#Hot Water Replacement Point Cook

[titanplumbingauservice]

How Often Should You Schedule a Hot Water Replacement?

Is your morning shower colder than usual? That unexpected jolt of cold water can be more than just a wake-up call; it might be your water heater telling you it's time for a change.

Whether it’s for maintaining comfort or ensuring efficiency, figuring out the optimal time for a Hot Water Replacement Point Cook can save you from those chilly surprises and potential damage to your home. Let’s dive into the essentials of keeping your hot water flowing!

Know the Lifespan: When is It Time?

The first thing to consider in the realm of hot water replacement is the lifespan of your current unit. Most water heaters are built to last anywhere from 8 to 12 years. However, this duration can be shorter or longer depending on factors such as maintenance, usage levels, and the quality of installation. If your water heater is creeping up in age, it might be time to start considering a replacement to avoid efficiency losses or catastrophic leaks.

Assessing Performance: Signs of Trouble

Before you wake up to a cold shower, there are usually signs that your hot water system is on the fritz. Keep an eye out for:

Inconsistent water temperature

Strange noises coming from the tank

Murky or rusty water

Leaks around the base of the water heater

These symptoms suggest that a hot water replacement Point Cook might be necessary sooner rather than later.

Efficiency Matters: Save Energy and Money

As technology advances, so does the efficiency of water heaters. Replacing an old, inefficient model with a new, energy-efficient one can significantly reduce your household energy consumption. This not only helps the planet but also cuts down on your utility bills. Consider a hot water replacement if your current model is an energy hog.

Type of Water Heater: What's Best for You?

When considering a hot water replacement, think about the type of water heater that will suit your needs. The main types include:

Tankless water heaters provide hot water on demand without storing it, which can be more energy-efficient for some households.

Traditional storage water heaters Keep a large volume of hot water ready, which can be beneficial for larger families.

Solar water heaters Utilise the sun’s energy, making them the most environmentally friendly option.

Choosing the right type depends on your household’s water usage, preferences, and budget.

Regular Maintenance: Extend Your Heater's Lifespan

To delay the inevitable hot water replacement, regular maintenance is key. This includes tasks like flushing the tank to remove sediment buildup, checking the pressure relief valve, and inspecting the anode rod. These simple steps can help extend the lifespan of your water heater and ensure it runs efficiently.

The Installation Process: Professional vs. DIY

When it's time for a hot water replacement, consider whether you need a professional installer or can manage the installation yourself. For most homeowners, hiring a professional is advisable to ensure that the installation meets local codes and operates safely. A poorly installed water heater can be inefficient at best and a safety hazard at worst.

Financial Considerations: Budgeting for Replacement

Finally, budgeting for a hot water replacement is a crucial step. The cost can vary widely based on the type of water heater, the complexity of the installation, and geographic location. Additionally, potential savings from reduced energy bills should be considered with a new, efficient model. Planning ahead for these expenses can help ease the financial impact when the time comes.

Wrapping Up

Understanding when and how to schedule a hot water replacement Point Cook is crucial for maintaining your home’s comfort and efficiency.

By keeping an eye on the age and performance of your current unit, considering energy-efficient options, and planning financially, you can ensure that your home remains a cosy refuge—free from the dread of cold showers.

Don't wait for the cold splash of reality; keep ahead with proactive replacements and enjoy peace of mind along with your warm showers!

Source: How Often Should You Schedule a Hot Water Replacement?

[kxsagi]

Just read 301 leaks I'm crumbling please save me- Mermaid y/n who accidentally turns back when water is spilled on them? Maybe some panicking over whether or not they need water to keep living and they get thrown into a tub or something LMAOO

“𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐫𝐚”

a/n: i had no idea how to write this, but i enjoyed trying something new 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

it happens while he’s helping you clean up after cooking – he flicks water off his hands playfully, and a stray droplet grazes your thigh. your legs shimmer, and in less than two seconds, your feet are gone. replaced by a huge glittering fin that flops dramatically onto the floor. 

“… wait. wait. WAIT.” 

he drops the ladle. he backs away like you just morphed into a hydra. he stares at your tail. your gills. your shocked face. 

he points. “I SPILLED– YOU– YOU’RE A–” 

you try to reassure him but he’s already in lifeguard mode. 

“DO YOU NEED WATER TO LIVE NOW?!” 

throws you over his shoulder like you’re a beached whale, running to the bathroom. every few seconds he yells, “STAY WITH ME!!” 

you are literally fine. he is not. 

he shoves you in the tub and starts running the water like you’re about to pass out. grabs every cup he can find and pours water on you dramatically. 

“CAN’T LOSE YOU– NOT LIKE THIS–” 

by the time you finally manage to explain you’re stable on land, he’s already dumped half a bottle of gatorade in there “for electrolytes.” there are rubber duckies floating next to your tail. 

he looks at you, eyes wide: “… you’re still hot as a fish. just saying.” 

itoshi rin

you try your best to avoid letting this happen around rin because you know the man does not do well with surprises. 

unfortunately, he accidentally knocks over a glass of water during dinner. you freeze. he freezes. your tail slaps the floor with a dramatic SPLAT. 

rin stares at you like you just stabbed him in the chest. “… are you serious.” “uh.” “so the thing i was holding hands with last week wasn’t even real legs?” “they were temporarily real–” “temporarily?! bro.” 

he gets up, silently. goes to the bathroom. fills the tub. comes back and just stares at your fish body again like he’s trying to decide if it’s a prank. 

“do i put you in there? are you gonna start gasping for air?” “i can breathe–” “get in. you’re wet. you look slippery. this is too much.” 

he eventually just grabs a towel and wraps it around your tail like a burrito. stands in the doorway like a disgruntled chaperone while you flop around in the tub. 

“don’t die.” “i’m literally watching youtube shorts right now.” “… okay. but if you dry out like a raisin, i’m calling animal control.” 

itoshi sae

your tail appears right as you’re about to sit on the couch. sae spills a water bottle, and suddenly you're tail-first on the carpet, glimmering like a freshly caught fish. 

sae doesn’t even blink. “well. that’s a thing.” 

he walks over, crouches down, and pokes your tail once. “this why you always complain about sand getting places when we go to the beach?” 

you’re panicking, trying to towel off and turn back before anyone sees you, but he’s calmly inspecting your scales like he’s critiquing a new skincare product. 

“are these like… real? how do you shave? or do they just exfoliate themselves?” 

but the second he hears you hiccup a little and your gills twitch, he goes dead serious. 

“you good?” “a bit dry maybe–” “say less.” 

carries you bridal style to the tub and sets you in it like you’re an endangered species. 

“need salt water? mineral water? should i get you sea cucumbers?” googles "luxury spa for aquatic cryptids." 

he sits beside the tub and flicks water at your tail. “you’re lucky you’re hot.” “you’re lucky i don’t bite.” “… do you?” “maybe.” 

kaiser michael

this man is not mentally equipped to handle this kind of reveal. 

you’re in the kitchen, he’s teasing you, and while being dramatic, he accidentally sprays you with the sink hose. then you collapse like a dying seal, tail fanning out across the tiles. 

kaiser screams like he’s being mugged. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” “i can explain–” “IS THIS A CURSE?! A COSTUME? DID I DATE A SEA WITCH?!” 

he's on the floor. dramatically crawling away. then he pauses. 

“... wait. are you okay? like, medically?” 

you cough a little. he loses his mind. 

“WE’RE LOSING HER! TO THE BATHTUB WE GO!!” 

he scoops you up and bolts to the bathroom, hits every wall on the way. fills the tub and yells, “DO I NEED TO BUY SEA SALT?” 

he brings you juice boxes, swims goggles, and a mini disco light. films you in the tub and captions it: when your girlfriend turns into a MILF (mermaid i’d like to fish). 

yes. you smack him with your tail. yes. he deserves it. 

shidou ryusei

you try to keep it a secret. unfortunately, that only makes him more curious. 

so when you run from a spilled water bottle with a panicked expression, he tackles you and dumps a cup of water on your legs just to see what happens. 

your tail flops out with a splash. he stares. mouth open. 

“dude.” 

“YOU’RE A FISH GIRL?!” 

he picks you up like a prized trophy. “holy shit this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“i’m not a toy, ryu–” 

“YOU’RE A MAGIC SEA TOY.” 

he immediately tosses you in the tub and climbs in with you, fully clothed. he’s pretending to be a shark. he bites your tail. 

“stop. nibbling. me.” 

“we’re bonding!!! don’t mermaids like playful roughhousing??” 

he buys you a leash. and says it’s for “aquatic walks.” 

you break it in half with your tail and he cries a little. 

nagi seishiro

you transform on the couch after he accidentally dumps a cup of water on you while trying to sleep with a drink in hand. you flop off the couch with a thud. 

nagi just sighs. “was gonna nap on you. now you’re slippery.” 

you explain what’s happening and he shrugs. “oh, that’s cool. do you get like, magic or something?” 

you tell him you can communicate with dolphins and he genuinely asks if they talk back in emojis. 

he hauls you to the tub like a lazy sack of potatoes. plops you in. sets the gaming console up on a chair nearby. feeds you snacks and strokes your tail like a cat. 

“this is chill. can i be a merman, too?” 

you tell him no and he sulks. 

draws fake gills on his face and says, “look, now we match.” 

you kiss him. he blushes. 

“guess i’m your fish-boyfriend now.” 

mikage reo

reo is watering his indoor plants when he accidentally flicks water on your leg, just a tiny drop. and BAM. tail out. pants ruined. 

you gasp. he gasps. 

“… sweetie.” 

“i can explain–” 

“are you gonna die?! DO YOU NEED AN OCEAN?! LAKE?! SPRINKLER?!” 

man starts dumping all his water bottles on you in a panic. realizes halfway through he might be making it worse. screams. carries you to his luxury master bath with LED lights and a waterproof speaker. fills it up while you flop inside like a helpless salmon. 

“DO YOU NEED MUSIC? CALMING WHALE SOUNDS? I CAN CALL A MARINE BIOLOGIST–” 

literally wants to create a whole indoor reef in his bathroom for you. goes online and orders a coral-shaped lamp and five gallons of sea salt. you tell him you’re fine and he still insists on building you an underwater kingdom. 

he walks in later wearing a crown made of shells: “you may now address me as king of all fish boyfriends.” 

ness alexis

ness is literally living his best wizard-core dream just being with you. he already thought you were magical because you always smell like coconut and glitter and your hair glows in the sunlight. 

but then. then he walks in with a cup of iced water, trips a little, and spills it all over your legs. 

you gasp. sparkles shimmer. scales emerge. your tail BURSTS out in a glimmering display like you’re the opening act of a Las Vegas mermaid show. the floor is soaked. 

ness drops his cup. time freezes. “NO WAY. NO. WAY. SHUT. UP.” 

he squeals. actually squeals. does a spin. he is vibrating. hyperventilating. 

“ARE YOU A MERMAID?! IS THIS MAGIC? DID I UNLOCK A HIDDEN QUESTLINE??” 

you’re flopping around trying to get a towel and he’s full-on audibly giggling. “OH MY GOSH, YOU HAVE A TAIL. A REAL. TAIL. DO YOU SING?? DO YOU HYPNOTIZE SAILORS? DO YOU GRANT WISHES??” 

you try to explain that it’s not that deep, it’s just an involuntary transformation when wet, and he immediately gasps like you insulted the divine. 

then he drags out his dusty childhood wizard robe. puts it on. tells you he’s now your official “guardian of the secret sea temple,” claiming he finally found his “destiny.” 

throws open the bathroom door, fills the tub dramatically while humming magical background music. adds bath bombs. LED lights. flower petals. 

he makes you recite a fake mermaid oath. he sets up candles in a circle around the bathtub like it’s a sacred summoning site. 

calls you his “limited-edition legendary SSR mermaid girlfriend” now and makes you matching aquatic-themed friendship bracelets. 

you’re a walking RPG to him and he’s so down bad.

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[navydoves]

Bunny!Xavier and his strange habits in heat

He’s always so cute but when he’s in heat like this…

✎ᝰ a/n. we r now 2/5 done with this sister series. i’m thinking… cat zayne next? enjoy!

࣪𖤐

❥ hump-o-tron 3000! when xavier is in heat he makes sure you never forget it. from morning to night, if you’re not fucking, he’s humping! nap times are always so sweet and domestic, that is until you wake up mid-sleep to xavier scratching at your skin and grinding on your leg. can’t cook or watch tv for long without xavier coming up behind you and humping you idly. it’s all with clothes on too!

he says it’s unconscious a lot of the time… kinda. sure, if he’s really physically close to you he’ll unknowingly bump and grind on your nearest body part. but there are moments where all he can think about is how erect is he and how much he needs to hump his cock against you. he tries to have boundaries, he swears. if you don’t want to have sex or need to be left alone, he would never force you to… but he will whine about needing a few minutes just to hump your leg.

❥ nibbles everything. it’s a subtle sign of aggression for xavier. his heat makes him so antsy and needy that his body needs to let off some steam even in these small ways. he’ll bite around anything and everything needily like it did something to personally offend him.

you’ll find teeth marks on your cereal boxes, your slippers, the couch pillows, the bedsheets. it’s not even just household items, it’s your clothes and underwear that’ll be a little ruined and wet from him nibbling. he apologizes so profusely afterward and replaces everything with his own money. he’ll even get u extra gifts to really apologize for his erratic behavior.

❥ he creates makeshift pussies. okay, so you’re not home or you’re busy and he can’t hump on your leg? what now? that’s right, fleshlights! bunnies go at their partners quickly and with strength, so if you’re not there to take that, he needs something else that can withstand his heat.

it was embarrassing to search up how to make one with household items, but before he knew it, the rubber gloves, panties, ziploc bags, even socks of the house were not safe. he’ll fuck them senselessly, growling and whining about how upset he is it’s not you. it’s genuinely a mix of a little gross to a little hot seeing all the fake pussies xavier has made in desperation for you. but that’s a necessary past time! his favorite spot to masturbate with his fleshlights is definitely in your bed where he can smell you, but really, anywhere is game. that’s why when you come home from work and all you smell is bunny musk all you can touch on counters and the floor is warm cum… well you knew what he was up to.

❥ and speaking of cum, xavier cums a LOT. i’m talking like a water bottle’s amount. there’s a reason why laundry day is every day when he’s in heat. he needs to cum, there’s no orgasm denial here. it’s just about getting used to taking that amount in your body. one round will genuinely have you tap out because of how full you are, but no matter how many times you piss it out, xavier makes sure to replace that amount.

he’s a stuffer. won’t let you leave until a poke to your stomach has cum gushing out of you. his favorite thing to do is to fuck the cum back inside of you after it pours out, to then only add more potency to your already swollen pussy. the sounds are slick and wet. everything is slick and wet! being in heat means being 10x more fertile. xavier is obsessed with the idea that—just from the sheer amount—you’re carrying his virile sperm around well after his little breeding session with you.

❥ he buzzes! strange at first yes… but it’s a normal bunny thing to do. the buzzing is more akin to a low rumble and it’s the first sign that xavier is going into heat. he’ll hold you thigh, nibble on your ear, and rumble really lowly to the point that it’s buzzing his body and yours as well. quickly you learned that it’s basically bunny code for: “have sex with me! please! have sex with me!” and it’s never loud either. it’s super quiet but also very vibrational.

it also happens when xavier likes what he sees. AKA, if you’re just in your panties and bra, he’ll buzz in excitement while circling you. if you’re all fucked out and in the post coital glow, he’s gonna buzz. if you’re literally just asleep he’s gonna buzz before pulling back the covers and pulling off your pants to give you a good (somno consensual) dicking down.

࣪𖤐

[ghstyles]

Apartment 2C | His Angel

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

His Angel Masterlist

WC: 6K

Note: For this series, you don’t have to read all the parts. It’s up to you. They don’t pick off where the other ended. Just glimpses into their lives. I won’t post them in chronological order but I will list them in that order

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

Five months ago, if someone had suggested to Harry that he’d be standing in a tiny kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta, cooking for someone, that person would have been shot.

Yet here he was.

The wooden spoon felt foreign in his hand, awkward and useless compared to the weight of a gun. The scent of simmering marinara filled the air. Something warm, something domestic. It didn’t belong in his world. And yet, somehow, you did.

You padded into the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of his shirts that hung off your frame.

“You’re stirring too aggressively,” you tease, sliding your arm around his waist.

Harry glanced down at you, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulling just a fraction. “I don’t do anything gently, sweetheart.”

You laughed, tilting your head up at him. “You do with me.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he lets you take the spoon from his grasp, your fingers brushing against his, soft and unscarred. He’d crushed men’s throats with these hands. Now, he let you guide them over something as simple as dinner.

He should have felt ridiculous. Weak. But when you smiled up at him, like he wasn’t the monster everyone else saw, he decided maybe, a very minuscule maybe, he could get used to this.

For a little while

"See? When you do it gently like this, it doesn't slosh all around everywhere. Less cleaning later. But I guess you don't clean up your own messes" you say, looking back at him. Looking away causes you to hiss as your arm accidentally touches the rim of the hot pot

Harry's attention snaps to you instantly at the sound of your hiss of pain. His eyes narrow, all traces of softness vanishing as he moves with speed, gently but firmly grasping your wrist to examine your arm.

"Fuck's sake, angel," he mutters, already pulling you toward the sink. He turns on the cold water and places your arm beneath the stream. "Let me see it."

The burn is minor, just a red mark across your forearm that will fade in an hour, but Harry's jaw is tight, his eyes cold as if the pan had personally offended him.

 "It's nothing, Harry. Just a little burn." You try to pull your arm back, rolling your eyes at his overreaction. "I'm not made of glass, you know."

Harry doesn't release your wrist, keeping your skin under the cool water. His thumb traces circles against your pulse point, a gesture that might seem tender if not for the dangerous look in his eyes.

"Didn't say you were," he responds flatly. "But if I find out this piece of shit stove burned you because it's faulty, I'm replacing the entire kitchen."

"It's my fault for being clumsy, not the stove's." You can't help but laugh at his intensity. "Are you going to put a hit out on my kitchenware now?"

Harry's expression doesn't change, but something like amusement flickers in his eyes.

"Don't tempt me, princess." He finally releases your wrist, reaching for a clean kitchen towel to gently pat your skin dry. "Maybe I should just cook for you from now on."

"You? Cook?" You raise an eyebrow, teasing. "You have three chefs. When was the last time you even picked up a knife?”

A dark smirk crosses Harry's face as he takes the towel from your hand, his fingers lingering against yours for just a moment too long.

"Picked up a knife?" he repeats, his voice dropping lower. "This morning, actually."

He turns back to the stove, adjusting the heat with casual precision.

"Different purpose, though," he adds offhandedly, as if commenting on the weather rather than alluding to violence.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." You roll your eyes, nudging him with your hip as you reach for the salt. "I meant for cooking, not for...whatever it is you do with your mornings."

Harry watches you with that same calculating gaze, the one that makes hardened criminals confess their sins. On you, it just looks like he's trying to memorize every detail of your face.

"The less you know about my mornings, angel, the better you'll sleep at night." He takes the salt from your hand, adding a pinch to the sauce. "And I can cook. Survived on my own since I was fourteen, remember?"

His tone is matter-of-fact, no self-pity, just stating a harsh reality that shaped him.

"Well then, Gordon Ramsay, impress me." You fold your arms, challenging him with a playful smile.

Harry raises an eyebrow, amused by your defiance when most people would be cowering.

"Careful what you ask for, princess." He stirs the sauce once more. "I might just exceed your expectations... in more ways than one."

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, reverting your attention back to the sauce

"Your place is too small," he comments abruptly, glancing around the modest apartment with critical eyes. "Security's shit too. Those locks wouldn't keep out a determined child."

He says this casually, as if discussing the weather rather than evaluating potential threats to your safety as he settles bak behind you.

You turn slightly to face Harry, still stirring the pasta sauce with careful motions.

"It's also cheap," you counter, meeting his critical gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Very much on my budget."

Harry scoffs, his fingers drumming against your hip bone as he surveys the apartment again. The cramped kitchen barely fits both of you, the living room furniture is clearly secondhand, and the walls are thin enough that you can hear the neighbors arguing sometimes. But it's yours, earned with your own money from your part-time job while balancing classes.

"Budgets can change," he says pointedly, reaching past you to turn down the heat on the stove. "Circumstances can change."

You shake your head, a conversation you've had multiple times before.

"We agreed, Harry. I pay my own way."

His jaw tightens, that familiar tension whenever his control is challenged. He steps back slightly, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. Even in casual clothes, dark jeans and a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to expose tattooed forearms, he looks dangerous, out of place among your colorful kitchen towels and mismatched dishes.

"Stubbornness isn't a virtue, Y/N," he says, watching you with those calculating eyes. "It's a liability."

You taste the sauce with a small spoon, deliberately ignoring his comment.

"Maybe to you. To me, it's independence," you reply, reaching for the pasta strainer. "Can you grab the colander?"

Harry sighs but complies, retrieving it from where it hangs under the sink. His movements are fluid, economical. A man who never wastes energy.

"Independence," he repeats the word like it's a concept he finds amusing. "Everyone depends on someone, angel. The sooner you accept that, the safer you'll be."

Steam rises between you as you pour the pasta into the colander, the hot water rushing through the holes and disappearing down the drain. Harry watches your movements intently, as if even this mundane task deserves his full analysis.

"I grew up depending on my parents for everything," you explain, carefully shaking the excess water from the pasta. "Got to college...felt like I'd been thrown in the ocean and left to fend for myself. I want to learn, Harry."

Something flickers across his face, a shadow you've come to recognize. It appears whenever you reference your family, your normal upbringing, all the things he never had. His fingers tap against the counter, a brief rhythm before he stills them.

"Learning to swim and drowning yourself are different things," he replies, his voice softer than usual, almost contemplative. "You think I didn't learn? Fourteen years old, kicked out on the street. No college dorms. No meal plans."

He reaches past you to take the colander, his movements controlled as he transfers the pasta back to the pot. His proximity is deliberate, a reminder of his physical presence.

"I learned every fucking day," he continues, the curse word slipping out casually. "Difference is, I learned that independence is an illusion people sell themselves to feel better about their vulnerabilities."

Harry turns to face you fully now, leaning his hip against the counter. His eyes, always intense, search yours.

"But if you need to prove something to yourself, fine. Just don't confuse stubbornness with strength, angel. Not in my world."

He reaches out, tucking a strand of your golden-brown hair behind your ear, his touch gentler than his words.

"Now, are we going to eat this pasta, or just philosophize over it until it gets cold?"

"You're the one who started," you tease, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Always quick with that mouth," he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. Just that private amusement that makes you feel like you've accomplished something significant, making Harry Styles almost lighthearted.

You turn your head, kissing his palm. "Get the garlic bread from the oven. I'll plate the pasta."

A low chuckle escapes him, the sound rough like he doesn't use it often enough. He lets his hand trail down your cheek before dropping it.

Harry moves with natural authority, grabbing an oven mitt, looking ridiculously out of place in his hand, and retrieving the golden-brown garlic bread. The scent fills the small kitchen, making it feel more like home than it usually does.

"Smells decent," he comments, which from him is high praise.

“Of course it does. I did half the work”

Harry's lips curve into that dangerous half-smile that makes his enemies nervous and sends heat through your body.

"Half the work?" he repeats, setting his bread down with controlled precision. "Sweetheart, you stirred the sauce twice and then burned yourself. I wouldn't call that half."

He steps closer, towering over you with that natural intimidation that follows him everywhere. When he reaches out, it's to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture surprisingly gentle from hands that have done such violent things.

"But if it makes you feel better to think you contributed..." he continues, voice dropping lower, "I'll let you have it."

 "Let me have it?" You scoff,. "How gracious of you. Next you'll be telling me you let me win at Scrabble last week."

Harry's eyes darken slightly at your challenge, but there's amusement there too, the kind he reserves solely for you.

"I never let anyone win anything," he states flatly. "You beat me fair and square. Though your choice of words was...educational."

He gestures toward the table, a subtle command in the movement.

"Sit. Eat. Before I decide to show you exactly what I meant by 'letting you have it.'"

The double meaning hangs in the air between you, charged with promise.

You almost choke on your own spit, ignoring his comment as you sit, “I don’t know what you’re taking about. I used perfectly reasonable words”

Harry watches you with predatory amusement as you try to recover, settling into the chair across from you. The small table means your knees brush against his under the surface.

"Perfectly reasonable," he repeats, twirling pasta around his fork with deliberate movements. "Is that what we're calling 'fellatio' now? Especially when you played it on a triple word score."

His expression remains neutral, but his eyes are dancing with that dark humor that makes your stomach flip.

"It's a medical term," you defend yourself primly, taking a bite of pasta to hide your smile. "Not my fault you have a dirty mind."

Harry makes a low sound in his throat, something between a laugh and a growl.

"Angel, my mind isn't just dirty. It's fucking filthy." He takes a sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "Especially where you're concerned."

You ignore him, simply because you were too flustered to respond. 

As you both ate from two mismatched plates, you catch him surveying your apartment again, his eyes lingering on the windows, the door, the fire escape visible through the kitchen window. Always assessing, always planning for threats.

"Stop casing my apartment like you're planning to rob it," you say without looking up, knowing exactly what he's doing.

Harry sets the fork down, his lips quirking up at one corner.

"If I was planning to rob it, angel, you wouldn't see me casing it," he replies, picking up the kife and cutting the bread with precise movements. "And there's nothing here worth taking."

Your jaw drops. Harry watches your theatrical reaction with that amusement dancing in his eyes. He sets the knife down deliberately, turning to face you fully as you cross your arms over your chest.

He pauses, his eyes finding yours across the small space. "Except you."

The casual possessiveness in his tone should probably concern you more than it does.

"Oh no you don't! Don't try to fix it by saying that," you exclaim, fighting the smile threatening to break through your mock offense.

"Fix it?" Harry repeats, his voice dropping lower. "When have you ever known me to backtrack on anything I've said, sweetheart?"

 "So you don't think I own anything of value?".

"Your textbooks might fetch fifty cents at a second-hand store," he says thoughtfully, then gestures toward your living room. "That TV's at least two generations old. Your laptop's password is your birthday. Backwards. Hardly secure."

His hand reaches out, fingers lightly gripping your chin. The touch is gentle but firm, a contradiction like everything else about him.

"But value? That's subjective, isn't it?" His voice drops lower. "To me, the only thing of value in this entire building is standing right in front of me, getting worked up over pasta and garlic bread."

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his expression shifting to something more serious.

"I could buy you anything, Y/N. Everything. But the one thing I want is the thing you insist on giving freely. That's the fucking irony."

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air between you charged with something electric. Your mock indignation melts away under his touch, your voice dropping to a whisper that betrays your affected composure.

"Which is?" you ask, the words barely audible.

Harry's eyes darken as they track the movement of your lips. His thumb still rests against your bottom lip, applying the slightest pressure. The pasta forgotten on the table in front of you.

"Your trust," he answers, his voice rough around the edges. "Your fucking choice to be here. With me."

His free hand grips your chair, pulling you towards him as if you weighed nothing 

"I've bought loyalty. I've bought silence. I've bought respect," he continues, his free hand moving to your waist, fingers splaying possessively against the fabric of his shirt that you're wearing. "But I can't buy the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."

His grip on your chin tightens slightly, tilting your face up further.

"Can't buy the way you kiss me like I'm not the monster everyone else sees," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. "Can't buy the way you argue with me when men twice your size wouldn't dare."

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart race, the danger and desire inseparable with Harry.

"That's the irony, angel. The one fucking thing I can't obtain through force or money is the only thing I actually want."

He leans in closer, his lips nearly brushing yours.

"Now tell me again how you don't own anything of value."

The tension between you stretches taut for a moment, his confession hanging in the air, raw and unexpected from a man who guards his thoughts like state secrets. Your heart pounds against your ribs, his words sending heat spiraling through your body.

And then, in classic Y/N fashion, you break it with humor.

"I... I have a limited edition eyeshadow palette that was hard to get," you whisper, your eyes wide with mock seriousness. "Better go lock it up."

For a split second, Harry's expression freezes in disbelief. Then something rare happens, he laughs. Not the calculated chuckle he uses in business meetings or the cold sound that makes his enemies nervous, but a genuine laugh that transforms his face entirely.

His forehead drops to yours, his body still caging you against the chair but now slightly shaking with amusement.

"Fucking hell, angel," he mutters, his fingers moving from your chin to curl around the nape of your neck. "You're impossible."

His other hand tightens at your waist, pulling you onto his lap. The heat of his body seeps through the thin fabric of the shirt you're wearing.

"Here I am, practically confessing, " he cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly. "And you're worried about fucking makeup."

Before you can respond with another quip, his mouth captures yours in a kiss that's equal parts punishment and reward. His lips move against yours with practiced precision, knowing exactly how to make your knees weak, how to steal the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression has shifted back to that dangerous intensity.

"Keep making jokes, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips. "We both know it's how you handle things that scare you."

His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you impossibly closer.

"And we both know I fucking terrify you sometimes," he adds, his voice dropping to that velvet-rough tone that makes your insides liquify. "Don't we?"

"You dont scare me. You’re like...a big kitten" 

Harry's eyes narrow dangerously at your words, but there's a glint of something like appreciation beneath the surface, that constant push-pull between you that he secretly craves.

"A kitten," he repeats slowly, testing the word like it's foreign on his tongue.

His hand slides from the nape of your neck to wrap gently around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there as a reminder of his strength, his control. His thumb traces your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat that betrays your casual words.

"Interesting theory," he murmurs, leaning in until his lips brush the shell of your ear. "Should we test it?"

In one fluid movement, he lifts you onto the table, pasta and dinner forgotten. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them so he can step between them, bringing your bodies flush against each other. The wood is cold against your bare legs, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.

"Kittens purr," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes your stomach flip. "They play with their food."

His lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing lightly over your skin.

"They have claws," he continues, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of his shirt higher on your legs. "And they take what they want."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire but still calculating, still watching your reactions with that intense focus.

"Still think I'm a kitten, Y/N?" he challenges, his thumbs tracing circles on your inner thighs. "Or should I show you exactly what kind of animal I really am?"

The pasta continues cooling on the plates beside you, dinner clearly taking a backseat to the heat building between you.

The shrill sound of the doorbell cuts through the charged atmosphere like a knife, jarring and unexpected. Harry's body tenses immediately, his hands stilling on your thighs as his posture shifts from predatory to alert in an instant.

"Expecting someone?" he asks, his voice suddenly cold, all traces of playfulness vanished.

Before you can even answer, he's already moving, one hand reaching beneath his jacket that hangs on your kitchen chair, extracting a matte black handgun you hadn't even realized was there.

"Harry, " you start, sliding off the table quickly.

He holds up a hand, silencing you with a single gesture. His entire demeanor has transformed. This isn't your Harry anymore, with his teasing smirks and possessive touches. This is the Harry that makes men disappear, that runs half the city's underground.

"Behind me," he instructs, voice leaving no room for argument.

The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time. Harry moves silently toward your apartment door, positioning himself at an angle where he won't be immediately visible when it opens. The gun hangs at his side, finger resting beside the trigger rather than on it, a small mercy that indicates he hasn't completely lost his composure.

He glances back at you, jaw tight. "Who would be coming here unannounced?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, the mood completely shattered. The food sits forgotten on the table as Harry waits for your answer, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to release.

"I'm not opening that door until I know who's on the other side," he says, voice low and dangerous. "So I suggest you start talking, angel."

The doorbell rings a third time, followed by an impatient knock.

"Harry, don't be ridiculous. This building is mostly for students. Just let me answer the door. it could be anyone"

His expression darkens at your dismissal of his concern, his jaw tightening visibly. The gun doesn't lower.

"Ridiculous?" he repeats, the word sharp with tension. "There's nothing ridiculous about security, Y/N."

The knocking continues, more insistent now. You move toward the door, but Harry's arm shoots out, blocking your path. His eyes, cold and calculating now, lock with yours.

"Just because you live in a building full of students doesn't mean everyone who comes knocking is harmless," he says, voice low and controlled. "You think my enemies don't know about you? You think they wouldn't use a fucking college kid as bait?"

You can see the genuine concern beneath his harsh exterior. The fear that isn't for himself but for you. It's one of those rare glimpses of vulnerability that he would never admit to.

"Fine," he concedes after a moment, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, concealed but accessible. "Answer it. But I'm standing right here."

He positions himself just to the side of the door, where he won't be immediately visible but can intervene in seconds. His entire body remains tense, ready to spring into action.

"Go on then," he says with a nod toward the door, his voice softening just slightly. "But if it's someone you don't know, you close that door immediately. Understood?"

The knocking comes again, followed by a muffled voice that sounds young, possibly female. Harry watches you intently, waiting for your recognition or confusion, already calculating his next move before you've even reached for the doorknob.

As you open the door, Harry remains coiled and ready just out of sight. When you greet the visitor by name, some of the lethal tension leaves his body, though his hand still hovers near his lower back where the gun is concealed.

Standing in your doorway is Jess, petite with short blue hair, wearing pajama pants and a university sweatshirt. Her expression is apologetic.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," she says, fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "But I think your shower is leaking into my bathroom ceiling? There's like, a growing water stain and some dripping."

Her eyes flick past you, catching a glimpse of Harry's imposing figure lurking in your apartment. Her eyes widen slightly, clearly not expecting you to have company.

"Oh! I didn't realize you had someone over," she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I can come back later if, "

Harry steps partially into view, his expression neutral but intimidating. He's tucked the gun away completely now, but his presence alone is enough to make Jess take a small step back.

"Plumbing issue?" he asks, his voice deceptively casual as he places a possessive hand on the small of your back. "I can take a look at it."

The offer is surprising, Harry Styles, mob boss, offering to check your leaky shower. But you recognize it for what it is: his way of controlling the situation, of ensuring no strangers need to enter your apartment.

Jess blinks rapidly, clearly intimidated by Harry's sudden appearance and intense gaze. "Um, yeah, it's just, there's water coming through my ceiling. From her bathroom, I think."

Harry nods once, decisive. "We'll handle it."

The 'we' doesn't escape your notice, nor does the way his fingers press slightly more firmly against your back, a silent reminder of his presence.

As soon as the door closes, you turn to face Harry, unable to resist pointing out his overreaction. His hand remains on your lower back, warm and possessive.

"See? Jessica from 1C didn't come to strangle me," you say with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Harry doesn't share your amusement. His eyes remain serious, that calculating look still present as he glances back at the door.

"This time," he replies flatly, finally removing his hand from your back to run it through his dark hair. "Blue hair, five-foot-nothing, no visible weapons. Could still be working for someone."

You start to laugh, thinking he's joking, but his expression remains deadly serious.

"You're not kidding," you realize aloud, your smile fading.

"No, I'm not," he confirms, moving past you toward your bathroom. "This building has shit security. Anyone could walk in. No doorman, no cameras in the hallways, locks a child could pick."

He pauses at the bathroom door, turning back to look at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"You think I'm paranoid? Paranoid keeps people alive in my world, angel."

Without waiting for a response, he enters your small bathroom, kneeling to examine the plumbing under your sink. The sight is almost comical, Harry Styles, feared mob boss, inspecting your pipes in his expensive clothes.

"Your neighbor seems scared of her own shadow," He comments as he works, his voice echoing slightly in the tiled room. "Good. Scared people don't ask questions."

He glances up at you, standing in the doorway. "That pasta's getting cold. Might as well eat while I check this. Shower's probably just needs a new seal."

The casual domesticity of his words contrasts sharply with the gun still tucked into his waistband, visible now as his shirt rides up while he works.

You settle on the counter, plate balanced in your lap, watching as Harry returns from the bathroom. There's something fascinating about seeing him in this light, handling mundane problems with the same efficiency he probably applies to his more illicit activities.

You would have made an inappropriate joke about the sexy plumber seducing you but decided against it

"So... where did you learn to fix plumbing issues?" you ask, twirling pasta around your fork.

Harry grabs his own plate, but remains standing, leaning against the opposite counter. Something about him never quite relaxes enough to sit properly when he doesn't have to.

"When you live in the places I've lived," he says, taking a bite of pasta, "you either learn to fix things yourself or you live with them broken."

He chews thoughtfully, then adds: "Foster home number three. Pipes burst in winter. Foster father was too drunk to call someone, too broke to pay them if he did. I was eleven."

He delivers this information casually, as if discussing the weather rather than another fragment of his broken childhood. These rare glimpses into his past always come unexpectedly, dropped into conversation like they don't matter, when you both know they shaped everything he became.

"Your shower's fine," he continues, changing the subject abruptly. "It's the seal around the drain that's worn out. Easy fix. I'll have someone come tomorrow."

Before you can protest about handling it yourself, he adds: "Someone I trust. Who won't report back about the layout of your apartment or the fact that you sleep with your window unlocked."

His eyes meet yours over his plate, challenging you to argue.

"This pasta's decent," he says, the closest thing to a compliment your cooking is likely to receive. "Though the garlic bread's burnt on the bottom."

"Hey! You were on oven duty," you protest, pointing your fork accusingly at him. "I don't accept this defamation."

A hint of amusement crosses Harry's face, softening his features momentarily. He takes another bite of the pasta, eyebrow raised.

"I was distracted," he replies, his voice dropping lower. "Someone was walking around in my shirt, looking like that."

His eyes travel deliberately down your body, lingering on your bare legs dangling from the counter. The intensity in his gaze makes heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself.

"Besides," he continues, setting his plate down and moving toward you, "I don't recall hearing any complaints about my performance in other areas."

He positions himself between your legs, hands resting on either side of your thighs on the counter. The casual intimacy of the position, him standing between your parted knees, your plate still balanced in your lap, feels both domestic and charged.

"Eat your dinner, angel," he instructs, voice gentler than before. "Then I'll take a proper look at that shower."

You take another bite, watching him over your fork.

"You know, normal boyfriends don't carry guns to dinner," you comment, unable to help yourself.

Harry's expression darkens slightly, though not with anger.

"Normal boyfriends don't have enemies who would put a bullet in their head for territory," he counters, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Or who would hurt what's theirs to send a message."

His thumb traces your cheekbone, the gesture at odds with his harsh words.

"If normal is what you want, " he starts, then stops himself, jaw tightening. "You knew what I was when you got into this, Y/N."

The rare use of your full name instead of a pet name underscores the seriousness of his statement.

"Kidding, kidding. God, no one can make a joke around here," you say with an exaggerated eye roll. "Eat," you command firmly.

Your teasing tone breaks through his serious demeanor, and Harry blinks in surprise as you shove a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

Harry's eyes widen slightly at your boldness, but then something unexpected happens, he actually complies, chewing the pasta you've fed him. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he swallows.

"Demanding tonight, aren't we?" he says, but the tension has left his shoulders. He reaches for his own plate again, leaning against the counter beside you rather than caging you in.

There's a comfortable silence as you both eat, the earlier heaviness dissipating into something more relaxed. Harry glances at your mismatched plates, the cheap cutlery, the faded dish towel hanging from the oven door.

"You know," he says after a moment, his tone lighter, "when I was your age, I was eating cold pizza over a sink most nights. If I ate at all."

It's offered casually, not as a bid for sympathy but almost like an admission, that despite his criticisms of your apartment, he understands something about making do with what you have.

He takes another bite, then adds: "This is better."

The simple statement carries weight coming from him, Harry Styles doesn't give compliments easily, and rarely acknowledges when something is good in his life.

"Your neighbor's going to be telling everyone about the scary man in apartment 2C now," he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Might help with your building security, actually. No one will dare knock on your door."

He reaches over to steal a piece of garlic bread from your plate, the gesture surprisingly normal, almost playful.

You watch as Harry takes a bite of the stolen garlic bread, a small smile playing on your lips. There's something endearing about seeing him do something so ordinary as food theft, a glimpse of what might have been in another life.

"Hey, look at you now. At 27, you have three private chefs under your hand," you point out. "I'd say you've done well for yourself."

Harry chews thoughtfully, considering your words. There's a flicker of something in his eyes, perhaps pride, perhaps something more complicated.

"Three chefs, two mansions, and enough enemies to fill a stadium," he replies with a wry twist to his mouth. "The American dream."

He sets his empty plate in the sink, turning to lean against the counter facing you. In the soft kitchen light, some of his sharp edges seem softer. Not gone, never gone, but less pronounced.

"Done well for myself," he repeats your words, testing them. "Depends on who you ask. My probation officer would disagree."

This is delivered with a hint of dark humor, you both know he hasn't had a probation officer in years. He's well beyond the reach of conventional law enforcement now.

"But yeah," he continues, surprising you with his candor, "from where I started? Could've gone much worse."

He reaches for your empty plate, taking it from your hands and placing it in the sink with his. The domestic gesture is at odds with the man you know he is outside these walls, but that contradiction is part of what drew you to him in the first place.

"You know what's strange?" he asks, turning back to you. "Having dinner in a normal apartment, with normal problems like leaky showers and burnt garlic bread. Sometimes I forget what that's like."

He doesn't say the rest, that you're his connection to a world he left behind long ago, a glimpse into an ordinary life he sacrificed for power and survival.

"Well, no matter how you got to where you are, I'm proud of you Harry. Truly," you say softly, meaning every word.

Your words hit him like a physical force, he actually stills, his hand freezing halfway through running it through his hair. Something vulnerable flashes across his face before he can mask it.

Harry looks at you for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically open. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than usual.

"Proud," he repeats, as if testing how the word feels. "That's... that's not something I hear often."

“Well, now you’re hearing it from me” 

He moves closer to you again, but this time it's different, less predatory, more seeking. His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of his shirt that you're wearing.

"You're proud of a criminal," he says, but there's no bite to it, just a statement of fact. "A man who's done things that would make you run if you knew all of them."

His forehead drops to rest against yours, an unexpectedly tender gesture.

"You're something else, angel," he murmurs. "Looking at the devil and seeing something worth saving."

One hand leaves your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone with surprising gentleness.

"I don't deserve it," he admits quietly. "But I'm selfish enough to take it anyway."

The confession hangs in the air between you, more honest than his usual carefully constructed responses. For a moment, he's not the feared mob boss or the dangerous criminal, he's just a man who never heard the words 'I'm proud of you' growing up.

"Contrary to whatever belief you have, it's normal for girlfriends to be proud of their boyfriends," you state matter-of-factly, reaching up to touch his face. "Okay? Doesn't matter for what."

Your words make him pull back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. The vulnerability is still there, raw and unfamiliar on his features.

Harry lets out a short laugh, but it's not entirely humorous.

"Normal girlfriends are proud of their boyfriends for getting promotions or running marathons," he says, his hand still cradling your face. "Not for successfully running three territories without starting a war. Not for, "

He cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly.

"Christ, Y/N," he breathes out. "The things you make me feel... they're dangerous. Make me weak."

Your eyes meet his, challenging.

"Is that what you think this is?" you ask softly. "Weakness?"

His thumb traces your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement.

"No," he admits finally. "It's the only thing that makes me feel fucking human anymore."

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours again.

"But don't say you're proud of me," he murmurs. "Not when I'm the reason you have to check your car for bombs. Not when I'm why you can't tell your parents who you're dating. Not when, "

Your kiss silences his self-deprecating spiral, soft but insistent. Harry responds immediately, one hand sliding to the nape of your neck while the other grips your hip.

"Shut up," you murmur against his lips.

A low sound rumbles in his chest, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes are darker, but there's a hint of amusement in them.

"Telling me to shut up now?" he asks, his voice rough but lighter than before. "That's brave of you, angel."

His fingers thread through your hair, gentle despite his words.

"You're the only person who can get away with that, you know," he adds softly, something like wonder in his tone. "The only one who can tell me to shut up and live to tell about it."

You roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"Lucky me," you tease, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Harry's expression softens just slightly, that rare genuine smile tugging at his lips.

"No," he corrects, pulling you closer. "Lucky me."

His lips find yours again, this time with more intent, effectively ending any further discussion about worth or pride or danger. The pasta grows cold in the sink, forgotten as he loses himself in the one person who sees past his carefully constructed walls.

As you both finish loading the last dishes into your tiny dishwasher, there's a comfortable silence between you. Harry checks his phone, his expression shifting back to something more business-like.

"I need to go," he says, tucking the phone away. "Got a meeting I can't miss."

You try not to think about what kind of meeting requires his attention at this hour.

"Someone will be here tomorrow morning to fix that shower," he continues, shrugging on his jacket and checking that his gun is secure. "Don't let anyone in unless they give you the password."

"Let me guess," you say dryly, leaning against the counter. "The password is 'Harry Styles is the most humble man alive'?"

Harry's lips twitch as he adjusts his cuffs.

"Close. It's 'burnt garlic bread,'" he replies, stepping closer to you. "And they'll show proper ID. My people know the drill."

His hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek in what's become a familiar gesture.

"Lock the door behind me," he instructs, his tone serious despite your earlier teasing. "All of them. And for fuck's sake, close that window in your bedroom."

"Yes, sir," you mock salute, earning a warning look that holds more affection than heat.

He kisses you one last time, deep and thorough, like he's memorizing the taste of you.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he says against your lips before pulling away. "Stay safe, angel."

You follow him to the door, watching as he checks the hallway before stepping out.

"Harry?" you call softly before he can leave.

He turns, eyebrow raised.

"I'm still proud of you," you say with a small smile.

Something flashes across his face, too quick to catch, before he shakes his head slightly, that rare genuine smile making another appearance.

"Impossible woman," he mutters, but there's warmth in his voice. "Lock the door, Y/N."

You do as he asks, hearing his footsteps fade down the hallway, knowing that somewhere in the building, his security team is watching, making sure he leaves safely. It's just another normal night with your not-so-normal boyfriend.

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

A/N: What do we think of these two so far? Thought I’d start with something simple.

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19

[cybrasigilism]

Nothing Like A Sharp Dressed Man (Nam-gyu X F!Reader ONESHOT)

warning: smut | not proofread | lowercase intended | roommates to lovers(?) | light choking | degradation | oral (m! receiving) | PiV (wrap your willy if your gonna get silly) | nam-gyu’s a bit of a dick (shocker i know) this is my interpretation of the character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: saw a drawing someone made of nam-gyu in his work attire pre the squid games and my mind got straight to work. i know this is not requested but i need to indulge in some OG works from time to time. enjoy!! (THE SMUT PART IS A BIT SHORT I FEEL, I APOLOGIZE)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

your experience with roommates was interesting, to say the very least. it truly was luck of the draw when it came to the array of characters you’ve shared a space with— but hey, anything to stay afloat and pay rent, especially in this economy.

when you first met your latest roommate, nam-gyu, you were certain the two of you would not get along. he was smarmy, standoffish, and just plain rude. not to mention he was a complete hypocrite; whenever you had a friend over at any point of the day, you would get texts from him telling you to keep it down (or rather “shut the fuck up”, if you were going to quote him directly) due to him having to work later that night. but whenever he had friends over at ungodly hours of the night, making all sorts of noise and blaring music, you weren’t allowed to comment on it. he wouldn’t fight you on it, but you may as well not say anything because it truly is in one ear and out the other with nam-gyu.

you two never agreed on anything. you were almost always at each others throats, it even got to a point where you would go out of your way to spite one another— for example, one of you might use the last of something without replacing it, or say if you wanted to watch TV in the living room; you had better make it snappy to claim your spot or else nam-gyu will have “spontaneously” decided that he wanted to watch TV too. i mean, god forbid you two actually watch something together, that would require tolerating each other’s presence for more than 3 minutes and that was definitely out of the realm of possibility.

or so you thought.

up until a certain point you actually had no idea what nam-gyu did for work. all you knew was that his shifts were at obscene hours, and he would always wake you up when he got back home with the ridiculous amount of noise he made coming in the house. you were mystified when you caught a glimpse of him all dressed up in his full-black business attire. you didn’t really get a chance to take the view in though, because he was out the door before he noticed you staring. you remember feeling your cheeks heat up, butterflies in your stomach— oh my god,

did you find him.. hot?

you doubted these feelings at first, telling yourself that even if this was how you felt about him dressed like that— nothing would ever come of it. as far as you knew, nam-gyu hated you just as much as you did him, right?

right?

you tried to remind yourself that this was your combative, hypocritical, asshole roommate. this was the guy who always got the last slice of pizza just as you were about to grab it; the guy who uses up the hot water before you take a shower; the guy who.. looked really good in those dress pants from the glimpse you got at him—shit. you were completely cooked. you knew you were cooked when you caught yourself waiting to hear nam-gyu leave his room, so you could sneak a peek of him in that damned uniform before he left for work; you definitely knew you were cooked when you found yourself fantasizing about him. you had to fill in some details with your imagination, which was the worst mistake you could have made because god that just made you crave him more. you should have been completely ashamed with your actions when he started coming to mind while you fucked yourself; imagining his hands in place of your own between your legs, wondering what his moans sounded like. fuck, you knew he would kill you if he found out about how perverse you had become. but that would never happen. i mean, you were being discreet…. right?

unfortunately, you weren’t being as discreet as you apparently thought. one faithful night, while you were trying to sneak a peek at nam-gyu getting ready to head out the door, he noticed you. fuck, you thought, whipping around the corner so fast you hoped he hadn’t realized what you were doing. the feeling of butterflies was more-so out of nervousness now, you tried to rationalize to yourself as you paced in your room, biting your nails anxiously. “maybe he won’t suspect anything, i mean how could he? it was just this once..” you tried to think critically here, how would he be able to deduce that you were undressing him with your eyes just then— and had been for the past dozen nights? you figured it would be best to just sleep it off, and hope he didn’t ask any questions in the morning.

⟢

a loud knock jolted you awake. you glanced at your phone. “4:22?” you knew who it was, but why was he knocking on your door at 4:22 in the morning? nam-gyu knocked again, to which you drowsily said “i’m coming, i’m coming.” as you threw on your sleep shirt, baggy enough to shield your lack of pants. you opened the door to see nam-gyu, still in that uniform. you must have been giving him quite the look, because he raised his eyebrow and snapped his fingers almost in your face. “hey, my eyes are up here dipshit.” you jumped, making direct eye contact with him, not realizing where you had just been looking. “what the fuck what was that earlier? didn’t take you for a stalker.” damn, he was onto you.

“a stalker? no i was just..” “just what?” he cut in, causing you to purse your lips in frustration. “just getting more visual material to jack off to later?” your eyes widened when he said that, causing him to laugh in a way that you knew was at your expense. “god.. i had a feeling that was it.” he scoffed, you felt your cheeks grow warmer by the second with embarrassment. “you really didn’t think i could hear you moaning my name through the wall? hell i’d be surprised if the neighbours didn’t hear..” you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, you were humiliated. had you really been so fucked out of your mind that you didn’t catch yourself moaning his name? “look, i’m sorry… i should have never even—“ you started, actively avoiding his eyes. he did something then that caught you off guard entirely. he grabbed your chin, redirecting your gaze to meet him. “sorry? shit, if you’re gonna be a dirty little slut, don’t apologize for that.” you were confused, even more so because that little name he called you made you feel.. something.

nam-gyu knew what he was doing to you, and he was about to take full advantage of that. for some reason, having you at his mercy like this was totally turning him on. he couldn’t deny the way his pants tightened when you looked at him like that— fuck it. “oh..” he noticed the way you pressed your thighs together just then. “oh, you like it when i call you that.. don’t you?” you nodded instinctively. his grip shifted from your chin to your throat, squeezing lightly as he moved in close enough to whisper to you. a light moan leaving your lips as he did so.

“then why don’t you show me how much of a slut you can be.”

⟢

you don’t know how you got into this situation, having nam-gyu’s dick shoved between your lips, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to mind. his grip on your head was almost strong enough to be painful, but you were too focused on the sounds he was making to be bothered by it.

“oh fuck… fuck, your lips—“ he groaned, bucking his hips up into your mouth. you whined around him when the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat, but that only egged him on. “yeah, you like being used like this, huh?” he was enjoying this way more than you thought, hell he was so eager to have your mouth on his cock he didn’t even take his clothes off. not that you minded, of course. “you’ve been waiting for me to fuck your mouth like this, haven’t you?” nam-gyu’s words were broken up by moans and whimpers he failed to mask; you really had no idea the effect you had on him up until this point. just then, he pushed your head down as far as you could go, mustering a gag out of you.

“it’s rude to ignore people when they ask you a question.” he said through gritted teeth, chest heaving from how good your mouth felt on his dick. you looked up at him, eyes watering. “answer me, bitch.” whether it was the way he looked so. damn. good in the uniform, or the way he was ordering you around like a dog; you felt your pussy clench around nothing, god you needed him right were he wasn’t so bad it hurt. you nodded, hoping that if you did what you were told, then he would finally cut to the chase and fuck you. “oh, so you can follow orders.” he smirked, pulling your head off his dick and sitting back onto your bed. “in that case, ride me.” your eyes widened, but you did what he said without a word, straddling him as though you were in a trance.

both you and nam-gyu made an indescribable sound of pleasure when you sunk down onto his cock. he gripped your hips as you did so, sliding you down even faster. you cried out, and he kept you bottomed out on his dick for a moment. you thought for a second that it was to allow you time to adjust to the full length of him, but he wasn’t that nice. you were just getting used to him when he began to move you up and down his dick, biting his lip as he did so. “oh my fuck!” you moaned out, planting your hands onto nam-gyu for balance. his grip on your hips was so firm you were positive he would bruise you, but you didn’t really give a shit then; too focused on how fucking amazing his cock felt inside you then. “shit, you sound like such a whore—“ he was one to talk, becoming less and less able to cover up his own slutty noises. “it’s good i’m fucking you like the little slut you are then—fuck.”

even on top you were completely at his mercy, and you loved it. you loved the way he fucked up into that tight pussy of yours almost carelessly, you loved being able to take in the full sight of him in his work clothes while he did it, too. the way his shirt, unbuttoned down his chest, looked disheveled as he used you this way; the way you knew you were making a mess of his pants when your hips collided; the way he was so desperate to put you in your place like this that he saw no time to change out of the outfit he knew got you off in the first place. everything that was happening to you right now under any other circumstance would have not turned you on this much, but for some reason that outfit changed everything.

and you definitely didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

thanks for reading! i apologize for the lack of dialogue, this was just an idea i had and i wanted to put it to “paper” as soon as possible! thank you guys for putting up with my self-indulgent nonsense again :P

as usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a fantastic day/night lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @kouzih @strangelife122 @gabbystinks

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Lies and Butterflies

Joshua Hong x Fem!Reader

Genre: fake dating au; mostly fluff.

Word Count: 19.2k

Warnings: injuries & blood (injury is not explicitly described). joking death threats made between friends. mentions of drinking and alcoholic beverages. lying to parental figures. reader is written as single and desperate and moderately unwise (she’s actually me).

[Series: Serenity Street 17] Your roommate begged you to pretend to date him while his mom is in town for the month. The little crush you’ve had on him will either become your best friend or worst obstacle on this quest.

note: the fact that this fic came out as longer than my master's degree thesis will never not amaze me.

Your friends thought you were a naive fool for moving into Serenity Street 17, apartment 3A. Not because the neighbourhood or building was bad (if anything, they often commented about how cosy it was), but because you signed the rental agreement knowing full well you’d be sharing an apartment with a man you didn’t know. 

In your defence, you’d been hesitant to do so. However, after several reassuring comments from the building manager about how your roommate would be a perfectly sweet young gentleman (but mostly the influence of the looming end of your old rental agreement with a remaining budget from hell), you had done the insane thing and signed the agreement.

Fortunately, Joshua Hong, your new roommate, seemed like a true angel at first sight – both visually and metaphorically. Upon your arrival, he’d spent the entire weekend helping you move the heavy boxes and unbox everything (all the while you were trying your hardest to not feel weak at the sight of his gorgeous face and straining biceps). He assured you repeatedly that he’d do the dishes and cook for himself. He sent you off to work every morning with a sweet smile, a wave and a thermos full of hot coffee to start your day. 

You’d quickly learn why the neighbourhood aunties called him “Serenity Street’s gentleman”. And at first you thought he truly deserved the title.

That is until you had lived with him for a month and realised he was the dictionary definition of unpredictable. Sure, he wasn’t completely insane and most of the time he was truly the perfect roommate (as well as eye candy), but the moments when he did unleash his inner demons? Even now, many months later, you were still trying to decide if that side of him amused or scared you.

It was to the point where you and Chan, your neighbour from across the hall, had started keeping a shared list of Joshua’s wildest moments (a tradition which several of your other friends in the building soon joined). 

For one, there was the time when he decided to perform EXO’s ‘Love Shot’ with a truly unhinged choreography at the building’s monthly drunk karaoke night. The kicker? He didn’t start drinking until after the cover (probably to bury the shame he felt). 

Or the time when he mistakenly watered a fake plant for weeks and then, upon realising his mistake, proceeded to gaslight himself and everyone you knew that it had at one point been a real plant and someone must have snuck into the apartment to replace it with an identical fake one (you didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was fooling no one (but Minghao had been more than happy to share the news with him for you )).

There was also, of course, the time when he had a life-sized cardboard cut-out of himself made to decorate the living room and you couldn’t have reminded him enough of how terrifying of a sight it had been at 4 am on your way to the bathroom. To his credit, he moved the cut-out behind Jeonghan’s apartment door a week later to terrify him instead. Jeonghan has since sworn he’d get back at your roommate for it one day (and you dearly hoped he would).

Needless to say, your roommate had you living on the edge of your seat at all times. So it didn’t surprise you much when he knocked on your bedroom door at 11 pm before walking in and throwing himself head-first onto your bed.

Used to his shenanigans but well-aware of his need for attention, you just sighed and lowered the book you had spent all day looking forward to. “What’s up?”

His response was unintelligible, muffled against the sage green sheets. 

You waited a moment for him to lift his head. Nothing happened. For a moment you wondered if he’d fallen asleep. So you nudged him with your foot. “Shua?”

With a groan, he leaned upwards, resting on his elbows as he stared ahead and told you, “Do you think I’m too single?”

Amused and confused by the question, you blinked rapidly. “Is that even a thing? I think all single people are equally single, no?”

“I haven’t dated anyone in five years,” he told you.

“And?”

“I haven’t gone on a date in three.”

“So?”

“My mom thinks that’s too long.”

You took mild offence to that as you had been left out on the dry shores of Singleness for well over a decade – if your three-day middle-school playground marriage even counted towards this statistic, that is. If Joshua had been single for too long by his mom’s standards, then you surely must have seemed like a completely hopeless case. 

You shook the thought off and tried to seem like a supportive friend (even though your mind and soul were already lost in faraway lands, riding horses with dreamy fictional men that oddly looked like Joshua). “Why does that matter?”

“Because,” he started as if you should know this already, “she wants me to go on a blind date with her friend’s daughter. She wants to discuss it tomorrow over lunch.”

Was it too soon to tell him you sometimes daydreamed of your mom appearing at the door with a handsome young man and demanding you to go on a date with him? Maybe. Was that too desperate? Probably.

“You’re an adult man, Shua,” you told him with a scoff. “Just say no.”

“I can’t say that to my mom!”

“Why not? Because she’d be disappointed and sad?” you guessed, eyeing him with annoyance. 

He widened his eyes and all you saw in his brown irises was pure terror mixed with just a hint of frustration. “She’d lecture me!”

“Oh no,” you didn’t even try to feign any kind of an emotion before lifting your book back to your eye level, eager to get back to your reading where men didn’t trouble you with their mommy issues. “Your mom’s nice. You’ll live.”

“You could try to be more empathetic, you know,” he remarked before resting his cheek on the mattress and sighing. “What are you reading anyway? Another one of your historical romances?”

“And what if it is?” you asked.

“My mom would tell you to get off your ass and get an actual boyfriend.”

“Good thing she’s not my mom then. Men are disappointing and I only like the ones written by women.”

Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a disappointment right now?”

There were many words you could use to describe Joshua, but a disappointment? – not one of them. Really, the only disappointing thing about the man in front of you was that he thought your valiant flirting attempts over the past six months had been a funny joke. Even if you thought he could be incredibly frustrating, you were not immune to his charms, and everyone but him seemed to know.

Still, if there was anything you liked more than being the sole object of Joshua’s attention, it was getting on his nerves as much as he did yours.

“Absolutely,” you told him with a straight face but your facade fell fast at his offended grimace. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course you’re not a disappointment. I actually like you.”

Would he pick up the hint (and was it even a hint if you were practically confessing your feelings?) … ?

“I hate you,” he mumbled and buried his face back in the sheets.

… No. The answer was no.

Aside from his wild shenanigans, another thing that frustrated you about your roommate to no end was the fact that he. never. read. his. messages. And yet, when he messaged you, he expected an answer ASAP. 

And if you didn’t reply within 2 minutes … ?

Your phone vibrated and rang, his contact photo bright and colourful on your phone screen. You could barely keep back from cursing under your breath before offering your co-workers an apologetic smile and rushing out to the breakroom to answer the call. 

You took a deep calming breath before putting on your best customer service-able smile and speaking into the microphone, “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” came the short reply. Was it just you or did he sound winded? 

As if he could see you through the radio waves, you theatrically glanced around the building before deadpanning, “At work. Like every Tuesday at 1 pm.”

 “Right,” he breathed out after a pause and suddenly you were worried. 

The Joshua you knew never hesitated to match your sarcastic remarks with ones of his own. There was rarely any bite to his words but you appreciated that he at least tried to match your energy (or maybe you had unknowingly matched his and you were fated to meet). But this? This hadn’t been a sarcastic remark.

“Are you okay?” you spoke, tone softening. “Did something happen?”

“You know how I had that lunch thing with mom today?” he asked after a sigh. 

You nodded before realising he couldn’t actually see you. “Yeah?”

“She brought up her friend’s daughter again and I panicked and–” He cut himself off with a laugh but it sounded anything but joyful. No, it sounded frustrated and disbelieving and like he was about five seconds from a mental breakdown. You found yourself holding your breath as you waited for his laughter to stop. When it did, he sighed again. “Can you come home early?”

The answer was obviously no. You couldn’t just leave your job to cater to your roommate's frenzies. You had made it a point to never ask for any unnecessary time off at all, eager to prove yourself at the office. You had only worked here for five months. Besides, you had goals and a dream and–

“Please?” he added. He sounded so soft, so fragile, so worried.

You squeezed your eyes shut and lied to yourself that your boss wouldn’t hate you if you just told him you had a horrible, perhaps borderline ER-worthy migraine and needed to go home ASAP. Or was that too risky? Would he ask for a doctor’s note? What’s the other option?

“If my boss emails you and asks if our apartment was flooded today, you tell him yes and that you almost drowned,” you finally told him, unable to believe you were about to blatantly lie to your boss, before swiping across your screen to end the call. 

“You’re home,” he breathed out when you stepped through the door half an hour later. 

You found him sitting on the living room sofa. He was still wearing his best white shirt and if it weren’t for the mess of hair on his head, he would’ve looked like he had just gotten ready to go out.

You shrugged off your jacket. “I would really like an explanation.”

“Yeah,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “Where do I start? Um… Well, my mom’s coming to stay with us for a month.”

Your jaw dropped. “A month?! Why? Did something happen to her house?”

“No,” he seemed almost pained to tell you so. With a gentle grip on your hand, he led you to sit next to him on the sofa. “You know how she was trying to set me up with her friend’s daughter?”

You nodded, raising a brow. “What about it? Was it, like, an ex or something?”

“Well, no, but,” he took a deep breath and turned to stare at the wall, eyes wide as if he was expecting something to crash as he spoke, “I might have panicked and said something bad.”

“Such as?” you urged, leaning closer.

Getting red in the face, he really looked like the words he needed had wedged themselves in his throat and were rebelling, refusing to come out. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to make even a single sound, but you still heard nothing. 

Your patience was running thinner by the second. “Joshua, I lied to my boss because of you. Spit it out or, I swear to god, I will make that lie a reality and drown you in the bathtub.”

The threat seemed to motivate him plenty. He let out a soft whine before blurting, “I told her I can’t go on a date with Mary because we’re dating.”

This man never failed to surprise, scare and worry you. And this time you were scared for the both of you. “You told her what?! We?! As in you and me?!”

“I’m sorry,” he immediately dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at you with desperate and terrified sparkling doe eyes. “I wasn’t thinking! I didn’t want to make her feel bad and I panicked and I lied and I swear I’ll make it up to you! Whatever you want! Anything. I am so, so sorry.”

You didn’t even have the words to say. Frozen in your seat, you stared at him, trying your hardest to get your brain to reset so you could discover you simply had fallen asleep at your desk and this was all a dream. Was it a dream or was it a nightmare? You’d decide later.

When you hadn’t responded for nearly a minute, Joshua gently nudged your hand. “Hey, are you okay? I’m sorry, okay?”

But when you still remained silent without even as much as moving your eyes, he quickly added, “I’ll just fess up, yeah? I’ll tell her I panicked and lied and I’ll go on that date. Just please don’t be mad at me, okay?”

You held your hand up to stop him. “It’s fine. I just… I need a moment.”

“Yeah…” He breathed in relief before nodding and agreeing, “Yeah. Anything you want. I’ll…I can…  Do you want water? Tea? I could make cocoa.”

“Just water’s fine,” you told him almost robotically as you stared into space, rubbing your temples as if that would somehow make it easier to process the absolutely bizarre situation you had found yourself in because, no, unfortunately (or fortunately?) this was not a dream. This was your reality.

As he scurried over to the kitchen, you tried to wrap your mind around … well, everything. 

It felt like a cruel joke. All these months of pining after your handsome roommate, making him heart-shaped toast and pancakes, fixing his shirt collar as he prepared to leave for work, practically flat-out confessing to him – and here he was, practically throwing himself at you. 

But none of it was real. He wasn’t actually into you. It was just a panicked reaction. He’d just thought of the first age-appropriate woman that came to his mind – it was only you because you were roommates and spent so much time together. There were no feelings involved on his end. 

But on yours? You willed your heart to stop fluttering and pounding and threatening to beat out of your chest at the mere idea of dating Joshua Hong. 

“Here,” he spoke softly as he placed a cold glass of water into your hand and took his seat next to you. He watched for a while as you took a miniscule sip and continued staring into nothingness, lost in your thoughts. He hesitated to speak. “I really am sorry. I just wasn’t thinking straight. I was scared and–”

“I seemed like a safer option than Mary?” you finished for him, giving him a knowing look. “C’mon, is she really that bad?”

No, you’re just that much better is what you wished he’d say. Then you’d have at least something to hold onto.

Joshua offered a half-hearted smile. “Mom said Mary is really into haunted buildings and ghost hunting, so…”

Did that make you much better than her? Very debatable. But you were willing to take just about anything reminiscent of a win.

“Sounds dreadful,” you replied, matching his smile. “So what happens now?”

“Well,” he seemed hesitant all over again, as if no progress had been made at all. He quickly forced himself out of that headspace and met your eyes, “I could call my mom and tell her I lied…”

You sensed an ‘or’. Raising an eyebrow, you silently asked him to finish the thought.

He took a stuttering breath before grimacing. “Or we go on with the lie and pretend to date for a while.”

Option B is what your heart shouted. Please pick option B, even if it’s all a lie.

“A while being…?” you forced yourself to nitpick instead of immediately jumping into his arms and agreeing. 

He kissed his teeth. “A month-ish.”

“A month?!”

“Mom didn’t fully, entirely, really believe me,” Joshua supplied with an apologetic look, “so I bluffed a little and she said she’d come stay with us for a while to see it for herself and… I sort of agreed to let her stay a month.”

A month of (fake) dating Joshua Hong, your hot roommate, the very subject of your daydreams? You weren’t sure whether you wanted to scream in joy or cry in despair.

“Okay,” you breathed out and gulped. “We can– We can do a month… right?”

“Right.” He didn’t seem any more sure of than you.

“How long ‘til she comes here?”

“Two days.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

[DAY 1, FRIDAY]

Having read and watched a fair share of romantic comedies, you were adamant that there was no need for a ‘fake dating contract’. You and Joshua were roommates and good friends; surely just a verbal agreement of boundaries would suffice. You’d just tell him your boundaries and he’d tell you yours. 

In an ideal world, that is.

But in the real world, there was a knock on the door before you could even begin to whisper about the idea of boundaries.

While sharing a startled look with you, Joshua crept towards the door and peeked through peephole. 

“It’s her,” he breathed out and offered you one last grimace before opening the door. His voice went from tormented to overjoyed so fast you felt it give you a whiplash, “Mom! Hi! Let me help with your suitcase.”

Showtime (except this was not a theatre, and you didn’t have even the semblance of a script to play out, and you sucked at improv). Putting on your best smile, you stood up just as they entered the living room. 

“There she is!” his mother called out and rushed over to give you a warm hug. “Look at you! As good-looking as always!”

Your cheeks felt a little warm at that. “You look great too!”

“Oh, I know,” she joked and gave your shoulder a friendly pat. Then her friendly expression morphed into something more sinister. “So, dating, huh?”

If your cheeks had felt warm before, they were positively burning now. You tried to find your voice again, even offered a look to Joshua who could only respond with an equally nervous wide-eyed look. Finally, you cleared your throat and answered, “Yeah. We’re still kind of getting used to it ourselves.”

“I always knew you two would end up together,” she gushed, smiling ear to ear and winking at you between sentences. “Took you a while though. I was already starting to worry about my Joshua.”

“Yeah,” you heard him mumble, “me too.”

“Will you join us for dinner?” you asked her, trying to steer the topic away from the inevitable chit-chat about your almost-non-existent relationship.

She hummed in thought – a habit Joshua must have picked up from her, you realised – and nodded as she looked around the living room. “Of course. Let me just get settled in and put on more comfortable clothes. Where can I unpack?”

Your “boyfriend” and you shared a wide-eyed look. This is why you never did improv! 

“You can have my room,” Joshua finally spoke all the while still having that very same panicked expression. “I’ll get it set up real quick.”

His mother paused, confused (and was that a glint of suspicion in her eyes?). “You don’t sleep together?”

You could’ve fried an egg on your cheeks with how hot they felt. “Oh, we–”

“Like she said,” Joshua interrupted, forcing a smile that almost looked convincing, “we’re still kind of settling into this whole relationship thing. We’re taking it slow.”

“I’m glad to give you a push in the right direction,” she told him with a chuckle. “You can’t leave someone like (Y/n) just waiting. She’ll get bored of you, and then what?”

He laughed shortly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Like always.”

He nodded before tugging on the crook of your elbow to drag you with him. “Sweetie, why don’t you come help me set up mom’s room?”

You thanked the heavens he had enough mental capacity to not leave you alone with his mom. “Of course!”

“Help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen, yeah?” Joshua told his mom as he reached to pick up her suitcase with his free hand, his left one still holding onto you like you were his lifeline. “Coffee, tea, a snack – anything.”

She replied with a smile and continued her (no doubt thorough) tour of your apartment. 

Once you were in his room, he closed the door so that it was just a bit ajar as to not seem suspicious and turned to you with a look of terror. His whispers were so loud and harsh that you wondered if there was any point in pretending otherwise as he asked, “What do we do?”

“We clean your room and make your mom feel at home,” you suggested, not entirely sure what he was getting at.

Joshua gave you a look that said he was holding back the urge to call you dumb. “I meant us. She’s taking my bed. Where will I sleep? I can’t sleep on the sofa – she’ll figure out we’re lying.”

Oh. Yeah, that was an unwelcome problem. Mostly because the only viable solution you could think of involved Joshua sleeping in your room and you not getting any sleep because he’d be so close to you. What if you fell asleep and talked in your sleep, confessing your everlasting love? Worse!: what if you had a dirty dream about him – one involving his gorgeous biceps and soft lips and– dear god, you’d never be able to look him in the eyes again. Hell, you probably wouldn’t be able to be in the same room as him. 

Joshua stared at you in silence, expecting a solution. Before you could offer one though, he shut it down with a “I’m not sneaking out to sleep on Chan’s pull-out couch either.”

Damn it. 

“Then there’s only one solution,” you whispered back, unable to believe your own words. “We’ll have to share my room.”

“There’s no room for another mattress there.”

It’s not like either of you even knew where to find a spare mattress. But you didn’t tell him that. And the look in his eyes said you didn’t have to because he knew it just the same and that left only one solution.

“We can share my bed, but if you touch my teddy bear, I’ll make sure you go missing under mysterious circumstances,” you told him and left the room to get some clean sheets for the bed (and calm your heart).

The rest of a day went by in a daze of terrible half-believable lies that just kept elaborating at their own accord because of course she couldn’t be satisfied with just a simple answer. No, she had to ask questions to clarify, as if she was a detective trying to figure out a suspect’s background.

And so you bluffed and lied and shared panicked looks with Joshua. Your collaborations added up to a decent backstory – at least that’s what you thought because at least your lies were not completely out of the realm of reality.

Who confessed first? You both did, in a moment of drunken chaos at Seungcheol’s housewarming party (you failed to mention there was no alcohol provided at said party). 

Where was your first date? A picnic at the park not too far from your home just a few short months ago (and she didn’t need to know it was an outing with all of your neighbours – something not Joshua but Jihoon had organised to help the people in the building become closer).

What was your first kiss like? You had kissed him under the streetlights when he walked you home from work because you’d be damned if you let a man make the first move (in Joshua’s opinion, this was the most obvious lie of all but he chose not to argue because the other option was to look his mother in the eyes and tell her he’d made the first move to kiss somebody on the mouth).

The little lies added up and by the end of the day, you weren’t entirely sure where one started or another ended. Hell, you were pretty certain you wouldn’t remember most of them the next day. 

But that wasn’t the hard part – not the real hard part anyway. No, the real problem was the evernearing night. Between the improv performance of your life and the general feeling of butterflies, you hadn’t had any time to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to share a bed with your handsome, hot, absolutely amazing roommate under the guise of being his girlfriend.

And now the reality was looming.

His mother was the first to head to bed, leaving you and Joshua to stare at each other in a relieved silence across the dining table as she went about her bedtime routine. Neither you or Joshua dared to move to head to sleep next. Neither of you wanted to make the first move. 

Sensing you were faced with a similar dilemma, he finally suggested, “We could watch a movie.”

“We’ll have to go to bed eventually,” you told him with a sigh. “We can’t spend the whole night watching TV.”

His silence told you he thought otherwise. 

And you were in no mood to make the first move or argue about pillow barriers and teddy bears. So, begrudgingly, you dragged yourself over to the sofa and turned on the TV. 

He joined you soon after, two cans of soda in hand. He handed one – already opened – to you as you flipped through the movie selection.

“You know, sugar really isn’t good for you before bed,” you remarked offhandedly. “Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

He just scoffed and opened his can with a pop and a fizzle. “Good thing we’re watching a movie and not sleeping then.”

“Rom-com or action?”

“Action,” he answered a little too fast before sipping his drink as if to distract himself. 

“We could watch Transformers,” you half-joked. “It’s got a good runtime.”

“Might as well,” he sighed and made himself comfortable as you clicked on the title. 

As you pulled a cushion into your lap for optimal comfort, Joshua remained sitting far from you. It was funny, really – it seemed that he was sitting further from you as your “boyfriend” than he ever had as just your roommate. 

You wanted to blame the movie for how silent the living room had become. Only Optimus Prime’s voice sounded in the apartment, and even that was quiet to not disturb your guest’s sleep. But the reality was that something had shifted between you. You were officially stuck in an arrangement that both benefited and ruined you, and the reality was sinking in fast.

Now there was no chance to take back the lies and the faking. The only option was to keep going and keep up with your elaborate plan to trick the sweetest woman you knew, all because your roommate didn’t want to date some girl called Mary and you had agreed to be his cover because you were infatuated with him. 

How does one process this situation? Where do you go from here? Can you do this for a month without thinking too hard about it? And what happens when the month is up?

“Hey,” Joshua’s soft voice startled you from your tortured thoughts. You turned to find him watching you with a somewhat wistful smile. “You did great today, you know?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You chuckled but it sounded pained even to your own ears. “I was just being a good girlfriend.”

He snorted a laugh. “You can stop acting. I’m pretty sure she’s asleep by now. It’s okay. ”

“How do you know if she’s asleep?” you whispered, eyeing his – no, her – bedroom door. “Would suck to get caught lying on the very first night.”

Joshua’s smile looked a little more real now, almost reaching his eyes as he still watched you like you were a beloved family puppy who had learnt a new trick. “She snores pretty loud.”

Tense in your seat, still eyeing the door, you listened and waited. Before long, you discovered he was right. There it was, a soft snore accompanying Bumblebee’s action scene. Closing your eyes, you breathed out in relief and relaxed into the plush fabric of the sofa. 

“Do you think she bought it?” you wondered.

“If she didn’t, we’ll just have to work harder tomorrow,” he replied before reaching over to brush your hair off your face. 

You willed the butterflies to just go to sleep already and let you be. They remained relentless and you could only pray Joshua wouldn’t notice how flustered his touch made you feel.

“We just have to do this for another 29 days,” you said to distract yourself. “It’ll be fine.”

Did he have to keep stroking your cheek so gently? How much hair did you even have stuck on your face? Maybe you were hallucinating and he wasn’t touching you at all – that seemed almost plausible. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered and he sounded to be closer now. His warm breath brushed against your temple. Maybe you weren’t entirely out of your mind yet. “It’s just a month.”

“Just a month.” 

You weren’t yet sure whether you wished it would last less or more.

[DAY 2, SATURDAY]

Three things had greeted you when you woke up: the smell of fresh coffee, the brightest sun you had ever had the displeasure of waking under, and someone’s arm around your waist. You almost hadn’t cared whose arm it was because it was holding you to a warm body, safe from the evils of the morning chill.

Begrudgingly, you had eventually opened your eyes and glanced around. You had fallen asleep on the sofa instead of your bed – a work-around for last night’s problem if you’d ever seen one, even if it was horrible for your back. And the arm belonged to none other than your roommate who looked like an angel as he slept, resting his head on your shoulder… 

“And how is any of that my problem?” Chan yawned over his cup of coffee as he watched you pace around his kitchen ten minutes later. He didn’t really have any plans anyway but it’s not like he enjoyed having neighbours march into his apartment to rant about their love lives (even if it was great material for the building’s gossip group chat which he would no doubt update as soon as you’d leave).

You offered him a glare. “You’re supposed to be a supportive friend.”

“You must have me mixed up with someone,” he deadpanned and took a sip of his hot drink. “What’s so bad about waking up next to him anyway? It’s not like you’ve never shared a bed before.”

Your face felt like it was burning at his words. “How do you even know that?”

Unimpressed, he raised a brow. “You did the same thing the last time it happened – ran in screaming and crying and giggling like a schoolkid.” He paused, narrowing his eyes a little as if a thought was occurring before adding, “You actually do this a lot. It’s a little concerning.”

“Whatever,” you groaned and slumped in the bar stool across the counter from him. “What do I do?”

“Seize the day and appreciate the fact that you’re dating your crush?”

“Fake dating,” you corrected him with a mild glare. And you had only revealed so much to him because he was your best friend and confidant (and because you had made him swear on his life that he wouldn’t tell anyone else).

Chan scoffed a laugh. “He might be faking but there’s no way you are. You suck at improv. Just embrace it and go with the flow.”

You stared at him. Were all your friends this unhelpful or was this just a trait unique to Lee Chan? 

“Why do I even come to you for advice?” you thought out loud. “It’s not like you can even get a date yourself.”

He sputtered and coughed up the sip of coffee he had unfortunately taken just seconds before. His ears turned red. “At least I’m trying.”

“So am I!” you whined. “Come on, give me something to work with. I’m in the middle of a crisis.”

“All of which is self-inflicted.”

“I hate you.”

“Maybe, but you love Joshua,” he teased, winked, and narrowly dodged the apple you threw at his head. He laughed heartily before taking another sip of his coffee. “I’m serious though. You might as well take advantage of your arrangement. Just forget about the fake part and just think of yourself as his girlfriend. I’m sure he won’t complain about your authenticity.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, then take advantage some other way,” he suggested, appearing a little frustrated (which was fair; you had, in fact, interrupted his much needed me-time and breakfast for one). “What are you getting out of this arrangement anyways? He gets his mom off his back, and you? Is getting to live out your late-night fantasies the only perk?”

You stared at him. For a moment, he feared you were getting ready to hurl another fruit at his head. But then, instead of reaching for an apple, you slumped in your seat and let out a curious noise. “Huh.”

“Huh?” he mimicked, still tense in case it was a fake-out and you were going to throw something at him regardless.

“You’re right,” you said and he worried even more. 

He glanced towards the nearest door from the corner of his eye, wondering if it was close enough for a safe escape. You never said Chan was right – that just wasn’t a thing. It never happened. He had a bigger chance of getting struck by lightning than to hear you say those two words. Chan was fearing for his life.

“I’m right?” he echoed hesitantly.

“I’m getting nothing out of this arrangement,” you said with a scoff of disbelief. “That little scammer! I’m out here improv-ing my ass off to please his mother and all I get in return is daydream material? Screw that!”

Across from you, Chan still wasn’t sure if this was a healthy development or if he should call Jeonghan for back-up. Regardless, he decided it was safer to just play along. He let out an empathetic cheer and agreed, “Screw it! Yeah! He’s too nice to say no anyways.”

“I’m gonna make him pay!” you decided and marched out of his apartment.

The moment you were out of his sight, Chan breathed out a sigh of relief. 

But you? You froze in the hallway. You just had to cross the hall and demand your due payment. But what would you even ask for? 

As your mind raced for ideas – a new laptop? a new wardrobe? –, the door of your apartment opened. As if you were cursed, Joshua’s head peeked out. 

“Oh,” he spoke and his voice was so soft and welcoming that you almost convinced yourself you couldn’t take advantage of him any more than you already were, “there you are! We were starting to worry.”

“Worry?” you parroted dumbly.

“Yeah,” he laughed and reached out a hand as if to invite you in – as if your name wasn’t on the lease right next to his –, “we were about to have breakfast. Mom made french toast.”

“Oh.” You silently wondered what had happened to the woman you had been two minutes ago in Chan’s apartment. The spine you had grown seemed to have disappeared as soon as Joshua flashed you a smile. You were capital S Screwed.

Deep in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed Joshua staring at you, confused and puzzled, his hand still outstretched for you to take. He cleared his throat to call your attention and forced his smile to brighten as he wriggled his fingers as if to entice you. You sighed quietly before faking a smile and taking his hand, finally letting him pull you to the kitchen.

“There you are,” his mother called out the moment she saw you. She was already at the table, sipping her tea and eyeing the fresh toast. “We were just beginning to wonder where you had gone.”

“Yeah,” Joshua agreed before frowning at you as he pulled a chair out for you to sit, “where did you go?”

What would be a convincing lie? A half-truth – at least that’s what Joshua himself had once told you in a drunken giggle fit.

You took a deep breath and lied through your teeth, “I remembered I promised to help Chan with something.”

“Chan?” She looked at you and there was an odd glint of something in her eyes. Amusement? Judgement? Suspicion. That’s what it was – it was clear cut suspicion and you had to shake it off before she caught onto your plan.

“Our neighbour from across the hall,” Joshua said quickly. Too quickly. You thought he must have recognised that glint in her eyes as well. “He and (Y/n) get along great.”

She hummed thoughtfully, giving you one last glance before declaring, “Well, let’s eat before it all gets cold, kids.”

[DAY 3, SUNDAY]

You had managed to avoid this twice already. This being the act of sharing a bed with the very man who had been the main character of your beautiful love-struck dreams for the past 7 months. 

The first time had been a lucky break – falling asleep on the sofa with a Transformers movie playing in the background. It had been believable enough.

The second time – last night –, had been less of a lucky break and more of a Joshua scheme. Whether it was because he couldn’t fathom the idea of sharing even a room with you (hurtful, but valid) or because he was afraid you’d be uncomfortable (absolutely valid), he had gone to hang out with his friend Jeonghan and the newest inhabitant of the building Choi Seungcheol and didn’t return until noon. And even now he was still hungover from their late-night activities.

But this time? It seemed that three was not a magic number after all. 

Dressed in your least revealing pyjamas, you stood next to Joshua, collectively staring at the twin bed in the corner of your room. 

The silence was deafening and suffocating you. And the butterflies in your stomach seemed to have doubled since this arrangement started. 

“Do you think it’s too late to call Jihoon and ask for a spare mattress?” you wondered out loud without really meaning to. 

You wanted to slap a hand over your own mouth – all these months of pining but when the opportunity is served to you on a silver platter, you’re a coward. What was it that Mina had called this? 

Self-sabotage? Sounds about right.

Joshua glanced at the time on his phone before sighing and looking at the bed again. “It’s already past midnight. And you have work at 8.”

“Oh.” 

“Whatever,” he sighed, blinking his eyes closed and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take the window side. You take the wall side.”

Any love-blind or anxious thoughts jumped right out your third floor windows. Why did you even have a crush on this man who cared so little for your sleep? Making you sleep against the wall? When his shoulders were almost as wide as your whole bed? 

To quote the wise words of Lee Jihoon: Joshua? A gentleman, my ass!

You scoffed. “No way! Last time I let you do that, you almost squashed me.”

Frowning, he shushed you and pointed at the door. “My mom’s next door.”

You rolled your eyes and continued in a whisper – because unlike him, you were considerate of your friends’ feelings and needs –, “I’m not sleeping against the wall.”

“Fine,” he agreed with a soft scoff of disbelief, his eyes widening, “I’ll sleep against the wall.”

“And what? Push me off my own bed?”

He stared at you like you had grown a third head. But really he couldn’t argue – he knew he couldn’t because you had a perfectly valid point. And besides, he had lived with you long enough to know there was no winning against you. 

“Then what do you suggest?” he asked, defeated.

No ideas were popping up. You stayed quiet. 

After a few minutes of silence, you relented and suggested, “... Rock paper scissors?”

“You didn’t like either idea,” he reminded you.

“Just pick a side to defend. Whatever. I’m voting I get the window side.”

“But you didn’t want–”

“I want the window side,” you insisted half-heartedly but you both knew you were lying. There was no winning for you – not with a bed this size.

“Why did I choose you?” he thought out loud as he lifted his hand in the starting position. 

You almost scoffed at his words because it’s not like he actually had any other choices anyway. You were the only one crazy enough to agree to his scheme. Joshua had exactly two partners in crime and you doubted Jeonghan would have agreed to pretend to be Joshua’s boyfriend for a month. So, really, you were his one and only option.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” you softly counted in unison.

Your rock was swiftly beaten by his paper. You weren’t sure why that annoyed you – you were on the losing end of the bet either way.

Joshua stepped back and grandly gestured towards the bed with a sarcastic smile, “My love.”

“I hate you,” you told him with a groan and got in the bed before pulling yourself to the side against the wall. You already knew this would be a miserable night. 

Your roommate chuckled and followed suit, settling on his own side. Immediately, you regretted getting in the bed with him. Joshua took up more than half of the bed, easily and even when he was trying to be considerate, rolling to his side to take up less space, he was too close for comfort. 

Perhaps, you wondered, he wouldn’t bat an eye if you got out right now and pulled an all-nighter on a report you desperately needed to work on before the morning (the report being your Netflix catalogue; Bridgerton was calling your name).

But before you could even open your mouth to lie, Joshua pulled the blanket up to your neck, tucking you in with a gentle smile. “We can switch tomorrow, if you want. Just get some sleep now. You have an early day.”

As he closed your eyes and subconsciously leaned closer to you, you wondered if it would be so hard to take advantage of the situation after all and pretend it’s real. Would it really hurt to just forget about the ‘fake’ part of your fake dating plan and just… lean a little closer and rest your head on his pillow instead of your own? 

His hand was so close to yours, fingers just inches from touching. 

What would happen if you just reached out and wrapped your hand around his? What would happen if you pressed a single affectionate kiss to his knuckles? 

Would he smile in his sleep? 

Or would he be appalled?

You shook the thoughts out of your head and squeezed your eyes shut. This was going to be a long night.

[DAY 4, MONDAY]

In your months of living with Joshua, you had shared more than a few breakfasts. Hungover, sick, or even after a foul fight over who’s turn it had been to take out the trash – none of those breakfasts had been nearly as unpalatable as this one.

You could hardly look at him from across the table. Mortified. Ashamed. Certain he wouldn’t even want to look at you. You avoided his eyes and he avoided yours as his mother fussed about and piled waffles upon waffles onto your plates. 

It might have been rude to not listen to your guest’s morning rambles about the weather and the news channel, but you were still too caught-up in your embarrassment to pay her any kind of attention. 

You knew you shouldn’t have fallen asleep. You should’ve ignored the fluffy sheep and refused the offers of the Sandman. You really should have because you hadn’t and now you were forced to live the knowledge that Joshua had to gently shake you awake from his spot underneath you. 

From UNDERNEATH you. Meaning you had fallen asleep on top of your very handsome roommate. 

And now you couldn’t even look him in the eyes again. 

“Are you kids alright?” his mother wondered all of a sudden and a jolt of fear went through you. 

On instinct and instinct alone, your head snapped to share a look with your “boyfriend”. Remembering the morning incident, you immediately looked away again and feigned nonchalance even as your cheeks and ears burned (out of the corner of your eye, you saw him do the same – there went the small chance that he had thought nothing of it).

“Yeah, why?” Joshua replied after clearing his throat.

“You’re usually not this quiet,” she said and you found her looking at you with concern. “Did something happen? Did you two fight?”

“What? No!” you protested without really meaning to. In your head, you reminded yourself that it was just a reflex and the desperate need to fulfil your part of the deal. “We’re completely fine.”

“Are you?” she still worried, hands on her hips as she took turns looking at the two of you. “Be honest: is me being here a problem? You seem so awkward, like even being in the same room is a chore. Did you fight because I came to stay here?”

“No, no,” you and Joshua protested in unison. 

You shared another look, forgetting your embarrassment now that your plan was in jeopardy.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I really didn’t want to cause you problems. If I’ve done something to upset either of you–”

“Mom,” Joshua assured her with a gentle smile that didn’t look entirely genuine, “(Y/n) and I are fine. We’re just…”

“Stressed from work,” you supplied when he trailed off in thought. “You know how it is.”

She didn’t fully seem to buy it, still eyeing the both of you with a mix of suspicion and worry. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” She scoffed as if she had realised the gravity of her words and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What am I even saying? You wouldn’t lie to me.”

As if your morning couldn’t get any worse.

“We should go get ready for work, honey,” Joshua suddenly excused himself and you, pulling you up by the crook of your elbow. “Wouldn’t want you to be late to work with all those big projects you have.”

You wondered what big projects he was talking about. Your higher-ups barely even allowed you to proofread the company documents and fix typos. But the look in his eyes said he needed you to play along.

“Right, right,” you sighed and went with him, offering his mother one last sweet smile before the bedroom door shut behind you and Joshua practically trapped you against it. 

“She’s onto us,” he told you quietly, all the while still avoiding your eyes. “She’s onto us and she’s probably already setting up a blind date with that Maria-girl.”

“Wasn’t it Mary?” you wondered.

Joshua replied with a half-hearted glare and a sigh. “We need to fix this.”

“But how?” You crossed your arms over your chest, mostly to convince yourself that there was enough space between your and his body to not have the butterflies go absolutely wild. “We just, what, kiss and make up?”

His eyes lit up and you feared for your life. “You’re a genius!”

“Shua, I was being sarcastic.”

He didn’t even seem to hear your protests. “If we kiss, she has no reason to suspect we’re not together. And she’ll be off our backs. It’s perfect.”

The things you would’ve done to kiss Joshua Hong and his beautiful, plump lips… 

Joshua must have mistaken your eager expression for one of dismay or maybe fear because his eyes widened. He lifted his hands in a way that just screamed ‘I was just kidding, please don’t hit me’ before quickly adding, “Not that I want to kiss you – I’m sure you’re a great kisser. We don’t have to kiss though. Because–”

“Because we’re friends,” you finished for him with a smile that you hoped wouldn’t betray your disappointment, “and it would make things awkward, right?”

“Right,” he breathed out and visibly relaxing – slumping even – in front of you. “I’m sorry I even suggested that. It’s dumb. You’re my friend – you shouldn’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to just because of a stupid scheme to please my mom.”

If you don’t want to. If you don’t want to. You almost scoffed in his face – he had no idea what he was saying.

You wondered what was the formal and correct way to inform your roommate that you had the biggest, fattest, most ridiculous crush on him and would sell your left kidney for one kiss – if only he wanted to kiss you back.

“Well, we have to convince her somehow, right?” you pointed out as you prepared to start doing your hair. “I doubt a hug will make her less suspicious.”

Joshua chuckled. “You noticed it too?”

“She was acting like she expected us to slip up and confess at any moment,” you reminded him with a quirk of your brow, eyeing him through the mirror. “What did she say? ‘You wouldn’t lie to me’? Oddly specific, no?”

“We’re so screwed if we don’t figure something out,” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair (it took you great strength to resist the urge to reach over and give his fluffy utter mess of dark hair a pat as well).

You schooled your expression, willing the beginnings of a blush to go away, as you suggested, “We could still do something kiss-related, you know. Just this once, to get her off our backs.”

“I’m not kissing you,” he argued instantly, ears reddening.

Why was he so god-damn difficult? Why did he have to go on an anxious mental tangent about the wrongs of kissing one’s roommate? Why couldn’t he just kiss you already?! It was his idea anyway!

You almost rolled your eyes as you came up with an alternative, “I could kiss you on the cheek when I leave. Not as good as a kiss but–”

“That could work.”

“Okay, great, we’ve figured it out,” you told him with a chuckle and gently pushed him towards the door. “Now, get out. You haven’t dated me long enough to earn the privilege of seeing me naked yet.”

He snorted a laugh at that – you were half sure it was because he had, in fact, at one point seen you naked, under very different and less than ideal circumstances involving one too many shots of Bacardi – before leaving you to your thoughts and doubts and the knowledge that your roommate did not want to kiss you at all.

[DAY 7, THURSDAY]

While there was an extensive list of reasons why Joshua Hong was the most infuriating man you had ever met (and you meant this very affectionately, which your friends found hilarious), there was an equally extensive list of reasons why Joshua was the ideal man.

His looks were definitely on the list – his doe-like brown eyes, his little bird’s nest of morning hair, his bright smiles to name some of the points.

But it wasn’t all that superficial. You loved his sense of humour. You liked his unlimited patience and kindness. 

Most of all, you loved his cooking.

On most evenings, you got home from work and found your roommate beginning to prepare dinner. He’d offer you a wide smile and ask if his plan of tomato rigatoni suited your tastes. And then he’d just let you rant about your day as he cooked, a drink in your hand.

This tradition had been briefly broken by Joshua’s mother taking over kitchen duties. She felt it was only fair as she was staying in your apartment for free for such a prolonged time. But as much as you loved her food (which almost rivalled Joshua’s), you just missed your daily gossip sessions. 

So, when you got home from work and found your roommate, friend, and fake boyfriend extraordinaire sorting through ingredients on the kitchen counter, you almost cried of joy. You had so many tales to share and you were eager to listen to his stories as well (your last gossip session had ended on a cliffhanger on his part). 

“You’re cooking?” you asked him, leaning over to look at the ingredients, before even remembering that was not how you were meant to greet someone. 

Joshua jumped at voice before resting a hand on his chest and taking a deep breath. “Oh my god…”

“Did I scare you?” you laughed at him and offered an apologetic expression when he turned to glare at you. “So, what are you cooking?”

“I was going to just make some vegetable soup,” he informed you with a tired chuckle. “Mom’s feeling a little under the weather so…”

You couldn’t help but melt at the implications. The grand scheme of fake dating aside, Joshua was a great son to his mother. Yet another reason to add to your ever-growing list. 

And perhaps it was the melting of your heart that affected your brain activity because the next thing you knew you were doing the unthinkable.

“Can I help somehow?” you asked him. 

Even Joshua was startled by your question. And you soon realised why.

In disbelief, you scoffed. “C’mon, I’ve helped you before.”

“Have you?” His head tilted to the side in a manner resembling a curious cat but his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You never offer to help cook. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you use a pan.”

“Shush,” you told him and gave him a gentle slap on the bicep. “What do you need me to do?”

Looking at the various vegetables on the counter, he puffed his cheeks out in thought. Then he shrugged. “You could help with the potatoes.”

“What do I do with them?”

He sighed theatrically. “This is why I never let you help.”

“Hey!”

“Just peel and cut them into pieces, okay?” he finally instructed with a laugh that suggested he did not have a lot of faith in your ability to do so. “Not too small though.”

“I know how to cut potatoes, Shua,” you told him as you got out a knife and cutting board. “I’m a big girl.”

When he offered you another suspicious and perhaps worried glance, you decided it was time to prove a point. He didn’t think you could peel and cut a potato into perfect pieces for a soup? You were going to prove him wrong and you were going to make him eat his words.

It started out great. The first potato was a breeze, peeled and cut in record time. The second and third potato were a joy to turn into smaller chunks and chuck into the bowl Joshua had provided for you. While working on the fourth potato, you started sharing gossip from work and it didn’t affect your task at all. 

For a moment you were certain Joshua would regret doubting you. You were sure there was no way you were going to mess this up and make him question your cooking abilities ever again. 

That is until you reached the last potato. It was two chops in when you let out a whimper, dropped the knife and cradled your hand to your chest.

Joshua’s head snapped up immediately.  Eyes widening in concern, he rushed to your side. “Are you bleeding?”

“Yeah,” you sighed and reached for a towel to dry the blood. “It’s no big deal though, so don’t worry. I’ll g0 find some band-aids and–”

“Don’t get any blood on the potatoes,” he warned with a serious frown and your jaw dropped.

You smacked him with your good hand when his scowl turned into a mischievous smile.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he laughed and left the room. He returned just moments later with the first-aid kit. “Come here, silly. Let’s get that fixed up.”

When he reached for your injured hand, you snorted out a laugh. “You know, I can put the band-aid on by myself.”

“Who knows,” he teased all the while focusing on your wound, “maybe you’d mess that up as well.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” you told him but made no move to escape from your handsome nurse.

Leaning ridiculously close to you, he gently applied the band-aid. When you let out a soft hiss at the pain (mostly just to mess with him), he pouted and pressed a soft kiss to the spot. “That better?”

It was just your luck that his mother decided to come for a glass of water at that exact moment. She let out a soft gasp of delight before feigning nonchalance when your heads snapped to look at her. 

Clearing his throat, Joshua immediately leaned away, straightened up, and offered her a taut smile. 

“Don’t mind me, lovebirds,” she spoke in a theatrical whisper and rushed over to the cupboard to get a glass. “I’m not even here.”

You fought a grimace and turned back to your cutting board. The potato wasn’t going to cut itself and the pot of broth was already calling its name. 

“You’re making soup?” she wondered and lifted a glass of water to her lips, barely even bothering to hide a smile. “It smells delicious.”

Joshua chuckled. “It will be, once (Y/n) finishes the potatoes and we add them in.”

Her jaw dropped and she lowered her glass of water. 

“Joshua!” 

Her voice could only be described as the dictionary definition of the tone of a mother scolding her children for getting into trouble. It sent a shiver of fear down your spine until you realised it wasn’t you she was yelling at.

Your roommate offered you a panicked look before turning to look at his mother, offering her a tight-lipped, fearful smile. “Yes?”

“You’re not actually going to make your girlfriend cook when she’s injured like this, right?!” she demanded to know, her brows furrowed into a furious frown. “She’s bleeding!”

“She’s fine,” Joshua started to argue but his voice trailed lower and lower with every syllable until it faded into silence and his gaze dropped to the floor in shame. 

She glared at him and reached to drag you away from the counter by the sleeve of your blouse. “Come on, sweetheart. You can come watch a movie with me while Joshua thinks about what he’s done.”

As you made your escape from the heat of the kitchen, you glanced over your shoulder to find Joshua looking at you with a dramatic grimace. You replied with a bright smile of victory and a playful wave before joining his mother in watching Mamma Mia.

[DAY 12, TUESDAY]

As far as ways to throw your roommate’s mom off your trail go, cheek kisses were good enough for the first couple of days. You quite grew to like them and, judging by the pinks of his ears and cheeks, so did Joshua. Every morning, you’d leave for work with a kiss to his cheek, a sweet smile and prep to your steps.

Then, of course, his mother made an off-hand comment about how it seems that Joshua never kisses you and he, of course, took that as a challenge. So, he began sending you off with forehead kisses and warm hugs. You like those even more, honestly. 

But you both knew you were delaying the inevitable. Eventually, the cheek and forehead kisses would not be enough proof of your relationship. Paired with no late-evening love-drunk giggles and movie night cuddles, the morning kisses were barely enough to convince anyone and eventually you’d have to up your game.

You had simply hoped you’d have more time to come to terms with the fact before it happened.

“Mom’s starting to get suspicious again,” Joshua simply stated in a hushed tone as he helped you put on your coat. 

Your heart dropped at the mention. When you turned to look at him, he was looking at everything but your eyes. “Is she asking questions again?”

“She told me to stop eating so much garlic bread because it would make my breath stink,” he said while staring at the fake plant sat on the shoe rack. “That feels like a hint.”

“Well, you don’t want to kiss me, so,” you pointed out with a shrug and shook your scarf to unravel it. “Just tell her it’s my breath that’s bad.”

“No way. Everybody knows your breath smells like roses and vanilla,” he joked and you choked on a laugh. He took your scarf from you and untangled a knot in the middle. 

With nothing to do but stare at him, you came up with a mutually beneficial idea. “We could just fake it.”

“How do you fake a kiss?” he wondered, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t that what they do in movies? We just have to get the angle right.”

“How does that work?” 

It turns out it’s hard to answer any questions when your crush is standing in your personal space – so close that you could smell his shampoo and conditioner. Your brain stalled, blanked and desperately tried to restart all necessary systems while you stared at him. 

“Like this?” you heard his voice say but it sounded distant over the sound of your heart pumping.

Not seeming to notice your daze, Joshua placed the scarf around your neck gently. Carefully, he tugged on the two ends of it, pulling you closer inch by inch until you were so close that you had to fight yourself to not actually kiss him. He leaned closer and closer still, his nose brushing against yours, his hands still wrapped in the scarf to keep you from escaping. If you focused really hard, you could almost feel his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly.

The sound of the coffee maker starting and a mug being placed on the counter awakened you again, harshly forcing you back into consciousness. You let out a soft gasp without really meaning to. 

“That– That was–” Joshua stammered, stepping away from you like he’d been burned and running a hand through his hair. 

You cleared your throat. “That could work… I guess…”

“Right.” 

“Yeah.”

“Have— Have a good day…”

“Yeah.”

You couldn’t find another word to say until you reached your office. There, you slumped into your almost-comfy chair and stared at the ceiling. 

“Fuck.”

[DAY 16, SATURDAY]

Brunch is meant to be fun. It’s meant to bring joy. It’s breakfast without the hassle of waking up at 8 am – what’s not to love?

Well, you weren’t sure you liked brunch that much anymore.

Traumatised (a bit of a hyperbole) and furious (the scientifically correct term), you walked into your room and shut the door behind you before turning to glare at Joshua.

While you had gone out to eat with his mother – at her insistence and with a promise of free food –, your roommate stayed home with the excuse of a headache and snuggled into your blankets like it was his rightful place.

“You.”

His eyes blinked open. “Me?”

“Why do you never read your damn messages?” you burst out but tried to keep your voice low to not catch his mother’s attention. “I sent you, like, fifty.”

“You did?” He seemed genuinely surprised. Which meant that he hadn’t even looked at his phone once in the hours you were gone. Why did he even have a phone in the first place?

Your hands clenched into fists. “What if I died?!”

“My mom asking you to brunch isn’t really a deadly occasion.”

“I barely survived! She asked me about grandkids!”

“Oh.”

Your glare was unrelenting. You hoped it would somehow telepathically convey how much you wished to strangle him if only it weren’t illegal and you weren’t desperately in love with him.

“Well, what did you tell her?” he then wondered and you almost actually jumped to tackle and murder him.

“What do you think I told her, Joshua?” You scoffed. “I just said we hadn’t thought about it because this is still new and you know what she did? Do you want to know what she did?”

He raised a brow. “I guess so?”

“She started giving me the whole ‘you don’t have forever’ and ‘I’d like grandkids before I turn 70’ spiel,” you informed him and groaned. “It went on forever.”

“You’re a good actor,” he assured you with a small smile that almost seemed amused, “I’m sure you got your way out of it.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” you told him with a roll of your eyes.

He gasped. “Because my mom asked about grandkids?!”

“Because you don’t read my texts.”

Joshua paused. “Yeah, that’s fair, actually.”

[DAY 20, WEDNESDAY]

Enough was enough. You could put up with many things – your roommate’s pranks, Chan’s endless fantasies about how he’s secretly the most sensible inhabitant of the building, Joshua’s mother staying for a month with little to no notice – but you even your charitability had its limits.

When you’d woken up this morning, your back positively aching and your joints sore from being stuck between Joshua’s wall-like form and the actual wall, the first thought you had was something Chan said:

“What are you getting out of this arrangement anyways? He gets his mom off his back, and you? Is getting to live out your late-night fantasies the only perk?”

And that was when you decided that you had finally reached your limit. With a shove that was far from affectionate or fond, you awakened Joshua and declared before he could even rub the sleep out of his eyes that he’d better keep his evening schedule and a sizable number on his bank account free for you.

What followed had been a shopping trip that dismayed him and exhilarated you. You had, after all, wanted a proper big bed for a while now. Finally, a chance to sprawl out and live out your starfish dreams without the worry of falling to the cold hard ground at 2 am. And more importantly, no more being pushed against the wall like an undignified cushion every other night.

But the thing you enjoyed most of all was Joshua’s hair getting progressively more messy and unkempt as he tried to decipher the IKEA instructions all on his own while you curled up in your desk chair and watched him with a cup of hot cocoa in hand.

“I thought you’d be better at this,” you noted passively upon hearing his frustrated sigh and seeing him unscrew what you assumed was meant to be one of the legs of the new bed. “Maybe I should’ve asked for Jeonghan’s help instead.”

The glare he sent your way was scathing but his tone remained as delightful as always when he assured you, “I’ve got this, don’t worry.”

You made a show of glancing at the time on your laptop – a rerun of Friends playing in the background in an effort to entertain your poor IKEA slave of the night – and announced, “I’m just saying. It’s almost midnight and you’ve only managed to add one leg to the frame.”

He groaned. “It’s not my fault this thing is so complicated. Why couldn’t you pick out a different frame? Something more easy to assemble, for one.”

“I wanted this one,” you teased.

“The oak one you looked at at first would’ve been better. And cheaper.”

“If you want me to keep playing along in your little improv show, you’d better be happy I only asked for a 700,000-won bed in return,” you pointed out and took a sip of your cocoa. 

You sighed happily at the warmth the drink provided. Oh the joys of girlhood. You thought you could get used to this: free furniture, free assembly, and a handsome man to do your bidding.

Joshua’s lips and eyes squeezed into a sarcastic smile as he slowly turned to face you. “Don’t forget the mattress, darling.”

You shrugged. “I didn’t see you protesting at the check-out.”

His smile dropped into yet another glare. “That’s called being in shock. My bank account is dying because of you.”

Without another word, he sharply turned back to his task of assembling the frame.

“This benefits you too, sweetheart,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. “I sleep better, you sleep better, everybody benefits.”

“For ten days,” he muttered and practically slammed two pieces of wood together now that he was sure they were meant to go together. “And then you have a new comfy bed and I just have poverty.”

You snorted. “I’m willing to split custody if you’re nice to me.”

It didn’t take a genius to know he was rolling his eyes. “Yeah right.”

“Besides,” you adjusted your position so you could nudge his back with your foot in an affectionate manner, “you barge in here to gossip every other night anyways. You’re benefiting plenty.”

“Remind me to never ask you to be my fake girlfriend ever again,” he pleaded.

You knew (or perhaps wished) he only half-meant it. But even so there was a pang in your chest. A feeling of sadness as the reality once again sank in. It was easy to forget that this was just an act and he had only bought you this bed because he felt guilty and not because he loved you. The feeling would nag you late into the night.

[DAY 22,  FRIDAY]

You had learnt early on that karaoke has the magical ability to heal wounds and erase bad memories, even if just for one night. Tonight you hoped it would once again prove true.

The building’s monthly karaoke parties were organised by Vernon and Jihoon in an effort to bring the community closer together. On every third Friday of the month, the lobby of the building would be lit with stage and string lights, decorated with colourful banners and dollar store party supplies, and a small stage would be built in the corner. As was tradition, everyone brought some snacks and drinks to the snack table and enjoyed the evening, getting progressively more drunk between karaoke and socialising. 

You thought it was the perfect solution to your problems. With the help of loud music, your nosy friends and alcohol, you would for sure soon forget your heartache and worries. 

There was, however, one problem you had forgotten: Joshua’s protective nature.

You had successfully managed to avoid him for the better part of the evening, sneaking between people, hiding behind Mingyu’s wide frame under the guise of playing hide and seek with your roommate (something Mingyu was very happy to help with; you suspected he just liked to feel useful), and running at every mention of Joshua. 

Seamlessly, the karaoke soon worked its miracle. You found you had missed the liberty that came with hanging out with your friends and not worrying how everything appears to Joshua’s mother. For this one night, you were not Joshua’s fake girlfriend, not someone’s pretend-daughter-in-law, and not an actress struggling at improv – you were once again just (Y/n), a simple woman in love with her best friend, eyeing him from across the room and giggling with your friends about it.

By the time you remembered you were hiding from him, you were far from sober and your thoughts were getting a little jumbled as you made conversation with Minghao, laughing between every other word because saying things was hard and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Minghao didn’t say a word and only smiled at you fondly, like one would at a kitten trying to chase after shoelaces, as he listened to you. 

His attention was caught by something behind you and you saw him give someone a gentle nod and a bright smile. Then, before you could even process the situation or ask any questions, he placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you around, bringing you face to face with him. 

You weren’t sure what it was about the dollar store lighting in the lobby, but you had always thought it made Joshua look even more delectable. It was hard not to stare at the shadow his lashes cast on his cheeks or the definition of his muscles visible through the thin fabric of his button-up shirt.

“Hi!” You greeted him with a wave and an intoxicated giggle, momentarily forgetting about the freshly opened can of beer in your hand and letting it slosh in your hands. “Oh! Sorry, my bad!”

A situation you would’ve once thought to be mortifying only made you laugh harder tonight as you searched for tissues and began to dry your hand. You didn’t notice when Joshua had taken the drink from you but you also wouldn’t notice he never gave it back.

He watched you with a smile. “Having fun?”

“Oh my god, I’m having so much fun,” you rambled, eyes shining as you looked at him, already forgetting your quest to dry the floor. “Did you see when Seungcheol and I did ‘Alcohol-Free’ together? It was so much fun–”

It was hard to finish your thought when he looked at you with those pretty eyes, and smile, and– 

He adjusted the sleeves of your dress for you and you almost melted. All thoughts gone. Words? Never heard of those.

You were silent for so long that he chuckled. “You awake?”

“I– Yeah, totally,” you replied, blinking your eyes to force yourself to focus again. “How about you? Are you having fun?”

He shrugged. “I usually have more fun when you’re with me.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t even sing ‘Breaking Free’ with me tonight,” he complained playfully but you thought you saw a hint of actual sadness in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re making friends with Seungcheol though.”

You hummed and nodded. “He’s very nice. Very handsome too.”

His eyes widened and you couldn’t quite figure out why. 

Not that you even wanted to figure it out. You were, in all honesty, more preoccupied with memorising how pretty he looked with his doe eyes. The purples and yellows and pinks of the lights reflected back from the browns of his eyes and you thought it was the prettiest sight you had ever witnessed. No sunset, sunrise or wild landscape could compete with this view. 

And you wanted to tell him that; but words were so hard when your blood was buzzing with alcohol and adrenaline. So you thought you should show him somehow. 

Your eyes closed briefly. You leaned forward just a bit. Then your lips pressed against his. For just a moment. You couldn’t help but smile as you leaned back and opened your eyes again.

If you had thought his eyes were pretty before, they were positively the most gorgeous sight now as he stared back at you in wonder and confusion. There were not enough words in the dictionary. You thought they ought to fix that problem and add a few just to be safe. 

“The girl who wins your heart will be so lucky,” you told him softly and pressed another gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I wish I was her.”

“(Y/n), I–” he started and you felt the alcohol leave your blood in an instant, the warm buzzing replaced with a cold rush. 

Before he could say anything in response, you ran out of the party. 

[DAY 23, SATURDAY]

Seokmin had always heavily advertised the building’s monthly karaoke parties as “life-altering”. He wrote that in large letters with a bright red marker on every karaoke party notice he saw and he said the exact phrase to every person he talked to in the week leading up to the event. Which was especially funny because 1) he wasn’t on the advertising team, 2) there was no advertising team to begin with, and 3) he never even volunteered to help organise the events. You had concluded that he was just very incredibly enthusiastic about karaoke (and with a voice like his how could one not be?).

But you now feared he was right after all.

Upon realising your mistake, you had, for a moment, contemplated going home and hiding in your room before you realised it would be the first place he’d look for you.

So, instead, you sent a silent apology your best friend’s way and took the spare key from under the doormat before letting yourself into Chan's apartment. 

Even as the morning arrived, you didn’t dare face Joshua. Not after what had happened. Not after you had kissed him and told him you wished he’d fall in love with you and kissed him again. You could never go home again. 

Chan looked away from his laptop screen just to give you a look with one of his brows raised. “You literally live with him.”

“That’s the whole point. I can’t go home,” you told him, lying face-down against his thigh. 

Turns out it’s surprisingly easy to make physical contact with men when you’re not attracted to them. You silently wondered if that could be the solution to your obvious touch-starvation problem – why else would you drunkenly kiss your roommate?

He rolled his eyes. “Then what’s your plan, drama queen?”

You didn’t answer, mulling it over in your head. There really weren’t a lot of options. 

Maybe it was a sign – finally you could fulfil your life-long dream of adopting a new identity and moving to Iceland to become an anonymous sheep herder. It sure sounded more tempting than facing Joshua Hong again.

Before you could open your mouth to suggest a viable idea, Chan beat you to it with a click of his tongue. “You’re too poor to move to Iceland. And no, you can’t move into my place either.”

There went your plan A as well as plan B.

“Fuck you,” you told him and rolled over to face the ceiling. “Then what do I do?”

“What you always do, I guess,” he sighed and turned back to his online shopping addiction. “You complain a bit, throw an apple at my head, and then pretend nothing ever happened between you and Joshua.”

You blinked. “Do I always do that?” 

“Without fail.”

You hadn’t realised there was a pattern. Perhaps this whole thing was worse than you had thought. Perhaps taking a new identity and running really was your only option. And who knows, you thought, maybe you’d find a nice man in Iceland and fall in love with a not-Joshua instead. Then you’d at least be free of one problem, even if at the expense of a new set of issues.

“Instead of catastrophizing, you should use this opportunity,” Chan broke the silence, eyes still on the screen.

You suddenly understood why throwing an apple at his head was part of the pattern. Fortunately for him, the apples were just out of your reach and you were too comfy and hungover to go get even one. “To fake my death and go into hiding? Absolutely.”

“What? No!” He frowned at you as if you had suggested 2+2 was 5. “What is wrong with you? You need to face this whole thing head-on instead of making escape plans!”

“I’d honestly rather go missing under mysterious circumstances.”

“Or,” he started and flicked your forehead with his fingers, making you curse at him as he rolled his eyes, “you could accept the fact that you confessed to your crush and see what he thinks of that.”

“He looked horrified last night.”

“You were drunk and kissed him without permission,” he reminded you helpfully. You failed to see how that information would soften the blow. If anything, it was making you feel like a predator – and not even a very clever one. You grimaced. “Give the poor guy a minute to process before jumping to conclusions. He was just surprised. If you stuck around instead of pulling a Cinderella, maybe you would’ve found out it wasn’t that big of a deal. Who knows, maybe he even likes you back.”

“Pull a Cinder–” You sputtered and glared at him. “Why do I ever come to you for advice?”

He offered a smug smile. “Because deep down you know I’m right.”

You were certain he wasn’t. You couldn’t imagine any scenario outside of your daydreams where the situation could’ve been resolved with a smile and a confession from Joshua Hong. You could, however, imagine a thousand scenarios of him running away or being so disgusted by your behaviour that he’d call off the fake dating scheme once and for all.

Seeing your hopeless expression, Chan sighed. “Instead of making doom’s day plans, try to look at the bright side of things.”

“What bright side?” you asked, closing your eyes and wishing the month would end already. “I embarrassed myself in front of my crush. What’s the bright side, Mr Positivity?”

His silence spoke louder than any words ever could have.

[DAY 24, SUNDAY]

After two nights at Chan’s apartment, you finally decided it was time to face your nightmare. If Joshua hadn’t unilaterally called off the scheme yet, his mother must have for sure been worried about the state of things. You thought you owed him at least these last 7 days of fulfilling this nonsensical plan. 

So, after two cups of coffee and a pep talk from Lee Chan, you braced yourself and walked into your own apartment for the first time all weekend. 

It was silent. Of course it was, you thought and facepalmed: it was only 8 am on a Sunday. Just because your sins and demons had kept you from sleeping in didn’t mean Joshua and his mother would be awake at this damned hour.

You were just about to come to terms with the fact when a soft pitter-patter of feet interrupted the silence. The steps came closer and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, praying it wouldn’t be who you thought it was.

But you knew it was a useless hope. You had lived with Joshua long enough to recognise his footsteps and the rhythm of his snores in your sleep. 

He let out a sigh that seemed almost relieved once he reached the living room. 

“Where were you?” you expected him to ask and put on his best impression of an overprotective dad. 

“How dare you come back here?” you half thought he’d say and glare at you as he’d shove a bag full of your clothes into your arms and kick you out.

But he just watched you in silence for a moment as if to make sure you were real and not a figment of his overactive imagination. And only once you had been pushed to the point of awkwardness where you couldn’t help but put on a tight-lipped smile and a shrug did he finally open his mouth to ask, “Did you eat yet?”

You had almost forgotten what he sounded like and it was a pleasant feeling to listen to him again. The soft murmur and slight sleepy growl to his voice sounded like home and it made the butterflies in your stomach come back to life with a roar of fluttering wings, free of shame and fear.

Your smile almost felt genuine when you replied, “I was going to make pancakes…” 

… To make up for what I did went unsaid, but you suspected he knew they were there nonetheless. 

He yawned in a way that didn’t seem entirely real, as if he was putting on an act to ease the awkwardness. After glancing at the clock he spoke again, “I kind of want to go eat breakfast outside today.”

“Oh.” 

You felt a little dejected at the thought but you understood. If someone had done to you what you had to him – someone you thought was your friend suddenly kissed you and confessed to you, even drunkenly –, you probably would have needed more time as well. If he didn’t want to eat breakfast at home with you, it was his right. You were sure his mother was better company than you anyways.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt you though. You turned your head to fight back the tears that threatened to make a comeback. You didn’t think you had any right to cry but that didn’t mean you didn’t want to. 

But before you could spiral further, Joshua chuckled, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay. You can get as many waffles as you want.”

Your head snapped to face him again, eyes blinking rapidly. You pointed at yourself. “You want me to–”

“Get dressed, silly. I’m too poor to pay for both you and mom, you know.” He could hardly keep from smiling. “Besides, we need to talk, just you and I.”

And talk you did. Or at least you would have if you weren’t so distracted by waffles and a sense of impending doom. You could hardly sit still in your chair, feeling uncomfortable sitting across from him. 

Any moment now, you thought, he’s going to say you were an awful person. Any moment now, he’s going to say it was all a big mistake and he should’ve just asked Jeonghan to fake date him instead. 

But maybe Chan was right and you were a fair bit overdramatic. 

“So about the other night,” Joshua finally started with a heavy sigh and put down his coffee cup. He avoided your eyes (not that you would’ve noticed because you were too busy avoiding his anyway) as he searched for words to say. 

“I’m sorry about that,” you blurted out, abandoning your waffles. 

He paused. “Sorry?”

“I’m sorry for… you know…” You couldn’t even say the words because it was so dumb and ridiculous and shouldn’t have ever happened anyway. How does one apologise for kissing someone? You forced yourself to look him in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have done it. I was just drunk and dumb and silly– You know how I get.”

He nodded. “Right. You were just… drunk.”

“Yep.”

“And you just kissed me because…”

“I was excited to see you,” you half-lied and avoided his eyes again. “I just hadn’t seen you all night and there you were and I guess I got a little…” Carried away? Lovestruck? “It doesn’t change anything, I swear. I was drunk.”

Silence. He was silent for so long that you were half-convinced he’d gone and left you to your own devices. Paying for the breakfast would’ve been the least of your worries.

When you looked up to see if he was still there, you saw him looking down at his food. He seemed… sad? Disappointed? Upset with you for making such silly excuses maybe? You shuddered to think what that odd dim look on his face meant.

The butterflies that had woken up just an hour ago went back to rest, ashamed of their work. You could just hope he wouldn’t hate you forever or kick you out of the apartment. 

Finally, after what felt like forever and then some years, Joshua forced on a smile that was a little too bright to be real. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re back. Where did you even go after the karaoke?”

“I–” You were both overjoyed and taken aback by his question. He cared. He cared and he didn’t want you gone from his life. “I kind of broke into Chan’s apartment and stayed there.”

Brows furrowing and the corner of his mouth turning downwards, he scoffed. “Instead of just coming home? I was worried sick!”

“I’m sorry!” you squeaked and somehow it was the most sincere apology you had uttered today. “I was just so embarrassed and I didn’t think you’d want to see me, so–”

“I always want to see you,” he argued with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re my best friend, (Y/n). I could never be so mad at you that I’d never want to see you. You had me so worried! I thought you’d gone to sleep in a dumpster somewhere.”

There he was – the Joshua you had fallen so hopelessly in love with. Your silly, protective, way too sweet and dramatic Joshua. And you didn’t feel ashamed to be in front of him. 

A smile forced its way onto your lips at the thought.

“What are you smiling at? This is serious!” He could hardly fight a grin himself, already bordering on giggling at your argument. “I was worried about you. And mom kept asking about you and I almost told her you’d moved to Iceland like you always dreamed–”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted him with a laugh. “I’m sorry, again. You can stop being a worry-wart now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Next time I’ll just leave you to freeze in the dumpster.”

“I didn’t sleep in a dumpster!”

“Chan’s place is not much better.”

[DAY 26, TUESDAY]

You had hoped that your Sunday breakfast apologies would be the last your actions would haunt you aside from the regular night-time program of nightmares. You had apologised, you had made up, and you were friends with Joshua again as if nothing had happened at all.

Had there been a small, minimal, miniscule glimmer of hope in your heart that Chan’s words would be true and Joshua would tell you he liked you back? Sure. 

Had it been crushed to the point of no revival? Absolutely. 

“Oh, hey, (Y/n),” Vernon greeted you when you entered the building’s lobby after a long day of work. 

You glanced around and noted that, as per usual, the clean-up of the karaoke party was taking five days longer than the setting up. It was only natural, you supposed, as Jihoon was too busy to bother with this and Vernon – as per Junhui and Seungkwan’s accounts – was not the biggest fan of cleaning. Today, four days after the party, he was taking down the last string lights.

“I see some things never change,” you told him with a good-natured chuckle. 

Though it took him a moment to understand what you were implying, Vernon rolled his eyes once the realisation hit. “You’re welcome to come and help.”

You had walked right into that one and so you sighed. “Alright, what do you need?”

He laughed. “I was just joking. I’ve got this. I planned this entire thing anyway.”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend some time with your girlfriend?” you wondered. You could barely wrap your mind around how people with dating lives didn’t just spend all their free time cuddling and being in love.

“Ella’s fine,” he told you with a shrug. “She’s got Rocket and Mango to keep her company.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I think she’s probably sick of me, anyway.”

“Why?”

“... I ate the last ice cream.”

You snorted a laugh. “Might as well send in the divorce paperwork already.”

“Right?” he joked before raising his brows. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why aren’t you at home, making googly eyes at Josh?”

You froze. Did he know about your crush? Vernon – the master of not noticing the things around him – had noticed your crush? How obvious had you been?

 “Why would I do that?” you asked after clearing your throat.

He scoffed. “Oh, come on, we all saw you at the party.”

It appeared the magical karaoke regrets would never stop haunting you. You cursed under your breath. 

Barely noting your silence, Vernon turned back to the lights but asked, “So, are you finally together? Did he finally confess?”

“Confess?”

You cringed as you felt like a broken record forced to perform, but your brain was too far in overdrive to maintain its normal operations.

“I mean, he’s been in love with you since like… forever, really,” he told you oh-so-casually, as if he was discussing the Monday paper or the weather. “I thought the dumbass would never confess. If he hadn’t, I’m sure Jeonghan and Seungkwan would’ve set up a ploy to get you to date.”

And just like that you found yourself on Chan’s sofa once again. He had only greeted you with a deep, heartfelt sigh and a nod that said he had expected this. 

As he fell next to you on the sofa, he took a sip of beer and said, “Do your thing, drama queen.”

You stayed silent, still pondering your existence and the ups and downs of your (non?)existent love life. 

Mouth agape in surprise at your lack of complaints, Chan waved a hand in front of your face. “Earth to (Y/n)? What happened? You know, it’s good to let your feelings out. I might complain about it sometimes but–”

“Vernon said Joshua has a crush on me,” you finally blurted out, staring ahead, still deep in disbelief. “It can’t be, right? He’s probably being silly. But what if he isn’t? What if he’s right? What if Joshua has a crush on me? What if he had a crush on me and then I kissed him and now he thinks I’m gross?”

It did feel good to let your feelings and thoughts out. And now they just sounded even sillier. Why? Well, because it was ridiculous – Joshua would never have a crush on you.

Chan blinked. “Vernon said that?”

“Do you think he’s right?”

He kissed his teeth. “And if I say yes?”

“Then why didn’t he say anything?” 

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because he can’t possibly like me!”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back. “There you go.”

“Why hasn’t he confessed? He could’ve told me to not apologise. He could’ve kissed me back. He could’ve–”

“Maybe he’s a coward and he’s waiting for you to confess first,” Chan guessed. “You know, kind of like how you’re doing right now.”

“You are entirely unhelpful,” you told him with a mild glare that one could almost mistake for fond. “I can’t just confess to him. Not after what happened.”

“Says who?”

“Can you stop asking questions and help me,” you whined before practically slamming your head against his shoulder in a search for comfort. “This is a serious crisis. Do you think he could actually like me?”

Chan hesitated. “You didn’t hear it from me, but…”

“But?”

“I’m pretty sure I overheard Jeonghan, Seungcheol and Joshua talking about you. And I’m pretty sure Joshua said he could never live with himself if you rejected him.”

“He did?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” he reminded you and patted your arm in a brotherly manner. “So I say you go and confess and live happily ever after.”

You groaned. “Or miserably.”

“If that’s what you want,” he joked. “But you should still give it a try.”

“But not today though.”

“Definitely not today. You look like a mess,” he blurted. “He’d have to be pretty far gone to accept your confession, Ms Frankenstein.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tensed as if he expected you to hit him – with an apple, you guessed – and you just scoffed out something akin to a laugh.

“I’d kick you if you weren’t such a good friend,” you told him instead and gently patted his cheek. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

[DAY 27, WEDNESDAY]

The alarm still had a few minutes before it would go off. 

You stared at Joshua as he slept soundly beside you. It was tempting to smooth down his hair and press a soft kiss to his forehead. But you had other things to do before you could do that. 

You took a deep breath and opened your lips to just whisper the words – as practice for the real confession you would definitely, 100%, certainly make in a few days – but no sound came out. 

You sighed and slumped back into your pillow. Confessing is harder than it looks in movies and books, even when he’s asleep and can’t hear you.

Joshua’s phone began ringing, notifying both him and you of the beginning of a new day. He stirred beside you. You pretended you’d been asleep this entire time.

[DAY 28, THURSDAY]

It was cold. So, so cold. Of course fate would have it that the first snowstorm of the year would hit without warning on the one day the last bus home was over an hour late. And of course it had to be on the one day when your boss asked (or, rather, begged) you to work overtime. 

But maybe fate wasn’t entirely cruel and useless, you thought as Seungcheol’s car stopped in front of the bus stop and he invited you inside with a worried smile and a wave.

“What are you doing out so late?” he wondered as he cranked the seat warmers up to the maximum. “Didn’t you watch the forecast?”

Oh. So they had issued a warning after all. 

“I’ve been a little distracted, I guess,” you told him with a sheepish laugh before thanking him for giving you a lift and wondering, “What about you? It’s not exactly driving weather.”

“Every weather is driving weather,” he joked and offered you a bright smile that for the shortest moment had you wishing you had fallen for him and not your stupidly endearing roommate. “I’m sure Joshua’s worried.”

You hadn’t even thought to check your phone until now. Frankly, judging by its recent battery life, you’d be shocked if it had any charge left at all.

“He’ll live.”

“Are you– I thought–” He hummed in thought, brows furrowing. “Are you not together?”

How you wished you were.

“No,” you sighed. “But I was going to confess tonight until, you know, my boss decided we needed those reports two days ago.”

Seungcheol nearly swerved his car in surprise. He was quick to fix his error – it went fairly smoothly with how empty the streets were this late at night. “I’m sorry. I really thought you were together. He’s been talking about you so much. I thought–”

“Apparently you’re not the only one.” You laughed. “I don’t know how he’ll feel if I do confess though. Maybe he’ll kick me out.”

“He won’t. No way,” he said and it almost sounded like a promise. “But if he does, tell me and I’ll kick his ass.”

“So you think I should confess?” 

“Do it. I think you’ll like the outcome.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I have some experience with love.”

[DAY 29, FRIDAY]

Back home, Joshua felt like he was going to go out of his mind. The clock on the wall was mocking him, moving forward even as his worry deepened. 

It was already almost midnight. You were usually home by 7. And yet there was no sign of you.

Sighing, he fell back onto the sofa and checked his phone again. He wasn’t sure how many times he had done that already. Fifteen? Fifty? Five hundred, perhaps? 

Still no calls back. Still no sign that you had read his messages. When he tapped on your contact to call you, it went to voicemail and he almost went insane.

“I’m sure she’s safe. She’ll be home soon,” his mother comforted him with a gentle pat on the shoulder. But her words were hard to believe when she was staying up later than usual with him, her third cup of peppermint tea sat on the coffee table in front of them.

The clock ticked midnight and Joshua jumped to his feet. “I’m going out to find her.”

“You’re going out? In this weather?” She didn’t need to use harsh words for him to know that she was scolding him. 

But he didn’t care. He couldn’t care when you weren’t home. 

So he ignored her warnings and pulled on his coat, his boots, and grabbed his car keys. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder as he left the apartment. He heard her call something out to him but he couldn’t be bothered to listen when he was half-certain you were buried in a pile of snow somewhere. 

He was halfway down the stairs, somewhere between the first and second floor when he heard your voice. He could’ve sworn life returned to his veins at the sound. He sighed in relief and picked up the pace, hurrying to see you.

But then he heard another voice. Seungcheol. 

“If you like it, keep it,” the man from 5A spoke, his voice rich and low in a way Joshua just knew would have any woman weak at the knees. And how was he supposed to compete with that?

He heard you laugh – giggle, really. “That’s so sweet, Cheol.”

Cheol? Joshua almost scoffed in disbelief. It had taken him two months to get to the nickname stage with you and this man comes and reaches it in less than a month? 

He wasn’t sure what this feeling in his chest was. Anger? Bitterness? No, he was just lying to himself. He knew exactly what this feeling was: jealousy. And he’d be damned if he let this continue.

Dusting off his black wool coat, he picked up the pace again and rushed downstairs to meet you. 

The acting lessons his mother had signed him up for when he was a kid paid off now as he feigned surprise at the sight of you. Eyes widening, lips falling apart, and a gasp of air to really sell it. He ran to you from the bottom of the staircase.

“Sweetheart!” he called out as he practically tackled you in a hug. He didn’t even have to pretend as he held you close, one arm around your back and one pushing against the back of your head to keep you as close as humanly possible. “Where were you? I was so worried. Are you okay?”

You had squeaked in surprise and he almost laughed. He let you go (all the while making sure to keep one hand on your back) and asked again, “Are you okay, baby?”

You seemed to be speechless, staring at him with wide eyes full of confusion. 

Seungcheol cleared his throat and Joshua almost glared at him just to prove a point. “I should leave you with your…”

“Boyfriend,” Joshua quickly supplied with a smile he hoped came across as both friendly and venomous. You let out another squeak of surprise. 

“Right.” Seungcheol raised a single brow before sharing a funny look with you. “I’ll see you some other time then, (Y/n). And don’t let your boss make you work overtime again.”

With that, he climbed up the stairs, leaving just Joshua and you.

“You worked overtime?” Joshua wondered, visibly relaxing once Seungcheol was out of range. “How long?”

“Just until 10,” you replied but it sounded almost robotic. 

“It’s midnight,” he reminded you and took your hand to check if your hands were cold. He sighed in both relief that they were warm and disappointment that he didn’t have an excuse to play with your hands now. 

You scratched your head. “The bus was late. I don’t know if it even came.”

“So, then you called Seungcheol?” 

The implication hurt him. He thought he was your first call no matter what happened. He had been all these months, after all. Even if he sucked at reading messages, he never failed to answer the phone on the first ring. 

“I think my phone died. Cheol just happened to drive past,” you told him and, for once, he felt better. 

He sighed in relief and closed his eyes, taking the situation in. It felt like he could finally breathe and think again now that you were back home. 

“Joshua,” your voice interrupted his thoughts and he hummed, “are you okay?”

He opened his eyes and looked at you. The urge to pull you back into his arms was overwhelming. “You had me so worried.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I should’ve called but–”

“I can’t keep doing this.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He really hadn’t. But that hadn’t stopped him at all. 

You seemed startled at his words, not in a good way. In a way that made him wonder if you ever expected anything but the worst when he spoke to you. He had to put a stop to it. 

But before he could, you scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re acting like I do this often.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Also, what just happened with Cheol?” He wasn’t sure what had set you off, but he felt himself matching your energy, getting agitated. “Since when are you introducing yourself as my boyfriend to our neighbours? If you wanted to do that, you should have warned me.”

“I lied,” he blurted out before you could continue. “I’ve been lying to you a lot.” 

You froze. “You… You lied? What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath. “When I lied to my mom, when I told her we were dating – it wasn’t random. I said I was dating you because… I guess I just wanted it to be real. I wasn’t nervous because I lied to her. I was nervous because I thought you’d be disgusted and upset and hate me. But I’ve liked you since the day you moved in and I’ve been in love with you since the time you borrowed my sweater in August because the moths ate all of yours.”

“You like me?” you asked dumbly and he actually laughed.

Joshua nodded. “I’m in love with you in a way I didn’t think I could ever be with anyone.”

“And… you’re choosing to confess now?” You glanced around at the empty lobby, only a single sconce lamp lighting the way into the building. “Here? Like this? Why?”

“Seungcheol–”

Your jaw dropped. “Because you’re jealous?!”

Joshua scratched the back of his neck and avoided your eyes. He didn’t have a single excuse. He was an impulsive man. He rarely thought of the consequences or even of what he was doing in that moment. Especially when it came to you. He looked down at his feet.

“I mean,” you continued with a chuckle, “I guess I’m no better. I kissed you at the karaoke just because I thought you were pretty.”

“I should’ve kissed you back,” he told you earnestly. 

You blinked. And then you blinked again. Then he saw a mischievous glint in your eye. “You should. Right now.”

You couldn’t have been serious. He didn’t think you were. There was no way.

“You can’t just confess to me like this and then not kiss me,” you told him and you didn’t sound mad at him. “You owe me that much after that scene with Seungcheol and confessing to me in the building lobby, Mr Gentleman.”

Who was he to argue? 

Taking another long gulp of air, he leaned closer. Slowly, centimetre by centimetre, unsure if you were serious or not. 

It was his turn to squeak in surprise when you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt coat and pulled him closer to kiss his lips. 

“So,” he wondered, voice soft and dazed, when you pulled away, “you like me back?”

“You can ask Chan for proof, if you want,” you simply told him before kissing him again. 

He didn’t care to ask for an explanation. Not when he was finally getting everything he wanted.

 [DAY 30, SUNDAY]

Turns out fake dating becomes a lot easier when you just actually date. Who could’ve guessed?

The agony of sharing your bed and being pushed against the wall no matter the size of your mattress was replaced with the domestic joy of being able to cuddle your boyfriend. By the second night of dating Joshua, you had found your favourite position was letting him lie half on top of you, his head resting against your chest at the perfect angle to play with his hair. 

The awkward breakfasts full of lies… Well, they still had a few emergency lies here and there, but for the most part it was stealing bites off his plate and nudging each other while giggling as his mother watched you with a mildly amused look on her face.

And the kisses. You couldn’t get enough of the kisses and neither could the butterflies in your stomach, still fluttering the same as they had during your first kiss even now as he kissed you for the fiftieth time (yes, you had kept count). 

It was only a shame that the real dating started so late into the scheme. After only two days of domestic bliss, it was time for his mother to pack her bags and go home.

Dressed in a warm coat and wrapped in a large scarf, she offered her son a warm hug, whispering endearments and gentle scoldings into his ear as you waited in the lobby. You suspected her taxi driver had fallen asleep by now.  

She then gave you a hug as well. A short and sweet one with a warning to treat her son well. And then she added, “Oh, before I forget, I left something on the kitchen table for you. Read it later, okay?”

You nodded and sent her off with a smile.

Joshua joined your side, resting a hand on your back (a new habit of his that you didn’t quite mind). He wore a smile.

“What did she tell you?” you asked him. “When you were hugging.”

“Told me to stop leaving the toilet seat up,” he told you and you suspected it was only half the truth. “What about you?”

“She said she left something on the kitchen table for us to read.”

He paused. “A book?”

“You think? What if it’s a poem?”

“Maybe a letter?”

“It’s possible.” 

You shared a look. His mother’s taxi barely managed to leave your sight before you and your boyfriend (you could never get enough of calling him that) were dashing up the stairs to solve the mystery.

True enough, there was a white envelope on the table.

“Maybe it’s pocket money,” you guessed as you picked the envelope up. “For hosting her or something.”

“If it is, you should give it to me,” he told you and you weren’t entirely sure he was joking. “There’s a hole in my bank account because of you.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?” you sighed and opened the envelope. You were pleasantly surprised to find out you had been right – a handful of cash had been stashed into the envelope, probably enough to cover your rent for the month.

Barely bothering to hide his smirk, Joshua extended a palm. You gave him a look. Stared at him. Then sighed and placed the cash in his hand. He smiled bright and put it away in his pocket.

But the cash wasn’t all. There was a folded piece of paper. A letter.

You opened it, half-expecting a scolding or a motherly warning. But this letter – as short as it was sweet – exceeded all expectations.

Sweethearts

I hope you know I’m not unwise. I know all about your little scheme – neither of you are very good actors. Joshua, you should know better than to lie to your mother. 

But it was entertaining and I am glad to have given you some incentive to finally take the proper steps and start dating. You make a cute couple when you’re not acting. 

Can’t wait to see you two again soon

Your jaw dropped. 

“What does it say?” Joshua wondered, leaning over your shoulder to read. He let out a scoff soon afterwards. “She can be so mean.”

“She knew this whole time?” you cried out.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I should’ve known. It was too easy.”

“I mean, I thought she was suspicious of us, but this?”

“Do we really suck at acting this much?”

“Whatever,” you sighed and put the letter down. “I’m going to sleep. I can’t handle an existential crisis right now.”

“Right, let’s go sleep,” Joshua agreed, leading you away from the kitchen with a gentle tug on your arm. 

It was only when you were stood in front of the two bedroom doors, nearly identical and stood side by side, that you paused and a realisation hit. 

Was it appropriate to share a bed anymore? Surely Joshua would want to go back to his own room now that it was free again? 

You almost groaned out loud: you had thought the doubts and useless problems would cease after the confession. Everything was good and great and wonderful, so why were the stupid worries back?

Having probably reached the same conclusion, Joshua seemed just as stumped. He stared at his bedroom door for a while and you were certain he’d go to sleep in his own bed for the night, ending your most favourite part of newfound domestic bliss.

“I paid for the bed,” he suddenly said with a laugh and gently pushed you towards your room, following closely after. “You’re not getting rid of me now, sweetheart.”

“So you’re just inviting yourself into my room now?” you joked, nudging his side before letting yourself fall onto the bed. 

He laid down next to you, resting his head on his arm after rolling to his side to face you. He grinned. “It’s our room now.”

You loved the sound of that and you were certain he could see it on your face.

“So what will we do with your room?”

Joshua pondered for a moment. “We could turn it into a guest room. something tells me mom’s going to want to visit again soon.”

You paled at the mention of her. “I don’t think I can ever look her in the eyes again.”

“Me neither,” he sighed and leaned over to hide his face in the crook of your neck. “Let’s not think about it any more.”

“You’re the one that brought her up!” You laughed.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” he said. “I love you.”

The butterflies went crazy. You couldn’t and wouldn’t fight the smile that appeared on your face. “I love you too.”

[night-dazai]

Random thoughts on Nanami Kento :

 

This perfect husband material is nothing but respectful, careful and soft with you . Waking up you get a kiss “ good morning “ in the morning voice making you wet in an instant.

Going out for the office “ bye love “ again a kiss on the forehead and lips (might be steamy but mostly he has good control )

Little texts whenever he is free “ How are you feeling ?” are you alright, ate lunch ?” 

“Gojo is getting on my nerves i need someone to hold me back from killing him  “ and more. 

If you come home later than him you are always welcomed with the lovely smell of home cooked lavish meal “Welcome love freshen up let's eat “ his face stoic but adored with a little smile which you know is only for you!

If he comes later than you you welcome him with the same, if cooking is not your strong point it ends with both of you cooking dinner together (mostly he does you are an assistant ). 

After dinner, it is always with you both enjoying your alone time with TV or a nice cup of hot milk and conversations about your day. Or there are times he comes homes all pent up and fucks you the moment his eyes see you. 

Loves cafe dates with you day or night not matter if he can have you dress up and come out, loves seeing you getting ready and has amazing taste in clothing. (his tie is just for fun he did not wear it in his office )

The gentleman who is known till 9 pm vanishes and is replaced with a monster who is a pathetic beggar for your pussy “ pleasee let me eat you out pleaseee” his fox eyes pleading with you holding your legs apart. 

His tongue is so skilled he makes sure every night you come at least twice or thrice on it before he fucks you with his cock . 

His strong arms hold you down while he fucks you in missionary slowly but can go fast on your command. His moments are ruled by your words “Tell me princess what should I do “ he asks panting drilling his cock deep into your cunt as your cry out telling him to make a mess out of you. 

Never says no to any kink open to all, being the simple man he is he does not have many kinks ….STOPP. 

This man is a walking sex symbol, soo into BDSM, having you tied, whipping you you name it it's in his kink book he is not a  simple man and open to all, he is just so much more kinker than you, you kinks are little request to him . 

He can fuck you anywhere and everywhere, always takes consent and role plays with him are soo good, teacher-student, master-slave you name it its done princess~

After fucking the life out of you or slow sensational love making the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “ you okay ? “ “ need anything ? “ . Again your words are his command bath, done warm with bath bombs, and water, ready, want to just sleep, no worries he has a cloth next to the nightstand wipes you a little and holds you close in his arms watching your face relax as you fall into a deep slumber “ thank you and love you “ he mumbles kissing your eyes he might fall asleep looking at you or if there is work he has to do its done now . 

His worry that you would worry if he would come home or not every day kills him yet he tries to be on time , messages you if he cannot come always keeps in touch with you and loves you just for the mere fact you love a man like him who might die anytime any day, you are his light source in his dark monotonous life.

[severus-snaps]

A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies...

never given this line much thought before but it fits with what Bellatrix says about Spinner's End being a "Muggle dunghill" and the dirty river etc, on top of the infamous collection of information in Two Up, Two Down post I love so much.

what follows is another moment for me of realising just how hard snape had it and the likely conditions he grew up in

he didn't have any older siblings (that we know about) to borrow clothes from, which was why he was in his parents' clothing; the fact that he wasn't loaned any clothes that fit marginally better or were even for boys from the neighbours suggests that the Snapes weren't particularly close to the other families, and i expect a large number of flies in the house (enough to be shooting down, enough to spot when harry only saw the memory fleetingly) suggests poor sanitation in the home

It's not just a case of Bellatrix being judgy about a Muggle neighbourhood, currently falling apart with houses on the cobbled streets boarded up and with broken windows, and a dirty, smelly river; Snape's home growing up was considered "a poor recommendation" even when he was a child. Two up, two down houses were, in that period (and even before) often falling apart, known for being unsanitary and unsafe, as well as damp and cramped together. they were never intended to be nice; they were thrown up so that workers could be near the factories, and that was about the only concern at the time

There's some really vivid descriptions of living in these sorts of houses around, but I've just found this one from facebook (with images I've added from flashbak.com):

The house had no electric supply and relied solely on gas for everything.

One wall in each room had one gas mantle fitted to it for light and when the mantle became faulty it would smell and the light would become less bright and eventually cease to do the job and need replacing.

There was a coal fire grate in each room but only the living room fire was kept lit to keep the costs down because although people worked long hours wages were low and money was in short supply.

In the kitchen the heat from the stove when cooking provided some warm that also made its way upstairs into the bedrooms.

During the winter months when the house was particularly cold overcoats were placed over the blankets on the beds for extra warmth for the children in the front bedroom. While the parents slept in the smaller back bedroom.

There was only one water tap in the house situated in the kitchen and the kettle or pans had to be filled when hot water was required. They were heated on the stove and because there was no bathroom the young children were washed in the large sink or a tin bath while others went to the public baths situated nearby, local to the area.

The toilet was in the back yard and was also unlit, leaving the gas light from the kitchen to light up the yard through the window.

Toilet paper was old newspapers that had been cut up into squares and made ready for use.

All flooring in the house was covered with lino with the exception of the living room that had a rug in the centre for comfort and to help prevent wear and tear. Since the end of the world war II there had been shortages and many households struggled to get basic food stuff and clothing.

The black market had been active for some years and those that had the money would get what they needed, while for those that had little depended on the rationing system introduced by the government to make sure that everyone got at least basic food stuff.

The I.D. card had been introduced because of the war and was proof of who you were and was used for the benefit of rationing. There were often queues at the butchers and many families got the scrag ends and scraps that were left over.

When it came to clothing, families would put aside what was worn by one child until the next child had grown enough to wear them and every item including shoes were cleaned and repaired if possible and put away and saved for later use.

In those days children at play preferred to play outside and regularly would play along the canal and the neighbourhood streets and alleyways. There were very few cars around and despite the unclean air from the surrounding factories they would play all day outside until they were called in.

In those days there were very little restrictions on pollution and it was normal to wake up in the mornings to smog that sometimes lasted all week. A real pea souper as they say

but like... imagine snape growing up there, like that, with no sense of community and parents who couldn't afford to or weren't able to care for him properly. this is so far beyond 'weasley poor' with their warm, cosy home and plenty to eat; this is gaunt poor, improper housing, and conditions that regularly made people ill

perhaps the Snapes had to rely on the black market to even eat enough, if they could afford it; I'm picturing chest infections and frost on the insides of the windows over the winters, and flies crawling in the house in the summers - and apparently limited use of magic at the time snape was growing up to rectify any of it, else the descriptions wouldn't be so consistently negative (and evocative) with a potential swarm of flies in his bedroom

(wonder if he was underage here, and using his wand since his mother would've had one, or whether it's a snippet of post-hogwarts snape; the next memory is of snape on a broomstick, so presumably that's at hogwarts, and he was underage in the fly memory, trapped/hiding/sulking in his room)

then he gets to hogwarts with the likes of the malfoys, who have a whole mansion and peacocks and house elves and can afford anything they want, and they look down on the weasleys and their comfortable one-'moderate'-income supporting a seven-child home as if they were cockroaches. what on earth would they have thought of snape, if they knew? he had factual knowledge of the magical world, but i doubt he had that "raised in the magical world" vibe they so desperately want to protect

[vesearlee]

──── 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒚

While Caleb had fought and won countless battles, the one he wanted to fight the hardest against wasn’t his own — it was yours, and all he could do was stand by your side.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Caleb x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, chronic illness/pain 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I am just being self-indulgent and trying to get myself back into the swing of writing...

───  𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  ───

It started slow. 

A restless thrum of tension beneath your skin that settled deep in the marrow of your bones; bleeding into the sinew and fibres of each muscle that lay achingly still. 

The room was bathed in the golden light of a rising sun, though the shadows casted by the rays showed the curtains were still mostly drawn. 

You blinked lazily, and your eyes roved over what you could see from your vantage point beneath the comforter and countless blankets piled high over your back. 

The weather within Skyhaven had taken a turn for the worst. The constant sound of rain against the floor to ceiling windows of Caleb’s home was soothing beyond all measure, but the cold that came with the blessed rain was far from ideal. 

Especially when your body fought so valiantly against the barometric pressure and ache from the chill in the air. 

Though Caleb ran as hot as a furnace, and his no-longer-barren home had a tell-tale, homely warmth to it, it did not stop the leech of pain from sapping what your own traitorous body could manifest. 

A small sound in the hallway caught your attention, and you slowly moved your head to stare at the doorway. The half-closed door remained as it was, and there were no footsteps to allude to a secondary presence — arguably the one you wanted and needed most, especially now. 

The small movement of your neck made your whole torso sing with pain, and you winced, a sharp inhale of breath through your teeth barely audible over the rustle of cotton. It was a day already, and you were ready for it to be over. 

While you were used to days that were worse than others, they still took a countless toll on your mind and physical state. The longing for normalcy grew and grew—

Caleb. You needed Caleb; the desire to be held and consoled overwhelmed you enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

Subconsciously, your sore limbs untangled from the sheets with little struggle — a blessing in itself — and with your body now bare to the chill of the air, you shuffled forwards to steal one of his discarded hoodies. The fabric was soft and warm; well-worn in its age, and it only added character to the faded palette of blues and whites. 

The way the fabric enveloped you wholly was like being held by him himself. Your heart fluttered while you pulled the cuffs into your palms so they elastic would brush over your knuckles. 

You yawned and walked towards the doorway, and as you opened the door, the sudden smell of numerous breakfast foods reached your senses. It made you pause; the enticement of nourishment made your mouth water. His cooking was never something you wanted to miss, and just now it was just the balm you needed. 

As well as the feel of his arms around you, that is. 

Quietly, you made your way towards the expansive kitchen and dining area, the black floor and black marble gleaming from the dim overhead lights above — an accommodation that made your heart soar, a simple act of care by replacing bulbs with softer, warmer tones to save the pain in your eyes. 

Around the corner, you could hear the quiet sizzle of heated oil or butter, with the clink of plates and bowls being moved. 

The soft sound of someone humming a tune called to you, and you peered around the hallway corner. The sight you found made your breath catch in your throat. Caleb was at the stove-top with his back turned to you, a spatula twirling in one hand while the other held fast to the pan over the element. 

“You’re awake, baby,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the sizzling food. Amethyst irises met your wide-eyed gaze, and that charming smile made you almost swoon on the spot. “G’mornin’, Pips.”

“Good morning,” you replied quietly, walking forward. Caleb turned back to the stove and kept humming — up close, you could see the muscles of his upper back and shoulders move effortlessly. Your eyes wandered downwards to the low hung waistband of his grey sweatpants to the curve of his ass. 

All of the pain through your body suddenly seemed far less prominent — a distant dream, perhaps. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teased. The sudden taunt made you start, and you glanced upwards only to find him already staring at you over his shoulder. “C’mon. Grab a seat and let’s eat.”

You made a noise in agreement low in your throat, though you didn’t move towards the breakfast bar of his kitchen. No, you moved forwards until your arms circled around his waist and hips from behind, your chest flush with his back. 

“Hey, what?” Caleb froze for no longer than a second in your hold, and then he was suddenly facing you. The grip you held over his lower stomach now rested on his lower back, and his chest was now all you could see. 

“Baby? Not that I’m complainin’, but are you alright?” Warm hands cupped your face, gently directing your lowered gaze up to his face. A small pout played on your lips at the action, but Caleb did not relent. “You’re awfully quiet, Pips. What’s got you feelin’ down, huh?”

His eyes searched yours, the flicker of lilac and pink mixing in the morning light. 

You swallowed thickly around the sudden lump in your throat. “Just… tired.”

Caleb’s eyes widened slightly and his grip on your cheeks fell lax until his fingers traced the column of your throat. “Ah,” he whispered sadly. “Why don’t we stay in? Just like when we built forts as kids—we can watch those stupid, awful, horrible action movies and I can hold you. Whatever you want.”

The tears that had been forced down when you awoke suddenly sprung forward again, and there was no stopping them. 

Caleb leaned down and forward, and his lips grazed your cheeks, collecting your tears before they could fall. “Let me take care of you, Pips.”

[distinctlywhumpthing]

First Night Home pt. 2

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

Aiden jumps when Leo turns on the water. It seems like so long ago that he waited in this very spot on the first night. It’s fuzzy but he fixes his mind on those memories: Leo bribing him to come out from under the van with mini marshmallows; watching him cook dinner; even how scared he was, imagining how he might be punished for breaking the bowl. 

Anything but the last time he was in here. 

“Alright.” Leo takes a breath worthy of the size of this undertaking. “I’m gonna stay with you. We’ll skip the Saran Wrap and you can just hold onto my shoulders so your arms don’t get wet. Sound good?” 

He swallows and takes off his underwear. 

“Just look at me, okay? I’ve got you.” Leo lifts his hands one by one up to his shoulders like a slow dance. He’s so careful settling them there, especially his left hand, that Aiden’s covered in goosebumps when he’s done. Before he has a chance to breathe again, Leo starts to gently peel the tape and gauze from his collarbone and his arm. He curls his fingers into fists on Leo’s shoulders. 

“Sorry, sorry.” 

He’s not Harrison, he’s so far from being Harrison. 

It’s an insult to even have to draw the anti-comparison but his focus is like a scanning radio. It’ll lock onto the next strongest frequency whether he likes it or not. 

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

It’s not the same as when Leo counted for him at the hospital. 

“Alright, ready?” 

He is not. He nods. 

In a graceless dance, they get him standing in the tub and under the stream of water. He grips Leo’s shoulders, tries to focus on his steadiness. 

“Is it okay? Not too hot or cool?” 

He jerks his head in a nod, even though that only answers the first question, keeping his eyes locked on Leo’s face just like he said. 

Not looking down at the blood-colored water circling the drain, just like— 

No. 

Inhale, one, two, three, four. 

Exhale, one, two, three, four. 

Leo has to help wash the blood off but at least it’s a loofah. 

Not a washcloth. Not a sponge. 

He grits his teeth against the sensation, switches to counting straight up. Would he actually prefer a scrub brush and a cold hose? 

“Turn?” Leo poses it like a question, like there’s a choice. As if Aiden could bail right now. 

He lets Leo lift his hands off his shoulders, holding them up out of the shower spray. Turns to face the wall, raising his hands above his head to rest there, like he’s about to be strip searched. He starts to breathe through his teeth. 

Leo must hear the change because instead of the almost-scratch of the soaped-up loofah, it’s Leo’s hand that rubs circles across his shoulder blades. 

Aiden almost loses it. 

Trapped there, pinned against the tiles. He doesn’t want to look at them. But they are decidedly better than the ones he sees when he closes his eyes. He locks every muscle, forcing himself not to arch and twist out from under Leo’s too-careful, too-soft, too-kind, too-slow touch that he can only half feel. It’s all he can focus on and it goes on forever.

Even when Leo finally helps him turn around, replacing his hands on his shoulders, the other half of the sensation keeps ghosting across his back. 

It won’t stop. He wants to scream. 

Leo grimaces when he sees his expression. “Sorry, I thought— ”

“M’good,” he grates. 

Leo doesn’t push it. “You’re doing good, almost done.” 

A stab of guilt cuts through him. Leo’s helping him. Not hurting him, not even close. If only he could explain—

“Hey, nice choice.” 

It takes Aiden a moment to figure out what he means, he’s not pointing to anything. As soon as he realizes, his throat tightens and tears prick in his eyes. 

Lavender. 

When Leo wraps him in one of the giant, soft towels, something releases inside him and tears start running down his cheeks. He tries to hide them, lifting the towel to his forehead or hair to secretly brush them away before Leo can see. But it’s no use once he has to hand over the towel to get dressed. 

He gets as far as putting on clean underwear before Leo notices. 

“Oh, Aiden…” Leo says in that too-gentle tone that only makes him cry harder. 

He gives up trying to step into the sweatpants and sits on the bed, immediately regretting the loss of Leo’s hand under his elbow. He drops his head into his hands and sobs. 

Through the cracks between his fingers, he sees Leo kneel. “Okay, that’s okay,” Leo whispers. He takes the sweatpants off his lap and gathers one leg top to bottom to slip over his foot. Does the other the same and lifts them up over his knees. Pulls socks onto his feet. 

It aches how gentle he is. How steady and unhurried. No one’s ever given him permission to cry before. 

He rests his hands on either side of Aiden’s head, thumbs overlapping Aiden’s. “Come here.” 

Aiden lets him move his hands down to the waistband of the sweatpants, ready to pull them up. He pauses to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the softest brush of his rough fingertips. Aiden feels like he might split in two. He can only ever remember crying like this once before, when she died. He doesn’t know why he’s crying so hard now. 

Leo pulls him to stand and right into his arms. He’s barely aware of Leo threading his arms through a t-shirt, followed by another one of his old hoodies, because all he can feel is the steadiness of the arm he keeps locked around his waist. Like Leo knows he would otherwise fall to pieces. 

Once he’s dressed, Leo sits on the bed and pulls Aiden right back into his arms, holding him like he’s never letting go. He cries harder when he realizes Leo rubs his back to the same cadence as his own steady breathing. Up as Leo’s chest rises, down as it falls. Giving him something else to hold onto, all the while holding him together. 

All the shadows cast by the rising sun are gone now. The light changed from warm to bright, morning sun all the more brilliant from the snow reflecting it right back at the sky. 

“Leo..?” It slips out, something between a whine and whisper that he’s not even sure is coherent. 

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“Mm’sorry,” he whispers. “Mmm….so’sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s all good.”

“Mmm…I—I—” He chokes on a sob, fingers curling into fists in Leo’s shirt. He almost didn’t get this. “I—mmm—”

“It’s all good,” Leo says him. “You don’t have to apologize for crying—” 

“Nnno, no—m’sorry, mmm’sorry, I-I—I—”

Leo stops trying to reassure him, just keeps rubbing his back in smooth, steady circles up and down, up and down. 

Aiden’s throat tightens. “I…mmm…w-w-w—” He shakes his head. Tries again from a different angle. “I-I…mmm…d-don’t…” He takes a deep breath. “W-w—” The word evades him again and he just skips it this time. He wants to say this. He needs to say this. “Mmm…t’go.” 

Leo’s hand stops and Aiden’s breath with it. “You don’t want to go?” 

A sob shakes through him and he nods. 

“Hon, we’re not going anywhere…?” 

He holds his breath. The voice in his head tells him he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have said ‘sorry’, should have said ‘thank you’, instead of trying to say more. 

“You don’t want to go? I— Oh...” 

Aiden can picture the change in Leo’s expression perfectly. He squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t bear to be wrong and catch a glimpse of anything different. Leo inhales to say something a few times but he doesn’t ever start. He doesn’t let him go either, so he can’t be too angry, but Aiden starts to feel the pressure of the silence like a door closing. It was so stupid to think—

He flinches when Leo moves him off his lap. “M’sorry—” he rushes to say but his voice breaks and it only sounds like another sob. 

“Hey, hey.” Leo’s hands find his face. “Look at me, hon.” 

He blinks away tears to find Leo kneeling in front of him again. “M’s-sorry,” Aiden whimpers, shaking his head. He wants to take it back. He’s sorry for saying anything that made Leo let go. “I—”

“Me too.”

A tear runs down Leo’s cheek and Aiden forgets whatever it was he wanted to say. He wonders what it would be like to lift his hand and brush it away with one of his fingertips like Leo does for him. He settles for bringing his hands up to hold onto Leo’s wrists. He feels worse than guilty that he’s upset Leo too, like this ache inside him is contagious. Aiden catches his bottom lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling, from pulling him back under the sobs.

Leo leans forward, bringing their foreheads together like he did at the hospital, and closes his eyes. “I’m so glad I found you,” he whispers. 

Aiden sobs, hands moving up to Leo’s shoulders almost on their own. Leo understands perfectly and pulls him back into his arms for the hug he wants. 

He’s shards and pieces but he’s here. 

And he’s not alone.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain

@whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight @whumps-and-bumps

@i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney @alternateminds

[fruitalike]

OBVIOUSLY || Trans Elliott x Male Reader

RATING: Explicit, 18+ obviously

PARING: TRANS Elliott x Male Reader

TAGS: TRANS ELLIOTT, as always, you're married, 2nd person, oral/p.i.v. sex, multiple orgasms/positions, pwp, maybe mirror sex, spit as lube/spit kink a little bit..., HHHHAFU (House Husbands Have Heart Aprons Fanfic Universe)

WORDS: 3476

SUMMARY:

“How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still. “How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring. “Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.”

READ ON AO3

OR...

(genital words: cock/head/tip, chest/nipples, lips/cunt/walls/g-spot)

You arrive home at your expected time, but your husband greets you as you walk up the front steps regardless. He opens the door as you make it onto the porch. “It’s not done,” he says, he’s flustered—you’re not sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed or because he’s been rushing, maybe both. “I… I just need, like, fi- ten minutes. Ten minutes and you can come in. It won’t be done but you can come in.”

You can tell by the look on his face that you should probably hold in the chuckle you feel in your throat. Elliott is a bit of a mess, more comfortable clothes replace his usual formal attire, his hair is all over his face, and his eyebrows are a bit furrowed, and he’s red in the face. Any desire you have to laugh is solely based on how cute he looks; but you refrain anyways. “I’ll just wait out here. You let me know when you’re ready for me to come in, okay?”

Elliott breathes a sigh of relief. “I swear it won’t take long,” he says, though even he doesn’t seem convinced, “it’s just- I lost track of time, and… y’know. It’ll be fine.” You go to reassure him, but he just repeats himself, “It’ll be fine,” he whips around and slinks back into the house. Though you’re sure that you can hear him repeat it to himself again as he closes the door.

Once you’re sure he’s too far inside the house to hear you, you do finally chuckle to yourself. He’s just too sweet. Taking a seat on the swinging bench on the front porch, you resign yourself to waiting indefinitely for whatever Elliott had planned. It seemed like he was cooking something, judging by the heart apron he wore, and the various foodstuffs all over it. You rub your eyes as the fall breeze relaxes you. You could use a nice, home cooked meal.

You’re awoken from your near slumber as Elliott opens the front door again. He smiles at you and beckons you inside. It takes you a second to gather yourself enough to follow him in, but once you do, it’s obvious he’s cooking something. “Don’t look too hard at the oven.”

“How about I just go take a shower?” Again, he seems relieved by your offer. Elliott kisses you as you head for the bathroom.

Given the state of the kitchen, you figure you can take your time in the shower. You try not to spend too much time thinking about what Elliott’s cooking for you. Of course, you do wonder. But you try to put it out of your mind. The water is almost viciously hot, but that’s what it takes to soothe you at this point. Your skin grows tender as you scrub all of the farm’s grime down the drain. It doesn’t bother you, though. Better to actually feel clean. You make sure to put on plenty of lotion afterwards, anyways.

You lose track of time in the shower, but years on the farm have made you painfully efficient regardless—it’s barely been half an hour by the time you’ve finished. You still head for the kitchen once you’ve dried off and put clean clothes on. Evidently, half an hour was all that Elliott needed to get the kitchen back under control. He was too considerate to run any water while you were showering, but all of the dirty dishes are stacked neatly in the sink. The counter tops are wiped clean of any of the detritus that had accumulated there as he cooked. More importantly, he seemed much calmer: he’s no longer flushed, or as disheveled (you hesitate to even refer to him that way—Elliott was always far too formal to find himself truly disheveled, well, unless… you know) as he had been before. He comes to your side the moment you enter the kitchen. He wraps his arms around your neck and kisses your cheek multiple times. “No peaking,” he says, playfully turning you away from the kitchen with his hold on you.

“I wasn’t even looking!” There’s just enough playful exasperation in your tone that Elliott laughs a little; even as you can’t help but try to smell what’s cooking in the air. Only now do you notice that he’s opened the windows—clearly trying to keep the aroma from what ever it is he’s cooking from building up in the room, what a tease.

He releases you from his grasp and you sit at the island in the kitchen. Your eyes naturally follow him as he walks in front of you, standing between the counter you rest at and the oven, shielding whatever he was cooking from your prying eyes. “Can I get you something to drink?” He asks, trying to make his appearance in front of you seem a little more natural, as wiping down the already clean counter tops didn’t quite justify it.

“Sure,” you say. You’re not particularly thirsty. You just like watching Elliott squirm, nervously wiping his hands on his heart adorned apron as he prepares a glass of hot apple cider for you. A pot of it was already on the stove, surely another one of his tricks to distract from whatever he has in the oven.

He brings it to you, coming around the side of the kitchen island, mug in hand. Elliott sits up on the counter as you drink your cider, ever the distraction. You were wrong before—you definitely needed this cider. The warmth soothes you more than a shower ever could. Perhaps your husband knows you a little too well. He reaches for your hand and you intertwine your fingers. You pull on his hand and he scoots across the counter so that he’s in front of you. He carefully spreads his legs so that sitting in front of you is easier for him. You’re sure that that’s all there is to it.

Both of Elliott’s distractingly long legs dangle to either side of you. You gingerly place your mug between his legs, looking up at him. The warmth from the cup radiates between his legs, you can tell by how red his face continues to get as your mug rests between his thighs.

Finding yourself parched, you reach for your cider again with your free hand. Of course your other hand is still delicately intertwined with your husbands. You choose to ignore the embarrassed glances that Elliott shoots your way. His face reddens still as you continue to sip your delicious drink so thoughtfully prepared for you by your loving husband, who shifts restlessly on the counter as you make a show of ignoring him.

There’s a twitching in the front of his pants, and Elliott squeezes his thighs together, seizing the opportunity to do so while you still have your mug in hand. He carefully places his feet between your thighs, his own legs pressed together in a slight embarrassment. It’s obvious that his feet don’t really have anywhere else to go (as long as keeping them off of the counter was a priority), but you can’t help but see it as yet another distraction.

You finally release Elliott’s hand to place it on his left foot where it meets his ankle—acknowledging his distraction as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. He turns away from you, to look at the oven, of course. You trace your fingers up and down the back of his ankle, smirking to yourself as you feel him get chills. “How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still.

“How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring.

“Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.” His breath hitches on your slightly snarky tone. He turns away from your gaze and wets his lips trying to find something to say; he’s already so caught up in you.

“Not long.” Is all he can manage. You’ve finished your drink, so you set your mug on the counter top. The light clatter startles Elliott. “Really?” You ask, calling him on his bluff. You’re tracing your thumb up and down the top of his foot as you speak; the rest of your fingers still, now.

He squirms. “I’m… not giving specifics,” he hesitates, “obviously.” Elliott seems proud that he’s turned your snark back on you but all you do is smirk; and move your hand up to his calf. “Is there time for anything?”

“… Like what?” He asks, as if he hadn’t just squeezed his thighs together. You move your hand further up his calf. “You know.”

“Maybe… it’d have to be quick.”

“Can you be quick?” He huffs but spreads his legs just enough to slide down into your lap, you kiss him immediately; he reciprocates desperately. “Yes.” He says quietly after you’d pulled away. You can tell by the way he’s trembling he’s telling the truth. He’s always so excitable.

You can only kiss him so long before you begin to really question the integrity of the bar stool you’re sitting on; the metal creaking with every sudden movement. You stand and usher Elliott back up onto the counter top. He pulls you to him and you grind against him. You can feel how eager he is through his sweatpants.

Kissing him again, you’re able to slide his sweats and underwear down with ease. You elect to still leave them on, just in case he needs to quickly slip away to cater to whatever he’s cooking. Of course, you hope that he won’t need to; that he’ll be at your mercy until you’re done with him.

You ease him onto his back and crouch between his legs, too weary of the bar stool to use it. Some of your limited time obviously goes to kissing and delicately nipping at Elliott’s inner thighs, much to his chagrin. He whines as you tease him. “Please,” he begs, your kisses inching closer and closer, teasing out more and more of his desperation, “just… please.”

Your tongue slips between his lips with practiced brevity; tracing right up to where his cock aches for your attention. You kiss around it a little at first, just enough to tease him a little more before you allow yourself to fully give into your carnal desires. Elliott gasps as you finally lick him. His hips try to buck up into your mouth, chasing the friction you expertly provide.

You pin Elliott’s legs to the counter top: leaning forward you rest an arm on the back of each of his thighs; using one hand to hold him by the ankles and keeping his feet in the air; the other rests on his pubic mound, and you use your thumb to pull him taught. His little cock is even more exposed to you now, his tip peeking out of his foreskin. He whimpers as you focus the tip of your tongue on his head.

Soon, even you have grown tired of your merciless teasing. “Behave.” You warn before taking Elliott into your mouth completely. You can feel the muscles in his legs flex—desperately trying to keep himself still. He cries out for you as you suckle his tiny cock, letting your teeth graze his head.

Motion in your periphery causes you to look to your right. You can’t help but notice both your and Elliott’s reflection in the screen of the television in the living room. Obviously, you’re awkwardly half-way crouched between his legs, but Elliott’s the main event. He’s sprawled out on the kitchen island, his lower back flush with the bar top, beloved husband folding him in half. His shoulders make contact with the lower part of the counter and his hair billows all over it. You make a mental note that his head is hanging off the edge of the counter top. Occasionally you can hear his nails scratch against the underside of the bar as you continue to suck him off, but his other hand shamelessly gropes at his own chest through his heart apron. You don’t need to consult his reflection to know that he’s teasing his own nipples, you can feel it in the way his cock twitches in your mouth.

Elliott won’t last much longer like this, so you pick up the pace a little. You swirl your tongue and bob your head a little faster, and make quick work of your beloved husband. He’s crying out for you and cumming on your face within seconds. His thighs tremble as you continue to tease his aching cock, and you can feel your own cock twitch in your pants. You need to be inside on him.

You kiss him a few times before pulling yourself off of him. Standing back up straight makes your back crack, so you take a second to stretch it out. Once you’ve gotten comfortable again you let your hard cock rest against his ass. “You want it?” You ask, and Elliott seems to shift a little, checking the oven, again, undoubtedly.

“Please,” he begs, again, “fuck me.” As much as you’d love to hear it, he doesn’t have to beg you twice. You shove your own pants and underwear down to around your knees and let your cock out. You spit on your cock out of habit, but Elliott hardly needs it. You rub your spit up and down your cock as you watch him quiver; if he hadn’t been wet enough for you after his orgasm, he would be now. He whimpers when you rub your cock up against his. He stops holding onto the counter to reach down and jerk your cock a couple of times, you thrust into his hand. “Put it in… put it in.”

You oblige, angling your cock with Elliott’s cunt, but letting him push your tip in since he was so eager. He hisses at the feeling, and you can’t help but snicker a bit as you slowly thrust in. He always wants more than he can take. But it doesn’t take long for him to get used to you, especially as he continues to masturbate openly—still rubbing his nipples and jerking himself off, too.

He only stops when you thrust into him a little harder, causing him to lurch forward and grab onto the counter top between his legs to stabilize himself. You hold onto him a little firmer and trace your thumbs across his sides. “I’ve got you,” you say, leaning forward a little and spitting on his cock, “you can touch yourself as much as you want.”

Elliott whimpers at your taunting tone, but follows through nonetheless, rubbing his little cock in time with your thrusts. You’re careful with how hard you’re fucking him, not wanting to concuss him as his head continued to hang off the lower counter top. But, you’re still picking up the pace. You only have a little while longer to fuck him until dinner’s ready, after all.

Carefully, you fuck him faster still, Elliott hanging on your every movement. As much as you’d love to, you don’t even have to fuck him particularly hard to have his cunt desperately squeezing you with every thrust. Perhaps you know your husband a little too well. You tighten your grip on his sides when you feel his muscles start to tense, and you position your thrusts towards the angle you know he likes the most.

He doesn’t last much longer. His toes curl and you feel compelled to watch him in the reflection of the television again. He cries out for you as he struggles through his orgasm, jerking himself rapidly even as he tries to control his own movements carefully, still in such a precarious position. You keep a slower, gentle pace to ease him through his orgasm, holding onto him for reassurance; your own end far ahead.

Once he’s come down a bit, you pull out and he sits up on the counter. Elliott kisses you sloppily, wrapping his arms around your neck. All care for any mess on the kitchen counter long gone. He’s leaning into you and running his fingers through your hair; swaying ever so slightly, you imagine it’s from all the blood rushing back down from his head. He pulls away from the kiss and just looks at you, excess desperation in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “Is there time for just a little more?”

His fingers stop moving in your hair and just hang there instead. He gives a meek nod. “…Maybe.” He says, as if to hide his own desire.

Once more you usher him, this time down from the counter top. He kisses you again but you pull away, kissing his cheek and then his neck. He moans for you, overstimulated but still desperate for more. You have him by his biceps, so it’s easy for you to turn him around and press his chest to the counter top. He whines softly as you rub your cock up against his cunt.

Elliott’s leaned over the bar part of the kitchen island, his fingers naturally wrapping around the edge of the counter, holding himself still. You gather his hair up in one hand, wrapping it around itself for a better hold. “Just keep an eye on it for me, okay? I’d hate for all your hard work to go to waste.” He only whimpers in response, so you tug on his hair. “Okay?”

“I will, I will, just… please.” He’s looking back at you, moving hips trying to push your cock back inside of him. You oblige, pounding into him rather harshly. Elliott lurches forward and cries out for you in the best way. He squeezes down on you when your balls smack against his cock, you can feel it twitch, too.

You’ll never get used to how sensitive he is inside once you’re in the second round. His walls can’t help but quiver around you with every thrust. He’s in a better position now, so you can thrust into him as hard and as fast as you both would like. Elliott continuously begs you for more, and you can only provide.

His thighs quiver with every thrust, and the island itself seems to creak a little when you really pound into him. You ignore it. You can’t possibly pay any mind to something as unimportant as the structural integrity of your home when your husband is crying out for you like this. You’re ratcheting up the pressure, constantly aiming for and pounding into his g-spot. All Elliott can do is punctuate every thrust with a cry of “please, please, please!”

He’s barely coherent. But you can feel his orgasm drawing closer and closer—the way he’s bearing down on you makes it hard for you to keep a steady pace. Your grip tightens on him again as you feel your orgasm building as well. You pull on his hair again, and you swear you can hear his fingernails scrapping against the underside of the counter top.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There’s something so special about shredding Elliott’s eloquence with your cock—it makes your toes curl. You keep the same hold on his hair as you feel him tense up all over. “I’m going—fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

His cunt squeezes you hard and you feel him gush with his orgasm, coating you and trickling down your bare thighs. You’re not far behind him, careful not to tug on his hair anymore than you already had, lest you begin to rip out his delicate mane. Thrusting as hard and as fast and as deep as you can manage, you release deep into your husband; crying out for him just as he had for you. There’s no discernible rhythm to the last of your thrusts, all that’s left is your desperation.

You pull him up from the counter, your cock still inside of him even as you begin to soften. Your hips still pistoning slightly as you pull his back to your chest; hands roaming him all over to soothe the both of you. His chest heaving still, he reaches for your hand.

You intertwine you fingers again, just as you had before. “Elliott…” you drag out his name dramatically, tracing his jawline with the pointer finger on your free hand, “how much longer do we have to wait for the food?”

Elliott glances at the oven. “Just a little longer,” he says, “obviously.”

[titanplumbingauservice]

A Step-by-Step Guide to Hot Water System Replacement

Hot water is an essential component of modern living, whether it's for a refreshing shower, washing dishes, or doing laundry. However, when your hot water system starts acting up, it can quickly disrupt your daily routine and comfort.

If you find yourself in need of a Hot Water Replacement Point Cook-wide, fear not! In this comprehensive guide, we'll walk you through everything you need to know to ensure a smooth transition to a new hot water system.

Understanding the Need

Over time, hot water systems can wear out, leading to decreased efficiency, increased energy bills, and, eventually, complete failure. Signs that your hot water system may need replacement include

Age: Most hot water systems have a lifespan of around 8 to 12 years. If yours is nearing or surpassing this age range, it's likely time to consider a replacement.

Rusty or discoloured water: If you notice rusty or discoloured water coming from your taps, it could indicate corrosion inside your hot water tank, signalling the need for replacement.

Leaks: Any signs of leaks or pooling water around your hot water tank are cause for concern and may necessitate replacement to prevent further damage.

Inconsistent heating: If your hot water isn't maintaining a consistent temperature or takes longer to heat up, it could indicate a failing hot water system.

Choosing the Right Replacement

When selecting a new hot water system, there are several factors to consider

Type: There are various types of hot water systems available, including traditional tank-style heaters, tankless heaters, and heat pump water heaters. Each has its own advantages and considerations, so it's essential to choose the type that best suits your needs and budget.

Size: The size of your new hot water system should be appropriate for your household's hot water demands. Consider factors such as the number of occupants, daily usage patterns, and peak demand times.

Energy efficiency: Opting for an energy-efficient hot water system can help reduce your utility bills and minimise your environmental impact. Look for models with high Energy Star ratings and consider factors such as insulation and recovery rate.

Installation requirements: Depending on the type of hot water system you choose, installation requirements may vary. Tankless heaters, for example, may require additional electrical or plumbing work compared to traditional tank-style heaters.

Professional Installation

While some homeowners may attempt to install a new hot water replacement Point Cook-wide themselves, professional installation is highly recommended. A licensed plumber will ensure that your new hot water system is installed correctly and safely, minimising the risk of leaks, malfunctions, or safety hazards.

Maintenance and Care

Once your new hot water system is installed, proper maintenance is key to ensuring its longevity and efficiency. Regularly flushing the tank, checking for leaks, and scheduling professional inspections can help identify and address any issues before they escalate.

Final Words

A hot water replacement may seem like a daunting task, but with the right knowledge and guidance, you can navigate the process smoothly. By understanding the signs that indicate the need for hot water replacement Point Cook and beyond, choosing the right system for your needs, opting for professional installation, and maintaining your new hot water system properly, you can enjoy reliable hot water for years to come. Say goodbye to cold showers and hello to comfort and convenience!

Source: A Step-by-Step Guide to Hot Water System Replacement

[kai34902]

Addiction

Blurb: When all eyes are on you, you are forced to preform. till your legs bleed, your heart torn apart, and your mind goes numb you must not stop. Until a boy who has no interest in anything but science and space becomes a safe haven for you.

Or alternatively

When two people realize their feelings too late, and now must rebuild civilization while also try to get rid of their feelings for the other. Just one problem: they're addicted to each other

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔《✽✽✽⋆⁎⋆☽♡☾⋆⁎⋆✽✽✽》°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔《✽✽✽⋆⁎⋆☽♡☾⋆⁎⋆✽✽✽》°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Paring: Senku x reader

Can be found on

Ao3

Quotev

Chapter 11: Extinguished Flames

summery: The group finally gets to Hakone, while (y/n) and Yuzuriha's relationship strengthen

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Word count: 3408

Warning: Mostly proof read???, lore heavy, dialogue heavy

side note: I'm currently rewriting this story to be more coherent :)

Prologues 1&2 as well as "Morning Star" have been rewritten and updated. Check them out if your curious on my Ao3 or Quotev.

(Currently rewriting the next three chapters after "Morning Star")

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔《✽✽✽⋆⁎⋆☽♡☾⋆⁎⋆✽✽✽》°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

 The next day Senku brought out charcoal and a bag filled with what you recall to be potassium nitrate.

“We have the three components we need to make gunpowder.”

“For real? We got all of 'em already?” Taiju exclaimed.

“The only thing left is to mix it up. It's time for a gunpowder cooking class that'll be a total blast!” He had a devilish-looking grin on his face.

“Pun intended?” You asked

“Pun intended,” he affirmed while handing you supplies.

⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Senku’s kitchen ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⟡

In an instant, you and Senku find yourselves behind a counter. You blinked in disbelief; you didn’t get any warning that this would happen. You were about to say something till something caught your eye: Senku was in a chef uniform. 

You aren’t ashamed to say this; he looked fine as hell. If he removed the apron and replaced it with a blazer, it would’ve elevated the look. Or if he had his hair down…you’d actually ascend.

Back in the real world, you were dressed in a rolled-up button-up shirt and an apron of your own. Taiju held a camera while filming you two. Finally, Yuzuriha held the boom mic up to Senku’s face while giving you a thumbs up.

“Gunpowder ingredient number one is sulfur, which there's plenty of at this hot spring!” He lifted his finger in the air as you poured the hot spring water into an empty bag.

Then he brought up the charcoal and started tossing some in there while explaining where and how to get it. Finally, for the third ingredient: potassium nitrate. You made it with Senku a couple of days before this whole thing went down.

⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Senku’s Kitchen fin tape ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⟡

You saw Taiju try to piece together something in his head. You really wanted to help him, but Senku stopped you.

“Hold on, he almost got it.” He whispered.

“Nitric acid! Miracle fluid! Did you get that stuff out of the cave?” Taiju yelled.

“Surprisingly enough, you're right for once, simpleton. You get ten billion points for that.”

“Nice!” You exclaimed, raising both of your hands.

“Double combo!”You both shouted as Taiju clapped your hands with his usual, overzealous force, nearly knocking you off balance.

Meanwhile, Senku stirred the potassium nitrate in with the sulfur and charcoal. Then he added some glucose to the mixture. Finally he was about to pound it down using a wooden log before Taiju came in with a boulder that was almost his size. You all were taken aback.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Yuzuriha ran up to him.

“I'm scared that if you use all your strength, you could make it spark and go boom! Like with flint!”

You were about to explain the science behind it before Senku jumped in,“Yeah, no. Hitting stone with stone doesn't actually create any sparks.”

You were puzzled, but not with his statement. Before you could stop Taiju, he slammed the boulder down. You jumped, bracing for an explosion, but when it didn’t come, you exhaled in relief.

“Senku.” He turned to you, baffled hearing his name coming from you.

“Stone with stone won’t make sparks, but if one of them has iron pyrite—” You didn’t need to say anything more. Senku already understood what you were saying. The sulfur contained iron pyrite due to its close proximity to the volcanoes and spring water that surrounded it. But it was too late; Taiju had already smashed the boulder down again.

When he lifted it up, you guys saw that the bag was torn. Unfortunately, the worst case scenario happened: sparks appeared.

“Shit!” You cursed. “Take cover!” The resulting explosion blew everyone away. 

Debris scattered around as black smoke filled your vision. Its pungent smell was something you were familiar with. It brought you back to the shooting range with your brother. Where he taught you how to steady your aim and encouraged your first shot. Those moments felt safe, unlike this chaotic scene.

You looked around for Yuzuriha, Taiju, and Senku. Thankfully no one got hurt, or worse, died. But you still deduced this to be one of the scariest experiences you’ve had, and that's saying something. Meanwhile, everyone slowly stood up, collecting themselves from their near death experience.

“No problem, you guys! This just proves our gunpowder cooking was successful!” Senku first spoke up. Ignoring how dangerous it was.

“That's scary stuff. We need to be careful!” Yuzuriha’s voice quivered, still shell-shocked from what just happened.

“Yeah… It's been involved in a lot of experiments gone wrong. It's not unheard of for some curious kid or even an adult to lose a limb.” Senku brushed the dirt off his face.

“Huh?” she questioned, clearly shocked by the information.

“Don't forget, this is a lethal substance we're dealing with.” Senku reminded

“Yet we're planning to use it against Tsukasa.” Your voice was firm, but your eyes wandered off. You were having trouble imagining using it against him. Yuzuriha and Taiju looked at you with eyes filled with concern.

“No. We'll make a deal.” The three of you looked at Senku in bewilderment. You wondered why you would make a deal with Tsukasa with the gunpowder if he could use it against you guys afterward.

“Tsukasa isn't some sort of random, mindless murderer. Think back. When Taiju and Tsukasa had their scuffle, you remember what he said?” 

You thought back to that moment. The heightened tensions of that scene suffocated you as you tried to come around to the idea of Tsukasa betraying you. You still have yet to fully acknowledge it.

Then you came to when Tsukasa was confused, when he let down his guard slightly. The moment when Taiju told Tsukasa that he could pummel him so he won’t break any more statues.

“I don't understand. You aren't making any kind of deal.” You mimicked what Tsukasa said.

“Right, In other words, under the right circumstances, we can negotiate with him. And with a little gunpowder on our side, we'll have leverage.”

You, Taiju, and Yuzuriha immediately had your hopes up when Senku announced his plan. You were so happy that you didn’t think to look back at Senku. You didn’t notice his hardened expression. But you should have. After all, the cardinal rule of the deal is this: there’s always a price to pay at the bargaining table.

“Come on! “We need to put out the smoke. If Tsukasa sees this, then he’ll know where we’re at,” you commanded.

You four used the remaining bags as buckets to carry hot spring water over to the smoke. It took a couple of trips, but you all were almost done until Yuzuriha caught everyone's attention.

You three turned around to look at her, but something else entirely captivated everyone. It was white smoke coming from the forest.

“Is it Tsukasa?” You could hear the anxiousness in Yuzuriha’s voice.

“No, he's in the opposite direction. And besides, he's got absolutely no reason to reveal his location like that,” Senku replied.

“So what then? A forest fire?” questioned

“No, natural forest fires don’t happen out of the blue. So it can’t be a coincidence.” Your mind raced, looking back to all the possibilities of what could’ve started the smoke.

“The timing suggests it's a response to the smoke we created.” Senku added to your observation.

“You two don’t mean...?” Yuzuriha couldn’t finish her sentence, afraid the impossible could be true.

“There's no other explanation…” You retorted, 

“It's time to get excited, you two. Because it looks like we've found someone else in this Stone World.” Senku turned to the smoke.

Taiju was shocked. He didn’t think someone else other than him, his friends, and Tsukasa would be alive in the stone world. But Yuzuriha had other things to be concerned about. 

“Don't you think we should finish putting out the fire?” 

“Yeah, you're right!” Taiju agreed with her.

“Wait, hold on!” You stopped them before they could move further. “As far as they know, our smoke could've been caused naturally by a small volcanic explosion. We need to send a signal back before they decide to give up and leave.”

“Are you sure about this, Cosmo? Won't Tsukasa be able to see it, too?” Yuzuriha asked nervously.

“We'll be broadcasting our location to everyone, including him.” Senku chimed in.

Your body went cold, bracing itself for what he was going to say next. Would he command you to put the smoke out or set off another one and risk getting caught by Tsukasa? The tension was palpable, and the silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Senku spoke.

“Let's light it up! Fire the smoke signal!” With the command in place, you three rushed to grab flammable things. 

“We're running out of gunpowder! Grab anything that'll burn and throw it in!”

“All right, I'm going to go get some firewood in the woods.” Taiju yelled,

“I’ll come with you!” Yuzuriha offered.

Suddenly, you caught her wrist, ready to warn her of what you talked about the other day, but the gentle curve of her smile stopped you.

“Don't worry, I’ll be with Taiju.” Then they both ran off down to the woods.

You watched as their figures disappeared as they ran feverishly down the mountain. It didn’t take long after that when you realized that you were just standing around and not helping.

“I-I’ll go look for some wood near the base of this mountain,” you stammered.

Unexpectedly, Senku grasped your hand before you ran off. You both stood like that, waiting for the other’s response, till Senku managed to utter something.

“Careful” was all that he managed to say.

You smiled, hands still conjoined. You rubbed your thumb against his hand gently. It was your unspoken reassurance. Senku reluctantly let go, watching your figure disappear in the distance.

—-------------

It started off peaceful. You were picking up sticks that were around and thinking about the mystery person who set off the white smoke. It was a shock to see that someone was alive. 

Did they come before Senku and yourself? Are they nice? Who are they exactly? How did they survive for this long?

Those were all the questions that repeated in your mind. You were excited but also scared. What if they’re not friendly? What if they turn out to be like Tsukasa?

A stone blade was pointed at your neck. You recognize it to be the one you made for Tsukasa.

“Well hello to you too.” Your voice is calm despite the storm of emotions welling up in you.

“(y/n)” His voice, soft. Even when he had his blade pointed at you. “I suggest you stand up.”

You did as he said. It was no use fighting against him with no weapon. You're just glad that it was you who was captured and not Yuzuriha. She doesn’t have experience in this situation, unlike you.

The walk up the mountain was tense. Tsukasa’s brotherly aura attracted you, but the blade made your blood run cold, like ice. 

Quite literally, as Tsukasa had to lift his weapon and carry you, princess style, the rest of the way.

“Why?” You managed to ask

“Because…” He paused, looking for a reason to persuade you. “Look at the state you’re in.”

“If it wasn’t for those evil adults that surrounded you, you'd have had a normal childhood. One where you didn’t need to be used as ransom or have a gun pointed to your head. Where you had the right to learn in a normal learning environment instead of having to beg for it.” Tsukasa started rambling.

You knew what he was talking about, all those incidents. They scared you into who you are now.

The ransom was the first scare to your psyche. You could vividly remember what happened, as if it was yesterday’s event. The blood, the yelling, and all the horrendous things those men said they’ll do to you if your baba doesn’t “pay up.” Afterward, you had trouble trusting strangers, and it still applies to the present day.

Then the Nanami party incident. Packed to the brim with rich people and investors alike. It was a party to remember, but for a different reason. It was an unfortunate circumstance that you left Al for the punch bowl. On your way, you bumped into a man who ended up using you as bait. He was going to use you as leverage against the (l/n) and the Nanami family. 

Unfortunately for him, Daniel was on a balcony that overlooked the scene. He heroically jumped down and beat the man till he let go of you; Daniel didn’t stop there. The man’s family tried to charge your brother with first-degree murder, but with a skilled lawyer, he was swiftly proven innocent. With the context clearly established and witnesses backing Daniel’s actions as self-defense and protection, the case was closed, though the incident left discrimination in your brother's wake.

It was true; if there weren't evil people, then you could’ve had a normal childhood. But then you wouldn’t have moved to Japan and met Senku. Tsukasa wouldn't have met Daniel either.

“Yet here you are using me like those “evil adults” you despise.”

Tsukasa didn’t reply.

As you got closer to where Senku was at. Tsukasa placed you down and put his blade back to its rightful place, your neck.

Senku glanced back, Tsukasa’s blade to your neck. He anticipated that this would’ve happened when you went down. For a millisecond a fleeting thought passed through: He should’ve fought harder for you to stay. Senku chuckled, trying to brush the thought away.

“When one uses science to create a weapon, that's when the "strongest" man is no longer the most powerful. I'd say you're looking especially grumpy today. Tsukasa” 

“Yeah. I suppose that is an accurate way of putting it. If you go down this road

of developing weapons and start reviving older generations, they'll begin fighting over established interests, and then we'll be right back in a tainted world.” Tsukasa glanced at you and your once-again frozen state.

“I don't mind getting my hands dirty if that's what it takes to stop that from happening.”

“And by that, you mean killing Senku the Science Man, right? I'm sure the whole world would be moved to tears by your merciful death sentence.” Senku tried to joke but ultimately failed.

“But before that, would you mind giving me the recipe for the revival fluid?” Tsukasa bluntly asked.

He moved the blade closer to your neck, so close that it was difficult to breathe without feeling it. Your breath halted, and Senku saw it.

“Nope, sorry. I guess I'm not as kind as you are.” Senku cracked his neck.

“I can only look at things as being logical or illogical. So, I don't care one millimeter what you do with (y/n). There are plenty of other females to revive.” 

You knew he was bluffing, but that comment stung you, even in your current predicament. 

Tsukasa raised his blade and swiftly cut something; you braced for the pain that was about to happen.

Instead, he cut a small lock of hair. Senku gasped as you tried to steady your breathing. It was a grim reminder of how ruthless Tsukasa can be, and it was a wake up call.

“Don't try to negotiate, Senku. We both know (y/n) is irreplaceable. Especially to you.” Tsukasa’s tone was as cold as the steel he held, unwavering and deadly in its resolve.

“With my extended stay, I noticed that she’s the only one who gets an endearing nickname from you. She knows and catches up with your mentality, often sparing it. Your banter often leads to flirty comments, and not only that, you two sleep together.” You almost choked hearing that. It wasn’t wrong, but this was the first time someone actually said something about it.

“Even a fool can see how much you care, so tell me, Senku. “What are you two really?” Tsukasa pushed, hoping to reveal the truth before he had to kill Senku.

You laughed, not heartily like you usually do, but a soft yet confident one was let out.

“Tsukasa, you don’t know our dynamic. We’re just friends.” You bluntly stated, ignoring your bruised heart.

You took Tsukasa’s weapon and placed it back onto your neck. This time the end of it actually touched your skin. Tsukasa gasped; this wasn’t how he wanted it to go. He didn’t want to hurt you. He thought that with your frozen state, you couldn't do anything.

“Senku! Don't give him the recipe! As long as he doesn't know how to make it himself, he'll have no choice but to let you live. He can't kill you. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.” You pulled the blade closer, fighting against Tsukasa, who was pulling back.

“I'm just a nobody while you're the protagonist, so survive for everybody's sake. And make sure they all have a future, okay?” You smiled, still fighting against Tsukasa.

Senku took a deep sigh. You were prepared to take hold of Tsukasa’s weapon and hold him while Senku made a run for it.

Tsukasa wouldn’t hurt you. That is obvious by the way he’s currently pushing back on the weapon.

But instead of doing what you expected him to do, Senku threw a curveball. Senku actually told him the recipe.

Tears started spilling, and you were shaking. You considered him a fool for not taking this chance and running far away. But you’ve always known that Senku just wasn’t the type of person who would do that. Another characteristic of his that drew you closer to him.

“Thank you so much, Senku. And now, I no longer have any reason to let you live.” Tsukasa took advantage of your emotional state and pushed you aside.

“Let's say I did let you live, right? You would develop civilization just like before. Can you promise that you won't do that?” Tsukasa moved dangerously close to Senku. But Senku’s only reaction was to chuckle.

“What the hell are you talking about? I could promise anything to stay alive.”

“No. You would never lie.” Tsukasa interjected, “Not when it comes to science, or…” He trailed off, eyeing you as you watched with bated breath.

“So will you promise me, here and now, and for all eternity, that you'll abandon science? Because if you can make that pledge, you can live, and then I won't be forced into killing you.”

There's a piece of you that wanted Senku to take the offer, but you knew stripping Senku of science would strip him of everything. You didn’t want that even more.

A pregnant pause filled the air with tension as Tsukasa awaited Senku's answer.

“Senku, you know that I'd rather not kill you. I'll ask again. Will you promise me, right here and now, that you'll give up on science?” Tsukasa tried to coerce an answer out of Senku.

“No, I can't. I can't do that.” Your heart sank.

“Of course not. I knew that would be your answer.” Tsukasa’s soft spoken voice contradicted the situation.

“Now don't go givin' me that crap. No matter what I said, we both know that you were gonna kill me at some point. You'd find a reason.”

“Maybe” was all Tsukasa could mutter.

Just kill me in one blow. Because leaving me to suffer till I die is both illogical, inefficient, and traumatizing,” Senku’s gaze shifted towards you as you started racing.

You couldn’t hear what Tsukasa was planning to do with Senku despite running up to them. Your plan was foolish, created by adrenaline, and acted on with desperation. 

But it was completely foiled by Tsuasa, who had pushed you back, this time with more strength. You collided against some rocks; it took you a bit longer to get back up.

“Senku, I have a feeling that if we had met each other 3,700 years ago, Before all this, before the planet was turned into a Stone World...I think that you might've been my first real friend.” You ran up. Even more desperate, while ignoring your shoulder and back pain.

“Maybe” was all Senku replied before Tsukasa snapped his cervical nerve.

You were too late.

Next>

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did anyone get my Epic: the musical references 👀?

[httpsdana]

could you please do prompt 77 with Flo Wirtz?🙏

Yapper~Florian Wirtz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

77-"are you even listening?" "sorry sweetheart, you were distracting me."

y/n slammed the door behind her, taking off her shoes and dropping her bag. She angrily stomped to the kitchen, already unbuttoning her shirt.

"princess? you're home early" Florian said from the kitchen. She muttered some incoherent words which he didn't understand.

"uh what did you say?" he asked awkwardly.

"I just had the worse day of my life" she mumbled breathing out deeply

She sat down on the one of the stools and covered her face with her hands. Florian gazed at his tired girlfriend with a mix of concern and worry in his eyes. His hand reached out to remove hers from her face, giving her a gentle smile.

"how about you go take a shower and relax while I make you some food to eat. you can tell me all about your bad day yeah?" he suggested, rubbing his thumb against her knuckles.

y/n smiled softly at Florian as she leans into his embrace, feeling his warmth and love surrounding her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders while she hugged his torso, breathing in his comforting scent. He pressed a small kiss on her forehead before she left to shower, already feeling that her day is getting better

As y/n was taking her hot shower, Florian started working on y/n's favorite pasta. He made the sauce and cooked the chicken while the pasta boiled in water.

By the time he finished serving their plates, y/n came out of the shower, her hair wet and face bare from any make up. Florian always loved to admire her face without make up, because it just seems to be glowing, especially after a shower.

y/n and Florian sat on the stools in the kitchen, eating their food in silence until Florian spoke up.

"so tell me, what made your day that bad?" he asked, dropping his fork and looking at his girlfriend. y/n let out a sigh, dropping her fork as well.

"well first of all I was having a bad hair AND make up day which basically means I looked like shit all day-" she was interrupted by Florian

"I think you looked cute" he said with a small smile making her smile too

"thank you- but that's not the point. I arrived late to class because of the fucking traffic and the professor made me sit in the back of the hall with all the shit students that talk all the time, so I didn't hear anything. during the break, I went to get my coffee but ended up spilling half of it on my..." her voice started fading as it became just a background noise when Florian started admiring her.

His gaze softened as he looked at her, his expression filled with admiration and warmth as he took in her natural, bare face after her shower. The worry lines on his forehead disappeared, replaced by a gentle smile that reflected his mesmerized state by her presence.

"are you even listening?" y/n said, a bit disappointed that he wasn't fully with her

"sorry sweetheart, you were distracting me." he said shamelessly, his smile still on his face, making her blush but look away.

She rolled her eyes with a smile but slapped his shoulder gently.

"shut up. I have no make up on" she said, turning back to her plate

"you don't need any. you have a natural glow when you have no make up on" he said, the soft smile never leaving his face as he still admired her face

"oh shut up and continue eating" she shook her head with a smile.

He laughed slightly, telling her to continue her yapping session even if he didn't hear most of it

[kkxrmx]

night drive ₊˚⊹ᰔ

SYNOPSIS : when the summer heat gets to you, car rides with the windows rolled down and music blaring is the best way to cool off !! PLAYLIST : night drive - red velvet ; moonlight - chase atlantic PAIRING(S) : boyfriend!yeonjun x gender neutral reader WARNING(S) : none ( ? )

꒰ note : omg?? it's the first night of our summer !! i'm so glad to be able to collaborate with the wonderful sweetheartsaku !! be sure to check out yeonjun's day date over on saku's blog and the rest of my half of this series here !! ꒱

𖧷 waking up snuggled beside your boyfriend is typically more than blissful but right now, you couldn't be more miserable. you're currently laid on your side, your back to yeonjun's chest, and you're sure the heat radiating off of him is enough to cook you alive. it's still early enough that the day's heat hasn't dropped into a cool evening breeze, and your oven of a boyfriend has his body draped over yours; the sticky feeling of his sweat-dampened skin leaves you feeling slightly irritable. as you toss and turn in your usually very nice fluffy sheets, summer has certainly gotten to you.

when you finally decide to end your tossing and turning, you figure you should try to get a cold glass of water to cool down. you gently peel his arm from its solid position on your waist, but before your feet can even touch the floor, he drags you back into the soft sheets, but this time, you're facing him. "i gotta get up, jun, it's too hot."

he frowns upon hearing this. once you see the growing frown on his face, you can already sense his whining. he's already whiny as it is, but the sleep just makes that ten times worse. his hair is a mess, and his lips are slightly dry, still managing to be a pretty shade of pink. as your eyes hesitate to look away from his lips, he instinctively licks them. he speaks up again, shaking you out of your daze. "…you wanna go for a drive?"

𖧷 that's how you end up in the car, wearing a pair of his thin sweatpants to replace your sleep shorts, listening to familiar music while driving down even more familiar roads. stopped at the red light, yeonjun takes the chance to admire you.

"jun, you really should stop staring; you'll miss the—mph!" his lips are covered in freshly applied pineapple lip balm. they press into yours, mixing your coconut lip balm with his fruitier one. he smacks his lips together and hums, perking up. "mmh! piña colada!” he smiles. you slap his arm gently, but before you can tell him to get his eyes on the road, you're cut off again by a car horn.

you raise your voice at him playfully," drive, idiot!" he laughs before driving through the now green light. he rubs his lips together again, and you just gaze at him. he's so beyond stunning right now. with his bare face and slightly sleep-rustled hair, you can't help but stare. the car rolls to a stop before you can even notice it, and you recognize your surroundings. the lookout you always end up at, no matter the plan. you're just far away enough from the city for it to be quiet. the only thing that can be heard is the sound of your boyfriend breathing and bugs chirping.

𖧷 after sitting for what feels like hours, taking and laughing over low music and stolen kisses, he figures he should head home once you point out the sun peeking over the horizon. the car ride home is the same as always; your heart is full, and you feel much better. you're so content that you can finally find that sleep you've longed for. yeonjun looks over at you, sleeping so peacefully. he holds your hand as you fall deeper into your sleep, sinking into the passenger seat even further. the car ride is primarily quiet; besides the melody he hums along to the music. and the eventual sound of his low-toned, hushed voice

"summers with you feel like i'm spending summer as a kid again, you know? childish and impulsive and just.. fun. being in love with you feels like summer."

taglist : @hyukassubi @lun4kazumii

[juju-rps]

aot diaries

☆part two: the smoke signal

intro | part one

the faint smell of dust and the empty apartment was now replaced by the scent of freshly watered plants. it's been a few days since you moved in with jean, and while you were still surrounded by the unpacking mess, the apartment was starting to feel like home. you were lying on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when jean came from the kitchen, with a determined look on his face.

"alright, (name)" he announced, hands on his hips. "time for a proper housewarming. no more sad takeout. i'm cooking."

you blinked, "you're... cooking? jean, the last time i saw you cook, you almost set off the fire alarm trying to make toast."

he scoffed. "that was one time! and it was the toaster' fault. besides, i've been watching those cooking videos online. it's all about technique, and i have it. tonight, we feast. i'm thinking... chicken with a lemon butter sauce, and some roasted broccoli." he flexed his arms, "gourmet, baby."

you raised an eyebrow, "wow ambitious. what could possibly go wrong?"

famous last words.

an hour later, the apartment was starting to fill with a not so pleasant smell that was definitely not lemon butter. you walked into the kitchen to find jean, fanning a smoking pan with a towel. the smoke detector, thank god, had yet to join the party, but it felt like a matter of minutes.

"jean! what the hell happened?!" you choked, waving a hand in front of your face.

"i don't know!" he said, sounding like he was about to cry, "the recipe said 'sear until golden brown,' but then it just... started smoking!"

just then, your phone buzzed with a message. it was eren.

jean, meanwhile, was wrestling with the smoke detector, muttering curses under his breath. "this is fine. we can fix this. just needs... more butter?"

"no jean. we need to throw it in the trash and air out the kitchen before armin knows and calls the fire department." you say sternly.

as you opened the window, a loud, insistent beeping finally pierced the air. that goddamn fire detector.

"OH COME ON!" jean threw his hands up in frustration.

the pizza arrived like a ray of hope, its aroma quickly overpowering the scent of burnt food. mikasa had shown up not just with the hot boxes, but also with a portable fan and a can of air freshener. armin, walking behind her, looked concerned but amused. eren, of course, was already there, sprawled on your sofa, having already let himself in (you probably gave him a spare key at some point, or he just knew how to pick the lock, who knows?)

"honestly, jean," mikasa said, "i'm starting to think you're safer just eating takeout forever."

jean, still red faced from embarrassment, mumbled, "it was an experiment! you can't make an omelette without breaking some... chicken..?"

eren snorted from the living room. "more like breaking the smoke detector."

you almost tossed a pizza slice at him. "you were just waiting for drama, admit it."

as everyone settled around the coffee table (the one you'd managed to assemble only after three hours of arguments with jean and a youtube tutorial) the atmosphere lightened.

armin, ever the helpful one, offered to send over some genuinely simple recipes for beginners. eren, naturally, documented the post-disaster pizza feast for his instagram story.

later that night, after everyone had gone home, you and jean collapsed onto your respective beds.

"so," you said, muffled into your pillow, "lesson learned?"

a sigh came from across the room. "yeah. stick to instant ramen, apparently. and uh.. thanks for... not letting me burn the place down."

you smiled. "anytime, roommate. any time."

your phone buzzed, illuminating the dark room. it was your groupchat with the gang.