#Maybe I just died and I'm in Heaven | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boyfhee · 6 months ago

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ㅤ ꣑୧ㅤㅤ:ㅤCANDLELITㅤㅤ𝒻t.ㅤㅤ성혼

﹙10097﹚ SYNOPSIS . . . the dating scene sucks, especially when the only person you want to be with is your roommate.

꣑୧ GENRE . . . roommate au, 'i hate them but they're hot' kind of energy

꣑୧ WARNINGS . . . profanities, drinking i mean lots of drinking we need alcohol shortage here, sunghoon smokes, mentions of one night stands, one very suggestive make out scene in the fourth section, undertones of cheating but not from sunghoon or reader, implications of sex although it's very light

꣑୧ NOTES . . . hi ( _ _; ) drowning in nervousness as i'm posting this. it's my first long fic after months ... i think the last one was in may or june 23 ... so please be nice >< don't know why but this didn't turn out how i wanted it to and it's definitely not one of my proudest works, but i hope u guys like it nonetheless huhu TT happy reading and please rb and drop feedback, it's highly appreciated ^_^

001. WHERE THERE’S HEAVEN THERE’S HELL

sunghoon is spiralling again.

a part of it is because of the endless assignments from classes, but that’s no news. he knows it’s his fault for procrastinating and waiting till two days before the due date to even think about working on them— unlike jake who somehow attends classes probably four times a week and is seen in the football fields instead, and still manages to be the first one to submit his essays. it’s admirable, annoying at most. when he sat down to do his sports science project three days before it was due, sunghoon realised why his professor gave them two months to finish it.

but realising your mistakes and working on them to be a better version of yourself are two different things.

for one, sunghoon believes those assignments are useless. no one cares about the impact of sports on society, maybe except heeseung and jake but again, in sunghoon’s mind, those two are never important. second, he’s too perfect to be working on himself. sunghoon is the best version of himself. he was born the day his uncle died, and his dad inherited the entire chain of restaurants his family owns across the country. he’s too amazing to be worrying about getting a degree he can buy— he thinks the university should be honoured he’s choosing to study— but that’s simply because his mother doesn’t want him to turn out like his sister.

back to the matter at hand— as he puts the beer can on the table and sits back on the couch, his eyes travel to the door yet again. seventh time in just a minute, he’s keeping a record of how you make him wait.

if there’s one thing he hates is being irresponsible ( coming from the great king of irresponsibility himself. ) you said you’d be back by twelve, and it’s half past one in night and not a soul knows your whereabouts. thirteen texts, seven missed calls, his phone is at forty-one percent and sunghoon is at his limit. if it wasn’t for your mom he wouldn’t give two flying fucks about where you are and how you’ve been.

sunghoon is actually surprisingly obedient and well-mannered, as opposed to the popular belief. he gave you and your mother the whole tour of the apartment the day you moved in. even made some coffee which isn’t much but your mother had loved him. he could see it in the way she looked at him with those sweet eyes, holding his hands as if he was her own son, and asking him to look after you.

‘please take care of my daughter,’ sunghoon thought he was getting married. instead of a wedding bell there were warning sirens going off. to this day he doesn’t know why she asked him that, minutes after she saw a dead cactus in the balcony that he killed by overwatering. he couldn’t even say no to her and just nodded, looking over at you briefly and noticing how you look like you were a bit embarrassed. sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s so serious about ‘taking care’ of you. he thought it would be easy, but you had to be devil’s favourite spawn and sunghoon happens to be your target.

however, he can’t take this anymore. he has a morning class and waiting till two am while drinking beer has done more damage to sunghoon than it should. he gets up from the couch with a sigh, leaving the empty cans unattended for a night as he makes a mental note to clean tomorrow. it isn’t until a click from the door stops him in his tracks.

“i’m back,” your voice is quiet, a yawn following immediately after your words as you look down while taking off your shoes. you’ve been drinking again, sunghoon can tell it from a mile away.

“you’re late,” he speaks over the silence, hands on his torso as he’s giving you those squinted eyes and doubtful looks. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he would assume you fucked someone at the club with how messy you look at the moment.

“yeah well, we had to take gigi to the hospital,” your lazy voice isn’t much louder than a whisper. you stumble towards your room, a hiccup followed soon after by the same quiet and slurred tone. “she ate something weird,”

he huffs at your words, knowing it would very well be just another excuse. “you could’ve at least texted,”

“my phone died,”

“i’m sure your friends would be happy to lend you their phone,” he pauses when he feels himself getting a bit annoyed. a soft sigh falls off his lips as he looks down at the tiled floor before looking up and speaking in a much calmer voice. “i’m just saying it’s not exactly safe to be out alone on the streets this late at night,”

“i wasn’t alone,” that piques his interest. “jay drove me back,”

and sunghoon felt his whole world stop. “jay?”

“yeah, jay, park jongseong,” your voice is surprisingly sweet when you take his name and it bothers sunghoon for some reason. his face scrunches up when you bite back a smile, hoping it’s the alcohol not because of what he thinks it is. “he’s nicer than i thought,”

sunghoon is not unfamiliar with the name park jongseong.

he hears it every day on and off the campus, more often than he likes. first things first, he’s just as popular as jake, for being american, which brings sunghoon to the question— why in the world would he leave america to study in korea when jay could have attended one of the ivy leagues with his face and money?

and the second and more important question, why in the world is park jongseong dropping you home at two in the night?

sunghoon only watches you in disbelief and astonishment as you stumble to your room, mumbling something incoherently. your words ring in his ear like sirens. ‘he is better than you’ jay is better than sunghoon. he scoffs almost offensively in your direction. that has to be the biggest lie of the twenty-first century.

he follows you to your room, reaching out to grab your arms when you almost trip but you manage to balance yourself. he opens the door and turns on the lights for you. “why were you with him to begin with?”

“oh, you don’t know?” and you turn around with eyes wide open as he shakes his head like a deer in the headlight. “he asked me out,”

sunghoon didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night.

it’s your fault, clearly. had you been back earlier on the time, nothing would’ve happened. and jay— sunghoon sights at the thought of him, eyes narrowing as he grits on his pen as if he’s going to break it into two.

“dude, are you hungry?” jake pokes sunghoon by his shoulder, dragging the latter out of his trail of thoughts.

“what?” sunghoon shoots a blank look, one that makes his friend sigh in concern. afterall, it’s not everyday he sees sunghoon chewing on a pen. “i’m not,”

“you’ve been out of it since the morning,”

and sunghoon has been out of it since jay’s name fell from your lips.

he’s not your friend, definitely not the first guy you’ve called by his name after sunghoon. but something doesn’t sit right. even after tossing and turning in bed for the whole night, he can’t figure out what bothers him more— the fact you said jay is better than him, or the fact that he asked you out on a date.

it’s the first one, he convinces himself. who you date is none of his business, he can’t be arsed enough to care about your love life or relationship status. ( although, he does care a little because he’s nosy. ) what bothers him more is that jay is, to put it in simple words, a player. all that face and no empathy for emotions is a waste, and to think you don’t know this— or maybe you do and yet still chose to go out with him, is beyond sunghoon’s comprehension.

“what do you think about jay?” he asks abruptly, catching jake’s attention, looking at him a little too intently for an answer.

“he’s a nice guy,” a casual reply before he gets back to his assignment before jake looks back at sunghoon with newly found interest. “he turned in my spanish essay last week, oh and drove me back from the bar a few days ago after you ditched me. why?”

sunghoon simply shakes his head, getting back to his books even though his focus is nowhere near studies. at this point, he doesn’t know if it’s jay distracting him or you. even your words keep playing over and over again in the back of his head. jay and nice in the same sentence doesn’t seem fit. sure, he helps his friends and drops his girl back home, but that’s only three days before there’s a new girl in his arms.

002. RUNNING OUT OF SANITY

sunghoon doesn’t hear the door click open when you come back from your classes, too busy in the balcony while humming a tune that you recognise immediately. you take off your shoes, noticing how he taps his foot along with the melody, and it’s quiet in the apartment, apart from the sound of traffic and wind rustling through the trees around.

“i don’t like people who smoke,” smoking is not on your list of likes, but you find yourself next to sunghoon whenever he’s with a cigarette. just like now, when you return from yet another one of your dates— or meet-ups as you prefer to call it right now— with jay. it wasn’t really planned. you bumped into him after classes and he was on his way back home, so you asked him for a coffee.

he almost jumps at your sudden voice but manages to compose himself, scowing at the distaste in your expression before scoffing, the cigarette still dancing between his lips. “good think, i’m not looking forward to be liked by you,”

he studies the frown on your face, glares as if your eyes are shooting daggers in his direction. it’s amusing to him how easy it is to get on your nerves. he leans against the metal railings, hair falling over his forehead. his eyes stay on your for a few seconds before he holds the cigarette between his index and middle finger, putting it away from his mouth and blowing out the smoke in your directions. he laughs mockingly when you step back, fanning out the smoke with your hands, cursing under your breath.

“are you crazy?!” you exclaim in annoyance, coughing slightly at his poor attempt at entertainment. your frown deepens when he mumbles a quiet apology although not meaning it, from the looks of it, and lifts the cigarette back to his lips.

“you’re back early,” he states casually, tapping the cigarette butt and watching the ash fall down from the balcony before a taunting chortle falls off his lips. “did jay dump your ass or something?”

your nose scrunches up at his actions, although mostly at the tobacco you can still smell in your air. you look down at the road, watching a mercedes passing by. “no, he had to go somewhere so he left early,”

“i knew it! he’s good for nothing,” and he drops the cigarette to the floor, crushing it with his foot even though at the back of his mind, he knows you’re going to yell at him for cleaning that up. “what kind of guy can’t even spend time with his girlfriend?”

“we’re not dating,”

“that’s worse!” he emphasises, and a pause follows as he looks at you with a confused expression. “wait— didn’t you say he asked you out?”

“he did, but he said he wants to wait until exams are over,” there’s a hint of displeasure in your voice. his eyes travel down to your fingers, especially the ring you’re fiddling with before they’re back on your face when you speak again. “we just decided to hang out,”

he practically scoffs at your words, quite literally in disbelief. a knowing sigh comes out of his mouth as he stands straight, this time standing with his back against the railing, feeling the cold metal though his thin white t-shirt. a part of him wants to laugh at your stupidity and point at how naive you are, while another part of him wants to find jay and beat him to pulp. he doesn’t know why there’s anger pooling in his stomach at the mere thought of jay just messing around with you.

“what a sick bastard,” he huffs with a tincture of annoyance in his tone. “how much do you want to bet he’s playing with you?”

“you’re the one who’s sick,” and even though it clicks with him that you’re referring to a few minutes earlier when he smoked all in your face, sunghoon still frowns when you call him sick. “he’s just prioritising his studies, there’s nothing wrong with that. at least he doesn’t smoke while being all up my face,”

you two just bask in silence after that.

he doesn’t have much to say— actually he does, but he doesn’t know how to put it in a decent, coherent way. of course, your reaction won’t be the most pleasant if he told you he wants to punch jay’s good for nothing handsome face. he wonders what you’re thinking when he looks over at you. you seem happy whenever you talk about your supposed ‘future boyfriend,’ yet it’s evident that you’re upset. he likes to think you’re having your doubts too. it's reassuring to him for some reason— because that’s good for you, of course. if you’re upset, you have your doubts, and if you have your doubts you might not fall victim to whatever sick game jay is playing.

“oh, actually, he doesn’t smoke,” but then you speak in a matter-of-fact way, as if comparing him to jay before giving him a mocking smile. “he’s better than you,”

those words ring in his mind for a good while.

you go back inside and he hears you shut the door to your room as an annoyed sigh falls off his lips. hearing that jay is nice from jake was another thing, but hearing to say he’s better than him leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, these little changes in how he usually is, it’s new. it’s frustrating him out.

it isn’t until his phone vibrates that he’s dragged out of his ocean of thoughts. his brows furrow when he notices the time, having realised that he basically wasted the entire noon even though he didn’t attend classes after giving heeseung an excuse that he’s sick. his eyes squint at the sender, and then a groan escaping his lips when he opens to read it.

noh chaeun 4:15pm hoon! my last two classes have been cancelled are you up for some coffee?

sunghoon doesn’t reply, rather leaving his classmate’s messages on seen, too bothered by his inner turmoil to spend time with her. it’s not like him to be this way, to be so bothered over something that doesn’t concern him. you’re definitely not someone so significant and jay is definitely not the first guy you’re with. in fact, he has seen you kiss that guy from one of your classes— as much as he hates to recall that incident now— and had sneaked up to tell your mother about it over the phone when she had called you.

you’ve never had a serious relationship, not after meeting him. in his head, you always came back to him and he’d be lying if he hadn’t joked about it with his friends during the initial few weeks after you had moved in. when he had mentioned to jake that you’re pretty and his friend had teased him a few days later, saying his ‘crush’ was with this other guy, sunghoon, did in fact, say he doesn’t care because you always come back to him; or rather his apartment, actually, but whatever fits the joke.

that day, he had a good laugh out of it and the joke died back then itself, more so after he started complaining about you to his friends. your habits, your actions, the things you say that tick him off, your quirky and quick remarks— everything. perhaps, even about your habit of arriving late on weekends from parties and ruining his sleep because you forget the key most of the time, so he has to wake up and open the door for you, but not guys, never guys.

it hurts his head to even try and figure it out, to find the reasoning behind the pang in his chest every time you mention jay. he likes to think it’s just harmless competition although for no reason, even though both of them have done plenty of things to piss each other off just for the fun of it. sunghoon thinks he can live with it and walks back inside to the living room, until he sees you walking out of your room on phone with someone, the name of he who shall be mentioned rolling off your tongue again, and he finally pulls out his phone with a frustrated sigh.

sunghoon 4:21pm sure, i’ll pick you up in ten

“actually, my mom wants to invite your family over for dinner this weekend,” the girl in front of him speaks with a smile after muttering a quiet thank you to the waiter after he gets their order. “she’s very grateful for the donation your dad made for our art gallery and wants to thank properly,”

“talk to my parents, then,” it’s a simple reply, too bland and forced for her liking.

sunghoon hasn’t spared her a single look in the past ten minutes that they’ve been sitting together at the table. firstly, he doesn’t know why he drove to a restaurant when she asked for a coffee. it’s not even close to dinner time, and the awkward yet sweet smile on her face didn’t make it better for him, so he ordered starters and drinks to drag their little impromptu dinner out.

“sunghoon, to be honest,” chaeun tries to strike up a conversation again, despite the constant lack of effort from his side. “i want you—”

“hey, isn’t that jongseong?” and he cuts her off immediately, finger pointing outside the glass panes beside them as he stares in the direction behind her with brows knit together in shock. “who’s that with her?”

“jongseong?” she repeats the name before turning her head, forming an ‘o’ when she spots a familiar figure through the multitude on the streets. “ah, that’s myung jihye. she has been pursuing him for a while. i guess he finally agreed,”

“they’re dating?!” his voice is full of surprise and disbelief unlike hers, so seemed to be happy for the girl instead. he stares outside with a heavy silence as the couple disappears between the crowd before looking at the girl in front of him.

“oh, i wouldn’t say that…i don’t know but it’s possible they are.” it doesn’t miss her attention how sunghoon’s fingers tighten around the fork. ��everybody in our major knows jihye has crush on him and they’re probably a thing by now,”

and he wishes you were here with him right now so that he could show you the true colours of the dear guy you’ve been going out with, the one who’s supposedly ‘better’ than him. he wants you to realise that his words weren’t false and he isn’t sick, after all, and if you’d cry, he would be down to tell you it’s not the end of the world. that there are a hundred other guys better than jay, ones who won’t even breathe in front of another woman, who’d treat you better— hell, i can treat you better if you ever give me a chance— and then a pause in his train of thoughts.

he looks at chaeun, who’s looking back at him with a perplexed look and her own set of questions. his mind replays those words yet again, and he screams internally.

what the heck?!

surprisingly enough, sunghoon has been thinking about jay for the whole evening now, obviously not in a good way. his eyes keep travelling to the knife stand on the kitchen island occasionally and every single time, he has to convince himself that murder is not the right answer to anything.

for some reason, he can’t stop imagining your smiles while on date with jay. not that he has ever seen those— wish i could— as he slaps himself out of his state of mind yet again. not only that man is playing with you but on jihye who’s apparently his girlfriend? he lets out the ugliest scoff known to mankind, because in sunghoon’s head, jay is a sick joke made by biology.

he waits for you to return from your shopping spree for about an hour, having beer as a company. he tries to stay awake although his eyes get droopy, and then every ounce of sleep leaves his body when he hears the door unlock.

“yn,” he practically jumps out of the couch, it almost scares you. he accidentally bumps into the living room table on the way, knocking an empty can of beer to the floor but too busy to bother picking it up. “i have to tell—” his eyes go down to the eleven shopping bags in your hands, as he counts them. “— wait, what did you shop so much for?”

“oh, i have to attend a family wedding next month,” his chest feels warm when he sees you smiling and looking so excited, and it’s making him go crazy on the inside because he doesn’t know what is happening to him. for some reason, he starts imagining you in a gown, like the one you wore for the fresher’s party, but then he forces his mind to get back to the point. “i’m thinking of asking jay to be my date,”

and his heart drops down to his stomach.

this has to be a fucking joke, and he tells himself. for a split second, he thinks he didn’t hear you properly. maybe you said jake because, well, jake did tweet a ‘date for rent’ form five months ago when he needed money to buy tickets for a post malone concert that cost more than his gentle monster glasses ( not that he got any money but at least they got a good laugh out of it. )

you remove your shoes and put the shopping bags on the couch before sitting down as well, letting out a heavy sigh. “you look like you saw a ghost,”

“a ghost would’ve been better,” he catches you looking at him when he mumbles under his breath, sort of grateful you didn’t hear him before sunghoon would rather not have another argument with you over how jay is not only a bad choice, he’s the worst choice.

he looks over at you when you pull out your phone, fingers fluttering over the screen as you text someone with a giddy smile. he considers telling you what he had seen earlier, but god, he loved to see you smile like that. the way you press your lips together to suppress a grin, looking ever so happy as if you have won a lottery. he doesn’t think you’ve ever smiled like that at him, and it aggravates him even more when he realises that you probably smile like that every time you see jay.

jay is getting everything he isn’t deserving of, and it pisses sunghoon off down to his bones.

but again, he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. you look too happy for your own good, it pains him physically to even imagine your reaction when you’ll come to know the truth. and then he pulls himself together, telling himself that it is your fault in the first place to trust someone like jay and ignore the warning signs he was giving you.

in the end, he leaves without having any further conversations with you, going to bed two hours earlier than usual even though he knows he isn’t going to get any sleep. sunghoon is convinced he’s losing his mind, faster than a day ago actually. he lets out a frustrated groan and covers himself with his blanket, hoping to catch some sleep.

it’s going to be yet another long day tomorrow.

003. A CHANGE OF STANCE

sunghoon thinks you’re hot.

what the fuck?

“i asked something,” you remind, pulling him out of his trail of thoughts and he flinches slightly, making your brows furrow in confusion. “how do i look?”

“huh— what? oh,” he takes in your appearance again. hair down, make up done— you’re wearing your favourite lip tint? and the best dress he has seen you in so far, looking so mind blowing it actually blows his mind and short circuits his brain.

even your favourite lip tint … sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s looking at your lips in the first place but little does he know he’s fucked.

absolutely. completely. fucked.

nonetheless, he manages to compose himself, clearing his throat and sitting up ever so elegantly on the couch, legs crossed, the magazine still in his hands. “you look…t-terrific,”

you can’t help but get even more confused at his words, wondering if it was a bad idea to even ask him for his opinion, even though you play along. “like in a good way or a bad way?”

“in a terrific way,” he blurts out, eyes wide open as panic settles in slowly inside his stomach, and he’s stuttering, shocked, surprised, fucked, again. “you look terrific in a terrific way…so terrifically terrific in the most terrific way possible,”

“are you high?”

well, he would say he is! never in the two years that he has known you did sunghoon think he’d find himself floored, figuratively, and speechless, literally, at the sight of you. and he’s not saying you look bad on other days. you look good, in fact. good as in plain and presentable, but never in a good good way and definitely not in a hot way, of course.

“anyway, i’m going out. receive my parcel for me if it arrives,” you move to put on your shoes, taking a few seconds to pick between the two you think would suit your outfit. for a moment, you consider asking him to help you choose— as you look at him up and down peripherally, and he looks terrified. and you shrug it off, grabbing one of your loafers.

“where are you going?” he asks after a good minute of silence, sounding calmer than earlier as he gets off the couch and walks up to you. his nose scrunches up in disapproval as your hands move to one of your jimmy choos for a brief second, before you decide to go back to your initial pick.

“date,” he takes a moment to register your words, despite this happening many times.

a date. he scoffs softly, looking away, arms crossed.

a date, again. sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck.

“with jay,” you continue, this time with a sweet smile on your face that makes his heart flutter for some reason. maybe, he does give a fuck.

now, sunghoon should feel bad for his fellow friend of a friend because he’s on a date with you, but instead he wants to snap his neck in two. the name is starting to give him an ick— jay this, jay that. you’re hanging out with jay, having coffee with jay, going on a date with jay, shopping with jay, next would be going to bed with jay— he pauses immediately, shaking his head. he doesn’t really like the sound of that.

“whatever,” he tells himself when you walk out of that door, looking all pretty and excited. he doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up over a date, that too with someone who— according to sunghoon and chaeun— is dating someone else. he would pay to see you back home all miserable and he would point fingers at you and laugh, saying he told you already while you had your conscience and rationality clogged up with the possibility of getting dicked down.

but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re on a date with jay fucking park. and you’re looking hot.

he sighs, slouching back on the couch, looking outside at the bright blue skies and then sighs again. he needs to be lobotomized.

it’s three in the noon and sunghoon is drowning himself in misery and pity. and soju.

a glass after another and then another, along with two empty bottles already on the table. even the owners are giving him a weird look and heeseung can only let him ruin his reputation so much.

“there, there,” the senior takes the half empty bottle of soju from his hand and puts it aside, sighing pitifully at sunghoon. “that’s enough for today. you need to stop drinking,”

“heeseung,” sunghoon looks up at the guy in front of him, looking horribly pitiful, eyes a bit unfocused from the alcohol settling in his system. “do you know yn?”

and heeseung pauses for a few moments, not knowing what prompted him to ask this question. more so when you and heeseung went to the same highschool and even were in the music club. he nods slightly in doubt, raising his glass to his lips. “of course,”

“do you think he’s pretty?”

“of course,”

“do you think she’s hot?”

“of course,” it takes heeseung quite a few seconds to respond and sunghoon sort of wants to punch him in the face for agreeing because he feels a certain way when others find you hot— but he would claim it’s soju giving him heartburns. “why are you even asking this suddenly?”

“she went on a date with jay,” he responds in the most miserable and sullen voice known to mankind. his shoulders practically slouching at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, finger tracing the rim of the glass in front of him with incoherent whines falling off his lips.

“so what?” jake interjects, beckoning the owner for yet another bottle for soju. it was necessary, as heeseung had warned earlier while arriving at the restaurant, considering sunghoon’s impromptu text about wanting to meet up.

“jake, did you hear what i said? she’s on a date with jay. park. jong. seong,” the youngest spells out every syllable, sitting up straight as he gets defensive. “she thinks he’s madly in love with her or something but she’s wrong! the day i went out with chaeun, i saw him with jihye and guess what? chaeun said everyone knows they’re a thing but apparently, yn doesn’t know this. i’ve told her so many times that he is not worth it but she won’t understand she’s fucking dumb oh my god,”

and…silence.

absolute fucking maddening silence that made sunghoon go even more insane before jake finally decides to speak, albeit in disbelief.

“that monologue was unnecessary,” the foreigner pours in another glass for the three of them, filling them up completely, knowing this is going in a new direction yet a one that has been anticipated by both him and heeseung. “besides, since when do you care about her?”

“she’s my roommate,”

“you like her,” heeseung exclaims, and silence follows again for a few seconds before sunghoon gasps scandalously, slamming his glass down on the table which turns a few heads in their direction as jake mutters an embarrassed apology for it.

“i don’t,” sunghoon speaks in a voice much calmer than his previous tone, even leaning in towards the table to put emphasis on his words. jake pours himself another glass, scoff at his words while shaking his head mockingly which only pisses him off more.

“i knew this would happen,” heeseung continues, stating it as a matter of fact while nudging jake to pour him a glass as well. “saw this coming from a mile away when you cried over her going on a blind date the last time you got drunk,”

he can’t point out when that must’ve happened, but he doesn’t refute his words, simply letting his eyes travel across the room for a few moments. the frown on his lips deepens when he meets jake’s knowing gaze as he gets defensive once again. “i’m telling you, i don’t like her,”

“you said that about hello kitty but she’s everywhere in your room now,” he turns his phone with the screen up when he feels jake’s eyes on it, or particularly on the hello kitty sticker on his phone cover as the boy nudges him for another glass. “go on, you’ll need it.”

and sunghoon does, drinking more than he usually does thanks to jake filling his glass again and again for the sake of his sob story. the cab drops him in front of his apartment and he stumbles his way to the elevator. the silence sobers him out for some reason as he leans against the walls of the elevator and thinks about you.

perhaps you’re still with jay, sharing smiles and stories, kisses if you’re brave enough. he likes to think you are not, that you would chicken out— it makes him feel better about himself. he imagines you holding hands with him and then shrugs that thought off his mind just as quickly, huffing at the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth as he walks out of the elevator once it reaches his floor.

sunghoon planned to take a shower and sleep, but every thought water downs to nothing when he spots you crouching next to the door with knees pressed up to your chest. he can’t see your face, but he knows you’re sad, and it makes him stop in front of you, his heart accelerating when you look up at him with glistening eyes.

you look miserable.

and sunghoon has no reaction. he’s frozen, hands on his side as he stares at you. he was supposed to laugh at you for your stupidity. but you look so utterly sad and heart broken, god, he wants to punch jay in his throat. yet again, every single thought leaves his mind when his eyes fall back on your face, his hands instinctively opening out to you as he speaks in a voice as soft as a feather.

“let’s go inside,”

004. CANDLELIT

“he said it was a bet,” you speak over the silence, fiddling with your fingers. you look up at sunghoon— who’s sitting with legs crossed in front of you while you’re curled up in one corner of the couch. “and that he never meant to drag it out for so long but he didn’t know how to tell me,”

“a bet?” he scoffs bitterly, looking away for a fraction of a second before his eyes are back on you. “what an asshole,”

it’s not the first time sunghoon has said that. in fact, asshole is all and the only word he uses to define jay. you still think it was a stretch, for jay isn’t that bad. sure, he lied to you and played with your feelings— which you will never accept that you had feelings for him because you don’t want to look pathetic— but he wasn’t rude. well, at least he paid for all the three dates you two went on with the locations being some high end restaurants or bakeries.

on the other hand, sunghoon stares at you in silence. his eyes trace over your sullen face, and then to your fingers. for a second, he considers holding your hands…roommates can do that at least, right? to comfort one another, but then he catches you looking up at him and he averts his gaze to a distant corner. “don’t start crying now!”

“i’m not! i didn’t even like him that much…” and he can’t help but suppress his smile at the pout on your face as you refuse to look at him. it’s adorable, he never thought he would ever say that, but it’s true. your mannerisms are cute, you’re cute, and it’s eating his brain cells.

“is that so? you talked about him like you two were in love or something,”

“stop it!”

he stares at you quietly for a few seconds again. even though you’re being defensive out of embarrassment right now, trying to prove to him that you’re not heartbroken, sunghoon knows you’ll be crying the moment you’re behind the closed doors of your room. on other days, he wouldn’t care so much. not more than giving a few pats on a back and telling you to suck it up despite the concern in his voice. today, however, he feels differently.

you got played. it’s your heart that’s broken. you feel like a fool, and yet sunghoon is sitting in front of you, trying to find words amidst awkwardness and hesitation. his heart feels heavy for you. it’s unfathomable on his part.

he suddenly remembers the day you mentioned that jay is better than him. he almost scoffs at that, again. well, you might harbour feelings for the american guy but at least sunghoon never had you holding back your tears. and he swears it would never come to that, if you ever have feelings for him because sunghoon would be a better boyfriend— and then he comes back to his senses as soon as those words register inside his brain, cheeks heating up at the sudden thought before he clears his throat.

“do you want ramen?” he manages to change the topic ever so swiftly, getting up from the couch and already walking to the kitchen without waiting for your response. apparently, getting away from you would ease his heartbeat, although hearing your voice has just as much effect on him as your presence or a mere thought of you.

“are you cooking?”

he lets out a breathy laugh at your words, getting two packs of ramen from the shelf. “of course, do you think i’d ask you to cook when you look like you went through a divorce and lost the custodies of all your three kids?”

you frown at his words, although ending up laughing at them just a second later. it’s hard to not laugh at how silly he is sometimes, if you ignore his annoying tendencies. sunghoon puts the water to boil, fighting back a smile at the sound of your laughter. it’s better than seeing you all sad over a guy who doesn’t deserve you.

you get off the couch as well, making your way to the kitchen, wanting to help him since he listened to your sob story. it’s quiet, and you hear slight rumbling outside as you take a quick look at the weather outside through the windows and then within a few seconds, thunder pierces through the silence hanging in the room.

sunghoon flinches visibly, freezing in his stance before the sound of heavy rain fills the kitchen. he turns on the electric stove and it blows out. all the lights in the apartment go out, darkness settling in and disturbed just as quickly as the room fills with bright flashes of light, illuminating your face for a short second before it’s dark again.

“wait, i’ll get my phone— oh,” you reach out for the back pocket of your trousers, quickly get your phone and turn it on for the flash light before it powers off. “out of battery,”

he takes a blind step into the darkness when it thunders again and he notices you standing with your arms around yourself when the light surges in the room for a moment again. he hopes you won’t push him away if he puts his arm around you, but then you two bump into each other. a quiet apology finds its way out of your lips, and he can tell you’re flustered.

“where are the candles?” he asks to distract you from the fact that he’s holding your hand and pulling you aside gently, so you don’t crash into each other again. your hands feel oddly warm in this cold weather, and it only flutters his heart even more.

“second shelf from the right i think,” your voice is interrupted by thunder again and your hands instinctively tighten around his fingers. and then a loud thud follows, causing you to gasp slightly. “are you okay?”

“i can’t fucking see,” his voice is strained, oozing off pain as he lets go off your hands. you open your mouth to speak before he bumps into something again. something falls off the counter, perhaps the spoon by the sound of it and he apologises shortly after. it’s harder to navigate around his own apartment, more than he had imagined.

sunghoon manages to find the candles, setting them on the counter with pure intuition before lighting one of it up with the lighter he always carries around in his pocket. he turns around, almost bumping into you and before he could say anything, he sees you pressed up against one of the counters, face illuminated by the dim candle light.

you’re close, too close, he’s afraid you can hear his heart going crazy at the proximity. his mind is telling him to step aside but he’s too lost looking in your eyes, ( as you are too ) with you looking so impossibly beautiful under the faint golden glow.

“is this okay?” he whispers softly and you simply nod, not a word coming out of your mouth as you find yourself entranced by his face. sunghoon has always been aphrodite’s son, as his admirers would call him, and now that you’re seeing him so closely, you’re realising he’s something much more beautiful.

it doesn’t slip your attention how his gaze settles on your lips for a quick second, your body tensing up at the sudden movement. your breath hitches as he leans closer, dipping his head down. your heart is racing while he feels like his heart has stopped— it’s timeless, as he finds himself just a few centimetres away from your lips, not wanting to stop even though he gives you a chance to pull back, whispering softly, “can i?”

you nod. and sunghoon doesn’t waste another second, capturing your lips with his.

it’s still at first, with your lips only pressed up together for a few seconds. it’s only a few seconds after he pulls back ever so slightly, and then tilts his head to the other side and goes in for another kiss, this time moving his lips slowly against yours. he feels you tense up for a brief while and then melting as you kiss him back, your fingers lacing around his tenderly. you flinch when it thunders again, breaking the kiss, but feeling shivers down your spine as you feel his breath on your lips.

he takes a few seconds, fingers ghosting up your hands to rest on your waist, tugging you closer as he brushes his lips against yours. “focus on my lips,”

and he kisses you again, this time a bit more firmly, albeit it’s slow and gentle at first, his lips moving against yours in a way that's both comforting and exciting. but as the moments pass, he presses in deeper, more insistently. he lets his body press more firmly against yours, his chest touching yours as his tongue gently teases at the seam of your lips. it was working, the way his lips move against yours, it calms your nerves from the thunder but lights them up again when he nibbles gently on your lower lip, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he continues to kiss you so fervently.

it takes a passing second for you to realise what you’re doing. it surprises you, however not enough to pull back, or maybe the way his tongue feels against yours stops you from doing so. you’d be lying if you say you hadn’t thought of kissing him before— as early as two days after moving in. and now that you’re actually kissing him, everything feels like a fever dream.

he tucks your chin up with his fingers, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. he is a good kisser, sunghoon uses that to boast about himself, he has always been good at this— kissing, bragging, making your knees weak, and all you could do was melt into him wet and sloppy kisses that he plants on your skin.

he dips his head down to your neck, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pulling your blouse aside to get a better access to your collarbones and shoulders. it felt like his body has a mind of its own, and he’s only following right behind. when a soft gasp leaves your lips, he moves back to your lips again, wanting to swallow every little sound you make that makes his mind haywire.

your breaths are heavy, hands around his neck with fingers grazing the skin of his nape. a movement that makes him moan softly in the kiss as he presses you against the counter, holding you between his arms. his hand that's resting on your hip moves up, tracing the curve of your waist and then sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin, lips curling up in a subtle smirk as he hears you gasp yet again.

“sunghoon—” you pull back, getting a quick glance at his half-lidded eyes when the lightning from the thunderstorm fills the room. he can still feel your laboured breathing on his lips and it does nothing but pull him in even more. after all, sunghoon would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine doing this with you.

“we’ll stop,” he pecks your lips, then trailing his lips down your jawline and to your neck, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your skin. “when the candle goes out,”

005. WHERE THE LINE FADES

when sunghoon wakes up the next morning, he’s met with cold empty sheets on the side and the memories from last night start flooding his mind. his heartbeat accelerates at the mere thought of you, especially how you were last night and every time his name fell off your lips in bliss and pleasure— he would’ve preferred waking up to you rather than emptiness.

he lays idly for a few minutes and stares at the ceiling, looking for where it all had started. was it the day you told him jay asked you out? maybe not, he doesn’t like to think of himself as a jealous person. it must’ve been when you asked for his opinion on your outfit, he tells himself, you looked too good to be true that day. a few seconds more and he sits up with a soft groan, seemingly unable to find answers to any of his questions.

the weather seems to have improved as he notices the cosy sunlight outside. he slips on this shirt before walking down to the shared bathroom, rubbing his eyes softly and brushing his fingers through his hair with a sigh. he puts his hand on the door knob and looking up in surprise when it opens on the other side.

“oh,” the slight hint of shyness on your face doesn’t escape his gaze, just like how enchanting you look this early in the morning with hair wet from the shower. you bite slightly on your lower lip before the awkwardness in the air is disturbed by your voice. “morning,”

actually, it must’ve all started the day you moved in.

“morning,” he replies back, rubbing his nape and looking away. the weight of questions lingering around makes it hard for him to look in your eyes. “would you like to have breakfast?”

you nod and follow him into the kitchen after making a short trip to your room.

you steal a few glances at him while eating your breakfast, feeling your palms sweat at the thought of bringing it up to him. you avoid it for a few minutes, tossing the question around in your head while trying to make small talks about the ketchup, as bad as it could get. it feels a bit suffocating until you finally decide to address the elephant in the room. “so about last night—”

“it was a mistake,” he cuts you off immediately, a heavy pause following shortly after. he looks up in your eyes for the first time since the morning. “let’s just forget it,”

and his words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. it could’ve been just another one night stand for you had it not been with sunghoon— your roommate, the person you see everyday, the person who managed to give you butterflies the day you moved in. your fingers tighten around the spoon and you consider arguing back for a moment before you push that idea further back in your head.

it could be just another thing added to the lists of things that have been buried, like the time you and sunghoon almost kissed in the elevator last year.

“right,” you nod quietly, convincing yourself that it’s not a big deal. that he’s just another guy in your life like jay. actually, you don’t feel like wanting to compare them anymore. you don’t know where the line marking the difference fades. “of course, yeah,”

you don’t even like the sound of that.

“yeah,”

you don’t wait another minute before leaving your unfinished breakfast on the table and going to your room. his eyes follow your movements, conscience nudging him to chase after you. he contemplates it for a while, and then you walk out with your bag. “i’ll see you after classes,”

and then sunghoon doesn’t see you for the rest of the morning.

or the day, in fact. usually, you two end up bumping into each other at least once, but sunghoon doesn’t see you around for the whole day. he skips spanish, deciding to go back to his apartment earlier than usual. he turns on the tv, deciding to watch a football watch with beer on the side while waiting for you. an hour passes, then another, and another.

there’s no sign of you.

it isn’t until he rings up a few of your friends that he hears that you’re staying over at giselle’s for the night. he wouldn’t blame you, couldn’t, not after everything that went down a night ago. you needed some space and so did he, but somewhere inside he wondered if he should’ve been honest with you when you brought up that topic during breakfast instead of saying the first thing that came to his mind and dismissing it.

but, he dismisses it again, letting you be on your own for as long as you need, knowing you’d come back soon.

which you do, the very next day, much to his surprise. he had expected you to avoid him for at least a week. he notices the way you look when you return early in the morning, tired and exhausted as if you hadn’t got a single ounce of sleep. there’s silence engulfing him but you walk to your room before he could even open his mouth to speak. and then you ignore him for the rest of the day.

he starts feeling annoyed at some point, trying to come up with a reason for your actions. he tries striking up conversations with you and you give short responses, or just nod. when you walk away without answering him when he asked about your day, sunghoon wanted to grab your wrist and pull you back for a second, but he dismisses that idea just as soon as it pops up in his head. he doesn’t even realise how quickly time passes in silence, not until he returns from heeseung’s apartment after spending two nights and one day with him and jake and checks his phone, realising it’s already close to being a week till you’re gone radio silent. he notices a few texts, mostly his study group that have been planning meet-ups to study, one that he rarely attends. his eyes especially squint in confusion at the texts from your mother, saying she had been trying to get in touch with you but getting no response.

he was on his way to his room when he heard the door unlock. a pause, the click of the doorknob strikes through the silence, followed by your footsteps. he takes a few seconds to sort out his thoughts before speaking. “your mom texted me since you weren’t picking up her phone,”

“my phone died,” you give a simple response, almost too quickly for his liking. he lets his eyes follow your movements as you take off your shoes and jacket, putting it on the couch.

it takes him back to the day you told him about jay asking you out.

it was exactly the same— you arrived late, your phone had died. he was asking the same questions, albeit laced with annoyance. today, it’s hesitation, maybe slight doubt. sunghoon can’t stop you from seeing jay, but the idea of you being with him bothers him more than expected. so, he follows up with yet another question.

“where have you been?” he asks, wanting to maintain a casual demeanour even though his heart is pounding in his chest just from being near you. he isn’t expecting any response, actually, however he’s met with surprise when you actually reply.

“with jay,” the words fall from your mouth as if you’re used to them, used to saying his name. there’s an awkward pause before you clarify. “we had dinner together. he wanted to apologise properly,”

“that’s— that’s great,” he manages to squeeze out, but sunghoon thinks jay could’ve left you alone instead of meeting you if he wanted to apologise so bad.

you definitely had feelings for jay, even though they didn’t go as deep for you to come home sobbing your eyes out the day you learnt the truth. to sunghoon, that is enough of a reason to hate him even more. just the mere thought of your heart sinking whenever you’d even think of jay made him fist his hands, nails almost digging in the palm of his hands.

sunghoon doesn’t have much experience with girls. in fact, none at all. flings are one thing, and girlfriends another. he has had both— none too serious. the first time someone asked him out was in highschool, although he’s surprised it didn’t happen much earlier. that time, just agreed to go out with her because his friends were in relationships too and he didn’t want to fall behind. it wasn’t soon before it turned into a competition after he got into university. not his best self, it isn’t something he’s proud of now that he thinks about it.

and sunghoon isn’t half better than jay in that aspect, although obviously not as bad as to bet on going on a date with another girl while he already has a girlfriend. however, if you had feelings for him— as he thinks while watching you walk to your room— he wouldn’t let a single tear fall from your lips.

“about that night,” he follows you into your room, practically hearing his heartbeat echo through his ears. he gulps nervously when he notices you looking at him with a sliver of hope in your eyes. “it wasn’t a mistake,”

“oh,” and you stop in your tracks, having no idea how to respond. an awkward pause follows as you bite your lower lip habitually before speaking, feigning a casual tone. “well, we can still put it behind—”

“i don’t want to,” he blurts out, cutting you off mid sentence. you notice how his voice is quiet as always, yet there’s panic and anxiousness behind those eyes. “i mean, i tried to, but it’s difficult. you’re always on my mind,”

there’s a silver of determination behind his voice. it’s surprising and equally anticipated. sometimes, he feels like he thinks of you every minute no matter what he’s doing. it was never this bad, these days even the regular banters between you two give him butterflies. and sunghoon understand that he might be far from your type in men. perhaps, you actually prefer someone like jay, who treat you to a fancy dinner to apologise, or maybe that guy from a few months ago who can’t remember the name of.

you and sunghoon can be polar opposites and he would still be standing here, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his denim jacket, looking so uncharacteristically out of place. he would choose to have this talk again, as much as he hates confronting, because it never about who your type is and always about the fact that you’re sunghoon’s type— as he realises this when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking at him with lips pressed together. you look cute, more so when you’re awkward, and he can’t believe he’s coming to terms with this but god, he is falling for you.

he is falling hard, and falling deep. it’s nothing like him, you make him nervous, almost as if knocking him out of air whenever your eyes meet, and he would gladly suffocate to death. it was quiet with too many questions hanging above his head, and he noticed the way you fiddle with your fingers with the cutest expression known to mankind and sunghoon knew he was screwed.

“i’ve got it so bad for you, yn, really,” —he speaks as if he’s out of breath due to the nervousness— “really bad. i tried to keep you out of here,” he said, pointing at his chest, cheeks flushing red as the words fell off his lips. “but you won’t go, you just won’t.”

and sunghoon has never been so…out of place, for the lack of better words. it’s amusing, even to you, the way he is right now. the sunghoon from three weeks ago wouldn’t even care but he, now, is pouring out all of himself, as if stripping him naked of his emotions and letting him see what lies behind the suave smiles and prideful words. as if showing you how easily you have him going crazy, right out of his mind and how he can’t help but just stare blankly as his eyes travel down to your lips occasionally— as they do now— and it leaves you in a frenzy when you notice it.

“i can’t stop thinking about that night— not in a weird way, just…” and you’re just standing in front of him, trying not to laugh at his antics. he’s cute, a pause, what the fuck. and then you just go along with it, knowing there’s no point denying it anymore now that you two are having this conversation.

you notice his little mannerisms, like how he can’t look in your eyes for the life in him, how he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. it’s adorable, especially the way he can have all the attention in the room with just his mere presence. that’s sunghoon for you, with a presence so heavy it’s loud even when he’s silent. it’s so loud you can practically hear his mind, of all the words you know he wants to say but can’t. there’s a hitch in his breath, his eyes meet yours for the first time in the past few minutes— i like you— they say, and the next thing sunghoon knows is that you’re kissing him.

“i like you too,” you whisper against his lips after pulling back, your lips brushing against his. sunghoon feels like every single nerve in his body has been sparked, giving him goosebumps when you slowly intertwine your fingers with his.

of course, you know how he feels even before he could say it out loud. maybe, he just made it obvious for you to guess, otherwise sunghoon likes to think of himself as someone who can hide his feelings well. he lets go of your hands as soon as he feels you lace your fingers with his and instead, cups your cheeks ever so tenderly and leans down to capture your lips with his, smiling in the kiss. “i love you,”

˃ᗜ˂ : if you made it till here, i'm sending each one of u kisses >< thank u for reading, i hope u liked it. ps i had to put my heart aside and write jay's name ... never again will i put my man thru this huhu TT he's too good to do these things

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marcsburnerphone · 9 months ago

Text

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: oral smut, sexual comments, awko moments, kissing?

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9!!

————————

It was the best night of sleep John price has ever had in his life. He wishes deeply his early bird tendencies hadn’t woken him from it. You lay facing opposite of him with his chest pressed snuggly up against your back spooning you. He thought he was dreaming at first, or maybe he died and went to heaven, but your steady breathing and warm skin was much too authentic for that.

He gently brushes the hair from your neck to kiss at the smooth skin, not in means to wake you, simply cause he just can’t help himself.

“Goodmorning.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” He says while peppering kisses up to your jaw.

“Are you sure?”

“Not anymore.” You turn over in your spot to face him, he’s a big man, a wall, even as he lays down. He peers down at you as you place a hand on his cheek.

to your misfortune he’s borderline obsessed.

“Shower with me?” He asks.

“Sure.” He pulls you with him as he rolls to get off the bed. He’s about to walk into his bathroom to get it started when he realizes you're about to walk out of his room.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my shampoo and conditioner.”

“I have shampoo and conditioner.” You laugh, confusing him.

“John, I'm a hairstylist, I wouldn’t be caught dead using head and shoulders. I’ll be back.” He watches you leave, still not completely sure what you mean by that.

When you return steam has already filled the roof of the bathroom. You carry your toiletries in both your arms trying not to let anything drop.

When John takes notice he goes to help you, except you’re not focused on the help he’s offering, you're focused on his bare chest, strong arms and slightly soft belly.

“There will be time for staring doll just not right now.” He says plucking your stuff from your hands. You roll your eyes at him trying to suppress the blush climbing up your neck.

He undresses fully and steps inside waiting for you to do the same. Suddenly you feel awfully nervous while lifting your shirt. You pause when it gets to your rib cage suddenly feeling self conscious.

“You okay?” He notices your absence and peeks out of the glass door.

“Uh yeah.” You say, willing yourself to pull it over your head. Your pants come off next and you pray soap gets into his eyes so he doesn’t really look at you.

You step in trying to keep your eyes on his out of politeness even though it feels like your eyes are magnets and the other magnet is in his southern region. He turns the two of you so you're the one mostly under the shower stream. His lustful gaze can’t help but look at the way the water runs down your shoulders and over your breasts.

“You’re shameless.” You say to him with a smile, you couldn’t feel self conscious under a gaze like that.

“Very.” He replies while leaning in for a kiss. He’s awfully warm, the shower at a temperature you like and one he’s not used to, but he couldn’t care less as long as he gets to have you like this.

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask.

“If you let me wash yours.” You hum in agreement, grabbing your overly expensive bottle of shampoo and pouring some into his hands. You tell him to lather it in his hands before he puts it in your hair and he entertains it even though he bets it does nothing. Lacing his fingers through your hair he watches the way your shoulders relax and your mouth slightly parts. He tries to stop it, really he does, but he can’t help the way his cock begins to harden. He prays you don’t notice, not because he’s insecure, it’s a totally normal human reaction, but because he doesn’t want you to think he can’t enjoy a wholesome moment without getting turned on.

“Feels good.” You sigh out as he begins to rinse it out. A groan is threatening to spill out and with all his might he is fighting it.

When you open your eyes you notice the stone cold expression on his face. The way it looks like his eye slightly twitches for a second. And just like his human tendencies have troubled him yours too make you look down to see what may be the biggest dick in your life resting against his lower stomach.

You look back up quicker than you looked down and it seems he hadn’t noticed.

“Your turn.” You say scooting closely by each other so now he stands under the water.

“I’m going to use my shampoo so you can see the difference.” You say as you pour some in your hands. It’s a bit of a reach to get all of his head so he slightly lowers it for you. You run your slightly long fingernails on his head scratching soothingly. He groans at the immensely good and foreign feeling as you make sure to not miss any hair.

When you’re done he begins to rinse and this is the chance you take to really look at him from head to toe. Do you feel a little perverted, yeah you do.

“Look who has the staring problem now.” If John’s going to do anything he’s going to own it.

“Who?” You say as you stand on your tip toes for a kiss. He gladly obliges, holding your head at an easier angle for him. You place a hand on his chest, which is normal, nothing that’d raise suspicion. Until it starts slowly dragging down his body.

He's pulled apart from your swollen lips carefully watching your fingers continue to trail down. When they reach his happy trail you hesitate.

“Go on.” He says softly.

Your fingers softly brush against the soft velvety skin of his awfully gorgeous cock. Your mouth instinctively watering at the sight, and his falling open at the tease.

You grip him in a mostly closed fist giving a gentle squeeze. His hips jolt slightly forward as a pearl of precum appears at the tip. Impatiently you swipe the pad of your thumb over it bringing it to your lips. You sigh softly at the salty taste, spitting into your palm you bring your hand back down to his cock. You give him a firm stroke as your hand slightly shakes. His groans and shut eyes encourage you to continue. You find a steady pace as your hand dedicates itself to providing him pleasure. He tries to control his breathing but it loses its pattern when you quietly moan at the way it twitches in your grip.

“You're so pretty.” You say quietly.

“Me or my cock?” He sighs out breathlessly

“Both.”

“Can I try my mouth?” You ask kindly he chuckles not humorously simply cause he can’t believe this is real life.

“I mean I don’t have too.” You say suddenly which he objects too.

“No, please.” He says watching the way your eyes light up. You waste no time lowering your knees onto the tile floor not caring about how they might hurt later on.

You grab him eagerly, in your lustful subconscious nature you paint your lips with the tip. He squeezes his eyes closed to try and calm himself down but you’re doing nothing to help his case.

“I’m losing it up here doll.” He says while leaning a hand against the wall for support. You begin to lick and suckle just to get comfortable, planning a course of action in your head.

Then you take him fully into your mouth bit by bit. His girth causes the dry corners of your mouth to slightly crack. Your eyes close as you try to focus. The sounds of slurping as you try to take him fully is sinful. He watches drool run down your chin and water droplets fall down your whole body almost cinematically.

“You’re a sight.” He groans out when you pull him from your mouth to simply kiss from base to tip. It’s never been done to him and he would’ve never thought of it, but after that he’s not sure anything else can occupy his mind.

You suck him back in, determined to make him come. You might just want it as much as him. You're putting in your best work, ignoring the ache in your jaw. He has a hand on your cheek stroking the tears that fall from your eyes away. He tries to stop himself from thrusting into your mouth as your hand on his thigh flexes subconsciously.

He’s so close but is greedily holding it in to keep his cock in your mouth for a bit longer. Your eye lashes bat up at him to watch his slackened features grunt and moan your name. With lidded eyes he watches the hand that once rested on your thigh slide down in between your legs, as you moan into him when he sees the way you slightly part them to give yourself an easier access.

“Mmmf fuck.” You hadn’t expected it quite yet, lost in your pleasure and his.

He pulls from your mouth as his cum splashes onto your lips, cheek and for his personal pleasure your breasts. When he’s done he pulls you from the floor, sucking your slick fingers into his mouth with a satisfied groan before kissing you long and hard. It’s a mix of you and him as he pulls your tongue into his mouth. His thumbs rub his spend into your cheek like it’s a facial cream as he looks in your big eyes.

“Shall we finish this elsewhere?” He says with a hand resting on the curve in your waist.

“As much as I’d love to, we can’t, I have to go grocery shopping and have to buy and restock some things at work.” You say with a small smile.

“But you haven’t gotten to finish?” He says with a little discontent.

“I don't need to.” You say giving him another quick kiss.

“That’s crazy.”

“Make it up to me another time?”

“Oh, yes” he couldn’t have been quicker with his answer.

“Very well then.” You laugh, grabbing your loofah which he plucks from your hands to pour soap on. He washes you tenderly, kissing every spot of your skin he swipes the sudsy soap over. He can’t help the way his eyes threaten to water at how ethereal you are to him. Call it the post clarity or whatever you want but he wants to put you in his pocket and take you everywhere.

He doesn’t let you reciprocate the favor but does let you wash his back when the time comes. He leaves the water on for you as he steps out to grab his towel. When he returns with yours you turn it off and wrap yourself in it.

You dress right then and there in the clothes you brought to his bathroom so you don’t have to suffer the cold. Grabbing your hair dryer to plug it in telling John to watch out for the noise. He dresses quickly and goes to the bathroom standing beside you at the his and hers sink.

He puts on his beard oil keeping in mind that it’ll need a trim sometime this week. After that he just stands there and watches you do your thing. Admires the fact it’s being done in his bathroom.

“May I join you?” He says amongst the noise. You click off the hair dryer after asking him “huh” for the second time so he repeats himself a third.

“Of course.” You smile feeling a little giddy at the fact you’ll have his company. John’s not a man who seems to like to go out much nonetheless shopping.

“Be ready in twenty?” He asks.

“Yeah I’m just going to finish drying my hair and put on some makeup.” He nods, walking up to you to kiss your cheek before heading outside for a quick smoke.

When you’re done he’s sitting on the couch watching whatever is on the news. You call for him from the front door and hear the silence from him clicking off the tv and his footsteps begin to approach you.

“Can I drive?” You ask hopefully.

“No.”

The weather is beginning to become more livable and sunny. You settle into the seat as he shuts the door and gets in himself. Your hand rests above his on your thigh as the radio hums music. There is something so dreamlike about the feeling he has around you. Like the air is smoother and easier to breathe.

“Where are we stopping first?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

“My work so I can see what I need, beauty store, then groceries.”

“Okay just let me know where to go once we get near.” He says giving your leg a gentle squeeze. You nod to him as his focus returns back to the road.

He gets out with you at your job, walks you inside passing up all the private booths of other hairstylists as you lead him into yours. He sits patiently on the chair a client would usually occupy and watches you take product out, put it back and write some stuff down.

“Okay you ready.”

“Only if you are.” He says as you grab his hand and your purse to walk back out. That’s before you’re stopped by one of your coworkers who’s just walked out of her booth.

“Hey, who’s this?” She asks, giving you a hug and nodding to John.

“This is John, my roommate.” You reply softly as his hand on your waist tightens.

“Nice to meet you.” He says kindly.

“Yeah you too, so just roommates then?” You wish you could rewind time and keep her stuck in that room a little longer. Cause truthfully you and John technically still were just roommates.

“Um yeah.” You say trying to end this conversation. She glances down to his hand on your waist and then slowly back up you.

“Okay then, have a good day.” She says walking past the both of you.

John hadn’t realized till this very moment that he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend or anything official. It’s actually kind of a sickening thought to him that you're not really his. I mean in a perfect world you’d walk around with his name above your head in neon lighting. So he conspires, he’ll drop you off at your little beauty store, leave quickly, buy flowers and cute things, hide them in his car, pick you up and go grocery shopping and cook dinner with you and ask you to officially be his.

“John you okay?” You laugh as you wait for him to unlock the car.

“Yeah doll sorry.” He says snapping out of it.

———

You're genuinely a little confused when he tells you he’s got some business to take care of real quick and drives away after you’ve made it inside. Not that you mind, you’ve shopped alone for forever now and it’s kinda therapeutic but it’s unusual. No more than twenty minutes pass by as you continue looking at all the new products from beloved brands that the doorbell jingles as someone walks inside. You don’t look up nor really pay it any mind till strong arms encompass you.

“Where’d you go?” You say looking up at him and the foolish smile on his face.

“Just handling some business.”

“Okay, I’m trying to decide between this conditioner or this one. I love the scent of this one but love the lather on this one.” You say holding up to large bottles showcasing them.

“Buy both and mix em’.” He says grabbing them from you as he also takes the slightly heavy basket from your hands.

“Yeah right that’s way too self indulgent.” You say while trying to make up your mind.

“Can I just buy them for you?” You look up at him in disbelief.

“Absolutely not.” You quickly decline his very generous offer.

“Why not?”

“Cause I’m a big girl who has money and should be able to pick a product.”

“I never said you weren’t a big girl with money, I just don’t see the need for you to choose when you can have both.” He retorts back.

“No I’ll just get this one, fan favorite.” You say hesitantly putting it back and putting one in the basket then looking at your list to see what’s next. He lets you disappear into another aisle before grabbing it back off the shelf and hiding it under the other stuff in your cart.

You shop for a while longer before heading to the cashier as the lady rings up your items. She makes small talk with you about your day and what not. As she nears the last items John asks you to run to the back of the store for that beard stuff he uses and you quickly do. She finishes up before you make it back and he happily takes his card out and pays for your stuff.

“I don’t know which one because they all look the same.” you say handing him three different types of the same brand.

“It’s this one.” He says giving it to the cashier along with the extra two.

“Wait John, where's my stuff?” You ask a little confused.

“In those bags.” He says nonchalantly as he pays for his one item telling the lady to have a good day.

“I’ll pay you back.” You say as he grabs the bags, heading to the door and pushing it open with his back.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says ignoring your persistence.

“I am worried about it.” The bill on your restocks is always over six hundred dollars and you cringe at the idea of him spending that on you.

“Well don’t.” He shrugs as he hands them to you once you're sat too put in the backseat. There’s no room for disapproval as he shuts your door and heads to his side.

————-

“Have you been drinking my oat milk?” You ask him as you pass the dairy section in the grocery mart.

“Oat milk?”

“Yeah the one in the yellowish carton.”

“I mean yeah I’ve been drinking it but I just thought it was flavored milk.”

“No, it's non-dairy, made out of oats.” Although that slightly disgusts him he doesn’t say anything cause he’d enjoyed it up until now.

You continue to shop around picking up things that you need and different snacks to try. You hate grocery shopping more often than you need to so now’s the time to stock up.

“Can you grab that for me?” You say point at the top of a shelf for the detergent you use. He does with no complaints as he effortlessly plucks it off the shelf.

You’re never out of his eyeline, he watches your every move along with everyone around the two of you. Although you don’t stray far from him it wouldn’t even be an option. He tried to trap you between him and the cart that he pushes but unfortunately you escaped quickly.

“I pay this time, you pay the next.” He says as you load stuff up onto the belt. Although he knows you wouldn’t pay for a thing in his presence.

“Deal.” It sounds fair to you. Once again he very happily pays and puts the grocery bags into the cart as you stand there and admire him. When you guys are done he tells you to sit inside and hands you his keys as he loads the stuff into the truck.

The drive home is mostly silent. His fingers trail shapes onto your clothed skin as you scroll on your phone looking at other people’s lives through a screen. He peeks over at you from time to time and you smile when you notice.

When you pull into the driveway you begin to unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your purse.

“Go on inside I can take our stuff in.” He says, not wanting you to see the stuff he has back there.

“You know I can help, right?”

“Yeah but you don’t need to.” He says leaning in for a kiss which you gladly entertain. His mustache scratches your upper lip slightly, it's becoming something you love.

“Ever the gentleman.” You say as he pulls away.

“For you, always.” If you weren’t experiencing this first hand you’d be giggling and kicking your feet at the thought.

“Okay.” You say smiling way too hard, something that’s been a recurring situation.

————-

“How do you like it cooked?” You say as you finish seasoning the steaks you guys bought at the store for tonight’s dinner.

“Medium rare.” He replies, nearly drooling at the sight of you, hair messily put up, apron tied around your waist, as you concentrate all your attention on what’s in front of you.

“Mkay.” You slightly sway your hips to the tune of the small radio playing music.

“How’d you learn how to cook?” He asks.

“By spending a lot of time by myself and having a cook book obsession.” He smiles, very you esque.

“I’ll be back in a short minute.” He says as you move onto chopping potatoes. You nod in response as he walks down the hallway.

As quietly as possible he sneaks back out to his car to grab the flowers, vase and earrings he bought you. And brings it inside walking slowly to his room. You’re too lost in thought to hear a thing. Potatoes in the pot of boiling water and steak in the pan. Your mind was occupied with one not over cooking anything and two not getting splashed by hot butter.

“John.” You call out. You're thankful he heard you with one yell as he came down the hallway.

“Yeah doll.” You turn to look at him and tilt your head in confusion when you see a leaf stuck to his half shirt.

“Was just going to ask for help in dumping the water.” You say ignoring it.

“Of course.” He says walking up to you grabbing the mitts you offer him that were a bit too small for his large hands. He picks up the heavy pot with ease as he drains it.

“Were you outside or something?” You say noticing another leaf on his pants.

“No, why?” He asks as he sets the pot back on the burner.

“You have leaves on you.”

“Oh not to worry, must've gotten there when I brought the groceries inside earlier.”

After that you pay it no mind as he returns back to whatever he’s doing. You finish cooking and set the table for you two. You plate the food and call for him again. He panicked when he heard you, although he’s going to wait till after dinner. What if you say no? What if you're not ready for a relationship, let alone with him.

“John.” You yell again, he hears your footsteps coming towards him and quickly leaves his bedroom.

“Sorry, I was just picking up.” You know for a fact it wasn’t messy when you guys left. Regardless he follows you back down the hallway and into the kitchen. You two sit in your now assigned seats.

“Looks great, Thankyou doll.” He says caressing your chin affectionately.

“You're welcome.” You watch him take his first bite waiting before you take yours, gauging his reaction then getting distracted by how wide his legs spread out, so much so that they peek out from under the table.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have to enjoy dessert first.” You look away quickly, beginning to eat your own food. The first 5 minutes is silence that’s filled with chews and clinking.

“I think I’ll reopen bookings next month.” You say randomly as the reoccurring thought occupies your mind. You took some time off work to get some rest and have been enjoying it too much.

“That’s interesting, what for?” You laugh softly before looking up at him.

“Because living isn’t free?” It could be for you, he thinks.

“I could always pick up more bills.” He doesn’t want to push the topic knowing you don’t like to talk about it.

“Or I could just get back to work.” That’s your way of ending the conversation, he ends up finishing way before you do and sits back with a satisfied sigh chatting about some kind of camera he wants to put outside.

“I’m full.” You say pushing your plate away. You’re about to stand up and collect the plates before he stops you.

“Allow me.” He says grabbing them and setting them inside the sink, he washes them quickly and puts them in the drying rack before turning to do the pans you used.

He’s deep in thought about how he’s going to ask you but snaps out of it when he feels two arms wrap around his waist and slide under his shirt, then your head on his mid back. It’s so subtle yet so affectionate and foreign to Jonathan Price that he just wants to melt.

“You smell good.” You whisper as you stick your nose deeper into his shirt.

“Thank you?” He laughs.

“I’m sleepy.” You say as he reaches for the kitchen towel to dry his hands.

“Well before we head to bed I’ve got something for you.” Your head perks up curiously. He turns around and smiles softly at your drowsy eyes yet wide smile.

“What?”

“Well follow me and I’ll show you.” He’s wringing his hands as you both walk toward his room.

“Okay, close your eyes.” He says and you do.

You're both in his room now, you hear him shuffling things around or something of the sort as you stand there patiently.

“Okay, open them.” Once your eyes adjust you see him standing there with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a little box.

“Will you be my partner?” You tilt your head at the question until you realize he’s asking you to be his girlfriend.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Doll, I'm too old for that.”

“Yes then I’ll be your partner.” You laugh, grabbing the flowers from him.

“Open this.” He says handing you the small box and taking the bouquet of flowers to set them down on his dresser. Nervously you flip the top open as your eyes go wide.

“John, these are beautiful.” You say looking at the pair of small paint brushes with a diamond as the bristles.

“Pretty things for a pretty lady.” He says reaching to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

“This is too much.” You whisper truly admiring them, for a man who doesn’t believe in fate finding those in the small jeweler right next to the flower shop is the closest he’s come to it after meeting you.

“Nothing is too much when it comes to you, doll.” You close the box, setting it down. You look at him for a couple of seconds just admiring the man that’s been nothing but a blessing to you.

“What?”

“Kiss me.” It’s nothing sexual, it’s purely out of affection. The way you feel light as a feather beneath his touch, as he feels real against yours. He’s so enamored in everything you, loves the way you breathe, smell, move, laugh he’s obsessed with everything.

You feel like the heavens have sent him to you. He’s safe, warm and everything you’ve ever wanted. He cares for you truly. He holds you tenderly and gives you all the attention you crave, and you don’t even have to ask for it.

“Can we sleep in my room tonight?” You say when he pulls away.

“Yeah, but why?”

“I feel like this is too boyish for me, I need to see my plants and sleep in my matching sheets with my thousands of pillows.” He laughs as you put your vase of flowers in his hands and lead him towards your room.

-----------------------------

Thankyou for reading, truly you guys are the greatest motivation to contune writing known to man - All my love

comments and reposts are deeply appreciated<3

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

#captain price x female reader #john price #barry sloane #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #smut #And they were roomates series #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

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al1fers-haven · 8 months ago

Note

Hear me out, Alastor x Vox's wife

Basically, the reader was married to Vox when alive and hated him but couldn't get a divorce. When she died, she went to heaven, but then fell and was found by Vox, who promptly forced her back into the wife role

But, one night, the reader runs away and meets Alastor, and she instantly bonds with him over a mutual hatred of Vox, which turns into them falling in love

Sorry if the idea is too harsh on Vox, just a scenario I've been thinking about for a while

NO! Don't be sorry love. Its absolutely perfect.

"Oh Deer,"

Alastor x Vox's Wife!Reader

Nothing could have prepared you for the pain you felt when falling. The harsh searing pain that enveloped you as you hit the ground and heard that snap. Tears stained your cheeks as you glared up at the heavens. Too focused on your anger and pain to take in your surroundings and where exactly you were. Demons stared as you stood up, a loud groan leaving your figure as the bright gold blood dripped down your back, the sticky substance sticking to your palms as you tried to wipe it off of you. Vox stopped in his tracks, eyes a bit wide as he saw you drag yourself down the street. Valentino looked back at the TV man before following his gaze with a confused look. "Y/n...?" You stopped in your tracks, looking over towards the TV man and scowling. "Y/n? Is that you? What are you doing down here-" You yelped, trying to move away from him. One of the wings on your back flares up and makes you yell. Breathing harshly as you stared at him.

"Stay the HELL away from me you- you vile demon!" You held your palms against the dragging wing. Sobs wracking your whole form.

"Y/n...It's me. It's your husband...Don't you recognize me?" Your eyes widened, pure hatred filling your brain as you stared at him. "You- You nasty man! You horrible human! You are awful!" Vox stared in shock, your true feelings about him now out in the open. "Y/n...you're hurt." He reached his hand out and Valentino walked up to the two of them. All eyes turned to the pitiful display. "Come home, love."

~!~

"Do you even understand what I'm telling you, woman? Get my coffee. And make it the right way." You flinched, eyes looking toward the ground as your eyebrows furrowed. A small scowl on your face.

"I should've divorced you before you died. You cunt." You let out a yelp as he grabbed the neck of the shirt you were wearing, trying to keep you to 'today's time he shoved you inside of a tight outfit you hated. "Oh? Well, why didn't you." You shoved the TV man off of you. Fixing your shirt. "Because I thought maybe, just maybe. You'd leave me for another woman so I could raise our child ALONE." Vox's TC screen glitched, walking up to you. "Don't you DARE bring her into this!" You poked his chest, puffing your own out to seem bigger. "You don't understand how happy I was to hear you had died in that shitty bar lounge you always sat in! How happy I was for her to get to live without your influence!" You stepped forward, making the man step back. "I raised her all on my own and until she died and I did a wonderful job! Thanks to you dying she didn't have to witness that boring excuse of a thing you called love!" He grabbed your hand and threw you to the ground. Huffing as he stared at you with wide eyes. You obviously hit a soft spot. His eyes softened for a moment. "It's such a shame she died so young." Your eyes burned, Vox's eyes looking down on you. Pitying you for the death of your daughter. "." You stood up, storming out of the room and running out of the building. Vox's head turned to hs associates. "When did you have a kid?" Valentino broke the silence.

You sat on one of the benches in the more secluded part of the city, Your wings tucked into your back as you sat next to the little antique shop. Sobs left your figure as you sat there. Unaware of what to do in a situation like this. It was like you were alive all over again, crying over the loss of normalcy when Vox had died. "Hm?" A red-haired man zipped through the radio behind you. Leaning against the staff in his hand as you stood up and wiped your eyes, "Do my eyes deceive me?" The static startled you, jumping a bit before turning around to see the man. "Oh." You blinked a couple times at the odd figure. Huffing as you ran a hand through your hair. "Alastor, right? Vox's horrible horrible enemy?" You crossed your arms, trying to make it seem like you still had some control in your life. "Yes! And you are his....Assistant?" He waved his hand a little bit, trying not to hit a sensitive spot and deal with more of your weeping.

"Ex-wife." He blinked a couple times, laughing and grabbing your Backpack so he could sit down and leave you a seat. "Oh? Do tell more." His smile was eerily comforting, a sigh left your figure as you sat down. Obviously still upset. "I left, like i should've when we were living." The words spat out like venom. Eyes narrowing in on the ground. "He was an ass sure but at first he at least tried to pretend he cared. Just like he did here. I fell, he pretended to care for me enough to get me to call him my husband again and then boom. It was back to the same abuse i got out of in our 30's." You leaned back. The radio demon's frequencies stopped for a moment so he could listen. Anything he could use against Vox was a wonderful addition, no matter the baggage it brought with it. "He beat you?" Alastor tilted his head, mildly amused with this information. "Sometimes, not hard but enough to hurt. Slapping, name-calling, kicking. Things that wouldn't leave too much of a mark." You turned towards him. His smile was a bit tense. "When I had our child, my baby girl he changed a bit. Tried pretending a bit more while I was pregnant with her. He seemed to care for her. but just not for me." Your eyebrows furrowed as you continued. "She died when she was 2. About a year after Vox died from alcohol poisoning in that stupid bar."

Alastor put a hand on your shoulder. Now listening intently. "I'm glad she didn't have to deal with his constant fucking whining." Alastor laughed at that, his eyes closing a bit as he nodded. "Why yes, I have noticed quite a bit that he has a knack for whining and crying." You laughed a bit, finally calming down. "My name is Y/n, by the way." Alastor nodded, sitting up straight before sighing. "I'm aware...Alastor." He shook your hand, watching you laugh a bit more. "Y'know he wanted to name our kid Murphy?" Alastor blinked a couple times before laughing more, shaking his head no. It must have been hours, the two of you laughing in the street at all of the stupid things Vox had done before and after he died. Alastor filled you in on all of the stuff he knew while you told him about simple things.

The two of you calmed down a little bit, a smile on both of your faces as you stared off. The radio demon stood up suddenly and reached for your hand. "Well! Why don't you come to the hotel with me! I'm sure Charlie would love a new girl there!" You looked up at him, chuckling nervously. "Well...I don't know about that Alastor." "Cmon! Just for a night hm? Then we can see if we can make a deal." You grabbed his hand and yelped, suddenly being inside a random hotel with a blonde girl staring.

"Alastor! You're back....who is this?" She pointed towards you, a nervous smile on your face as Alastor twirled you a bit. Your laughter filled the room as you stopped spinning and suddenly appeared inside of better clothing fitting your time, an older 1920s-1950s dress fitting you perfectly. "This darling is Y/n! She was in quite the pickle and after...awhile-" You jumped in, hands clasped in front of you in a polite way. "2 hours." Alastor shook his head. "And after some time of talking I convinced her to take a shot at redemption, dear charlie." Charlie squealed, grabbing your hands and hugging you tightly. (Nearly till you died again.) "Welcome to the hazbin hotel!! I'm so glad Alastor brought you here!" Angel stared confused, looking as Alastor let you readjust his tie . A couple blinked of surprise leaving his figure as you walked away and towards the group. Immediately recognizing angel. "Angel!" He blinked. Staring at you. "Mrs? What are you doing here?" He waved his hand as you hugged him, a small frown appearing on your lips. "I left, me and vox got into another argument and I blew up on him." Angel laughed, hugging you again and sighing. "I wish I was there to see that asshole's face! Did'ya give him hell?!" You nodded excitedly. Looking around and taking a deep breath. "Oh, it feels good to be free again! Oh, how can I thank you Alastor!" Husker stiffened in his place, everyone expecting him to ask for her soul. "Perhaps you can tell me more about your dear ex-husband, hm? Seems like we didn't finish our little chat earlier dear." "Oh! Of course! You're such an angel puddin'! Oh, this is going to be so fun!"

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #soft alastor #angeldust #charlie morningstar #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #vox is horrible

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starryhutcherson · 7 months ago

Text

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones.

It’s no different today.

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils.

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it.

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you.

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom.

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is.

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.”

Mike scoffs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.”

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas.

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything.

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway.

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.”

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation.

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air.

“If anything happens, call me.”

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream.

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that.

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.”

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out.

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity.

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild.

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so.

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you.

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode.

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this.

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly.

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat.

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks.

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble.

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.”

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.”

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth.

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.”

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!”

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house.

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!”

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!”

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is.

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in.

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it.

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle.

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him.

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.”

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down.

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak.

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever.

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face.

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up.

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you.

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you.

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking.

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed.

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you.

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so.

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter.

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon.

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing.

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to.

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud.

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities.

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be.

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink.

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples.

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him.

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton.

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor.

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his.

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you.

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge.

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps.

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you.

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body.

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly.

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch.

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes.

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently.

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw.

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless.

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach.

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you.

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute.

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him.

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it.

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does.

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins.

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you.

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same.

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it.

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake.

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls.

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well.

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace.

He’s found his new familiar.

masterlist

✩‧₊

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