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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

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mafia!ghost learns that shy!reader is a virgin the hard way...

mafia!141 masterlist

Physical touch used to scare you. There was something about the way that someone else’s flesh against yours that made your skin crawl, like they were soaking up every thought and memory you have ever had. Stealing the very essence that made up the fiber of your mussels and the mass of your brain. Maybe that’s what made it so nice; why people enjoyed it. Being vulnerable, allowing someone to behold the soft meat that you hid underneath clothes to never be seen or kissed was liberating.

Things were different when it came to Simon. When he touched you it felt more like your bodies were intertwining together, where nerves knotted into one and blood mixed so violently that it clotted. It was sharing memories, whispering thoughts rather than stealing them. And you craved his touch. Craved the soft brushing of his fingertips against your arm or the way his hands gripped your hips, and you wanted more of it. So much so that you began to dream of it.

You’d dream of what his lips would feel like against your neck, teeth grazing against the tender skin that throbbed with your pulse while his hips grinded into yours. You wanted that pressure, that all encompassing weight to crush you, to grind away at you until you were open and bare for him. And you wanted more. More and more until it was too much, and even then it still wasn’t enough, always close, always teetering, always…

And then you woke up.

It always ended up like that. You would always wake up right before the ending, and you would find yourself laying in bed as a pent up and sweating mess. Usually you would roll over and pick up where your dream left off, taking care of yourself the only way you knew how with your fingers on your clit, but that time you couldn’t. Because you weren’t in your bed, you were in Simon’s.

What had been a night to binge a good TV show turned into a series of just one more episode until both of you were too tired to move. Rather than take you home, he carried you into bed where you spent the entire night with his arms wrapped around your waist and your back pulled into his chest. He wasn’t there when you woke up, but you could hear the distant sound of water hitting tile somewhere down the hallway outside of his room, which meant he wasn’t far.

Surely you could have risked it. Could have dipped your hand into the shorts Simon let you sleep in and made quick work of yourself before he came back, but the idea of him walking in on you like that was repellant enough. Caught with your hands between your thighs like a whore was a risk you weren’t willing to take. So you laid there, scrunched up on your side while your thighs pressed tightly together in an attempt to soothe the throbbing in your cunt. If anything, it only provoked the feeling further, and to make matters worse, you were smothered in the scent of nicotine and Simon’s cologne.

It didn’t take him long to emerge from the shower, and when he entered the room he was half naked and strutting around like he had never heard the word modesty in his entire life. A plain towel hung low on his hips, and the only reason it was even remotely secure was due to the fact he held the knot just below his navel. His hair was still wet and sat in heavy clumps that he attempted to brush out with his fingers as he approached your side of the bed with a smile.

“Mornin’ love,” he hummed. His weight sank into the mattress next to you, pulling you into his gravity while his fingers brushed against your cheek. “Sleep alright?”

You nodded your head and hummed in response, but somehow your voice felt pitchy and nearly whiny. You couldn’t be blamed. Not when each and every one of Simon’s tattoos were on display for you and you were engulfed in the fresh scent of his body wash and shampoo. Warmth radiated from his hand that ignited a fire that ate away at your stomach, and you found your thighs squeezing together once more as you attempted to bury yourself further into the mattress and blankets.

It was just because you had just woken up, surely. Simon had never seen you first thing in the morning like that before, and you prayed he would chalk it up to some early morning quirk of yours. Judging by the smirk that blossomed on his face, you knew he saw right through you. Like he could smell the arousal seeping from your body.

“Yeah?” he prompted, voice purposefully teasing in the most wicked way that made your thighs shift.

He chuckled at your pathetic response, and you wanted to be snarky but the words got caught in your throat the moment his hand slid from your cheek and down to your shoulder. Fingers hooking underneath the blanket, he carefully pulled it down as if he was undressing you, and to make it worse, he didn’t take his eyes off of yours.

“What’s got you all hot and bothered, sweetheart?” he asked, tone purposefully low as he dipped his head closer to yours.

His hand continued to run lower as he moved more of the blanket off of you while he explored your legs. And you tried to reply to him, tried to think of something to say but nothing would form properly in your mouth or your brain, so all you did was stutter. Unforgiving, Simon wasn’t making it easy on you at all as his hands drifted between your legs. Before you could stop them, you found your knees splitting apart, legs opening up as if you had been burnt by his touch.

Inviting himself in, Simon fully hopped up on the bed with you, hips settling between your legs while his arms rested on either side of your head. Spiky clumps of still wet hair rubbed against your cheek as his lips latched onto the side of your neck. Blood gushed through your veins and arteries so powerfully you were certain you’d burst at the seams, but no reaction in your body could distract you from the heavy and firm weight that settled on your lower stomach.

Simon’s towel had come off.

“Words, love,” he said, breath tickling your neck.

With so many emotions and thoughts swirling in your mind they all started to blend into one massive mess. You wanted, needed, something to help get rid of that aching feeling in your cunt, and yet at the same time the pressure inside of you built up so quickly you felt like you would pass out. Torture, that’s what it was. Needing something so terribly bad and not knowing how to ask for it.

“Simon,” you stuttered out, throat tight.

“Me?” he repeated, lips finally tearing away from your neck.

He pushed himself away from you until he was on his knees and sitting back on his haunches. You felt small laying underneath him like that, and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you stared up at him, eyes widening at the sight of him. Thick corded muscles in his bicep flexed and pulled as he pumped at himself while the sticky sound of precum accompanied the movement. Looking down between your legs you saw the way he was nestled there, thick thighs spreading yours apart while the leaking tip of his cock threatened to ruin your borrowed shorts.

It was then that you noticed the silvery sheen that decorated his glands. At first you thought it was the trick of the light, some sort of wetness that just reflected back the dim sunlight that peeked through the blinds. Then you realized they were piercings. Several of them, to be in fact, all surrounding the head of his cock like a crown. You sat there in awe for a moment as you watched his fingers lazily twist and tug at his tip, length hardening with each bit of stimulation.

“I’ve got you this worked up?” he teased, which had your attention returning to his face. His free hand rested on your thigh before slowly snaking up to your hip inch by burning inch. He gripped the waistband of your shorts and gently began to pull down, exposing the soft flesh and bone that laid underneath. “Sorry ‘bout that, love. Guess I should do something to make it up to you, huh?”

It wasn’t until the shorts had nearly slipped past your pelvic bone that you realized just exactly what you were getting yourself into. More so, what you were getting Simon into. You had never had sex before, and even more, you hadn’t told him. Should you just stay quiet about it? Would he be upset if you didn’t tell him that he was the one taking your virginity? Did he even want to be with someone so clumsy and inexperienced? Vicious thoughts began to swirl around your head, and before you knew it, your hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, instantly making him cease his movements.

“I’ve never…” you blurted out before the air seemed to leave your lungs. You swallowed hard as you saw the confusion twist onto Simon’s face and you suddenly wished you hadn’t spoken at all. “I’ve never… like… had sex before.”

Simon was silent for what felt like an eternity. He slowly raised your shorts back up over your hip as he wetted his lips with his tongue. Gears started to turn so furiously in his head you feared you had broken him. Any moment he would topple over with nothing but smoke and brain goo pouring out of his ears. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as if a curious dog.

“You’re a virgin?” he said, confirming what you had already told him.

For some reason, him putting it so bluntly was more flustering than the fact you had a naked man hovering over you. Ashamed, your legs began to instinctively close, only to be stopped due to Simon’s body still being in the way.

“Sorry,” you muttered, eyes glancing anywhere in the room but him.

“Sorry?” he repeated with a chuckle. The mattress shook as he began to shift to the side where he removed himself from between your legs before collapsing on the bed next to you. Thick, tattooed arms wrapped around you as he planted a quick and surprisingly soft kiss on your shoulder. “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.”

“I killed the mood,” you retorted with a whine. You wanted to thrash around, kick your legs against the mattress, throw a fit, do something because of how frustrated you were that you, once again, fucked something up. Instead you settled for pressing the palm of your hands against your eyes with a heavy sigh. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’m too dumb and clumsy for this shit anyways.”

“Hey,” Simon said, tone sounding almost like a warning.

Without so much as straining, Simon raised a single hand and grabbed both of your wrists before carefully pulling your hands from your face. He propped himself up on his other arm so that he leaned over you halfway, obscuring your vision so that you had no choice but to look at him.

“Sorry,” you apologized yet again before he had the chance to chastise you further. “I just- I want to, I do. It’s just, I get anxious and start to overthink and just…”

It hadn’t even hit noon and for the millionth time that day your words died before they ever fully formed. His eyes were just so goddamn pretty, and you found it difficult to even think when he looked at you. Couple that with the fact he was naked and pressed against you, you were surprised you even got that much out to begin with.

“Quit puttin’ yourself down, sweetheart. I’ll go slower next time,” he assured you as his hand let go of your wrists. “It’s alright to be nervous. That’s why we talk ‘bout these things, yeah?”

His softness and understanding caught you off guard, though you weren’t sure why it did. Throughout your time together he had been nothing but soft, kind and considerate. An asshole for sure, and cocky as all hell, but maybe that’s what you liked most about him. So you nodded your head in agreement and mustered a quiet smile that had him rewarding you with a quick kiss.

He didn’t fully pull away from the kiss, though. Gentle fingers brushed against the side of your face while his lips ghosted against yours in a smirk. Just like that, he had you falling apart at the seams again.

“Next time, I’ll go so slow you’ll be begging for it.”

consider this my way of edging you guys <3

#mafai!simon #mafia!ghost #mafia!141 #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut

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binniesbobastay · 1 year

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𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

'late night'

Mingi x fem!reader

You try to maintain innocence when your boyfriend, Mingi, asks you to spend the night with him for the first time... but soon you can't help but lose control

A/n: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this, just wanted to let you all know that I might not be posting as much when school starts back up but I will try my best! Requests are open and highly encouraged right now! Don't forget to reblog/give feedback on this if you liked it! Hope everyone is well and happy new year! :)

Genre: Smut (18+, minors DNI), fluff

Warnings: Smut, mature content (minors DNI) pet names, handjob, fingering, squirting, protected sex, rough sex, slight degradation (not rlly), mature language

You sighed as the silence of the dorm helped you relax. There was just something so calming about the place when everyone else had gone to bed, leaving you and Mingi alone to enjoy each other's company. That's exactly what you two were doing on this late Friday night as your boyfriend of a few months was fiddling with his phone on the couch across from you, waiting for you to finish the rest of the week's work on your laptop.

You can't help but crack a smile to yourself as you hear him let out a soft sigh of his own, impatience laced within it.

"So... how much longer do you have?" He finally asks. You do all you can to suppress a giggle as you shut your laptop, making him raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"I've been done for a while now, I just wanted to see how long you could go before asking." You snicker, proudly.

"Hey!" He cries out, jumping up from his spot and charging toward you. You quickly push your laptop to the side in order to save it from his oncoming attack.

"Mingi, no!" You laugh as he towers over you, fingers digging into your sides to tickle you.

"Sorry, but this is payback!" Suddenly, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. You continue to giggle with what little air you have left in your lungs.

"Ha!" He shouts in triumph before tossing you down onto the couch he sat on before. He quickly scoots in beside you, trapping you within his broad embrace. You try to move in order to get yourself comfortable, but his hold only tightens around you.

"Mingi! Let me move!" You protest.

"No can do, doll." He says before planting a smooch on your forehead. But soon enough, he helps shift you around so that you're lying on top of him, head resting on his chest with a warm blanket over the two of you.

"What about now, is this better?" He asks, mischievously. You roll your eyes before perching yourself up to hover over his face.

"Yes," You respond, pressing your lips to his. "Thank you, Mings." He smiles at the nickname, cheeks forming a slightly pink tint as you lay your head back down on his chest.

Mingi briefly lets go of you to reach for the remote on the coffee table before putting on the show that the two of you have been watching. But between the sound of his heartbeat in your ear and his warmness surrounding you on this cold night, you're already being lulled to sleep.

"Want me to get some snacks or anything to drink, love?" He asks as the opening credits begin.

"Mm-mm," You hum, nuzzling your head further into him. "Don't go anywhere, please..." He chuckles, pulling up the blanket some more.

"So now you want me to stay?" He teases. You scoff in response, cocking your head up to peck his jawline before settling back into him again.

Just like that, you're out like a light and the next thing you know Mingi is gently shoving your shoulder to wake you.

"Babe? Hello? You still with me?" You fight the weight of your eyelids as you see the episode has already ended.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I fell asleep." You apologize, rubbing at your tired eyes.

"It's okay, baby." Mingi snickers, peppering kisses across your face to help you wake up. You giggle in response, moving off of him. You're about to get up off the couch to start packing your things so you can take a late cab home.

"Hey," Mingi suddenly says, prompting you to turn back around to face him. His eyes meet yours, holding words he hasn't yet spoken within them.

"What's up?" You ask him, concerned. He shifts around awkwardly, biting his lip before continuing.

"Do you want to... stay the night this time?" He asks, "I would just hate to make you go home so late... and with the weather like this, I mean everything's practically frozen over out there."

"Oh..." You say, not because you don't want to but because you had never spent a night with each other before. You'd shared many late nights at the dorm and so has he at your place, but the guest always ends up going home, even if it was at some ungodly hour.

"Would it be okay? I mean with the other boys here and everything..."

"Oh, yeah!" Mingi answers your question of concern. "Don't worry, they won't mind!"

For some reason, you're still not so sure. You love Mingi. He's the person that makes you feel safe and loved above everyone else. So why does this proposal make you so nervous? Maybe it's just because it's a first.

"Are you sure?" You ask, faintly. He smirks, shaking his head as he moves to be closer to you.

"Of course, I would love you to stay the night with me. I'm the one suggesting it!" He kisses your temple.

"It's completely up to you, my love." He insists before wrapping his arm around you, messaging his thumb into your shoulder. His words of assurance make you smile and lean into his touch.

"Okay, then it's fine with me!" You exclaim.

He makes sure the tv and lights are off as you gather all your things from the living room before following his lead down the hallway into his bedroom. He retrieves a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants of his for you to borrow before disappearing into his connected bathroom to give you some privacy. Even with him not in the room, you still can't help but blush as you change out of your clothes and into his. While you wait for him to come out, you make yourself comfortable under his blankets as you climb into his bed.

You begin to feel giddy when you take a breath and your senses flood with the smell of his cologne on the sheets. That's when the bathroom door opens, and you do a double take at the sight before you. Mingi's tall frame peaks out through the doorway. The only thing adorning his chest is a simple silver chain, which you recognize as your gift to him for your three-month anniversary. All that's left on display is his toned form, with gray sweats hanging loosely around his hips.

You're almost ashamed that the look of it all makes gulp as you begin to feel dizzy. And you're even more ashamed when you find yourself subconsciously pressing your thighs together. You pull the blanket up some more in hopes to hide your actions better, eyes never leaving him as he pulls his hair band back and shakes out his messy locks, slightly damp from having washed his face.

You try to muster up at least a little bit of composure as he looks over at you, smiling before climbing into his bed next to you.

"Are you comfortable enough?" He asks.

"Oh, yeah! This is perfect." You comment, trying to keep yourself together. Still, you can't stop your eyes from roaming his body, which Mingi finally picks up on. He smirks, resting a hand on your thigh over the blanket.

"Uh huh, anything else you see that you like?" Your cheeks flush and you playfully smack his shoulder.

"Shut up..." You grumble, burrowing yourself further into the covers. He chuckles, wrapping an arm around you to pull you into his chest. You grow even more flustered as you finally make contact with his smooth, warm skin.

"Sorry I'm not dressed more modestly, I don't meant to be so impolite with a lady over and everything," He winks at you. "But I can't sleep with much on."

You decide to test the waters, letting your hand splay out across his chest beside your head.

"When did I ever complain?" You ask, sheepishly. You tense up as he lets out a deep laugh at your response.

"Well, if it makes you feel better... I'm all yours to look at and touch as much as you want." His words, though intended to be lighthearted, send a chill down your spine. You let yourself relax and sink further into his bare chest as his arms wrap tightly around you once more, one rubbing soothing circles into your back while the other strokes your hair.

He puts on some dimer lighting before hitting play on a slow playlist.

"Goodnight, doll." He says, before kissing your forehead.

"Night..." You mumble. Mellowness overtakes every inch of your body... minus the growing heat in your core. It's what guides your eyes down to wander across his abs... traveling lower to his hips as you start to picture what they might look like rolling into yours. The image makes you squirm.

"You okay, love?" You hear Mingi's voice call in the faint darkness.

"Mingi..." You whimper, moving to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You press your lips against his a couple of times, with each kiss lingering more and more. He hums before pulling one of your legs over to the other side of him so that you're sitting in his lap, kisses becoming more passionate. You let your hands tangle in his hair as your lips continue to dance with his. He moans softly into you when your tongue slips into his mouth, and you start to grind against him.

"Mmm, slow down, baby." He mumbles into a kiss. Worry overtakes you as you pull away from him.

"I'm... I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?" You ask, eyes widening.

"Shh, no baby. You're okay." He sits up more, leaving a soft peck on your lips to reassure you.

"I just want to make sure this is what you really want..." He asks, becoming a little flustered himself.

"I just don't want you to think this is the only reason I asked you to stay the night."

You smile at his concern. The two of you had yet to be intimate but you've talked about it before. Mingi told you he was most comfortable with letting you decide when the time was right because he didn't want you to feel like he was ever pressuring you into it. Although you hadn't pictured your first time with him being as spontaneous as this was, it still felt like the right moment. Everything just feels so perfect... being with him in his warm bed. You feel so close to him, yet you crave more.

"I know, Mingi. Don't worry, this is what I want..." You whisper, cupping his face in your hands. "I want you so bad right now."

He nods before letting you lean back in to kiss him again. His hands find their way to your hips, urging you to move against him. You both groan at the friction it makes, sending sparks of electricity between you. His hands start to travel lower, but before they reach their destination...

"Can I touch you here?" He asks, almost breathlessly. You smile as your heart swells at how careful he is being with you.

"Yes, Mings. You can touch me anywhere you'd like." He grabs a handful of your ass in his big palms, guiding your movements. Your hands begin to travel south as well, sweeping over his chest and down to his stomach. You snake one hand down in between your bodies, cupping him through his pants.

"Fuck, baby..." He sighs against your lips before moving his own down to your neck.

"Mmm, Mingi..." You call out as the warmth of his breath against your skin makes you grow even more sensitive. You pull his sweats down enough for his hard cock to spring out. The sight of it makes you bite down on your lip as you wrap your fingers around it. He moans, tossing his head back as you start to stroke him. You take the opportunity to leave a few little kisses on the underside of his jaw.

"You're so big, Mingi." You mumble as your kisses trail down his neck and onto his shoulder. You can't help but practically shudder at the feeling of him throbbing in your hand. The sight of his tip becoming redder and leaking more precum with every pump makes you even wetter. Mingi guides your chin up to face him, eyes meeting his already fucked out ones.

"You're so beautiful... touching me like this." You lean into his touch when he moves his hand to cup your cheek.

"And you're absolutely breathtaking, you know that?" You say, leaning in to kiss him once more. You watch his brow furrow as you pick up the pace, stroking him faster.

"Okay, doll..." He coos, grabbing your wrist to stop you. You pout, longing to finish him off. He smiles at your expression, placing a kiss upon your frown.

"I'm sorry, baby. I just don't want to cum yet," He says, giving you another kiss as he slides his pants back up. "I'd much rather do that while I'm inside you..."

He takes advantage of your state of shock at his words, gently grabbing your hips to turn you around.

"Your turn, doll." He spreads his legs so you can sit down in between them, your back pressed snuggly against his chest. You move to lift his sweatshirt up off of you, but he stops you again.

"No, keep it on," He gently commands. "You're gonna look so pretty in it when I make you cum..."

"Mingi!" Every time he speaks in his low voice it makes you squirm even more. He chuckles, running his hands soothingly up and down your sides.

"Be good for me, doll." He tells you, as he helps you out the sweats he gave you. You shiver as the chilly air in the room comes in contact with your skin, but Mingi quickly comes to your rescue, big, warm hands rubbing up your thighs, gently prying them apart. Your chest swells with anticipation as his fingers come closer to where you want them. You jump when he moves his head, so his lips are right by your ear and his hand rubs over your clothed cunt.

"Mmm, so wet. You soaked your pretty little panties, sweet girl." He comments, making you wriggle against his chest. He slowly slides your underwear down your legs, and you eagerly kick them to the side. You can hear the hitch in his breath when he finally sees your wet pussy waiting for him. You cry out into the dim night when you finally feel one of his slim fingers run up your folds, catching your clit.

"Ah, Mingi!" You whimper, letting your head fall back onto him. He wraps his other arm around your waist to secure you against him. He spends a few minutes exploring you, paying attention to what exactly gets you to whine for him, before he resorts to rubbing slow circles into your clit.

"Does that feel good, doll?" He asks, lips littering kisses behind your ear as he continues his ministrations.

"So good, Mingi. God..." You run your hand up his bicep of the arm wrapped around you. He goes back to spreading your wetness around, groaning at the sound it makes.

"Can I put my fingers inside, baby?" He asks. You buck into him, too needy to form speech.

"Use your words, doll..." He demands, a slightly stern tone in his voice.

"Yes, Mings. Please, I want it so bad." You plead, desperation being your only motivation to fulfill his request. With that, he's slipping a long finger past your entrance.

"Fuck!" You hiss. He fills you up all the way, the length of his digit fits like a glove inside of you. He takes the time to experiment more, curling his finger as he slides it in and out of you. All while your grip is tightening around his arm.

"M-more, please." You beg, looking up at him with doe eyes. He smiles, pressing his lips to your head as he grants you your wish. You moan his name when he slips another finger in, constantly prodding at the sweet spot within you. You start to feel the familiar knot form within the pit of your stomach.

"Mingi... I'm close." You warn. He nods before he starts to suck on your neck, bringing his hand wrapped around you to rub at your clit again.

"Yes, just like that!" You whine, hands moving to grip the sheets beside you.

"So beautiful, doll," Mingi coos. "You're doing so good for me." With a few more thrusts of his fingers and swipes to your clit, you come undone for him. You lean all of your weight back against him as pleasure completely washes over you. Mingi takes his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips to clean them off as he continues to rub your clit to help you ride out your high.

As your orgasm finishes, he helps you move to lie back down. You feel his lips travel across every corner of your body, lifting you out of the daze he previously put you in.

"Mmm, I was right. You do look pretty when you cum in this." He teases, playing with the hem of his own sweatshirt on you. You giggle, pulling him down by his chain for a kiss. You moan when you taste yourself on him.

"Doing okay, baby doll?" He asks, a hand comes up to brush hair from your face as he supports his weight on the other.

"I'm amazing, Mings... you're amazing." You say, planting a peck on the tip of his nose. He scrunches up his face as he finally starts to lift his hoodie off of you.

"Only the best for you." He states as you sit up so he can finish taking it off of you. You can't help but blush under his dark gaze as he finally sees your fully bare form for the first time.

"So damn gorgeous..." He whispers, lips latching back onto your skin. You sigh, enjoying the warmth of his kiss. You arch your back when he suddenly attaches his mouth around one of your nipples.

"Mingi..." You whimper when his hand comes up to play with the other. You comb your fingers through his hair as he revels in the sweet taste of your skin. It all makes the neediness return to your core. You reach out toward the hem of his pants, tugging at them as a sign. He pulls away from your chest to look up at you.

"Are you ready, love?" He asks. You nod, frantically.

"Words..." He practically growls as his thumb comes up to swipe at your bottom lip.

"Please, Mingi..." You whine. "I need you to fuck me now." You watch him close his eyes, sighing as if your plead for him was a breath of fresh air. He climbs off the bed for a moment to reach into his drawer. He pulls out a condom, making sure to lock eyes with you as he tears it open with his teeth. He rolls his sweats all the way off this time, quickly sliding the condom down his length.

You spread your legs for him as he crawls back onto the bed, making him smirk. He takes his cock and runs it up and down your folds a few times, causing you both to hiss.

"Let me know if it's too much, doll." He requests with one last kiss to your lips. With that, he pushes into you.

"God, you feel so good, so tight, baby..." Mingi calls out in awe. You reach down to rub your clit to help ease the delicious stretch he gives you. He continues his kisses down your neck in order to further sooth you.

"Mingi... you can move now." You encourage him. He shivers as he pulls back out of you, the feeling of your wet walls protesting his leaving almost too much to bare. He pushes back into you, setting a steady pace. Your head falls back, completely lost in the way he fills you, leaves you empty, then fills you again. His head falls into the crook of your neck as he processes the same feeling. You rake your nails softly down his back as his cock finds your sweet spot, making your breath hitch.

"I can't believe you're mine... God, you're beautiful..." You kiss his shoulder as he rambles on sweet nothings in your ear. He's fucking you so good,,. but your mind begins to wander off to darker thoughts and desires.

"Mingi... do you want to be a little more rough with me?" He doesn't still, but he slows a bit as he reflects on what you had just asked of him.

"Do you want that?" He asks. You nod but then remember he likes words.

"Yes, Mingi... give it to me. I want everything you have in you." Your words ring clear as you look directly into his eyes. You try your best to hide the chill you get as lust fully takes over his dark orbs. He quickens his pace, leaning down to kiss you more harshly this time. You groan as he rails into you, taking your bottom lip in between his teeth. Suddenly, he pulls out of you all together.

"Turn around, doll." You don't think twice before getting on your hands and knees for him. He lets out a deep growl at the sight of your ass sticking up in the air for him. You yelp in delight as his large hand lands a hard slap on it. He quickly enters you again, gripping your hips as he returns to his harsher pace.

"Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this. God, I love this ass..." He rants, spanking you again. Your eyes roll back as he pounds into your sweet spot over and over again, head planting into the sheets.

"Fuck, Mingi! Right there!" You shout as a more intense feeling builds up in your core. Suddenly, his hand wraps around your face to cover your mouth. It's unexpected, but it turns you on, even more, when you hear your own muffled moans. That and the sound of his skin slapping against yours sends you teetering over the edge, and you spray your release this time all over the bed.

"Oh fuck! Baby doll that's so hot..." Mingi groans, leaning down to plant hot kisses across your spine. You feel the vibration of his voice against your body as he moans at his release. He cums into the condom inside of you, making sure you're settled down on the bed before pulling out of you. He collapses down beside you after discarding the condom and you roll on your side to face him. He smiles at you, pulling you into a sweet kiss, contrasting with his previous rough nature.

"So that's what you're into?" He asks, teasingly. You blush, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

"Maybe a little... but every single thing about this night was amazing." You tell him.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, angel." He says, kissing you. "Cause we'll be doing it a lot more often from now on."

You both move to lay back under to covers and he pulls you back into his chest. You spend the rest of the restless night talking about anything under the sky.

"Oh... by the way, I'm just curious," You begin. "Why did you cover my mouth at the last second?"

"Oh well, it had finally occurred to me... that we are in fact in a dorm with other people sleeping in it." He admitted. Your eyes widen in horror as the realization hits you as well.

"Breakfast might not be the most fun... but I think it was worth it." Mingi teases one final time before kissing your forehead.

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totallyhextra · 6 months

Text

People? In MY computer?? It's more likely than you think!

The following is a fanvertisment and is not connected to the show. ****Yet.*** *Also yes, this is the fourth time I'm posting this because TUMBLR WONT LET ME EDIT SPELLING MISTAKES!

ANYWAY,

Once upon a time, back in 1987, Dire Straits put out this music video for “Money for Nothing”, which, as you know, was a song about wanting my MTV.

youtube

The video was made by two guys (Gavin Blair and Ian Pearson) on a very moody computer. After the video went out, these two guys went to a pub:

Ian: “Hey, we should make a whole show like this!”

Gavin: “Dude, making three minutes almost killed us.”

And so it was decided!🎉

The two guys were joined by two other guys (Phil Mitchell and John Grace) and created the Hub, which then became Mainframe Entertainment. They got even more people, and then they all holed up in this hotel.

They were mad lads with a dream: a whole cgi animated show, and they made it happen a whole year before Toy Story!

Behold! ReBoot!

(Yes that fever dream was real)

Now before I get any of this:

Let me lay this down. If you can’t with the animation of the first season because it was CUTTING EDGE IN 1994, you can close your eyes and listen to it. ReBoot wasn’t just a CGI gimmick. The characters are fully developed, the voice actors are peerless, the plot is sharp, and there’s so many easter eggs that you’ll never find them all.

Never

(And yes the episode "Bad Bob" was the actual catalyst for Fury Road. Look it up)

ReBoot is about what life is like in a computer (in the 90s, because it was the 90s) called Mainframe (because of course it is). People are sprites, the guys that look like 1s and 0s are binomes (which represent 1s and 0s). Bad guys are viruses, and the good guy is a Guardian named Bob, who is a certified cinnamon roll.

In the first season the eps are light and self-contained, mainly because there was constant friction between the Mainframe studios and the Board of Standards and Practices.

They still got away with some pretty dark stuff, like Megabyte (virus) making Enzo (the kid) watch his dog get sliced open (dog got away, obviously) , Dot (sprite) have a hallucinatory breakdown, and the fridge horror of realizing the thousands of worm things (nulls) that plunged off a bridge to their death were actually people.

And Hex's (virus

best girl) scary face single-handedly traumatized an entire generation. 🙂

But busting through a window was a no go, because WhAt If tHe cHiLdReN dID iT tOo?

Anyway, halfway through the second season, ABC cut them loose, so they were like, fuck it, we’re going to start going hard. The story shifted from episodic to arcs and things start to get serious.

Third season the show moved to YTV in Canada, which gave no fucks about shielding the innocent children.

So it got DARK

How dark?

The UK refused to show the entire season, so the audience there had to wait until pirated copies made it across the pond to see how it ended.

Also by 1997, the animation was gorgeous. (Best example of third season animation I could think of that didn't have spoilers)

youtube

The show was green-lit for a fourth season on Cartoon Network, but halfway through production Warner Bros took over and the same fucking thing happened.

Because Mainframe was halfway done, they decided not to scrap all of it, but knowing they wouldn't be able to finish it correctly, Mainframe stripped anything that would hint at Season Four's true ending, then left what remained on a cliff-hanger of angst.

FOR 22 YEARS

(It's also why the last four eps of season four seem to make no sense)

And so it was.

Other crap happened, the soul left Mainframe, and its animated corpse spat out “The Guardian Code” in 2018.

But never say die! The year is (almost) 2024, 30 years later. ReBoot shall rise from the dead, because here come the documentary!!

youtube

Do you dare see what you’ve been missing?

What the (UK) government doesn’t want you to know??

Then come on down to ReBoot!

We got:

Magnificent bastards with sexy voices!

youtube

(Tony Jay at his best)

Kickass women who could probably crush your head with their thighs and you’d enjoy it!

Innuendos in a kid's show!

youtube

💗 This adorable cinnamon roll!! 💗

Insane third season glow-ups!

YOUR NEW GOD

These guys!

(Gay roller-skating binome is my boi. I named him Jerry)

Nonstop cultural refs (You'll never find them all. Never.)

(There are literally videos dedicated to trying)

So many computer puns!

Body Horror!

Existential Crisis!

HAVE I MENTIONED YOUR NEW GOD?

youtube

This is it, folks! The real thing, the gem hidden in the moose-filled forests of Canadia!🌲🌲🌲

Take a trip inside a mid-90’s computer!

See the World Wide Web! (omg):

Witness the original purple Gamecubes that randomly fall from the sky when the owner of the computer (OUR GOOD LORD THE USER) wants to play a game. If it lands on people and they lose, they dissolve into mindless energy leeches, fated to tormented by their former bretheren for all of eternity.

Just like in real life! 🙃

So watch the eps! They on YouTube!

youtube

I think they're on Pluto, Hulu, Sling, and Tubi too! Also DVDs for people who have the patience to wait for them!

WATCH! BELIEVE! SUFFER THE SOUL-CRUSHING RAGE OF THE SEASON 4 CLIFF-HANGER!* (come on, its fun!)*

HYPE THE DOC!

The more people hype, the better the chances of actually getting it finished.

NOW SHARE THIS WITH EVERYONE!

And now I will leave you with this screenshot from the ep "Painted Windows", where dicks can clearly be seen drawn upon the wall behind the fleeing anthropomorphized television.

(PS: If you heard the clown pic at the top of the page in your head, you're welcome)

IMPORTANT UPDATE

This message is now approved by Gavin Blair! He's an awesome guy. Show him some love on TWITTER (fuck you musk) at @TheRealMrSweary Also, if you want to share this with non-tumblr friends, here is my attempt at a webpage version:

theseventhstarprojects.com/REBOOT.html

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orphicdreamers-wp · 4 months

Text

Something In The Orange — Luke Hughes

Summary: In which while cleaning out his bedroom at the lake house, Luke convinces himself that your relationship isn’t over.

Content Warning; Angst with a happy ending, Luke kinda being a dick in flashbacks, mentions of a breakup, sad luke & reader, flashbacks in pink, Quinn & Jack plotting.

Pairing; Luke Hughes & Reader

Coming back to the lake house had been hard for Luke. Especially coming back without you by his side. You two had been together since freshman year of high school. The first summer that Quinn and Jack had the lake house was the first time you went with Luke. You two spent that summer in bliss, which led to you practically living there with them during the summers. Quinn had set ground rules that you were the only girl allowed to spend the night at the lake house.

But you and Luke had broken up in February, on Valentine’s Day as your luck would have it. You had been stressed with your clinical exam for your pharmacy tech program and had expected that night to be a time to relax. You and Luke had never done anything extreme for Valentine’s Day. You usually ordered take out and watched a cheesy romance movie. You entered your shared apartment and began to remove your shoes and socks and made your way to the bathroom and began to peel your scrubs off and tossed them on the floor.

You let the hot water rake over your body and wash the stress off of your shoulders. You stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around your body as you made your way into the bedroom. You dried off and pulled one of Luke’s UMich hoodies over your head, slipped into a pair of sweatpants and fuzzy socks before climbing into the bed and opening your laptop and turned on the most recent episode of Gilmore Girls as you reached on the beside table for your glasses. You had nearly fallen asleep when the living room door slammed.

You jolted upwards as your boyfriend entered the bedroom. He was dressed in a freshly pressed suit with his curls framing his face perfectly, “Hi baby, you look nice.” Luke scoffed as he undid his tie, “I looked nice an hour ago when our reservations were. Why are you home? You were supposed to meet me there, I left you a voicemail.” You frowned as you reached for your phone, checking it and finding no voicemails or texts from him, “I don’t have any message from you Luke, I didn’t know.” Luke scoffed, “Bullshit. You could have sent me a simple text saying you weren’t feeling dinner.”

You rolled your eyes, “I wouldn’t have said that, I didn’t get your message. Don’t turn me into some evil person because your upset!” Luke ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not doing this with you. I can’t, you’ve been somewhere else all year since school started. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t prioritize me.” You felt your throat tighten, “So what? Your breaking up with me because of a miscommunication? That’s what I get from you after 5 and a half years? Seriously Luke?” Luke shook his head, “I just can’t be another one of your things Y/N. I can’t.” You sniffled as you stood up and reached for a duffel bag in the closet and began cramming clothes into the bag along with your school stuff. You shook your head as you walked into the living room and put your shoes on. You walked out of the apartment without another word

Luke sighed as he entered his bedroom at the lake house. He hadn’t been back since the previous summer, so he knew your touch would be lingering over him. He was proven correct as he entered the room. On the dresser beside the door he was met with a small star shaped ceramic dish with a few rings and a necklace inside. A travel size bottle of perfume sat beside it and a soft pink lip liner nearby. As he furthered into the room he was met with more of your stuff. A swimsuit hung on the desk chair in his room. A Polaroid photo of you and Luke at some carnival the summer earlier was taped to the wall. Luke found a small box and began to put your items in the box.

You sighed as you discharged a needle into the biohazard box. You and your friend, Beth had volunteered to run the health clinic at UMich during the summer. You needed the cash and you had no summer plans since your breakup. The past 3 and a half months had been lonely for you. You found yourself wanting to call Luke nearly every day. Whether you were drunk at a bar and thought of something funny, or you had a good day at work and wanted to tell him, or you were rewatching Gilmore Girls and Luke and Lorelai had their first kiss and it made you think of him. But you held your pride.

You furrowed an eyebrow as your phone vibrated, you felt a sense of panic consume you when you saw the caller was Quinn. You excused yourself from the area you sat at and pressed the phone to your ear, “Quinn, what’s up?” Normally Quinn would have felt bad about lying to you, but he was tired of his baby brother moping around the house. He bit his lip, “It’s Luke, he’s hurt. Can you come?” You felt the blood rush from your face, “Yeah, I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at the house.” You turned to Beth, “I gotta go, bye. I’ll text you later.” You grabbed your bag and got in your card and drove to the lake house.

You slammed the car door and hurried inside, using your key to unlock the door. The house was eerily quiet, “Quinn? Jack?” Your heart was beating into your throat and ears when you saw him. Luke emerged from his bedroom shirtless rubbing his face in his hands, “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You felt like you couldn’t breathe, “Quinn called me. He said you were hurt.” You and Luke let out simultaneous sighs. Luke nodded, “I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come.” You shook your head in agreement, “Yep. I’ll let myself out. Oh here.” You peeled your key to the lake house off the key ring and handed it to him, “I don’t need it anymore.”

Luke hummed as he held up a finger, “I actually have something for you too.” He returned to his room for a brief second and returned carrying a box, “Figured you’d want this back.” You nodded as you blinked harshly keeping tears at bay, “Thanks Lu. I should get going, don’t wanna leave Beth at the health center alone for too long.” You walked out of the house and got into your car and made your way down the street.

You got to the end of the street when your phone rang with a call from Quinn. You sighed as you set it to speaker phone, “So any other lies I should be expecting dumbass?” Jack scoffed lowly, “Stop the car Y/N.” You looked into your rear view mirror, “You two are seriously following me now?” Quinn spoke, “Pull the car over now.” You pulled onto the side of the road and got out, “What could you boneheads want from me? If the plan was for him to stomp all over my heart then goal achieved.”

Quinn scoffed, “He isn’t over you Y/N, I swear I heard him talking to Ethan or Rutger about you last night.” Jack nodded, “Yeah then he made me and Z get trashed with him and he ended up crying about you.” You shook your head, “This isn’t fair to me. Not when I’m finally picking the pieces of my life up. Especially not after he insinuated that I chose everything over him. I can’t do that again.”

Jack shook his head, “He’s changed and he didn’t mean it. Just go back and talk to him. Tell him all that you just told us.” You shook your head as tears spilled down your cheeks, “What if he doesn’t want me?” Jack pulled you into a brotherly embrace, “Then he’s an idiot. But I know he isn’t. Go.” You wiped your face as you got back into your car and returned to the lake house. Quinn and Jack watched from the street as you stood on the porch.

You pounded on the door and felt a small breath of air as Luke opened the door. You felt your voice waver, “I am mad as hell at you. You are the most infuriating person I have ever met. I have never met someone so annoyingly perfect. You Luke Hughes, I have never ever loved someone as much as I love you. I don’t care about any of that stuff anymore. I just want to be with you.” Luke’s eyes softened, “You are the most infuriatingly stubborn person I’ve ever met. I’ve known from the first day I met you that you were the most special person in the world. I don’t want to be anywhere with anyone without you.”

You pulled him into a soft passionate kiss, your hands threading through his hair. A soft groan left Luke’s lips and hit yours. You pulled away as you breathed heavily. Luke looked down at you with lidded eyes fluttering, “I knew you’d come back to me.” You kissed him, “Shut up and kiss me. We have a lot of time to make up for.” Luke grinned as he pulled you in the door, “Thank god for my brothers.” You grinned, “Thank god for your brothers.”

#hockey player x reader #fanfic #hockey #nhl #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #lh44 #nj devils #new jersey devils

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memospacexx · 6 months

Note

If you can and want to, would you please do another Mammon request? One of his personal fizzies got pushed off his web for clapping for Fizzerolli. Maybe the reader is the replacement fizzie (or maybe the other Fizzie who held his popcorn and fan) and it’s all about their experiences attending to Mammon at home and at Mammon Theatre?

From my understanding; your asking for a what if! What if reader was one of the fizzbots, this will be short but i can do another version if asked <3

HELLUVA BOSS SPOILERS FOR THE NEWEST EPISODES!

(Sorry for spelling mistakes :(()

Sitting on the spiderweb-like chair, you stare in amusement, the new contestants this year were surley an intresting group

With a sigh you look over to your left, a robo-fizzie, it looked back at you with a smile, not that it can do anything but smile.

You were about to say something till a cloud of smoke appeared and a familiar green smoke and a familiar ‘cha-ching!’ Sound was heard

You waved your hand over your face, getting rid of the smoke, with a cough you look up to see mammon, the sin of greed, munching on a drumstick

You raise a brow, wondering where the hell he got that from, but keep quiet, you were there to be his ‘right hand man’ afterall, but you never did any actual work, its just an excuse for mammon to have you in his vision 24/7. Hes quite the possesive prick

“Waddya think bout this year’s contestants sweets?” He says with glee, turning to you, with a ring of bells because of his hat

“Pretty sure Fizzarolli will win again” you say with a hum

Suddenly the popcron you wereholding dissapears from your grasp

“Theres gals down there too, you think they could make it to the finals? Women aint that funny ya know” he says, munching on the popcron

“Dont say that, they could be the new face of your business, who knows” you lightly scold

“Ya just said fizz would winf” he says with a full mouth

“Hey man i cant predict the future” you huff

“Well-“ Mammon was cut off by the sound of singing, the preformance is about to start

He shoves the popcron back into your hand and lays back with a smirk

You roll your eyes and start using the fan you held in your other hand

[time skip to fizz’s FINAL preformance]

“Dont worry folks- im sure Fizzarolli is just getting prepaired for his grand- fuckin preformance-“ mammon says with rage, checking the stage. Suddenly the stage fills with blue smoke, and Fizzarolli appears.

Mammon smirks and teleports back to the web, pulling you closer by the waist and using the fizz as an arm rest

You watched nervously as fizz’s, entertaining yet scary preformance, scary cause hes dissing the SIN of GREED but you look over to the your left, his hand still on your waist, hes laughing. Is he that slow????

“Wonder what all this fuckins about” he jests (haha jester joke)

A small portal appeared, “its about you” Asmodeus says

“Hah??” He says looking back at the closing portal

As the preformance progresses you see where this is going, by the end of it, thats the only time mammon even realized it was about him-

“mammon you sad sack of shit!”Fizz says with no remorse, the crowd goes silent.

Suddenly you hear a crackle of electricity, staring at the angered demon, you gulp, you liked fizz, he was cool, he might die today tho. Yikes

The robofizz to his right claps and he pushes it off the web, you cough into your fist and look away.

He teleports away to argue with fizz, cause apparently that song was his notice. He quits

‘Its about time’ you thought to yourself. Eating the left over popcorn mammon didnt eat (he threw up on the other bot that he pushed down)

You sigh and look down at the shit show that is mammon and Asmodeus arguing.

#helluva boss asmodeus #mammon x reader #helluva boss mammon x reader #fizzaroli helluva boss #mammom helluva boss #fizz and ozzie mentioned #theyre so cute #helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss season two #helluva boss ozzie #helluva boss #helluva boss season 2 #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss x reader #.memospace

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straylightdream · 5 months

Text

what am I missing?

act eleven: “At least I didn’t walk on you guys naked.”

feat: bang chan x f.reader, seo changbin x f.reader, han jisung x f.reader

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐚𝐧: I’m interested to see what people think about each of the boys right now n

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole nipple play, clit and vaginal fingering, lots of dry humping and some dirty talk, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, the mc calls herself a slut more warning to come. Soft but dominant jisung, kinda sub reader for jisung. Being tied up during sex. Names such as, baby, my girl, and princess

Laying in Chan’s bed his body is right behind you as he rolls his hips into yours at a slow pace. His hand grips your breast touching your sensitive nipple just the way you like. Your hand grips the sheets below. Leaning your head back you give him full access to your exposed neck.

“Baby,” he moans against your neck.

“Ch-chan,” you can barely piece together his name. The angle he’s entering you in over and over has him brushing the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Each thrust leaves you gasping feeling like you’re on the verge of falling apart. His hand rests on your soft stomach. He squeezes the flesh before pulling your hips back against his meeting his thrust. The feeling of his hands all over your body makes you feel dizzy.

Your night started out innocent after you got back from the diner. Chan made it seem like he only wanted to cuddle. You just watched a couple episodes of a show you had been watching before you laid in his bed curled up next to each other. His morning wood poking your side as you woke up let you know his body was betraying him. An innocent morning kiss soon led to both of you shedding your clothes.

His slow thrusts were firm and each time hit the sensitive spot inside of you it left you feeling desperate for more. Your orgasm washes over you like a hot wave. Your brain can’t seem to form any other words than his name. Reaching back you grab his hand holding on tight. Your head rolls back resting on his shoulder as your walls contract around his length.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Chan-.” You’re a mess completely drunk on the feeling of your orgasm.

“Fuck I’m gonna to cum.”

“Please.” Your high is still washing over you as you push your hips back. He never stops as you ride out your high. He picks up his pace, snapping his hips into yours faster.

“Say my name.” He moans as your high is ending.

“Chan, baby.”

His thrusts are getting sloppier. He’s on the brink of falling apart just like you.

“Chan you feel so good,” you moan as his hand moves to your core. His finger makes quick work on your sensitive clit. A white hot feeling takes over you as he comes moaning your name. His hands don’t leave your clit until they fall apart again moments after him.

Your chest rises and falls as you struggle to come down. He holds your body close to him pressing his lips anywhere he can reach. You stay like that for a while. Both of you just silently coming down from your highs as he kisses your shoulder over and over.

He removes himself from you and quickly ties off the rubber before laying on his back as his chest rises and falls. He doesn’t say anything, he just pulls your naked body practically on top of him.

You just lay there for a long moment taking in his closeness.

“I could go for some coffee,” you say before pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone.

“Let’s get up and make some coffee and breakfast.”

Crawling out of his bed. You pull on your underwear and wonder if you should just put back on your work clothes. Before you can even start to get dressed Chan hands you an oversized sweater you’ve left here before. He pulls on just a pair of boxer briefs not bothering to put on anything else.

“I don’t have pajama bottoms,” you sigh.

“So just wear your sweater and underwear. Hell you can walk around naked if you,” give you a cheeky smile before he leans over and presses his lips to your cheek.

“Meet you in the kitchen,” he taps your butt before walking out of his room.

Meeting Chan in the kitchen he makes you both a cup of coffee. He mentions being hungry so you both work on making some bacon and eggs together. Things between you feel so easy as you help each other cook. Chan takes every moment he can to either touch you or give you a quick kiss.

Sitting there together eating breakfast as you talk about work and about another friend's upcoming birthday. After eating you even do the dishes together. Walking into the living space you’re caught off guard by the sound of the door pin pad being accessed. The front door opens and you’re shocked to see Changbin walk in wearing his gym clothes.

You’re instantly reminded that Chan is only in his underwear and you’re wearing an oversized sweater with panties no bra on.

“Hey,” Changbin says awkwardly. His eyes stayed locked on you, not even bothering to look at Chan.

“Bin what are you doing here?” Chan steps closer to you.

“I was gonna see if you wanted to go to the gym. I had no clue that YN is here.”

“I spent the night,” you finally speak up.

“Oh,” Changbin instantly smirks, raising his eyebrow.

“At least I didn’t walk on you guys naked,” Changbin laughs.

“You’ve seen me naked,” you say.

“True and I would love to see you naked again, it’s just Channie over here. I would really prefer not to see his dick right now.”

Chan scoffs before sitting on the couch.

“Did I ruin a moment?” He sits his backpack on the ground.

You look over at Chan who looks unamused by the appearance of his best friend. You move over and sit down next to him. Chan gives you a soft smile before looking over at Changbin. “No it’s fine Bin.”

“I feel like I should go,” Changbin says.

“You can stay Bin. I was thinking YN and I could watch a movie and hang out.”

Changbin pauses and looks at you before he looks between you and Chan. “You should stay. We’re just hanging out right now.”

He takes slow breath before he moves over and sits down on the couch next to you. Chan rests his hand on your thigh as he turns on the tv. He flips through Netflix as he and Changbin try to pick something to watch. You don’t say anything, you just take in the comfortable feeling that has taken over you. This situation should feel weird but for some reason it doesn’t. You know Chan might feel a little awkward about this but he’s acting like everything is fine.

Changbin nudges your side without saying anything. You look over at him and he gives you a smile. He leans over and presses his lips to the top of your head before leaning back and getting comfortable.

“I have to say I feel a little overdressed right now.”

“I can get dressed,” you say, realizing Changbin might feel uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to get dressed. I’m talking about Chan who is just chilling in his underwear.”

Chan looks over and raises his eyebrow before squeezing your thigh. “I’m comfortable, and last I checked YN is comfortable.”

“Are you comfortable?” Changbin asked.

“Absolutely.” You feel like the Changbin question has a double meaning but right now you don’t want to think about that. You just want to enjoy the day with both of the boys.

Regarding my taglist: I’m tagging so many people like 300+ people and the the amount of reblogs and interactions I’m getting compared to my taglist make me quite sad. I kindly ask if you request to be tagged that you interact with my writing. It takes me a really long time to make sure I tag everyone. Im going to start removing silent readers and blank blogs to make tagging easier. If anyone wants to be added to this stories taglist I have decided to close it for now. I can’t add anymore people unfortunately. Im really asking for interaction if I’m spending the time to tag you.

Thank you to anyone who has been replaying to the post and reblogging them.

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rancidpancakebatter · 2 months

Text

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.

“I’m sorry.”

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.

“I’m sorry,” you began.

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins.

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

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neverinadream · 3 months

Text

Here's To Doing The Unexpected

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Summary: Christian tries to do the unexpected

Pairing: Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader

Requested: Nope

Song Inspo: Vienna - Billy Joel

Warnings: small talk of pregnancy, husband!christian

Notes: i'm trying to clean out the drafts 🫣 it's small, it's not that great, but i didn't want to waffle and end up turning it into something i don't end up posting. anyway, here's something that isn't smut. feedback is always appreciated

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"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" You tease, the kitchen smelling unexpectedly good, with Christian at the counter, a dishcloth tossed over one shoulder, looking like he had stepped out of an episode of The Bear. His mouth mimes the lyrics to Luke Combs 'Forever After All,' as he crushes a glove of garlic under the blade of his knife. You didn't even know he knew how to do that.

You step further into the kitchen, his cheeks twitching at your hand unconsciously sliding across the small of his back as you come to stand on his other side to inspect what he was doing. There's a pot of homemade sauce simmering on the stovetop behind you, the rich smell of tomatoes perfuming the air, and before you were ingredients like eggs, flour and butter. The typical stuff you needed to make fresh pasta.

This certainly wasn't Christian usual level of cooking when it came to doing anything in the kitchen. Normally, it was quick and simple meals, the ones he knew he wouldn't burn, and sometimes went in a microwave. Or, it was making Rice Krispies buns with your baby cousins, leaving the counters covered in the melted chocolate and stray pieces of Rice Krispies that never made it into the mixing bowl.

"I'm amazed," you tease him some more, feeling his laughter ripple through his body as you rest your head against his arm.

"Amazed that I haven't burnt the place down?" Christian laughs as you mumble 'no comment' under your breath. He turns and tips his head, brushing his lips lightly against the top of your head. His hand comes down to touch your bump, soothing his thumb over your round belly like it was his secret way of saying hello to. "This move was all about trying new things, right?" He crushes another glove of garlic, sliding it off the knife with the side of his finger. "So, I'm trying to not burn the kitchen down."

"Oh." You look up through your eyelashes, catching your bottom lip between your teeth to trap the giggle that desperately wants to escape. "I thought you meant we would be trying new things in...you know...the..."

"Dirty girl," he shakes his head, talking over you as your voice trails off.

"Yeah," your hand drops to give his bum a cheeky pinch, "and you love me for it."

He sets the knife down, wiping his hand quickly on the end of the dishcloth, before turning to face you. He's left chasing your lips, your body jerking back as the smell of garlic still lingers on his fingers. His brows rise to meet his hairline. "What?" He laughs, finally caressing your face. His thumb traces the shape of your cheek and he dips his eyes to look into yours. "Can't I kiss my beautiful, glowing wife?"

"You can kiss your 'beautiful, glowing wife' - which dramatic much? - when you're fingers no longer smell of garlic." You scrunch your nose. "Seriously, how does it not bother you?"

"Because I'm not six months pregnant." He sneaks a kiss to your temple and takes a few steps over to the sink. "You know, you don't seem to complain when my fingers smell like you," he cheekily says over the sound of the tap, lathering his hands in lemon-scented soap. You roll your eyes, your cheeks flooding with warmth at his crude joke. "Though, it has been a while," he turns the tap off, "I think I might have forgotten what you smell like."

"What's the matter?" You tease him with a perfectly mischievous smile. "You got blue balls?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." He wraps his arms around you, landing a kiss against your jaw. "I miss touching you," he whispers, sliding his hands up and down your sides, dipping to kiss down the column of your neck, "I miss you touching me."

"Christian?" He hums, half acknowledging you, too distracted by the softness of your skin. "The sauce is boiling over."

His head snaps back, eyes widening as his homemade sauce boils over the side of the pot and sizzles as it hits the stovetop. "Shit!" He launches forward, taking the pan off the ring, trying to wipe up some of the spilt sauce before any more damage could be done. "Shit. Shit. Fuck-" You cover your nose as a slightly charred smell permeates the air and watch his shoulders drop. "So much for trying to do something nice."

"Hey-" You take short strides across the kitchen and wrap your arms around his middle. On instinct, he reaches for your hands, rubbing his thumb across the back of your wrist. "It's okay," you kiss the back of his shoulder and press your cheek against it, "you know I've never really been one to like grand gestures, anyway."

"I know." He tucks his head back, a show of disappointment in himself lingering in his eyes. "I just wanted to do something nice before Bubbles comes along."

You lift your head. "Bubbles?"

"It's nothing," he mumbles, "just something to call them whilst we wait to meet them."

"Bubbles," you repeat, taking a step back and shrugging your shoulders, "I like it; better than calling them 'Baby' all the time." A frown stretches across your lips, turning your head to look at the preparation he had already done. He really was trying to make this Valentine's Day special for both of you. "You know, I think we could still salvage this," you tell him, swinging your head back around to look at him.

He lifts his brows. "We can?"

You crane your head to look around him. "Maybe even that, too," you add, pointing to the pan.

"Uh, no," he shakes his head, "that is not possible." He nudges the pot back with his elbow. "I wouldn't even feed that to my worst enemy."

You wink and quickly kiss him on the cheek. "We'll see about that, baby."

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Football Taglist: @thoseboysinblue @kickinganddriving @lizzypotter14 @brasiliangp @chilwellspulisic @notsoattractivearenti @swimmingismywholelife @lovelynikol16 @masonsrem @landoslover @in-my-body-bag @laurasstufff1 @mountchilly @spicysainz @kathb59 @emcv1427 @gagaslonina @afterpills @pulisicsgirl @ricciardhoe3

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic x reader

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rollinouttahere-writes · 3 months

Note

helloo!! Can we please have dark chocolate number 13 with Ace pls \(//∇//)\ thank you!!♡♥︎♡♥︎╰(*´︶`*)╯🍫♡

Yandere Ace x GN!Reader

1.1k words

Prompt:

I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve last seen Ace. An eternity in his book, barely a breath of fresh air in yours. During your precious alone time, you elected to stay in his cabin and tidy up the place. His tendency to just throw shit and leave it wherever it falls left the room in a chaotic state, and that got on your nerves given that this is where you spend almost every waking moment of your day.

Going out amongst the other people on the Moby Dick always left a bad taste in your mouth. They would give you pitying glances at best, but never lend a hand to help. They ultimately cared more about Ace’s well being than yours, and since your presence was directly tied to his mental state, your fate was sealed.

You never asked for any of this. No one wants to get dragged off onto a pirate ship because the captain of it got too attached. You had a glimmer of hope that you may be able to escape after the Spade Pirates were forcibly disbanded by the Whitebeard Pirates, but as already stated. They weren’t much help. At first they couldn’t even get close to you without Ace trying to kill them, but eventually he grew on them. Then they were helping keep you on board, lest he spirals.

The relationship you had with Ace could be very draining. That fun, rambunctious side of him that had originally drawn you in was only a part of him. A front that he put on. In reality he was an intensely depressed individual that had become much more comfortable showing that side of himself to you.

In normal circumstances, this would be a heartwarming show of trust. Typically this would be a steady step in the right direction to build a healthy relationship, but nothing about your relationship was healthy. The exposure to his depressive episodes felt suffocating more than anything. While he would be sobbing into your chest and clinging to you for dear life, you would be forced to comfort your captor out of pure guilt from seeing him look so broken. You felt more like an emotional support animal than a human significant other some days.

Going back and forth between hating and pitying him was dizzying. Not to mention the bizarre form of codependent love that had been thrown into the mix. You never knew what direction your emotions towards him would go any given day, just like you never knew what kind of a mood Ace would be in.

It was exhausting. You felt like you needed a vacation to recuperate at the end of every day, but you of course never got one. So you would have to settle for the moment of peace you’ve been granted in this messy cabin.

The door is suddenly kicked open and you internally curse. Your quiet moment is done and over with now. You should have cherished it more.

Strong arms lock around your waist, heave you up, and spin you around. Ace seems to be in a good mood today, which is a plus. “(Y/N), I missed you!”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, you’re acting like it’s been months,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

“What? A couple of hours is a long time, it felt like months.” He had mercifully stopped spinning and was looking around the room. “Where’d all my stuff go?”

You rolled your eyes, “All I did was stuff your dirty clothes into the hamper. Don’t know why you even have that thing seeing as you never use it.” It had a fine layer of dust that would gather over it in between your sporadic uses when you got fed up enough to clean.

“Not everything was dirty, most of those were still good!”

“It’s not “good” if you have to do like three sniff tests to determine that! Just wash that shit!” You were squirming to get out of his grasp, thoroughly irritated from bickering about you cleaning up his laundry.

Ace laughed and shrugged, “Maybe I’ll do it later.” Yeah right. He walked towards your shared, unmade bed and tossed you onto it before throwing himself on top of you. Oh. He’s feeling cuddly today. Great. Well, as long as he doesn’t start crying it won’t be so bad.

A kiss was placed against your cheek with enough force to squish your face, and then he unceremoniously flopped down, further squishing you into the mattress. Instead of using your chest as a pillow like he usually does, he nestled his face into your neck. His arms snaked underneath you to keep your bodies fully pressed together.

The man was a walking furnace, so you were already beginning to sweat. Such a thing didn’t bother him, but it was uncomfortable for you. Not that your discomfort was enough to deter him, you would be stuck in this position until he’d gotten his fill. This was far from the first time you’ve been subjected to this, so you knew what he wanted. One of your hands plucked his already partially dislodged hat from his head and tossed it aside so you could run your fingers through his messy hair, the other one rubbed slow circles on his back.

Ace hummed in contentment from your ministrations, and his body sagged more than it already had against your own. His hair was tangled, a common occurrence for anyone primarily living at sea. Your fingers worked meticulously to undo all of the knots. You weren’t particularly gentle with it, but he wasn’t flinching from every tug so you can’t imagine it was that harsh either.

For a while, nothing is said. Ace enjoys your company, while you feel obligated to acquiesce his wants and desires.

“I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.” The words are spoken in a hushed whisper directly into your ear.

There it is again. That pesky, traitorous feeling of affection. The flutter of your heart from being so desperately wanted- needed even. Your impulsive inclination to comfort someone so clearly in need even though it’s absolutely not your job to do so. You wanted to “save” him almost as badly as you wanted to save yourself.

It made you question if he was the only one with serious psychological issues here. Have you always had this savior complex, or was it a recent development brought on by your living situation?

This wasn’t something you wanted to think about today. You sighed and clutched Ace closer. Maybe it would be for the best if you just turned your brain off for a little while? Thinking too hard on your circumstances has never done you any good.

#one piece #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #portgas d ace x reader #yandere #reader insert #x reader #mostholy

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mistydeyes · 10 months

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eyes for the stars

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summary: The 141 boys can't help but feel slightly jealous about your celebrity crush. They can't help but wonder why you're so obsessed with them.

pairing: 141 x civvie! Reader

warnings: swearing, spoilers for Euphoria!

a/n: a little self indulgent because i too have all of these crushes (love my problematic ladies, sydney and phoebe <;3)

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price: pedro pascal

The minute you laid eyes on him you were hooked. From episode 1 of The Last of Us, Pedro became your very apparent celebrity crush. Who doesn’t love a strong parental figure who will do anything for his unconventional child?

Ever the observer, Price noticed how your Instagram stories were filled with reposts of Pedro at award shows, magazine covers, and even behind-the-shoot pictures. He even noticed the growing collection in your shared home of Mandalorian memorabilia. He couldn't help but feel hurt that his partner posted a celebrity more than him.

As Gaz looked over his shoulder he commented, "Looks like a more handsome version of you, Sir." "Get back to work, Sergeant" Price commanded, before shoving his phone back in his pocket. He couldn't believe that this was getting to him.

“You have a type, love,” Price said as you sat watching another episode of Narcos. It was your turn to pick a show to binge and of course, you picked this one. Price secretly wished you spent his leave watching anything else. You were glued to the screen as you sat in your boyfriend’s arms. “I do not,” you argued, “you and he are so different.” You rolled your eyes and he let out a small chuckle.

“He’s an older man who is surprisingly resourceful and doesn’t let many people in until he’s given someone to protect with his life,” he began and you realized the similarities, “Plus, look at him. I might start shaving my beard and only having a mustache for you.”

As the realization hit you, you couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed at his observations. You paused the episode and held his face gently. "I'd much rather have this mustached face here with me than him," you said and shared a loving kiss.

Price was later happy to say that your stories of the man were significantly less than before. Good thing he didn't see your phone wallpaper was of the very famous Pedro Pascal edit (yk the one).

soap: sydney sweeney

You both were unapologetic about your love for the problematic blonde on Euphoria. Although you couldn't condone her rumors about Glen Powell, you couldn't help but obsess over the gorgeous woman. A new Syd’s garage TikTok? Queue you running around your house to find your boyfriend. You both religiously watched her in episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale and White Lotus. Don’t even get me started on when she appeared on the red carpet, your texts were flooded with pictures and emojis.

There was always one rule between you and Soap: don't watch any Sydney Sweeney movies or shows without the other. He instituted that rule once the new Euphoria season was predicted to come out. As he left for another mission for the 141, he kissed you and said, "No Sydney without me, promise?" As you gave him your pinky, you wouldn't realize you would be breaking that rule later on that year.

To be fair, no one could have predicted that their mission would have taken until the end of November. Also, it was technically Soap's fault for not binging the show before he was deployed. However, since the call to duty was ever present, he didn't want to start a show without knowing he could finish it. You waited until August to finally start it. You had been dying since the season ended in February and had blocked all spoilers.

The minute the show started, you knew you couldn't stop. The plot line between Nate and Cassie was just TOO GOOD. Hours later, you had finished and were ashamed of yourself. You just had to know how the drama between Maddy and Cassie ended. Logging out of your account, you tried to hide all the evidence before your boyfriend inevitably came home.

It was December when Soap returned, excited to be home with you and even more excited to start Season 2 of Euphoria. As you made you both some popcorn, you heard an ear-piercing scream from the living room. You rushed over to see what happened but Soap stood there with a shocked face. "Bonnie, why does HBO say you finished all the episodes?" he accused and you knew you were done for. "I-" you started before he interrupted. "You betrayed me, worse than Graves," he said almost as if he was crying. As you looked at him sheepishly he said in a soft voice, "Please tell me that the rumors about Cassie and Nate aren't true."

gaz: henry cavill

Who could compete with Superman? Certainly not Gaz, in fact, he would get a little jealous when you mentioned your little crush. You loved Henry Cavill specifically the DC Comic version of him, not The Witcher. Gaz regretted ever letting Soap get you into the new films.

For the past year, your boyfriend would not hear the end of your pining for the dark-haired beauty. You were non-stop, always talking about his latest interviews and always having his films on repeat. Gaz even had to stop you from putting a framed picture of Henry on your fireplace mantle. You finally agreed that Henry belonged on screen, not in a frame along with your loved ones and your boyfriend.

Gaz miraculously was home for Halloween, a first! You had been invited to a party by your friends and decided on a Cat Woman costume. Oddly enough, when you asked Gaz what he was wearing, he said he already had it covered. This was his chance to show you who the real hero was. You tried to find out the best you could (even looking through his search history) but you could not find what it was.

"Babe, can you at least tell me you're on theme?" you asked over the phone, it was a few weeks before his return and you were anxious to know his secret costume. "Trust me, love, you'll be pleasantly surprised" he answered and you audibly groaned at his mysterious tone.

“Kyle, are you ready?” you called, dressed in your Cat Woman costume. You loved Lois Lane but something about the powerful energy Selena Kyle had plus her sexy attire made you pick this instead. As you adjusted your all-black outfit in the mirror, you heard your boyfriend descend the stairs. You turned around to see him dressed in Superman’s signature costume. The costume was of surprising quality, perfectly defining your boyfriend's physique and making his butt look great.

“I heard there’s someone who needs a superhero,” he triumphantly said as he struck a pose. You smiled widely and took many pictures. “You look amazing, babe! This is just like the movies,” you said excitedly as you kissed him on the cheek. “Bought it just for you” he winked, “Gotta let you know who the real hero is.” You laughed and punched his arm lightly. “Let’s go my Lois Lane,” he said and you grabbed his hand, getting ready to face the world with your hero.

ghost: phoebe bridgers

Now Ghost isn't like the rest of the 141 boys, he won't let his jealousy get the better of him. BUT COME ON, you were in love with Phoebe Bridgers, the haunting singer of Boygenius whose grey hair glistened in the moonlight. You owned every single record of hers and constantly pined over the TikTok videos of her on Taylor Swift's tour. You even bought you and Ghost her matching sweatpants with bones on the front and her name on the butt. He wouldn't admit it but he did love her style. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little twinge of jealousy whenever Kyoto came on the radio.

While on duty, Ghost could feel his phone ring. He answered immediately, knowing you only called for emergencies. He was greeted by you screaming. "BOYGENIUS IS COMING TO LONDON WE HAVE TO GO!!" you yelled excitedly. Ghost mentally slapped himself, he would have to remind you that this line was only for major injuries or death. "Love, Boygenius is not an emergency," he said sternly before you responded, "SIMON, PHOEBE FUCKING BRIDGERS WILL BE SHARING THE SAME AIR AS US," you yelled back. Ghost was glad no one was around because he would never hear the end of it. "Calm down, I'll see what I can do," he said before reiterating his love for you and hanging up.

When Ghost returned home, you were in a deep depression. You opened the door and looked sadder than he had ever seen you. "What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door behind him and taking you into his arms. You let out a few tears as you sat on the couch together. He noted you were all decked out in one of your many Phoebe hoodies and shorts. "I wasn't able to get tickets," you sniffled, "they sold out immediately." You knew it was stupid but your heart was crushed. You would never get to see her live.

"Well good thing I know a thing or two about computers," he said before pulling out his phone to show you a confirmation email. Your eyes widened when you saw he had secured VIP tickets to meet the band and watch from the pit. "Happy anniversary, my love," he said and you were speechless for a moment. "Simon, I think I could marry you," you whispered as you hugged him tightly. "Anything for you darling," he said and kissed you. As you excitedly confirmed all the details and peeked at the set list, Ghost felt the need to poke fun at you. "Do you love her because she has a thing for skeletons too?" That earned him a light slap to the chest.

The day of the concert, you could've fainted upon meeting the band. They were all so much cooler than you could have ever imagined. As you talked Julien's and Lucy's ears off, Phoebe walked up to Ghost. "Sick mask dude, gotta get me one of those," she said in her deep, chill voice. Moments later, Ghost almost had to subdue you as you tried to force the mask off his face to give it to her.

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retrieve-the-kraken · 30 days

Text

So after taking some time to clear my head, and letting the wave of relief and closure wash over me, and feeling like someone literally unclogged my brain, I rewatched season 3 of Young Royals, but only finished just the night before I was going away for Easter weekend, so I didn’t have time to write anything.

But now I can finally say this: I liked it much better the second time.

And it wasn’t just the trepidation and anxiety that i had for finding out what happened in the end that kept me from completely enjoying it the first time. It was also that annoying week-long gap that we had to endure before watching the finale.

(I get that they did it for promotional purposes, and it was a lovely thing to be able to have that event for the final chapter, which obviously could only be one chapter, imagine having everyone there for the entire season, everyone watching for nearly six hours… no good.)

That gap, I feel, made it feel like we just landed randomly on an episode that was meant to tie up all the storylines. And of course it is, and of course it still feels that way in regards to some storylines, but wow, what a difference it makes to watch the whole thing as a whole, the way I’ve enjoyed the previous seasons.

I definitely could process it much better the second time around, watching calmly and carefully, and once I jumped straight from episode 5 into episode 6, it definitely felt more cohesive. It felt like it followed the same pattern as the previous seasons, the conflict at the end of episode 5 is very similar in every season, and it felt right.

And the final episode of each season seems to follow a very similar pattern too, except that it shifts a little each time as Wille gains autonomy. In Season 1, the climax was that Wille had to do what the crown said, on the crown’s terms (deny the video, keep August’s betrayal secret, lose Simon), because he didn’t know what else to do, he didn’t have a choice, sad ending. In season 2, he has to do what the crown says (do the speech, play the part of the Crown Prince), BUT he’s doing it on his own terms (telling the truth about the video, being with Simon, even if it means keeping August’s secret), he has somewhat of a choice, bittersweet ending. In season 3… well, it looks like he’s doing what the crown says still… and then he finally realizes that he does have a choice. Sad ending? Nej! He finally gets his happy ending. He has come to terms that the can have a choice.

The second time around, just when we thought we were getting yet another sad ending or bittersweet ending like the previous seasons, it shifted. Plot twist, he’s getting out of the car. Of course there is a lot up in the air (was your first thought also literally “but Wille, you left your bag in the car! You don’t have a toothbrush! You don’t have a phone charger! You don’t have clean underwear!” or are you normal? I am not normal, I have anxiety about things like that), there are many things that will still need to be resolved after the credits roll, but… it felt right.

And of course there are things that got tied up and still felt a bit quick, and things that felt annoyingly left up in the air, but that was precisely what happened each season, things that felt like maybe would get properly addressed the next season, but that’s not how life works. Not everything gets resolved. And it feels a little sadder or more bitter because we’re not getting another season.

But we are. It’s playing in our heads right now. People are writing fanfiction about it. And I can’t wait to absorb it all.

I’m definitely watching the whole season again, and doing a play-by-play analysis like I did for season 2, because I love hyperanalyzing every detail of this show.

Can I just preliminarily warn that I will be gushing about Edvin and Omar, and Nikita and Frida and Malte, so so much? Because the second time watching season 3, I was in awe, true awe, of how good they have all gotten. I mean, they’ve all been incredible from day one, but I feel like there were nuances to their characters this season that highlighted so much how incredible they all are. Particularly my babies, Edvin and Omar, deserve all the awards. Can’t wait to see everything they do.

I will miss them with all my soul. But I don’t have to let go of them yet.

#young royals #young royals season 3 #young royals analysis #yr season 3 #yr s3 spoilers #wilmon #wilmon endgame

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octoberclidan · 6 months

Text

Dances with Team Free Will - Dean

Request: So the boys probably never had the opportunity to go to school dances, right? I mean in that one episode about when Dean was living in that boys' home I think he was about to go to homecoming and then John showed up to pick him up.

So what if reader throws a sort of mini prom/homecoming for each member (separately) of tfw? How would each one react?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Masterlist

Sam's version

Castiel's version

Note: full disclaimer, school dances aren't really a thing in my country, so I don't really know what they're like, but I've done my best!

Story:

"Are you serious?" [Y/N] asked, her mouth open in surprise as she sat opposite the two Winchester brothers. They were in the kitchen of the bunker, having just arrived home from a successful and short ghost hunt.

"I came close to going to one once. But then Dad showed up and it was time to move on", Dean shrugged as he took a sip from his beer.

"Yeah, they weren't really high up on the list of Dad's priorities", Sam said. "We usually went to school and then came straight home, didn't really get involved in anything else, or unnecessary, as he said".

"Didn't help to get to involved anyway, made it harder to move on. We never stayed in one school for long", Dean added. "I don't think I would've liked it anyway, they seem kinda lame".

"That's so sad", [Y/N] shook her head, imagining a younger version of Dean getting all dressed up and ready to go to a normal school dance, imagining him feeling nervous and excited, just for John to show up and put an end to it.

"Hey", Dean pointed his beer bottle at her. "Don't pity us," he took another sip before smirking at her. "You got any pictures from your school dances?" Sam sat up straight at Dean's question, now much more interested in this topic of conversation. They both looked at her expectantly as her eyes widened slightly.

"There is no way in hell I am showing you any photos from my teenage years, no, forget it". She shook her head head and stood up from the table, both of them feigning exaggerated looks of hurt and disappointment. "I'm gonna go have a shower and then go to bed, I'll see you both in the morning". She rolled her eyes at them but made sure to give them a smile before leaving the kitchen and making her way to the showers, leaving them sniggering to themselves.

***

She spent her time in the shower wondering about what Dean would have been like in high school. Neither of the boys really talked about their childhoods much. She knew that Dean was four and that Sam was just a baby when Mary died and when John had taken them out onto the road. She knew that Dean practically raised Sam and that they both started hunting much younger than they should have. She didn't know what their day to day lives had been like though. She wondered if Dean ever did his homework, if he had had been as confident and charming as he was now, back then. She wondered what his teachers thought of him, or how well he did with exams. She wondered if he'd ever had to deal with weird stages of growth spurts, his voice breaking, acne, being rejected by the girls he'd asked out. She wondered if he'd ever had friends in school, or if he kept himself separate from his classmates.

After she'd wrapped herself up in a towel, she made her way to her bedroom. She paused as her door came into view; it was ajar and the light was on. She definitely hadn't left the light on or the door open earlier, so she slowly walked towards it, carefully pushing the door open further. Her mouth dropped when she found Dean sitting on her bed, her old box of childhood belongings open and photographs scattered all over the bed, two of them in Dean's hands. His head snapped up to see her and he immediately looked like a guilty child who'd been caught stealing a cookie after been told he was allowed to have any. "Dean Winchester", she frowned at him. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"I uh, I guess I lost track of time", he smiled sheepishly at her and shrugged, but made no move to put the photos down. "Do you think you could've fit any more bracelets on your arm?"

"Give me that", she marched over, still using one hand to keep her towel secure around her, and snatched the photos out of his hands with her other. She glanced down to see what he was looking at and groaned. There she was, fifteen years old, when she didn't know there was such a thing as 'too many accessories'. She glared at him as she shoved them back into the box and quickly started to gather up the rest. "It was fashionable at the time", she mumbled.

"I'm sure it was", he chuckled.

"These are private, Dean", she sighed. She knew she'd probably find it funny in the morning, but in that moment she was annoyed at him. When he saw that she wasn't smiling, he was quick to drop his own smile, and he reached for her arm.

"Hey, hey I'm sorry. I was just curious to see what you were like back then, I didn't mean to embarass you", she didn't look back at him as she placed the lid on the box and shoved it back onto the corner of her desk where he'd found it. "Tell me how I can make it up to you", he said before she turned back around. A smile crept across her face and she slowly turned around. Once Dean saw the look on her face he instantly regretted what he'd just offered. "Within reason", he quickly added.

"Go get changed into your FBI suit and meet me in the Dean Cave in an hour", she folded her arms across her towel, waiting for his response.

"Why?"

"No questions. This is how you make it up to me, now go".

Dean begrudgingly stood up from the bed and gave her a suspicious look as he left her room, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, she immediately got to work.

***

She'd managed to get dressed quickly, throwing on a dress she'd bought for a case where they had to go to a fancy party. She'd put on some light makeup and had dried her hair, putting it up to make herself look a bit more dressed up. She had then done her best to 'decorate' the Dean Cave, which really just consisted of putting up some of the less 'Christmassy' Christmas decorations that she'd found in the bunker before, like some old gold and silver tinsel, and hanging up a bit of mistletoe. Dean kept a record player in the corner of the room, and she turned it on to fill the room with music. She turned the lights down low just before there was a knock on the door. She walked over and opened the door, looking up to find Dean looking down at her, looking handsome as usual in his suit. He took a step back and looked her up and down before catching her eyes again and raising an eyebrow at her. "Wanna tell me what we're doing?" She smiled but didn't answer, instead holding out her hand for him. Hesitating slightly, but deciding not to ask again, he took her hand and let her pull him into the room.

She kept her eyes on his face as he looked around the room, taking everything in. She watched as the light reflecting from the tinsel sparkled in his eyes, and the crinkles of the sides of his eyes made an appearance as he chuckled. He looked down at her in amusement, about to poke fun at her, but he stopped himself when he saw how she was trying to hold in her excitement. "Do you like it?" She asked him, and he suddenly saw a sliver of that fifteen year old girl in the photo he'd found earlier.

"Shouldn't we be dancing?" He smiled at her and pulled her hand up to his shoulder. She quickly reached her other hand up to his other shoulder, and he placed his hands on her waist as they began to sway to the music as a soft, slower song played. "So this is what your school dances were like, huh?"

"Not exactly", she giggled, "they were usually in a much bigger hall, with a lot more people, adult supervision, and much, much better decorations".

"I dunno", Dean said as they slowly danced in circles around the room. "I'm a fan of these decorations". He stopped moving and started to sway them side to side in one spot, smirking as he glanced up above them. She followed his line of sight and blushed as she realised he'd spotted the mistletoe and had been working on dancing them over to it. His hands lowered to her hips and he pulled her closer. "Is mistletoe a common decoration at school dances?"

"Not exactly", she looked back to his face to find that his eyes were focused on hers. He glanced down to her lips briefly before she spoke again. "We don't exactly have a lot of party decorations lying around".

"Mmm", he mumbled in agreement, not really paying attention to anything other than how beautiful she looked in her dress, and thinking about how lucky he was to have someone in his life who wanted to do stuff like this for him. He'd always been so focused on making sure that Sam had as many normal experiences as possible, he wasn't used to someone doing the same for him. In this moment, he wasn't a hunter, Heaven and Hell and angels and demons were nowhere close to his thoughts. In this moment he was just a guy dancing with a girl he liked, and he was hoping she'd hung up the mistletoe as a hint as he took his chance.

He leaned down before he could change his mind, and pressed his lips to hers. She immediately closed her eyes as her hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck. He pulled back to gauge her reaction and she opened her eyes. "Was that okay?" He felt like a teenager who'd just had his very first kiss. He felt weirdly nervous, like her response meant more than anything. She smiled and him and nodded.

"More than okay", she pulled him back down for another kiss and he slid his hands back to rest just above her ass as she carded her fingers through his hair. They continued to sway to the music as Dean slipped his tongue out and [Y/N] opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss. They made out for awhile, moving their hands to feel each other's shoulders, face, neck, hair, waist, and arms as the music played through several different songs. Finally, [Y/N] pulled away with a sigh and leaned her head on Dean's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He held her head firmly against his chest and rested his chin on top of her head.

"Thank you", he whispered, only just audible above the music. "This definitely wasn't lame".

The end

Sam's version

Castiel's version

Dean Winchester taglist: @123passwort @janineb86 @k-slla @lyarr24 @candy-coated-misery0731 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @angelwiththeshotgun @pizzagirlxnsfwx

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irisintheafterglow · 6 months

Note

Hii! I saw ur requests were open and I was wondering if I could request gojo x fem!reader where gojo comforts the reader? (They’re bf and gf) Just like this ——> https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNM9STn9/ it seems kind of cute and I always wonder how gojo would comfort the reader like this. I get these random sad episodes where I get sad out of nowhere and most of the time there was no reason why and also sometimes it would make me tear up and blame myself for those episodes cause like why would I get sad when there’s nothing to be sad for, you know? Soo yeahh this is my request… i hope its not much🥹💙

bad days and blanket burritos

cw: mild angst/fluff, established relationship, pet names (baby, love, sweetheart), he just loves you so much :(((

note: HI LOVE !!! omg that video is literally so cute i love it. sending you so much love; it's not your fault that we get sad out of nowhere. it just sucks and i totally get that. hopefully this makes you feel a little better when you feel that way <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

"baby?"

"here, 'toru," you call from your shared bedroom. you'd been in the same position for hours, curled up on his side with your face on his pillows. his head pokes out from the doorway and you can barely see his eyebrows draw together in hidden concern. "hi, love. how was the mission?" you try to muster the energy to sit up but decide against it when your forehead pounds like you were knocked by an anvil.

"easy there, sweetheart," he whispers, cradling your head while you fall back against the sheets. he crouches by your side, taking your right hand in his left and running his thumb over your knuckles. with his free hand, he undoes the tie of his blindfold and you smile weakly when you meet his eyes. "what's goin' on?"

"i really don't know," you admit quietly, swallowing the emotions welling up in your throat. "i just feel so sad and i can't even rationalize why."

"you don't need to rationalize anything, baby. if you're sad, then you're sad, and that's okay," he reassures you, pressing a light kiss to the back of your hand. "you do, however, look like you need water. when's the last time you ate?"

"i have no idea," you murmur and he nods patiently. without another word, he disappears into your closet and pulls a thick blanket from the top shelf. turning to look at him, you watch as he lays it out on the empty side of the bed, taking great care to make sure it's flat. when he's satisfied, he travels back to your side and gently starts to roll you onto the blanket. "satoru, what are you-"

"shh, just let me take care of you," he insists and you can't help laughing a little as he slowly wraps you in the blanket like a burrito. after you reach the end of the blanket, his arms slide under your legs and back and lift you off the bed like you weigh nothing at all. "you like your little cocoon, baby?"

"sure, 'toru," you reply, fitting your face into the crook of his neck. he walks you to the living room couch and plops you down unceremoniously, adjusting pillows around you so you're at your most comfortable. "what are you doing, love?"

"trying to make you less sad," he replies, shooting you a heart-stopping wink and reappearing from the kitchen with a straw in a glass of water. "now, drink. when you're done, let me know what you want for dinner because i am starving."

"thank you, satoru. you're too good to me on my bad days." he tsks with his tongue and resettles onto the couch with you, draping an arm around your shoulders.

"i'm in love with you, silly. i'm here for the good and the bad, whether you like it or not."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #gojo fluff

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adventuringblind · 9 months

Text

Drive With You Forever

Chapter Five: Cats, Cluelessness, and difficult communication

Max Verstappen x Reader x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris

Chapter Summary: a brief interlude in the off-season before 2020, Sebastian adopts Charles, Max struggles to communicate his feelings, and the reader makes a new friend 👀

Warnings: mentions of SH, reader over does it again, seizure like episode, Lando is awkward, Charles is awkward, Max can't do feeling well yet, jos verstappen

Notes: ah yes, the gang is all here now. I have more action coming in the next part. Maybe also some fluffy stuff. I've been trying to get some blurbs done for what isn't shown in the long chapters because I've had to cut down on some things. I would love to give y'all some content of our duo, trio, or quartet doing something specific.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The end of the season means a bit of a break for the drivers. A chance to spend some time with their families. For her, it means spending time with Sebastian and Hanna in Germany.

The trio had wanted to officially introduce themselves. They knew, but the three barely got a chance to interact all together. It would be nice to catch up anyways.

They are all sat at the dining room table. Even the littles wanted to join in on the conversation. Mostly they spout of randomness as they listen but it’s still endearing to everyone.

The three are sat in a row. Charles far left, the female in the middle and Max on the right if her.

“So I’m curious, who gets the middle of the bed?” Seb laughs at his own question. Hanna playfully hits his shoulder. Charles and Max both look at her. She just rolls her eyes as they both start laughing.

“Are you three moving in together?” Hanna asks this time. Genuine curiosity, unlike her husband.

Charles almost chokes. He hadn’t thought about it.

He’s thankful he’s not the first to answer. “Are you saying you want me out?” It’s a playful question from the girl. She’s smiling like an idiot at the banter.

“Of course not. You’re welcome here forever.”

Max swallows his food then joins the conversation. “We were actually planning on moving some things to my apartment since we’re here.” Now Charles feels out of place. Was he not asked yet for a reason? They hadn’t been together long so it would make sense. “Charles lives in Monaco already so I figured his things would be easier to move.” Max explains.

Now he’s confused. Something Max can clearly see. They make eye contact for a moment and Charles is left a mess. “Unless you don’t want to anymore?”

Charles is shaking his head no at lightning speed. He definitely wants to. He’s tired of living alone and throwing himself pity parties over breaks. Plus, he learns he sleeps better when he's not alone.

Moving feels more sentimental to her this time. She had more stuff than when she was fifteen.

Sbeastion offered to let them fly private with him to help move her stuff to Monaco. She wanted to, but it was unnecessary. Most of her belongings that she needs fits into an extra suitcase.

Max and Charles both kept asking her if she had anything else. It was getting on her nerves a bit.

Hanna and Seb had done the same thing when she first came to Germay. Though she had less then. Hanna had taken her to get some new clothes because her t-shirts all had holes in them.

Flights were weird. The first class has two seats for each row, meaning that one of them got to sit somewhere else. They often played musical chairs on the plane because of this.

She'd always had an affinity for even numbers.

It was an interesting dynamic they had created. Charles and Max are barely a month apart, and she's just turned nineteen. They get to do things she can't yet. But she's gentle and knows exactly what they need and is far to gentle for what she's been through.

Charles felt that he was playing catch up with the other two. He was new to this and still new to them. He, however, was the best at communication between the three.

Max, having grown up in an interesting family setting, is aggressive and protective. His communication skills are lacking, but he would do anything to keep his significant others out of harms way.

Today was one of those days that Max was struggling communication wise. It had started after an intense phone call where the other two were attempting (and failing) at deciphering dutch.

She'd offered to sit next to him if he needed consoling, but he decided to sit further away from the two. Leaving them to figure out what happened.

This had brought the thoughts of even numbers. If they were flying with four of them, Max wouldn't be able to mope alone.

"Do you think it was Jos?" Charles asked. His eyes had been on the Dutch for most of the flight.

"I would assume so given that he was speaking Dutch, and he doesn't do that with many people."

Both sigh. Jos had been on Max's ass about moving up into a championship title. Che was ready to have some words, either him, next time they were together, and Charles was going to start making a point to celebrate every placement in a race.

It didn't take long to get to Max's apartment. It's not the most luxurious, but it's comfortable. He's planning to get something worthy of the three of them after he gets a title.

Max had successfully locked himself away in his bedroom. The other two left to figure out what he needs. Maybe it is just a time thing?

"Is he usually like this after a call with Jos?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "It depends on if he's praising or berating."

"Can we help him?" Charles is eyeing the closed door and her. His brain working out every way to get him to open up.

She smirks. There always one thing that cheered up Max.

Max was choking back tears. He felt weak. Like he was never going to he enough.

He felt bad for stomping off the way he did, but he didn't want his partners to see him like this.

He hears the soft rape of knuckles against the door. "Mon Amour? Can we please come in?"

He grunts, but the Monegasque takes it as approval.

Charles peeks his head in. His gentle steps are coming closer to Max. He doesn't look up. He just keeps his head buried in his pillow.

Charles doesn't say anything, which he appreciates. Just sits down on the edge and lets Max's body dip towards his. Then he's running his fingers through Max's hair.

It's not long before another set of footsteps are padding into the room. These ones softer then Charles, telling Max it's y/n.

She's successfully moved both Jimmy and Sassy into the room from their hiding spots and is holding his favorite movie. She sneaks in and closes the door behind her.

They spend the next couple of hours lying in bed with the cats and watching their movie.

Max feels himself calming down. They don't talk about anything. Aside from occasionally copying the lines from the movie they've watched far to many time.

It's after that he feels like he can say something. His mind finally grounded back to reality. "I'm sorry for shutting you both out. I was just... agitated, I guess."

The Monegasque has his fingers back in his hair in an instant. "It's okay, you needed space. Do you want to talk about it now?"

The youngest places sassy on his chest as a way to comfort him. Her hands intertwine with his.

"Just frustrated that my dad thinks I'm not trying. He started spouting that I'll never get anywhere at this rate."

"That a lie. Jos is obviously lacking brain cells." The youngest pipes. "I can throw him into a wall if you want?"

The idea actually makes him smile.

Charles was the next to move things in. Though it was mildly awkward explaining to his family why he was moving somewhere else.

Turns out he can't keep a secret. His family is accepting. Pascale welcomes both into her home. She takes a particular liking to the quiet girl who is still always between the two older boys.

His stuff takes up more of the apartment than hers. The contrast of red and blue is now showing everywhere.

"If Charles is red, Max is blue, and I'm always in the middle, does that make me purple?" She spouts while unpacking a box of ferrari shirts.

Max spits out the water he was drinking. Charles starts wheezing. And she is laughing at her own comment.

"Where did you come up with that, Chéri?"

"Just a thought I've been sitting on since we started dating."

"You're not wrong, though." Max is wiping his mouth clean from the water.

It's weird going places together. Not errands and things, but social gatherings. Charles has asked to keep things private for now. He's not fond of the questions people have about the nuances of their relationship.

They came and left separately. Usually, depending on who wanted to leave first, the other would wait about fifteen minutes.

A few months into the break, Lando Norris decides to call Max and invite him and his lover to a party. He does the same for Charles a minute after he hangs up with Max.

The three of you have to hold in your laughter as Charles tries to get through the phone call listening to the same details.

Despite what Lando said, this was not the type of party any of you are used to by now. At least not Charles and Max. She'd been to few and got overwhelmed by it all pretty quickly. Sometimes, she'd use it as an excuse to get the boys out of the apartment so she could have the cats to herself and play around with her powers.

Charles and Max both hate it when she does it alone. They've found her on the floor passed out on multiple occasions. She doesn't care, though. The visions and nightmares of her father were more reason to keep going.

Regardless, this party is small. Just a few drivers who had been in town or live in Monaco are here with their partners.

Kika and Pierre, George and Carmen, Alex and Lily, Carlos is here along with Daniel. Charles is seated in a solitary chair. The couches have been taken. Daniel and Lando on either side of him.

It feels nice and intimate in a way. She hadn't seen many drivers just get together to hang out like this.

Charles is ever the gentleman and offers her the chair, which she takes. Him and Max are now making themselves comfortable on the floor in front of her.

They're eating, drinking, laughing, and sharing stories from the past. It's nice and relaxing.

She taps Max's shoulder, alerting him that she's going for water and asking both boys if they need anything to which they reply no.

She spots Lando in his kitchen getting a drink. It's not an alcoholic one, just juice that looks like it could be alcohol.

She turns on his tap for water, and Lando jumps out of his skin. His eyes rapidly look between her and his cup.

"I like to mix my alcohol with juice...?" His voice sounds unsure. Does he think it's not okay to just have juice?

"Juice is a good choice, in my opinion. Alcohol is strong and feels funny sometimes."

Lando visibly relaxs. "Promise you won't tell anyone? They laugh at me sometimes when I do this."

"I promise."

Lando was around more after the party. He seemed comfortable around her and Max. He'd opened up about his anxiety to them and played far to many games with Max.

What they were not expecting was for Lando to show up at their apartment door at three o'clock in the morning. His breathing uneven body shaking like a leaf.

She knew what this was. She'd had plenty of panic attacks.

She guides him inside to the couch and is trying to asses the situation. Get his breathing to calm down so he doesn't hyperventilate.

It takes ten minutes until he's calm.

"Did something happen?"

"Just a nightmare, and I couldn't calm down after."

"Did you walk here?"

He nods his head yes. Exhaustion flooding his eyes.

"Is Max asleep?" He asks.

"Should be. He sleeps like a rock most of the time." They both giggle. Lando is now able to relax in a calm environment.

They are interrupted by two sets of footsteps. Charles and Max come barreling into the living room. Panic on their faces one minute and embarrassment the next. Lando staring at the with the utmost confusion.

The older boys are shirtless and in sweats. Max's arm protectively outstretched in front of Charles.

"...oops."

Lando is not stupid. He may be the youngest on the grid currently, but he's not stupid.

He saw how the three of them looked at each other. Charles definitely touched them both far more than what friends do.

Originally, he thought he was crazy for watching them. Yet he couldn't help but be intrigued. How they all interacted. How they just flowed together.

Now he sits on their couch. Max looks like he's guarding Charles and y/n. The Dutch has yet to sit down and is leaning against the wall. Charles is sitting across from him with the females head in this lap. His fingers running through her hair.

It's a terrible feeling. Like he's left out of whatever this is. Three of his best friends spend all their time together, and he's just here. Young and naïve Lando.

"Did you have a feeling this would happen, Mijn liefje?" Asks Max from his perch on the wall. She shakes her head no in response.

Lando had heard about her knack for predicting future outcomes. He'd heard rumors about magic and tarot cards, but she'd never said anything to him.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here in the extra bedroom, and I can't take you home in the morning."

"That sounds nice, thank you."

She woke up exhausted. She felt guilty for not having warned Max and Charles. Her mind to far gone that they were mad at her. She spent her night trying to get any glimpse of their future but didn't get anything useful.

She hid herself away in the master bathroom. The wet towel and the floor her new best friend.

She could smell breakfeast. Max is cooking for all of them. They learned quickly not to let Charles cook. Lest they all die.

She was in bed with them this morning. Only crawling out from their hold when she felt them stir.

Every question puts her further into the fog. Was she going to lose them? Are they upset with her? Is Lando okay with them? Would he tell people?

It's too much for her head.

She goes for another attempt. She knows she's overdoing it. The further she goes with less time in-between brings her closer to the edge of her body going numb.

Nausea creeps into her stomach, but she sees them. Further down the line. Happy and four.

Four? This could be shocking, and yet somehow, she already knew. Her mind just needs a but of confirmation that it's possible.

The nausea gets stronger. Her nose is bleeding heavily. She pushed it past the limit.

They won't mind, though.

Max is making breakfast and quietly humming to himself. Charles has his hands on his hips, the two of them swaying back and forth to the tune.

"Do you think I should go check on her?" Charles mumbles into his shoulder.

"She may want space after last night, she was taken off guard and might need to peocess." He explains, then turns his attention back to the pan.

"I'm worried, though. She was crying last night after Lando went to bed, and I don't think she slept."

Lando slides around the corner. His face lighting up at the smell of food. "Can I... can I have some?"

Max laughs at the Brit's excitment. "Of course. I made enough for all of us."

Lando sits himself on top on the counter. Watching the Dutch and Monegasque lean into each other. He takes notice that someone is missing. "Is y/n okay?"

Both boys sigh with heavy concern. "She had a rough night." Explains Charles. His body is fighting the urge to go get her. "I can't take it anymore, I'm going to check on her."

Charles leaves Max and Lando in the kitchen. His legs taking long strides back to the bedroom.

"So you guys all sleep together? Not like sexually- I guess - I mean at night to sleep."

Max smiles at the Brit. His curiosity was nothing he didn't expect. "Yeah, we pile into the same bed at night. All of us sleep better that way."

Lando hums. His palm rubs his face with anxiety. "Would you ever add a fourth?-'m asking for a friend..."

Max already knows. Somehow, someway, he already knows where this is going. "Depends. It took months of discussion before Charles joined us. But I'm sure if the right person came along, we'd be open to it." Max turns around to face Lando and shoots him a reassuring smile.

Lando's cheek tint pink, and Max knows exactly what he wants.

Charles leclerc is usually someone who panics. This time was no exception.

He'd seen plenty after his six months of being together with his partners. Particularly how the femal among them is prone to violent behaviors against herself. He's seen all of her powers now and how they affect her if she uses them too much. He's been there to help soothe her after night terrors while Max fetches her water.

He was glad she opened up to him about her past more. He knew the generally what had gone on but no details, nothing like what he knew now.

The prospect of her father coming back for her at some point is what drover her to the breaking point on most days.

Now, Charles is faced with a locked door and the sounds of thrashing from the other side. He'd tried picking the lock, something him and Max both learned to do after instances like this, but his hands are far too shaky to maneuver the pins.

So he does the only other logical thing and breaks the door down. Only enough that he can lean it somewhere and not let it fall on her, but it felt cool to kick it in.

Charles has seen a lot of things, but this is completely new. Her muscles are tensing at a rapid speed, and her eyes are rolled back into her head. Her breathing movements are unatrual.

"Max!"

It takes ten seconds, and he's there. His body and mind reacting to the situation. He's trying to hold her in his arms. Attempting to wake her up from whatever trance she's in.

Max hisses through his teeth when he touches her. Her skin in his searing his hands. Yet, he pushes through.

Charles feels helpless. "What can I do?"

"This has happened before. She must have forced a vision. She'll come out of it, we just need to make sure she dosen't die in the process."

The two boys are then lifting her body of the floor. Charles now carries her to the bed while Max runs around grabbing things. Mostly ice to cool her down. Charles rambles on to her about nothing and everything. Max said they should talk to her, giver her some to help bring her back.

Both of them forgot they left Lando in the kitchen. The Brit left to finish making breakfast in light of their emergency. Again, they are shocked to see his pale face watching the scene unfold before him.

"Can I help?" Is all he can manage.

"Do you want to trade places with me? I think the liquid benadryl might help."

Lando is taking over for Max tentatively. He takes the ice pack from the Dutch and places it on her forehead.

Lando can see the sweat and tears mixed with fresh blood. It's scary, and he's nervous. Why are they not taking her to a hospital?

Normally, she's the one calming him down. She always knows exactly what he needs to hear. He's not been in this position, and it scares him to see her like this.

He slides one hand down to her bicep. His fingers tap out the melody to her favorite song. A trick she used on him to bring him back to earth when he got in his head.

About halfway through, she's sucking in a breath, her body sitting straight upwards. Her eyes are no longer stuck to the inside of her head. She's still sweating like mad, and her body is twitching, but she's awake.

She's breathing heavily. Dry heaving and coughing into herself. Her hands are quick to find Charles and grasp at him, searching for the familiar comfort.

Lando watches her intently. Her sobs are painful. They sound broken, like whatever she's just been through was some sort of of torcher.

"Chéri, can I set you with Lando for a moment? I need to tell Max you're awake." Charles whispers gently. Lando takes note of how he's cradling her. His hands on the back of her head and under her legs to support her weight.

She barely nods her approval. Her body is slid close to Lando, who embraces her. Attempting to replicate what Charles was doing. He finds himself tapping the same melody on her knees.

"Was that you tapping? When I was asleep?" She chokes.

"Yeah, could you feel it."

She nods her head against his body. "You brought me back, thank you."

Lando lets his body relax into hers, knowing he at least did one thing right today.

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producedbyhanjisung · 12 days

Text

⎯ N'OUBLE PAS DE VIVRE. christopher bahng chan

🎧 : bang chan x female reader

TROPE. streetracer!au, fake dating au

WORD COUNT. 5.9k

WARNINGS. drinking, mentions of drugs, illegal activities, streetracing, smut

PARTS. one, two, three

SYNOPSIS. y/n, new to seoul, south korea, has yet to find the crowd she wants to roll with. that is, until she hears one of her best friends babbling about the hottest topic of the city - the streetracers. specifically a group known as "stray kids". when y/n finds herself in the backseat of one of the racers' cars, she is thrown unexpectedly into a world much different from the one she was raised in - and perhaps has found the crowd she wants to roll with.

SMUT WARNINGS. kind of dirty talk not really, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving) (there will be more in the other parts)

n'ouble pas de vivre. ⎯ don't forget to live.

"What if I told you that I fucking hate you?" You glance over at your father, eyes lidded. You know you're high out of your mind, and you know that you don't really mean it - you haven't meant anything you've said in the past three hours.

"You don't hate me." Your father flips the page of his book absentmindedly, practically ignoring the fact that you're screaming in his face.

"I hate you!" You yell, and as if trying to make your point, you smudge the end of your cigarette on the wall. Part of you hopes that your father will stand up and reprimand you - the other part hopes you can continue getting away with your outrageous behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Y/N?" He finally looks up, locking eyes with you.

"You tore me away from my home," you say finally, sitting down against the wall. "I want to see my mom."

"You know damn well where your mother is." A flash of anger tears through your father's face, before quickly fading. He composes himself, straightening his suit. "Your mother is dead, honey."

You realize that you're crying now, but you couldn't give less of a fuck. Your father - this man who you've never met before in your life - has never chosen to care about you before the death of your mother. Why on Earth would he choose to care now? What was so important that you had to pack yourself up from New York and cross the fucking world to get to Seoul, South Korea?

"Fuck you!" You yell, standing quickly and moving through the hallway, up the stairs and to the bedroom that you've never slept in before. This is not your childhood bedroom, or the one that your mother always kept ready when you were away at college, or even the one at your ex-boyfriend's house - what on Earth were you going to do without Soobin here?

Some deep, hidden recess of you understands that this situation isn't your father's fault - in fact, you're sure he'd much rather be out partying and bringing home anyone he pleases than babysitting for an eighteen-year-old walking depressive episode. You know that he doesn't want you here, and you don't want to be here either.

So why won't he let you leave?

The thoughts make their way hurriedly through your mind, as though they're late to a business meeting in some other deep cavity of your skull. Soon, the rushing puts you to sleep, and you're left to dwell alone in your subconscious.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☆⭒

When you awaken again, it's nearly six am. With class two hours later, you get up slowly and get ready for your day, brushing your teeth and donning your clothes that look much too American for your liking.

"Can we pick up Soyeon?" you ask as you exit your father's house, looking over at his private driver, who just bows and nods at you. You're at Soyeon's apartment fifteen minutes later, and the pretty blond grins as she jumps into the backseat of the sports car with you, clutching her bag.

In your entire two months living in Seoul already, you've made all but one friend - Jeon Soyeon. An aspiring underground rapper with a taste for expensive sunglasses. She splays out across the backseat, letting her legs drape over your lap as she hangs her head out the window. "How mad was your dad last night?" she asks, tilting her head at you as she swings her head back in to examine your face.

"Not mad," you say, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You catch a glimpse of the driver wrinkling his nose, but you ignore it, taking a drag and blowing a puff of smoke at your friend's face. "He wasn't upset at all until I brought up my mom. I don't think he cares that I was smoking and stuff."

Soyeon pretends to pout. "You're lucky. My mom is such a cunt about all that stuff. 'That shit kills you, Soyeon.' Like I don't wanna die already!" she giggles, and you can tell that even now, at seven-thirty in the morning on a random Tuesday in March, Jeon Soyeon is high out of her mind.

"I'm so glad we ended up in the same psych class," she says, bloodshot eyes glancing up at you. "Life would be so boring. All those fucking do-gooders are fucked."

"You're fucked," you say, pushing her playfully.

"So are you, bitch!" she laughs.

Not long after, you've arrived at the university that the two of you take classes together at. You get out of the car, shouldering your bag and stepping out onto the green, Soyeon following behind you. Around you, students bustle around, lounging between classes, hand-in-hand with their lovers, trying to run from a one-night-stand without being seen. You smile as a girl runs from bush to bush, trying to fix her mousy hair and hide the fact that she's still wearing the dress you saw her in at the party last night. In fact, you remember taking off that dress. You wonder how she ended up at someone else's dorm.

Soyeon hardly notices anything, running a little ahead of you and jumping into a much-too energetic cartwheel.

"Who'd you end up going home with last night?" you ask her, jogging a little to catch up.

"Some guy. Chi . . . Ji-something? . . . no . . . Sung? . . . Jisung? I think that's what his name was."

You nod. "Was he nice?"

"He was cool," Soyeon says. "I've seen him and his friend a few times at the rap shows. Sometimes one of them gets up and does a little freestyle. He's pretty good. He's part of a street racing group though, did you know?"

"Street racing?"

"Come on, don't tell me they don't have street racing in America."

"No, they do, it's just like not something that happens a lot. And most American street racers don't go to prestigious universities, either."

"Haughty haughty." Soyeon wiggles her eyebrows at you, nudging you gently. "Most stoners don't go to prestigious universities either. And here we are, strolling into a fucking psych lecture in a prestigious university."

You take your seats beside each other, waiting for the lecture to begin.

"You should come with me. Jisung asked if I wanted to come see a race tonight. He said I could get a backseat pass and everything." She winks at you, and you shake your head knowingly. "Seriously though. It could be fun! Maybe you'll find your new calling."

You roll your eyes. "I'd rather not," you say.

So, how exactly did you end up here, fourteen hours later, sitting in a crowded back-alley dotted with girls showing too much skin and guys showing off their fancy multi-colored cars.

"This doesn't seem like a street race," you tell Soyeon, fixing your dress. It's practically vanta black and too short, but Soyeon said it complimented your figure and you didn't want to fight with her.

"That's cause none of the big leagues have shown up yet. These are all just bozos who get off on girls in small tops."

"You do realize that you're a girl in a small top, right?" You glance over at Soyeon, who is dressed in a flattering bikini top and jean skirt, showing off her delicate body.

Soyeon turns around and wiggles her ass at you. "Damn right I am." She stands back up, ignoring the whistling and claps that erupt around us at her little display, and leads me over into a semi-vacant corner of the lot. "Look, they're starting to show up. I'll give you a rundown of the big groups, yeah?"

You nod, looking around.

"See them, over there? The four girls? That's Blackpink. Their racers are Lisa and Jisoo - some of the best girls in the league." She points off at a group of four girls, standing beside two cars - one black and one pink.

"Them? Ateez. Hongjoong is in charge of them, I think, but he doesn't race." She continues rattling off names that don't mean anything to you - Itzy, Seventeen, Le Sserafim, P1Harmony, and a few others. Finally, she pauses. "Look, there's Jisung. He's with Stray Kids."

"Stray Kids?"

"Mhm. They're at the top right now. Four racers, four mechanics, but they practically all do everything. Look, those four are the racers. They have names, I'm sure, but everyone calls them by their racer names. J.One - that's Jisung - and Spear.B and I.N. And that's CB97. Jisung, Changbin, Jeongin, and Chan."

"Chan is cute."

She looks over. "You think so?"

You nod, watching him. His hair was short-ish and hung in dark curls that framed his face nicely. He had a piercing on his nose, and wore a fitted black shirt and jeans that looked way too big for him. Even so, it was clear he was ripped, and held himself with confidence, even amongst the rest of his team.

"You and every other girl here," Soyeon says. "He graduated from the school we're going to last year."

You nod again, hardly able to form words as you watch his graceful movements. You barely pay attention as Soyeon spouts off the rest of the members, then drags you over to say hi to Jisung, who grins and kisses her on the cheek as the two of you come up to them.

"Who's this?" he asks, turning to you.

"Y/N," you say, bowing slightly.

He laughs. "None of that, let's be informal. No one here gives a fuck. Soyeon, can you come help me with something?"

Soyeon nods, giggling and blowing you a kiss as Jisung whisks her away.

"Great," you say quietly to yourself. "Alone."

"Not alone," says a deep voice behind you. You turn, finding yourself face to face with none other than CB97 - Chan.

"Oh, no?" you ask. "I look pretty alone to me."

He shakes his head, leaning against the car. "I'm here, aren't I?"

You nod, trying to hold back your urge to scream and kick your feet like a little kid. "I suppose so."

"American?"

You sigh. "Mhm."

"We can speak English then, love." You look up quickly as the boy switches from Korean to English, what sounds like an Australian accent layered thick over his pretty voice.

"Oh, okay."

"Ever been to one of these before? Races, I mean."

You shake your head. "First time. My, uh, my friend dragged me out here actually. She's with Jisung, I guess? They went to go work on something together."

Chan shakes his head. "Of course they are. Soyeon is your friend? She's trouble."

You nod. "Tell me about it."

"I'm Chan, by the way. Bang Chan. Everybody around here calls me CB97 though."

"Do you want me to call you that?" you ask, looking up at him.

"You can call me Chan, pretty girl. Now, do you have a name? Or should I just keep calling you pretty girl?"

"Pretty girl works for me." You smile. "My name's Y/N though."

"Y/N." He mutters the name over and over, as if turning it over like a coin in his mind. "Cute."

"Thanks."

"Chan!" You both look up at a redheaded boy who called his name, waving him over to a deep purple car.

"That's my queue." Chan winks at you. "Here, um, can I have your number?"

"I, yeah, do you have any paper or something to write it on?"

"CHAN."

"I'm fucking coming, Minho." Chan presses his hand to his temple, eyes closed. He turns back to you. "Let me grab my phone, it's just in my car-"

"Ten, nine, eight . . ."

"You know what? Fuck." Chan practically manhandles you over to his car, opening the backseat and basically tossing you in before getting in the driver's seat.

"What the fuck?" you snap, sitting up as the door is closed behind you.

"Hang on," Chan says softly, and you watch his eyes flit around the dash, searching for problems with his car. He drives slowly up to a white line in the road, lining up with three other cars. You don't recognize either of the drivers on the other sides of Chan. "Come up front," Chan says quickly, patting the passenger seat. "Quick."

You do as he says, climbing up to the passenger seat of the car and buckling your seatbelt quick.

"I hope you don't get motion sickness." He tries to joke, glancing over at you. You glare at him. "Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't want to lose you in the crowd or anything and I couldn't find my phone and I didn't have enough time, so I just- I don't know. I just brought you in here with me. I'm sorry."

You sigh. "I can't even pretend like I'm upset. You're really fucking hot. You know what they always say: n'ouble pas de vivre."

"What is that, French?"

"'Don't forget to live.' Yeah, it is."

"I've never heard that before."

"It's basically like saying 'fuck it' to the world."

"Maybe I like that saying. Look, if you wanna get out-"

You look over at him. "Hell no. I have too much social anxiety to walk off the track like that."

Chan cracks a smile. "Then buckle up, sweetheart."

"I'm buckled."

He reaches over, and you find your heart pounding in your chest as he tugs on your seatbelt, making sure it's tight. "I'm not stopping once we start," he says. "This race is important."

"I wouldn't expect you to." You flash him a smile. "Relax. It's cool."

"You say that now," he says, cracking his neck in a jerky movement.

You roll your eyes, slumping back in your chair. In front of you, a tanned woman wearing hardly a bikini steps out in front of the cars, holding a red flag in each hand. She raises the flags, and Chan tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

The woman raises both flags. You hardly see her drop them before Chan's foot is all the way down on the gas, propelling the car forward. You let out an involuntary yell, and you catch Chan grinning out of the corner of your eye.

The race is over as soon as it had begun. Chan won - not surprising, considering the reckless way he drove - and looked over to smile at you as you pulled back into the lot. "Enjoy it?"

"I'm never ever getting in a car with you again."

He snorts a laugh. "I liked the part when you were screaming."

"What, the entire time?"

"Something like that."

"Don't you have to go greet your adoring fans?" you ask, only half joking.

"I'd much rather sit in here and talk to you."

You pretend to run your fingers through your hair to hide the smile that flits across your face.

"Do you live anywhere around here?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Other side of the city."

Chan presses his lips together. "It's getting pretty late . . . my apartment is close by. If you wanted to, you could stay there for the night. I have a feeling your friend will end up there too."

"You share an apartment with Jisung?"

He nods. "Jisung, Hyunjin, and Changbin. Loud fucking group."

You smile. "That sounds nice. You're not gonna like, kidnap me and eat my kidneys are you?"

"If I wanted to kidnap you, I'd have already had plenty of opportunities for it. As for eating your kidneys, I can't promise anything." Chan looks over at you with an expression that sets your heart pounding in your chest.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that, you freak."

The name calling is playful, but Chan pretends to be offended, opening his mouth in feign shock. He moves to say something, but he's interrupted as a pretty boy with longer hair knocks hard on his window, making a disgruntled face and pointing for Chan to unlock the door.

"Hey, Jinnie. This is Y/N, have you met her yet?"

The man shakes his head, then bows a little at me. "I'm Hyunjin."

"Nice to meet you." You smile at Chan's roommate.

"She's coming back with us tonight," Chan tells Hyunjin. "Her apartment is across town, so I figured that would be fine."

"Sure, like Jisung and Soyeon won't be loud enough as it is."

"We're not going to fuck, asshat." Chan pulls Hyunjin's beanie off his head, getting out of the car to dance around him playfully. You get out too, laughing at their antics.

"You have any more races?" Hyunjin asks as he snatches his beanie back.

"Not tonight. Do the others?"

Hyunjin shakes his head. "I'm gonna head back now. Let the others know."

Chan nods. "We'll be there soon."

For the remainder of the evening, Chan's arm is locked around your waist, keeping you close to him, as though you getting in the car with him was some sort of unspoken oath that you would be by his side the rest of the night. He takes you around to meet the other members of his crew, then a few others. You recognize a few from Ateez, who Stray Kids seem to be particularly close with. Finally, Chan announces that the two of you are leaving. Minho and Felix are quick to catch up to Chan and you, asking if they could catch rides with Chan.

As you approach his car, you move to get in the backseat, expecting one of the other boys to take their position next to Chan. You jump a little as Chan grabs your wrist, opening the passenger door for you.

"Well I'll be damned," Felix says, grinning at the display, "Channie's whipped for you, Y/N, you should be proud."

Minho grunts in agreement from the other side of the car. Chan rolls his eyes at both of them, helping you in the car then going over to his side and getting in.

The ride back to their apartment is talkative, with Minho and Felix telling you embarrassing stories about Chan and cracking jokes from the backseat, with Chan occasionally chiming in to make fun of them too. He keeps looking over at you, like he's checking if you're safe, even though you're no longer doing eighty on a city road.

You finally pull up to a nice-looking apartment building, and everyone gets out. You follow the three boys to the seventeenth floor, to apartments 17A and 17E, which are each across the hall from each other. Chan bids goodnight to Minho and Felix, who enter 17E, and unlocks the door to 17A, smiling at you. "Tired?"

"Not particularly, why?"

"'Cause I can smell the weed that Hyunjin got out."

The rest of the night is a blur, filled with smoking and weird pastries that Changbin practically pulled out of his ass and really good music that, apparently, Chan likes to make.

The next morning, you wake up in Chan's bed with a raging headache and only half dressed. Chan is sitting on the floor, reading a book. You mumble something inaudible, and he turns to look up at you.

"Morning," he says, smiling as he shuts the book and moves to sit next to you on the bed. "How do you feel?"

You groan, mashing your head into the pillow.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Here, take some Tylenol." You don't even look at the pill and cup of water Chan hands you as you down it.

He runs a hand through your hair, looking down at you. "Take your time, pretty girl. I'm in no rush, and I have a feeling you aren't either."

"Thank you," you say, reaching up to gently trace patterns on his wrist.

"You know, it's funny."

"What is?"

"We met each other last night."

You open your eyes. "What?"

"It seems like we've known each other forever, don't you think?"

You blink, sitting up a little. "Yeah, it does, honestly."

He smiles. "I guess that's good, right?"

You nod, looking around. "Is this your room?" There's posters of bands and cars on the wall, a collection of CDs and vinyls littering his half-open closet, and a rack of clothes waiting to be folded.

He nods. "Sorry, it's kind of messy."

You shake your head. "It's homey. I love it."

"You do?"

"Mhm."

"You could come over a lot more, you know. I like having you here. It was nice sleeping next to someone for a change."

You look up at him, eyes widening.

"What, you didn't expect me to sleep on the floor, did you? Not even for you, pretty girl."

"Stop calling me that, it doesn't apply in this situation."

"Yes it does." Chan rolls his eyes, touching your face tentatively. "You're absolutely gorgeous. Even with your makeup everywhere." He laughs softly, running a thumb under your eye to collect the bits of mascara that came off while you were sleeping.

"Thanks," you mumble.

"Come on, I'll help you up. Hyunjin made waffles for everyone."

You let Chan lead you into the main section of the apartment, where Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, and Soyeon are all sitting around a table, looking out the window over Seoul.

"Morning," Chan says, making his way to the kitchen part of the room.

A round of "morning"s chorus from the other side of the room.

"I'll get you some, go sit," Chan tells you as you join him in the kitchen. You do as he says, moving over to the couch to sit next to Soyeon, who's wearing a sweatshirt you've never seen before.

"Where's that from?" you ask. "It's cute."

"It's mine," Jisung says, smiling. "I'm glad you like it."

Soyeon nods. "How was it with Chan last night?"

"I have no idea," you tell her. "I have no memory of last night past taking the blunt from you."

She grins. "He was pretty adamant about you guys not having sex."

"I don't think we did, actually. I was fully clothed when I woke up."

"That's a good sign," she says, nodding solemnly. "I wasn't, so . . ."

You push her playfully, laughing.

Chan finally joins you all on the couch, grinning as he hands you a plate of waffles. As you move to take a bite, you're surprised by the sound of the doorbell. Hyunjin jumps up to get it.

"Chan!" he calls from the front of the apartment. He darts back into the living room. "It's your mom!"

Chan blinked once, then twice. "My mom?"

"Dude, she's right outside!"

"Fuck!" Chan says. "Y/N, I'm about to ask you something that you might not want to do, and you totally don't have to. My mom texted me last night to ask where I was and I told her I was out with my girlfriend. Is there any way you could, maybe, like, pretend to be dating me?"

You stare at him. Is this not something out of those romance books you read when you were younger? And Chan, the super mega hot street racer wanted this?

"Yeah, of course," you say.

"Okay." Chan breaks into a smile, and you hear Hyunjin let his mom in.

Everyone stands up, moving towards the door as a short, pretty woman enters. Chan steps forward, pulling her into a tight hug. "Mom! Why'd you come up, I thought you were gone visiting Hannah?"

"His sister," Changbin mouths to you, and you nod.

"I thought I'd take a layover in Seoul on my way to LA," the woman says, smiling.

"How long are you here for?"

"Two days. Now! Enough about me! Where's that pretty girlfriend you were telling me about?"

Chan laughs, nodding. He turns and takes your hand, pulling you forward next to him. He wraps his arm around your waist, kissing your forehead. "This is Y/N, Mom."

Chan's mom takes your hands in hers and smiles at you. "You're gorgeous, darling, I can see what Chan has been saying about you."

You look over at him for a split-second, then back at his mother. "Thank you so much." You smile.

She pats your face, then looks up at Chan. "And you dilly-dallied with that Libby for so long. I can't believe this beautiful woman wants to be with you."

"Mommmm," Chan says, groaning.

"Alright, alright. I just wanted to drop by. Would you all like to come out with me for dinner tonight?" his mom asks. "You can ask the other boys too, I know you eight don't like to go places without each other. And Y/N, you're welcome to come as well. And um, you dear." She smiled and bowed a little at Soyeon, who blushed and bowed back.

"We'd love to, Mrs. Bahng," Jisung says.

Everyone shares a few more goodbyes before Mrs. Bahng exits, leaving the six of you.

Chan turns to you immediately. "You're my literal savior, thank you so much. I mean, seriously."

"You should give her some better thanks than that," Jisung says. "Y/N just saved your ass."

Chan looks down at you. "I'm sure we'll work something out."

You can't help but feel an explosion of butterflies in your abdomen. Chan's gaze is fairly seductive as he watches you, eyelashes fluttering. You look back up at him, lips curling into a smile.

Barely an hour later, Chan and you are sitting on the porch of the apartment together, smoking a blunt that Jisung pulled out of his sock drawer.

"You know," Chan says. "I could give you a better thanks." He looks over at you.

You're not sure if it's the marijuana filtering through your body, or if he actually is, but you swear you've never seen a hotter man in your life.

"Oh yeah?" you ask. "What did you have in mind?"

He looks over at you pointedly, as if letting you know with his eyes.

"What?" you ask.

"I could eat you out," he tells you.

You cough, a puff of smoke leaving your lips. "You could what?"

"That's what Jisung told me to do. I'm just following what he said. But I like you. You're pretty. Actually, you're super gorgeous. You might actually be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I definitely wouldn't mind eating you out. Or just kissing you. Or just touching your lips wouldn't be that bad either . . ."

You tilt your head, smiling as he rambles on.

Finally he pauses. "You're really pretty."

"You're pretty fucking hot yourself," you tell him, passing the blunt.

"You think so?"

"Have you seen yourself?"

He laughs. "I'm glad you think so, Y/N. You don't have to make up your mind about it anytime soon, just, like, let me know, you know? It's the least I can do."

"Actually, I have an idea," you say.

Chan looks up. "Yeah?"

"I've never had sex," you say bluntly. Then you pause. "With a guy, at least. And I'm not good at kissing anyways. Here's my proposal. I'll keep pretending to be your girlfriend for as long as it takes, but you have to teach me all this stuff. How to like, give blowjobs and such."

"You've never given a blowie before?" He looks up in surprise. "With your pretty lips?"

If this were any other man, you would've found that comment horrendous. But this was Christopher Bahng, so you were perfectly okay with it.

"Sure," he says at last. "That sounds like a fair deal. N'ouble pas de vivre. When should we begin?"

You shrug. "Whenever, I guess."

"Well, it's only fair you get something today, cause you directly helped me today," Chan says.

You giggle, starting to stand. "You want me to suck you off, Channie?"

He shakes his head, standing from his chair and pushing you back into yours. One hand presses your lower abdomen, pinning you in place while the other pushes your legs apart, spreading them as he gets on his knees in front of you. "I don't want that to be how we start. I wanna taste your pretty pussy."

You blush, not used to the foul language he's speaking, but writhe anyways as he rakes one hand up your thigh, gently tugging on the hem of your shorts. "Hips up."

You do as he says, lifting your hips for him to let him slide both your panties and shorts off. "The others-" you start to say, but Chan stops you.

"I've caught them in much more compromising positions," he says. "This is nothing, babygirl."

Babygirl. You're once again reminded of your new life motto: if this was anyone other than this man saying these things, you would absolutely die. But, because it's Christopher Bahng, you'll let it slide.

"It's not?"

He shakes his head. "Just relax, okay? Let me do it all, yeah?"

You nod slowly, letting him push your legs apart, leaving you bare to him - and anyone unfortunate enough to be on the roof of the building over. You hardly cared, however, because he looked up at you with a smug grin on his face, face slowly moving toward your cunt.

"Chan," you say softly. You're not sure what you're trying to say to him by saying his name, but he just shakes his head and delves between your legs.

You moan softly as his tongue flicks against your clit, and you feel one of his fingers running up your thigh, all the way to tease your clenching hole.

You moan a little louder as he kisses your pussy, running his tongue between your folds and all around, slowly letting a finger slip inside you. Before you know it, there are two inside you, gently massaging your g-spot, which he seemed to have no trouble finding.

There's a new sort of tension in your stomach, building up as he continues his ministrations. You feel his nose brush against your clit, pressing harder against it as he licks around your hole, working around his fingers. Without warning, you're cumming hard, shaking and moving to close your legs around his head. "Oh, baby," you hear him say, his voice teasing. "That felt good?"

Chan pries your thighs back open, fingering you through your orgasm as he watches your face in awe.

You slump in your chair as you come down from your high, and Chan smiles, standing. He helps you back into your panties and shorts, then sits you back down, smiling. "You look beautiful when you cum. I mean you look beautiful always, but like, particularly when you cum."

You blush, not expecting such a blunt compliment.

He continues on, much to your dismay. "You just looked so . . . fucked out, I guess. Like you were fucking ascending or something. You looked gorgeous."

"I'm glad you think so," you giggle a little. "Um, thank you for that."

"Anytime." Chan grins. "Literally, anytime."

You smile. "I'll let you know next time."

Chan nods. "So, um, I have a race tonight. Do you wanna come with me? I think the boys might stay back, and it's nice when someone rides shotgun."

"Sure," you say. "It was fun last time."

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☆⭒

That night, you find yourself standing in front of the mirror in Chan's room, with Soyeon sitting on the bed behind you. Chan is in the shower, playing some odd assortment of music, and you're trying to figure out what to wear to his race.

"When it comes to these things," Soyeon is explaining to you, "the sluttier, the better."

"Do I really wanna dress like a slut though?"

"Yes. Always."

You turn and look at what she's holding out to you. You unfold the first item - a low-rise jean skirt. "My whole ass is gonna be hanging out, Soyeon."

She shrugs. "I like your ass. Chan obviously likes your ass. You have a great ass. Let it free, mama."

"For the top?" you ask, rolling your eyes.

Soyeon chucks something at you.

"This is barely a top."

"Let your titties free!" Soyeon crows.

You giggle. "How much have you smoked so far tonight?"

She shrugs. "I lost count at six hits. Wanna make out?"

Chan walks out of the bathroom just as she says this. He pauses, looking at you, then at Soyeon. "Don't let me stop you, ladies." You hardly pay attention to what he says though, because Chan is shirtless. He has a towel draped around his waist, his dark hair is wet and curly and shaggy on his head, and his torso, good god. His torso is muscular and defined, with a full six pack, monstrous pecs, and muscular arms.

Soyeon stands, holding out the skirt and top to Chan. "Don't you think Y/N should wear something like this tonight?"

Chan tongues his cheek, examining the clothes. "I think Y/N should wear whatever she wants to wear. But, I think you'd look fucking hot in these."

"Seeeeeee, sweetie? I've got your back. Go put these on."

When you emerge from the bathroom after your changing, you feel like a different woman. Soyeon was definitely right about her outfit choice for you. A nice pair of heels, a low-rise jean skirt, a black halter top that hardly covers your tits. She ended up throwing a thong into the bathroom too at some point, which you now have pulled up past your skirt, hooking over your hips to show it off a little.

"You look hot," Soyeon says, a puff of smoke curling from her mouth as she speaks. Chan is waiting at the mirror, staring at you.

"You look pretty." He clears his throat. "Not pretty. Like, drop dead mega hot."

"Slutty, cunty, I love it!" Soyeon squeals and jumps up, grabbing your hands and pulling you in a circle.

"It's okay?" you ask.

They both nod aggressively.

"Come on, let's go ask the other boys how they like it."

You're surprised at how comfortable you are already in the apartment with the boys. Jisung and Hyunjin are watching TV on the couch, and you gladly give them a little spin to show off your outfit. Changbin is in his room, lifting weights, and he whistles at you, telling you how much cunt you're serving.

As you and Soyeon exit Changbin's room, Chan catches you in the hallway, arm looping around your bare waist. "I have something for you, if you want it."

You tilt your head, looking up at him as Soyeon continues back into the living room, leaving the two of you alone in the darkened hallway. "Oh?"

He presents a long golden chain from his pocket. "It's a belly chain. I thought it might suit the outfit tonight. And also, Soyeon told me you wouldn't wear it unless I gave it to you. So . . ."

You roll your eyes. "I would have worn it. It's pretty though. How . . . how do you put it on?"

"Turn around," he says. You do as he says, and you feel him loop the chain around your waist, clasping it at the back. "I like it," he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "You really didn't have to dress up or whatever for tonight, but you look beautiful."

"Thank you," you say. "I figured Soyeon was right. I should try and fit in with the crowd there."

"Are you ready to go?"

You nod. "Ready when you are, racer boy."

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

this might end up becoming a series so lmk how you guys like it!!

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