#spend time with them. other than that its just a day. in my head my birthday is just a day but it's a day rhat im expected to be

[delulujuls]

young, dumb & bwoke | ln4

hi! as u can see i couldn't stop myself from writing about last saturday events in amsterdam with mr norris as main star (he was more popular than the king himself lmao). lando is literally what i always bring to the function and yup, enjoy him being the chaotic drunk bestie while max and y/n are his literal party parents. its nothing crazy and without plot basically, i just added sum to this years' koningsdag so yeah, enjoy!

summary: there is nothing that lando loves more than a good party and his beloved dutch friends so imagine him with drink in his cup surrounded by whole orange nation. it could be nuts and it was

warnings: TONS of alcohol, lando being drunk (and hurted), mentions of blood, basically sum chaos

pairing: fem!dutch!bff!reader x lando norris (ft. max verstappen)

Lando couldn't wait for the plane he was on to break through the heavy cloud cover and land in Amsterdam.

China and Miami, which were the next rounds on the calendar, were separated by two weeks that were nothing else, in Lando's case, than a time of stagnation. Add to this the fact that Lando had bad memories of his performance in China and, what's worse, the sprint he failed so badly and which constantly played in his head like a jammed record, one could go crazy. That's why the Brit was extremely happy when he received an invitation to spend the weekend in the capital of the Netherlands. He was invited to Amsterdam to celebrate King Willem's birthday by none other than his favorite flying Dutch.

The friendship of Y/N, Max and Lando began in 2019, practically from the very moment he entered Formula 1. The kid, who was barely 20 years old but looked like 12, immediately won over the Dutch couple with his smile and sense of humor, who, due to their sometimes severe temperament, could not boast of having many friends in the paddock. Even though the three friends were only two years apart, Max and Y/N naturally became Lando's racing parents, with whom the Brit spent practically every moment, from time in the paddock, through celebrating on the podium, to time away from competitions. So it was no surprise when they invited him to spend the weekend together, to which he, of course, eagerly agreed.

When the plane landed, Lando pulled the hood of his orange sweatshirt over his head and slung his backpack over his shoulder, in which he packed everything he might need for the coming days. As you could guess, there wasn't much of it, he actually had everything he needed on him and the most important part was an oversized orange sweatshirt. Waiting for him at the airport was Y/N, who couldn't wait to see him. She didn't have to wait too long, because a moment later he walked out in front of the terminal. Y/N smiled as she saw her friend walking towards her and she hugged him tightly.

"You knew I was coming, you could have asked the king for better weather," Lando joked, trying to sound serious, which only made the girl giggle.

"If you think that the weather will have any influence on what will happen in the evening, then unfortunately I will have to disappoint you," she replied, getting into the car. "It's already starting to get crowded in downtown, and it's not even noon."

Lando threw his backpack into the backseat and got into the passenger side. He smiled like a child, looking forward to how the weekend would unfold. It looked like he would spend a nice few days, able to finally de-stress and relax, and in the company of friends. But speaking of friends, one of them was missing.

"And where's Max?" he asked as they left the airport and were on their way to the girl's apartment. "I thought he had been waiting for me with the welcome committee since yesterday."

"He's already in town, I dropped him off while I was on my way to pick you up."

"He's fast," Lando laughed and shook his head, "I hope he's still on his feet when we get to him."

At that moment, Lando didn't think about the fact that no one else but himself would be able to stay on his feet. When the Brit set off for Amsterdam, he obviously expected to spend two days drunk, with legs sore from dancing and a sore throat from singing, but he forgot that he has absolutely no immunity to alcohol.

When the three friends were finally together, alcohol quickly appeared in their hands. Y/N and Max started with beer, but Lando had no intention of wasting his time drinking something that would only cause pressure on his bladder. As soon as he boarded one of the barges floating on the Herenbracht Canal, he drank several shots at once. Y/N and Max just exchanged glances as he drank the drink standing on Garrix's console in one gulp, who didn't care one bit about it, being already in a good mood himself.

"I'm a little worried about how this might end," Max said in her ear as she took a sip of her cider, watching Lando jump happily.

"Even if he's drunk, so what," she replied, handing him her bottle and taking away the body paints in circulation, "He didn't come here to be bored."

Max was about to say something, but she pushed his hand slightly, bringing the bottle he was holding to his lips. Max shook his head and took a few sips from it, while the girl started painting flags on his cheeks. When she finished, she waved them up, attracting Lando's attention, who understood what she meant and nodded eagerly. The girl squeezed through the console and stood next to him, leaning him against the barge rails, because Lando had trouble not bobbing to the music for a moment.

The smile that never left his face wrinkled his cheeks, on which she tried to paint Dutch flags. When she finished and turned to pass the paints, Lando took off her sunglasses and put them on himself.

"Have a drink with me!" Lando shouted, holding out his empty cup to her, and she raised her cider bottle in response. He rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction when suddenly a bottle of vodka appeared in the crowd and someone handed it straight to his hands. Without much thought, Lando unscrewed the cap and took a few sips as if the contents were water, which of course met with the crowd's approval.

Y/N took the bottle from his hands, fearing not the amount Lando drank, but the relatively short time it took him to do so. However, not wanting to seem boring, she tilted the bottle herself, letting the liquid burn her throat. Delighted, Lando clapped his hands and hugged his friend, causing some of the alcohol to flow down her chin. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist as well, and raised her hand in a toast, which was joined by everyone who had something to drink.

Max also raised his beer bottle a bit. However, somewhere in the background of his mind there was an image of Lando and what he would look like in the near future. However, the Brit himself did not care at all about this. As long as he was in the company of his friends, his plastic cup was full and he could jump to the music and sing along, he was happy. Even the fact that his face was in the wrong place at the wrong time, when someone, completely by accident, punched him in the face, didn't disturb it.

Y/N, who also decided to pick up the pace after drinking her cider, immediately sobered up when she saw blood on her friend's face. She quickly pressed a tissue to his nose, but he tried to assure her that he was fine. His brain didn't encode the impact or the pain, didn't acknowledge that he was bleeding, even when he ran his tongue over his lips and tasted blood on them. People in the crowd started calling out to each other to see if anyone had a first aid kit. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bandage appeared, and just as Y/N, being drunk, thought it would be a great idea to wrap Lando's face in a bandage, Max started asking people if they somehow had band aids. He couldn't let that dumbass parade around like that for the rest of the evening.

“I've sobered up a bit, I can keep drinking,” he said as Y/N finished clumsily bandaging his face, “I probably look worse that i did when i crashed in Vegas.”

Her friend tried to be serious, but it was impossible to stay serious around Lando. "You have to be careful, Lan," she said, trying to retain some sanity and touching his cheek, looking into his eyes, "I hope it's not broken."

"Bwoken," he repeated in silly voice, giggling "Oh no, it couldn't be bwoken"

"Honestly, i also hope it is not," Max interjected when he managed to rejoin his friends after some time, "Getting to the hospital now would be a near miracle."

"Hey, I'm fine," he said as Max waved the Band-Aids in his face and began to remove the clumsy bandage into which their friend had probably poured her whole heart and a few drinks that she drank earlier.

"I'm glad you don't feel anything, but that doesn't change the fact that I won't look at it," he replied, lifting his chin and examining his nose from every angle. Luckily this one seemed fine.

Once Max had placed two tiny patches on him, Y/N handed him his mug with a fresh drink again. "Brave patient," she smiled at him.

"In a state like this, I'd be surprised if he felt something," Max admitted, taking a bottle of vodka standing nearby. He decided that since Lando had had an accident, nothing worse awaited them and he could allow himself to loosen a bit more. He took a few sips and handed the bottle to the younger one, who smiled, tightening his hand around it. He looked at his friends standing in front of him, slightly drunk but still fully focused on him. He knew he was important to them and that he is not alone in all this madness.

"I love you guys," he said, with a bottle in his hand, pushing himself off the railing and hugging them, "You are the best in the world, simply the best."

The rest of the day and later in the evening took place in a great atmosphere and the party lasted until 3. in the morning. For the rest of Amsterdam it probably lasted longer, but for Lando it began to end after two o'clock, when he was barely able to stand. Partly from being drunk, partly from being tired. He didn't stand still during a single song, so the next day, apart from his face, his legs will certainly be visible. Taking a break for something warm to eat, Max, Y/N, and Lando sat down at one of the wooden tables. While waiting for their orders, Lando rested his head on Y/N's shoulder and closed his eyes. It was obvious that he just needed something to lean on to fall asleep.

"I think it's time for us to go," the girl announced, directing her words to Max. "The baby is only fit for bed now."

"He's been in great shape for a long time anyway, judging by how much he was on his feet today," Max concluded, glancing first at him and then at the girl, "But you're holding up pretty well, aren't you?"

"Yes, I do," she nodded and hugged Lando, who began to slide off her shoulder, "But I'm also getting sleepy."

"Me too," Max rubbed his face with his hands, "At least we can be sure that no one will wake us up first thing in the morning to explore the city."

He said, glancing at Lando, who was dozing with his mouth open on his friend's shoulder. After eating casseroles and fries, which were for Lando and which he was unable to eat, the three of them went to the girl's apartment. Of course, only she and Max were walking on their own, Lando was between them, leaning on their arms. He was muttering something incomprehensible under his breath, so it was obvious that he was alive and everything was fine, besides the fact that he was completely drunk.

When they arrived at the address and crossed the threshold of the apartment, they immediately went to put him in the bedroom, not wasting time in unfolding the couch for him. Max was in the process of stripping him of his shoes, pants, bloody sweatshirt, and all the necklaces and ribbons he had collected the previous day, while Y/N placed a large bottle of water, painkillers, and a bucket by his bed, as if the contents of his stomach had suddenly decided that they wants to get outside. However, there was no indication that Lando was going to have a restless night, because he started snoring softly as soon as his cheek touched the pillow. Max covered him with the blanket and took a few steps away from the bed, standing next to his friend who was looking at the sleeping boy.

"Can you hear that?" Max whispered, glancing at her, and she frowned questioningly, "It's silence, listen to it, because when he gets up, the only thing you can hear will be his lamentations about how hungover he is."

The girl snorted quietly and shook her head, taking Lando's clothes to the laundry.

"The most important thing is that he had a good time. And a little hangover never killed nobody."

The next day, however, did not bring anything unexpected. When Lando woke up, the first thing that hit him was a terrible headache that got worse when he sat down and tried to get out of bed. When he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, Y/N and Max's eyes immediately went towards him and Lando could swear that they looked like they spent the entire last evening on the couch.

"Hi honey, did you sleep well?" Max asked playfully, in the perfect mood for jokes since he himself was fine after last night.

Lando just blinked several times and wanted to wipe his face with his hands and collect some words to answer, but when he touched his cut nose, he cursed loudly.

"What the fuck?"

"A souvenir from yesterday," the girl answered him, getting up from the couch and taking out a frozen package from the fridge, which she handed to him, "I recommend a shower and I'll make you some coffee."

He closed his eyes and put the package to his nose, sighing and grabbing the bathroom door handle. Before he disappeared, Max just shouted after him.

"And don't puke in the shower!"

#f1 imagines #f1 #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you

[n1ghtfurys]

For the record

Mentions a toxic relationship

(Also I've never done this before so....yeah.)

“For the record this is self destructive” Soaps tone is flat, this has happened so much he's not even shocked anymore. Simon's mad over you, you have a fight, break up and he comes crawling back even when it's your fault. You make him stupid and it grates on Soap like nothing else, the fact that you don't like him doesn't help the situation much either. 

“For the record I'm aware of that.” Ghost replies sounding exasperated, he knows you're bad for him. You like the attention you get, the way he fucks you when he comes back like he's hoping you'll see him as the only guy in the world and in a sense you do. You love him, you really do but you can't help yourself. When it's good it feels too good, so you fuck it up. You know it fucks with him and you know Soap hates you for it but you can't help it. You know one day he might not come back and that terrifies you, you're trying to stop it but old habits die hard right?.

Simon sighs and drags his hand over his face. He knows it's dumb to be so caught up in you but you get him and he can't explain it other than he loves you, loves being with you. Even the stupid bits where you decide you hate him, all the mood swings and screaming and shouting. The make up sex, the cuddling, the way you rake through his hair, how sweet your voice sounds, all of it.

Usually whenever you guys ‘fall out’ he spends the entire time fantasising about what he'll do when he gets back to you, that mixed with the fact that he was on deployment before your last spat has him reeling. He’s nothing if not pent up, the anger doesn't help either. He hasn't been able to get you out of his head, he's lost count of all of the wet dreams and the videos he's replayed. Some of them weren't even sexual, just videos of you smiling at him (from a vacation he took you on a while back).

He shifts his hips, trying to make the way his cock is chubbing up, again, from just the thought of you less noticeable. 

“Si-” Soap begins but Simon cuts him off. 

“For the record I've been picturing her body draped over the sofa wearing nothing but my mask.” He regrets it the minute he says it, he can't stop the way the idea of you like that makes him feel. How it makes his cock throb. 

Soap rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated noise. “For the record.” He mimics clearly annoyed. 

"I'm screwed." Simon knows he's right, he knows the two of you are toxic but he's addicted. Everything about you is so good, and maybe if he keeps coming back you'll realise that whatever fucked up reason you have for treating him like this isn't worth it.

Simon and Soap sit in a charged silence for a while before Soap appears to get sick of Simon's awkward fidgeting. 

Simon gives him a grateful nod before Soap pauses at the door, “For the record, I think you should leave the lass, no matter how bonnie you think she is.”

They both know it fell on deaf ears, not only because he was too focused on how bad he wishes he could push his cock into you instead of his hand but also because they both know he's down bad.

The way Simon's palming at his cock the minute the door clicks shut is honestly pathetic, he wants you so bad it feels like he needs you. He dips into the grey joggers he has on and pulls his aching cock out and gives it a few fast tugs, before pushing his thumb over the tip and smudging the pearly bead of pre like you do.

He bucks up into his hand, your name falling out of his mouth as he imagines it's your soft hand wrapping around the base of his cock. As he wishes it was your tongue circling its sensitive head. 

He drags his hand along the throbbing member remembering the way you clench around him. Envisioning your perfect form bouncing feverishly on his cock, milking him dry.

Before he knows it he's thrusting into his own fist, moaning your name over and over as if it will make his thoughts real while he spills over his knuckles. All while wishing he was cumming into your needy little cunt.

:(

#cod smut #cod men #ghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost smut #ghost x reader #drabble #smut #soap cod

[steampoweredskeleton]

Ignore

#delete later #in typical birthday fashion i am now exhausted snd overwhelmed and battling a meltdown #i stubbed my toe and now cant put any fucking weight on it #im exhausted from performing appropriate birthday excitement. i dont think i understand birthdays correctly #to me the only relevance of ppls birthday is that i can show that i care about them and give gifts that make them happy or #spend time with them. other than that its just a day. in my head my birthday is just a day but it's a day rhat im expected to be #ecstatic over. i dont understand that. i spend the day worried im not feeling the correct feelings or displaying them right #and worried bc the normal day routine is broken and im anxious bc i don't know what will happen #too much uncertainty. abd rhat anxiety makes me feel guilty. but at the same time bc to me birthdays are avout showing the #person that you care. if everyone ignored it i would start to assume they dont care. idk how to fix my brain on this #at least its only once a year. plus the whole still being alive at 24 thing freaks me out. so when i inevitably have my #meltdown or shutdown it comes with not fun things #i get the same way at christmas except its slightly more socially acceptable for me to hide at christmas. #meltdowns make me angry abd emotional so i know im being a bitch in my head but logic is hard so im just upset and angry #and confused on how im supposed to feel and act. i fucking hate my brain. #i have ordered good comfort food abd have weighted blanket abd new piercing. life is okay #i dont want to see mu parents this weekend but it will be what it will be. im so fucking tired

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #social engineering #phishing #ai #swiss cheese security #infosec #finance #fraud #carding

[ozzgin]

Yandere! House Monster x Reader (II)

It’s officially a smutty sitcom: you, the oblivious gamer boyfriend, and the tentacle monster lurking in dark corners.

[First part]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster smut

Do monsters have a sense of humor? This creature seems to be greatly amused by the little "game" you've devised behind your boyfriend's back. Although you don't have much input in the affair, and most of the time you're merely a witness to the events unfolding before you (or in you).

First, there's the mild, inoffensive annoyances. "Babe, did you see my controller? I swear I left it on the couch". Some pranks are harder to swallow than others, such as the occasional lack of Internet. You know exactly when it happens, because you can hear your boyfriend's enraged shouts and rattles. It's always during important matches. No one knows why it happens. The repairmen who cross your threshold can only scratch their heads in confusion, confessing that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Then, the unfortunate coincidences. "How about we have some fun after my game?", the boyfriend will suggest with an anticipative grin. Alas, moments after he stands up, he is overwhelmed by a nauseous feeling. His stomach twirls and throbs, and he curses under his breath. "Some other time, perhaps", he concludes begrudgingly. You see, the creature is very possessive. The only thing that has saved your beloved partner from being torn to shreds already is his crassly comical obliviousness.

The mischief aimed towards the boyfriend is, however, a secondary source of entertainment. Nothing could ever come close to spending time with you. Yet another irony to this ridiculous situation: you haven't been caught yet, despite the rabid clinginess of the tentacled monster.

It just loves surprising you. For example, when you exhale dramatically at the end of the day, relaxing in the bathtub and enjoying your peace. Just as you hear an impatient knock on the door, you notice a familiar dark tendril slithering its way out of the water. You won't be leaving the bathroom anytime soon. "Did you steam yourself over there? You look like a lobster", the boyfriend will remark with a raised eyebrow upon seeing your panting, feverish face. "Y-yeah, I guess so." You limp outside, struggling to hold the towel around your body. Or more specifically, around the many marks left on your skin by hundreds of suckers.

In fact, its shamelessness reminds you of a poorly written erotic scenario, the likes you'd see on some adult website with a clickbait title. How would you name this current setup? You grip the edge of the table, pursing your lips to prevent any moans escaping your mouth. Your boyfriend is, once again, scrolling on his phone, indifferent to your presence. The water boiling on the stove drowns the wet, slippery sounds of the appendages pumping in and out of you underneath the table. “You might want to give it a stir in a moment, or it’ll overflow”, the boyfriend remarks without lifting his gaze. You mumble in agreement, slapping a hand over your mouth. You’re at your limit.

One may be tempted to ask, is this entity bound to its house? You pondered the same question until your recent IKEA visit. You and your boyfriend had been looking for a new wardrobe. "What do you think of this one?", you asked, closing the door and turning around. Your eyes scanned the empty model-bedroom. The jackass had wandered ahead without you. You sighed and were about to go find him, when a cold grip suddenly tightened around your wrist. You winced and snapped your head back. Thick tendrils had made their way out of the closet, tugging you to join them inside. So it can follow you around, you thought, climbing into the cramped space. Between the silent whines and breathy begging, an idea emerges from your dazed mind. New hypothetical video title: mercilessly molested in the IKEA store by monster partner.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #tentacle monster #monster smut #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker

[weirdmageddon]

i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. ​she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

#homestuck #homestuck meta #dave strider #mom lalonde #roxy lalonde #hs #strilonde guardian swap

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 12.8k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)

hongjoong

pov: you're the king's royal courtesan

“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”

when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head

he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness

“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”

“i don’t,” he simply says

and it’s true

hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness

he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls

hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans

it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king

the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?

he never sees the same courtesan more than once

“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”

you smirk when he curses and throws his head back

his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low

“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”

he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck

you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status

part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer

you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you

lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services

it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another

whether the rumours about his stamina will be true

whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule

except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever

lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer

lady shin is not amused to say the least

with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead

and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for

(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)

(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)

your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed

you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”

“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts

you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching

“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”

for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too

“as if. fuck off”

your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation

“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour

when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you

hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you

he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you

hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants

when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”

“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back

he raises an eyebrow

oh yeah?

he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm

now that shuts you up

for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name

and another request turns into another

and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name

but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship

he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings

he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring

you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything

“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”

“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings

he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with

you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open

you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him

except, when you look up to see if he’s following?

his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you

“were you even paying attention?”

he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all

in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet

he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke

he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times

you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway

there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too

(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)

you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ‘don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him

when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past

“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”

lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder

she laughs then asks to have a look

you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise

“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery

“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify

you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits’ or ‘biggest ass’

lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you

“it says, my flower”

you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later

lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her

“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”

this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you

you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan

and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall

my flower

you hesitate

“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”

lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her

the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now

you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet

(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)

you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway

and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand

it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours

not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy

and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day

“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him

he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”

then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”

“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”

said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again

“no i’m not!”

“whatever you say,” you smirk

after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later

which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much

but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long

you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift

yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass

you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth

he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”

you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone

guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed

“do you trust me?” he whispers

trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”

you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift

you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air

and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing

“you can look now,” he tells you

you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect

it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus

and you gasp

there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon

“try it on,” he encourages

but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing

it’s patchy

it’s uneven

it has empty areas

but it is no doubt embroidery

“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you

“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”

“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”

you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing

he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him

upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”

you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”

he looks at you impossibly soft

under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core

you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers

it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue

so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth

you suck on them a little harder

a little deeper

and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”

he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches

“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall

“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”

he doesn’t need further encouragement

he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds

it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them

he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly

then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp

“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you

the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room

and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name

he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers

he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs

when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs

a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter

“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”

it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time

your mouth drops in disbelief

when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”

“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”

“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”

you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”

he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips

“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”

“very good plan,” you grind up against him

and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”

hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny

“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”

seonghwa

pov: you're his royal guard

as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away

you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety

one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear

they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear

from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits

seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though

unsurprising but still grating

the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside

albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left

it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen

the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see

“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks

“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile

you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map

on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt

you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch

because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention

but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either

so you strike in his stead

your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping

his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee

scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him

"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle

"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"

"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins

“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”

he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”

“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”

“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”

you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up

it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector

it has been almost four years since it happened

somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him

you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator

an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle

seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution

to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned

you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement

it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him

as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision

“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge

not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness

and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him

you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang

quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked

neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows

he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again

you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly

it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism

one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more

where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice

“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him

“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort

yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with

where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield

you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike

you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status

and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself

where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution

your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for

he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway

you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew

but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him

as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way

seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him

he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you

(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)

(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)

you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with

after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you

not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face

yes.

especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies

he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song

seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck

except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness

the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth

you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you

needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping

but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it

like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers

it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects

conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room

everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon

when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet

and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls

baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting

“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice

he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed

as if they are-

“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”

okay

most definitely proudly 

you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger

“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to

“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”

“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else

that is more than enough for him, though

which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things

he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth

you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter

you wonder if his lips will taste the same…

but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind

because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow

how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?

so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship

you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation

seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together

it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart

he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of

and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…

in love with you

following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around

but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts

until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace

seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail 

then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder

you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-

until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land

it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side

when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief

“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell

“i-”

taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”

“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer

“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”

for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing

seonghwa swallows

“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”

your throat tightens at his words

it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips

he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes

“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”

“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation

“because i’m in love with you” 

right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response

“then that makes the two of us,” you confess

you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop

you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side

raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips

it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile

you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him

“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”

you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you

“does this mean i get to retire?”

yunho

pov: you're part of a rebel group

the crown prince is not in his fucking library

for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night

until today

under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing

except doing that would make your job significantly harder…

considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.

you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch

following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash

a leash made of barbed wire

people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline

although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s

within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters

the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination

dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners

and you are amongst the elite team

which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince

except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong

which never happens

you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine

he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards

you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave

only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof

their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same

you run

you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room

when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs

this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long

if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards

so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower

keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump

you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees

then you wait

he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground

“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm

you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”

now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-

wait

even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same

the same as those on the elite team

“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions

except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build

being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours

he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet

when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”

we

he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team

you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him

“when is red most beautiful?”

it is a vague question with a fixed answer

one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself

during the sunrise of a new beginning 

“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely

the tension releases from your shoulders 

“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”

the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease

you both flip over the top and land in unison

the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest

the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols

you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps

and then you hear it

the shattering clang of a desperate parry

all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut

you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords

bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you

several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury

it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you

and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate

you have the element of surprise

but only for the next few seconds

you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing

there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed

you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them

except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away

the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive

but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them

you.

you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword

the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness

in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam

you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand

but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling

“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder

you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground

you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries

there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse

which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks

how did he know about the attack in the first place?

you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him

except…the man has disappeared

and so has the intruder’s body

days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library

you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise

this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line

you spot him

he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments

you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer

you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles

and there the crown prince stands

he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy

mercy that you have no intention of showing him

the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none

“it’s you again, isn’t it?”

you freeze

the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you

“you were here a few days ago”

fuck

how he knows you have no idea

what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well

the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy

“you are part of red sun, are you not?”

this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel

it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does

what the actual fuck

you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy

“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”

his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”

“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff

but then his next words change everything

“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”

before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince

“hide,” he hisses urgently

and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible

you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf

“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say

from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”

“of course, crown prince yunho”

even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice

they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”

“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”

“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”

yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them

is this the same crown prince as the rumours?

and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?

you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face

he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility

“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask

your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you

but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level

“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”

your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor

because how is any of this possible?

you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you

it makes you feel so strange

the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier

yunho starts to explain

a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people

thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined

in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning

a new leadership

except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked

“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”

he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”

yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained

he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence

“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry

yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”

you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look

yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-

“a suicide pill?” 

you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing

the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like

you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves

but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb

it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar

yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given

whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well

there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho

but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends

you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence

except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle

other times he is the one trying to fluster you

“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”

“i was taking the pill out to show you!” 

you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap

“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”

he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”

other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on

“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes

and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly

“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”

you swallow hard

you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up

“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side

you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee

and eventually, you two have a breakthrough

yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine

in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’

“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs

you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder

pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two

they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious

“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”

you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea

he doesn’t - not at first

not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image

“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”

the king’s butler?

lee?

your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours

“lee minjun”

you sink back in your seat

there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved

the question of why and what for remains

in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too

there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future

yunho breaks the silence first

“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”

after this all ends

you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too

you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne

the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon

the new beginning is close

and at that, something in you relaxes

crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief

“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”

and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once

ironically, yunho chokes on air

you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes

you think your eyes are deceiving you because-

the tips of his ears are a glowing red

you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess

the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”

“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles

“and why is that?” you humour him

he finally looks at you

and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours

“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”

yeosang

pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him

ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang

it just made sense

for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies

it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding

so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love

and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned

if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang

he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room

he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard 

they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger

you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”

if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now

you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy

if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid

stupidly in love

because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince

unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing

it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world

but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written

the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace

it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage

you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter

whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words

whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him

two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom

and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter

your whole life you have been able to wait patiently

you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity

the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace

even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him

nothing can bring you down from cloud nine

only…the letter never comes

not the day after, not the week after, not the month after

you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up

you send him another letter, and then another, and another

sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said

other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears 

and you also wonder about him

you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are

with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits

you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply 

until-

you do.

it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile

with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded

your mind races with anticipated words and explanations

perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier

or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit

you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-

stop sending me letters.

and just like that, the clock strikes twelve

your carriage reverts into a pumpkin

and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes

you don’t write to him again.

years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them

they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son

now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife

really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can

you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed

she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”

“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”

you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you

“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully

“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”

you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”

“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals

caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before

you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless

later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”

before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff

there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway

heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning

the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting

you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again

if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish

“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”

when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none

“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”

you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”

“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”

oh?

flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself

because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang? 

first the vase, and now this

you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud

your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much

when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky

you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up

you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions

and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-

“are you okay?”

yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door

he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”

thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind

you start with half truths

“just missing my little brother”

“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”

you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon

it implies he’s noticed you

“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod

something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name

you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently

“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”

“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth

“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind” 

it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b

yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes

when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly

“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”

you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”

“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”

it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky

“yeah, that’s okay”

you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance

it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences

you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him

the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters

because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up

as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore

“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice

yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open

and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says

“you wrote me letters?”

your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception

“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”

“impossible. i never got your letters” 

your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”

“wait,” he interrupts

yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”

upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp

it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar

“not the seal, no”

he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”

you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment

“but then-”

but then who wrote the letter?

and where did all your letters go?

the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju

a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile

no, not a smile, you realise

a smirk

you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness

yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful

“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him

it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately

“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”

“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”

he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers

“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly

then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought

he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these” 

he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously

“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around

“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands

and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”

yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers

you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know

eight flowers

eight letters

i l-o-v-e y-o-u

#loren writes #ateez fics #ateez smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong scenarios #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa scenarios #yunho x reader #yunho scenarios #yeosang x reader #yeosang scenarios #ateez ot8 x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez crack #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez au #royal ateez #prince ateez #prince!ateez

[xo-cod]

141 + reader

hc's when you five share the barracks together/just in general <3 (ooc, rushed my bad lmao, can be read platonically/romantically, reader is v close to them!!) kinda long oops 😩 might do a part 2 idk

nsfw version 🩷

there's a whole lot of testosterone and musk in the air when you're sharing living spaces with 4 men ‼️

all four men compete with each other to get your attention, even if it's unknowingly

whole lotta pouting when you're spending time with more man than the other, you're a great companion ;) and the army is lonely. they all need equal love and attention

speaking of, if you're smelling like one of them the other will immediately bundle you in his arms to put his scent on you instead and to cancel out the other (alpha behaviour 😵‍💫)

whole lotta flirting from each of them. they're all very intelligent soldiers, they know exactly what to say to get you going 😙

all of them adore the height difference with you. you get teased about it relentlessly (out of love obvi)

i don't think they're particularly messy men but ghost and gaz are the most cleanest, they like having their things in order and knowing where everything is

price is next because he's slumped with being captain so you'll see a lot of his paperwork around with coffee mugs from pulling all nighters

soap is more organised mess. it might look messy to you but he knows exactly where everything is

you, soap and gaz definitely have rap battles late at night. it starts of quiet but you'll usually hear price shouting at you three from his bedroom to stfu. ghost threatens to pull a grenade if you don't be quiet

assuming you're naturally a good cook, they'd all be so appreciative :") especially on bad days, your cooking reminds each of them of home (or lack of)

face masks! gaz would 100% be down to do them with you, soap would follow next because if gaz is doing it then he too???

ghost would roll his eyes, continuing polishing his guns with a rag "you ain't putting that muck on my face"

price would just look at you, shaking his head "got too much to do, sweetness"

but you're quite the convincer and all four men are on the floor of your bedroom, gossiping about the last mission with their preferred colour of face mask across their faces

assuming you're the only woman, they get very protective when you're hurt. soldiers get hurt from time to time but its different when it's you

"you alright, bonnie?" soap's gentle voice comes through your room as he hands you a warm mug of your fave drink

gaz had you wrapped in a big fluffy blanket, gently stroking your back

"who was it?" ghost's voice is firm, wanting to know who dared injured the youngest member of their team

"already got a handle on 'em" price follows, looking at the computer. whatever enemy dared to raise their hands on wished they'd be six feet under after all four men are done with them

you're the one each man needs when they're having a particularly bad day which are usually far in few between but sometimes it happens

gaz and soap are the types to seek you out, their faces settled in a troubled frown before they place their arms around you. no questions just yet, they just want to feel skin to skin for now. keeping them grounded before they can explain what happened. they're not looking for a fixer, just someone who'll listen

ghost and price are the type to isolate themselves for a while until it's night and then you'll find them gently knocking on your bedroom door and slipping inside, between your covers. their grip is strong, burying their faces deep into your neck whilst trying to wrap his arms as much as he can. these two won't talk much either, just looking to be held and stroked to calm down

ghost and soap are the type to show affection through lingering touches while gaz and price show affections through their words.

but speaking of hugs, each of them have their own special way they like to embrace

ghost thinks he's being slick but you realise just how touchstarved he really is, he gives hugs with his arms around your shoulders bringing you in to his chest. mostly because he's tall and broad but he likes how he can manhandle you from this position and smelling your scent <3

soap's the type to tackle you in a playful hug, maybe a spin to get a laugh out of you before he gently strokes your skin for a few seconds, a gentle kiss to your temple <3

price likes to hug from behind, resting his chin on your head while he looks at what you're doing. depending on you, his big arms are either wrapped on your waist or your shoulders <3

gaz gives side hugs because he likes linking his arm around your hips and he likes how you fit snugly into his body. and this way he can lean his head against yours and can bring you in closer with his other arm <3

all four can immediately smell you before you come in because they adore whatever perfume/spray you have

each of them would absolutely melt into pieces if you joined them/kept them company in what they were doing

and if they catch you in a towel after having a shower, best believe they're quickly walking back around to where they came from to help alleviate the growing... tent in their pants

lowkey kinda pervy 🫣 (never in a harmful way)

each of them have their strong points and would 100% train you in becoming stronger

even if you're a well established soldier, they all worry for your safety

price would teach you sniper techniques, ghost teaches you combat, gaz teaches you how to sharpen your aim and soap teaches you about explosives and how to construct/dismantle each of them

they take the training very seriously with you

a ton of cursing when their fave team loses lmaoo

if you're avid tea drinker, join the gaz/ghost/price club. if you're not, join the hater club with soap <3

ghost/gaz/soap will playfully fight with you, careful not to use their full strength and not to harm you. but it's so cute to them when you're struggling a little under them.

but when price scolds them in doing so, "i'm just helping in case there's an attack!"

if you're arguing against one of them, another will come to your defence. unless you're arguing all four then it's the silent treatment from you 🤭

all four of them melt when you call them by their real name instead of their callsign :")

ghost usually comes to you when his balaclava is broken and he'll keep you company as your fingers work their magic to the fabric, gently leaning against you as you speak to him

price will let you shape up his beard after you begging to do so and he grows to enjoy those tender moments

soap definitely calls for your help to shape up his mohawk, he trusts your hand to eye coordination above anyone elses

ghost will playfully ruffle your hair whenever you both pass each other

price gives you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder

gaz gives you a soft stroke on your arm or back whenever he's passing by

soap will gently tap his head against yours, not too hard to cause pain but just enough to know that he's there

but above all, the barracks you five share is definitely a safe space for each of them the second they come through the door <333

#call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #141 x reader #task force 141 #cod 141 #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #gaz x reader

[hoshigray]

Are you able to right a gojo fic? He pulls you aside after a meeting to a spicy makeout with you that leads to more than just a make out:,)

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: "more than a make out" indeed, lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit reader; minors DNI - canon divergence; you're gojo's partner who works in Tokyo jujutsu tech with him - kissing; making out - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - breast sucking - deep impact position - praising - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, princess, sweetie) - cameos: Ijichi and Yaga - Gojo is a touch-starved fool, bless him lol.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.1k

“Y/n~~!”

“…! Oh, Gojo!”

“Ahh, it’s Gojo-sensei!”

Being the strongest sorcerer in the modern world is a hassle, no matter how much Gojo loves to shake it off as if it’s not. Not that he doesn’t mind it — no, no. If anything, he prides himself in it. It fills his ego, knowing that a scarce few could be compatible with his power. He’s a dependable light for the jujutsu world, sorcerers of the nation thankful that he's not on the wrong side. 

But alas, being the best has its taxing side, especially taking in tedious missions across the land and attending mandatory meetings with the entire jujutsu faculty body — not to mention being a teacher. The white-haired sorcerer was a busy man — no other way to explain it. However, the worst thing about it all was that there would be times when he’d have less time to spend with a certain someone who had him in the palm of their hands. And if he keeps being away from them, he might – no, will – malfunction. 

You were Gojo’s partner, his sweet baby that he cherished more than anything. You were a faculty member of Tokyo Jujutsu High, making things a little easier for the two of you to meet and elope (professionally). Nevertheless, those moments seem to frequent less and less with how many meetings have Gojo backed up this past week. The poor guy can’t even remember the last time he heard your sweet voice (which is a lie since you call every morning and night; he makes sure you do). 

Although, today would be different. Once this meeting with the Kyoto officials ended, he made a straight beeline out of the room to find you. And to his cheerful chuckle, he skips in your direction when he sees you conversing with Yuuji in the hallway. The salmon-haired teen greets his teacher with a high-five and a bow from you. 

Yuuji hears Megumi call for him from outside, so the boy dismisses himself with a goodbye and wanders off, leaving you and Gojo to yourselves. 

“Hello, Y/n~,” the man says your name with a happy tune, his lanky figure swaying to be close to you.

“Good noon, Gojo,” you greet him again with a modest smile as the tall man walks to you. “How was your meeting? Did the officials give you a tough ti—Mmmph!?”Your boyfriend surprises you with a kiss, taking in your perplexed moan with his pillowy lips. One peck comes after another while Gojo’s hands sneak to your waist. You quickly push him away, but his hold keeps you close to his figure. “G–Gojo, what are you doing!?” You express your concern in confusion, covering your lips with a hand. 

“Mmm? What do you mean? I’m greeting my princess with a kiss,” the blindfolded man says so matter-of-factly, beaming his delighted demeanor that nearly blinds you. “I miss you!”

“I miss you, too, but you can’t just—“ He tilts his head as you try to explain. You chew your lip with cheeks boosting in warmth, averting your glance away from his charming face that’s inching closer and closer to yours. His eyes are masked by the black cloth around his face; however, you can still sense the intensity of his gaze. “N-Not in public, Gojo...”

He plays the whining card, bringing you in for a tight hug that could restrain your breathing. “Ehhh, but I haven’t seen or touched you in days! See, we’ve been apart for so long that you’re going back to referring to me by my last name!”

“I always call you by your family name when in the school, no??”

“Yeah, but that’s only for when people are around, not just the two of us!” His complaints are genuine, swaying around with you in his arms. You roll your eyes, listening to him yap more. “Come on, Y/n; it’s been such a hectic week for me, missions after missions, meetings after meetings. Any more than this, and I just might combust — especially when I don’t have time to see my angel.”

You hear him make fake crying noises to your shoulder, reminding yourself how much your tall, strong boyfriend can be such a whiny puppy if he’s away from you for too long. But you can’t kid yourself; you missed spending time with him just as much as he did. “I know; I wanna see you more often, too. Don’t you worry, okay? This week is almost over, so keep pushing through like the tough man you are…Hehe, my strong Satoru.”

The snow-haired sorcerer springs up with a childish smile at the use of his name, his dimples present with the shine of his teeth. “If that’s what must happen, can your strong Satoru ask for another kiss to make his hell a little bearable?”

You give him a look at his request, but his anticipation doesn’t falter. With a sigh, you smile and whisper, “Just a kiss, Satoru?”

He chuckles lightly, drawing his mouth close to yours. “Yes, princess.”

His soft lips land on yours. There’s no restraint as you welcome him, your hands coming around to cup his cheeks before breaking the kiss. “One more,” he says before your nose is brushed away from his. You comply and place another gentler peck, and the man sneaks a hand from your waist to the back of your head. You withdraw your lips again, but Gojo utters another “One more…” Your stomach does flips knowing what game he’s trying to play. Another kiss is received, and his leg sneaks in between yours.

You mewl, finding yourself stuck in this predicament. He’s now in control, using this opportunity to deepen the kiss and make it more passionate, sucking your bottom lip and running his tongue for more access. You have no choice but to accept him, whimpering at the tongue intruding into your oral cavity while his leg moves further and further. 

Your hands come to his shoulders, gripping his jacket as the Gojo furthers himself into the kiss. The hand behind your head keeps you steady, keeping him focused on your mouth, where he sucks on your tongue in a way that leaves you breathless — like, actually. After he quits the kiss, you two are gasping for air so hard, and your lips are wet because of him. 

“Hahhh, ’Toru, stop,” you wipe spit from your mouth. “We can’t be doing this here…”

Your complaint falls on deaf ears, the sorcerer placing chaste kisses on your cheek. “Hmmm, why not?”

“Mmm..Someone, your students, we’d be caught here…”

Gojo smirks; it’ll never stop being adorable how bashful you are around him, particularly when he expresses his undying affection for you in public. But he will respect your wishes, and the idea that pops into his head makes him giggle.

Before you can process anything, Gojo picks you up with your legs held up and a hand on your back. You squeak at the unexpected action, grabbing a hold of his neck to balance yourself. Your mouth opens to express your bewilderment. Yet one moment, you two are in a hallway of the school; then you’re transported to a familiar room with a bed the next — your bedroom.

You blink in perplexity as Gojo throws you on top of your bed, stammering to find the right words. “Satoru, I wish you’d stop teleporting without letting me know! And don’t you have another meeting to get to!? Why are we in my apart—“ You don’t finish that sentence; you stop yourself once Gojo crawled up on the bed to you. Suddenly, you feel too small to utter a word.

“Sorry, baby,” No, he wasn’t. Not with that childish grin posted on his face. He brings his face to yours, placing more smacks on your lips. “But you’re the one who said we shouldn’t be doing this on school grounds. Heh, you act so cute when you’re shy…”

“No, Satoru, we can’t—Mmmm,” silencing you with kisses was such a vile card, knowing you’d be whimpering under him just from him twirling his tongue with yours. “Mmph..Mmah…! You’re scheduled for…another meet—“

“Shhh, don’t worry; I can be late for a few minutes,” another lie. If Gojo’s late to another meeting, Principal Yaga will put the younger man in a chokehold again. “I’ll make this quick, I promise. So, just let me enjoy you…”

Sucking your tongue is all it takes for you to give up on trying to persuade him out of what he’s doing. Gojo takes off and throws his jacket to the bedroom floor to let his black fitted tee breathe, and his hands initiate unbuttoning your blouse. He then slithers it down to the bottom of your long pencil skirt to pull up, greeting your undergarments with his digits. You jerk at the contact of his middle finger that presses on the damp spot of your panties, earning a faint, salacious laugh from Gojo. 

“Awww, did my baby get wet just from kissing earlier?” He rubs the underwear further, soaking the spot more with your fluids. Your thighs tremble, “Did you miss me that much?”

“Sato—Oooh!” He sinks his finger deeper into your entrance; the material barrier is so wet from your essence seeping through. “Your finger...Mmm.”

“What is it, cutie?” He whispers to your ear, and you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a moan. “You want my fingers?” You nod sheepishly, amusing the snow-haired man. “Now, Y/n, you know I want to hear you tell me what you want. Use your words, princess.”

You gulp to satiate your dry throat. “Yess, Satoruu, I want your fingers. Please, let me cum on your fingers…”

“That’s my angel,” he praises before straightening himself between your sheer pantyhose-covered legs. After sliding your damp panties off, he brings a leg to his shoulder and finally slides his blindfold off his face, his hair losing its spiky position and falling with gravity. Cerulean eyes catch a glimpse of your wet cunt in his sights, biting his lip. “Made such a pretty mess all for me, huh.”

His hand returns to your now bare chasm, sliding his ring and middle finger between your soaking folds. You hum to the touch, gripping on your blouse to use as reins. After a few seconds, he inserts the middle digit inside, immediately going to work after he pulls a gasp from your surprised body.

Slow motions sneak up on you, scraping your velvet texture with the blunt fingertip. His slender digit pushed and pulled from inside you, making sure you took him to the knuckle. He swirls it around, evoking shaky screams from him, scratching your inner walls so diligently. And your eyebrows furrow once the movement quickens.

“Hooohh, ohhh!” You threw your head back to the pillows. “Ahhnn, faster, go faster…”

“Hmm? You want me to go faster?” He teases with a perched brow. He does as asked, but with a catch; he sneaks his ring finger inside with your slick as lube. You shriek, two fingers now ravaging your insides and pleasing you with faster shifts. “Like this?” Did you even have to answer that; were you gripping the sheets and hips moving on their own not enough?

“Oooo, fuahhh, fuuckk, ‘Toru, nooo, y’re making me…Hoohh!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he kisses your calf before placing his lips on your ankle to lick playfully. “Just let me make you feel all good.”

Fuck did Gojo miss this; it’s been more than a week since he’s had his hands on your body like this. The constant meetings have almost made him forget the warmth and plush of your frame. He needed this, like, BAD. He’s barely containing himself now; the image of your slit taking his fingers so well is bubbling his excitement, and the tent of his pants that shields a boner grows painfully hornier.

You were bound to cum on his fingers in no time, howling with an arched back when he does the ‘come hither’ motion and scrapes your inner walls. They contract around his digits as your legs tremble with the surge of your orgasm. Gojo loves the sight and stirs the fingers to tease your keen nerves more. “Good job, sweetie,” he kisses your ankle again while slowly removing his fingers from you, inserting them inside his mouth to lather his tongue with your juices. He almost caves in just from the taste.

But a sudden buzz in the pocket of his pants alerts him. He brings out his phone ringing with a call and presses the green button before pressing the device to his ear. “Yo, Ijichi.”

“Ah, thank goodness you picked up. Where are you; the meeting starts in a few minutes.”

“Mmm, I’m at Y/n’s,” even if you’re in a tiny daze, your face morphed into an expression of shock at his nonchalant honesty. “I’m only here to grab something real quick, and then I’ll head back to the school.”

“Are you sure…?”

He laughs, “Now, Ijichi, are you calling me a liar?”

That was precisely what he was — a whole liar.

“—Taahh, ahhhn, Sa’oruuuuu! Yer hitting shoo deep in—Saaahh!!”

It’s been a solid fifteen minutes after that call with Ijichi, and Gojo is still in the confines of your bedroom. He was very much late; of course, he was. Why would he not be? He finally has this chance to have you to himself, so he’s indulging it however long he wishes.

Gojo ripped you out of your clothes to meet with his clothing on the floor, leaving you bare and nude for him aside from your pantyhose. You’re lying on your side with one leg up on Gojo’s shoulder while the other is between his, and his cock now pushing to and fro inside your chasm that was filled with his come. 

His thrusts were sharp and rough, the curve of his dick jabbing areas in your vagina you never thought would be stimulated. Jesus, his length was dangerous, having you babbling incoherent words to the air and reaching so deep inside that you quaked under him. Your brain is stuck in a haze, especially since this is the second time he’s fucking inside you and made you cum a total of three times!

“Ohhmy, Gohhhd! Sato—Ohhhh…!!” He grasps around your leg to plunge himself further and faster, the work of his pelvis having you see stars.

“Hsshhh, God, you feel so fucking good, baby,” he coos sweetly, juxtaposing with the erratic pace of his hips that move your figure with every rut. Azure orbs take in the display before him; your naked body submitted to him to alleviate his week-long stress and please the both of you. Strands of his silverfish-white hair are drenched from the sweat built on his forehead. “—Hmmgh! Shit…keep clamping onto me like that.”

You chew on your lip, sneaking a hand down on your clitoris to whisk your fingers around it. Oh, it feels so good, playing with yourself as your boyfriend massages your insides. “Mmaaah, s’ good...”

“Hmm, what’s that?” His hips now go slow; the stretch his curve causes when entering inside has your toes curl. “What feels good?” He then snaps his pelvis to startle you.

“—Mmmph!! You! Y’u feel so good, ‘Toruuu..!”

“Heh, you feel amazing yourself, Y/n,” returning to an erratic rhythm, Gojo pumps his cock til the base kisses your squelching folds. His balls smack onto you after every push. He then curves downward for his face to be closer for you to hear him, “Hmmnn, you gonna be good and come again, right?”

You nod cursorily, your eyes shut to enhance the feeling of you rubbing on your bud. “Yesshh, I’m so close, I wanna cum…Want you to fill me u—Uuuhhn!!”

“Jesus, you look so fucking hot,” he grins before bringing his mouth to your nipple, his tongue dancing around the tip to harden. “Let’s cum together, okay, cutie?”

He sucks in your nipple as his thrusts go grim, and severe hits to your cunt result in you wailing far from your control. The tip of his cock picks at your silky walls so euphorically that you hum his name. A hand comes to your chest to keep you steady and synced with him, and he keeps rutting into you even when his body shudders as his load is exerted inside your tight slit. And you’re not far from him either; your orgasm seconds away from his hits you hard, and you quiver in the shocks coursing through your body.

As you two rock slowly through your crescendos, your essence mixes with his seed, and your sweaty bodies heave and pant for the third time this session. Gojo releases your nipple from his mouth after withdrawing his dick from inside, and his jizz seeps out of your frame. “Phew, man, how I needed that.”

You respond despite your brain feeling a bit all over the place. “Are you happy now?”

He laughs while kissing your cheek. “Thank you, princess!”

“You’re welcome, Toru,” you shook your head with a meek smile. “But you really should get going; I don’t want you getting in trouble with—“

KNOCK!! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

An abrupt sound comes from the front door, confusing the both of you as the knock comes from out of nowhere. Nonetheless, you get up and wipe yourself quickly before putting your clothes back on. Gojo does the same as you walk out of the bedroom to see who’s at your door. And once you open the door, your heart meets your stomach.

“Y/n,” it was Yaga, the principal adorning his usual attire and sunglasses.

“Principal Yaga,” you greeted the older man with a hurried bow. “Wh–What can I do for you—“

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Your lips flatten at the question, using the silence to speak for itself as you move out of the way for the principal to enter. Yaga apologizes for the intrusion before marching into your apartment and presumably going after the person still in your bedroom, who lets out an exclaimed shout of pain from what you can assume was from a punch to the head from his old teacher. 

The former instructor strolls back to the front door where you remained; Gojo is dragged on the floor behind him. “Sorry again for the inconvenience,” Yaga puts his shoes back on before exiting your home. You observe the men leave with a heavy sigh, waving goodbye to your snow-haired sorcerer as he’s pulled across the hall like a toddler.

“See ya, sweetie,” he cries out to you without regard to the neighbors hearing him, putting his blindfold back on. “I miss you already!”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk imagines #anime smut

[i-cant-sing]

I can’t get this scenario out of my head with yan!batfamily in which Bruce worms his way into a depressed reader’s life by marrying their mother and slowly taking over the role of parenting reader while dealing with the depression.

No because Bruce would do that. In his head, its just another mission to "save Y/n" and sure, your mother isn't exactly his type, and your depression isn't exactly her fault- the poor woman just works day and night for you both to survive in this outrageous economy, she doesn't have had enough time to see you not doing so well mentally.

Bruce and his sons, by whatever sequence of events, are now infatuated with you. What started as concern for your well being has now turned into obsessive need to control your life to make it better. So, yeah... Bruce decides to marry your mom, who is more than happy to finally find a chivalrous, handsome man... who just happens to also be very rich.

Meanwhile, you hate him. It's stupid, but you hate how filthy rich he is and even though you know that he donates a lot to charities, you still hate him because Bruce thinks money can solve everything (and in your case, it almost can), but you can't help but feel insulted everytime he offers you a cheque, a wad of cash to pay off your bills and loans, or even a $20 bill to get yourself some snacks. It feels... abnormal. You're not a charity case.

Perhaps your socioeconomic status isn't the only reason you're depressed. Maybe it's just you missing your father (could be dead/murdered/suicide/just moved far far away).

The moment Bruce finds out that your dad is the reason why you're so depressed, oh it's "I WILL FATHER ANOTHER CHILD IN NEED OF PROFESSIONAL HELP" time. He's doubling down on his paternal instincts and he's just mentally smacking himself like "ofc you need a father figure in your life. Who better than me????"

And it just makes your skin crawl at how nonchalant Bruce is about all this- about incorporating himself into your and your mother's life. Treating you both, especially you like you're actually related. Like he's been around with you two his entire life. You lose your appetite when he stays for dinner, but you sit at the table for your mother. You try to make excuses when your mother tells you that you have to go with her at the Wayne Manor because "Bruce wants to spend a day with family". You can't help but look at your mother in wonder at how she is comfortable when you both pull up at the manor. You thought things would be easier if Bruce's sons were also uncomfortable or even hated you and your mother (or thought that your mom was a gold digger), but no, they're just as worse as Bruce. Dick being particularly the worst in the sense that he's more affectionate and his love language is physical touch, so you get squished to his chest everytime he sees you, with a small cry "my baby!" Sometimes, "sis" would be added.

You didn't like either nickname.

Then there's Jason, who is the most normal one of them all, perhaps because he isn't around much and when he is, he just makes small talk.

Tim doesn't talk much either, but he stares a lot. Somehow you feel like he knows something about you, at least more than he's letting on.

And lastly, there's Damian, that pompous little shit. You know he's being amicable for Bruce, but his eyes look at you like he's judging you- thinks you're beneath him. Which is true, in the sense of finance. Despite all of that, Damian still wants to show you off his interests/things around the manor. He's still being arrogant ofc, "Look at this oil painting- it's a Van Gogh original. Van Gogh is a famous painter- he's dead though. I'm sure you aren't familiar with his works. I can take you to the Gotham gallery to show you more paintings. Father owns it, so it can be just us two without other people bothering us." He's nice but also not nice. But at least he's not doing it intentionally.

Then there's Bruce. Who is always looking at you with a small smile, but his eyes are always analysing you, even when he's not looking at you directly, you know that he's watching your every move like a hawk. He tries spending time with you, often he succeeds, only because your mother makes you go. He's a good man, hasn't done anything exactly inappropriate, but... even something as small as making you walk on the inner side of the sidewalk so that you're safe from the cars... it doesn't sit right with you. Why is he being so paternal? You certainly have been rude to him on purpose. Always giving him one word answers when he asks you how your day was.

Then one day your mother returns home with a beaming smile.

"Bruce proposed to me! We're getting married!"

After only 3 months of dating? It's what you wanted to say, but you held it back when you saw how happy she was.

The next day, Bruce held a dinner at the manor to celebrate the engagement. Surprisingly, that was the first time you saw Damian looking mad at you and your mom.

It was a reasonable reaction. Acceptable to you, instead of the overly excited yell of Dick "WE'RE GOING TO BE SIBLINGS! That means we can have slumber parties and pillow fights and-"

Your mother and Bruce were shopping for the wedding, looking at dresses and venues and all the shenanigans while you were at the manor, moving your and your mom's stuff in with the boys. It was the last thing you wanted, but your mother.... she insisted on it. Or at least that's what she says, you know Bruce insisted.

Doesn't matter because by next year, you'd be moving away to college anyways.

You just need to put up with this for a little longer and see your mother finally be happy.

You didn't expect your mother to be dead a week before the wedding.

It was out of the blue. You were sitting in the library at the manor because Dick refused to let you be alone in your room all the time, so he was making you some cookies while you read. Then he and Bruce came together, their faces pale as they looked at you.

"Y/n... your mother, she... she got in an accident."

She was driving to some restaurant, wanted to get you your favourite fried chicken and spend some time with you alone. But on her way, a truck crashed right into her car.

She died on the spot.

Whatever little improvement you had on your mental health went straight down the drain. You locked yourself in your room and just cried quietly. They left you alone the first few days, but then Bruce and Dick tried to persuade you to come out, that they were concerned for you. You did come out the day the funeral was held. And it hurt you... it hurt you so deeply when you found out they were burying her at the Wayne cemetery.

She wasn't a fucking Wayne.

If you had any strength, if you had any energy at all, you would've taken your mother and buried her someplace else.

But you didn't.

When you returned inside the manor, you went straight to your mother's room, which was also Bruce's room but you didn't care if he saw you in there or not. You just started packing all of your mother's stuff, her clothes, her jewellery, her photos, everything she came here with, which wasn't much to begin with but still.

"Y/n?" You stiffened when Bruce called you, but you didn't pause on packing. "What are you doing? Looking for something?"

You sighed. Might as well get this over with.

You turnd around, not looking him in the eye.

"I'm moving out. And I'm taking mom's stuff with me. You can check, I'm not stealing anything that belongs to you."

Bruce looked at you in confusion. "Moving out? Where are you going?"

"College. I'll be going there soon anyways, so I'm moving to an apartment with some friends."

"Oh, but you don't need to move out. You can stay with us. Youre family-" you cut him off.

"Bruce, let's not." You finally look at him. "We're not family. I never was, I never wanted to be. Mom's gone now, and I have no reason or desire to be here. Thank you for letting me stay here for as long as you have, but I will be moving out by tomorrow, if not tonight." You said picking up your mother's bag of stuff and walking out of the room. Bruce followed you to your room.

"But I don't want you to move-"

You dropped the bags. "I don't care what you want!"

Bruce looked at you with his brows furrowed. He didn't get why you were acting like this. Your yelling had gotten the attention of the boys too, all looking in confusion at the bags.

"I don't want to be a part of this family. I never have, and I never will. I never liked you or anyone in this family. And if you're concerned about me speaking to the media about you guys, don't worry. If it helps you, you can make me sign an NDA!"

Damian narrowed his eyes at you. "Dont talk to father like-"

"Shut up!" You yelled harshly. You didn't care who you were hurting. Your mother was gone, you had no reason to be amicable to them anymore.

-

They left you alone that day, and by the next morning, you were ready to leave. At 6 am, you walked down to the main door, with your bags. You weren't expecting them all to be waiting for you, but here they were. You took a step towards the door, but Dick stopped you.

He cleared his throat. "Um, this is the NDA... if you'd just sign it here." He handed you the papers.

Unbelievable. They actually drew up a contract. You took the pen from his hand and signed at the dotted lines.

"Bye." You took another step, except Damian and Tim blocked your path.

"What now?"

"Where are you going?" Tim asked.

"Do we have to go over this again?" You grumbled. "College." You answered.

"You can't." Damian said smugly. What's he smirking for?

"You're gonna break my legs?" You scoffed.

"No, you just signed a document saying that you're a part of this family, and Bruce Wayne is your guardian and has authority over all decisions concerning you like going to college, or even... going out of the house." Damian replied.

You looked at Bruce, because there's no way Damian is being serious. But there were no signs of joking. You looked at Dick, at Jason-

They were all dead serious.

"You cant- you can't be- you can't keep me here." You said.

"You signed the documents. It's your fault for not reading them." Tim said.

"Bruce-"

"I really do believe that it'd be better for you to stay here." Bruce said, taking ahold of your shoulders. "At least until you're doing better mentally."

"I'm fine-"

"I don't think so. And I could even take you to a psychiatrist, they'd agree with me." Bruce cupped your cheek as you flinched away. "You'd be happy here. I promise you that, you'll be safe and happy with us."

You'd try fighting, but you already knew you were outnumbered.

Besides, even if you weren't, even if you were alone with the smallest one of them, you still wouldn't be able to leave. You have no idea what Damian is capable of.

After all, he's the one who had your mother killed.

#yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere batboys #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere tim drake #yandere jason todd

[emmyrosee]

You left him for two minutes. All of two minutes.

On the rare days off that you and Shoto get to spend together, it’s almost always spent curled together on the couch or in the bed, watching him work out for fun before making him cheat on his diet, anything that lets the day drip by slower than any other day of the week.

You left him to pee. That’s it. Placing the bowl of sour candy down, you slip out from his lap, give him a kiss before moving down the hall like any standard, subconscious person would.

Two. Minutes.

“Shoto, what’re you doing?”

“You like the strawberry flavor the best.”

By the time you come out, he’s got a pile of pink candy, separated by the other colors except for purple, which is in its own little pile. “You don’t like the grape flavor.”

You quirk a brow and walk back over to him, watching as he continues to segregate the candies, “baby, I would’ve been more than happy to just pick around them, you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“But you don’t like them,” he repeats, looking up at you with those doe eyes that you love to get lost in. “You look down every time you reach for one. I thought I might help ease the burden slightly.”

Burden. Your first world problem of not liking sour grape skittles should be the farthest thing from a burden to him.

But to shoto, it’s not one, and it’ll never be one; little acts of services like these aren’t new, small details just to make hour by hour tasks and privilegies just that much easier.

It’s something he’s always done. Something he’s always going to do. Because he loves you.

With a smile, you slink back into his lap, your head nuzzling against his stomach while the tv drones on about whatever he put on while you were gone. You kiss the warmth of his tummy to feel the muscles constrict under the affection, and you bury your hand into the bowl of candy right after.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum. A hand rests on your head, thumb gently rubbing over the warmth of your crown as silence fills the room once again.

Popping a skittle into your mouth, your face quickly grimaces, and he hums in acknowledgement.“Eugh,” you grumble, and he looks down at you, silently asking you what happened.

And you want to lie. Truly! It’s better for everyone if you do, just tell him you bit your tongue and let him think nothing more.

But apparently, you don’t.

“Missed a grape one,” you tease.

“….”

“Sho?”

“Spit it into my hand.”

“Sho, no-“

#also people who don’t like grape skittles #I don’t trust you and you’re weird #I LOVE YOU #but you’re weird 😭😂 #todoroki shoto #todoroki shoto fluff #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x gn!reader #todoroki shoto x reader fluff #todoroki shoto imagine #todoroki shoto bnha #todoroki #todoroki fluff #todoroki x reader #todoroki x gn!reader #todoroki x reader fluff #todoroki imagine #todoroki bnha #bnha #bnha fluff #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x you #bnha x yn #bnha x y/n

[avis-writeshq]

05 — enchanted

summary: “please don’t be in love with someone else”/“please don’t have somebody waiting on you.”  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, no use of (Y/N) warnings: alcohol (reader gets drunk lmfao), jealousy, slight miscommunication, austin (aka: bartender girl from s4), special mention to special people wc: 4.9k a/n: everyone say thank you @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH ilyvm zara <33 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Although you haven’t been a part of the BAU for more than one year, it didn’t stop you from maintaining the connections that you had in all your years of working there. Sure, the scheduling times could be better, but that didn’t stop the team from spending their rare day off to spend time with you. After all, the adjustment of seeing you every day to once in a blue moon was a difficult one to make. 

O’Keefe’s has been the main victim of the team’s shenanigans, its doors open for the seven members of law enforcement, all eager to get their hands on some well earned rest and relaxation. Drinks are passed around the booth and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Derek get his ‘groove thang on’ with a few girls in the bar. Today is one of the rare occasions when the team didn’t have a case, an even rarer day when the team didn’t have to take on any new or incoming cases. 

“How’s life treating you?” Emily asks cheerfully, sipping at her strawberry daiquiri. You gather that tonight is one of those nights.

You smile, sipping at your own beverage of choice. “Good! Way less stressful than working at the BAU, that’s for sure. And the hours are good, too.”

JJ snorts from beside you. “Yeah, well, can’t say I’m not jealous. How’re the kids?”

“I can’t say much because of confidentiality and all that, but they’re doing well. A lot better, thank goodness but it just goes to show the aftermath of the things that you guys deal with. I mean, I still think about all the victims we’ve helped and it sucks that we can’t do anything to help them further.” You finish your tangent with a long sip of your drink before leaning back against the booth. “Anyway, how are you guys?”

Penelope comes shuffling past carrying a series of cocktails, her absolutely monstrous platform heels not aiding her in her slightly tipsy task. “Do not even get me started on work. No work! None! We’re having a fun day. Ergo, no work talk.”

You laugh in response, moving to the side to allow her room to sit in the booth. “No, Penny, you’re right. No work talk.”

The drinks are dispersed and your gaze shifts to where Spencer is standing, laughing awkwardly as he tries to follow along to Derek’s dancing and socialising. He looks incredibly out of place in his brown argyle sweater vest, navy tie and freshly pressed slacks, and he pulls at the collar of his shirt. 

“Nah, Spencer could definitely be a ladies’ man if he plays his cards right. And I mean that literally,” Emily says, bringing you out of your daydream.

Your head snaps in her direction, trying to calm your facial features and microexpressions. Regardless of your attempts, after a year of not practising, you don’t do as well as you hope. “What?”

JJ grins at you, her eyes lighting up knowingly. “We’re just talking about who’s the biggest hotshot in the BAU.”

“Wouldn’t that be David?” You ask meekly, your finger swirling along the edge of your glass. You had met David Rossi on occasion, once by accident when you were having a night out with the girls and the other during a proper introduction two weeks later. “Didn’t he have, like, five wives?”

“I had three thank you very much,” Rossi intervenes swiftly, holding his glass of whisky on ice. 

“Sorry, my bad,” you respond jokingly, snickering as he shakes his head and stalks over to where Hotch is sitting and drinking his rum. 

Penelope lets out a loud laugh. “I think we’re forgetting the obvious: our very own Chocolate Thunder.”

“Well, fine,” Emily drawls, waving a hand dismissively, “but Spencer has that innocent vibe to him, y’know? The kind of guy women go crazy over.”

JJ clicks her fingers in remembrance. “Didn’t a bunch of prostitutes try to pick him up in that one case?”

“What?” You ask again, albeit a little shrilly as you try to dismiss the surprise in your tone. 

“He didn’t take them,” Emily says quickly in an attempt to ease your discomfort. “But he did pick up a girl a few months ago. Austin?”

Penelope nods at that, putting down her cup. “Oooh, yes! I remember her. He showed me a picture. She’s pretty.”

“I mean, he did pick up Lila too.” JJ reminds the team, shooting you a sly smile. “You remember her, don’t you?”

You force out a laugh and bite the inside of your cheek in the process. “Yeah. Who’s Austin?”

“I think I still have a picture!” Penelope says, brandishing her phone from her coat pocket. She types something in before sliding it in your direction. “Pretty, right?”

Austin is certainly pretty, even in the uncoordinated selfie Penelope shows you of her and Spencer. He’s slightly out of frame, his lips set into a sweet smile while Austin practically glows. Her brilliant green eyes flash in the camera and her dark hair frames her face perfectly. She and Spencer are close in the photo, with him holding the phone clumsily and she has a hand on his arm. 

“Uh huh,” you murmur distractedly, averting your gaze from the photo as an ugly feeling creeps into your chest. “Really pretty.”

Emily looks at you curiously. “You didn’t know about her?”

You shrug in response, the smile on your face insincere. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about Spencer.”

The group exchange a couple glances at your tell-tale body language, watching as you scoot past Penelope and out of the booth, making your way to the bar. You’re all too grateful for a reprieve from the teasing as you order another drink and take a seat, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your mind goes through all the interactions you’ve had with Spencer over the years. Were you really that foolish to think that he would feel that way for you? Maybe you were reading too much into it, you try to reason, running your fingers through your once styled hair. Maybe, in some stupid and twisted way, all of Spencer’s interactions were platonic.

You scoff inwardly to yourself. Right. Because picking someone up at two o’clock in the morning is entirely platonic. Sleeping in the same bed as someone because of nightmares is totally normal between friends. In any case, you could have sworn that he–

“Trouble in paradise?” 

An unfamiliar voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin, and you turn to the man who takes a seat beside you. “Uh… something like that.”

The man hums, a smile on his handsome features. His dark brown hair is fluffy and, in its own charming little way, suits him. He reminds you a lot of Spencer, with the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles along with the timbre of his voice. He’s also very different to Spencer, especially with his sweater that has a bright orange pumpkin on it, paired with a matching orange scarf. A pair of red tinted sunglasses hang on the neckline of his sweater, and you doubt that it would do much good to block the sun.

“I’m Matthias,” he says good naturedly, beaming. “I’m with my sister, Laura,” he explains, gesturing to a lady sporting dyed auburn coloured hair, and she waves with a matching smile.

You introduce yourself, pointing to the booth. “My friends are over there.”

Matthias nods, undeterred by your company on the other side of the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”

*** 

After what felt like hours of dancing (it was really only fifteen minutes), Spencer and Derek make their way to rejoin the group. The feeling of sweat matting his skin is one of many reasons as to why Spencer hates dancing. That, and the fact that there were far too many people on the dancefloor. What’s worse is the fact that he’s sure that none of them have ever heard of the word ‘deodorant’. He cringes at the thought of all the germs that could be festering on his skin as he sits at the booth, his eyes shifting to wear your bag lays haphazardly on the red cushions. 

“Where is she?” He asks instantly, turning to Emily and placing your bag so that it’s in a safer and less hazardous position.

She hums, pointing in the bar’s direction. “Getting a drink. She’s just cooling off.”

“Cooling off?” Spencer echoes, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean she’s ‘cooling off’?”

Penelope offers an apologetic smile, fiddling with the buttons on her coat. “We… might have told her about Austin?”

“You what?” Spencer can barely believe his ears as he looks at the group incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“We didn’t mean anything bad by it,” JJ says hastily. “We didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“React like what?” Spencer’s voice is strangely stern, his eyes narrowing as he turns to the rest of the team. “I don’t like Austin. She’s nice but I don’t like her.”

Derek’s brows lift in surprise and confusion. “Did you go out with her after the case?”

Spencer’s ears burn in embarrassment and he turns to his friend in offence. “I asked her for help. I don’t like Austin like that. I needed advice.”

“Advice,” Emily repeats, turning in the direction of the bar. “You mean about…?”

Spencer doesn’t stay long enough to head the rest of Emily’s sentence or to answer it, making his way over to you are. Part of him wishes that he stayed put, especially when he sees what you’re doing. In an instant, his nose is scrunched up in distaste as he spies the random stranger chatting you up. His eyes lock with yours and he relishes in the way they light up as you wave him over.

“Hi,” he breathes, standing beside you. 

“Hi!” You gush, beaming at him. “Saw you on the dancefloor.”

“You’ll never see it again,” he says honestly, stealing a sip of your drink. It tastes like vodka and the strawberry lipgloss you use (he only know what it tastes like because of its very on the nose packaging: a giant strawberry. He wishes he knew for other reasons).

You laugh, bright and loud, before you gasp excitedly. “Oh, Spencer, this is Matthias! He’s been keeping me company.” Then, you lean closer to him, your voice a very exaggerated whisper as if the person you’re talking about isn’t in the seat next to you as you tell Spencer, “he’s a director.”

Matthias waves off the statement, chuckling along. “Nothing famous though.”

“He’s a liar,” you tell Spencer enthusiastically. “Did you know he went to New York University? Crazy, right? Like, the school of arts or something. Oh! And he’s also from Vegas! You two are so alike.”

Spencer nods half-heartedly as he tells you, “you know, I went to MIT and CalTech.”

“Well I know that, silly!” You say with a drunken laugh, poking at his cheek. You turn to Matthias with a proud grin before reaching for a shot. “Spencer’s a genius. He’s a super smart genius.”

“That’s what ‘genius’ means, angel,” Spencer reminds gently, prying the little cup away from you. “No more. You’re drunk and we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Your face falls and your lips curl into a frown. “But Spencer I’m thirsty!”

“You have water in your bag,” he prompts, squeezing your shoulder and helping you off the barstool, not paying this Matthias person any mind. “Okay? Let’s go back to the others.”

You nod eagerly, stumbling a little as you wave goodbye. “Bye, Matthias!”

“Uh huh,” Spencer dismisses, leading you back to the table by the small of your back. He leans a little closer to murmur in your ear, “why did you leave the others?”

You shrug dismissively, leaning into his side. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, angel, it does,” he says carefully, “tell me?”

You huff in your own clumsy drunken way. “You should ask Austin. Or go pick someone else up. Emily says you’re turning into a ‘ladies’ man’.”

Spencer resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. “I don’t like Austin,” he tells you in earnest, holding you close to his side as you stumble back to the booth. “I mean it, angel.”

“Bet you call everyone angel,” you grumble under your breath. “Bet you let everyone call you ‘Walter’ too.”

“No,” Spencer says immediately, a hand on your waist. “I only call you that. Besides, why would I let someone call me by my middle name if it isn’t you?”

You huff again, slumping in the booth as Penelope shuffles inward to give you more room. Your arms cross over your chest in annoyance and frustration and  you turn away from Spencer’s direction. He doesn’t need to be a profiler to know that you’re pissed off at him. Somewhere in your hazy drunk mind, you’ve made it out as him being the bad guy.

Spencer shoots the other girls a pointed glare, gesturing at you as if to say ‘This is your fault’ because, in reality, it is. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t be mad at him. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself drunk with some random guy who went to New York University. Spencer mocks Matthias in his head. Stupid Matthias and his stupidly good hair. Spencer runs a hand through his own growing locks, grimacing when he realises that it reaches his shoulders now. Maybe he should get a haircut later.

“Angel,” Spencer tries again, kneeling down next to your chair. “Let’s get you home, alright? Please don’t be mad at me?”

You mutter something incoherent, not bothering to look in his direction.

“I’m not in love with Austin,” he tells you, his tone a mix of firmness and gentleness. “Really, I’m not. We’re just friends, angel, I promise.”

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath as you get out of the booth. JJ guiltily passes you your bag and you take it out of her hands as Spencer grips your arm with one hand, the other on the small of your back. 

“Not a lie,” Spencer says, walking you to his car. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Not after Lila.”

“Lie-la,” you say bitterly as you get into the passenger seat. “Stupid actress.”

He laughs at that, getting behind the wheel. “Yeah, angel. Stupid actress.”

“You kissed her in a pool,” you continue as you fumble drunkenly with the buckle of the seatbelt. “You don’t kiss me in the pool.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn at your words as he puts your seatbelt on, his fingers grazing yours. “It never came up. Besides, I hate pools, you know that.”

“Germ-y,” you respond knowingly, a silly giddy smile on your face. “I know you the best.”

“Exactly,” he hums as starts the car, his words flowing smoothly as he considers how drunk you are. There’s no way you’d remember this, right? “Why would I find another girl when I have you who knows me best?”

Your cheeks glow with pride at his words and you laugh. “Exactly.”

*** 

It’s late. Far too late and you toss and turn in bed. Your eyes are heavy but your brain won’t shut up, swirling with the memories of the previous night. You’re not really sure what happened after you got to the bar, only remembering snippets of the night. The entire time was a blur: you remember getting upset at the girls (or rather, at the information they were feeding you), meeting someone– Mason? Matthew? You can’t even remember– and then downing three shots. It’s awfully stupid of you, yes but then somehow you got home safe and sound with a note on your kitchen counter from Spencer.

You felt a little silly upon the finding of the note. Of course Spencer would take you home; it’s not like the girls were particularly sober by the time you wanted to leave. Regardless, reading the note made you feel incredibly stupid, more stupid than usual, and you wanted nothing more than to bury yourself six feet underground. 

‘Hi angel,’ it read in Spencer’s messy scrawl with chaotic lettering and swirly g’s. ‘You’re probably really hungover right now so there’s a Tylenol on the counter and a sandwich in the fridge. Please drink water; I’m sure you’re also severely dehydrated from the alcohol. I know you’re upset at me but please just forget about what the others said about Austin. I don’t like her like that. Be safe and call me when you wake up.’

The note was fine, nothing out of the ordinary, just Spencer being his usual ridiculously lovely self. You didn’t mind that he took care of you, either. It’s more-so the fact that you genuinely could barely remember what you said that him. You’re betting on it being something exceedingly dumb (you’re making a habit of it, much to your own chagrin), especially considering how much you had to drink that night. Maybe you should start abstaining from drinking from now on, especially if Spencer was in the vicinity. 

The note is now pinned securely to your cork board, a pretty lavender thumb tack holding it in place. Your gaze drifts to it for a moment then to your clock and you groan into your pillow. This is dumb. Sleep is dumb. Your clock blinks with the numbers ‘02:01’ in red mocking letters and you resist the urge to scream. After blindly searching for your phone, you step out of bed while rubbing your eyes. 

The lingering question keeps you up as you pace back and forth beside you bed. If Spencer doesn’t like Austin, who does he like? It can’t be Lila. You would have known if they kept in contact. Then again, you had no idea who Austin was so who knows what secrets Spencer is keeping? What if there was another girl? What if your entire friendship with Spencer was exactly that– friendship. You slap the palm of your hand to your forehead. Were you really that stupid?

It’s in that moment when your phone begins to ring. The tune plays through the room and you know it all too well; the Doctor Who theme song that you spent a whopping two dollars and thirty-seven cents on to add it as the custom ringtone for Spencer. 

“Hello…?” You answer quietly, your voice choking. “Walter?”

“Angel,” he murmurs, and you can hear shuffling in the background. “Why are you still awake?”

You hum, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I could ask you the same question.”

He laughs quietly on the other side of the line, scratchy from the lack of sleep. “Can I come over?”

“Always.”

He hangs up after that and you press the pads of your fingers into the corners of your eyes again. You’re exhausted, far too exhausted to be hosting guests, but this is Spencer. How can you ever say no to him? So, instead of sulking around and spending far too long doing nothing, you fashion yourself a cup of tea and flick the lights on. The book you were reading is thrown haphazardly onto the cushions of your couch but you can’t bring yourself to pick it up. 

The jiggling of the door handle brings you out of your little mood, and Spencer lets himself in with the key you gave him, locking it securely and taking his shoes off to reveal his sock choice of the day: one bright green and the other in fuchsia with buttercup yellow spots. He’s wearing a crinkly white t-shirt that hangs over his gangly frame and grey sweatpants. For something so basic, he looks absolutely criminal in it. You pinch yourself as punishment for thinking such a thing. 

“Hey,” he breathes, sitting next to you. He runs his fingers through his hair, frowning a little. “Do you think I should get it cut?”

You laugh, almost spilling your tea. “You came to my apartment at two in the morning to ask what I think about your hair?”

“Yes,” he agrees before laughing, “no! Of course not. I just thought of it.”

A hum leaves your lips as you curl a strand of his hair around your finger. “I like long hair on you. Besides, you’d look good in any hair cut.”

Spencer preens at your words, enjoying the feel of your touch in his hair. “You’re a liar. I know what I looked like four years ago. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!” You insist, beaming at him as you poke his cheek. “You were really cute back then. Like a baby.”

He flushes again at both the compliment and the contact, his mind committing the way you say ‘baby’ to memory. He thinks it again and again; baby, baby, baby. 

“I was not a baby,” He tells you, half in jest. “I’m older than you!”

“By a year,” you quip, the sleep deprivation making your head go loopy. “Barely. Doesn’t matter, you’re still baby.”

Spencer scoffs lightly, poking your side. “If I’m a baby, what does that make you? A foetus? A zygote?”

You let out a quiet scream in protest, whacking him over the head with a throw pillow. “Ew, Spencer what the hell?”

He snickers in response, shielding his face with his forearm. “If I’m a baby and you’re younger than me, you must be at an earlier stage of development. So? Which is it, are you a foetus or a zygote? C’mon, angel, you passed eighth grade biology.”

“You’re an ass,” you chastise jokingly, rolling your eyes as you look up at him. Sometime amidst the commotion he must have gotten closer to you. Your noses are almost touching and your breath hitches in your throat. 

He smiles sweetly, his own cheeks warm and flushed with embarrassment as he maintains eye contact. “I thought I was ‘baby’.”

What the hell? Is this really Spencer Reid? Silly, awkward, nerdy little Spencer Reid? This must be a very convincing body suit and an even more convincing voice altering machine because this is not Spencer Reid. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks and ears so quickly that it’s enough to make you go dizzy. Maybe you’re a lot more sleep deprived than you thought. 

“Are you drunk?” You croak out meekly as he cages you in, his forearms on either side of your head as he leans you against the couch. 

He laughs– he has the actual audacity to laugh– and he shakes his head. “No, angel, I’m not drunk. You know I don’t drink enough to actually get drunk. Besides, I drove here.”

“You drove here,” you repeat, a little dazed from how close he is. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Almost three now but yes,” Spencer agrees, smiling. 

“You hate driving,” you remind him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Especially at night.”

He hums in agreement. “I do. But I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

You kick yourself internally. ‘Oh’? Who the hell says ‘Oh’? This is it. Your life is over. Maybe you should move to another state. Change your name, shave your head, and get a different degree because you’re almost certain that it’s the end of the line for you.

Spencer lets out a soft chuckle. “I missed you.”

“You saw me two days ago?” You say it like a question and you suddenly feel yourself sweating. It definitely got hotter in here. 

He murmurs your name, his fingers grazing the skin of your jaw gently. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“I ran into you four years ago and almost gave myself a concussion,” you say, averting your gaze as you tried to calm yourself down. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he repeats softly, his nose brushing against your cheek. “Look at me, angel.”

You wet your bottom lip nervously as you look at him, his hazel eyes a little greener in the low light of your apartment. His legs are on either side of your hips and he brushes his thumb against your chin. 

“I want to kiss you,” Spencer says lowly, albeit a little breathlessly, and you can hear hoarseness in his words. “Can I?”

You’re dead. You’re either dead or asleep, that is the only explanation you have for this entire situation. You’re either dead and in heaven or asleep and dreaming. It is that plain and simple.

“What?” You croak out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs. 

“I know you wanted to do it in a pool but I’m pretty sure your apartment gym is closed now, angel,” Spencer says, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I kiss you?”

The only thing you can manage to do is nod, your eyes flickering to his lips for a split second, watching as the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Your brain barely has any time to comprehend the words he said (since when did you say that you wanted to kiss him in the pool?) because in a rush of confidence, Spencer cups your face and presses his lips to yours in a tantalisingly slow kiss. His eyes are closed and his hands are eerily soft, the gentleness in which he holds you reminiscent of one holding porcelain. 

He pulls away after a moment, his cheeks burning and a smile on his face. You can’t even breathe as you just stare at him, lips parted in surprise. What do you even say to that?

“Thank you?” You manage to stutter out, heat creeping up your neck.

He laughs again, breathless and beautiful, as he kisses the side of your face. “You’re welcome.”

Spencer brushes an eyelash from your cheek, beaming at you as he does. “It’s late,” he tells you, getting up from the couch and freeing your limbs. “You should get some rest.”

“Uh huh,” you respond, your head  spinning. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says back, trying to hold in a laugh. “I’m free next Friday. Do you want to go out?”

“Go out?” You echo, “we always go out.”

“I know.” He smiles at you again as he makes his way to the door. “I meant– you know. We can go out.”

A beat passes and your head is awfully slow, whether from the kiss or from the sleep deprivation, you’re not entirely sure. “We can go out.”

“Great.” He pauses, taking a step towards you before kissing your cheek. “I’ll text you.”

“You’ll–” you gape at him again as he opens your door to leave. “You hate texting.”

He nods, slipping on his shoes. “I also hate driving at night. Your point?”

“Right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course I will, angel,” he promises, “get some rest.”

Get some rest? How the hell are you supposed to get some rest after all that? With one last wave, Spencer leaves your apartment, leaving you hoping that this wasn’t just some thing. Maybe this was the very first page of your story– a very embarrassing start to your story. There is one thing for certain though: Spencer is not in love with someone else.

*** 

It’s a Tuesday when Penelope calls you. You had just finished up with a client when your phone begins to ring. 

“Penny!” You gush, unable to stop the smile from stretching onto your face. “I am stupid, I said ‘thank you’? Who the hell says thank you after someone kisses you?”

“Who kissed you?” Penelope asks, and if you weren’t so caught up in your own tangent you would have noticed that she sounded tearful. 

“Spencer did!” You exclaim, slapping a hand to your forehead. “He’s sitting there and he looks amazing and he smells really good and I am stupid.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Penelope says quickly, and you can imagine her waving her fluffy pen around. “He kissed you and you said thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Well that was very polite of you,” she says, trying to sound happy before her voice cracks.

You frown immediately, taking a seat in the wheelie chair in your office. “Penny? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“It’s about Spencer,” she says woefully, sniffling. “He wanted me to tell you something. It’s not looking good, honey, but– but he wanted me to give you a message.”

“Penny–” You stop short when you hear Spencer’s voice. It’s a recording from his phone, and you can only really tell because of the crackling audio on the other side of the line.

“Is it on?” Spencer asks before clearing his throat. He sounds breathless, his words breaking off at some parts and you know that it’s not from the bad audio quality. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter. If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

Through the recording you can hear a shuffle, like the sound of a sliding door being opened, along with a quiet, “Prep the victim for transfer,” before the recording cuts out, leaving you with Penelope on the line. 

She calls your name quietly, choking on her words. “Are you okay?”

You hang up. 

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[moonstruckme]

I’d love to see you write James and reader who’ve suffered the ‘never the right time’ trope, and finally, it’s the right time. It’s like so soft and just a moment of peace, like ‘finally, finally, it’s our time’. I have literally no ideas further than that, but I know you’d kill this Mae <3

hope you’re having a lovely day!

Thanks for requesting my love! Also, is that a new theme I see?? It's giving me renaissance vibes, like the clouds are going to part and there'll be an oracle and it'll be you ! I'm so here for it

cw: alcohol

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

Sirius and Remus keep fighting over who gets to play the music. Sirius more pointedly, tracking Remus down every time he has to change the record, whereas Remus just sneaks over while his boyfriend is occupied to switch it out again. Now Fleetwood Mac’s come on, and James can only assume Lily has finally stationed herself by the record player. 

A knock sounds at the door. Someone must have ordered pizza, he thinks. Anyone who goes to these things knows that Sirius always leaves the door unlocked. Being the closest to the door, James answers it. 

He thinks he stops breathing when he finds you on the other side, clutching a dissolving paper bag in both hands and nearly wet through. 

“Oh.” You look as surprised to see James as he is to see you. Which doesn’t seem strictly fair, because the last time he checked, he spends practically all of his time here and you live far away. Have since you took that cushy job right after school ended. “Hi, James.” 

“Hi.” His voice is mystified, tinged with the joy of the smile he can’t repress. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?” 

“Remus invited me.” 

James stares at you. You look somehow exactly the same and yet impossibly more beautiful than he remembers. It’s odd seeing you out of your old school uniform, in a very adult-like coat that comes down to your knees and ties primly at the waist. Your hair is slicked straight by the rain, stuck in damp tendrils to your shoulders, and he swears your face has changed, too, a droplet of rainwater curving over a cheekbone he doesn’t remember being as visible when you were younger. 

“Um, can I come in?” 

“Yes! Yeah.” He steps out of the doorway, and your shoes squelch slightly as you wipe them off on the rug inside the door. James looks around as if for help. He thinks he spots Remus’ head poking out of the kitchen, but then it disappears. “Here, let me take your coat.” 

“Thanks.” You undo the tie for yourself, letting James pull it off your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” 

“You too.” He’s beaming; he can’t stop. “God, I just can’t believe you’re here. Are you in town for a visit?” 

“No, I—” You pause to give him a bemused sort of smile. “Did Remus not tell you? I moved back.” 

James feels like his chest has been hollowed out. Like someone’s taken out his heart and put the sun back in its place. 

“Really?” It comes out more breath than word. He fumbles for his voice back. “You’re back for good?” You nod, biting down on a smile. “When did you get here?” 

“A couple weeks ago,” you say, looking down to step out of your shoes. 

“What?” James’ tone is doing nothing to disguise his astonishment. He’s in no state to try and conceal it. “And we’re not hearing from you until now? You’ve only spoken to Remus?” His hurt goes unvoiced: Why didn’t you come find me?

You look sheepish. “I just ran into him at the store yesterday.” 

“Why didn’t you call?” 

“I didn’t want to assume…” 

You look like you’re trying to shrink away, but James gives chase, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. The cold of your clothes and hair sinks into him, and you both shiver. He only holds you tighter for it, scrubbing a hand up and down your shoulder blade. 

“You should have called,” he says next to your ear. “You know we’ll always want you here, love. We’ve missed you.” I’ve missed you. 

“I missed you guys, too,” you reply, squeezing him back. The paper bag you’re holding digs into his spine. 

James gives himself a couple more seconds before he releases you, taking the bag and unearthing a bottle of wine. 

“Nice of you,” he acknowledges. “Sirius will appreciate it, he loves reds. We should get you warmed up, yeah? Do you want some of this, or I could make you a hot buttered rum?”

You look like you could melt in relief. “A hot drink sounds amazing.” 

“Great.” He grins at you, knowing you have to go but unwilling to let you. If you leave his sight now you might very well disappear for another several years. After a second, his better sense wins and he juts a chin towards the stairs. “Go find something to wear. It’s the last door on the left, and the closet across from the bed should have things that’ll fit you.” 

James sees your protests in your face before they start spewing from your mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t—” 

“If you go into the kitchen all dripping wet, Remus will only bring you up there himself. Save yourself the time, love. He’d want you to help yourself, trust me.” 

You chew your lip, hesitant, but then another shiver takes you, and James gives you a good-natured shove towards the stairs. 

“Alright,” you capitulate, going. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.” 

“No hurry,” he calls up after you. Then high-tails it for the kitchen. 

“I cannot believe you’ve set me up for ambush like this,” he says as the door swings open for him. His two closest friends look up with expressions of equal guilelessness, though Sirius is putting on far more a show of surprise than his boyfriend. 

“I had no idea!” He insists while James stalks to the cabinet, helping himself to a mug and the supplies to make your drink. “Moony kept it from me, you know I’d have told you if I knew.” 

James glances up at him, then shakes his head, reaching over to flick the kettle on. “No, I don’t believe it. You’ve both been colluding against me.” 

“It’s only against you if it’s not good for you,” says Remus. “And I don’t see how y/n being here is all that bad for you.”  

“Yeah, I’d have thought you’d be fairly chuffed about it,” Sirius agrees, forgoing the innocent act as smirk curves his lips. 

“I am.” James blows out a breath. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her. I didn’t even know she’d moved back.” 

Remus shrugs, cracking open the oven to check on something inside. “Well, I think she might have been afraid to seek you out.” 

“Why would she be?” 

Amber eyes meet James’ with disbelief written all over them. “You know why,” he says softly. 

The kettle finishes boiling, and James turns to pour it over the contents of your mug. “Well, I directed her to Sirius’ closet as retribution.” 

He hears a gasp behind him. “You prick—”

The door to the kitchen swishes open, and you breeze in wearing one of Sirius’ hoodies. 

“Sirius!” 

“Hi!” He’s all smiles as he folds you into a hug, glaring sharply at James over your shoulder. “Fuck, haven’t you become stunning? It’s been awhile, gorgeous.” 

“It has,” you agree, looking slightly flustered by Sirius’ complimenting. Which, James notes, is an improvement over your school days; you were never able to weather it then. “It’s so good to see you.” 

You go to Remus next, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders fondly. “Glad you could come,” he says. 

“Thanks for having me.” Your eyes move between the three of them, seeming to note their placement throughout the kitchen. “Sorry, were you all busy talking about something?” 

“Actually,” Sirius says, “Remus and I were just canoodling when James interrupted, quite rudely I think. If you’re going to join the party, please take him with you.” 

“Alright.” James takes your drink and grabs a cider for himself, nudging you towards the door. “No need to be a dick, just come find us later.” 

Sirius winks at you both as James ushers you out, Remus sending him a long-suffering look from by the oven. 

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” you laugh, finding a space on the couch for you both. 

“Yeah,” James sets your drink down in front of you, “I doubt those two ever will.” 

“Thanks. Ooh, this is nice.” You take the clear mug between your hands, lifting it up to admire the liquid inside. “When did Remus get so posh?” 

“Well, Sirius lives here now.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen, surprise and maybe a little of something else. “Wow, that’s so lovely for them. Then, is this Sirius’ sweatshirt I’m wearing?” 

James chuckles. “You could tell, huh?” 

“None of those looked like Remus’ clothes. Are we punishing him for something?” 

He raises his own drink to his lips, hiding his smile. They’ve always come especially easily around you. “Perhaps.” 

You hum, take a sip from your mug, and hum again. “Shit, this is really good. Thank you.” 

The praise settles comfortably in James’ stomach, as warm and mind-fuzzing as if he’s had a gulp of your drink himself. “Anytime, sweetheart.” 

This time, he notices your eyes flicker away from his at the endearment. “So,” you say conversationally, “how’s Lily?” 

Ouch. James glances behind you to where Lily has pulled a chair over near the record player. She’s sipping from a glass of red wine that’s only a couple of shades darker than her hair, smiling at something Pandora’s saying. 

“She’s good,” he says. Then, somewhat abruptly, “We’re not together anymore.” 

Your eyes flit to his, something almost like guilt twinging across your features. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say. The caring in your face is nearly too much; James wants to take it between his hands and kiss it all over. “Are you okay?” 

He gives you a smile. “Yeah,” he says sincerely. Perhaps with too much feeling, because your eyebrows bunch slightly. “It happened a long time ago. Not long after you left, actually.” 

“Oh.” You nod, and James finds himself watching you more carefully than he normally might. He waits for the sense of bliss he’s feeling to find its way into your expression, but you still appear hesitant. “Can I ask if something happened? You just, you were together for so long…”

It’s true. Most people they knew, even Remus and Sirius, thought Lily and James would be married someday. In the end, it just seemed that they’d been together for so long that their relationship had become a routine instead of a choice. They were cohabitors more than partners, and when they were doing everything they could to spend time away from their shared home, Lily had been the only one brave enough to call them both out on it. 

“We just wanted different things,” James says. Namely, Lily wanted Mary and James wanted you. Had for too many years. 

You make a soft sound. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So, come on—you’ve had my update, let’s have yours. How did you like your job?” 

You pair your shrug with a small smile. “Not very well, honestly. I don’t think I really fit there.” James tsks sorrily, and you shrug again. “It’s just as well. I missed you all too much. I wanted to give it a try there and I did, but I’m glad to be back.” 

“Ah, well,” James says. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” 

It’s a terrible joke, but you laugh, the sound like water trickling over stone. He feels the smile spread on his face. 

“I really have missed you,” he says, earnestness aching in the back of his throat. 

A similar sentiment reflects back at him in your eyes. “Same here.” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m glad I am, too.” 

“Would you want to get coffee tomorrow?” With anyone else the invitation would seem abrupt, but your smile looks something like relief. You’ve both been waiting for this for too long. 

“That sounds nice,” you say. 

“Great.” James can hear the love in his own voice. It’s probably written all over his face, too. Just as well. “There’s a new cafe by my place that has really good almond croissants, would you want to meet there?” 

You nod, not trying to downplay your happiness. His heart swells to see it. “I love almond croissants,” you say. 

James remembers. It’s one of the things he’s glad to know about you. There was a small, censured part of him that took satisfaction in knowing those things even when he was with Lily. It’s not something he’s ever been proud of, but a spark of that satisfaction comes back now. 

“Perfect,” he replies. Behind you, Remus is letting Sirius pull him out of the kitchen. Remus folds himself into an unoccupied chair, where Sirius happily sprawls across his lap. They’re both pretending not to be watching you. “How’s one?” 

“Not soon enough,” you say without hesitation. You take another sip of your drink, miming unconcern, but your eyes are playful. “Ten?” 

James feels like his face could split in half. “Ten it is.” 

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x self insert #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter drabble #james potter blurb #james potter one shot #james potter oneshot #james potter friends to lovers #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders era #hp marauders #marauders x reader

[unsolvedjarin]

Thinking about a kimi x fem! Driver! Reader who is basically the female version of Sebastian, where the fic is kimi and the reader doing a challenge for Ferraris channel, the reader being a bit of a know it all, and kimi just not caring

You can choose if it’s romantic or platonic:) thank you!

FERRARI AND CHINESE FOOD

pairing: (kimi raikkonen x ferrari driver! reader)

summary: ferrari has a sunshine driver and an iceman driver partake in a challenge for their youtube channel. thankfully, the sun can melt ice.

note: its 1am sorry i have no comprehensive thoughts this is a bit bad but have it anyways i am proud i made this with less than 5 hours of sleep. okay enjoy anon!!!!

content warning: my grammar at 1am

“Another one,” Kimi groans, throwing himself onto the couch in his room.

“Oh come on it’s not that bad,” you say with a grin, closing the door behind the both of you so no one could come in. You’re sure if Kimi had to talk to another person from the media he might explode. “Besides, this next one is the last one for today.”

“For today,” he emphasizes, groaning into a throw pillow once more. You’d both been doing media duties for Ferrari all day, and while it was tiring, you would say some of them had been fun and enjoyable. Although, evidently not for your teammate.

“Cheer up Kimi, it’ll be over soon,” you smile, sitting on the edge of the couch where he was laying down. You sigh, knowing the one thing that would get him to cooperate. “Dinner will be on me after.”

That grabs his attention, slightly pulling himself up and looking at you. “You mean that?”

“God you’re like a child I have to bribe,” you tease, yet with no malice. “Yes, I mean that.” You loved spending time with Kimi, and whenever there were media duties you both always had food afterwards. It was like a reward of sorts.

“Where d’ya wanna go?” Kimi mumbles, laying down on his side and resting his head on his hand. He was staring straight at you, waiting for a response. You think he looked pretty like this.

Smiling at him, you take your hand and run it through his hair softly, unable to help yourself. You would never normally do this, but you barely got moments alone during media week. Kimi grumbles but doesn’t stop you, you knew he always secretly liked it. “I dunno, what’re you up for?”

“Mmm…” he nuzzles into your hand a bit more, “Maybe chinese. I would enjoy some dumplings right now.”

“We can get Chinese then.”

Before you could have another moment of peace, however, a PR agent walked in the room to remind you that your next shoot was in ten minutes. You quickly pulled your hand away and Kimi sat up hastily, trying to fix up his hair. You give the agent an awkward thumbs up, hoping he got the message to leave.

“Okay, you’re right, this incessant filming is a bit tiring,” you say the second the door closes.

“Told you,” he simply replies. You pout in return, slumping your form beside him. He thought you looked so cute like this. Holding your cheek, he kisses your forehead, your nose, then your mouth, making you scrunch up your face. He chuckles, at least he made you feel a bit better.

“I should probably get ready for the shoot. You good here?” You ask, getting up from the couch. Kimi hums a yes, but doesn’t let go of your hand. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Kimi, but you will have to let go of my hand so I can get to my room.”

He looks at you with puppy eyes for a second before reluctantly letting go, deciding to lay back down on the couch.

“You’re not gonna get ready?”

Kimi shakes his head, eyes already closed ready for a five minute nap. You scoff softly at him, before heading for the door. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he mumbles. Kimi was not a man of many words by any means, but he would always utter those back to you. Smiling to yourself, you shut the door and get ready for the shoot.

“So this is how the challenge goes: you have to compete with each other on who knows your fellow drivers and each other the best, and of course, most points win. You’ll write your answers on a whiteboard so there’ll be no cheating.” The interviewer behind the camera explains. You nod, giving her a signal that you were ready for them to start filming. Kimi sat beside you on a couch, his face not showing any emotions whatsoever. Looks like you would be doing the heavy lifting on this shoot today.

They snap the check in front of the camera, and the interviewer asks the first question. “Starting with something simple, who on the grid has the most wins?”

“Oh, easy.” you mumble, writing your answer down on your board. Kimi wrote his answer in silence, not talking even when he finished.

“Done?”

You nod, both you and Kimi showing your boards. Lewis Hamilton.

“Easy enough, next question! Who was Y/N’s idol growing up?”

“Aha! You should know this, I told you about it before!” you exclaim, poking Kimi. He grunts, “Not fair, she knows her own idol of course.”

“Sorry, the question wasn’t finished. For Y/N, who was Kimi's idol growing up?” The girl adds.

Oh. Your smile drops as you look to the man beside you who, for the first time in any of the shoots you did today, showed emotion by grinning wickedly at you. “You should get this, I told you about it before,” he teases, echoing your own words. You think for a second before writing down a guess of an answer.

“Time’s up! Can you both please show your boards.”

You reveal yours first, the words Ayrton Senna scribbled down on it. Looking at the man beside you for confirmation, he shakes his head.

“Awh no way! Who’s your idol then?”

Kimi shrugs his shoulders, not answering your question. He didn’t even give Ferrari an answer for that one. He looks at his own empty board for a second before jotting down an answer he’s sure is wrong, but he’s also sure as hell is funny.

Turning his board around, you see Kimi Raikkonen written down with a smiley face beside it. You snigger loudly before replying, “Sure it is bud. In your dreams, maybe.”

“Unfortunately, that is incorrect, Kimi.” The interviewer calls out.

“Go figure,” he mumbles wryly, making you grin even wider.

“No, his answer is correct.” You joke, trying to tease him even more. He gives you a look but you simply keep your sly grin. He decides to drop it, after all he at least made you smile. That in itself deserves a point.

The questions went on for a while, before they got to the harder ones. “Okay, amping it up a notch, who won the 1985 World Championship?”

“Woah, that escalated quickly,” you exclaim, pausing to think for a second.

So far the score was 4-1 for you and Kimi respectively, as he really wasn’t trying at all. You’re pretty sure he could’ve gotten the question about what year Fernando Alonso came into F1 right if he cared. Jotting your answer down to the current question, you see Kimi from your peripheral vision trying to take a peek of your board.

“Hey!” you smack him lightly with your board, “Cheater.”

He smirks, trying to block your second hit. “Wasn’t cheating.”

You continue writing your answer but this time hiding it from Kimi, keeping it as close to your chest as possible. He looks at you for a second as if planning something before going back to write on his own board. Well– he pretends to write something, but you can see him just drawing a star in the corner of his board.

“What’re you planning?” You mumble. Kimi simply shrugs his shoulders, but you can see the slight grin playing on his lips. Locking in your answer, you feel the couch shift slightly to your left. Kimi inched a little closer without you sensing it. He notices your side eye and realizes it’s now or never, and tries to tackle you to see your board.

You shriek, attempting to hide your board from him by sliding down the sofa, to no avail. Your reaction was too slow and he was already on your side of the couch. You were giggling helplessly at this point, unable to contain your joy. Opening your eyes that you didn’t notice you closed, you’re met with a large smile, your teammate proud of himself.

“Get off of me Raikkonen!” You exclaim, using his last name for emphasis. You try to shove him off but he stays solid slightly on top of you, still pretending to try and take a peek of your board. You knew he didn’t give a damn about those answers anymore.

“Say please,” he mutters, still smirking. You truly didn’t know what had gotten into him.

“Please get off of me, you bastard.”

In truth Kimi didn’t want to, he enjoyed seeing your face scrunch up under him with a laugh. He had forgotten about the cameras a long time ago– they weren’t important to him. He just liked seeing you smile. Still, he knew the faster they finished this challenge the faster he could get some alone time with you.

He finally concedes and moves back to his spot on the couch, fixing his hair and going back to writing his answer as if nothing happened. You sit up straight, fix your shirt, and do the same. The crew looked confused, feeling like they saw something that they shouldn’t have. You didn’t care, though. If anyone asked you would just say what you always did, that physical touch was your love language with friends. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, except for the fact that Kimi wasn’t just a friend.

The interviewer clears her throat before speaking up again, “Okay– uh– answers?”

“Prost, of course.” You answer with a smile. You loved studying the history of Formula One. Even though you couldn’t see, Kimi gave you the softest look he has in a while. He loved how you genuinely lit up whenever something you liked came up.

“And you, Kimi?” The interviewer asks, making the man snap out of his moment of adoration.

Kimi flips his board, a Lewis Hamilton written on it. The interviewer shakes her head but continues, “I’m sure that’s a gag answer b—”

“Is it?” Kimi butts in.

“I’m sorry?”

“Is it a gag answer?”

You shove Kimi softly on his side, “Don’t mess with her like that!”

He chuckles, before raising his hands in defeat. “Whatever you say.”

The rest of the game moves pretty quick, save for a quick argument between you and Kimi on what Sebastian’s favorite track was. As you both leave the set, you give Kimi a sneaky grin. “Bold move earlier.”

“Hmm?”

“Doing all that tackling in front of the camera. I thought you were the one who said we should be discreet. You definitely gave Ferrari a lot of bonus content. I’m sure they’ll cut it out though.”

“Ehh,” Kimi shrugs, not replying for a good while as you both walk out the Ferrari building and out into the night streets. You knew he was trying to find the right words, trying to figure out how to articulate his thoughts. It was part of the reason why he didn’t like talking so much.

Once outside he wraps his arms around you, a sign that he was finally back in the present and ready to talk. “I just wanted people to know, you know?”

“Know what? That you have a quarterback tackle?”

He chuckles at the recent memory before replying, “No, that I love you.”

You blush, hoping Kimi didn’t see it. He did. You carry on your conversation, “And how exactly did you plan to convey that message when they don’t even know we’re in a relationship?”

“Hey, Sebastian knows.” He argues.

“Seb hardly counts, he practically forced his way into figuring it out.”

Kimi shakes his head, his arms still around you. “And he walked into a room at the wrong time.”

His comment makes you laugh, a soft smile on your face as you turn to face him. “I love you, you know that?”

“Mhm. Love you too. Even if I don’t say it much.”

Your grin grows even larger, leaning up to kiss him. “You don’t have to say, I know.” He kissed you back, and he could feel your smile as he did. He thinks it’s crazy that he’s hidden such a blessing from the world. How you ever loved someone like him, he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Pulling away, he gives you a smile that only you get to see. The softest in the world, looking at you as if you were the world. He breaks eye contact to hold your hand, headed towards the chinese restaurant down the road. “Okay, now dumplings.”

#kimi raikkonen #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen x you #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 imagine #ferrari

[satoruhour]

oh my god, i dont know if you write for this specifically (feel free to disregard if you don’t), but I’ve been thinking about satosugu x reader,,, imagine kissing the both of them!! spending a nice summer day with them!! just being able to enjoy spending time with the two of them!! I dont know if its my love for both of these characters and their relationship, but i just like thinking abt that dynamic,,,

a/n: wrote this yesterday to upload today since it was a loaded day today ❤️ enjoy. hope it’s up to standard cause i havent written fluff in a long time! / 1.3k, poly!satosugu x reader

sleep-ins were popular amongst the three of you. before you, suguru had his own routine of waking up early to brew some tea for himself, to get the laundry going . .

satoru, on his own, was a light sleeper, sitting straight up at any hint of sound due to his sorcerer duties but after moving in with geto, he’s been letting the long-haired man to do all the work.

and here came you, waltzing back into their lives (and apartment) after teaching at kyoto for just a few months until you couldn’t stand gakuganji and headed right back to your alma mater.

it wasn’t difficult to maintain the dynamic the three of you had from your school days, except maybe unspoken feelings and lingering glances until the two men were gassing each other up to ask you.

you’re not even sure how you even got roped in — old feelings, a crave for the younger days, the allure of satoru, the wonder of suguru — but now you’re stick in between both of them wanting to pee so badly.

alas, your body is trapped under gojo’s protective leg and geto’s gentler wrapped arm, but you still feel your bladder about to burst, trying one last time until your body is slammed back into bed.

“hm . . what’re you doing?” is gojo’s first raspy call out to you as he curls his calf around you even more, and you sigh, turning to him to brush his fringe from his face.

“i need to pee, satoru.”

“no.” and you roll your eyes because he’s always whiny like that and you’d usually employ suguru to do your bidding but he’s fast asleep, still. this was another thing: both you and gojo have inextricably fucked with his routine because now he’s more inclined to sleep in than drink his morning tea. he realised this one day when he was doing laundry, in the afternoon.

“’toru, pleeaasee?” you pout even if he can’t see and like a good boyfriend, he senses your features pulled into a face specifically meant to make him feel bad, and cracks his eyes open.

“oh, youuuu—” gojo scrunches up his eyes and squeezes, and then steals you from geto’s arm, trapping you with tight arms wound around your middle, “stop it with the eyes!”

you giggle, using your free hands to relax the tightness in his brows, using that opportunity to forcibly open his eyes and then you hit him again — knitted eyebrows and doe eyes, and a perfect pout that has gojo grumbling under his breath. silently, you wiggle yourself just enough to reach his face so you can place a peck on his lips and he hums.

another, his eyes say and you indulge him, sinking into his embrace and letting him guide you back to his mouth. morning breath is nothing to the both of you, grinning into the kiss when satoru loses himself and his embrace starts to loosen. the kiss still holds you captive, though, the other moaning softly when you deepen it with some tongue.

“you’re just going to leave me hangin’?” geto’s voice calls out from beside you, and gojo’s excited suguru! gives you just that sliver of time to slip away from the two as they catch up but—

“you’re not going anywhere, missus,” gojo pulls on your arm and you’re falling back into your space in the middle of the both of them, greeted with geto’s lovely laugh and his gentle gaze.

“good morning my loves,” he says, arm draped over the both of you before he leans down to give you a kiss while gojo replies with a good morning as well, also giving a peck to your temple. “what’s on the agenda today?”

“lazing in—”

“i need to pee, firstly,” you pipe up, cutting gojo off and patting his puffed out cheeks. grabbing his face, you wiggle his head just to emphasise your point, “your man here has been preventing me from going to the bathroom.”

“ahem! our man,” gojo corrects, sticking his tongue out just enough to lick your hand and you shriek in disgust while his giggles only fill the room.

“satoru, c’mon, let her go.” and again, the other only cuddles you closer to him, long, lanky limbs trapping your body. geto has a hand on yours like he’s trying his best to console you.

“but— she’s so much nicer to cuddle! did i ever tell you suguru once hit me in the face with his arm?”

and you laugh while the other only sighs and chaos erupts once he stands up and says in faux disappointment — “okay, i’m making breakfast for myself only. guess i lost two partners today.”

“hello?! i didn’t even do anything!” you shout in incredulity, words muffled once gojo slaps a hand over your mouth and laughs, watching through the bathroom mirror at how he chuckles at the both of you. you lick gojo’s hand and he moans obnoxiously.

geto did end up making the both of you some breakfast after some convincing (it was mostly gojo yelling “pleasepleaseplease” in the bathroom and interrupting brushing teeth time), but he’s got around it with a sloppy kiss given to the both of you, sat at the wooden table you commissioned — large enough to bring friends over but small enough for it to feel intimate with your two boyfriends.

“on the real agenda, we need to go for some grocery shopping,” geto suggests, reaching diagonally to you to wipe off the bits of strawberry lingering at the corner of your lips and gojo shouts a loud oh!, running from the table to grab his phone that he’s left on the bedside table. naturally, he has become so enamoured with the both of you that he doesn’t even need his phone to entertain him that much.

“i made the list like you asked, sugu,” and you’re giggling when you see his eyebrow raise, positive that on the list, there was more of what the house didn’t need than what it did.

silently, you’re helping to clear all three of your plates that had coatings of maple syrup on it, apart from gojo’s who licked his squeaky clean. a smile spreads across your face when you hear them bicker, a common occurrence.

“baby, there’s more candy than actual groceries on here.”

“but suguruuuu . .” gojo pulls this all the time and it hardly works on geto any more, so the both of them invade your cleaning escapades to argue. like the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, satoru sucks up to your boyfriend, suguru appeals to you.

“should we listen to him?” leaning against the counter, geto rests his arm around your torso, sidling right up to your face who only gives him a small grin.

gojo follows suit. “sweetness, don’t listen to him. you know you love the sweets i buy, i’ll even buy you your favourite brand!”

here in this kitchen in the house that gojo had no problem expanding to accommodate the both of you were all that you know in this mess of a world, destined to exorcise curses for as long as you live, but it wasn’t so bad when you had the strongest duo beside you, talking over each other on whether meiji chocolate was more important than buying celery for tonight’s dinner. 

“boys.” turning off the tap, you shake off the water and turn around in their arms only to see what had escalated: geto ready to summon a curse, gojo crossing his fingers in his muryōkūsho pose, all the while keeping an arm around you like everything’s fine. and as chaotic dating the both of them were, you don’t mind putting both their hands down and calming the situation down.

with a laugh, you give one kiss to both cheeks. “let’s just buy both, okay?”

and satoru leaps to hug you, planting endless kisses on your face while suguru sighs, then smiles, defeated. “plus, we can just make ’toru pay for everything, can’t we?”

“and then make him cook tonight.” you suggest, not-so-quietly.

gojo stops, “hey!”

i didnt write the grocery shopping part since i alr rambled off about it here but maybe next time we’ll see :)

#satosugu x reader #suguru x reader #gojo fluff #geto fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #getou fluff #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader

[imrllytootiredforthis]

you know how cats like when you scratch above their tailbone

that but with lee know, like

if your fucking him from behind, just scratch and stroke over his tailbone, its enough to get him coming untouched

and the way he mewls like a kitten...

kitty~

lee know x reader

warnings: dom reader, sub lee know, reader fucking him though could be w a strap or a dick, cumming untouched, kitty lino, idk what else

a/n: help, help, help, anon you are 😵‍💫🙏, this is really short and kinda shit bc i haven't written in forever but found this in my inbox and couldn't resist

it happens when you're fucking into him, ass up and head buried into the pillows bc poor baby is too embarrassed to let you hear the downright slutty whines and pleads dripping from his lips one after another as you ram into prostate over and over.

any other day you'd tug him up by his hair, wrap your hand around his throat and pull his back flush to your chest. making his head spin by placing your lips beside his ear, teeth nipping at his earlobe while you whispered such dizzying things to him.

but you're feeling nice today-or cruel.

with you, he finds that the two are often intertwined; one and the same really. able to bring him to the brink of insanity, leaving him drowning in the pool of your desire.

mercy is delivered in the form of sweet words and honeyed praises that seep into his skin, making him delirious like venom. and mercy is injected into him in the cruel way you thrust, pulling hoarse whines from him with every jolt of your hips: rough, demanding, animalistic, just the way he likes it.

"oh kitty~" you coo, and he mewls, proving the point you've made. "so pathetic." and you were right. you make him feel like he's melting, drooling into a puddle for you to mold and remake into whatever you pleased.

you sigh, "so messy," another truth, you were almost worried for your sheets with the amount of pre-cum he was leaking. "you gonna purr for me next? like a good kitty?"

he clenched around you, delightfully so.

he just looks so much like a cat right now.

the cat ears you had so lovingly placed in his hair, matching in colour so well they fit in seamlessly they might as well be real.

the way his hips sway, grinding back onto you to match your thrusts. you swear if he had a tail it would be flicking back and forth. wrapping around your thigh or ankle, trying to find some form of holding onto you- stay sane in the depths of this haze.

you were sure if he could purr, it would be loud enough for you to hear no matter how much he'd try to hide them. you could still hear his muffled mewls and cute hiccupy gasps even now.

just like a cat.

your pretty kitty, your lino.

and maybe...just maybe...

experimentally, cautiously (because much like a cat, you knew he didn't need to be provoked much to bite) you pressed your hand, lightly against his tailbone.

his reaction was immediate, and obvious, startlingly so.

his back arched. his thighs trembling, keening as he pressed back against you, grinding needily, like he couldn't get enough, like he could never get enough.

so you pressed slightly harder, rubbing small circles to the area, ripping high desperate mewls as he spasmed around you. unable to help his head snapping back, looking at you with wide, watery eyes as he came, dirtying the already ruined bedding with his spend.

you couldn't bring yourself to care at this point.

and he couldn't either.

you hummed, amused as you watch him slump onto the dirtied sheets, completely boneless. a quiet cry following when you slipped out of him.

"well that's something new~"

"-you...-you are never doing that again." he huffs, quietly, with little deliberation. with just enough force, in a way that you know he's going to be begging for it in less time than one may think with a stubborn, steadfast man such as your lino.

you only laughed and he shuddered at the sound.

"we'll see, kitty."

a/n: please, please give me a little slack if this is awful-the thoughts took over i wrote this in like half an hour in a moment of weaknessssss😫 i can't control them anymoreeeee

also ik i have a taglist i'll prolly get that out later today if i ever get it out at all😭

#inbox💌 #hard thoughts #dom reader #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #sub stray kids #stray kids hard thoughts #sub lee know #sub kpop #sub idol #lee know x reader #lee know smut #minho x reader #minho smut #sub minho #sub skz #sub!minho #sub!skz #sub!stray kids #dom!reader