#My fingers are going to fall off if I work on the second wip more | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eoieopda · 4 months ago

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insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you.

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him.

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts.

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him.

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy.

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?”

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound.

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know.

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there.

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —”

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry.

You don’t, thankfully.

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling.

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again.

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case.

He said he’d fix it, didn't he?

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to.

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach.

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers.

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely.

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway.

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded.

He doesn’t.

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge.

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full — for as long as he gives you.

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —”

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say.

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea.

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

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hongjoongspoetry · 3 months ago

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Bones, Blood and Teeth Erode - Teaser

⚠️ Pairing(s): Jeong Yunho x F!Reader

⚠️ Genres/Tropes: non-idol AU, zombie apocalypse AU, horror, romance, hurt/comfort, a lot of action, smut, a lil comedy, golden retriever x black cat

⚠️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, use of weapons (guns, knives), blood and gore (quite descriptive), zombies, murder, reader is a badass... more to come

⚠️ Wordcount: Estimated 30-40K

⚠️ A/N: As it's still a WIP, nothing is set in stone and scenes can be changed until the whole work is published. I also don't have a summary ready, but... enjoy! 😀

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes, not just sexual content, but descriptions of both physical and verbal fights, as well as adult language and gore. Minors and ageless blogs, please, refrain from reading or interacting with this work or my blog!!!

AO3 Masterlist Click on me!

Yunho was there in seconds to haul you off the ground, his hand grabbing the back of your shirt, shouting at you to run.

“Are you deaf?! Go!”

It was the harsh push to your shoulder that finally got you moving. Slow and uncertain steps, but moving nonetheless thanks to Yunho barking orders behind you. One would think you had never stepped foot outside the prison walls, let alone gone on numerous resource runs. Everything between Yunho’s push to you reaching the make-up store was a blur. The blood covering your knife and hands — along with the trail of corpses left behind you — being the only proof you had been involved in the massacre.

“I told you to get inside!”

You jumped as Yunho’s hand landed on your forearm, tugging you toward the store. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you counted over a hundred rotting heads. The shutters would only hold a dozen until it broke and they tore you apart.

Yunho watched the gears turn in your head and got a whiff of what you planned to do. “Don’t.”

The foreign depth in his voice did nothing to change your mind and he noticed it too, thus holding onto you until his fingers turned white and the veins of his hands protruded. You snapped out of the haze as another forceful tug bruised your arm. Determined to see your plan till the end, you used the element of surprise to your advantage and bore your teeth into his wrist, just enough for Yunho to loosen his hold on you and give you the chance to step back. You ripped your bag off your shoulders and slung it at Yunho, who caught it with an ‘oomph’, successfully keeping him down on his rear for a few extra seconds. His raspy call of your name clawed at your heart. Something was eating you from the inside, but you ignored the wails of your soul and kicked the cart with all your might, allowing the shutters to fall with a bang. Your stubbornness wasn’t the sole thing to stand between you two anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

You paid little mind to the burning feeling in your chest and the flame dancing across his features. Leaving him there would hurt, but it would be hell to see him get ripped to shreds knowing he had a chance of surviving. Back at the prison, you only had one person to look out for whilst Yunho was a pillar for many. You couldn’t do that to them. To Hongjoong, Mingi, Wooyoung… Heck, you couldn’t do it to yourself. Angry Yunho was a fleeting image. It would pass, but the Yunho with cheesing eyes and heart shaped lips pulled in a joyous smile would forever be engraved in your memory.

“It’s not going to hold,” you gestured to the stupid shutter. “Get home and make sure the stuff gets to Hongjoong.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving without you!”

“Tell Nari I love her–”

His fist slammed against the metal cover and for a moment you thought it would crumble beneath his touch. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You’re going to tell her yourself because we’re going back together!”

There was so much on your mind. What to say, what message to leave the others; apologies and closure or a last round of advice?

“I’ll find you. Outside, I’ll find you. I’m not dyi… “ Your throat tightened at the empty promise. You didn’t know if you said that to reassure him or yourself. “Ten minutes. If I’m not outside in ten minutes, you’ll leave. Yunho, promise me you’ll leave.”

If only you knew what you were doing to his poor soul. Asking him of the impossible. He could promise you anything you wanted, anything in this cursed world and he’d hand it to you on a silver platter. Anything, but that. Leaving you behind was like signing his own death sentence. He’d be nothing, but the shell of a man. An empty, hollow, useless shell with the bitter taste of resentment for both your selfless and selfish sacrifice. Yunho knew agreeing to keep the promise would give you a peace of mind yet, if anything happened to you, he’d be haunted by the memories of you until his very last breath.

Across from him, you waited as if time wasn’t about the most sacred thing you could have. A mix of concern and determination wedged in your beautiful features and Yunho knew he had to speak, although he didn’t want to because the words rolling off his dry tongue would be some kind of agreement to your request.

“Yunho, please.”

The burning fire in his eyes dimmed as a wave of tears washed over them. They looked magical, even when obscured by grief and longing for the one still alive. His bottom lip formed into a pout to keep from trembling just as his hands balled into fists for that same reason. The sand continued seeping out of the imaginary hourglass, no matter how much Yunho tried scooping it back inside, the universal clock wouldn’t stop ticking.

With great effort — his lips parted and the shaky breath released aimed straight at your heart as did the tears brimming his red eyes which were a reflection of your own — he nodded. “I promise… but don’t make me fulfill it.”

In another life, the vow would be exchanged in a happier setting, surrounded by friends and family. Vacant of gloomy clouds and death knocking at your door, and filled with belly laughter and tears of joy instead. A time where the promise of sacrifice was made out of love and not for survival.

“Yunho, I–”

The remaining seven letters died in your throat as cold and wrinkly fingers sunk into your shoulder. Yunho watched you scramble from the touch, his heart pounding for your safety, and felt completely useless. He couldn’t breathe until your blade was driven into the side of the biter’s head and the creature landed with a thud, blood pooling at your feet. The growling worsened and you needed to get a move on if you ever planned on seeing another shift between the sun and moon.

“Come back to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes met for what could be the last time and you drank him in like he was a part of the seven wonders of the world.

His messy charcoal strands falling over his equally dark brows, knitted together with a crease in the middle that you wanted to smooth out. Trailing down to his naturally puffy eyes reflecting a storm of emotions — thundering anger and heavy anguish — threatening to spill over with tears. Your throat tightened. You couldn’t bear seeing the pain you inflicted upon him and hastily followed the slope of his pretty nose, red as a ripe strawberry. A beautiful blush, probably stemming from his anger, kissed his round cheeks and spread to his ears. The need to reach out and touch him, caress him with reassurances that everything would be fine, grew at the sight of his trembling lips.

The angel on your shoulder whispered for you to run. Another whisper — this time from the devil — tingled your ears with the statement to stay a little longer. You wanted to heed the little red fella, but what you wanted wasn’t what you needed, so with a final nod, you tore away from his painful gaze and willed yourself not to turn back around because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to leave.

With fear and adrenaline pumping through your veins and the promise of returning alive, you slipped on the mask of a soldier — putting a pause to the war in your head — and faced the army of the dead.

“Come get me, fucking assholes!”

#yunho x reader #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho oneshot #jeong yunho fanfic #jeong yunho angst #jeong yunho #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez angst #ateez #zombie au #zombie apocalypse #ateez fanfic

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zh-lele · 11 months ago

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12-7 ROOM (part two)

Surviving a week to Donghyuck's charms and jokes can't be so hard... Worst case scenario, you end up completely falling for your brother's best friend.

▪︎Pairing: brother's best friend!Hyuck x fem reader

▪︎Genres: poor attempt at rom com, fluff

▪︎Warnings: alcohol consumption, profanity, suggestive jokes, kissing, and some very light suggestive scenes.

▪︎Word count (part 2): 7721 words

playlist | extra content: mc's IG stories

Author's note: hi everyone :') sorry for being so absent and never posting the final part to 12-7 room. But hey, I finally got the motivation to do it. I've been also writing other things but I don't know when I'll finsih them or post them. Anyways, if you want to take a look, the other things I'm always working on are listed on my wips page. Once again, sorry for taking too long to post this and I hope someone can enjoy it anyway. Thank you so much for the love on part 1! Seriously, thank you. This isn't proof read so tell me if you find any mistakes, please and thank you. Enjoy!

Saturday, 08:37 p.m.

"I feel like we're betraying Mark."

"Why?"

"We're having a sleepover without him," you explain to Donghyuck while you extend your left hand to him, and he places his right hand over your palm, so you can continue painting his nails with a black polish. "You know, we're listening to Bruno Mars, eating watermelon–"

"Aren't we supposed to eat watermelon in the summer?" Donghyuck interrupts you to ask.

"Real watermelon enjoyers eat watermelon no matter what time of the year it is–Hyuck!" you scream after he makes a sudden move to grab a piece of fruit from the bowl and half his index finger ends up covered in black nail polish. "Stop moving your hand!"

"I'm sorry!"

He apologizes and stays still in front of your body, legs crossed and knees touching yours. Donghyuck is so close you can feel his breath in your hair, and even though you know it's impossible for him to hear your heart-rate increasing exponentially, you fear the closeness and the intimacy may give you away. Honestly, by this time you thought you might have figured it out: you had to either rethink your relationship and conclude that you were only going to be friends forever, or accept your feelings and confess to him, no matter what the outcome could be.

But you find yourself finishing Donghyuck's nails and looking up to him, who was–as more often as you thought–already looking at you. He smiles to you sweetly, no teeth on sight, and he looks ridiculous. Donghyuck is wearing a sheet mask with the form of a peach, yet you still find the sight in front of you incredibly endearing. The worst part about it is that you're looking as ridiculous as him, with the lemon-shaped sheet mask covering your face. You feel his thumb gently caress the back of your hand that he was still holding even long after you've finished. And as his soft features are illuminated by the warm dim lights of the lamp and the TV, as he holds your hand and looks at you as if you might be the prettiest lemon he has seen, you get that feeling again.

The comfort, the domesticity. The urge to be his companion, to share moments like this and many more. Every day.

Your phone buzzes as you set an alarm to take the masks off twenty minutes ago.

Donghyuck lets your hand go. He lets go of your heart too—but only for a second. He cradles your face, his soft fingertips pet your jaw, then your cheeks, and you can't hold his gaze anymore. You want to look down, drop your head before you start word-vomiting everything you're feeling and you've been feeling for him since the moment you met, since that first time he cooked ramen for you and you decided you wanted it to be your comfort food forever.

Donghyuck won't let you look down, though. He applies pressure with his fingers in the place where your neck and your jaw meet and with his thumbs on your cheeks. Your lips naturally pout under the pressure and you see it. Donghyuck. Your best friend. The guy you've liked forever now, looking at your lips for what you think it's been like the fourth time this weekend. And it's only been hours since the weekend started.

Is it really going to happen? Are you about to kiss Donghyuck right now? On the living room's couch on a saturday night in, under the dim lights, while Silk Sonic's Love's Train plays in the background and you're wearing fruit-shaped sheet masks?

It is fucking romantic.

Yet it never comes.

It doesn't happen.

Donghyuck just says: "It's time to take the masks off."

And you agree because, well, what the hell are you supposed to do? Just throw yourself all over him like you, maybe, have been imagining? Donghyuck takes your mask off your skin and you take his, that leaves his face looking the softest and smelling like sweet peaches. That definitely doesn't help your situation.

You're incredibly frustrated. Upset, even, like a kid who got denied his candy. (You wish Donghyuck was your candy.) You hate this sleepover now and even wish Mark was here to cock-block the entire situation. That would be less upsetting.

"And?" He asks once both of you have your masks off. "Do I look cuter now?"

Oh, so he's aware he's already incredibly cute.

You can't contain a smile. He's only centimeters away from you after he quickly moves back to look for his glasses. You feel the need to poke his cheeks that look as soft as marshmallows and smell like fucking peaches. Actually, you might feel the need to eat him.

But you don't dare say anything. Only trying to hide your smile looking down, as your face grows red, you let Donghyuck think of his own conclusions after your reaction.

Thing is, you're kind of a coward.

Donghyuck says it's time to netflix and chill, and you laugh because the statement is followed by a "Literally. Don't start thinking about something dirty."

He places himself on the mattress on the floor (the one you've been sleeping since you arrived), a bunch of pillows supporting his back, and makes room for you. He's cheeky enough to pat his stomach to tell you to lie there, between his legs and over his body. Just like that, as if you hadn't been melting before just by holding his hand in yours or having your knees touch. And now he wants you to lie on his stomach?

Are you really that close? If so, why isn't he your boyfriend yet?

You open your eyes wider and point a finger at yourself. "Me. Me?" Your voice comes out full of disbelief.

"Not you. Mark," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Of course it's you! Unless you don't want to lay together?"

"I mean…"

How do you make it sound not so desperate, not too obvious?

You just shrug and say, "Yeah, sure."

Aced it.

Donghyuck's body feels like the softest mattress you've ever laid on, like you could close your eyes and sleep trapped in his limbs forever. And because of the closeness, you can sense the vibrations of his voice traveling from his torso to your ears. His tone is quiet and gentle, talking about what to watch to no one in particular because, even though he's talking to you, you're too concentrated on opening your camera and capturing the moment in a video of the two of you.

"Look how cute," you say, moving your arm to his eye level to show him the video. "You talk in pout when you're really concentrated."

When you're conscious of the surroundings once again, you're sure you've replayed the video with a smile on your face like ten times.

"You should upload that."

"I've posted enough about you," you reply to his suggestion, going back and saving the video to your drafts. "People are gonna think you're my boyfriend or whatever…"

"Would that be so bad?" Donghyuck questions with his eyes fixed on the TV screen. When you move your head back to look up at him, he dares to connect eyes with you. "People thinking I'm your boyfriend?"

Sunday, 12:02 p.m.

Donghyuck had always been clingy.

Yet you didn't know he could be this clingy in the mornings.

Mark has been trying to get Donghyuck out of bed for like ten minutes now, but he won't get up. While your brother is pulling his arm out, Donghyuck pulls Mark's arm in, asking him to join him and sleep 'just a little more'.

Yes, your brother found you both sleeping on the mattress in the living room. No, you and Donghyuck were not clinging to each other (sadly). But Hyuck was for sure clinging to your brother now.

"Mark!" He protests in a sleepy tone. "What do you want if you won't come in?"

"We were supposed to have brunch together," your brother tells Donghyuck again, yet he must be too sleepy to process what's happening.

"I won't go." Donghyuck states and doesn't even open his eyes again. The living room is clear enough, as the winter sun has been hitting for hours now. But it isn't an impediment for him to curl up under the blankets like a burrito and go back to sleep.

Mark drops his shoulders and allows himself to sigh, finally defeated by his heavy-sleeper best friend. "I guess it's just you and me, y/n."

—

Fortunately for you, the weather has been amazing since you arrived in the city where your brother lives. Saturday was no different, with a clear blue sky above your heads despite it being winter, and the sun shining just the right amount to touch your skin and leave it warm. A little breeze messes with you and your brother's freshly dyed hair as you sit outside a coffee shop, brunch almost all devoured on the table. Mark hums to a familiar jazzy tune that plays all the way from inside the café.

And the atmosphere is beautifully calm. But you need to get something out of your chest. For once.

"So," you start and Mark moves eyes from his food to set them on you, expectant of your next words with a mouth full of pancakes and fruit. "I think I like Donghyuck."

Mark starts coughing after hearing you, and you wonder if it is because of the shock of your confession or because he really is that careless to get the food stuck in his throat.

"Yeah, I knew," he confirms once it's clear for him to speak again.

"The fuck you mean 'you knew'?"

"I mean, honestly, it's pretty obvious." Your brother can't hide a smile. He drops the fork to properly talk to you this time. "Like, you've always had some kind of thing… I don't know, I thought I had a special connection with Hyuck," he says pointing at himself, eyes wide with what could look like a little bit of shock. "But you two… You two are something else."

"Oh God," you cover your face in embarrassment even though after your brother's words there's no point in hiding anything anymore. "So you've been watching me acting like a fool in love around Donghyuck all this time, and you said nothing."

"I didn't say anything 'cuz I thought it had to come from you." He shrugs. "Wanted you to feel comfy enough to tell me, even though I had my suspicions, obviously."

"May I ask… Why," you hesitate a little before asking for a third-person perspective. "Why were you suspicious about it?"

"Dude, I don't know," a small laughter escapes him. "You just look like you'd be all over each other if you could."

You just groan in frustration hearing your brother saying you might have been way more obvious than you thought you were. Temperature rises to your cheeks coloring them a little red, and not because of the midday sun hitting right from above your head.

"And you can," Mark says, yet you don't get it, the tilting of your indicating he has to clarify. "Like, you can be all over each other. I don't know why nothing has happened between the two of you yet."

"'Cuz I don't know if he likes me?"

"How could you know if you don't try?"

Your gaze drops to your lap, and you realize you've been playing with the rings of your hands, taking them off and putting them on over and over, indicating the conversation is making you a little nervous.

Mark must notice, since he keeps talking. "Just tell him, dude. Best case scenario, he also likes you, you move out together and make me free from Donghyuck's ass."

The way he puts it makes you laugh, yet there's a slight weight to your eyes, as if tears could start falling down slowly at any time after holding your feelings in for so long. So you take a deep breath, blink a few times and look at the sun.

The sun, shining in its maximum splendor in the middle of the sky. And you wonder what he's doing right now. Donghyuck, or Haechan, as his mother used to call him when he was little. Full Sun, because he's always so bright and energetic, like a happy virus (Mark would also call him a pain in the ass, but you see, it depends on who you ask.)

"Worst case scenario, you remain as good friends," Mark continues. "C'mon, you know him, he's not a dick. You just gotta try talking to him."

You gulp and nod at him, now trying to make eye contact with a subtle smile on your face. Another deep breath. "You're right. Donghyuck won't hurt me, no matter what the outcome is."

Monday, 01:43 a.m.

On Mark's phone...

Meanwhile at the livingroom...

"Hyuck–wait. Can't we go slower?!"

"Look at that!" Donghyuck screams pointing at the TV screen, after taking the airpod off his right ear. You do the same with the one you were using, and the music from the game stops playing in your head. "I got a perfect score!" And he continues to do a silly victory dance, moving his hips from side to side with his arms in the air.

You really don't want to be mad at Donghyuck right now.

"This is so unfair," you tell him, stepping out of the frame and leaving the remote on top of the game console. "You didn't tell me you were this good. And you know I can't dance at all."

"You're right," Donghyuck says sincerely, a hand on his chest, right in front of his heart and all. "I didn't tell you I'm a dancing god and took advantage of your poor dancing skills to win the Just Dance."

You really don't want to get mad at him, but sometimes he makes it pretty much impossible.

"You." A hand comes in contact with Donghyuck's arm. Your hand. "Dirty." Another slap. "Bastard." And another one. "I hate you so much!"

"Hey!" He protests rubbing his arm after you slapped it. "Lying is a sin."

"I'm not lying," you say. "I hate you. You put on the fastest choreo to follow."

Donghyuck follows you around to the kitchen and watches your every move. He's right behind you, his eyes following your motions when you fill a glass with water, when you gulp it down, when you clean it and leave it back on the counter. He's hot on your heels when you come back to the common area and take the inflatable mattress out to get ready to sleep. He's still following your moves carefully when you put on the sheets and when you lay on it with the remote of the TV in hand. He only takes his eyes off your body when the Netflix logo appears on the screen and he notices you're about to watch the show you two started together.

You know he's dying for a word from you.

"You don't mean it," he says, now free of all mocking tones.

"I don't mean what?"

"You don't hate me."

You're pretty sure Donghyuck doesn't need you to confirm that you weren't serious. Naturally, he has always shown himself as a very self-assured and friendly person; It's not normal that people don't like Donghyuck. However, when you meet his eyes, wide and expectant of your response, and perhaps wet with a little insecurity, you understand that things are not always what they seem.

"How could I ever hate you, Hyuck?" you tell him to extend a hand in his direction, inviting him to lay on your side on the mattress.

Relief takes over his expression, and a wide smile is plastered on his face. He's quick to get comfortable (maybe too comfortable, not that you really mind) laying his head on your lap, and moving your left hand to his hair that looks like it's got longer over the days. You know he wants you to play with it—Donghyuck loves getting his hair played with. The fourth episode of My First First Love starts playing on the TV screen, and you hear Donghyuck sigh contentedly.

The subtle strokes at the hair on his nape get Donghyuck smiling again and exhaling deeper at your tranquil touch. And, not to be biased, but the colored lights coming from the TV highlight the softest, most beautiful face features you've seen in your life. In an act of courage, you move your fingertips from his hair, to his sharp jaw, to his cheekbones, gently caressing the warm skin.

Donghyuck moves his head on your lap until he's no longer watching TV. Neither are you. You're just staring at each other in silence. He's letting you stroke every part of skin until the tip of your fingers make it to his lips. His plump pink lips that have been tempting you more and more the past days. And he places a kiss there. On the tip of your fingers.

You freeze and grow red. Then he places another kiss, and another, making it three the times you've felt Donghyuck's lips on your skin.

It may be driving you crazy.

He's careful with his movements, so careful it turns almost painful watching him. Donghyuck grabs your wrist and gets up to sit beside your spot on the mattress. Doesn't let go of your hand—instead, he holds it tenderly, caresses the back of it with his thumb, then places another kiss there.

Four times you've felt Donghyuck's lips on your skin. Five. Six—he just placed a kiss on your palm. Wait, another on your wrist. That's seven kisses so far.

But it's not enough. Now you've felt his lips you want them everywhere, all the time. So when he gets your hand closer to keep kissing you there, you grab his face. Feel the skin there, of his jaw, of his neck, and it's really hot. You think you might even feel the rapid pace of his pulse when you press your fingers on his neck (but it could also be your own.) Lastly, you tangle your fingers in his hair that he has let grow during these weeks of winter break. You tug on it a little, just enough to let him know you want him close. Closer, please.

And Donghyuck sighs, more like he fucking moans.

You wonder if you should say something before moving forward. What about all the things you talked to Mark yesterday? Should you tell him about how you feel before kissing him? What does he want? And what would this be after you kiss?

The call of your name interrupts your torment of thoughts.

"Please," he begs in a whisper, eyes closed as your noses brush against each other. "I'll die if I don't kiss you right now."

A laugh comes out of you because he always has to be that exaggerated, but you decide to set all questions aside for a moment to just dive into him.

He starts off very gently, with his slightly parted lips pressing against yours. They are indeed as fleshy and soft as they look, and taste like a cherries lipbalm. Donghyuck repeatedly places small kisses on your lips until you open your mouth a little more, and he captures your lower lip, biting a bit there. It gets another little tug on his hair from you, a sigh of relief after tasting his mouth after years of longing, and everything becomes more needy.

Donghyuck grabs at both sides of your head to deepen the kiss, smashing lips together repeatedly and kissing you sloppily. When you allow him to, he pushes his tongue into your mouth and you push your body closer to his.

He grabs your wrist not neglecting your lips even a second, as if the both of you were magnetized, and places his palm on your waist inviting you to his lap. It makes you laugh out of nervousness, so Donghyuck opens his eyes to watch you straddle him and place yourself on top of him very carefully.

His touch travels from your waist to the sides of your torso, his right hand in a place that you're sure allows Donghyuck to feel your increased heart rate. Your hands cradle his neck, then tug at the hair of his nape as he observes you kind of mesmerized, inhaling deeply, smiling a little and wetting his lips before you're diving into each other once again.

You've lost count of the amount of times you've felt Donghyuck's sweet lips on you by now. But you're sure of one thing: you don't want it to be the last.

"In case you were still wondering," he breaks the kiss to talk to you. "I like you, kinda a lot."

His hair is slightly disheveled from all the pulling, his lips are shiny and swollen, and he looks a little agitated. In his incredibly dilated black pupils you can see the reflection of your smile.

"I also like you, Hyuck," you finally confess to him. "I like you like, a huge amount."

He lets out a sigh of relief, more like a scream, and you're quick to cover his mouth reminding him that your brother is supposed to be sleeping five meters away from you. Yet, you can't help but laugh at his reaction.

He presses your foreheads together as his hands caress your sides, from your knees, to your waist, and to your lower back. Both your thumbs stroke his cheeks gently before you move to place some smooches there, in each of Donghyuck's moles (that is all over his face.) You think of all the times you imagined doing exactly that and find it hard to believe there's a possibility you could have Donghyuck any time you want now.

You only have to talk it out and see how things could progress between the two of you in the future. In the meantime, you'll keep smooching the literal personification of the sun (that might be because he feels hot as fuck right now, or because his smile is bright as the sun, or maybe he could be both.)

(Still) Monday, 01:00 p.m.

Donghyuck has had his head over the clouds since last night. After a heavy make-out session with you and some cuddling, he went back to his shared bedroom to sleep at like four a.m., being the most quiet possible to not wake your brother up and maybe having him asking what the hell was Donghyuck doing with you in the living room until four in the morning. He can’t escape the knowing smile Mark gives him though, when he wakes up and sees Donghyuck already up and working at his desk.

Donghyuck pretends everything is normal, greeting Mark good morning as usual.

��Good morning, Melk.”

“You sound too happy,” Mark groans in response, still sitting on his bed only half awake.

Donghyuck checks the time on the corner of his computer; one p.m. during holidays is like eight a.m. to Mark. Your brother just sits there for a while and Donghyuck goes back to studying for amoment, until the silence of the room gets interrupted.

“Yo,” Mark calls to attract Donghyuck’s attention. “What you did last night was fucking nasty.”

“What–” Donghyuck tries asking, only to have Mark interrupting him.

“I heard you two going at it," he starts with a very serious expression that gets Donghyuck's blood completely drained from his face. What could've Mark possibly heard? "My sister was telling you to go slower and everything.'' Mark makes some gagging sounds to add to his point and Donghyuck grows as equally embarrassed and amused at your brother’s assumptions.

“You think we fucked?” Donghyuck asks in complete disbelief. An exaggerated nervous laugh follows the question. “With you in the house?” He points a finger at Mark.

“You didn’t?”

“Sorry to tell you what you heard was us playing Just Dance. The last choreo was too hard and y/n couldn’t follow it.”

Donghyuck watches his best friend rub the sleep off his eyes and get up from the bed while he denies with his head, looking kind of defeated. “You’re both the biggest losers I’ve ever known,” Mark says, referring to you and Donghyuck.

“Hey!” Donghyuck starts to defend himself, his eyes grow bigger as his brows go up, and the characteristic Donghyuck pout starts to show, like in every situation a discussion is involved. “It was fun! We had a good time, ask her.”

“Losers made for each other, I swear.” Mark emphasizes his point. “So you didn’t fuck.”

Donghyuck doesn't look up from his math notes to answer. There's no way in hell he's having this conversation looking at Mark in the face. “By now, I’m sure I might be a virgin again.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Mark can’t contain a laugh, though. “That’s bad for your health. Get your dick wet already.”

“I’m just waiting for the right time with your sister.”

“Hey! You can’t joke like that anymore.” Donghyuck knows by Mark’s tone all the bickering has become dead-serious now. It has always been like this when it’s about you. First they joke a little about it, then Donghyuck reminds Mark how much he truly likes you, and lastly Mark tells Donghyuck to just confess to you already because he’s tired of hearing about it. “If you’re joking about my sister I’m gonna beat you up.” Mark reminds him.

“Sorry.” This time, Donghyuck is brave enough to face his best friend. It’s kind of hard for Donghyuck to believe it when Mark tells him he’s getting beated up, though, when Mark’s wearing the pajamas Johnny got him as a gift recently–some blue panty with a moose on the back that says ‘don’t moose with me’. “I’m not joking about her.”

“I know.” Mark covers the pajamas that distract his friend so much as he puts on his jeans. “You like each other so much it’s disgusting.”

Donghyuck can’t hide his smile after hearing that, and it reminds him of all the kisses you shared last night, which makes him grow red in the face. Nothing a little more bickering with your brother can’t hide.

“You’re sooo cruel to me, Markie.” Donghyuck tries to hug Mark before he’s leaving the room, but morning Mark has always been like a stray cat who doesn’t like affection (unless it comes from Yuta, which Donghyuck can’t comprehend very well but he supposes the japanese has something pretty magnetic.)

“Get off of me!”

“Only a lil’ kiss, pleaaase!”

They struggle at the door of the room and into the common area. Donghyuck with his lips millimeters from Mark's face while Mark tries with all his might to get away from Donghyuck, who can be like a tick. They're so caught up in their things neither of them has noticed you're there, observing the entire interaction.

“Why don’t you go and kiss y/n? I’m sure she’ll enjoy it,” you hear Mark say when he finally frees himself from Donghyuck.

It’s at this moment that you know you are hearing too much, so you clear your throat to let them know that you are there too. They both freeze after turning around and seeing you sitting at the kitchen island. Your brother Mark, the great opportunist and master at escaping from uncomfortable situations, greets you good morning and is off to work in a second, leaving you and Donghyuck alone in the apartment.

You watch Donghyuck get closer to where you’re sitting. He hasn’t changed from his sleeping shorts and the hoodie he was wearing last night–the same hoodie you pulled on as you kissed in the same mattress laying meters behind him. Yet you don’t know how to describe the sensation you’re feeling right now. After seeing the boy you like the most fighting your brother for a kiss, your stomach feels… weird? You know the kind of relationship they have–they’re best friends, they bicker and fight and make up all the time. They live based on Donghyuck love-bombing Mark and Mark denying the affection all the time. But they love each other in a brotherly way, it has always been like that.

It’s not like you expected Donghyuck to want to hug and kiss you and only you after what happened last night, but you kind of did expect it.

Were you jealous of Donghyuck’s best friend, your own brother Mark?

Donghyuck looks at you confused when you don't accept his hug right away. You stop his arms midway, and his eyes look defeated, full of worry. “Did something happen?”

You deny with your head. “I don’t know, that kind of felt weird,” you confess to him.

Donghyuck caresses your arms, feeling you relax from the defensive attitude from before, until he gets your hands together. “What felt weird?”

It’s ridiculous, you know it is and you’re embarrassed about what you’re about to say. Yet, you can’t help but:

“I think I got jealous,” you say and watch his brows furrowed together. “You know, when you were trying to kiss Mark…”

Donghyuck only bursts out laughing and hugs you tightly against his chest, leaving you no time to escape the sudden affection. He smells like fabric softener and feels comfortable like a pillow. And you hate that you love the way his laugh resonates through your entire body when he presses you to himself like that.

“You know I never want to kiss Mark seriously, right? That I only do it ‘cause I know he hates it,” he explains once he’s separated from you, still holding your hands in his and looking you in the eyes. “I don’t want to kiss anyone the way I want to kiss you.”

You look down hiding your smile, thinking he’s cute at first and processing his words then, which makes you laugh a little. Donghyuck realizes right away and starts to laugh too, leaving the seriousness behind.

“Was that too much?” He asks.

You nod in response. “But it’s good to know.”

“Good,” he says before planting a kiss on your cheek. He’s only millimeters away from your face when he speaks again. “No need to be jealous then.”

Donghyuck turns you around on the chair, so your back is pressing against the island and he can stand comfortably between your legs. He starts as he did last night, planting a kiss on your knuckles, then your wrist, but you don’t wanna waste any more time so you free yourself from his hands and start cradling his face. His lips look as tempting as always, maybe even more after you tasted them for the first time.

He notices your look so he gives you a lopsided, attractive smile that you desperately wanna rip off his face.

“How can you look this handsome in the morning?” You ask, admiring all his features.

“I mean, technically it’s past the morning.” he answers in a cocky tone.

“Shut up already.”

You don’t give him time to fight back as you’re sealing his lips with a kiss. It’s slow but deep, and his skin feels warm and soft under your fingertips, all the way from his sharp jaw to his cheekbones. When he bites your lip a little bit to get full access to your mouth, you worry about the breakfast you were having minutes ago, but Donghyuck doesn’t seem to mind:

“Mhmm,” he hums, breaking apart and licking his lips. “You taste like maple syrup.” And he steals another quick kiss from you.

“Yeah,” you say as you turn around to face the kitchen island again. “‘Cause you interrupted my breakfast.”

But despite you showing your back to him and trying to finish your food, Donghyuck won’t let you eat in peace. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs against the skin of your neck after he moves your hair to your left shoulder. He plants a soft kiss on your right side, sending shivers down your spine and making it hard to concentrate on your task. “I’m sooo sorry I interrupted you.” His tone is full of sarcasm as his kisses travel to your jaw and all the way down again. “And you hated it sooo much.”

The metallic sound of your fork falling off your hand and hitting the plate startles the both of you. Donghyuck stops sucking on your neck and you fall out of your trance. Your startled face might be somewhat funny, because Donghyuck starts giggling as you both realize you were enjoying his kisses a little too much.

“Let’s go on a date.”

“All of a sudden?”

He nods with a smile on his face. “It’s your last day here tomorrow. It’s not like we won’t see each other anymore but… I want to take you out before your last day here.”

“Okay,” you agree, matching his smile.

“Okay?” He asks once more and sighs contentedly when you nod your head yes. “I’ll go plan everything. Make sure you’re all mine this afternoon!” And he leaves the room after kissing your right cheek.

(The busiest) Monday, 07:37 p.m.

“Hyuck, come on, there’s seriously no way of winning with those machines.”

“Babe, just one more try. I wanna get something for you.”

Donghyuck has been fighting against a claw machine for what felt like half an hour now. Since none of you weren’t able to win any of the games you tried at the carnival, you really appreciate his determination to win a prize for you this way. Yet you arrived here at five p.m., and after two rounds of bumper cars, after testing your strength at Ring the Bell (and both of you failing embarrassingly), riding the teacups, getting scared to death in the haunted house, and going twice into the Ferris wheel (one time for the sightseeing and pics and another time for kissing at the top of it) your stomach growls with hunger.

“We could’ve paid dinner with all the money you spent on this machine-”

“Wait, I’m about to get it!”

“Let’s just go get dinner.”

“But I’m about to get it!”

And you see it forreal this time: the claw holding a big Pochacco plushie and it falling right into the hole.

“Hyuck, you got it!” You scream in disbelief, a big smile taking over your face (maybe because of the cute plushie or maybe because it meant you were finally going to have some food.)

You watch Donghyuck lose his arm through the hatch and get it back, this time with the stuffed animal in his hand. When he’s presenting it in front of you, the stuffed animal is so big that it blocks your view. You admire it for a second, and then take it into your arms to discover a Donghyuck wearing the biggest smile you've seen in a while. He’s all cozied up, his jacket and stuffed hat making him look like a real life teddy bear. Even so, the cold of the winter has caused the tip of his nose and his cheeks to turn red, somehow making him look even cuter.

“I got it for you!” He says, the excitement not leaving his body even for a second.

You can’t contain yourself and, as an impulse, grab him from the jacket with your free hand and pull forward until your lips are meeting his. Just a short peck as a way of saying thank you, I love it (you.)

Neither of you realizes the little crowd you've drawn around the machines, not until you hear the applause and cheering as you're breaking away from your kiss. You’ve never seen Donghyuck get shy when drawing people’s attention, so this might be your first time noticing him trying to hide under his hat and into your embrace. You laugh it off even when you're equally embarrassed, but thank him for the plushie and tell him to run away from there to get dinner.

—

“I think I’ve liked you from the start,” Donghyuck confesses all of a sudden.

Well, maybe not so all of a sudden. While you two were having your dinner, bottle of beer came after bottle of beer. At some point of the night, you thought it was a good idea to start having soju. Donghyuck said something like “it’s our last night together, we should celebrate and get wasted” to justify your decision. So it may be the full stomachs and the alcohol making you be honest with each other.

“I know I’ve liked you from the start.”

“Aaall the guys knew too…” He slurs his words a little when speaking. “I wouldn't shut up about you.”

You can't hide your drunken, enamored smile when hearing him. But something makes a little noise inside your head. “All the guys knew?” You ask and he nods quickly. “Even Mark?”

“Even Mark,” Donghyuck confirms. “I mean, we always kind of had this joke going around that I was always waiting for you.” He pours himself another drink. “But we both knew it wasn't a joke.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face, embarrassed. “My own brother lied to me,” you say and Donghyuck makes a confused sound, which makes you keep explaining. “He pretended to know nothing about your feelings when I confessed to him that I liked you.”

“I asked him not to say anything.”

“Huh?”

“I wanted to tell you myself how much I like you.”

“Oh god,” it's all you can repeat right now, all these confessions and the alcohol making you grow hot everywhere. “It's so hot inside this restaurant,” you say as you take your jacket off.

Donghyuck knows the red on your cheeks isn't only because of the heat inside the place.

“I like you sooo much,” he says as he watches you giggle out of nervousness. Donghyuck calls your name and holds your hand over the table to try to get you to look at him, but you only giggle and hide your face with your other hand. “I'm in love with you!”

“Okay, okay!” You're laughing by now, trying to cover his mouth to shut him up and not attract everyone's attention like you did at the carnival. “I'm in love with you too!”

“Good,” he says with an extremely pleased smile, that one that has always attracted you to him so much.

“Good?” you repeat and he nods.

Your phone screen lights up showing it's Mark calling you. You silently tell Donghyuck you're picking up and he lets go of your hand for you to do so.

“Yes?”

“Yo,” you hear Mark answer from the other side. “We're at Yuta's right now, we're working on some music with Taeil and TY so I think I'm just gonna crash here tonight.”

“Uhm, are you sure you don't wanna go back?” You ask and make eye contact with Donghyuck, who narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side after your question. You only shrug to him as a response.

“Nah, I'll leave the apartment for the two of you so make good use of it.” Your brother answers convincingly.

“Okay, I'll see you in the morning.”

“All right bet, see you in the morning.” And he's quick to hang up.

You take the phone off your ear and look at it confused for a bit, until Donghyuck breaks the silence. “Everything all right with Mark?”

“Yeah,” you say as you put the phone down. “He said he's not going back home tonight.”

“Oh.”

You think of the words your brother said. “Leaving the apartment for the two of you,” and “making good use of it,” and it hits you. A little bit late, but it hits you.

“Oh…” you repeat, a surprised expression now taking over your face.

“Yeah, oh!” Donghyuck agrees. “We're having a real sleepover tonight!”

But by the excitement in Donghyuck's face, the one a little kid would show when told he's sleeping at a friend's, you aren't convinced he thought the same way you and Mark did.

(The last day at your brother's) Tuesday, 09:12 a.m.

The next morning, you wake up pretty confused. When you open your eyes, you're not sleeping at your usual spot. Your surroundings look very different from the living room where you've been sleeping every night. To your right, you spot Donghyuck's desk, filled with physics books, a pile of comics, and the typical empty Red Bull cans. The mattress also feels incredibly comfortable, soft but firm under you. But the most strange thing is the weight over your body, and a cologne you know very well and like very much flooding your senses. That's when you realize Donghyuck is laying all over you, stretched like a starfish.

You laugh and struggle to take your arms under him, and when you wrap them around the boy over you and squeeze, he starts to laugh too.

"Are the curtains open?" You ask in a voice still full of sleep.

He moves his head up to catch the smile on your face. "No?"

"Then why is the sun so bright in my face?"

The smile spreads on his face and he plants a chaste kiss on your lips. "You're so fucking cheesy." And he kisses you again.

“Get off,” you try to move him from over your face and your body. “I haven’t washed my mouth.”

“I don’t care,” he says, finally moving and sitting at the side of his bed, where you’re still laying in. “I’m not missing a chance to kiss you.”

“You’re sooo fucking cheesy,” you repeat his words.

“And you like me sooo much.” Donghyuck moves to the nightstand and grabs an aspirin and a can of Red Bull and brings them to your mouth. “Take, it’ll make you feel better after all we had last night.”

You sit up a little on the bed to do what he told you, and once you've swallowed the aspirin you let yourself fall back against his pillow. Donghyuck is still sitting on the edge of the bed, exchanging glances with you and holding your hand lovingly. He's wearing the Michael Jackson t-shirt that he likes so much and he's wearing his messy hair, just as you left it after pulling, fixing and messing it up while you kissed him countless times the night before.

You’re leaving today, and it’s like all the feelings you’ve accumulated these past years are hitting right now, all at once.

“I wish I could wake up like this everyday.”

“Hungover?”

“No, not hungover,” you laugh at his question. “With you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand reassuringly. “We’ll figure it out.”

You sit up in the bed and search for the energy drink on the nightstand. After a few drinks, you’ve figured the morning breath can’t be so bad, so you move to face him properly and grab his face for a real kiss. Donghyuck doesn’t take long to reciprocate and start caressing your entire body. He’s always the first one to take the kisses to other places, so you take the lead this time. You discovered last night that Donghyuck can’t resist the kisses on his neck. You start placing soft kisses, then some licks until you suck a little and he fails to suppress a moan. He laughs it off and calls your name.

“I want to ask something important,” he says, looking you dead-serious in the eyes now, all the jokes and the desire aside. After you nod in response, telling he has your attention, he takes a big breath of courage. “It may seem a little rushed, but after all we’ve shared these years and after this week we’ve spent together, I don’t want you to leave without asking you to go out with me.”

You feel the temperature increase throughout your skin. Is he finally asking you to…

“Be my girlfriend?” As if he knew you from inside and out, he finishes your thoughts out loud.

Temperature reaches your face as well as probably the biggest smile you’ve worn since you got here. You cradle his face, squeeze his cheeks with your hands until a pout is showing and you can’t help but laugh—out of nervousness but also out of happiness, from having the sun in your hands and all for yourself.

“Lee Donghyuck,” you start. “That’d make me the happiest in the world, in the universe.”

“You’re sooo cheesy!” He starts the bickering once again, yet he’s sealing your deal with a kiss on your smile and, of course, you’re returning the affection.

(Later that) Tuesday, 03:30 p.m.

You’re standing in the building’s hallway while your brother struggles to lock the door to the 12-7 apartment. Donghyuck is patiently holding your suitcase, waiting for Mark to be done. They’re going to accompany you to the bus stop that’s coming at four p.m. so you can finally go home to the rest of your family and your normal life—you’ll be back studying and working in a few days, after spending Christmas with the family and Donghyuck, who promised to be there to join the Christmas lunch at your home and—maybe, if he doesn’t chicken out—present himself as your boyfriend to your parents.

“We need to change the door lock before y/n moves in here,” Mark says after finally locking it.

“What?” Donghyuck and you ask in unison. “Moving here?”

“You’re not moving in with Donghyuck? I thought I’d finally be free from him,” your brother answers, kind of disappointed, but not as disappointed as Donghyuck after noticing how bad your brother wants him out.

“But where will you go?” You ask him.

“I made plans to share the floor with Yuta.”

“That motherfucking japanese!” Donghyuck screams following Mark down the hallway, and you palm his back trying to reassure him, but your boyfriend won’t calm down. “I swear he wants to steal my best friend from me! He’s so jealous of my life!”

“What would he be jealous of, Donghyuck?” Your brother asks tiredly, and you know he’s rolling his eyes even if all you see is his back opening the building’s front door.

“Of our last-longing, incredibly unique friendship, of-fucking-course!” Donghyuck answers like it’s obvious.

“I’m pretty sure you just kept this friendship to get with my sister.”

“Mark?! That’s not true. I love you, man. Mark-Mark, come on!”

taglist: @matchahyuck @sundamariis @thesunsfullmoon @babyjenono @chenfleur @bettyschwallocksyee @sundhaelatte @injunier @justalildumpling @lanadreamie @dhyucktopia @143rachafm @minkyuncutie @bbh-kji @minhosprettywife

#haechan #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #lee donghyuck x reader #zh-lele

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 days ago

Text

Sweet Treat

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You bake one of your favourite fall treats for your coworkers but one of them takes it to mean more than it does.

Characters: Tony Stark

Note: this is the fourth of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The leaves feel more vibrant as you walk along the autumnal street. Clusters sit at the base of street poles and the brisk wind nips at your cheek and nose. You tuck your chin into your woolly scarf and hug the container of treats closer.

You stifle a yawn. Your exhaustion is well worth the output. You spent most of the night baking. It’s a hobby for you and now that you have your first steady job, you have the funds and the space to do it. And as the newbie in the office, it felt right to add a bit of warmth to the office culture.

To be honest, you’re trying to fit in. Since you started your desk job, you’ve felt that pressure. It’s all new to you and you feel like every day is a learning experience. Everyone else seems so settled and sure. It’s not like a retail gig where you’re all just trying to get through another day.

As you get to the front door of the building, your met with a familiar face. Rhodey flicks two fingers in a half-wave and drawls out ‘morning’ as he opens the door for you. You thank him and enter the lobby.

He trails you along the polished tile and you both stop before the metallic doors of the elevator. He taps the button as you tap one heel impatiently. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“What’s all that?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” He wonders.

He’s always nice. He interviewed you and helped you on your first day. He’s too busy for you to run into each other very much, but he’s always pleasant.

“Yes, you have to wait until you get upstairs to find out.”

“Oh, maybe I should see if I can beat the elevator,” he kids and looks at the door to the stairs. You chuckle. The doors ahead of you slide apart. “Ah, nevermind, seems like fate is on my side.”

He gestures you in ahead of him. The ascent is smooth enough. You’re never a fan of the rising sensation that makes you woozy. You step off thankfully, clutching the container firmly to your stomach.

“Well, I should find my desk,” you say.

“Hey wait, what about the surprise?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you face him and slide your arm under the container. You peel the corner of the lid back with your other hand and smile, “apple pastries. Hope you like ‘em.”

“Homemade?” He asks as he reaches for one.

“Sure are,” you chime. “I have napkins in my bag but my hands are kinda full.”

“Nah, I don’t mind a mess,” he sniffs the dessert, “think this will go well with my coffee.”

“Let me know if you like it,” you smile.

“Oh, you will know. I might just try to sneak a second,” he says and turns to head off towards the executive offices.

You shut the container and wade through the desks to your own. You put the container down and strip off the layers of your scarf, gloves, hat, and coat. You finally get yourself set as Marissa shows up.

“Do you smell cinnamon?” She asks as she wiggles her nose and plunks her insulated cup down.

“Yes, I do,” you take the lid off and gesture to the container. “Want one?”

“Hm, apple?” She asks and you nod. “What’s this all about?”

“I don’t know. I made them so I thought I’d share.”

“Huh, that’s sweet,” she remarks dryly as you offer her a napkin. “Enjoy that optimism while it lasts.”

Your cheek twitches. You notice that about the people here. Even if something good happens, they’re suspicious about it. They want to know why or the expect something horrible to follow.

As more people shuffle in, you offer them a pastry. Everyone seems to like them so far. Yet, you still have lots to go around.

You get up and Marissa glances over, “any more?”

“Well, yeah, I was going to go offer them to the managers.”

“Oh,” she darts her eyes way. “Good luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, just... interrupting for a pastry... kinda... non-productive.”

“Oh, right,” you pout, “maybe I could just leave them in the breakroom.”

“Probably a better idea.”

You’re disappointed. You know the execs rarely go that far. Still, she’s right and she would know better than you.

You take the container and pass between the other desk. As you pass the hallway to the exec spaces, you nearly collide with someone else. He barely seems to notice until you squeak and save the desserts from spilling.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you eke out as the man struts by only to scuff to a halt.

He turns back to you, a pinch between his brows and a tick in his cheek. You clamp your mouth shut as his dark eyes penetrate you. It’s him, Mr. Stark, the big boss. You’ve never seen him this close-up. You panic and look around as a hush falls across the office.

“Would you like one?” You ask out of sheer helplessness. You offer up the container and his eyes slowly descend. His expression doesn’t change.

To your surprise, he steps closer. He reaches into the container and takes one of the pastries. He examines it then turns away without a word. You stare after him in fear of your livelihood.

You wait until he’s gone and scurry into the breakroom. You put the container on the counter and catch your breath. Oh gosh. You just blew it, didn’t you? Over something as stupid as desserts. You shouldn’t be handing out treats like Santa Claus, you should be working!

You put your head down and march out. You go directly back to your desk and sit. You feel eyes on you. Marissa wheels closer. “Told you. Don’t bother the big guys.”

🍏

The windows are dark as you finally log off. It’s no coincidence that you’re the only one left in the office. It might be futile but you hope the extra work might save you from the fallout of your unfortunate run-in earlier.

You cross the office floor and dip into the breakroom. You claim the empty container from the counter. You’re happy that your hard work didn’t go to waste, at least.

You return to your desk and snap the lid on. You gather up your coat and pull on your hat and scarf, leaving your gloves in your pocket. You pack up your bag and sling it on your arm, clutching the container against your hip.

You push your chair in and turn. You nearly shriek, instead swallowing it to a squeal, as you find someone else standing across the space. You put your hand to your chest and gasp.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you,” you gulp. It’s Mr. Stark. Great, you don’t think you’ve done enough to stop the inevitable.

He comes closer, sliding his hands into his pockets as he approaches. He’s silent as he measures you with a long gaze. The silver at his temples twinkles against the darker strands. He stops at the corner of your desk.

“You all out?” He nods to the container.

You flinch, “um, yes, sir.”

“Too bad. Tasty,” he says. “And that little heart in the pastry... nice touch.”

“Oh,” you’re surprised by his praise, expecting a full remonstrance. “Thank you. I... I just thought it was cute but, er, sorry, I don’t mean to chatter. I should go.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, “another late night.” He clucks and glances around the empty office. “You know, that really... made my day. Not much to look forward around here.”

Your brows rise and you smile, unsure how to respond.

“Feel like I owe ya more than a thanks,” his forehead lines as he tilts his head, “and I gotta grab something to eat,” he checks his watch and sighs, “all my meetings went long so could I pay you back?”

“Uh, sir,” you wonder.

“You like shawarma?” He intonses.

“Shawarma?” You repeat, surprised.

“I know, I know, a guy like me is supposed to live off caviar and fine steaks. You ever just get the craving for something....” he pauses and pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Nasty?”

You chuckle, “um, sure. I sometimes order fast food.”

“So? Unless...” he hesitates, “you’re busy? Looks like you’re running behind too.”

“No, sir, that’s very generous. Um, I... yeah, I could... I could go for shawarma,” you agree, relief flowing over you. You don’t think he’s going to fire you unless it’s a trick.

“Great, let me just grab my jacket.”

🍏

Dinner is delicious, though a bit awkward. Your guilt isn’t lessened as Mr. Stark insists on paying for it. You tell him you can handle it but you don’t argue that much. He’s still your boss.

You pull on your jacket as you leave the restaurant. He holds the door for you. You’re already mentally preparing to tuck into bed.

“That was nice. If I don’t have some business lunch or dinner, I usually eat alone,” he scoffs as he comes up beside you.

“Oh? Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Just as much as that special treat you made me,” he says.

“Uh, yeah, well, I like baking--”

“You know, no one ever offers me stuff like that. They all just get quiet when they see me. Can’t even look at me,” he grumbles. “But you smiled at me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s... they’re just intimidated, I’m sure. Because you’re so smart,” you say.

“What about you? You’re not?” He asks as you stop next to his sleek red car.

“No, I am,” you admit. “I’m the newest person in the office, everyone intimidates me.”

He looks at you long and hard, “really?”

“Well, yeah, I’m still learning how to do everything.”

“Who?” He asks.

“Who?”

“Who’s being mean?” He growls.

“What? No, sir. It’s not—no one’s mean. I didn’t say that.”

“Because if someone’s messing with you, I’ll happily have a special meeting with them,” his expression darkens.

“No one,” you avow. “Sorry, I must’ve said it the wrong way.”

��You did nothing wrong,” he counters.

“Right, er...” you peer over your shoulder, “I should go catch a bus--”

“A bus?” He echoes.

“Sure, it’s almost nine o’clock,” you look at your fitbit.

“My car’s right here, get in,” he says.

It’s a command and you’ve pressed your luck far enough. You nod and thank him as he opens the door. You sit in the low seat and hug your bag atop the empty container. He shuts you in and strolls around to the other side.

As he sits in front of the steering wheel, his cologne clogs your nose. It’s definitely expensive. You squirm in the seat. You’re tired and a bit impatient to be home. You still have to go to the office early tomorrow.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes instead.

“Lease I can do,” he says. “Where do ya live, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? The epithet tweaks your ear but you try not react. You worked in retail, a lot of men love that word. You give him your address.

“Really? All the way over there?” He asks. “Girl like you shouldn’t be done there,” he tuts.

“It’s not that bad,” you assure him.

You drag your hand up your cheek, trying to wake yourself up. You’re exhausted. You’re so used to the 9-5 that you’re ready to flop into bed.

You zone out at the engine hums. The soft motion of the turns lulls you and it isn’t until you’re halfway in the other direction to your apartment that your instinct kicks in. You sit up and look around.

“Where are you going?” You ask in a panic.

“I live closer, sweetheart. You can crash at mine,” he says.

“Your-- no, Mr. Stark, I can’t do that. If you don’t want to drive me, I can get an uber.” You pull on the zipper of your purse and he hits the brakes. You lurch forward as he reaches over and clasps onto your hand.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says.

“Mr. Stark?” You babble. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why won’t you take me home?”

He’s quiet. His eyes fall to his hand and he lets you go. He grips the wheel again but doesn’t go. He sighs and tilts his head back.

“You gave me that pastry. With the little heart.”

“I gave them to everyone--”

“No, but you gave one to me.” He insists.

“Sir,” you sniff. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you--” He turns to look at you, “no, no, no.”

He fixes his gaze straight ahead and presses on the gas again. He rolls forward and turns down another street. You unzip your purse and once more, he stomps on the brake. You lurch forward and the seat belt digs into your chest as your bag falls onto your feet.

“Don’t touch that phone,” he snarls.

“Sir,” you sit back, rubbing where the belt bit into you, “sorry.”

“It’s just... I can’t see where I’m going with the glare,” he exhales shakily.

“Okay,” you whimper.

He drives on. You don’t move. Your heart is racing. You don’t understand what’s going on.

He enters the nicer neighbourhoods. Where the houses have that modern boxy feel, tall glass windows for walls, and iron gates around trimmed hedges. Their residents spends as much time there as their vacation homes on the next continent.

He hits a button and steers toward one of the gates as it slides open on a motor. He rolls through as you sink into yourself. This must be his house. You’re still spinning with the suddenness of it all. From the office to dinner to this. One moment stoic and silent, the next smiling and kind, and now...

As you look at him, his eyes are so dark that the swallow the glow from the dash and the security lights mounted on the house. He shifts into park and kills the engine. You twiddle your fingers and watch him. He reaches over and presses the button on your seat belt.

You wince and look away as he trails his touch up your arm and to your shoulder. He walks his fingers up over your collar and along you neck. He traces the curve of your jaw as you shiver.

“You gave me something sweet, baby,” he grabs your chin and makes you look at him again. “I just wanna return the favour.”

He leans across the space between your seats and pushes his lips to yours. You murmur and grab onto his wrist. You feel the tendons tense as he squeezes you tighter. His mouth parts from yours and he presses his forehead to yours. You’re locked in his hold, paralysed.

He hums and licks his lips, “You taste just as good.”

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #fic #iron man #tony stark x reader #mcu #marvel #avengers #autumn

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johannestevans · 1 year ago

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Repentance & Forgiveness

Our Flag Means Death. Rated E, Frenchie/Izzy Hands, WIP, 76k+.

Held hostage by Blackbeard on the Queen Anne, Frenchie can't sleep.

Desperate to just get whatever he can away from crew of the Queen Anne's Revenge, he knocks on Izzy's door and invites himself in.

Slowly unfolding relationship between Frenchie and Izzy Hands, as well as an exploration of their relationships with Edward Teach and the rest of their crews, delving for Frenchie into what it means to really experience one's feelings, to get into touch with and truly grapple with the depths of one's worst experiences; and for Izzy and Ed, into what it means to transgress, to repent, and ultimately to be forgiven.

---

“Why do you ask so many fucking questions?” asks Izzy softly as he sinks further down on the bed, and Frenchie stays close, puts his cheek against Izzy’s chest instead of against his side, feels the warm, fat swell of his pecs, a more comfortable pillow than lower down.

“I want to know who you are,” says Frenchie. “I want to talk to you. You’re not exactly good at small talk, Izzy – when I ask questions, you answer sometimes.”

“Do you want me to ask you questions?” asks Izzy.

“Yeah,” says Frenchie, stupidly, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know why he says it, because it’s such a ridiculous thing to say, it’s obviously Izzy asking it rhetorically or to take the piss, he’s not actually asking, and now Frenchie’s embarrassed himself and shown himself off as, as needy, or pathetic, or something, but it’s too late now, it’s out. “I mean— that’d be nice.”

“Nice,” repeats Izzy. “You like it? Being— being fucking… asked?”

“I like it when people show an interest in me, yeah,” says Frenchie.

“Oh,” says Izzy. Frenchie takes hold of Izzy’s wrist and he pulls his hand up, pulls it up to his head, and Izzy goes, “The fuck are you doing?” and then makes a noise when Frenchie works his fingers into his hair. He’s frozen for a second, but then he moves his hand, presses right against Frenchie’s scalp and touches through his hair. “Am I hurting you?”

“How could you be hurting me? By stroking my hair, you literally think you might be hurting me?”

“I didn’t know I was stroking your hair,” murmurs Izzy, but he puts both of his hands in Frenchie’s hair now, presses his fingers in against the scalp like Frenchie had tugged him to, and Frenchie exhales at the sensation of it, Izzy’s blunt nails (he trims and cleans them as obsessively as he does everything else) scratching over the skin. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” says Frenchie, curling in closer, sliding his knee against Izzy’s leg, touching his fingers against Izzy’s other side, gripping at him. His eyes are burning again even though he won’t be able to cry, and he closes his eyes, goes limp as Izzy keeps working to massage the scalp. “You scared you’re going to pull my hair?” he asks, and Izzy’s hands freeze.

“Am I pulling your hair?” he asks.

Frenchie laughs, and his chest fucking hurts, pangs right down inside it, and he uses his grip on Izzy’s hip to pull himself up, and he puts his mouth against Izzy’s, feels the warmth of his lips.

“The fuck?” asks Izzy, but he kisses Frenchie back, slides his hands down to cup his cheeks as Frenchie half-falls between his legs, coming to straddle his thigh, his knee between Izzy’s. “That what you want? For me to pull your hair?”

“Can we just do this?”

Izzy’s hands come back up, and another works its way right against his scalp again, scratches gently at the skin, and he feels the shift of the weight of his hair, feels how fucking warm Izzy’s fingers are, why does such a cold little man give off heat like a furnace?

He strokes on the other side, pulls and tugs at the curls, and then his hand comes down a bit, his fingers playing over the back shell of Frenchie’s ear. It tickles, makes his skin tingle and feel warm, and Frenchie shivers, leaning into the pressure of Izzy’s touch.

“You should pierce this,” murmurs Izzy, squeezing the lobe between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll do mine if you do yours,” says Frenchie.

Izzy laughs, which Frenchie thinks is a no. “I can’t have an earring.”

“Why?”

“It’s a hazard.”

“Lots of pirates have earrings.”

“I’m not lots of pirates.”

“What, you face some kind of unique fucking danger that means you can’t wear an earring?”

Izzy doesn’t say anything.

Frenchie’s stomach does a sudden, painful wrench. “Wait,” he says, “wait, do you mean—”

“Go to sleep, Frenchie,” says Izzy.

Read on Ao3

#our flag means death #izzy hands #frenchie #frenchie x izzy #ouizzy #musings #fanfic

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canonicallyobserving911 · 6 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

Season 7 FANON FanFic: Buddie Multi-Chapter - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 29 will be posted soon.

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Currently 28 chapters completed: 1.77M Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

{Previous snippet}

___________

I'm excited to finish writing Chapter 29 because at the end of Chapter 28, it was early in the morning and Buck and Eddie were lying in bed having a serious conversation about whether Eddie's going to delay the pursuit of his second paramedic certification, the ACP-C. Buck doesn't want him to give up his dream, especially now since they know what caused Buck's bradycardia and he's on medication. He's doing better and even though he's still grieving, he believes once he passes the last two stages of grief, Frank may clear him to return to work but he's still not sure if he wants to go back to being a firefighter. Also, Eddie's FMLA ends on January 31, 2024 but the question is will he extend it or return to the 118?

Additionally, Chris is still dealing with one of his classmate's lack of participation in their video game project and it's stressing him out. Furthermore, during their last group therapy session, Buck had a conversation with Captain Jeshan Mehta and he asked him if they could meet so he can get an objective viewpoint from someone about whether he could be a captain someday with the LAFD. He decided not to ask Bobby since he doesn't believe he'll give him an objective viewpoint because in September 2022, he told him he needed more life experience. Things are getting interesting as the Diaz family gets closer to their "New Beginnings".

__________

Here's another snippet from Chapter 29 of Buck and Chris inside of Super Target but something happens that causes Buck to come face to face with someone from his past and it causes him to enter protective dad mode so he can get Chris to safety.

___________

Buck and Chris are inside of Super Target shopping for a frame to put the adoption certificate in.

After looking at several options, Chris points to a black matte frame and asks, “What about this one?”

“I like it but it doesn’t look like it’s big enough. Let’s check the dimensions.” He replies then he lifts it off the hook, reads the sticker and proceeds to put it back but he pauses when Chris starts talking.

“There are some more frames over here.” He says as he starts walking down the aisle.

Chris is 13-years-old but they still don’t let him wander inside of a store without one or both of them beside him. Mainly because they don’t want to catch a damn criminal case for whooping someone’s ass if they’re being an idiot or worse a predator.

He’s lifting the frame as he says, “Hold on Chris, wait for me. I’m on my wa…” but he trails off when he hears someone start talking to him.

“You’re Eddie Diaz’s kid, aren’t you?”

At the sound of that voice, Buck freezes for a millisecond as his body fills with fear and he becomes paralyzed. Everything starts happening in slow motion but he doesn’t have to look up to know who’s speaking because he recognizes their voice.

In conjunction with the fear he’s feeling, blind rage emanates throughout his body but he’s not sure how he can feel both emotions at the same time. When he turns his head to the right to look at Chris, he almost gives himself whiplash.

When his fingers release the frame, it falls, bounces off the shelf and hits the floor.

His fatherly animal instincts kick in and he moves without thinking about anything else except for their son. In this moment, his primary concern is to protect him because the fool that’s talking to him must have a death wish. He’s glad he has long legs because he makes it to him in less than one second.

Chris asks, “Who are you?”

“I know your dad and Buck. Isn’t that right Buckley?”

He’s trying to control his emotions and not make a scene as he protectively stands in front of Chris and positions himself so his 6.2’ inch frame creates a barrier between them. While maintaining eye contact with them, he speaks in a low voice to his son.

“Chris, go find a Target employee, they’ll be wearing a red shirt, khakis pants… and uh, they’ll have a name tag on their shirt. When you find them, stay with them, tell them I’m on aisle 34L, I’m an LAFD firefighter and I need immediate assistance. Ask them to contact security and tell them to call the police”.

“But Buck, I…” Chris replies as he moves to the side but Buck’s quicker and he continues to stand in front of him blocking his line of sight.

“Now Chris! Please! I need you to go, ok?!” He says a little louder than he intends to.

“Ok.”

As he squares his shoulders with the person standing in front of him, he hears Chris turn around and he listens until he doesn’t hear his crutches anymore.

Like a volcano, the words that have been sitting on his tongue for months, erupt like hot lava. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He asks in a low voice because he doesn’t want to create a scene.

While smirking, the person standing in front of him moves closer and challenges him like they want some of this Diaz fire.

Since they didn’t verbally respond, he says, “Hear me and hear me clearly, as long as I’m alive, you better not ever speak to him again!”

“Certainly, you know that I can arrange it so you’re not alive anymore.”

He’s undeterred by that but he replies, “What the actual fuck were you doing talking to my son?”

“Your son?”

“That’s right! He’s mine and Eddie’s son.”

“Oh… you must have forgotten to send me an invitation to your wedding. But anyway… I was in the neighborhood; I saw you and him come in and I thought I’d say hi because I never got the chance to meet him.”

It’s in this moment, he realizes they’ve been stalking him and Chris and he knows he needs to put a stop to it. He says, “If you ever come near me, my husband or our son again, I’ll kill you!”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fucking promise!”

Who is Buck talking to like that? 👀

Who's been stalking him and his family? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Will Buck's bradycardia resurface because of this encounter? 😉😜

___________

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it. But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago. They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial. But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories. Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie. It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Buck, Eddie and Chris are finalizing their ‘To Do’ Lists, double checking their itineraries and packing their suitcases in preparation for their trip to Europe so they can board their flight that departs Los Angeles, CA on Friday, December 15, 2023 at 3:25PM.

Chapter 22 - While Buck, Eddie and Chris spend the first 8 days of their European family adventure in Italy, their primary reason for going will be fulfilled as well as several others they hadn’t considered or anticipated.

Chapter 23 - As the Diaz Family continues their Italian family adventure, they’ll say, “Ciao” or hello and goodbye to a lot of things almost immediately after they become an official and legal family.

Chapter 24 - After Buck, Eddie and Chris arrive in London, England on December 24th; the Diazes immediately start preparing to spend their first family Christmas together. During their stay, each of them will hear a few choice words that will be the life raft to get them home to complete their searches to be seen and to be found.

Chapter 25 - After spending more than two weeks in Europe, Eddie, Buck and Chris are back in Los Angeles and they’re getting ready to attend Maddie and Chimney’s New Year’s Eve party. During the event, they have plans to make two surprise announcements but the question is, who’s really going to be surprised, the Diaz family or their found family at the 118?

Chapter 26 - Buck and Eddie are once again faced with their greatest fear of losing each other but this time it could be permanent and if it is, then they won’t be able to spend the rest of their lives together.

Chapter 27 - After Buck resumes therapy, he’ll continue to face the fact that he “DIED” in March 2023 and during those sessions, he’ll learn about the 7 stages of grief. As he continues his healing journey, Eddie will be right by his side just like he promised and the Diaz family will start to deal with their three minutes and seventeen seconds loss as a family.

Chapter 28 - Two years ago, Eddie was asked, “What are you afraid of?”; twice, once by Frank and once by Buck but he only answered one of them without deflecting. Since that time, he’s been to therapy and him and Buck got married but the question resurfaces when Frank asks Buck the same question and Buck asks it of Eddie for the second time. However, when Buck asks, his reasoning will be about something else entirely.

Chapter 29 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-28 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #The Diaz Family #911 on abc #911 abc #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #ao3 fanfic #Fanonwriter2023 on AO3 #Hiatus Reading #Married Buddie #“I'm still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”#Chapter 29 will be posted soon.#WIP Wednesday #buddie wip

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kingdaddydaichi · 11 months ago

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☆ title: redefining (ch. 11) | ( ch. 10 ) ☆ ( ch. 12 - wip )

☆ pairing: cop!daichi sawamura x single mom!reader

☆ wc: 2.5k

☆ synopsis: four years after leaving your toxic ex, you find yourself a single mom to a 11-year-old boy named musubi, who harbors a lot of misdirected anger. you hear from his fifth grade teacher, mr. suga, more often than your own mother and a resulting friendship is born. meeting suga’s best friend wages a war between your head and your heart - one that challenges everything you think you know about love and police officers. neither are to be trusted. both have left you lost and scared when you needed them the most. so, when a cop comes knocking at love’s door, just how strong is your resolve to keep your heart under lock and key?

☆ warnings/notes: sfw. cop!daichi. mutual pining. angst. domestic disturbance. fear. idk like, the way daichi talks to subi might come across as patriarchal? but it's the way i feel like daichi would speak to him under the specific circumstances, how he knew he would get through to him. i am deeply sorry for the massive real-life time gap between chapters //sob. but i'm committed to finishing this series. my love for daichi and this story is settled deep inside my bones. I'M BACK BITCHES /aff 🫶🏼

she's falling in love now losing control now fighting the truth trying to hide but i think it's alright, girl yeah i think it's alright, girl

losin control - russ

Life can be a rip-roaring bitch sometimes, y'know?

The first week or so after your fallout with Daichi had been relatively easy. The fact that you were still angry at him helped a lot more than you'd have liked to admit. The battle to get him off your mind was constant, but all you had to do was remember the way his eyebrows angled inward when he yelled at you. You’d never seen him like that before and it had scared you, triggering your fight or flight response on top of the heart-wrenching pain of seeing him being a little too friendly with his ex.

But what you kept pushing down with all of your might was the fact that daichi was right. He had called you on everything you’d worked so hard to hide from him. The fact that he’d seen you so clearly scared you more than the look in his eyes when he raised his voice at you. He had been angry, yes. But a lot of hurt had weaved its way into his words as well.

Halfway through the second week, however, things started to go downhill. You found yourself reaching for your phone a couple of times to tell Daichi about something ridiculous or funny that had happened only for your fingers to stop short as your heart sank.

Oh. right. I'm not supposed to do that anymore.

You’d even tried venting to Suga about Daichi in hopes that he would validate you, but he wasn’t as sympathetic towards your plight as you would’ve liked: “But isn’t this what you wanted?” he'd said. “You’ve been saying that whatever the hell was going on between you two had an expiration date…” “You’re right. It’s probably better this way so you and Daichi can each find the people you wanna be with...” That last one had really dug deep - the thought of Daichi with anyone else made your heart splinter and your stomach wretch. But you had swallowed your heartache down with the lump in your throat and nodded with a meek “Yeah, exactly,” knowing deep in your bones that you didn’t mean a word of it. Suga knew it too.

The week after that was the week from hell. Crying in bed every night because you missed Daichi so much was made that much worse by your shitty week. Life could’ve just given you a normal week but NOPE. Every single day, multiple times a day, you’d pick up your phone to send him an angry text about your boss or the rude ass lady at the grocery store. Or the fact that some really, really important notarized legal documents got lost in the mail. Three trips to UPS, two trips to the post office, and $91.00 later the paperwork finally reached its intended destination via next day air. You wanted to ask him to arrest the incompetent twat who put your mailer on the wrong truck in the first place and then smile at his reaction. To top it all off, your son’s behavior had hit an all-time low. You’d been hoping that it would’ve improved after the disciplinary hearing, which Subi had attended as well but, if anything, his behavior at home had gotten worse too.

You wanted to call Daichi. You wanted him to come over and hold you as you curled into a ball against his chest. To feel his hands in your hair and his lips on your forehead telling you that ‘everything’s gonna be okay’. Because you’d believe it If Daichi was the one saying it. He’d make sure of it. But you couldn’t do any of those things and it made you cry. Like getting kicked when you’re already down.

Daichi didn’t have it much better.

He’d called and apologized to Yui, who had called him a “fucking asshole”. There was the drunk driver who had puked on him while doing his field sobriety test (he probably deserved that, he’d guessed). Then there was the day he got stuck directing traffic in a torrential downpour. The police-issued waterproof ponchos had done nothing for his wet socks and the sloshing in his shoes.

There were also all the little annoying things that kept happening to him - his washing machine quit working (mid-cycle, no less), he got a flat tire (in a different torrential downpour), he stubbed his toe one morning while getting out of bed (talk about a rude awakening) - nothing too serious but just enough to piss him off.

The worst of it was finding out his mom had to be hospitalized for Covid. She had to be on oxygen, but the prognosis was good. She was expected to be okay and eventually make a full recovery, but of course it made him worry about her nonetheless.

And through every bit of it, you were on his mind. He missed you something fierce. But some of the things you’d said still weighed on his heart:

“...how cruel can you be?” “You’re not even my type.” “Just go back in there and fuck your ex-girlfriend!”

That last one had hurt the most. Did you really think that lowly of him to think he’d do that to you?

To be fair, he also remembered some of the things he’d said to you:

“Would you have liked it better if i’d introduced you as my fuck buddy…?” “What? Not toxic enough for ya?” “...you don’t have to be a jealous girlfriend about it…!”

They made him cringe every time he remembered. Sometimes the words you had thrown at each other kept him up at night.

Tonight was one of those nights…

Daichi was reading in bed, trying to take his mind off of you when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Thinking it must be work-related at this time of night, he picked it up to see who was calling. When he saw your name on the screen, his heart wanted to claw its way out of his chest. What could you possibly want? Best case scenario was you wanted to apologize, but that could wait until tomorrow. If you didn’t want him to make you a priority anymore, he was going to honor that. Worst case scenario was you were reaching out to him for another booty call, and he was done with that.

Either way, he let your call go to voicemail, but just as he was about to put his phone back down, your text came through as three little numbers:

911

Daichi sat bolt upright and immediately tapped the call button. Halfway through the first ring, you answered. “Daichi?” You were crying and he could hear a young man’s voice yelling in the background.

He sat forward in his seat, wide brown eyes darting this way and that. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Subi,” you cried. There was a loud bang accompanied by a muffled sob from you. “He threatened to hurt me and now he’s throwing things…”

Before you could say anything else, daichi was on his feet, throwing on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before heading for his front door. “You at home?”

“Y-yes.” you were crying so hard you were wheezing. “Daichi, please…please help?”

“I’m on my way.” His voice was remarkably low and stern and comforting as he told you to go inside your bedroom, lock the door, and stay there. He made sure you didn’t have any injuries and stayed on the phone with you for the 10 mins it took for him to get there. It normally took twice that long to drive from his place to yours, but he had his blue lights on, going well over the speed limit.

“Daichi, I’m so scared,” you sobbed.

“I’m almost there, (y/n). Just five more minutes. Come on, deep breaths.” He talked you down enough that you weren’t crying as hard. “Alright, I’m here. Do you know if he’s still in the house?”

“Yeah, I can hear him. But the front door is locked.”

“Do you feel safe enough to come out of your room and open it?”

You’d heard Subi’s voice getting further away and the slamming of his bedroom door. “Yeah, I think so.”

You slowly came out of your room and hurried to the front door, nearly collapsing in Daichi’s arms when you swung it open. He hugged you and told you everything was okay. He walked inside slowly, noticing some broken glass and other, obviously thrown, objects on the floor, and called your son’s name. Your pre-teen came out of his bedroom to find a man he didn’t recognize standing in the living room.

“Who’re you?” he asked.

“I’m Daichi, a friend of your mom’s. You must be Musubi.”

Musubi narrowed his eyes at him and shrugged in response.

“What’s been going on, man?”

Your son crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe it’s none of your business.”

Daichi’s dark brown eyes remained steady on him. “Well, seeing as how your mom is my friend and she’s scared and crying, I’d say it is my business.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Wrong again. Your mom doesn’t feel safe in her own home. That’s a problem. It’s just the two of you living here, right?”

Subi shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“Then that makes you man of the house, doesn’t it?”

Your son’s eyes met Daichi’s for the first time since he first spoke to him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And as the man of the house, don’t you think it’s your job to protect everyone in it, including your mom?”

The boy didn’t respond, but his facial muscles relaxed as he maintained eye contact with Daichi. He had his undivided attention now. He was speaking to him man to man and your son was listening intently.

“It’s a big responsibility to be in your position,” Daichi went on, nodding towards you. “Your mother and her safety are under your watch. She doesn’t feel safe with you when you’re the one who’s supposed to be protecting her.” The off-duty police officer's voice remained calm and even as he tilted his head. “So tell me, Musubi: do you really think you’re qualified to be man of the house?”

You watched and listened with awe as Daichi took command over the situation, showing Subi what it means to be in full control. He leveled with your son while making him feel validated and understood. Rather than telling Subi how he should talk to you, Daichi did far more by showing him what it means to be a good man; he was teaching Subi how to treat others with respect in the way he spoke to him - by demonstrating to him that you get respect from others by being respectable.

Your son’s gaze fell under the weight of Daichi’s words. His beliefs about what it means to be a “man” had just been challenged and shaken to the core. He thought it meant being loud and aggressive, lording over others, calling the shots and expecting others to submit to him - no doubt all the tactics he’d learned from watching his father.

“You think you’re in control here? Because, from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.” The boy’s gaze followed Daichi’s as he looked around at the broken items in the room before looking over at you, still trembling and sniffling. “If you lose control, it means you don’t have it, Musubi. It’s that simple. Do we have an understanding?”

The boy’s eyes locked with Daichi’s again and he nodded.

“Good man. Now,” Daichi said with quiet authority, “Clean up the mess you made.” It wasn’t a request.

“Yes, sir,” Subi murmured as he started picking up the pieces.

You couldn’t believe the words that just came out of your son’s mouth. Yes, sir? You looked up at Daichi - The Musubi Whisperer - wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Never even raised his voice and had him under his complete command.

“(Y/n), can I talk to you for a minute in the kitchen?” Daichi said it just loudly enough that your son could hear how his mother should be talked to - by asking, not demanding.

“Of course.” You followed Daichi until your son was out of earshot, then whispered, “How the fuck did you just do that?”

Daichi shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of experience. Oldest of 5 kids. Team captain. Cop.” You smiled and nodded, wiping the last of your tears away. He put a tentative hand on your shoulder. “You okay, (y/n)?”

“I think so,” you sniffed, wiping your freshest tear away with your shirt sleeve. “I’m so sorry to have troubled you, but you were the first person i thought of-”

Daichi shook his head and pulled you into his arms. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you called me.”

Whether it was the catharsis from the highly charged situation or your need to feel Daichi close was irrelevant when you fastened yourself to him. Before you could think, your arms were around his waist and your head tucked against his chest.

“Thank you,” you said, your shaky voice muffled by the warmth and weight of Daichi’s arms wrapping tightly around you.

“If it happens again, call me again. If you need anything at all, call me,” he said, rubbing your back. This was the Daichi you’d known all along and fucking hell, you missed him.

You tightened your hold around his waist. You were so immensely relieved to hear him say that. Maybe he still wanted to be the one you called. Just maybe he wanted to be the one you needed.

“I will,” you said, nodding against his chest.

Before he left that night, he shook Subi's hand. “Take care of your mom.”

“Yes, sir.” Holy hell, there it was again. Daichi hadn’t even told him to call him sir. Leastways, not with words. How did he do that?

“Do I have your word?” Daichi asked, squeezing Subi’s hand. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, I’ll stop by in a couple days to see how things are going," he looked at you, "...if that's okay."

Your son’s lips pursed as he fought back a smile as he watched you nod. “Okay.”

After Daichi left, Subi said, “You should find a guy like him, Mom.”

Your mouth dropped open, your heart skipping a million beats. Your son had no idea who Daichi was, what he did for a living, or the highly complicated nature of your relationship with him. Finally, you smiled and said, “Yeah? He’s a good guy, huh?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “He’s alright.”

Your son turned to you with his shoulders slumped and tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Your body shook with tears as you nodded against his shoulder. “I know, baby. I love you so much.”

Subi squeezed you tighter as he told you he loved you too.

ch. 10 ☆ ch. 12 (wip)

series mlist | daichi mlist

☆ taglist: @chaoskrakenuwu ☆ @ceo-of-daichi ☆ @honeybunny-sawamura ☆ @yuujispinkhair ☆ @luvkun4 ☆ @briokayama ☆ @mrs-sawamura ☆ @heroesfan101 ☆ @millenialfanfictionaddiction ☆ @citrustsuki ☆ @darthferbert ☆ @crystal-lilac ☆ @hannas16 ☆ @cookiesandmilksx ☆ @strawberrystepmom ☆ @anejuuuuoy ☆ @maexc ☆ @little-ms-awkward ☆ @patheticliesblog ☆ @strawbmarma ☆ @lomons ☆ @victorianhorrors @gazzybums ++ ask/dm/comment if you wanna be added to or removed from a taglist

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avacoleman · 3 months ago

Text

and like a groundhog, i have emerged from the depths to make a delivery. im slowly getting back into writing and have added more words to my wip inspired by the vow. i hope you'll enjoy! 💜💕

Henry sits up the second he hears the doorknob of the front door give way. He’s on his feet before it closes back.

His breathing is heavy as he waits for Alex to enter the living room. He’s half tempted to bombard him but he remains patient. He’s waited this long for Alex to come home at all.

A few moments later Alex comes around and the air leaves Henry’s lungs before he remembers how to form the most basic greeting.

“Hello,” he says, fiddling with his signet ring.

“Hey,” Alex answers back.

The silence that falls is so heavy, it presses firmly against Henry’s eardrums.

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the exact same time.

It’s a moment of levity that they both seem to cling to.

The full weight of all Henry wants to say bears down on him, but he hardly even knows where to start. All he knows is that an apology must be made. It doesn’t seem he’s likely to ever forget watching Alex’s face fall this morning.

“Me first, please,” Alex says, cutting into Henry’s thoughts.

Henry blinks twice and resigns, taking a seat on the couch once again as Alex comes into the room and sits on the single seater across from him.

Though Alex was keen to insist on going first, he takes a moment to parse his thoughts. Henry can’t blame him. The situation they’ve found themselves in is vast and precarious. After this morning’s fallout, they both seem to understand more than ever just how carefully they’ll need to navigate this unsteady terrain.

“Henry, I’m so sorry for what happened this morning. The way I left…that wasn’t right. I was upset, yeah, but that’s no excuse. I know this is hard on you. I can’t even imagine…,” he trails off with a sigh.

“I’m not mad at you. Not even remotely. I’m just pissed at the world for what it took from you…what it took from us. It hurts, but I want you to know that I do understand or I can at least see this from your perspective. I’m a stranger to you now. I shouldn’t have expected you to still have those big feelings.”

Alex looks down at his left hand, his thumb brushing the gold band on his fourth finger. Henry’s heart twinges.

“I think a part of me was just naive in being hopeful that something still stuck despite the accident,” Alex says quietly before looking at Henry again. “That’s on me. I was being selfish.”

Henry shakes his head vehemently.

“No, you weren’t. Anyone in your shoes would hope for the same. I only wish I could give you that.”

The urge to touch Alex is there, to reach out a hand and offer comfort, but Henry wonders if that would do more harm than good at a time like this.

Alex groans quietly, dropping his head in his hands for a moment before looking at Henry again.

“What can I do to help?” Henry asks, feeling anxious.

Alex shakes his head.

“All I want right now is for us to be friends again. I miss that just as much as our romantic relationship. I think…maybe we should stop trying to force your memories back.”

“We could make new ones,” Henry says. He’s treated to a warm smile from Alex that lights him up inside.

“Exactly. We have a new starting point. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, not if we work it in our favor. Instead of chasing after what we used to have, we can create something new.”

Henry nods twice.

“I’d like that.”

tagging @sunshineacd in case you'd like to share something this week!

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #userthai #tusersonia #tuserpaige #usernicholas #usersteen #iuserzoe #userange #uservalentina #usermimsi #kimmy writes

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blossomwritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. this is the second part of the spicy stuff. 18+ warnings under cut.

word count: 3.1k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

18+ warnings: minho and reader are extremely horny for each other. stripping/strip tease. softdom!minho. subby!femreader. teasing from minho. mutual masterbation (fingering, breast play, jerking off). minho is more demanding in this. pet names (sweetheart, pretty, darling, kitten, good girl, nothing degrading tho). multiple orgasms. overstimulation. hints of possession/ownership. dirty talk. breeding kink is alluded to. reader is pretty hungry for minho's cock lmao and can you really blame her-

a/n: ya'll 🥵 idk know WHY, but in all of the many years that I've written smut for a bunch of different fandoms, I've never written something w/mutual masterbation in it. this was fun to play around with (wink wink 😉) and I enjoyed trying my hand at smth I've never done before. that being said, this might me really bad or really fucking awesome... I have no clue- 💀 enjoy, ya filthy animals, and there is still much more 🔥 to come!! 🫣

🐈‍⬛ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋread my rules & guidelines here! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋcheck out my skz masterlist! ࿐ྂ

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. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ skz fic recs [sfw ver]! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋskz fic recs [nsfw ver]! :: 18+, MDNI! ࿐ྂ

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The bralette you were wearing slipped off easily, falling down your arms and pooling at your hips. You threw it off to the side, laying back down in your previous position on the bed. You turned to Minho, regarding him in silence. Registering his sharp intake of breath, as he finally laid his eyes upon your near-bare form.

You said nothing, silently awaiting his next orders. Because you didn’t want to do anything wrong. Didn’t want to move too quickly, only for him to step in and put you in your place. Or worse, punish you.

“Keep going.” Is all he said, eyes flicking to the bottom half of you, which was still clad in your nude panties. They were thin and quite sheer, clearly displaying the heat that pooled in the middle of your form.

Shaking your head, you gave him a lazy, shit-eating grin, “Not until you take off your shirt too.” When he gave you a quizzical eyebrow, you shrugged playfully. “Been wanting to see your bare chest all fucking night long- that shirt is such a tease.”

At your confession, he was mimicking your smile, hands already catching onto the sides of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head. “Very well. I suppose it is only fair…”

You felt the drool pooling at the corners of your mouth upon the full reveal of his chest. He was incredibly toned - a lot more than you originally expected. With proud shoulders, and the soft outline of a six-pack lining his abdomen. But possibly the worst part of it all was his pecs, which were incredibly round in muscle with pretty little pink nipples. And you wanted nothing more but to feel him... feel the hard, corded muscle underneath your fingers.

“Like what you see?” His laugh cut you away from your daydreaming - from your drooling - because you honestly couldn’t believe that you were being allowed such a privilege. For so long, you had listened to the women around you fangirl over him and his downright godly body. Never, in a million years, did you think that you’d be the one to ultimately lay your eyes upon such perfection.

And in that moment, you felt like the richest woman in the world. Because although you might not have had money in the monetary form, you had Minho. And that was a whole hell of a lot more valuable than any paycheck you had ever received.

You found your fingers looping into the sides of your panties then, as you slipped them down your legs and cast them aside. And finally- finally, you were completely bare. Showing every part of yourself to this man that you had secretly been loving and pining after for so very long.

Minho flashed you a sly smirk before he was doing the same - taking off those cargo pants of his. And when his fingers caught on his boxers, you realized that it was happening. You were going to see all of him in a few moments.

Feeling lightheaded and a little drunk off of love and arousal, you watched, in bated silence, as he pulled down the thin cotton fabric inch by inch. Purposefully torturing you with the agonizing pace. When you wined out in annoyance, he chucked lowly.

And then it was off.

And nothing else mattered.

Nothing in the entire world.

Not your money problems,

Or your shitty job,

Or your loneliness,

Or your self-esteem issues.

All of your past fears and anxieties and struggles were cast aside - forgotten - as your eyes took him in.

Ounce upon ounce of toned muscle. Thighs that were so thick, each one was bigger than your head. A strong pelvic bone that looked carved right out of a piece of marble with the utmost precision. He was all sharp lines and soft curves simultaneously harmonizing as one.

And… him.

You had never seen anything more gorgeous in your entire life.

In the past, you had always thought that your ex boyfriend in university had the best cock.

But just by looking at him, you were sorely proven wrong.

With the way that it curved slightly upward in his arousal, hardness making him rigid and stiff, displaying the thick course of a vein that ran down the length of him. And the swollen-red tip of him kept drawing your focus to his midsection.

You had no possible idea how it was going to fit.

But you knew damn well that it would feel really fucking amazing, however long it took you to get used to its sheer size.

“If your mouth remains wide open like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to take up measures into my own hands and shut it for you.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, meeting pupils that were blown wide with heated desire. “And maybe I want that.” The retort came tumbling from your lips before you even registered what you were saying.

A dry laugh fled from him then and he regarded you with that swarthy, velvety look on his face. “No, you’re going to do what I say,” his command immediately sent a zap of fire down to your core. You liked him telling you what to do. You liked him controlling you. “And what I want you to do right now is touch yourself.”

Gaze traveling down to his waistline again, one of your hands began to massage the warm skin of your inner thighs. Instinctually, your other palm cupped one of your breasts, squeezing a pert nipple as you looked on at his veiny girth.

The sight of one of his hands coming around to take hold of himself caused your heart to skip over itself in short beats. And soon, your hand was dipping into the front of you, feeling the warmth there, the wetness. It only grew and grew more, as you watched him in halted silence. His thumb toyed with his tip which was already leaking with a string of precum, spreading his seed across his milky skin, fingers tightening ever so slightly around the base of himself.

Your fingers played with your folds, index pressing against your inflamed clit. You had to bite back a flurry of moans, as you pinched down on your nipple at the same time that Minho dragged his palm up the length of himself. His entire body vibrated with euphoria, legs trembling as low grunts dripped out of him like the sweetest coat of honey imaginable.

It was so hot and romantic at the same time.

Having him, touch himself in front of you.

And you, doing the very same thing.

It was like he was inviting you in, to view such an intimate part of himself.

To watch, to listen, to understand-

The things that he did in the dark. In private. In the quiet of his own home.

In this very room.

“Minho.” His name slipped past your lips like a scared chant. Like a prayer said in the wakes of morning, by nuns across the world at their special little temples. Except you weren’t speaking it into existence because of any religious attachments. No, you were uttering his name over and over again because you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop yourself, once you got going. “Minho.” You moaned desperately again, as two of your fingers dipped into your warmth. As you moved them in and out, ever so slowly, your thumb continuing to press down on that special button of yours.

You couldn’t rip your eyes away from him. The way that his dark brows furrowed with pain - with having to hold himself back. His mouth fell open slightly, lips bitten to a swollen red bruise as he grunted in that low tone of his. He kept your focus, cheeks burning crimson red, as he played with himself. Veiny hand running up his length, before sliding down to do it all over again.

And the sound of him, of his slick sliding across hardness,

And the sound of you, your wet folds squelching every time you pressed your fingers back inside,

Did something to you.

Caused you to lose grasp of the rest of your sanity at that moment.

As you could do nothing more, but hone in on him - and the way he looked right then.

“You’re so fucking pretty, kitten,” he muttered in a gruff tone, pupils engulfed in twin pits of desire and jaw clenched tight as he pulled harder at himself. He was fully leaning back into his chair, freeing himself of all other inhibitions and throwing his entire body into the pleasure of it all. With one hand fondling his balls and the other stroking his perfect cock, teasing the red, puffy tip again and again. “Fuck- keep going… such a good girl.”

His words renewed your fire with a new kind of vigor, and you went further and further, adding a third finger. Thrusting in and out, imagining that it was him- with that solid mass of muscle, sliding in and out of your tight cunt. Because truly, it was all insanely tight. Although you played with yourself often, there was nothing quite as strong as the stretch of a cock.

Which is something that you hadn’t felt in… years.

But was something that you had been irrevocably craving for years.

Ever since you met him, at least.

With the bright, shining eyes, that knowing smile, and the faint laugh that always seemed to rest at the tip of his tongue.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and come, kitten?” His thick tone that kept speaking the excessive pet names caused the fever to stir crazily inside of you. And all at once, you felt the rise of release building steadily in the very essence of your soul. “Are you going to let go for me, hmm?”

You nodded your head frantically, making yourself dizzy with all of the wants and feelings. Your heart felt like it was about to burst, as you pushed yourself closer to the edge of orgasm. And you could tell that he was close too, from the way his face screwed up into a stark grimace and his lips pressed together in a firm, tight line.

“Y-Yes, I’m so good for you,” you breathed out, finally speaking after what felt like an eternity of nothing but moaning out his name as you desperately chased your high. Your fingers curled up inside of you, pressing into that warm, gooey spot, wondering when it’d be his fingers instead. Wondering when it would be that thick, veiny cock of his, reaching into you so far and deep and perfect. “I’ll do anything, just please- please-”

You could tell he liked the begging.

The groveling.

It seemed to travel right to his dick, causing it to stiffen up, forcing out a strangled cry from him. And then you were moving faster, brushing and thrusting, and he was moving faster too, fingers pulling and stroking.

Your entire body seized up, as a string of curses fell from your lips. Tipping off the cliffside, you allowed yourself to experience the plummet in full. “Minho- fuck, Min-” You wailed, as you finally reached your climax.

It tore through you like a tornado, hurtling you into a pit of fiery ecstasy and lust. But you forced yourself to keep your eyes open, wanting to catch the sight of his release too.

And when he finally allowed himself the liberation, a strangled cry was pushed past his lips, head thrown against the cushions of the chair, as his entire body convulsed in a wave of pleasure. "Shit- Y/N, you're so fucking beautiful... just like that…” He panted, as his blown-wide pupils rolled into the back of his head, and wave after wave crested over him, whiteness exploding into his hands and covering his toned stomach and thick thighs in a light sheen.

The sight of him-

Of his violent orgasm,

Did wonders to your own.

And you found yourself pressing down hard onto your clit once more, eliciting a few whimpers before you were nearing the brink again, this time at a faster pace. It came over you in droves, painting everything in colour. The room burst to life - as you felt the warmth spread throughout your body.

You pressed your skull into the pillow at your head, the trembling soon taking over and the fire lighting up your bloodstream in a flurry of beautiful desire. It hurt so much- yet felt so amazing all at once. It hurt, to have it be your hands that your walls were clenching around, and not be his. It hurt, that it was his fingers that were covered in whiteness and not your very insides that were coated in a thick layer.

You wanted him to paint you with it.

Wanted him to take that big, girthy cock of his and shove up into you so hard that you saw stars.

Wanted him to stay there afterward, too, milking you completely dry.

Besmearing you again and again in his very essence.

And something small and sad lit up in your heart at the realization that you would have to wait for such a thing to happen.

Your limbs were a wobbly, liquefied mess, as you began to come down from your high. Your sprawled-out form continued to convulse from all of the bliss, legs a little shaky from your two orgasms. Inside your chest, your heart was swelling against your ribcage, taking up all of the space there and making it hard to breathe.

Minho was getting up from his chair then, nearing the bed and crawling over to you, as you were still laid out atop the mattress. He leaned into your form, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and placing a few gentle kisses against your buzzing skin there. “Did so well for me, lovely,” he whispered, feathery voice fanning against your flesh and forcing gooseflesh to erupt across your entire body. “Loved seeing you like that… like how you’ve been for so many nights in the pat, and all because of me.”

Your cheeks felt like they were still set ablaze from everything, and when he moved away to catch your eyes, you smiled up at him. His hairline was damp with sweat, and you tucked a few long black strands behind his ear. “Do you have any idea how hot you are? How sexy you look when you do that- touch yourself like that?”

He chuckled, pressing a fervent kiss to your mouth and smiling against you when you returned it. He caged in your body with his arms on either side of your head, creating this sacred and safe place for you. Like, no one would be able to invade your area while he was towering over you like that.

“I’ve been told before that I am… quite attractive when pleasuring myself,” he said, as his lips trailed across your face, pecking either of your cheeks and nose and chin. “But surely- I have never reacted that strongly to a naked woman before… but then again, I suppose you, my dear, are the exception.”

You clutched onto his right arm then, nails digging into the skin there as you stared up at him with wide eyes. “When… when can we do this again? I- I want to do so much more with you, explore so much more.”

He brought himself closer again, mouth hovering over yours in a tantalizing, agonizing few seconds. You breathed in the sweet scent of him, of the thick arousal that coated the air of the room in a dense layer.

“In due time my dear, in due time… But I just want to get things right- let’s not rush into anything.”

His voice trailed off, as his mouth pressed against yours. You shut your eyes to the feeling of it all, to the warmth of love that was rapidly growing in your heart. And all at once, you felt the exhaustion of the night - of the party, of the tears, of the argument, of the confessions, of the debauchery, overtake your entire form, lulling you into sleepiness.

“But this does mean that we’re dating now, right?” You asked after he had finally pulled away from your mouth and situated himself so that he was laying on his side. You turned his way, fingers playing with a few of his unruly locks.

He brushed a thumb under your chin, caressing you with the gentleness of a lover who had been there for millennia. “Sweetheart, I never allow any woman to leave my bedroom without making her my girlfriend after the fact.”

That caused you to stop, the thoughts flooding through your mind. Because you were his. Officially, this time. Right from his mouth, he had proclaimed that the two of you were together. And like two puzzle pieces that fitted together in an ordained kind of way, you drew closer to him and nestled into his chest, closing your eyes against the exhaustion that wanted to take over your mind just then.

“I’m yours, Minho… I think I’ve always been yours since we met during my first appointment at the clinic. I was just too scared and too much of a coward to acknowledge and realize it until tonight.”

You felt his hands move up and down your back, fingertips playing at the length of your spine, before messaging into the muscle there. And like a warm vat of chocolate, you melted into his touch, a contented sigh escaping from deep within you at the gentleness of his touches. At the way that you could hear his heart beating steadily just below your ear.

“Yes,” he breathed out in a gruff voice, “you’re mine now, and I never plan to let you go. Not for anything - or anyone - in the entire world.”

The sleep came upon you quickly, after that, as you were comforted by his lovely words and the sweet tone in which he spoke them. In the way that his arms wrapped around your bare waist and his warmth flooded against you, washing your veins in an exuberant, brilliant glow of adoration and contentment.

And soon, you were riding on the waves of dreamland,

Allowing the wave of sleep to crest over your mind,

Letting go of all the pent-up feelings,

And captured thoughts,

And restless limbs.

You softened against him, allowing him to hold you close - cradle your head against his chest and press his fingers into your hips.

Because from the very beginning, that’s all you had ever dreamed of - hoped for, longed for - to be held irreversibly, in his grasp.

Like that, forever.

To be continued...

🐈‍⬛ taglist: want to be added onto my taglist? well then, comment below on this post/reblog it, and indicate your interest in my taglist and i'll add you... or, you can send me a msg and request to be added~

🌾 tags: @sleepyleeji :: @if-spearb :: @hyunes4ngel :: @drhsthl :: @seosalad :: @toomuchtellyneck :: @endzii23 :: @smally97 :: @ana-marais98 :: @sherryblossom :: @priincehoseok :: @biribarabiribbaem :: @linovely :: @lolqxv :: @linonyang :: @morningstardada :: @taeriffic :: @day6andetcetera :: @hyuka-luvbot :: @linohumina :: @urmomma0324 :: @poisonivy2 :: @/leyknxw a yellow tag means that there was an error in tagging you.

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mermaidgirl30 · 8 months ago

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I have finally started on the second part of Tear You Apart, so here is a little teaser of my angsty dark! Joel 🥹 “Dance Inside” by The All-American Rejects is fueling this chapter. Sorry I have taken so long to get this going, but it’s hard when I work so much and have a ton of wips 😭

Series Masterlist

The air is so still, the wind barely moving as you sit there in the hollow dirt with your hands reaching for life. Cold. You’re so cold, the intolerable temperature barely noticeable as your heart shatters in two.

“Go away,” he whispers, his defeated voice barely audible above the calm wind.

You shift your worn out body, crawling on your hands and knees to the man that’s torn apart. You inch closer, crawling and crawling until he barks back at you.

“Go away!” His voice is demanding, final as he lashes out at you, sharp canines biting back as he snarls your way.

Your teary eyes peel down his body, watching as he’s hunched over and clawing the earth to get a hold of himself. You see the way he carries himself, jaw clenched up and head down to his chest. One hand covers his eyes, the other sinking into the dirt as you watch a hot tear fall down his face and land in the shimmering lake.

He’s so broken, just like the black military watch that sits latched around his left wrist. Shattered glass, no ticking hands, no life to be found in the clear reflection. He’s broken, so very broken. Bruised, hollowed out, defeated.

Your heart breaks in that moment, you can barely pick yourself up. Cold, you’re so cold, but it’s not because of the wind. It’s because you feel just how torn apart he really is, and it kills you. You want to take the pain away, want to make it all just stop. Only if he’d let you, but he won’t.

Let me in. Let me in!

You take one more step and freeze when you hear him whispering to himself. “Make it stop, please. Make the pain stop. I’m not good… I’m not good for anyone.”

Oh, Joel.

You feel a tear slide down your cheek, feel your eyes become blurry with the stained tears in your eyes. He thinks he’s not good, but that’s not true. He’s good. You think he’s good.

Without wasting another moment, you run over to him and crash your body into the back of him, wrapping your arms so tight around his broad chest as you drop to the ground and put your entire weight into him.

“I told you to go away…” Joel whispers, a tortured plea that sounds a lot like a cry for help low in his voice. It comes off raspy, choking the words out as you feel another tear fall from his eyes.

He needs you. He needs you.

“I know, but I’m not leaving you, Joel. You need me just as I need you. Let me stay, please. Let me stay. I… I want to stay,” you choke out, stuttering the words as your teeth chatter together. It’s so cold, so very cold. But he’s warm and this is where you choose to stay.

“You… want to stay…” he breathes out, barely above a whisper as you feel his eyes go wide, a somber look feeding his broken mind.

Broken. He’s so broken.

“Yes, let me stay with you. Please, don’t run from me again. I… I can’t lose you. I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought you…”

You feel a warm palm flatten against the back of your hand hesitantly. He stays like that for a few seconds as you listen to his deep breaths and muted cries. And then calloused fingers entwine with yours slowly, a clear response he’s not running off again.

He stays. He stays.

#joel miller wip #joel miller #joel miller fic #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #joel angst #angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #joel miller pedro pascal #tear you apart #post outbreak joel #outbreak!joel

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werepuppy-steve · 8 months ago

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march fic rec

a monthly fic rec series to help me work through my tbr

this month i kind of shifted all of my attention on gathering all of my tbr fics and getting them more organized, so i kind of slacked on reading. but yall get a little treat, bc this one is mostly smut 👀

<- february -> april ▸ more fic recs ▸ my ao3

Ecstatic Rituals - E, series, WIP StarsHideYourFires

tags: ancient rome au, omegaverse, ritual sex, alpha eddie, omega steve, orgy, bitching, induced heat, breeding kink

A set of AUs with one thing in common: ritual sex.

just the tip - E, 4.4k, complete twelvexclara

tags: transmasc steve, established relationship, frotting, first time bottoming

The words spill from his mouth before he even realizes he’s saying them. “You can rub against it,” he blurts out. He sucks in a breath, arms tightening around Eddie as the man stiffens against him. “I mean—you can rub against me, not it,” Steve stutters nervously, averting eye contact. Staring at the dumb fucking movie that’s still playing. Steve Harrington has never let anyone fuck him. That all changes during a movie night with Eddie Munson.

Everything and More - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: domestic fluff, 90s steddie, backyard wedding, steddielovemonth

Eddie drags his hand up to Steve’s scalp, dully scratching the way he knows he likes. “Okay, I’ll indulge,” he mutters. “If we could have a wedding, what would you want it to look like?” The smile to his bare shoulder is enough to know that it was a good question.

love is stored in a can of hairspray - T, 3.1k, complete @steveseddie | mseg_21

tags: pining, first kiss, getting together

In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about the money or how it might look to Steve that he knew what hair products he uses or that he drove to another town to get them. He was only thinking about Steve’s defeated look every time someone stared at his hair or commented on it, how he self-consciously tried to fix it at work every time a customer came in, how when they hung out at his house he would hide his hair under the hood of a sweater. But now, parked in front of Steve’s house an hour before their movie night, Eddie does think about what he did- and he seriously considers leaving the bag on Steve’s doorstep and fleeing. It’s too much. It’s too ‘I have a big crush on you and I want you to be happy so bad that I drove to another town and raided the Hair and Beauty section at a store just so you can stop walking around looking like a kicked puppy’. for the prompt “love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy”

sweet little thing - E, 6/6, complete @ghosttotheparty

tags: modern au, college au, frat steve, friends with benefits, gay steve, southern eddie, autistic steve, light angst

“Steve,” Eddie repeats softly. Steve’s eyes look into his, shining like he’s already there, like he’s already floating. “If you want something, you gotta ask for it.” Steve’s eyes flutter, and he looks like he wants to let out a whine, glancing across Eddie’s face again like he’s forgotten where they are. “Fuck me,” he says weakly, and the words crawl under Eddie’s skin like they belong there. “Please. Will you please fuck me?” // or; Steve and Eddie start hooking up and it makes them both happier than it should.

Found God In A Tomato - M, 5.7k, complete @beetlesandstarss

tags: modern au, wrong number trope, falling in love

“You’re gonna think I’m insane," he says, instantly piquing Eddie's interest. “Try me.” Biting his lip, Steve reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand. He slips one of Eddie’s rings off, the plainest one, and holds it between two fingers. For a second, Eddie thinks Steve’s just gonna— put it on. Or hold his hand. Both options are appealing. But then, clearing his throat, his face changes from smug to earnest. “Eddie,” he says, a little louder than necessary. “Will you marry me?” Eddie’s jaw drops.

unexpected shelter (December 20, 1985, 4:52 p.m.) - T, 3.3k, complete @loveinhawkins

tags: eddie pov, character study, platonic stobin, missing scene

It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.

Lovesick - T, 3.1k, complete @lady-lostmind

tags: sick eddie, fluff, hurt/comfort

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. “Stevie?”

(Just Hold me Baby) And I'm in Ecstasy - E, 2.7k, complete odderstuff

tags: dom bottom eddie, sub top steve, praise kink, breeding kink, mommy kink, friends with benefits

Eddie looks Steve up and down thoughtfully. He's flushed, cheeks turned a pretty shade of pinkish red. His eyes are a little glossy, sparklier than usual and a thin sheen of sweat is forming across his hairline. His breathing has changed, just a bit; a little shallower, a little quicker, a little hitched. He's none too subtly shifted, so that the blanket is fully covering his lap. It's a lightbulb moment for Eddie, and he grins wide when he realizes. "Oh my God. This is like a thing for you, isn't it?" _ Or: discovering one of Steve's kinks leads Eddie to some discoveries of his own.

a new kind of pretty - E, 3.5k, complete

streaksofviolet streaksofviolet

tags: established relationship, praise kink, pet names, steve in panties, top eddie, bottom steve

“They still had the tags on. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking sexy you’d look in them, baby.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Oh,” Steve practically gasps, the sound punched out of him involuntarily. “Oh.” And there’s that confusing arousal again. Or: Steve and Eddie try something new.

Is That A Tent In Your Pants, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me? - E, 10.9k, complete @beetlesandstarss

tags: enemies to lovers, gay steve, forced proximity, resolved sexual tension, tent sex

Eddie eyeballs him. “You want me to get naked?” “You'll get pneumonia,” Steve says, leaning towards desperate. Fuck, Robin will actually kill him if Eddie dies out here. “I’m fine.” “This is not fine, Eddie,” Steve insists. “You’ll see my dick,” Eddie hisses. “I’m not gonna look at your stupid dick, man.” “My stupid dick? Why is it stupid?” (Or, Steve and Eddie are coerced into going camping together.)

Daisies - T, 2.8k, complete @withacapitalp | towardthesun

tags: hanahaki disease, established relationship, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort

He hacked out a few more harsh sounding noises, before he spat into his open palm, taking a relieved breath as whatever was lodged in his throat came out. Eddie would’ve been relieved too, confused, but okay now that Steve was safe. And then he saw what was in Steve’s hand. A daisy. Steve had just coughed up a fucking daisy. And, judging by the completely blasé expression he had on his face as he looked down at it, this wasn’t the first time. ====== When Steve wakes up choking on flowers, Eddie thinks that it might be the end. It turns out to be just the beginning.

I've Got a Tongue Like a Razor, a Sweet Switchblade Knife - E, 2.7k, complete BuwnyBeely

tags: cockwarming, dom eddie, sub steve, dry humping, babygirl steve

Steve Harrington likes long sessions, and likes to be /used/. He'll take anything he can get. or "No, no please. Don't stop Eds, need more. Need to be full."

Bloody Knuckles - M, 4.5k, complete sage_is_soup

tags: blood kink, dry humping, bratting, praise kink, spit kink, eddie gets into a fist fight (and wins)

A phone call from Dustin leaves Steve racing to Hawkins High. Eddie Munson is in a fist fight. He'd intended to be there as support, but when things get bloody? Steve finds his thoughts leading him astray.

Strip... Flash Cards? Yeah... - E, 4.8k, complete L0udmouth

tags: sexual tension, voice kink, dry humping, stripping, teasing, top eddie, bottom steve, virgin eddie munson

Eddie's bad at studying, Steve's a horny idiot, and horny studying antics ensue.

chronically sweet - E, 3.2k, complete babyknives

tags: drug use, voyeurism, belly bulge, chrissy cunningham is a size queen

Chrissy had thought she’d known what love was. Had grown up watching her parents exchange pleasantries across the dinner table, in the entryway when her father would leave for work. A chaste kiss on the cheek, a gentle hand at the small of her mother’s back. Quiet respect, dignity, poise. Love was something shown only in small glimpses, tiny moments. Never in public. Between a couple and the good Lord. Until she met the boys.

rocket queen - E, 5.8k, complete @strangersatellites

tags: guns n' roses au, exhibitionism, top eddie, bottom steve, rockstar eddie

Steve breaks up with his shitbag drummer not-boyfriend and fucks his frontman in the studio with the mics on.

Off the Court On the Stage - E, 7.2k, complete @stevesjockstrap

tags: basketball player steve, rockstar eddie, modern au, bottom steve, top eddie, pet names, praise kink

Basketball player Steve walks into the wrong room but it works out in the end.

Idiot - G, complete @stevebabey

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer. He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron. The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

Eternal zero - T, 3.6k, complete @loveinhawkins

tags: canon compliant, pre-relationship, s4 missing scene, survivor's guilt

“Woah, man, take it easy—” “M’fine,” Eddie mutters. He scoffs harshly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s shaking. “This is kinda normal for me now.” His head’s still half bowed, hair falling across his face like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t stop Steve from noticing the evidence of tears on his face; he thinks they’re simply from the exertion of throwing up, but he can’t be sure. “Just—just give yourself a minute,” Steve says. “We’ve got time.”

#cj talks #fic rec #steddie fic rec #march fic rec #steddie #steve x eddie

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