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jenscx · 4 months

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LET ME IN — yu jimin x f!reader

you return to your hometown after being overseas for years. there was no possible way for you to anticipate your old high school sweetheart waiting at the airport.

TAGS — angst, little fluff, exes to lovers, happy ending, high school sweetheart, cursing

WORDCOUNT — 5.1k

the sweater that you had picked out today, feels unfamiliar on your skin. it’s the one which reads, ‘seniors of 2018’. it’s the one you had never gone near, leaving it to rot in your closet. it’s the one that holds the most painful memories for you. how could a piece of clothing cause you so much pain?

frankly, you know why. it’s the one jimin had given to you as you left for the train to the airport. “something to remember me by,” she had stated after pulling it over the top of your head.

you had huffed, playfully asking, “how could i ever forget you?”

your closet had witnessed your stares— or rather glares at the sweater. not until an hour had passed, when you finally heaved a sigh and grabbed it off the hanger that was situated at the corner of the closet. it’s just because it’s comfortable, you had reasoned before. and it didn’t matter what you wore underneath the puffer jacket, it would end up covered.

of course, these were all excuses, trying to deny the very fact that it just reminded you of jimin. and you were very welcoming towards such reminders.

reminders of what?

you shake your head, picturing a blank canvas before the melodic laughter filled your ears. jimin’s laugh.

the screeching of your luggage’s wheels distract you. aeri’s standing at the door, a hand on your suitcase.

“hey girl,” she checks the watch on her wrist, “we gotta go. flight’s at 2.”

you nod, ignoring the fact that you had spent almost two whole hours thinking about the repercussions of returning back to… home? could you even call it that?

aeri seems to notice your inner turmoil, since in the taxi, she places a comforting hand over yours, sending you a small smile. while it didn’t really settle your nerves, you appreciated the effort nonetheless.

the journey to the boarding gate is like a fever dream. your airpods betraying you, randomly shuffling to a girls’ generation song. it was like a cry back to the past, when you and jimin would listen to girls’ generation songs together.

for jimin, you had complied.

you open your eyes, you can only see the back of someone’s head above the aeroplane’s seat. if you keep your eyes closed for too long, you might start to envision a blur of jimin’s perfect eyes, her nose, her lips that were always pursed in disappointment when she caught you and minjeong stealing her snacks…

the realisation that you can’t remember the face that once made you the happiest girl on the planet hits hard. it hits harder than the guilt and misery you felt when jimin, a week after you had left korea, sent a flurry of messages that went unresponded.

“i didn’t know you liked girls’ generation,” aeri comments. startled, you stare at your phone, the lock screen wallpaper being jimin’s back displaying girls’ generation’s holiday night baseball t-shirt. the girl had forced you to buy matching ones with her, you recall bitterly.

“i don’t,” you answer coolly, swiftly turning off your phone. aeri eyes you weirdly but eventually lets you off the hook and leans back into her seat.

the rest of the thirteen hours flight, you busy yourself with work— leftovers from the time before break, drafts of sketches, thesis statements and long-winded essays. while a plane was not the best environment to finish a full drawing, you could at least make some rough sketches. somehow, your pencil graphite gravitates from sturdy, concrete buildings to soft cheekbones, hooded eyes, pouty lips.

shit, you blink, taking in your subconscious sketch of a woman, familiar to your past.

almost instantly shutting your sketchbook shut, you ignore the implications of what your mind was telling you. the crew neck sweater itches at your neck. it’s almost like the words embroidered on the cotton burn into your heart, to always make you remember and recall the time before messy relationships, longing feelings and just enjoying the present time.

time. you didn’t have much of it anyway.

maybe this trip would allow you to make peace with the past. you wouldn’t flinch whenever your friends would talk about league of legends champion, ‘katarina’, or you wouldn’t immediately decline movie night with aeri in fear that one of the actresses would look eerily similar to jimin.

allowing your brain to wander past your comfort zone, you wonder what she's doing now. was she a flight stewardess? did she manage to finally get better at pubg? was her favourite colour still blue? did she still have that sparkle in her eyes when food was brought up?

the last thought makes you chuckle, reminiscing how excited jimin was whenever food was involved. when yizhuo would bring back mala snacks from china, jimin would be gone in a flash.

(so would yizhuo’s snacks, you can’t count the number of times you were forced to lie about who the perpetrator was.

maybe it was worth it when jimin would beam at you, flashing a bright smile that rivalled the shine of diamonds).

with bittersweet memories, you drift off. sleepless nights made up for, by just giving yourself permission to think about her.

you dream of crashing waves, two people on the shore, just sitting down and gazing at the scenery. the sunset’s everlasting in this timeline. like time doesn’t exist and all they did was stare at the deep ocean.

before you even get to see their faces, the announcement rings throughout the flight.

you sigh deeply, catching the attention of aeri.

“you okay? you slept so soundly, i thought you died,” the japanese girl asks worriedly. you laugh, it was the best sleep you ever got, and it was on an aeroplane.

strange how our consciousness works.

“i’m good,” this time you weren’t lying.

you stare at the glass doors, wondering if minjeong had told anyone else to come fetch you. it wasn’t a far fetched thought, maybe the girl had asked yizhuo to come as well. the chinese girl would kill minjeong if she didn’t tell her about your arrival back in korea after what? three, almost four years?

“hey, i asked my friend to pick us up and she might have brought someone else,” you warn aeri.

“oh that’s fun… why do you sound so scared?”

“because, the other girl is a little overbearing,” you scoff, “she might try to climb you, just a warning.”

aeri widens her eyes as you two drag your luggage to the gates.

she gapes, “no kidding? is she a koala or something?”

“something like that,” you shrug.

the doors open. it’s your first step (not really) into korea. the air is the same anywhere else, but the feeling isn’t.

it’s the feeling of uncertainty. the feeling of fear. aeri clasps your free hand tightly in hers, sensing your hesitance.

your gaze glides over the crowd of people waiting for their own family. aeri makes a noise of recognition and she pulls you to the side, you finally spot someone familiar.

“minjeong…!” you call out, voice going silent at the sight of a girl that is most definitely not minjeong.

it’s not yizhuo either, that’s for sure.

“did minjeong get plastic surgery or something?”

you want to run.

“because… that’s not— that’s not minjeong,” you whisper, “that’s yu jimin.”

aeri deadpans, “you say that like i know who the hell she is.”

you want to kill minjeong. and maybe jimin wants to kill aeri with how hard she’s glaring at her.

jimin only trots slowly towards you.

jimin’s eyes dart from aeri’s face back to yours, her hard, cold gaze trailing down to your sweater that has come uncovered by the puffer jacket. your eyes narrow when she raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking you, “why are you wearing that?”

you don’t answer her, because you don’t know either.

“i’m jimin, y/n’s—”

“friend,” you interrupt, quickly turning away to avoid the flash of hurt on jimin’s face.

the mentioned girl recovers quickly, putting on a fake smile, “classmate of y/n from high school.”

“i’m uchinaga aeri, y/n’s roommate, thank you for picking us up!” aeri grins widely, ignoring the deadly lasers pointing her way.

“where are you staying, if i may ask?” jimin’s sharp tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“with y/n—”

you cover aeri’s mouth, knowing how jimin gets, “it’s none of your business.”

your roommate makes a noise of indignation and licks a long strip across your palm. you groan, taking it off her mouth and wiping it on her jacket.

“that’s so gross,” you mutter in english.

“your english has gotten better,” jimin notes as the three of you walk to her car.

you don’t know what to say, so you stay silent.

“where do you stay, jimin-ssi?” aeri makes small talk to cover up the awkward silence. you thank her internally.

jimin stares at you through the mirror, “with y/n.”

you bite your lip, nervous at what jimin might say next. you had never told aeri about your complicated relationship with jimin and you didn’t plan to. only because of kim minjeong meddling in, now it seems like everything has to be uncovered again.

“she’s a bad roommate, right?” surprisingly, aeri ignores jimin’s statement and instead continues to complain about you.

you’re shocked, to say the least. you thought aeri would have started blabbing and asking probing questions about your past roommate situation. or maybe she noticed your sullen look.

“i thought four years would have been enough for her to change her bad habits,” jimin says.

you know for a fact she isn’t talking about the same thing as aeri. jimin was even worse than you as a roommate; eating your secret snack stash, never cleaning up the pile of laundry she had in her room and always invading your alone time in bed.

“many things have changed,” you mumble, “i’m not the same as before.”

the car goes silent, jimin probably analysing your words while aeri pouts, confused by the strange tension you had with your so-called friend.

“if you desire something enough, you’d want it to stay the same forever.”

you retort, “change is inevitable.”

aeri says quietly in the corner, “i know the guy who said that, his name is like john, or something.”

struggling to keep your laughter silent, you splutter in aghast at aeri’s sudden general knowledge.

“you’re so strange,” you comment.

aeri laughs, “i know, but you like me for that, right?”

(“—only had a brain the size of a walnut, that’s why the stegosaurus was one of the dumbest dinosaurs!” jimin reads out loud from your bed.

you stand at your vanity, finishing up your skincare, trying not to laugh at jimin’s absurd dinosaur facts, “you’re so weird.”

“you like that about me though?”)

you sense how intimate the conversation feels for the both of you, so you stop answering aeri and instead focus on jimin. her grip on the steering wheel has tightened significantly, eyes burning with something you can’t identify.

“you’re being annoying again, go to sleep or something, it’s a long drive from here to my house—” you halt in the middle of your sentence, finally questioning the very fact of… why?

why is yu jimin here? even if minjeong asked her to, why? the jimin you knew would never do this. the jimin you knew would never give up her sleeping time just to fetch an old friend, who she maybe had something going on with, and a stranger? yizhuo had friends from china who were visiting, and even then, jimin refused to fetch them from the airport. she was the only one in your friend group with a licence so it only made sense to ask her.

you try to bury yourself in the sweater even more. it was fine for now. seeing jimin in the flesh. but maybe you were so jet lagged that you hadn’t made sense of the situation yet.

the only sensible thing to do for now, was to let yourself escape into dreamland and wait for the morning after.

you can only anticipate it would be full of awkward silence, tension-filled gazes, hesitant actions.

it’s difficult to fall asleep. you decide to blame your insomnia on the nap you had during the flight. even when you know it’s because of the deeply asleep body, separated by a thin wall.

you’re sitting upright, staring at the unveiled moon. it’s stunning, not like the sun which literally glares. the moon is calming, easing you into the next day, all while making you feel… loneliness.

how could you feel lonely even with so many people around you?

(“do you think soulmates exist?” you had asked, curious of jimin’s take on such tales.

the girl seems taken aback, but she ultimately replies, “if they do, i think you’re mine.”)

you clench the duvet in your fists tightly, mind grasping at any other thought than of yu jimin. it’s unfortunate that you seem to enjoy the pain and torture past memories bring with how often your brain wanders through them.

maybe it’s time to come clean with yourself.

you were back in your hometown. you were staying in the same apartment as you did before you left. one that you shared with yu jimin; one that you called home.

eyes starting to become watery, you wipe them off and take a seat at your desk. if you were going to stay awake the rest of the night, might as well get work done. pulling out your sketchbook, the first page to be opened is the drawing of jimin from the flight. the realisation slaps you.

how long would it take someone to get over the love of their life?

for you, maybe eternity.

the door creaks open slightly. your head turns sharply, hand instinctively covering the drawing.

“y/n…?”

“jimin,” you inhale, “why are you still awake?”

she doesn’t bother to answer you and instead chooses to sit on your bed. once you notice the pyjamas she’s wearing, you feel daggers stab into your heart. it’s one of your many matching pyjamas with her. you hadn’t touched any of them since you left korea.

“are you dating aeri?” she asks.

you know what she’s secretly trying to ask.

“no, she’s just a friend.”

“that’s what they always say,” jimin scoffs. her tone doesn’t sit right with you.

with a sudden urge to defend your friendship with aeri, you shoot back, “i recall you saying that about lee jeno too.”

your words clearly strike a chord in jimin, her eyes widen, hurtful remarks at the tip of her tongue. yet, she merely looks away. you hate how beautiful she looks in the moonlight.

“y’know, technically we’re still dating.”

“what are you talking about?” you ask, bewildered.

jimin rolls her eyes, “we never explicitly broke up, you only ghosted me. technically we’re still together.”

“stop spouting nonsense.”

the girl only pouts in annoyance. you hate how your heartstrings tug at her cute expression. right now, yu jimin had to be anything but cute.

“and i didn’t ghost you, i was busy.” the lie slips out easily, revealing how used you are to saying it. jimin, of course, doesn’t believe you. she had never.

jimin frowns.

“you always say that too.”

she stands up, walking bit by bit closer to you. your hand grips the sketchbook protectively.

placing a hand onto the back of your chair, jimin smirks, leaning in. you hate how attractive she looks.

her now blonde locks form a curtain around your faces, preventing any outsider to peek in and see what you were doing.

“i think you’re a bad friend,” jimin claims.

“what?”

you can’t take your eyes off her fluttering eyelashes, her red nose, probably from the cold, and her eyes filled with determination.

“you lied to aeri,” she whispers, “since when were we ever just friends?”

a lump forms in your throat. your heart constricts. you can barely even say a word. you’re speechless.

“we’re barely even friends, roommates, probably,” you splutter out.

“yeah?”

“yeah.” jimin eyes you with an amused expression, lips twitching with the threat of a big, wide smile. you realise your words bid you no help, only further supplying as a challenge for jimin— for you to admit that you were more than friends. no words needed to be exchanged about that fact, but you being you, after fulfilling years of ghosting, would never admit that you harboured any sort of feelings for jimin after being the main reason why your relationship fell apart.

you would argue that your absence was just a contributing factor. the real trigger came in the form of lee jeno, a man that you could say with your whole heart and soul, you hated with every bone in your body.

after you had left, with a promise to stay in contact with jimin, you realised how hard it was to maintain your relationship status. and when jimin posted countless instagram stories of jeno, you realised again that maybe it was best to break it off.

never in the duration of your ‘ghosting stage’ had you ever told jimin the real reason for your sudden coldness. madly jealous and insecure, you decided to disappear. disappear just from jimin though.

“i’ve always been curious,” jimin pulls back from your intense gaze, “why you started being so distant, cold and indifferent. tell me, will you?”

“that’s just my personality.” a direct white lie, you decide to tell.

“i was heartbroken,” she ignores you and continues her monolouge, “my girlfriend decides to ghost me, and just me. made me think i did something wrong.”

you lick your lips, suddenly feeling your throat constrict up. no longer was this just banter, the conversation was steering into uncharted territory.

“it wasn’t just you,” you desperately argue, trying to direct the conversation away, “moving to another country isn’t easy.”

“you’re pretending our whole relationship didn’t exist. maybe in your eyes it meant nothing, but for me, it was everything. don’t you know every single day i have nightmares? the craziest thing is that all the demons in my nightmares have your smile,” jimin whispers fiercely, “and yet, i stay faithful to those nightmares, even if i wake up crying for someone who didn’t even bother answering my calls. you may have only been in the states, but it felt like you were on another planet. i was the last person to know you were coming back, even though you promised me; promised that if you were to return, i would be the first person to—”

you can’t control yourself. hearing her words makes your blood boil. the pumping of your heart only accelerates further as you lift up your hand, delivering a heavy slap across her face. how dare she? how dare she act as if everything was your fault? how could she accuse your devotion and adoration for her?

“don’t act like you’re the fucking victim, karina,” you hiss, your words even more painful than the stinging red on jimin’s cheek, “the first morning after, i sent you so many texts, barely even seen. then i see your story. were you acting when you said you were sad about me leaving? or were you happy to finally say that you don’t have a girlfriend anymore?”

jimin cradles her cheek in her hand, eyes narrowing when you finally confess the real reason. you can tell she doesn’t remember anything. her not even knowing what she did that made you feel unneeded only drives the blade deeper into your heart.

“drinking at a club with lee jeno,” you say his name with venom, voice gradually getting louder and louder. remembering that aeri’s only a few walls away, you try to control your emotions. “could you not understand how i felt— you said nothing would come between us and the first week away from home, constantly ignoring me for some guy.”

(“call me when your plane lands,” jimin said, playing with the hem of her sweater on you.

“isn’t it gonna be midnight in korea when i land?”

the girl merely chuckles, “i’ll be up all night just to hear your voice.”)

the realisation strikes you like a lightning bolt.

“this was a mistake.”

“what?”

“this… me coming back. i should have just stayed in the states but fuck, i let aeri convince me,” you run your fingers through your tousled hair, stressed. jimin was going to cause you to have white hair.

the redness on jimin’s cheek is still there. you feel slightly guilty for ruining her clear complexion.

“that was just how i coped with you leaving,” jimin explains.

you purse your lips, placing your open palms on jimin’s chest. maybe she thinks you’re about to cave in since she sighs in relief. however, instead of pulling her in, you push her until her back is touching your door.

“i don’t need an explanation, or an apology,” you say firmly, “i need time alone away from you.”

“you’ve had 4 years to yourself,” jimin states bitterly.

“i’m sorry for slapping you, but please, either show me your actions matching your words, or just get out of my life for good.”

jimin sighs again, this one full of exasperation.

“go,” you mutter under your breath.

the knife drives deep into your already ruined heart as you push her away. the girl scoffs, grasping your open palms into her hands, intertwining your fingers.

“if you insist on pushing me away, i’ll get rid of any possibility of us being together again. just let me into your heart again,” she throws your hands away and slams the door. the loud bang echoes in your ears, but not as loudly as her words. it only takes a few seconds for you to collapse onto the floor, sobs wrecking your whole body.

“morning,” aeri yawns, “i heard a loud bang last night, was that you or is your apartment haunted?”

you drizzle maple syrup onto your stacked pancakes, sending a bittersweet smile to your friend. your night was spent tossing and turning, both guilt and anger consuming you. when the clock ticked at four in the morning, you finally let yourself think about how jimin made you feel. even if she went to drink right after you left, you should have communicated with her instead of ghosting her. you knew for a fact that she was heartbroken based on the numerous texts your friends had sent you.

fuck, you groan into your pillow. getting up from your bed, your eyes roam the room, eventually landing on the sketchbook at your desk. you never finished that drawing on the plane. after considering (or more likely procrastination), you sit down, pouring your hours and feelings into your drawings. countless of them filled up the sketchbook’s pages. the drawings’ subjects all looked eerily similar to jimin. her pointed nose, soft gaze were all captured in the pages. you finally come to terms with it. you were still in love with her. after all, she was your only muse. thinking about her words from before, you knew that she meant them. spending years waiting for someone who was basically a ghost couldn’t have been easy.

you were going to do something about it.

barely getting any sleep last night, you woke up earlier than usual and decided to prepare breakfast. aeri had woken up an hour after, stomach growling and eyes gleaming at the pancakes.

“by the way,” she says, mouth full of pancake, “i’m meeting up with a friend today and she’s bringing someone too. wanna go with me on a double date?”

fate must be messing with you since right as aeri says the words ‘double date’, yu jimin walks in. her hair tousled, puffed cheeks and eyes narrowing. you stiffen, focusing on picking at your pancakes instead. unbeknownst to you, once jimin spots the lone plate of breakfast on the counter, her gaze softens.

“do you know who your friend’s bringing…?” you whisper softly, trying not to catch the attention of jimin.

aeri, although you love her, says in the loudest voice possible, “somi will be your date! i think she’s your type.”

the scraping of the metal fork makes you squeeze your eyes shut, mentally preparing for jimin’s outburst.

“so-mi,” jimin clicks her tongue.

aeri nods, stuffing her face with more food.

she turns to you, “and you’re going on a date with her?”

“double date with me,” aeri clarifies, “don’t worry jimin-ssi, i’ll be there to protect y/n! y’know in college i always had to pick y/n up from her bad dates. her taste in guys suck.”

“seems like her taste in girls has been downgraded,” jimin comments, smirking. you roll your eyes, wanting nothing more than for her to shut up. aeri guffaws, taking out her phone. “i’ll show you somi’s instagram account and you can decide for yourself, y/n,” she says.

you nod, deciding not to say anything in case jimin flares up. somi’s very pretty, anyone would agree. she had her own attractive style and seemed really confident. you liked that. aeri wasn’t wrong to say that somi was your type. it was just unfortunate that your heart was in the hands of another girl.

while scrolling on aeri’s phone, her alarm rings, reading, ‘brunch with yunny.’

“ah! yunjin wanted to meet earlier, just the two of us,” aeri smiles, “text me later if you wanna join!” she stands up from the table. you’re astonished by how fast she managed to finish those pancakes, her stack was evidently taller than yours. jimin glances at you, amazed as well.

“did she inhale those…?”

“i’ve got no fucking clue,” you mumble, digging into your own. jimin only chuckles and you hate how it makes your heart clench up in affection.

the silence is deafening. without aeri, the air thickens with tension between you and jimin, filled with nostalgia and regret. it feels just like last time— you and jimin eating breakfast together at that very same table, giggling about whatever trouble your friends got into the previous day.

“hey, about yesterday—”

“it’s fine,” you interrupt, “is your cheek okay?”

jimin swallows hard, “yes, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

“don’t lie, come here,” you instruct, “i’ve known you for so long, you can’t lie to me.”

she just laughs, showing you the slightly bruised side of her face. you feel guilt wreck you. no matter how angry you were, you shouldn’t have laid a hand on her.

“did you ice it?”

jimin shakes her head. you sigh, getting up and taking an ice pack out of the freezer. it’s too easy for you to return to past habits, moving around the kitchen like it was 2018 and jimin was the love of your life (she still is). wrapping the ice pack in a towel, you inch closer to jimin, holding it to her cheek. she winces slightly and you resist the urge to hold her hand in comfort.

“y/n…”

“hm?”

the girl seems so small now— her posture deflated, eyes barely meeting yours, biting her lip nervously. you have a feeling you know what she’s about to ask.

“are you going on that date with soyoung?” you laugh loudly, catching jimin off guard.

“jimin, her name’s somi.”

pouting, jimin turns away from you, making your hand falter. “hey, i need to ice your face.”

“i won’t let you unless you answer my question.” she’s so childish it’s adorable. the tension has gone, now filled with uncertainty instead.

“i don’t have anyone to spend the afternoon with. minjeong and yizhuo are busy today,” you explain.

“you have me,” she mutters.

ignoring her, you answer, “aeri seemed really excited for us to meet.”

“you spent all your time in the states with her, you should spend time with your friends here,” jimin retorts.

her hesitance to even admit she wants to spend time with you makes you want to tease her.

“oh? you’re right,” jimin perks up like a puppy. cute, you think. “i should text yujin if she wants to go out, remember her? she was our student council president.”

rolling her eyes, jimin swats at your hand nursing her bruise. it’s too easy for you to return to past habits, bantering with jimin like she was the only girl you’ve ever loved (she was).

it’s too easy. between the choice of going out with aeri to meet someone new and staying in with jimin. it’s such an easy choice to make.

you bring the ice pack away from her face, choosing to caress her cheek lovingly instead. she sighs, content, leaning into your touch.

“jimin,” you gulp, “i’m sorry for these past few years.”

her eyes gaze up at you, “it’s okay. i’ve come to terms with it. i honestly wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

“i wasn’t planning to either, but aeri wanted to.”

“good thing she convinced you, huh?” jimin smiles, “at least i know i was the reason for our break up.”

“it’s only a relationship if there are two people,” you say, “it was my fault too.”

her eyes momentarily flicker to your lips, it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“i know these years haven’t been easy on both of us, but if you’re willing to, i think i’m okay with giving us a second chance,” you confess, “even if you hurt me again, i still want you. i just want you. you’ve always been the only one in here.” you point at your heart.

jimin’s eyes shoot straight up, finally breaking into a wide smile, “seriously? even after what i said last night? i’m not complaining but like… you were pretty angry. i just wanted to know why you ghosted me and i agree, i deserved it. but why the sudden change?”

“i mean,” you shrug, “it was what you said that made me think about this. i didn’t want you to stop loving me, because i’ve never stopped loving you.”

“you love me?”

“i love you.”

“this is so crazy, you went from slapping me to…” she trails off, grasping your chin and bringing you into a kiss. her lips were so, so, soft. you wondered why you even let her go. once your lips met, you felt her sigh before smiling into your mouth. catching your breath, you run your fingers through her blonde hair.

“still going on that date with suki?”

“jimin, you know her name’s somi.”

“whatever, i love you too.”

#aespa #aespa x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #jimin x reader

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planetkiimchi · 2 months

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the language of flowers | l.jn

featuring: film director!jeno x artist!reader (no gendered terms), jaemin, chenle and jisung cameos

summary — jeno doesn't speak of his affection in words. instead, he teaches you that the letter "L", in his love language of flowers, is for lavender lozenges, lily of the valleys, lockets and love.

author's note: damn the stars rlly aligned for me to post this one... originally was just gonna let it rot in my drafts but here i am posting it for @strxbrymochi 's bday. happy belated bday ki !! muah ily

You should have been prepared for Jeno to be constantly busy when you started dating him four months ago. But it still comes as a shock to you when Jeno sits you down on a Saturday afternoon, a plate of violet cookies placed in front of you.

"I'm sorry," he begins. The moment the words escape his lips, you know what this is all about. Even so, you keep quiet, allowing him to continue with the apology he's prepared.

"I've been signed on to do a short film, and they want us to do the shooting overseas."

Although you knew it was coming, it still comes as a punch to your gut. Being away from Jeno is hard for you, and you don’t want to let him go.

"Where to?" you ask, the words coming out before you can stop them. It's too late now to tell him to stay, and you curse your brain for being two steps behind your stupid, ever-running mouth.

"London. It's a Victorian era film, they said, about flowers."

You permit yourself a small smile. "You love flowers."

Jeno looks down, nodding once. "Yep."

You reach over, tilting his chin up. "Look at me."

He does, eyes quivering anxiously while he waits for you to speak. You’re always the one talking—rambling—and now that you’re silent, it must scare him. You touch your forehead to his, and you feel him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Don't be sorry. Go, and enjoy yourself. Pour your soul into it. I'll wait for you to come back, okay? Don't forget me when you're busy working with everyone else."

Jeno lifts up his hand, and you press your palm against his, fingers interlocking with his. "Won't forget you," Jeno mumbles. "I couldn't ever forget you."

You grin, kissing his nose. "I know you wouldn't, silly boy."

—

As Jeno wheels his luggage over the smooth airport floor, he turns to look over at you, shuffling your feet and staring at the ground. He leans over, whispering in your ear, "Blue salvia."

Think of me. It's one of the first flowers that Jeno gave you before you started dating, a secret confession you only learnt about when he finally told you what it meant. Now, it serves as encouragement for you, something to accompany you when Jeno can't.

You smile at him, eyes wide and pensive. "Have a safe flight."

Jeno wraps you into a hug, burying his face in your hair. He doesn't know when he'll get to see you again, and he's not sure if he can survive these months without you. But for both of your sakes, he'll try.

"See you later, alligator."

"In a while, crocodile," you reply, the familiar words a promise between the two of you to weather this storm together.

—

Jeno sits in his seat, flipping his phone in his hand as he waits impatiently for the plane to take off. He tries his best not to look at the time, trying not to count down the seconds in his mind, trying not to keep track of how long it's been since he last saw your face.

An announcement starts to play, asking all passengers on the flight to turn their attention to the flight attendants as they begin the safety briefing. Jeno looks at the flight attendant, but doesn't process the words he's hearing, his mind too focused on the thought of you.

He slips his hand into his pocket, his fingers finding purchase. The plastic crinkles in his palm as he draws the object out, realising that it's a sweet. You told him once that you always have to bring sweets when you’re flying, to suck on in order to prevent your ears from getting blocked.

Jeno has packed the mints you asked him to, but they're in his bag. He swiped the lavender lozenges from your stash that morning, a keepsake to remember you by on the trip. As the pilot announces that the plane is taking off, Jeno pops the sweet into his mouth, the taste of sugar and lavender dissolving on his tongue.

He misses you.

—

Jeno is rudely awakened from his sleep by Jaemin shaking his shoulder. "Good morning," the elder says in a singsong voice, and Jeno's eyes spring open. He casts Jaemin a dirty look, but the latter just grins back at him.

Jeno sighs irritably, getting to his feet and hauling himself out of the bed. His heart's not in it—not in this trip, and maybe not even in the film—and Jaemin knows it.

However, it's not like either of them has a choice. Jaemin liked the script for this film, and Jeno did too. He had plenty of ideas for the film. Despite it being a small project, Jeno believes it can turn out much better than people are expecting it to.

The only issue is that it's not in Korea. It's far away from you, and Jeno needs you in more ways than one. You are his source of comfort and his pillar of strength, but most importantly, you are his muse. Without you, he finds himself unable to function, not knowing which step to take next. Because all he wants to do is find the path that leads back to you, even if it's the worst or stupidest decision he could possibly make.

Longing gnaws at him every day, carving a giant you-sized hole in his chest. He snatches his copy of the script off the table, and Jaemin takes a sweeping glance over the room.

"You've surprisingly tidy for someone who looks like he has zero motivation to keep things organised."

"That's because all of my shit is in my suitcase, so I'm prepared to go back at the shortest notice."

Jaemin rolls his eyes at Jeno's retort, clapping his hands together. "Alright, smartass. Get moving so you won't be the last one to arrive again."

Jeno tugs on his shoes, slipping his hands into his coat and taking an umbrella before getting out of the door.

—

Your takeout arrives earlier than expected, and you suddenly recall that you haven’t checked your mailbox in almost a week. Usually, Jeno's the one who does it, collecting mail while waiting for the elevator to arrive. When Jeno had just left, you had made a conscious effort to check the mailbox every day, but now that it's been almost a month, you’re starting to forget again.

You pick up the takeout box and place the food on the table before exiting again and heading downstairs to check the mailbox.

As per usual, the mailbox is full of bills, although usually the number of letters is much fewer. You mindlessly flip through the envelopes, not paying much attention, until one of the letters catches your eye.

It's sealed with wax, which strikes you as odd—who even uses wax to seal envelopes in this day and age?—and you place it on top of the other letters to examine later.

Upstairs, you neatly place the letters on the dining table for you to settle later on. Then, you turn your attention back to the sleek, cream-coloured envelope, intrigued.

You take a closer look at the wax seal, realising that it's a stamp of a flower bouquet. Could it be from Jeno? you wonder.

It doesn't seem very likely, however. Jeno has never been one for dramatic flair, and the simple yet elegant letter practically screams dramatic. There's only one person you knows that's this dramatic, and it's…

"Donghyuck," you breathe out. One of Jeno's college friends, Donghyuck is the definition of dramatic. He loves to exaggerate and make a big fuss out of everything, and it's entertaining to say the least. Donghyuck is also chattier than most, similar to yourself, and the two of you had hit it off when you first met at one of Jeno's college roommate's place.

Donghyuck is essentially your key to Jeno's past. Jeno has been a solitary creature for all the time you’ve known him, and he doesn't talk much about his life before he met you. Besides Jaemin and Donghyuck, Jeno doesn't initiate much interaction with his old friends either. His friends respect that, so you don’t know much about what Jeno was like in the past.

However, Donghyuck is different. He loves to bring up embarrassing memories, inside jokes, and tell people old stories about his friends. You have always loved to listen to Donghyuck talk about Jeno in college, or even his first impression of Jeno when he saw him around in high school.

If it weren't for Donghyuck, you might not even have known about Jeno's friends' whereabouts now, nor have gotten to know about them.

Remembering the letter in your hand, you hurriedly get a hairdryer to heat up the seal, gingerly removing it and opening up the letter.

Dear Jeno and Y/n, you are cordially invited to Lee Donghyuck and Ha Yeon-seok's wedding...

Wait, what? You read the first line again, your heart stopping when you see the word “wedding”. Wedding? It takes you a few seconds to remember that you’re 24 now, which is almost a reasonable age to get married at. Since neither you nor Jeno had dated anyone for a while before you got together, sometimes you forget that other people have been dating for years now.

You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, and continue reading.

The wedding is to be held in London, and it briefly crosses your mind that Yean-seok is half British. Once you’ve processed that information, you do a double take and check the date. It's in six months from now, and you have to get presentable clothes that fit the colour scheme within that time period.

While you’re wondering now to get the clothes in time, your phone dings.

jeno: hey, y/n you: hello jeno: i have... news.

Jeno calls to inform you that, regrettably, there has been a complication with some of the scenes. For one scene in particular, they had arranged for a horse carriage to be used during the filming. However, due to a miscommunication, the horse has been sold to someone else instead.

The screenwriter insists on having the horse be a specific breed for stylistic reasons, but the budget for the project makes it infeasible for the team to find a suitable horse in a short span of time.

Jaemin wants to postpone the project so he can discuss the details with the screenwriter, and clarify everything to ensure there will be no more hiccups in the production. The rest of the team will either fly back to Korea, or stay in London, whichever is more convenient for them. Since editing can be done remotely, there is little incentive for them to all have to renew their visas.

However, Jaemin has asked Jeno to stay in London so all of the important members of the team can be physically present, to ensure everybody is on the same page.

When you ask Jeno when he will return, he shrugs and says, "In two months, or half a year—I have no clue."

Although you’re upset and annoyed with his lack of a reaction, you understand that Jeno is upset too. He's suppressing his emotions, which is a bad habit of his. But you aren’t going to lash out and make him feel more demoralised, so you just mutter a quick "love you" and hang up.

After hanging up, you belatedly realise you haven’t told him about the wedding invitation yet. Still reeling from his indifferent attitude, you decide to tell him after both of you have cooled down.

—

Days turn into weeks, that turn into months, and somehow you haven’t been able to address the issue of Donghyuck's wedding. You have been through your closet countless times, and after rummaging and filtering through both of your clothes, you’ve prepared a suitable ensemble for both of them.

You’ve sent an RSVP to Donghyuck to let him know that you and Jeno would be attending, and an excited Donghyuck had sent you a video of Yeon-seok and himself clapping happily.

You have also booked a flight for a week before the date of the wedding, to give yourself time to adjust to the time difference, and you plan to stay after the wedding to spend time with your and Jeno's friends as well.

Despite having settled almost everything, you’ve left one very important detail out—you haven’t discussed it with Jeno yet.

Jeno knows that there's a wedding, of course. Donghyuck had announced it in the group chat when he and Yeon-seok first got engaged, and Yeon-seok had sent an update once the details of the wedding were confirmed.

When Jeno told you about the wedding, you told him about the invitation, and you both laughed over how excessive it was.

But if you said any more about the wedding, you’d have to bring up the elephant in the room and ask if Jeno would still be working on "Chamomile Tea" during the time period, if he'd be busy, or if he'd return to Korea before that. And that, even after all the time that had passed, remained a sore spot for both of you.

So even as the date loomed closer, your conversations with Jeno never went too far in the direction of the wedding. Instead, you tiptoed around the upcoming event like shattered glass was sprinkled over it, and you didn't know what the consequences of stepping on it would be.

Arriving in London is a dream. It always has been, since you learnt that their universities look like castles and their winter consists of dreary, rainy mornings that are perfect for staying in and cuddling while cheesy rom-coms play on the TV. But it's never been your dream to land in London alone, with no one to pick you up from the airport, standing starstruck in the middle of the polished floors while people hurry by.

Some lady you don't recognise waves at you. When you frown, squinting to see if it's a familiar face, the lady walks up to you and grins, "Hi! I'm Soyeon."

You cock your head in contusion.

"I'm the screenwriter for 'Chamomile Tea', the short film Jaemin's overseeing. He wasn't able to come because he's busy trying to keep Jeno out of trouble, he said."

You let out a short laugh. That does, in fact, sound like Jaemin's job most of the time. Soyeon hands you a ticket, folding your fingers around it before you can protest.

"Jeno wanted all three of us to go to an art museum to get inspiration, but I've already finished my part for this project. All that's left for me is to give input, not come up with more ideas. Jaemin suggested that I give my ticket to you, so here it is." Taking a closer look at the ticket, you realise that it's an exhibition meant to celebrate the changing of season from summer to autumn.

"Leaves turning brown," you read aloud. "Petals fall and colours fade, yet many are enraptured by the cooling season that is autumn. Artist Hwang Yeji explores textures, colours and more in this vibrant display."

Soyeon smiles encouragingly at you. "I've known Jeno only for a few months, and he's always been extremely cold towards everyone, but his face lights up whenever he receives a text from you. And when you order takeout for him? That's the only time I see him enjoy his meals."

Your lips tremble as Soyeon continues, "Jeno's mind is a complex place. I'd hate for all that creative potential to be wasted just because he's busy moping. That's why I offered to pick you up instead of Jaemin—I was interested to know who could be the only one to make Jeno truly smile."

You close the distance between yourself and Soyeon, wrapping your arms around the latter. Even if you have only just met her, Soyeon seems so sweet and genuine. Her honest words caught you off guard, but you are touched that she dared to say them.

Soyeon pats your hair comfortingly. "Let me know if you need any more help."

You discreetly blink back tears, ignoring the stinging sensation in your nose, and force a smile. "Thanks, Soyeon."

"You're very welcome."

—

You climb out of the taxi with a sunflower in hand and your suitcase in the other. The exhibition is held in a building with windows as wide as you are tall, the stained glass illuminated by the sunlight.

The lady at the entrance scans your ticket and waves you through with a smile, and you return it before heading on inside.

Panels upon panels of stained glass line the corridors, angled in a way that pictures of light are projected on the ground, weaving between the paintings, casting an angelic glow on each artwork.

Jaemin catches your eye before you can get stuck at any of the paintings, and shushes you with a finger on his lips as you speed up.

"Hi, jagiya," he says lowly, wrapping you in a quick hug. "Jeno's busy and I didn't tell him you were coming, so the rest is up to you. I'll leave the two of you alone, okay? Call me if you need me."

You nod, squeezing his shoulder gratefully.

—

You tuck your sunflower behind your back and wheel your suitcase to the side, silently approaching Jeno. He's completely absorbed in studying the details of the painting, so you gently rest your chin on his shoulder.

"Hey, baby." Jeno turns, coming face-to-face with you. Your noses touch, and from the corners of your eyes, you see Jeno's cheeks flush red-hot. You raise your hand to cool his cheek, but he grabs your wrist first, eyes locked on your face. His pupils dart from side to side, scouring your face as if he's afraid you’re just a figment of his imagination.

You stay in that position, Jeno’s fingers curled around your wrist, until he's convinced that you’re real, at which point his face floods with exhaustion and relief.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into the space between your chin and collarbone. His hands come to rest naturally around your waist, and his hand brushes against the sunflower.

He moves back suddenly, surprised, and you awkwardly manoeuvre your arms around him. This allows you to present the sunflower you bought at a nearby florist to your boyfriend, and you’re delighted by the grin spreading across his lips.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" He asks.

"No, but you've given me red camellias, and I think that’s basically the same thìng."

Jeno chuckles. "Basically.”

Jeno reaches for your suitcase, holding tightly onto the sunflower you’ve just given him. He turns to you, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Well? I'll take you back to her hotel."

You frown, pulling back in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"Aren't you tired?"

You wave his concern off flippantly. "I'll be just fine. I'll crash later, and the jetlag will hit me like a truck, but I've already allocated a week for getting used to it."

Jeno snorts. "As expected."

You wave your ticket. "Hey, Soyeon's already passed up her chance to see this exhibition so I could go, okay? I'm not planning to waste it."

Jeno nods hastily in an attempt to placate you. "Okay! Let's go then."

He trails behind you obediently until you see a piece that catches your fancy, stopping to take a look. The painting depicts several lilies of the valley in a vase. Behind the vase, there are two mountains painted in grey, but the small patch of grass that the lilies sit on is several vibrant shades of green.

You stay in front of that painting for a while, impressed by the details and texture on the canvas. A shutter sound catches your attention, and you blink a few times before turning to see Jeno holding up his camera and smiling sheepishly.

He rubs the back of his neck and says, "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. You looked too good standing there, I just had to get a shot of you."

"It's okay." You look back at the canvas, eyebrows knitting together.

"Don't you think the art style looks familiar?"

"I don't know much about paintings, so I can't say... " Jeno's reply dies on his lips, and he, too, stares at the painting with interest. "You're right, it does look familiar."

The two of you hum in concentration, Jeno resting his chin on top of your head while you wrack your brain for an answer. You tilt your head this way and that, and then it hits you.

"Park Jisung," you say at the same time Jeno does. "How did you–"

Jeno points at a small square of text. "It says right here. Park Jisung, 24, oil on canvas." You mentally slap your forehead. How could you forget that museums put up a description of each artwork and its artist? You must be too tired from the flight.

"That's right, " you say. "That's why it looks so familiar. Contrasting colours was one of the most defining aspects of his style."

You met Jisung at a kids' art camp when you were in university, and the two of you had learnt a lot from each other while teaching the kids. You were surprised to find out that he was two years your senior in a different university, despite being the same age as you.

You lost contact with him after that, and were very, very shocked to see him at Jeno's college reunion. Although you don't speak much to Jisung now, the things you learnt from him at that one camp will stick with you forever.

"That kid's insane," Jeno muses. "He skipped a year in elementary, lived with hyungs he barely knew in university, and did side jobs because he hadn't gotten a scholarship to pay for his tuition fees, unlike Yeon-seok."

You shrug. "Maybe not 'insane'. Just determined."

Jeno nods. "And he's not much of a kid anymore, is he?"

You shake your head with a smile. "Not anymore."

—

As you wander around with Jeno, stopping at paintings to admire them, a sense of melancholy threatens to overwhelm you, slipping between your eyelids like a mass of black water, a receding wave preparing to crash upon the shore of your eyelashes.

You blink back thoughts of insecurity, trying to focus on the artworks and not your feelings, but it’s no use. You can’t escape from the thoughts running wild in your head, and it gets the better of you, a lone tear managing to get past your barriers, trailing slowly down your cheek.

You subtly wipe it away, but Jeno notices immediately, and he stops short.

He turns towards you, concern emanating off his being, and it offers you some comfort. He holds you carefully, like he’s not sure if you’ll break apart in his hands. His body shields you from anything else in the museum, encasing you in a bubble of protection and silence.

You breathe in deeply; once, then twice. You feel the heat behind your eyes slowly fading to a simple stinging sensation, one that doesn’t make you feel completely helpless.

Jeno’s hands tighten around you, and you instinctively lean in towards him. He doesn’t speak, allowing you to unravel the spool of thread wrapped around your lungs, prying apart the anxiety that prevents you from breathing.

When you can think straight again, you look at Jeno, and he knows.

Without words, understanding passes between you, and Jeno knows everything that’s running through your mind.

He nudges you, gently. Are you okay? his eyebrows ask, raising so high they almost disappear into his fringe.

You can lie about a lot of things, like why you came to the museum in the first place or how you feel staring at the art on the walls or whether you’re okay right now, but you don’t. Because you know that regardless of what you say, Jeno will see right through you like you’re a ghost. You’ll never understand if it’s because it’s you, or if everyone’s feelings are transparent to him. You don’t think you care.

It’s enough to just stand there, weightless. You’re completely supported by Jeno, whose embrace is so tight it’s practically lifting you off the ground, and you;re not complaining.

If he could lift your burdens off your mind the same way he’s lifting your feet from the ground right now, he would. And you would want him to.

“I feel like my art’s worth nothing if it can’t be shown to the world.” You speak slowly, uncertainly, knowing you might cry if you let everything out too quickly. Jeno wants to stop you before you get caught up in the flow of you words, but he knows it’s better if you let it all out.

Opening a bottle of carbonated soda that’s just been shaken is dangerous, but if he leaves it alone, the bottle might just explode.

“I know I don’t make art to be seen. I make it for myself. But at the same time, can any artist say that their craft is not made for the eyes of man? We all long for approval and praise, and that is partly what we make art for.”

Your lips tremble, and Jeno finds himself forced to stare at your quivering eyelashes and the sheen of tears you’re barely holding back. Still, you steel yourself, digging your heels into the ground to steady yourself.

“I wonder, sometimes. If my art isn’t seen, is it even art anymore?”

That’s the minefield, the question Jeno can’t answer without speaking baseless comfort. He has no answer to it, only empty words that he knows will fail to put you at ease.

You, however, don’t expect an answer. You look curiously at Jeno, waiting for a response, but the response doesn’t have to be a satisfactory answer.

Jeno leans in, tucking your head between his chin and his collarbone, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

He holds you there until you’ve stopped trembling. Then, one hand still firmly in yours, he takes you back to the hotel, sitting on the edge of your single bed while you sit and stare into nothingness.

When you make no move to get changed, he stands, and brings you to the bathroom. He peels the clothes from your body, helping to scrub your skin until it’s a rosy shade of pink, then wraps you in a towel and moves your arms to dry your body.

After he’s showered, the two of you sit on the bed, Jeno on top of the covers, while you’re tucked underneath them. Jeno has no change of clothes, no money, only his phone and both of your tickets to the museum.

In his street clothes, he refuses to get under the blanket and dirty the bed, but you are content with his presence.

You lie on the bed with your arms wrapped around Jeno’s waist, and when the shock has faded, you cry yourself to sleep.

Jeno is there throughout it, a beaming light in the whirlwind of emotions you’re experiencing, a constant presence that grounds you. He allows you to breathe between sobs, until they slowly fade away and your eyes close, motionless.

The next day, you find a wreath of galaxes on your bedside table, along with a glass of water, and it feels like a great weight has finally been removed from your shoulders.

The day of Donghyuck’s wedding comes earlier than you were expecting. Between taking you out to dinner and going on bike rides around the city, Jeno has kept you busy. Busy enough to forget your troubles, or at least for you to be able to cope with them in a relatively healthy manner.

You hear three knocks on the door, and as you go to open it, you see Jeno standing there, in the emerald green tuxedo you picked for him and the matching tie. His shirt is a pale green, so pale it can be mistaken for white, and gel gives his hair a wet gleam.

He smiles innocently, and it outshines all the charm his outfit has.

You fell in love with all of Jeno, after all, not just his appearance.

Your sage green dress flows past your ankles, and it would drag on the floor if you weren't wearing heels. They’re tall, but even with them on, you are still only the same height as Jeno. He grins at you, and carries you, bridal-style, into the lift lobby.

“Leave some room for the grooms later, stop trying to one-up them,” you joke, but Jeno only hoists you up into a more comfortable position.

“No can do,” Jeno says cheekily.

You don't pursue it.

—

A surprise awaits you in the car. As you open the door to the passenger side, you find that it’s filled—and so is the driver’s seat. Your heart skips a beat, thinking you must’ve gone to the wrong car, but the sight of the driver’s face makes you do a double take.

“Jisung?”

Jisung offers you a shy grin. “Yep, it’s me.”

“Is it really you? I thought… I never thought I’d see you again! How–” your words come out from your mouth before you can think them through, your rapid-fire Korean faltering in your confusion.

“Donghyuck and I are friends, remember?” You don't really, but if Jeno and Jisung are friends from college, it makes sense that Donghyuck would know them both too.

You clap a hand over your mouth, mind reeling. “So… you were invited to the wedding too?”

Jisung nods. Then, he gestures towards the lady in the driver’s seat. “I also have to introduce her to you. Y/n, meet Yeji. Yeji, Y/n.”

Yeji offers her hand for you to shake, and you take it, wondering where you’ve heard the name before. Yeji, Yeji, Yeji… Ah. You’ve got it. “Hwang Yeji?”

She’s the artist who organised the exhibition Soyeon had given you tickets to view. It was there, at the museum, that you saw Jisung’s art. If she really is Hwang Yeji, then everything will make sense.

Yeji nods. “Pleasure to meet you.”

She picks up a small bouquet of pink peonies, orange tulips and heather, presenting it to you. “Jisung showed me a few of your pieces, mostly older ones,” she says by way of explanation. “They had the potential to become something more. I heard from Jeno that you’d seen my exhibition, so I know you probably like flowers, and you know that I like them too. So this bouquet is an invitation for you to work with me some time, for us to perhaps collaborate on another exhibition in future.”

You are taken aback by the sudden offer, but you’re not an idiot. You remember the way you had collapsed into Jeno the week before, scared that you would never be able to get your art out there. Now, your chance is right in front of you.

You take it.

Gratefully receiving the bouquet, you don’t miss the symbolism of the flowers, the goodwill the arrangement holds. You know it is intentional.

“Thank you for your offer. I look forward to working with you.”

Yeji shakes your hand heartily, and you and Jeno get into the backseat.

After settling in, you rest the bouquet on your lap, and you turn to see Jeno holding a white rose. You frown, wondering where he could’ve conjured it from, and lock eyes with Jisung in the driver’s mirror. You raise your eyebrows in question, and he shrugs innocently.

You roll your eyes at the conspirators, but turn your attention back to Jeno. Jeno carefully slips the white rose into the side of the bouquet, managing to prevent it from looking uneven. You play with the petals of the rose, its symbolism clear in your head.

Used to congratulate people on career successes, your mind supplies helpfully. The only career success you can think of right now is also the most recent one, Yeji’s offer to you. But there’s no way Jeno could have known that Yeji would put that offer out. Unless…

“Did you know?” You ask, tone accusing. You doesn’t have to finish the question; Jeno understands what you’re talking about.

“No, I didn’t know if Yeji would offer to work with you for an exhibition. Jisung only told me that he had shown Yeji your art, and I had faith in your abilities. I knew that after witnessing the extent of your talents, Yeji would have something good to offer you, career-wise.”

You can’t argue with that. The logic is sound, and the flowers are cohesively pretty. You continue to play with the petals, a small smile dancing on your lips.

The smile doesn’t escape Jeno’s attention, and he smiles too.

—

It starts to drizzle as soon as you reach the wedding place. Jeno is quick to procure a clear umbrella, holding it for both of you. He knows you wouldn’t want to get your clothes wet.

Jaemin is there too, one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers, standing by the side. Donghyuck’s wedding is a loud, chaotic one, with many guests you don't recognise all talking with each other. Jaemin hovers at the vague edge of the crowd, as much of an introvert as Jeno, and you tug Jeno over.

“Hi, jagiya.” Jaemin envelopes you in a warm hug, and he smells like home.

Jeno opens his hands for a hug too, but Jaemin only laughs and swats his hand away. Jeno slings one hand over Jaemin’s shoulder, and you snatch his umbrella away, going off to find Donghyuck.

The two men stand side by side, Jaemin still holding the umbrella, watching you disappear into the hordes of people.

—

The rain gets heavier, and you try to occupy as little space as possible, not letting a single part of your body protrude from under the umbrella. Droplets of rain splash onto your shoes and your face, and you wipes them from your face with the back of your hand.

Jisung stands beside Donghyuck and Yeon-seok, with Chenle, Jaemin’s old roommate, and a couple of other men you can’t remember the names of. Donghyuck and Yeon-seok’s roommates from university, you think, because you remember seeing them at the reunion.

You congratulate the grooms, and move to stand next to Yeji and Jisung. The small circle are the only people that have gotten a chance to speak with Donghyuck and Yeon-seok, and by the looks of it, their conversation isn’t going to end anytime soon.

Yeji makes small talk with you, and you laugh about a few shared experiences, before you notice the crowd starting to disperse, and the officiator announces that the wedding is beginning.

You move back to where Jeno is, and he leaves Jaemin with his umbrella, ducking under your umbrella to join you.

The wedding is simple and sweet, and there are tears all around as the two bridegrooms say their vows.

“...to love and to cherish, until death does us part.” Jeno’s fingers suddenly falter, and the golden locket he’s been fidgeting with throughout the wedding slips through his fingers. He lunges to catch it, and you finally notice what he’s been doing with his hands.

Resting one hand on his left knee to calm him down, you nuzzle into his neck, and nudge his hand open with your index finger.

“What’re you holding?” you ask under your breath.

“Nothing.” You briefly register the officiator allowing Yeon-seok and Donghyuck to kiss, and you look up at them just in time.

“Open your hand,” you command.

Obediently, Jeno uncurls his fingers, and you take the locket from him. You fumble with the clasp, but it springs open, and there’s a picture inside. Squinting, you realise that it’s a picture of you and Jeno, taken when you weren’t paying attention. Your hand is shielding your eyes from the sun, and Jeno’s firm hand is wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

Your grip on Jeno’s knee tightens.

“How long have you been carrying this around for?” You ask, voice slightly hoarse.

Jeno looks away. “Since we took the picture. It’s been, what, two years?”

You feel your throat seizing up, and you force yourself to take a few deep breaths. Jeno has been carrying the locket around for two years. Almost the same length of time that you’ve been dating for. He’s loved you enough for the whole span of that time to carry a picture of you around wherever he goes.

You can’t breathe. “You’ve been carrying this around for two years?”

Jeno shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, like a soldier going off to war,” he quips. Somehow, you’ve switched to Korean, but you don't quite register it. It just feels right, better, to speak in your native language.

It fits, the same way your body fits into the cracks of Jeno’s body, the way his arms wrap around you and fit into every nook and cranny of yours. Your scars line up against each other’s, and Jeno is the puzzle piece that makes you whole.

“So you love me.” It might seem strange, after all they’ve been through, to doubt it. But it hasn’t been long, and you hate to give yourself away, to love somebody else. Every day, you wonder if you’ve crossed the line from like to love, or if you’ve fallen out of like with each other.

“Yes.” You never knew one word could turn your world upside down. The rain has eased, but it feels like there’s water rushing in your ears, heart pounding.

Then, “Are you okay?”

You hear it from your other side, your left side, and you see Yeji there, concern in her eyes. You turn your attention back to the proceedings, and see Donghyuck taking the wedding bouquet from Yeon-seok, preparing to toss it in the air.

“Yes,” you say, determinedly. Jeno guides your hand to tilt the umbrella backwards, giving both of you a better view of the grooms, and the water continues to flow off the umbrella.

Neither of them makes a move to take it, leaving the more eager guests to rush towards Donghyuck, surrounding him. He turns his back towards them, Yeon-seok moderating the crowd, and tosses the bouquet into the air.

It arcs towards the middle of the crowd, and a lone carnation falls out. Jeno reflexively reaches out for it before it can fall on the soaked grass, and he tucks the yellow carnation behind your ear.

His face is right next to yours, his breathing fast and rapid, and you hear the pulsing of his heart when you place a hand on his chest.

Jeno leans his forehead on yours, the umbrella creating a bubble of silence and tranquility amidst the loud cheers and celebration outside of it. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he smiles, the tear caught on the upside of his upper lip.

You watch as he licks it away, and brush the pad of your thumb against the trail of the tear.

“Are you crying?” you ask softly.

“No,” Jeno says, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “It’s just the rain.”

You wrap your arm around his neck, nose bridge aligned with his, waiting quietly.

“I know you don’t want to get married now,” Jeno says. “But please, take this carnation as a promise that I will never let you have your heart broken.”

You have heard false promises fall from Jeno’s lips before. You’ve faced his broken promises, seen through his lies, accepted his empty praise. This time, however, it’s different. You know it in your heart, can hear the dogged beating of his heart, refusing to hurt you again.

You smile, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll take that promise.”

—

floriography

violet: a declaration to always be true

blue salvia / azure blue sage: harbours sentiments of missing and thinking of someone.

peppermint: warmth of feeling

lavender: purity, devotion, serenity, grace and calmness.

sunflower: adoration and loyalty, long life and lasting happiness.

chrysanthemum: longevity, fidelity, joy and optimism.

red camellia: you’re a flame in my heart.

galaxes: encouragement.

pink peonies: good luck, prosperity and success

orange tulips: joy, enthusiasm and excitement

heather: admiration and support

white roses: symbolises innocence and purity. used to congratulate people on career successes.

carnations: symbolise pride and love for someone in a supportive way. used to tailor bouquets to one’s favourite colour due to their ease of dyeing.

#nct #nct dream #k-labels #🪁 — my works #💐 — the language of flowers #jeno #nct fic #nct dream fic #jeno x reader #jeno x y/n #nct dream x reader

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perzawa · 7 months

Text

BEFORE I LET GO | 2.2K

OCT 5TH: AGE GAP

kinktober masterlist

♡ toji fushiguro x fem! reader

relationships are hard enough when there are no stakes, but it’s even harder when you’re dating your best friend’s father. you never expected things to get more difficult than that, but when you only have 24 hours before you’re on the other side of the world, you can’t help but wonder if such a relationship can even last.

♡ warnings/tags! toji is like early 40’s here and the reader is like early 20’s, toji is megumi’s dad, reader is studying abroad, public sex, sex in the woods lol, unprotected sex, fingering, kinda angsty but not toooo bad

“C’mon, relax.”

Your eyes are still stuck to the car floor, nails lightly scraping your skin as your boyfriend's words kind of wash over you. Tomorrow, you'll be miles away from him for what feels like forever, and it's all you can think about. You try to hold off on the waterworks until you're on the plane or, better yet, not in the same room as Toji, but the reality of being apart hits you hard.

Trying is pointless now, so you give up. You chew your lip as hot tears silently make their way down your cheeks, and you attempt to distract your mind. Your stomach's in knots, your head's pounding from all the stress you've been wrestling with. God, you weren't prepared for this. Breathing feels like a neverending chore, and you’re fucking sick of it. Feels like you’ve been on a rollercoaster and you might vomit any minute now. Just when you're lost in that sensation, Toji's fingers on your thigh draw you back until you’re focused on him.

He stole a glance at your pitiful state and scowled. “You’re gonna make yourself sick. Stop.”

He's shattered, just like you. Despite his efforts to hold it together and keep you grounded, there's something in you that senses he's crumbling on the inside. You nod, letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry," you groan, smacking your palm against your forehead a few times. "I’m just scared. I'm so damn scared, Toji, I don't know what to do."

You remember being so excited when the topic of studying abroad first came to your mind. Having been sheltered most of your life, you figured it was time to get out there and go a little wild once you graduated, but you never expected to fall in love along the way.

Especially not with your best friend’s father.

Right now, you should be with him. Both of you should be smoking in his room and flipping through pictures of you both in middle school, but instead, you’re with his fucking father. It’s almost sick to you how big of a secret you’ve been keeping from your closest companion, but you knew it’d kill him if he ever found out about your relationship—and it’s not like you blamed him either. If you’d been close to someone for this long and you found out she was fucking your father, you know you’d raise hell so this was no difference.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby,” he said, cutting the silence with his deep voice. “Just tell me what’s going on up there, pretty girl.” He kept his eyes on the road, steering with one hand while the other stayed solid on your thigh. For as long as you’ve known the man, he’s always been a stoic man who never had an issue with staying calm, but the grip he had on the wheel was a new side of him.

After a while, you spoke with a meek and broken voice. "I just... God, I don't want to leave you. You understand that, right?" You gazed out of the window, watching as Toji navigated through a path in the dark forests of your city. It was the last time you'd be able to visit your spot for a few years. "And Megumi, too. I feel like such a bitch for what I'm doing to him, Toji. I shouldn't... we shouldn't be doing this."

He just stayed silent, pulling into a parking area not too deep in the forest. Once he stopped the car, he breathed out a heavy sigh before hanging his head for a minute to think, retracting his large hand from your thigh. “Fuck, I know. I know how you feel, I do,” Toji started, shutting his eyes tight. “I know because I feel the same. But there’s nothing wrong with you falling in love with someone, is there? Father or not, it shouldn’t matter.”

“Maybe, but you know how this looks for us…” You looked into his dark green eyes, the shining jade pigment sending a wave of relief through your tired body. The vibrant hue held a deep, almost mystical quality, reminiscent of emeralds bathed in sunlight. Flecks of darker green and hints of gold danced within, creating an intricate pattern that seemed to shift with every blink. He’s so fucking beautiful. You couldn’t begin to comprehend just how much you’d miss seeing him every night. How much you’d miss sneaking around and kissing those beautiful scarred lips. There was nothing okay with falling in love with your best friend’s dad, but you couldn’t help it. You never asked for this.

Toji nodded, his gaze focused on you. “I know, but let's not dwell on this anymore,” he murmured, his hand gently squeezing your arm. “Tonight, I just want us to be together peacefully, okay? We can tackle the tough stuff another time.” With that, he left the car, walking over to your size to let you out as well.

Your last night together.

The least you could do was let it be peaceful. The walk to your favorite river was painfully slow, consisting of you trudging behind Toji and dragging your feet almost slothfully. The only light illuminating your path was the soft glow of the moon, making it a little difficult to find your way in the beginning but you soon found yourself standing in front of a steep river. Memories of your first night here with Toji resurfaced, causing a small grin to twitch on your face. It was a night for a lot of firsts. Your first kiss, your first time… it was an easier time.

Everything seemed so simple then.

Toji sat by the river, stretching his legs until his shoes nearly touched the dark, glowing water. He glanced up at you, observing as you settled down beside him, crossing your legs. A soft sigh escaped you as you gazed ahead, tuning in to the gentle flow of the water. You yearned to be like the river—serene, a graceful body of water simply existing peacefully. No struggles or worries, just living.

“Fuck, baby,” Toji finally groaned, playfully bumping his shoulder into yours. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You better call me every day,” he demanded, a small grin stretching on his lips despite the inner turmoil he was still feeling. No matter how lonely he’d be without you, all he wanted was for you to achieve the dream you’d been thinking about for years now. It was time for you to break free from the cocoon your parents had trapped you in and live a little.

“You better not start getting too friendly with other girls,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. At that, Toji laughed hard before smashing his lips against your soft ones. He let out a gentle noise, his hand reaching to squeeze your waist before he hesitantly pulled away.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re gone for two years or two decades. You know you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easily.” He clasped your hand, giving it a tight squeeze before pressing it gently to his lips, his rough scar grazing your skin. Regardless of the complexities in your relationship, the thought of living without him was unimaginable. He wasn't just Megumi's father anymore; he belonged to you. The distance of the ocean couldn't alter that.

“Besides,” he continued, pulling you into his lap. “We’ll always have holidays, won’t we? This isn’t over. We aren’t over.” His lips were on you moments after, moving in a slow but messy harmony. Small grunts escaped you both as his tongue forced itself into your mouth, tangling with yours. Strings of saliva began escaping, dripping down your chin and neck - but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. It would be like a million eternities before you were able to feel him against you like this again.

Finally, you pulled away, your bottom lip glossy with his saliva as you panted softly. Tomorrow, you’d be in a place making your way across the ocean for two whole years.

You only had tonight.

“Right here, Toji,” you started, quickly pulling your shirt over your head before you finished explaining. “Need you right now. We don’t have long, so just… just take me now,” you rushed, pressing kisses to his neck and lips.

You lay down on the grass, pushing your skirt up to expose your black panties, body aching for his gentle touch. Toji wasted no time in getting your panties down to your ankles and then to the ground, his thick fingers pressing against your clit. He sighed, dragging the tip of his middle and ring finger through your slick folds, starting from your clit and then down to your entrance.

Slowly, he eased those fingers inside, burying them as deep as he could before pulling them out, witnessing how soaked you were. “I bet she’s gonna miss me the most, huh?” He asked rhetorically before slowly thrusting his slick-coated digits into your heated depths, listening for every moan and whimper you blessed his ears with.

“Yeah… don’t know what I’m gonna do without your tongue or fingers,” you rasped, rolling your hips as he pumped his hand inside, moving down to lick and kiss your sensitive neck. He continues moving against your bumpy walls, his darkened eyes watching you in the moonlight. You were always such a wreck for him and so easily too.

His fingers suddenly curled his fingers upwards, pressing into that spongy spot that you both loved so much. With trembling legs, you began subconsciously attempting to close your thighs but he wouldn’t allow it. It was embarrassing hearing your own soaked pussy being fingered and it was showing too. Your cheeks and body felt even hotter now, making you turn your head away from him. Your back arched off the ground as you began twitching around him, a wave of heat filling your lower abdomen as you began to get closer.

Closer…

“Oh, no,” Toji teased with a chuckle as he quickly retracted his soaked digits, sucking your juices from them without caring about how dirty the action was. “When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

You pouted, perching yourself on your elbows. “Asshole.”

Toji only smirked, unzipping his black jeans slowly before pulling his hardened cock out. He hissed from the feeling of his fingers on his neglected cock, squeezing his length in an attempt to replicate how you’d feel around him. It was almost too much now; The ache between your legs, the tears still threatening to fall from your eyes, and the way your boyfriend felt as he began sliding inside of you

He groaned, bottoming out against your cervix with practiced ease. His cock was throbbing inside of you, making it difficult for you to not cum on the spot. His hands found their way to your hips, his nails sinking into your skin as he began thrusting inside. He dragged his cock against your soaked walls, setting a slow, but deep pace. Embarrassment is clear on your features from the way your body reacts to him so perfectly. Like even your body knows you are his now and forever. He pulled out almost completely before pushing back in, intoxicated by the sounds of your moans. “Oh, baby, fuck,” he whispered with a rough voice as he threw his head back, pounding into your abused cunt even harder. “You feel so fuckin’ good… gonna miss this pussy so much.”

The sound of his hips meeting yours made him twitch inside of you again. “But she’s all mine, right? This cunt,” he rasped, emphasizing his words by pulling out and thrusting into you roughly. “belongs to me. Say it.”

“All yours, Toji. Don’t want anyone else,” you cried out into his neck as his fingers pinched your sensitive clit, dragging a loud moan from the depths of your throat.

“There you go, pretty girl. Give it to me. Show me how much that pretty pussy belongs to me,” he praised, taking your button between his fingers as he stroked it, coaxing an orgasm from you. It wasn’t long before his heavy balls were tight and sensitive, revealing how ready he was to finally pump his seed inside of you.

With a loud moan, you came hard around his cock, your pussy tightening on him so much, you almost pushed him out. His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on his own orgasm, basking in the way you gripped his cock like your pussy couldn’t possibly live without it ‐ like you were fucking made to be fucked by his cock. He thrust inside of you a few more times, his strokes lazy and uncoordinated as he finally spilled his hot, white liquid all over your bumpy walls.

“Making a mess all over my cock,” he growled, burying himself to your hilt before pulling out, denying you the feeling of fullness. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, sweating messes. There was nothing scarier than losing the one man you truly loved, but if your relationship was meant to be, you knew it’d last. “Such a good girl…”You turned your head to look at his barely visible state with a gentle smile.

Everything would be okay because you were his and he was yours.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk hcs #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji headcanons #toji hcs #toji fushiguro hcs #toji fushiguro headcanons #kinktober #kinktober masterlist

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weemssapphic · 7 months

Text

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 12

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

summary: Larissa takes you to New York City.

words: ~3.2k | ao3 link in title

chapter-specific warnings/content: nsfw - smut (cunnilungus - L receiving)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Larissa drummed her fingers against the steering wheel of her car as she waited for you to come downstairs. Her nerves were rising by the second - she was excited to be going away with you, of course she was, but with everything that had happened last weekend (or rather, with all the stress she knew she was responsible for), she needed this weekend to go perfectly. She wouldn’t accept anything less.

A flurry of movement caught her eye and she turned her head to see you walking towards the car, dragging your suitcase behind you. She could feel her nerves settle a bit at the sight of you, and she stepped out of her car to open the trunk.

“Hi,” you said, a little out of breath - the second your eyes met, your lips curled up into a beaming smile, one that stole the breath out of Larissa’s lungs.

“Hello,” Larissa replied with a grin, lifting your suitcase into the trunk with ease before turning to pull you into a warm, all-encompassing hug. Your arms wound around her waist, holding her tightly, and she could feel even more tension leave her body as the two of you melted together.

“I missed you,” you whispered into her shoulder, nuzzling your face into her coat - Larissa didn’t miss the way you inhaled deeply and it only made her hug you tighter, her heart fluttering.

“I missed you, too,” she whispered into your hair, pressing a light kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly leaving your embrace to usher you into the car.

The drive to the airport was a short and uneventful one - Larissa kept her hand on your thigh the entire time, drawing lazy circles over your jeans with the pad of her thumb. She could tell you liked it from your soft smile and the lovely pink tinge on your cheeks, but it was just as much for her own benefit - feeling you kept her grounded, kept her breathing steady and her heart rate calm.

Miraculously, the line at the counter to check the luggage was short, and the line for airport security was even shorter. It wasn’t until the two of you were sitting at your gate, waiting for your flight, that Larissa noticed how you’d begun to fidget slightly - crossing and uncrossing your legs, flicking restlessly between apps on your phone, twirling strands of your hair between your fingers.

“Nervous flyer?” Larissa guessed - your cheeks turned scarlet and your gaze shifted to the floor in response.

“I’ll be fine, I just don’t fly often,” you said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. Larissa found the little gesture absolutely adorable - it made her want to scoop you up in her arms and protect you from the world. Your nervous expression made her heart ache and she leaned over to press a lingering kiss to your temple, her hand coming to rest on your lower back.

“It’s only an hour and a half, we’ll be up in the air and landing in New York before you know it.” She modulated her voice carefully, wanting nothing more than to soothe your nerves as you somehow managed to soothe her own. She held your hand as you were called for boarding, not letting go even when you were seated on the plane.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as the plane began to taxi and your hand tightened around Larissa’s in a vice-like grip. Larissa’s hand was starting to ache but it didn’t matter - she would let you crush it a thousand times over if it meant she could provide some semblance of comfort to you, and she squeezed your hand right back.

“Don’t be sorry,” she murmured, feeling her lips pull involuntarily into a soft smile as you shut your eyes and leaned your head back. She leaned in, placing her lips next to your ear. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine.” She felt you squeeze her hand even harder and grinned, placing a chaste kiss to the spot just below your ear, feeling you shiver beneath her lips. “Deep breaths, my darling girl.”

“Are you trying to get me so turned on that I forget about the stupid plane?” you joked, your voice growing breathy as you peeked your eyes open to peer over at Larissa.

“Is it working?” Larissa dropped her voice an octave on purpose and flicked her tongue against your earlobe - you shuddered, and Larissa felt her own arousal grow as she watched you squirm.

“Y-yes.”

A salacious smile crept up Larissa’s face. “Good. I promise I’ll reward you when we’ve arrived at the hotel. We have the entire weekend to ourselves.” Larissa kept her voice calm and collected - she didn’t miss the soft whimper that escaped your throat, or the way you shifted in your seat, and she lifted your hand to her lips to press a tender kiss to your knuckles.

~~~

“Holy shit, Rissa, you can’t be serious!”

Larissa delighted in the loud, unabashed squeal you let out upon entering your hotel room. She’d already watched you carefully and with great amusement in the lobby of the hotel, your jaw dropping to the floor and your eyes wide as Larissa had taken care of getting you checked in. And now, seeing you practically vibrate with excitement as you abandoned your luggage on the floor in favor of rushing over to the windows with a wide grin on your face, Larissa was certain her heart was expanding by the second.

“Do you like it?” she asked, nervous butterflies beating their wings against the walls of her stomach - was it too much? Not enough?

You turned to face her - she was still standing rather awkwardly in the doorway to the room - your eyes wide as saucers and slightly glazed over. “You didn’t just seriously ask me that,” you said with a giggle, your cheeks turning pink. “I love it! But… are you sure? You must have spent a fortune.”

“I’m sure,” Larissa said with a soft smile, remembering to close the door behind herself before carefully setting down her own luggage. She toed off her heels and padded softly over to you, placing her hands on your hips and ducking her head to press a long, lingering kiss to your lips, before spinning you around to face the window.

“You told me you’ve never been to New York City so I wanted to make this special for you,” she murmured, splaying her hands over your belly and pulling you against her. The view outside was stunning - the window gave way to a view of Central Park, all green trees against a blue skyline, and the best part was that the windows were facing the bed.

“It would be special either way, because I’m with you,” you whispered, leaning your head back against Larissa’s chest - she was almost certain you could hear her heart start to pound violently against her ribcage.

“Still…”

You turned suddenly in Larissa’s arms, taking her by surprise.

“You don’t have to impress me, you know.” You raised an eyebrow and Larissa felt her mouth go dry at the intensity of your gaze.

“How about I spoil you instead, then?” she whispered - she’d intended for it to come out confident and seductive, but instead her voice was breathy and nervous. She could curse herself internally for how weak she felt in your presence, if it weren’t for the fact that it was the most comforting feeling she’d ever felt.

The mischievous glint in your eyes when you realized you had the upper hand was undeniable, and your lips curled into a smirk as you leaned up, your mouth inches away from Larissa’s neck and your breath washing over her skin. Larissa shivered and squirmed, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“What?”

“That… that just tickles a bit,” Larissa said with a smile, attempting to step back - you stopped her with a hand on her waist, a devilish grin crossing your face.

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were ticklish. Does this tickle?”

Your fingers danced across Larissa’s sides, trying to find the spots that would have her squirming - it did tickle a little, but Larissa shook her head.

“How about this?” Your touch slowly turned more frantic and Larissa couldn’t take it any longer - she stepped back with a laugh, just out of reach. Of course you followed her, your hands ghosting over her body, tickling and caressing - Larissa laughed harder, twisting this way and that as her body shook under your touch. Your own laughter echoed through the suite, and you giggled madly in response to a loud shriek that Larissa let out when the backs of her knees hit the bed and she realized there was nowhere to escape to.

Larissa allowed herself to fall back onto the bed - you were close behind, crawling on top of her, all giggles and smiles as you leaned down and pressed what must have been dozens of tiny kisses all over Larissa’s face. Your hands left her sides to grip her wrists, pinning them above her head as your lips continued their assault on her jaw and throat.

Larissa was mid-giggle when she felt her laughter die in her throat - your thigh had found its way between her own and pressed up into her sex. She could feel her cheeks flush as she met your gaze, taking in your blown pupils and the adorable grin on your face, looking like a cat that caught a mouse.

“This is for earlier, during take-off,” you whispered as you leant in and pressed your lips to the center of her throat - she swallowed thickly and her eyes fluttered shut as the softest of whimpers escaped her lips.

“I-I was going to reward you,” Larissa whispered back breathlessly.

“As if this isn’t enough reward…”

In that moment, your thigh began to rock against her cunt at the exact same time that your teeth sunk into her neck, and her brain short-circuited. A strangled moan clawed its way out of her throat, so loud and broken that Larissa’s face began to burn. Your tongue began to lick the side of her neck, soothing the bite marks you’d left - wet and cool, sending a pronounced shiver down her spine.

Your knee found Larissa’s clit through the fabric of her pantyhose and underwear and you rocked forward, sending a wave of pleasure shooting through Larissa. The pressure was delicious but it wasn’t enough - she began to writhe and squirm, needy sounds bubbling forth from her chest as she started to grind desperately into you.

Larissa needed more - she broke her wrists free from your grip to fist at the front of your shirt, tugging you harshly towards her and crashing your lips together. One hand threaded its way into your hair, holding you in place as she licked into your mouth, her tongue dancing eagerly with yours. She could feel your breathing become labored, little whimpers escaping into Larissa’s mouth for her to swallow - it would appear Larissa wasn’t the only one who was helplessly turned on.

“Darling,” Larissa warned, her voice breathy as her hands began to trail down her own body, rubbing and squeezing her breasts on the way down before reaching her hips and hiking her dress up. “P-please…”

You sat back on your heels, wasting no time in tugging her pantyhose down, and her underwear along with them. Resting a hand on either one of Larissa’s thighs, she could feel you gently pry her legs apart, her folds being spread open by the action. Larissa watched with hooded eyes as you sunk down between her thighs, lining up your mouth with her cunt - she could feel herself trembling in anticipation, her breath coming out in shallow puffs as her clit throbbed with need.

Finally - finally - your tongue met her pussy, eagerly exploring her folds. Larissa let out a shuddering breath, her hands fisting at the sheets beneath her as you began to make soft, muffled noises of pleasure, the vibrations of which shot straight through her entire body.

“You taste so fucking good.” Your voice was low and gravelly and it made Larissa’s belly fill with warmth, her core tightening. Your tongue lapped eagerly at her cunt, gathering her arousal and soothing it over her clit - the action caused Larissa to buck her hips into your mouth. This was the first time you’d properly eaten her out, save for the brief moment on the morning after your first date where you’d been so rudely interrupted, and it felt like heaven to Larissa - your tongue was incredibly skilled, and the sight of you hungrily lapping at her core, with Larissa’s thighs bracketing your head, was nearly enough to send the shapeshifter over the edge.

“I need - mmh - m-more,” Larissa found herself whimpering as she teetered on the edge of bliss - she just needed that little push, that little bit more friction…

Your lips latched onto her clit, sucking fervently, and Larissa got what she so desperately needed - her orgasm washed over her, her toes curling and her thighs closing around your head as she whimpered and moaned her way through the aftershocks.

Your tongue caught every drop of arousal that Larissa’s body had to offer, licking her pussy and thighs clean of any remnants of her orgasm with a pleased hum. Then you peeked your head up, your cheeks flushed and your pupils blown, and Larissa could feel a blissed out grin spread across her face at the sight.

“Oh, come here, you,” she whispered fondly, sounding out of breath as her chest heaved. You crawled up her body and snuggled into her, your lips finding her own. Larissa groaned - your lips and chin were wet and tasted of her own arousal. She wrapped her arms around your waist and tugged you closer, smiling into the kiss. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you said with a chuckle, nuzzling your face into the crook of Larissa’s neck and letting out a content sigh. Larissa’s arms tightened around you and she allowed her eyes to flutter closed for a few minutes as she regulated her breathing.

Your stomach broke the blissful silence with a low growl, and Larissa chuckled.

“We should get ready for dinner, hm?” Larissa’s fingers danced across your collarbone, your jaw, before cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss. “I’d like for you to unpack your gift before we go.”

~~~

The two of you unpacked your suitcases and you laid the gifts she’d packed for you on the bed, your fingers playing curiously with the tissue paper. Larissa sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs primly and turning her attention to you.

“You may open it. I do hope you like it.” Larissa paused for a moment, then reached over and handed you the box. “Start with this one.”

You raised an eyebrow and began to tear gently at the tissue paper - Larissa watched intently, her heart hammering in her chest as your eyes widened.

“These are beautiful,” you murmured, turning your new high heels over in your hands.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d have the appropriate footwear for your other gift,” Larissa confessed with a blush.

You set the shoes gingerly back into their box, turning your attention to the unopened gift. “Can I?”

Larissa nodded and gestured for you to go ahead, trying to mask her nerves with a sweet smile. You once again tore through the tissue paper, your cheeks flushing as you uncovered the surprise.

Larissa had a knack for figuring out people’s measurements - fashion was one of her passions, she’d even learned to sew at an early age. She’d found the perfect dress for you a while ago, one that she was sure would accentuate your eyes and fit your aesthetic. Despite her confidence, a tiny part of her was nervous - she never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable or cross some sort of invisible boundary.

She let out a surprised squeak when she suddenly felt your arms encircle her torso and hug her tight, your head burying itself in the crook of her neck.

“Rissa, you didn’t have to,” you mumbled into her shoulder, your voice muffled.

“Oh hush… do you like it? You don’t have to wear it, I promise I won’t be upset.”

You pulled back, your expression earnest. “It’s stunning, Larissa. I love it.” Larissa grinned widely, then her cheeks went pink. She cleared her throat and her eyes flicked to the pile of tissue paper. “There’s more…”

Your brows knit together as you turned back to the dress, your fingers rifling through the discarded wrappings - your cheeks turning just as pink as Larissa’s when you saw the matching underwear set, in the exact color of the dress. You lifted the lacy thong and bralette, carefully examining it, and Larissa’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry, I hope I-”

You cut her off with a kiss - long, hard, desperate. Larissa hummed against your soft lips, melting into you as you pressed yourself into her.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not,” you whispered against her lips, before kissing her again, even harder than before - it took Larissa’s breath away and made her dizzy. “I’m going to go change… I’ll be right back.”

~~~

Larissa felt her breath catch in her throat as you slipped out of the bathroom. The dress fit you like a glove (filling Larissa with a certain smugness at having gotten your measurements right) - it hugged and accentuated each and every curve of your body, and drool pooled in Larissa’s mouth as her eyes hungrily devoured your body. Larissa had so been looking forward to going out with you but at that moment, all she wanted was to rip that dress off you, pin you to the bed and have her way with you over and over and over again. Especially knowing what underwear lay underneath the dress.

“You okay there?” Your voice brought Larissa back to the present - she clenched her thighs together with want and her eyes snapped up to meet your own, only to see humor dancing in your sparkling irises.

“You have no idea how much I desire you.” Larissa almost felt embarrassed at how gravelly and hoarse her voice had become and she cleared her throat, her cheeks quickly turning scarlet. You grinned, stepping forward until your body was pressing against Larissa’s - her hands automatically settled on your hips and the feeling of your body wrapped in that tight fabric was enough to have Larissa’s aching cunt clench around nothing.

“I mean if you want…” Your eyes flicked briefly down the length of Larissa’s body, hooded and suggestive. Larissa’s own eyes fluttered shut and she swallowed, hard, as her panties grew damp.

“No,” she said, her voice much higher than she’d intended for it to be. “I mean, yes. But I want you to experience more than just this hotel room this weekend. We’ll have plenty of time later, when we get back.”

“I mean, if you’re sure.” You batted your lashes and Larissa’s stomach flipped - she felt properly flustered.

“You really will be the death of me, you do know that?”

Your smug grin as you pried yourself from Larissa’s grip to grab your purse said it all.

Taglist: @mysaviorfalsegod @imlike-so-gaydude @rainbow-hedgehog @enchantressb @alder-saan @eveymay @amateurwritescm @brienneswife @principal-weems09 @messynessi @larissaoftarthweems @anti-bright-places @lvinhs @catechristiesstuff @ladyzmilf002 @milfsloverblog @opheliauniverse @orangeisnttheonlyfruit @im-a-carnivorous-plant @alexusonfire @bigolgay @kimiinou @wastdstime @scream-queenlover @imprincipalweemspet @justcallmelittleone @willowshadenox @milfsloverblog @yourlocaldisneyvillain @leftoverenvy @yahaqueen @peggycarter3 @lilfartbox1 @makemyworldworthliving @crow-raven-crow @mosscoveredcrucifix @opalthefrog

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#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #principal weems x reader #lipstick stains #lipstick stains series

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sunshine-theseus · 4 months

Text

Lego House | Aggie Beever-Jones x Reader

Words: 3.8k Summary: 2 years together basically means forever, no matter what happens. inspired by Ed Sheeran’s ‘Lego House’ Warnings: injury, you guys know I don’t stick to actual events so, slightly suggestive maybe? this is for me but also kinda for @perfectpersuasion because they seemed really excited about it

“Headphones?”

“Check.”

“Chargers?”

“Check.”

“Passport?”

“Double check.”

“Then why am I 100% sure it’s still in your top draw?” I dramatically reach across to my bag to prove that my passport is in fact packed safely in the secret pocket that I designated purely to the piece of identification.

But it’s empty, and I have to bashfully turn back to Aggie to admit it isn’t where it’s supposed to be. She only gives me a pointed look and I’m standing up and dragging my feet behind me to grab the passport from my bedside table draw.

“I swear I put it in there Ags. Last night after training.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re doing the checklist. It happens every time, you forget something.” Once I slide the small book into my bag I drop back down onto our couch, leaning into my girlfriend. She wraps her arms around me, and I bury my head in her neck, feeling the regretful late-night yesterday setting in.

“Come on we’ve got to be boarding the bus in an hour and who knows how long it’ll take us to get there.”

~~~~~

Naturally Aggie and I sit next to each other on the bus and/or the plane when the team travels for matches. We usually take a spot toward the back, or wherever is least populated or energetic, so that we can just be there together. Our hands are almost always interlocked and I’m usually leaning on her shoulder as we talk about our play or whatever interesting things going on.

“I’m nervous.” I whisper in her ear as we begin the decent into Gothenburg.

“Everyone underestimates us because we’re young, so when you get on that pitch, either starting or as a sub, you show them you belong at Chelsea, and that we belong in the Champions League. Okay?” When she looks at me to confirm my answer I lean forward, pressing a small kiss to her lips.

A flash goes off in the corner of my eye and I turn to find Zecira holding the media crew camera.

“The fans are going to love that.” Smiling a toothy grin, she turns to someone else, leaving us be.

The dark December sky encourages the cold and the light dusting of snow that begins to cover the tarmac. I wrap an arm around Aggie’s as we wheel our bags into the airport, trying not to fall face first on the slippery surface.

The warmth inside is welcomed as we are guided past the large crowds and onto the bus. Once again, I take my spot beside Aggie, behind Jessie and Niamh who were talking about Jessie’s new favourite tea. A calmness settles over everyone as Emma announces who’s rooming with who, which we all basically already know. 9 times out of 10 it’s the person currently sitting next to us.

Opening the door to our room brings great relief as I flop onto the bed closest to the window. Despite the two queen sized beds on either side of the room, it was inevitable that I’d end up curled up in my girlfriend’s arms as we huddle under the blankets, the other bed left untouched. This also usually meant that our room was the one to come to for activities, an extra bed meaning more space.

Aggie stands staring out the window, the city spanning across the horizon as the sun begins the set, the blue barely beginning to fade into purples and pinks. Old buildings and the river that runs through the architecture draw her eye as I stand behind her, taking in the way her body rises as she breathes, and the twitch in her lips as she spots something she finds beautiful, a certain spark in her eye. One that’s always there when she looks at me, hard to ignore.

“Did you bring your camera?” I ask as I slot in beside her. A hum in answer suffices as we take in the moment.

“We’re really here. Together.” I press kisses to her shoulder.

“Stamford Bridge is one thing but, we’re playing in the fucking Champions League. We’re not sat on the bench forever, we actually get minutes, not matter how little.”

“And we’re going to fucking win tomorrow’s match. Consider it an extra anniversary present.” Aggie chuckles and I feel the butterflies that burst to life in my stomach every time I look at her.

My mind drifts to the real present that sits carefully in a compartment of my bag for our anniversary tomorrow. My mum insisted it was perfect for Aggie and despite my hesitancy, I had to agree.

“We should head down for dinner.” Aggie leans down to kiss me before we leave.

~~~~~

Emma gave us a few hours to explore the city in the morning before we had to begin training and warming up for tonight's match. Jessie, Niamh and Zecira join us in the foyer, and we start our journey through the Swedish city, Zecira eager to introduce us to her country's traditions.

Not long into the walk, we stumble upon a small café on a terrace. We slide into a table and order our respective drinks, Aggie additionally getting a kardemummabröd, cardamom bread, for us to share. Niamh refuses to be apart of the picture that I take of the group at the table, but I manage to convince her to smile for the camera as we head back down onto the street.

The group splits into 2 after that. Aggie and I leave to seek out some flowers and a quiet spot to spend time together for our anniversary, while the others head back to the hotel, desperate to stay warm, although Jessie doesn’t seem to mind the cold winds.

“Look! They have red carnations!” Aggie is the one to point out the flower stand, full of red and green, that holds bunches of my favourite flower.

When the shop owner sees our linked hands, she smiles, the corner of her eyes wrinkling as they light up.

“For free.” She pushes Aggie’s hand away as she tries to pay for the red carnations.

“Love is enough payment.” I slip some money onto the bench as we leave, heading to an empty but rather beautiful park across the road.

“Happy anniversary.” I press a kiss to her cheek as I hand her the small bag. Inquisitively, she opens it and the box that sits on the bottom, revealing the gift.

“It’s a family ring. Handed down through a bunch of generations. The oldest kid gets it to give to their partner, the one they and the family think is the one. The person they’ll spend the rest of their life with, who makes them the best them.” I explain the origins as I take the ring from the box and slip it onto her hand. The gold band holds a small, encrusted peridot gem and fits perfectly on Aggie’s hand.

“Thank you. I love it.” Her voice is soft and watery, and her cheeks flame red when she looks at me. I can only imagine the love that adorns my face as I look at her. I’m about to kiss her when she has a moment of realisation.

“I left your gift in the fucking room.” The sweet moment is broken as she throws her head back and groans, and I can’t help but let out a hearty laugh.

“It’s okay.” I place a hand on top of the one she has on my thigh.

“Nooo we won’t have time when we get back, you’ll have to wait until tonight and that’s unfair.”

“I don’t even expect gifts Ags, just you and me. Plus, you got me my flowers. My favourite flowers from my favourite person. Sounds pretty good to me.”

“I’m your favourite person yeah?”

“Mmhm.” Her finger links through the thin gold chain that hangs around my neck.

“Show me then.” Her voice is raspy and deep as she pulls me forward by the necklace until our lips meet. It’s a hot and heavy kiss considering where we are, but I reciprocate it none-the-less.

I go to pull away, but she pulls me back in and I end up on her lap as we make out on the park bench. Her hands grip my thighs and mine hold the back of her head… Until we remember we’re on a park bench.

“That was kinda hot. Definitely a good make up present.” I smile down at her as our foreheads rest against each other.

“Emma’s going to kill us if we don’t head back soon…” Aggie is adamant that we begin walking to the hotel so we’re not late, so we walk hand in hand through the cold, barely arriving in time.

Training and warm up went well. The schedule was easy to adapt to and we weren’t pushing excessively as to waste energy before the match.

In saying that, we were up 2-1 when I got subbed on in the 60th minute, replacing Lj who wasn’t feeling all too well at half time. I felt good and energised, ready to make my second UWCL appearance.

Sam and I were gelling well together as we often did, making passes and taking shots on goal, only to be blocked by the Hacken keeper. It was a hard game but we were winning.

Aggie gets subbed on in the 68th minute, along with Jessie. The ball rarely makes it back past us, Erin often making a run with the ball toward us. Eventually Aggie passes me the ball and I try to gage my surroundings. Sam is offside, passing back to Aggie would be a mistake, Jessie’s surrounded. Erin has a clear path and shot of the goal.

I begin to run, and right as the ball connects with my foot, flying toward Erin, a body knocks against mine and my knee buckles. Nothing feels real as I fall to the floor, a loud pop filling my ears as pain radiates through my knee. I let out a blood curdling scream, but it isn’t heard over the cheering of Chelsea fans as Erin hits the ball into the goal.

I toss around on the grass, holding my leg and slamming a hand repeatedly against the ground as I sob and wale, waiting for someone to notice. It’s Sophie who places a hand on my back and yells for the ref, who then yells for the medics.

Aggie drops down in front of me as we wait, and I try and reach for her hand. The task finds itself to be difficult as my own hand shakes and my vision is blurred by tears.

“It’s- it’s my ACL.” A loud sob slips from my lips despite my attempt to hold it back.

“You don’t kn-”

“I know it Ags. I know it is I swear.”

“Okay, okay. It’ll be okay. The medics are here to look at it okay?” I nod as their hands grasp my leg, asking whether certain movements hurt or not.

It’s when I see them wave for the orange stretcher that things feel real again. Like everything was happening in slow motion until that moment. And I begin to cry again, my head now resting in Aggie’s lap as she runs a hand through my hair.

Every movement hurts as they transfer me from the ground to the stretcher, and I try not to scream out. A couple of the girls walk alongside me until the sideline, where Aggie grabs my hand and kisses me.

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can, okay?” I nod and watch as she runs back onto the pitch, her head turning every few steps to look at me, worry set in her eyes.

Turns out ‘as soon as I can’ would be much later. The medics had decided that instead of waiting until tomorrow or until we were back in England for a scan, it’d be best to go straight to the hospital. So we did.

Despite the usual wait to receive scan results, I’m sent back to the hall to wait for them. While waiting for the radiographer to call my name, Emma messages me asking if I wanted the team there. I decline the offer, knowing the girls would be exhausted after the last game of 2023 and would just want to sleep.

That doesn’t stop Aggie showing up.

I can hear the pounding of shoes hitting the linoleum ground, someone clearly running, but I don’t give it much thought as I scroll mindless on my phone. When she crouches in front of me, hands on my thigh to keep herself balanced, I have to try not to show how relieved I am. I knew what the results would be but hearing it makes it all the more real and I needed my girlfriend to hold my hand.

“Did we win?” a soft chuckle fills the air, and she nods as I put my phone in my pocket.

“3-1, because of your pass to Erin.”

“Oh, that’s good.” I’m aware of the glum look on my face as Aggie sits on the ground in front of me, allowing me to braid her hair repeatedly as we talk, waiting for the results.

“Ms L/n?” Aggie is quick to stand and turn to face the doctor while I struggle with the crutches.

“We know you already know what’s wrong but, to confirm, you’ve ruptured your anterior cruciate ligament in your right knee. You’ll be referred to a doctor and surgeon in England so you can arrange the surgery as soon as possible once you get home. I’m terribly sorry.” she leaves us with a woeful smile and the only thing I have to stop me from spiralling is Aggie’s hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll get through this. We will get through this. I’ll be there every step of the way. So will the girls. And if you fall down, I’ll pick you back up.” She kisses me on the forehead, and we begin the walk out to the parking lot, waiting for someone to pick us up.

Most people are asleep or relaxing in their rooms or the meal room by the time we get back to the hotel. Emma gives me a hug but doesn’t encourage us to stay or talk to anyone, knowing I’ll want to be alone with Aggie for a while.

“Getting on the plane tomorrow is going to be a challenge.” I try to laugh off the thought of all the normal activities that won’t be easy anymore as I shift onto my side of the bed.

“I’ll carry you, bridal style.” With that, Aggie hands me a gift, the gift she forgot on our date earlier in the day.

The box is rather heavy, and when I take off the lid, I find a photo album. It’s hard not to smile at the photo of us kissing that’s stuck to the cover.

“A page for every day we’ve spent together. For every day I’ve loved you.” I flick through the pages, reading some of the notes around the photos.

“This is why you take a photo of us every day?”

“I also just love capturing your beauty.” I pull her close to me and kiss her.

“I love you so much.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

~~~~~

I ended up having my surgery on Christmas day. Aggie and my family had planned on having a big day together, opening presents and having a feed, and I felt guilty taking the joy away. There wasn’t really any other choice. Aggie held me the night before as I cried. Our bed felt like the only safe place, even in our apartment, so that’s usually where I stayed. The increase in rain felt very fitting for how I’d been feeling.

Once everyone started coming back from the Christmas break, our place became more lively. I still used a singular crutch just in case, but for the most part I could put solid weight on my leg again, which meant I was able to do more activities with the team. We would hold game nights and/or movie nights once a week and occasionally I’d cook a Sunday roast.

Eventually Aggie began to take me to training. I wasn’t able to do anything, but I enjoyed watching the girls and just being in the environment again. It also made me happy watching Aggie play, it was when she looked the most carefree, despite others claiming that was when she was with me.

Aggie hadn’t left my side. Helping me shower and do the exercises for my knee. She always made sure I was entertained and asked if I needed help. Most of our spare time together was spent with me wrapped in her arms, watching a shitty tv show or talking.

“What did the doc say?”

“The ligament is looking good. They still think I’m on track for getting back in the gym in May, test out that anti-gravity treadmill.”

“And you got the team physio check up tomorrow yeah?” I hum as I adjust myself in her arms, head slotting into the crook of her neck.

I was having weekly check-ups with the Chelsea medical team and my own physio, which made it rather nerve wracking, wondering if one would feel the same as the other. If we weren’t all on the same page, my recovery time could be pushed further back. The team physio check up was the last one to confirm that I’d be allowed to start training and building stamina back up next month.

When I arrived at Cobham in the training kit, I felt really good. Some of the girls who pulled up at the same time as us were screaming across the car park and wishing me luck in my first session back.

I knew I’d be stuck in the gym for at least 2 months before I was allowed back on the pitch. Even then it’d be another couple of months before I was properly training with the team again, but this was the first step, and nothing could take that joy from me.

The girls started their mornings off in the gym, which meant they were cheering me on and helping me as the trainers gave me exercises to do. Aggie spends most of the hour doing the exercises alongside me, only leaving to complete something mandatory or to get us more water.

“You don’t have to Ags. You should focus on your training.”

“I promised I’d be here every step of the way. I’ll do it all for you.” She locks the leg extension and gives me a hand to help me up.

“Now onto the anti-gravity machine. First time huh?” she gently bumps me with her shoulder as I get ready to step into the chamber before Lily, my designated trainer, enables the ‘anti-gravity.’

“Oh this feels weird.” The way my body lifts with every step eases the pressure on my knee as I start to get used to it.

“Look at you! This is so cool.” Aggie doesn’t stop smiling as she watches me, some of the other girls occasionally making their way over to watch.

As predicted, 2 months later I begin training on the pitch. It felt lonely, watching the girls and being so close to joining them, yet so far. But I knew I was nearly there. Lily helped me with building up speed and getting used to the feel of the boots and grass again. Then came shooting practice; standing, getting passed a ball, and shooting. Eventually we added the training mannequins and Lily played goalkeeper as I manoeuvre around the pitch and obstacles.

Aggie likes to join us at lunch or sometimes gets excused by Emma to help me.

“Aggiiiie. I’m supposed to have the ball you’re supposed to just block me.”

“You gotta fight for the ball or take it off someone at some point.” Her cheeks are that beautiful pink as she grins at me.

“I hate you.” I puff out as I try to catch my breath.

“I’m wounded.” A hand falls to her heart before she approaches me, the ball still at her feet, and she leans in for a kiss.

“Nuh uh you’re being mean.”

“No I am not! Please one kiss.”

“Fine.” As she closes her eyes again and leans in, I swipe the ball from underneath her and start to run to the goal.

“What the fuck!?”

“Get better babe!” I take a shot around Lily, although not very hard considering her lack of goalkeeper training, and watch as it slots into the back of the net.

“73 minutes in and number 10 Lauren James is being subbed off! Who for? It’s Y/n L/n making her first appearance of the 24/25 season after rupturing her ACL in the Champion’s League in December last year. Her first game in 326 days at a sold-out Stamford Bridge! And who else is there to walk with her onto the pitch, if not her girlfriend and one of Chelsea’s star strikers, Aggie Beever Jones. Today is a great day for it.”

I try not to cry as Aggie takes my hand, making my way to my position. The cheer from the crowd as I jog on is deafening and I clap back at them before the ref blows the whistle.

Not long into play, Aggie makes a run forward, and I find a clear space between players near the goal and call for the ball. She kicks it and it soars through the air, making contact with my head as I jump. The net ripples as it skims passed the Arsenal keeper, and I’m making a run for Aggie to celebrate.

“First game back and you scored! Let’s fucking go!” she grabs me by my face and pulls me in. The kiss is unexpected but welcome in celebration.

We win 4-0, and Aggie and I find ourselves tangled up in our sheets, tracing patterns on each other’s bare skin as we whisper messages of love and adoration for the other.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“You did everything for me.”

Y/N_L/N

Y/N_L/N: this is a thank you letter to the one who’s stood by me for 3 years. who’s loved and cared for me when I didn’t think anyone would. a year ago today I ruptured my ACL, on our anniversary, and in the year since then we’ve only grown stronger, loved each other harder, fallen deeper. i'd do it all for you, like you did for me

---------

Beth and Viv’s new doco on their ACL journey really helped me with writing this. Obviously not everyone’s journey is the same so I tried to make it as different as I could with ruining it all together. I hope they’re proud of the doc because it’s really going to help people, and hopefully encourage more funding in researching the ACL injuries in women’s football and help with creating boots designed for women, so it lowers the risk of injuries like ACLs.

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wsl #woso fanfics #aggie beever jones #aggie beever jones x reader #aggie beever-jones #chelsea women #chelsea fcw #cfcw

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lime-bloods · 9 months

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Homestuck's Gnosticism: The World / The Wheel

Everyone knows Homestuck is "a Gnostic story".

Wait, why does it feel like we've had this exact conversation before...?

AH. SO NICE OF YOU TO JOIN ME.

If you followed along with the first post in this series, you'll be familiar already with the Gnostic nature of Homestuck's central conflict between the spirit world and the flesh. And even if I say so myself, I think that post is pretty definitive; if you're ever unsure what a particular character's motivations or end goal are, the Conflict will tell you. But what's conspicuously absent from the post is any explanation of what actually happens in Homestuck. We've covered the why, but very little of the how.

I left us off on the "synonymous goals" that spring naturally from this conflict between flesh and spirit; attaining ultimate knowledge, and escaping the confines of Homestuck itself. Eagle-eyed readers probably spotted what was lying between the lines, there: the comic is called Homestuck because it's about being stuck in a house, so the ending is about escaping the house. But what does that really look like? And how did they get in that house in the first place?

Let's return very briefly to a quote I used in the previous post. "[Y]our ultimate self [...] unlike god tiers or bubble ghosts or whatever, it really IS immortal". Two assumptions naturally grow out of this fact. First, and probably most obvious: when John dies, he's not really gone. The idea of him still exists out there, somewhere, and in our minds, so he still exists. Second, though: if the idea of him is eternal, John obviously didn't start existing when he was born. So again we ask, where did he come from?

How did John get here? Where does he go? The answers to these questions are like the four sides of one hypercoin, in that Homestuck is a time loop... of a sort.

To begin to understand this, we need to reiterate what was basically "the point" of the first post: Homestuck operates on two distinct levels, a spiritual plane consisting purely of ideas, and a "literal" physical dimension. What happens on these two planes often mirrors each other, and because Homestuck itself is a work of fiction which operates in the realm of ideas, they can even intersect. But ultimately, what "literally" happens to the characters in Homestuck is not the same as the ideas the comic is expressing in its spiritual metanarrative.

The fact that a physical time loop is impossible is something Homestuck inherits from real-life physics: to put it simply, John being born can't be the physical John from the end of his timeline, because that John would be way too old to be a baby! But ideological time loops are not only something sanctioned by Paradox Space, but essential to its very being; they are where it gets its name, after all! To repeat another lynchpin quote from the comic: there is essentially nothing new in paradox space. Any idea that seems new necessarily must have just come from somewhere else.

"SbaHJ has the distinction of being the symbolic language of [Dave's] subconscious." (Homestuck: Book 3: Act 4, p. 282)

Frequently we see this expressed in the rooms representing characters' dreams, which, as discussed, sort of transcend the character's physical form and represent the broad ideas that characters are made of. Dave's dreams (pictured above) are covered with drawings of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, characters he seemingly invented as a child after being inspired by a drawing Terezi sent to him. But Terezi's drawing was based on Dave's own illustrations she saw later on in his timeline; so which of them truly "invented" Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff? Neither of them did; SBaHJ exists as pure subconscious ideological matter floating through Paradox Space, only sometimes being picked up by a character's conscious mind. Similarly, Gamzee tries to manipulate this subconscious realm when he uses his psychic powers to place a terrifying effigy of Jack Noir in John's dreams, as punishment for the destruction of the trolls' session. But as we know, Jack Noir only took that form because of the nightmares this doll caused! So again; neither John or Gamzee thought up the demonic clown "first". It existed in the realm of ideas before either of them ever had the chance to invent it.

These kinds of ideological loops are the bread-and-butter of jujus. We're told their origins are untraceable and that they can't be destroyed, but neither of these things is really true; these superstitions exist only to obfuscate the true rule that jujus "emerge spontaneoUsly from the void." Rather than be erased from existence, a juju can only be banished to that same void of nonexistence where disembodied ideas live, and then pulled back into the world of dreams by a prospective psychic.

With these rules established, now we can really delve into with appreciation the ideological time loop that underpins all of Homestuck. And like all good time loops, the best place to start is at the end.

ACT 7 (Are you tired of seeing it yet?)

Let's not insult anyone's intelligences here: you know and I know that Caliborn's little house juju looks like the Homestuck logo because it is Homestuck; when he wins it from Yaldabaoth, he takes control of it, and when he sucks the heroes inside, he's trapping them in the confines of his material world.

What's essential to keep in mind here, though, is that the power of a juju is the power of the idea itself. It's easiest for us to think of the word juju in Homestuck as a concrete noun, referring simply to a magical object. But the word's real-life origins, referring more abstractly to magic or enchantment, are still relevant in this fictional framework. Lil Cal isn't just "a juju", but is "FILLED WITH BAD JUJU." Magic in Homestuck has always really been about the idea that believing in something can make it real, and the purpose of all Homestuck's dealings with chucklevoodoos and jujus is to evoke the anthropological concept of the "fetish"; an item whose power comes from human beings ascribing supernatural qualities to it. Jujus are all part of the "game" the cherubs play, with all its rules and quirks; breaking an enchantment is like breaking a rule, in that it changes nothing about the real world: you've just infringed upon an idea. The juju isn't the object; the juju is the power, good or bad, ascribed to the object.

All of this is really just to say one thing: Caliborn's home juju can't trap the flesh versions of John and his friends; as we established, you can't send old John back in time to become young John. But what a juju can trap is something far more important; the ideas of John and his friends. This is why it doesn't matter if the heroes who travel back to the beginning of everything to beat Lord English while he's still a kid are the "main" timeline versions of those heroes from some point in the future, or if the Epilogues' version of events is truth and they're some "irrelevant" offshoots: because all of those characters are represented by the same idea, and that's what Caliborn puts in the box. No matter what timeline John is from, he's from Homestuck, to Homestuck he must return, and as such Homestuck is what he must be forced to escape. Refer again back to the previous post: Caliborn can't create or destroy, only take pure ideas and alchemise them down into a form he can control.

And that's why Act 7 so enigmatically features two different white home-doors (above), seemingly so interconnected yet effectually unrelated. Because Act 7 takes up the hefty role of concluding two storylines simultaneously: allowing the "real", flesh-world versions of John and his friends to escape Lord English's reality through one door, while also concluding Homestuck's metanarrative by setting the ideas of John and his friends free of their prison through another door.

So far, most of this is probably stuff you'd have either figured out on your own or at least heard from someone else already. And if we set aside such distractions as run-ins with radioactive imps and omnipotent dog-gods, the "whats" and "hows" of the heroes' story are probably the easier parts of Homestuck to figure out. What's more difficult to fully comprehend on a first pass is how Lord English himself fits into all of this.

If you've been following me for any stretch of time, you'll notice in my analysis of Homestuck I've returned to the topic of black holes frequently. I've lost track of how many versions I've published of what I call "Black Hole Theory". And I won't link to any of them here, because ultimately Black Hole Theory was a corkboard to which I could pin the evidence that would eventually, piece by piece, lead us to where we are right now:

If the home juju is a white "hole" leading out of the confines of Homestuck as a story, then black holes are the doors that lead back in. An early clue to this comes in the form of Calliope's stage in the heart of a spiral: these spirals are Calliope's visions of black holes, which she uses as "dark pocket[s]" from which "no information can escape" - a literal description of a black hole - and that stage is the very same one Caliborn stages his story on when he takes full control of Homestuck's narrative. The meaning here should be clear: Calliope creates black holes, and it's the center of these black holes where stories can take place.

But for all the evidence we need to suggest that Lord English's fall into a black hole leads to something more complex than just his destruction, we need not look further than conventional science:

In the quantum world [...] information cannot be created nor destroyed.

Lisa Zyga, on the conservation of quantum information.

This rule that "ideas" are truly immortal, and that any time an idea seems to be destroyed it must have merely been transported somewhere else, holds true even in the scientific world of black hole physics. This has been played with in MS Paint Adventures before; theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking's take on black holes was that some stuff could in fact escape a black hole, contrary to Calliope's assertions, in the form of Hawking radiation. But Hussie's own version of the story was always a lot more to the point: something gets sucked into the center of a black hole, it gets shot out somewhere else. In hypothetical physics this is called a white hole - no doubt you can see where this is going.

So Lord English's final moments in Homestuck see him not destroyed, or killed, or defeated in combat in any traditional way, but sucked right back into Homestuck. What exactly does that mean?

Homestuck, p. 8105

As long as we're talking the power of ideas and symbols, possibly the most blatant a symbol can get is in the form of a gesture; and the thumbs-down is possibly one of the most ancient gestures there is. Dave gets one, Tavros gets one, and, so they say, even the Roman gladiators got them. This precedent makes the meaning of the gesture clear: "you're going down." And it makes sense, too, that Hussie, the "good author", would signal the "evil author's" demise in such a way. But some might question the effectiveness of the power of gesture at such a pivotal point in the comic. Are we really to believe that English's defeat was, even in part, the result of another author merely willing him away like a tyrant doing away with an entertainer who has fallen out of favour? Or did the Hussie-character actually have some kind of plan to deal with his Hulk-like alter ego?

Of course he did.

...now Caliborn has hijacked the property of his experiential continuum which he has reason to believe is called "the narrative". Little does he know you recently made the shrewd decision to purchase(?) the ACT 6 ACT 6 SUPERCARTRIDGE EXPANSION PACK! Just plug it into any in-universe console port to unlock a variety of exciting new gameplay features and proceed through remaining canon unfettered, while Caliborn muddles through six new sub-sub-acts of infantile "subversive parody" targeting the very tale he inhabits, none the wiser!

To allow our heroes the chance escape their narrative prison, English isn't just to be trapped in their old cell; it's to be trapped within an infinitely-recursing cell, not just reliving one story over and over again but forced to live out infinitely many different stories. Not just a narrative loop; a narrative spiral. That's what being sucked into the black hole means for Lord English.

When Roxy - the Hero of Void whose very symbol is that of the black hole - banishes Caliborn-as-Cal into the void, he becomes one of the very wandering ideas with which English plays like dolls. "Instances of [Doc Scratch] have spawned in countless universes", and they have "never once failed to complete [their] objective": whether he wants to or not, Lord English will always be born again. In a new universe, perhaps, maybe even in a different shape, but his role always the same. Caliborn thinks that by filling the supercartridge with special stardust and corrupting the story, he's won, but looking at the bigger picture the truth is clear: he's only playing by somebody else's rules.

Just as Skaia uses lotus "seeds" to store items away for later use, and employs meteors as "Seeds" to send important elements back in time to set up the beginnings of new stories, so too are English's cue ball "seeds" only a means of transporting his essence from one place to the other; the black hole and the Rapture are, after all, only Skaia and the Reckoning sized up to a truly macrocosmic scale. The cue ball is able to be a font of endless knowledge because it is the "white hole" at the other end of the black hole! No information can escape a black hole, and therefore there is no information that escapes Scratch's attention -- he is limited only by his "pockets of void", which exist only to, in time, be filled, as more and more falls into these black holes like a multiversal game of billiards. Not only is this a transparent allusion to one of the most fundamental representations of the paradoxical time loop as a concept, but it is also the ultimate insult to injury: despite having lived an infinite number of lives, and being cursed to live out an infinite number more, Lord English cannot know what his fate will be until he literally falls into it. This is what forces him to lose, over and over again for eternity, while our heroes triumphantly escape Homestuck onto greener pastures.

#homestuck #analysis #lord english #black holes #metanarrative

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doctorreidswife · 6 months

Text

Take My Time - Spencer Reid

CW: SMUT 18+ ,,,,,, mentions of drugs/addiction struggles, canon adjacent violence, angry spencer, oral (fem+male receiving), fingering, pet names (sunshine), degrading name-calling (whore, slut etc.), rough sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex (piv), slight choking, spencer does aftercare<3

word count: 2514

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You and Spencer never really got along. You were aware of what Spencer had been through, his struggles with Dilaudid, but that never excused his shitty behaviour towards you. You were a sweet individual, forever smiling and ensuring your team were okay. Whether it was small check ins or leaving pick me ups at their desks, you were their sunshine. Spencer on the other hand, hated that about you. He couldn't stop hating how you could still smile like nothing happened and how you could forget so easily. Why couldn't he stop hurting for one moment and just forget?

"Hey Sunshine, you okay?" Derek asked, slouching in his chair at his desk that was right next to yours. You turned around with a smile on your face, despite the obvious exhaustion.

"I'd be a lot better if I wasn't woken up at 4am for a case, but y'know.... shit happens." You chuckled. Derek laughed, scooting his chair closer. Emily joined your duo, rubbing her eyes.

"I hate early mornings." She grumbled .

"Yeah, we know. You're a woman of the night." You joked, narrowly escaping the smack Emily aimed for your head. Spencer scoffed as he walked past. Your eyes followed the man for a moment before you turned back to the other two. "Guess we better get up there and see what our case is." She grabbed her go back, heading up into the conference room where JJ and Hotch were waiting.

"Three victims, two male, one female. All three died due to asphyxiation, hands and feet tied." JJ said, flicking through her slideshow of photos. You stifled a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you listened to her talk. At some point you could feel a pair of eyes on you. When you turned your head, Spencer was staring at you with a scowl on his face. You stared back at him, your eyes boring into his, the tension thick between you two. You could cut it with a knife.

"Wheels up in thirty." Hotch said and stood up. It took you a moment to register what Hotch had said and to draw your gaze from Spencer, but when you did, you grabbed your bag and left the room, desperate to get away from the man who had stared you down for the majority of the meeting. **

The plane was silent when you got on it. Everyone decided to take a power nap before hand, exhausted from being woken up so early. You sat up, flicking through the case file, Spencer sat in the seat diagonal to you. Once again, you could feel his stare but you were too focused on the case. You could see him squirming in your peripheral vision, eyes locked on you. You sighed deeply, closing the case file and putting it on the table in front of you. "What is you issue, Reid?"

Spencer scoffed out a quiet laugh, not wanting to wake the rest of the team. "My issue? What is yours?" You rolled your eyes. Of course he would try turning this back on you.

"You're the one that's been staring me down like I'm some sort of prey. So either you have some sort of weird obsessive crush on me or you just have a staring problem." You spat out quietly. You were sick of being on the receiving end of Spencer's hostility. His face contorted into one of disgust.

"You're not right in the head. You have this fake facade that everyone falls for. You're the not smiley, happy, angel everyone thinks you are." He said. "You just hide behind a smile because you think it'll help you progress in this industry." "It's flattering that you think I'm gonna get promoted on just my smile alone, but I am actually smart, Spencer, believe it or not. Just because you have a 187 IQ doesn't mean you're the only person with brains." You stood up, walking away. He boiled you blood sometimes. You opened the door to the plane bathroom, planning on hiding out in there for a bit. A body was suddenly pressed up against yours, a hand pressing to your mouth that immediately muffled the squeal that escaped your lips. The bathroom door was shut as you were pushed into the bathroom, the body still pressed up against yours.

"If you really had brains, Sunshine, you would stop running that pretty little mouth of yours." Spencer spoke lowly in your ear, manhandling you to turn you to face him. You didn't get a moment to register anything; Spencer pressed his lips roughly to yours. You wish you were able to say that your first kiss with Spencer was a pleasant, romantic experience, but this kiss was angry, hateful and the entire thing was full of clashing teeth and invasive tongue. Spencer pressed your body against the wall, hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave a bruise. Your hands travelled up to his head, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat and hear it drumming in your ears. You pull away for a second, heavy breathing filling the small bathroom. You looked up at Spencer through your eyelashes and he looked back down at yours, nothing but rage and lust clouding them.

"Who knew the innocent ray of Sunshine could be such a whore, hm?" Spencer chuckled, looking down at the you as you deeply inhaled and exhaled. You face scrunched up and you coughed up a scoff.

"Fuck you." The words were like venom on your tongue but was almost a plead.

"Get on your fucking knees and open your filthy mouth." He shoved you down. You obliged, sinking to your knees, becoming eye level with the bulge that was constricted by his work pants. His nimble fingers work to undo his belt, shoving his trousers down to his ankles, his boxers following quickly after. His cock was considerably larger than you expected, veins running from the base up his shaft to the angry, red tip that was already leaking pre-cum. Spencer looked down at you, one hand tangling in your hair, the other guiding his cock to your lips. He rubbed the tip against your lips, smearing the salty liquid on you. "Open up." He tapped his tip against your lips again before you parting your lips and wrapped them around him, letting Spencer push himself further into your mouth. A small groan escaped his lips as he pushed his dick into your mouth, trying to keep quiet. You breathed through your nose, relaxing to try not to gag and choke on his length. "That's it, dirty girl." He slowly thrust his hips, letting the you hollow out you cheeks for him. Despite your current burning dislike for the man, you didn't hate the way he tasted, you could suck him off until he's begging for you to stop.

He pulled his dick from your mouth, grabbing your arm and yanking you up. He sunk to his knees, pushing you up against the wall, grabbing your exposed thighs, uncovered by the skirt you wore. You shuddered as he pushed the fabric up your legs, trailing sloppy kissed on the exposed skin, pushing your legs further apart. "Spencer..." You gasped. He looked up at you, smirking.

"You gotta keep quiet, otherwise you'll wake everyone." He said before his attention turned back to you. He lifted one of your legs, putting it on his shoulder to give him better access to your dripping cunt. He chuckled, running his fingertip along the edge of your soaked panties, teasing. "God, do you hate me? Are you sure you're mad at me? Because your pretty little pussy is telling me otherwise." He pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your parted lips. "You are just a slut, aren't you Sunshine... you're a desperate little slut." He moved his thumb ever so slightly to create the smallest bit of friction. Your hips jerked slightly, biting down on your finger, small whimpers escaping your lips to try and coax the man into doing more. He pushed the soaked fabric aside and groaned as he admired your slick covered folds. "Y'know, this has got to be the prettiest pussy I've ever seen... I wonder what you taste like," He mused, lifting his head closer to your sex.

"Please-" You begged and almost instantly a moan was drawn from you lips as he pressed his mouth to you. His tongue dragged right up your slit, all the way to your clit, moaning into you at your taste, flicking his tongue over your clit. "Spencer!" You gasped, leaning your head back on the wall. Your hands gripped his hair, rolling your hips against his mouth, moans slipping past your lips. He brought a finger up pulling his mouth away momentarily, teasing you with his finger before pressing it inside of you, curling it to hit your sweet spot. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan as he drew back his finger and pumped it back in with a second doing the exact same thing, curling his fingers inside of you, the pads of his fingers hitting the spongey insides of your cunt that made you squirm. Heat pooled in your stomach and the walls of your pussy contracted around his fingers which made him move them faster. His lips pressed to your clit, sucking on it and flicking his tongue over it. Your legs shook with pleasure and you chanted his name over and over again as the heat in your stomach grew larger. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer!"

Spencer chuckled, pulling his mouth away once more. "You gonna cum pretty girl? You gonna cum because you're a filthy slut who gets off to being treated like shit?" He cooed teasingly. You nod desperate for your release. "Go on, cum for me Sunshine." Once again, he suctioned his lips back to your clit, drawing you nearer and nearer to your orgasm. Your legs felt like jelly as your orgasm came crashing down on you in white hot waves. Stars dotted your vision as your eyes roll back into your head, legs threatening to give out on you. Spencer held your body to the wall to keep you upright, fingering you through your orgasm, eyes trained on your blissed out face, lips parted, heavy pants filling the room as you tried to keep your moans to a minimum. You hadn't even gotten a chance to recovering from the earth shattering orgasm Spencer had just given you before her was turning you around on your wobbly feet and pushing you against the sink in the small room. He bent you over, his cock still an angry, red and leaking, rubbing it up and down your slit. "I wish I could take my time with you sweetheart, but someone's gotta show you that acting like a brat won't get you anywhere." He grabbed your leg, holding it just under the knee, guiding his cock to your dripping hole.

"Fuck you Reid,,,, fuck you." You gasped, knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the sink. Spencer chuckled, his tip prodding your entrance.

"You are-" He couldn't take it any longer and pushed inside of you right until his hips connected with your bare ass. Both of you let out a moan, mouths open as Spencer bottomed out inside of you. "Oh fuck, baby, your pussy's fucking choking me," His hand slid round to your throat, pulling you up so your back was pressed to his chest. You turned your head to look at him and he pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as he pistoned in and out of you. You brought one hand up and wrapped it around his neck, tangling it in his hair, the other bracing yourself on the wall. The lewd sounds of him fucking you filled the room alongside the harmonised of both of your quiet moans. His cock was stretching you out, hitting you in places no man has ever hit before. Your walls clenched around him and Spencer buried his face in your neck. "Shit sweetheart, holy shit, I'm gonna fucking cum." He groaned against your skin, biting down on the flesh of your neck. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening again at his voice. You'd never realised how sexy it was before. Rough and low. His breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine, tugging at his hair.

"Gonna cum too-" You mumbled, his brown locks twisted in your fingers as you lightly tugged. He ripped your hand from his hair, bending you over the sink again with his hand over your mouth, relentlessly fucking into you. You cried out into his hand, eyes wide. His other hand trailed around your waist and between your legs, harshly rubbing at your clit. Your head clouded as he fucked you dumb, the only thing you could think about was how good his dick felt, scraping at your walls. With one particularly hard thrust, Spencer hit just the right spot that has your crumbling. Your body convulsed as you came hard around his dick, moaning out into the hand that was pressed to your mouth, your cunt squeezing the life out of his cock. It took a couple more thrusts inside your pulsating pussy before his dick was spurting thick, white ropes of hot cum inside you, filling you. He moaned into your neck, the arm that was reaching down to you clit wrapping around your waist to pull you right against him. You booth stood there, leaning against the sink, heavy breathing, brains fogged with post-orgasm haze. You didn't feel Spencer pull out of you or quickly dress himself. You didn't really register him wiping your legs and throbbing sex until he was fixing your underwear and skirt. His hands fell to your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into you.

"Are you okay?" His voice was different. No longer rough and low, it was soft and gentle. You leaned back into him, letting out a shaky breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay... are you?" You asked, eyes closed. He pressed his forehead to your temple, leaving a soft kiss to your cheek.

"I'm okay love... don't you worry about me." You were both silent for a moment, processing what had happened. It was almost overwhelming. "I'm sorry." He mumbled quietly, his arms wrapping around your waist. "I'm sorry I've been such a dick to you."

"It's okay Spencer." You breathed out, bringing a hand up to gently caress his face, turning so your foreheads were pressed together. "It's okay." One of his hands came up and gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your head back slightly before pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies. This kiss was significantly different to the previous ones. It was loving, caring.

You didn't quite know what this meant for you and Spencer, but you knew one thing for definite.

You wanted to do this again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #smut #criminal minds #doctor reid #criminal minds fandom #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #sex with spencer reid #hate sex #plane sex

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mariusroyale · 5 months

Note

tips on how to draw raph? :3

I’m a raph lover but he is so hard to draw 😔

hey an!! listen i get u completely, this big spikey boy can be a real challenge

my main advice would probably be to recognise raph’s structure? his shapes and how he’s formed, etc. and the best way for that imo are references! i have a tag for this actually

and here’s some raph refs!

if u wanna know how to draw the entirety of the best boy this post wouldn’t do it justice so here’s some main things:

if you’re trying to replicate the show’s style keep in mind how angular everything is. raph's main shape is a square because of how bulky and rigid he is (helps to encourage his character's role too! love that they made him such a fucken tank)

raph’s head shape is basically if you widened leo’s head- they’re both pointed too

one main thing i do for any head really is keep in mind the eye placement and the cheeks

if u happen to draw faces with the fabled circle and two lines- i use the horizontal line to mark where the bottom of the eyes are- and where the start of the cheek begins (i’m doing my best not to make this into a ‘now draw the rest of the owl’ moment)

if that makes any sense. heres a really shoddy 'tutorial'

i kinda just blank out on my canvas and raph appears out of sheer will

but also just like.

figure out how you like raph's head to look (maybe u want his snout longer, or his jaw shorter, etc etc)

figure out where his brow ridges are located and how they're moving (is he grumpy? is he angry??)

make a mask for his eyes to go in (jebus take the wheel)

pronounce snout (it protrudes, which makes it easy to figure out his facial planes)

do whatever feels right for his mouth- im not exactly rigid with how i draw as of rn, i just do what feels right

ive drawn raph with a more pronounced snout too, and oscillate between designs if i feel like it (truthfully i also sometimes begin his head shape with a square (i mean if im doing a different style), feel free to do that if it helps i dunno-)

if you want to draw his shell and plastron here’s what i do:

being able to carve out 3D shapes will help a lot with the border of his shell

by blocking out the main shape and then carving away at it you can then see how raph’s shell is structured (just. try decipher my sketch if u can pfghjhj)

for the actual shell itself it’s a lot like mikey and leo’s where it has a big curve and then dips at his midsection (where his belt goes!) also keep in mind the spikes of his shell follow those same curves (ft. dr belle)

with his plastron (chest plate) i basically make sure it’s the same length of his clavicle? the jagged edges of it i mean. it helps a lot to map out where his shoulders meet his arms

(pls keep in mind my art’s inconsistent and i don’t even follow my advice- the hole in his shell changes every time i draw it 💀)

his body shape is also just in general wider and stockier- if i ever see people draw him skinnier than he is you'd be able to hear my soul exiting my body

all of him is wider in general! hes bigger than the rest of his brothers so dont forget to show it instead of just giving him a height difference. he BEEG.

i’m not sure how else to describe the process of drawing him other than just. draw him?? 😅 my best advice would be to draw him repeatedly based on references- and study your favourite raph artists’ way of drawing him (mine would be jacocoon and itz_jazzy_jazzin)

and it helps to study bc it can answer these questions

how do you want to draw him? do you like the way a specific artist stylises his features? do you want him more spikey? more sharp? maybe you want to draw him bigger! (i myself like to give him a tail, extra markings on his spikes + a few scars post movie and his mismatched eyes)

repetition is super important to get it all engrained in your brain- and it’s why i don’t really even use refs for him anymore fldjs

dont forget a very important rule: appreciate the big boy in all his glory

#im not exactly the artist to go to for help unfortunately dfkdjhsdh #hoping this helps somehow #its better to understand his structure #every now and then i apply it to my sketches #most times ill just dick around on my canvas #feel free to dm me if you want more in depth stuff ajhddgh #rise raph #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt raph #ask

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obxone · 1 year

Text

All In My Head (Part Two)

Edited-ish. ~1.4k words. (The tarmac scene from season 3 with a reader character added. A bit of angst)

(Part One)

The hours have ticked by waiting on JJ to return with Kiara. Dark has settled, and John B paces while Sarah sits on the plane steps. The urgency to get wheels of the ground grows and John B finally agrees to call JJ. The sound of a motorbike draws close, and you turn to see Rafe and someone else on a bike.

Familiar blue eyes lock onto you when Rafe takes his helmet off. You inhale shakily, fingers threading through Sarah’s in a vice-like grip.

The thud of his passenger catches his attention, and Rafe turns, bending to help him after getting off the bike.

“Hey. You’re okay, Dad.” Rafe soothes, who you now know is Ward. “You’re okay, Dad. Come on. You’re good.”

Sarah’s nails bite into the back of your hand as she squeezes too tightly. The rest of her is frozen as she watches her brother and father.

Rafe turns to her. “Come on, help! Help!”

But she is still frozen. Rafe removes Ward’s helmet before he turns to Sarah again.

“Don’t just stand there. I need some help, please, come on.”

Rafe never said please to the pogues, never. He is desperate. It shows in his frantic breathing and wild eyes flickering from Sarah to his dad. Rafe starts to lift him, and Sarah exhales, dropping your hand and moving forward. Cleo hovers near you. Her worried eyes flicker over you before darting back to the scene before you.

“What happened?” Sarah asks as she takes Ward’s other side.

“Let’s go on the plane,” Rafe directs, and they start to move forward. You and Cleo move out of the way, but you don’t miss the burn of those blue eyes on your face as he passes. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart as you stare at the lone bike. He is here again, within reach. Rafe Cameron is here.

All the arguments, his harsh words, and that final straw that broke your relationship all flood back to you. The burn of jealousy, flashes of anger, and the piercing pain of hurt fill you.

Cleo’s hand touches your face, and you seem to snap back to reality, turning as Sarah moves closer to your group. Stress is clear on her face at the new predicament.

“Don’t worry, he is not coming?” Cleo asks.

“He wasn’t supposed to,” Sarah pants. “I told you.”

She passes you both to go to John B’s side.

“He stays on this island, and he gets arrested.”

John B turns to her, but your focus is on the plane. Your hands tremble as the urge to go to Rafe launches inside you.

“Let’s go.” John B’s words have you turning back to see them inches apart.

“With them?” Pope asks, and you second him.

“Yes, let’s go,” John B directs, his eyes on you. “You can do this.”

Everyone heads for the stairs to the plane. Pope, then Cleo, Sarah, John B, and lastly, you as you linger back. The idea of sitting on a small, confined plane with Rafe sparks a frenzy feeling under your skin.

But he emerges, Pope and him staring each other down as he descends the stairs. You miss the interaction as you shift your gaze to Sarah. Worry for your best friend also shining through your feelings for Rafe. This is not easy for her. That is clear on her face. John B is on his phone texting JJ that you were leaving without them as Sarah moves forward when Rafe steps into the tarmac.

“Please take care of him.”

Sarah nods, her brown eyes flickering to you, and that is when he finds you again.

His gaze locks on you. “Beautiful?”

“You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head, and you nod, pressing your lips into a thin line. Part of you is relieved, but another part of your aches that this is the final goodbye. You had already done your goodbye. It had been angry, desperate, and messy, but that was supposed to be it. This is not supposed to be happening. The different paths in your separate lives tearing you two apart one final time.

“That’s right. You have a new life here.” The bite of your words is meant to lessen the sting in your chest, but it does not help. Your arms fold around yourself, and his jaw clenches, fingers balling into fists at his side. Your wounds are visible to him. It makes his chest sting with how badly he has harmed you. Tears sting your eyes as you swallow back the ache. “Without me.”

He shakes his head, bloody hands reaching out for you. “Not without you. I still want you.”

You inhale sharply when his hands make contact with your skin. That fire flares to life once more at his touch.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, nuzzling his head against yours before his lips press to your temple. He cradles you against his body. “Stay with me forever, Baby. I’m sorry, I promise to never hurt you again.”

“You know I can’t stay. I have to save Uncle John. And I can't let them go alone.”

He swallows before tipping your head back. Blood smears are left on your arms, and now your chin, but neither of you cares as you get lost in Rafe Cameron all over again. His lips seal to yours. Your arms unfold, and you wrap them around his torso, pressing your body against his.

“Oh,” Cleo’s voice comes from behind Rafe. But you both ignore it. He deepens the kiss, his long fingers winding into your hair as his other hand grasps your neck. His thumb trails back and forth over the rim of your chin. Police sirens signal that the end of your last moment together is closing in.

“Come back to me,” he breathes once the kiss ends. “Come back to me, please.” He hugs you against him, his face burying into your neck, and the lingering scent of his favorite cologne clings to you. “I love you.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, and you lean forward on your tiptoes and peck his lips once last time.

“Goodbye, Rafe.”

You sidestep him and head for the plane. Pope and Cleo have already disappeared out of sight into the plane. John B and Sarah linger by the steps as the sirens grow louder.

“Ready?” Sarah asks, reaching for your hand. You nod once, chaotic feelings exploding in your chest at going to find El Dorado and at leaving Rafe behind. One glance back allows you to see Rafe watching you. An attempt at a reassuring smile tugs at his lips.

“I love you, Cameron,” you whisper as tears gather in his eyes. “Always.”

You board the plane behind John B, and you both find seats. You look out the window to see him watching, his hands balled into tight fists against his thighs. A pleading last look on his face. You know he wishes with all his might that you will get off the plane and stay, but you can not.

“Dad?” Sarah asks, and your head snaps to see Ward heading for the door.

“Rafe?!” Ward yells, and you inhale sharply, watching your ex-boyfriend scramble to the steps after Ward ignores his pleas for him to get back on the plane. A private moment between the two is shared, but you can see Ward hug his son out the window.

Moments later, the door is closed, and Ward is back on the plane, in a chair, and you stare out the window watching Rafe.

He stares at the plane, hand running over his mouth when the plane begins to move forward. It is just in time as several police cars race onto the lot. You exhale, wiping at the tears on your face.

“Here,” Cleo murmurs, sitting next to you as she offers a wet wipe.

You take it with a grateful smile and wipe away Ward’s blood. Your watery gaze finds his. He frowns, looking away at his daughter.

“You love him.”

Cleo’s words pull your attention, and you nod, a sob racking you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. The last image of Rafe standing on the tarmac losing his dad and you once more fills your head.

(Part 3)

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #outer banks rafe cameron #Rafe cameron angst

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