#also it took me like 4 years to answer these questions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simpee9000 · 4 months ago

Text

Not Just Friends - 6 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : 5.5k words

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

"Photos have been released, of the two of you," you shared a look with Katsuki from across the table, "Together. At the camping resort you went to this previous weekend."

Katsuki's PR manager was in front of you. Arms placed on the table as she clasped her hands together. Face stern and hair slicked back into a ponytail. The definition of professional. The opposite of what you looked and felt right now. You've been sweating your ass off since you got told to come in.

"Are you sure they know it was us?" Katsuki fixed his posture, sitting up straight for the answer to his question. The two of you haven't necessarily came forward with your relationship, but you haven't been hiding it. Still, you preferred to not be public. Mainly to protect your work, everyone would discredit you if they knew you had personal ties to the number two pro hero that led beyond friendship. But also because you knew the danger, you were targeted enough as his best friend.

"Yes," she said bluntly.

"Maybe they didn't see me?" you voiced your hope aloud.

"Look, they know it was the both of you," she sighed, "We need to focus on how to fix this. It needs to be address before it gets worse, and it will get worse, so I suggest acting now."

"Can I see the fucking pictures?" Katsuki ordered, sick and tired of not knowing entirely what's going on.

She clicked away at her keyboard, turning her laptop to face you two. "This was posted by a couple that were there," she showed the photo Katsuki took with the couple that almost caught you at the pond. "And this," she clicked to a photo that showed the lake, "was posted as well. You can clearly see Chargebolt, Red Riot, and Cellophane. And in the background it is also easy to see the two of you being," she coughed, "intimate. They've been able to connect the dots that it was you that he was kissing," she looked at you, "With your connection with their class."

Your stomach dropped. Words just fell from your brain. You were used to the press but not for these reasons. Mainly just for your work, or how you made all number one, two and three top heros support gear and costumes.

"So what the fuck should we do?" Katsuki crossed his arms, face scrunched in thought.

"We need you to make a statement," she paused, prepared for Katsuki to snap. He hated making statements. When all he did was nod, she continued, "We need to do this quick before rumors catch wind." Both you and her were glad that he wasn't being difficult about this.

"What rumors can even be made?" you were curious how bad the drawback could be, trying to see if you could lessen the stress for you and Katsuki.

She looked at you, an apology on her face already, "It is already being said that you are using him to get to Deku, wanting to get the best pro heroes under you." You physically winced. "It is also being said you are cheating on Deku with Dynamight."

Katsuki scoffed, rooling his his eyes as he threw his hands up, "So what the fuck do I say? This is bullshit."

"I've arranged a interview for tonight, they'll ask about it there and you will give as much truth as you want. Talk about how long you've dated and the bond you two have, you need a united front," She explained, "Deku needs to also make a statement that you have not had any romantic relations," she turned to you.

"Of course, I'll call him now," you stood up from your chair, grabbing your phone. Knowing that he was terrible with emails and likely wouldn't notice anything happened until it was too late for the press. Too focus on crime and other heroic things.

"Good, tell him to do it as soon as possible," she instructed.

You squeezed Katsuki's shoulder on your way out, leaving him to discuss about what to talk about in the interview.

Dialing Izuku's number the second you closed the door, walking towards the stairway so you could walk off the stress as you made your way to Katsuki's office, the next floor up.

He answered when you opened the door to the stairway, "Whatssup?"

"I need a favor," you immediately started with.

"What's wrong," he asked concerned. You could hear the wind blowing through his phone, he was likely jumping his way back his office.

"Could you do an interview tonight or something?" you walked up the stairs while talking to him, letting your body move on autopilot and lead the way to Katsuki's office.

"For what?"

"Katsuki's and my relationship got leaked, picture proof and everything," you confessed, "Now there's rumors that I'm cheating on you or some shit." You ran the hand that wasn't holding the phone through your hair. Before dropping it to open the stairway door, keeping your head down as you walked through the office.

"So I need to clear the air?" he concluded, you could hear him land on a building, taking a break from jumping.

"Yes, please," you sighed, "Just talk about how we're best friends. I don't think you have to do an interview, I think a social post might help, ask your manager."

"Of course, I'm happy to help," he smiled, "How are you and Kacchan doing?"

"I'm a little rattled, I didn't think this would happen," you opened the door to Katsuki's office, briefly waving to his manager. "I don't know how Katsuki is doing, he's still with his PR manager."

Izuku laughed nervously, "He's going to kill me."

"It's not your fault," you reassured, "he knows how crazy the internet is." You stood in front of the window, it was a floor to ceiling window that captured the view of the city perfectly. "Uraraka won't be mad right?" you asked, you've never been close to her but you knew her and Z were together.

"No, she'll understand," Izuku confirmed.

"Good, I would of felt horrible," the weight on your shoulders was slowly lifting.

"Well, I should talk to my manager about what to do," Izuku said his goodbyes before he hung up.

It was only Tuesday and your week was already shit. Barely got through lunch before his manager told you to meet with PR. The city was still buzzing with life, unbothered by how much yours was changing. It felt weird, to know each of the small humans from this distant, had their own life and motivation.

"Hey."

You jumped from your spot near the window, "Asshat," you said clutching your heart.

"How are you doing?" Katsuki stepped into the office, letting the door fall shut as he walked to stand beside you.

"I've been better, you?" you looked at him, his face was still scrunched with thought.

"I'm annoyed," he said plainly, "The one fucking time we kiss in public and it's everywhere."

He crossed his arms, his elbow slightly bumping you from where he stood. You hummed your agreement, "When's your interview?" The both of you were looking out the window, trying to puzzle together how to avoid the drawback.

"Right after work, with fucking Heroes' Gossip," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, knowing how much he hated every part of this.

"Was gonna happen eventually," he sighed, "Is that nerd gonna help?"

You nodded, "Yeah, he might make a social media post or something, I told him to listen to his manager."

"Good," he said plainly, letting the conversation end.

Everything was going to change now, it'd be impossible to go back to normal now. With the grief of your old life already setting in, you rested your head on his shoulder. He'd be the one stable thing, even if it got rocky.

---

You had the interview pulled up on the TV, waiting for Heroes' Gossip to introduce him. They've been teasing a surprise guest the entire show, waiting until the last few minutes to bring him on. You've been dealing with the show for the past 40 minutes with no sign of him. It was nice to watch for once though, but it felt like you were intruding on some of the topics. They brought up Mirko's lovers and then talked about spotting Best Jeanist in and out of the hospital, automatically assuming he had a horrible disease. It made you feel gross to watch.

Wondering into the kitchen you grabbed a glass of wine, wanting something to help make the show a little less painful.

When you sat back down they finally announced for Katsuki to come on. Having him grumpily stomp on set until he sat down near the obnoxious interviewer.

"So, Dynamight," she addressed him head on, "There's been some photo's leaked of you and the tech genius," she announced your name to the world. You took a long sip, trying to shake the unease feeling for being known as someone who was with Dynamight rather than a tech genius. The interviewer displayed the pictures his PR manager showed you earlier on screen, "Is this you and her?"

"Yeah," he answered flatly.

"So you and her were making out at this lake, correct?" She pushed, surprised she got this far already.

"Yeah, what about it?" you could see that he was close to snapping, face furrowed entirely as his arms were crossed.

"Despite the claims of her and pro hero Deku being together?" the interviewer smiled, glad to see she was riling him up.

He rolled her eyes, "As if she'd date him."

"Is she not?"

"No, I've been dating her for three god damn years," he confessed to the public.

The interviewer blinked in surprise, quickly getting back onto the questions, "You're not concerned they are seeing each other behind your back?"

"I've known them both since I was five, they aren't like that," he answered simply.

"That also means that they have known each other that long, you're not worried about their connection?" she pushed for more, irritated that Katsuki wasn't lashing out like normal.

"Lemme prove it to you dumbasses," you cringed at his swearing, it wasn't good press for him to swear during interviews. He was grabbing his phone out of his pocket, quickly pressing buttons before he put the phone on speaker, letting everyone listen to it ring.

"Hey," Izuku's bubbly voice echoed through the mic.

"Are you fucking with my girlfriend?" Katsuki was straight to the point, likely not having warned Izuku of his plan before hand.

"No! Why would i do that?! You know that it is just the press going on right? Anything for a story-" before he could ramble on anymore, Katsuki hung up on him.

"See?"

"Well that doesn't prove much," the interviewer was at a lost for words at this point.

Knowing that Katsuki had a handle on this, you walked back to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. All the premade dinners were eaten already so you'd have to cook something from scratch. The voices from the TV faded from your mind as your rattled through the ingredients to use. Deciding on a fried rice. You pulled out the vegetables and placed them to the side as you set the rice to cook.

Your phone buzz and you answered without a thought, "Sup?"

"You fucking Deku?" you laughed at Katsuki's angry voice coming through your speaker. "Stop laughing dumbass."

"Sorry, I just saw you call him for the same thing. No, I am not. I'll say that on a truth quirk as well," you said absentmindedly cutting up the vegetables.

"Great! We'll have you come in soon to do just that," you heard the interviewer cheer though Katsuki's side of the phone.

Katsuki grumbled, "I'm fucking out of here." You could only assume he left the set, hearing him stomp off. "Hey dumbass," his voice was near the mic, clear he turned the call off speaker as his voice was quieter and less aggressive.

"Yeah?"

"That was stupid, my PR agent is going to scream at you."

"Why?"

"Going under a truth quirk on TV is dangerous, you know so much confidental shit," he explained.

"Oh fuck," you realized how much you could spill if someone asked about too much. You felt as if the genius quirk you had wasn't much help.

"I'll be home soon," he skipped past it, saving the conversation for when he could see you.

"Okay," you nodded despite him not being able to see you, "I'm making some fried rice by the way."

"Thanks, see ya."

"Bye."

You put your phone back down, grabbing the now cooked rice and mixing it with the vegetables in a pan. You looked over the mess of the kitchen. You dirtied an extra pan for eggs last second, knowing Katsuki loved the extra protein. Walking back to the living room, you grabbed the wine glass and filed it some more in the kitchen to drink as you mixed the rice.

The rice was getting to a good mixture, just needing to heat for a little longer, you grabbed the eggs and dumped them in with the rest of the rice and vegetable, setting the pan aside on the stove.

You heard the door knob slightly move, as if Katsuki was having issues with the key. You glanced at the time, he wouldn't be over for another ten or so minutes. Fear gripped at your chest. You moved the finished pan of rice to the corner of the stove, putting the empty pan on the heat.

Before you could think of anything else to do, you heard metal fall to the ground. Turning around quickly you saw the doorknob melting off with the remains of it on the floor.

Looking towards the figure in the doorway you saw a girl, around your age. Maybe a couple years older. She looked insane, it sent a chill up your spine at how similar her glare was to Toga's. Her eyes were a bright red, her hair a darker shade as she wore torn up clothes, burn holes all throughout. As if she just got out of a fight.

"The fuck are you doing?" you forced yourself to question.

"So you're the bitch Katsuki is dating?" she ignored your question.

"How did you get up here?" you knew that the apartment probably wasn't the most secure, but you and Katsuki never had time to move. Still, security was set in place. Blood dotted her outfit as well, the smell of burnt flesh radiating off her.

She ignored you again, stepping closer. "You know, Katsuki's going to love me right? Once your out of the picture."

You couldn't help the slight laugh that slipped from your lips. Maybe Katsuki's cocky energy affected you more than you thought.

Her eyes glowed, "That funny to you?"

She was about arms length away at this point, you reached your arm slowly behind you, grabbing onto the handle of the pan. "Kinda," you shrugged.

"Such a cunt," the girl all but screeched, eyes glowing red. From the damage on the doorknob it was clear she had some sort of heat vision. Before she could burn hole through you, you picked up the pan and swung at her. Burning the side of her face and causing her to stumble. Keeping yourself aware of her eyes, you reeled the pan back and hit her straight on, letting the edge of the pan fall into her eyes.

She quickly started to grab at you, cornering you into the stove, blinded by your hits but still intent on hurting you. Digging her nails into your arm. Scratching as she managed to grab ahold of your hand during her flailing around, forcing it down onto the hot stove and burning you.

Filled with a new rush of adrenalin, you grabbed onto her hair with your free hand, yanking her off your hand and pushing her face into the stove. You felt horrible as she screamed, your and her burnt flesh tainting the air with a foul smell. Ruining the stove top in the process. You scrambled away from her after holding her down for a moment, grabbing the knife you used the the vegetables only 20 minutes ago. Almost slipping due to the wine that was spilt from her flailing around the stove.

You stole a glance at the clock, still five more minutes till Katsuki was home. All you had to do was not die in those five minutes.

The girl was standing back up when you looked back at her. Face half burnt as she held a crazed look in her eyes.

"That knife won't do anything," she pushed, "I've done my research, you hardly have a quirk. Another reason you aren't worthy of him."

You weren't interested in talking to her, you just waiting for her next move. "You know, we could end this here. Just stop fighting and Katsuki will talk to you," you suggested, throwing the offer out to distract her.

"With you in the picture, he won't talk to me," she said frustratedly. Her eyes lighting up again, having recovered from the hit to them.

She aimed for your stomach, you move to the side and crouched, kicking at her locked knees, cringing at the snap of it. The hit on your stomach burned through a lot, the pain causing you to hold a hand on yourself. While you were trained to survive, you couldn't handle it. The blood, the pain, the guilt that already worked its way into your bones. She fell down with a yelp. Pulling you with her, before she could get her other hand on you, you stabbed one hand through a cabinet. You stood up as straight as possible, pressing your slipper covered foot onto her head, forcing her to face the cabinet and away from you. Placing your other foot onto her free hand so she couldn't grab at you.

You wheezed, clutching both hands at your side now, pain getting to you. The girl was crying now, "My face! He won't love me if I look deformed." Her heat vision flickered on and off, burning a hole through the bottom cabinet. Slowly destroying your home with Katsuki.

"Shut up," you hissed, stepping on her hand harder.

The injury was getting to you, it was mostly cauterized but her heat vision burned a good depth into your side.

Katsuki kicked the door fully open, snapping his head to look at you. You most of looked crazy. Wearing his shirt from high school, barely visible shorts, fuzzy Deku themed slippers and standing above a very injured girl while bleeding from the wound of your side.

He stepped towards you, lifting you off the girl and making you sit on the floor next to the door. "Cops were already called by the way," he answered your question before you thought of it. "They'll be up here soon." He walked back to the girl who was panting now, going into shock from the pain, something you think you shared with her. He cuffed her quickly, making her quirk shut off. You couldn't be more thankful that he wore his hero outfit home.

With the girl contained, he walked back to you, "Is it just your side?"

You nodded your head aggressively, in too much pain to form words. He lifted the side of your shirt, wincing before putting it back down. Moving to pick you up and carry you.

"I need to get you to the hospital," he claim.

"What about that girl?" you forced out, sucking in a deep breath after. Eyes getting fuzzy as you looked at him.

"She tired herself out," he confirmed, the girl passed out and you felt like doing the same. Eyes blinking without any of your control.

"Kats?"

"What?"

"It hurts," you were only speaking to stay awake, not wanting to scare him anymore then you knew he was.

"You'll be okay, I promise," his voice waivered as he moved through the hallways, you didn't even know where you were at this point. The background slowly turning into black until you blinked the rest of the image away.

---

Everything was too bright, too loud, too stale when you woke up. You couldn't even open your eyes but you were overwhelmed. You're mouth lacked any taste besides meticalic. Muffled voices came from somewhere in front of you, a room away likely. You braced yourself heavily before opening your eyes. Seeing Katsuki in a chair pulled up to your bedside, book in his left hand as his right hand held onto yours. Flipping a page by placing the book into his lap and using his left to flip it. Never once letting go.

The light blurred everything but him, you could only put together the fact that you were in the hospital. He was wearing his glasses, the ones he hardly wore unless he was stress. It was always harder for him to read when stressed, to lessen the strain, he wore the glasses.

"Bright," is what you decided to croak out, voice rough from sleep and likely screaming from the events. Everything was blurred already.

His basically jumped out of skin at the sound of your voice, letting the book fall from his lap as he stood up straight. Looking over you.

"Lights off," is what you groaned next, unable to keep your eyes open in the blare of it for long.

"Fuck sorry," he rushed to turn the light off before returning to your side. "How are you?"

You only looked around now, happy to be without the strain of the light. Your right hand was covered in bandages, from where the girl slammed it against the stove. With how bad it hurt, you worried for her face. Your left side was also heavily wrapped. She burned entirely through you, you remember how burned your walls were before you passed out. Multiple cabinets having holes in them. "Our home is all messed up," you focused on.

Katsuki let out a laugh, it was his laugh that showed you were being ridiculous, when you looked back up at him with a frown he returned it, "You can't be serious?"

"I am," you pouted, looking down at your hands, "She fucked it all up."

"Yeah and you put a dent in her for it," he followed.

"She put a dent in me too," you changed you focus to your stomach. Acknowledging the hole in your side

He gripped tighter onto the railing at the top of your hospital bed. "I had our stuff moved out," he spoke, saying he won't let that happened again without any words.

"Where will we live?" you looked back up at him.

"I bought it on a whim, the first day you were out," he looked apologetic, "I think you'll like it. Safer than that shithole."

You grabbed onto his hand, "Okay, anywhere is home with you."

"The drugs makin' ya loopy?" he smirk down at you, pointing fun at your cheesy line but holding onto your hand nonetheless, gripping on tighter.

"Maybe," you blushed, looking away for moment to think over the feeling. Drugs were definitely dampening the pain right now.

"How are you though? Took quite a hit," he looked at your stomach as well. It reminded you on how he first saw it, likely seeing straight through you. It's probably why he rushed you to the hospital right after.

"Hurts," you mumbled, not looking down but staring at him instead. Wanting your focus off the pain. Looking over how soft the glasses made him look. It was something you always wanted to admire but rarely got to. His face looked softer in the barely light room, just having the glow of the hallway lights shine in.

"Figures, you put up a fight."

"I almost died," you clarified.

"But you didn't," he was trying to focus on the positives, for both you and himself.

You recalled him saying the first day you were out earlier, "How long was I out?"

"Four days," he answered, "Not too long, you were just tired."

You hummed, "When can we go home?"

"I'd have to call the doctor in."

You nodded in permission for him to do so, letting him go alert them. With the quality of the room, you figured that he had you in a hero hospital.

The doctor walked in and asked you to stay an extra day, claiming a healing quirk will be able to help you before you left tomorrow. You reluctantly agreed, mainly from Katsuki cutting in and agreeing for you. It was obvious he felt guilt. From the way he held himself and the way he spoke.

When the doctor left, the two of you sat in silence. Soaking in each others presences.

"Is she okay?" you asked.

"Who?"

"Crazy bitch," you labeled her as.

He looked at you confused, "Yeah, in jail."

"So I didn't hurt her badly?" you were trying to relive some of the guilt.

"No, you did. Put a hole into her hand and burned her face," he confirmed, "Something you did to protect yourself."

"Then why do I feel bad?"

He sighed, grabbing at your hand again and looking you in your eyes, "Cause you always do, you'll probably feel guilty for a while. But trust me, you gave that bitch what she deserved and I'm so fuckin' glad you did."

"How's the press?" you switched topics. Not even remotely proud of yourself for burning a girl's face.

"Everything's settled, police still need your report though," he told you softly.

"Okay," you took in a deep breath, flinching at the pain going up your side. Ignoring Katsuki eyes looking at you in worry. Trying to patch your guilt away.

---

You peered through the apartment door after Katsuki unlocked it and walked through. Taking in the view of the apartment, a clear upgrade from the last. After kicking off your shoes you noticed the empty space to the right, a perfect spot for a living room. Windows from floor to ceiling and a sliding door to excess the balcony, with just enough space for a long wrap around couch to loop around. Snug in its own cube. The left side was a nicely sized kitchen with a dining table near the middle.

The security on the way up was worth the apartment, it was beautiful. It was a good sized apartment overall, perfect for you. There's a total of three bedrooms and three baths. You wondered for a moment about where Katsuki would choose his bedroom. Shoto also lived in this apartment complex, so you knew it was safe. The thought of Shoto's scar hurt your soul, he hated that scare and you gave a random girl the same if not worse.

"We need to buy new furniture for the living room," Katsuki cut into your thoughts.

"Why?" you turned to him confused, you didn't have a wrap around couch but he didn't know your ideas.

He coughed, knowing you hated the topic already, " Other one is burnt."

"Oh," you said sadly.

"I also can't get shit here until Tuesday. Takes a week for em," he barreled through the bad news, "You can look up a couch and I'll buy it."

"I already know the one I want," you looked back at the space, "I saw it Monday online, we can go check the stores to see if it's in stock? If not we can look."

"I don't think you should be doing all that walkin'," he furrowed his face in distaste.

"Too bad," you pushed past your injury, walking back outside the apartment after slipping your shoes on, "We have nowhere to sleep, we can get a couch and have a movie night. Wait, do we need a new TV?"

"Yeah, other one was shit anyway," he put his shoes on and followed you out reluctantly.

---

You pushed past all press, keeping your head down as you walked in front of Katsuki, his arms around you to keep from touching you. It was horrible, worse than it ever was. After your police statement was in, the press went crazy. Needing every detail possible. The entire furniture store had to shut down while you shopped, it made you thankful for Katsuki's job for once. He saved the owners before so they easily shut down for him. Finding your perfect couch was easy enough, wasn't the exact one you saw online but it was even better. While you found the couch, Katsuki got the TV, both set to be delivered to your apartment during the next three hours.

So you and Katsuki got lunch and stopped by his agency in the mean time, him needing to grab some paper work to go over the next few days. Kirishima's bright smile welcoming you the second you walked upstairs.

"Hey!" he greeted, arms stretched out for you. Hugging you gently. "How are you?" he held you back by your shoulders as he looked over you.

"Alright," you answered watching Katsuki walk into his office, "I hurt like a bitch though."

Kirishima laughed warmly, "No doubt, sorry that happened. What you did was super manly though."

You cringed, "I thought you left the manly thing in high school."

"I say it on rare occasions," he smiled down at you.

"Say what?" Katsuki asked as he closed his office behind him, joining you again.

"Manly," you answered, leaning into his space, feeling safe. He hummed in reply, smiling down at you briefly before looking back at Kirishima, crossing him arms.

"You got my patrols cover till Tuesday right?" Katsuki asked.

"Yeah, Denki, Sero, Mina, me and even Midoriya are all taking a chunk of your hours," Kirishima smiled brightly.

"Till Thursday?" you looked up confused, Katsuki hated time off.

Katsuki refused to look at you. LIstening as Kirishima talked, "You need a break and we got it covered, don't worry."

He rolled his eyes, "Send me every detail that happens, I'll be available if absolutely needed."

"Got it," Kirishima gave a toothy grin. Likely happy that he convince Katsuki to take time off in general. You weren't surprised at him being at the hospital, but taking a week off was unknown for him. Yet he seemed perfectly okay with it.

---

Once home, you noticed the fridge was fully stocked. Katsuki's premade meals filling the shelfs. Glad to see no fried rice. Fruit also filling the shelfs.

It was the first thing you went for when you got home, ignoring the wrapped up couch and TV and going for the food. Afterall, Katsuki would set up the TV fully. Needing to wall mount it.

With a premade meal in your hands, warm and ready to eat, you stood at the counter and watched him work.

"So I remember saying I'd do an interview with a truth quirk," you brought up after a while, Katsuki humming to continue from where we set up the TV. "How do I do that without giving up information?"

"Aizawa is probably willing to help, he'll monitor you and turn off the truth quirk person if they ask something sensitive. Still don't know why you said that," he answered, cursing at the TV when it didn't hook into the slot on the wall mount easily.

"Just want to clear my name," you took another bite of food as you watched him grin in victory at the TV being attached to the wall now. Him plugging it in and starting to log into all the streaming apps and everything.

You joined him after finishing your food, pushing a part of the couch into the spot you wanted. "The fuck are you doin?" he spun his head towards you at the sound of the couch moving. "I'll do it, just fuckin' point where to go."

After huffing at him, you stood in front of the TV, facing the couch and leading him to place each section of the couch. Cutting off the wrapping afterwards and sitting in front of the TV.

"What are we watching?" he called towards you, you were digging through the little amount of stuff that Katsuki pack for you two. It was clothes and blankets, all you'd need until Tuesday. It was already Saturday as well.

You plopped down a big blanket for you to share and sunk into the couch, "I don't know," you mumbled. Watching as he clicked onto your favorite movie right after.

"Hate when you say that," he grumbled.

"Yeah sure," you leaned into his side, wanting to be as close as possible to him. The scare of the break in still getting to you. He messed with his hand for a moment before laying his arm over your shoulders, pushing you closer to him. It was something both of you clearly needed. Just the warmth of the other.

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

I'll no longer add people to the taglist if they haven't commented there. It's too much to keep up with all the new part. Hope you understand <3

@ldk3347 @suki0 @ez4ra @mithicakurogo @aomi04 @ellielover69 @minori-taiga1 @54fangirl @zoast32 @mushroomsneedystuff @kazuumii @snxwflwr @keiva1000 @thescarletwallflower @juicyfingers @atashiboba @ofcqdesi @americasass1942 @kaboomkayla @ilovedenk-i @iamyoursonly @albakugo @venusluvslove @fairiesgloss @limitedstar @i-bitch-you-bitch @drageonix24 @sweetpandabiscuitrebel @sinyaaa @xreiiss @oddball08 @imsuperawkward @lomlchi @anime-manga-fanatic @irlpadfoot @lord-goosifur @chocoyanchan @gollumsmygel @yuptha-tsme @icedemon1314 @alstrums @suki0 @yesiamrobbysimp @supersecretsamm @maeveorsomethinggg @ivuriexo @schniti-is-in-the-house @dumbbitchenergy17 @slaydispussaylikeademon @whydoyoucare866

(make sure your can be tagged, your blog might be hidden)

684 notes · View notes

7seas-of-ryy · 4 months ago

Text

I Need You | Part 6

Author’s Note: I'm having so much fun writing this!! Thank you all for reading, it truly means so much to me :))

Summary: You finally get some answers, but will they help you with your pain?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: angst, let me know if I need to add any others :)

"What're you waiting for? Speak" Az growled at Eris.

Eris slowly looked at you, hesitating, trying to figure out the right thing to start with.

"Perhaps I should talk to y/n in private." he stated

Rhys turned and looked at you. You felt him at your mind, asking to come in and opened the gate for him.

What do you want to do? I'll leave this one up to you

For a moment, you went back and forth, deciding what would be best. What the old, normal version of you would do.

"They can hear whatever it is you have to say" You decided

Rhys guided all of you up to his office. Az sat on a couch to your right while Lucien sat on a couch to your left. You were going to just stand instead of having to pick which male to sit by. It felt like a much bigger choice than it seemed to be. But the pain in your legs was already becoming too much.

You moved to your left, sitting next to Lucien. Azriel's face dropped but you couldn't bare to look at him. Cass took the seat next to him, patting him on the shoulder, a quiet comfort, and Eris moved by Rhys' desk.

"The man that kidnapped you was Tassarion. He is the son of one of my father's old Generals," Eris paused, looking at you for confirmation to continue. You nodded at him

"Long ago, that General... got ahold of a woman. He planned on taking her back to the castle and keeping her for pleasure. After a while of holding her prisoner, she managed to get a weapon and fight back. She ended up murdering him. Tassarion wanted revenge but didn't know who the woman was, until recently. Somehow he found out. That woman was your mother." He stated

Your mother? It hit you, your mother had gone missing in the Autumn Court. They must have killed your father and taken her. You thought about the irony in Azriel saving you from them only for him to forget about you years later while those same people kidnapped you.

You could hear all of the males speaking but it sounded as if you were underwater. You stared straight ahead, all of the emotions starting to become too much.

Push them down. Don't panic. Be strong. You do not need anyone.

You stood quickly, too quickly and all their heads snapped to you.

"So we know why they wanted to hurt me. Why question me about Nyx?" you asked cooly as if none of this was effecting you

Azriel eyed you, knowing you needed to let it out. He could see it building inside of you and wanted to help.

"Apparently, Tassarion was tasked with finding out information on Nyx for the Autumn Court to use. Once he found out who you were, it was a done deal to kidnap you. He never would have let you go. Once he broke you and got the information on Nyx, he would have continued torturing you until he killed you." Eris told you

"If." you spoke

"What?" all the males looked confused

"If he broke me, not once he broke me." You said and left the room.

☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . • ☆ . ° .• °:. ° . ☆ . • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . ° .• °:. *☆

Azriel knew everything was wrong. He should be holding you, comforting you after the news you had all received. But you barely looked shocked. You looked as if it was just another day as normal.

He knew you weren't ok. His heart broke at the thought of you in so much pain, all alone. He knew you wanted nothing to do with him and he understood that so he didn't push. But he couldn't leave you entirely alone. You needed to know he was there for you.

On top of everything else, the fact that he couldn't gather any information for her was also eating him alive. Eris found all the answers for her, it should have been him. His mind hasn't been right since that night. How could one decision lead to so much agony?

The second they realized she was missing along with Cassian, he had been in a panic. Immediately blaming himself, disgusted with himself. He had told Elain he wouldn't be spending time with her anymore. She didn't take it very well but he didn't care.

His mind was consumed by you, every thought was about you. This is how it had been for him before the Archeron sisters showed up. It was another reason he focused on Elain so much. He knew you deserved someone better than him so he used Elain to take the thoughts of you away. He was a fool.

If there was anything he could do for you, it would be hunting down Tassarion and ending his life. You wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. So he took off in search of the vile male that caused so much destruction.

☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . • ☆ . ° .• °:. ° . ☆ . • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . ° .• °:. *☆

You decided to head to the library in the house and read. Maybe that would take your mind off of everything and stop you from bursting. You read for a good couple of hours before you were interrupted.

"Tassarion is dead" Az softly spoke

You hummed in acknowledgment, "I suppose you took care of it?"

"Yes, you don't have to worry about him anymore. I won't let anything happen to you...anything else." the spymaster told you

"Thank you." you said and went back to your book.

Azriel knew everything was wrong. You hadn't shown any emotion since the first time you woke up. And now you find out everything about your mom, and that Az murdered your captor and all you say is thank you?

"You know, it's ok to not be ok" your friend told you

"I'm fine" You were still not ready to talk to him. He's the reason it was so easy for them to take you. You waited so long for him. Plus, you wouldn't become a burden to anyone else. So, again, you shoved all those feelings down and continued on.

Looking up at Az, you patted the spot next to you in invitation. If you wanted him to think you were ok, you had to stop avoiding him. He sat next to you and you continued reading.

Eventually your eyes grew heavy and you decided to go up to your room to sleep. Az offered to take you but you just smiled and told him it was alright.

You entered your room and saw a vase full of flowers next to your bed. You furrowed your eyebrows and walked over to them. There was a little note with your name on it so you picked it up.

It read, "y/n - enjoy these flowers from my garden, so sorry you were kept waiting. From Elain"

Something inside of you snapped. How dare she? She convinced him to wait. Azriel was not the only guilty party here. She knew you were waiting for him and she talked him into staying with her instead. Then she leaves these flowers for you and can't even face you herself?

You picked up the vase, slowly examining the flowers. They were dainty and beautiful, just like her. Not ruined like you.

With as much power as you had, you threw them at your mirror.

Both the mirror and vase shattered, glass flying everywhere. You stared at the mess you made as you felt the dam inside you break.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

@darkbloodsly @xtreme-shipper @rcarbo1 @shamelessdonutkryptonite @anna-reader-blog

@favsrachz @julesvanslutta @kitsunetori @i-am-infinite @cat-or-kitten

@tele86 @popcornlauncher @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @anxious-cactus @amara-moonlight

@whosmys @vanserrasimp @whoevenfrickenknows @secondratecomplaint @fightmedraco

@watermelomsuger @lillilwil @kaitttttttt @andreperez11 @irelanrose

@myromanempiree @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @thestartitaness @macimads @shizukestar

@iluvyewman-blog @mybestfriendmademe

#azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses

425 notes · View notes

lazycats-stuff · 8 months ago

Text

Batfamily x male reader

Batfamily x male!reader - this is part 1 everyone.

Summary: some talking is done.

Warnings: angst, fluff, (Y/N) is trying and so is the fam, cursing, trying to forgive, a punch was thrown, cutting people out

The fight echoed through the manor. Even days after it, the tension was still palpable. (Y/N) truly wanted nothing more with his so called brothers and father. If they tried to talk to him, they would be ignored or (Y/N) would just snap at them.

Almost biting their head off.

Safe to say, things were going to complete and utter shit.

Bruce didn't even know how to start talking to (Y/N). Was he emotionally reserved? Yes. But will he try everything in his power to make it right?

Yes. Everything he can do, he will do.

Bruce has decided to call a meeting. He made (Y/N) leave his room and (Y/N) has never looked worse. He couldn't sleep for days on end, only getting about 4 hours per night. He wasn't in the mood to eat either. He was only alive because Alfred had to make sure he was still alive.

Everyone noted that he looked like he didn't want to live anymore. More so, he looked dead. (Y/N) just sat down, an angry look on his face, arms crossed and body language closed off. He sat down as far as away as he could from them, clearly not happy to be here in the slightest.

He tucked himself in the chair, ignoring everyone and everything.

" (Y/N)... " Bruce started quietly, clearly not wanting to have a blow out and an explosion. " We have to talk through this problem. " Bruce continued just as softly and (Y/N) scoffed.

" We know we have been... Neglecting you, to say the least. But... We want to fix our mistakes. We want to be better. " Bruce said and (Y/N) chose to roll his eyes instead of listening. No matter what they could say could ever fix this.

" Well... 10 years too late. " (Y/N) said sarcastically, tapping his fingers against his tucked up knee, clearly anxious to leave this room behind. He really was anxious too leave.

" And we realize that. " Tim started softly, looking at (Y/N) with a sad look on his face. (Y/N) wouldn't allow them to see them sweat.

" Bullshit. " (Y/N) said quickly. They don't realize shit. " You are only doing this because Jon came over and pointed it out and now you are worried that the word doesn't spread. " (Y/N) spat out, leaning on his tucked up knee, glaring that the floor.

" That is not true. " Damian said and (Y/N) looked up, glaring at Damian, scoffing at the words, then laughing bitterly.

" Oh please. You never told Jon about me! I'm assuming all of your friends don't know I exist, right? " (Y/N) said as he rubbed his eyes from the exhaustion.

The silence was the only answer that (Y/N) needed.

" Yup and there it is. No one knows I fucking exist! " (Y/N) said loudly, blood pressure raising. He took a deep breath to calm down. " Just as I thought. No one knows I exist. No one even cared about my school achievements either... Let me ask you something Bruce. " (Y/N) asked, turning his attention to Bruce.

" Do you have a college fund for me? Just like you do for other four? " (Y/N) asked, itching for an answer. When Bruce looked away in shame and (Y/N) scoffed yet again.

" Also, don't you fucking dare setting it up. I have got a scholarship anyway. " (Y/N) answered the unasked questions. Bruce was proud of (Y/N). How could he have done this to (Y/N), forget to put a college fund...

" I'm sorry (Y/N). I didn't mean to forget you. " Bruce said, keeping his distance, but wanting nothing more than just hug him and kiss the anger away.

But alas, that's not how it works. (Y/N) has to forgive him first.

" Can you tell us more about the scholarship? " Jason chimed in, wanting to speak about something that (Y/N) could be happy about.

" It's for MIT. " (Y/N) said quietly and everyone was in shock. They didn't know that (Y/N) was into science and mathematics and what not.

Another mistake of theirs.

" That's amazing (Y/N). " Tim praised, smiling at (Y/N). Getting into MIT is hard as hell.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but deep down inside, he craved that praise more than life. But some praise won't erase everything that happened.

" You would really have to move then... " Dick said sadly and (Y/N) glanced at all of them. They all seem sad that he would have to move all the way to Massachusetts, but it would be necessary. (Y/N) needed to get out of here. One way or another.

" I think what we all mean to say is that we are sorry. There is no excuse, not a single thing that could justify what we did and what we have caused to you. " Damian said and (Y/N) was shocked to hear the word sorry just tumble out of his mouth like that, so effortlessly. So easily. But he composed himself quickly.

" How do I put his nicely? " (Y/N) said, looking sarcastic. " I don't give a damn about any of you. I don't give a damn about apologies at all. I don't care about any of you. The moment I move out, all of you are going to be dead to me. Period. " (Y/N) said as he quickly stood up, going to his room.

He isn't going to fucking listen anymore.

" No, (Y/N) wait! " Everyone called after him and tried to stop him. Jason managed to grab his arm, but (Y/N) threw a punch and knocked Jason down on his ass, making the others rear back. It was a truly what the fuck moment for all of them.

(Y/N) was never violent.

(Y/N) slammed the doors of his room shut and everyone was silent. Jason was breathing heavily through his mouth as (Y/N) broke his nose.

" He has a hell of a punch. " Jason muttered as he stood up.

" We have a shit ton of gravelling to do. " Tim muttered and everyone nodded in agreement. Saying that they are dead to him, well, will be dead to him, that was sort of a nail in a coffin. Coffin about their relationship...

That was probably on the brink of death, if not dead already.

" Come on, he needs some time alone. " Bruce said and ushered everyone out of the hall, mostly Jason to take a look at his nose, to treat it and heal it.

That same night, (Y/N) quietly managed to get his things into a car, while others were on patrol and blocked them in the process. Then he started driving to MIT, because he didn't have the nerve to put his things onto a plane and go. And besides, he didn't have enough things anyway.

(Y/N) could finally start his new life.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader

710 notes · View notes

inmyheaddd · 2 months ago

Text

walkin’ out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part one

⤷ “can you see me? im waiting for the right time. i can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine.”

summary: you and grayson hawthorne’s friendship is one that stretches over a long time. its a friendship that you cherish with your heart, and it’s also one that can be far too confusing for your own sake sometimes. warnings: glasses!grayson, reader & grayson are so oblivious it hurts a/n: new possible grayson childhood bsfs-to-lovers series??! wc: 1.5k masterlist || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6

you lay on your stomach, propped up on your elbows with your face in your hands.

next to you was grayson, sitting up against the headboard, typing up something as he listened to you rant about your day.

“he’s genuinely the worst teacher i’ve ever had, you know what he told me on the last non uniform day we had?” your legs were bent at the knee, swinging back and forth in the air as you ranted, your eyes on grayson, as his eyes were on his laptop.

“he asked me if i got into a bike accident on the way to school, because i wore ripped jeans.”

grayson hummed, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to his laptop. “ignore him, he’s trying too hard to be funny,” he commented with his voice taking on a hint of disgust,, “and miserably failing.” he added, as he adjusted his glasses on his nose bridge. “you have better things to focus on than strange men with their strange humor.”

you let out a chuckle through your nose, “yeah, i guess. very strange men indeed.”

you didn’t really wait for a response, as you continued to talk about your day and little things that happened. “oh!” you piped up,“and guess what?”

that’s how it always was with you and grayson, you talked — a lot, and he listened.

—

you walked over to the corner where a little blonde boy sat, sorting a puzzle by himself while all the other kids sat in the middle, a big bundle of chaos, toys, giggles, and shouts.

“um, excuse me? i have a question.” you stood, your hands clasped behind your back as you swayed gently side to side.

the boy— who you later learned to be grayson hawthorne, didn’t answer, only looking up at you in curiosity as a puzzle piece fell out of his hand.

you took that as an invitation, clearing your throat before you spoke, “why don’t you play with everyone else over there?” you asked, pointing to where all the other kids sat. it was halfway through the year, and he never once sat with the other kids, even when teachers asked him to.

you always found yourself absentmindedly looking at him as you played with friends, wondering why.

he was silent for a moment, and you debated going back. “i don’t really like kids.” he said quietly, his eyes back on the puzzle as he looked for the next piece.

you giggled like he had said the most outrageous statement ever, “but you’re a kid, silly.” you said, taking a step closer and sitting down next to him unpromptedly.

“well, i don’t like those kids.” he said, eyes meeting yours and then he looked you up and down, surprised at the fact that you were sitting so close to him.

“why are you sitting next to me?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise and question as he looked at you.

“um…” you trailed off, “because we’re friends now, duh.” you flashed him a big smile, shrugging your shoulders.

—

he also made you laugh, and was there for you, and gave you advice, and helped you when you needed it, and he —well, he was just a really perfect friend in general. he always has been, since you were in the second grade.

“i’m getting glasses,” you said in a singsong voice, “isn’t that crazy?”

“you’re getting glasses?” he arched a brow up at you, with an almost-barely-there smile.

“yeah,” you said through a chuckle, “i think it’s the universes way of getting me back for making fun of you, way back when you first got them.”

grayson let out a breathy laugh and looked down at you, his gaze unwavering. “i distinctly remember you telling me how thankful you were to have 20/20 vision.”

“yeah, well…” you stifled a laugh, “you know what?” you voice perked up, a hint of humor present. “at least i know i’m gonna look better than you in them.”

a smile found your face as you teased him— though deep down his glasses were one of your favorite things about him.

the funny thing is, you distinctly remember teasing him about them to cover up just how much you adored them on him.

—

“we aren’t friends. i don’t know you.” the little furrow in his brows only deepened as he looked at you.

“okay, well, i’m your friend. you don’t have to be my friend.” you shrugged simply, as you searched for the next puzzle piece on the floor, putting it into place once you did.

he watched you in silence, like you were saying something completely foreign to him, “but that’s rude of me, and it’s unbalanced,” his brows furrowed, his lips almost in a pout like he was severely stressed about this.

“okay, then just be my friend!” you smiled brightly at him once again, “problem solved.” you added, the look on your face a complete contrast to his — which was very confused.

“but, friends are people who just want something from you. family always comes first.” he replied, like it was a rehearsed line he had heard a thousand times from someone else in his life.

you wondered what kind of monster told him that, and you were determined on changing his mind.

“what? no! friends are the best people you can find in the whole world. they’re your ‘family number two.’” you told him, but he didn’t seem convinced as he stared at you. “can i make you a proposal?”

his blonde brows shot to the top of his head, “you want to marry me?” his eyes went wide as he slightly scooted back from you.

“no, dummy! i meant like a deal,” you hummed, “i think i meant proposition…” you mumbled under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

—

grayson smiled at you, his gaze unwavering. “oh, surely. without a doubt.”

you gasped in mock offense, bringing yourself to sit up fully as you looked at him. “is that sarcasm you’re giving me, hawthorne?”

grayson didn’t say anything in response, only laughing under his breath and shaking his head, returning back to typing whatever he was doing earlier.

“you’re so rude, i don’t like you.” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest, sitting so close to him that you could rest your head on his shoulder.

his eyes found you on his shoulder. though you didn’t meet his gaze, you definitely felt it. “well, i’m stuck with you forever, aren’t i?”

“yeah, unfortunately for me.” you said through an exhale. ��i’m deeply regretting my choices right now.” you mumbled , but you both knew that wasn’t true.

—

“deal? what deal are you giving me?“

“you just have to be my friend until friday! if you don’t like it, i’ll never talk to you again. i pinky swear.” you swore seriously, raising your eyebrows at the end to add to that effect.

“buuuut,” you added, your voice taking on a complete 180. ”if you like it, even just a little, you’re stuck with me.” you paused for dramatic effect, adding in a singsong voice. “forever and ever.”

—

you felt him chuckle and you found yourself smiling at the mere action. he seemed to never laugh around anyone but you. “you know, that may have been the single choice in my life i don’t regret making.”

the way he said that nearly undid you. you lifted your head, sitting upright to see him fully.

your voice came out quieter than you thought it would, with a smile on your lips. “are you being serious?” your eyes searched his face, looking for any signs of teasing, even though you knew you wouldn’t find any.

his answer was short, but it packed so much. “why wouldn’t i be?” there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face anymore, and his eyes stayed locked on yours, apart from when they flickered down to your lips for a millisecond.

“i…” you trailed off, literally at a loss for words as his eyes looked into yours. “i don’t know,” you managed to come up with, eyes glued to his for far too long.

“sorry,” you said through a laugh, “i don’t know what that was.” you shook your head as you looked back at the bed beneath you.

you adjusted the way you were sitting, perhaps subconsciously putting a little bit of space between you. well, you had to.

you couldn’t ruin your friendship because of your silly feelings. it’s part of the reason it’s lasted so long. better to have hidden your feelings and still have him, than speak them aloud and lose him. right? right.

—

grayson’s eyebrows knitted together as he watched you, noticing the little bit of space you put in between you two as you quickly switched the topic, noticing the way you didn’t look straight up at him for more than 2 seconds, and the way your fingers fiddled with each other.

he said something wrong, didn’t he?

in all honestly, he wasn’t listening to a word you said, albeit, you weren’t paying attention to what you were saying either, just letting the words fall of your tongue without even thinking; trying to fill the awkward silence you had put there.

as he nodded and gave vague responses to you, he replayed all the other moments he had come so close to saying something, something about the way he felt for you, and had felt for god knows how long.

—

you left his house a few minutes later, pretending to get a text from your friend asking for you urgently.

in all realness though, you went straight home, lay in bed, and screamed into your pillow.

‘why did i say that? why can’t i just speak about my feelings? why am i like this?’ were some of the many thoughts that ran through your head like clockwork.

next time, you promised yourself. next time you would talk about your feelings — or — next time you wouldn’t slip up in the slightest, so that tiny crack that led to said feelings wouldn’t ever show.

you weren’t entirely sure which one of the two you were promising.

a/n: this was honestly more of a prologue to set the scene, the real stuff comes soon i promise!!

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @taysbrina

@littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne headcanons #grayson hawthorne x reader #the inheritance games #the grandest game #jameson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #grayson hawthorne fluff #tig headcanons #avery kylie grambs #tgg #tig #❦ jude writes

230 notes · View notes

ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 6 months ago

Text

Alright, time for another Merlin au! This one won the last poll, marked as "an au featuring Arthur being an idiot"!

In this au, set sometime in the three years between season 4 and season 5, Arthur, Merlin, and the knights of the round table get ambushed by a large pack of ferocious wyverns while on a quest. This time, Merlin couldn't be subtle about using his dragonlord commands to pacify them, and that was the only way to ensure that they would all make it out alive. So, Merlin uses dragonlord commands to make the wyverns leave and, in the process, reveals that's he's a dragonlord. However, he at least managed to keep his magic a secret through the ordeal, so he's got that going for him.

Arthur is, of course, rather upset about Merlin keeping this secret from him, and is even more upset when he learned that Balinor was Merlin's father and guilty that he didn't support his friend through mourning his father as Merlin had for him. However, Arthur can also keep things in perspective. After all, dragonlord powers weren't actual sorcery, apparently it was a magic-adjacent gift that Merlin had inherited at the moment of his father's death, whether he wanted to or not. Besides, it wasn't like Merlin chose to have the ability, so Arthur couldn't really hold the ability itself against Merlin.

And anyways, Arthur mused to himself at their camp after Merlin came clean to the knights the night after the the wyvern attack, it wasn't like there were any dragons left. The only thing Merlin could do was command wyverns. While that could perhaps make him a threat if he wasn't the most harmless person Arthur knew, they didn't even encounter wyverns that often.

So, Arthur was willing to just let this be a useful little trick that Merlin could use on the off chance that they ran into wyverns. Still, the image that the whole situation gave Arthur, an image of Merlin being a formidable, powerful dragonlord with devastating dragons under his command, was rather amusing.

So, as Arthur settled in for the night after hearing the last of Merlin's explanation, this wasn't going to be a big deal. Sure, he was still hurt that Merlin kept this a secret from him, but Arthur could understand why. Uther had killed all of the other dragonlords, so it made sense that Merlin felt unsafe with his father still on the throne, and since they didn't run across wyverns often, there was a very real chance that Merlin just forgot about his ability entirely until it was relevant again. That was a very Merlin thing to do.

So, everything was fine. Everyone with them looked comfortable with Merlin, and he knew that they would keep this a secret for Merlin's sake. If word of Merlin's dragonlord abilities got out, Arthur could always publicly grant him a pardon. After all, it wasn't like he had ever hurt anybody with it. The only thing he seemed to do with it was send wyverns away.

Arthur quietly snorted to himself at the thought. Oh no, the terrible powers of Merlin the dragonlord, telling some wyverns to shoo.

Arthur relaxed into his bedroll, listening to the knights settling in to sleep and their fire crackling a few feet away. The quiet noises were peaceful, but were broken a few minutes later by Leons seemingly innocuous question.

"Merlin, if you were already a dragonlord when we rode out to face the great dragon, did you do anything with your powers? I assume you're the reason Arthur made it out alive through the whole ordeal."

Merlin froze where he was sitting, a myriad of emotions passing through his face before his expression settled on a grimace. Arthur sat up, interested in hearing Merlin's answer. What truly happened that night with the dragon? In the comfort of his own mind, Arthur admitted that Merlin's explanation of Arthur slaying it was... unlikely, at best, considering that Arthur was unconscious at the time.

"Well, you'd be correct Leon. It took me a while to figure out how to use dragonlord commands, since I never got any instruction on how I was supposed to command Kil- the great dragon. I'm truly sorry that I wasn't quick enough to save the other knights."

Merlin hung his head low, with what looked like shame. Arthur frowned at his manservant. Surely Merlin couldn't hold himself responsible for their deaths? Every knight had similar guilt, telling themselves at night that they should've been faster, should've been better, should've been more aware, then maybe some of their friends would still be with them.

Every knight learned the same lesson: those thoughts were the path to madness. It was disheartening to see that misplaced guilt on Merlin as well.

Luckily, before Arthur had to try to articulate that, Leon seemed to have similar thoughts, and spoke to Merlin with a soft, reassuring smile.

"Merlin, they volunteered for that mission, and they knew the risks. You are not to blame for the dragon's actions. Now please, tell us, how was the dragon actually defeated?"

Merlin nodded at Leon's words, but the guilt remained on his face.

"I, uh, was able to find my dragonlord voice after Arthur was knocked from his horse. He hadn't managed to hit the dragon, and he was about to kill Arthur, but I couldn't let that happen."

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, who was valiantly trying to ignore the warm fuzzy feelings blooming in his chest at the thought of Merlin slaying a dragon single-handedly just to protect him. He wasn't some maiden in a children's tale!

"But, when I gave the order to the dragon to stop attacking, I- I couldn't-"

Merlin swallowed thickly before continuing.

"I couldn't kill him. He was the last dragon, the last of my kin. So, I ordered him to leave. I banished him from Camelot and forbade him from ever harming another human again."

This time, Arthur froze where he was sitting, and he could see that the knights were in similarly tense states. Poor Leon turned a rather disturbing shade of pale.

Finally, Arthur spoke up with a forced calm tone, the type that was only a thin veneer to panic.

"Merlin, you don't mean to tell me that the dragon is still alive? And it could return to Camelot to finish what it started?"

Merlin looked at Arthur and tried to reassure him, but Arthur could barely comprehend Merlin's words through his rising panic.

"Well, yes, he's still alive, but dragons physically cannot disobey orders given by their dragonlord. He cannot return to Camelot at all, unless I call for him."

Merlin tried to give him a comforting smile, but Arthur wasn't sure he could feel any sort of comfort at the moment. He locked eyes with Leon, who wasn't faring much better with his own panic. Dear gods, that monster was still out there! They had all been living under a false sense of security! And all the while, Merlin was smiling at him like there was nothing wrong at all!

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to think through the haze of his panic. Right, Merlin hadn't killed the dragon. That made sense, since Merlin hated killing anything at all, much less the most dangerous monster on the planet. Right. But, according to Merlin, the dragon physically couldn't enter Camelot or hurt any humans.

Information, what Arthur needed was more information. If he had more information, he could come up with a strategy to keep Camelot safe from the dragon indefinitely. Merin's orders had worked for now, but there was no guarantee that those would work forever.

Forever... wait a minute...

"Merlin," Arthur called out frantically, fueled by an awful thought. "How long does a dragonlord's order bind a dragon?" Please say forever, please say forever...

Merlin's eyebrows shot up, apparently not expecting Arthur to ask such a question.

"Well, any dragonlord's order is fully binding to a dragon up until the original dragonlord rescinds the order or the dragonlord dies, whichever comes first."

Arthur felt panic's icy fingers wrap around his heart. Arthur despised even thinking about any hypothetical death of Merlin's, couldn't fathom an empty life as the king without his friend, but this, this information put a whole new layer of dread onto the though, which Arthur previously thought wasn't even possible. He could see the other knights catching onto his logic as well, while Merlin still sat on his log, looking at all of them confusedly.

If Merlin somehow died, then his banishment on the dragon was lifted. And if that happened, there would be no dragonlord left to stop it from reducing all of Camelot to ash. If Merlin died, then Camelot was doomed.

This new knowledge sat heavy in Arthur's gut, putting him on edge. Balinor had been killed from a bandit's crossbow bolt, something that Merlin faced regularly while following Arthur around. All it would take was one lucky shot on a bandit's part, and all of Camelot would die.

One bandit attack gone wrong, one assassin from Morgana, one accident on the training field, one illness contracted from a patient, and all of Camelot would go up in smoke.

Wait... dragons lived for thousands of years... and Merlin would, if Arthur had his way, live for at least a hundred years, but everyone died eventually. The dragon would surely outlive Merlin, and then the only way that Camelot would still stand was if there was another dragonlord! But Merlin was the only one left, and it was passed down from...

from father to son.

Arthur choked on air as he realized it. Good god, what had his life come to?!

If Camelot was going to survive, Merlin needed to have a son, and have one quickly. For the continued survival of Camelot to be ensured, Merlin needed to find a wife and get laid.

Arthur wanted to start laughing hysterically. The fate of his kingdom rested upon Merlin's ability to sire a child.

Arthur stared at Merlin as the other man tried not to squirm under the shocked gazes of all the knights. Ok, he could do this, his kingdom would be safe from the dragon, he just needed a plan.

First, they needed to get Merlin back to Camelot, where he would be safe and away from murderous bandits. That part was easy enough, they were already heading back to the kingdom anyways. The knights had estimated that it would have taken them another three days to reach Camelot, but with all of the knights sharing Arthur panic around Merlin's safety, for both the sake of their friend himself and the kingdom, they were able to make it back in only two days.

For those two days, Merlin seemed more confused by their frantic and panicked behavior than anything else. His shocked and embarrassed face when Percival had helped him on and off his horse - "so he doesn't fall and get hurt", the gentle giant had rationalized - had been very amusing. All the while, Arthur planned out what they would do when they returned and repeatedly reassured Merlin that no, he wasn't too mad about Merlin letting the dragon live since Merlin could at least keep it away.

Then, they needed to ensure Merlin's protection in Camelot. Granted, there weren't many dangers in Camelot, but the clumsy fool could find danger anywhere. With his luck, Arthur would bet that Merlin would trip over some stairs in the castle and wind up bleeding out! That could be remedied by assigning knights to guard Merlin at all times in Camelot and keeping Merlin physically by his side as much as he could. Merlin raised an eyebrow at his new guards and schedule, which kept him glued to Arthur's hip at all hours of the day, but otherwise said nothing (besides a little mocking about how Arthur couldn't get anything done without him. Arthur tried not to think about how the familiar taunt rang far more true than he had ever realized.).

(Merlin, on his end, took these measures as a sign that he had lost Arthur's trust with the admission of letting the dragon live. What else was he supposed to think about knights following him 24/7 and being kept in Arthur's line of sight more than ever before?! Merlin consoled himself that it was by far more lenience than he had been expecting. Arthur hadn't threatened him, he wasn't being executed or exiled, Arthur was still treating him as a friend, and he had every chance to earn Arthur's trust back again. Really, if his punishment as just having to be with his knight friends at all times, then he could happily live with that.)

Still, Arthur didn't know how to go about the final part of his plan: ensuring that Merlin would have an heir to inherit his dragonlord powers and keep Camelot standing for generations to come. Of all of the trials and quests he'd faced, this one seemed to be the most daunting of all: finding a woman attracted to Merlin.

Arthur eventually settled on a plan. He'd have Gwaine accompany Merlin on long walks around the castle and the lower town, and the knight would report back to Arthur on which ladies had caught Merlin's eye, and which ladies Merlin had caught the eye of. Gwaine had a way to spotting attraction between people, something he frequently used to gather ammunition to tease his fellow knights with. With any luck, there would be some overlap between the two lists, and they could find some nice woman for Merlin to settle down with.

After a few weeks, however, Arthur found himself having to re-evaluate his plan. While Gwaine had reported that there were a good number of young ladies in the lower town that seemed to fancy Merlin, Merlin didn't seem to have eyes for anyone, which made their mission trickier.

Eventually, Arthur resorted to inviting Merlin over for dinner with him and Gwen, hoping to flaunt to Merlin how great the married life was and how Merlin was getting older and was running out of time to settle down and have children. To his disappointment, Merlin didn't seem to get the hint, instead telling both of them how much he appreciated them including him in their time together when they didn't have to. Arthur had to swallow back frustrated screams at his friend's obliviousness.

(Gwen, meanwhile, was perplexed by Arthur's push for Merlin to find a wife. At first glance, she would think that Arthur was worried about Merlin never settling down and starting a family, which was something Gwen sometimes worried about as well.

However, Arthur's push was more vehement than a concerned friend's. There was something there, some underlying passion forcing him to push Merlin towards a wife.

When Gwen finally realized the truth behind Arthur's efforts, it broke her heart. Gwen knew that her husband could be a bit old-fashioned in some ways, and that the prejudices that he must have grown up with as a noble were not easily shaken off, but still, that wasn't an excuse to be homophobic towards Merlin!

Gwen had figured out about her friend's preferences during the Lamia's attack, since Merlin was the only man unaffected. Truthfully though, Gwen had suspected long before that, given how Merlin had looked at both Lancelot and Gwaine. And while it was shocking for Gwen, she would support her friend no matter what!

So, she was very disappointed in Arthur's behavior. Arthur must have somehow learned about Merlin's preference towards men during their last quest, and now he was trying to pressure Merlin into finding a wife! She agreed that Merlin deserved a lovely family, but Arthur should not force him into the nobility's narrow definition of family! If Merlin wanted his lovely family to involve a husband instead of a wife and that's what made him happy, then that is what they all should wholeheartedly accept!

Gwen really needed to give her husband a stern talking-to before he could hurt Merlin with his prejudice!)

(Merlin, meanwhile, is far too sleep-deprived and stressed over keeping Arthur safe and the prophecy to even think about romance or starting a family. His disaster bisexual ass has too much on his plate right now.)

So, Arthur tries everything he could think of to find Merlin a wife. Unfortunately, Arthur is not nearly as good of a wingman to Merlin as Merlin was to him. Arthur had hosted many balls and feasts, making sure to invite attractive ladies around Merlin's age, but Merlin didn't even bat an eye at any of them.

Perhaps the only thing more frustrating than Merlin's lack of attention towards any of the young ladies of the court was the fact that, now that Arthur was looking for signs of anyone's affection towards Merlin, he could see how many members of his own court were smitten with his manservant.

And Arthur was just baffled because how?! How was that possible?! That Merlin, a lanky beanpole of a man with a blinding smile and charming wit and unending loyalty and eyes he could get lost in...

Where was Arthur going with that? Oh right. Merlin, with all of the suaveness of a wet sock, was somehow the object of desire for most of the ladies in waiting. Arthur was entirely baffled by it.

And just when Arthur thought that it couldn't get any worse, it did. It got so much worse when his wife sat him down and started lecturing him for some sort of prejudice that he was showing against Merlin by pushing him towards a wife, because apparently Merlin's eyes didn't stray towards women at all.

Look, Arthur knew that some of his own knights preferred the company of men, and he wouldn't begrudge them something like that. To each their own. But if Camelot was going to still be standing for Arthur's heir, Merlin needed to sire a son of his own.

After Arthur explained to Gwen the situation that they were in with the great dragon still alive and Merlin's life being the only thing holding the beast back from destroying Camelot, Gwen also became grave with the realization that they were stuck without a solution that would keep Camelot safe for the next generations.

Arthur moped around for a few weeks, unable to think of a single solution for the situation he had found himself trapped in. How on earth was he supposed to get Merlin to have a biological son if Merlin doesn't even like women?!

Wait, but Merlin had liked a woman, at one point. Perhaps his preferences had changed, but at one point, he was willing to sacrifice himself, to willingly confess to sorcery in front of Uther Pendragon, in order to keep the woman he loved alive. And Arthur knew that love like that didn't die easily. And Arthur should know, since he loved the same woman in the same way.

From then on, Arthur kept a keen eye on Merlin and his wife. He knew that his wife would never be unfaithful to him with Merlin, and Merlin had been nothing but supportive towards Arthur and Gwen's relationship, even when Arthur himself had given up on it. Still, Arthur knew that if Merlin had eyes for one woman in the world, it would have to be Gwen. He saw the way that Merlin looked at Gwen sometimes. Merlin didn't look at any other woman that way.

Gwen had confessed that she had romantic feelings towards Merlin at one point, and Merlin certainly had some sort of feelings for Gwen that went beyond platonic. Arthur swallowed dryly as he thought about it. Could... could that be the only way?

(Cue slowburn Mergwenthur, with Arthur trying to set up Gwen and Merlin together with a heavy heart, while the other two are kinda oblivious and mistake it as Arthur wanting a threesome, which they would be more than happy to go along with, along with Arthur slowly realizing his own feelings for Merlin.)

(Meanwhile, since Arthur's crap at communicating, Merlin doesn't actually realize that it all started because they thought that they needed Merlin to have a son to keep Camelot safe from the dragon after Merlin was dead. Upon Arthur finally telling him, Merlin then has to awkwardly informs them that he's immortal and doesn't really need to sire an heir.

Arthur, understandably, screams into a pillow at the news that his efforts were pointless, while his lovers laugh gently at him and start kissing him to make up for all the stress he had to go through.)

And that's all for this au! I hoped you liked Arthur's himbo-ness shining through one again!

Thanks for reading through my ramblings! :D

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin au #merlin prompts #merthur #arwen #mergwenthur #mergwen

465 notes · View notes

going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 9 months ago

Text

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 20] || [Chapter 22]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost x Soap || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: - Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: yikes.

Chapter 21: I BEG YOUR PARDON?

It was a familiar sight.

Gaz across the desk, Soap next to him behind the spare chair, Ghost in the back of the room a foot against the wall and arms crossed.

Except this time, Price was standing up, pacing the narrow space behind his desk, from the window to the wall.

“Explain it to me slow.” He demanded. “Like I’m five years old.” He had his arms crossed over his chest as he paced.

“Well, when Ma and Da love each other very much-” Soap began.

“Soap, I will put your head through the bloody wall.” Price threatened.

The shit-eating grin that had been on the Scot’s mouth was suppressed by a pressing of lips together, rapid blinking, and a nod. He had tried and failed at having a laugh at the Captain’s expense.

“Sorry, sir.” He replied.

“Explain.” Price demanded again, hands folded behind his back.

“I started it.” Ghost said from his corner of the room. “Kept talkin’ with ‘em after you had your little one-night stand.”

The younger sergeants didn’t look over. It’s become a strange thing to see Ghost at work, when they’ve gotten a bit more familiarized with Simon instead, back in your flat.

“Why?” Price asked in earnest as he looked at Ghost, stopping in his tracks to properly face him.

“‘Cause they make me feel good.” Ghost replied and crossed his arms.

Price stared at Ghost and, for a moment, his glare softened and his brow relaxed. “I see.”

With a deep breath, the older man tossed himself down onto his desk chair, legs spread and hands resting on his thighs.

“That doesn’t explain the two of you lot.” He pointed at Gaz and Soap.

“I found out about Ghost dating ‘em after they reached out to me to check on him because he went MIA.” Gaz replied.

“And how does that in you bein’ a bloody… polycule?” Price asked.

“I sort of took ‘em on a date on accident and realized how they made me feel and that I wanted to date ‘em.” Gaz said simply.

“And I thought Gaz and Ghost were dating and then found out they’re in fact also dating the same person and not just each other and-” Soap began to explain.

“Pump the breaks.” Price demanded. “Dating each other?” He repeated, sounding like he was this close to blowing a gasket.

“Nicely done, mate.” Gaz said sarcastically and hid his face in his palm, accidentally dislodging his baseball hat from his head.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON? YOU BLOODY FUCKIN’ IDIOTS ARE DATIN’ EACH OTHER?” Price raised his voice and stood up swiftly, sending the chair rolling back against the cabinets behind him.

When no one replied, he glared specifically at Ghost in the back of the room who, himself, was looking off to the side and looked at Price with an incriminating gaze..

“SIMON’S IN YOUR DIRECT CHAIN OF COMMAND!” Price scolds… Soap and Gaz only. “DO YOU KNOW THE TROUBLE THAT CAN BRING?!”

The three men remain silent, eyes forced open out of worry that blinking again will just set the captain off some more.

“IT’S ALREADY BAD ENOUGH THAT YOU’RE ALL DIPPIN’ YOUR DAMN COCKS IN THE SAME HOLE LIKE THEY’RE SOME SORT OF BARRACKS BUNNY BUT-” Price continued his tirade.

“Calm down.” Ghost commanded as he pushed away from the wall and approached the desk.

“Simon, don’t you tell me to calm down.” John ordered, though his voice sounded a lot more calm indeed.

“I’ll tell you to calm down if I reckon I should.” Ghost quipped and set his hand on the edge oof the desk, using his height to go toe-to-toe with their boss.

“You had fun with ‘em too, didn’t you?” Ghost asked with a cocked brow.

“That’s neither here nor there-”

“Cut the bullshit. Answer the bloody question.” Ghost commanded.

“I did.” Price admitted with a grumble and looked away.

“We’re just enjoyin’ ourselves too.” Ghost replied. “They’re considerate, funny, good company…” He trailed off.

“And they have a bloody flat that we can spend time in, with a proper kitchen for good meals, and a proper bedroom with a comfortable bed, and a proper shower that doesn’t have 20 other blokes bum ass naked-” Gaz joked.

“Right, it’s only 2 other blokes instead.” Soap added and him and Gaz nudged each other, earning a stern glare from the two officers in the room.

“Point is-” Ghost replied as he looked at Price. “You saw they’re nice.” He said directly. “Can’t fault us for likin’ ‘em.” He said directly.

“No, but I can fault you idiots for bein’ involved with each other on TOP of ‘em.” Price argued.

“Okay, so it’s not our proudest moment-” Ghost acknowledged. “But it’s happenin’. And you need to keep your mouth shut.” He demanded.

“OF BLOODY COURSE I’M KEEPIN’ MY MOUTH SHUT, SIMON! Fuckin’ hell!” Price complained and threw his hands up before turning to grab a cigar from his case.

“The brass will have all our bollocks f’r breakin’ nonfraternization rules. You f’r doin’ it, me f’r knowin’ it.” He grumbled as he cut the tip of his cigar with a huff.

“Not to mention I’ve been involved in this mess to begin with ‘cause I let you lot talk me into havin’ a one-night stand with ‘em.” Price continued, murmuring under his breath and scolding them without really scolding them.

“I can never get a ’old of you lot noawadays.” Price explained. “You’re meant to be on call.” He reiterated. “Always reachable. Always ready to fly out.”

“Yet I had to call Soap over 40 times two weeks ago ‘cause he was ‘asleep’-” He continued his rant.

“Aye, I was.” Soap replied, earning a shush from Gaz and a smack on the arm.

“And the moment we dismiss you lot from debriefs or meetings, you’re all running off to go be with ‘em, ‘xcept I didn’t know that was the reason until now, and it’s so much bloody worse than I ‘xpected.” Price complained.

The man was halfway through lighting his cigar and taking a puff when Ghost spoke again.

“If they didn’t find out about Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, or Tel Aviv, they won’t find out now.” Ghost retorted.

Price whipped around so fast the younger lads could swear he’d give himself whiplash. “Don’t you bring that up.” He said to Ghost as he used his cigar to point at Ghost.

“I’m just sayin’.” Ghost replied, completely calm and unbothered. “If the brass hasn’t found out about the shite we’ve done while on the field, they won’t find out about us during leave.” He replied.

“Simon-” Price tried starting before he huffed through his nose and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Ghost simply shrugged and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell.” Price complained and sat back down on his chair, setting down his cigar on the lip of the ashtray and rubbing his face.

“Just get out.” He grumbled and waved them off with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

He didn’t peek from the spot where his face was hidden in his hands as he heard the men shuffling around and leaving the office.

Just as the door slipped to a close behind them, he heard Soap asking Ghost: ‘What happened in Cardiff?’

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader

974 notes · View notes

paigebueckersloverr · 5 months ago

Text

Paige Bueckers HEADCANONS:

Anniversary Ver.

Hello, so I know I've been pretty MIA, and I'm sorry. But life isn't gonna stop for anyone, especially not me. But im back, so that's what matters. im gonna go ahead and answer a few questions.

Yes. Three's A Crowd. Is returning for the final installment. Aka the smut, so many people have mesaged me for.

No. I don't write for Emily, I thought about it, and then she signed with an Israeli team. So that's a firm NO.

Yes. This is very corny, and I projected just a little. With a sprinkle of all over the place but with the drama arising in the paige Hashtags. I thought we could use a cleanse and something light-hearted.

1. Surprise Anniversary Trip ♡

Paige would spend weeks planning a surprise weekend getaway to a cozy cabin in the mountains. She would make sure to secretly pack your favorite clothes, snacks, and a few sentimental items. As you guys drove along the scenic route, Paige would keep the destination a secret, enjoying the look of curiosity and excitement on your face. When you guys finally arrived, the cabin was perfect—nestled among tall trees with a breathtaking view of the valley below. Paige would arrange for a private chef to prepare a romantic dinner for you on the first night, complete with candles, soft music, and a crackling fireplace.

2. Custom Jewelry ♡

On the morning of your anniversary, Paige would present you with a small, beautifully wrapped box. Inside would be a delicate silver bracelet with your anniversary date engraved on the inside. The bracelet would also feature a small charm shaped like a basketball, symbolizing the sport that she loves and a small lockette as a symbol of you guys being together forever. Paige would spend hours choosing the design, wanting it to be something you could wear every day, close to your heart.

3. Personalized Love Letters ♡

Paige handed you a beautifully wrapped box tied with a satin ribbon. Inside were twelve letters, one for each month you guys had been together. Each envelope was decorated with little doodles and stickers, and the letters themselves were filled with Paige’s heartfelt thoughts and memories. She recounted you guy's first date, the moment she realized she was in love, and all the little moments that made their relationship special. Reading through the letters showed a beautiful testament to you guys' love and admiration for each other.

4. Home-Cooked Dinner ♡

Despite her busy schedule, Paige took a day off to prepare a gourmet dinner for your anniversary. She spent the entire day shopping for ingredients, following recipes, and setting up the dining area. She decorated the table with candles, flowers, and their best dinnerware. When you finally arrived, you were greeted with the mouth-watering aroma of your favorite dishes. Paige served a three-course meal, finishing with a simple but delicious dessert she had made from scratch. You both spent the evening talking, laughing, and reminiscing about your years together and the ones to come.

5. Memory Scrapbook ♡

Paige created a scrapbook filled with photos, mementos, and little notes from you guys first year together. She included ticket stubs from concerts and movies, pressed flowers from dates, and candid snapshots of spontaneous moments. Each page was carefully crafted, with handwritten notes detailing the memories behind each item. The scrapbook was a journey through your relationship, and a tangible reminder of all the love and joy the both of you shared.

6. Midnight Stargazing ♡

After the romantic dinner, Paige drove you both to a quiet spot away from the city lights. She set up a cozy spot in the back of her car with blankets and pillows, creating a little nest where they could lie down and stargaze. Both of you spent hours under the stars, sharing your dreams and hopes for the future. Paige pointed out constellations and told stories about them,*with you constantly reminding her she googled them* making you feel special and cherished. The night was filled with soft whispers and gentle kisses, a perfect end to your anniversary.

7. Special Song ♡

Paige had secretly learned to play a special song on the guitar, one that held significance for your relationship. After dinner, she brought out the guitar and, with a shy smile, began to play. You recognized the song immediately, your eyes filling with tears as Paige’s beautiful but nervous voice filled the room. It is a beautiful, intimate moment showcasing Paige’s love and effort to make the night memorable.

8. Custom Illustration ♡

Knowing your artistic side, Paige commissioned a custom illustration of both of you together. The artwork depicted a scene from your favorite date—sitting together on a park bench, holding hands and watching the sunset. The artist had captured everything perfectly, and the colors were vibrant and full of life. Paige had the illustration framed and presented it as a gift, a beautiful token of the relationship that would hang in your apartment.

9. Midnight Dance ♡

After dinner, Paige took you to a secluded garden or a rooftop overlooking the city. She had brought a portable speaker and played your "couples" song on her phone. Under the moonlight, you guys danced together, lost in each other’s arms. The world seemed to fade away as you both swayed to the music, your love palpable in every touch and glance. It was a perfect, magical moment, one that Paige and you would both remember for years to come.

If you made it this far, thank you! If you have any critiques or requests. My inbox and ask are very open, so feel free. 🤍

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x black!reader #paige bueckers x reader #paigebueckersloverr #paige bueckers head cannons #paige x reader #gxg fluff #gxg imagine #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #salemswriting

271 notes · View notes

moonlinos · 10 months ago

Text

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied.

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense.

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable.

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality.

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together.

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot.

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

566 notes · View notes

katiemccabeswife · 11 months ago

Text

Fan Girl

AWFC x Ballerina!Reader || Reader is a renowned ballerina and goes live to talk to fans, especially about her new-found love for football. Part 2

"Hello, everyone!" You smiled into the camera a few minutes after starting an Instagram live, "Hello, hello, hello. How is everyone doing!" You responded to some personalised greetings for a few minutes before answering recurring questions flowing through the comments.

"What am I doing? I am getting ready to head over to the Royal Opera House to perform The Nutcracker. I am very excited to be doing so, we are going into the 4th performance of this year and I am absolutely buzzing, the first 3 shows went so well and I got to do all of my favourite parts and I get to do another tonight. So yeah, I am buzzing!" You had to try to suppress your smile whilst talking about your passion as you were doing your makeup whilst doing so.

"What are my favourite roles to dance in The Nutcracker?" You were moving onto contour as you began to roll off an endless number of characters you've played in the past, "I think my all-time favourite would have to be the Sugar Plum Princess, which I'm actually doing tonight!" You clapped your hands in delight due to pure excitement running throughout your body

"And then I think it's sort of even between; Clara, The Arabian Princess and The Snow Queen. I love Clara because I love playing her, I feel like I'm more of an actor when I play Clara and I love the feeling and of course, it's like, kind of a main role," You laughed as you tried to down-play the roll, not wanting to make it seem like you were bragging about getting to perform a main role.

"I love playing The Arabian Princess and The Snow Queen for the same reasons, I love their costumes so much and the choreography as well, oh my god, I feel in my element when I get to dance their choreography. It's an indescribable feeling, performing in general is for me, indescribable, but specifically those parts because I just love them so much!"

You laughed slightly to yourself as you took a drink of water, "And then we have the rats! I loved playing a rat, their costumes are just so funny and you get to really improvise with the rats," You choked on your water slightly as you laughed, "Oh I love being side-stage to watch them, performing with them is sometimes hard, especially when I'm Clara because you have to try not to laugh but I love the rats so much. And then there's also the angels! I love the angels, I was one for maybe 3 years? I started doing the Nutcracker when I was 3 and I started getting into other roles when I must have been 6 or 7, so 3 or 4 years, yeah, and I love the angels not only because it was my introductory to performing and ballet but also because now, I love kids if you didn't know, but I have taken up the role of helping the little-ys get ready and helping them get their stuff at the end of the night and they're all angels, and it just reminds me of the good old days, so yeah!"

You took a break from your makeup to look at the comments and your eyes widened when you saw 800,000 people were watching.

user429 i love her laugh

jazy_ballet I LOVE GETTING TO PLAY A RAT

saramanning how did you start ballet?

evanbraid what foundation did you use 😍

y/nballet4ever what are your hobbies aside from ballet 🩷

You proceeded to the task of doing your makeup after seeing that question, "I have recently gotten into football! I watched the Women's World Cup and it was the first time I was genuinely invested in a sport and I've kinda just kept on the football train now. That's kind of a lie I'm more on the football jet plane, if that makes sense. I am so invested in it's almost getting out of hand. I think about it all the time!" You had to laugh at yourself and how pathetic you sounded.

smith124 OMG! Who do you go for?

"I go for Arsenal, it wasn't really a conscious decision, to be honest. I just sort of figured out who everyone on the team was really fast and there was a game on, maybe 2 days after I had started 'investigating' and researching the team so I was like, why not? Um, but yeah I went to the game and I loved it! I felt kind of odd because I didn't have a jersey but I do now! I have, 12, if I remember correctly. That's Arsenal and England jerseys so..." You cringed at how fangirly you sounded.

p0llyr1chardz who's your favourite player???

"Favourite player? They're all so personable and great players like it's kind of mind-boggling how good they are but," You paused to think as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. "Um, my favourite player might have to be Katie McCabe or Lucy Bronze, if we are talking Lionesses. If I am being so honest, I only really care about the women’s game. I just can’t get into the men's games but maybe it’s just my pure love for women that has me interested in football, not the actual game. I also love the "ACL squad" because, if you didn't know 2 years ago, I tore my ACL and while it's most certainly not a fun thing, I find the similarities in the rehab and the experiences they've all gone through compared to mine really interesting. Because whilst on a sheet of paper, football and ballet are nothing alike, the rehab after an ACL injury is really similar and I mean it could be put down to both being quite foot or leg-focused but I find it really interesting. Especially with what Viv and Beth are doing with their documentary, spreading word about it, getting people to understand the severity of it and helping everyone understand why it's happening or trying to. I guess the biggest difference is that ACL injuries are extremely prominent in women's football and my injury was sort of like any other injury, a mistake or whatever you want to call it."

bethmead_ ❤️❤️❤️

Everyone could see you intently staring at your phone in silence for a moment, reading the comments, before you screamed and jumped from your chair, you laughed and settled back into your chair, "Sorry, guys! Oh my days, Beth! Hi, oh my, oh I love you so much. Not in a weird way! In a fan way! Sorry, oh my days, y/n you're embarrassing yourself." You placed your hands on your head and took a deep breath. "Sorry guys, so onto my hair! I hate doing my hair," You sulked slightly.

leahwilliamsonn ❤️❤️❤️

"That's crazy," You sat in awe, "What is going on! Hi, Leah," You waved like a little girl, "This is crazy..." You did your hair humming with a smile on your face.

"Sorry for being silent for a hot sec, I can't focus on anything other than my hair when I'm doing it for a show." You smiled meekly at the camera.

bethmead_ will we be seeing you at the Watford game?

You squealed with pure excitement, "Yes! 1000%, I am going to be the Watford game. Of course, I am.”

You apologised that you had to step out of frame for a moment to put on your costume.

“Alright, surprise reveal for the costume of the night! Drum roll please…” You stepped into the frame in your Sugar Plum Princess leotard, looking a little bit silly without your tutu, “Sorry for not being in my tutu but I can’t sit in it and I have to drive to the Oprah House so…”

lottewubbenmoy see you there 😉

You almost fainted once you saw Lotte’s comment, due to fear or excitement maybe, but most likely from the scream you let out that had you explaining the last hour to your neighbour.

yourusername posted on their story

#woso x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #beth mead #woso imagine #katie mccabe #lotte wubben moy #leah williamson #vivianne miedema #lucy bronze #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso soccer

530 notes · View notes

pasdasin · 4 months ago

Text

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: can u guys tell im not working rn with the amount uploading! also currently working on ch 4! if you guys have any ideas feel free to send me stuff!! i <3 vampire!reader and wanna write more about her :3... also sorry if pacing is weird lol

ch 3

warnings: SMUT!!! fingering, erotic blood drinking, angst lol, prob like cussing lol, im sure there is more so just be warned in general, mdni lol

previous -- next

~~~~~

The proposition weighed heavily on your mind. A chance to return where it all started? You couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to ask Logan what he thought. He always knew what to say. You couldn’t dwell on it now, another task was at hand. You smoothed out your denim skirt for the millionth time and stared at your reflection. Nothing seemed appropriate enough. Nothing seemed right when it came to talking about your past. Two hundred and seventy-five years old and this was most nerve racking thing you’ve ever done.

talk in front of teenagers.

Sighing you turned back to your closest when the door of your room slowly opened.

“y/n? Are you ready yet? My class is waiting” Storm entered your room. “Damn you look good! Honestly expected a full Bela Lugosi get up.”

“Very funny, but I am not a vampire.” You said, turning to her.

“Okay yeah, and I don’t control the weather.” She snickered at you. She held out her hand and you grabbed it tightly, allowing yourself to be pulled through the halls of the mansion as the two of you giggled and talked friday night plans.

The two of you reached her classroom and it seemed fuller than normal. You glanced around the room and noticed Logan standing near one of the walls closer to where you’d be presenting. You shot him a smile smile and he nodded back at you, causing your heart to race. You approached the desk at the front of the room and took a deep breath in. You could not only hear your heart pumping, but also every single person in that room.

Turning around you smiled at everyone and sat sheepishly on the desk. You felt Logan’s eyes on you as you listened to Storm start her lecture. You glanced towards him and watched as he sent you a silent message.

You’ll be okay bub. I’m right here.

You turned back to the class and scanned the crowd. It seemed as though every single person was there, even though it was physically impossible. Your eyes zeroed in on Scott and Alex. Alex. Your mind wandered back to what Charles asked of you the previous night.

“I know you don’t do missions since the incident, but you could really benefit Alex.”

“I dedicated my life to medicine, and helping others. I cannot just leave that.”

“Just think about it okay? Its London afterall. Don’t think I don’t know about what the two of you did there”

You quickly glanced away and turned your full attention back to Storm. She was just about finished with her recap of the lesson plan. Her eyes met yours and she winked down at you.

“Now that we have finished Dracula, I thought as a treat instead of a movie, we could hear about the real events from the person who inspired the book herself. This is y/n, your school nurse.” A small round of applause broke out as you stood up from the desk.

“Hi everyone! So yes I inspired Dracula, so please ask me any questions.” Immediately questions rang out towards you. Are you a vampire? How come you don’t sparkle? I thought vampires drink blood!

Typical questions that you usually got from new students that visited your office. You quickly answered them without even thinking about it. Alex raised his hand jokingly before asking you the question you dreaded the most.

“How exactly did you inspire the book?” You paused, silently remembering the events of the night. You felt a knot in your throat before you began.

“In 1895, I met Bram Stoker in a pub. He was strange but endearing. A flirt really, and I knew I was done for. In 1896 I confessed to him my mutation and how at that point I was twenty-five for fifty years at that point. He didn’t believe me of course and when I showed him my true nature, the book was born.” You paused, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “The dedication was for me, and one of the brides had my name at the time and my description. I left Ireland and headed for London after the town found out about it. That’s actually where I met Logan.”

The rest of the class period was full of laughter and more questions about your life in general, but you easily avoided those. As your presentation ended, you thanked Storm for the chance she gave you and promised to get drinks in the future. She walked away from you as Logan approached, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Good job bub. I knew you could do it.” You pushed his arm jokingly as the two of you started to walk out of the room, as Alex walked up to the two of you. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened.

“To my ever lasting beauty, an ageless angel, my queen of the dark. A book for your life. Wow you really made an impression on this dude. I didn’t realize you only dated what? Tall, dark and handsome. I’ll dye my hair ya know”

“Watch it Alex” Logan muttered, his claws starting to breach his knuckles.

“Woah big guy, I am just teasin. Anyways, y/n I heard the professor talked to you about Europe. What did ya think?” You made a face as you heard Logan’s blood race faster.

“I’m not too sure yet. I am still thinking about everything.” He nodded at your words before wishing you well and ignoring Logan. The two of you watched him walk away.

“What the hell is he talking about?” Logan looked down at you, his face mixing into anger and confusion.

“Lets go to my room okay?”

___

“What the hell do you mean a mission to London? And with him!” Logan snarled at you. You stared him down, not afraid of what he would do to you.

“Calm down Logan! Its not a big deal I haven’t even decided yet!”

“Yeah I’m deciding for you. NO” He paced the left side of the bed as he muttered to himself.

“You don’t control me! I am my own person and I can’t die! Why don’t you trust me?” You felt your fangs push downwards in anger. If you weren’t careful you weren’t sure what would happen.

“I don’t trust him. You won’t go and thats final.” His claws started to extend as he turned towards you. Fuck it.

The two of you lunged at each other and embraced as a tangle of limbs. Your lips crashed onto every piece of skin it met before you finally met his lips. He held you close to his chest and he messily made out with you, somehow managing to rip off your shirt, leaving in just the skirt and bra. His breath reeked of alcohol and his cologne filled your nose. The tobacco residue from an earlier cigar danced on his tongue as you deepened the kiss. You turned to straddle his lap, you pushed him down on the bed and, without thinking, you leaned down and sunk your fangs into his neck.

The warmth of his blood entered your mouth and the taste was euphoric. You continued your frenzy as you started to grind down on his growing erection. He groaned and panted as you nuzzled deeper into his vein. Your hot breath created a layer of pleasure to the holes in his neck and you pushed down harder on his clothed cock.

“Please, fuck, don’t stop.” He choked out, moaning the last word. You didn’t think you could if you even wanted too. The taste of his blood made you whine in his ears as you picked up the pace of your hips, desperate for friction. His hand snaked down to your pussy, fingers slipping into your underwear and onto your clit. Your fangs sunk in deeper as he rubbed circles. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He picked up the pace making you squeal from pleasure.

“Pl-ee-se-” You couldn’t think. The friction, his fingers, his blood. Without warning, you came hard on his fingers, allowing yourself to get lost in the heat of the moment.

Eyes half lidded you removed your fang from his neck and you looked down at the mess created. Blood stained the sheets, pillows, his shirt, and most likely everything else on the bed. Your mouth and neck was covered in a sheer layer of his blood.

You snapped back to reality and realized what you had done.

“Logan I’m- I can’t. I have to go.” Quickly you threw on a random shirt and left as quickly as you came, leaving Logan in the mess.

His neck already healing, his lifted his pants to stare at the mess left. Cuming in his pants was so middle school, but it wouldn’t be the first time this happened. Before being forced into the weapon x program, you fed on him regularly. Back then, your insatiable bloodlust wasn’t controlled, and he loved it.

Trapped in the trance of euphoria, he didn’t realize you had gone. Slowly succumbing to sleep, Logan wouldn’t realize until the morning that you had gone. He ran through the mansion praying you’d still be in the confines of the walls. It was too late when he finally reached you.

Watching as you left with Alex Summers to a mission to Europe.

~~~~~

tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: omg the drama!! also thank yall so much for ur support :3

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut #wolverine #xmen #vampire!reader #wicked game

197 notes · View notes

lefteagleblizzard · 3 months ago

Text

𝔚𝔢𝔢𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰

Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: Many weeks have passed since your relationship with Mike began. Every chance you got, every break from studying, you spent with the Schmidt siblings, especially on weekends. Today, in particular, the three of you spent the whole day together, which ended with Abby falling asleep in the middle of a board game she insisted on playing despite the late hour. In the process of cleaning everything up, you and Mike start asking each other some questions to get to know each other better. The situation escalated from there.

Warnings: Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Fluff. Mike can speak Spanish, translation to everything at the end (y’all, every time I watch that video on YouTube of Josh answering the web’s most searched question about him and he starts speaking in Spanish... 🥵) Smut at the end. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Table sex. Reader being called “good boy”. Handjob (M receiving). Rimming (R receiving). Anal sex.

Words count: 4500

Part 1-Part 3-Part 4-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8-Part 9

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

The weekend had arrived, bringing with it a much-needed break from college lectures and a chance to spend time with Mike Schmidt and his younger sister, Abby. The three of you had spent the day immersed in simple pleasures: watching Abby's favorite movies, preparing meals together, and even an impromptu dance party in the living room, which left Abby giggling uncontrollably.

As night fell, Abby suggested playing a board game. It was a game designed for children, colorful and straightforward, but its appeal lay more in Abby's enthusiasm than in the gameplay itself.

Mike sat back on the couch, his eyes softening as he watched you and Abby playfully argue over the rules of the board game she insisted on playing. His feelings for you had grown quickly over the past few weeks, and he often found himself marveling at how easily you fit into his life. It was a feeling that both comforted and surprised him-this natural blending of your world with his.

Mike's gaze lingered on you, noticing how you engaged with Abb, your smile genuine and warm, It was moments like these that made him realize just how much you meant to him. The thought of spending nights like this more often, with you by his side, filled him with a profound sense of happiness.

Abby seemed to relish the sight of you and Mike together, often teasing you both with exaggerated gestures of affection.

Whenever you leaned in to kiss Mike or wrap an arm around him, Abby would dramatically roil her eyes, feigning disgust in a way that only a precocious child could. "Ew, you guys are so gross" she'd declare, her face scrunched up, though the playful twinkle in her eye gave her away.

Mike enjoyed playing along with Abby's antics.

He would sometimes pause mid-kiss, turning to her with mock seriousness, "You're just jealous because he can’t resist my charm."

Abby would respond with an exaggerated gag, making you both laugh. "Ugh, please, spare me!" she'd cry, pretending to shield her eyes.

Abby's competitive spirit shone through as she took an early lead, her laughter infectious as she watched the two of you struggle to catch up.

Despite the game's child-like simplicity, you and Mike indulged her, enjoying the shared moments of joy and the occasional eye roll when she pulled off a particularly clever move.

Eventually, the day's excitement took its toll on Abby, and she gradually succumbed to sleep, leaning against Mike's side. Her soft snores were a testament to the fun filled day, and you couldn't help but smile at the scene.

He gently shifted her into his arms, carefully carrying her to her bedroom. The sight of Mike's gentle care warmed your heart, showcasing a side of him that made you admire him even more.

Once Abby was safely tucked into bed, Mike returned to the living room, with a soft sigh, he bent down and kissed you, his lips brushing against yours with affectionate warmth.

"She's out like a light," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

With the game almost cleared away, you caught the hint of reluctance in his demeanor, as if he was fighting the urge to suggest calling it a night. He wanted to savor this rare moment of togetherness, not wanting to seem like the boring type who couldn't keep up.

"Hey," you started, your voice light as you gathered some puzzle pieces into a box, "how about we play a little game while we clean up?"

Mike looked at you, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "A game? Haven't we had enough of those for one night?" he asked, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of fatigue.

He had been running on the relentless schedule of work and caring for Abby, and the idea of simply wrapping you in his arms and falling asleep was incredibly appealing.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you continued tidying up. "Not that kind of game. I was thinking more of a question game—just you and me. We ask each other questions to get to know each other better. Nothing too serious, just...fun."

Mike hesitated, his instinctive walls coming up. You could see the reluctance in his eyes. He wasn't one to open up easily, even to someone he was dating. The thought of revealing too much too soon probably made him uneasy. But he also didn't want to seem boring or unwilling to engage with you, especially after the perfect day you had spent together. He sighed softly, then gave a small nod, agreeing to your proposal.

"Alright," he said, his voice quiet but warm, "but you go first."

You grinned, pleased that he was willing to play along. You folded up a blanket that had been tossed over the couch.

He sat on the couch and leaned back, stretching his arms with a yawn before picking up some toys scattered there that Abby has hidden in the morning.

“If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?"

Mike paused, thinking it over as he picked up the scattered game pieces from the floor. He was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "I don't know," he finally admitted, "I've never really thought about it. I guess.. maybe somewhere quiet. A place where Abby could be happy, where she could run around safely and just be a kid without any worries. Maybe a small town by the coast. She loves the water

You smiled at his answer, not surprised that even his hypothetical dreams were centered around Abby's happiness. "That sounds nice," you said softly, picturing the scene in your mind.

"My turn," Mike said, turning to you as he finished stacking the board games. "What about you? What's something you've always wanted to do but never had the chance to"

The question caught you off guard. You hadn't expected Mike to be so direct, but it was a good kind of surprise. You thought about it for a moment before answering. "I've always wanted to go on a road trip across the country," you admitted. "Just pack up and drive, see where the road takes me. No plans, no schedules, just freedom"

Mike nodded, seeming to understand the appeal. "Your turn, champ," he said, getting comfortable on the couch while he handed you this bag where all of Abby’s toys were.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to stay alert with a tired smile.

Mike’s head was resting on one of his hands, his eyes half-closed in a relaxed state as he waited for your question.

To break the tension, or perhaps to prolong it, you quickly thought of another question to ask.

"Say something to me in Spanish."

Mike blinked, clearly surprised by the request. You had heard him mumbling to himself in Spanish once before, early one morning when he thought he was alone in the kitchen. You hadn't understood what he had said, but the sound of the language rolling off his tongue had been intoxicating. You had been craving to hear him speak in Spanish again ever since.

Mike raised an eyebrow at your request, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. A small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

Your cheeks were already flushing with anticipation.

He studied you for a moment, clearly amused by your request. Without further hesitation, he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he spoke in fluid, flawless Spanish.

"Eres un chico hermoso y perfecto," he said, the words flowing effortlessly from his lips

The way he said it, with such ease and confidence, sent a shiver down your spine. There was something undeniably hot about hearing him speak in a language you didn't fully understand, the foreign syllables carrying an air of mystery and allure.

"What... what did you just say?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike rubbed his eyes, clearly tired but still amused by your curiosity.

“It’s a secret,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “But maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll whisper it to you again...sometime.”

Grinning, you gave a nod and smoothly took the bag from his hands. With a swift motion, you began collecting the scattered toys and papers, turning the cleanup into a playful dance.

You could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he pondered a question to satisfy his curiosity. A slow smile crept across his face, transforming into a sly grin. Leaning in closer, he whispered, “Before we got together, what’s one dirty thought you had about me?”

A rush of heat surged to your cheeks, and you instinctively placed your head on the table, shoulders shaking with a mix of laughter and embarrassment while you held tightly the bag. "Why did I invent these rules?" you groaned, half in regret and half in amusement.

Mike chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered state. His eyes went to esaminate the rest of the room, satisfied in seeing that there was almost nothing left. "Come on, you can't back out now. Rules are rules."

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head, your cheeks still burning. "Fine," you said, your voice tinged with shyness. "There was this one time... you were fixing something around the house in a tank top. I don’t really remember what you were fixing, I wasn’t paying attention to that, you know? I was just watching you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about— hmph..." You paused, your voice trailing off as you hesitated.

Mike leaned in, clearly eager to hear more. "Thinking what?" he prompted, his tone encouraging.

You laughed nervously, finally relenting. "i kept making scenarios in my head of you pulling me close and kissing me. And more..."

The tension between you was almost palpable, a charged current that seemed to pulse through the room.

“For the record, I knew you were staring." He whispered softly at you before turning his back at you to pick up some shredded paper from the ground

You smiled softly at him, happy to know that the attraction you felt for him was mutual.

This game you started will end soon.

After moving around to pick up toys and scattered pieces of paper, you started to feel the heat creeping up your neck. You had been so focused on the game and the conversation that you hadn't noticed how warm it had gotten. Tentatively, and feeling a little self-conscious, you decided to take off your shirt to cool down.

You hesitated for a moment before you slowly pulled off your shirt, revealing your bare chest. You felt a little shy, your skin tingling with a mix of nerves and excitement as the cool air hit your exposed skin.

When you finally looked up, you saw Mike staring at you in awe, his gaze fixed on your chest. There was something almost reverent in the way he looked at you, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, and you suddenly felt very self-aware.

He caught your eye and winked, a gesture that sent your heart racing. In a fit of playful defiance, you grabbed your shirt and threw it at him, your cheeks burning under his gaze.

Mike raised an arm to shield himself from the attack, laughing quietly as the shirt hit him squarely in the chest. His grin widened, clearly amused by your reaction. "Hey, no fair! Can't blame a guy for appreciating the view.” He protested, but the grin on his face told you he was anything but annoyed.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, feeling both shy and bold at the same time.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only a few minutes, the room was clean, and there was nothing left to distract you from the simmering tension between you. You turned to Mike, a sudden idea popping into your mind-a bold request that you weren't sure you had the courage to voice, but the thought of his hands on you was too tempting to resist.

"Hey," you began, your voice a little hesitant, "how about a reward for all that cleaning?"

Mike looked at you, intrigued. "What kind of reward are we talking about?" he asked as he leaned in slightly.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as you worked up the nerve to ask. "A massage," you finally said, your voice almost a whisper. "On my back. I could use one after all that moving around."

He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Sure," he agreed, his voice low and velvety. He rubbed his hands together, warming them up as he asked, "Where would it be more comfortable for you?"

Without overthinking it, you moved closer to him and, in a swift motion, settled yourself onto his lap, your back facing him. He let out a surprised huff, followed by a low grunt as he adjusted to your weight.

"Easy there," he murmured, clearly taken off guard by your boldness. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on your hips. "You're getting a little too good at this teasing thing."

"Everything okay, old man?" you teased, laughter bubbling up inside you.

"You're lucky I like you," he shot back, grinning as his hands settled on your back.

Settling into Mike's lap, you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with a warmth that spread from your cheeks down to your toes.

You could sense Mike adjusting slightly, finding the right balance to support you as his hands settled onto your shoulders. The touch was gentle at first, exploratory, as if he was reacquainting himself with every curve and line of your back. His fingers pressed into the muscles at the base of your neck, drawing out a sigh from you that was part relief, part pleasure.

"You've got a lot of tension here," Mike murmured, his voice low and intimate, the kind of tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I blame you for that," you teased, your own voice barely above a whisper.

His hands moved with practiced ease, kneading the knots and tightness with a care that was both soothing and intoxicating. Each stroke of his fingers felt deliberate, a careful balance between pressure and gentleness that sent warmth spreading through your body. You couldn't help but lean back slightly, closer against him, feeling the heat of his body seep into yours.

"Comfortable?" Mike asked, his breath warm against your ear.

"Very," you replied, the word coming out more like a contented sigh. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, the gesture both an invitation and an acknowledgment of trust.

His hands traveled lower, fingers tracing the contours of your spine with a touch that was both firm and featherlight. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips.

Mike's fingers splayed across your lower back, his thumbs working in tandem to soothe the tension from the long day. You could feel the strength in his hands, the surety of his touch, and it made you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

"You're really good at this," you murmured, the words slipping out between soft sighs of pleasure.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. "I used to give Abby back rubs when she couldn't sleep.” he replied, his voice a deep rumble that resonated in your chest.

You couldn't help but shift slightly, pressing back against him, the motion eliciting a low hum of approval from him that sent your heart racing.

"You're making this very difficult for me to concentrate."

You smiled, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. "Who said I wanted you to concentrate?"

He laughed softly, a sound that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket, comforting and familiar.

You could feel your heart beating a little faster, your breath coming a little shorter, as if every cell in your body was attuned to the anticipation building between you.

Mike shifted beneath you, adjusting his position slightly, and the movement brought you even closer together, your bodies aligning in a way that was both natural and exhilarating.

You felt a surge of courage that prompted you to turn slightly, shifting so that you could see his face more clearly.

Mike met your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with an emotion that mirrored your own. There was a moment of silence before he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was filled with an urgency that left no room for hesitation.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, and when you opened up to him, the kiss deepened into something raw and primal.

But it was the way he moaned against your mouth that sent a thrill of electricity coursing through your veins, the sound low and rough, vibrating through your very core. The moan was muffled, almost swallowed by the intensity of the kiss, but it resonated in the pit of your stomach, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.

And then he rotated your head slightly, his hand gripping your chin as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving over yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled with the effort to maintain control, and it was intoxicating, the knowledge that he was holding back for you.

His hands slid down to your waist, and he pulled you even closer, your chest flush against his as he guided your movements with ease. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

He broke the kiss only to whisper against your lips, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers cascading down your spine. "My good boy," he breathed, his words a caress that resonated deep within you, leaving you yearning for more.

Mike's own breath was unsteady, mingling with yours in a symphony of shared pleasure.

As he pulled back slightly, his lips still brushing against your skin, he whispered with a husky tenderness that made your heart flutter, "Such a good boy for me.”

His mouth found its way to your neck, pressing kisses.

"Mike...”. you whispered, your voice a breathy plea, filled with a need that you couldn't quite put into words. "Speak to me... in Spanish... please."

The request hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you wondered if he would oblige. But then, his lips were at your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he began to speak, the words flowing from his mouth in a rich, rolling cadence that made your heart skip a beat.

"Eres mi chico bueno," he whispered, his voice rough and filled with a intensity that made your knees weak. "Mi precioso, el más hermoso que he visto. Eres mío."

You didn't need to understand every word to know what he was saying, the intent was clear in the way his voice caressed each syllable, his tone heavy with adoration.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck as he bent down to press a kiss to your shoulder, the gesture so tender, so filled with reverence that it made your chest tighten with emotion. You could feel the way his body trembled against yours, the effort to maintain control evident in every movement, every breath.

But it was the way he continued to speak, his voice low and breathy, that sent shivers down your spine, the words a mixture of praise and profanity that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"Me vuelves loco," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "No puedo... resistirme a ti. Eres tan perfecto, tan malditamente perfecto."

"Mi chico perfecto," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kiss was tender, filled with a depth of feeling that made your chest tighten with emotion, and you found yourself leaning into him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping you tightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you found yourself drowning in the sensation, your body pressing against his in a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more of him.

"Eres mío," he murmured, his words a promise, a vow that resonated deep within you. "Solo mío."

The declaration sent a thrill of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips, the sound quickly muffled by his kiss. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, as if trying to merge your bodies into one, to erase the space that dared to separate you.

And as his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, pressing kisses and bites along the sensitive skin there, you felt the world around you fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a moment of pure, unbridled passion.

Mike shifted, rising from the chair with you in his arms and he carried you to the table with a grace that left you breathless.

The cool surface met your skin as he bent you over the table, a contrast that heightened the warmth of his body pressing against you. His hands roamed with a newfound urgency.

His lips followed the path his hands had charted, pressing kisses that were both gentle and insistent.

You couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips, a sound of pure pleasure that echoed in the quiet room. Mike responded with a deep, resonant grunt, a primal sound that spoke of his own rising desire.

"Shh," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a playful reprimand. But his own breath was ragged.

Mike's hands found yours, interlocking your fingers as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back in a gesture that spoke of unity and devotion. His breath was warm against your ear, his whispered words a balm that soothed and ignited in equal measure.

His hand finds the front of your sweats, breaking your train of thought, and he smiles when you gasp softly.

"You're hard."

"Have been for a while," is all you say, face hot.

He just nods before kissing you again, hand rubbing against your bulge with his other one still on your rear.

His hands make haste with the strings of your sweatpants, loosening it just enough to reach in and grab your hard cock, releasing it from the confines of the fabric with a satisfied look. He rubs you softly, thumb placing just beneath the head, soaking in your noises.

He wraps his hand around you firmly now, stroking you slowly as he kisses you deep. It’s rather unfortunate that he must silence your pretty sounds but the vibration of your moans against his mouth makes up for the loss.

Mike was always this way - the pleasurer, rather than the pleased. Trust that he was always happily pleased with his time with you, with your reactions and moans, asking for more, but in general, he just wasn't the type to seek out his own gratification before giving you yours. Part of it riled you up inside, part of it made your heart yearn for him all the more.

He strokes you and you curl into him. It’s as though his fingers are laced with poison. And yet, his lips somehow carry the antidote.

Mike positioned himself in between your thighs, cock of his own throbbing through his jeans. The sight alone has you begging whatever gods may be for some kind of release, not that you’d ever repent for your sinful thoughts when it came to this man. Even if it meant going to something resembling Heaven. You’ve already experienced such a reality and he was right in front of you, rubbing his hardening self against you with no remorse or embarrassment.

Your hands reach down to finally feel him, the way he twitches against your touch, the way he groans just above you.

His hips buck up just slightly, seeking friction, and you chuckle before giving it to him. You buckle his belt and take him out of his jeans and boxers and revel at the sight.

He reaches down to help you. His mouth found yours again as his hands wrap around the both of you, rutting his leaking cock against yours, fucking into his palm.

You follow suit, hips rolling forward as you chase your high. He smirks against your lips before pulling away to look at you, "Eres tan jodidamente hermoso así."

You whine at the praise, face heating up even more - you didn't know that was even possible.

"I, I want-" You struggle to find the words, too lost in the pleasure of his dick against yours.

Mike kisses you again, understanding you regardless, and chuckles as he lets go of the both of you to help you shimmy off your pants completely.

His fingers find again the curves of your ass and he grins widely, groaning at the sight. The flat surface of his tongue laps up your hole, sopping up the area to make it easier for his thumb. He pushes the digit into your enclosure, slow yet eager.

"Mike," you sigh, eyes shut as you focus desperately on his touch.

Your hands clenched into fists on the cold table.

His tongue finally - thankfully - pushes past the precipice, your hips rising at the feeling. Already, your dick twitches in ecstasy, wanting more, wanting release. You can feel the way his facial hair curls upwards against you.

He spits once at your hole as he pulls away, his chin slick from his preparations. Two fingers pass easily through and leave you to crumble beneath him, scissoring them apart to make room for one more, rolling your head against the table, thrashing about as if you were being tortured.

He positions himself at your entrance. "Ready?"

You nod with furrowed brows and god, when he pushes the tip slowly past your rim, you swear you could die.

He pushes in steadily, slow but never faltering. He stretches you so well. You groan, a mix of pain and satisfaction flooding your senses. He holds your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the curves to soothe you as he seeks pleasure of his own deep within you.

You feel his dick twitch against your walls. He rolls his hips, aiming for that spot that drives you to madness. The angle allows this easily, your mind going blank as you become solely aware of the feeling of him entering and exiting your hole. He finds his rhythm, keeping his hands on you as he guides himself in and out, loving the way your ass looks as it ripples with every thrust. He moves his hand from your stomach down to your dick, holding it against the skin of his palm, fingers wrapping around you.

He strokes you at a pace mimicking his own movements, and your brain begins to steam, overcome with heat and desire.

"Shit," you grit, finally opening your eyes.

Your hips buck upward and his thumb shifts against your head as a result, sending you over the edge, spilling over his hand and onto your stomach.

Mike groans at the sight of you coming undone beneath him, pace quickening as he longs to join you in your ecstasy before thrusting a final time, moaning low as he spills.

Warmth spreads over you as he keeps himself slotted within. His hand rests on your stomach.

"You good?" He asks with a soft and reassuring cadence, leaning over to kiss your collarbone as his hands rub up and down your sides.

You nod, satisfied. He chuckles softly at your expression, taking it in affectionately.

As you turned to face him, you saw the exhaustion etched on his face, and your heart softened. He looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep, his eyelids heavy as he tried to keep his gaze focused on you.

"Mike," you whispered, reaching up to gently caress his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. "You look like you're about to pass out."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he let out a deep, tired sigh. "I'm so tired," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection for the man before you. "Let’s get cleaned up real quickly," you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Mike's eyes opened slightly, a grateful smile tugging at his lips. "You're too good to me," he said, his voice filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

You shook your head, your smile widening as you helped him to his feet. "No, Mike. We're good for each other."

Later on, as you curled up together in bed, Mike's arms wrapped securely around you, his breath warm against your neck, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together, with love and trust as foundation.

As Mike drifted off to sleep, his body relaxed against yours, you couldn't help but smile to yourself, feeling utterly content.

Note: I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who read the first part of this. Your support and kind words mean the world to me and have truly inspired me to continue writing.

I hope you enjoy this second part just as much as the first. Your feedback and encouragement are incredibly motivating, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this continuation of the story.

Thank you once again for all the love and support!

Translation for all the words in Spanish (done with the help of my brother so blame him for any errors)

-"Eres un chico hermoso y perfecto"= "You are a beautiful and perfect boy"

-"Eres mi chico bueno" = "You're my good boy"

-"Mi precioso, el más hermoso que he visto. Eres mío." = "My precious, the most beautiful I've ever seen. You're mine."

-"Me vuelves loco" = "You drive me crazy"

-"No puedo... resistirme a ti. Eres tan perfecto, tan malditamente perfecto." = "I can't... resist you. You are so perfect, so damn perfect."

-"Mi chico perfecto" = "My perfect boy"

-"Eres mío" = "You're mine"

-"Solo mío" = "Only mine"

-"Eres tan jodidamente hermoso así." = “You're so fucking handsome like that."

228 notes · View notes

moosesarecute · 4 months ago

Text

Part 7: The Shadows Sing

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8

You were drowning. You felt your hands and foot freeze as you sunk further down into the lake.

You were too weak, so you let your shadows out.

Not even seconds later, they had shadow walked you out of the lake.

However, in front of you wasn’t the beautiful hazel eyes you’d learn to adore, it was Amaranth’s black eyes staring into your soul.

“We’ve got you now. You can’t get away.”

It was Amarantha that was speaking, but the voice was Adrian’s. The illyrian that took your wings.

“I see you’re a shadowsinger,” the voice continued. “We could use one of you on our team.”

You were dying.

“Please don’t run away,” Azriel said the second you opened your eyes. “You need to rest, you have a fever.”

You sat up in your bed and looked around. You were home and safe. The fire was going.

You noticed the presence of your shadows and immediately hid them away.

You felt warm. Not only from the fire, but from the presence of the illyran male that sat before you. You hated to admit it, but you couldn’t hold it back any longer. You didn’t want to run away from him.

Azriel slowly walked towards you with your mug in his hands. You had made it yourself out of tree.

He handed you the mug and you looked down at the content. You had no idea what it was, but it smelled delicious.

“It’s hot chocolate,” Azriel said before you could question him. “It’s chocolate melted and mixed with milk. Remember to blow on it, it’s hot.”

You nodded and did as he said. It was so good, you felt like you were in heaven.

“Where did you get milk?” You asked him.

Milk was something you’d never have money for. Oat milk you were sometimes able to buy, but never cow milk.

“My shadows got it from Velaris,” he answered.

“Velaris?” You asked him. “Is that a store?”

You had never heard about that, but the name told you it was beautiful.

“It’s a city in the Night Court,” Azriel answered. “I live there.”

You thought back to your time in the Night Court. You were always told the court didn’t have any cities other than Hewn City. You’ve never heard about Velaris.

“It had been a secret for over 5000 years,” Azriel explained. He must have seen your confusion. “It only got revealed during the war against Hybern.”

You tried to imagine what your life had been like if you’d live in a city. If you’d know about a city, you could have escaped the war camp easier and probably hidden well enough to not get caught.

“Many other illyrans still does know about it. That’s probably why you don’t know about it either,” Azriel continued hesitantly. “I talked to Rhys.”

You couldn’t stop yourself as you whipped your head towards Azriel.

“Rhys?” You asked him. “Rhys as in Rhysand as in the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhys?”

He only nodded.

“I’m his spymaster,” Azriel told you.

You immediately stood up from your bed. Your now empty mug fell to the floor.

“Why does he want to spy on me? I haven’t done anything wrong. I would’ve died if I didn’t do that I did. I’m not going back.” You rambled.

Azriel stood from your chair and took a step towards you. His arms were lifted, it was like he wanted to hold you, but he soon lowered them again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I’m not here to spy on you. Definitely not here because Rhys said so. I’m here because I’m curious about you. I’m also here because I realized I like talking to you. No other reasons.”

It didn’t calm you down. You felt so vulnerable.

You’d let a spy into your home. Not only a spy, but an illyrian spy.

You can’t believe you thought of him as safe.

“You’ve used your five minutes,” you replied with a shaky voice. “The bargain was that you’d leave me alone after the five minutes.”

His eyes widened a little as he shock his head.

“The bargain was that I’d leave you after five minutes of questioning if you told me to leave,” Azriel told you and moved towards you. He lifted his arms again, but this time he put them on your arms. You loved the feeling. One simple touch from him made your anxiety disappear. “Tell me to leave, and I’ll leave.”

You looked deep into his hazel eyes. You didn’t want him to leave. You wanted him to stay. For him to continue holding you.

“I…,” you started, but had to stop.

You heard him draw a sharp breath and felt his shadows in your hair. They then moved to caress your cheeks.

You felt worry spreading through your body. You didn’t understand why, it’s not like he would reject your request for him to stay. He literally just told you he wanted to stay.

That’s when you realized, you felt his emotions. You’d been feeling them ever since the bond snapped for you, but it felt so much stronger.

You realized his grip on your arms had tightened, not in a dangerous manner, but in a protective one.

“It snapped for you too?” You asked him before you even thought about it.

He just nodded as his eyes grew in size.

You almost laughed.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you told him. Knowing he felt as nervous as you did made you confident.

“Then I won’t leave,” he answered determinedly.

“Good,” you said. “I’m going to sleep.”

He let out a small laugh.

You’d slept through the night and woke up to a ready breakfast. You didn’t talk much while eating, you only focused on savoring the taste. You loved the feeling of being full.

“What happened yesterday?” Azriel asked you when you’d both finished eating.

You thought for a second. You felt so embarrassed. You didn’t want him to look at you as weak.

“There are a pair of twins in my hunting group,” you started to explain. “They’re the best of all of us.” You had to draw a breath before you continued. “They thought it funny to pull my prosthetic from my foot and throw it out onto the ice. I had to crawl out to get it and fell through the ice.”

You could see the anger spreading through Azriel’s entire body.

“How did you get out?”

“I waited for them to leave and shadow walked out of the lake,” you explained. “They didn’t want to help me further.”

Azriel tucked his wings back as he thought. He pushed his shoulders back.

“I want to train you,” he explained. “Both in combat and how to control your shadows.”

You didn’t hesitate as you agreed to take his training.

“Balance is the most important part of fighting, both with and without shadows,” Azriel explained to you.

It had been a week since the lake incident and your fever was long gone.

Azriel had met you twice during the week and finally agreed that you were healthy enough for training. What he didn’t know was that you’d been out hunting every day this week and had been categorizing yourself as healthy all along.

The two of you can found a clearing far away from anyone you knew and decided it would be your training spot.

Azriel had his shadows in every direction, so that you would know if anyone got close to where you were.

“We start with your right foot,” Azriel told you next. “You’ll need to balance and I’ll poke you with this stick trying to make you unbalanced. Got it?”

You nodded as you lifted your left foot off the ground.

“Do you always carry all your weight on your right foot when you stand?” Azriel asked you.

You were about to answer him when he poked you with the stick. You used all the strength you had, but managed to stay upright.

“Yes,” you answered him.

“We’ll have to change that,” he explained. “It’s a weakness that’s easy to notice.”

You knew he meant well, but you didn’t like that he talked about your weaknesses. You’d spent your entire life trying to hide your weaknesses and Azriel picked up on the weakest one within minutes of you two training.

You were soon pulled out of your thoughts when the male poked you again with his stick. This time, you didn’t do so well.

You lost balance completely and you were about to step down on your prosthetic leg, when you were covered in shadows.

Not yours, they would never help you like that, but Azriel’s. They felt a lot cooler than yours, but they were careful around you.

They helped you regain your balance and soon you stood still on your right foot once more.

“Our goals is for you to use your own shadows to stabilize you if you loose balance,” Azriel told you. “Just like my shadows just did. That way, we can practice both balance and shadow control at the same time.”

You nodded at him, but you felt like the task would be way too hard. Your shadows never listened to you other than shadow walking. They never liked to take directions from you.

Azriel looked like he was waiting for you and you realized he wanted you to let your shadows loose.

It felt extremely unnatural to let someone else see your shadows, but your shadows were ecstatic.

“Yayyyyy.”

“Friends!!!”

“Mate!”

“Safe!”

They immediately surrounded Azriel and both yours and his shadows started to dance together in the wind.

You liked to see them this happy. Usually they hid away and moved around slowly. You often thought of them as moody teenagers.

“You’re ready?” Azriel asked.

You were still standing on your right foot as Azriel did his best to get you unbalanced.

“Try to get them to help you,” he instructed you.

You drew a big breath and tried to lighten the tone of your voice.

“Can you help me stay balanced?” You asked your shadows. “Please?”

They reacted worse than you expected.

One second they were dancing around with their friends and the next one, they had pushed you so that you ended up on the ground.

You felt your cheeks getting red. You felt so embarrassed you couldn’t control the shadows that were a part of you.

You looked up to Azriel. He stood and held out a hand to help you up. You looked past his hand and glared at him. He wore a smug smile.

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked him. You were pretending to be annoyed, but you couldn’t lie, you’d never be annoyed at him for this.

He shrugged as he helped you stand.

“We’ll change to the other side, okay?”

You moved your weight over to your prosthetic and lifted your right leg off the ground.

“Ready?”

You nodded. You were struggling, so you spent all your energy staying balanced and had no energy left to answer him with words.

Azriel poked you with the stick and you immediately lost balance. You had to set down your right foot and you then spent a few moments before you managed to balance on your prosthetic once more.

You had a long way to go.

Azriel had left after your training session. He gave to you tasks before he left. First one was to practice balance on both your foot and prosthetic. The second one was to become friends with your shadows.

“They’re your companions,” he had said. “You’re supposed to help each other.”

So you decided that for them to be your friends, you had to make them happy. And your shadows loved two things more than everything else. They loved to be out in fresh air and they loved to bother you.

So your daily routine the last week had been you and your shadows, practicing balancing in the clearing you and Azriel had found. You would balance and they would try to overturn you. They were very rough against you, so you fell more times than you should in the beginning. However, your shadows have never been happier.

Throughout the next few weeks you would, after advice from Azriel, let your shadows roam free also when you weren’t with him. You would leave them at home if you left the house to meet with Master Raven and the rest of your hunting team, but you’d bring one that would cling to your tight the entire time.

If you went hunting, they would come with you. They would keep their distance, hiding behind trees or in bushes, but again one of them would always stay close to you.

After a while, they started to argue about who’d stay with you and who’d be on their own. The luckiest one was the one that was allowed to be with you on your adventures.

“My turn!”

“No, my turn!”

“You went last time!”

You learned to know the difference between the shadows and had different inside jokes with all of them.

They finally had become what Azriel had described them as: your companions, your friends.

As winter turned to spring and the nature begun to bloom, so did the relationship between you and your shadows.

However, also the relationship between you and Azriel had bloomed a little.

Not a lot, you were nowhere near accepting the mating bond, but you’d become friends at least. You’d start every training session by talking about what had happened since last.

You’d learn about his family, he’d learn about the people in your hunting group.

You’d told him nothing about why you were hunting or how you ended up in The Middle and he told you nothing about what he was working on. You had a mutual understanding that you both needed time before you could talk about that.

You one thing you knew for sure, you’d never been happier.

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark @saltedcoffeescotch @rcarbo1 @mrsjna @kitsunetori @thecraziestcrayon @blessthepizzaman

#acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x shadowsinger!reader

187 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 7 months ago

Text

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part.

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable.

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen.

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize.

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler.

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought.

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half.

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go.

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why.

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two.

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to.

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.”

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.”

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional.

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment.

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.”

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be.

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.”

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him.

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off.

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional.

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman.

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.”

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.”

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go.

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her.

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have.

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay.

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave.

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #black writers #wwe #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

298 notes · View notes