of the men nods in response to your question. Their movements are deliberate, their expressions conveying a sense of sincerity and truth. The certainty of their response is evident, and you feel a surge of belief coursing through your veins. At that moment, there is no need for further questions or doubts. Their shared conviction and the earnestness in their eyes have already solidified your trust.

A heavy silence blankets the room, its weight suffocating your attempts to vocalise the question that weighs heavily on your heart. Despite the thoughts swirling within your mind, the words seem to escape you, slipping through your fingers like whispers carried away by the wind. You search for the right combination of words to give voice to your deepest inquiries, but they remain just out of reach, shrouded in the shadows of your thoughts. The intensity of your desire to ask the question on the tip of tongue is palpable, yet the silence persists. Gathering all of the courage in your body, you ask the very question that has been bugging your mind for years now.

“Why did you leave?” Your question hangs in the room like a weighty presence, casting a palpable tension that lingers in the air. The collective hearts of the men are gripped by this inquiry, their own emotions entwined with the weight of what was said. You can feel the tears beginning to well in the corners of your eyes, yet you desperately hold them back. Needing to stay strong in this moment that defines your future.

The weight of silence extends on, Hongjoong's thoughtful pause stretching longer than you anticipated. You can sense the inner workings of his mind, the gears turning as he searches for the words that would bear the weight of their sudden disappearance and the pain you've endured alone. Each passing second amplifies the intensity of the moment, heightening your anticipation for his response.

When his voice finally breaks the stillness, his words carry a weight that transcends the physical realm. They hold a depth of emotion that reverberates through the space, a profound sense of responsibility and remorse. The heaviness in his tone resonates with the burden he has carried, the knowledge of the pain you have endured, and the weight of their choice to vanish from your life.

"It was the only way we could protect you," Hongjoong's voice emerges, laden with a mix of sincerity, regret, and a touch of vulnerability. His words, like boulders rolling off his chest, reveal the heavy burden that has rested upon his heart all these years. It is a confession that unveils the depth of their sacrifice, the lengths they went to shield you from an unknown danger.

The impact of his words lands like an earthquake, shaking the foundation of your understanding and leaving you grappling with a multitude of emotions. The mixture of relief and frustration swirl within you, wrestling for dominance. Relief that they had acted out of concern for your well-being, but also frustration at the immense pain and loneliness you endured in their absence.

Hongjoong's admission floats in the air, the gravity of his words resonating in the profound silence that follows. The room is filled with the weight of unspoken emotions, the recognition of their sacrifice, and the bittersweet revelation that their actions were driven by love, even at the cost of their own presence in your life.

Holding back the tears that are threatening to fall, you gather up the words to reply to his statement, “can you please elaborate?” Your voice is soft, yet the harsh emotions are easily detectable by the way your tone shakes and fumbles.

Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong replies once again. “We don’t want to scare you.”

“Please,” you breathe out, your tone exasperated, begging for answers, “please tell me, I’m done with secrets.”

Hongjoong meticulously observes both you and his friends, carefully gauging the situation. He takes a moment to assess your broken state, fully aware that rebuilding your trust is of utmost importance. With a deep breath, he knows he must share the truth with you.

“Dae’s friends, along with people we have never even met before, started threatening us.” Hongjoong pauses as he sees the first tear fall from your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows, he continues, “at first, we didn’t care. We could take care of ourselves, stand up for ourselves. They didn’t like that we did not react to their threats.”

As you nod, the weight of the words settles heavily upon you, causing a pang of pain. Yet, with sheer determination, you push through the discomfort and resolve to keep listening, knowing that facing the truth is crucial for your growth and understanding.

“We tried to keep you unknown to them, but one of them found out about you. They said they were going to hurt you, destroy you, the same way they destroyed us.”

Shock and anguish wash over your face, betraying the emotions swirling within. Tears well up, cascading down your cheeks as your heart tightens with pain. Despite the overwhelming emotions, you find a glimmer of clarity as the truth penetrates your consciousness. Bit by bit, the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place, shedding light on their actions and intentions. The newfound understanding begins to bring a sense of coherence to the tumultuous situation, even if it doesn't immediately ease the pain in your heart.

“They told us to leave, or they would…” Hongjoong's hands tremble as he desperately clings to the edge of the counter, seeking physical support to steady his emotional turmoil. The mere thought of any harm coming to you becomes an unbearable weight on his shoulders, overwhelming him with a sense of protectiveness and concern. His eyes reflect the depth of his emotions, a mix of fear, remorse, and a fierce determination to shield you from any further pain or hardship. “They said they would kill you, or they would tear your life apart. At first we thought we could protect you, but we ended up deciding it would be better if we were not in your life.”

As the truth sinks in and the weight of it all bears down upon you, your world crumbles into fragments, and your heart shatters into pieces once again. The pain is immense, as if it's not the first time you've experienced heartbreak, but a recurring nightmare that persists relentlessly. The hurt runs deep, touching upon old wounds and scars, amplifying the anguish you feel in this moment. It's an emotional vortex that engulfs you entirely, leaving you feeling vulnerable and utterly devastated.

Tears fall freely from your eyes as you let the information sink in. Even though the ordeal transpired years ago, the fear of the possible situation scratches at your heart and breaks you down. Both San and Yeosang long to pull you into their arms upon seeing you slowly break down again, wishing to cradle you in their embrace, yet they remain still.

“What?” You manage to get out, your voice trembling.

“They can’t hurt you now. Never again.” Seonghwa is quick with his words, desperate to reach out and offer comfort.

The room falls into an uneasy and heavy silence, as the tension and disbelief hang thick in the air. The boys, overwhelmed with remorse and regret, yearn for you to break the silence, to hear your thoughts and feelings, and to find some solace in knowing how to proceed from this point onward. They long to hear your voice, hoping that your words can help ease their troubled minds, even if just a little. Each of them carries a mix of emotions, their faces reflecting a mixture of anxiety, hope, and the desire to make amends for the pain they have caused. With a trembling voice, you finally muster the courage to break the heavy silence.

“Why couldn't you tell me that? You guys just disappeared when I needed you.” Your confession pours forth, baring the raw emotions that have been bottled up inside.

The boys’ hearts break as they come to terms with the hurt they have caused you. The weight of their actions, coupled with the impact on your trust and emotions, is now laid bare before them. Remorse and regret fill their hearts, and the realisation of the consequences of their choice’s dawns upon them.

In this poignant moment, your question lingers, hanging in the air, and it echoes in their minds. The burden of seeking redemption and finding a way to mend what has been broken now rests heavily upon their shoulders.

Yunho's heart threatens to shatter under the weight of emotions, a surge of rage unexpectedly rises within him, overpowering the pain he's experiencing. The intensity of his anger eclipses the ache, becoming a fierce and agitated storm within. His emotions collide, leaving him torn between heartbreak and fury, struggling to make sense of the conflicting feelings that now consume him.

“We needed you too. You disappeared for a whole week after that happened then suddenly appeared to play hero with Seonghwa then left again? Where were you ____?” Yunho’s voice rising, his emotions getting the better of him.

“Didn't you guys ever think to ask?” You question the tall man sitting diagonal to you, your voice starting to match his volume.

“We couldn't find you, of course we didn’t ask. What do you even mean by that?”

“Didn't you think to ask why I was on that rooftop? Why didn’t I see you for weeks?”

“What is it then? What is so difficult for you that you ignored us when we needed you so badly?”

“Yunho.” You bellow, your voice bouncing off the walls and silencing the accusatory man in front of you. “Have you a single bone of remorse in your body?”

As he goes to retort, you cut him off, not knowing if you can stand another word of his accusations.

“If you want to know so fucking badly.” You draw in a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself in the midst of the overwhelming emotions. Your hands instinctively find their place on the counter in front of you, seeking a physical anchor to regain some sense of balance. “After it all started. I didn't disappear because I believed those horrendous rumours, I saw you guys as my best friends. For fucks sake, I knew you, I know you. Do you think I would ever believe that in a million years?”

They breathe out in relief. It appears as if you never believed the rumours, causing what feels like years of torment to be lifted off their chests. Yet something seems to still be resting on your chest, so they continue listening. Yunho feels his heart lighten up, yet being caught in the rage of the moment, he seems to not be able to bite back his tongue.

“What is it then huh? What's your amazing reason?”

Your heart shatters into countless pieces as you come to the painful realisation that the only way for Yunho and the others to believe you is to share the truth, just as they have bravely done. The weight of this understanding presses upon you, knowing that they deserve an explanation for the hurt and confusion they have endured.

“My brother died a few weeks before I met Seonghwa.”

Yunho’s eyebrows furrow, the recognition of your confession from a while ago resurfacing his memory. When he doesn’t speak, you continue, “my father couldn’t bear with losing his precious son, that he resulted in alcohol and using me as a punching bag to get rid of his anger.”

As each of the males listens to your words, their breath catches in their throats, the gravity of the situation hitting them hard. The profound urge to shield and safeguard you intensifies, almost suffocating in its intensity, as they can't bear the mere thought of you being hurt.

Among them, Jongho, with a gentle and caring voice, softly calls out your name, trying to anchor you in the present moment. He sees your emotions threatening to overwhelm your mind, and he wants to be there for you, to provide a sense of support and comfort in this tumultuous time. His concern shines through his eyes, as he reaches out emotionally, hoping to be a stabilising presence amidst the tempest of feelings swirling around you.

“Then I met you guys, and everything started to seem alright. I finally had people to rely on, to love.”

The men surrounding you feel their hearts soften as you make your heartfelt admission. Your vulnerability and sincerity touch something deep within them, evoking a genuine sense of empathy and understanding. Their cheeks flush with warmth, a mix of emotions swirling within them, as they take in your tender words.

“When the rumour first started, when Seonghwa and I ran home from school that one day,”

Seonghwa feels his heart warm up remembering the tender hug you shared in front of the warehouse that day, yet he feels it becoming colder as he realises there is more to your story.

“When I got home, I found my dead mother . Pretty damn important if you ask me. Try watching the only person who actually cared about you slip away before your own eyes.”

The tension in the room escalates upon hearing your reason. The answers circulating in their heads slowly getting answered.

“My own father couldn't last a day without tormenting me because he was convinced, I was the reason of my brother’s death when the only thing my brother was doing was protecting me for fucks sake.”

Despite witnessing your friends' emotions shift into overwhelming guilt, your determination remains resolute. Even as your heart continues to shatter into pieces, you recognize the importance of them knowing the truth. You understand that the path to healing and reconciliation requires the painful truth to be laid bare, no matter how difficult it may be for both you and them.

“He didn't turn up to my mother's funeral and I had to bury her by myself. Those weeks I prayed that someone would come and find me, but nobody did. I understand that you had your own problems, but did you really care that little about me as to not even think where I was?”

“____, that's unfair.” Yunho manages to say, his throat tightening as he regrets the rage that he suddenly laid on you.

“I went up to that damn rooftop because I was going to do it.” You almost yell, “I was going to kill myself because I couldn’t live like that anymore. I wanted to finally feel like I had one choice with how my life pans out.”

When the truth slowly dawns upon them, the hearts of the men collectively break, realising the reasons behind your actions and the extreme pain you must have endured. The focus on protecting you from outside threats now shifts to the realisation that they should have been protecting you from yourself. The weight of their guilt becomes almost suffocating as they comprehend that their actions, or lack thereof, played a role in the events that unfolded.

Seonghwa's heart, in particular, feels like it's being crushed under his own emotions. The fog of the extreme day he experienced clears, and he can now see the significance of the signs he missed and the opportunity he could have taken to intervene. The regret and remorse threaten to overwhelm him, and he struggles to find the words to express the pain he feels for not being there when you needed him the most.

“Every day I am carrying the grief of three people, and it is constantly tearing me apart. I know you have your struggles but don’t forget you are not the only people in the world carrying heavy shit on your back, Yunho." As your words spill forth, your grip tightens on the counter, seeking balance and control. Avoiding direct eye contact, you release the pain and frustration that has been pent up within you.

When you finally gather the strength to meet the gaze of the men around you, the sight of their broken eyes and hearts pierces through your own emotional turmoil. In that crucial moment, a realisation washes over you like a tidal wave. Their intentions were not born out of spite but rather a result of profound misunderstanding. Their guilt and remorse become palpable, and you sense the genuine remorse they carry for their misjudgements.

"I'm sorry for leaving you guys." you speak out, feeling as if it was something your entire being needed to say, to release the wires that have been wrapped around your heart for years.

"____," Mingi calls out, the weight of your words heavy on his heart. Anxiety threatening to swallow him whole.

“We are sorry too. Sincerely.” Hongjoong says, the weight on his heart feeling as if it is slowly being lifted and you can tell Hongjoong speaks for all of the men around you.

The room remains quiet for a while, Yeosang reaching his arm up to rest a comforting hand on your shoulder, he caresses your arm gently with his thumb, hoping it will give you some form of support. Tears are being split from each man, the fact that you would ever cause harm to yourself makes their entire world spin and crash around them, the mere thought of losing you breaking their souls in two.

"I have another question." you speak out, breaking the silence, you are still curious about one more thing. 

“Of course.” Seonghwa replies, his own heart also becoming lighter upon hearing your apology.

"Why did you pretend like you didn't know me, for years?" you ask, needing to know why they introduced themselves into your life so late, when you have been in the same school for almost three years.

"We didn't know it was you either." Seonghwa says, his voice soft yet comforting. meaning behind his words, “not until recently.”

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, you do live under a rock ____." Wooyoung exclaims, a joking tone behind his voice lifting the tension of the room ever so slightly.

The tension in the room begins to ease as the men around you witness your response to the joking statement. They are relieved to see that you take it in stride, and a subtle, knowing smile starts to play at the corners of your lips. The shared moment of light-heartedness provides a much-needed reprieve from the emotional intensity that had filled the air just moments before.

"It was fine the first year, we ignored everyone because we didn’t really want to make friends, people paid attention to us because we are somewhat good looking," Hongjoong says, and you can barely believe he called them 'somewhat' good-looking, "someone must have recognised us or started another rumour, that made us look like the bad boys, I guess. We could only play into the narrative."

"We know how to defend ourselves, there is no such thing as bullying in college, so we just carried on as we were." Yeosang adds on, “we were so focused on ourselves and school that we never noticed that you were right in front of us.”

"Then how did you find out it was me?"

“We had a feeling you wanted to come to this college.” Jongho explains, “you told us in high school this was your first choice.”

“You remember that?” You question, confused as to how they would remember such a small detail.

“One of the reasons we came to this college was in hopes of finding you.” Mingi adds, the tender expression of his face leaving your heart racing.

"Just when we thought you weren’t here, you appeared at the cafe where I work." Wooyoung explains, feeling it was his time to contribute, "I didn't recognise you at first, you have physically changed a lot." You furrow your eyebrows at the confession. That makes sense why he was still foreign to you when you were a frequent visitor those few months ago. Distantly recalling how Wooyoung seemed uninterested and never once spared a look in the eyes does explain as to why he would not recognise you.

"Then you appeared at The Treasure." Mingi speaks up, the anxious feeling slowly fading in his chest as he surveys the way you are positively taking information. “That’s when we knew it was you.”

You vaguely recall the name belonging to the brand-new bar near campus that you and Jisung frequently visited after its opening. You nod in recognition before Mingi continues speaking.

"That's our bar." He explains, and the statement makes your curiosity peak sky high.

"What do you mean?" 

"We opened the bar ourselves. with the help of Hongjoong's mother of course. It helps us make money for rent and tuition.” Jongho explains.

You find yourself utterly gobsmacked by the revelation that the young individuals have managed to run a successful small business. The sheer accomplishment of their entrepreneurial attempt impresses you greatly. Their determination and hard work shine through, leaving you in awe of what they have achieved at such a young age.

As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, you begin to understand why there were nights when one or two of them would leave late and return in the early hours of the morning. It suddenly becomes clear that they were dedicating themselves to their business, putting in long hours and hard work to make it thrive.

The fact that they never shared this with you before now surprises you, but it also fills you with admiration for their humility and modesty. Despite their success, they remained humble and focused on maintaining their friendships and connections, not letting their achievements define them.

"So, you saw me there? If I have changed so much, how did you know it was me?" 

"I was the one who made your drinks for you and Jisung the first time you went." Mingi explains his job working as a bartender every so often. "I wasn't sure of it at first, yet I heard you laugh. I can recognise your laugh from anywhere.”

The sudden confession reaches your ears making your heart leap within your chest, causing it to race uncontrollably. The unexpected revelation catches you off guard, and you feel a rush of emotions coursing through you. Your cheeks flush, and the heat rises to your face, betraying the intensity of your feelings.

"We didn't know how to proceed though. We knew it was a risk to involve you back with us, given our reputation. but we just needed you back, in any way possible." Jongho speaks this time, his voice is hoarse, so much he has to clear his throat.

"In the creepiest way possible, we tried to find out some stuff about you." Yeosang explains. When you nod at them to continue, not worrying too much about them researching you.

“When we found out you were doing tutoring sessions, we decided to attend one to see if it was truly you.” San explains from by your side, his voice steady.

“Not all of us agreed to it at first,” Wooyoung adds, and you can feel him heavily indicating towards Yunho standing near him.

With a nod of understanding, you acknowledge his words.

“You didn’t actually need the sessions, did you?” you ask, being curious since the tutoring about how smart Jongho and San were. It didn’t make sense to you that they needed help with their studies.

“Not exactly,” San replies, and you can't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His small smile and the playful tone in his voice create a lightness in the air, and a chuckle escapes your throat, relieving some of the tension that had built up.

“We don’t even take calculus.” Jongho says, almost laughing at his own confession.

The atmosphere around you begins to shift, transforming from the intensity of earlier moments to a more relaxed and enjoyable one. There's a sense of camaraderie in this shared moment of humour, a connection that goes beyond the weight of emotions that had been present before.

“I still don’t understand how I didn’t recognise you guys.”

"It could be the trauma." Yunho finally speaks after being silent for a while, the others look at him hoping he has a valid point to his argument. "Trauma has weird ways of messing with your mind. You went through months of psychological and emotional trauma back then, and they both have a possibility of resulting in memory loss. Your brain may have suppressed the memories as a protective mechanism to stop you from feeling the painful emotions associated with the traumatic events. Along with the belief of us being dead, your mind may have temporarily erased us from your memories in order to protect your well-being. When you saw Danny at the store it may have kick-started your memories." 

As Yunho provides the detailed explanation, you can't help but give him an awfully confused look. The level of knowledge and understanding he displays surprises you, leaving you curious about how he has acquired such specific information on such a subject.

He chuckles slightly before lifting his hand, "Psychology major." 

As you nod in understanding, you acknowledge that there are still gaps in your knowledge about the boys' lives, particularly when it comes to their academic pursuits. This realisation prompts you to feel a sense of curiosity and eagerness to learn more about their individual journeys and areas of interest.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your courage to address the question that has been bothering you since that day in the kitchen. You're aware that asking this question might reveal that you accidentally overheard their conversation, but you believe that open communication is essential for a strong and honest friendship.

With a hint of nervousness, you decide that it's best to be upfront and candid. You express your desire to clear the air and ask about the conversation you unintentionally walked in on last week. You assure them that you didn't mean to intrude, but you want to understand the context of what you heard to avoid any misunderstandings.

In this moment of vulnerability, you hope that they will appreciate your honesty and understand that your intentions were never to invade their privacy.

“Last week, before we went to the furniture store,” you pause, remembering the events that transpired that day.

Hongjoong notices the turmoil in your eyes and softly calls your name, grounding you in the moment. Encouraged by his support, you find the strength to ask the question that has been bothering you. His presence helps ease the tension, allowing you to speak openly and seek the answers you need.

“I didn’t intend to eavesdrop that morning, but on my way to the kitchen I heard you say you were offering me some sort of a proposition.”

Observing the reactions of the men around you, you can sense the weight of your question settling heavily upon them. Their breaths seem to catch, and their eyes widen with a mix of understanding and bewilderment. It becomes evident that the proposition you asked about holds more significance than you initially anticipated, catching them off guard and leaving them unsure of how to respond.

In the brief moment of silence, you notice the unspoken communication among them as they exchange glances. Even Hongjoong, known for his rock-solid composure, seems to falter, revealing the gravity of your question and the complexity of the emotions it has stirred within them.

It becomes clear that this is a topic that requires careful consideration and thought. They may not have expected such a direct inquiry, and it's apparent that they need time to process their feelings and find the right words to respond. As the weight of the situation lingers in the air, you remain patient, knowing that genuine and honest responses take time to formulate.

You watch as the attention gravitates again to Hongjoong, the seven other men silently begging him to give an explanation that doesn’t tear you away from them.

“That’s not really for now,” Hongjoong manages to say after clearing his throat.

"I don't want to pry or make anyone uncomfortable, but I'm quite curious about it. It seemed significant; I'd be grateful to know what it's about. To put my mind at ease.”

Hongjoong looks at his seven friends, briefly locking eyes with each of them, receiving a nod of acknowledgement and permission in return. However, when his gaze meets Yunho's, it lingers a moment longer, yet when accompanied by a reassuring smile he finally turns back to you, and to your relief, he continues with his explanation.

“We don’t want to lose you again.” He begins.

Upon the confession, your heart begins to race, and you find yourself engulfed in a flood of emotions. Love and attraction surge through you like a tidal wave, overwhelming your senses. It's a powerful and unexpected rush, leaving you momentarily breathless as you process the depth of your feelings.

Hongjoong continues speaking, “We have thought of many ways to keep you in our life, yet only two seemed reasonable.”

“What would those be?” You question, curiosity filling your entire being.

“We already did one of them,” Wooyoung says this time, “asking you to move in with us.”

Nodding, you process the information slowly in your mind before speaking, “and the other?”

“If you…” Hongjoong stumbles on his words, his voice shaky “we don’t want to lose you again.”

“Hongjoong.” Your voice is tender, trying to reach him and calm down the nerves he is suddenly feeling. “it’s okay.”

“If we asked you to be, like, with us. What would you say?” Seonghwa takes over for his friend. You hear breaths catch in the boy’s throats, a deep exhale from someone else upon hearing the words.

The sudden question hangs in the air and confusion swirls within you, accompanied by a storm of intrusive thoughts. You find yourself grappling with the idea that their feelings may extend beyond friendship, but your mind is quick to dismiss such a notion. You believe that they couldn't possibly mean it that way, that they must only see you as a friend.

The uncertainty weighs heavily on your heart, causing doubt and self-doubt to creep in. You begin to question your worth and wonder why anyone would see you in a romantic light. The belief that they couldn't feel the same way as you do takes hold, overshadowing any possibility of reciprocated feelings.

As the internal battle rages, you might feel a mix of emotions – confusion, fear, and a desire to protect yourself from potential disappointment. The idea of them seeing you as more than a friend feels like a dream, one that seems too far-fetched to be true.

“I am with you now. What do you mean?” You manage to say, pushing aside the ridiculous thoughts of being with just one of them.

Hongjoong takes in a deep breath before gaining his composure, he speaks with a strong voice, finding confidence in his words, “With us. You be ours; we be yours. We all belong to each other.”

With furrowed eyebrows, uncertainty clouds your mind as you contemplate his insinuations, questioning whether they align with the dreams you've harboured. The notion of any one of your friends reciprocating your feelings seems unlikely, let alone all of them. A rapid heartbeat betrays your inner turmoil, anxiety welling up within you. You fear this might be a cruel jest aimed at exploiting your emotions, and it leaves you vulnerable and on edge. Glancing around, you see the kind and tender gazes of the men around you, softening the edge to your sudden nerves.

“I don’t understand.”

“We understand it may sound strange, but we have talked about this a lot recently, four years ago too.” Seonghwa speaks, his voice its usual softness, “we have loved you, for years ___, all of us, we love each other, and now you are back in our lives we can’t bear to lose you again.”

The words of confession gently caress your ears, and a storm of emotions surge through you, causing your heart to beat impossibly fast. It's a whirlwind of feelings, as if your world is both crashing down and miraculously mending at the same time. The vulnerability in his voice makes the moment all the more precious, and you can't help but feel deeply moved.

The revelation that they reciprocate your feelings brings an overwhelming sense of euphoria, unlike anything you've ever experienced before. It's a blissful realisation that the men you admire so much, men so remarkably handsome, compassionate, and kind, could hold such deep affection for you. In this moment, you find yourself floating in a surreal dream, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur.

A rush of gratitude washes over you, grateful for the connection you share you’re your friends. Their presence in your life has always been a source of joy, but now it takes on a whole new level of significance. The bonds between you feel strengthened, as if destiny had woven its threads to bring you all together.

Yet, amid the euphoria, a tinge of disbelief lingers. You never imagined that the object of your admiration would harbour the same feelings for you. Doubt whispers at the edges of your mind, questioning if this could all be too good to be true. But as you glance into their eyes, sincerity and warmth reflected back at you, those doubts begin to fade like distant echoes.

“This isn’t a joke, right?”

Each of the men furrow their eyebrows, not believing you would ask such a thing.

“We would never joke about something like this, ___.” Wooyoung says, managing to finally find the words to contribute to the situation.

“You like, love me? You question, not being able to understand or grasp the circumstances unfolding in front of you, there’s no way that they would like you, right?

As each man nods once again, you can see the mixture of determination and fear in their eyes. They are desperate to convince you of the sincerity of their feelings, but at the same time, they are terrified of the possible rejection they might face from you. Their hearts are pounding with anxiety, unsure of what words you might say in response to their confessions.

In this moment, you realise the vulnerable position they have placed themselves in and the courage it took for them to open up to you. You understand the significance of your response and the potential impact it could have on your relationships with each of them.

“I’m sorry but, Yunho, I thought you hated me?” You point your question at the tall male who is now bright red in the face.

“I never hated you." he begins, looking down at his hands, "I was scared of letting you in again. All these years I thought the reason you left was because you believed the rumours.” He explains, embarrassed at himself for thinking in such a way when now it is evident there was another reason. He continues, “we can talk about it, us two, when you are ready. I deserve you a proper apology.” 

Yunho’s words hit you hard, along with the dejected expression on his face,  it makes it somewhat feel like he has already apologised. 

As you take in the emotions swirling around the room, you feel a sense of responsibility to handle this situation with care and honesty. The trust they have placed in you deserves to be honoured, regardless of the outcome.

“Would it not feel weird for you guys to have the same partner?”

“Yeosang and I have kind of done it before.” Yunho speaks once again, turning your attention to him, you see the pained expression lining his features, “it didn’t work out… but we want to try with you.”

Around you, you can feel the boy's expression lift, as if Yunho has given some sort of hidden permission. They are ecstatic that Yunho wants to try, after denying it so many times over the years. The fact Yeosang and Yunho were broken after the previous attempt, and they are still willing to try again with you leaves a profound impact on your heart. It's evident that their emotions run deep, and their commitment to giving it another shot speaks volumes about their feelings for you.

As you observe their vulnerability and dedication, you begin to entertain the possibility that they might genuinely love you. Their actions show that they are willing to invest in the relationship despite the challenges and uncertainties that may arise.

“There is no one we trust more than each other, and you.” Mingi adds, meaning to make you believe their true feelings.

“Can I think about it, please? It is quite a big decision.” You manage to say, desperately attempting to calm the raging thoughts racing through your mind.

Around you, you can sense an unmistakable trace of disappointment emanating from those around you. However, despite their apparent dismay, they make a concerted effort to conceal their emotions, evidently not wanting to burden you with any negative feelings. It doesn’t mean you have said no, yet they recognise that the answer may take a while to surface, leaving them on edge.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” Hongjoong says, smiling warmly at you, lifting the sudden tension, “dinner is at seven, please join us?”

Smiling back, you feel your heart lively, “I won’t miss it.”

⇢ taglist: @lilactangerine @plutoneu @abby-grace @sunkissed725 @lixiel0ver @acciocriativity @hyukssunflower @sunukissed @khjcoo @stopeatread @meginthebuilding27 @mychickentendou @sunnyhokyu @rxnexxi @croa-yevon @arabelleum @randomness7198 @dysftopia @lucymultistan @sookacc @starillusion13 @daceydeath @theamazinggrace-000 @smilingtokki @hasgalore @pytssamworld @just-a-really-bored-kpop-fan @satsuri3su

@theonesoldtoonedirection @wooya1224 @deadpoetsandhoney @skztrophy @kunhengie @tinyelfperson @l0vetiny @simplyalfie @doggopepper @seungily @dino-teezerr @silentcry329 @formulateez @senpai-of-doom @aaaaajonghooooo @ijwsbdinp ​@liniiiaa @channiespup @heyitstacy @eightmakesonebraincell @araknoid @itsmeregan @rynmlk @kazuhateez @galaxypox @chermonroe @babyhailey819 @euphoricdeni @wooya1224 @matzbear @h-nji @tunaasan @send-me-places @llynx7 @solstramaii @mlink64 @purple-bell @punkhazardlaw @meljoongiee @solstramaii @vixensss @notevenheretbh1 @imsodazed @sunasbitch2-0 @tigerliliexists

if you asked to be tagged and don't see your name, it's because you can't be tagged.

#ateez #ateez poly #ateez smut #ateez x reader #poly ateez #ot8 #ot8!ateez #ateez ot8 #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #mingi #san #jongho #wooyoung #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Because I will never get tired of them, here are some more fic recs. These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is an extract from the summaries on ao3.

Never Quite Awake by @sunshinemarauder 

“Endings are nothing unfamiliar to Lily Evans; she’s seen the ends of sisterhood, friendship, and innocence, all from miles away. But this is an end unlike any other. An end that was never supposed to happen.”

If to love someone once is to break their heart, to love them twice is to break yours.

Lily falls for James in her seventh year. But the couple are sent onto two diverging paths when a life-shattering altercation halts their burgeoning relationship. Five years later, she's a curse breaker and he is a soldier.

When they meet again, it feels like coming home.

All the angst that comes with a jily second chance romance that takes place during wartime. A fake dating subplot, cursebreaker!Lily, pining!James. What more could you want. France (country) - a relevant tag

Through The Rain by @bookeatingbean

James and Lily's first kiss, and the story behind it. There's some fluff, some character study, and some good old-fashioned angst.

If you're looking for a character study that shows how they grew up through their school years. This fic shows you that Lily was not a perfect person and James was a bully for the sake of it but he grew to understand that the world does not revolve around him and strives to do better. Or Lily is stubborn and James is the definition of a ride-or-die

It's been a long time by writtenbyfreckles (on ao3)

It's been ten years since Lily left Hogwarts. She's returned to England to work as a Healer on the "ward of the wacky", only to find home isn't as safe as she thought it was. An attack leaves her locked in a ward with her patients, a bunch of Death Eaters and an Auror she hasn't seen for a long time.

I need more cannon divergence Auror!James and Healer!Lily

The Guide To Becoming A Better Man For Lily Evans by @padfootswhiskers

prompt: I decided to walk outside shirtless (accidentally) but I forgot it's winter and why're you screaming at me like that? And oh gosh, you're very pretty.

lingering days, short-lived nights by letthebookbegin (on ao3)

The summer before seventh year, James is desperately trying to think of anything but Lily, who's burrowed her way into his mind and looks quite comfortable there.

The summer before seventh year, Lily is craving a distraction. Avoiding her sister, she picks an ice cream shop for shelter.

At the end of a long summer day, their paths cross - and the rest, as they say, is history.

Ties That Bind by @charmsandtealeaves

Lily Evans grew up with old wives tales about soul mates, but she'd never put much stock in the idea. Not until after she learned about the world of magic and the fact that soul bonds were a thing that actually existed. Which makes these strange new feelings and experiences that much more difficult to manage.

So I read this a while ago but stupidly forgot to bookmark it and then I spent nearly an hour trying to find it again. Needless to say, I ADORE this fic and you should all go read it. Like, right now. Then come back here to talk to me about it.

Lily Evans Doesn't Believe In I Love You's also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

“Did you hear Lily Evans doesn’t believe in I love you's?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret. But no one knew why, until she decided to share a bottle of fire whiskey in the astronomy tower with James Potter.

Same Lily, same

Meet Me At The River also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

A chance encounter with a misplaced owl leads to a correspondence between pen pals. Lily confides in her mysterious Flea and finds herself falling along the way.

I can't remember if I've recommended this one already, but even if I have I'll rec it again because I love it so much!!

Your Friend, James by @thelighthousestale

It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Just the ending of this one is everything. James and Sirius are never beating the codependent allegations

Castling by @missgryffin

When they were still very young, Remus Lupin’s dad married Lily Evans’ mum. It changes everything.

Lily and Remus are like the little brother who got bullied and then found friends except he invited them over for the first time and they all act weird because they're mildly terrified of his older sister. Friends to lovers jily is only rivaled by academic rivals jily.

Just the Two of Us by @arianatwycross

Head Students James and Lily face a perilous twist when a malicious potion surfaces in hate mail directed at Lily. Dumbledore orders a week-long quarantine in the Head Students' suite. With unspoken crushes lingering, the duo navigates close quarters, leading to unexpected revelations, lingering looks and forehead kisses.

silence and patience, pining in anticipation by @kay-elle-cee

Lily’s been hung up on James for years; a tipsy conversation might be the push she needs to do something about it.

DRESS IS A JILY SONG FOREVER AND ALWAYS

The Devil in the Cloak Room by @chiechie97

Getting your heart broken when you’re 17 seems to alter your brain chemistry more than you would think. Which is the precise reason why Lily has no intention of reconnecting with the friends she lost at the end of school.

And besides, she has no chance of knowing anyone at the masked Halloween party her friend drags her to. Especially not the guy in the devil mask. Right?

Usually I rec complete works but this one is so good I had to include it

Deception and other ways to find love by @annasghosts

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Potter.” And this is how Lily Evans embarks on the adventure of (fake) dating her former Hogwarts nemesis (and crush, but ssssh, it’s a secret). Will she be able to keep her cool? Will he?

Class of '78 by @emeralddoeadeer

Class of 1978 Five Year Reunion - July 29th, 1983

Now is the time to look upon our shared experience, our similarities must unite us rather than letting our differences divide us. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry invites the Graduating Class of 1978 to return to the castle for a weekend of reconnecting, reminiscing and recreation. We hope the passage of time has been kind to you all and look forward to welcoming you soon.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc, DWiz, X.J sorc, S of Mag Q

It's been five years since graduation, and while many things have changed, some things never will.

James Potter Won't Go Quietly by la_plus_heureuse (on ao3)

Lily Evans remembers plenty about James Potter from Hogwarts. But an assignment from Mojo Magazine to profile the Quidditch star turned activist makes her realize what she remembered was all wrong.

canon divergence staring quidditch player James and journalist Lily

On A Scale of One to Ten (requires an ao3 account) by @petalsinwoodvale

Lily starts falling for an insecure, yet charming auror named James who is recovering from injury in her ward. No one else on staff will sit and talk to him, mostly due to septic skin covering most of his upper torso. Lily, however, finds him charming and funny. Naturally, when James' injuries start healing, he grows more and more handsome. The other healers suddenly take interest in James, romantically ...

foxy by lizpaige (on ao3)

Lily joins the boys at the shrieking shack on a particularly difficult moon in her new animagus form.

Lily & Remus friendship is so special to me

#jily fic rec #jily #jple #lily x james #lily evans #james potter

[lev1hei1chou]

pls pls plsssss! I desperately need part 2 of the angst breakup with nanami! Make it fluff ending plssssss! Ty!

Second Chances

Nanami x reader Warning: none Words: 647 Synopsis: Patching up with Nanami PART 1 PART 3 Masterlist

The soft chime of the bell signaled your entrance into the comfy little cafe that held uncountable memories of laughter, shared secrets, and loving glances. The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air and with that came a flood of emotions. This was the place where you and Nanami Kento, a skilled sorcerer with an unpredictable life, had spent countless moments together.

It had been months since the two of you decided to split up. The constant worry and fear that filled your heart every time he walked into the unknown had become too much to bear. Nanami's dedication to his duty as a sorcerer was firm, and your love for him had been both a major source of strength and pain. The decision to break up had been painful, but you somehow believed it was for the best, hoping that he would find a way to stay safe, just as he had up until now.

As you made yourself comfortable in a familiar corner of the cafe, all the memories flooded back. The way Nanami used to smile softly at you over a cup of coffee, the gentle warmth of his hand holding yours – all of it played like a bittersweet melody in your mind. Lost in thought, you didn't notice the figure approaching until a deep voice spoke.

"Long time no see."

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up, catching Nanami's gaze. His expression softened as he took in the sight of you. He wore his usual suit, the epitome of professionalism, but the lines on his face were the proof of all his responsibilities and burdens.

"Hello, Nanami," you replied curtly, trying to maintain your composure.

He took a seat across from you. The air between you was thick with unspoken words but was still comfortable for some reason. The tension was easy to note, but neither of you wanted to be the first to break it. The silence hung in the air for a while until Nanami finally spoke.

"I've missed this place," he admitted, eyes looking observing the surroundings.

A small smile played on your lips. "Yeah, me too."

The conversation flowed slowly but smoothly, both of you carefully walking on the delicate balance of the past and the present. You spoke about your life, the comforting routine that replaced the chaos and uncertainity that plagued it when you were in love with a sorcerer. Nanami, in turn, shared stories about his usual encounters with curses and spirits, a world that had always been his reality.

Time passed, and it was evening. The cafe's soft glow cast a warm ambiance around you. You realised that the cafe was not just a place; it was a symbol of your connection, a proof of the love you both once shared.

After sipping his coffee, Nanami set down his cup and looked at you intently. "I miss us," he admitted, his voice low.

You met his gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and longing. "I miss us too."

A shared understanding was in the air, and with it came the possibility of a second chance. The unspoken apologies and affection you had for each other pushed you both to the edge of reconciliation.

As you stood up to leave, Nanami mirrored your movements. The cafe was a witness to the progress of your relationship. The decision loitered in the air, implied yet absolute.

"Can we try again?" Nanami asked, his gaze unwavering with a hint of hope in his eyes.

A smile played on your lips, tears threatening to spill. "I'd love that."

Lo and behold, amidst of the familiar aroma of coffee and the calm bustle of the cafe, you and Nanami Kento took the first step towards rebuilding what was formerly lost – a love that rebelled against the boundaries of danger and the complexities of the supernatural world.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #kento nanami #nanami kento #nanamin #jjk kento #jjk nanami #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami angst #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #nanami kento x y/n

[moronkombat]

Baraka needs some more love for sure. Can I request some sfw and nsfw headcanons please? Thank you again! Super excited to see what you write! ❤️ You can write him however you want!

it is time

SFW

Baraka has lost everything and everyone. He may not have yet lost himself completely but there not much left to lose

Finding a partner after the death of his family not even a thought in his mind

He had come to accept his role as leader of those afflicted with this sickness.

The other choice was to lay down and die and there many moments in the past where Baraka thought that would he should do but never did he commit

Acceptance of his disease the only solace found for a long and lonely time

He'd never dreamed to be meeting somebody like you

It had not been instantaneous, nothing of the sort. Just a chance encounter to slowly becoming acquaintances over time

The two of you work together, trying to benefit the people in the colony he leads

You were the only one willing to bring supplies. Everyone else is far too fearful but you wanted to help

That is essential in Baraka's partner. They must be helping and kind. He has been hated by many so a glimpse of kindness really catches his attention

It is that kindness that blooms his attraction to you but he is reserved with this new feeling

Baraka is very aware of his situation and health. This holds him back from approaching a potential partner and, instead pines for them quietly

He is so touch starved, unable to make contact with anyone really

Then he looks to you and how desperately he wants to hold you in his arms. Baraka wonders what you'd feel like close to him or if you would be worried he's mutations would cut you

Baraka never intends to know as he will not approach his partner first. He would be eternally pining for you in despair

So his partner must be willing to seek out Baraka's company instead and even then there is hesitation

He is exceptionally cautious with his partner, almost refusing to make physical contact with you

It not that he doesn't want to touch you, he very much so does. He wants that more than anything but he is scared

Baraka needs a partner who can validate his apprehensions and truly listen to them

There are many emotions hiding inside him and to have a partner slowly bring them to the surface and then just let him release them is a true gift

Slowly Baraka begins to indulge in those ghostly touches as time goes on

They are very light and subtle, just lightly brushing his hand to yours and this is how things will continue for sometime

His partner must be very patient and understanding with him especially when he apologies for his hesitation

It is during one of those apologies where a first kiss is shared. While his disease has mangled his face, his partner will still find ways to normalize all the typical physical sensations lovers engage in

Baraka cannot kiss you but you can kiss him. Lips places against teeth while hands hold each other dearly

How he reciprocates the gesture is to lay his forehead against your own. He does this to feel close and exposed to you

Baraka is a very caring lover but also shy and reserved in his affections

He does worry about his partner's safety and health, terrified that he will condemn you to death just as his wife and children were

A resilient partner helps settle those constant fears and when he feels your hands hold his and your lips against his teeth, the world feels a bit safer

He is also very protective of you but not suffocatingly so. He would prefer for you not to participate in dangerous situations but just you being next to him could be considered dangerous

Baraka becomes anxious when you are away from him. He worries that you may not return, that something may happened to you. He is so used to losing that it will take him time to accept that you are here to stay

NSFW

He is not immune to the call of pleasure. He too is but a man and one so desperate to feel the touch of another

Yet Baraka still hesitant and careful but he cannot help himself from trembling under your touch

He longs for you, taking in your scent as he holds you close

Wild thoughts circle in this head about what hides from him under those fabrics you wear

Hands seem to grip onto tighter but it is a merely fleeting second before he withdraws from you

Yet he cannot ignore the lust in his loins and so he masturbates quite frequently

He makes sure he is completely and utterly alone, not wanting anyone to discover this indecent sin

He is very vocal when masturbating, grunting and groaning as he hand pumps and squeezes

Baraka thinks of all he wishes to experience with you and how he wishes to explore your body

He will masturbate for quite sometime, going multiple rounds in one setting until finally he is sated

Still, Baraka is quiet about these ever lingering desires. He does not approach you with them

It is only when you catch him pleasuring himself that he can no longer hide

His partner is happy to help Baraka relieve himself, your lips coming to wrap so snug around his girthy length

Baraka is a rather large fan of receiving oral. He cannot get enough of your cheeks hollowed out around him or those gagging noises you make as he thrusts his hips

Prefers to cum on your tongue and face, painting you oh so sticky and then watching as you lick his cock clean

Baraka's tempo in the bedroom tends to shift and vary

He often starts out tamed and even, fucking his partner missionary so that he feels close and intimate with them

It does not last, however. Blood is pumping and his thoughts become so corrupted

He moves faster, harder and with command. The grunts become snarls and his grip on your hips begin to bruise

Baraka's sense of control is thrown to the win, his bestial and carnivorous fury taking hold of his mind

He is fueled to breed you, to fill you up again and again with his seed and Baraka has lost himself

You are fucked like a whore, like a dog, with him driving into you from behind and a hand at the back of your head forcing you down

He finishes inside you again and again, ravaging all that you are

Once he has finally drained himself empty the madness subsides and his senses return

Baraka will cradle you in his arms then, holding you close as you two lay together

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mortal kombat headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #mk baraka #baraka x reader

[eddiemunching]

I actually love your writing so much! Would i be able to request an eddie x reader where the reader is newish in town, moved into trailer park and needed a new dealer so robin sent her to eddie. After meeting a few times there's obvious sexual and romantic tension. So when the reader gets locked out of her trailer in the pouring rain she ends up at eddies and spicyness ensues

In desperate need for more fics where reader isn’t a cheerleader

Warnings: 18+ Reader, mentions of weed and smoking, sexual intent ??

Stick Around (Part 1) - Eddie x Reader

Being new to a place meant that you had to familiarize yourself with new things. These things including a new dealer. Sure, you didn’t want to ask around but you needed some form of sweet release that you knew only came from weed.

It had been a few weeks since you moved to Hawkins, becoming friends with some band kid you shared a science class with was your only chance of finding a dealer. You had seen her smoking in her car, sharing with some boy with ridiculous hair. Not wanting to ask outright, you decided you might as well have a friend in such a dreary town. There you learned, that her name was Robin — and she knew exactly what you needed.

You found yourself sitting on chairs outside of your mothers trailer, leaning back to avoid the sun while talking with Robin about your ongoing boredom associated with the heavy lack of weed. “You could’ve just told me you needed a dealer.” Robin sighed. “You could’ve had weed the first time we talked.”

“I didn’t know anyone who had any.” You shrugged, putting your sunglasses back on your face.

“The answer to all of your problems is right there.” Robin pointed towards another trailer situated a few ways down your road. “Eddie Munson.”

The name seemed somewhat familiar to you. Maybe someone you had a class with or had heard a rumor about in the hallway. “You’re telling me he’s been here this whole time.” You gasped. “Introduce me to him?”

It was important to get to know someone first — right? You at least thought with Eddie you could let him know your name before you decided to give into what he offered, no matter how much you wanted to be high right now. So there you were, stood at his door with Robin by your side, nervously picking at her chipped nails. “What?” She whispered. “I don’t do this talking shit for a reason.”

Three knocks was all it took for you to fully understand the nature of Eddie Munson. His curly hair, falling below his shoulders. The tattoos he had littered across his arms and whenever else you longed to see at another time. How he owned the door with a sort of gentleness you didn’t expect. “Uh, sorry for disturbing you.” You smiled apologetically, looking directly into his eyes. “I just wanted to introduce myself because I just moved here and I want to be neighborly.” You let out and awkward laugh, accompanied by a sigh from Robin.

He held his hand out, rings on full display as he smiled down at you. “Nice to meet you, Y/N”

“I didn’t tell you my name yet.” You said, confused, eyeing Robin suspiciously.

“Ah. You’re in one of my classes. Not like I show up often but. I never forget a pretty face.” He winked. “Maybe I’ll show up more to talk to you. Nice shirt by the way.” He smirked before shutting the door. Looking down at your shirt, you saw the bold logo of Black Sabbath staring back at you.

“He’s a metal head?” You turn to Robin awestruck.

“You’re seriously into that guy?” She laughed, pulling you back towards your own trailer. “Maybe you do need some weed.”

—

After your first encounter with Eddie, you found yourself looking for him more often. Catching his eyes in the hallway, or giving him a quick wave across the cafeteria was a clear indication that he was on your radar.

“Hey Robin.” You said in a sweet voice, sitting next to her at the table. “Do you happen to know where Eddie’s dealing spot is?”

“Him again?“ she groaned before giving in. “In the woods behind the school. He’s probably going there now.”

“I love you Robin Buckley.” You declared, kissing her cheek before running off to catch Eddie.

You were not expecting to find a picnic table in the middle of the woods, a perfect clearing for such a risky thing. Knowing this is exactly where you’d find Eddie, you placed yourself on the closest bench and waited.

“If it isn’t my favorite neighbor.” Eddie said suddenly, making you jump from the sudden noise. “Looks like you know what my job around here is.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” You taunted.

“You’re definitely here for some weed.” He deadpanned, gesturing to the small box he carried with him.

“Can’t smoke without good company.” You smiled up at him, tapping the table so that he would take that as an invitation to join you.

He waltzed over, practically bouncing. You watched as his swung his legs over the opposing bench, brushing his jeans against the coarse material. “You’re a sly one.” He said laughing. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

“Oh really?” You lifted your eyebrow. “I think I could get away with not paying but I want to support your business, of course.”

“Maybe another time.” Unlocking his box in a swift movement, he held a baggie in-front of your face. “$15 for now.”

“I’m definitely not complaining about your prices.” You said, digging into your pocket for the money. “How are you not out of business yet?”

“This isn’t the regular price.” He smiled innocently. “Think of it as a welcome gift.”

—

The prices never changed. After going to Eddie for a few weeks, it was always the same exact reasoning for the pricing. Who were you to argue with such a steal. You would’ve paid a lot more to see Eddie alone but buying from him gave you another reason to visit him.

This time you were at the infamous Munson trailer, sat on his couch twirling your hair between your fingers and waiting for him to come in.

“Hey there.” He grinned. “My favorite customer shouldn’t be kept waiting.” Placing the joint in your mouth, he used his other hand to light it, letting his fingers linger near your lips.

“I didn’t bring any money.” You said, inhaling slowly.

“This one is on me.” He patted his chest, letting the material of his shirt move. “But what are you doing here if not for my services?”

“I can’t come visit my favorite dealer from time to time?” You pouted. “And you have services plural? You offer something else I don’t know about?”

“I’m your only dealer.” He corrected. “Maybe I’ll show you some other stuff another time.” He smirked, eyes pointing to what you assume was his bedroom door.

—

Contrary to popular assumption, Friday nights were the worst. Especially the kind of Friday nights that were drowned out by pouring rain and booming thunder. You had just gotten off of your shift from the Family Video and Robin’s friend Steve had just dropped you off at your doorstep. With an exasperated sigh, you go to turn your door, met with no sign of opening. “Shit.” You cried, pushing against the door harder.

The only other option was to camp out at Eddie’s while you waited for your mom to come home. You knew he wouldn’t mind, and hey, you might get a free high while you were there. Walking to his house was dreadful. The echoing rain bounced off of your uniform and soaked it, establishing a new form of uncomfortable you has never experienced before.

Knowing his schedule by now, Eddie would be home alone. With his uncle at work until morning and Eddie himself most likely practicing guitar in his room. There was a faint sound of thumping coming from the other side of the door but you attributed that to his stereo, probably producing some song that he liked.

You didn’t even have to knock for the door to open with a thud, Eddie beckoning you in quickly. “How did you kno-“ you began before he cut you off.

“Saw Steve’s headlights. Knew it was you.”

“You know my schedule?” You walked past him, sounds of rain drops hitting the ground as you moved.

“You’re gonna get sick standing in those wet clothes.” He dismissed your initial comment. “Let me borrow you something?” You nodded reluctantly, not wanting to be a further burden.

He threw over some faded shirt with an unrecognizable logo, accompanied by matching black boxers. Not wasting any time you threw your wet clothes onto a bag Eddie had supplied you with, quickly changing into the new clothes, letting Eddie have a complete view of your half naked body as you changed.

“I was gonna say you could change in the bathroom.” He chucked, an obvious blush across his cheeks. “But you had other ideas.”

“It’s not like you won’t be seeing me like this anyway.” You shrugged.

“So tell me.” He started, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What are we doing in the future that requires minimal clothes?”

End of part one. Let me know if I should continue this.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

[bouncybongfairy]

Miscommunication

Izuku Midoriya x Fem Reader

Summary: As a new student at U.A. you are pretty overwhelmed with the workload and training hours. You're used to having a lot on your plate but this is an entirely new level you didn't prepare yourself to be at. After turning down Deku's offer to go out with a group of students to get food. You end up falling asleep while you are studying and wake up starving. While looking for something to eat in the kitchen, you encounter the green-haired boy who won't stop sending you mixed singles. You end up using your quirk to see what he thinks of you in his dreams.

Word-Count: 2k+

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part 2 Is now up!

Being enrolled in U.A. wasn’t as manageable as you thought. Everyone warns you that it’s going to be a lot of work but you were always a really active student. Sports, clubs, honors classes, and yes the workload could get heavy from time to time but it became over your head. Now that you are a U.A. high student, you were barely managing the bare minimum. Living away from home was a bit stressful as well, you missed having your parents right around the corner if you needed them. You were currently in your dorm, typing away at your computer. Trying desperately to find filler words to make your essay 2000 words. It was Friday which you used to look forward to but now, it was the one day a week when not only your body but your mind was the sorest. After training every day after school on top of how hard the educational material makes you feel like you had nothing left. Even though you were exhausted you were trying to get your homework for Monday done tonight. You really had to power through it sometimes but it always made the weekend more enjoyable when you didn’t have to worry about it. There was a soft knock on your door. 

“Come in!” you called out. The door opens and Deku enters the room. 

“Hey Y|N, a couple of us were gonna go out and grab something to eat. I just wanted to let you know, extend the invite,” he said, crossing his arms. 

“Awe thank you for the invite but I think I’m gonna stay here and work on some assignments. Thank you for offering though, that’s very sweet of you,” you politely decline. 

“Are you sure? We're only gonna be gone for an hour, we weren’t planning on being out for a while,” he insisted. 

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it without this essay being done. I really appreciate it though,” you said, he gave you an understanding smile before leaving your room. 

You could never read Deku, there were times you felt like he was flirting with you but he was so nice to everyone. Sometimes you thought maybe you just weren’t used to boys at your school who were so well mannered. Therefore you were romanticizing how he goes out of his way to be nice. In class or at lunch, you would sometimes catch him staring. Or during training, you would notice that he would coincidentally become your partner in a lot of combat drills. You would always brush this off as him trying to make you feel welcomed as the new girl but there were other times that you were so sure he was trying to send a message. One time when you were walking back from the kitchen to your dorm when you ran into him. The conversation wasn’t anything remarkable but, you could feel like he was trying to make conversation out of nothing; like he wanted to keep you in his presence longer. Finally, when you finish the rough draft of your essay, you give yourself a pat on the back feeling quite happy. You close your laptop and go to grab your math textbook and the three pages of unsolved equations. As you got off the bed you could feel how sore your muscles were, it was as if you could feel every single muscle in your body pulling as you stretched. You lay back down on your stomach and start the first problem but you were passed out onto the book before you could start problem 4. 

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was a drool stain on your book which you tried to wipe away. You grabbed your phone to see what time it was only to discover you were asleep for a little over 2 hours. It was 11:00 pm and your stomach was hurting from how hungry you were. You sat up on your bed and threw your old tee shirt off and grabbed a fresh one. After putting on some sweatpants and a pair of socks, you make your way to the kitchen. It must have been a tough week because the entire dormitory was silent. Other than a few T.V.s or radios playing from some student’s rooms you could hear a pin drop. You start to rummage through different cupboards and the fridge, not really finding anything. You grab a diet coke and continue looking. 

“I brought you back some-” Deku started but was interrupted by you practically jumping 5 feet in the air. 

“Holy shit Deku you scared the crap out of me,” you said, grabbing your heart to check if it was still in your chest. 

“Sorry I just wanted to tell you that I brought you some take-out,” he said, going into the fridge and pulling out two containers. 

“Thank you, here let me grab my wallet,” you said, setting the food on the counter. 

“No, don't worry about it,” he said. 

“Well.. thank you. I would have eaten something instant,” you said, putting one of the containers in the microwave. 

It was moments like these where you got mixed singles. He could have left a note, knocked on your door, or even texted you to let you know that he got you food. It seemed like he was waiting for you, to be able to talk to you in person. It was so refreshing to be around a guy like Izuku. He was just so genuine and you could tell he was never trying to act cool or tough. Which was how most boys in your class acted. He was just so sweet and kind but still could be powerful and forward when he needed to be. It was just so awkward because imagine confessing your feelings to someone who doesn’t feel the same way AND having to live with that person after. The idea of that seemed less than pleasant to you. 

“It’s no problem, I’ve forgotten to eat when I’m studying. Even worse after really intense training, makes my stomach feel like it’s eating itself,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water. 

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” you said.

“So I know you’re new and I heard overheard that your quirk has to do with sleep. Instead of assuming I thought I’d just ask you personally what exactly it is,” Deku said.

“I can travel into people’s dreams and talk to their subconscious,” you said, taking the food out of the microwave. 

“Oh okay, so Are you planning on working at Midnight’s agency once you get certified?” he asked.

“Yeah, hopefully, because our quirks work so well together she’ll pick me as one of her sidekicks. I think it would be cool to have a costume made by her stylist, she always looks so cool,” you giggled then blowing on your food to help cool it down. 

“Yeah you would look great,” he said probably before he really thought about it. When you looked up he had a deep red blush painted across his freckles. 

“Am I- or like, I thought you and Uraraka were dating,” you said, putting a lid on the food. 

“What? No, we’re not together and I just-” he started. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to pry or anything,” you said. 

“No, it’s okay but why do you ask?” he asked. 

“I was just asking, sorry I know it was random. Thank you again for the food,” you said walking back to your dorm. 

You felt like such a coward, you were just thinking to yourself how you were getting tired of not knowing how he felt. That was the perfect opportunity to ask him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not to mention that you were juggling a lot and would adding a guy to that really be helping things? Probably not but you couldn’t help how you feel. You sat on your bed and started picking at the food, it upset you that you didn’t have the courage to ask him if he liked you. You started considering if you should dream walk. Normally you wouldn’t go into someone’s dreams to pry into their subconscious but you felt like you were in between a rock and a hard place. At least if the answer was no, it wouldn’t be awkward from day to day seeing him in class and in the common areas. Obviously, Uraraka had a thing for him and you didn’t want to cause any drama or anything but at the same time if she seriously wanted Izuku she would have had him by now. You set the food on your desk and took a shower, you were still considering whether to carry out your plan or not. You turn the water to be as scolding as your skin could take, using your fingernails to really scrub the shampoo into your scalp. After rinsing, you change into some comfortable clothes and begin to start setting up your room. You don’t need candles to enter a person’s dream but you notice that it helps keep you more focused and to stay for longer periods of time. Arranging the candles into a circle and sitting in the middle, you finally began. You closed your eyes and started focusing on whose dream you wanted to enter: Izuku’s.

It was dark at first but then you could see visions of his dreams. Most people assume it’s only one dream a person has at night but it’s actually a collection of different events in your life that your brain jumps back and forth from. Taking out pieces and allowing your imagination to reconstruct those pieces. For example: if you ever dreamed that you were hanging with friends then suddenly you were at school or work. That’s your brain jumping back and forth from dream to dream. You could see in the center of the pitch-black space was Izuku sleeping in his bed, snoring away. You hold back a small chuckle before looking above him and seeing his dreams. He had a couple of different scenarios, one of him fighting a nameless villain, most likely caused by how much he was training. One of him at what you assumed to be his mother’s house, eating at the dining room table. The next one took your breath away, it was you while you were battling Momo during a combat drill. You expanded the dream, looking at all the different scenarios of yourself. In one of them, I could see him at his desk, drawing a character page about you. When he flipped the page over, he was drawing what he imagined your room to look like. This warmed your heart, it was just so sweet. There was one more scenario of you sitting at the lunch table with a couple of your friends. You were really excited to know that you were right, that he did like you. After exiting his dream and returning back to your room, you blow out the candles. Letting the wax solidify a bit before putting it away. By this time the sun was starting to rise and you were utterly exhausted. 

Your hair was somewhat dry and the dark circles under your eyes were extremely puffy. Even though you were so disheveled and tired, you couldn’t help but be thrilled about knowing Izuku liked you back. Or at least thought about you at the very least. Right as you were about to lay down, there was a knock at your door. You throw your hair into a quick bun before opening the door. Your face burns a vibrant red when you see that it’s Izuku. His hair was messy, more so than usual. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his sweatpants hung low, showing his boxers. His eyes were squinty and his brow furrowed. 

“Did you go into my dreams last night?” he asks with a raspy voice, leaving you completely speechless.

#fluff fanfiction #fanfic writing #short fanfic #deku x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku x reader #my hero academia #ochako uraraka #deku x y/n #mha oc #boku no hero acedamia #my hero acedamia fanfic #deku midoriya #midoriya x reader #mha x reader #izuku x you #izuku x y/n

[genacity]

just imagine sub!morax being a huge brat with a big ego and it’s our job to tame him. once we tame him he’ll do anything for you, from being a big ego’d god, to being our cute little slut <33

also can I be 🍷 anon? ^_^☆

⌗ zhongli egotistical

cw. sub! young! morax x dom! god/immortal! reader. gender neutral— reader has a cock. plot before porn? anal penetration/pegging, bratty morax. outdoor sex. degradation!!! slight dacryphilia + hiccuping

an. WHAT THE FUCKKK SHUT UP THIS IS SO GOOD. you have rightfully earned your place as 🍷 anon. welcome to the club!!! ٩(^‿^)۶

(ps this was finished at 11 pm and is not proofread so the end is extremely awful)

this shit is crazy. it’s crazy cause all i’m thinking of is young morax rn.

young morax who’s finally found peace in his newfound ‘human vessel’— and all the things he can do with it. throwing “rocks” at his poor equal barbatos, constantly challenging his fellow archons to mindless duels that go on for hours; nothing is more thrilling than the thought of his seemingly limitless power.

and little (or not so little) you who’s finally found your own peace in between the pages of books— or crowds, if that’s what you prefer. a cunning, charming individual who has the aura of one who has roamed the world of teyvat once before. not as old, but just as seasoned as any celestial being.

the first time you encounter morax, you’re sitting underneath a tree with your favorite book, enjoying the time alone you so rarely had to cherish. outgoing or reserved, either way, you still had work to do, so any time alone is a fabulous time alone.

until morax sees you, god knows where he’s been. right away, he’s all over you, shattering your relaxed state with stupid comments on the novel in your hands. with every degrading insult towards the cover, the spine, the overview, the story, you even— made the thoughts in your mind that simply begged to break this man all the more satisfying.

“wouldn’t you rather spend your afternoon doing something more— interesting?” morax asked. your eyes narrowed as you slipped your bookmark of choice into the crevice of the pages you left off on, tossing it to the side where it slid onto the grass. you stood up, looking the archon dead in the eyes. his shoulders stiffened and his eyebrows furrowed; a reaction that could only make a smirk arise on your lips.

“and what would you consider to be ‘more interesting’, hm? i’d like to hear your thoughts,” you inquired, crossing your arms. “well, anything.” the young god pronounced, waving an arm around in your opposite direction, as to motion to the glimmering liyuean fields, dressed in a bright green glow. “even you?” you teased, eyes trained on the view before you that morax was so obviously trying to show you. “what? me? how would you ‘do me’?” he stuttered, arm strapping to his side almost immediately at your inquiry.

you chuckled lowly. “a good question, oh geo archon.” you smirked, taking a few steps towards his rigid being. “for wasting my time, you’ll allow me to show you. all i need is a yes. do we have a deal?”

morax’s breath hitched and caught in his throat, exhales becoming rarer by the second as you softly put a hand on his chest, lined with gold and the finest of silk.

“fine,” he murmured. “i’m curious as to know what such small amounts of a person could do to me that is so interesting.”

“fuck! fuck— fuck you!”

“oh, shut up. you wanted this. now take it, or say the word.”

morax whined at your harsh tone as you bottomed out inside of him. the sheer feeling your hips slapping harshly against his ass made him struggle not to cry out.

“look at you, ah…” you gasped, fingers digging into his hips, making him squirm. “now you understand what i was talking about?”

the poor archon could only huff in response. “s-still isn’t interesting to m—ME!” he squealed as your fat cock toyed with his prostate. a shiver crept down his spine as you fucked him ruthlessly, fingers feeling about desperately for something to hold onto.

you had morax on his back, legs up underneath the tree you once sat peacefully under, without a care in the world. his eyes nearly cross and thighs shaking with pleasure, the thoughts swimming about your mind sighed in satisfaction at the sight below you. from a complaining brute to a mindless slut, you swore to wear this memory like a crown for all eternity.

“look at you, fuck,” you snickered, pace quickening as morax tightened around you with a shaky sob. “where’d that foul mouth go, huh whore?”

“sh—shut up!” morax spat through breathy whines. “‘m not a, a—” “a what, morax?” you leaned in so that your noses were just inches away from touching. the geo archon whimpered at the sound of his name slipping from his lips, like honey, sugary sweet. maybe almost too sweet. “a whore! ‘m not— not a whore!” he sobbed out, fists curling so hard his palms turned pink.

you laughed sweetly as you watched his cock bob up and down with every thrust, two soft veins running up and down from his leaking tip down to the base. “such a slut, aren’t you? you knew damn well what i meant by ‘do you’, didn’t you? you’re not stupid, are you?”

he wasn’t listening to you, though. not through the feeling of your fat tip rubbing him up, the roughness of your fingertips digging into his skin, maybe even hard enough to draw blood; all he could think about was sex, sex, and more sex.

“maybe you are stupid.” you laughed, rolling your hips around enough to make the young archon sniffle. “can’t even answer me, how pathetic.”

“yeah…” your ears perked up at the weak mumble that just barely slipped past you. you slowed your thrusts until they hit a complete stop, resting your tip against morax’s prostate. “wh— wait, no, please, i—” he opened his mouth to beg, but you cut him off almost immediately. “yeah?” you repeated the words that fell from his lips.

he looked up with you with desperate eyes, hips grinding down onto your dick. “yeah.. ‘m dumb, a dumb slut.” morax whined. “whatever you said, whatever you want, ‘m yours.”

a look of satisfaction laid still in your eyes. the young archon could see it, bright and clear as a star in the midnight sky. you dipped down to plant slow kisses on morax’s collarbone, his back arching up off the ground ever so slightly at the feeling of your chest against his. you gave an experimental thrust up into him, a hoarse gasp escaping his throat.

you smiled fiendishly as you angled yourself just right, just high enough to finally let him have his orgasm. right as he was about to complain, your lips ghosted over his ear, a shiver enveloping his whole body with the softness of your words.

“glad to know you’ve finally come to your senses.”

#@ genacity ☆ #@ zhongli ☆ #@ 🍷 anon ☆ #dom reader #sub character #genshin x reader smut #sub genshin #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #sub zhongli #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #zhongli x you #zhongli x reader smut #wow okay wtf #WHY IS THIS KINDA LONG

[iwantedtoforgetyou]

Smokey Library, Benedict Bridgeton

Relationship: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: You encounter Benedict Bridgerton smoking in the library and choose to join him. What could possibly go awry?

"You're aware that habit is destined to be your demise someday?" Benedict muttered a self-curse under his breath upon hearing that familiar voice—your voice.

He had been darting between rooms, attempting to elude the watchful gaze of his family's friends, and you were the last person he anticipated encountering that evening. Yet, oddly, he felt an unexpected longing for your clever remarks.

Your mere presence.

Leaning against the closest bookshelf, he rested his head against the wood, never taking his eyes off you as you approached. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

With swift precision, you plucked the cigarette from his mouth and took a drag for yourself.

Benedict grinned. "I thought you said this habit would be the death of me?"

You smiled, exhaling a stream of smoke from the corner of your mouth, and Benedict discovered himself gazing at you more intensely than ever before.

More intently than he had ever looked at any woman in his entire life.

"Not your kind of gathering?" You nodded toward the door, where the distant sounds of music and conversation filtered through.

He dipped his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as he regarded you.

"You're well aware of the response to that," he stated.

He longed for the sensation of a cigarette between his lips, the smoky flavor filling his lungs.

Yet, he remained steadfast in keeping his attention fixed on the enchanting woman before him, smoke gracefully billowing from your mouth.

"Why are you here?" He prodded, leaning closer to you.

You drew another drag from the cigarette, casting a glance back at the door.

"My mother," was your succinct response, and that was enough for Benedict to understand.

Your mother had been incessantly pressuring you to find a suitable partner for months, and it had escalated significantly in the past few weeks.

The entire town had become well aware of your mother's desperation, with the Bridgertons especially privy to it.

As you inhaled the cigarette smoke, feeling its lightness coat your throat and exit through your nose, a sudden, sharp pain flared in your ribcage.

Overwhelmed earlier, you hadn't noticed the pain, but now it consumed your thoughts.

Swiftly, you handed the cigarette to Benedict and began fumbling with the strings at your back. Benedict watched, perplexed, as he extinguished the cigarette in an ashtray nearby.

"Need some assistance?" he quipped, a smirk on his face.

Your eyes met, momentarily distracting you from the stabbing ache in your ribcage. But with a deep breath, the pain resurfaced.

Without a word, you turned toward the door. Benedict straightened up from the bookshelf and gently started to undo the strings of your corset.

The air around you grew heavy and tense, and the only sound that filled the room was the steady thump of your heart.

His hands meticulously loosened each string, gradually relieving the pressure of the corset. You closed your eyes, savoring the freedom and the touch of another person.

The hands of Benedict Bridgerton.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Is that better?"

Turning around slowly, you became acutely aware of your proximity to him. Your eyes traced over his face, taking in every detail that had eluded you during your childhood.

"Much better," you whispered.

A smile graced his lips at the sound of your relief, and he welcomed the closeness between you.

He had never imagined himself yearning for the girl he had known for years. Craving her laughter, her smile, and her red-stained lips.

He yearned to kiss those lips.

"Y/N," he murmured, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Benedict," you replied, your voice infused with a hint of reverence.

He had never been particularly fond of his own name, but when it passed through your lips, he developed a newfound appreciation for it.

“Benedict," you repeated, this time with more fervor.

Quickly, he raised both hands, pulling your face towards his, and your lips met with a forceful collision.

The flavors of smoke and alcohol melded within your mouths.

His hand fell away from your face, and it began to explore the exposed fabric left bare by your corset.

You let out a moan that only encouraged him to proceed, as his hands moved lower, reaching your buttocks and squeezing them firmly.

You both started to move, and in no time, Benedict had you pressed firmly against the bookshelf.

His hands explored every contour of your body, yearning for more. Meanwhile, your own hands were entangled in his hair, pulling and tugging gently.

Another moan escaped your lips just before the sound of the door interrupted.

Benedict swiftly moved away, pretending to browse the bookcase.

"Mr. Bridgerton, your mother is requesting you," a younger boy chimed in, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

You couldn't help but smile in return. "Tell her I'll be right there," Benedict replied, adjusting his shirt.

The boy dashed out of the room, the door closing with a loud click.

You remained in place, observing Benedict as he haphazardly fixed his shirt and smoothed his hair.

A smile remained on your lips, and the memory of his touch lingered.

Benedict sensed your smile and paused briefly in front of you before leaving the room.

“Until next time," he said, his grin wide. He leaned in quickly, kissing you lightly at first, but your response deepened the kiss.

"I must go," he whispered into the kiss, and you groaned softly against his lips.

He pulled away slowly, leaning in for one more lingering kiss. “Goodbye, Y/N." he said while exiting the door, winking at you as he left.

#fanfiction #wattpad #writerscommunity #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton angst #smut #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst

[voidpetrova]

transition — jeremy gilbert x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, crying, blood, vampire!reader, hunter!jeremy — hurt/comfort

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: after getting bit by a salvatore brother, you go to the only place you can find comfort, and jeremy's forced to make a choice

✧.*

the night air was thick with tension as you stumbled down the tenebrous road, clutching your bleeding arm and gasping for air. the memory of damon's piercing gaze and the searing pain of his bite was still fresh, sending waves of agony through your veins with every faltering step. the stars above seemed to mock your suffering, their distant glimmers indifferent to the torment that had befallen you.

“i need to eat, (y/n), you know that,” his voice remained steady as he stood behind you, hand wrapped around your throat as he tilted your head to the side, giving him all the leverage he needed. he tried to ignore the way you clawed desperately at his wrist, the way your sobs made his chest feel heavy. “think of it as a gift, sunshine.”

you knew the risks, as did he—he ignored the way his vampiric venom clashed with your fresh would. you screamed, despite his rough hand clasped over your mouth, muffling the sounds. “i do hope you'll forgive me, (y/n).”

each heartbeat throbbed like a war drum in your ears, a relentless reminder of your fragile mortality. tears welled up, blurring your vision as you staggered, the world spinning around you. the darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating, as you desperately clung to consciousness.

the familiar silhouette of the gilbert house emerged through the haze of your pain. It stood like a beacon of solace, a place where you had always found refuge. your heart raced as you stumbled up the steps, your fingers fumbling for the doorknob. it was almost impossible to get there—you were sobbing as you crawled, back hunched as the blood continued to pour down your neck. it was truly more than you had bargained for. the door swung open, revealing the dimly lit interior, a sanctuary from the horrors that haunted you.

your trembling legs carried you through the threshold, and the door creaked shut behind you. the scent of old books and wood polish enveloped you, a comforting embrace that momentarily eased the anguish in your body. but the solace was fleeting, replaced by the harsh reality of your condition.

a sob tore from your lips as you sank to the floor, the pain becoming too much to bear. the wooden panels were cold against your feverish skin, the contrast jarring and yet oddly grounding. the room seemed to sway, the edges blurring as your vision wavered between darkness and light.

“hello? is someone there?” jeremy's voice echoed through the house, slicing through the haze of your agony. your heart skipped a beat as his figure appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him. his gaze locked onto yours, concern and confusion warring in his expression.

“(y/n)? what happened?” he rushed to your side, his hands hovering uncertainly over your trembling form. the proximity of his touch sent shivers down your spine, a stark reminder of the vulnerability you felt. “it was damon, i swear i didn't want this,” your voice wavered, the words escaping in broken fragments as you struggled to convey the horror of the encounter. jeremy's jaw clenched, his fists tightening as understanding dawned upon him. the gash on your neck continued to bleed profusely, the skin around it beginning to bruise heavily. jeremy felt his heart in his stomach for a second—he had expected absolutely everything, just not this.

“stay here,” he commanded, his voice laced with determination as he disappeared from your sight. moments later, he returned with a first aid kit, his hands surprisingly steady as he tended to your wound. the sensation of his touch was both gentle and grounding, a lifeline amidst the chaos. his fingers worked carefully, cleaning up the blood that sought no end, his gentle touch balancing out the stinging pain. he cleaned the wound carefully, but he had no way to get the venom out—unable to ease the pain that began to stir within you.

as the pain began to ebb, just a bit, your tears subsided, leaving behind a hollow ache. you gazed up at keremy, your eyes searching his for answers, for a way out of this nightmare. his brows furrowed, a conflicted expression marring his features.

“you know i have a choice to make here,” jeremy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his tone gentle. he sat beside you, holding your shaky hand as he watched you, heart churning at the sight of you crying. quiet sobs wracked your body as you trembled, seeking solace in his touch. he pulled you in closer, arms wrapped around you trembling body as he buried his face in your hair. “you shouldn't have come here, (y/n). you know what my job is.”

the weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the crossroads that had been thrust upon him. your heart ached at the torment he faced, torn between his duty and his emotions. the room seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in as your breaths grew ragged. quiet apologies left your mouth as you held onto him just a little bit tighter. yes, jeremy cared for you in ways you could never imagine, but he also cared for the duties that were so clearly laid out for him.

“jeremy, please,” you begged, your voice raw with desperation. the pain had reached a new height, your wound beginning to flow freely once more. tears spilled down your cheeks as you held onto him, salty liquid staining his white shirt. “i can't go on like this. if there's no other way, just kill me.”

his gaze bore into yours, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within. you sobbed quietly, the pit of your stomach churning from the hunger you were feeling. it clashed with the pain altogether, the sensitivity—as if you'd gone days without a bite to eat. and then, with a decision as painful as it was selfless, he shook his head. "no, i won't let you go like that." he hesitated for a moment before extending his wrist toward you. “if you're willing, take my blood. it might give you another option.”

your heart raced at the proposition, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. but in his eyes, you found a glimmer of hope, a lifeline you couldn't ignore. with trembling hands, you grasped his shirt, frail fingers pulling yourself off to lock eyes with him. he stared at you with pity in his gaze, a soft smile on his face as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “i couldn't kill you if i wanted to,” he admitted, voice soft and gentle like you were used to. he cupped your cheeks, leaning in to place a kiss to your forehead. “we're gonna fix this, okay? you have to feed off me.”

as the world around you blurred, jeremy's presence remained steadfast, a guiding light in the darkness. you nodded, but you hesitated. he encouraged you, seating you on his lap to bring you in closer, exposing his neck, showing the same place damon had attacked you. you were careful, body shaking, the only source of comfort being the way his hands held your waist, pressing your chest into his to calm you down. when you bit him, no matter how much you wanted to satisfy your hunger, you were careful. the way he touched you gave you all the control in the world and when you finally sank you fangs into his skin, relishing in the metallic taste as his grip tightened, the pain began to recede, replaced by a strange euphoria that seemed to wash over you in waves. the transition was a tumultuous symphony of sensations, a metamorphosis that reshaped your very essence.

qnd through it all, jeremy was there, his gaze unwavering, his touch a steady anchor. “that's a good girl, just like that,” he shushed you, stroking your hair as his grip on your eaist had begun loosening. as you emerged from the chrysalis of transformation, weak but alive, you found yourself gazing into his eyes once more. the depth of emotion within them was undeniable, a testament to the bond that had been forged amidst the trials.

“i'm so sorry,” you whispered, your hinger temporarily satisfied. he shook his head, a soft smile on his face as he brought you in for a warm hug. “you should've done your job, jer, i'm so sorry.”

jeremy's arms enveloped you in a gentle embrace, his touch a soothing balm to your weary soul. the taste of his blood still lingered on your lips, a constant reminder of the sacrifice he had made to save you from the abyss. his warm smile held a depth of understanding and compassion that eased the weight of guilt that had settled within you.

“it's not your fault,” he whispered, his voice a comforting reassurance. “none of this was your doing. i made a choice, and i stand by it.”

your breath caught as his words seeped into your consciousness, the intensity of his gaze stripping away your defenses. his unwavering support was a lifeline, a connection that anchored you to the present amidst the tumult of change.

“i can't help but feel responsible,” you admitted, your voice laced with vulnerability. “you had to go through this because of me.”

jeremy's thumb brushed away a stray tear that had escaped your eye, his touch gentle and tender. “i've seen enough pain and loss in my life to know that sometimes, sacrifices are necessary. what matters is that you're here, and we'll face whatever comes together.”

the weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, wrapping you in a cocoon of acceptance and understanding. the bond that had been forged between you was unbreakable, a testament to the trials you had overcome and the connection that had deepened as a result.

as you gazed into his eyes, the remnants of your former self mingled with the newness of your vampire nature. the journey ahead was uncertain, marked by challenges and discoveries you couldn't yet fathom. but in his presence, you found the strength to face whatever came your way, together.

“thank you, jeremy,” you murmured, your gratitude flowing from the depths of your heart. “for saving me, for being here.”

he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips a tender caress against your skin. “i'll always be here for you, (y/n). you're a more important duty of mine than the hunting.”

in that moment, as the night wrapped around you in a cocoon of stars and shadows, you knew that the road ahead might be fraught with darkness and uncertainty. but as jeremy's arms held you close, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear, you found solace in the knowledge that you didn't have to face it alone.

#tvd #tvdu #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries angst #tvd angst #tvdu angst #jeremy gilbert angst #jeremy gilbert x reader smut #jeremy gilbert x reader #jeremy gilbert smut #jeremy x reader #jeremy gilbert fluff #jeremy gilbert #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore angst

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 3rd

Day 3: Rimming, Fingering/Handjob, Dry Humping

Ezra (Prospect) x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Spit, filthy language, hand jobs, self image issues, cum

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His curses reach your ears, making you glance over your shoulder discreetly to where he was fumbling and berating himself under his breath. 

Since coming back from the Green, Ezra has been different. Churlish and short tempered with his shortcomings that have become apparent with the loss of his dominant hand. 

He had insisted that he needed work, that he could do it. Coming to you with an almost desperate plea in his eyes that was very unlike the loquacious and enigmatic prospector. Tugging on the strings of friendship and occasionally more when you both were of like mind. 

The job was pretty straightforward. Harvesting was Ezra’s passion and his skill. Needing to bring in five cases of latinum, processed from the crystals near the cobalt vein on Fero 2. 

Except….Ezra is struggling. Unable to do what he could before that fateful tour on the Green’s treacherous surface. The ragged and red skin that has been patched together over the remaining stump of his arm is a testament to what he has lost. 

More than that, he’s not the same charismatic, confident floater that had talked his way into your bed and into a split of your profits. He’s lost. You can see and worse, so can he. 

“Mother fuckin’, mong nonger, flipper cunt, son of a bitchin’ floatin’ piece of shit.” Ezra hisses, slamming the palm of his left hand against the cursed zipper that it stuck. It’s been one hundred and twenty cycles since he had lost his fucking arm and still he’s unable to do most of the simple tasks he had taken for granted. 

It doesn’t help that it’s been nearly a hundred and twenty-five since he’s had anything resembling pleasure. 

Ezra isn’t a greedy man, but he is one who sees to his needs. Now, he’s unable to. Not just because of proximity, there’s no privacy in the smaller tent you are both residing in with most of your gear taking up the space. It’s because it doesn’t feel the same. There’s no pretending it’s a lover stroking his cock when he closes his eyes. The damn phantom pains knock him out of any fantasy. 

Now he’s here with you. A woman that he intimately knows and he cannot even bear the thought of touching you. Knowing that his skills are woefully inadequate for being considered a lover. Unworthy of treating you to a fumbling, unsatisfying encounter with a man who is unable to perform at the peak of his ability. 

He wants to cum, he needs to. But he can’t even drag the zipper down on his suit right now. 

You watch him, sighing softly at the stubbornness of the man. That was something that has been consistent from the Ezra prior to the Green and the one in front of you. 

He’s spoken about his fears. His shortcomings and his desires. Not in verbal words, but the way he has acted has been louder than any story he could have told you. 

The cot you are sitting on is yours, the only space you have to stretch out and relax. Where you unwind from a day of dealing with Ezra’s increasingly short temper and the work of extracting the crystals you had promised to fulfill the contract. Your boots off and your suit stripped down to the soft, worn underclothes that protect your skin from the rubberized suits. 

“Ezra.” He grunts, not even looking at you as he continues to struggle with the protective outer layer of his outfit. Another few creative curses filling the tent. 

There’s a hazy idea on what would soothe the rough and raw man. It’s the same that always mellows you out when you have an itch that needs to be scratched, the pulsing pleasure of an orgasm making your rough day better. 

It makes you move, standing and quietly shedding the layers until you are bare. Your feet padding quietly across the thick canvas flooring of the tent. Moving closer and reaching out to touch his shoulder gently, soothingly. 

“Gem- please-” You can hear the rejection of help in the tone of his voice, the haggard resignation.

Instead of saying anything, you shush him and circle around his body. Bringing your own to stand in front of him and for once, Ezra is quiet with the exception of a strangled groan as his eyes widen. Taking in the sight of you nude in front of him. 

Taking advantage of his silence, his frozen movements, you take the zipper that has been giving him so much trouble and drag it down after a few good, hard yanks. “Let me help you.” Is all you whisper, looking up at him under your lashes as you start to push the fabric off his shoulders. The neatly pinned sleeve on the right easily drops, but the left side is still caught on his bent elbow. 

“Gem-”

“I’m going to jerk you off.” You tell him, concentrating on undressing the prospector while he stands stiff as a board. “I’m going to get on my knees and wrap my hand around your cock. Stroke you until all you can think about is cumming on my tits.” 

You smirk when he groans, knowing how much Ezra once enjoyed painting your body with his cum when he was feeling particularly wicked. Filling your mouth and covering your face when you gagged on his cock. Or splattering his seed on your tits and belly. Seeing himself on you was something he had enjoyed. 

Ezra exhales, a ragged sound that you imagine costs him dearly. The round curve to his shoulders as you strip down the suit to his waist and then to his ankles. His cock is half hard, poking up in the threadbare sweats that hang on his hips. Obviously interested in the helping hand you are offering despite himself. 

He doesn’t say a word, barely breathes as you pull off his boots, strip him of the suit, pull down his sweats and reveal the body underneath. He never wore underwear, didn’t believe in it, and you’re glad some things haven’t changed. 

Leaving him in the ripped, holey shirt, his cock curves up, hardening even more as you had knelt down and proven to him that you were going to do this. Eyes dark and piercing as he stares down. 

Your own eyes are meeting his when you spit in your hand. Coating it generously and reaching out to wrap around the bobbing, quivering length. 

“Fuck.” His hiss is gloriously raw when you squeeze him, sliding your hand up loosely to coat his dry skin. “You are really going to treat me, aren’t you, gem?” 

He’s not expecting an answer, no when you had very clearly told him what you were going to do. Spitting in your hand again and then leaning forward to allow the spit to dribble directly on his cock from your mouth as Ezra swallows a moan. 

His cock is perfect. The foreskin rolls back beautifully and reveals the pink, shiny head, begging for your mouth but you aren’t going to suck it. Wanting him to take this bit of pleasure that you will give him. Allow him to relax for a moment without lamenting his inability to do anything. 

Starting slow, making sure that the long, luxurious tugs to his cock are pulling every ounce of pleasure out of him that you can. Letting him feel the crevices in your hand and the warmth of your grip. 

“You’re too good to me.” He groans out, head tilting back and exposing the long length of his stubbled chin and neck. “Undeserving of your beauteous consideration. Your curative touch.” 

His cock throbs in your hand, twitching when you twist your wrist as you stroke back towards the base. You had watched him several times as he had stood over you, jerking himself off to finish after he had finished wrecking you. 

“I should be servicing you, dear gem.” He grunts, biting his bottom lip until it is plump and bruised with his eyes fixed on the slow, steady movement of your hand and the feeling it brings him. If he closes his eyes, it would almost feel like his own touch. “For so readily dealing with a cantankerous, feeble man.” 

You huff, not finding him to be feeble, but you don’t argue with him, knowing it would be useless. His hand finds the curve of your face and you turn your head, pressing a kiss to the palm of it, enjoying the roughness of his skin as you nuzzle into it. 

“So pretty with my cock in your hand. Imagined that image so many times as I tried to pleasure myself. Angry about having no means to give myself love. It was not nearly as sweet as the grip you hold my length. My fumbling attempts to stroke myself falling sort of your angelic touch.” 

There’s the Ezra you want to hear, to see standing above you. His chest rising and falling under his shirt as he starts to pant. His mouth running more and more as he slowly starts to rock his hips forward. “You’re gonna let me paint you, gem?” He asks breathlessly. “Adorn your glowing skin with the white hues of my pleasure?” He twitches again, obviously looking forward to such a thing. 

You hum, nodding up at him while your grip tightens slightly, enjoying the feeling of soft, velvety skin over the hardness beneath. Growing wetter as you remember how that hardness feels as it is pounding into you. Perhaps you will bend over your cot tomorrow and beg Ezra to fuck you. He would be able to manage that position with ease. 

When you squeeze his cock, moving your hand faster, you seemingly steal Ezra’s ability to speak. The groans and moans of his pleasure all the music that your ears are privy to. The symphony of his sounds shooting straight to your cunt and if you weren’t focused on relaxing him, you would have started touching yourself. This is for him. A handjob for a man who continually laments the loss of his own. 

“Shit- gem, gonna-” Ezra barely manages the strangled words before his cock is pulsing in your hand. Giving you a split second warning before ropes of cum start spurting from the tip. His warmth splattering your skin and his whine of joy at the release nearly enough to make you cum. Working him, milking his cock of every last drop until Ezra reaches down and wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

You are covered in him. The milky white seed coating your tits and chest is thick, viscous. Copious amounts that speak of it being a long time since he had cum.

“Kevva, gem.” He hums, almost drunkenly. “I am humbled by your assistance and have yet begun to sing your praises, but my cock is nearly untouchable from how pleasured it is at the moment.” He closes his eyes and sighs, a small smile on his face. “Have I ever told you about the orgy that I had the pleasure of engaging in on Rynock?” He asks, showing glimpses of the man you know.

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect fanfiction

[bardraelyn]

On Disaster Puppies, Anxious Angels, and Applesauce

*This post has been revised and expanded from a previous post.

So the key to understanding the end of S2 boils down to this:

Angel!Crowley = disaster puppy (all enthusiasm, not much sense)

Aziraphale = anxious kid who grew up in a house with plastic covers on all the furniture (this bit is important)

Let’s break it down:

When they first encounter each other, in the time Before the Beginning, Aziraphale shows signs of unease when he hears Angel!Crowley questioning God’s Ineffable Plan. I’ve seen it suggested that Aziraphale reacts this way because has doubts—that he doesn’t trust Heaven. Yet it’s well established in S1 that the loss of faith comes later, after the events surrounding Armageddon prove to him irrevocably that Heaven sees humans as no more than tokens in an elaborate game against Hell. No, Before the Beginning, Aziraphale trusts Heaven implicitly, and that trust is the root of his fear. Aziraphale trusts Heaven, Heaven has rules, and rules must be enforced.

Aziraphale doesn’t warn Angel!Crowley off questions because he thinks there’s something wrong with Heaven. He warns Angel!Crowley off questions because he lives in a restrictive environment with rigid rules and is terrified of (vague, unspecified) consequences. Anxious children don’t need to have erred or been punished previously in order to be afraid of punishment. They need only have an expectation (implicit from the mere existence of rules) that punishment of some sort is possible. In fact, having not been punished (because their anxiety mostly keeps them in line without need for actual adult intervention) makes the fear—not threat, but fear—of punishment that much more powerful because they don’t know what the punishment will be, and the unknown is terrifying. (What’s more, they are desperate for praise and reassurance that they won’t be punished and are doing the right thing, hence Aziraphale’s love language being words of affirmation.) Aziraphale is trying to protect the innocent, joyful angel he just met, even though he doesn’t yet know what he is protecting him from. He just knows you’re not supposed to muss the furniture, and what Angel!Crowley is suggesting feels dangerous.

Fear of the unknown explains why Aziraphale’s demeanor shows more of an edge in certain present-day scenes of S2. Thanks to his and Crowley’s post-Armaged-didn’t appearance swap, Aziraphale has now been to Hell and has a much better sense of what punishment might actually look like—not to mention a very up-close and personal understanding of exactly the kind of punishments that were intended for his beloved. Punishment is no longer a vague concept but rather a well-defined set of parameters, and Aziraphale knows how to deal with things that have edges. (Yes, that’s a flaming sword allusion, but it’s also a pointed reference to the notion that things that can be defined can be countered.) Because he can anticipate, he can plan. And planning is something Aziraphale excels at, because anxious children out of necessity grow into meticulous planners.

Having this knowledge of what punishment looks like leads our shades-of-gray angel to become less fearful for himself while simultaneously making him even more protective of Crowley. His thought process has gone from, “Punishment is big and terrifying, and I don’t know how I would cope” to “Punishment looks like this, and it sucks as much as or more than I expected, and I want my beloved to never have to endure it again.” It has also made him more protective of the innocents who are bound to get caught in the middle of Heaven and Hell’s unending conflict. Indeed, he goes truly fierce during the battle at the bookshop in a way that we have not seen before, even at the climax of S1. (While he did pull that tone with Furfur in 1941, that moment arose from disdain rather than aggression, so it’s not particularly relevant to this part.)

This also accounts for why, after his Fall, Crowley has become a demon who only “goes along with Hell as far as he can.” Angel!Crowley had no concept nor fear of punishment. Crowley now has both, but he’s already been punished in the worst way possible (loss of his angelic status and the opportunity to work on more projects like his beautiful nebulas), so he knows what punishment feels like. He knows where to toe the line and knows what to expect if/when he doesn’t. He’s not that bright and enthusiastic puppy anymore; he’s a wary old dog with a long memory, who is willing to take a stand to protect those he’s loyal to, even while he still cowers at certain types of threats (“We can run away together!”).

Angel!Crowley was punished and cast out of the restrictive home with all the plastic on the furniture, and the new house he’s been stuck in for the past 6000 years is run by the sort of abusive f*cks who beat puppies and raise them for dog fights. (I have a theory that Crowley was punished less severely than some of the other Fallen. He is, after all, one of the most beautiful demons we see, and that suggests that the person in charge of doling out punishments was more annoyed at him than angry, and so didn’t curse him with the truly nasty afflictions we see on the more repugnant of demons—like Hastur, who delights in pain, or Beelzebub, who had some leadership role in the Rebellion—but that doesn’t matter because his new home was terrible, possibly in part because of that lesser punishment. I bet that prior to the Rebellion, “Lucifer and the boys” delighted in the cliquish equivalent of “throwing sticks for the Disaster Puppy to chase,” and poor Angel!Crowley didn’t realize they weren’t really his friends so much as a different set of abusers who used attention instead of neglect. But after the Fall, they became his keepers, and his eyes were opened to a whole new level of loss and betrayal. Anyway.)

As a member of the Fallen, Crowley doesn’t remember the names of some angels/demons (Furfur, Saraqael, and yes, Aziraphale at first) but clearly remembers others (like the Metatron and Gabriel), even though they all remember him. I’ve seen suggestions that this is a trauma response or the results of a partial memory wipe, but I think it has a much simpler explanation: He only remembers the names and faces of entities who stood out to him. That enthusiastic angel who bubbled with joy and absolutely annoyed some of the other angels with his exuberance? Of course, he sticks in their memory! But they barely registered to him because they were each just one in a billion random strangers he played with in the park. The Disaster Puppy enthusiastically plays with everyone. He remembers the ones who had the power to slap him on the nose—and the one angel whose daring and kindness impressed him enough for his name to finally stick after it didn’t during their previous encounters.

At their very first meeting, Aziraphale introduces himself; Angel!Crowley doesn’t reciprocate. Names are irrelevant. He’s too caught up in his nebula to even take note of the introduction. So later, when they meet on the wall of Eden, introductions are needed again: Aziraphale because Crowley didn’t recall his name, and Crowley because he never gave his name at their first meeting (and probably never during any of their chance encounters in Heaven, because remember, Disaster Puppy just isn’t all that concerned with names), but also because even if Aziraphale did pick up Angel!Crowley’s name in passing sometime after their first meeting, he absolutely would not assume that the fallen angel still uses it. Rather than risk dead-naming him, he waits for Crowley (or Crawly, at the time) to tell him what he prefers to be called.

So, it’s obvious why Crowley didn’t remember Aziraphale’s name, but did he recognize Aziraphale at all before approaching him on the wall? I would bet on absolutely, yes, but with the vague sort of recollection of a conversation he probably should have taken a bit more to heart. He sees a being who tried at some point in the past to warn him, whose name he doesn’t recall because it didn’t seem important enough at the time, but who makes him feel comfortable enough to approach: “You tried to help me before, which means you are kinder than those other angels who didn’t, and so you probably won’t hurt me now, even though I’m Fallen. I’m feeling conflicted about this notion that knowledge of Good and Evil is a Bad Thing, and as someone who tried to advise me earlier, I feel like I can talk to you about it.” (What neither of them has yet realized is that knowledge of Good and Evil is the key to recognizing that Heaven and Hell are two ends of the same poison pill, and it’s not only humans who have been kept in the dark; a lot of the Angelic Host are also in need of some applesauce.)

All of this is why the memory-wipe theory simply doesn’t make sense. Think about it: Gabriel is the Supreme Archangel, and their intent with him was to perform the equivalent of a full hard drive wipe and reinstall of the base angelic software. They think of him as corrupted beyond repair. If even the highest of high archangels isn’t worth the massive effort of selective file deletion, why would they waste that same amount of effort on Crowley to wipe (and possibly replace) a few select memories from before the Fall? Yes, it’s clear that Crowley was an angel with a reasonably high level of access, given his ability to open the archives, but there’s absolutely no indication that he outranked Gabriel. In fact, his scorn for the Supreme Archangel is exactly the sort of scorn you’d have for someone who used to have authority over you and abused it extremely casually but was mostly the kind of negligent adult who ignored you until you were useful and/or pissed them off.

(As an aside, this also ties back to the question of why angels don’t eat while demons do. Aziraphale eats—with enthusiasm!—so clearly angels can eat, and Crowley mentions “food not that good anymore” in Heaven as part of why he started palling around with the other discontents, so angels certainly did eat at some point, but now they don’t. While Hell plainly has some sort of meal situation—not to mention a fiery beverage dispenser—we don’t see so much as a watercooler in Heaven. And well, yeah. Obviously. Because somebody in Heaven wants to keep everything pristine, so they won’t allow food anywhere near all that Heavenly furniture. It won’t kill the angels to go without meals, because they are immortal beings, so all the ban achieves is a) starvation, b) loss of pleasure, and c) control. After all, food control—control over the basic function of consuming sustenance—is a great way to exert and reinforce control over a group of beings that you want to ensure won’t rebel. And that’s really all it comes down to: Keeping everything pristine and spotless and perfect, and keeping everyone in line. Withholding the literal and metaphorical applesauce. And the Rebellion gave whoever is in charge of those decisions [my bet would be on the Metatron; God seems too self-involved to care about the furniture] the perfect excuse to change the house rules to ban food. And since it’s definitely a cult, all the ones who are deeply indoctrinated just sort of…go along with it. Anyway….)

If Aziraphale feels any guilt over Crowley’s Fall, it’s a mild twinge over the fact that he wasn’t able to convince the Disaster Puppy to stop jumping on the furniture. That’s not the primary motivating factor for why he’s so adamant about protecting Crowley at the end of S2 or at any other time in their long association. Aziraphale and Crowley are both, in their ways, protectors. That is established over and over again, throughout all of their actions and conversations. Protecting is a primary drive for each of them, something that is at the core of their beings, and it often puts them at odds over the exact same objective: Protecting the one(s) they care most about. They withhold information and behave in sometimes appalling ways to protect each other when what they really need to be doing—as they should have learned from the first Armageddon attempt—is working together to protect what they have with each other along with everything else that they love.

Because the reality is that if either one of them sacrificed themself to save the other, that very sacrifice would destroy the other. They are of one heart, and it cannot, will not live if it is not whole. But neither one fully trusts the other to coordinate a defense because of that same history and past trauma. Aziraphale thinks Crowley won’t listen to him because Angel!Crowley shrugged him off, and Crowley is still afraid of being kicked if he lets his guard down because he can see how much his beloved is still a victim of the cult programming (and Aziraphale is not above kicking if he feels panicked). Crowley doesn’t think Aziraphale will hurt him on purpose, but rather because Aziraphale doesn’t see all the angles and manipulations and therefore can’t see all of the threats—and in their conversation at the end of S2E6, the angel seemingly proves him right.

Now, here I want to pause for just a moment to address a certain type of anxiety response, because it’s vitally important to what comes next, and that is diving in without a plan. It is entirely too common for individuals with anxiety to go into a tailspin when confronted with something that feels overwhelming. This is followed by a prolonged period of recovery, which may then lead to meticulous planning to deal with the situation (if it can’t just be avoided entirely). Unfortunately, this process takes time—often too much time. This is why we sometimes see Aziraphale throw himself into situations with very little forethought or preparation (like, say, following the clues to surrounding the appearance of a certain ex-Supreme Archangel at his bookshop), because he’s tapping into a slightly more self-aware (if rather unhealthy) approach to handling things that trigger his anxiety: “I know if I get up in my head about this, it will paralyze me, and shit needs to get done, so fuck it.” He is short-circuiting the possibility of a tailspin by refusing to think before he acts. The kind of energy that accompanies this approach could easily be categorized as frantic.

When Aziraphale is telling Crowley the “good” news, he appears excited, but given one significant fact we do know—that Aziraphale is driven by anxiety—I would argue that his demeanor in this moment could more accurately be read as agitated. Now, we could debate all day what might have happened during his conversation with the Metatron to cause that agitation. It is plausible—indeed likely, given Neil’s intricate plots—that there was something more to it than we’ve been shown thus far. But we don’t need to know the details to understand Aziraphale’s response, because Aziraphale’s anxiety provides all of the necessary context. After spending several minutes enduring the direct attention of the Metatron, Aziraphale is acutely aware of one very important thing: that he and his beloved demon are, at the very least, still under intense scrutiny by his own former side, and that means they still are not, and have never been, entirely safe from Heaven or Hell’s interference. So he does what our darling Anxiety Angel always does when he is terrified and needs to act: He throws himself in before he can think too hard about what he’s throwing himself into.

So this brings us to Aziraphale’s return to Heaven.

I don’t think that Metatron’s intent is to kill Aziraphale. He will almost certainly resort to that if looks like Aziraphale won’t give him what he wants, but right now, he just sees a tool that can help him achieve his goal (provided Crowley is out of the way). Because here’s the thing: the archangels are clueless about some very important things. That has already been established (see: Job and conversations about human birth). Metatron is probably a bit less so than most, but there are things the Angels in Charge fundamentally do not understand, and they don’t know it yet, but Aziraphale is one of those things.

Metatron sees an angel who has not only lived on Earth long enough to truly understand humans, but also (and this is key) has collaborated with a demon—a tempter—and then effectively lived in the company of that tempter for the past four years. Metatron sees Aziraphale as someone who can be tempted and manipulated. That’s why he brings him coffee. He’s trying to use that. He wants a tool he can control. But he, like all of the highest of the Host, is guilty of neglect. He has never paid close enough attention to Aziraphale to see the Bastard Angel: the one who pushes back against Crowley, and even against God, who offers his own temptations, who is stubborn and implacable (much to Crowley’s frequent annoyance even while he loves it), and who isn’t afraid to stand firm in the face of Heaven, Hell, and Armageddon to protect the world and the keeper of his heart. Metatron thinks Aziraphale's resistance to Armageddon was the result of Crowley's manipulation, so he figures he'll just get Crowley out of the way or keep him too busy to interfere, and use Aziraphale for himself. Metatron is so very wrong.

As to why Aziraphale hasn’t fallen yet (and isn’t going to fall, even in S3) in spite of all of his misdeeds and mini-rebellions: it all comes down to the fallout. The Rebel Host—including the poor Disaster Puppy angel running around with them—started a war. In Heaven. They didn’t just individually act up on occasion in ways that could be ignored. They engaged in a violent and bloody act of rebellion. The Fall wasn’t about the small sins; it was about the big one. They messed up the furniture. They had to go. Aziraphale’s not messing up the furniture—yet. By the time he starts, it will be far too late for Heaven to do anything to stop him.

See, that smile at the end of S2E6? It’s not pleasure at taking charge, and it’s not determination to fix Heaven. It’s a mask. Aziraphale spent that elevator ride bottling up his pain and hiding it down deep. Anxiety children become adults who are masters of repression, and he just went through his whole panic attack and packed away his grief in the elevator, while holding a straight face (a very tense, grief-stricken face—it’s all there in the micro-expressions, or rather, the desperate attempt at suppression of all macro- and micro-expressions, about which I could write a whole separate post—but essentially a straight face nonetheless). I would bet my immortal soul that he put on that smile right when the elevator stopped, just before the doors started to open. Heaven is about to learn the hard way why choosing Aziraphale was their fatal mistake. Because the Bastard Angel is broken and angry, and he’s done with their bullshit rules and their plastic-covered furniture. Maybe he pushed Crowley away to protect him. Maybe he really wanted Crowley to come with him to try to change things from the inside. None of that matters. All of the maybes that happened before Metatron came back to collect Aziraphale are irrelevant. Because Metatron doesn’t understand Aziraphale, and he just tipped his hand when he spoke the words “Second Coming.” Aziraphale has long since realized that Heaven is toxic—that’s what he wants to fix—but until that moment he didn’t have the context Crowley had to know why Gabriel left. But he has just learned that his love, his heart, and his world are in mortal danger, and he will stop at nothing to save them. Heaven hath no fury like an angel with a broken heart.

Aziraphale has never worried that Crowley was ever made to forget him. He’s intelligent and observant. He noted that initial un-introduction (and was even a bit disappointed by it), so he knows why Crowley doesn’t remember his name when they meet on the wall of Eden. Their coded-language dance around the depth of their association has never been about fear of rejection over imagined faults but rather the very real threats from their respective Home Offices, which they are too wary to immediately forget even after thwarting Armageddon and their own executions. (They are right not to trust that sense of peace!) It has taken them four years to let down their guards even the tiniest bit, and they are still speaking in code—hence the ball: It's Aziraphale's confession of love without saying the words out loud, because it still doesn't feel entirely safe. And he’s not going to Heaven to throw himself on some sacrificial alter to fix a mistake he thinks he made 6000 years ago by failing to keep an angel who barely acknowledged him from falling in with the rest of the Rebel Host. He’s just doing what he’s always done: trying his best to protect the innocent from Heaven’s caprice.

Only this time, he knows his own heart is innocent too.

#good omens #good omens theory #rebuttal #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #aziraphale #crowley #the metatron #angry angel #anxious angel #bastard angel #disaster puppy #no nightingales #this started as a rebuttal post and got out of hand #this post is a six-headed hydra #anxiety and hyperfocus really do explain everything #yes by HIS OWN HEART I mean the HEART THEY SHARE #this is a revised version of an earlier post

[bunnyuki]

UNSAID WORDS. toge inumaki

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ) gift for: @darlingspeach

CW!! AFAB READER, she/her pronouns. au fantasy/medieval. toge is a dragon, reader is a human. mentions of slaughtering/people dying/hunting. mentions of blood and injuries. he doesn't understand much of human language. this is very short and silly, i apologize. SFW, FLUFF.

YOU DON’T SEE as many dragons around as you used to. the kings of the earth and the heavens were destroyed by greed. their wings were struck by spears and cannons, their blood was collected and tested as a product. the rich wear their scales at dinner parties, because they become necklaces and delicacies. their teeth became hunters’ trophies. dragons had nothing against humanity, but humans had a desire to have everything. their ruin brought that of other peoples.

and so, the remaining dragons fled. running from the world, choosing the loneliest places to call home. deprived of reliable companions, of their companions with wings, dealing with the losses of their loved ones. nothing was left for them but memories and bones. so disappeared that they became merely legends.

fantastic stories that parents told their children to amaze them, or scare them. false and lying stories for merchants desperate to sell their products cheaply. one of the strongest, most influential and powerful races in the world. reduced to nothing more than tales. a small belief spread among the dragons. humans were dirty. rotten, spoiled. disgusting creatures that cared about nothing. the sick apple that would rot the rest of the basket. by extension, hatred for those creatures that had barely sustained themselves for a century grew. humans who encountered dragons and their treasures did not come out alive to tell the story. and no one heard from them again.

life in a village is not easy. taxes are merciless, and nobles drown in champagne while families in your village count coins to find out if they can eat. you are not exempt from this. the marquis who controls the region is obsessed with more amounts of money. the village has been going through difficulties, and with winter approaching, some have already said their goodbyes. people will die. that is a fact. for the king and his court, nothing more than numbers.

the sweet embrace of death comes to seek everyone, eventually. this is the mortal life. but that’s not how you’ll end up. huddled in a bed, on a cold morning, praying to a god who wouldn’t listen to you. you refuse. that will not be your end.

plantings have been disappointing. food becomes scarcer every day, and from what it looks like, this will be a year with lots of snow and abundant hunger. and for this reason, a good deal of adapted hunting became the main source of food and income.

the local forests are dark, specks in the middle of nowhere that is your village. full of trees and animals that need to hide from people like you. like a squirrel collecting dried fruit and nuts. all you have is a rusty knife, a crossbow with five arrows, and faith. not in god, not in greater forces. all you need is yourself.

the traps you planted exist in strategic points. hidden by grass and branches, abusing the natural environment to create the illusion of safety. merely for a noose to tighten around the body of a small animal, or a bear trap to bend into a cruel bite.

checking the traps daily has become part of the routine. just as many other villagers were forced to adapt, so were you. the skins are usually removed and worn by you. or sold.

instead of finding a small animal split in half by your bear trap, what’s in front of you now is a boy. a young one. maybe your age. his purple eyes seem to contain decades of wisdom you couldn’t dream of. his hair has an abnormal tone, like a very pale shade of blonde. he turns over and groans, his ankle caught in the trap. the metal teeth dig deeper into the flesh every time he moves, and the blood is thick and red.

but what really draws attention to him are his horns. and the tail. highs rising from the forehead and rising, white like the snow that will soon fall, with purplish tips. the same pattern for the long, tail full of scales. his nails are sharper than normal. when he opens his mouth to groan in pain, his teeth look like fangs. around his mouth, there's a strange pattern that doesn't seem to be a painting, but his skin. snake eyes and fangs.

he raises his arms to try to open the trap and free himself. the skin on the forearms has traces of scales of the same whitish tone.

his first instinct seeing you is hissing. actual hissing. like a scared snake, ready to pounce. the reaction of a scared, injured animal. you— pity him.

of course, you shouldn't. legends about dragons make it very clear what they think of your species. this boy would make you a forgotten corpse once he had the chance. but that didn't seem true. he was scared. alone, lost. his ankle caught in a trap that hurt more every moment. contrary to common sense, you choose to put the beast down and follow your instinct. approaching slowly, with your hands raised.

“easy there.” another hiss. it's a clear message. stay away. your steps are slow and you show that you are not holding any weapons. “i'm not going to hurt you. i'll help.”

no matter how sweet and loving you force your voice to be, the distrust in his eyes doesn't go away. you crouch before the stranger, staring for a moment. he is a pretty boy. you can't deny that.

your hands grip the bear trap, and you look him in the eyes. “I'm going to open this, and you're going to take your foot off. all good? on three. one. two. three.”

at the end of the count, you muster the strength your hungry muscles allow you to open the bear trap. the stranger quickly understands the message and moves away from it, allowing you to let the metal go without consequences. his hands release the trap, and it closes again with a click. the metal resonates as it strikes itself. there is fresh blood on his fingers and on the trap, and his face turns to look at the boy.

he's sitting by a tree, grabbing his injured ankle with a groan. you approach slowly again, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“hey. hey, i'm not going to hurt you. okay? i promise. just let me help.” he frowns at your words, his lips parting to reply in a language you do not know. oh, well. this can be complicated.

“i don't— i don't understand.” you pause, moving to sit besides him. he furrows his brows, but doesn't say a word. “can you understand what i am saying?”

by his pout and frown, you think the answer is no. okay. what to do now, then? you quickly point to yourself, pronouncing your name out loud. then again, slowly. he repeats, the sound beautiful on his tongue. his pronunciation is a little bad at first, but the third time he's repeating it, he seems to have understood.

he follows the example, pointing to himself. “toge.” he states, and your eyes narrow.

“toge. okay. i think that's your name. you are injured.” you point out to his ankle, and he stares at you for a moment. if he could speak your language, you are sure he would be sarcastic right now. oh, don't say.

you gesture nervously, trying to sign you wish to help. after almost ten minutes of denying and hesitation, he holds out his injured foot to you. your hands are gentle, and you don't touch the injured area unless you have to. he hisses and groans in pain.

toge stares at you, decided to say something. his lips part, and he sounds confident when he says. “salmon.” you frown.

“what?”

he repeats again. salmon. seaweed. tuna mayonnaise. he only talks about...ingredients? toge is desperately trying to tell you something, confused why you don't understand the message. then it clicks. oh.

“you only know ingredient names. that's all you know in my language.” you murmur. he nods slowly, and you sigh. communicating like this won't be impossible, but it will prove itself as a challenge. but these thoughts are for later. he is injured. because of you.

it's your obligation to help this young dragon — secretly. the people in the village would take every last drop of his blood for gold coins. you'll have to improvise. “okay. uhh. does it hurt much?”

he pauses. “salmon?” another sigh escapes your lips.

this will be complicated.

#[ ♡⃗ ] writing. #jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #inumaki x you #jjk inumaki #jjk fluff #jjk toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #toge inumaki x you

[sambhavami]

So, I'm going to rant a bit about Krishna and Arjun now.

**Just a note: this is based on my personal interpretations of MB/SB/HV, none of which I have access to right now, so I might misremember some facts. Thank you!

So, in my understanding, Krishna and Arjun were both very lonely people. Both of them were stripped from their childhood homes and families, and forced to grow up amidst hostility and constant conflict, when they met after Draupadi's swayamvar, they instantly latch on to each other. I mean, yes, both Krishna and Arjun had brothers who went through the same kind of issues, but at some point, you encounter a boundary with your immediate family, such that you can't really tell them everything that you're feeling. A friend peering in from outside is a much 'safer' choice. I'd imagine it's roughly the same kind of thought process that makes people talk about their personal struggles anonymously on social media instead of with their families.

In this process, they both also become extremely possessive of each other. For Arjun, we see this when he sheds all his inhibitions at Kurukshetra not when he hears the Geeta, but rather when Krishna gets wounded the first time. That's when the Kaurava side finds out exactly how dangerous Arjuna can be. And that's when Krishna is barely scratched by an arrow, and thankfully we never find out what Arjun would have done if Krishna actually got hurt. Arjun was fighting only half-heartedly in the beginning, but once Krishna is targeted he becomes fiercer, now actually concentrating on the battle, and then finally when Krishna almost murders Bheeshma, that's when Arjun becomes fully activated, so to speak. Also, he would've totally murdered Shishupal during the rajasuya (to hell with the 100 offences), if not for Krishna stopping him...this is a rare kind of aggression for Arjun which he doesn't show even in the dice hall!

Krishna, on the other hand, shows his devotion in a slightly different way. So, for most of MB we see that he is partial to Arjuna, and he never really hides it. He gets Subhadra married to Arjuna, takes him on picnics on Kailash and shows him Vaikuntha just for fun. Moreover, he technically didn't need to participate in Kurukshetra. With Subhadra married to Arjun and Lakshamana married to Shamba, he could've easily cited an algebraic cancellation and got out of the whole mess like most of the other Yadavas. But he chooses to go to Matsya, and moreover offers to part himself from his beloved, personally trained army! I mean it was kind of genius to bait Duryodhan into thinking he won that bargain (if Shakuni mama was there, he would've definitely chosen Krishna, and immediately have him thrown in a dungeon and use him as a hostage to force the Pandavas into surrendering)!

Krishna is not just partial to Arjuna, but he is downright desperate to protect him from anything and everything. From personally waiting on Arjuna in Dwarka during happier times, to breaking every moral code he's ever stood for during the war, Krishna's love for Arjuna outshines every other horrible thing that happens. 

Krishna is quite open about his decision to get Arjuna out of the dharma-yudhha mess alive. In fact, he makes it clear to Draupadi herself that if it came down to choosing between Draupadi and Arjun, Krishna would choose Arjun always, without a second thought. We see this in action when he offers to have Draupadi marry Karna in exchange for his support to Pandavas, thereby averting the whole war. We see how Krishna doesn't care how many people he has to sacrifice (Abhimanyu, Ghatotkach, upa-Pandavas, his Narayani sena, Parikshit, and borderline forcing Shikhandi to detransition, although the source/validity of this I can't quite remember right now), how many times he has to endure the Vaishnavastra, how many times he has to make Yudhishthir lie, how many times he has to forget his vows, how many times he has to make literal celestial bodies bow to his will, all of it is taken in stride just so Arjun lives to see another sunrise. At one point, I do feel he stops caring about preserving Arjun's feelings through this (point: sacrificing his kids) and just making sure he's alive, no matter how broken or hopeless. It's almost as if Krishna's just on auto-pilot the whole time.

His whole life, Krishna asks Arjun for just one thing, which is to get the citizens of Dwarka out of the island/coastline alive before the tsunami hits. Even that, Arjuna is informed of only after Krishna is no longer on the earth. And Arjuna also is ironically one of the only people (except maybe Nand-Yashoda, Radha and gopas/gopis) to never ask Krishna for a favour! No matter how tough their life got, Arjun never asked Krishna for anything for himself. I can imagine how Krishna, the human god, would constantly be bombarded with prayers and requests literally wherever he went, so I can see why people like Arjuna would be somewhat of a relief. Even during Geeta, Arjun is like, "I can't do this!" and not "You can't make me do this!" And Krishna likewise is not like, "You have to do this!" He's just like, "You can do this, but only if you believe you can!" Krishna basically goes over all the pros and cons of the available choices but ultimately leaves the final decision to Arjun.

#krishna #arjuna #hindu mythology #mahabharat #krishnablr #krishna and arjun #ramblings

[grandlinedreams]

omfg i did not realize ur requests were open! You're my favorite one piece writer!!!! The way you write the characters especially Law feels so canon huhu

Since Law seems to have a knack for picking up strays and taking them under his wing, may i request something platonic for Law which includes him encountering someone that reminds him of himself when he was young? Someone young and hurt and so so angry at the world, teeth bared, until someone showed them gentleness? Someone who loves like a feral dog, biting in defence when someone tries to pet it? (is it obvious i love dog references in regards to love yet?? lol).

He takes them in and they become deeply loyal to him, always following his shadow and being protective. Law gave them a home and taught them to love while Reader heals a part of Law's inner child because Law gets to help someone the way he wished to be helped as a child.

It all circles back to what Cora did for Law really. Instead of creating a cycle of abuse, its a cycle of love and care.

Thank you!!

Hiya papaya!! I'm honored to be a favorite but also I really hope that I can do this justice for you bc that's such a neat concept :(

[Heads up!: platonic relationship, some angst, more a little delve into Law as a person, Dressrosa/Law backstory spoilers]

You remind Law of himself as a kid.

Were he anyone else, it might have been a fond sentiment, wrapped in sugared memories ㅡ but no. You remind Law of himself because he understands what you're going through perhaps more than anyone.

The sullen expression and white knuckled fists, bloodied fingers and bruised skin, testifying to your wild animal ferocity in the face of a world that's been far crueler than it needs to be ㅡ he knows.

He was you, all those years ago.

And he knows exactly what will happen if he leaves you like this. He knows someone will slink out of the shadows, whisper poisoned words in your ear, sharpen your fangs and claws against the wrong people in the name of what they think is good.

He won't let that happen to someone else, not if he can help it. He feels like he owes it to Corazon, owes it to you ㅡ and owes it to himself, just a little bit.

He has absolutely no idea how this will go, but he wants to try.

ㅡ

"Why did you help me?"

The question stops Law in his tracks, finding you watching him, eyes dark and wary of the answer. You're undoubtedly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to make demands of you, set a debt to be paid back.

He knows it'll take more time before those claws truly retract, before you stop jumping at shadows and holding everything at arms length. But you're trying too, he knows that. (Bepo told him about the other day, when you'd asked Ikkaku a thousand questions about the internals of the Polar Tang, drinking in every word.)

"Because I know what it's like to lose everything." His voice is soft and low, hopes you won't lash out and demand to know what he knows of loss ㅡ because he knows plenty. It wreathes his entire existence like smoke, trailing tendrils into every aspect of who he is. "I know what it's like to be angry."

To ask why, over and over, desperate for answers from gods who choose to remain deaf and blind to those pleas. The world is hardly fair, deals cruel hands in spades and cares little for the aftermath.

"It's not fair." Your voice is a knife blade, aimed to sink into the softest parts. "What did I do to deserve this? Why am I being punished? What am I supposed to do?"

He remembers asking that, too. If he and his town were cursed, if they'd done something wrong to be taken by either disease or people afraid of them. He remembers being angry, that he'd gladly have let it swallow him whole, let himself blaze with it until it hollowed him, left him as a charred testament to who he'd once been.

But Cora ㅡ Cora, who'd owed him nothing, not when Law had sank that knife into him, hoping to kill him ㅡ had doused those flames. Put them out, raked over smoldering coals, refused to let him burn out the way he wanted to. Cora hadn't let him give up, and he's not going to let you either.

"You live," Law says. "I'm not saying that it'll stop hurting, or that the anger goes away entirely. But you take it and you find reasons to live."

"...I don't want to live for myself." Voice tiny, you curl in on yourself, shoulders trembling. "I want my family back. I just want to see them again."

He's no good at this, just as awkward as Cora had been, both men from broken homes and troubled pasts ㅡ both trying to ensure someone else didn't fall down the wrong path.

Warmth drapes over your shoulders, the tickle of feathers at your neck ㅡ and a hand on your head, trying to comfort.

"Then you live for them," he says. "Until you can find a reason to live for yourself, you live for them."

#ㅡmine. #one piece scenario #uhh i don't feel it appropriate to put this under the usual tags? idk #trafalgar law x reader #there ig #ㅡanswered. #anonymous