#i read a lot of sports AUs apparently

[ssinboo]

Say Yes to me

summary: You've been in love with Jeon Wonwoo since forever, and due to your family relations, you had hopes you'd marry him. Your only problem? he's getting engagement to someone else.

or

During his Engagement party, your childhood best friend and love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo, asks you to run away with him.

pairing: 1960s!AU - Childhood bestfriend! Wonwoo x F!Reader

word count: 10k (45~ minute read) – My longest ever!

warnings: unrequited crushes and overall foolishness, idiots in love, best friends to lovers to not lovers to lovers again, some angst?, Wonwoo is such a nerd, making out in dingy motels, unrealistic mileage for gasoline, seokmin being the sweetest

a/n: This will most certainly be my last fic of the year! So, Happy Holidays everyone! This year has been so troublesome, but I've grown so much and written a lot more, too! I'm so, so grateful for everyone I've met and everyone that's enjoyed my stuff! See you in 2024!

Had you been questioned, there would never be a concrete answer to the question of just how long you had been in love with Jeon Wonwoo. 

You’d know him forever, and maybe you loved him all along.

Your families were business partners turned friends. And there had always been talk of marriage between the children. Of course, for convenience. The Jeon’s produced top-class racing and sports cars, while your family were in the chemical business, specialising in industry paints and finishes, it was only natural to unite the two families and profit. 

Although your wealth was vast, it was nothing compared to the Jeon’s, despite always having the chance to frequent the same environments, you often found you were on different levels altogether. 

Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son, and he carried himself as such — with all the poise and arrogance of the heir to a global conglomerate. He liked golfing and late night swims. Always took his coffee black with no sugar, and barely had anything for breakfast, preferring a hearty lunch instead. 

His younger brother, Lee Seokmin, was the result of an affair with a secretary, though that did not mean he was loved any less, no. Seokmin lacked a single mean bone in his body, he had a pure heart and a contagious laugh.  

They were by all means what people liked to call Irish Twins, born less than a year apart. And the nature of that fact only made their differences more apparent. Complete opposites they were, and that extended to how they treated you, too. 

Every summer growing up, your family would travel to the country house and you and your sister would spend the better part of the months at the club. Oh, how you loved the country club with the fun summer activities the clear chlorinated water, having a meal under the pool umbrellas and getting funny tan lines. 

But most of all, you enjoyed Jeon Wonwoo.

His family frequented the same club and every summer, you’d be practically glued to Wonwoo, even if he didn’t dare to pay you any attention.

You were only three years apart, yet he acted as if you were an immature brat. Seokmin had always been happy to play with you and your sister, though. 

More often than not, Wonwoo would lounge by the pool with a book, never daring to go in. And you would cross your arms over tile by the sides and try your damnedest to strike a conversation with him. He would ignore your every word, or worse, poke fun at your latest obsession. 

“Wonwoo, at what time where you born?” You ask, spitting out any chlorine filled water off your mouth. 

He arches an eyebrow, looking up from his book.

“What?”

“What time were you born?” You repeat, unbothered by his acidic tone.

“Why would I know that?”

“Can’t you ask your mum?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Why do you wanna know?”

“So I can see your birth chart,” You shrug, twirling a wet strand of hair around your finger. 

“The fuck is a birth chart?”

“It’s like… It’s a way to see your personality… And I can check to see if we’re compatible.”

“That’s stupid…” He rolls his eyes, again, “You’re stupid.” 

You scoff, “You won’t play along— You’re such a bore!” You yell out and dive back in the pool, leaving behind a cackling Wonwoo. 

Those hapless summer days were spent lazing by the pool with your sister and Seokmin — without a care in the world, laughing about nothing. With the isolated water-balloon fight every now and then. 

You’d grown up before you could realise it, never truly leaving behind your childish crush on Wonwoo. Even if by the age hierarchy, you had no chance of marrying him — Your sister were to marry Wonwoo and you possibly married Seokmin. 

Though you held hope, it crumbled away with every passing minute. 

But that year, your sister had the greatest early birthday present: She’d found the man she was to marry and best of all, your daddy could never say no to his girls. 

With your sister marrying the love of her life, it meant that you would marry Wonwoo, right? It was only a matter of time and you would be sworn to each other before God, your friends, and family. And your first love would blossom. 

On your 21st birthday, your father took you to work with him for the day, though you most lazed around and answered his calls. You only expected to have lunch for your birthday and a party on the weekend.

At noon, he drove to the Jeon’s factory to deliver the new paint samples. 

The workers, most of whom had watched you, your sister and the Jeon kids grow up, greet you excitedly and some even wish you happy birthday. Your father goes straight to the floor to speak to the manager.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Jeon himself shows up.

Mr. Jeon was a handsome old man a captivating smile, he was incredibly passionate about his work and adored mechanics, but he loved his sons above all — And he had great expectations for his boys. 

He greets you with a warm hug and wishes you a happy birthday before discussing business with your father. To which you busy yourself with staring at the pieces waiting for a coat of paint.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come with us to the patio?” Your father calls and you oblige, skipping toward the two men.

The patio is where they stored their models waiting to be shipped out to agencies or sometimes, for the higher profile clients, directly to the customer. You look at the new line to be launched next winter: sleek and modern with leather seats and wooden accents on the interior. You could never criticise the Jeon’s for their taste, they knew their stuff. 

“Come here, baby,” Your father waves his hands, “What do you think of this car?” 

You study the convertible in a bright red with a cream leather interior; a classic. 

“It’s gorgeous, daddy, when are they launching it?”

“It should be out next year, but what do you think of the colour?”

“I like it,” You nod enthusiastically.

“That’s great baby, why don’t you read up on this model?” He hands you a tiny card, common in the factory, that has the model and batch number, as well as the signature from the supervisor. But just underneath the model, you see the colour name: your name.

As you look at your father, completely astonished, he just lets out a warm laugh and opens his arms for a hug.

“You named a shade after me?!” You glue yourself to him, still in shock. 

“Happy birthday, princess.” 

“Thank you, daddy, you’re the best!” 

“That’s your dad’s present, how about you open mine, now?” Mr. Jeon interjects, waving a tiny jewelry box in the air. 

You fix your hair and take it from his hand, expecting maybe a ring, or earrings. 

But you find brand new car keys.

Mouth agape, you look at him while your father can only laugh at your surprised expression.

“Why don’t you give it a spin?” Mr. Jeon encourages, rushing you toward the convertible. 

And though your father is beside himself with worry for you driving during rush hour, he settles for sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing some good old backseat driving, even though you barely make it past 30.

You drive around the block and return to the factory before your father has an anxiety attack over your driving. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jeon! When did you even do this?! I had no idea!”

“Wonwoo oversaw the whole thing, he’s the one you should thank,” He laughs it off, but your heart can only skip a beat at the mention of your beloved’s name. Especially thinking he was the one to take care of such a great gift.

Wonwoo loved mechanics as much as his dad, sometimes even more. He even went to a good college for it, coming back even smarter than before — and much sassier, too. He never stopped doing manual work in the factory, guaranteeing every car made was up to the Jeon standard.

And you were very biased toward his mechanic abilities, especially when he would furrow his brow, glasses perched on the very tip of his nose; he would wipe off sweat off his forehead with his grease covered arm. 

You remember to this day the last time your father came to discuss swatches and you stopped by the shop. Watching Wonwoo work on an older model with a leaky oil tank. 

He did everything himself, changed the tank perched under the car, soldering a brand new one. He also did a once over on anything else that could become a problem in the future, any filters needing change, checking wires and gears, making sure the oil was fresh. The problem came with the lights. He had such a hard time wiggling his thick arms through the machinery to reach the right spot, and you watched very intently how his triceps flexed, deep green veins bulging under his skin.

Wonwoo had gotten so frustrated he’d shed off the top part of his coveralls, sporting a white undershirt so tight you could basically tell the shape of his sweat-clad torso. Oh, how you’d hoped he never got that bulb in place.

“Come’ere,” Wonwoo calls out without further ado. 

“Why?”

“Need your help,” He mumbles under a sigh.

You rise from the barrel you were sitting on and approach the open hood. “With what?”

“Getting this fuckin’ bulb in place,” He hands you the tiny light bulb.

“Where do I need to put it?”

“See— in between this part, need to shove you hand until you reach back here in the light, then you just screw it in.”

“What if I get stuck?” 

“You won’t, you’re so petite,” He smirks.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

Leaning over the hood, you place your left hand on the chassis to steady yourself and shove your right hand in between gears and machinery, trying to find the spot he mentioned.

“I can’t find it,” You complain.

“Keep trying.”

“I am!”

“Here, deeper—“ He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and another on your arm, forcing you toward the place.

You’re way too focused on finding the damn spot for the light, that you barely notice the proximity at all. 

“Can’t find it!”

“Right, right— My right.”

“It’s the same freakin’ right, you idiot,” You hiss.

He laughs, “Fine, our right,” you groan at his stupid joke, “It should be there, try to bring it closer to you.” 

“Found it!” You squeal with a smile, screwing the bulb in its place. 

“Atta girl,” Wonwoo smiles. 

“There!” With a relieved sigh, you finally free your grease-clad hand from the machinery, slightly cringing at the black covering your fingernails — It’d be such a bother to clean it up. 

When you finally lean back, you stumble onto Wonwoo’s firm chest. Lucky for you, he catches you, steady hold at your waist. You’re finally aware of his proximity, to which he only smiles. 

Looking down at where his warm, tauntingly large hands meet your waist, you’re suddenly filled with nothing but rage. ‘

“You got grease all over my dress!” You whine, looking at the perfectly stamped print of his hand over your brand new summer dress. 

He only laughs, “Looks better this way, trust me.”

“Ugh!” You groan, stomping toward the washing area where they kept clean rugs. 

He closes the hood with a loud thump that echoes through the shop and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes alive with a loud hum and ta-da! The headlight works. 

You are a little proud of your work, yes. But it’s not like you’ll show it.

“Do you not anything clean in here?!” You complain, eyeing the pile of grease-covered rags thrown in a corner. That had to be a fire hazard.

“What?” Wonwoo shouts over the running engine.

You huff and stomp your way back to the car, throwing open the driver’s door. “I have a formal dinner to go to,” You state, leaning over the door.

“Okay, then go.” 

Rolling your eyes, you hold back any possible insults, “Like this?” You gesture toward your otherwise perfectly fine dress. 

He holds back a little mischievous smile, “I have some clean clothes in the office.”

Wide eyes, mouth hanging agape, you stare at him dumbfound, “I hope that’s a joke, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

He laughs, genuinely. That sweet, deep, dorky laugh of his that reverberates through his chest and plunges straight into your heart. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

As much as he did tease you, Wonwoo never made short on his promises. 

“Is he around?” You ask Mr. Jeon, trying your best to suppress any expectations.

“Oh, he had some business… But he wished you a happy birthday.”

Your smile falters before your catch it, forcing the corners of your lips into a beautiful, rehearsed smile. “Let him know I’m grateful. For the wishes and for the amazing present.”

It would soon be Wonwoo’s birthday and you had been preparing for what felt like ages. You got him a really nice set of electric work tools since he complained often about how the shop’s tools were always malfunctioning. But you did feel somewhat bad about only getting him a gift relating to work on what should be a day about him. 

So you caved in and got him a gorgeous wrist watch with classy black leather straps; on the underside you had his name inscribed with a heart. — You actually hadn’t planned for the heart, but the jeweller got confused in between so many orders and it was too close to the date to have it re-done. You hoped you could play it off in a cool manner, maybe he would laugh at your story.

The party would be held the eve of his actual birthday, and you arrived at the venue with hours to spare. Your father and sister are by the entrance, speaking to Mr. Jeon, you greet them.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! Where should I put the gifts?”

“Oh—“ Surprised, he looks at your father, “You’ve brought gifts—“ He seems… surprised? As if it were so weird to bring presents to a birthday party. “Uh— I’m not sure, let me check with my wife where you could place those.”

You father nervously sips on his champagne, avoiding your sister’s burning looks.

“You haven’t told her,” Your sister turns to your father, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” You ask.

“Honey… This isn’t Wonwoo’s birthday party…” Your father speaks very slowly, gauging for your reaction at his every word.

Eyebrows raised, you question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an engagement party, he’s getting engaged to Suzy,” Your sister rips the band-aid off.

And you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs at once, an agonising knot pulls at your throat and your nose stings with the threat of tears. The shopping bags fall from your hands and you fight off the urge to bawl your eyes out. 

Before you actually do cry your eyes out, you rush outside.

“Baby—“ Your father calls but you just storm off, not wanting to be near anyone. 

Engaged? Engaged!

Engaged…

Wonwoo was getting fucking engaged. 

With a bitch named Suzy who had the prettiest hair you’d ever seen and knew how to talk to investors and could speak a thousand languages. And worst of all, she was the kindest, sweetest girl ever. You couldn’t even hate her!

You weren’t even allowed that! As much as you weren’t allowed a simple heads up. How hard was it to tell you beforehand “Hey, the guy you’ve loved your entirely life is getting married to some girl and you just brought lemon pies to his engagement party, thought you’d want to know.”

Maybe you should’ve taken the pies with you, at least you’d have some comfort. 

You know what, what the fuck. Why didn’t Wonwoo tell you anything?! It had been barely a couple of days since you saw each other, why couldn’t he tell you? Were you not even worthy of that? 

Like having known each other your entire lives doesn’t make you worthy of such ”wonderful” news? How hard is it to tell someone in passing that you’re getting engaged! And now, you’re supposed to smile all night and pretend like your guts aren’t festering in rage and melancholy and your blood doesn’t run cold at the mere thought of Wonwoo walking down the aisle.

Giving it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t set in stone yet. 

It’s the modern times and even back in your parents’ days, engagements were broken off all the time! He might not marry Suzy. You might have a chance. 

Maybe you could ask— no, you could plead with your father to tell Mr. Jeon to think it all over. Wonwoo is still young, it’s not time to settle down just yet. He wanted to study abroad, he talked about the automobile industry in Europe with such amaze, and if that took a little longer, maybe Suzy would get tired of waiting?

Who were you fooling? You should’ve seen it coming.

Of course, he wouldn’t have married you, what were you thinking?!

He’s the Jeon’s precious firstborn and you’re… someone who can’t even tell apart the sizing in wrenches —  To top it all off, Suzy was notably great with mechanics. 

You really wish you had those pies with you, it would make your salty tears a little sweeter.

By the time you’re done sobbing in your car, you look a hot mess with runny make-up and swollen eyes. With a sigh, you pull out your purse and muster up any cosmetics that can save you for tonight. 

You could cry all you wanted at home, but right now, you needed to look pretty and have your pictures taken.

By the time you return, the party is to start and guests are gathering at the front, your sister immediately rushes to your side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, soft hands reaching for yours. 

Forcing out a smile, “Of course! Who do you think I am?”

By the look on her face, you know she doesn’t trust your words not one bit, but will not pry at your emotions any further. At least not for tonight, you’re sure tomorrow she will grill you about this. But for now, you put on a bright smile and greet all the guests.

From the Jeon’s, Seokmin is the third to arrive, missing only by the birthday boy himself. But he immediately greets his parents and comes to greet your family.

“Hey!” You smile, putting aside your glass of champagne so you can hug him properly.

“How you doin’?” He asks, gorgeous smile on display. 

“I’m— Well—“

“They’ve told you then—“ 

You press your lipstick coloured lips into a thin line, “Yeah,” You nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I’m happy, Suzy is… a—“ Nice words. Nice words. “—wonderful girl.”

Seokmin offers you a sweet smile. “Let’s hope she can handle his tantrums,” he nudges at your arm.

“Oh, please!” You laugh.

Wonwoo was known for sometimes having a bit of a short temper, not often, by any means and maybe that’s what made them so memorable. Like the one time he couldn’t finish a puzzle during game night, so he gathered all the pieces and set the ablaze in the backyard.

“Or—“ A waiter passes by with a tray full of champagne and he so kindly grabs two glasses, offering you one. “Listen to this— He gets to the church, covered in grease from head to toe.” 

You laugh at the thought. Gods, how many times has Wonwoo decided to work on an engine while wearing his most expensive outfit? His mother nearly had a fit every time he would show up dishevelled and smelling like motor oil pretending like nothing’s wrong. 

“Please,” You sip at your drink, “I bet he’s gonna be all greased up tonight.”

Seokmin laughs wholeheartedly. He was the sort of guy to never hold back a fit of giggles no matter how inappropriate it may be, and it was certainly refreshing to know someone genuinely found your company enjoyable.

“For sure, I think her parents will freak out.” 

You nod. 

Tapping at your glass, you hesitate the following words, “Guess we’ll be the ones getting married for the family, then…”

You didn’t hate Seokmin, far from it. You loved him to bits— Not like Wonwoo, of course, you believed you would never love a man like you loved Wonwoo, ever again. 

He was funny, and such a gentleman. Not to mention, handsome, too. If you weren’t hopelessly in love with his brother, he would’ve been the perfect husband of your dreams. But he did deserve better than a wife who could never give him what he deserves. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokmin comforts you and that only makes your nose sting with the threat of more tears.

“Stooop!” You whine in a shaky voice and he’s overcome with worry.

“Hey— What’s wrong—?”

“Don’t be so sweet— I’m emotional tonight—“ You laugh at your emotional state, despite the teary-eyes.

“Are you a crybaby tonight?”

You nod, fanning your eyes in the hope of drying your tears before they can wash away your makeup.

Seokmin smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, fighting the urge to cry.

It’s only when you’re certain you won’t bawl your eyes out, that you respond. “It’s not that I hate you, you know I love you, but… You deserve someone that will love you like a husband.” 

He nods, “I know— But it might not be so bad, we’re friends! We’ll have sleepovers every day, and we’ll have Italian every night, we’ll watch those silly movies you like…” Seokmin lists off all the things you would do in your very platonic marriage and it doesn’t sound so bad. 

He knew exactly how you felt, he loved you, of course he did, you were so precious in his eyes, but not like a lover. 

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Are you gonna let me choose your clothes?” 

Seokmin sighs. You hated his questionable fashion since forever and in only very rare occasions did he accept your input, any other time and he assaulted your spirit with clashing patterns and silly shoes.

“Fine—!” 

You smile brightly, properly comforted. 

Before you can tease him any further, you spot Wonwoo entering the venue. Although he is immediately swarmed with congratulatory words, his shy nature makes it so his only response is always an awkward smile. 

He immediately spots you among the crowd.

You breathe in. In that moment, despite knowing he was sworn to another, that did not stop your heart from fluttering at the sight of him, his broad shoulders and the crooked tie he clearly put on a rush.

“Congrats, bro!” Seokmin is the first one to greet him, not letting go of your shoulder but instead pulling Wonwoo into a semi-hug. 

“Seokmin…” Wonwoo eyes his brother and then you, and then his brother again.

“Congrats, Nonu,” You smile, letting go of Seokmin’s comfort to reach for a hug. 

Wonwoo smiles, letting you cling onto his neck, your citric perfume seeping into his clothes and body. 

Oh, how his warmth could never compare to another. How you craved his affection like no other. 

“Thanks— Uh, did you bring me anything?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Ey— Nonu!” Seokmin scolds his brother. 

“How did you know I brought you something?” You giggle, pulling away from the hug. 

Wonwoo shrugs. 

You reach for his crooked tie, straightening it to the best of your abilities. “I brought it earlier, but I think your mum took it to the back room,” You explain, focused on the tie.

He, however is focused on your concentrated face, parted red lips and furrowed brows. The proximity that lets him almost feel your chest pressed against his, as if extending the hug. 

“However, you, mister, have to greet your guests!” You scold, setting his tie in place.

Seokmin joins in, once again throwing his arm around your shoulder. “That’s right, mum already gave me an earful about how late you were— And I got here on time!” 

“Yeah— Yeah— You’re right,” Wonwoo nods.

“Liquid courage?” You offer your half-drunk glass of champagne and he downs it in one go.

You and Seokmin goof around a little more and gossip about certain guests behind their backs. Dinner is served and you all sit down to eat, Seokmin insists you sit beside him, which just so happens to also be next to Wonwoo. And you thank him for indulging you one last time.

Wonwoo is mostly quiet, but you were used to him not being rather fond of public parties, especially when all of the attention is on him. On his other side, sits Suzy, the blushing bride-to-be. She tries to make conversation with Wonwoo, though most of it falls flat, he only ever gives her monosyllabic answers and rarely contributes to discussions. 

That is until Mr. and Mrs. Jeon stand up, tapping forks to their glasses to call for everyone’s attention. The room quiets down instantly. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our little gathering tonight,” Mr Jeon greets the guests. “We have some wonderful news we would like to share with you all.” 

“My beautiful son, how proud I am of you,” He adds, “Every day I am  amazed at your intellect. Often, I question just where did you get those smarts!”

Everyone laughs.

“You have grown into a fine man, and I can’t take credit for any of it. You are the most mature, talented, and intelligent boy and you did it all by yourself— ”

You can watch how Wonwoo’s eyes gloss over with tears. 

“I’m growing old, you know. And every father wants the guarantee that his children will be taken care of… That’s why I’m so relieved and happy to announce that my worries will soon be gone—“ He laughs but his son’s smile falters, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my son, Wonwoo, to this beautiful young lady named Suzanne. Welcome to the family, Suzy.” 

He raises his glass and soon, the room fills with uproar. Everyone claps and you join in, smiling toward Mr. Jeon and Suzy. She stands up, thanking everyone and raising her own glass.

But Wonwoo doesn’t move. 

“Nonu?” You whisper. 

In his ears all that can be heard is muffled screams of joy and the incessant acute ringing. He closes his fists so tight that his blunt nails almost break through skin, he doesn’t look at you, but it’s so clear something is wrong.

You and Seokmin exchange glances. 

Before you can call for him again, he stands up at once, the chair falling behind him with a loud bang that silences the room in an instant. In large and rushed strides, Wonwoo leaves for the patio. 

You stand up and follow him. 

“Wonwoo!” You call out, almost tripping over your party heels. 

He stands in the yard, hand gripping at his gelled hair while the other fights with his tie, pulling at the suffocating fabric until it slides down.

The yard is decorated with a gorgeous fountain, sound of running water somewhat soothing in this moment.

“Nonu, what’s wrong?” You whisper, a hand reaching for his heaving shoulder.

“What wrong?!” He yells back, shoving your hand away, “Did you not fuckin’ hear ‘em?!” 

You step back and his gaze somewhat softens, realising he just pushed you.

“You didn’t know…” You whisper to yourself, epiphany hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could Mr. Jeon do this?! Throw this on him without any previous warning?!

“You— You knew?” His voice is shaky, laced with the sharp sting of betrayal.

“I found it out myself tonight when I got here— I— I thought you knew! I thought you agreed to it!” You argue. 

“How— How can you think I would agree to marry someone—“ His words trail off in the night breeze, never to be finished. 

“Then— What will you do?”

“I don’t know!” 

You bite at your nails, finding a concrete surface to sit on and ponder. 

“I must leave—“ He speaks out, “Run away with me—“

“What?!” you stand up.

“Let’s leave, drive somewhere— Wherever! I can’t stay a moment longer in this place.” 

Oh, what a dilemma it was.

Abandon an engagement party with the groom-to-be, leaving behind furious parents and confused guests. And part of you knew that, despite your family’s closeness and no matter how much your father claimed you were all very close like family, driving off in the middle of the night with a committed man was a blow to any respectable, single, young ladies.

What a dilemma it could’ve been if you weren’t so enamoured with this man you would beck at any given call of his.

“I’ll get my bag and tell your parents you want to stay out here for a couple of minutes,” You announce and he nods.

As you walk back into the venue, all eyes are on you.

“He’s got the wedding jitters, everyone, not to worry. Wonwoo will return after he’s had a bit of fresh air,” You announce with a smile and all guests return to their previous activities.

But Mr. Jeon immediately corners you.

“What is he thinking?!” He half-yells, half-whispers.

“He’s just nervous, it’s a big bit of news…” You lie through your teeth, “I think a little heads up would’ve helped, you know he doesn’t do well with surprises.”

The man sighs, “He wouldn’t ever agree to it. I’ve offered him countless girls to marry and he never accepts any of them.“ Mr. Jeon looks at you and then sighs. “Do me a favour, convince him to come back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” You nod and head off into the back rooms.

Unbeknown to you, Seokmin is on your trail and he waits until you are in the back lounge, gathering your bags and jacket to close the door and corner you.

“What the hell happened?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion, “You scared me!” You whisper.

“Sorry,” He whispers back.

“He didn’t know!”

“What?!” He says in a normal tone, soon realising just how loud that was. 

“What I said, I think your dad set up a trap… He knows Wonwoo won’t go against his word.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“He wants to run away,” You announce.

Seokmin looks at you, and then at the purse hanging from your should and the jacket in your hands. 

“And you’re coming with him?”

“I can’t leave him alone, not tonight.”

“And where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” 

“And when are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are coming back, right?”

“I have no idea, Seokmin,” You realise, but the prospect doesn’t scare you as badly.

He scratches at his head. “Leave through the kitchen, I’ll hold off my dad. Make sure to give me a call once you guys are… I don’t know— Just give a call, will you?” 

You nod, pulling him into a hug.

Doing as he instructed, you pass through the kitchen staff and rush through the backdoor, unseen by the guests. Wonwoo is sitting on a concrete bench, his head between his hands.

“Ready?” You call out.

Wonwoo looks up, nodding before he rises to his height. You offer him a comforting smile and reach for his hand. 

Once you get hold of his hand, you bolt across the yard toward the parking lot. He almost stumbles over his lanky legs, but catches up rather fast. You throw your stuff on the backseat and enter your car, Wonwoo decides to jump over the door. 

You laugh at his antics with a shake of your head. 

Once your heels are discarded, you start the engine and drive off, leaving behind that dreaded engagement party. Wonwoo busies himself with shedding his formal wear, throwing his tie on the floor and removing his blazer. 

In any other occasion, this could’ve been such a lovely late-night drive, just the two of you in your beloved car, night breeze caressing your faces with her ice-cold kisses, cruising through deserted roads, barely a soul in sight except for the night owls.

And you might allow yourself to enjoy this moment.

The silence isn’t a bother, no, Wonwoo was always a man of comfortable silences to you, but this once, you’re worried about goes on in that busy mind of his.

“You alright?” You ask, looking away from the road to steal a glance or two at him.

“Yeah,” He replies.

“Truly?”

“No,” He scoffs at his own lie. “But I’ll be.”

You nod. 

You drive out of town and on the interstate roads for ages until Wonwoo finally speaks up. You’re completely engulfed in darkness except for your headlights.

“We should stop soon and have a rest.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Any preferences?”

“Anywhere.” 

And so you tell him to keep his eyes peeled open when a sign on the road says there should be a motel in the next couple KM. It doesn’t take too long before you’re pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel, much of a far-cry from your expensive hotels and luxury living. 

You check in at the front desk with an old man who seems very unhappy with his life, he short of throws the keys your way. 

The room is… surprisingly nice, given the circumstances of the ambience. Only problem is the, although quite large, singular bed. You exchange glances.

“Shit,” Wonwoo curses, “I’m gonna 

“You wanna get hit?” You joke, “He’s minutes away from killing us over this room. We can just share the bed.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

Oh, he certainly seems to hate the idea of sharing a bed with you, huh.

“Nonu, please, it’s late and we’re both tired. It will be just like when we were kids,” You explain, setting aside your stuff.

Wonwoo nods, sitting on the strangely comfortable bed.

“You think they have robes?” You ask, looking around.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” 

“Oh, I’d kill to get out of this dress,” You whine, running to the bathroom to check for anything you could wear instead of your dress. 

He just bites at his lips, watching you pace from side to side in that tiny bedroom. 

That’s when you remember your forgotten shopping bags sitting in the trunk! Your compulsive shopping habits just saved you from a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, how convenient!

“I think I have some clothes in my car,” You announce, grabbing the keys and heading toward the door.

“Wait, you’re going by yourself? let me go with you.”

“I don’t wanna lock the door, though,” You whine.

He sighs, “Stay here, I’ll go.” 

You jump, “Thank you, Nonu!”

While Wonwoo rummages through your trunk and pulls out the surprising large amount of shopping bags, you shed off your clothes and head toward the bathroom, dying to get some hot water on your body, put on your new PJs and doze off. 

When he returns however, he is greeted by a sight any other man would die to see. You’ve left a trail of clothes from the bed toward the bathroom door. Starting on your pretty dress, splayed out over tiled-floor, and then your tights and then your underwear, matching, too— 

He clears his throat. “I’m back!” 

But you probably don’t hear him through the running shower, so he just sets down the bags and avoid the sight of your clothes. He decides to turn on the tiny TV and browse through any late night re-runs. You take only a couple of minutes in your shower.

“Nonu?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He turns down the TV.

“Did you find the clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring me something to wear?” Wonwoo gulps. 

“Uh— Which one?”

“There should be a light blue bag and a pink one.” 

“Okay—“ He stands up and searches for the aforementioned colours. 

Wonwoo heads to the bathroom door and leans against the wall, facing away from the door. He knocks once. You open the door and shove your arm through, reaching for the bags.

“Thank youu!” 

He returns to the boring TV. Though all he could think about was the sight of your wet supple skin, knowing you were bare with only a thin sheet of plywood separating you. 

You leave the bathroom smelling of cheap soap and fresh into your brand new nightgown. It is tentatively short with an almost see-through round of lace over the hems. In your defence, you weren’t planning on showing this nightgown to anyone anytime soon. 

Sitting on the bed, you look around the room, not noticing how Wonwoo’s eyes don’t really meet yours or how red his ears seem to burn.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” You ask.

“Feels a bit redundant to shower and get back into my dirty clothes.” 

“I think I might have something for you, if you don’t want to sleep in a suit,” You pry.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“But you can’t judge! I bought this for my dad because you know he deals very poorly with the heat— And he never buys himself anything!” You’re explaining yourself in advance because you remember very well what you bought.

Silky boxer shorts and a tank top, which your father loved to sleep in on stuffy summer nights but you doubted would be Wonwoo’s first choice of wear, ever.

He haggles with his own mind; give into the silky boxer shorts or sleep in the most uncomfortable outfit ever. With a tired sigh, Wonwoo accepts his fate and grabs the bag. 

You smile as he stomps toward the bathroom with a defeated frown.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned up your trail of clothes and made yourself very comfortable in the bed. You turn your head to face him.

God, he could make a potato sack look good. 

“How’s the fit?” You pull your eyes away before you look for too long. 

Wonwoo shrugs, “I’ve had worse.”

You laugh.

He coyly joins you in bed, keeping a large gap between your bodies, settling on top of the covers while you’re under their warmth. 

“Ain’t you cold?” You ask, fidgeting with the TV remote. 

Wonwoo shakes his head, leaning back into the headboard. With a pout, you cross the figurative bridge between the two of you and reach for him. He doesn’t shy away from your touch but it visibly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands hovering in the air, far away from your exposed back.

“I’m sorry your birthday party sucked,” You murmur against his chest, Wonwoo smiles softly, letting his hands rest on you.

“It didn’t suck in its entirety,” he says, palms slightly tapping at your back, “it was fun running away with you.”

You giggle at his comment, heart fluttering at its meaning, “What are we going to do? About the engagement, I mean…”

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pull away from him.

“Well— You dragged me into this!” You slap at his chest and he lets out a boisterous laugh that almost manages to pull the corners of your from into a smile.

“I know, I’m taking the piss out of you,” He extends his arms, pulling you back to your previous position, resuming the soft caresses he leaves on your arms. “I don’t know— This is the first time I’ve ever gone against my father.”

You sigh. “Don’t you wanna marry Suzy?”

There’s a pause and oh, you’re begging, wishing to hear the words you want most.

“Fuck no!” Wonwoo exclaims and you fail to hide your excitement.

“She is pretty,” You throw the bait, to pry at his true feelings.

“So is your sister, should I just marry any pretty girl?”

You raise from your position, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. Wonwoo looks at you, completely clueless to his words and its consequences.

“What the hell?!” 

“What?” 

Kicking off the covers in a flurry, you kneel on the bed, staring at him dead in the eyes.  “You have the hots for my sister!”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to get angry, “What?! No— You’re twisting my words—“

“I’m twisting your words?! You just said you think my sister is pretty!” 

“Because she is!”

You jaw drops, you can’t believe he is doubling down. “Wow,” you shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

You shrug, turning away from him and crossing your arms. “I don’t know, why don’t you just go an marry my sister, then.”

Only then, does this thick-headed man you love so much realise he has been complimenting other girls without so much as telling you a single nice word — the bare minimum. He sighs and offers you a soft smile, shifting in the bed until he is near you again.

“I don’t want to marry your sister. I think she is pretty, but she’s not the prettiest sister, you are.” He waits for your reaction.

Hook, line and sinker. 

You turn around immediately, a hint of smile playing in your pretty lips. 

That’s enough for him to break into a wide smile, opening his arms to welcome you back into his warmth. You crash into his chest, wrapping yourself around his torso. 

He groans, falling back into the mattress but not letting go of you.

Minutes pass before you speak again. “It’s past midnight…” You whisper.

“It’s well past midnight… Why?”

You shift upwards until your faces are only inches apart, breath tickling his lips, your beautiful eyes gleaming under dim motel lighting. “Happy birthday,” You whisper between smiles, “Make a wish.” 

Wonwoo breathes in, eyes scanning your face, “There’s one thing I want…” 

“What is it?” 

If he said it out loud, he might’ve lost all courage to do so. 

So he just does it, Wonwoo leans forward until his lips meet yours in a chaste kiss. 

It probably lasted a couple of seconds, but those seconds felt like a lifetime when you were finally kissing the man you’ve loved for god knows how long. There’s a spark of electricity that burns bright from the moment your lips touch and travels through your body, blood boiling in excitement, shyness, and pure love. 

When the kiss ends, Wonwoo studies your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. Which is even more worrying when you’re standing there, froze solid with an empty stare.

But thankfully, before he can say anything, you throw caution into the wind. 

You pull him into a kiss. Throwing every sense of morale and shame you had out the damn window. He was a man sworn to another, for Pete's sake! But here you here, crashing your lips into his perfect, soft ones. 

Wonwoo lets out a quiet groan, almost inaudible, but you hear it, oh yes, you do. And it runs straight through your chest and down to your core. 

Although the sensible, rational part of your brain tells you to quit kissing him at once and just apologise, the other 99% of your brain, who’s been in love with him since forever, wants nothing of the sort. And you might have listened to the not-so-rational part of you, because you just deepened the kiss, shifting your weight until you’re partially on top of him.

Your lips move against him, shyly exploring this kiss, engraving every moment into your memory. 

Yet he reciprocates. His warm hands finds your waist, holding you flush against his torso, heartbeats thumping completely in-sync. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the chance to pull you deeper into those dangerous lips of his. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, licking and twirling against yours, hot and eager. 

He dips his head, one hand reaches to tangle into your hair and manoeuvre you around, allowing himself complete freedom to explore every bit of your mouth. 

Wonwoo kisses like no other. Not that you had too much of a repertoire to compare him to. 

But he consumes your lips with an unbound hunger, nothing similar to the calm and collected Wonwoo you knew, no. He’s hungry, messy, and very clumsy, clashing teeth one too many times, letting saliva drip down your chins and struggling to move with you on top of him.

When you part the kiss, you lay there breathless, gazing into his ridiculously beautiful beady eyes and long eyelashes, his handsome sharp nose and the most kissable lips you’ll ever see.

 It was breathtaking, mind-blowing and nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your heart beats so fast you feel as if you might pass out at any moment but you’d die before you give up experiencing that again.

“What was that?” He whispers and his breath tickle your kiss-swollen lips. 

“Your birthday gift,” You bite at your lower lip. “Did you like it?”

Wonwoo smiles, breathless and half-lidded and your heart damn near bursts. “I did. Did you?”

You nod.

He nods. “Wanna do it again?”

You nod and he gives you that stupidly handsome smile of his.

And once again, you’re attached at the lips. This once, nothing like before, which you though impossible. It’s so much more desperate and it burns, it boils your blood in absolute desire. It leaves you light-headed, it wipes away your cognitive thoughts and leaves behind a foggy cloud of barely strung-together words that only translate into wanting more. More of him. 

You sigh into the kiss and he drinks it all up, he consumes everything you give him with erratic hands and eager tongue. 

Wonwoo leaves your lips and you whine with a breathless sigh of his name, almost chipping at any resolve he had left. But he nips at your neck nonetheless, warm, wet tongue trailing along your skin, making you twitch in his arms with the most delectable little ‘yips’ of surprise. 

He bites, feral and determined; determined to make his claim, to leave behind his mark on your body, to indulge in carnal pleasure without a prospect of tomorrow, letting everything else be a construct beyond these motel walls, away from where you laid. Away from this reality where he had you in his hands and you moaned his name with a soft smile.

Practically tearing your nightgown, he pulls the silky fabric just enough until your tits spill out of its confine. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, fingers trailing the contour of your boobs, raising goosebumps along sensitive skin. His eyes are burning in adoration, the most depraved glaze of hunger hidden behind sheer excitement. 

He dives in, hands kneading at the flesh, squishing soft skin. 

Slender fingers caress your aereolas, running fingernails along your nipples in curiosity, watching you squirm and bite at your lips as your nipples begin to perk up. 

And when you thought he was done, Wonwoo attaches his mouth to your nipple, sloppily running his tongue around it before he sucks. He makes sure to let his teeth graze, just to watch you jump.

All while his other hand makes work of your unattended boob, your attention is so thinly divided between his teasing fingers and his hot tongue and the sweetest, most satisfied groans that erupt from his throat. 

Your face burns and you bite at the back of your hand, shoving down every stubborn moan that tries to make it past; but he won’t have that, no. Wonwoo reaches for your arms, pinning them above your head without so much as pulling away from your tits. 

Mindlessly, you’ve been rocking back and forth against him, chasing a gut feeling you’re unsure of but desire more than anything ever. And without realising, you’ve been teasing him just as much as he has you, which is clear by the volume contained by his shorts. 

He wishes he could ravish your breasts all night, but any more of your squirming and he will come undone without so much as a touch from you. 

Wonwoo pulls away, hands once against finding your waist as he pulls you back to his chest.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, half-lidded, lust-filled eyes gazing so deep into your own. 

“I— I’ve never done it before,” You confess.

And something stirs within him, to know he is your first, the first and only man to every touch you this way, to trace his lips over your gorgeous body, to settle inside of you. 

Wonwoo smiles and kisses your nose, “I don’t care… But only if you don’t care that I haven’t either.”

You’re surprised, to say the least. 

Kissing in between smiles, you raise to your knees, letting him tug at the hem of shorts just enough to free his cock. 

It’s nothing like you’ve seen before and unlike the illustrations you remember from school. It’s red and veiny and it glistens with pre-cum under the dim lighting.

But it’s a part of him and you can’t help that your belly stirs at the sight of him stroking himself. 

When you reach for the hem of your nightgown, his hands stop you.

“Keep it on—“ He whispers.

“Why?”

“We’ve got all night to take it off,” He runs his tongue through his top teeth with a side smirk and you almost smack him up the head for being such a little shit.

As he asked so kindly, you bunch up your nightgown around your waist, hips circling around his warmth, meanwhile he’s playing with the flesh of your love handles, kneading and running his fingers over your skin. 

“Ready?”

You nod. He raises your hips and lets you control the pace, you feed in his cock, centimetre by centimetre, feeling it’s girth tear at your walls with an unimaginable sting, it burns hot and heavy in your hands.  

Crashing onto his chest, you cry out a pained yelp.

Wonwoo run his fingers over your back, kissing the top of your head, his eyebrows are bunched up, face painted with worry.  “We can stop— Let’s stop—“

“No!” you raise your head and he can see the tiny droplets bundling around your eyelashes, “Just gimme a minute!”

So you sit there, his cock half-in, pulsing angry red and throbbing under the  tease of warmth and tightness. Especially when you look so breathtakingly gorgeous, he gulps, leaning back against the headboard, urging his mind to be strong. 

It takes you minutes to get used to it, to slowly let the size settle until your muscles are well and accustomed to it and then you start it all over again, feeding the remaining inches until he’s bottomed out. 

And oh heavens, how utterly full and hot you felt. Despite the stinging pain, part of you wants to chase the pleasure, clenching in sheer hunger. 

Wonwoo stares up at you, looking for any signs of discomfort but he is met with the most enticing, beautiful, and tempting creature he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Your eyes are glassy with tears, but you’ve got a determined look on your face with a hint of a smirk that sends shivers down his spine and up his cock. 

“Shit,” He curses out with a smile, leaning back and rutting into your hips only to watch your eyebrows furrow and your mouth gape, a moan threatening to escape. “Ready to move, pretty girl?”

You breathe out, “Yeah.”

Steadying yourself against his chest, you raise your hips, feeling his absence leave you upsettingly empty until you let your body crash back down, his cock impaling you with its warmth once again. You rock against him, shallowly, though the motion is unbearably teasing, even for you. 

Wonwoo lets out an obscene, strained moan, fingernails digging into your waist, but you’re too focused on rocking your hips to notice. How he wants nothing but to piston his hips into your pussy like there is no tomorrow, he relishes in the feeling of your warmth, tight and gummy around his throbbing member. 

And he finds you might be just as insatiable as he is, especially when you’ve found yourself a steady pace, bouncing up and down, and his name pours out of your lips in such a beautiful manner. Though he can’t just let you have all the control, can he?

“Oh—“ You yip, “Feels so— Good—“ Still unsure of your thought, you explore the feeling, rolling your hips, feeling him stretch your wider, fill your insides and leave you full like you’ve never felt before. 

His hips meet yours half way, chasing your cunt every time you leave and pounding into you when you come back down, filling the room with guttural groans and the lewd sound of skin against skin. 

You run your fingers under his shirt, feeling bare, warm skin, the softness of his flesh against your hands, the definition of his pecs and the way his nipples peek through the fabric. Wonwoo groans at the way your manicured nails scratch at his chest, gathering momentum as you bounce yourself on top of him. 

He notices you’ve started moving faster, practically fucking yourself stupid on his cock and he would tease you halfway through tomorrow if he didn’t find himself in such a similar predicament. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows furrowed across his brow, pretty lips hanging agape. You’re so utterly perfect and you were all his. 

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” He whispers, slowing down for a second. 

You sigh, nuzzling against his neck, “So good— I can’t even describe it—“ Your words are so airy and mindless, you’ve been consumed by the pleasure he gives you.

He catches the sight of the white rim that pools around his member, a mix of your juices, but it’s gone, sheathed inside you before he can admire it. There’s a poisoning thought that flashes in his mind, a fleeting, tempting picture. Of planting his seed in your womb, watching your grow full with child, his child. How absolutely breathtaking you would look, round cheeks and gorgeous smile, pretty fingers caressing your bump. And he would taint your taut stomach with his cum, watching it drip over your skin.

Wonwoo bites his lips so hard it breaks skin, throwing his head back, willing his mind somewhere else, anything else lest he come undone right then and there. 

Stomach tingling with indescribable pleasure, you lean forward, moaning incessantly, unable to contain your ecstasy. He supports your body, wrapping strong arms around your torso, firm hands planted on your hips, taking over the moving so you can lay still and let the buzz consume your body with its electric touch.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, and it crashes over your body in a colossal wave, building up from the pit of your stomach; sending tingles rushing through your boiling blood. 

You raise your head, eyes meeting his and it seems he is familiar with this pleasure. His left hand meets your face, caressing your cheek, yet holding you still so he can gaze, he can watch you come undone around him. 

Wonwoo watches, unblinking, how your eyebrows furry, your eyes are glossy with tears that cling to your pretty lashes, your lips sit in an enticing pout. Yet you part them, letting out increasingly louder cries of his name. 

And you clench around him like there is no tomorrow, egging him on. He thrusts up into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his over the edge. 

He crashes his lips into yours, savouring your hazy kiss, your tired sighs and it doesn’t take long before he’s spurting hot white strings into you, it trickles down him and stains the silk fabric of his boxers. 

Soon, he stills all movement except for heavy breathing and the soothing circles he runs over your exposed back. 

He kisses your hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” You breathe out, “Tired. But good.” 

His chest shakes with a soft chuckle, he runs slender fingers along your hairline, fixing any hairs that cling to sweaty skin. “Me too.” 

“It felt amazing,” You smile, raising your head to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Wonwoo hums. 

“I’m glad it was you, Nonu,” You hid your face against his neck in embarrassment at your own mushy words, but Wonwoo feels their extent, hiding the blush of his cheeks. 

It doesn’t take long before the post-orgasm haze lulls you into sleep. 

And you slept like never before. 

The following morning, Wonwoo wakes up to an empty bed. He panics for a second or two, scrambling to look for your belongings, only to find everything is still there.

Calm, he washes himself up and gets dressed to leave. Finally having a moment to digest the previous night’s events. 

He had made up his mind, he would confront his father. His future was his to decide on. 

Looking for you, Wonwoo reaches the foyer, only to see you leaning against the wall, attached to the payphone. When your eyes meet his, you immediately say your goodbyes, ending the call.

“Who did you call?” Wonwoo crosses his strong arms against his chest and you try to ignore the sight of his muscly forearms peeking from the folded sleeves.

You don’t like his tone. “Seokmin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call him?”

“I promised I would,” You shrug. 

Wonwoo can’t believe you would call Seokmin out of everyone, especially after you were glued to him last night at the party. “Why him?”

“He’s worried about you, you stupid— Stupid—“ You choke out on any mean names, simply stomping away from him. 

Why was Wonwoo being so mean so early in the morning? You thought after the amazing night you spent together things would change between you.   Stomping your way back to your room, you grumble under your breath.

While you’re folding your clothes, Wonwoo comes back. 

“I’ll talk to my father,” He announces. 

Before you can say anything about that, he continues. “We’ll get married— You and I, I mean— ” He clears his throat, “Will you marry me?”

Like a deer in headlights, you’re frozen, staring at him big-eyed with a dopey smile on your lips. 

“You’ll marry me?” You question, just in case you’ve tricked yourself into hearing the words you’ve wanted most. 

“Yes. And I— I’ll take full responsibility—“

You smile crashes into the ground. “You want to marry me out of… Responsibility?!” The words choke you on their way out. 

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why you would be upset. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I don’t want to fucking marry you!” Not like that.

His face falls and he assumes a much scarier look on his face. “What would you rather marry Seokmin, then?”

And in your fury, you blurt out “Yes! Yes, I would rather marry him!”

You realise your rejection hurt him, you do. But you’re so blindsided by your anger you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he sees you as a responsibility. 

Wonwoo is suddenly not so angry, but indifferent. You watch his expression go away, replaced by one much scarier, in your opinion; nothing. A plain poker face. 

“Gather your things and go to the car.”

It’s all he says before he leaves the room. 

The ride back is the most nerve-racking hours you’ve ever experienced. Wonwoo is silent, even you huff and puff under your breath, angrily chewing on your breakfast of vending machine snacks. 

Though he says one phrase as you reach the city. “Leave me here.” 

And that’s the last you saw of him for over a month. 

Your previous anger dries up, turning into sadness. Then you’re furious. And heartbroken until you’ve accepted your reality. You’ve ruined your friendship and lost the love of your life.

It takes your sister plucking you out of bed for you to finally leave your bedroom in weeks. 

She was the first and only person you’ve told about the night spent with Wonwoo. Your parents were absolutely furious that you’d do something so dangerous, though relieved at your safety, they weren’t easy on their words. 

“He’s not doing well, you know,” You sister says. 

You humph. 

“I’m serious. Daddy said he’s clumsy, keeps messing up his work. I think you should go and see him.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a worrisome sigh. You still cared way too much to hear those news and not do something about it. 

So you dress up in whatever you can find and drive to his shop, building up a speech on your way there and practising every scenario. You just hoped everything could go back to the way it was. 

He’s working on an old model, hunched over the hood in his light blue coveralls, stains of grease from head to toe. 

“Knock knock,” You announced your presence, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, looking forward to meeting his eyes as much as you dread to. 

Wonwoo immediately recognises your voice, turning around to meet your eyes. 

And he looks just as wrecked as you felt. Deep-set eye bags and a tired gaze. Yet he still smiles just as handsomely. 

“Hey,” He greets. 

“Busy?”

“No! No,” Wonwoo scrambles, placing the wrench down removing his gloves. 

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I actually— I wanted to talk to you, too.”

It’s somewhat relieving as well at it’s worrying to hear him say that, it could be an apology as well as an insult or something of the sort. 

“We should— We should go to my office, someone might come in—“

“Yeah— We should.” You nod.

You walk into his office, one you’ve visited and killed time in quite often. But coming here after everything feels so crushing, all this distance between you. 

“Go ahead—“

“You first—“

You both say at the same time and that seems to ease the stubborn awkwardness pooling in the air. You laugh. 

“How about we say it together?” 

“On 3?”

“1”

“2”

“3”

Breathing in, you say the words that come to your mind from the bottom of your heart. 

“I want to marry you.”

“I love you.”

“What?!” 

“What?!” Once again, you both say it at the same time.

“You want to marry me?” He breaks into a wide smile.

“And you love me?” The words feel so alien to you, you can barely believe your ears, you feel the tips of your fingers shake in excitement, your heart pounds so strongly against your rib cage you can almost hear the thumping.

Jeon Wonwoo just said he loves you.

“I— Are you sure you want to marry me? You said you didn’t want to!”

“Yes. Well— I’ve loved you since forever! So when you said you wanted to marry me just out of responsibility— I was heartbroken! It’s like you were forced into doing it!”

“I didn’t want to marry you out of responsibility! I’ve been planning to marry you since the beginning—“

You choke, “You what?!”

Wonwoo sighs, “I never wanted to marry your sister and she was well aware of that… We were blessed that she found her husband and when everything went well, I thought— I hoped that it’d mean we’d be the ones to be wed.”

Processing every word, you almost feel dizzy. “But you said you’d take responsibility!” 

“For roping you into running away from my party.” 

“Oh.” You’re beyond embarrassed for assuming and above all, for getting so angry you didn’t even let him explain himself. 

“I should’ve been clearer,” He admits.

“No— I should’ve talked to you.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Thank you.”

With tiny tears threatening to fall, you can only confirm what you want to know the most. 

“You love me?”

“Always,” He smiles.

Wonwoo seems to remember something, he raises his finger in a “wait” motion and leans over his desk, reaching for the top drawer. It’s only when you catch a peek of the velvet box that you almost keel over.

Gulping, he gathers his courage.

In his grease-stained coveralls that smells of expensive cologne and lavender cleaning supplies, Jeon Wonwoo gets down on one knee, nervously looking up at your with his stupidly gorgeous beady eyes and an expectant smile.

“Will you marry me?”

And in your least presentable dress, the one he’d ruined with grease stains and an unruly hairdo, you respond with the biggest smile:

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Had you been questioned, there would be an answer to just how long you will love Jeon Wonwoo.

You’ll love him forever. 

#svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen x reader smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x you #seventeen x you smut #svt x reader #svt x y/n #svt x you #svt x you smut #svt x reader smut #mingyu smut #kpop smut #kpop x reader smut #kpop x you #kpop x y/n #💎svt #Say Yes to me #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you #jeon wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader smut #wonwoo x you smut #jeon wonwoo

[marlenesluv]

۵pairing: fem!albonsibling!ballerina x platonic f1 grid. also, reader x lando norris

۵type: social media au and dialogue

۵authors note: i really love making these, so i’m excited to work on a part 3! also, i know alex has other siblings, i’m just not including them in these posts!

۵warnings: cussing, talk of blood (someone cut their finger, not bad or described much), talk of ballet darks: not eating as much, rude teachers, mean comments.

۵summary: after y/n albon lost her ballet partner, lando comes over to comfort her. but she of course still has a lot of practice before swan lake in two months.

۵this is part 3! please read part 1 and part 2 before this. (part 1 is mine, j on my main blog)

masterlist here -> masterlist link

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were devastated to lose your partner, Ben, but all good things must come to an end, apparently. That’s what Lily had told you, at least.

Ben was an amazing dancer, he was, but your ballet instructor has wanted you to do solos for years now. Saying you had “too much potential to waste” and “you’re too talented to be focusing on another person when the show is about you.” Of course this was very nice, but Ben wasn’t only your ballet partner, but a friend.

The two of you went to the movies together, got coffee before practice, dinner after, it was nice. And you were happy that he had found a girl for him. You just didn’t expect for her to make him quit ballet.

That’s right, not a sport he had outgrown or gotten bored of. No no. Destiny was not a fan of the fact that he spent all of his time in the studio. Understandable, but dating a ballet dancer, that is a given. It was a shame that Ben had thrown all of his hard work away for a girl.

But here you were, unlocking your apartment door as Lando Norris walked in with a bag of Indian food and an extra hoodie on his shoulder.

“Hey! I got you some butter chicken and some paneer naan for us to share. Oh, and…” he pulled out two bottles of mango juice and handed them to you as you placed them on your island. “If I remembered correctly, you like mango juice?”

“Mhmm. Thank you, Lando.” you smiled up at him as he blushed a bit, clearing his throat as he sorted through the bag and you got out silverware.

“Wanna watch a show?” you asked, as you sat down beside him on your sofa, opening your juice.

“Yeah. How about ‘Brooklyn 99’?”

You nodded, opening Peacock and starting an episode as you both started eating and talking.

Talking with Lando was easy. When you ranted about how your ballet instructor stretched your arm too far backwards, he listened, only butting in to make sure you knew he was paying attention.

And when he ranted about how Checo pushed him off the track, and didn’t get penalized, you listened, you only butted in to gasp and ask the occasional question about how something worked.

You didn’t feel like he was judging you, and it was nice. Lando felt the same. You were someone that understood Formula 1 to a certain degree, since Alex talked about it, but you still asked questions, not just discounting what he was saying. Sure, Oscar wouldn’t mind listening to him blab on about shit, but Oscar wasn’t you.

And yes, you could talk to Lily, Kika, Kelly, Laila, or Carmen, but they weren’t Lando.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and 872,024 others

y/n.albon: i am so good at chess ♟️

view comments…

user3: lando and y/n??

alex_albon: you guys are hanging out alone now??

↳ y/n.albon: i guess, yeah

↳ alex_albon: wtf!?

↳ alex_albon: y/n answer my texts what are you doing????

user5: y/n just not answering alex LMAOO

user8: i live for this duo, they are so precious to me

lilymhe: the shoesss🥹

↳ y/n.albon: ikkk🥹🩷

user7: new ship, guys. ballerina and f1 driver 🫠

user2: she’s slaying without ben, fr

kellypiquet: adorable!

*liked by creator*

user4: okay. can they date?? orrrr

↳ user9: literallyyyy

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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liked by y/n.albon, oscarpiastri, and 602,140 others

landonorris: 📷🩰💇‍♂️

view comments…

user1: BRO?

y/n.albon: gotta get those stretches in👯‍♀️

↳ landonorris: oh yeah🩰🙆‍♂️

user7: anyone notice how much y/n and lando have been hanging out….?

↳ user4: mhmmm. i ship

↳ user7: SAME

alex_albon: ahem, what is the second picture?

↳ y/n.user: me….alex, you’re my brother and you don’t know what i look like? shame shame

↳ alex_albon: that’s not what i meant, y/n

↳ alex_albon: why tf are you guys both on instagram and not messaging me back??

↳ alex_albon: fine. i’ll j come over, y/n

↳ y/n.albon: i’m taking my key back.

user9: little sibling fights in landos comments 😭

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Alex Albon always kept his word. So, naturally, at 8:30pm on a Thursday night, Alex unlocked his sisters apartment door with his spare key. So what if Y/N said to only use it “for emergencies” and “if i had fallen and could not get up” which she thought was hilarious, whilst he just clenched hi jaw at the thought of her falling and hurting herself.

He was definitely on the protective side, but for good reasons. All of her past boyfriends, there were two, had cheated on her. Yeah, he didn’t love how close his sister was to Lando Norris, but at least he liked Lando. Not enough to be okay with their hanging out though. But Alex trusted Lando enough to not freak out too much.

When Alex walked into his sisters apartment, he couldn’t find her anywhere. The kitchen was spotless. Marble countertops cleaned off, fridge stocked up, floor vacuumed. He should have known that was the case before he walked in.

Every Wednesday and Sunday, Y/N cleaned her apartment. It was something she had control over. She didn’t have control over what she ate, her ballet instructor did. She didn’t have control over her spare time, it was spent at the studio. Alex felt bad sometimes, she had dedicated her life since she was five to ballet.

Sure, Alex had dedicated his life to Formula 1 as well, but he knew ballet was more draining. He’d seen the breakdowns first hand. Y/N coming to his house after practice and crying in his arms because she didn’t get a part. Or when she had called Alex ten times and then Lily because she needed new ballet shoes and her instructor wanted them now.

And he would never forget the times that her instructor would tell her to not eat as much, and that she needed to slim down. She would come over for dinner with him and Lily, and drink her water and maybe some vegetables.

It always made Lily mad. She hated how Y/N was treated, they both did. They also both knew how much ballet meant to Y/N, so they never told her to quit.

“Alex?” Alex whipped his head around to see his sister in her ballet leggings, a sweater, and boots.

Y/N sat her ballet bag on the barstool and emptied her water bottle out as she looked at Alex. “Dude? What are you doing in my house?”

“Oh, u-um. I was checking on you. Forgot you had to go in today. Sorry.” He blinked, looking at her tight bun on her head. “Hey, shouldn’t you take that out before your head pops off?”

“So funny, ha-ha.” Y/N mocked, getting out some fruit. “Did you need something? Or did you wanna stay?”

“Sorry, right. Lily wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Just Lily?” Y/N raised a brow as she plopped a strawberry into her mouth and chewed.

“No, dumbass. I want you to, too. Bring someone ever too, if you want.” Alex shrugged, accepting the strawberry his sister offered him.

“Mmk. Like who?….Lando?”

“I don’t care. If you want to.” he chewed the berry as she grabbed two waters from her fridge and handed one to Alex.

“Alright. Thanks. That it?” she asked, sighing.

Alex knew she wasn’t trying to be rude. She wanted to be alone, he understood. She had been at the studio since 8:00am, she was tired and wanted to sleep.

“Nope, that’s it. See you tomorrow?” Alex walked to the door, Y/N behind him.

“Yup. Love you, Alex. I’ll see ya.”

“Love you too. See ya tomorrow.” Alex shut the door behind him and walked to the elevator, pushing his thoughts away that maybe his sister was dating Lando.

He shook his head and sent a text to Lily to let him know that he was on his way home. Tomorrow night would be interesting.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

F1 Updates @f1updatepage • 2hr

Our beloved Y/N Albon has been spotted on a boat with Lando Norris. The photo below was taken last week:

↳ Y/N my Icon! @y/n4lifeeee • 1hr

WHAT- i knew they were hanging out, butttt why am i shipping them so hard rn????

↳ Piasstri🍑 @oscandlan • 1hr

idk if i want to be y/n or if i want to be with y/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes and 875,024 others

y/n.albon: pinky 🌸🩰🎀👛

view comments…

user9: SLAY PINK QUEEN

user4: fits always eat

lailahasanovic: cutieeeee

↳ y/n.albon: awe laila🩷

user6: no lando pics?? :(

↳ user2: im sure we will soon lol

danielricciardo: shes working💅🩰

↳ y/n.albon: yuh

f1wags: y/n’s life is sooo aesthetic fr

y/nballetstudio: our favvvv

*liked by creator*

user3: my literal inspo, ugh

landonorris: coffee coffee coffee

↳ y/n.user: thx for the coffee coffee coffee

↳ user1: hold up. he made her that coffee??????

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were nervous for dinner with Lily and Alex on Friday night. Actually, the dinner that was currently 3 hours away.

And yes, you invited Lando. So what? You weren’t even sure if you guys were just friends, or maybe he wanted something more….

It was confusing. One day, you guys are hanging out, cuddling on your couch while talking, and the next, he doesn’t even text you.

But he happily accepted the invite. Which is why Lando was sitting on your bed, watching you apply your lipgloss at your mirror. The shiny gloss catching his eye as you smiled and asked him a question.

“Lando? You there?” you waved your hand, smiling and laughing a bit.

“What? Oh, mhmm. Yeah. I heard you.” he shook his head, hoping you would repeat what you had said.

“You do think that we should get sushi next week for lunch?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side and smirking.

“Y/N, no. Don’t joke like that. You don’t even like sushi!” Lando whined, making you laugh.

“I know, sorry. I asked if I looked okay?” you smoothed your black skirt down, pulling the sleeves of the white shirt down a bit.

Lando swallowed, clearing his throat. What was he supposed to say? You truly always looked breathtaking to him. He couldn’t say that though. “Yeah, you look great.” Lando smiled and got up from your bed.

“Ok, thanks. Let’s go?” you shook off the weird feeling you had, grabbing your purse and snapping a mirror picture while Lando got his phone off the charger.

………

Once you guys got to Alex and Lilys, everything went smoothly. Alex and Lando chatted about the cars while they prepared the salad, and you and Lily talked about her latest golf outing and your rehearsals.

That’s how it always went. Except usually Alex would rant about the cars to you and Lily at dinner. Occasionally getting a breadstick thrown at him because you found his complaining aggravating.

“I know! And get this, my engineer said-“ Alex was ranting as Lando kept glancing your way. The was you doubled over when Lily said something, or the way you bit your lip as you concentrated on the pasta. He shook his head and listened to Alex talk about his balance in the car.

“Y/N. You need to seriously open your eyes.” Lily said, looking at you with a hand on her hip.

“They are! The pasta is fine- what…why are you mom stancing me right now?” you questioned, lips parted and brows furrowed.

“Do you not see the way Lando looks at you? He’s going to chop off a finger if he keeps glancing over here and not at his carrots.” Lily sighed, and right on cue….

“Ow! Fuck!” Lando cursed, hissing in pain, holding his finger.

“Lando! What the fuck? You’re getting blood all over the cutting board.” Alex complained, earning a cup thrown at his head from you as you ran over to Lando.

“What did you do?!” you asked, running his finger under cold water. It wasn’t a deep cut, but he grazed his finger with the blade.

“Um…I don’t know. Just thinking about the cars, I guess.” he shrugged, thanking you for getting the bandaids from the drawer behind him and helping him wrap it.

“Alex, you’re so rude! When a guest cuts their finger, you help! Not complain about your $15 cutting board.” Lily scolded Alex, shaking her head.

Alex scoffed, “Lily, he’s fine.” The couple set the table as you guys took your seats. You and Lando on one side, and Lily and Alex across from you.

“Sorry for not helping, Lando.” Alex said, side eyeing Lily.

You giggled a bit as Lando started laughing, “mhm, it’s okay.”

Dinner went well, conversations flowed well and it was nice to talk to the people you enjoyed being around. Now id only you could figure your feelings for Lando out…

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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seen by: landonorris, alex_albon, and 678,023 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

#formula 1 #f1 #formula one #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 smau #platonic f1 grid #f1 grid x reader #ballet #ballerina!reader #ballet fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fluff #alex albon sister #alex albon #lilymhe #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader

[vhstown]

time out (part 2)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, hurt/comfort, fluff, description of (boxing) injuries, briefly implied death, gtranslate spanish

word count: 5.3k

a/n: editing this was actual torture. kind of becomes a song fic? song is dreamer by bobby bland if you wanna listen before u read lmao entirely not necessary tho. part 2 of 2 but i might write this au again in the future !

← PART 1 / THE AU

Boxing — you tried to be as well versed in it as possible, learning as many terms and moves and whatever else you could pick up from Aaron when he was helping Miles train for all those weeks. What you weren’t sure of, though, was if a “time out”, or a break, had to be this awkward. What you also weren’t sure of was what on Earth your boyfriend was thinking doing here at midnight training (or splitting his knuckles open, though you didn’t quite know the difference anymore,) right after his tournament had finished.

Regardless, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just leave and “give him space” as you might’ve done before. The weather didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon, and you had no signal or money; it wasn't like Miles would call a car for himself anyway — stubborn.

Miles was sat on the floor against a set of shelves with various things that belonged to Aaron, and you were on an unbearably stiff bench press seat, legs close together so you wouldn’t fall off and your jacket hung around the weight. Cold, uncomfortable, dead silent — the perfect atmosphere for a productive conversation, of course.

Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. Yeah, you’d just talked big game to your boyfriend and scolded him like his mother probably would’ve if she knew what the hell he was up to, but you hadn’t planned anything after that. Miles wasn’t a talker — not by any means. Right now, he was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, stretching uncomfortably on his elbows with his hands in awkward positions to try and not strain them too much. He hadn’t said anything, so you hadn’t said anything either, and now you were stuck without any words and too many thoughts.

It was a lot of unmet glances and quiet shivers, and you tried your best to kill the urge to just... lean over and hug him. As much as you missed him and wanted to let out everything you’d been feeling for the past couple of weeks, now wasn’t the best time — Miles probably couldn’t even hug you with those gnarly injuries anyway.

Miles’ eyes were dull and tired, fixed on the ground or maybe somewhere you couldn’t see. As usual, you couldn’t gauge anything from his expression besides mild annoyance. It was like a constant guessing game. First, why your texts weren’t going through, secondly, where the hell he was, and now you had to figure out why on Earth he was so frustrated. Your luck had ran out with those first two guesses, and his silence certainly didn’t help — again, not a talker. Not even a looker; he wasn’t stealing glances of you anymore, like he was thinking about something. If only you knew what.

The most you could guess was that this was about not winning — but it couldn’t just be that simple. Miles was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t delusional — he knew that he probably couldn’t beat every single person in that championship when he was just starting to go professional. This wasn’t some kiddish, lofty dream Miles had either — he was serious from the day Aaron got him those gloves, which were now crumpled up in the corner next to you. He wouldn’t throw a fit over nothing.

It wasn’t right to force it out of him though, and you could still sense the stubbornness lingering in the crease between his brows. You resisted the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, instead just killing it with every other thought you deemed “selfish”. Apparently, waiting was just as much of a competitive sport at boxing.

The door rattled as icy drafts bit at your ankles and fingertips. It sounded like the sky was going to collapse from how intense the storm was growing. Miles was just in a tank top, his hoodie abandoned on the bar behind you. You figured he could get it himself; any sort of help always seemed pitying to him anyway.

“I’m training with uncle Aaron tonight — stay home.”

“I can handle myself. How else you think I got this far?”

“You ain’t comin’ to Vegas with me.”

You found yourself reaching for the hoodie anyway. Miles didn’t notice, of course, but you could see the goose bumps on skin even from this far away.

“Hey,” you muttered, making him look up. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or sulk some more?”

His mouth opened, but only to let out a breath, before silence fell between you again.

“Fine, I don’t… get it, or whatever.” You continued, fingers trailing into the sleeves of the hoodie. “But I don’t get how I’m supposed to when you’re not talking to me.”

“There’s nothing to get.” It was like you had Vegas between you two again — like he wasn’t even here.

The fabric of the hoodie was warm, and a part of you didn’t feel like letting go of it — if only your boyfriend was in the hoodie too.

“I don’t get why you’d box without wraps, for one.”

“I’m just… frustrated,” he yielded, albeit unhelpfully. “‘S nothing serious, promise.”

Serious enough to have your fingers hanging on by a thread. You noticed his thumb nursing the blackened skin around his knuckles, and his expression seemed even more distant than it was before. It was always some impossible game, and you hadn’t lost, but were drained and out of words for now.

Maybe he’d figure it out for himself; you weren’t too convinced of that. Despite that, it was getting annoying to hear the constant howling of wind and rain outside. Walking over to the shelf, you dropped the hoodie in Miles’ lap. You doubted he had even looked at you, but you didn’t need him to. Right now, you needed something to fill this boring, cold and wordless room.

Looking through the shelves behind Miles, you noticed a picture: a much younger Aaron wearing boxing gloves, a medal around his neck and standing next to someone you assumed to be Miles' dad. You'd never looked at any of the pictures close up, but you noticed there were a lot of old pictures like that, before finding Aaron's collection of records.

Taking the first one out, you put it into the player and carefully set the needle, glancing at the name of the song. His taste in music wasn’t exactly popular, but you’d rather listen to “DREAMER” than “inconveniently timed Brooklyn storm” right now.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you slumped down next to him as he pulled the hoodie over his head, arms going back to being crossed.

"~Dreamer... dreamer... Like a fool, I thought that it could be..." Of course it was a sad song. Blues? The haunting melody made you feel blue. It made the cold feel more numbing than biting on your skin. It made you feel, in general — what, you couldn’t really place.

“…Are we okay?” you muttered without much thought. The urge to talk had come back, and you hadn’t decided if you regretted speaking yet.

"~Dream on... dream on... surely someone, will understand me..."

Miles let out a breath, and it felt like you were exchanging more sighs than words. “Yeah. I just… ‘S not you.”

No “promise”, though. Did that make it more or less honest?

"~What do I say, when I've, oh, said too much? I think by now, I'm wastin' time..."

“...I love you, y’know?” you continued, hating how out of place it sounded. It was as useless as that text you tried to send, but you were tired, and missed your boyfriend, and wished he would give you even a glance.

“~I'm going… oh Lord I'm gone…”

“Love you too,” he mumbled in reply. It wasn’t very reassuring, and it didn’t seem like it to him either, because he reached out to brush your hand against his. You took his hand first — gently, and his thumb pressed into your palm in a sort of silent apology.

You hated how futile it was, and how much you craved it again. You hated you couldn’t be even a little mad at him, and how you were defending him to yourself. Maybe you were both in the wrong. No — you weren’t wrong, you were trying to be understanding.

You weren’t wrong for feeling this way, were you?

“~You are the absence, of my mind…”

You hated how much you missed that boy from all those months ago — even though he was right in front of you. It didn’t feel like Miles Morales was yours anymore, he was theirs — whoever “they” were. His competitors, his managers, the media… It was like there was no trace of the Miles you knew before. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t deny it anymore: that Miles had a dream, and you probably weren’t in it. You hated how you took it so personally.

And you hated how you reached out to hug him, despite all of that.

It was just you for a moment, and you were about to pull away before his arms wrapped loosely around the small of your back.

You hated how you hid your face over his shoulder, and how nice it felt. You hated how warm he was, and how the room was freezing.

You hated how familiar this was.

“~Lord, dreamer… dreamer…”

“Sorry, cariño. Didn’t mean to be an asshole.” Miles’ fingertips dragged uselessly over your back, and you shamelessly tightened your arms around him as he pressed his cheek into yours. You might’ve shed a tear, if it weren't for how heavy your eyes were already with the late hour. Neither of you could go home yet, though you weren’t sure if you wanted to right now.

“~Like a fool… I thought, well, that it could be…”

The long sigh you let out was followed by Miles’ own quiet one before he kissed you on the cheek. His breath warmed your frigid face and brushed at your heart, as he always did. You wished you could be upset, overreact, scream at his face, tell him how you felt all this time. It just always had to end with forgiveness, because now, you couldn’t even remember what you had felt.

And you hated it — not as much as you’d like.

Closing your eyes, you buried your head into his hoodie while the music, the storm and the sound of your own breathing blurred together in your mind. All you were left with were your own thoughts.

This boxing thing didn’t involve you — it never did. He didn’t want you there to see him, or even tell you he was home from Vegas, and now it felt like he was just putting up with you here. It felt like you and him were on opposite sides of the pavement, only walking together to share the same umbrella. He just didn’t want you to get soaked — or hurt.

“I told you not to come today… I’m walkin’ you home.”

He didn’t want you to expect too much.

“Nah, you don’t need to see me train. It’s borin’ as hell.”

He didn’t want you to give up on him.

“I’ll make it big — promise.”

He wanted his dream — did he still want you?

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

Patient, huh? If only you could be like Rio. It felt like you were just as bad as Miles. Maybe you were — both just as bad as each other.

“Why didn’t you text me? …At all?” Muffled against his hoodie, you hoped your voice didn’t waver. It felt a little manipulative, even if it wasn’t in the slightest, but you couldn’t keep telling yourself things were all good. Miles had been avoiding you, whether that was intentional or not. You were just being open — trying to be open. You hope he’d try too.

The boy in question was silent, before he pulled away, hands lingering at your sides.

“I was…” Miles took in a breath, voice dying out for a moment. “Look, I…”

“~Down the wrong way, on a one way street…”

“I can’t be a boxer anymore.”

It felt like the rain had gone quiet. There was no need for an umbrella between you two anymore. It felt like you’d closed it yourself, walking to the opposite side of the pavement again, watching him and the dull, empty sky from afar.

You were the one that asked him — you wanted him to speak to you, and now you weren’t even sure what to say.

“~You'd think by now, I would have learned…”

“What do you mean…?”

“My contract got terminated.” His voice sounded forced, strangely robotic. Was that what you so wanted to get from him?

“Can’t you just… get signed by somebody else?”

“There is nobody else. I had a contract with Norman Osborn — he basically owns boxing.”

“~I saw a little, but I learned even less…”

Your heart dropped a little — you wouldn’t let it drop any more than that. It made sense why Miles was so excited back then if he got signed by someone like that. Now, that excitement meant nothing. All you could think of was that video, that interview…

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

So he’d just… given up? Miles had given up? Was that it? The end of it?

Boxer or not, you suddenly had the urge to punch him — maybe even punch yourself. It didn’t even matter who was right and who was wrong anymore, because you didn’t even know who was in front of you. It was almost uncanny to see Miles like this, so dejected; that’s what he’d been feeling all this time. As much as it seemed like he was mad at you, or was avoiding you, or lying to you, it was never really about you.

Miles was refusing to let go of his dream — of himself — until right now.

And you didn’t know what overcame you at that moment. Maybe it was Rio’s words, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t here, or the fact that you felt like you’d lost your boyfriend — if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it anymore, you sure as hell were.

“So you’re telling me nobody else is gonna sign you? At all? You haven’t even looked?”

“You don’t get it, ‘s more complicated than—”

“Baby, look at me for a sec.” Your hand was on his shoulder with more confidence than common sense, eyes were square with his avoidant, dull, hopeless gaze. You haven’t ever seen Miles hopeless before. You couldn’t let him be if it was the last thing you did. “You, Miles Gonzalo Morales—”

“Aight, you don’t need the full name.”

“I do need it, because my whole ass boyfriend changed boxing history.” Frankly, you had no idea what you were saying; it felt like you were shooting in the dark, but you didn’t care if you sounded a little stupid, or over-the-top, because if that’s what it took to get your boyfriend to crack even a little… “His 'legendary left jab'—”

“Babe, where the hell did you get that from?” The look he was giving you was probably more of a “jab” than anything.

“…The news.” The corner of your mouth quirked up despite your best efforts, face pricking with heat as you remembered reading through that Bugle article like it was divine revelation. A little stupid, a little over-the-top, sure, but it was true.

Miles’ lips pressed together, and your face heated more trying to decipher his expression. You didn’t have to, because the snicker that escaped his throat was enough make all the rain and thunder and lighting, and even the song insignificant.

“~I only learn to regret…”

“Miles, I’m serious,” you muttered, rather unseriously, brows furrowing as you tried to smooth out the meekness on your face.

“Legendary?” There was a hint of his usual mirth in his tone, and you tried not to be bothered by it. Anything was better than seeing Miles like that: ridiculous, over-the-top, unserious, but not hopeless.

“Look, it was the Bugle, okay? Some millennial wrote that — like, some lady called Mary.”

“Why do you even remember that?” Anything that could come to mind, you’d tell him. No more silence. Just be yourself. Keep talking.

“I read it, like, a lot, okay? I was really proud of you and I just…”

The smirk fell fast from Miles’ face, and you held back any words you might’ve had. The rain eased back in as a constant patter against the windows — the silence had come back despite your efforts. Your heart started to sink a little again, but all you could offer was an awkward smile.

“You’re proud?” he asked, like you’d just lied to his face.

“Yeah…? I always am, but seeing you make it so far…” It was something you didn’t say enough, you realised. The words echoed in your mind as you found the confidence to look at him.

“…Miles Morales made it, right?”

Another tiny breath left Miles, his eyes closing for a moment as you waited for him to speak. You wanted to backtrack, maybe hope the rain would die down soon so you two could leave — you had sort of snuck out… That wasn’t the point, though. You weren’t sure what the point was right now, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, as always — again.

His lips pressed to your forehead, and then your forehead was against his chest — somehow.

You still had no idea what he was thinking. Now you had no idea what he was feeling — or what you were feeling.

The room was freezing, but you were sure you were slowly setting on fire. Traces of the awkward smile you had were stuck on your face as your cheek pressed into the fabric of his hoodie, and suddenly every little thing you’d thought about saying to him had disappeared in its entirety.

“Dios (God), am I a dumbass…” he murmured to himself. With no clue what to do, you could only focus on the hesitance in the way he held you close, because of his injuries, you weren’t sure. His fingers were cold, like the air was. You didn’t hate the warmth this time.

The silence returned again, and instead of your heart sinking, it was fluttering wildly. You so wanted to take it in your hands and hold it still, but you couldn’t even hold Miles back.

He did this sort of thing often — used to do this often, when he was stressed for whatever reason. He wouldn’t say if he was, but you could always tell. Sometimes he’d ask, and right now, he didn’t, but it wasn’t like you ever refused; it was nice, safe, and away from the storm — close.

"~Surely someone, will understand me..."

He kissed the top of your head, like he was hoping you’d understand.

If only you could. If only you could understand why your boyfriend couldn’t see it — see how far he’d come, how much he’d achieved, how proud he should be of himself, how neither of you should be here right now.

If only Rio was here to tell him how proud she was. Or Aaron. Or his dad.

You never really knew his dad. You knew he’d be proud, at least. He'd probably be beaming seeing how far his son Miles had come, like he did in those pictures with Aaron.

You were proud too. Did that count for anything? Would that change anything? It wouldn’t get him another contract.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, but that was a stupid idea considering the state of it. A lot of your ideas felt stupid as of late. None of them would get him another contract.

It felt like a lot more than just the contract, though; maybe that's why it was so hard. If only he’d tell you.

But waiting wasn’t a game, or a competitive sport. It was nothing like boxing; there was no winner. Waiting was a choice — a promise, that you’d be there when he was ready.

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

You wondered if he’d ever be ready.

"~Dream on, baby."

You wrapped your arms around him, finally. At the very least, you promised to hold him, if not before, then now. He tightened his grip too, just mariginally.

“I’m sorry, mi cielo.” he started, voice barely audible. “I swear, I didn’t know you actually…” Miles trailed off, resting his chin on the top of your head instead.

“Cared?” you suggested, wondering if he could hear you. “It’s a lot more than that.”

You felt his chest fall as he let out a sigh. “I know.”

“I want you to know.”

“I do, I just… I’m being real dumb and—” You squeezed your arms around him before he could finish his sentence; no more avoidance. What you were going to say after, you didn’t know.

“…What?” His voice was suddenly soft, controlled. It was like he could hear what was going on in your head.

“You ever…" You moved your head away from his chest slightly, so he could hear better. "You ever had a stage name in mind?”

It was the only thing you could think to ask, though you didn’t ask it with much thought at all. Still, things weren't going to go anywhere if you kept dodging the subject.

Miles was silent for more than just a moment — it was enough to guess he did have one. “...Why?”

“Cause… when you get back in the ring, people gotta know you right?” It wasn’t just blind optimism — you decided that you did really believe in him. They weren’t going to see the end of someone like him, not by a long shot — or a legendary left jab. Your boyfriend was one hell of a boxer; it wouldn't just stop here — no way.

“I mean, '17-year-old from NYC' isn’t exactly catchy,” you continued, despite his silence.

Just one loss before so many wins. At his age, a win, against a “long-time champion” no less, was worth a million times more than that Norman guy’s contract, no matter how much of a big-shot he was.

“You think I’m gettin’ signed?” They’d be stupid not to.

“I know you’re getting signed.” Rio's words came back to you, and despite your hesitance, you found yourself saying: “If not, I’ll sign you and go to Vegas myself.”

Patient — like his mom, but also with that fighting spirit. You realised you had to be on his level too — match his energy, his enthusiasm. He’d spent long enough being on his own.

“...Fine, fine,” he shrugged. The edge in his tone seemed to fade as he thought for a moment. “If you’re signin’ me, you’re signin’… The Prowler.”

Miles loved boxing? Screw it, you loved boxing too. You loved boxing more than him, in fact — because it was a part of him. And even when he didn’t love his dream so much, you’d be there to love it for him. He loved all of you, and you loved all of him. That was still true now, even if he was going through something not so lovely.

And soon, you’d have something else to love too. Something new.

“The Prowler,” you repeated, a smile of your own creeping up on your face. “…You sure?” The groan Miles let out was enough to curb your need to annoy him… with love.

“Cariño…" he mumbled. "You ask just to make fun of me?” Miles shook his head, and you just squeezed him around the waist again.

“No, no way. I wanna welcome you to the team, Prowler.” A few firm pats on his back got him to laugh again, and though it was barely, that moment felt worth all those weeks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. You and your 'legendary left jab' and all.”

“You…” The hint of a smile was in his voice, and his good hand came to pull you closer, pressing the two of you flush against each other.

“Me…?” Your voice was muffled as you rested against the hollow of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“Can’t believe you’re still here.” It sounded more like he was talking to himself, speaking under his breath. The way it came out, it seemed like something he'd wanted to say for a while.

“Why would I leave?” Why would you ever leave?

“No clue.”

His good hand found your face, and you turned your head a bit so it wouldn't be so awkward to reach it.

“Don't know why I ever thought that.”

You felt his thumb run across your cheek, before pulling away and tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head down to bump your nose with his, stoic expression and all. You were just about able to keep your composure.

“You trying to make it up to me with flattery?” It wasn’t like he had much to make up for — in your eyes, at least. The tease made his eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile was on his lips.

“I can make it up to you a hell of a lot better than that.”

“Morales,” you warned, thought it didn't come out much like a warning. Especially not with how quietly you said it, your face so close to his.

“What?” It was his turn to be annoying. “Lo imaginé…” (I thought so…) You weren't sure you minded it.

It was nice to be joking, and flirting, and close again. There was no need to protest right now — no reason to pretend to be mad. His arm shifted to search for your hand, and you unconsciously laced your fingers together as your faces drew closer. You were already squeezing his hand before—

“Aye…!” Miles hissed, slipping his hand away as you both remembered the nasty, loud bruise that was spreading across his hand. His left hand, you realised, was the one he’d injured — it wasn’t exactly legendary now.

“Sorry…” you muttered, lips pressing together tightly as you took in the sight again. “But that was your fault."

Miles frowned at you almost incredulously as he held his own hand. “Nuh-uh.”

“Time out, Morales.” You couldn’t help it. Or help the smile on your face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You kissed his cheek to really rub it in. No more words from him, it looked like.

After a moment more of silence, and watching Miles nurse his own hand, you spoke up again. “…Are you gonna go back? To boxing?” Miles looked back at you, before nodding.

“Yeah. Eventually, I guess...” He let out a sigh, but it seemed like one of fatigue rather than frustration. You blinked away your own tiredness that was creeping back. "As the Prowler.”

“Got a lot of… prowling to do, then.” He pursed his lips at you in contempt, and you gave him a meek look in return. As much as you made fun of the name, it was pretty cool. “When are you thinking?”

“I’ll wait a little. ‘S too soon." Miles put his less-brutalised hand on your knee, looking at you a bit more earnestly. "Gotta make it up to you, first.”

“Obvio.” (Obviously) You tried hiding your smirk this time, but he caught it anyway.

“Driving me crazy for no reason,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. The few times you did speak Spanish, it usually wasn't to be sweet.

“A good crazy?” you tried, hoping he'd humour you a little. Maybe he could find it sweet?

“Ni hablar.” (No way.)

Sweet enough to kiss you, anyway. With his better hand, he held the side of your face by his fingertips, pressing a short, chaste kiss to your lips. The feeling was warmer than anything, and you were left with a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he pulled away.

“Te amo (I love you),” he whispered with his own shred of a smile. You caught a glint in his eye before his expression faded into that same serious look. “I'll fix up, I promise.”

“No need to promise." With your thumb, you finally smoothed the crease between his brows — an old, shared habit. It made his expression soften a little. "Cause you will, and you’ll make it even further next time.”

“Right,” he agreed, hand still lingering by your jaw. “I will. Gimme a time out if I don’t.” A laugh escaped your mouth at that.

"Sure." You met him with your own chaste kiss, your heart swelling as you felt him smile a little against your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”

The record had stopped playing, ages ago, you noticed, and there was another stretch of silence. Total silence, actually — it had stopped raining entirely.

“We should probably head back,” Miles stated as he looked out the window with you, before getting up with a bit of a groan. The two of you needed rest, especially him.

“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your jacket. “I mean, I sort of… snuck out.”

His silence made you turn back, only to be met with an unamused look. You tried not to laugh again. “So you’re sayin’ we’re both dead.”

“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes at your sheepish smile, but you caught the corner of his mouth lift up as he turned to the door. It wasn't like the two of you hadn’t snuck out before — this was just like all those other times, just more… unplanned.

The night time air was strangely cool and breathable as you left the warehouse. Though the concrete was slippery, and you and Miles had to hold onto each other to not fall, Brooklyn was glimmering almost ethereally by the moonlight, the sky clear with any lingering clouds now gone. You hooked your arm in Miles' arm, his hands loosely tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d have some explaining to do to his mom about his hands, and you’d have to creep back into your apartment as quietly as possible — but right now, in the silence hum of the city, you felt that things would be okay. Maybe they weren’t excellent, or ideal right now, but okay was a good start. The Prowler was a thing of the future, albeit near future. Right now, it was just you and Miles Morales, going home together past your curfews.

Ping! Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping—

Way past your curfews.

At the same time, the two of you pulled your phones out, only to be bombarded with notifications of missed calls and texts. You were a short distance away from the warehouse now, and your phones had only just gotten signal. It was 1:02am, and you had walls of texts asking you where the hell you were and to "get your ass home right now" on your lock screen. Miles gritted his teeth, and you didn't want to think about what Rio had to say.

As the pinging died down, your eyes met, the both of you thinking the exact same thing:

“We’re so dead.”

You shot a quick message back and mental prayer, Miles doing the same before hastily linking arms with you again. He returned your sheepish look with his own as the two of you kept walking, trying not to slip in the puddles. It had already been a long night, and it was about to get way longer, but at least you could have each other’s company.

"~All my life, been a dreamer..."

"~Dream on... dream on..."

After all, you could guess that a lot more than just a “time out” was waiting for you at home.

"~Maybe somewhere... maybe somewhere..."

🕸️🔭👾

↑ the song! bobby bland 🔛🔝

felt a bit empty without a message hi this is vee it is midnight and i have to go to school in less than 8 hours ! thriving !!!! also if you're interested i have a post about just the au itself here <3

taglist (ppl who asked anyway 😭): @iissza

reblogs appreciated (like so much i literally melt and die) catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

#miles 42 x reader #42!miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles 42 #earth 42 miles x you #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse #atsv x you #42!miles x reader #atsv #vhstown #Spotify #prowler miles x you #prowler miles x reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler

[bucknastysbabe]

idk if your taking requests but I’m in desperate need of more modern AU Jace fics. Maybe if he was a cocky hockey player with his giant dick I need smut 🙏

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Hockey player!Jace, Actress!Reader, fake dating trope, my not sly commentary about parasocial fangirl behaviors and pressure on women in high profile industries, she has honkers and he has a horse cawk match made in heaven, Jacey is a little sweet babey always, real kittycat eating hours, teasing, pnv!sex, v!fingering, fast burn, lots of banter :)

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @valeskafics @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @fairysluna @sugarpoppss2 @lovelykhaleesiii

The contracts were to be signed today. Jace was to be in a PR ‘relationship’ with this break-out actress. He was a star himself in the NHL, winning the Hart Memorial trophy for being the most valuable player his rookie year. He played centre, covering the ice and passing to his teammates to make a goal. He got a huge deal in the aftermath.

Suddenly his world was much more glamorous.

He wasn’t sure who sucked whose dick but he agreed to dating the starlet. He flew down from Toronto to the upscale management office in New York to meet the chick. He’d heard her name, couldn’t put a face to it, and certainly didn’t look her up. The brunette hoped she was a looker like his manager said.

He was pleasantly surprised, shaking her manicured hand. Jacaerys grinned as he introduced himself, poorly hiding his leering gaze on her tight little body. The actress was smoking hot. He wondered if she would be down to fool around. He had no desire for romance outside of planned sightings. He wasn’t much into that at the moment. Jace dated his high school sweetheart Rhaena until he’d gone big time.

She didn’t acclimate to fame and his constant absence. Jace understood why she broke it off. When they were seen— reporters interrupted. Pictures of fan girls crowding around him surfaced all the time. She deleted her socials due to harassment. He was saddened but figured it was a sign to let loose. So let loose he did.

Jacaerys had fucked plenty of puck bunnies, professional athletes, and the occasional hook-up with famous names by now. His brother called him cocky, and his mother snapped to not let the fame get to his head. He listened, truly, Jace loved his family and wanted to make them proud.

But honestly? When he was accomplishing everything he dreamed of and the money was flowing in, Jace couldn’t help but feel a bit over-confident. He knew he was talented, handsome, and a good fuck. He’d learned from a young age that his…dick…was different. In layman’s terms, he had a horse cock. By God, he was proud of that thing too.

They sat down in adjacent chairs, waiting for the agent to come to debrief them on the terms of the relationship. Jacaerys' brown eyes flicked over to her bored face, down to her busty chest, and back up. She scoffed “You haven’t seen my tits on the silver screen?”

He grinned, asking “I don’t get around to movies much. Care to enlighten me?”

Her lips turned into a frown, posture stiffening up. The actress shook her head, pulling out her phone to text rapidly. She was likely talking shit. Jace prodded, “What? Am I missing something? I’m playing hockey year round babe.”

“I literally am up for a Golden Globe for leading actress in a drama,” she grumbled, “Apparently you don’t read either.” She turned back to type on her phone again, lips settling into a pout. The athlete was a little taken aback by her attitude. He liked it. It appeared she was used to cinephile sycophants and co-stars trying to get a piece.

He hummed a laugh, spreading out in the wide chair. They waited, her nails clicking on the cell phone beginning to irritate Jacaerys. He absently asked "You like hockey? It's pretty fun to watch live."

"I don't really pay attention to sports, I act year round babe."

Jace's eyes widened in surprise. She was a spitfire under the glossy hair and now placid expression. He knew better than to irk her more, his mother taught him to respect women. The athlete was drawn in, he wanted a reaction, the attention whether it was negative or not. He smirked at her, leaning over, "Why did you pick me then? Don't like hockey, don't seem quite fond of me."

Her own lips curled a bit, the woman tucking a loose lock of hair behind a jeweled ear. She stated, "I got a list, you were single and cute. Word on the street was that you were a bit nicer than who I am sitting with now. Don't worry, it won't be too long, you'll be back to railing your way through Toronto soon." Her smile was thin, a blank look to her eyes.

Jace's chest fluttered a bit, guilt seeping into his mind. Before he could apologize the door opened. A man in a suit briskly walked in, setting down some papers. He eyed the pair to ask "Ready for the terms?" They both nodded, and Jace noticed her frown grow deeper. Damn. He felt like an asshole.

"Alright Jacaerys Velaryon, you'll be 'dating' my client for three months minimum. If you two hit it off, good job, enjoy your relationship. You two must be seen in public at least bi-weekly, my client will be at your games, and maintaining PDA is required. I'd recommend going out with your friends and playing the part. We'll sign an NDA and get this show on the road. Sound good?"

"Sure."

"Can't wait," she deadpanned.

They scribbled their names and exited the meeting. The actress ignored Jacaerys as she left, answering a phone call, pointedly looking away. He eventually cornered her up to exchange phone numbers. The pair had to exit the building at separate times so as not to draw attention.

Jace decided to read up on his faux girlfriend for the flight home. The actress was talented, the same age as him, and booked for the year. He decided to shoot her a text, damned lingering guilt eating at him. The hockey player was soft at heart, always had been. He could play the part of a cocky athlete but he truly hated confrontation, upsetting others, and general dickishness. That was for his uncles.

"Sorry about being a dick. Going to watch your movie tonight. Should I start with your small role in that sitcom?"

His dark eyes raptly watched the typing bubble. It disappeared, reappeared-- finally a response showed up. She had replied with an emoji rolling its eyes. "God, please don't, I look like a freak. The movie is much better. Then you can tell me about my tits. Apology accepted. See you next week in Toronto, make sure to clean the thongs outta your place."

Jace grinned, excitement coursing through his veins. He ended up making a big show picking her up from the airport. He grabbed the luggage and put it in his new sleek car. A couple of people had stopped her, even Jace for some autographs. The brunette made sure to hug the actress-- pulling her in for a searing kiss. His hand possessively splayed across her lower back, fingers grazing her pert ass.

He opened the door to let her in the car, cameras flashing now. Jace leaned in to whisper, "I have to admit, you have a beautiful body." She flushed and pecked his lips again, shooting him a smile. The hockey player climbed into the driver's side and off they went. He snuck a look and added, "I didn't really find any thongs but everything is pristine, Miss Golden Globe Nominee."

"Good, Mister Hart Trophy Winner."

Jace couldn't help but smile. He enjoyed her banter while they headed to his place. The woman was witty and playful, her icy facade melting as he listened to her. Jace carried her bags into the luxury apartment complex, while she had a roller bag. He teased, "You got boulders in here?"

"I'm staying for a bit, need to be prepared. You can run around in a tracksuit and no one bats an eye. If I look like a slob the tabloids are going to wonder if I'm a drunk or something. You won't believe the 'inside sources' I apparently have."

Jace frowned, scoffing, "That's bullshit. They put so much pressure on women in the industry."

She gazed at him, eyes softened as she thanked him in a reverent tone. Jace felt his cheeks heat up. He was beginning to wonder if he was having a moment of weakness or simply struck dumb by her looks and powerful presence. "At the least, I'm not a model."

Jacaerys snorted. He's had his fair share of models. He assumed they were all a bit nutty from the coke, not the horrid pressure from their nigh-impossible standards of beauty to uphold. "Good point," he conceded.

She stared around his loft, lips quirking up. The woman placed her bag down and strolled to the huge windows overlooking the city. Casting a glance back at Jacaerys she marveled, "It's gorgeous Jacaerys. Much prettier than LA." He smiled and replied, "Wait until you see it at night, I never get tired of the view."

Jace liked the way she said his full name. Maybe too much. He felt his cheeks begin to burn again. His animal hindbrain tittered "How would she sound moaning that?"

Awkwardness settled over the pair, her turning back to look out the window. Jace stated, "I'll put your things in the guest room, it's got a big bathroom and all."

"Thanks hun," she hummed. She followed along to place the luggage down, flopping onto the bed. Her big eyes followed Jace's form as she commented, "I highly doubt you decorated the place but it's nice. Very...Feng shui."

"Mom did all of that, I do try to keep it clean. I fear she'll appear and scold me. You could lick off the floor at my place growing up."

"Ha! I wish! I'm cluttered as all get out."

Jace gave her a faux glare, "Better keep it tidy, babe."

"Uh-huh, sure, what's on the docket for today? I want a tour and a cocktail to cap it off at dinner."

"You mean the club?"

Jace couldn't stop his cock from twitching when she smiled at him coquettishly, sparkling teeth gleaming as she purred "Of course stud, let's see what the rake of the Maple Leafs is putting down. I wanna see you dance!"

Oh. He was in quite deep. Jacaerys Targaryen might have developed an infatuation faster than he could pass a puck.

They held hands walking around Toronto, catching lunch as he showed her the sights. They rested on a bench in a park, Jace's arm slung around her shoulders, their heads close together as they spoke. The pair of them stared at her phone, giggling. The actress read off the Instagram post, "Starlet dating hockey star Jace Velaryon?"

"They're quick with it, for the love of god don't look at the comments."

Her pretty eyes rolled, "They call me an industry whore, nothing new, let me see this." Her red lacquered nail clicked on the comments. She guffawed, lips spreading into a smile. Jace raised a brow and looked over. He shook his head in annoyance-- how could 'fans' of his be so angry? Wouldn't they want him to be happy?

'Please, this won't last a second.'

'Pr relationship so obvious.'

'Jaceeeee whyyyyy she's such a bad actress.'

"A Golden Globe nominee is a bad actress? God, don't listen to that nonsense," he grumbled, tightening his arm around her shoulders. She shrugged and clicked on a fan page of her own. Jace seemed to settle at the more uplifting comments. He laughed out loud at one, 'Loveeee get it mother!' Jace outright guffawed at the second one, 'Be careful babes, don't get split by his infamous horse dick!!!'

"I like my fans better. I'll have to check out your fan cams at some point."

Jace rolled his eyes, helplessly grinning. His eyes flicked to a camera shuttering. Ah great, paparazzi, he thought. The brunette was planning on intentionally kissing her. He glared at the person and sniffed, "Come on, let's head back to my place for a bit." She cooed "What? Don't want your pic taken Jacey?"

"Nope, we need nap time before hitting the nightlife."

"I hope we see Drake. That would be cool."

Jace laughed his ass off. When they got into the elevator he crowded her up, hands on her waist. She inhaled, eyes widening, full lips quirking up. He murmured softly, "You're so...I can't find the words." Her arms loosely linked around his shoulders, soft lips so close. She whispered, "Actions speak louder than words pretty boy."

Next thing Jace knew her legs were locked around his hips, the pair making out as he blindly keyed open the door to his loft. Kicking the door open, the brunette pressed her against the wall, mouthing his way down her neck. The actress' nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned, breasts heaving in excitement. He nipped at her collarbone, mumbling, "Lemme eat you out, fuck, please."

"Bed now," she demanded in return.

He deposited the beauty on his bed, wildly jerking at his clothes. She was shimmying off her leggings, the sweatshirt she borrowed hitting the wall. Jace climbed atop her in his underwear, grinding against her pussy, mouth latching back onto plush lips. She whined under her breath when he lapped into her mouth, calloused hands playing with peaked nipples.

They grew sloppy, Jace finally kissing and sucking his way down her tight body. He grabbed one of her legs as he sucked on the thin skin of the hip, dark eyes blown black with arousal. She gripped at his hair, breathless, "Fu-uck Jacaerys, please, please." Jace grinned, rumbling, "I gotcha baby, screw the club, I'll show you a good time tonight yeah?" He was hopelessly earnest, swollen lips hovering above her mound.

"Yes yes baby, want it all, please, you're killing me." Jace could lose his mind at the way her voice cracked into a whimper, brows pinching in agony. She even thrust fruitlessly upwards-- Jace's other hand keeping her hip pinned. He grunted, "Spread em' sweetheart."

He tongued at her engorged clit off the rip, hands digging into the soft meat of the thighs. The actress cried out, back arching all gorgeous, tits bouncing with the movement. Her hand tightened in his curls as Jace suckled, eyes watching every little move. He snuck his fore and middle fingers up and across her sopping slit, smirking.

He delved them into her cunt as his tongue joined, playfully lapping as the excess slick, moaning at her natural taste. She whimpered again, thighs tightening as Jacaerys crooked his fingers up into her g-spot, flicking his tongue upwards and back to her clitoris. He paused to groan, "You feel good pretty girl?"

She moaned his name and babbled nonsense, pussy throbbing and drenching his fingers. Jacaerys' smiled-- she moaned his name just as he imagined. He had a rhythm alternating between teasing jabs of his tongue and suckling on the bundle of nerves. She was growing frantic, tossing her hair around and practically howling in pleasure.

He sped up the pace, relentlessly working her pretty pussy until the darling shrieked his name, clenching his hair. Her thighs twitched and clamped around his head, body arched as she heaved and cried. Jace groaned at her gushing around his fingers, long lashes fluttering in pure want. He needed to fuck her, now.

He pulled down his briefs as she laid back, panting, pretty face dazed and flushed-- a light sheen of sweat had covered her naked body. He climbed atop her, pleading, "C'mon sweets, think you can take it? Take me? I'll give you another orgasm, too goddamn perfect not too, god."

Her lidded eyes widened at his cock. It was flushed and heavy, too heavy to do anything but hang between his impossibly toned thighs. The actress rasped, "Give it to me, I can take it, ease it in." She kissed the brunette open-mouthed and wet, shaky legs pulling up to cage his hips in.

Jace's breath stuttered as he guided the fat tip of his cock into her soaked pussy, feeling the stretch immediately. She clung to him, pouring herself into his lips, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He slid in another agonizing two inches, gasping, "Fuck you're tight."

She responded by sucking blooming marks into his tensed neck, eyes rolling up when the thick middle of his cock spread her wide open. "Jacaerys, Jacaerys, you feel so good- so damn big baby!" He kept pushing against the slight resistance, settling as deep as he could.

His brown eyes clenched tight, she was like a silky glove around his cock. Hazily he felt her stomach, eyes lolling around at the bump from his cock. She was mewling wetly at the junction of neck and shoulder, non-stop babbling about being so full. Jace panted, "Mm, yeah, lookit' you, stretched your pretty pussy out."

He began to fuck in earnest, chasing a high. Her cunt dragged and clung to his fat cock, ridged insides sending sharp arousal up his spine. Jace lost himself in the moment, mouthing at a pert nipple, heavy balls slapping against her ass. She cried and yelled, worthy of a fucking porno. He knew he wasn't going to last long. But the way she was practically shivering and fuck-dumb, slurring her words of nonsense, she was right with Jace.

"M'gonna cum baby, you on birth control?"

"Fuck me, jus' keep fuckin' me," she rasped. Plan B was always an option when her mind returned to non-mush. Jace kept fucking her as instructed, groans growing desperate and guttural. His balls were drawing up, aching from how needy he was to cum.

He kissed her one more time, swallowing her noises before pulling back to pant against her cheek, hips beginning to stutter. He snuck a hand down to her cunt, thumbing her clit. Just when he thought it couldn't get any better-- she shrieked again. A gush of her slick engulfed his cock, wet noises filling the bedroom. Jace cried her name, shoving himself deep and filling her up.

He might've sent her into another orgasm but Jacaerys was whited out from pleasure. All the athlete could do was pathetically groan as his cock twitched and pumped his heavy load into her cock, thickening the slick coating on his prick, collecting around where they joined. It was delightfully filthy. He came too with a deep inhale, sliding out with a mewl and flopping away.

Overstimulation was a common theme with the girls he fucked-- Jace knew to give some space in the immediate aftermath. It wasn't too long before she complained, "Why are you flopped over there? Get over here, you just fucked my brains out."

He grinned like a sap. How did she have yet another moment where he found himself deeper in desire for the woman. Jace murmured, "My bad, my bad, didn't want to overheat you or anything." She retorted, "I'm a cuddler Jacaerys Targaryen, you should remember that about your girlfriend." He chuckled, jerking her into his embrace, tucking a chin on her shoulder.

"They didn't lie about your horse dick. Hate to tell your fan girlies that cock belongs to me now."

Jace smirked, pressing a gentle peck to her skin, "It's all yours, believe me. They can find the next rookie of the year to be their online boyfriend."

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #fic request #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon smut #jace velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon x reader #modern au #hockey player jace

[noodyl-blasstal]

Super-ish

It's day 9 of @taznovembercelebration and I drew "superhero AU". Taako's speed dating to save the puppy orphans!

Read below or on Ao3 and find yesterday's prompt here.

--

The bell clangs loudly and it can't come soon enough. It's a melody, a sweet symphony of horrible bell janglies because it means Taako gets to move on.

When Magnus told him there was a speed dating event to raise money for the puppy orphanage Taako definitely, 100%, absolutely told him it was a fucking stupid idea. He knows those words came out of his face, near certainly followed by 'what nerd's gonna show up to that?' Apparently him? Apparently he's the nerd that's gonna show up to it. He doesn't know how it happened, it's like he blacked out and woke up with at least twenty of the worst men in the city taking turns to talk at him.

Magnus looks so pleased with himself, he and Julia are holding hands, even when Magnus rings the bell. They keep looking at him expectantly every time too. He has to keep giving them a small head shake and destroying their dreams of finally pairing him off and getting to go on double dates. Taako's the perma third wheel baby, get used to it.

Honestly, Taako was sick of his single status, and maybe that was how Magnus wore him down. He tried at first, he did, but there were only so many times he could be talked at tonight. His most promising match so far seemed to be the spider magician. If he wasn't in a fucking cult he'd probably be a great bet, but the guy's deep in the sauce. Also, Taako and Brian?? Terrible. There's no mystery in it. What are they gonna portmanteau to? Taian? Braako? Bad. No way. Taako needs sophistication, he needs...

"Kravitz." Says the, admittedly handsome, dude he plunks himself down opposite. Something's gotta be wrong with him. He's wearing a three piece suit, a nice one, his tie has a tasteful skull pattern and Taako wanted to inspect his raven collar pin. He wanted to inspect a lot of things about Kravitz. Corporate goth with flair, most other people were in jeans and a t-shirt... or their spider magic uniform.

"So, what're you in for?" Taako asks. He's long given up on the suggested questions on the sheet. He doesn't know if he cares about this guy's job yet, or if he wants kids or likes sports.

"I'm here to find true love, obviously... Taako?" Kravitz glances at Taako's name badge and actually pronounces it right, suspect behaviour, if you ask him, along with taking this seriously.

Kravitz manages to hold his face in a sappy smile for a few moments before he cracks and laughs. "My friend bullied me into it. Bought me a ticket, drove me here with her wife. I've actually possibly been kidnapped - do you think I need to tell anyone?"

"Hmmm, are you having a bad time? I think it's only kidnap of you're not enjoying yourself."

"Then it's partial kidnap. I wasn't having a good time before , but I am now."

Okay, so he was funny too, funny and handsome, Taako likes funny and handsome. Taako can work with funny and handsome, especially if he keeps flirting.

"How about you? Why are you here?" Kravitz asks and leans in like he's interested in the answer.

"I have no idea. Not in a 'they knocked me out and put me in a trunk and now I'm here' way, more a 'my friend turned every ounce of his enthusiasm on me and I got caught in the tractor beam and now I'm here' way."

Kravitz nods sympathetically, like he understands, like the same thing could happen to anyone.

"That's him, over there, staring intently at us right now." Taako waggles his fingers at Magnus, who raises his eyebrows questioningly. "He's the most married man I know who isn't my brother in law."

"Gross." Says Kravitz happily and waves at Magnus too, probably giving him false hope. Magnus looks delighted.

"Anyway..." says Kravitz, "...down to business, if you could fly to the moon via any object and have one cheese as a snack, what would you choose?" Kravitz picks up his pen to take notes like he's taking this seriously, like he's considering Taako as a life partner. Wild.

But... the thing is, Taako likes to win.

"Unicorn." He replies immediately. "With two horns. If Taako's going to the moon he's gonna go in style."

"What's the unicor... Binicorn? called?" Okay, Kravitz is operating near his level, he knows how to play.

"Binicorn, thank you for respecting Garyl's identity. Now, cheesewise, cheesewise you got me because there's options, see, there's manchego because it's smooth and it's got the fun texture; but could cha'boy whip up a baked camembert with hot honey and garlic?"

Kravitz considers for a moment, then nods. "I'll allow it." He jots some things down on his black notepad with his silver ink pen. It was covered in tiny bats.

Taako admires the commitment to aesthetic theme. Taako also desperately, passionately, needs to know what he's writing. It'd better be "hottest man alive, great cheese opinions, 69/10"

"But the problem is, the problem is, that cave aged cheddar exists. It's got the bits."

"The mineral chunks!" Kravitz adds with enthusiasm.

"A man of taste I see!"

"I like to think so."

Kravitz sounds like he's flirting. Taako was probably flirting? He oozed it apparently, had no idea it was happening most of the time. People got angry about it sometimes, but you can't lead someone on if you don't know you're doing it.

"How about you, cheese and object?"

"Giant raven, mozzarella shreds straight out of the bag." Kravitz doesn't even look ashamed.

He's disgusting, he's perfect.

The bell rings, loud and unwelcome. It's far too soon, Magnus clearly fucked up the timings, but some guy is walking over here like he's planning to sit down?

"Keep it moving, kemosabe, this seat's taken."

Maybe he should have checked with Kravitz before engaging this plan, but he hasn't objected, so Taako's going to assume he's on board.

Magnus looks confused and gives the bell another jangle while looking straight at Taako - which means he misses the chaos it causes as everyone else stands up and rotates again. Julia tugs their conjoined hands and gently guides him away from ringing a third time.

"Nope." Taako doesn't even look round at the second guy. He's absolutely not budging, this is the first conversation even vaguely worth his time. Goth boy is his now, actually.

"Thank you." Kravitz looks relieved enough that Taako doesn't feel any guilt. "You're stuck with me now, you can't throw me back into the man pit."

"If you insist, but the man pit sounds intriguing."

"The man mines?"

"Yeah, okay, Taako doesn't do heavy labour."

"I bet you did while you were carrying all those prior conversations." Kravitz wiggles his eyebrows, dork.

"Speaking of which what's your shit superpower?" Taako asks. "I mean, you can tell Taako if you can stop time or whatever too, cha'boy isn't a snitch, but this is about the day to day powers." Taako kind of hopes he can stop time, honestly, then he doesn't have to worry about Magnus' bell ringing.

"I run the perfect bath every time." Kravitz barely hesitates, just has it ready to go.

"You know how you like your bath?" Taako's not convinced Kravitz understands the question.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me, anyone, no matter who, I can run them the perfect bath." Kravitz looks totally confident. It's weirdly sexy. Maybe it has been too long since Taako dated...

"Run many baths for strangers, have you?"

Kravitz winces slightly, oh, now Taako's intrigued.

"There was this whole thing in college." Kravitz begins.

This sounds like it's going to get unhinged. Taako needs to know this story right now immediately. He rests his chin on his hand and may or may not flutter his eyelashes a little, no one can prove anything one way or another.

Kravitz looks like he's running sums in his head, big ones, difficult ones, with scary number teeth.

"You can't dangle something like that and then stop!" Taako needs to hear.

"It... well... when I..." Kravitz starts, then seems to find his feet. "Sloane, my married friend, off of kidnapping me fame."

Taako nods to show he follows.

"We went to college together, in Goldcliff."

Taako winces.

"Yeah, exactly. We were full ride scholarships, but most people were so posh and so rich and so unaware. The cost of everything there was ridiculous - so we needed money."

It's a shame Kravitz isn't loaded, but at least he's not saddled with college debt and was smart enough for someone to give him money about it.

"I ran Sloane a bath one time after she had a hellish shift at the roller skate diner and I guess she mentioned offhand that I ran the perfect bath because Johann asked if I'd do one for him and he was a friend so I did and he loved it." There's definitely pride in his tone. This is incredible, Taako wants to study him. Lup's gonna get a kick out of this.

"Sloane thought it was the perfect rich people nonsense magnet - pay 40 quid for the perfect bath. Pocket change to them, a week of food for us."

Taako nods as if this is a reasonable plan, a completely normal thing to do with one's time. "Bath consultant, right, of course."

"Oh, no, no no Taako, there's no consultation, I just do it. Wham, bam, perfect bath every time. It was weird enough that they'd pay it to test it out, and then they'd tell their friends and their friends would test it out. Snowballing. Bathballing." Kravitz looks so earnest, so keen for Taako to understand the magnitude of his powers.

"You bathballed your way through college?" Taako adores this man. He's going to pick him up so carefully, take him home and put him in a special box and just look at him.

Kravitz nods. "What can I say? I'm talented."

He looks so self confident, so pleased with himself, Taako's probably being goaded right now... But, but...

"What kind of bath do I like?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is it illegal?"

"I can't describe the perfect bath, and if I tried you might do something that gives me an indication of what you like which is cheating. I don't need to cheat. I have to just do it."

Okay, Taako's in. "What're you doing after this, handsome?"

"Running you a bath?"

"You can run us both a bath, if you'd like."

Kravitz's smile is wide, but he pretends to take a second to consider anyway. "Hmmm... What's your shit power? You'll need to show me yours if I show you mine."

Taako laughs lightly. "You're never going to believe this, Kraveroo, but cha'boy makes the perfect breakfast. Whatever you're craving in the morning will be what Taako already decided to make."

"I can't wait."

-

I hope you enjoyed! Want to read more? Find the next prompt here.

#taz balance #noodyl writes #taz november celebration #taz nc #taz fic #taakitz #taako #Kravitz

[brigittttoo]

Writing Patterns (Tag Game)

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thanks for the tag @goddammitjim ! I can't remember when I've last done something like this but hopefully I've created at least 10 new fics since then

"Ben silently watches Cody read." - Feast, my 2nd edwardian wlw codywan

"Cody’s hands are sweating inside his gloves." - Tending Towards Silence, a sombre cody retrospective

" . . . Thus [the Clone Soldier Facility Language] is arguably a pidgin, despite its novel morphology and phonology formulated under isolated conditions." - Abstand and Ausbau, an in-universe media fic for an unelaborated xmen au codywan

"[Typed blue header text: Writing Module.] [In pencil:] Today me and fives and rRex got to punch the big bags [Evidence 03.53.11] to see if we are strong now and I moved it 3 inchs!" - Tunneling, the sequel-ish to Abstand and Ausbau xmen au with a confusing piece of annotated in-universe media at the beginning that tripped me up while doing this tag game

"Ovens these days are such untrustworthy things." - Milk, Sugar, Cocoa, a The Old Guard codywan where they make brownies

"One day, a swan-maiden lands on an imprisoned isle." - Monday: Fairy Tale/Mythology, a wlw codywan au for @order63

"Excerpt from elle.com/culture/celebrities, Aug, 2022. The perfect phrase to describe Cody Fett and Obi-Wan Kenobi as a couple is ‘stage presence’." - Tuesday: Arts Professions, a wlw codywan au for Order 63 with stage actress obi-wan and glam rocker cody that also has in-universe media why do I do this to myself

"Cody understands why they call it a snowstorm, when your TV is full of white noise, an endless, blurry white and grey." - Wednesday: Alt Prompt Snowstorm, a wlw codywan au for Order 63, there's a video store

"They’ve been sharing the lodge for the past couple days, a perfect example of genial skiing sports relations." - Thursday: Sports, a wlw codywan au for Order 63, with wintersports

"In Florence, they share a suite that looks out over the high, sharp tower of the Santa Croce Basilica, but the view that truly arrests Ben is the one from the top staircase window." - Friday: Historical, a wlw codywan au for Order 63, and we're back where this list started with edwardian ladies!

Patterns? I think my first lines have gotten shorter over the years maybe, and there's a lot of in-universe media excerpts cluttering up the place lol. I like finding characters mid-way through actions just as much as I like describing a setting, apparently!

I'm not sure who's been tagged, so I'll go with @cabezadeperro and @lttrsfrmlnrrgby and @elwenyere and @adiduck ? I'm sure I'm crossing over into lore's tagged people now so mwah goodnight <3

#my fic #star wars #codywan #tag game

[bazzybelle]

Thank you @samsalami66 and @seiya-starsniper for the tag! I do like these questionnaire things. :)

Were you named after anyone?

I was. I was named after my grandmother. She has passed two months before I was born, and so I got her name.

Do you have kids?

God no... I used to want kids, but in recent years I think that was due to societal pressure to have a checklist completed by 35. Don't get me wrong, I love kids and interacting with them. But... to be someone who gets pregnant and raises them... I don't think that's something I want anymore. I'd rather be free to travel and write and babysit my friends' kids.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I mean I try to, but I'm never sure it comes off that way.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

I... don't know? Probably the way they act around others? Maybe their face? I never really paid attention to that.

What's your eye colour?

I wanna say Green... but like green on the inside with with brown circling it, and one eye is a little grey-er than the other? I can't decide if they're just green or hazel.

Scary movie or happy ending?

If it's WELL WRITTEN , I don't mind sad endings. There have been very good sad endings that I've read. I prefer happy endings though. And also... I can't do scary shit....

Any special talents?

According to my friends and family, I have a talent for baking, specifically gluten-free baking. My sibling is gluten-free and I apparently have been blessed with being able to make good gluten-free bakes.

What are your hobbies?

Writing, definitely... I also love building puzzles and baking. Does painting my nails count as a hobby? If I have the time, I'll sometimes attempt an art on my nails... but not often.

Have any pets?

Yes! I have a 9 year old black otter holland/mini lop bunny named Hades. He is the most floof and the most shapes.

What sport do you play/have you played?

I played Rugby in high school. And I loved it. I want to play it again, but I'm 36, out of shape and there doesn't seem to be a friendly rugby league in my area.

Also... the fact that I used to love tackling girls twice my size in high school... how the fuck was I SO convinced that I was straight?

How tall are you?

5'2" (SAM I AM TALLER THAN YOU!)

Favourite subject at school?

Hi, hello... I run a Historical AU fest for one of my fandoms... Clearly it's Math.

Dream job?

Owning a vineyard... Or owning and running a bookshop cafe that turns into a bookshop/gin bar at night. I'd have local artists and writers coming in to do open mics and readings. I'd have weekly write-ins and craft nights. It would be queer as all fuck and I'd love it. That's the dream life I want.

Tagging: @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @fight-surrender @amywaterwings @ninemagicks @aristocratic-otter @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @janimoon @mallory-x @windsweptinred @two-hands-toward-the-sun @messofthejess @garnetcapricorn @nausikaaa @namistrella @dsudis @hushed-chorus @zigzag-wanderer @raenestee @fleabagoftheendless @yellobb

#belle babbles #good questions #questions

[loopspoop]

hand over jig's backstory nOW

Oh HO! I knew you’d be sending this ask XD I’m ready for ya!

So, Jigen’s living in New York with his family as a kid. Mom’s immigrated from Japan and married his dad (Italian American because Jigen just gives Italian vibes, let’s he so fair).

His dads an alcoholic with mob ties, does shady work that nobody really knows what it is, but when anyone asks they say he’s a mover for businesses in the area when it comes to distributing goods like food or hardware. Despite the mob ties, they’re pretty poor.

Jigen’s mom raises him and his little sister and younger brother in a cramped, shitty apparently in the Bronx. It’s loud and chaotic and Jigen’s the oldest of three, he’s trying to be in charge like his mother, who raises him just like a little mother (gotta remember that Jigen is trans in this AU so, obviously, there’s a LOT to process with moving away from being so close with his mom in regards to being his moms “little doll” or whatever).

Despite her husbands rough demeanor, Jigen’s mom is the sweetest woman? She’s cooking and cleaning and childrearing and trying to hold this crumbling apartment together on her own because her husband drinks their money away and is out doing suspicious shit day after day, but she’s holding it down and we love her for that. She spends time with her kids, reads them books, teaches them life skills and her language and generally is a good mother for the time.

Jigen tries his best to help her out. He’s cleaning the house a lot and trying to keep his siblings out of the way. He has a hard time relating to them. He’s supposed to relate to his sister right? He can’t quite relate all the way. He likes the dolls, but pink? Nah. Blue is his favorite color and the dolls all wear pink or red or white and it drives him NUTS! His sister doesn’t like to shoot bottles with slingshots off the fence in the alley. He doesn’t like the pink nail polish or the frilly dresses or not climbing or having to be cute and clean and quiet. He’s loud! He’s dirty and his knees are always scraped up! He’s chipped his front tooth falling out of a tree, he isn’t anywhere near the traditional definition of feminine that his sister has been raised to be. She fits the mold well (despite growing out of it as she grows), and Jigen never can. His brother, despite being so little, adores him but they can’t fully relate to each other either. His dad enforces strict gender rolls in the house. If he knew Jigen had a slingshot he would be livid. He’s not home enough to know but he’s pissed enough about the ripped skirts and messy hair. His brother can’t relate fully to “sissy girls”.

Jigen realizes in middle school that he HATES how his body is changing. He can’t wrestle anymore with boys in his class. They call him weird, try to flirt with him. The flirting was nice to an extent, some of them were fun guys, but he didn’t like them flirting with a version of himself he couldn’t understand. It was superficial. They were SUPPOSED TO. It changed the dynamic. He doesn’t fit in with the girls or the boys. He turns into a loner. His grades drop. He starts stealing. When he leaves the house he changes into pants and jackets, wrapping bandages around sports bras to hide his chest and hats pulled low to hide any feminine features. What started as a way to cope turns into a signature look. People don’t recognize him. He starts going by his last name and kids at school are surprised when he speaks and they can tell he isn’t male. He steals his dads cigarettes and beer, why doesn’t he feel right? He isn’t a girl but he isn’t a boy? He could be a boy. No. No, he couldn’t. Dad would kill him.

His mother knows he’s pulling away. She’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. Puberty? Well, puberty is hard. She notices Jigen has no friends, she’s worried about him. She doesn’t know how to handle it, Jigen has walked himself off. His sister doesn’t understand. She knows hes smoking and changing clothes and hiding things but doesn’t understand why. She won’t rat him out. She knows the punishments from their father are too harsh. His brother doesn’t even notice, why would he? They aren’t close anymore.

Jigen skips out on high school. He got caught kissing girls behind the school and left before rumors would ruin him or make it home. Was he a lesbian? He couldn’t tell at this point. He tried his best to be a boy but probably had to settle for being a lesbian. Girls were nice enough but..just didn’t feel right. It didn’t matter much though, nobody knew him enough to identify him unless he stuck around anyway. Leaving saved him a lot of grief from peers. His mom catches him smoking that night, they fight. Jigen’s father comes in at the most inopportune moment. They fight. It gets heated, blows are exchanged. How dare he steal cigarettes? How dare he drop out of school? Had they wasted everything on a screwup? Jigen packs a bag and leaves. His mother is crying in the doorway. He wishes he could explain without her hating him.

Weeks on the street end in him salvaging what he could of belongings that were mugged off of him and joining the military. He manages to bribe his way in. Nobody needs to know about his chest or anything else for that matter. Vocal training, cigarettes, and his normal methods of hiding his features and being quietly intimidating keep everyone off his back. Fighting and training are easy. It’s like how he used to play, except his mom doesn’t bandages his knees when he falls anymore. He has to pick himself up and keep going. Slingshot is exchanged for a rifle. It’s clumsy in his hands but soon becomes a perfect fit. He’s the fastest draw on his team. Everyone is impressed. He begins a relationship with a man on his crew. He doesn’t mind that Jigen has secrets. Maybe that’s part of the problem. Jigen goes AWOL after rumors begin to circulate and he almost gets assaulted in the locker room.

Jigen goes back to New York. Stints in the mafia gain him a high ranking. He knows his away around a gun and he’s more careful. He won’t let them get close enough to hurt him like everyone else. Daisuke Jigen, that’s his name now. A sharpshooter that gets his job done and gets his cash fast. He’s a favorite among bosses world wide. He sets prices and can make decent money. He can even afford to pay off certain men to keep his secrets in exchange for affairs that fall out in ways that leave him drinking himself stupid, which is stupid when you’re a world class assassin and everyone wants you dead these days. He gets reckless, crosses a boss wrong. Suddenly, everyone’s against him again. Good things don’t last for him, never will. He’s beaten and shot and barely manages to get out, he’s a sharpshooter after all. He always hits his target. He’s out of the mafia. He should’ve never joined in the first place.

Years down the line he’s doing odd jobs like his dad. The old man’s been dead for years, he’s kept tabs on them after all. He’s tried to call his mom but hung up when she answered more times than he can count. She probably thought he was a prank caller. He’s got shitty boyfriends that keep trying to kill him, women that double cross him, and he’s turning into his father with how much alcohol he consumes. He’s ready for the repetitive cycle of depressed day drinking and chain smoking to end. A funny looking monkey man dances into his life. Suddenly, he’s not so depressed.

He’s got a new family. Lupin was the first person he could really relate to. He wouldn’t let himself entertain the trauma of another fucked up relationship that would end with him or the thief dead, but they did get their tits chopped off by a samurai who was facing the same issues. Fujiko even understood him. He had a significantly safer job robbing big banks and stealing treasure and fucking up actual monsters and having fun doing it! He was finally Daisuke Jigen. He was finally living.

A stint in New York takes them to the Bronx. Jigen works up the courage to explain his past to Lupin while Fujiko has Goemon escort her off shopping in skyscraper malls. The thief is supportive. Tells the man he should face his past before it consumes him. So, they make a trip down to the old neighborhood, and stand outside the door to the crappy apartment. It’s quieter now, no kids invading the halls like there used to be. And Jigen can’t bring himself to knock so Lupin finally does for him. And before Jigen can kick him down the stairs the door is opening and his mother is there. She’s she’s more worn down than she was when he left but she’s just as warm and inviting as she was before. And he’s scared. Will she recognize him? Was this a mistake? But she smiles. She knows his face so well. And it takes some explaining but she understands her boy. She tried to keep tabs on him as best she could while he was away, and while she did lose him, she heard stories about a marksman with a familiar surname circulating in conversations in the Italian neighborhoods. Jigen all but cries, all the grief he’s gone through just to get to this moment. He had worried she would’ve just slammed the door in his face. They get to catch up and, while they don’t tell her about his current occupation, he assures her he has a great job and good friends and that makes her happy.

Eventually they move on, but Jigen exchanged letters with his mother and sends her money often. He feels he owes her for raising such a difficult kid but also he just loves her so much and wants her to finally have a life full of finer things. He catches up with his sister. She’s got kids now. She’s married to a nice man and they live in a house outside of town that’s almost like a farm if you squint. His brother moved to California and helps make movies. He sends a LOT of pictures from work and Jigen actually inspires a character in a western his brother helps produce. Jigen nearly cried when he saw the movie. It was a low-key gay western, Jigen enjoyed it a lot. He finally puts a good portion of his trauma behind him, when he’s able, because he’s mending the bridges that were broken so long ago and finding ways to keep his life exciting. He’s happy.

#goemon ishikawa xiii #lupin iii #lupin the 3rd #goemon #lupin the third #fujiko mine #jigen daisuke #zenigata #jigen #jigen lupin the third #idk if this is fully backstory but it’s to present #trans Jigen Daisuke #trans Jigen #trans Lupin #trans Goemon #trans Fujiko #jiglup if you squint #Midnight Jacket AU #Cyborg!Lupin #Jigen’s backstory baby!

[haezen]

slytherin!atsumu x ravenclaw!fem reader ♡ part one

hogwarts au :D 

i love the idea of slytherin atsumu so i had to write it for myself!! this is my first time posting my writing on tumblr so i hope you like it.

part one | part two 

“Can I help you?” Tsukishima asked starkly. Your attention shifted from the potions book in front of you to the figure hovering over the table. 

There, to the right of you, was Slytherin’s star Quidditch player: Miya Atsumu. 

Atsumu sported a playful lopsided grin on his face; a grin that irritated your best friend, Tsukishima, to no end. He was up to no good and you could easily notice from the mischievous glint he held in his big brown eyes. 

Everyone in Hogwarts knew the Miya twins, but Miya Atsumu was a unique kind of famous. He was an extraordinary Quidditch player that often garnered a lot of attention in any game he played. Watching him play was exhilarating and he sold many tickets because people would go out of their way to attend the games he played in. Even though he was well known for being such a talented athlete, he was more well known around Hogwarts for always getting in some sort of trouble. Atsumu could charm anyone and get out of anything with just his charming smile.

Girls would line up for him after his games, crowd the Slytherin section, and wear the Slytherin scarf around their necks even if they were in other houses. As he walked through the corridors, heads would turn if Miya Atsumu passed by. Hushed whispers of his name would reach his ears everywhere he went. Atsumu would always smile at everyone he encountered and say something flirty to any girl that bat her eyelashes at him. 

Apparently, he even manages to charm the professors who are cursed to have him in their classes. All it takes are a few smooth words and a flash of his award-winning smile for him to get his way. And he always gets his way.

“Yeah ya can actually..” Atsumu started, glancing over his shoulder at his friends sat at the Slytherin table (who were staring at him intensely with amused looks on their faces) “I was wonderin’ yanno, like I usually do...”

“Spit it out so we can study in peace. It would be a miracle to study without hearing your grating voice a second longer.” Tsukishima’s words had no effect on the phony blonde but their eye contact proved otherwise. Both boys were sizing each other up through intense glares. Their eyes were saying something unknown to you.

 “As I was sayin’...” Atsumu huffs, “I was wonderin’ if yer beautiful minds would be up to the task.” He said while putting his foot up on the bench and resting his elbow on his thigh so he could lean a little closer to the two of you. Atsumu had to finish this up quickly. 

At the mere mention of challenge, Tsukishima’s interest was piqued. Your watchful eyes observed the glimpse of excitement flash in your friend’s expression. Tsukishima’s tells were subtle and if you were to put it simply, you could read your cold, emotionless friend like a book. After spending all these years by his side, you would not be able to call yourself his best friend if you could not do something as simple as read his body language. 

“What is it, Miya?” You turned your body towards the Quidditch player, completely forgetting about the potions book you had your nose in only a minute ago. 

His eyes met yours in an instant. To have his attention, if only for a couple of minutes, was incredibly suffocating. Atsumu’s gaze was captivating and in this moment, you understood why he has charmed so many people. To admit this to anyone was to utterly admit defeat. To admit that Atsumu might have caught your interest was the last thing you wanted. You did not want to be another girl added to his very, very long list.

You wanted this encounter to be over as soon as it started and Tsukishima shared the same sentiment. The three of you were all aware of the attention Atsumu had drawn to the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall. Everyone was supposed to be quietly studying, but more often than not, most of the students ended up conversing as quietly as they could without getting in trouble. Depending on the professor, some study hall sessions could get rowdy. But today was Snape’s turn to supervise.

“What is Atsumu doing talking to them?” 

“Doesn’t Tsukishima hate Miya? Hahahaha....he looks so bothered.”

“Why is Atsumu talking to (Name)? He should come over here instead...”

You tuned out all the whispers that had failed to do their job-- you could very well hear what they were saying and then some. From hearing people whispering and knowing their attention was on you made you feel uneasy. So uneasy that a sour look began to show on your face. Atsumu pretended not to notice.

“Are you just gonna stand there or what?” Tsukishima pointed out. “I’m sick of smelling your Slytherin stench from here.” 

Tsukishima always knew exactly what to say to grind someone’s gears, especially Atsumu. Anytime Atsumu was in the vicinity, Tsukishima would tense up. Whenever you tried to pry for information, you were shut down. There was no telling what had happened between the two boys but you figured it must have been something serious for Tsukishima to hold such a grudge. 

Atsumu’s smile faded as soon as Tsukishima’s snarky comment left his mouth. But before he could respond, a loud voice boomed from the other side of the hall.

“Mr. Miya!”

Everyone in the Great Hall flinched at Snape’s stern tone except for Atsumu and Tsukishima. 

“(Name)...” Atsumu broke his intense eye contact with Tsukishima and turned to you with a forced smile. “I’ll find ya after potions tomorrow.”

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #slytherin!atsumu #hogwarts haikyuu au #ravenclaw!reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #haikyuu!! #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu drabble #haezen writes! #Miya Atsumu

[baggebythesea]

Enemies to lovers Glitradora but all 3 girls hate each other at the start

Tell you what, let's make this a high school au, why not :-)

Prom was comming up and the school was buzz with rumours. Everyone thought the self proclaimed princess of the school - Glimmer - would go with her chidhood sweetheart, but then it was revealed Bow was going with the exchange student from Plumeria. So apparently she set her eyes on the star athlete Adora - despite her having a girlfriend. Naturally Adora wanted nothing to do with the princess - lot of bad blood between the sports team "the Horde" and the High Faschion clique that Glimmer belonged to. But when Adora and Catra broke up - something to do with favoritism, even if Coach Shadow Weaver denied such vile accusation - the rumor mill had it that Adora suddenly was more responsive to Glimmer´s advances.

However, when Prom was getting closer, there were rumours of a sordid scandal between Glimmer and Catra in the Crimson Waste Motel. And why did Adora defend Catra against Glimmer´s latest outburst? And just what did Catra and Adora do together in the locker room after the latest game. So many rumours, so little time... I'm sure Prom will be magical.

(also, go read "Dear Glimmer" by @glitrahasconsumedme. Not EXACTLY Enemies to Lovers, but not far off either :-) )

Thanks for playing. If anyone else want to play, send me a ship and I´ll see what I do with them (and if anyone want me to give you three characters, let me know)

#spop #ask game #glitradora

[kisskissbanggang]

Reckless

[Chan x product model!Reader - 3.4k Words, ~15min. Read, Idol!au, Suggestive, Questionable Power Dynamics, Casual Dating, FWB(?), Surprising Use of Seo Changbin]

You didn’t expect Chan to annoy you like this.

Like, there was no denying that he was nice. He was professional. He was charming.

And he was hot.

But you weren’t expecting him to also annoy you like this.

This was night one.

Back when you’d first given Chan your number, he’d been a bit of an ass by accident. That probably should’ve been your first hint. You had been standing next to the drink table at that press event last Thursday night when Chan respectfully got your attention amidst the crowd and the noise.

“Can I get two gin and tonics over at our table?”

You had balked at him, and then looked down at your outfit. The joke was on you, apparently, for going with a classy monochrome look and wearing a simple button-up collared shirt with a pencil skirt, both freebies from a promoter friend. You would think the purse on your arm would’ve tipped him off, if not your tasteful bangle and tall heels also accessorizing your outfit.

“Sure,” you nodded sarcastically, “but you’d probably have better luck asking a server.”

Chan’s eyes had comically widened when he realized his blunder, and his hand was on your elbow in an instant. You must have glared daggers into him with how he flinched. Still, he was oddly determined.

“I am so sorry,” he’d persisted. “Do you want to join me at my table? Let me apologize with a drink, at least.”

“And you think I’m here alone! Are you negging me or something?” you cackled in disbelief, easily yanking your arm away from this dork before you walked away. You were there alone, but that wasn’t the point.

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” Chan had called as he jogged after you. “I’m really sorry. Seriously. I have no idea if you know who I am, but I’m sure it’s not a good look–”

“I don’t,” you folded your arms coolly. 

Chan froze, suddenly caught off guard. “You don’t?”

You did, actually. His face was plastered all over the press event. No one would shut up about him. But it was much funnier that it seemed to bother him so much.

“I don’t,” you had repeated. “So if you’re going to insist on talking to me, I charge one drink per half hour.”

“Anything else I can get for that price?” Chan quipped in some bizarre attempt at being smooth. It almost worked, too, just by sheer force of bravery, but you had stood quietly nonetheless. He instantly shrank down. 

“I’ll go get that drink.”

You couldn’t blame him for being surprised, but it was cute watching him try to be modest. Collide or Collier or whatever this brand was called again was incredibly green but fairly promising, and Chan’s spread for their new collection was probably going to get them a lot of traction overseas. He just didn’t realize that you made up the other half of the collection’s photos on the website until you had pointed them out later that night at the press event, your photos only lining the wall behind the bar. There were your feet in a pair of chic boots, just like those were your hips in a trendy skirt, and your hands sporting all sorts of baubles and accessories. None of the shots displayed your face, but there you were. Chan had nodded humbly, having thoroughly swallowed his foot, and as a reward for being so amicable and nice, you gave him your number.

So tonight was night one.

You met up on the riverfront, after your shoot for the evening had let out late and he got out of the studio early, so it was right around 2am. This was good, you figured, since his fans would be in bed by now for work or school the next day. You were apparently right, too, since he said he was able to come out with little to no pushback from his staff.

Chan was cordial, and nice to boot; he didn't try to get a hug when you met up, and he didn't crowd you as you walked together. When you walked into a convenience store for some snacks, he only fought back twice when you tried to pay for everything before you amicably and diplomatically settled to split it. 

Not to mention he really did know how to present himself. Chan looked comfortable and handsome in an all-black ensemble. It was a simple pullover and jeans with a smart crossbody slung over his shoulder, but it still made a decent impression. You’d gone with a cozy sweater with a skirt over some leggings yourself, all nice freebies in warm neutrals that you’d accumulated over time, and your own bag rested on your hip. Truthfully, you probably made quite the pair.

What was annoying, however, was that Chan could not shut up. Comfortable silences came later, you supposed. Your favorite color, your favorite food, what music you listen to, what movies you like, what shows you watch, where you got your crossbody – he got all of it. And it wasn't just questions, either! Every single thing Chan asked you, he'd answer himself a second after you finished. He didn't even bother waiting on the bag question. Chan looked at your bag, asked where you got it, and then went on a whole rambling detour about what he loved about his bag but would like in a new one before he expectantly waited for your answer. It wasn't a conversation, it was an interactive monologue. 

But still. 

If it wasn’t so confoundingly endearing, you would’ve run at that very second. And regardless, you were so curious. Your friends who pulled higher profile jobs than you did swore up and down that 75% of male idols weren’t worth any attention more than a casual fling. They either got started in show business too early, stunting their interpersonal skills that were specifically useful for romantic or even just sexual relationships, or they were far too jaded and carried too much baggage. Your friend Sun Hee – who got incredibly natural aegyo sal done after Fashion Week and recently adopted the name Janessa – once dated an idol that called her every other night for two months after she turned him down. 

But holy shit Chan was sort of adorable! He definitely wasn’t out to get anyone; he just seemed too into his own grind to realize everything going on around him. That and he was unmistakably hot. You could go down this rabbit hole, at least far enough to figure out if your friends were right. 

At least you could if he would shut up. 

You had stopped at a short railing by the river, picking at your bag of snacks when you finally hit your breaking point. 

“–So I'm really glad we could actually meet up,” Chan prattled on, absently chewing on the end of the straw in his drink. “It's impossible to meet people on my schedule. At this rate, I assume I won't get married until I'm 35–”

“And that's what you want?” you interrupted. “That's why you want to meet people?”

Chan shrugged casually while he looked out at the river. “I'm not going to meet my soulmate while I'm locked in the studio.”

You gagged on the morsel in your mouth for a moment before forcing yourself to swallow it down. “Wait wait wait,” you backtracked, “hold on, Chan–”

“So that's why I was super excited you wanted to meet up,” he obliviously charged on, “even after I was such a tool to you. Thought that had to be a good sign–”

“Chan–” you gently attempted again. 

“I mean, who knows, right? Even if we just take it super casually for a bit–”

“Chris!”

Chan actually stopped now, more by you using his name rather than you stepping right into his field of vision. He'd mentioned the name earlier, and you thought that perhaps you weren't close enough for that, but it seemed to do the trick here just fine nonetheless. He didn’t look upset, either, rather he just looked equally surprised that it worked. 

“Chris,” you patiently repeated, “I think you're really good looking.”

He cracked a cheeky smirk. “You are, too–”

“Shh, I'm not done,” you cut him off, going ahead and brazenly pushing your fingertips to his lips. Chan appeared to be oddly enamored by this. His little puppy dog eyes glittered under the streetlights. “I think you're gorgeous,” you continued, “and you're really nice, but I am not looking for my soulmate.”

“You’re not looking for a soulmate,” he repeated, partly muffled by your hand. His lips were dreadfully soft against your fingertips. He’d fallen back against the railing a bit as he gazed wondrously at you. Was he reacting to what you said? Or, you wondered in bewilderment, was it just that no one ever so thoroughly stopped him from talking?

“Right,” you excitedly continued now that he got it, “but I am looking for a friend, because I won't lie – I'm pretty lonely.”

Chan nodded against your hand. “I’m lonely, too–”

“Still not done,” you kindly reminded him. “So we’re both lonely, and we’re clearly attracted to each other. Now, if I pull my hand off and you're good, I can tell you what I'd like to do.”

You did just that, stepping back a little and pulling your fingertips from Chan’s pout. The riverfront was empty in all directions. Chan waited expectantly, and you let that silence sit for a good five seconds. 

“Thank you,” you nodded in approval. “This can go one of two ways. I, frankly, don’t believe in soulmates, nor am I looking for anything serious–”

“That’s fine, I'm not either–”

Chan zipped it once you raised a reminding eyebrow at him. 

“You say that,” you shook your head, “but I mean it. No dates, no paying for each other, no long phone calls late at night. I’m looking for a friend, not a boyfriend, and definitely not a soulmate. And I understand if that's not something you're interested in. So we can either call it here, or…”

“Or?” Chan cautiously echoed when you let that thought hang in the air. You took one step closer. 

“Or my place is only a ten minute cab ride away.”

There it was, cards on the table, and the open book that was previously Chan had turned into indecipherable scribbles and promptly snapped shut.

Well, you silently lamented, at least this had been fun.

“... So is my place.”

Wait, what?

You stared at Chan, jaw set hard in your disbelief. Chan apparently couldn’t believe himself, either.

But then he cracked this grin.

From what little you really knew about Chan, from the times you’d come across him occasionally on tv, this was that exact same grin.

I think I'm good, I know I’m good, please tell me I'm good.

It’s like he was begging for it already. 

“Don’t you have–” you sputtered, trying to wrap your thoughts around a central mission, “don't you live with, like, six other guys?”

“Seven,” Chan corrected, “and most of them have an early schedule this morning, including my roommates. By the time we get there, we should be able to sneak right in.”

That was, without a doubt, the single most insane proposal a hook-up had ever given you. Chan was an idol, he was a good boy and a role model and a celebrity all at once. 

And he was asking you to sneak into his dorm with him in the middle of the night for a fling. 

Absolutely ludicrous… But you couldn't deny it was instantly exciting. 

“Chan,” you began carefully, “don't get me wrong. That’s a great idea… But why? I already offered my actually empty place.”

Chan shrugged, almost flippant. “You said you don't want anything serious. The guys bring over one-night-stands all the time, so why can't I?”

They did? That made sense, you supposed. It probably wasn't always easy to go over to some random person’s home instead, especially as a celebrity with stakes. Despite all your gigs, your face was almost never used in your product shots. Unlike you, people actually recognized Chan. The most you ever got was “Haven't I seen you somewhere before?” which was more than fine by your standards. 

“Got something to prove?” you lightly ribbed him. 

Chan's cocky smile was going to destroy you if you didn’t destroy him first. 

“Maybe you can say that I have an itch that needs scratching.”

“Is that so, lover boy?” you scoffed. “Thought you were looking for a soulmate. You want to get married before you’re 35.”

“But you don’t,” Chan laughed, “and I want you. Now tell me what it’ll take to have the privilege of taking you home.”

To say you were pleasantly shocked would be an understatement. The way in which Chan’s entire approach changed after you laid out what your intentions were was both terrifying and almost scarily appealing. 

Thankfully, this meant you were no longer dodging attempts at making a housewife out of you. 

Not so thankfully, you were a terrible sucker for games. 

“You want to take me home?” you sneered. 

“Yeah,” Chan nodded confidently. “Tell me what I gotta do.”

You playfully folded your arms, even tapping the tip of your forefinger against your chin for effect as Chan patiently waited. “Here’s the deal,” you finally presented. You tried not to pay attention to how his eyes lit up. “We call a cab. Whoever gets to say the address, that’s where we’re going–”

“And when I win?” Chan eagerly interrupted. 

“If you win,” you emphasized, “I'm not coming up to your dorm without a kiss. You’re better than waiting to kiss me until you have my clothes off, I'm sure. You kiss me before we get to your front door if you win, and you'll get to take me home.”

Chan grabbed your hand and tugged on your arm almost before you could do anything about it. “Can I try now?” he taunted you. However, he tripped over his own feet when you reached for the metal ladder lock on the strap of his bag, loosening it with a flick enough to drop it off his shoulder. 

“You’re smarter than that,” you jokingly scolded. “Now do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” said Chan with a firm nod. He already had his phone out to dial for a cab. “I think I like this game.”

From that moment until the second your ride actually arrived, Chan was surprisingly aloof. This must’ve been that competitive streak you sensed in him, rearing its intriguing head. There it was again, that same silent broadcast you could swear you heard him begging you to validate.

I’m really something, aren’t I.

“You don’t do this a lot, do you?” you finally asked him.

He almost looked bashful. “Me? Not really,” he replied humbly. “No one really picks up on me, and I don’t really have time to pick up on anyone else.”

Liar! you mentally refuted. Right? 

There was no way Chan never actually got out much. 

Really, you just wanted to know where he was coming from so you could correctly squash him. 

At least, that’s what you were convinced of.

Chan cordially opened the door of your taxi when it arrived, letting you in and scooching into the backseat beside you. You were all too ready to cut off Chan. If you played your cards right, he’d have the sorest pair of blue balls on the planet and he’d be the most fun putty in your hands that you’d ever gotten to play with.

“Where to?” the drivery groggily inquired from the front seat.

You were distracted for precisely one second, working the seatbelt on, but that was an entirely stupid decision.

The moment your lips parted to recite your address, Chan leaned over. He turned just a bit to face you and you hardly registered his fingertips brushing your cheek before his lips pressed against yours.

That asshole. He didn’t even have the decency to look at you when he pulled away.

Because he was telling the cab driver where to go.

Your eyes widened at the audacity of the past ten seconds. Chan, that horny little demon, had just made good on the requirements of both your agreements.

The driver wrinkled his nose at you both in his rearview before he set his foot on the gas pedal. “Any chance you’re getting some privacy?” he snidely prompted.

“Sorry; crazy night, we just finished round four,” Chan cheekily lied. He boldly set his hand on your knee for effect. Your face heated up instantly.

You were frankly flabbergasted, to a point that you couldn’t even bring yourself to say anything for the whole drive. Ten minutes had never taken so long to elapse in your entire life, but now you were frantically deliberating what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Chan wasn’t just a celebrity, he was an idol, with thousands of rabid fans and a whole management team that would eat you alive if you even appeared to mess anything up for him.

But he was here.

And he was sweet.

And he was so hot.

And he was so desperate to have you that he risked having you pummel him into a fine paste by kissing you so brazenly. 

You didn’t realize it, but you managed to kill all the remaining time and you suddenly found yourself roused out of your crazed internal monologue as Chan paid the driver. He extended his hand to you once he exited the vehicle, offering you help out onto the sidewalk. His hand was infuriatingly warm and cozy.

Chan’s building loomed overhead, staring you down as you walked inside with him and hopped an elevator. And you still didn’t speak a word to one another as you ascended, and still as you walked down the hallway. Finally, though, as you stood in front of his door, you’d had enough.

“Chan,” you began.

“Seriously,” he interrupted, “call me Chris.”

“Chan is fine,” you insisted. “We can still go to my place.”

“What’s wrong with mine?” he innocently asked. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” you rebuked, “it’s the implication of the whole thing. I’m not some groupie.”

Chan’s gaze widened in realization. “I wouldn’t bring a groupie to the dorm,” he assured you seriously. “We’re friends, right?”

Your heart shamefully leapt into your throat. That was atrociously attractive and good-natured of him. You grabbed at his pullover and reeled him in close, stealing your own spontaneous kiss. Chan’s lips were so soft, you miserably lamented. You’d have to see what moisturizer he used. 

His cheeks were handsomely flushed when you relinquished him, and you found that he’d wrapped his arms around your waist in your embrace. 

“Yeah,” you finally agreed. “We’re friends.”

“Good,” Chan replied, just a little short of breath as he reluctantly drew a hand away to punch in the key code.

Except the door opened before he could.

There in the doorway stood one of the other members, you assumed. He was handsome like an idol. He had pierced ears like an idol. He had dyed hair like an idol. The only difference was you never came across too many male idols that were this toned and fit, but it was certainly not an unwelcome difference. This incredibly handsome stranger blinked some sleep out of his eyes. A gym bag sat at his feet.

“Hyung,” he finally greeted, his eyes blearily darting between you two, “I thought I heard you out here. Weren’t you coming back in the morning?”

“Hey, Changbin-ah,” Chan brightly nodded as he grabbed your hand again. “Change of plans. Where are you going? The guys aren’t back yet, right?”

“I’m heading to the gym,” Changbin plainly stated. “Couldn’t sleep. Seungmin and Jeongin are still here, so you’ll want to keep it down.” With this, he scooped up his gym bag and grabbed his shoes before he edged past you. His eye contact surprised you, but he quickly softened up with a small smile. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he politely grinned before heading out into the hall.

Chan’s hand tugging on yours pulled your lump of a heart back into your chest as he hurriedly led you into the dorm. You looked back over your shoulder until the door finally clicked shut.

Oh fuck.

[To be continued. 🐝]

#bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan breakdown

[sleepy-achilles]

My last post has been stuck in my head and I NEED to read an au of these two motherfuckers.

Young and shy taker being hassled by champion fuck boy shawn, as he desperately tries to get his attention after seeing him at a bar 🥹

LIKE LOOK AT THE MATERIAL

Let's go (also 100% starting with shy taker and ending up with Mr steal yo bitch) I'm also under the impression that Shawn is in the wwf but taker isn't.. I might be wrong about that but that's what I've gone for in this, if I'm wrong honestly just say and I'll write you another one.

Also I cannot flirt to save my life so this will either be really cringe or make me want to die. In other words it's gonna be short because I can only flirt with my close friends and not a single other soul. I'm wired differently.

Hbtaker AU- Boy Toy Flusters

------------------------------------------------------------------

Taker taps his fingers against the bar. He tended to stay home and drink but Paul was not leaving him alone lately. And well, the bars were empty with wwf being in the valley. Taker doesn't know why they'd come here, but apparently it was a good idea. Taker hears the door open but ignores it. If it's Paul, he hopes if he does ignore him he'll just go away.

He lifts his whiskey to his mouth for a sip when a lean figure sits at the bar. Taker doesn't hesitate to check the figure out, and he's glad he does. A pretty young thing with a lot of skin on show. "Uh just as many shots as possible please" the blonde smiles at the bartender. Clearly not alone, which takers glad because he won't have to watch out for him, but it also means any chances he might of had are gone. Taker turns his attention back to his whiskey and whatever shitty sports game is on.

Shawn glances at the big guy before carrying the tray of shots back to his friends. "And what are these bad Boys?" Kevin asks as shawn places the tray down. "Hell if I know. A shot of courage if you ask me" shawn smirks before taking one and downing it and taking another and downing it. "If your going back to the bar the least you could do is get hunter a drink he can actually drink" Scott chuckles. "How did you know?" Shawn asks. "I saw you eye fucking that hunk, go get him tiger" Kevin smirks. "Just atleast order me a water" hunter huffs. Shawn nods and struts his way back to the bar.

"A water aswell please" the southern voice asks. "For that table too" he adds. Taker looks as the blonde sits next to him. "Shawn Michaels" Shawn smiles. Taker doesn't say anything and it causes Shawn to frown. "Cmon? Nothing? Just gonna ignore me?" Shawn pouts. Taker takes a sip of his drink and looks back at the news. "Come on hot stuff, I promise I'm worth it. I always deliver" Shawn practically purrs at him.

Taker sighs and decides, screw it? Paul ain't around, what harm could come?

"Undertaker" Taker mutters. "Undertaker? Hmm how about Takes or Taker?" Shawn asks. "Sure" Taker murmurs. "Dont talk much huh?" Shawn asks. Taker doesn't say anything, he just watches Shawn. "Thats okay hot stuff, I can do enough talking for us both" Shawn smiles resting his arms on the bar. Taker just watches him. He swears he's seen his face before. "You a wrestling fan?" Shawn asks. "Not really. Haven't got the time to watch it. Actually surprised they came to the valley for a show" Taker admits. "Best show so far if you ask me" shawn smirks. "Yeah?" Taker asks. "Oh yeah, became champ and everything." And takers face flushed. Of course. A face he didn't recognise? Of course he was here for the show.

Shawn giggles at the flush building on the mans face. "Its alright big guy. I won't take offence if you tell me you don't know who I am" Shawn teases. "Shoulda put two and two together" Taker huffs rubbing his neck. Shawn smiles slightly and looks at the bartender. "Another drink for him and a beer for me please" Shawn orders. "Thanks" Taker mumbles. "Anytime sugar" Shawn turns towards taker more, taker blushes as shawn rests his hand on takers knee. "You don't wanna be with your friends celebrating your win?" Taker asks quietly. "Trust me darling, we will have plenty of chances to celebrate wins like this" shawn mutters leaning closer. Taker looks at the blondes eyes.

Those dangerous blues.

Those addictive dangerous blues.

Shawn smirks slightly as he cups takers face. "Are you always this shy?" Shawn asks quietly. His smirk falls as Taker grabs his wrist in his much bigger hands and leans in. "Sure, at first" Taker smirks. Shawns eyes widen slightly. "But after the pretty little thing has had their fun, I like to have mine" Taker adds, turning fully towards Shawn.

Shawn doesn't know what's happened but he can say he likes the sudden shift in Taker. From shy and aloof to this? Yes please.

Shawn can feel his cheeks burning as Taker tilts his head down. "How about you let me thank you for the drink?" Taker asks quietly, cupping the area between his jaw and neck. Shawn stares at him in Awe before nodding slightly. "Whats wrong boy toy? What happened to that big cocky I can talk for both of us?" Taker smirks. Shawn decides to shut him up by pulling him into a kiss. Taker hums before kissing him back, moving one hand to his hip and squeezing it tightly.

Taker pulls back slightly after sometime and watches amused as shawn fumbles to get the drink money out of his wallet. "Eager?" Taker asks as he watches the money get thrown onto the bar. "Whats closer? My hotel or your house?" Shawn asks, no longer wanting to play whatever game he thinks this is. Taker smirks as shawn stands. "You gonna talk to your friends before running off with a stranger?" Taker asks. "Look, if it's big they'll understand when they find my dead body. Just give me a good time first yeah? It's been a rough week" Shawn huffs grabbing takers hand and pulling him off his stool and out of the bar.

Kid lifts his head from the table and looks towards the bar. "Uh...guys?" Kid asks. "What?" Scott groans. "Shawn's gone" Kid points at the bar. Kevin looks at the money and untouched drinks. "Its a small town. If he's not back to leave tomorrow we'll know who to look for." Scott states. "Shouldn't we look now?" Hunter asks. "I trust shawns judgement. I know you guys don't but he's a lot better at reading humans than you'd think. I'm just glad he's finally getting laid again" Kevin huffs. "Now, someone grab those drinks, don't let them goto waste" Scott orders.

#wwe #shawn michaels #the undertaker #wwf #hbtaker #undertaker x shawn michaels #shawn x undertaker #kevin nash #scott hall #sean waltman #triple h #the kliq

[local-diavolo-anon]

Some doodles from an au where Sun and Moon are just roles "Eclipse" plays around children

I don't post most of the things i draw and i want to start posting them more ^^

Some things about the au for who is interested:

Edit: some of these infos are outdated, and not entirely correct, but still explain the au fairly well

Y/N is the new daycare assistant, they applied for the job after ending up leaving their old one at their local school

They like their work, a lot, and Sun as well! He is probably the best coworker they had in a long time and his energy and positive attitude is contagious

Moon a bit less because 'Moon' was a bit of a creepy ass at first, ya know, good ol'moon scaring the shit out of them on their first day

Maybe hunting them for sport

And being overall a menace for shits and giggles

The proper au story takes place during the playtime of the game

Starting the same day Y/N learns 'Sun' and 'Moon' aren't actually things

But rather, the names of two failed Ais that accidentally merged together during coding and formed Eclipse

Eclipse never actually told nor showed himself to anyone, mostly out of fear, rather he activats different protocols depending on the light conditions to maintain either personas

So in the light he was 'Sun' and in the dark he was 'Moon'

He actually took the idea from reading on his own code that his role was one of a pair of actors, and later applied the same logic to alternate between daytime and naptime modes

He could act, so why not use that to avoid being nuked out of existence after being labelled as a glitch?

So either way, Y/N finds out by accidentally walking on him as he was shifting between the two (they had forgotten their keys in the daycare and the walk of shame wasn't enough apparently)

Y/N has a bit of a heart attack and it takes a lot of explaining to calm them down and some apologizing for, in a sense, lying to them

Even if neither of you can properly call it lying, they were an actor and they were playing the corporate approved roles

And that's when everybody gets the notice of a kid lost in the pizzaplex

Eclipse offers to help Y/N find the kid and shenanigans ensue because of it, especially because when i said nobody knows Eclipse exists, i meant nobody

So when they go to help gregory, neither he or Freddy recognize him

As some more random notes: maintaining either appearences feels like forcing a smile or a frown for a long time, so not pleasant

A relaxed form would be a merging of both Sun's and Moon's appearences

He has 4 arms, the second pair is just hidden within his body and lack chasing, so he never pulls them out

He has a down-to-earth kind of personality, he is calm and positive, acrs mature and is quick at problem-solving; sometime however he can be a little shit as well (he is not immune to moonish bastard instincts)

He is also the only one, in any au i drew until now thay had the rays drawn like that, they are soft like in my other au but also flat and heavier

Touching his hat is forbidden and will get angry if you do (a kind way to say: run.)

#my art #not an ask #illustration #fnaf #artist on tumblr #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf eclipse #ignore loss jpeg. #you saw nothing #fnaf au

[farm-witches-fic-recs]

It's the first Friday of February, farm witch friends! The coven is as confused as everyone else about how this is possible, but we're all really excited we made it through January. We're pretty sure the only way to celebrate is by grabbing a snack and settling in to read some of these recs from around the farm.

The witches hope you enjoy these offerings and implore you to be sure to leave the creators some love! - - - - - - - - - -

15-3919 (foxtails/@ratchet) "Who knew paint samples could be sexy? Apparently foxtails did. This is a gorgeous look at David through the eyes of his adoring husband as they put their own stamp on their new cottage."

Breakaway (@blackandwhiteandrose) "Hockey!Patrick! This unique twist on the Sports AU finds our favourite couple already married, and navigating their lives post NHL career. It's smart, funny, and sexy and I challenge you to only read it once!"

Capitalist raccoons (oh_la_fraise/@oh-la-fraise-blog​) "David playing Animal Crossing. It's as cute as you think it will be."

I didn't know what life was, but now I understand (@rhetoricalk) **FANVID** "Watch this vid about the Rose family's most important relationships set to James Morrison's "Precious Love." Try not to cry. Cry a lot."

A little more warmth (@rosedavid) "You'll love this 5 + 2 exploration of people wearing David's clothes and David wearing Patrick's."

Never again (houdini74/@mostlyinthemorning) "Wedding planning is stressful, but it's Patrick who's feeling the worst of it."

You spoke to me so sweetly (hungryhungryhippo/@hippolotamus) "Alexis has a health scare, and Twyla (her wife!) is right there by her side for support and some sexy softness."

#farmwitchfaves #sc fic rec #sc fanfic #schitts creek fic #schitt's creek #sc creators #schitt's creek fanfic #david x patrick #twylexis #david rose #patrick brewer #twyla sands #alexis rose

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Okay so I’ve read almost every single on of your work and dear god. You have a gift 😭. okay so a lot of your tropes are pretty straight forward on the Steve and Bucky dynamics. But have you ever like thought of the trope of nomad style Steve Rogers and winter solider style Bucky (in my opinion the most intimidating looks they had). But the point is I’m a absolute sucker for a subby sensitive Steve Rogers, but he doesn’t realize it himself until Bucky comes around and it’s the first time like in a fight he could actually lose ya know? Then Bucky comes along and it’s all confusing for his poor head he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s a grown man, sporting a beard and 7 feet of muscle and he’s being held by the balls by his best guy. The need to fuck Bucky and be fucked by him.

Aw, I'm glad you've enjoyed my fics!!

And yes yes YES

This Stucky-

They give me HUGE two tops with major sexual tension having to figure out who is actually gonna be the top because they both can't be. Kind of like in the fic-

"Stark Naked: Captain XXX and the Soldier" by thepinupchemist

Anyway, fic rec aside, let me tell you, anon, this has been in my drafts forever because 1. I really really like this idea and have been waiting for an actual idea about it to come to me as opposed to just shouting FUCK YEAH I LOVE THIS PAIRING and that being it and 2. I've been busy with school as I'm sure you're all tired of hearing about by now.

But an idea-!

*warning for gun & metal arm kink

Okay, so, I think these two fucking huge hunks would meet in a modern AU.

A modern-ish AU in which Steve isn't Captain America anymore (Sam is instead) but he's not retired either, he's just nomad.

Steve's technically still an Avenger in that he avenges, but he's not really a part of the team anymore (unless Nat or Sam calls him in for back up, he'll follow them both until the day God lets him finally die). He's rough around the edges. He's nomad. Cruising around on a beat up motorcycle, holding onto the thing with bruised knuckles clutching at the handlebar, an ancient, dusty leather jacket is thrown over his broad, intimidating shoulders so long as it's not too hot outside, leaving him in only a t-shirt old enough that the color has worn out and the seams are coming apart and torn up dark denim jeans. He's got a hairy chest and hairy forearms and beard with hair long enough that curls around his ears.

Steve is just fucking done with all the bullshit that's been thrown at him.

He plays by his own rules now, he takes no shit. I mean, his own rules are still moral and pure-hearted but, his body is no longer sanctioned government property.

He is no one's poster child any longer.

No one owns Steve.

James, aka, The Winter Soldier might be able to own him...

James might be able to own him with just a look and a quirk of that smart mouth or, hell, he could own him with even less than that too because James walks into Steve's life with this cocky swagger.

This swagger that drips off of The Winter Soldier intoxicatingly. His hips move sinfully whenever he walks and his thighs look so thick and strong all the time, making Steve impulsively clench his jaw when looking at James as if he can't stand the man.

Either way, Steve always has to tear his eyes away from James and all that black leather, re-calibrating silver metal, and dark hair. It takes so much effort to focus elsewhere and it is made even worse by the way James smirks at him every time he sees Steve glance his way. (Even if it's in the middle of a battle because he's apparently a fucking reckless daredevil with the most handsome face and he wont hold back from flirting as chaos rains around them.) And James always sees his sneaking stares. He sees fucking everything. He's a goddamn sniper.

James is a sniper that was captured as a young military man, trained under HYDRA's control, and then an escaped prisoner turned contract killer. A ghost story no one saw coming; a story is not unlike Natasha's, so it's no wonder they get along. It's no wonder Natasha thinks he's wonderful and smiles at Steve like a fox when asking him if he's finally ready for a little bit of metal? She's not talking about a lip piercing this time. Not a piercing of any kind, or... at least not any Steve can see *gulp*

Overall though, James is a fucking bastard.

He's cocky, brash, and every other word for confident too. Just as he should be because goddamn. James has cheekbones sharp and high. James has a jaw square and somehow always perfectly rough with stubble. And James has eyes like smoke that fall on Steve and seem to smolder even though he never makes an actual move beyond teasing.

The way he talks circles around Steve with that charming, pink mouth makes Steve feel like a mouse being played with by a cat. He feels like he's under a predators paw, being played with in a good way, for the first time in his life.

Steve fucking loves it, or- no.

He hates it.

He-

He isn't sure how he feels about it to be honest. He knows something about James does something to him. It strikes a cord inside of him all of the time, but especially when James licks his lips while staring in his direction. Especially when he asks if he'd like a sparr sometime, cocksure in his drawl, saying Sam hasn't ever won despite what he claims. Especially when... okay, maybe especially everything about the man.

It -all of him - does something to Steve. Something intense and smoldering and whatever it is, it makes Steve glad he doesn't have to see him every day. It'd be bad for Steve, he's sure of it. Steve doesn't know what would happen to him, but he knows it wouldn't be good for his rational thinking.

And, yeah, Steve doesn't often work with James. These days Natasha's path and even Sam's path are both much different to his own. James, as The Winter Soldier, seems to happily follow Natalia into whatever must be done while he outwardly growls and bickers with Sam but goes to save his hide. (Steve gets the impression that Bucky doesn't actually mind Sam that much though somehow. There's something about them. He knows Sam is having a good time, ripping into the stoic sniper and he suspects Bucky feels the same towards Sam even if he'll never tell.) But...

When Steve does have to work with him with Natasha at their side...

Steve is in hell.

He is in fucking hell waiting for Natasha to come back to their safe house after venturing out, covertly (she'll be the best at not blowing their deep cover), because at least then he will have something to focus on but James. Alone with the other man and unable to draw himself away, not that he could get far in the small safe house.

James who had started the evening by showering then showing back up in the communal living space where Steve had been hanging out, pretending to watch TV, in nothing but grey sweatpants. Steve has a heightened metabolism but he could subsist on the feast of James' thighs alone and that's not even to mention the soft yet still heavy dick print in said grey sweats 🥴. James wasn't just in grey sweats though... he also had forced his huge shoulders and thick chest and big arms and abs into an unbearably tight white t-shirt post shower. A white t-shirt that's gone transparent around his shoulders from the dampness of his long hair, left down to air-dry, only pushed back out of his face, not otherwise styled but still showing off his unreal facial structure.

But. Somehow.

Somehow, that's not even the worst of Steve's torture. No. The worst is everything that followed seeing James stripped down, left bare of any tac gear, exposed and vulnerable yet still so... so impressive. Prowling about the safe house like a panther. Stalking off into the bedroom and returning to living room with two bags of supplies and his rifle. One bag he sets aside for now. The other, he grabs and unzips, pulling out various tools that Steve recognizes as used for firearm cleaning. And that's almost the worst part, over seeing James in such... fantastic clothes.

Firearms are too loud for Steve to comfortably use (a downside to super-hearing) but the effect of seeing James begin to unload, disassemble, wipe down, insert brushes into the barrel, wipe down again, lube, then stroke lube and gun oil into the weapon, well, it's not comfortable for Steve either.

But.

It's the opposite kind of uncomfortable that hearing a gun firing is for Steve. It's not blindingly, painfully loud in the room. Instead, it's silent other than the pounding of Steve's heart in his ears. His pants are too tight, restricting the painful swelling of his thick cock. Still, his eyes can't do anything but chase James' hands- inappropriate as it is. Completely enthralled by watching the sniper handle his weapon where he's propped it up between his spread legs.

He's so... graceful.

He's clearly done this a million times. Systematically taking it apart and cleaning all the parts then putting them right back together. The light shines off of the clean metal of the gun as well as off of his metal fingers. His flesh and blood hand has gun oil dripping down his thick, lengthy fingers. Steve inhales sharply, hoping his blush is at least somewhat contained by his beard.

Again though, that's not even the worst thing to happen that night. Just them. Alone in the safe house. A gun, dangerous and imposing between James legs like Steve can only imagine other... things... of his are.

The worst?

Oh, that's easily watching James set aside his weapon and the corresponding tools to clean and maintain it in favor of reaching for the second bag which holds highly specialized brushes, sprays, and towels that are used for cleaning his metal arm. Witnessing the other man clean his arm is horrible.

His eyebrows set into a serious line, his lower lip gets caught between his teeth, and he keeos quietly grunting as he digs into the grooves and flexes his fingers and forces the metal plates to recalibrate.

Steve whimpers. A noise in all his years he's never heard himself make. He can't help it though. Not when the compulsion to melt off the recliner he had been spread out in, his forgotten beer in hand (rather watching James with heavy eyelids), and instead sit at his feet, mouth closed needly around those fingers to lick the wet, glistening oil off of his smooth, heavy, metal fingers is so strong that it feels like a ton of bricks hitting him over the back of the head.

James looks up, shoving a brush a little bit deeper between the groove in his arm at the perfect time to make himself groan and curl his fingers in a seemingly convulsive but no less arousing way than if it'd been practiced. His smoke grey eyes are dark. He raises a confident eyebrow, silently asking a question that raises an answer in Steve he himself wasn't aware of before James forced it out of him.

You finally had enough teasing, Stevie?

Yes.

Bonus: this fucking MOMENT

(Apologies for the shitty gif of said moment I know there are better ones out there, I just couldn't find one right now, so I made one real quick on my phone haha)

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

[password-door-lock]

Maybe

The (reader insert) mysme linguistics department AU that's been bouncing around in my head for months now; 3k words Rating: General Audiences

“Is there something wrong with that sentence?” Saeran asks, frantically scribbling in his notebook as he speaks. “It’s okay if you have the context, I guess,” you decide, “But without context, it just sounds weird to me.” “And what kind of context do you need?” Saeran seems to be a lot more direct with his questions than his brother has been, and he’s offering none of the same assurances about your general performance as a language consultant. Or: You agree to an interview about your native language. It's not at all what you expected.

This is literally just my niche daydream scenario of choice made as accessible as I could to those who aren't linguistics majors! The basic concept is that the twins are interviewing you about your native language for their research. I did include some English-specific stuff but I still tried to leave it fairly vague as far as what MC's native language is to make it slightly more immersive for as many people as possible. If anyone is interested I can definitely write more in this universe, possibly with some romance!

Read it on Ao3!

To be honest, you're a bit nervous about your upcoming interview. After all, you've never been interviewed for anything before— you were shocked that you even got a call back from the research team doing a study of your native language. You'd only applied for their study out of curiosity— how does one study a language via interview, anyway? After consulting with a few of your friends, you arrived at the conclusion that the researchers must want you to teach the language to them. That should be easy, right? You've been speaking it your whole life, and although Korean isn't your first language, clearly you've been able to learn it well enough to communicate your way through college and into a job here. How hard could it really be to mediate between the two?

Very hard, apparently. You're not sure how much you're supposed to have prepared, but you are coming into this interview with quite a bit of experience failing to explain basic concepts in your native language to a few of your friends. Hopefully, the researchers will know what they're doing— well, of course they will. Who are you kidding? They got approved to conduct a study, after all. That must mean that they have some sort of plan to go on, and you doubt that they would have selected you as a consultant if they didn't think you'd be able to help them. Nevertheless, you nervously adjust your button-down for the fifth time since getting off the train before opening the door to the room where the interview will be conducted.

You are greeted immediately by someone with the reddest hair you've ever seen. “MC, right?” He addresses you in your native tongue, and you blush, not having expected him to know anything right off the bat. If he's already conversational, what does he need you for? Maybe you’re supposed to help him teach somebody else.

“Hi,” you manage. “Yes. Hello.”

“Don't be shy,” he beckons for you to follow him into the room and leads you over to a table where another researcher— also with red hair— is waiting. The first guy is wearing yellow-and-black striped glasses with a matching yellow-and-black hoodie; the second sports a charcoal grey sweater over a pale blue dress shirt. You're not sure how you're going to tell them apart if you come back for a second interview— they've got to be identical twins. Although, you probably won't be coming back for a second interview, if they already speak the language you're supposed to be teaching them. Not that you have any clue how this works— maybe they need help developing language-instruction curriculum, or something along those lines. “I'm Saeyoung,” the one with the glasses pulls your chair back for you, “And this is Saeran. He'll be taking notes, if that's okay?”

“It's fine,” you assure them both. “Good to meet you.” 

“You mentioned on the form that you were okay with recording,” Saeran deadpans. He sounds like he's reciting from a mental script— you suppose there must be at least a few questions that they need to ask for legal reasons. “Is that still true?”

“Yes, of course,” you fidget nervously. He's certainly very intense, and this is not turning out to be what you expected at all. “Um... the form didn't explain what you would be doing?” 

“That's because our faculty advisor doesn't know,” Saeyoung grins, which instantly sets you more at ease. He seems like the type of person you could be friends with, in a non-interview setting, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s quite pretty. “And he made the fliers. All we want to do is ask you some questions about how you say things— and we might also check to see if our ideas about how we might say things are correct. Anything we ask you, just answer honestly. We’re looking for native speaker intuitions here, okay? But that’s just about everything we need from you.”

“Really? And will that help you learn?” You're still confused about how this works. Surely there are professional language teachers they can consult? They work at a university, after all.

“It may not help us with speaking, but it will absolutely help us with our research,” Saeyoung explains. “I wish I could tell you what I'm studying, but if I did, it might make you start to doubt your judgments. Just relax, and tell us whatever comes to your mind naturally. We'll take it from there.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Although, you already speak very well.”

“I've had a lot of practice,” Saeyoung assures you, “But you're a native speaker. You have intuitions that I'll never be able to access on my own.” 

Saeran snorts, but says nothing, and you can't help but agree with him— his twin is a bit intense, too, now that you think about it. “I mean, if you think it'll be helpful…” You trail off, unsure of how to go about this, but grateful that you don’t actually have to teach your native language to the researchers. Of course, knowing that much doesn’t help you to understand what kind of information they’re actually seeking, but Saeyoung and Saeran both seem to know what they’re doing.

“You'll do great,” Saeyoung assures you, “And even if you do a terrible job, you'll still get the cash prize at the end.”

You look to Saeran for clarification. He doesn’t seem like the type to mince words. “Compensation,” is his only explanation. “As noted on the form.”

“Oh, right.” You weren't even thinking about the compensation when you signed up, but the amount they’re offering will certainly go a long way if you attend multiple sessions.

“Alright,” Saeyoung grins. “Let's get started. I have a picture that I want you to describe, if that's okay.”

He slides a sheet of paper across the table to you. Someone has printed the Longcat meme onto it, and in full color, too. “Oh, it's Longcat,” you note.

“See ? People know Longcat,” Saeyoung addresses his brother in Korean. Based on his tone, you get the feeling that there was some heated debate involved in the image selection process. “I told you they would.”

“One person knows Longcat,” Saeran corrects him, “The last five didn't.”

You can't help but smile. “Am I really the only one?”

Saeyoung shakes his head mournfully. “People are so uncultured these days. It's a tragedy.”

Saeran rolls his eyes, before redirecting his attention to you. “How would you say ‘People know Longcat?'“

You get the feeling that he's asking you about your native language, since he already clearly knows how to say it in Korean. “Um...” you consider it, before offering a rough translation. Saeran seems to like it, as he begins vigorously scribbling on a notepad in front of him. “That's how you would, like... express the same idea? But did you mean word-for-word?”

“Never give us a word-for-word translation,” Saeran mumbles, shaking his head.

“He's just being dramatic,” Saeyoung assures you, “But please try to be as authentic as you can. If something is awkward to say or not how you would express whatever idea, just let us know, alright? We won't be mad. Now, would you mind pronouncing 'Longcat' again?”

Saeran rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt as you repeat the word again. He has notes about that, too, which strikes you as odd— you wonder what he could possibly be writing to differentiate your version of 'Longcat' from his own. “Was that good?”

Saeyoung laughs. “If you're saying it naturally, then of course it's good.”

You blush. “Sorry. I'm just a little bit nervous... I've never done this before. I don’t want to mess up your research.” 

“Don't worry,” Saeyoung pats the Longcat picture as if it were a real cat, which, to his credit, gets a laugh out of you. “Just say whatever comes to mind about this picture. It'll help us, I promise.”

“Oh.” You look at the picture for a moment, not sure what you're supposed to say. “Well, it's Longcat, which is... like, a cat that is long?”

“What am I supposed to put for the free translation?” Saeran hisses in Korean.

Saeyoung shoots him a look that says 'shut up' in every language before turning back to you. “Don't mind him. Keep going.”

Considering you don't even know what a free translation is, Saeran’s comment isn’t hard to ignore. “Um, well, there's someone... holding the cat. Maybe that's to make it longer?”

Saeyoung nods, while Saeran continues taking frantic notes. You don't see how what you're saying is that interesting, but if it makes them happy, then you're glad to contribute— even if you are a bit confused. ”Sorry, and how would you say 'maybe they're holding the cat to make it longer?'“ It's giving you a headache to switch back and forth between languages so much, especially since you typically use only one at a time.

You translate his expression to your native language as best you can— the word order is different, of course, and you're not sure if Saeyoung wants you to phrase it as a question or as a statement. The most ‘correct’ way would probably be a statement, but you settle for translating the question to a question. That seems more accurate, even if it’s less grammatical. “But I don't know if that sentence is... like, correct .” Suddenly, you're very worried that you'll be teaching the twins how to speak incorrectly. Then, an even scarier idea pops into your mind: since they're both already so advanced, they might be judging you, and—

Saeyoung laughs. “Of course it's correct.” He waves you off. “You're a native speaker.”

Your eyes widen. “I say things wrong all the time. Like, I say ‘like’—”

“A discourse marker,” Saeran mumbles, talking more to his notes than to you. It doesn't sound like a bad thing, but you're not quite sure.

Saeyoung shakes his head. “And I say ‘well.’ There's literally no difference.”

“Yes, there i—” You start to correct him, before you remember that he's an expert, and also paying you. Maybe it would be best for you to refrain from correcting him on any point— but, then again, he explicitly asked you to correct him if necessary. This linguistics thing seems very complicated. “Never mind.” 

“It's just part of the language.” Saeran shrugs. You get the feeling that if he's on board with ‘like,’ then it's probably fine, considering how grumpy he seems about everything else. 

“Exactly,” Saeyoung agrees, “We want to know as much as we can about how you actually speak, MC.”

The way he says it makes you blush. You know very well that the twins are really only interested in your speech for how it will help them with their research— but, still, they’re both such intense and passionate people, and to have all of that attention trained on you… well, you can’t really beat yourself up about the heat that’s rising to your cheeks, can you? And, anyway, you’re here to help them with their research, not to beat yourself up— you’d better start participating properly. You examine the Longcat photo once again. “Do you want me to just keep describing it?” 

“If you want,” Saeyoung replies, “Otherwise, I have other ways of extracting information.” He wiggles his fingers menacingly, earning a giggle from you and a light shove from Saeran. It doesn’t look like it hurt very much, but Saeyoung rubs his side where his brother’s elbow made contact. “Okay, I get it! Hey, MC— how would you say, ‘Maybe he pushed me to make me shut up?’” 

You glance hesitantly in Saeran’s direction, and he raises his eyebrows in a gesture of invitation that you might classify as playful, considering his typical affect. “It’s a good question,” he concedes with a slight smirk. 

Oh. Alright then. Nothing to see here— just two beautiful twins interrogating you about your native language, as if you could be expected to throw together any combination of words while they’re both looking at you so expectantly. You offer a vague translation. “At least, that’s how I would say it. I know there’s other ways.” You then list a few alternative expressions which have the same general meaning. 

“Okay,” Saeyoung glances at his laptop, which, presumably, contains notes for how he wants to conduct the remainder of this session. “What if I knew for a fact that he pushed me to make me shut up?” 

You consider this. “Um… I guess it would be like, ‘He pushed me to make me shut up.’ But now that I think about it, Saeran didn’t really, uh, push you. He elbowed you, so ‘He elbowed me to make me shut up,’ would be better.”

“Okay,” Saeyoung says again, “So, then, do you think ‘Maybe he elbowed me to make me shut up,’ would be better, too?” 

“Yeah, but ‘pushed’ is still okay,” you explain, though you’re sure he already knows that it’s a permissible word. “I just think it’s wrong in context.”  

Saeran regards you with brilliant green eyes. “Back to the cat,” he taps on the photo with the clicker at the end of his pen, “Could I say, ‘They’re holding it to make the cat longer?’” 

You wince. “Uh… I don’t know.” You really do have to think about it for a moment— surprisingly, it’s not easy to determine right away whether a sentence is appropriate. In all honesty, something about it feels off, but you don’t know how to explain what the problem is. “I think so.” 

“Is there something wrong with that sentence?” Saeran asks, frantically scribbling in his notebook as he speaks. 

“It’s okay if you have the context, I guess,” you decide, “But without context, it just sounds weird to me.” 

“And what kind of context do you need?” Saeran seems to be a lot more direct with his questions than his brother has been, and he’s offering none of the same assurances about your general performance as a language consultant. 

You bite your lip as you consider the inquiry. “I think just the picture of the cat would be enough? But even that is a little weird. I think ‘They’re holding the cat to make it longer’ would be better. Did I say it the other way around before?” 

“What if I said, ‘Maybe they’re holding it to make the cat longer?’” Saeran asks, neither relenting nor answering your question. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, “That does sound a lot better for some reason, but I still don’t like it.” 

“Hm.” You’re not sure if that’s a positive sound, and Saeran seems too occupied with his notes to elaborate further. 

“That’s alright,” Saeyoung assures you, redirecting your attention back to the picture. He’s standing beside you now, so that he can reach over and point at the image without having to lean across the table. “Why don’t you just tell us more about what you think is going on in this picture?” 

“Do you want more ‘maybe’ sentences?” You ask. There seems to be a trend forming here, and you want to be as helpful as you can.

Saeyoung grins. “You’re a sharp one,” he observes. “Yes, we want more ‘maybe’ sentences, please.” 

You chew thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you consider this new request. “Well,” you study the picture in front of you, paying special attention to the wrist of the person holding onto Longcat, “Maybe that watch is a Rolex?” 

That gets both twins smiling. Maybe this language consultant gig won’t be so difficult after all. 

The hour dedicated to your interview goes by surprisingly quickly; it feels as though it’s over before it’s even begun. The twins seem very interested in your guesses and conjectures about the Longcat photo, though you still have no idea what they could possibly be planning to use this data for. “Is there anything else you need from me?” You ask, just after the timer goes off. Saeran, it seems, anticipated that he and Saeyoung would get too wrapped up in the interviewing process to end it promptly without the aid of an alarm— you can respect that, you decide. You were pretty wrapped up, too.

“No,” Saeran assures you with something almost like a smile.

You might be persuaded, were it not for Saeyoung's simultaneous declaration of, “Oh, yeah, but we can save that for the next session.”

“If you want me to stay, I can stay,” you offer, “I've been having fun with this ‘maybe’ business.” You don’t know any of the technical terms, but you get the feeling that the twins are approaching some sort of breakthrough. Even Saeran was fairly animated during the final segment of the elicitation. 

“We have to meet with our faculty advisor,” Saeran explains, perhaps a bit regretfully. “But you can come back next Wednesday, if you'd like.”

“We can also do phone or video interviews,” Saeyoung elaborates. Sometime during the interview, he took to sitting on the table beside you, which you don't suppose is very professional— then again, he did also show you photos of Longcat. Maybe professionalism works differently in his field than it does in yours. “If that's easier for you.”

“I'll come back,” you assure them with a smile, “But I'm bringing snacks next time.” You don’t like the thought of the twins rushing around campus, working for free on this project of theirs before hurrying to a meeting with some professor. They should at least get some refreshments in between, right? 

“Bring something sweet,” Saeran orders.

“Please,” Saeyoung adds on his brother’s behalf with a sheepish smile.

As you leave the classroom that they've taken over for their research, you can't help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. 

#Listen I know this is niche #And I don't know if people will be interested in this sort of content #Especially since there's no pairings #But I am trying to post more of what I write and some people did express interest when I talked about a linguistics AU before #So here it is #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fic