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mysticalrambling · 3 years ago

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Ending It All Part 1 (C.E)

Part 2

Chris Evans Fan fiction (Fan fiction Masterlist)

Summary: Chris wants to end your marriage and you decide to go along with it. You have to be civil for the sake of the kids but you are hurt. This process is too much for the both of you and eventually, it all ends.

Warnings: Angst all the way.

._._._._._.

You had seen it coming from a mile. People say that a woman’s sixth sense is her greatest power. You always took pride in it but in this case, it was a curse. Chris and you have known each other for the past seven years and from those years, you were married for five. He was the love of your life. You thought it was forever but apparently you were wrong. You were wrong about so many things.

From the past six months, Chris has been home for a couple of days at most and then he was traveling. Traveling for work, for friends and whatnot. And for the days that he was here, he didn’t look at you like you were his wife, his soulmate. He looked at you like you were a stranger. Spending time with the kids was all he ever did and then came up with measly explanations to go off to bed early. There was no space left for you in his life. You thought that it was just a rough patch but that was not the case.

“(Y/N), we need to talk.” The determined look in his icy blue eyes said it all.

Taking a deep breath, you shakily replied, “Let me just put the kids to sleep.” Your energetic kids had tired out you for the whole day because you were off from work today. Chris had just come back from shooting and he didn’t give you a kiss like he usually did. In fact, he hadn’t kissed you like he meant it for several years now.

“I will be in the kitchen. You want wine?” He was walking away before you could even reply.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled out and you didn’t even know that he listened.

“Mommy, we are going to spend the whole day with you and daddy tomorrow?” Mia and Jace have started to pick up on the fact that there was something going on between their parents. You wanted to keep all of this away from your four and two year old but it seems that you might have failed. You were failing at a lot of things right now.

“Yes, we will. Now, go to sleep.” It took you about half an hour to be put them to sleep and during that time, you were a wreck. There were a thousand possibilities running through your mind.

Coming back downstairs, Chris handed you the glass of wine, your favorite as always. He knew every little detail about you. “(Y/N), I don’t know how to say this but-”

“Before you finish that sentence, I just need to tell you that I promised the kids a day out tomorrow. Don’t ruin it.”

“I- I can’t say that.” Fiddling with his almost empty glass, he couldn’t bring it in himself to look at you. He was going to ruin this promise as well just like he was going to ruin everything.

“Just, go on.” You refilled the wine glass as you knew you needed the alcoholic haze to get through this conversation.

“I can’t do this anymore. This is just not what I want in my life anymore.” Your breath hitched and your heart broke into tiny little pieces.

Exact words were what you needed to hear right now. No vague statements. “What do you mean? What can’t you do?”

“This. This relationship. I think I am done. I am truly sorry, (Y/N).”

“Is- Is there someone else?” It was as if a ball was lodged in your throat and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk coherently. Fluently.

Chris looked at you, horrified. How could you even say that? He would never in a million years even think about cheating on you. Dignity was an important trait for Chris and if he ever cheated, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself. It hurt him that you would even consider this as a reason but he couldn’t blame you.

“No! This is not the reason. Not at all.” A defensive attitude was immediately taken up by your husband.

“Then is it me? Am I not enough for you?” Hot tears rolled down your cheeks but you didn’t have the energy to wipe them out.

“It is not you, darling. I just don’t think this is what I want with my life anymore. I want to solely focus on my career.”

“You are choosing your career over your family.” As the realization started to hit you, you couldn’t control the anger that took over you. “Over your family, Chris?”

“(Y/N) I am just done. I want an out and can we please try to be civil about this?” He pleaded.

“You want me to be civil about this? Fine.” You took a calming breath and closed your eyes for a second. “Just explain it to me. Maybe we can work something out.”

“I can’t- I don’t know how to explain it. Seven months ago I just woke up and I didn’t want to do this anymore. I want to start over.” A shocking chill passed through your body and you realized that it was hurt. You were betrayed.

“So you don’t want to do anything with me or the kids as well?”

“No. I want to be a part of their lives and-”

You looked him in the eyes and spoke in a broken voice, “It’s just me that you want out of your life.”

“Darling, no-” Chris tried to reach out for your hand but you placed them on your hands. He had lost the right to touch you from the moment he said that he didn’t want you. You were just a problem for him that needed to be solved.

There were years when he needed you every step of the way. Chris met you at a party that Scarlett threw. You were her best friend so you were invited to her New Year’s party. The moment he saw you, he was head over heels. He followed you around for two months to get you to go on a date with him. You used to tease him afterwards that he was a love sick puppy. But he was your love sick puppy.

That was not the case now and you didn’t know what you will do if he wasn’t in your life anymore. Your world revolved around your family but now it was all falling apart. You were falling apart.

“We can file for divorce tomorrow. Do you want to stay here tonight?” Wiping your tears, you got up from the stool and put the glasses in the sink.

“Uhh okay, okay. I can stay with Scott tonight.”

This was not what he expected. He expected you to cry, fight, scream. He thought there would be more discussion on this topic. Seven years were going to waste and you were treating this as a simple business transaction. Truth be told, you didn’t want him to see you fall apart. Chris had lost that right. If he didn’t want a life with you, then you were not going to beg him to stay. You were going to fulfill his wish and set him free.

“We have to take the kids out tomorrow. I was thinking the park.”

“What?” He was too distracted by everything to even realize what you were talking about.

“We will talk to them about the divorce tomorrow.”

“Isn’t this going a little too fast?”

“We should get this all over with as soon as possible. Goodbye, Chris.” Silently pecking him on his cheek, you went to your shared bedroom.

The moment your head touched the pillow, you were surrounded by his scent. The dam burst and you couldn’t stop the tears from running down your face and getting soaked up by the cushions. What were you going to do with your life now? You had to come up with a plan to manage the kids together with Chris. You had to think about getting a job that would accommodate your kids in to it now that you were going to be a single parent. You didn’t get a wink of sleep last night and you cried a lot.

On the other hand, Chris was not doing any better. Scott gave him the spare guest room to sleep in. He didn’t know what was going on between his brother and you but he knew it was serious. Chris couldn’t sleep last night either because he was not used to. This was the first time in seven years that you both were in the same city and you were not sleeping together. You wouldn’t be sleeping with him from now on. He has to get used to that idea. The idea of you not being there every step of the way because this was his own doing. He was dreading tomorrow as he was the one who was destroying his family.

“Hi. I was just here to pick you all up.” Guilt washed over him when he noticed your red puffy eyes and eye bags.

“You didn’t have to. We could have come there by ourselves.”

“We always go to the park together. It is our thing.”

“We can’t do all of these things now. Everything is going to change.”

“Right.” You moved towards the kitchen and he followed you like a lost puppy.

“Daddy!” Both kids ran up to him and clinged to his legs like two little monkeys.

“Hey babies.” He held on to them a little bit longer because he knew he was the one who was ruining their little lives.

“Where were you? Missed your pancakes. Mama doesn’t make good.” Mia hadn’t learned to make full sentences yet but Chris understood her perfectly.

“I was busy, baby. I- I-”

“Go get your shoes on. We are going to be late.” You saved him from the conversation because he looked like a deer caught in headlight. Chris couldn’t answer his daughter as this was how it was going to be. He wouldn’t be there for all of this. The important phases. Jace’s first soccer win, his first award, or Mia’s first school day, her first break up, her prom. He was going to miss most of them because you would be there with them while he will get them for weekends mostly.

“Let’s go.” Buckling his kids in, he sat in the driver’s seat. When he pulled out of the garage, his hand instinctively went for yours. It was out of pure instinct. You retracted your hand immediately and Chris just drew in a shaky breath, He was not allowed to touch you now.

“I am taking them to the swings. Do you want to come with?”

“No, I am just going to my usual spot to read my book.” There was a maple tree that had been your spot for the past five years. It was where you rested and caught up with your reading.

“Okay.”

The next hour was spent with Chris going on to every swing with his kids. He didn’t want to miss anything. Plus, he didn’t know how he could sit with you under the tree that held so many memories. You told him that you will marry him under this tree and that you were pregnant with Jace. It was all too much. You couldn’t focus on your reading when this might be the last time you get to see him with your kids. The last time you were together as husband and wife. This might be the last time because Chris wanted you out of his life.

“Hey, kids. We have to talk to you.” You finally gathered up some courage when they all came to sit beside you. Chris couldn’t bring himself to start up this conversation so he was glad that you did.

“Yeah, Mommy?”

“So you know how your friend Oliver’s parents don’t live together but they still love him very much.”

“Yeah.” Jace’s whole concentration was on his ice cream but he still nodded his head to indicate that he was listening. Mia was too young to comprehend it all so you mainly focused on your son.

“Well, Daddy and I are going to be doing the same thing. We love you both very much and we will always there be with you.”

“But Ollie’s daddy doesn’t live with him.” His blue eyes focused on the two of you when he made the statement.

“Yeah, buddy. I will be staying at an apartment really near by. You both can come whenever you want to.”

“You won’t be there to read us night stories or make our favorite brekky?” His question threw Chris off guard and he froze in his place.

“He will be there to do everything for you guys. Mia and you can go to daddy’s place and he can do all this.” You jumped in when you noticed that Chris didn’t know how to respond to all this. “Right, Chris?”

“Yes, that’s right. Nothing is going to change, buddy.” Wiping away his tears, your husband placed him on his lap with Mia.

“Promise?” Mia spoke up this time because she understood that her daddy wouldn’t live with her like he always did.

“Promise. Let’s go back to the house. You both look tired.”

You placed Mia on her bed while Chris did the same for Jace. They both were out the moment they were buckled in their car seats. Coming downstairs, you prepared coffee for Chris and yourself. He always liked his coffee black so that’s what you made for him. The cup was placed in front of him and he sighed because no one made coffee like you.

“Our lawyer said that he will have the papers delivered to us by tomorrow.”

“Okay, I saw this new apartment building when I was coming here this morning. I might rent it out. The penthouse has three rooms. One for the kids and one is the guest bedroom. You can stay there when you bring the kids over.” He looked at you with a defensive position.

“I won’t be staying at your apartment so please don’t take me into consideration.” You didn’t understand why he thought you would ever stay over at his place. You would never subject yourself to that kind of pain.

“But there can be special circumstances and my home will always be open for you, (Y/N). We can still be friends.” He was hoping against all hope that you would agree. He still wanted you in his life.

“I don’t think I can do that. Be friends. There is too much history. Let’s just keep it to the kids right now.” You picked on your nails because you didn’t want to cry like a little girl in front of him. “And I am going to change houses as well so do you want to sell this one?”

“Why do you have to move?” Chris was shocked to hear those words come out of your mouth.

“I can’t live in a house that was meant to be our family house. I just can’t.”

He understood where you were coming from but this house held too many memories. He couldn’t think of another family living here. Some couple living in your master bedroom, some kids running around in your children’s playground, some other family’s picture instead of yours. It was just too much to think about.

“Let’s just keep the house. When the kids grow up, they can have it.”

“Okay. I am tired right now so I am going to bed. I will sign the papers tomorrow and send them over to Scott’s.” You placed the empty mug on the counter and stood in a straight posture. “You want the kids this weekend?”

“Yes, I would like that. Do you want to maybe come with us?” He didn’t know why he was not ready to let you go yet. This was all his doing but he just couldn’t accept it right now.

“Umm no. I think we should settle the kids into this new routine.”

“I guess you are right.”

“Goodbye, Chris. I love you and I will always love you.” You regretted the words that came out of your mouth the instant you said them. You were so stupid but you just couldn’t help yourself. This was probably the last time you ever got to say it.

“I- I love you too, (Y/N). I will always be there for you. Goodbye, darling.” The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger by the second but he had to say this. Lightly pecking you on the lips, he knew this was the last time he ever got to do this. He left afterwards and you couldn’t help but tear up. The same thing happened with Chris. This was it. Your marriage was over but your love would always be there.

Hope you guys liked it!!

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A/N: I literally cried while writing this fan fiction. This one is particularly close to my heart so please let me know what you think about it. If you want to be added to my tag list, message me. I am also open to requests for this series; requests, blurbs, anything.

P.S: There is a part 2 as well.

Tag list: @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile, @iguessweallcrazyithinktho, @jessyballet , @luckyladycreator2

Like, comment and reblog.

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fartenthusiastwriter · 2 years ago

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The Saga of Billy Boy Part 2 - Home

This part is also not a lot of kink, mostly build up. If you need it, here is a link to part 1.

- - - - -

I collapsed on the couch in the living room of my two bedroom apartment. I turned on the tv as I recounted the rest of my workday. I got Frank all set up with his computer, and he only farted a couple more times after that. He didn’t wink or anything like that again; he really didn’t even address them. Which makes sense if it’s a condition he’s dealt with for most of his life. We lightly chatted and he told me how he lives with his sister to help save on housing. Frank seemed tense talking about her, but I didn’t want to pry having just met him. We walked out together at the end of the day and parted ways in the parking lot. When Frank waved goodbye, he let out another fart; I guess his ass has enough manners to say goodbye as well.

I put my feet on the coffee table, as I flipped through streaming services to find something to watch. I checked my watch and decided to find something short since it wouldn’t be long before my boyfriend, Clay, got home. Clay and I had started dating a couple years prior and lived together for six months. We spent enough time together that we decided we were wasting money not living together. So we found this apartment. We didn’t really need a two bedroom, but the second bedroom might as well be a closet at its size. It’s just big enough to fit a small desk with our computer and a cot for the rare occasion a guest needs to stay the night.

I gave up on finding a show and decided to get on my phone. After clearing tedious notifications with no value, I find my way to Grindr. Like a lot of gay relationships, Clay and I are open. We have your typical boundaries, no hosting, open communication about partners, etc. Clay didn’t judge my fart fetish, but he certainly didn’t share it, so this provided an opportunity to experiment with my fantasies, while he was able to do the same.

As I opened the app, I saw a couple of notifications. The first was a message. “Looking?” from WntHd. I rolled my eyes as I deleted the message. Guys like that are also so vanilla. If I wanted to give head, I’d suck off Clay. I was typically exacerbated by using Grindr to find guys into farts. I even expanded my profile to have general dirty sub interests, but I still struggled to find guys that’d even consider farting on me, let alone be hot doing it. Even curious guys were too vanilla. Sure they’d fart on me, but they weren’t into it, so they didn’t know how to make it hot. I wanted a man naturally into forcing a subby bitch to smell his farts from the source. Wishful thinking.

At least, that's what I thought until I opened up the taps and saw a new one. The profile didn’t have a pic or title so I grumbled. Probably some stupid blank profile. I didn’t have a picture myself, but I had my stats, a title, and a bio, so there’s enough to build a mental picture, right? I click on the profile to see if there’s anything else to work with. There was nothing, but a brief bio that immediately caught my attention:

Hairy, thick dom looking for a boy to use. Preferred pleasures: pit and feet sniffing/licking, begging, degrading and humiliation role play, bondage, sniffing and licking gassy ass

I read the bio over and over with my mouth agape. This man sounded perfect. My fart fetish had led me to discover interest in feet and pits too, especially since they were more common. But this man had it all. I click on the message icon to send him a message. But as I hear Clay unlocking the front door, I decide to wait to start the conversation.

“Hey Babe! I’m home!” Clay called out to the apartment. I got up and walked over to Clay, wrapping my arms around him and planting a kiss on his lips. Clay had the most kissable lips on an incredibly handsome face. He kept his light brown hair short and face clean shaven. He had a muscular build, with a small gut that he hated. Though in his defense, he was larger when we met but he’s worked hard to lose weight. He’s come a long way but he still wishes he could lose a few more pounds.

“How was your day?” I asked him, pulling away to allow him to walk into the living room. Clay worked in sales for a book publisher.

“It was alright. Boss wanted my new project done today, but the editing department is taking forever. Apparently the author likes to work with his own set of grammar rules.” Clay said, falling into the couch with a beer he got from the fridge. I smile to myself knowing how gassy beer makes him. It’s an unfair joy, since Clay only really has a beer when he’s had a rough day.

“Sounds like you could use a backrub.” I flirtatiously proposed. I usually try to justify my enjoyment of his bad days by volunteering to give him a back rub. While he may not be into farts, he sure doesn’t hold them back while I’m rubbing his shoulders pressed up against his ass.

Clay gave me a knowing look. “Maybe after I have my second beer with dinner.” My cock twitches at the mention. He didn’t normally give me a lot in that regard, so I knew not to push it when he did, so I didn't react. Clay continued “How was your day, babe?”

I almost blushed as I thought back to Frank. “It was pretty good. The new intern I was telling you about started today. His name is Frank. Older than I expected, but he seems capable.” I decided not to tell Clay about Frank’s condition. He knows my fetish, and I wouldn’t want him to think I’m gonna become some constant horn dog at work.

“That’s great! I bet that’ll do wonders for your workload and it may even get Tony off your back.” Clay exclaimed.

“Yeah, I think he’ll be a lot of help.” I lied. I didn’t expect this new arrangement would be helping anything aside from my lust.

- - - - -

That night, I dream about my day at work. Tony introduces Frank to me just like he did this morning, only this time Brad was there. And, instead of Tony patting Frank’s back. Frank hikes up a leg and farts much longer and louder than he did this morning. “Man, that one was tearing me up!” Frank laughs.

“Good one!” Tony comments and gives Frank a high five.

“I bet I can match it!” Brad chimes in. He squats down a little and unleashes a fart just as magnificent as Frank’s. I look away like I did this morning and Tony notices.

“I think we may have grossed out Billy Boy over here.” Tony points out looking down on me. I notice at this point, I’m a bit shorter in the dream, at face height with Frank’s crotch.

“Of course not! Look at how hard his pecker is!” The four of us all look down as I realize I’m only in tighty whiteys. And although I have shrunk, my dick is much larger than normal and visibly pulsing. Tony and Brad burst out laughing, while Franks rips another beast of a fart.

I try to cover my crotch with my hands but they’re too small to cover up my now massive cock. As I feel shame from being exposed, I realize it’s growing.

“He likes humiliation, too! Billy Boy, you really are something, huh?” Tony laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You’ve probably been sniffing the bathrooms after us all this time. So gross!” Brad exclaimed, clutching his chest with laughter.

“And there’s only one thing we do with dirty boys like you.” Frank said, menacingly as all three turned around and pointed their asses at my face. The last thing I remember before waking up was the barrage of smelly, gaseous fumes flowing over my face and the sound of unending farts and laughter from my colleagues.

-----

Want to know what happens next? Check out part three here!

#gay farts #gay butt #gay fart story #eproctophilia

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sundaysundaes · 4 years ago

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Started With A Kiss

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Actor AU, Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | 10K

Summary: Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

Warnings: protected sex, oral sex, crude humor, swearing, literally 10k of sex with very little plot, a lot of playful banters between sassy!hyuck and equally sassy!Y/N

Wrote this for my love Kira @flopim who’s been having a tough time lately. I hope this will cheer you up bb! ❤️

“I want you to make love to me.”

Standing there, still dressed in your bright pink pajamas with your hair resembling a bird’s nest, you can only blink once, twice, and several times more because surely, your ears are playing tricks on you. There’s no way that your best friend, the cutely annoying and annoyingly cute, Lee Haechan—the one who’s been practically glued to your skin like a conjoined twin of yours for the last two years—is asking you to make love to him.

Surely, this is not what you’d expected to see when you opened the door to your apartment, ready to bark at whoever it was who dared to disturb your beauty sleep (since it is seven in the morning on a Sunday), only to see him standing in his blue ripped jeans and black Michael Jackson shirt with his cheeks flushed, his bag hanging loosely on his shoulder, brown eyes desperately begging for your attention.

And you’re most definitely sure that he’s not asking you to sleep with him when you still have drool on the corner of your mouth and a terrible morning breath (in your defense, you have brushed your teeth but that was, like, six hours ago).

But when seconds have passed and Haechan still looks like he badly needs to hear an answer, you have very little options but to ask, “You want me to do what to who now?”

Catching a sniff of your mighty dragon’s breath, he promptly takes a step back, scrunching his nose while frantically covering half of his face with the script he’s been holding. “Eew, God, what is that smell?” Ignoring your glare, he repeats his words, voice muffled by the papers. “I said, I want you to make love to me.”

“What—”

“Damn it, woman, just brush your teeth and let me in!”

When he’s stomping his feet while whining that loudly—loud enough for your fucking landlord to hear, along with everybody else in the building (including your cute neighbor, Jaehyun, oh dear God, no), he doesn’t give you any other choice but to invite him in, does he?

You step away from the door, flatly muttering, “Please, come in, why don’t you.” Haechan doesn’t waste any second waiting, making sure to run and stay as far away as possible from you so he won’t inhale the poisonous air that’s tainted with your breath again.

You roll your eyes. Dramatic little shit. But just to be on the safe side, you make your way to the bathroom.

***

The scalding hot shower you just took was comforting but not enough to wash your entire drowsiness away. You’re in dire need of your caffeine intake. “Would you like some coffee, my king?” You ask between a yawn, hands finding their way to the coffee jar on your kitchen counter.

Haechan throws his bag to the floor, body sinking into the comfort of your couch. “With milk, please.”

"I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not.” He throws one of those cheeky grins that you adore—no, wait, you hate—as he settles his legs on your coffee table. “Less sugar but more milk. I’m still growing.”

“Growing what, your balls?” You pour him a cup of coffee as requested, yes, because to balance his demonic behavior, you have to act like the perfect angel that you are. “Since you don’t have any?”

“You mean, like your boyfriend?” Haechan retorts before he gasps dramatically, his palm going to his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You hover above him from behind the couch, bringing two mugs filled with sizzling hot coffee. “Want to repeat that?” You tip your mug just a little bit until it nearly spills on his forehead.

Haechan winces, attempting to grin. “I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t ruin my face. It’s the only thing that’s good about me.”

“It surely is.”

“Yah, what does that mean?”

“Take it as a compliment.”

Sitting next to him, you sip your coffee and curse silently when the liquid burns your tongue. “Okay, so what about this ‘make love to me’ thing you said earlier? Please tell me it’s just a figure of speech or something.”

“I wish.” He drags his legs away from the table so he can lay his cup down because apparently, he means business. “Okay, I know you’re gonna kill me after you hear—”

“After? I’m about to kill you now, actually.” You scoff. “Don’t you remember what we’ve agreed on? You cannot bother me when I’m still too sleepy to smack you in the head, Haechannie.”

“When did we ever—” He stops. “Why are you going to smack me in the head?”

“‘Cause you’ll say something stupid.”

“Who says I’m gonna say something stupid?”

“You always say something stupid. You’re saying something stupid now!”

“It’s not stupid.” He sighs exasperatedly but when your flat, degrading stare comes into view, it morphs into a groan. “Well, not that stupid. I’ve thought about this—really thought about it—and I can’t find anyone else to do this but you since you’re the only girl I’m friends with. I mean, I can pick random girls, I suppose—you know how popular I am. They just can’t stop talking about me. My hair, my eyes—”

“—your tiny dick.”

“But I don’t want to break any girl’s heart by doing something that’s gonna make them feel like I’m just using them to get a job, you know? I know I’m hot but these good looks aren’t meant to trample people’s hearts.”

“And you don’t care how I’m gonna feel?”

He has the decency to act like he’s thinking about it, but then, “No, not really.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I really need your help.” He takes it as further as holding your hand between his, puckering his pouty lips, and blinking his eyes in a way that’s cute enough to leave you in daze so you pretend like you’re about to vomit your insides to cover it up.

Okay, so there’s one thing—one little thing that nobody knows—that you’re too ashamed to admit and that is the fact that you have a massive crush on this boy who sits in front of you with his socks unmatched. Well, no, not massive. It used to be massive during the first few weeks you knew him. How could you not? Haechan was so cute, you wanted to turn him into a doll so you could carry him around in your backpack and squish his cheeks whenever you feel like it. Sure, he’s not all jawlines and dimples like that neighbor of yours (Jung Jaehyun was probably sculpted by God himself ), but Haechan has his own charms. His devilish smirk, his loud, contagious laughter, his naughty eyebrow raise, and his lips—God, his beautiful plump lips, the way they look so pouty and soft. Honestly, you can write a whole essay about his attractive features (not that you haven’t already).

You knew you were crazy for him when the antics he did annoyed the hell out of his friends but to you, he was just plain adorable. And you realized you were pretty much fucked-up when Jeno said, “Fucking Lee Donghyuck said he forgot his wallet and robbed me this morning. Who the fuck orders a freakin’ wagyu steak for breakfast?!” and the only thing you could think of was how nice it was to go on a date with him and how your first kiss with him was going to be like (poor Jeno, though).

It’s not that you love him or anything. It’s mostly physical, nothing more—at least for now anyway. It’s not your fault that he’s so fucking pretty that he ends up showing every now and then in your fantasy, doing indescribable naughty things that will definitely make Mark splash some holy water on your face if he knew what was going on in your head.

Fortunately, now that you’ve been friends with him for two years, that massive crush you had has turned into something normal, something you can easily hide. And can be forgotten even, whenever another cute guy—like Na Jaemin, for example—takes you out on a date or two. It’s easier to breathe these days.

“Hello? Are you there?” Haechan snaps his fingers, waking you up from your reverie. “What’s your answer? Do you want to make love to me or not?”

‘It’s easier to breathe these days?’ More like fucking kill me.

“Can you stop saying that?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re giving me headaches.” Or a heart attack, more accurately. “Assume I said yes. Don’t you think it’s gonna get a little weird between us?”

“What is so weird about it?” He throws his hands in the air, exhausted and impatient. “It’s just gonna be two friends, pretending to be in love with each other, hugging, kissing, touching, and having sweet, tender sex.” Realization falls upon him and you resist the urge to exhale loudly. “Yeah, okay, so it is a little weird, but it should be fine, right? It’s just acting. It’s not like you have any feelings for me, do you?”

If by feelings you mean picturing you naked in my head with your mouth sucking on my neck, then yeah, I do have feelings for you. Plenty of that. But on the outside, you say, “Eew, God, no.”

Haechan squints his eyes at your response. “Can’t say I’m not hurt with the way you said it, but eew, God, no to you too. Well, if that’s the case then I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he says, sipping his coffee, and retracts his mouth as soon as the flavor hits his tongue. “What the hell is this?! Did you spit on my coffee or something?”

You didn’t but for your amusement, you throw him a sly grin. “A little.” It’s satisfying to see him looking like he’s about to pass out. “I’m still worried how it’s gonna affect our friendship later on though.”

He simply shrugs. “Meh. We’re not really that close to begin with anyway.” He takes another sip of his coffee by accident and nearly vomits for real. “Fucking hell—take this shit out of my face.”

“I'm still not sure about this, Haechannie.”

“Look, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you, we’re just going to pretend! Acting!” He exclaims as if that was the most normal thing a friend could ask another friend. “And you’re gonna be acting out a love scene with someone as hot as me. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Consider yourself dead.”

“Damn it, my audition is in two days and I really want to get this role!” He’s whining, tugging at your hand like a baby as he practically throws himself at your feet, graveling for your mercy. “You’re the only one who can help me with this. How can I act properly if I don’t have enough experience to perform a freaking bed scene?!”

“I don’t think actors who have to play dead have enough experience of, you know, being dead.”

“Excellent point.” Haechan stares at you blankly, unimpressed. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Do you?”

A few seconds passed by in silence with the two of you exchanging sinister glares until he finally surrenders with a prominent pout on his face. “Fine, if you don’t want to.” Haechan exhales dramatically, his shoulders sagging and when you don’t respond, he sighs again only louder this time. “I guess, I have to force Mark to make out with me. Again.” He sneaks a glance to see your reaction. “And have my face slapped with a Bible. Again.”

You wince at the thought. “How did you force him, exactly?”

“Just…” He timidly scratches his nose. “Kinda attacked him in his sleep.”

You nod in understanding even when it’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, maybe he would’ve been fine with it if you had taken him out for a nice dinner before that.”

Haechan smiles a little at your words, and even a little glimpse of it is contagious enough to make your own spread wider on your face. Small chuckles resonate through the air and he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours, his palm resting on your knuckles.

“On a more serious note,” Haechan says, “I know that asking you to rehearse a bed scene with me is too much and way out of line. But I swear, I’m not gonna touch you if you’re so uncomfortable with it. Won’t even hold your hand, I promise.” Then he notices he’s still holding your hand from earlier. He drops it immediately, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. His hand seems to fit yours in a way that nobody ever does but there’s no way you’re gonna tell him that. “So, we’re just gonna be practicing lines?”

“Exactly.” He rubs his nape, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well, I was hoping to at least kiss you—just to, you know, know how it’d feel like.”

“You’ve never kissed before?”

“I have, obviously.” He rolls his eyes, disgusted at your question. “I’m not a fucking virgin if that’s what you’re assuming.”

“Chill, don’t get your panties in a twist. Nah, I know you’re not a virgin from how many times you’ve had sex with yourself.”

“Hey!”

“But then, why do you need to practice? Can’t you just go straight to your castmates, and kiss the bejeezus out of them?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his face. “It’s… I’ve never done it for a role,” he professes, faint blush blooming on his cheeks, “And the scene is supposed to be intimate and I’ve never… You know…”

You gesture at him to clarify more with your hands. “You’ve never…?”

“You know…” The color on his face turns brighter. “T-the thing.”

“What thing? Never made-out in public? Never had sex outdoor?” You act clueless just because you’re liking his reaction. “Never had a finger stuck in your ass? What? Please do enlighten me.”

“I’ve never been in love, you witch!” Haechan is adorable when he’s fuming. Nostrils blaring, eyebrows knitting together in an angry frown, scarlet cheeks all puffed out. He looks like a terribly pissed Pomeranian.

Man, if I could just take a picture. “Oh, okay. So have you had your finger stuck in your ass?”

“I swear to God—”

“Kidding. I know you have.” But even when Haechan is nearly ripping your cheeks apart from your face, your giggles are never-ending. “So, you’re nervous?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “You, the obnoxious, desperate-for-attention Lee Haechan, are nervous?”

“Will you help me out or not?!”

You pretend like you’re contemplating about it when truth is, every part of your body and mind is just screaming what the heck are you waiting for? He’s asking you to rehearse a bed scene—a. bed. scene! And he said he wanted to kiss you, for God’s sake! So, really, what else is there to say but “Okay.”

Haechan widens his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You try your best to appear nonchalant. “But you’ll owe me a favor. A huge one.”

“Anything,” he instantly agrees, “As long as I’m not dead, you have my words.”

You’re not yet sure what you’re planning to ask him but seeing his enthusiasm, you know it’s going to be good. “Great. So, umm, do you want to do it now or…?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Here?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Man, you’re giving me too much power. I should’ve agreed to this way sooner.” You can practically feel your face splitting in half from how wide you’re grinning. “My room, then? I mean, a bed scene requires… a bed, right?”

Haechan laughs and even after two years, it still sounds like your most favorite thing in the world. “No, it doesn’t necessarily require a bed but sure.” He jumps out from the couch, taking you by the hand, and only by that, you can already feel your heart thumping a tad faster. But the second he walks into your room, he makes a face. “Why does it smell like something died in here?”

“Because something did die. Your dignity.”

The tickling fight doesn’t occur very often between you and Lee Haechan but once it starts, it means war.

***

“Okay, so…” Haechan hands you the script, already opened to show you a page filled with dialogues and short narratives. He scoots closer on the bed, his knee a few inches away from grazing yours as they dangle from the edge. “Just from the top of the page, here.” He points with his finger and you do a quick scan, trying to get a picture of the intimate scene you’re going to do. “So, a quick summary. Your character, Aeri, has been in love with my character, Donghyun. In the earlier scene, you’ve confessed your love to me but I rejected you because we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But then, later on, some things happened and I ended up catching feelings for you and this is the part where I’m gonna be telling you how I really feel and then we start kissing and—”

“Then we have sex,” you utter in dismay, but butterflies are erupting from your stomach due to the anticipation.

“No,” Haechan corrects you, “We make love.”

“Is there any difference?”

“There are more feelings involved, not just out of sheer passion. It’s slower. Tender. Intimate.” And when he notices you raising a questioning brow at him, he sighs. “That thing you did with Jaemin? Fucking like bunnies? The opposite of that.”

You mock him by imitating his sigh exaggeratedly and receiving a flick on the nose in return. “Is it just me or is the script pretty lousy?”

He nods. “But they’ll pay you good money for this.”

“I thought the reason you became an actor was to create art not money.”

“When I’m rich, maybe. Right now, I gotta pay for my rent. And apparently, Jeno keeps chasing my ass, forcing me to pay him back. It was just a wagyu steak for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself, momentarily distracted. “Anyway,” he cracks his neck, “I’ve memorized my lines. Wanna give it a go?”

“Okay, let’s try. I guess I’ll be fine if it’s just kissing. Even if it’s with you.” When in reality you’re only agreeing to this because it’s with him.

Haechan’s eyes gleam brighter, ears practically perking up like an excited puppy. “Really?”

“You’re that excited at the thought of kissing me?” You play smug but you could practically hear your heartbeat blasting through your ears. “What else have you been thinking about me?”

“I’m not excited at the thought of kissing you, dumbass,” he spits back, the spark in his eyes vanishes in an instant. “I’m excited that finally I can practice kissing scenes with someone who’s actually willing to do it, and not, you know, like with the back of my hand or something.”

“You…” Failing to hold back a grin, you burst out laughing. “You made out with your hand?”

It’s funny that even when his skin is golden as if it was kissed by the sun, it still shows vividly on his face whenever he blushes. “I didn’t mean it literally—”

“I can’t believe you made out with your hand.”

“Would you just—” He nearly suffocates you with your pillow but you quickly retaliate by kicking him in the stomach.

Tears are prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Man, that mental image of yours making out with your hand will live in my mind rent-free for as long as I live.” When you still can’t stop laughing, Haechan is practically baring his teeth. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s get this going. If it gets too uncomfortable for me, I’ll stop.”

“Of course.”

“At any time I want.”

“Your call.” He nods in agreement with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him do; it almost doesn’t seem like him.

“Good,” you say. “Now, I’ve never acted once in my life so if you laugh at me, I will sneak into your room at night and pour hot coffee on your computer.”

There’s fear fleeting through his eyes but he gives another nod. “Deal.”

“All right…” You take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop hammering against your ribcages, and for once, focus more on the script instead of the shape of his pretty, pretty mouth. “What are you doing here?” You follow the script, voice a little bit shaky as you’re still embarrassed with everything you’re doing. Haechan closes his eyes and you’re about to throw a joke to tease him about actor Haechan coming alive but when he opens them and gazes at you, you sit still, frozen.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, voice so delicate, it startles you. He’s so serious about this that you don’t find the strength within you to tease him like how you usually do. Somehow, the little gestures he makes, the changes in his expression alter the air along with the tension in the room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re standing next to him under the spotlight, hundreds of pairs of eyes following your every movement.

“It’s—” You swallow your breath, tongue lays heavy in your mouth. “It's pouring outside, why are you—”

“I love you,” he vocalizes, his eyes gentle and heartbroken. His voice suddenly sounds a pitch lower, reverberating through the air until it sends goosebumps to the tiny hairs on your nape. He waits for your reply and you have to blink twice to slap yourself back to reality.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize, but I do. I’m in love with you, hopelessly so.” He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Though he has pretty hands, his fingertips are not as soft as you had imagined them to be, but they feel better, feel real. His warmth is unfamiliar to your skin but it feels more pleasant than anything that ever touches you. “Maybe you’re unaware of this, but it kills me to know that I’ve hurt you because I simply couldn’t be brave enough to accept my feelings. The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.”

Haechan’s lines fit your situation so much that you wish he wasn’t acting. It’s amazing how he’s changing into an entirely different persona and yet, it feels so natural as if he has been that person all along. Your breathing gets heavier as you take a brief look at the script, searching for your lines. “This feels unreal…”

“Do you still love me?” Haechan lifts your face by the chin, his touch is paper-thin.

You wet your lips, head swirling. “But Donghyun—”

“Do you still love me?” He repeats, emphasizing with his tone. His eyes are peering into yours and you wonder maybe the quote eyes deeper than the sea refers to his gaze. “Or is it too late for me?” His thumb drifts to your lip, caressing your bottom one, your lip balm sticking to his skin.

“I do,” you reply. He’s so pretty. You’ve never taken a glance longer than a few seconds at his close-up face, but now that you’re in this close proximity, you can finally witness the two tiny moles on his cheek, the beautiful shape of his dark eyes, the delicate curve of his lips… “I do love you, Donghyuck.”

A few seconds of silence hangs in the air when Haechan stops, his eyebrows furrowing. “Umm—it’s Donghyun, actually.”

Fuck! “Right!” You nearly leap out of your bed, face aflame. “Donghyun! Of course! I don’t know why I said that. Donghyuck is your name, I know that—” Fuck, fuck, fuck, just fucking kill me. “Sorry, umm—nervous.”

Fortunately for you, Haechan buys your bluff. “Rookie mistake,” he chuckles and you exaggeratedly roll your eyes to play along. “Okay, let’s start over. Do you still love me?”

“I do,” you respond too rigidly, making him glance away so he won’t break into laughter. “I do love you, Donghyun. Dong-Hyun.”

“Good,” he improvises, as it’s not written in the script. He has a tiny smile on his face and you like to think that it’s just him doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement. But when he swats your bangs out of your eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he seems like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his whole life. The adoration in his eyes, his loving gaze—they are so vivid, they nearly consume you. “Because I don’t think I can resist this any longer…”

You’re lost in his eyes, lost in his touch, lost in his warmth. It’s until Haechan nudges his head slightly, indicating you to wake up, you’ve got a line to say, that you jolt, eyes hurriedly going down to the script, seeking your lines. “Umm—“ You flinch. You sound so jittery, it’s terrible. “R-resist what…?”

But Haechan doesn’t pay a mind that you just stuttered from saying two words. He doesn’t ask you to start over. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling in the air and you can taste the scent of sandalwood and summer. Combined with his soft breathing, you’re almost stuck in a haze, just reeling in the feeling of how this man is now closer to you than he has ever been in the past two years and it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined.

“Resist this,” he whispers and before you can look down to check whether you have more lines to say, Haechan dips his head, his lips brushing against yours, ever so faintly at first but when you gasp, he presses harder, framing your cheeks with both hands before he moves one down to your waist. Unlike his fingertips, his lips are soft—softer than silk or the cotton candy he once bought you. But it’s not the way they feel or the way he tastes that distract you the most. It’s the way he moves them, parting his lips slightly so he can blend with yours, your lower lip fits perfectly between his plump ones. It’s the way he sighs, so contentedly, as if kissing you was everything he ever wanted.

You close your eyes, hands reaching up to his collar, wanting to feel him more, wanting to touch him—

Haechan breaks away, placing both hands on your shoulders. “How was it?”

You’ve never had someone splash cold water on your face but you figure it might feel something like this. Your voice grows hoarse when you speak. “How was what?”

“The kiss!” Haechan’s eyes are filled with concern, analyzing your expression. “Was it romantic enough? Tender enough? Did it properly convey the desperation and longing my character feels for yours?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You fucking knew it. So, why are you still hurt when he acts like he feels exactly nothing by that kiss? This is just an acting lesson for him. You should have been prepared.

“It’s good,” you answer, averting your gaze and hiding your eyes behind your bangs. Your heart is still running a thousand miles an hour but somehow, it doesn’t feel as pleasant as before. “So, next scene—”

“Wait, are you okay?” Haechan asks, bending slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. “Was it too much? Do you want to stop?”

Truth is, you’re conflicted. You’re going to catch feelings—you most likely already are. But Haechan only treats you as a friend and nothing more, and this is the only chance you have to be this close to him. The temptation of continuing the kiss, to just hold him close for one more time, stands stronger than anything else so you say, “No. I promised you I’d help.”

He’s still unsure, eyes glinting in concern. “It’s okay if you want to stop, I—”

“Let’s just do the damn scene, Donghyuck.”

Haechan freezes on his seat, eyes searching yours as you now have the bravery to look at his face. Knowing you came on too strong, you try to ease it off with a smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just my first time doing this—acting, I mean. Can we try again?”

He spends another few seconds trying to decipher the true meaning behind your smile but eventually nods his head at your command. He drags his finger back to the script. “Then, umm… Let’s start from here?”

You don’t even look at the page when you give affirmation. “Go.”

Haechan takes a moment to prepare himself and when your eyes meet each other again, he’s a different person once more. “The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.” His voice is so soothing, you almost forget that deep down you’re immensely upset knowing that the kiss didn’t have the same effects on him.

This time, when he frames your face with his palm, you lean into his touch, eyes never leaving his. “This feels unreal,” you say and for a second—just for a split second—you notice Haechan breaking out of character, surprised by the gentle expression on your face. Because you’re not acting out his script, you’re acting out on your feelings. It’s your only chance to be honest with him without forcing him to respond. So you pour all these feelings you have for him out in the open—ones that started from a mere physical attraction to something more as his presence grew bigger in your life, you’re acting out each and every one of them.

“Do…” He inhales sharply, trying to focus. “Do you still love me?” He’s doing the same thing as before, placing his thumb and index finger on your chin but before he can say his lines, you see how his eyes fall on your lips.

And you kiss him. You kiss him with everything you have, hands going to his face, fingers slipping between his strands, and Haechan gasps against your mouth, his fingers curling around your wrist. You know he’s about to push you away so you quickly murmur, “I do,” against his lips, breath stuttering, “I do love you.”

When you take his bottom lip between yours, teeth grazing against his supple skin, Haechan lets out an involuntary moan at the back of his throat. The butterflies in your stomach come alive, pumping a rush of adrenaline through your veins and suddenly, you’re brave enough to glide your tongue across his lip. His hold tightens around your wrist but instead of pushing you away, he tugs you closer and you fall into his chest, hands breaking free from his grip to wind around his neck. Your fingertips are scraping against his nape before they move upward to yank at the roots of his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes out, almost inaudibly, as if he didn’t mean to let the word slip from his mouth and it makes your heart jumps straight out of your chest. The second he responds properly, Haechan kisses like fire, all passion and urgency, and you really don’t mind being consumed by his flames.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer and closer until you’re almost sitting on his lap before he jolts awake, pushing you away so abruptly, you almost fall from the bed.

“I’m—We—” he stammers, looking everywhere but your eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bruised and red from your kisses. “I think we should—I gotta go—“

He stands up from the bed like the sheets are catching on fire, picking his script from the floor and gathering all his belongings at once before he runs toward the door. He turns on his heels, wanting to say something to fix the goddamn situation, but when his eyes land on yours, his words vanish without a trace.

“I—I’ll call you later,” he finally says and doesn’t wait for your response. The front door closes with a thud.

And then silence comes to answer.

What just happened?

Your heart is thundering inside your chest, you’re starting to feel nauseous. What have I done? You keep asking over and over. You thought everything was going to be fine. He responded to your kiss earlier, didn’t he? You were sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing. But now he’s gone and you’re not sure whether he’s gonna come back as the same Haechan—the old, bratty but caring Lee Haechan. The one who snickers loudly when you fall face-first on the ground but always steals secret glances at you to make sure you're not hurt. The one who makes jokes about your love life but never forgets to show up at your apartment with a thoughtful gift right at the minute you turn a year older.

Things are not just gonna get awkward, they’re ruined.

When nearly half an hour has passed by and you’re still left alone in your apartment with no signs of him coming back, you’re about to go insane. You can’t stay still, walking back and forth your living room with the tip of your thumb between your teeth.

Should I chase after him and explain that it was just me trying to improvise? You hesitate with your hand lingering on the doorknob. But with your knees nearly giving up under your weight, you decide to stay put. It will probably just gonna make it worse. He’ll see through my lies, he always does.

You’re straying away to the kitchen, hands placed on the counter. You can feel your head spinning, stomach somersaulting. Damn it, why did I have to do that?! Why couldn’t I just—

The front door slams opened and Haechan barges in with his hair messy, ruffled by the wind, and his bangs sticking to his temple. Stunned, you stand still on your ground. Your heart is the only one that’s moving beyond control. His eyes scan your apartment until they land on yours and for an instant, everything seems to fade away.

“Fuck it,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground and making his way towards you in such a hurry, he nearly trips over his feet. “You’re not that good of an actor to be faking it.” Before you have the chance to even take a breath, Haechan’s lips are smashing against yours.

“Hae—” Haechan’s kiss is insane. So forceful that you can barely keep up, taking every bit of air directly from your lungs. He has you backed against the kitchen counter, the marbled edge digging into your skin. His hands frame your face, sliding against your cheek until they cup the backsides of your neck, his thumbs resting against your ears. You curl your fingers around his wrist, gasping, “Wait—”

He pulls away, lifting your face so you can’t bring your gaze anywhere else. “You like me?” His eyes are just as intense, begging for answers. “Please tell me I’m not imagining this.”

But behind that passion, his confidence is wavering. You can tell by his quivering breath, the little tremble running through his fingertips, and at that, you’re drowning in relief. You don’t think he’s that good of an actor to be faking this too.

“I do,” you admit, heart pounding so loudly that you can barely hear your own voice. “I like—”

His mouth is on yours again and it feels like he’s kissing you in a hundred different places at once. “Jesus Christ, why have you kept quiet about this for so long?” he says, tasting your breath and skin at the same time. “Two fucking years. We wasted two fucking years.”

The words this isn’t happening endlessly run through your head but all your senses scream that Haechan is really here, in your arms, his nails clawing against your shirt and there’s nothing left you want from this world.

When you reciprocate to him properly, your palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulder, until your arms circle his neck, Haechan sighs in content. His kisses grow slower—more relaxed—but deeper, his tongue peeking out shyly at first but not for long. He still tastes faintly like the coffee you made and something else entirely different. Something pleasant that’s just exactly how you’ve fantasized him to be, if not more.

He pulls away to catch his breath with his eyes still focusing on your lips, thumb rubbing your lower one. “Does this feel weird to you?” He whispers, his temple pressing against yours.

You’re intoxicated by his sweet scent though you’re not sure whether it’s the smell of his shampoo, his cologne, or just him altogether. “No,” and as soon as the word comes out, his lips are chasing after yours once more.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can stop.” He’s breathing heavily against your mouth as you are against his. With his fingers twisted in your hair, making a messy ponytail out of it, Haechan peppers open-mouthed kisses on your neck, tongue pressing against your pulsating vein and a whimper escapes your mouth.

Your dreams, your fantasies—they all fall pale in comparison to reality. When you vocalize his name, it almost sounds like a plead and Haechan slants his mouth back on yours again, giving you another taste as he is not satisfied with yours just yet. “Your lips taste amazing,” he breathes out and it’s so quiet, it seems like he’s intending to say the words in his head and not with his mouth. But as his words fall on your ears, they send tingles down your spine.

“So do yours,” you reply, attempting to make him blush in return but if he does, he doesn’t show much. “Never pegged you as a man who wears lip balm.”

You can feel his smirk directly with your skin. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You’re not?” You lightly giggle, swiping your tongue across his lower lip. “Then your lips do taste amazing.”

Haechan’s hand is slipping underneath your shirt, fingers hovering above your bra. “Guess there are still a lot of things you don’t know about me, huh?”

“I’ve got a hunch you’re about to teach me?”

“Only if you’re eager to learn.”

The kiss becomes heavier that you’re lost for words, entirely consumed by his passion, until he breaks away, muttering, “Off, off, off, off, off,” as he struggles to tear the fabric away from your body. You titter at his desperation, raising both hands to help him out of his misery. The second it’s off, he lifts you by the waist and places you down on the counter.

“I’m amazed you could lift me,” you coo, admiring the sight of his lean stomach as he pulls his shirt over his head. His silver necklace hangs loosely around his neck and you hook a finger around it to yank him back to you.

He doesn’t seem to be able to detach his lips from yours for too long, especially when you keep sneaking glances at his. So when he speaks again, his every word is painted directly to your skin. “It wasn’t easy.” He settles between your thighs, mouth latching against your collarbone. “You weigh a ton.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he sucks bruises on your neck, the edge of his fingers trailing over the seam of your bra. “Then you must be so strong.”

“I am, haven’t you noticed?” Haechan pulls away just to showcase a mischievous grin. “I work out, you know.”

You blurt out laughing. It’s not solely because of the mental image of Lee Haechan—a full-time gamer, Lee Haechan—doing push-ups seems so funny to you. It’s more about the way he wiggles his eyebrow, trying to be sexy about it when you know he’s the weakest one in your group. Flustered at your reaction, he flicks your nose. “What is so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize though it doesn’t seem that much sincere with the way you’re still giggling at him. “It’s just that an hour ago we were two friends making fun of each other and now we’re here, in this position. I don’t know, it just feels surreal to me.”

An adorable pout blooms on his face. “I thought you said this didn’t feel weird.”

“No, it’s perfect. I want this.” You wrap the end of his necklace twice around your index finger. “I want you. It’s just… I’ve been imagining this to happen for such a long time and now that it’s happening, I’m feeling a lot of things at once.” You place a reassuring kiss on his temple. “I’m nervous.” This time landing one on his cheek. “I’m relieved.” When your lips hover above his, you notice him parting his own slightly in anticipation. “And it feels so good, I don’t ever want to stop. Even if that means we can’t go back to being friends.”

Haechan can’t form a response as you don’t let him, your mouth swallowing the tiny moans he emits. “We’ll talk about that later,” he hastily replies, “I still haven’t had enough of you yet.”

Without warning, he lifts you off the counter, making you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist for support. “Haechannie!” With you holding onto him, he takes a step forward, ignoring your call. “Where are you taking me—"

“Wait, no, back pain, back pain.” Both of you nearly tumble down to the ground from how he’s harshly placing you back to your feet, wincing at the ache erupting from the strained muscles in his spine. He’s groaning in pain, massaging his back with both hands. “Fuck, you’re really heavy!”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You throw your slipper at him, missing his head just a few inches, laughing all the way. “What exactly were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to move us to the couch.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I was trying to be sexy.” He juts out his lower lip, and it takes all control of your body to not squeeze his cheeks from how adorable he looks.

“Honey, you are sexy, believe me, but you’re also weak as fuck. Consider hitting the gym for real next time and then carry me.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, holding out a hand for you to take. “To the couch, please? And maybe a massage after this ‘cause my back is killing me.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and drag him over to the couch. He’s in the middle of asking, “Do you want me to be on top or—” when you push him down and straddle his lap without warning, legs tangling around his hips. “Oh, okay.”

You run a hand through his hair, pushing them back so you can witness the glow in his eyes. “You look sexier with your hair pushed back.” You love the way he stares at you, eyes half-lidded painted with lust and desire. And combined with your commentary, he now has his cheek tinted with red. “Do you have a problem with me being on top?”

His eyes quickly run down to the place where your denim shorts are riding up your thighs, your zipper pressing against his groin. With a noticeable gulp, he stutters out, “N-no.”

You smile, patting his cheek. “Good.”

The kiss starts slow as you focus more on moving your hands down his body. Haechan shivers a little when your palm is pressing against his bare chest, sliding down to his navel. When you pull back, raising a questioning brow at his reaction, he bashfully says, “Your hand’s cold,” looking like a nervous little boy who’s a stark contrast to how he usually behaves.

He’s so cute.

“Well, I know a way to warm you up.” You smirk, almost cringing when you hear your own words but Haechan seems to like it.

“Oooh,” he coos, grinning against your lips. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

“I don’t know.” You kiss your way down from his jawline to his chest, pushing yourself off his lap so you can kneel on the floor, your fingers unbuckling his belt. “What do you think I’m offering?”

Haechan’s eyes are glowing with anticipation. He curves his fingers around the edge of his seat, wetting his lip nervously when you pull his zipper down. You release him from his boxer, stroking him to life and he sinks his nails further into the couch. A train of expletives breaks free from his mouth but he’s so quiet, you can only hear his ragged breathing.

But by the time you run your thumb over his slit, your hot breath hitting his sensitive skin, Haechan melts into a whimpering mess. “Please don’t tease,” he begs.

“I haven’t even started, Haechannie.” And he looks like he’s about to say something but it only turns into a mewl when you press a kiss to his tip. “You’re so cute,” you comment, and he shivers when the vibration of your voice meets his skin.

Haechan tries to act composed. “Of course I’m cute, it’s—”

You cut his line short by darting out your tongue, giving kitten licks at the side, smiling satisfyingly when his eyes meet yours. As you give him a little suck around his tip, he throws his head back, his lower lip between his teeth. “I—I said don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing you.” But you are. How can you not? He looks so fucking cute. You’ve never really enjoyed giving head before, especially when your opponent gets rough and ends up pushing too deep until you gag. But with Haechan, you feel like you can do this for hours. He’s so nervous and shy, doesn’t even dare to place his hand on your hair, and his reaction to every bit of your action is honest even when his words aren’t.

“Here.” You take one of his hands, moving it to your head. “You can use me as much as you want.”

“Use—” he crumbles at your choice of words. When you suddenly envelop him with your mouth, moving from the tip to the base in one quick motion, Haechan instinctively grabs a handful of your hair, flinching. “Goddamn, why are you so fucking hot?”

You giggle, sliding his cock out of your mouth with an obscene pop. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean your mouth. It’s so fucking warm.”

“So, you’re saying,” you dip your tongue into his slit, eyes seductively peering into his. “I’m not hot?”

“You’re—Fuck, fuck—” Haechan seethes, hips buckling when you bob your head down again, tongue pressing against his veins. Shivers run through his fingertips when he slips them between your locks, pushing your fringe back to have a good look at your face. You catch a glimpse of him, his lips unconsciously moving to form words that you can’t hear. So pretty, he seems to say, and the thought of it makes your stomach lurch in delight. Taking him completely in your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him. He tightens his hold around your hair, cheeks flushed and you expect him to hold you in place so he can thrust against your mouth but what he does is pull you away. “Stop, stop, stop, stop.”

Wiping a string of saliva away with the back of your hand, you ask with a frown. “Something’s wrong?”

Haechan hides his reddening face behind his fingers, quietly answering, “I was about to come.”

You hold back a grin. With a nonchalant hum, you dip your head down again, this time engulfing him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ.” His sanity is deteriorating, he can feel it.

“Don’t bring Lord’s name when I have your dick in my mouth, Haechannie. Mark would kill you if he knew.”

“Fuck Mark. Come here.” He rushes forward, forcibly pulling you up with both hands clamping your arms. When you follow his order, settling back down on top of his lap, he confesses with his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “I really won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

Despite your previous teasing and confidence, you squirm inside his arms, feeling warmth spreading from your chest to your cheek. “So I have these effects on you?”

He’s almost growling when he retorts, “You don’t even know.” Haechan pushes your bra strap until it falls off your shoulder, teeth marking your supple skin until you hiss in both pain and pleasure. He presses a softer kiss to soothe away the bruise. “Sorry, I… You’re gonna need to cover it up tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.” You stroke his cheek, tracing the tiny mole on his jawline. “Seems like you have a biting kink.”

He sheepishly chuckles, “I don’t know. But if you let me, I’d love to do that again.”

Something about him saying it in the most sincere way possible, almost too formal even, makes you crave more for him and everything he does. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want with me, Lee Donghyuck.”

Haechan swallows hard, barely has the bravery to look at you in the face after hearing your words and his real name tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers are now on the hem of your shorts, trembling a little bit. “Umm—may I?”

Helping him further, you stand on your knees, unclasping your bra first to his surprise and pulling your denim shorts and panties down to your thighs. Haechan watches with his eyes wide open, mouth parted in awe as he commits every bit of your curve and movement into memory. It feels so thrilling to be this wanted, to be ravished by his eyes, until you begin to struggle to push your clothing away from your legs.

“Need some help?” He asks, lips pursing as he tries to hide a grin.

You exhale loudly, detaching yourself from him. “Let me just—” You jump off his lap, standing back with your feet on the ground, and kicking the clothing away with annoyance—why in the world did you have to wear shorts this tight—and slap him in the chest when he’s chuckling at the sight.

“Maybe you should stop trying to be sexy too,” Haechan snickers.

“Shut up.” You crawl back into his lap. “Go back to staring dumbly at me like before. I’m naked.”

“I wasn’t staring like tha—oh,” he inhales sharply as you grind your heat against his cock, amazed at how warm you are despite your cold palms. The sensation of skin meeting skin feels much more different. There’s really no going back this time. Somehow, it feels dangerous, as if you’re doing something forbidden and it makes your skin crawl with excitement.

And by the look on his face, seems like he feels the same way.

“Lost for words?” You taunt him with a smirk, hands on his chest. “That’s new.” His glare is menacing but it falters away the second you rub your arousal against his.

His head falls to his shoulder, eyes tightly shut. “God, baby…”

There it is again. The funny feeling in your stomach. “Baby?” You simper though your heart is palpitating like crazy. “We’re moving on to giving each other pet names now?”

If he can blush any harder than this, he probably might but with the way you’re grinding shamelessly on his cock, letting him get a glimpse of how wet and warm you are, he’s all maxed-out.

His earlobe lays between your teeth when you whisper, “Shall we put it in?”

Haechan’s nails are sinking into the skin of your hips, both to hold you in place so you’ll stop torturing him and to press you down harder on his crotch. “I…” He’s so distracted, he can’t even think. The way the side of his length is pressing against your folds is pushing every little bit of self-control he has to the back of his head.

“Haechannie?” You giggle, moving your hips. “I kinda asked you a question here.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, please.” Haechan tries his very best to not sound that desperate for your touch but he is that desperate. “Wait—aren’t we—shouldn’t I wear a condom first?”

You blink, halting your movement. “You brought a condom with you?”

He nods as he leans forward, fingers searching frantically at the pocket of his jeans that hang low on his knees. “Here.”

“Why do you have a condom with you?”

“‘Cause I bought it downstairs just now.”

Your jaw grows slack at the realization. “Is that the reason why your hair was so messy and you were sweating when you barged in here? ‘Cause you ran downstairs, trying to find a condom?”

“I’m sorry, are you really complaining about this now?”

At the feeling of his member twitching underneath you, you sigh. “You’re right. Let’s discuss that later.”

It feels a bit awkward when you stand on your knees, giving him some space and wait until he finishes wrapping the rubber around himself. The silence that hangs between you is almost deafening that by the time he’s done and you fall back to his lap, sitting on his thighs, it feels like you have to start over again.

You diffidently smile. “Hey.”

Haechan is equally as embarrassed, mirroring your gesture. “Hi.”

“I guess we’re gonna have sex.”

“Guess so.”

Another few seconds pass by where you can only meet each other’s eyes, feeling your heartbeat racing louder and louder. It feels like you’re about to burst, honestly, but fortunately for you, Haechan leans in, his fingers tentatively caressing your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” He questions.

You melt under his gaze, his gentle touch, his honey-like voice. “Yes, please.”

Your lips start the connection and the rest of your body follows, fitting every curve of his perfectly like you were made for him. The way Haechan sighs against your mouth sends sparks of electricity all the way down to your toes and you don’t waste any more time. With his mouth latching on your breast, tongue flicking against your nipple, you lower yourself on him.

Haechan’s hold your waist tighter, eyebrows adjoined in the middle at the sensation, his moans muffled. He presses his spine back against the couch, admiring the sight of his member disappearing inch by inch into you. His eyes begin to droop when he’s completely sheathed inside, his bruised lips parted. He cups your cheek, kissing you softly on the corner of your mouth, making you shiver at the sudden tenderness. “I guess we are having sex,” he murmurs with a bashful smile.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess so.”

It starts slow, with you placing both hands on his chest and him swallowing his breath at the sight of you moving up and down his length. You hiss slightly at the friction, adjusting to his size.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear.

“A little.” You reassure him with a grin. “Relax, you’re not gonna break me.”

You expect him to send back a snarky remark but what he does is press his forehead against yours. “You’re so warm,” he whispers, tasting the skin that connects your shoulder to your neck. Something about his words, his sensual kiss and his tender touch makes you squeeze your walls around him and he clutches harder around you. He glides his hands lower to your hips, silently urging you to pick up the pace and you follow.

Breathing heavily, Haechan has his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You have such a pretty mouth,” he professes as if he was in a trance.

You seductively bite his thumb, still working your hips. “You’re saying that ‘cause I just sucked your dick.”

“Yes, that too, but really.” It’s as if he’s staring at a work of art, eyes twinkling with admiration. Sometimes, when you’re hitting the right spot and quiver around him, a small moan escapes his lips and you feel him twitching inside you. “It’s—ah—It probably doesn’t sound sincere when I’m saying this now, but I’ve always thought you had a pretty mouth. And lips. I’ve thought about your lips a lot.”

“Yeah?” You mouth against the sensitive skin below his ear, sinking harder on his length. “What else do you like about me?”

“Y-your voice—” You can actually feel him shivering. “You have such a—fuck—I just—I really love your moans.”

You’re not sure whether he’s saying that because he’s so distracted with the way you’re breathing in his ear or he genuinely loves it. Either way, it’s a pleasure to know how much you’re affecting him with your actions. With a chuckle, you say, “You’re rambling, baby.”

“And your hair,” he adds, probably losing every bit of his self-control by this point. “I love your hair. Looks so soft.” Haechan cards his fingers through your strands. “Feels so soft.”

You hum in response, hoping that your flushed face doesn’t look as apparent as you think. “Anything else?”

“Your—” He shudders when you paint a mark under his collarbone. “Your ass.”

You stop, pulling away to give him a look and he whines at the loss. “My ass?”

“What—” The tips of his ears are turning red, steam practically coming out of them. “Why are you staring at me like that—you have a great ass!”

Teasing him is such a joy to you. “Then, let’s do it this way.” You part away from him, landing back on the carpeted floor so you can turn around, giving him the chance to ogle at your behind, before you ease yourself down onto his lap once more.

“Fuck—” Haechan’s hisses, his hands going down to your hips again. The new position doesn’t allow you to meet his eyes but with the way he’s whimpering behind you, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass, the sensation increases.

“You okay back there?” You taunt smugly, chuckling a bit because Haechan sounds like he’s losing it. His nails are sinking into your skin and you just know that’s gonna leave a nasty bruise tomorrow. “You seem like you’re enjoying this way too—“ You’re interrupted by your own moans when he suddenly has one hand massaging your breast and another one sliding down your stomach to find your clit. “W-wait, Haechannie—”

“You’re such a tease,” he breathily whispers into your ear, his chest pressing against your spine as he leans forward, pulling you into his embrace. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job?”

His fingers are rubbing you in circles, making your thighs tremble. “You’re right.” You move your hips harder, going out of rhythm with how fast you’re going and Haechan sinks his teeth to your shoulder again.

At the sound of his name departing your lips in the most sinful moan he’s ever heard, Haechan curses. “Shit, you’re not gonna let me enjoy this longer, are you?”

“There’s always a second round, Haechannie.” You smirk, raising your hips all the way up in intention to slam it back down again but Haechan catches you and pushes you forward until you land on the coffee table, stomach pressing flat against the wooden surface. “What—"

“There’s always a second round, right?” His lips are brushing against your ear as he positions himself behind you. “Then I’m going all out.”

When he slams his hips in one swift motion, hard and deep, he knocks all the air out of your lungs. “Wait—” You choke out, can barely keep up with his pace. “Oh God—”

“Now, now,” he coos, his hand finding its way to your throat, fingers pressing against your veins. He raises your face, his chest completing the dip of your spine. “Don’t bring God’s name when I’m fucking you like this, baby.”

You can’t even find the strength to retort, eyes shutting tightly until you see stars behind your eyelids. It almost feels unreal how fast he can go from being awkward and tentative about all of this to raw and wild within a few minutes but Haechan has always been fast adapting to new situations and you have been teasing him way too much. It’s about time that he snaps.

Haechan moves you down to the floor, forcing you to stand on all fours and you’re so glad you follow his lead. “Spread your knees. Bring your head down,” he instructs and you do as you’re told, extending your arms in front of you. Haechan has his hand on the dip of your shoulder blades, holding you still until you have no choice but to press your cheek against the carpeted floor, ass in the air. “Good girl,” he praises, kneeling behind you and rubbing his tip along your folds. “Ready, baby?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

With only a few minutes in, you know you’re getting close, you can feel it. He has switched from giving deep, hard thrusts to quick, shallow ones and it’s driving you insane. “H-Haechannie, I—” you whimper, “I’m close—”

And he knows it too, of course he does. He can tell by the way you’re clenching around him. But instead of going harder and driving you completely over the edge, Haechan suddenly laces his fingers with yours, his lips painting soft kisses from your nape down to your spine, his hips hitting another angle that feels just as amazing even when he slows down the pace. The intimacy surprises you as you don’t expect him to be this tender. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing this out of sheer passion. With his palm covering the back of your hand, fingers slipping between yours, somehow, everything feels more sentimental, stronger, crossing the lines.

With a moan of your name, Haechan flips you to your back, fingers framing your face, lips meeting lips as he thrusts back in, gasping against your mouth. “I want to see your face,” he says when he pulls away, his half-lidded eyes boring into yours, thumb slipping between your lips. “Not sure if I’ve told you this before but…” He snaps his hips, and you tangle your legs around them in response, fingernails digging into his upper arms. “You’re so beautiful.”

The knot in your stomach untangles without warning and your orgasm hits you so hard, you nearly sob at the sensation. With the way you’re quivering and squeezing around him, Haechan follows right after, his face sinking into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he rides out his own orgasm.

***

With his jeans back on and his used condom thrown away to the nearest trash bin, Haechan joins you back on the carpeted floor as you still haven’t found the strength to get up and get dressed after that. He shamelessly lays his body down on top of yours, his cheek pressing against the valley of your breasts. “I’m spent,” he mumbles, feeling drowsy.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.” But he doesn’t get up, only moving his head slightly to press a tiny kiss to your bare chest before he lies his head down over your heart again. You give up with a smile, wrapping your arms around him, fingertips stroking his hair. Haechan sighs contentedly under your touch. “Man, that was…”

“That was?”

“Amazing.” He props himself up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart jolts at the sincerity in his words but you cooly smile back. “I know.”

“And I’m amazing too, I’m sure?”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Could be a little better but I’ll let you practice on me for free.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, his strands tickling your nose. “I don’t even have the strength to join your banter. You know, I’ve always wondered since you’re pretty much shit at everything, there must be something you’re good at. But I never thought that something would turn out to be sex. I can’t even believe I’m saying this but you’re really, really amazing at it. I feel like I should give you a medal or something.”

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter. “Not sure if you’re praising me, though.”

“Oh, I am praising you, believe me. And you know me, I rarely praise.”

“Stop it,” you use your robotic voice. “You’re making me feel so special, I’m about to cry.”

Haechan playfully nips at your nose, forcing you to break off your act and laugh directly into his mouth. “Seriously,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “If I were to pay you for sex, I would give you everything I own. Even the clothes I’m wearing. Hell, I’d even sell my grandma but don’t tell her that.”

Your laughter has reduced into small giggles. “That’s comforting.”

“So…” The way Haechan is caressing your hair is so soft, almost like a mother to her sleeping child. “What should we do about this?” When you raise an eyebrow, he tensely adds, “Do you, umm… I mean, do you want to, like—”

“You’re rambling.”

“I know, God, I’m so nervous! I may look like a naughty, sexy bad boy—”

“No one is saying that—“

“But I actually suck at this—as in, I don’t really know how to date a girl.”

“You don’t even know how to talk to a girl, based on the conversations we’ve had,” you comment and you know it’s not helping but it’s worth seeing his adorable pout. “Then don’t date me. If it’s hard for you to date, then let’s just keep being friends—"

“But I want to continue this!” He says it so fast and firmly that you don’t even have time to feel hurt about your offer.

It’s not like you crave a relationship with him—you haven’t thought about it that far—even just holding him like this is enough for now, so the fact that he’s so excited to have this going makes your heart swells with joy. “Well then, we’ll be friends who have casual sex anytime we want,” you suggest.

He blinks twice, a bit amazed at your offer, but to your surprise, he seems rather… disappointed? “What happens if we start catching feelings?” He quietly asks.

“Then I guess we’ll start dating for real.”

“Then…” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “What happens if I already have feelings for you?”

He states it so quietly, it’s a miracle you can even hear him. “Do you want to date me, Haechannie?”

He looks away, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Do you want to date me?” He murmurs against your skin, unsure and flustered.

You heave the heaviest sigh you’ve ever done in your life. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll decide for us then. Starting now, we’re dating.”

He lifts his head, and if he were a puppy, he would’ve had his tail wagging behind him, even when his face doesn’t show much. “That easy?”

“That easy. What, you have something to complain about?”

“No.” He grins, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Ugh, get off me, you’re gross.”

But no matter how hard you push your palm against his face, Haechan only giggles and turns you around so this time, you’re lying on his chest. “So,” he pushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You like me, huh?”

“No, what makes you think that way?”

“Says the girl who just slept with me.”

“I slept with you ‘cause I was just curious about your dick. Jeno said you had a dick that was the size of his thumb.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Didn’t you see his InstaStory last night?” You reach up to gather your phone from the coffee table. “I took a screenshot of it actually. Man, you should’ve seen the comments. They’re hilarious.”

Snatching your phone away, Haechan runs his eyes along the words written on the screen. “That son of a bitch!”

Simpering, you sneak a peek under his boxer. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“Oh, it’s on,” he deadpans, throwing your phone away and pushes you back down on the floor. His eyes glinting mischievously.

“What are you doing?” You’re still half-laughing when he brings your hands over your head, holding your wrists together with one hand as he settles between your thighs, his fingers hovering dangerously close.

“I’m gonna make you take your words back.” He wets his lip, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Time for the second round, baby.”

***

2K notes · View notes

rodr1cks · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I don't know if your request are open, but I'd like to know if you could write a rodrick x reader where the reader is Rowley's sister and discovers her talking on the phone with a friend saying she's in love with Rodrick and tells Greg and he tells her that Rodrick has been in love with her for a long time and they try to put them together?

cw: none it’s pure fluff

word count: 1.8k

“I know! And he didn’t even apologize!” Greg ranted into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Rowley frowned, sympathetic nature as present as always. “Anyways, mom says dinner is ready, see you tonight?” Rowley’s tone lifted at the end of his sentence, excitement brewing as he thought about the sleepover he was meant to have with Greg later that evening.

You slid into the kitchen on your socks, just as Rowley was concluding his conversation with Greg.

Rowley sat anxiously through dinner, quickly consuming everything on his plate, including the vegetables. You observed him from across the table, cocking your head as your younger brother inhaled his peas like he hadn’t eaten in days.

He took his last bite before exclaiming, “I’m going to pack my stuff for Greg’s!”

Not without clearing his dishes first, of course.

You rolled your eyes at his charisma and headed into the living room. You slumped over on the couch, limbs splayed every which way as you called your friend, Marissa. You had been needing to gush to somebody about your newest crush, Rodrick Heffley.

You had only interacted with the messy haired boy in passing: family dinners, picking up Greg, dropping off Rowley, etc.

“I don’t know what it is, he’s just so- so- captivating. God, Mar, I swear I could watch him play drums for hours on end!”

Unbeknownst to you, Rowley had entered the room and was about to speak. You were too caught up in drooling over Rodrick to notice. “Hey, y/n-” He cut himself off quickly, curiosity getting the best of him.

“And did you see what he was wearing at Matt’s party? Those jeans? And that eyeliner? God I could just tear them-”

Rowley cleared his throat, unwilling to hear the rest. “Y/n can you take me to Greg’s, please?” He stood awkwardly with his lips pursed.

Your head whipped around faster than the speed of light. “Marissa, I gotta go.”

“Rowley, how much of that did you hear?”

He lied, something he wasn’t really good at, “Not much! I promise!”

“Rowley Jefferson you had better keep your mouth shut, or I swear I’ll-”

You stopped yourself, closing your eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “Just get in the car.” You breathed out in a scarily calm tone. Your red headed sibling nodded frantically out of fear and darted to the garage.

Usually, you would make him walk, but ever since your infatuation with Rodrick began, you were more eager to give him rides over there. The mere prospect of getting the slightest glance sending excitement throughout your entire being.

When you pulled up to the Heffley home, you gave him a final glare. “Say nothing.” He gave you the same shaky nod he gave you only moments ago. With that, he was bounding towards the front door. You made sure he got inside safely and drove off.

“Rowley? Everything okay?” Greg asked his friend, concerned with his behavior. Rowley couldn’t handle keeping secrets. His hands grew clammy and a slight sweat broke out on his forehead. Rowley had an uncomfortably fake smile plastered on his face as he tried to assure Greg that everything was just peachy.

All it took was one knowing look from Greg and Rowley broke.

“Alright, fine! I heard my sister talking to her friend about how hot Rodrick is and how she wants to-”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture!”

Greg took a moment to proceed, his brows furrowed as he brought a contemplative fist up to support his chin.

“Lemme get this straight. Your sister likes my brother?”

Rowley nodded slowly.

“Y/n likes Rodrick?”

Rowley nodded again, confirming Greg’s exclamations.

“But y/n is smart a-and hot!”

“Greg! Don’t say that!” Rowley groaned, rolling his head back in disgust. Greg threw both of his hands up in defense, “I’m just stating facts.”

“Wait, I have an idea.” A pit of dread grew in Rowley’s stomach, Greg’s ideas never turned out well.

“What if we set up y/n with Rodrick? Just hear me out, this could be good for him.”

Rowley mulled the idea over in his head, thinking that maybe dating you could make Rodrick more… agreeable? Maybe you could be a good influence on the intimidating teenager. A happier Rodrick would make sleepovers at Greg’s a lot more pleasant.

“I think that could work,” Rowley said apprehensively. “But how do we do it?”

Greg shrugged, “Simple, we just tell Rodrick there’s a really hot Girl interested in him.”

The boys proceeded to draw up a plan.

Phase one: The approach. Greg and Rowley nervously ascended the wooden steps that led to Rodrick’s room. Rodrick was laying on his back, spinning a drumstick between his nimble fingers.

He shot up immediately when he noticed the boys’ presence. “What are your dweebs doing up here?”

Phase two: Delivery. “Calm down Rodrick, we have some information you might wanna know,” Greg reasoned cooly, easing Rodrick’s anger from a roaring ten to a mild six.

Greg nodded over at Rowley, signaling him to start talking.

“W-well,” Rowley stuttered, “I uhm- heard my sister talking about you and she- she likes you and she was talking about your jeans?”

Rodrick blinked in confusion, processing this intel.

“Your sister likes me? Are you sure she meant me?”

“That’s what I said!” Greg exclaimed and Rodrick shot him a terrifying glare, silently telling Greg to can it.

Rodrick was honestly shocked. He always observed you from afar, deciding himself that a chick as cool as you would never go for him. This news was absolutely world shattering for the boy, he completely admired you.

Phase three: Action. “We have a plan.” Greg said, a conniving grin creeping onto his face. “Rowley calls y/n, tells her that he’s feeling sick and blames it on Mom’s pot roast or something. Then when she rushes over all worried, you greet her at the door. And then you work your Rodrick magic!” Greg smiled, abundant pride for his plan evident in his stature.

“It’s a go.” Rodrick declared, scrambling around his room to put on deodorant, a new t-shirt, and cologne before pointing at Rowley. “Make the call.”

“Hey, y/n,” Rowley groaned into the phone, sounding as sick as he possibly could. “I- I think I ate something bad and I really need you ro come get me.”

You sighed, telling him you’d be there in ten minutes and to have his things ready to go. You departed for the Heffley house for the second time that night.

When Rowley didn’t come out to your car, you trudged up to the red door to go retrieve the sickly boy.

You gave the door three lazy knocks, expecting Rowley’s face to be the one behind it when it swung open. “Hey kid, are you feeling okay?” You asked, not yet making eye contact with the figure leering in the doorframe.

Your eyes widened as you came to realize who it was.

“Funny seeing you here,” Rodrick drawled out, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your cheeks burned with the heat of one thousand suns, you were not expecting this tonight.

“Y-yeah,” you smiled awkwardly, staring at your feet. “Rowley called, he uhm, he’s not feeling well. So if you could just get him for me I can leave. Immediately.” You cursed yourself for your blubbering idiocy as you twiddled your fingers.

“Actually, Rowley is feeling much, much better.” Suspicion grew as you studied Rodrick’s devious expression. “What’s going on?” You asked, genuinely puzzled as nothing was making any sense.

“I don’t know, y/n. Why don’t you come in and tell me?” Rodrick was surprisingly smooth in this situation, despite his nerves being at an all time high.

“Rowley is just up here,” Rodrick said while guiding you up the stairs to his room. In the meantime, Greg and Rowley peered out from the hallway, watching you follow Rodrick upstairs and giggling to themselves.

The overhead lights in Rodrick’s room were turned on, the glow from his string lights illuminating the area instead. “Mood lighting,” as he had called it. Rodrick had already instructed the boys to stay far away once you had arrived.

You were still lost, Rowley nowhere in sight. “So? Where is he?” You asked expectantly.

“Here’s the thing y/n. You know Rowley can’t keep secrets, right? I mean you have to know that, he is your brother”

Shit.

“That little shit stain! I’ll get him, I swear to god!” You turned to bound down the stairs, ready to tear the entire house apart in hunting for him. Rodrick grabbed your wrist before your foot could even reach the first step.

“Y/n, relax, relax!” His grip on your flesh made your breath hitch and stomach churn. “It’s okay, I feel the same way.” Rodrick’s cocky facade dissipated into nothing as he revealed his feelings.

You got a glimpse of a more vulnerable side of Rodrick that you were sure he didn’t typically share. “But girls like you don’t usually like stupid guys like me,” Rodrick was staring at the ground now, grasp on your arm softening.

You were too unsure of your words so you opted to move your free hand to hold his bicep, closing a considerable amount of distance between the two of you in the process.

“Rodrick, I’ve never liked anybody as much as I like you. And I don’t mean that in a weird or creepy way it’s just that-”

Now it was time for Rodrick’s own addition to the plan. Phase four: The kiss.

Your rambling was cut short by a pair of warm lips pressing against your own. He kissed you with just enough force to cause you to stumble back a bit, causing you to brace yourself against his torso.

He carded a gentle hand through your hair and tugged back on your soft locks. You moaned at the vibrations tendrilling at your scalp and kissed him with even more ferocity.

Somehow, you ended up on his bed, straddling him. The blankets strewn across his mattress melded against your knees and the fronts of your calves as you stabilized yourself on his lap.

He placed apprehensive hands on your hip bones, unsure of what was okay and what wasn’t. You placed your hand on top of his larger one, assuring him that you were comfortable. You even allowed a small whimper to leave your throat as he tightened his hold on you.

You only pulled away to catch your breath, looking into his eyes for the first time that night. You smiled warmly at him as you cupped his cheek. Suddenly, Rodrick’s signature smirk returned to his face.

“Now tell me what you were saying about my jeans.”

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley fanfic #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #devon bostick

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thebluenoteblog · 3 years ago

Text

New in Town

Summary: Calgary seems to come with its own welcoming crew.

Player: Matthew Tkachuk

Word Count: 1.1k

Requested: Yes

Authors Note: Do you want a part two? I can’t decide if this needs one.

When your employer uprooted and moved headquarters to Calgary, you were terrified that you would lose your job. What you weren't expecting was that they wanted to keep you enough to move you out there and cover the cost of your housing as long as you stayed with the company. Yet, here you were, standing in one of the nicest apartments that you had ever seen, paid for out of someone else's wallet.

Still though, as you made countless trips up and down five floors as you unpacked your car, you found yourself wishing that you had risked sending more items with the movers who would be arriving tomorrow with the rest of your things. You were currently struggling with a box of your favorite books, ones that you swore you would need for the nights alone in hotel rooms during the twenty six hour drive up here.

You were halfway through the lobby, nearing the elevators when the bottom of the box ripped apart and sent the entire game of thrones series, your hardcover collection of Harry Potter, and a few other miscellaneous favorites spilling all over the floor. You froze and slowly looked down at the mess at your feet. There were bound to be a few torn pages and you were suddenly even more upset that you hadn’t sent them with the movers.

“Need some help with those?”

You looked up from the depressing pile on the floor into the eyes of a curly haired man with a smirk on his face. For some reason that half smile got on your nerves. It was like he was judging you, over your taste in literature? Over your failure to properly pack boxes? You didn’t know, but the judgment was certainly there.

That being said, your box was toast and there was no way you could carry all of these books up on your own without it. “If you have time,” you said, dropping your arms and allowing the tattered box to hang at your side. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It isn’t a problem,” he said, dropping to his knees to begin gathering books into his hands. “I was just getting home. My only plans for the next few hours are TV and food that I shouldn't be eating.”

You nodded as you inspected your ancient copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“You know,” he said, “If you carried the box from the bottom, this wouldn’t happen.”

You looked up, fully intending to tell him to go about his day, then you saw the smile on his face and the humor in his eyes. “I think the problem originated when I thought I could pack all of my favorites in one box.”

He glanced down at the books he was gathering into his arms. “Harry Potter is one of your favorites?”

There was no mistaking the judgment in his tone this time. “What about it?” You asked defensively, not looking up at him, but instead picking up the last book off the floor. You inspected it for damage, then added it to your pile.

He shook his head and you could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Nothing… just, aren’t you a little old to be reading books meant for 11 year olds?”

You looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you done critiquing my taste in literature?”

He laughed as he stood, “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

Your eyes stayed narrowed but your shoulders relaxed. “I guess I can forgive you.”

“Oh,” he said, “I’m not apologizing.”

You sighed, why did the hot ones all have to be either taken or complete assholes. You rolled your eyes at him and started toward the elevators, arms full of books.

He laughed as he followed you. “What floor are you on?” He asked.

You pressed the up button on the control panel and waited as the light blinked on. “Five.”

The curly haired man shifted the weight of the books into one arm and held out his hand, “I never introduced myself, I’m Matthew.” He paused, smiling. “I also live on the fifth floor.”

Great. He was your neighbor. Now you had to like him. Or at least tolerate him. The elevator arrived and you stepped inside. He pushed the correct button and then leaned back against the wall. “I’m y/n.”

He studied the book on top of the stack for a moment. “With how much we pay in rent, you’d think they could afford faster elevators.”

You nodded, “Thank god I don’t pay my own rent. I’d never be able to afford a place this nice on my salary.”

“Got a sugar daddy?” He asked, that same smirk on his face.

You frowned and rolled your eyes. “No, my employer is paying for my housing. It was their way of getting me to move here.”

“Oh,” he said, “That’s cool. Where are you from?”

You eyed him curiously. You couldn’t get a read on Matthew. Was he legitimately interested or did he just want an excuse to make fun of you again?

“St. Louis, Missouri.” You finally answered just as the doors opened and you stepped into the hallway of the fifth floor.

He bounced after you like an excited puppy. “No way! Me too,” he said. “Finally someone else who understands provel cheese and toasted ravioli! I love it here, but damn I miss home.”

“I hate provel cheese,” you said as you unlocked your door.

He froze, eyes widening comically. “How can you hate something so amazing?”

You shrugged, “I think I ate it too much as a kid. It was the only pizza my dad would eat.”

You pushed the door of your apartment open and walked inside, dropping the books onto the pile of boxes you’d already carried up.

“You have no furniture,” Matthew said, “Why?”

You turned to watch as he set his stack of books next to yours. “The movers are getting here tomorrow with the rest of my stuff.”

He nodded slowly, “Do you have anything else to bring up? I’d be happy to help.”

You shook your head, “Nope, that was the last of it. I almost made it without making a fool of myself, then I fumbled on the last play.”

He laughed, “You didn’t make a fool of yourself. It was kind of cute. You looked like you wanted to hit something.”

You nodded slowly, “I did.”

Matthew smiled, taking a step closer to you, “Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” He asked. “You have no table to eat at or couch to sit on. You don’t even have a TV.”

You eyed him curiously. Why was he being so nice to you? Should you trust some random man who had continuously insulted you for the past ten minutes?

Probably not.

Yet somehow, you found yourself saying yes.

#matthew tkachuk imagine #Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagines

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years ago

Text

Five Lies

Day 6, Story #2 is by @be11atrixthestrange

Author/Artist: be11atrixthestrange Pairing: Ron/Hermione Prompt: 5+1 Rating: M Trigger Warning(s) (if any): mentions of character death

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Five Lies Five times Ron lied to Hermione, and one time he told the truth

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-Year Four - The Common Room

Ron was thankful the common room was empty, because he needed a moment alone. He plopped down into an armchair by the fire, and breathed a heavy sigh. His throat felt tight, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He didn't need a mirror to tell him that his face was as red as a beet; he could feel it.

Earlier in the Great Hall, Fleur had asked him to pass the bread, and he just stared at her. Like an idiot.

George's voice still echoed in his ear. "Ronniekins, aren't you going to say something?"

And then Fred had to make it worse. "He can't! He's too busy drooling."

It seemed that everyone followed suit and laughed at him, even Fleur, whose cheeks glowed pink, her expression full of amusement and pity.

Why did Fred and George always embarrass him? They also lost their cool around Fleur — it wasn't just Ron. None of the Weasley boys knew how to act around a Veela. Ron just wished he could control it better.

"Ron? Are you okay?"

Ron froze at the sound of Hermione's voice. He hadn't heard her come in. She took a seat in the armchair across from him, but he avoided her gaze, choosing to shake his head instead.

"They were just joking around, you know," she said. Her tone was sympathetic, and he realized that he didn't care that she almost caught him crying. She would never tell anyone.

"I wish they wouldn't," he said, the words escaping through gritted teeth.

"I know. It's not fair."

Ron could feel her intent gaze, and looked up to meet her eyes. He always liked her eyes. They were big and brown, but the specific shade changed all the time. In the firelight, they almost looked hazel. "Why do they always make fun of me?

Hermione shrugged. "They probably just think you fancy her."

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. "Who, Fleur?"

"Yes, Fleur. Who else?"

He did not fancy Fleur. He didn't even know her.

It was just her stupid Veela power that made him act like an idiot.

"Well, I don't fancy her. I don't fancy anyone." The phrase took a defensive tone, slipping from his lips without a second thought. As soon as he said it, he realized that it didn't even sound true.

"You really don't fancy anyone?" Something unrecognizable crossed her face. Surprise, maybe. Maybe Hermione really did think he fancied Fleur.

He looked her in the eye and wanted more than anything to tell her the truth, but it didn't feel like an option. The thought of telling Hermione that he did, in fact, fancy someone made him a thousand times more nervous than Fleur asking him to pass the bread.

"Really. I don't fancy anyone."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, almost as if she didn't believe him. "I'm going to go to bed," she said, before turning away and shuffling off toward the girls' dormitory.

Ron watched her walk away, confusion etched across his face. It felt like a premature end to their conversation. Maybe she knew he was lying?

He shook his head. It probably wasn't about him. It was possible she wasn't feeling well — she had been looking a little pale, anyway. With a shrug, Ron rose to his feet and started toward his own dormitory, hoping Hermione would feel better in the morning.

-Year Five- The Corridor

Ron never thought he'd look forward to Prefect rounds. He had assumed they'd be nothing but a chore, cutting into his valued free time, preventing him from getting down to the Quidditch pitch to practice. He thought he'd fall behind on homework by dedicating a certain number of hours each week to his duties, but it wasn't an issue at all.

As it turned out, he didn't mind the extra work. Patrolling the corridors at night was a nice reprieve from the stress of schoolwork, and it gave him a much-needed break from dealing with Harry's constant brooding.

It didn't hurt that he got to do it with Hermione. In fact, that's probably what made it most enjoyable. They hadn't spent much time together, just the two of them, in a long while. Not since Hogsmeade visits during their third year, and it was nice.

Ron noticed things about Hermione when they were alone, things he'd never have paid attention to otherwise. Like the way she ran her fingers along the wall when they turned a corner, like she was drawing a line in sand, or how she constantly tucked her hair behind her ears only for it to pop back out again.

He learned that she licked her lips right before she spoke, and that's how Ron knew she was about to interrupt him mid-conversation. It was infuriating when she did that, but he never wanted it to stop.

"What's left to check?" she asked, startling him.

"Oh, erm, just the seventh floor, I think," he said.

"Okay, let's go. Maybe we can finish rounds early."

She turned the corner, and Ron followed behind, watching her skip down the hall. Hermione seemed to like Prefect rounds too; he could tell by the bounce in her step. Everything about her seemed to be relaxed; her stride, her smile, and her overall demeanor. Her shirt hung loosely on her frame, as she'd released its top button, and her socks were pushed down to her ankles, as if even her clothes knew it was the end of the day.

He shouldn't be thinking about her clothes. That was dangerous territory.

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, that would be fun. Could always use more free time."

"Or, you could use the extra time to get ahead on McGonagall's essay," she teased, smiling back at him. His neck felt hot.

"Only if you help me."

"Of course," she said. "Homework is more fun when we do it together."

"I agree."

Ron was beside her now, and he stole another glance in her direction. Her face was flushed; it was warm on the higher floors, and her skin glowed from a light sheen of sweat. How had he never noticed that she had a few scattered freckles on her nose?

"Why do you keep doing that?" she asked. Her eyes were on him now, and he felt the warmth in his neck spreading.

"Doing what?" he asked, his tone defensive.

"You're staring at me!"

"I"m no—"

"Yes, you keep doing it," she argued. Although her cheeks were rosy and her eyes narrowed, she wore a faint smirk and didn't seem to be angry. She was just teasing him.

He kind of liked it.

"Well, if you must know, you have something on your cheek," he lied.

"I do?" asked Hermione as she wiped her face with her sleeve. "Did I get it?"

"No, let me try."

Hermione paused and took a step closer to him. He reached a hand up to her face to cup it and brushed a thumb across her cheek, trying to ignore the tidal wave that crashed in his stomach at the contact. Her skin was so soft.

He couldn't let his hand linger on her face without attracting suspicion, so with great effort, he let it drop to his side.

"Is it gone?"

"Um. Yeah."

She pressed a hand to her cheek. "What was it?"

Nothing. "Not sure," he said.

"Hmm," shrugged Hermione. "Well, thank you!" She turned to skip back down the hallway, a few strides in front of Ron.

"No problem," muttered Ron.

He could still feel a tingle on his thumb, the memory of her soft skin still fresh on his mind. He watched her run ahead of him, trying not to think too hard about the way her hair bounced or her skirt fluttered with each stride, because it was maddening.

He groaned. As maddening as it was, he hoped that would never stop. That way, he could keep it on the list of reasons to look forward to Prefect rounds.

-Year Six- The Courtyard

Finally, Ron was alone on a bench in the courtyard, having just convinced Lavender to let him be so he could "study". In reality, he just needed some space.

He liked her enough, but being with Lavender wasn't what he had imagined having a girlfriend to be like. It was nothing like being friends with a girl, at least from his limited experience. All Lavender wanted to do was snog, and Ron missed having someone to talk to, tease, and argue with.

Truth was, he missed Hermione. But unfortunately, she wanted nothing to do with him. She made that perfectly clear in the form of a flock of canaries, and he still had the scabs to remind him.

Ron closed his eyes and was enjoying the silence when the most unexpected voice pulled him back to the present.

"Hey."

His eyes snapped open to see Hermione standing there, right in front of him. Think of the devil.

"Hey." His response just spilled out of his mouth, and it didn't take on the angry tone he had intended. He sounded almost excited to see her.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "Ron, can I talk to you?"

Ron cleared his throat and asked in his most stoic tone, "Promise not to attack me again?"

"I promise."

"Then go on," he said, crossing his arms across his chest so Hermione could get a full view of his scars.

"I'm— I'm sorry about that." She motioned to his arms, and her eyes watered with tears.

"I know you are."

She averted her eyes and licked her lips before continuing. "I was jealous, and it wasn't fair. I hope you can forgive me someday."

She continued to stare intently toward the ground as her cheeks brightened, and Ron resisted a smile.

"You were jealous?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He kept his face neutral, but he couldn't lie — it was a nice thing to hear. He just wished he heard it sooner.

Hermione nodded and finally met his gaze. "I was."

Her eyes were strikingly dark and deep, a fact he'd always appreciated, but had forgotten over the last few weeks. He could stare at them for hours, but he willed himself not to fall under their spell. "Why didn't you talk to me instead of turning birds on me?"

Everything would have been so much easier.

"That's why I'm talking to you now."

"Well, it's too bloody late. I'm with Lavender," he said, unsure who he was trying to convince.

"I know it's too late. I just wanted you to know."

It seemed like an eternity that they stood there in silence, neither wanting to continue the conversation nor feeling like it was over.

Hermione was the first to break the silence. "Are you happy with her?"

And how the hell was he supposed to answer that?

Ron was thrilled Lavender wanted to be with him. She wanted to kiss him, hold his hand in public, and call him her boyfriend. What wasn't to love? He should be happy with her, she was almost everything he had ever wanted.

That, and he'd be an ungrateful arse if he said no. "Yeah. I am."

She nodded solemnly, and Ron swore he could see her eyes glisten with tears. "Then I'll try to be happy for you too," she said, her voice cracking.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because Hermione had already turned her back to him and was walking away. He watched until she turned the corner, trying to convince himself that he had told her the truth.

-Year Seven- The Tent

Rain pounded against the canvas tent, and the way the sound echoed through the air made the space feel hollow and empty. Ron could feel the weight of the locket around his neck, its chain digging into his skin. It felt almost like icy fingers clutching his throat, threatening to squeeze should he try to ignore it. He didn't think he could ignore it, even if he tried. The cold metal against his skin paired with its threatening voice inside his head almost commanded more attention than the slowly healing wound on his shoulder.

Ron was lying on his cot, covered in blankets that seemed to do nothing to keep him warm. He could hear Hermione flipping through a book across the room in her own bed, probably just as cold as he was.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked. To Ron, her voice sounded full of both pity and impatience, as if her real question was why he hadn't healed yet. What was taking him so long?

She doesn't actually care about your shoulder.

"It's fine," he snapped back.

He could feel the tension in the pause that followed, and even though he wasn't looking at her, he could imagine her jaw clenching, her cheeks reddening, and her eyes rolling.

"You don't need anything?" she eventually asked, her tone stiff and controlled.

Listen to her. She thinks you're pathetic. Needy. It disgusts her.

Instead of answering, Ron just shook his head. He knew she was watching him because he could feel her big brown eyes boring into him.

"Okay then."

He heard her book close, then the sound of her sliding out of bed. Ron turned to look just as she bent down to rummage through her bag. She faced her back to him, and Ron could make out the shape of her bum through her sweatpants. It sent a pang of longing through his entire body, and the locket wasted no time latching on to the opportunity to harass him further.

Go ahead and look, but don't kid yourself; you'll never touch.

He averted his eyes when she stood up.

"What are you doing, then?" she asked, now clutching a different stack of books under her arm.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she chirped. Her voice wavered as she lost control of keeping it neutral. "You know we have horcruxes to find."

She narrowed her eyes, and her cheeks ignited with red. Her hair seemed to expand and swarm her head. It wasn't just anger that did that to her. She looked electric whenever her passion was kindled, whether due to anger, schoolwork, elf-rights, or him.

He could rile her up, and Merlin, did he enjoy doing it. He was always up for helping her unleash that stored up tension through an argument. Often he wondered how else he could help her find that release. A few ideas came to mind.

Never going to happen.

"Are you seriously angry at me?" he asked, his tone sharp and scathing.

"You know what? Yeah, I am," she launched back.

"Well, sorry I'm injured, Hermione," he laughed, now sitting up in bed. "Let's not forget that you're the one who got me splinched."

"And let's not forget that I'm doing everything I can to help you heal."

She thinks you're a burden. A waste of her time.

"Okay, then stop complaining about me not doing anything when you know I can't."

Hermione crossed her arms and took a step closer. Ron willed himself to keep his eyes on her face, even though her shirt was too big, so the sleeves fell off her shoulder, and there was a patch of exposed skin above her waistband, reminding Ron of how soft her skin was. It had been so long since he touched her.

"Then stop staring at me like that," she said. "I can't tell if you're mad at me or if you want me to do something for you, and honestly, I'm kind of sick of cooking you dinner and not even hearing a thank you."

Don't you dare give her the satisfaction of apologizing.

"Seriously, what do you want from me?" she continued.

What a loaded question. Ron wanted everything from her — her time, her attention, and her body. When she removed his shirt to check his wound, he wanted her to remove his trousers too. He wanted her to crawl in bed with him and let him take her clothes off, piece by piece. He wanted to be strong enough to hold himself up so she could slide underneath him and wrap her legs around his hips. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, shag her, and then hold her afterward, fall asleep together, and wake up entangled with her.

Too bad she doesn't want you back.

"I don't want anything from you."

She softened her stare and took a step back. Maybe he was reading too much into her expression, but Ron could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment on her face, as if she hoped there would be something he wanted from her.

You're imagining that.

"Good," she said, unknowingly confirming the locket's taunt, before turning away and leaving him there, in his bed, cold and alone.

-Year Seven- Shell Cottage

Although Ron might have looked peaceful and serene sitting so still, his mind was anything but calm. He closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the armchair, trying his best to fall asleep, but he was far from tired. His back ached, and he longed to get up and move, but it wasn't worth leaving Hermione's side.

It felt like he had been waiting days for her to wake up, and in that time, he had imagined the worst.

For one, he feared that she might not wake up at all, ever, and the empty hole that her screams had carved within him would be there for the rest of his life, like a scar across his heart.

Two, that she might wake up but never be the same, just like Neville's parents. Maybe she wouldn't remember him. Maybe she would, but she wouldn't understand when he told her he loved her.

And three, that she'd awake with clarity, forever haunted by the memory of what happened to her. Maybe she'd associate her trauma with the magical world, or with Ron himself, and she'd leave it all behind. He'd support her, of course, and he'd be thrilled she was okay, but he wouldn't be okay. He wasn't okay.

So he sat there, looking peaceful but panicking internally. He had no idea what to expect when and if Hermione woke up.

He was utterly shocked when she spoke to him.

"Hi, Ron," her voice snapped his eyes open. She was watching him, even smiling at him. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

She chuckled when he pinched himself.

"Oh, thank Merlin you're awake," he said when his pinch did nothing.

"Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah. I hope that's okay," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Have you left my side?" she asked, her eyes wide, questioning yet knowing.

He shook his head no, and his cheeks grew hot.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. There was something so innocent about the interaction; it felt like they were just kids nervously admitting a crush. Her hand was lying on the edge of the bed, inches from his, and he didn't hesitate to reach for it and intertwine their fingers. She squeezed his hand back, although weakly, and he ran his thumb across her skin. Even bloodied and scarred, her skin was as soft as he remembered.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he said.

"Me too."

"Are you in pain?"

She nodded. "A little."

"I can have Fleur bring up some pain potion."

"Yeah, but not yet."

"In a bit, then."

They shared a look, an acknowledgement that they were alone, and pain potion could wait. Neither felt the need to give it words, they were awful with words, the king and queen of miscommunication, but there was nothing to misinterpret in a simple look.

"Can I hug you? Gently, of course."

Hermione nodded, and Ron inched forward on his chair to wrap his arms around her. Her head nestled into his shoulder, and he buried his face in her hair.

"How's Harry?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"He's fine," Ron answered. "Worried about you, of course."

She nodded. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you okay?"

Ron sighed and pulled her closer. Was he okay? He had a few cuts and bruises, but that was nothing compared to his emotional toll. He helplessly listened to Bellatrix torture the woman he loved, hadn't slept since they arrived at Shell Cottage, and had spent days fearing she'd be gone. In those days, he learned exactly how much was at stake. He could still lose her.

He wasn't okay.

"Yes, I'm okay," he muttered, hoping that it would be true soon enough.

-After The Battle-

The Treehouse

Ron didn't mind the quiet of the treehouse; it was much better than the silence of the Burrow. At least the treehouse was supposed to be that way. He was leaning over the edge, forearms on a wooden beam, and through the leaves, he could make out the tall, lopsided house he called home. Before now, the Burrow always looked like it was bursting at the seams, about to collapse from the energy inside. His mum would say it was magic that held it together, not carpentry, but now it didn't matter. It seemed empty, and the magic was gone.

The treehouse was where Ron would always come when he needed to be alone. With six siblings, there was always someone yelling, laughing or crying. But not with five. Even though there were so many people back in the house, it was still too quiet. No one knew what to say, so they said nothing. Fred wouldn't have wanted that.

"Hi."

Ron startled at the voice. He had been too lost in his thoughts to hear anyone approaching but instantly relaxed when Hermione stepped up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He smiled; in the days following Fred's death, Hermione was the only one who could elicit that reaction from him.

"I brought you something," she said.

He looked down at her hand to see that she was holding a plate of food — Mum's shepherd's pie, treacle tart, and pumpkin juice.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said as she handed him the plate. "I didn't want to go inside and talk to people."

"I know."

Ron turned away from the edge and slid to a seat, resting the plate on his lap. Hermione settled in beside him. "How'd you know where I was?"

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I had a hunch."

Ron thought back to the last time they had been in the treehouse together — the previous summer before Harry arrived. He didn't even remember the first time he brought her here, but through all those summers, the treehouse became a place where they could just be. They could do whatever they wanted here, yet not once had she rested her head on his shoulder.

He looped his free arm around her, encouraging her to lean in, and pressed a kiss to her hair. He had always wanted to do that, and it was so strange to be able to now. If the circumstances were better, he'd like to do so much more.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

"As long as you need me to."

The longer they sat there in comfortable silence, leaning against one another and eating from the same plate, the more he wished they could just stay there forever. It was the perfect place to hide from his grief.

Maybe he shouldn't be hiding from grief, but the pain of Fred's loss only accentuated what he felt for Hermione. It was about time he had something to be happy about, even if that happiness was confined within the walls of the treehouse. After all, he had a feeling that the reality of Fred's death would hit him like a ton of bricks as soon as he left.

So maybe he'd just stay.

"What's on your mind?" asked Hermione.

She was on his mind but based on her smirk, she knew that. He must have been staring at her. That had been happening a lot lately.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course."

He'd never told her how he felt, but he was in the treehouse, where everything was perfect, and nothing could go wrong. Now was as good a time as any.

"I'm thinking about how much I love you."

She met his gaze and he watched those warm brown eyes grow wide. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't have to say it back, I know it's soon—"

"I love you too," she interrupted, leaning her head against his hand. "Always have."

Even though a world of mourning awaited Ron outside of the treehouse, he couldn't help but smile. Hermione could do that for him; she was just like the magic that once held his house together.

"Brilliant," he said as he leaned in for a kiss, one that she happily returned.

He loved that they could do this now.

It was an odd feeling, being so genuinely elated and grief-stricken at the same time, but he simply couldn't feel any other way; it was the truth. And at this point, if anyone deserved the truth, it was Hermione.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione #tw: character death

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demonsandmischief · 4 years ago

Text

You Saved My Life

Marvel - Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader, 1.7k Words

-You Saved My Life-

Imagine you save Captain America's life while he is trying to save yours.

A/N: I dunno when this would take place in the Marvel world. I guess you could say it's my own AU. It's a long one but I like it. I hope you do too.

----

There are a lot of things life prepares you for, but the end of the world is not one of them.

You were covering your best friend's shift at a cafe that she owned. You had a full time job as a teacher, but the school was on a holiday, and you were always willing to help your friend. Normally, she'd have managers do the day to day runnings, but there was a scheduling conflict that lined up perfectly with your free day.

You did love the little place. It was small and home-y, nestled between some larger buildings of the city.

It was after the lunch rush when it happened. You were wiping down menus when a large blast that felt like an earthquake rattled the whole shop. The glass door shattered with the impact.

That's when the screaming started. It was loud and chaotic, as throngs of people ran away from whatever had just exploded.

The customers that were in the cafe rushed out in a panic. They could see something out of the large windows that you couldn't from behind the counter.

You moved closer, hesitantly, not sure what to expect, and you were definitely not prepared.

There were large, robotic creatures wreaking havoc in every direction. You could hear their banshee like screeches that echoed in your ears, but it couldn't be louder than the intense blood rushing as your adrenaline began to flow.

Your protective, teacher instincts kicked in when you saw the young group of kids huddled in the alleyway. They were almost out of view, but you noticed. You always noticed the children. They attracted your energy naturally.

You took notice of the daycare bus still running. It looked like the driver had just abandoned them. Intense anger only fueled the instincts.

You saw the way one of the creatures eyed the group and you scrambled to grab something to defend them.

You didn't have much. You decided on a chair, thankful for your nimble frame that was able to get outside unnoticed.

The kids caught sight of you immediately, but you held a shaky finger to your lips, telling them to be quiet.

You swung the chair with all your might, hitting the thing with a sickening crunch. It faltered for a moment, stumbling forward. You were left with pieces of broken wood, the splintered edges digging into your skin.

"Get inside," you yelled to the group, watching them scramble. At least the robot thing was focused on you, and you prayed that each little boy and each little girl made it home tonight.

You knew you were the only person standing between the cafe and the monster, and you wouldn't go with them to safety for risk of this thing following you into the shop.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as your eyes searched for any kind of defense. Instead, you found more creatures and no help.

This thing was ugly up close. It was metallic like a robot, but had blood red eyes, eyes that were staring right at you.

It opened it's mouth to screech into the sky, a snake like tongue curling out. It was cut off by a flash of color in the haze of dirt and debris, but you recognized it immediately. Captain America's shield.

The man himself appeared, standing tall and proud, but you could tell he was winded. You had never been so relieved, as you relaxed a bit, just wanting to melt into the ground with exhaustion.

Steve yanked out his shield, giving it an expert throw, destroying the other visible creatures.

His blue eyes stood out beneath his cowl.

"Ma'am," he nodded. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," you whispered with a shake of your head, wiping your sweaty, bloody hands on your jeans. "But there's kids in there "

He nodded, repeating the information into his com device.

"We'll get them to safety, and you, too. This is no place you want to be. Every civilian has taken shelter in the metro underground. Do you know how to get there from here?"

"Yes, but it's like two blocks," you said. There was no way you could get the kids there without being noticed.

"I'll go with you then, but we need to move quickly. Let's go." He left no room for argument, so you entered the cafe to gather the huddled group.

Their fear struck you, wide eyes and silent sobs. There were probably twenty of them, all different ages. The youngest was probably about six.

"Captain America is going to get you guys somewhere safe," you told them, as reassuring as possible, even though you didn't feel that way.

You led the group as the captain guarded the back. The pace was quick, and eerily quiet. You imagined the tall man had warned the other Avengers to keep the area as clear as possible. You had caught a brief glimmer of Iron Man's metallic suit in the sky.

You had just ushered the kids down the stalled escalator and into safety when you heard a grunt of pain.

You turned to find six more of the robotic creatures surrounding Cap. You could tell he was wearing down as one of them pulled his arms back, rendering him powerless and unable to grab his shield. He kicked the things with all his might, but there were too many of them.

You didn't know what to do. You were exhausted and there was no way you could help. You couldn't even take out one by yourself with a chair.

It wasn't until one of the creatures pulled out a long dagger looking thing, already dripping with someone else's blood that you moved.

Your instincts didn't let you hesitate as you ran to tackle the thing, the knife in turn digging painfully in your upper shoulder, dangerously close to your neck.

You felt the cry leave your dry, cracked lips as you crumbled to the ground, squeezing your eyes shut.

You heard the creature snarl at you before you felt a jolt of hot pain in your ribs. It felt like a boot, but who knows.

Your vision doubled as you saw the metallic shield take out the group once more. You sagged in the rubble as the adrenaline left your body. It felt like buckets of blood were running from your shoulder down the curve of your breast, mixing with the pain in your ribs. You were certain death couldn't be much worse then this.

Steve couldn't believe you saved his life. He was foolish to let his guard down, but you were a distraction. You protected those kids with a fearlessness that reminded him of himself.

He heard over coms that Tony had found the source for these creatures and the fight was coming to a close. He wished he could have been there for his team, but the people came first, especially those kids.

He pressed a hand to your shoulder, cursing when he saw how much blood you were losing. He searched aimlessly for something to stop the blood.

"Your six, Captain," you manage to mutter throught the pain, not failing to notice the final of the robotic things sneaking up on the distracted man.

He kicked a stray car door effortlessly, squashing the creature against the brick building.

"We're going to get you help. You're going to be okay."

That was the last thing you heard before you passed out.

----

There was a pesky beeping that was disturbing your rest. You assumed it was your alarm, until the pain hit you full force, and you remembered the events that took place. Were you dead?

Your eyes opened, and you groaned at the harsh light, blinking rapidly to adjust. Your mouth felt like it was full of sand.

The sterile smell and blinding white walls immediately told you it was a hospital, but what stood out was the dozing man still dirty from battle. His blue suit stood out against the white.

His eyes opened when you stirred, and you noticed the blue eyes that you were beginning to like. His blonde hair was matted from the cowl, and he looked terribly uncomfortable in the small chair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his deep voice much softer than the commanding tone he used as captain.

You struggled to sit up. The pain in your shoulder not allowed you to use your hand as leverage, and your ribs didn't like the jostle.

"Don't do that," he said, lightly using his hand to keep you from moving. He pushed the button on the side that allowed the bed to lift without you having to change position.

He helped you drink some water before you were finally able to respond.

"How long have I been out?" you ask.

"Just a few hours," Steve responded. "You saved my life, and those kids, too." He shook his head in disbelief.

You felt your face grow hot at his words, not knowing how to respond. "I'm sure you are exhausted. You didn't have to stay."

"I had to make sure you were okay," he admitted. "I'm Steve."

"Y/N." You tried to smile at his cute pleasantries, but winced at the persistent throbbing in your shoulder. "Is it bad?"

"I'm sure a tough girl like you can handle it. The doctor should be in here in a minute to tell you details," he answered.

The doctor told you that your ribs were broken and your stab wound was deep but no longer life threatening after they stopped the blood. It was going to take a while to recover.

You dozed off, and it must have been a long time because when you awoke the second time, the room was covered in flowers. A stack of cards sat on your table, and you rose the bed again to reach for them.

A swell of happy emotions built up inside of you as you read the sweet words of the kids you saved. It was so relieving to know they were okay.

"You're a hero," Steve said from the door, this time in jeans and a blue jacket. He was handsome.

You wiped the fallen tears off of your cheek. "I'm nothing but a teacher."

"You're a hero to me," he smiled slightly, and a warm feeling bloomed in your chest.

----

Here's Pt. 2

#captain america imagine #captain america #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain America x you #iron man #avengers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel

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obeymeluv · 3 years ago

Text

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 3 - Mammon]

Same rules apply from Part 2: thoughts are italicized and bolded. May be slightly NSFW because the boys have a crush on you and such. If anyone has suggestions for Asmo’s part or Belphie’s, I’m down to hear it. I kind of have one for Belphie but I feel it’s a little cliché.

Also, I’ve logged back in and started playing Obey Me! since I have a three day weekend and the “Are You Kidding Me?!” event is making me want to write those baby headcanons. Might do that next.

Mammon:

You’d been following a buzzing, bubbling sensation around the house. It was enough to make your teeth rattle at points and you wondered if one of the brothers were using shadow magic to stay on the fringes of your vision (or just out of it). Sometimes it would feel like you were right on top of it, your whole body feeling like loose change in a can, and just as quickly it would stop. The cold wash of going the wrong way was a welcome reprieve.

Exhausted, feeling like you’d lapped the house several times, you dragged yourself back to your bedroom. It wasn’t very romantic but at this point you’d had it! The only thing your poor brain could think of was texting them one by one and just kissing them. If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t even need to text all seven. If you were really honest with yourself, you just wanted to text one of them.

And he was in your bed, cuddled into your pillows and half-wrapped in your sheets like he was supposed to be there.

Was he asleep?

You resisted the urge to stomp your foot or startle Mammon awake. His jacket was tossed haphazardly over your small desk chair but his sunglasses had been placed with care on your nightstand. Mammon? You placed on knee on the bed, planning to crawl towards him from the opposite corner. Mammon tended to wake up swinging and flailing; you remembered Belphie yanking him off of “his” spot on the couch but not before he’d fluffed his pillow and took a defensive stance.

Your little brain tap was enough to make him snort and stretch but not open his eyes. Tanned limbs dragged themselves across twisted sheets. He sounded like he’d mumbled something but you couldn’t be sure. You were sure he’d scooped up another pillow to stuff his face in and squeeze to death.

Was that a giggle? Mammon gave a contented little hum, snuggling his face into the new, cool pillow. Mammon! you tried again. It was weird to speak with your brain. Could you raise your voice just by thinking it? You froze in the middle of the bed, Mammon snapping up with a slow blink and a confused slur (and a huffy demon gurgle).

If he wasn’t hugging the pillow, he probably would’ve swung his arms out or fallen out the bed and taken half the sheets with him. Mammon blinked again, his white brows furrowing as he scanned the room. He leaned forward and you barely remembered how utterly blind he was as you watched the sleep lift from blue-yellow eyes.

“So who was the lucky—“ Mammon started off in his fake ‘I’m not interested’ tone but the words died out before he could make them any more indifferent. “Your lips are still sealed shut.” he lurched forward, your noses practically touching. “Your lips are still sealed shut!” he whispered again breathlessly, the quickness of his words matching the excited pulse in his throat.

Mammon’s heart squeezed in his chest. His mouth dried and suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to say. This wasn’t how he thought your first kiss would be but Diavolo be damned if he’d turn it down! The demon could barely filter his desire for you, trying to keep the YES! GIMME! KISS ME, KISS ME! in his head and out of yours. His face started to heat up when the pact mark on your shoulder glowed a soft golden color, painting both of your faces in a candlelight-like glow.

The tiniest part of his awed brain could feel his mouth slipping open in shock. You were a vision with golden highlights. Golden highlights from his pact mark! It made him want to take you on a fancy restaurant date and see it again.

Mammon? you were waiting on him now, ever so careful. So considerate. That’s what he loved about you. You put up with a lot of his walls and his loud behavior but deep down you knew. He knew you knew, and he was glad you kept his secret.

The people who made the loudest echoes were often the most fragile. He was a giving heart that had been corrupted against his will, and he had not totally hardened with the fall. You saw those scars and chips and cracks and somehow healed all of it with your human hands. With your smile. Your touch.

Hell, you just saying his name could wipe centuries of suffering from his mind.

“Was I your first choice?” Mammon’s voice turned raspy and tight. He couldn’t bear to hear you say you’d gone to one of the others first. He’d seen you going from room to room, slinking around the house in a way only the second-eldest could master. Years of trying to slip out past curfew and make off with a few odds and ends no one would miss without getting caught had its perks. Watching you touch doors and turn halls gutted him and drove him to seek refuge in your room.

He’d consoled himself amongst your pillows—your scent—and tried not to cry. Even if you didn’t choose him, he’d still have you as a friend. Maybe an in-law. That didn’t stop the cold twisting in his guts or the burning anguish in his chest as he realized over and over that he was one of seven. The other six were better than him, he feared. He was just scummy, scummy Mammon.

You don’t think you are? You tilted your head as you looked at him, hands coming up to comb gently through his hair and massage the bottom of his ears. Your hands smoothed down his neck, drawing him into a hug that was just…very you. Comforting and genuine and wholesome. He felt it first physically, then emotionally as your pact mark burned a little brighter.

You dummy, it was so light, so teasing and gentle that Mammon couldn’t help but smile as you cupped his face and brought his lips up to yours. “Of course you’re my first choice. You’re my first man, aren’t you?”

Mammon realized you said that with your mouth--your open mouth—and he exploded into a rolling yayayayaya victory warble. His eyes were a molten yellow, almost as bright as Diavolo’s (maybe brighter). Tears beaded in his eyes and Mammon blinked them away, stuffing his face into your neck as he tackled you to the bed. A burst of heat rolled over you as his horns came out a hot skin touched yours, the demon greedily snuggling into like he’d finally found his home.

He was scenting you with all his snuggling and ‘settling’ but you didn’t mind, patting his back and running your fingertips across the seams in his black jacket. In all his ‘settling’ you’d been turned onto your side and scooped up by him. Mammon locked his arms around you, feet tangling with yours. He’d tucked you under his chin to keep you away from his horns. “I can’t believe you took so long!” he whined, fingers playing with your hair, “making me wait like that! I’m a busy guy, you know?”

“I can take your place if you’re so busy!” you saw a hint of Asmo in the doorway and probably Levi behind him before Mammon’s wing blocked your view. They’d been called by the noise Mammon made earlier.

“Get lost, the lot of ya!” Mammon flapped his free wing at them. He hugged you closer and you briefly wondered if this what a dragon did with their hoard. You laughed at the thought. “This is my human! And my human is spending time with their first man!” he’d made a little tent out of his wing, peeking down at you with pride and love and a little hesitancy that begged you to back him up because his embarrassment was outweighing his ability to run his smart mouth.

You responded by kissing his chest, little kitten kisses that climbed his throat and jaw and could definitely be heard with demon ears. Popping out from just under his wing, you pecked his lips. His nose just to catch him off guard. “It’s very personal time.” you teased, rubbing his shoulders as his wing unfolded to show you off, sitting happily atop your man.

There were scowls and little demon grumbles you’d never be able to understand, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t even hear them over the sound of Mammon’s purr.

#Obey me! x reader #Obey me!#Mammon #Mammon x Reader #Obey me! Mammon

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goldencuffs · 3 years ago

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familial

@lamenweek day four: family

Like clockwork, Laurent arrives at eight in the evening on Friday, and the entire Vallis household bursts to life.

Sitting in the poorly lit alfresco, Damianos listens as Laurent makes his way down the hallway, room by room. In the living room, Theomedes’ laugh is loud and booming; it’s the first happy noise he’s made all week. In the kitchen, Egeria’s voice is sweet as she offers Laurent thirteen different dishes because he’s too thin.

Kastor is in the shower, but Damen swears the sound of running water amplifies under Laurent’s presence.

The night is warm and sticky, alive with the start of summer. Damen’s t-shirt is clinging to him, damp at the nape. It hadn’t bothered him through dinner, but now he becomes wholly conscious of it as he hears Laurent’s approaching footsteps.

The door slides open. “Hello, you,” Laurent’s voice is a gentle lull amongst the stars.

Damen turns, terrified and excited. His lungs seize up, because Laurent is the most beautiful, warm person he’s ever known.

He’s dressed magnificently tonight, like always. The material of his shirt is light, expensive. There’s a silk ribbon cinched around his waist, and his leather boots cost more than Damen’s monthly salary.

He hasn’t done his hair; it falls into his eyes, and when he pushes it back behind his ear, Damen falls in love all over again.

“Hey,” Damen smiles, so wide it splits his face. “You’re stunning.”

Laurent flushes. Damen can’t see it, but he knows Laurent like himself.

Laurent peers over at the garden. “Did Theomedes plant more tulips?”

“Yeah,” Damen says, still grinning, pleased that Laurent notices these things about his family home. “He spent four whole days trying to rearrange them into the colours of the rainbow.”

Laurent smiles, looking charmed. He comes and sits next to Damen on the sagging couch, close. Damen can smell his cologne, Voyage d’Hermes. Laurent sprays it on everything: his pillow, his bedsheets, his bag, the pinked skin behind his ear.

Their knees touch. Laurent reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the lighter Damen gifted him for his twenty-first and a pack of cigarettes.

The flame dances across Laurent’s face as he lights his cigarette. There’s something pale and shimmery applied to his eyelids, and it keeps changing colour.

Damen is obsessed with it—especially when he catches it flickering against Laurent’s collarbones.

Damen knows his smile is goofy, smitten. Alone like this, he doesn’t care.

When he touches Laurent’s knee, Laurent shifts a little closer, and then passes over his cigarette.

Damen doesn’t smoke, but he always does with Laurent, because the intimacy of it drives him wild. There’s something illicit about putting his mouth at the dampened end, which has been marked by Laurent’s tongue and spit.

The smoke is pungent. It fills the air around them, like a comforting hug.

In the quiet, Damen can feel grateful for his life. He’s young, in love, and has the attention of the world’s most gorgeous man.

Laurent says, “Work alright?”

“Yeah,” Damen says. “Finally figured out which kid has been writing ‘fuck’ for spelling homework.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow. “Nicaise?”

“Fucking Nicaise,” Damen says, laughing. “I don’t think I even knew that word at six, fucking hell.”

“I did,” Laurent smirks, mischievous, his eyes sparkling. It dulls the glitter.

Damen’s breath catches, and he coughs on the next exhale.

Laurent pats his back, laughing, and the sound is magical.

Damen could look at him forever.

Laurent’s smile slowly falls off his face, and he gives Damen a small, quizzical look.

The sliding door opens, and Kastor’s hulking figure comes out onto the alfresco. His hair is still a little damp, curling over his ears. His three piece suit is freshly pressed, stretching over his broad chest.

He looks over at Damen with steel in his eyes. “Cuddling without me?”

Shoving the last half of the cigarette into Damen’s fumbling fingers, Laurent springs to his feet, his smile like sunshine. He makes a graceful leap over Damen’s outstretched legs to Kastor, flinging his arms around him.

“You shaved!” Laurent sounds young, delighted, completely enamoured. “This must be a very fancy dinner.”

The ice in Kastor melts away. He gazes at Laurent with hunger, with wonder. “I told you it was.” He pushes the hair away from Laurent’s forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The response is painfully shy. Laurent presses his painted fingertips to the tiny mole on the underside of Kastor’s chin and then his dimple. “I’ve missed these.”

Kastor kisses Laurent then, and Laurent falls into it sweetly, his moans soft and reverent in the night.

Damen turns away, dragging on the cigarette, the smoke now acrid, clinging to the inside of the lungs like tar.

Laurent murmurs something softly in Veretian when he pulls away. Damen hears the word love, and he hates it.

“Give me a sec, yeah?” Kastor says into Laurent’s ear, and Laurent goes, always willing to listen.

He kisses Kastor again before walking back inside, biting his lip on a smile when Kastor swats his ass.

Two seconds after Laurent has gone back inside, he quickly reappears in the doorway. “Shit, sorry, Damen! See you!”

Damen waves at him, stomach curling with a familiar bitterness. Laurent always seems to forget about him the moment Kastor walks into a room.

When he leaves again, Kastor assesses Damen with an equally familiar coolness.

“What?” Damen finally snaps, stubbing out the cigarette.

To his surprise, Kastor comes over to sit next to him, unbuttoning his suit jacket around the middle.

This close, Damen can feel their thighs touching, and he jerks in surprise, staring at Kastor with wide eyes.

Kastor’s expression is more open, boyish than Damen remembers. Without his beard, he looks younger, the cut of his eyebrows less severe, his mouth more pronounced.

Kastor presses his forehead to Damen’s shoulder. Damen stills in shock.

“Please,” Kastor says in a quiet voice. “Please just let me have this.”

Damen moves away, face hot. “I haven’t fucking done anything!” he snaps, his defensiveness heating his words.

Kastor closes his eyes. “I see how you look at him, Damen. Please, please don’t. Don’t pull your usual shit. I love him. Don’t take him away from me.”

Damen’s armpits are damp now. “My usual shit,” he repeats flatly.

But Kastor doesn’t rise to the bait. He looks miserable. “Yeah,” he says. “Your usual shit.”

And Damen knows. He thinks of Jokaste, Kyra, Lykaois, Erasmus, Kallias, and something unravels in him.

He swallows, turns away.

“Please,” Kastor says again. “I’m asking as your brother.”

Egeria used to call Kastor and Damen two halves of one soul. They’d been close, had remained close, despite everything. They’d seen the worst of each other, and the best like any other family would. Egeria had even joked that sometimes, it seemed like they had been split in half, because Damen’s dimple was on the left, and Kastor’s on the right.

It’s the guilt that chokes Damen—because he’s thought time and time again in these last two years how easy it would be to have Laurent, if he really tried. If he caught Laurent in a moment of weakness.

Now, he says, “Whatever,” and makes sure his tone suggests the end of the conversation.

Kastor is silent for a while. Then he stands up with a sigh.

Damen doesn’t plan on saying it, but when Kastor is crossing the doorway, he says, “He’s going to say yes. You don’t have to be worried.”

For a second, Kastor looks confused. Then his fingers press against his thigh, the place where Damen had felt the tiny box.

“Yeah, I know,” Kastor says, finally. “Don’t let it kill you, alright?”

It’s said firmly, softly: a big brother bestowing advice to his younger brother.

Damen doesn’t answer, and Kastor leaves, eager to get back to his lover.

#lamen week #lamen week 2021 #this technically is breaking a few rules #but the idea wouldnt leave my head 😭#captive prince #my writing #my fic

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years ago

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The Right Chapter 3 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hey gang, I wanted to give y’all another update this week because I know there wasn’t a lot of hotch in the last chapter. This is a long one!

Read previous chapters here!

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: canon-typical harassment and violence, swearing

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee

It’s closer to the afternoon than the morning when you finally get out of bed the next day. Aaron had set you up in his guest room before going to bed himself, and had dutifully woken you up every two hours. You emerged into the kitchen to see him sitting at the table with his laptop open, surely working even though he was technically out on sick leave.

“Good morning” he says when he sees you appear in the doorway. “The coffee’s still hot, if you want some. I don’t have any RedBull, though.”

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the kitchen to make yourself a cup. “Is it still morning? It feels like I must have slept through the whole day.”

“Well, you needed it. Long night.” He tells you, and you let out a little hum in response. “Hey, uh. Your cell phone is on the counter. It was making a lot of noise and I didn’t want it to wake you.” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t read anything, but Josh’s name popped up a lot.”

You pouted a little. “I guess I did kind of just disappear. I probably owe him an explanation,” you said, crossing the kitchen and picking your phone up.

“You don’t owe him a god damned thing.” Hotch said a little harshly, but you knew his tone wasn’t aimed towards you.

You powered your phone on-- Hotch must have turned it on after he took it. 13 missed calls and 27 texts, sheesh. Not all of them are from Josh, thankfully. You shoot a quick text back to JJ, Garcia and Emily, who had all individually checked in when you didn’t show up at the office. With a little more trepidation, you opened up your thread with Josh.

“Where are you?”

“You never came to bed last night.”

“Off fucking the boss man?”

“Did I catch you before you got down to anything good?”

“Fucking slut.”

“Couldn’t even finish cleaning the carpet before you left.”

“Fucking answer me.”

“Did I bash your skull so hard that you forgot to pack my lunch before you left?”

“This is ridiculous.’

“So you’re just running away?”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“You are so in for it when you get home.”

“I should have killed you.”

There’s more, but you’re not sure you can stomach it. You drop your phone to the counter, swallowing back a bit of bile that has risen up from your stomach. Aaron is at your side in an instant.

“Can I look?” He asked quietly. He’s looking you right in the eye but you feel like you can’t see him at all, like he’s not really there. You must have nodded your head, because he picked up your phone and started scrolling, but you have no way of knowing how you even told your body to do that. After a moment, he sets your phone face down on the counter, and turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on each of your upper arms. “We are going to figure it out, okay? You’re not in this alone, and I’m not going to let you get hurt again. You did the right thing. You got out. And now you have help.”

He’s staring into your eyes as he promises to keep you safe, and the dam breaks. All of the emotions that you’ve bottled up for the last ten hours are flooding through you, and you’re sobbing uncontrollably before you have even recognized how upset you really are. Aaron gathers you up in his arms in an instant, and you wrap your arms around him, crying into his old sweatshirt.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out,” he whispers in a mantra, rubbing your back.

You realize in this moment that Aaron is truly your best friend-- you’d always known that you were closer to him than anyone else in the office, and the same was true for him, with the possible exception of Dave. What you hadn’t realized, is that somewhere along the way, your college friendships, your academy friendships, your girlfriends, had all faded into the background, and Aaron became the person you wanted to tell good news to, the person you drew comfort from, and the person you called when you realized you couldn’t get the blood out of the carpet. The realization surprises you, enough to let you get a few deep breaths in and calm yourself down, untucking from Aaron’s shoulder and dabbing at your eyes with your shirt sleeve.

“Thank you,” you say through your choked voice, even though it could never be enough.

“How’s your head?” He asked, looking over the top of your head to the clock on the stove to see if it was time for you to have more pain meds.

“Ah, well, I don’t think the crying really helped.” You shrugged, attempting to bring some levity back to the situation as you picked your phone back up.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, eyeing you and the phone.

“I’m calling Josh back.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, now I’m sure you hit your head,” he said, swiping the phone out of your hand before you could place a call.

“Hotch--”

“Can you at least tell me why you want to do this?” He said, and you can see the concern etched into his face.

“I’ve got to go back at some point. I’m sure it’ll be easier for him to cool off if I’m not completely ignoring him in the meantime.”

“Go back? What are you talking about?” Aaron asked

“I live there, Hotchner. I can’t avoid him forever. Even if I move--”

“You’ll stay here. For as long as necessary. It’s not safe for you to go back there.” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Do I get a say in this at all?”

“Not if your only defense is that you don’t want someone else to take care of you. Because right now you need caring for, and I’m not letting you talk your way out of it.” Hotch said resolutely, and you sighed. The silence lingers for a moment before you speak up again, quietly.

“I could use some more pain meds.” You admitted.

“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach. Let’s get you some toast, drink your coffee to clear up your sinuses and then you can take your next dose and go back to bed.”

“Hotch, the day’s half over. I can’t go back to bed.” You argued, with significantly less heat behind it, lifting the steaming mug of coffee up to your face at his suggestion.

“It’s a sick day. You’re injured. You’re supposed to rest all day and let your body heal. You won’t be arguing with me once you’ve taken the pills.”

Hotch had tried to get you to take the rest of the week off, but you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around in his apartment doing nothing. You also knew that an extended absence would catch the attention of your teammates-- and you weren’t sure if you were ready to share all of this with them yet. That was why you were perched in front of the mirror in Hotch’s guest room, liberally applying concealer and powder to your healing black eye. Aaron had made you promise to take it easy, and you already know he’d have eyes on you all day to make sure you weren’t overdoing it. No need to attract any more attention. There’s a soft knock from the hall.

“Come in,” you called.

“Hey,” Hotch said, swinging open the door. “We’ve got to leave in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be ready,” you assured him, dipping your brush into the powder before brushing it over your nose and cheekbone, wincing a little.

“When did you learn to do that?” Hotch asked softly.

“Hotch…” You responded softly.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t need to answer that.” He apologized, averting his gaze to the floor.

“If I answer, are you going to stop blaming yourself for not noticing?”

“I can’t promise you that.” He shakes his head.

“I wasn’t… I’m not a battered woman, Hotch.”

“Of course you aren’t.” He’s quick to affirm you, to make sure you know he doesn’t see you as a victim.

“No, I mean, this was excessive. Was he rough? Sure. Did he leave marks? Yeah, he did. But I wasn’t getting tossed around and beaten like that. He’s not really like that, normally. He was just drunk, I think.”

“You’re not seriously making excuses for him, are you?” Hotch asked, and suddenly you’re indignant, even though you know he’s right.

“He had a bad night.” You protest weakly.

“He almost killed you!” Aaron raised his voice, just a tad.

“He was just trying to scare me.” You countered.

“He was escalating. I know that you know that,” Hotch said, searching your face, looking for something to profile. You didn’t blame him, you knew your behavior was erratic. You draw a deep breath, your chin quivering as your eyes welled up.

“It worked. I’m scared.” You squeaked out, trying not to let the tears fall and ruin the makeup you’ve worked so hard on. Hotch wrapped you in his arms again and you breathed in deeply, letting his cologne fill your lungs and lull you into a calm.

“You don’t need to be scared. I’ve got your six. I’ve got you.” He reminded you, and you pulled away from him.

“I don’t think I’m ready to share this with the team yet.” You told him, and he nodded.

“Like I said, your pace. When you’re ready, you’ll tell them, and if you want my support, I’ll be there. I’m gonna go make us some coffee, meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You were silly to think that you could hide anything from a group of profilers-- none of them have guessed it, yet, or if they have, they’re too polite to say anything about it, but they’ve certainly noticed something. They surrounded you with concern and peppered you with questions the second you walked into the office, and Hotch’s devotion to making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard certainly wasn’t going unnoticed. It was during one of your Unit-Chief-Mandated-Breaks that you snuck into the kitchen to refill your water bottle. Almost silently, JJ slipped in behind you.

“You know, you can just say the word, and we’ll all stop pestering you.” She says, and you can hear her gentle smile.

“That’s okay. If I call you off, I lose the right to fuss over whoever’s next.” You tried to crack a joke.

“Good point.” She chuckled.

“I really am okay, Jayje.” You assured her.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” She shook her head. “But you’ll tell us when you’re ready, and we’ll support you even if the secret dies with you.” She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the kitchen together, sharing a small conspiratorial laugh, your heads thrown back as you pass through the doorway. When the ping of the elevator doors opening grabs your attention, you drop your water bottle in shock.

“You okay?” JJ asks, bending over to pick up your water bottle as he storms through the glass doors of the BAU.

“You whore!” Josh spat out, catching the attention of the whole bullpen. So much for keeping them out of it.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Morgan asked, rising from his desk immediately.

“Josh?” Emily says, the first one to recognize him. Your eyes dart around the bullpen, and you spot Reid at his desk phone, no doubt calling security.

“You fucking bitch!” Josh says, still advancing towards you. Your brain is screaming at you to run but you can’t get your legs to move. It’s a literal childhood nightmare, playing out in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go back into the kitchen” JJ says softly, her tone betraying none of her fear as she practically shoves you back into the kitchen. You stumble into a chair, and the sound is muted because of the door, but you can still see and hear everything through the glass. Josh takes another step into the bullpen, but Morgan’s in front of him.

“Turn around and walk out of here, man, because there’s no other way this ends well for you.” Morgan puffs out his chest, trying to stop Josh from looking over his shoulder and seeing you.

“Not until that slut gives me some fucking answers,” He spits out, and you feel JJ squeeze your hand, but you’re too laser-focused on the scene in front of you to acknowledge her.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to walk away.” Morgan hisses through his teeth, advancing closer to Josh.

“I’d listen to him if I were you.” Hotch said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Josh. You hadn’t seen him come down the stairs.

“Ah, good old boss man.’ Josh jeered. “How’s my sloppy seconds? I hope she’s treating you real good seeing as how you stole her right out from under me in the night.”

Without warning, you watch Hotch’s fist connect with Josh’s face. Josh stumbles away, holding his nose, when security comes in through the elevators.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. He turns around to face Hotch once more. “This isn’t over.” He says, bringing his hands back to his nose and following the security officer into the elevator.

There’s a stunned sort of silence that hangs over the unit for a few moments before you hear someone break out into a sob. When you feel JJ’s hand start rubbing across your back, you realize that it came from you. The door flies open and you startle, but when you look up, you see a clouded figure of Hotch through your tear-saturated eyes.

You hear JJ and Aaron whisper to each other, but you can’t focus enough to hear what they’re saying. Whatever it is, the conversation ends with JJ slipping out of the kitchen just as quietly as she came, and Aaron sliding into the chair across from you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, his voice only just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of your own labored breathing. You nodded, unable to verbally respond. He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, taking your hands into his own. “You’re okay, he’s gone. Security knows who he is now, he won’t be allowed back in the building.” He tells you, and you nod again.

“I’m okay.” You manage to choke out.

“I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.” He asked of you, disarmingly calm, as he modeled the deep cleansing breaths for you. You take a deep, shaky breath in, trying to force the oxygen all the way down into your lungs before letting it back out in a huff. “Good,” he told you. “Good job, sweetheart, keep going.” he encouraged you, tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to your tear-stained cheek behind your ear. When you were finally calm enough to look up at him, you did so. “There you are,” he smiled at you. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Your hand--”

“I’m okay--” He assured you, but you flipped his hand over in your own anyways. It’s swollen.

“You need ice.” You said, standing up and crossing to the freezer.

“You need to sit down before you fall.” Aaron stood up to follow you, shaking his head.

“I took my deep breaths, Hotch. I’m not an eighty year old woman.” You chastised him as you pulled a few ice cubes out of the freezer, putting them in a plastic bag and wrapping a paper towel around it.

“My hand is fine.” He argued with you as you pressed the ice pack to his knuckles.

“You are in absolutely no position to argue with me about letting someone else take care of you, hypocrite.” You fought back, with nothing but concern behind it.

“Okay, fine, but can you sit down, please.” He begged of you.

“Don’t I owe the rest of the team an explanation for all of that?”

“They can wait. Sit down.” He said, and it was no longer a request. You sat down in the seat across from him. “How’s your head?”

‘It’s been better.” You tell him honestly.

“Take a few more deep breaths, please.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes.

“Hotch, I’m--”

“You’re holding your breath. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears. Plus, it would make my hand feel better.” He says, shooting you a grin that would be wholly inappropriate for the situation if it didn’t make you feel so at ease.

You roll your eyes at him in mock-contempt, taking the breaths to appease him and dropping your shoulders. “How is your hand, seriously?”

“I’m fine. I’ve thrown my fair share of punches.” He smirked at you, still trying to distract you, to lighten the mood. “We can just leave. You must need more pain meds, if not a nap. We don’t have to get into all of it today.”

“Well, they all basically know now. We should probably just go to clear the air that I’m not sleeping with you for a promotion.”

“If you’re not up to it, we can--”

“No, Hotch.” You stand up, shaking your head at him through a smile. “Let’s go get it over with.”

The team, of course, didn’t need you to explain that all of what Josh had said was false. Your integrity and the trust shared between all of you was louder than any stupid asshole that could bluster in through those glass doors. You’d cried all of your makeup off, so your black eye was now fully exposed to the team. Aaron left a protective hand on the small of your back the whole time you spoke, never once speaking over you or interrupting. As soon as you finished, you felt silly for ever thinking you needed to hide this from them-- they were supportive without being pitying, and JJ, Emily and Garcia had wrapped you up in hugs just as soon as you finally got it all off your chest.

“We’re going to head out, obviously call us if there’s an urgent case notification.” Aaron explained to the team. “You all should feel free to leave as soon as your paperwork is done.”

“Hotch, I’m really fine,” you tried to insist.

“Are you gonna tell the team they have to keep working?” Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you and you scowled, knowing there was no going back now. “I’m just going to pack some of my stuff up.” He told you, turning back to his office. You followed suit, going to your desk and tidying up.

“Hey, cupcake.” Morgan whistled to get your attention before crossing the bullpen to get to you. “If I had known--if I had seen that bruise on your face before he walked in here -- I would have taken him down myself. Hotchner showed an... impressive amount of restraint.” He told you with a humorless chuckle.

“Thank you, Derek. But he’s not worth it, seriously.” You told him with a smile.

“No, he’s not.” He agreed. “But you are. Don’t you forget that, okay? If you need anything, I’m here.”

Instead of responding verbally, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. He wrapped his arms around you snugly, crushing you into his chest. It hurt, a little, but the overwhelming security you found with him holding you was far stronger than any pain.

You pulled away and bid your goodnights to the team, following Aaron out to the car taking off towards his apartment.

“You were really brave back there. I’m proud of you. As your friend, not your boss. Or, I guess as your friend and your boss.” He tells you, taking one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze yours briefly.

“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” you rolled your eyes with a small smirk.

“There’s always a choice. You chose to get out, and you chose to let your team in. That’s not nothing.” He told you as he parked the car in front of his place.

“Thank you,” you said, choosing to accept the compliment even though you didn’t believe him. Aaron saw it in your eyes, but he let it slide. You’d see, eventually. At her pace, he reminded himself.

“I was thinking I’d cook tonight. Do you have anything particular in mind?” He asked as you settled into the apartment, hanging up your coats.

“Aaron Hotchner, you can cook?” You laughed, turning around and beaming at him. He couldn’t help but return your smile.

“I’m not Dave, but I manage.” He said coyly.

“I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious.” You told him graciously. “And I’m very excited to try it.”

He tossed you an orange from the bowl of fruit on his counter, and then your pain meds. “Go take a nap.”

“Hotch, I’m---”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it. I let you spend six hours squinting at screens and paperwork under fluorescents. None of that was good for your head. Go.”

You rolled your eyes at him goodnaturedly before going to the guest room, stripping your work clothes off in favor of a pair of sweats and an FBI Academy t-shirt. Truth be told, everything that had gone down at work had been exhausting, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you

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hoaqins-funk-house · 4 years ago

Text

Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

You can read part 1 here

Part 2

Quietly whistling, you enter the building, locking the door behind you and turning into the office, finding the familiar tall man leaning against the wall above the vent.

“Welcome back, Y/N. You ready?”

You stretch, as per usual, humming. “As I’ll ever be.”

He walks past you, patting your shoulder with a grin as he murmurs two words into your ear.

“Good luck.”

You deadpan as his teasing hits you, watching him wave as he passes the glass. Sighing, you plop down into the chair, cursing as your tailbone hits the metal again. You follow William with the cameras, him speedily making his way back to the last room, where he motions to the vent next to him, crossing his arms in an x.

You nod to yourself. He isn’t going to go in that vent, as it would give him the unfair advantage of being in a vent where you can’t block him off.

When he smirks at the camera and slinks into the shadows, you sigh, beginning your defense.

It was five when you really lost him. He was nowhere to be found.

You had exasperated a few more shades, excluding the one who seemed to really enjoy being about three inches from your face at all times. You didn’t really mind him, though; he was pretty hot.

Your brother wasn’t wrong when he called you ‘gayboy.’

Still, looking up, you see the man with a ripped up uniform staring down at you amusedly, his hand placed on the glass. Quickly, you play audio in the room to his left, making his grin lower as he gets led away by his body, you playing another sound in a further room before resetting audio.

You hear his rapid steps as audio reboots, watching him dart across the glass before finding him at the door frame. You lock eyes with him, a drop of sweat flowing down your cheek. Hearing the audio finish rebooting, you blindly grasp at the camera pad, violently and repeatedly pressing the sound button in a vain attempt to lure him away. Audio broke again because of how quickly you were spamming the button.

Right before he could take a step into your office, the bell chimes, and you shove the camera pad away from you, face hitting the desk with a thump as you let out a relieved sigh, feeling the stress leave your body.

“Hmm. You did quite well, all things considered.” William praises, watching amusedly as you wearily raise your hand, curled in a thumbs up.

“I think I aged about a decade.” You groan, pushing yourself up to face your hunter for the night. You breathe heavier than usual, hair either sticking out or to your face from sweat, along with the light flush that comes with occasionally losing your oxygen supply.

It’s a sight he plans to see again; granted, not in this context.

“I’ll take that as a sign of quality pursuing.” He states, further entertained by your half-hearted glare. “What, do you have a problem with that?”

“You’re too good.” You say.

His brow quirks at your words. “Too good?”

“Yes, too good a pursuer. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Feeling like your prey for fifteen minutes was enough to completely wipe me. A whole six hours would genuinely kill me.”

He laughs, ignoring the feeling he gets from you calling yourself his prey.

“Well, I’ll just have to hunt to your limit. Now... isn't your shift over? Or do you just want to stay the day with me?” His grin makes his offer into what would easily be interpreted as a joke.

“Something came up, unfortunately. I would stay and chat, but it seems I must be going.”

Of course, this is you we’re talking about.

William was somewhat taken aback. You said you would?!

You would stay back to talk with him?

He practically short-circuits, lips slightly open in shock. He only comes back to reality with the feeling of your hand running through his hair, ruffling it. Instinctually, he grabs it, looking at the hand in his grip and then at you, a small smile on your face.

“Should I not-”

“No, you may. I just… wasn’t expecting it, is all.” He cuts you off, releasing your warm hand and watching with a pang of disappointment as your hand lowers, you stepping away. With a wave, you turn.

“See you tomorrow, William.”

He nods nearly breathlessly as you exit the building, lifting a hand and letting his fingers drift over his chest.

A pulse.

…

Then another.

…

And another.

His gaze lifts from his hand to the door you had exited through, expression shocked before his eyelids droop once more, lips forming a drunken grin.

You are his, the one he needs most, his perfect prize and his perfect prey.

You, who gave a corpse his heartbeat.

It’s about 17 hours later that you stumble in, Your frazzled state catching William off guard. You slouch over as you walk, the dark color under your eyes speaking to how many hours of sleep you got.

Entering the office, you, for once, sit down calmly in your chair, your head hitting the table in front of you. You turn to face the rabbit-eared man, eyes half-lidded and dull.

“I came in an hour early to sleep, if you don’t mind…” You drawl, him grimacing at your state.

“Feel free to.”

He hums as your eyes shut, and he watches your body fully untense, noting the chair slowly rolling out from beneath you. Your face is peaceful, nearly the same expression you gave him on the first night after first meeting him face-to-face.

He sighs, stepping closer and grabbing your midsection right before you would've fallen. Your eyes don't even open, but you quietly groan, continuing to sleep as the man considers his options.

He can rest you on the floor?

No, when you wake up you'll need to peel yourself off of it.

He can put you back in the chair?

You'll probably fall out of it.

There is that staff room he found…

Eh, it's his best option.

There's a couch in there, too.

He lifts you onto his back in order to not continue holding you like a wet towel, walking out of the office and into the area where cam three was active, finding the door in between a few props. Opening it, he feels the floor beneath his bare feet shift from grimy tile to thin carpet, colored black, along with a dark, ugly green couch. There’s a vent on the wall, a secret entrance to your office’s vent.

As he goes to place you down on the couch, he realizes that your arms are wrapped around his collar, head leaning into his.

He regrets not paying attention earlier, as you were practically a heating pad. His arms, very loosely circling your legs, release as he leans closer to the couch, hovering with his back over it before realizing that, hey, you were asleep!

So, he lets himself turn, your arms still wrapped around the back of his neck, instead holding you up on his front.

Now, he decides to lay down on the couch, his tall physique making his legs have to be propped up on one arm of the couch. You lay on top of him, head nestled in the crook of his neck, allowing him to feel your soft breaths across his skin.

His arms wrap around you, feeling your warmth. With a small, satisfied grin, he feels the slightest flush cross his cheeks as you nuzzle closer. You were made for him; made to fit perfectly against him, made to be his, forever.

He doesn’t even notice as his eyelids drift down, consciousness fading.

Goodnight, Y/N.

It was to the chime of the bell that you woke up, letting out a small sigh before you begin to take in your circumstances, eyes still not open.

You fell asleep at work, but it certainly isn't midnight, as the bell had just chimed. It also isn't the chair you fell asleep in.

As they shift around you, holding you tighter to him, you realize that arms surround you, and that it seems likely you're sleeping on the rabbit man.

Before you try to roll over and off of him (which was a dumb idea; William would've fallen with you), you feel him wake up based on the rumbles in his chest as he lowly groans.

You sigh, half-heartedly pushing yourself up. "Good morning, William."

His eyes shoot open, and he looks down, noting you and the position you were both in. "Mind letting me go?"

"Uh- yes, sure." He releases you, allowing you to get off of him, stretching with a yawn. Meanwhile, William was reeling.

You, saying good morning?

Your rusty morning voice?

You, apparently not caring about how you were just asleep on top of him?

Actually, he almost wishes you did care about it; you being embarrassed would be adorable.

"So… where is this?" You ask, looking over your shoulder at the man as he sits up, already feeling the void of your warmth.

"We're in the staff room. The door leads right into the attraction."

You hum, nodding, him standing with a small sigh before standing at your side, his hand placing itself on your shoulder.

"Nevermind that - what exactly made you into a walking corpse? Don't you know I already have that role covered?" He asks, a joking tone in his voice. You smile.

"Well, remember the funerals I got off my main job for? I had to go to one." You sigh, feeling his understanding shoulder pat.

"How unfortunate that you had to do the thing you were getting off of work to do."

That understanding shoulder pat turns sour!

"Listen. I, uh, can't really argue with that…"

William smirks. "No, you can't."

You sigh again, defeated. "Well, I need to head home. Thank you for letting me sleep through my shift, by the way. You make for a spectacular bed." It is with those parting words that you exit the room, not even allotting him the time to process your words.

Stiffly, he stands, following you out the door and back into the main area of the building, where the last he sees of you for some hours is the door closing behind you.

He finds that watching you leave each night makes the cold emptiness hit him once more, returning him to a state similar to how he was when trapped. His lips, previously in a stricken pout, now fall into a scowl.

You, you, you…

He fell asleep easily and dreamt of a peaceful void when you were there. But now that you aren't…

His dreams will never be calm. That brief instance of tranquility was like a drug to him; he wants more, the quiet, warm existence in a space consisting of nothing. Nothing to bring him pain. Nothing to bring him fear.

But, nothing to bring him joy.

If he stays with you, will his dreams return to light? Will he feel your arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he buries his face into the crook of your neck?

Letting out a shuddering breath, he forcefully breaks himself out of his thoughts, looking down at his hands as they shake. Lifting one to his face, he feels his mouth in a wide grin.

He already knows what he wants.

He already knows what he needs to do.

But he needs to be patient.

As you reenter the building, William perks up to the sound of the door closing behind you. He purposefully replaces his wide, unsettling grin with a casual smirk, entering the hallway and seeing you.

He will never get tired of you in your uniform.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, hearing him approach. He waves through the glass, you doing the same thing in return. You, per usual, stretch your arms above your head, feeling them get grabbed by William. Looking up at him, you raise an eyebrow, not noticing his grin.

“Say, could you get out of that seat real quick?”

You hum in confirmation, him releasing your wrists as you stand.

You deadpan as he takes the seat, sitting down in it. "Wow. Asshole."

He laughs. "Think of this as charity."

"I'll think of it as what it is, thievery." You huff, sitting on the desk as a replacement for your stolen chair.

He laughs again.

You roll your eyes, leaning your head on your arm, which is propped up on your leg. "I think the dude who got you made a really good choice."

William pauses. "Okay, now I think you're actually flirting with me."

"Take it as you will. But what I mean is he made a great choice for a horror attraction in finding you. Your big form is scary as hell, what with the actual organs about to spill out and stuff. Your human form… I wouldn't describe you as scary. Intimidating to someone who doesn't know you, maybe, but not scary."

"And what makes me... intimidating?" He asks, face forming into an amused expression as he watches you deadpan for a moment at his tone.

"Your scars, sure, but the main thing is your height. You're like, what, 6'7?"

"I was still quite tall when I was fully human, too."

"Really? How tall?"

"Around 6'4 or 6'5."

You whistle. "Damn, you didn't even grow that much, even when you got a boost from the suit. Actually, how does that even work?"

"The suits? Well, when bodies are shoved into the suits and become trapped, their souls begin to merge with the vessel. For me, it took a long time, because I was around your age, but for the other suits…" He pauses, flicking one of the bobbleheads. "It didn't take them very long at all."

You nod. "Because they were kids… I never understood it."

His brow lifts. "Never understood what?"

"Why someone would kill them, and 11 of them at that. Kids can be annoying, sure, but… they still deserve a chance to grow." Your eyes focus on the ground, brows drawn together.

"I see." He responds, silent other than those words. You don't notice how his expression turns cold, lips in a downward curve. His reason for slaughtering the kids is simple.

He wanted to.

You look up, his face shifting to solemnity.

You offer him a weak grin. "Sorry 'bout bringing that up, it's a bit heavy."

"No, it's fine."

You hum, leaning back while your hands grip the edge of the table. "I think I'm gonna miss this. The fifteen-something minutes we got here."

He tilts his head, so you take that as a sign to elaborate. "Tomorrow's my last day. I can still visit, of course, but I'll be heading back to my job on Tuesday."

His eyes widen as he processes it. Of course, it was never going to be permanent. The pay was shit, and you even told him that you had a month off, nothing more.

He doesn't want to let you go, not when you're right there, not when you won't be showing yourself as often.

"You good?" You ask, him nodding as his gaze shifts quickly to the door you leave through. All he needs to do is block it, then you'll be forced to go through the whole attraction if you want an immediate exit.

"Yes, just wondering how often you'll stop by." His eyes shift back to yours. Of course, he hadn't even considered the question. He knows there isn't any need to worry, not when you'll be at his side the whole time. He'll bind you to him, make it impossible for you to escape.

"I should be able to on weekends, and maybe Wednesdays? It depends on my schedule. So at least twice a week." You smile, the slight head tilt adding to the charm. "It's good to know I've made an impact on someone here, though. William, I really do enjoy your company."

His soft smile holds a hint of euphoria.

You enjoy his company?

He hopes you will feel the same over the years. His idea…

He knows exactly how to do it.

"I enjoy yours as well."

"Well, I'd hope. Me waking up on top of you would've been a bit more awkward if you didn't." You chuckle, his smile slightly widening.

Of course, it couldn't happen tonight.

"I suppose so."

Your brow raises, arms crossing. "You sure you're good? You seem rather… subdued." You question.

He shrugs, feeling the strange warmth form in the pit of his stomach as he hears you worry for him. "I'm just a bit tired, I suppose. Sleeping last night threw me off." Well, he is actually a bit tired.

You nod, still feeling as if something is off. "I can get that. When I got home last night, I immediately crawled into bed and passed out again."

"You were still tired?"

"Well, seven hours isn't much when I had stayed up for over 40. Wait, you were tired? Animatronic-corpse-hybrid-whatevers can get tired?"

His casual grin returns. "Especially in this form, yes. I'm still a close-enough-to-living-thing to get tired normally."

"Huh. How strange." You simply respond, eyes slipping upwards and not noticing as he rolls forward.

"Hey, could you hold out your hand real quick? Like this." He holds out his hand in a way similar to how you grab a drink, you copying him with a slightly confused expression. With that, he rolls slightly closer, and after closing his eyes, rests his head on your hand, your fingers cupped over his cheek.

You feel your brain lag.

Your mouth opens once, you soon figuring out that whatever you would say would be incomprehensible, so it's best to not even try.

William lets out a breath, seeming to deflate into your touch. A few moments later, his eyes open to the sound of the 6 am bell and the sight of your somewhat flushed face. He leans away, leaving you still very confused. "Thanks for that."

"You're… welcome?"

He's already missing your touch. "Well, we should both get some rest, tomorrow's your final night." But certainly not your last with him. William rolls back, giving you the space to get off of your desk.

You nod slowly. "Uh-yeah. That's true." Sliding off of the desk, you let out a small groan while you stretch, a lot of air hissing into the noise. After you shake your head to clear it, you send a smile towards William before beginning to leave. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course." He responds. When he hears the click of the door, he stands up. He needs to get some rest if he wants to be in top shape.

His lips curl into a sneer, already knowing his plan would be successful.

Exiting the room, he heads to the back of the attraction, returning to his animatronic form and standing in the spot he started all of this in.

Tomorrow.

Part 3

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #afton #fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf 3 #yandere #yandere fnaf #yandere springtrap #yandere x reader #five nights at freddy's #x reader #male reader #male insert #reader insert #fnaf springtrap #gay

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blossom-hwa · 3 years ago

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a little birdie told me to request surfer san at a party idk what that was about but i do kinda want to see skater boy yeosang there too if you're up for that 👀👀👀 heheheheh love u linaaaa <333

/chants/ surfer san surfer san SURFER SAN thank you very much mai for putting this in my inbox I adore you <3 skater yeosang will be up next so I hope you enjoy what I end up spitting out for that one too !

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

Set in the same universe as Kickflip (My Heart) (skater!Yeosang) and Hey, Hey - Let Me Kiss You (surfer!Juyeon) :)

I’m gonna cry this ended up being way longer than I thought it’d be but you know what I’m 100% turning this into a full scenario so fuck it it’ll be as long as it has to be

Title: Truth or Dare

Pairing: San x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 2.2k

Triggers: cursing, alcohol, shirtless woosan for a hot minute, implications of sex towards the end (NOTHING GRAPHIC)

Okay, so in hindsight, maybe coming to Hongjoong's party knowing you were going to be here was a mistake. In his defense, the water probably wasn’t out of his ears when he told Wooyoung he would come, despite the latter having told him specifically you were going to be there. It probably caused some temporary brain damage. That, and San has never really made the best decision when it comes to crushes.

Especially you. You’ve been the worst so far. Around all of the others, he’s been able to keep a measure of his confidence, able to flirt a little and initiate something here or there, if it’s reciprocated. But you...

You’re something else. Always have been, ever since Hongjoong introduced him to you in all your gorgeous glory. Which is probably why Wooyoung looked so surprised that San agreed to come without much trouble - he probably thought San would be chicken out immediately and he’d have to convince him.

San’s here, though, several drinks in and very much buzzed if not drunk, sitting in a circle of people that includes you. Even five or six drunk adults away, San can feel his face heating up when you look in his direction and throw him a wink with that gorgeous smile spread across your face.

His heart thumps a little faster.

“You look like an idiot,” Wooyoung hisses, jabbing him in the side. “What did I tell you about playing hard to get?”

San rolls his eyes. “Since when did your advice ever make enough sense for me to take it?”

Wooyoung huffs. “You look like a lovesick idiot,” he sniffs.

San doesn’t deign to reply.

“Okay, okay.” Hongjoong comes back from wherever he was and settles between Seonghwa and Mingi, a bottle in hand. “Shut up, everyone. We’re playing truth or dare.”

Someone raises an eyebrow. “What is this, high school?”

“The way you all act, I wouldn’t be surprised.” San stifles a laugh at your reply.

“Says you.” Hongjoong snorts.

You grin. “Did I ever exclude myself?”

Everyone breaks into laughter that Hongjoong has to calm before setting the bottle in the middle of the circle. “Rules are the same. Spin the bottle, if it lands on you, pick truth or dare. If you chicken out, take a shot.” He raises an eyebrow. “Got it?”

They all get it, even the ones who look a little like they’re on the way to passing out, and so truth or dare begins.

It’s fun. That might just be because San has been drinking, but when Seonghwa is dared for the second time to write some gross in the air with his butt, he and Wooyoung are falling over each other with tipsy laughter. Hiccuping with giggles, San answers a question about who in this room he’d lick peanut butter off of - “Hongjoong, I like his body.” - and then takes off his shirt for five turns and keeps it off because it’s kind of hot, anyway, and he doesn’t really want to bother putting it back on. Wooyoung isn’t much better - he got dared to take off his pants but Seonghwa forced Yunho to amend it to his shirt, and San pats his friend’s pecs affectionately before the next person goes.

Eventually, the bottle lands on you. You raise an eyebrow. “Truth.”

“Is there someone you like in this room?” Mingi blurts.

There’s a chorus of groans, complaints of ‘Okay, this is too high school for me,’ and ‘For real, Mingi? Seriously?’, but San’s attention is on you and the way your expression has turned slightly uncertain for the first time tonight. You bite your lip, staring at the shot glass in your hand like you’re really contemplating chickening out, but then your eyes flicker up and in his direction.

San’s breath catches in his throat. You didn’t look at him. You definitely didn’t. That was just coincidence. Don’t get your hopes up, San.

“Alright, alright, shut up.” You raise your voice above the noise of people teasing Mingi. “The answer is yes. I do.”

The complaints turn into oooooohs and wolf whistles and ‘Who is it? Who is it?’ but you’ve already got the bottle in hand and are spinning it in the center of the circle. San barely notices, even when Wooyoung’s hand squeeze his knee - who is the person that you like? There’s like fifteen or twenty people here. It could be any one of them. It’s probably Yeosang. He’s pretty and everyone has had a crush on him at least once. Or Seonghwa? Maybe even Wooyoung?

Cheers erupt all around him and San looks up, startled, to see you glaring at the bottle like it personally wronged you in a past life.

Because it’s pointing at you again.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” someone yells.

Next to you, Yeosang whispers something in your ear. Your eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” Yeosang grins.

You glare at the bottle some more. “Dare.”

“Everyone shut up, I’ve got this.” San watches in confused silence as Yeosang sits up. “Y/N...” A grin that looks more suited to Wooyoung spreads across his lips. “I dare you to kiss the prettiest person in this room.”

San’s heart drops with every second that passes. He wants it to be him, badly wants it to be him, but in a room full of people who look like Seonghwa, who look like Dahyun, who look like Juyeon and Chaeyoung and Yeosang and - god, San can’t even list all of the names -

How would it ever be him?

You make a very rude gesture to Yeosang that has everyone cracking up, but you don’t eye the shot glass this time. Instead, you throw your shoulders back and let your eyes rake over the room.

“Wooyoung.”

San’s heart drops. Of course it’s Wooyoung, his best friend in every life, one of the prettiest people San himself has ever laid eyes on -

“Move over.” Suddenly, you’re up in San’s face, pushing Wooyoung away. He blinks. When did you come all the way over here? But he doesn’t even have time to ponder the answer to that question because your smile is so close, now, just half a foot separating your lips, and you’re reaching out a hand to cup his cheek and San is short-circuiting as you say -

“Stop me if you don’t want this, okay?”

San blinks. Don’t want what? His heart is beating so fast, faster even than when he catches the highest wave of the afternoon, you’re so close and this is all he’s ever wanted, why would you even imply that this is something he doesn’t want -

Your lips press against his, and San’s mind goes blank.

You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him because you think he’s the prettiest person in the room - he, San, Choi San, surfer boy who turned into a mess the day Hongjoong introduced him to you - you think he, of all people in the room, is the prettiest -

It occurs to him that he’s still shirtless. He doesn’t exactly know what to do with that information.

You pull away and San gasps for breath, eyes staring wide into yours. You smile at him softly, lips slightly swollen with the kiss, and like he’s underwater, San can kind of hear everyone screaming and whistling and whatever in the background, but when you speak, suddenly, everything is crystal clear.

“Was that okay?” you whisper.

Yes. Yes. Oh, God, yes - San nods once, twice, three times and then blushes when your smile grows wider and the sparkle he likes so much turns brighter in your eye.

Nothing he’s ever seen could be more beautiful than you right now, eyes sparkling and lips smiling under the dim lights of the party, pulling him forward for a second kiss.

. . .

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Truth or dare ends, San takes another couple of shots, and you’re somehow by his side the entire time until the party’s over. Both of you stay behind to help clean up a bit, but at around two, Seonghwa shoos the rest of you home, and Wooyoung meets up with San by the door to walk back to the apartment.

“Move it, Woo.” You appear again, shoving Wooyoung out of the way. “I’m sure San won’t mind if I walk him home instead.”

A horrible grin splits Wooyoung’s features and he nods quickly, giving San a very unsubtle wink made worse by the fact that he drank way more than San did after the game. “Sannie, do you mind?” he asks. Then, not waiting for an answer, he loops an arm through Yeosang’s, who looks very confused. “I’ll see you at home! Or not!”

You and San walk out of the house in silence, mostly because San has too many thoughts at the moment and they’re all jumbling up into one big mess. The euphoria from kissing you earlier has worn off slightly as the alcohol left his system - he’s mostly sober now - which means he’s thinking. Too much.

“San.” You look over at him, a streetlamp lighting your face. “Come on, I won’t bite.” You smile. “If you have something to ask me, you can say it.”

He blinks. Blinks again. Then, as though your words unleashed a flood in his brain, he asks -

“Did you really think I was the prettiest person in the room?”

You stare at him, eyes narrowed and surprisingly lucid given how the party went. “Yes, I did. I still do.”

Oh. Oh, okay. San feels a little like he needs to sit down. So the kiss wasn’t just a one time thing - you’d do it again, probably, if he’s interpreting your words correctly -

“Why?”

This time, you look a little incredulous when the word leaves his mouth. Then you shake your head. “You really don’t think you’re beautiful, do you.” It isn’t a question.

San ducks his head. For all his usual surfer bravado, the confident face and smile he presents when he’s about to hit the waves, he can’t seem to find the courage to look at you in this moment, to let you really see everything brewing behind his eyes.

Fingers settle under his chin and tip it up so that he’s looking at you again. “I don’t bite, San,” you remind him again, still smiling. “I happen to think you’re very pretty. Beautiful. And even though I still want to slap Yeosang over the head, I’m very glad he gave me the opportunity to show that tonight.” Your fingers walk upwards to cup his cheek the same way you did when you kissed him. “In case you were wondering, by the way, you were the one I was talking about when I said I liked someone. And I didn’t only kiss you just because you were shirtless.”

A small smile settles on San’s face. It’s strange, the way you seem to be able to read his mind without him saying anything, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it. “I like you too.”

“I know. It was a little obvious.” You laugh when San whines, going red under your touch. “I wanted to say something before, kind of ever since I saw you in that wetsuit when Hongjoong introduced us, but it felt like I’d scare you away.” You raise an eyebrow. “Am I scaring you away now?”

Are you scaring him? A little, kind of, but not in a bad way. It’s more like you thrill him, make his heart race faster and faster the longer your fingers linger on his skin. You’re not scaring him away. If anything, you’re scaring him towards you - it’s weird, but that’s the only way San can describe it. He shakes his head. “No.”

“Good.” You grin. “Because if I was scaring you, you probably wouldn’t want to kiss me, and right now I really want to kiss you again.”

Your lips meet once, twice, three times under the dull glare of the lamp on the empty street, San’s arms settling around your waist, your hands coming up to wrap around his neck. When you break away after the third kiss, eyes hooded and lips swollen enough to make San’s mouth go dry, a soft glint appears in your expression. “Want to come home with me?” you ask. “My roommate’s out of town.” San follows the movement of your eyelashes as you blink. It’s captivating. “Feel free to say no. I won't take offense.”

If it were anyone else, San doesn’t know if he’d believe them. He might stop it here politely, even tipsy as he is, and ask to just go back to his place instead. But he trusts you. Has trusted you from the day he met you. Because nothing in your words or your face ever seems to mask a lie, and besides, his fingers are itching to find their way up your shirt and somewhere else as he kisses you again and again -

He kisses you, laughing against your lips. “I guess I should let Wooyoung know I’m not coming back tonight.”

“Oh, he’ll get the message even if you don’t say anything.” Your grin is brighter than the stars. “Come on, pretty boy.” You kiss him again. “Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.”

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