#and by the past I mean half an hour ago i guess

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Naive - L.C

💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark themes (please check warnings). 18+ 💡Word count: 11.5k 💡Warnings: Profanity. Stalking. Nonconsensual voyeurism. Nonconsensual photos. Cheating. Major injury (Not Chan or reader). Mentions of a car accident. Mentions of sexual harassment. Mentions of panic attacks and almost panic attacks. No smut, but suggestive content, some dirty talk and mentions of sexual acts. Very morally dark character. Drugging. Kidnapping. Restraints. Chan calls reader angel a lot (mostly because I don’t wanna use y/n), and baby in the second half.

Summary: Breakups are always painful, but at least you have your best friend by your side to make everything better. Right?

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I know nothing about flower meanings, it all came straight from Wikipedia so don't blame me for inaccurate meanings, it's just a fic.

“It’s okay, he’s in the past, he’s not worth your tears,” your best friend soothes as you cry into his chest for the third night in a row.

“I-I should’ve li-listened to you,” you sob, gripping his t-shirt tighter and curling up smaller.

“It doesn’t matter now; what matters is you ended it and never have to deal with that asshole again.”

“A-asshole is too kind.”

Chan chuckles and tilts his head against the top of your head yet says nothing more and simply continues to hold you until you run out of tears for your cheating, pervert of an ex-boyfriend. Proving once again that Lee Chan is the only man you can ever trust to be good and honest.

Over a year ago, you met Lee Chan while in the gardening section of the bookstore. It was a cliché romcom moment where you both reached for the same book and your hands met before your eyes did. He smiled at you with a soft little chuckle and said something like “guess we both want to know what Victorian people thought flowers meant”, which somehow led to you both buying a copy of the book on the Victorian language of flowers to take to the nearby coffee shop with the intention of reading side by side. Though very little reading happened, and you found yourself sitting there with Chan for hours; laughing and talking as if you’ve known one another for years. It was like he was made to be the other half of you, designed with only you in mind.

At first, you thought maybe it was true; that Chan was your romantic soulmate. But you were seeing someone else at the time and pushed the thought of Chan being anything but platonic entirely out of your mind.

It’s a year and multiple failed relationships later, while you’re out shopping on a rare day off, that something changes.

“What do you think of this one?” Chan asks, drawing your attention to where he’s a few racks away donned in the black, leather biker jacket he just found on the men’s sale rack.

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly hit with the realisation that your best friend is ridiculously attractive.

It’s not that you’ve ever thought Chan is ugly; in fact, you first paid attention to him in the bookstore past a glance because of how handsome he is. But that was over a year ago and your thoughts have never moved on from considering him the same kind of beautiful as you would a piece of art that you see in a store, yet easily move on past without looking back.

Yet now, you’ve noticed and suddenly can’t draw your eyes away from him.

“Hello?” Chan laughs, waving his arms to bring you back to reality when you do nothing more than stare at him for almost a full minute. “You alright? Getting hungry?” He pouts at you teasingly. “Does the baby need num nums?”

“I hate it when you say that” you remind and stick your middle finger up at him, making him laugh while you turn back to the sale rack you had been looking through.

“I know, why do you think I say it?” He cackles and bounces over to prod you and gain your attention back. “You didn’t say what you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you while posing in the jacket. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod after taking his body in once more and turning away.

“Was that yes to getting it, or that I look sexy?” He murmurs from suddenly behind you with his mouth right by your ear. You jolt in surprise having not heard him approach, then turn to whack his arm while he cracks up laughing. “You think I’m sexyyy!” He sings loudly, just to annoy you.

“Why are we best friends again?”

“I took pity on you and your bad taste in men.” He definitely deserves the hit this time, even if he’s right.

Ever since you’ve known Chan, you’ve had nothing but terrible luck with picking men to date. You always think they’re okay at first, but then the red flags start popping up and begin waving manically in the hot air spewing from their mouths.

You really thought you had run out of bad luck and finally picked a good one with your ex. He was kind and endlessly attractive; a hard worker, yet always made time for fun and relaxation; and his parents loved you.

It lasted a whole seven months before you found another woman’s underwear in his car, and you realised you should’ve listened to Chan’s gut feeling about Kyle from the start. Finding a stack of polaroids of various women getting changed when you were emptying his apartment of your belongings that same night only made the heartache worse. Not only did he cheat on you, but he also likes to take photos of unsuspecting women through windows and cracked doors.

Upon turning your back on him three weeks ago, you decided to give up on men and always listen to Chan’s gut instincts from now on.

You don’t need a boyfriend; you just need your best friend.

Just when you’re about to leave your apartment building to meet with Chan for lunch one day, you come face to face with your ex. He looks, frankly put, like shit. He used to be so well put together, never to an obsessive degree but he was always well rested and tidy, but now he looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in at least two days with his hair sticking up a little as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He’s still wearing nice clothes, but they’re creased, and his shoes aren’t even properly tied.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss while glaring at the man and trying to step past him, but he gets in your path with his hands held up placatingly; he even doesn’t attempt to touch you or get in your personal space.

Vaguely, you think how weird it is of him to respect that boundary yet have polaroids of you half naked in the changing room at your gym. A completely separate gym to the one he frequents too, which somehow makes it even worse; that he went so far out of his way to take the photos you never consented to.

“I just want to talk to you, please? Just a few minutes and I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again,” he pleads. The genuine desperation in his eyes makes you relent and nod. “Can we go somewhere a little less public? I’m not asking to go somewhere isolated, just not the middle of the building lobby.”

Again, you relent and move to the side of the lobby out of the light foot traffic; still perfectly in sight of others yet far enough away to have a private conversation.

“Thank you,” he breathes out gratefully and relaxes a little as you lean one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest.

“What is it? I’m going to be late to meet Chan.”

“Right, how is he?”

“Good, it’s Chan. He’s always good.” The words are a little pointed, designed to hurt, and the way his features flinch at the jab sends a little surge of satisfaction into you. Though there’s something in you aching at that same hurt in his eyes; it looks too real.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he agrees softly, and you hum. “So uh, I just…I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Cheating on me or taking photos of women without their consent?” You question, glaring again at the reminder of why you want nothing to do with this man before you. This pathetic, sad eyed, mess of a man.

It’s funny how far he’s fallen in so little time. Strange how a man who cheated on you in the backseat of the same car he often pulled you into with shared giggles, can break so much at being called out on his misdeeds.

You really thought he would just move on to the next conquest and forget all about you for good, just like he did while with the other woman. Or women. You never asked how many there were.

Yet the man before you doesn’t seem to have moved on at all.

“I didn’t do either of those things,” he repeats the words he had said to you a little over a month ago. You didn’t believe him then; you were so full of anger and betrayal as you tried to cradle the pieces of your shattered heart and hoped he hadn’t stolen any of the pieces leaving you unable to stitch it back together again.

Now that you’ve let go of most of your anger and Chan has helped you in putting the pieces back together to the point that your heart is almost whole and healing, you can see through the pain and tears and notice that this man in front of you looks genuine. He’s looking at you without any attempt to look aside or shrink away. He isn’t hiding.

“I found underwear in your car Kyle,” you point out, holding your ground even if you suddenly realise that something here doesn’t feel right. “And those photos in your apartment.”

“I know, I know, and I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck they got there because it wasn’t me.”

“You live alone and don’t share your car.”

“I know!” He exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, though it doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at you, especially as he steps back to make certain that he doesn’t accidentally hit you. Kyle’s always been considerate like that; always made sure to give you a wide berth when he flung his arms around in play or frustration. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a cheating pervert. A man can be against physically harming his partner and still betray their trust so deeply.

“Then only you could’ve put them there.”

“No, no, I didn’t though,” he steps closer while lifting his hands between you, though he brings them to his own chest instead of touching you. “Look me in the eye and tell me I have ever done a thing to make you think I would cheat on you or take photos without consent. I never even asked you for pictures; you were the one who offered and asked if you could send me pictures months into our relationship.”

The thing is, he’s right. Although you did have sex regularly and he would send you dirty texts when he was in the mood, Kyle never asked for nudes. You had to be the one to bring it up and ask if he was against that kind of thing.

Now that he brings it up, you can vividly recall him telling you that does enjoy nudes and would certainly enjoy seeing photos of you like that, but he also knows how dangerous they can be to send and receive because of hacking, losing phones or breaking up. He had been so genuine about it and triple checked that you were comfortable with it entirely before giving you consent to send him photos whenever you wanted.

“You had those polaroids, you didn’t need me to send you any,” you reason in a mumble. You don’t even know if you believe what you’re saying at this point, or if you’re just trying to explain the behaviour away. Something isn’t sitting right in you.

“Why would I want polaroids of random women I don’t even know when I have you?” He asks, eyes silently begging you to understand.

“There were photos of me too,” you answer.

“What?” He frowns confusedly. “I didn’t see those, just the top ones before you took them all away.”

“You know I was in there, at the gym changing rooms.”

“I’ve never been anywhere near your gym!” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I swear I have never been to your gym.” He looks at you imploringly as his hands drop. “And you know I keep my car clean, there’s no way I would’ve failed to notice that underwear; so if I did cheat on you, do you really think I’d miss the evidence and leave them somewhere you’d see them?”

You open your mouth to retort automatically, only to realise there isn’t a single word ready to roll off your tongue. He’s making far too much sense and that doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on you. He’s a pervert who takes photos of unsuspecting women in vulnerable situations. He’s a terrible person.

At least, you thought he was.

Maybe Chan is right and you’re just naïve when faced with a handsome man giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“I need to go,” you decide after a few long moments of trying to form some kind of reaction other than staring at him with furrowed brows. “Chan’s waiting.”

“Right,” Kyle lets out a disappointed sigh, yet nods resignedly and steps back as if giving you space to leave. He hadn’t been in your way in the first place but it’s a silent sign that he won’t try to stop you. “I guess I can’t say anything else to convince you that I didn’t do those things, and I never would. I…I wanted to marry you, you know?”

“What?” You whisper in shock, eyebrows lifting as your eyes turn wide. “Marry me?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a soft, humourless laugh and runs one hand through his hair while looking aside, a shy flush creeping onto his neck and ears. “I was in love with you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, well, no, actually, that’s a lie.” He looks at you and catches the way your face falls into a frown hearing him admitting to lying to your face like that. “I’m still so fucking in love with you that I can’t function properly knowing you hate me. I’m not asking you to come back to me; I know that won’t happen. I’m just…asking you to really think about it, about us, and me. I never lied to you, never showed you a false me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really believe I did those things?”

“What took you so long?” Chan pouts at you when you sit down in your usual seat opposite him at your usual table in your usual café. “Angel?”

“Uh, so Kyle was at my apartment,” you inform, picking up your mug that’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already thanks to Chan always ordering for you both. Usually you arrive minutes before your food and drinks arrive, but today you’re late for the first time.

“What?” Chan’s face drops so drastically it throws you off for a second. You’ve never seen such a dark expression on him; you’ve never seen him so entirely void of any light. He doesn’t look like your best friend. “Your apartment? Did he force himself in? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I meant the lobby and no, he’s never hurt me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He cheated on you, took fucking creeper shots of you in your gym and you think he’s above putting his hands on you?” He scoffs, shaking his head a little and pushes the salt across the table to you. You hadn’t asked for it, but you will before you start eating.

He’s always doing thoughtful little things like that for you, but you’ve never really noticed it until the last weeks. Silently noticing what you need and giving it to you with a smile.

But he’s not smiling now. He looks concerned now, rounded eyes locked on you and head tilted down a little as he frowns, almost looking at you through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but he fooled you before, angel, he’s clearly trying to do it again. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’ve got that lost look you get when you don’t know what to do.”

“He made good points, Channie,” you reply as you salt your fries before putting the shaker down. Chan doesn’t even look at it past a quick glance before sliding it back to its home out of the way.

“What good points could he have for cheating on you?”

“He said he didn’t do it-” Chan sighs heavily, cutting you off.

“Angel, he said that before, remember? Why do you suddenly believe that piece of shit?”

“Because…he looked honest.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before he sighs and reaches over to hold your hands. “I say this with all the love in me, but you’re not the best judge of character, angel. You’re naïve, innocent. I love that you see the good in the world and everyone, really, I fucking love it; it’s really sweet and cute. But it’s going to get you hurt all over again if you let him fool you like this.”

You look down at your hands in Chan’s, then back up at his face. His gaze is entirely open; big eyes and soft, naturally pouting lips. Your heart skips a beat.

You look away while nodding in understanding, silently telling him that you’re listening to him as you free your hands so that you can pick up your fork.

“Good, I really don’t want to see you hurt again like that. It broke my heart,” Chan says, relaxing as he picks up his own fork to stab too many fries onto the prongs, which he then points at you. “If you break my heart again like that, I’m stealing your TV.”

“My TV?” You sputter in surprise before laughing. Chan grins around the too many fries in his mouth and nods. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” he sings around his mouthful while stabbing more fries.

Even with the view of his partially chewed food in his mouth, you can’t really deny it.

“No! Stop it!” You giggle while trying to block Chan from entering your kitchen behind you. “It’s not ready!”

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” He replies, laughing along with you as he tries to dart around you.

“Not yet! Just wait, you impatient shit!”

“No!” He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the doorway and spin you both, so his back is to the kitchen now instead of yours. “Ha!”

“No!” You gasp and reach out, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and in a panic, you yank him closer harshly, unintentionally making him stumble into you.

“Shit, are you okay?” He worries once you’re both steady and he’s holding your upper arms to nudge you back just enough that he can look at your face. You’re frowning, though he can only see your furrowed eyebrows thanks to your hand being over most of the bottom half of your face to cup your nose as his shoulder had collided with it. “Oh, did I hurt you?”

“Asshole,” you murmur while nodding, even if it doesn’t hurt that much; you just honestly like being doted on by your best friend to the extent that you are willing to play up minor injuries to gain his gentle touch and attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologises, frowning at you as he carefully tugs your hand down. “Let Doctor Channie see.”

“You’d be a terrible doctor,” you reply, moving your hand down to let him cup your face so that he can tilt your head into the light coming in through the windows and see your features better.

“What? I’d be great!” He defends, pouting at you offendedly.

“You thought the uvula is what you pee from.”

“It’s not my fault!” He blushes a little at the reminder of his innocent mix up. “Nobody told me that dangly thing isn’t tonsils! And the pee pipe thingy starts with a U too!”

“Urethra.”

“Exactly, they’re so similar! They should name them differently. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything, I’d still be a good doctor.”

“Yeah, until you try to catheter someone’s throat.” His expression turns unimpressed, and you can’t help but giggle. He rolls his eyes as his lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to your slightly red nose.

“Mm, so what’s the verdict doc?” You tease, poking at his stomach and trying not to focus on the physical reminder that your best friend has abs under his baggy clothes.

“I think you’ll be okay with the right treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“The best thing for a boo-boo,” he replies seriously, and then visibly nearly breaks into a laugh at the almost glare you land on him. “What?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are. My baby,” he coos and taps his thumbs to your cheeks. You hope he doesn’t see or feel the way they warm at his words. “I specialise in baby angels, I know this.”

“You’re seriously ridiculous.”

“Mm, so, are you consenting to Doctor Channie’s effective boo-boo treatment?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.”

“You know what the treatment for a boo-boo is, angel,” he chuckles and tilts forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Like that.”

“I didn’t consent to that treatment, I can sue you,” you mumble, trying to distract from the growing pink on your cheeks. Chan’s eyes glide over your features, lips turning up into a soft smile. “Stop smiling at me like that!” You whine, slapping his waist so gently that it can’t even be classed at a slap, more like you’re just putting your hands on his waist with a little force.

“But you’re so fucking cute,” he reasons, smiling wider. “My cute baby,” he murmurs lowly and brushes his nose against yours gently. Your breath hitches at the tender action while your fingers curl reflexively to loosely grip his t-shirt. “Do I have consent to administer treatment, angel?” He whispers, lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them moving as he talks.

“I…” Just as you start to nod, your phone starts to ring in the kitchen, making you jump in surprise and jolt away from Chan in a natural reaction to the unexpected noise. “I should get that.”

“Right,” Chan mutters, dropping his arms to his side with a disappointed frown as he watches you scoot around him to enter the kitchen.

When you pick up your phone from the counter, you’re more than just a little surprised to see your ex’s mother calling you.

You haven’t heard from her since the breakup when she messaged you to say that she doesn’t know what happened, but she hopes that you and her can still be friends as she values you so highly. You hadn’t responded then; you hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone who you knew through him, even if you had regret ghosting her afterwards because she genuinely is such a lovely woman who always treated you lovingly.

Still, even with the period of no contact between you, you pick your phone up to answer the call. “Hello?”

“O-oh thank goodness,” the still familiar voice sobs in relief.

“Auntie? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kyle, there-there’s been an accident.”

Just over an hour after receiving the call, you’re tucked up in between Kyle’s parents on the couch of the private room with their arms around you, both of them crying for their son as you do your best to comfort them while feeling numb yourself. You’re too in shock at the sight of the heavily injured man laid unconscious on the bed to process it.

When you had arrived with Chan right behind you, the pair had just about managed to tell you through their tears that Kyle had been driving to work that morning when another vehicle had violently run him off of the road.

It had been on such a quiet road so early that nobody else was around; no witnesses to give details of the other car, nor to run to his aide or call for help. By the time someone found the wreck in the ditch, it had been long enough that too much damage had been done.

And now, even after hours of surgery, there’s no knowing if Kyle will make it through the night, let alone wake up again. There’s only waiting.

So, you wait.

“They’ll call if there’s any sign,” Chan reminds as he helps you out of your jacket. “You spent two days by his side, angel, there’s nothing more you can do for him. He’s not your responsibility or person to care for anymore. His parents and sister are there, and they promised to call you.”

“I know,” you reply, moving woodenly as Chan leads you through your apartment to the kitchen with his hand in yours to keep you moving.

He flicks on the light and falls still at the sight of the mess you left on the counter from leaving so quickly three evenings ago to get to the hospital. He never learned what you had been refusing to let him see until now. “Cake,” he murmurs, noticing the half decorated cake on the counter, surrounded by all the items you had been using to decorate it.

“For your new job,” you reply with a shrug. “It’s no good now. Sorry, I’ll buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. Just knowing is enough for me,” Chan assures, turning to bring you in to hold against his chest where you melt against him with an exhale. “I appreciate the thought and effort you went to, angel; that means more than a store bought cake ever could.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s order something for dinner and while it’s on its way, I’ll clean this up while you go shower.”

“Do I smell?” You mumble against his shoulder.

“Like sadness,” he retorts with a joking edge to his sombre tone that makes you jab your fingers into his waist in scold. He yelps and contorts away from your fingers without releasing his arms from around you. “And meanness.”

“Meanness,” you repeat, scoffing a short laugh and leaning back from his shoulder to look at him.

“Yes. It’s mean to take advantage of my weak spots.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“Yes, but you’re the nice one, my angel,” he coos, pinching your cheek before he lets you go to nudge you out of the kitchen while you try to recall just when it got so normal for Chan to call you his.

Since becoming best friends with Chan, it’s not unusual at all to return home and find him in your apartment as if he owns the place. Honestly, you genuinely think he spends more time in your apartment than his own, especially the past couple months. The couch is practically his bed at this point.

What is very unusual however, is to arrive home to find the door slightly open and hear another voice talking with Chan from inside your apartment.

“Chan?” You call in a cautious, soft voice as you nudge the door open and peer around it.

“Hi, angel, welcome home,” Chan greets, smiling at you and motioning you to join him opposite the two uniformed police officers standing and talking to him in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on, Channie?” You ask as you stand at his side and cling to his hand while remaining just a little behind him and away from the officers. They’re both taller than you and Chan, with one of them being thick with muscle and rather intimidating. Though when he smiles at you in polite greeting, most of the fear melts away.

“This is Officer Choi Seungcheol and Officer Chwe Hansol, they’re here to talk to you about Kyle,” Chan explains, motioning to each man in turn.

“Is there news on who ran him off the road?” You ask, looking at the two men with hope in your eyes and chest. It’s been over a week since the incident and there hasn’t been any more information about who put Kyle into such a devastating condition.

The last you heard, they had managed to get sight of a damaged SUV in the general vicinity from CCTV a handful of roads away, but the plates turned out to be stolen from another car across the country over a year ago and the windows were blacked out so there’s no way to tell who was driving the car. Whoever it was clearly knows the streets well enough that they escaped the CCTV quickly and the vehicle hasn’t shown up since. Nor has one matching the description been scrapped or sent to be fixed.

“That’s not our department,” the intimidating officer, Seungcheol, replies while giving you another gentle little smile. “I’m afraid we’re from the sexual crimes division, ma’am.”

“Sexual crimes?” You whisper in shock. “Wh-what?”

“We’ve received reports that Kyle has sexually harassed and stalked multiple women over the past year.”

“No, he-he wouldn’t-” you argue, shaking your head as your hands start to tremble ever so slightly, so you hold onto Chan’s hand tighter with both of yours to try and cease the shuddering movements. “You’re wrong.”

“I understand that it’s hard to hear these things about someone you thought you knew, but we have to follow up every lead we have to get all the information we need to press charges.”

“He’s in a hospital bed!” You baulk and let out an incredulous laugh. “You want to charge a man who might not even wake up? What kind of a person are you?!”

“It’s not our choice, ma’am. We’re just doing our jobs and trying to get justice for the victims.”

“I’m not having any part in this. I have nothing to say to you. He never did a thing wrong to me. Get out,” you insist, pointing to the door. “I’m not going to let you bring these accusations into my home without proof.”

“We have proof,” the other officer speaks up, earning a slightly disapproving look from his partner, but he isn’t stopped. “We saw proof ourselves; photos of women taken from outside of windows and other positions that clearly show a lack of consent. And a hidden, digital diary alluding to the acts that match up with statements we received from victims.”

“Photos?” You repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am, and I’m afraid you were in some. Based on the angle and quality, we believe the photos were taken from a roof into what we can only assume is your own bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am. May we see your room and take photos for comparative purposes?”

“My bedroom…” You can only repeat, too in shock to do anything else as you stare dumbly at the two uniformed men in front of you.

“I think she needs a moment,” Chan says while putting his arm around you to support your gradually weakening body.

“Of course, we’ll wait right here,” Seungcheol agrees in a gentle tone and nods understandingly.

Chan carefully takes you to the living room to sit you on the couch and kneels in front of you. “Baby, breathe, come on,” he encourages softly as he holds your face. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t copy me, come on.” He starts to take exaggerated breaths; big inhale, hold, slow exhale.

You blink at him unseeingly for a few of his breaths before your eyes drop to his mouth and you naturally copy the man who has helped you level your breathing more times than you can count the past year.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises. “A few more for me, you can do a few more for your Channie, right?” You nod so he smiles and takes a handful more deep, steadying breaths, each of which you obediently copy. “Good, well done.” He leans forward and kisses your head. “I’ll deal with the cops, okay? You just sit here and let your Channie handle it all. You just relax, angel.”

There isn’t a single part of you that wants to face the officers and their accusations again, so you simply nod and let Chan tuck a blanket around you as you curl up against the back of the sofa, before he turns on the TV just loud enough that when he goes back into the hall to talk to the two men, you can’t make out their low murmuring voices.

Throughout the remainder of the visit from the two officers, you don’t move, just sit staring blankly at the cushions in front of you as your mind whirls.

You don’t know what to believe. When Kyle had visited you that day, you really did believe him. Even now, there’s a part of you that struggles to believe the sincerity in his eyes and voice to be nothing more than a clever act to fool you. He has never laid a hand on you, never forced you to do anything or kicked up a fuss if you rejected his advances. Kyle was good.

Or maybe not.

If the police aren’t lying to you, then they have proof; more photos, even though you took the ones you found that time and burned them all, and witness accounts, or well, victim’s statements would be the correct term.

You know it’s possible to spend your entire life with a person and never truly know them, but you truly had thought that you knew Kyle. You had been so close to falling in love with him; that’s why it had hurt so much. You truly had believed that one day, you’d fall mutually in love with him, with a good man, and have a happy life together.

But all this; the accusations, the proof you had found yourself even if you still struggle to accept it at face value, it just goes to show that you never really know a person.

“They’re gone,” Chan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn your head to watch him cross the living room to sit at your side and invite himself under the blanket. He puts his left arm on the back of the couch in a silent offer that you readily accept, shuffling closer to tuck up under his arm and settle when it’s around you securely.

“Was it my room?” You ask, not really sure if you want to know the answer. But you need to.

Chan lets out a breath that sounds like a reluctant sigh. It’s almost answer enough, yet you need to hear it. “Yeah, angel, it looks like it was your room. They took photos and are going to go to the roof of the motel opposite to take a photo from there to see if it matches. I’ve given them my number to keep me updated and so they contact me if they need to, not you. I told them about the photos you found too and that you burned them so no-one else can have them.”

“Should-should I have reported him then?” You wonder, suddenly worried that you had potentially endangered women by not stepping up.

“Maybe,” he replies in a way that you just know means he thinks you should’ve, but he doesn’t want to upset you.

You curl up smaller and turn your face into his shoulder to let the familiar, soothing scent of his cologne and laundry detergent ease you.

Chan tilts his head on top of yours and holds you that bit tighter. “At least he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they don’t comfort you at all.

The news comes only a few days later.

It didn’t take long to gather evidence to support the accusations against Kyle. The warrant for his home turned up the photos and a hidden memory stick containing a written diary with documents matching dates of some of the statements, though many more entries without a woman to match to the words. The police just had to confirm the evidence and talk to some people before moving forward with it, like they did with you and Chan.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s condition, the case would’ve been closed only two days after the police visited you, and he would’ve been sent off to prison. As it is, the man still hasn’t woken and the doctors aren’t confident that he ever will, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions.

When Chan tells you the news, you feel bad that for the first time, you’re glad that Kyle is unconscious and likely to never wake up; at least this way, he won’t have to face the accusations which a part of you still can’t believe are true.

What you are finally letting yourself believe though, are all the times Chan called you naïve.

“Delivery for the cutest baby angel to have ever existed,” comes the greeting from behind the massive bouquet of flowers almost shoved in your face the very moment you open the front door of your apartment to see who has been insistently ringing the bell.

“That is an obscene amount of flowers,” you murmur while eyeing the bouquet.

It lowers and your best friend’s head appears as he pouts at you cutely. “Don’t you want it?”

“Gimmie,” you encourage, making grabby hands. Chan grins and hands you the bouquet, which is literally three times bigger than your head, before stepping into the apartment while you wander off, happily admiring and sniffing the multitude of flowers.

It’s not unusual for Chan to bring you flowers at all; rather, it’s unusual for your home to not have flowers gifted to you from your best friend. Even if he can’t visit you he sends you flowers at least weekly, and the ones he sends tend to always be more extravagant as if he’s making up for not giving them to you in person.

Every single bouquet is always handpicked by Chan; he always chooses which flowers to give you, not based on their colour or scent but for the meaning.

One of the things that helped you and Chan bond when you first met was your shared love of flowers and their meanings. You both know the meanings of a vast array of flowers, and he always includes yellow roses in his bouquet to symbolise your friendship.

Today is no different; there is an abundance of yellow roses in the bouquet, but there are a mixture of other flowers often in yellow themes, as it seems rather common for yellow flowers to symbolise friendship and happiness.

But sometimes there’s other colours; a little pop of pink tulips to show he cares, white carnations with a cheeky wink as he calls you baby angel, fragrant lavender to remind you of his loyalty to your friendship. Every bouquet is carefully crafted as a message; to tell you that Chan is your best friend and will always be there to love and support you.

And today, right there amongst the usual flowers, a handful of light pink roses.

You run through your mental list of flower meanings. Pink roses tend to mean grace, dark pink for gratitude and light pink has a few meanings just like many flowers. Many of the flowers Chan gives you have multiple meanings, but when put together the bouquets he gives you all mean the same thing. However, light pink roses aren’t used to symbolise friendship, innocence, or care. They mean youth, energy, passion, desire. None of those really blend with the rest of the bouquet’s meaning and it throws you for a loop.

“Did they put in the wrong flower?” You ask, pointing to the light pink roses as you look over at Chan puzzled. He walks over to peer at the bouquet and where you’re motioning, before shaking his head. “But they don’t mean friendship,” you mumble confusedly and look at the flowers again as you try to decipher their reasoning.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just leans his left hip against the counter, left palm on the surface and right hand fiddling with the unused belt loop on your jeans as he waits.

“Wait!” You turn to face him while pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is this you calling me a baby again? Light pink roses for youth?”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into the loop now you’re facing one another and letting his palm settle against your hip. “No, it’s not that, though that’s a good one, I should’ve thought of that.”

“Then what?” You tilt your head a little, pouting naturally with your innocent confusion.

“You know. I know you know this one, angel,” he encourages and tugs you closer.

“Joy of life?” You offer, too used to him leading you around and being physically affectionate to really register how close he has you, or how his thumb is gradually tugging at your t-shirt where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“No.”

“Well it’s certainly not energy, you always say I lack energy. Or are you trying to like, manifest energy for me?”

“No, but once again, that’s good, I’ll make you a manifestation bouquet one day soon.”

“Then what? I’m confused, Chan.”

“Want me to tell you?” You nod in confirmation. “What if I show you?”

“What?”

He smirks a little, then pushes off of the counter and cups your jaw with his left hand. “Should I tell you, or show you, baby?” He murmurs, voice pitching low in a way that sends shivers up and down your spine. He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek and nose in a teasing manner, but he doesn’t do anything more. “Well?”

It takes a few seconds for you to react; your heart is racing with anticipation, and you need to swallow a few times. He pulls back and notices your gaze slide down to his lips. “Show me,” you say in a voice so soft and shy it’s practically a whisper.

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice; he darts forward to slot his lips against yours for the first time. There’s no hesitance in his movements, no gentle teasing and dancing as he eases you into it; he kisses you passionately from the first moment, guiding your head to tilt in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss to a filthy degree when he coaxes your mouth open only seconds after his lips touch yours.

You never expected this from Chan; never imagined he’d kiss in such a manner that you feel like he’s consuming your heart and soul in the best of ways. He’s only been kissing you for a few seconds, yet your knees are weak, and you have to cling to him to keep yourself upright.

The moment your hand grips the back of his neck, Chan groans in pleased approval against your mouth and pins you roughly against the counter; his hips pressed against yours and his right hand giving up being subtle about his wants as he yanks your t-shirt out of the waistband of your jeans so that he can slide his hand underneath and run his palm against your bare skin.

Of course, a kiss that passionate can’t go on for too long, you especially need to catch your breath as you hadn’t been prepared at all for the intensity and keep forgetting to breathe as your lips and tongue move with his.

Though when you press against his chest and turn your head aside slightly to try and catch your breath, Chan doesn’t stop kissing you, he just relocates his focus, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

“Wanted you for so fucking long, angel,” he admits, voice thick with arousal and sounding unfairly in breath even if his chest is heaving too. He drags his teeth over the crook of your neck making you gasp and grip him tighter. “Driving me crazy, ‘m so hard. Can I have you? Can I take you to bed and drown in your pussy? Fuck you so hard I owe you a new bed?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out and grab a handful of his hair to drag him back up. His eyes are so hooded that you’re not certain he’s even looking at you. He looks so far gone and it does dangerous things to you. “Y-you do so much for me, Chan.”

“What?” He blinks away some of the lust dazing him to peer at you confusedly, and a little offended and the out of place comment. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? I’m trying to take you to bed, and you say that? You can just say no, not do some weird speech.”

“I’m not doing that,” you assure and move your left hand off of his shoulder, down his torso and under his oversized t-shirt to find the button of his jeans. He looks down in surprise, then back up at you with desire flooding back into his expression and eyes as you skilfully get his jeans open. Neither of you care that they immediately drop to the floor around his ankles with the jangle of his keys in his pocket, as you get your hand in his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever you want angel,” he approves before leaning in to seal your lips back together.

After your tryst in the kitchen, which lead to half of the bouquet getting destroyed when Chan bent you over the counter chest first into the flowers, sex is suddenly on the table for the two of you. Often literally. It seems as if that encounter opened the floodgates of a year of repressed desire from Chan and alerted you to the fact that his passion is more than just a little reciprocated.

Of course, you’ve known for a while now that you’re attracted to Chan; ever since the realisation that day in the store thanks to the leather jacket, which he is often prancing around in, especially since he’s realised how much you like him in it. Sometimes he’ll even turn up at your apartment, open the zip of his jacket and reveal that he’s wearing nothing but your marks underneath, leading to you pinning him to the closest surface to expand on the collection.

What you hadn’t known is just how deep your attraction runs. That at some point within you, the lust starts to morph and before it reaches your chest, it turns to a love which squeezes your heart a little every time he slows down to press a soft kiss to your lips, or you find him looking at you with eyes sparkling with adoration.  

You never imagined that you would fall for your best friend, yet here you are, weeks into your relationship turning sexual, and falling asleep naked in his arms more often than not while not wanting the morning to come because you know he’ll leave before you’re awake so that he can go home and get ready for work.

There’s a part of you that has, on more than one occasion, almost blurted out that he should just bring his work clothes over; you’ve already made space in the wardrobe to hang his shirts and space in the drawer for his trousers. But you don’t.

As much as you’ve come to understand and accept that the love you feel for Chan is no longer purely platonic, you aren’t ready to move on from your ex. There’s still a piece of your heart in Kyle’s hands, even if they are limp in his hospital bed and your heart should’ve been released back to you months ago.

You’ve tried to move on; you thought it would’ve happened naturally thanks to your recently developed feelings for your best friend and the regular sessions of getting fucked dumb into various surfaces by the man.

Still, Kyle remains, and you don’t understand why your heart won’t let you love Chan entirely.

You hope that Chan is happy with this; that he’s content to spend spare moments between your usual hangouts and your thighs. You don’t want to have to tell him that you’re not over Kyle; you know that Chan doesn’t like the man. Although he never voices his displeasure in you still visiting the Kyle in the hospital, you can always see it in his eyes when you leave and how he fucks you that bit harder when you return.

Hope, it seems, is still stubbornly stuck in the bottom of the box, and has no place in the real world, especially not yours.

“You have a key,” you point out flatly when you open the door having expected the takeout you’ve ordered for dinner for yourself and Chan, yet find the man himself on the other side of the door with his hands behind his back and still wearing his work clothes. “What’re you hiding? Please tell me it’s dinner; I thought you’re the delivery man you know?”

“It’s not dinner,” he chuckles, then brings his hands around to reveal this week’s bouquet. Tulips; red, yellow, and orange. Love.

“Chan…” you trail off, not sure what to say and expression downturned when you look up at him. You can practically see the moment you break his heart.

“Oh, I guess I misread this,” he smiles embarrassed and awkward, even with the pain evident in his eyes. “I thought that you might return my feelings finally, but I guess not.”

“You’re not wrong,” you confess softly. “I just…I’m not over Kyle.”

“What?” His features scrunch in bewilderment. “You’re not over the man who would be arrested for sexual harassment and stalking right now if not in a coma? Am I hearing that right?”

“I still can’t connect that to the man I knew.”

“He really fucked with your head, didn’t he?” His arms lower defeatedly.

“No, he didn’t. He was just…good to me.”

“He cheated on you, angel, he wrote about it in his diary and other women have said as much too. What’s it going to take for you to accept that and move on?”

“I-I don’t know, Chan. I’m sorry but I just can’t do that. I’ve tried to get over him, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Well…I’m not going anywhere,” he declares and steps forward to offer the bouquet. “You may not be able to love me and be with me the way I want, but I still love you, with everything in me and I’ll be here for you all the same.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Baby,” he chuckles and tenderly cups your cheek in one hand, the other still holding the tulips you’ve yet to accept. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you; I’ve been by your side through all of the assholes you gave your time to, even if they didn’t deserve it. This one will pass too.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” a flash of determination appears in his eyes as he smiles at you. “You’ll be mine soon enough, I promise you that, angel.”

At first, you had been cautious with Chan after his confession. You don’t want to hurt him and make him suffer at your side, so you pulled back on the affection and stopped the sexual aspect of your relationship entirely. Chan hadn’t been very happy and pouted at you when you turned him down the first time, but he didn’t push it and accepted it. Though he still reaches out to pull you close to hold and well, you don’t really want to quit him truthfully, so you let that happen.

After a few weeks, it’s as if the month of mind-blowing sex never happened and you and Chan are back to being nothing more than best friends. He keeps to his word and remains by your side as he always has, with no pushing or attempts to get you to reconsider and accept his love wholeheartedly.

Maybe that’s why one day when you’re laid side by side on a picnic blanket looking up at the stars with the snacks and drinks, which Chan supplied for the stargazing session, contently settling in your belly, you look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel as if your heart is missing a single piece.

“What?” Chan asks, side eyeing you amusedly when you’ve been staring at him instead of the sky for a few seconds too long. “Are you about to tell me that the stars in the sky don’t sparkle as bright as the stars in my eyes?”

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” You laugh and nudge him playfully before sitting up. “Whoa,” you murmur when your head spins, eyes slamming closed and hands flying out to try and balance yourself.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Chan’s hands are on you in seconds as he sits up to support you.

“M wobbly,” you slur, trying to look at him as your hands grip him tight. “Channie,” you start to panic as the dizziness doesn’t subside at all, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse as he starts to multiply before your eyes. “S-something’s wrong.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Channie’s got you, lay down angel, Channie’s got you,” he soothes, gently laying you back down on the blanket and propping himself up on his right elbow as his left hand cups your cheek. “You’ll feel better soon; just close your eyes and let your Channie look after you.”

“Chan…” You’re finding it harder and harder to move your body with every second. It feels as if your muscles are turning to sludge and bones rubber. You try to lift your arm from where it flopped to your stomach when he laid you down, yet you can’t lift it.

Chan watches the panic fill your eyes and strokes his hand over your head, then back to your cheek again. “You’re okay, my love, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Your Channie will always look after you.”

You can’t even open your mouth to respond. A choked sound leaves your parted lips as your vision starts blurring darkly around the edges.

“I will do whatever I need to, to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you again, my angel,” his voice is taking on a strange otherworldly quality, fading in and out every other syllable.

It feels as if you’re becoming one with the ground under you. It’s still hard against your back, yet it feels as if you’re melting into it, like every point of contact is rapidly ceasing to exist as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Chan’s warped voice meets you. He says something else, but a buzzing appears, overlapping his muffled words until the high pitched sound is all you can hear.

You feel something touch your forehead and brush down gently, forcing your eyes closed. You don’t have the strength to open them again.

It’s pitch black, only the ringing for company until suddenly, it leaves.

There’s barely time to register the pure silence before your consciousness melts into the ground to join the rest of you.

Everything comes back to you all at once.

Your body jerks awake as your eyes fly open. The soft, natural light around you is too bright on your sore eyes and the gentle sound of the birds outside singing their morning song pierces your sensitive ears. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lift your hands with the intention of pressing your palms to your ears to block out the noise, but something stops you from raising your hands more than a few inches.

Panicked, your eyes open and look down to find thick, padded straps around your wrists and buckled in place with a chain connecting each to the wooden frame of the bed under you. You tug, but they don’t give. You try to move your legs, but your ankles are bound in the same way; even if you don’t look at them to check, you just know you’d see the same binds there.

“Breathe,” the voice is familiar, is the one that you’re so used to listening to that you find yourself listening and taking some deep, stabilising breaths without even thinking about it. “Good girl.”

After a few seconds, you realise that Chan is in the room; the strange room where you’re cuffed to a strange bed. You have no idea where you are; the walls look wooden and it smells kind of musty, like it hasn’t been used in a while, but the familiar scent of Chan’s laundry detergent meets your nose from the soft, clean pillow under your head when you turn your head to try and find the man.

He’s sitting in a rickety old rocking chair near the closed door of the small room.

There’s nothing else in the room; no curtains on the window on the wall, which the right side of the bed is pushed against; the window is cracked open, letting in fresh air but even from where you’re laid, you can see bars on the outside. There’s a bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling emitting a redundant, soft orange glow. And nothing else.

Just you, the bed, the chair, and the man you thought was your best friend looking at you as he gently rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking with every movement.

For tense moments, minutes maybe, you just stare at Chan in horror. This is not the man you’ve spent the past almost two years side by side with. This is not the man you had been seconds away from telling that you finally loved him with everything in you.

Your Chan is beautiful inside and out; with bright eyes always shining with mirth and adoration when they find you, and a smile that could weaken the toughest of hearts. He was love and happiness. Your love. Your happiness. You don’t know where that’s gone.

This Chan terrifies you. His face is flat, no smile, no sparkle in his eyes. He’s looking at you with an expression so dark and haunting; something similar to the way he looked when you told him that Kyle turned up at your apartment building all those months ago in the café, yet somehow so much worse.

For the first time since meeting Lee Chan, you look at him and you want to be as far away as possible, and then further. This isn’t a man you want to be near. Yet, you’re left without a choice.

“Wha-what’s going on, Chan?” You stammer.

“This is your fault, you know,” he informs matter-of-factly. “If you had just said yes to me that day, if you hadn’t held onto that fucking asshole, then this would’ve never happened. We could be at home, in bed; I could be buried deep in your pussy and filling you with cum again and again until you’re round with my baby. We could’ve been happy; had our family, gotten married,” he huffs a dry laugh and abruptly stops rocking. “We could’ve had the perfect fucking family, baby! We could’ve been perfect. But no! You had to cling to that asshole!” He gets to his feet, flinging his arms up in the air as his lips start to split into a disbelieving smile.

He doesn’t even seem to notice that you flinch and try to move further away from him as he steps closer. He seems entirely caught up in his own monologue as he starts to pace the short length of the room to your left.

“I’ve done everything I can to win you over! I studied you for fucking months before showing myself to you. Changed my hair, changed my style, even changed my fucking interests to suit your tastes!” He wheels around and stalks closer to put his right hand on the headboard above you while he stares down at you with eyes wide. “I fucking hate flowers, you know? Hate those stupid fucking things, yet I read every fucking book I could find to learn about them. Learned how to grow them from tiny little seeds all for you,” he points at you. “And what thanks do I get?” He laughs and pushes away from the bed to turn and take a few steps away. “Nothing! Okay, no, no, that’s not fair to you,” he concedes.

Chan turns to face you with his hands and features settled so suddenly into something so placating that you wonder if you had imagined the unhinged mess he was seconds ago.

“I got to taste that pretty little pussy and feel it around my cock, your mouth too. Fuck, baby, I could’ve held out longer if you hadn’t ended that but you, you little cock tease, had to give me a taste of heaven and rip it away from me.” He tuts disapprovingly and gives you an exaggerated pout. “You’ve really broken my heart, you know?”

“Th-then let me go and you never ha-have to see me again,” you try to reason, but he laughs; a full, loud, rolling laugh while leaning over with his hands on his knees as if you’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard.

“Oh, angel!” He exclaims as he straightens up, clapping his hands amusedly. “That’s good, really good. You’re so funny, baby, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve always made me laugh.”

For a few seconds, he looks at you so tenderly that he looks like your Chan again; the Chan you fell in love with, the Chan you wish you had realised was a trick from the start. It makes sense that he always called you naïve when he knows from experience how easy it is to fool you.

“You’re mine now, ‘till death do us part and all that. Sorry I don’t have a ring for you, I’ve never been one for accessories.” He lifts his bare hands to wiggle them at you.

It’s only now that you realise he isn’t wearing a single piece of jewellery, something you thought wasn’t possible for your Chan. His clothes aren’t baggy and hiding his form, and hair no longer shaggy and in his eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans like usual, but these ones are straight legged and show off his thick thighs and ass; his plain white fitted t-shirt is tucked into his jeans neatly, showcasing his slim waist and strong upper body; with his hair neatly styled back in a casual, yet neat, manner. You’ve never seen him like this; he looks older this way, less playful.

It's another reminder that he’s not your Chan. He never truly was.

“I wish it didn’t come to this; you know?” He comments while walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your waist and brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, entirely ignoring the way you flinch away from this touch, even if it is painfully tender. “You’re so beautiful; I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, even if you never saw me.” He sighs dramatically and gets up to stand beside the bed. “Even back then you looked anywhere but me. It’s funny though,” he muses, pacing a little as his lips start to lift and bring back that manic smile he earlier wore.

It scares the shit out of you.

“You never once questioned your bad luck,” he quotes your own words with a mocking tone, trying not to laugh as he does so. “Or how it only appeared once I came into your life. You really are fucking naïve, baby.”

“What did you do?” You whisper, horrified at the realisation that Chan had been the reason that all of your relationships have failed.

Now that you think about it, he had always warned you away from them all for some reason; some kind of claim of a bad feeling, a rumour, seeing them kissing another woman. You never questioned how he always had something to say about every single man you showed interest in, or seemed to know things he shouldn’t really know. You put too much trust in the man from day one and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

“Whatever I needed to. It was all so easy too, like you wanted a reason to leave them all. I really thought it was because you wanted me,” he laughs darkly and pins an equally as dark look on you as his smile drops. “And then Kyle came along. Fucking Kyle. Perfect Kyle with his clean record and respect and giant, squishy heart. Well, it’s extra squishy now I pushed him off the road,” he laughs, eyes lighting with twisted delight.

“No,” you choke out. “You- no- you didn’t- tell me you didn’t do that to him, Chan,” you plead desperately.

Chan laughs and walks over to lean over you again, his left hand braced against the headboard and the other playing with the strands of your hair on the pillow beside your head. “If only you had believed me. If you hadn’t let him talk to you that day; if you had just kicked him out and come right to me like you were supposed to, it would’ve never happened, angel. You had me right there waiting for you and you picked that asshole and now guess what?” He looks at you with a bright, manic smile, eyes wide and shining with mirth you wish doesn’t exist. “He’s never fucking waking up, baby!” He beams, looking so proud of himself. “I made sure of that!”

You feel sick to your stomach.

It must show on your face because Chan’s own falls and he frowns at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault.” He scoffs and backs up from the bed as that terrifyingly haunting look returns to his features. “I didn’t think I’d have to go this far; I thought you’d accept all those rumours and evidence I spent so much time, money, and effort planting. I bribed and blackmailed so many people the past months. Got the asshole fucking convicted and you still refuse to pick me.”

Chan sighs heavily, as if it really does pain him, before he pivots and walks to the door to open it, though he turns just enough to look back at you.

“I can’t tell if you’re too smart to believe all that or fucking stupid to still want to be by his side after all the accusations. Maybe he did brainwash your naïve little self.”

He stares at you for an unnervingly long moment as if he’s trying to figure you out and wondering what exactly Kyle did to earn your loyalty, and how exactly he can mimic it to make you his.

“Oh well,” he decides with a shrug, making you jolt at his sudden voice. “Not that it matters anymore because I’m not letting you leave here. If you’re not going to be mine on your own terms, we’re doing it my way.”

He closes the door after him, and you break with the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Tears roll down your cheeks and temples, soaking the soft pillow under your head as sobs tear from your chest. You keep tugging at the binds holding you down, yet they don’t budge.

You’re stuck here.

Even if you somehow escape your binds, there are bars on the window and a lock securing the thick wooden door.

You’re stuck here. For good.

Forever.

Stuck with the man you had trusted to look after you, to be by your side for a long time. You just never expected it to be like this. You as his prisoner; his little plaything to do with as he pleases until he gets bored of you and then… you don’t even want to think about it.

The sun slowly rises higher and higher into the sky and finally, you stop pulling at your binds, stop crying; out of energy and tears with your whole body hurting, yet nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart where it’s stomped into the wooden floorboards and covered in Chan’s footprints.

You dread the moment he returns. Dread having to live your life like this.

But you know you don’t have a choice. You’re his now, to do with as he pleases. You no longer have a choice in how your life goes.

The click of the lock disengaging sends fear racing through your tired body, adrenaline pumping, yet there’s still nothing you can do as Chan steps into the room with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hi baby, it’s time for food! I made your favourite.”

As you watch him approach wearing that same cute smile that first drew you to him, all you can do is curse yourself for being so fucking naïve.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tusswrites

[riverscuomoforcefem]

I got full points but apparently I have less of a vocabulary than people who got full points in the past I guess. I've been robbed of nearly 200 words

I got the Top 4.47% on this English Vocabulary test

[jorvikzelda]

I finished the stripe B)

[david-watts]

tbh I kinda hate my m*ther because she's made me late for the past few days and thinks I'm being rude because I'm agitated from waiting an extra hour for her to get ready and can't do what I want because it's too late in the day. man

[hyunsvngs]

halloscream

was it chan in the hotel with the gun?

warnings 🔪: they’re both as fucked up as eachother, unprotected sex (i normally dont say anything but PLEASE don’t do this with someone you just met), desperation, d/s dynamics, chan is MEAN, degradation, a few lines of daddy kink, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, GUNPLAY

you’ve always been a light sleeper. ever since you were young, the faintest rattling of the wind through your window would arise you from your slumber, and tonight is no different. you doubt your intruder had expected you to wake - in fact, the figure stalls next to your bed as your limbs slide over the expensive hotel sheets.

you’re not scared. when your eyes focus, the man is dressed head to toe in black stealth gear, harness gripping those toned muscles that he’s strutting around with. it’s ridiculous, really. only you could have a hot potential murderer in your room in the early hours of the morning.

“hello,” you speak, finally. he tilts his head. he’s got a mask covering the bottom half of his face. it means that you can only see his eyes, but regardless, they narrow. he’s assessing you, and by the way they relax, you’re convinced of one thing - it’s not you he’s looking for. “who are you?”

he doesn’t say anything. you watch him turn to the window, then back to you. when you sit up, the oversized shirt you’re wearing rucks up your thighs. his gaze immediately lands on them. oh.

you’re not new to sex with strangers. this is a little unusual for you though. it’s a feeling that only worsens when you see his fingers wrap around the gun attached to his harness.

okay, you’re a little fucked up. but you can’t ignore the dampening of your pussy in your panties, and you’ve always made a point of always going for what you want.

“you’re still gonna kill me?” you question, and if you let the blanket slide down your legs a little more to distract him then that’s only for you to know. “even when i’m not who you’re meant to kill. you’re still going to kill me?”

he falters. the hand slides from the object, and when you squint, the streetlights coming through the curtains highlight it just enough for you to know. it’s a pistol. you know that it’s loaded - why wouldn’t it be?

“you’re good at reading people,” his voice is muffled, but you can hear it. he has a thick australian accent, but the pitch is low, almost threatening. it doesn’t matter. you know he’s intrigued, and you let your head rest against the headboard, thighs shifting apart just a tiny bit. one arched eyebrow raises, dark eyes fixating on the space between your legs. “by the looks of it, you’re good at seducing people too. is that right?”

“so it’s working?” you let yourself smile, soft but enough to make him shuffle towards you. his boots are heavy, but he’s somehow quiet. experienced, you guess, in whatever you want to call it - being a hitman, assassin, mercy killer? “tell me your name.”

“no,” he’s quicker, knees shuffling against the sheets. his face gets closer to yours, still partially obscured, and you quiver under his gaze. he’s sexy. you’re going to fuck a man that intended on killing you only minutes ago. “i don’t need to know yours either.”

“no, you don’t,” you agree. he’s situated between your legs now, and you can feel it, the familiar press of a hard, throbbing erection against your cotton clad folds. it makes you grin wider, hands moving down to his belt. he lets you wrangle the black cargos off of toned thighs, pushing them down past his knees, and your hand dips into his boxers to feel him.

the first touch of your fingers against the silky skin of his cock makes him tremble, just barely losing his composure, and the grip you form around his thick shaft is enough to make his hands finally move to you. he’s big, heavy in your hand. two wide palms impatiently shove your shirt up, exposing heaving tits and a trembling tummy, and he’s quick to move them back down to yank your underwear off.

“i don’t have long. i have places to be,” he explains, fingertips darting between your folds. you’re wet, of course you are. your folds clack together around his digits, clit peeking out, swollen and throbbing. this entire thing is like something out of your deepest, darkest fantasies. clenching and unclenching, your hole attempts to suck his fingertips in during his inspection, and he grunts in approval. it’s almost funny how quickly he loses his control. “filthy fucking bitch. how wet can you be for someone like me? a murderer? someone who could- who could kill you at any point?”

“p-put it in,” you’re stammering. he ignores you, two fingers moving up to brush against your clit. you keep messily pumping his cock, feeling it leak into your palm as he only gets harder, shaky breaths exhaling from behind the mask. you moan so loud in response that his eyes crinkle with a smile. “god, won’t you- won’t you put it in? please, you s-said you don’t have long!”

“it’s gonna hurt,” he warns, but his hands leave you to push his black boxers down. your own palms fall to the sheets, thighs spreading far, far apart to allow the man to get where he needs to be. his hand moves to pump his shaft himself, eyes situated on your exposed core. you’re going to let a stranger fuck you unprotected. you’ve never felt so dirty, but it makes your pussy clench. “you want it to hurt, don’t you?”

“yes,” you whine, pussy aching. you want nothing more than to reach down and rub circles on your clit until you’re shaking apart around nothing, but the man slaps his cockhead against the bundle of nerves to focus you. you twitch, thigh jolting against his hip. “put it inside, please, please-“

a strong bicep braces next to your head, and his figure crowds into your space once more. he slides his cock down to your hole, wet and soppy and aching, and the tip just barely slides in.

“oh- oh fuck? god, it’s big, so fucking big-“

“d-don’t you know anything about being quiet?” he’s affected too, sliding the next few inches in. it makes you jolt again, and he moves to press his hands against your hips. the position change keeps you in place, sure, but it means he pushes inside of you fully, and the pressing of him against your cervix makes you wail. the stretch is almost too much, and you almost wish you’d listened and asked him to prep you beforehand.

you can’t help it. your brain is spiraling, and the more you try to squirm and whine and beg, he’s only holding you down firmer. his cock rests inside of you, unmoving. you want it. you want it, and you want so much more, and-

the barrel of his pistol presses against your temple. your eyes widen, and you’re immediately stilled. the metal is cool, and you don’t even know when he got it out of his harness, but you’re thankful he did. his finger rests on the trigger.

“will you stay still now?” his voice is calm, measured. you don’t nod, or move, or anything really - this is enough for the man. he starts to rut into you steadily, a slow, deep pace that makes your eyes roll back into your head. “yeah, that’s it. such a good girl.”

“does it f-feel good for you?” you moan, pussy clamping down on his cock. it makes him speed up just enough to let the squelching sounds of your core reverberate around the room, and your cheeks blaze crimson with embarrassment. you’re this wet over a murderer that you just met.

he nods in response to you, making the mask shift lower on his face, exposing his nose. it gives you a clearer vision of what he looks like - dark chocolate eyes, a large nose that juts out proudly, and what you can assume are a plump, soft set of lips. he’s beautiful.

“i-i’m not scared,” you manage to tell him, because honestly, you’re not. he huffs, gun pressing firmer into your head. your pussy gushes around his cock. his pace speeds up, quicker and harder. you want to cum so bad that it’s making tears bite at your eyes.

“really? you’re not?” he pushes your legs up, lets them fall over the pits of his elbows. it spreads you out, bent almost completely in half, and his cock in your pussy starts to make a wet clacking noise. it only turns you on more, clit throbbing for attention. you’re certain he’d actually shoot you if you moved to touch it.

there’s a clicking next to your head. he’s cocked the gun, turned the safety off. you moan, hands finally moving to his waist to pull him into you. his pubic bone starts to grind against your clit, the trimmed hairs just the stimulation you need, and you whine and buck upwards into him.

“i could s-shoot you,” he groans, eyebrows furrowed, almost in disbelief. “i could kill you right now. i bet if i pulled the trigger, you’d cum before you died.”

“oh my god!” you squeal, hands still pulling at him. he lets you, crowding further into your space, eyes staring down at the way your pussy lets his cock drill you over and over. it’s too much. his finger braces on the trigger once again, and your nipples brush against the thick material of his all black long sleeve. they’re so hard it hurts, and you just want to cum - you’re not above throwing a tantrum whether he has a gun or not. you just need a little more. “please. please, i wanna cum, i wanna cum-“

“can you cum from this?” it’s a genuine question, and he shifts his hips, moving to pummel that spot deep inside of you. it makes you squeal, pussy gushing steadily around him. it’s almost enough. his hand moves on the gun again. is he going to? “answer me, fuckin’ whore. can you cum from this? yes or no. it’s not hard.”

he sounds wholly unaffected, and you want to cry. “yes! yes, i can, i can- please, keep going, i’m close, i’m close-“

“awh, baby. you’re close, i know, i can feel it,” his thighs bounce him into you. it’s just quick enough and just hard enough that you feel it building, and you’re almost there. “i can feel that fuckin’ pussy clenching on me, shit. fuck, you- you ready?”

you don’t know what you’re agreeing to, but you nod nonetheless, fingers scrabbling at his skin, and then you hear it. he pulls the trigger, and your orgasm ripples through you like an electrocution - your back arches into him, core spraying your release all over the base of his tummy. you think you’ve soaked his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. as soon as your orgasm is beginning to end, he grips your hips and yanks you towards him, pistoning in and out of your pussy to chase his own release.

once you’re in your right mind, you can understand that he in fact did not kill you. the chamber was empty, and the gun gets discarded to the side of the bed, no longer useful. by the time you come to, the blush has spread higher and higher until it’s visible on the apples of his cheeks, and you know he’s nearly there.

“cum inside of me, please,” you breathe, thighs still trembling. “give me something to remember you by.”

he huffs, grunts under his breath, and his hips press into you. you can feel the pressure of his balls, and then he spills inside of you, so deep that your toes curl.

you want him to see it. when he pulls out, cock softening, you drag one hand down your body to form a vee around sticky folds. his cum leaks out, albeit slowly, and the man can only stare, cock twitching in interest.

he sniffs, nose twitching. “alright baby, cut the act. channie’s back now.”

you stretch out your limbs. the hotel sheets were just as soft as they were before you and your boyfriend started this little act, and they feel even better on your overheated skin. chan rips the mask off of his face, and immediately surges over you to kiss your face.

“chan-nie-“ you giggle, foot kicking. he catches it and wraps your leg around his waist, still trying to catch your lips with his. he’s still got that damn tight shirt on, clinging to his muscles, and well - your pussy creams up a little, and you meet his kiss halfway.

“mm,” he moans, tongue clacking against yours. his breath spills against your lips when he pulls away to speak. “wanted to kiss you all the way through, honey. was it good? everything you imagined?”

“amazing. you’re amazing, daddy,” you murmur, and he smiles, satisfied. “the gun felt realistic.”

“oh, yeah?” his smile turns almost sinister, and his hands move to your thighs. “were you scared?”

“mm, a little,” you’re already letting your thighs fall apart. chan’s half hard again. you’re praying that you don’t get an extra charge from the hotel after this - the sheets are destroyed. “it is fake, right?”

chan giggles. two knobby fingers breach your glistening hole, down to the knuckle, and you squirm. “obviously, baby. who d’ya think i am?”

“i mean, i dunno? it was kinda convincing and- oh, daddy, right there.”

“that’s it, baby,” his voice is calm, level. “you don’t need to think about it.”

[eddiestightywhities]

also on ao3 HERE

.

“So, I overheard this guy in the line at the coffee shop this morning talking about name meanings—”

“Of course you did,” Eddie interjects, not unkindly.

Buck turned up with beers about a half hour ago, and has had his head in his phone for the last, what, twenty minutes? Something like that.

This is the first thing he's said since Eddie let him in and he sat his ass down on the couch in silence, looking like he needed Eddie to just allow him to.

Eddie did.

“—and I thought I'd look up ours.”

He's chewing on his bottom lip like it tastes good.

Eddie surprises himself by wondering if it does.

“I'm guessing you already know what Christopher means.”

Thinking back to when Shannon asked if he liked the name, Eddie smiles.

“Means 'Bearer of Christ', or something, right? We chose it because was Shannon's grandfather's name, though. He was Greek, and she adored him.”

Searching fingers instinctively find his pendant. It's positioned to the left, sitting right over his heart.

He misses his son like he'd miss a lung.

Buck looks up at him and smiles back, and Eddie feels glad the release he'd found dancing 'round his living room earlier isn't going to suddenly disappear down the bathroom sinkhole, along with his moustache.

“So, tell me, what does Edmundo mean, oh scholarly one?”

Buck's eyebrows try to meet his hairline.

“You don't know?”

Eddie tips his head back against the couch and scrunches his mouth up into nose.

“I have sisters, man, of course I know what it means. But that doesn't mean I don't want you to tell me.”

Buck seems somewhat happy with that.

“Well, it's a derivative of the Old English name Edmund, which is a combination of the words ēad and mund. The first part means prosperity, or riches, which is a bit of a bust, sorry man,” and he tries for a grin. It almost hits.

“But the the mund part means protector—which is pretty spot on, I reckon.”

Buck's eyelashes are kind of blonde, and kind of pretty. Eddie's thought it before, but there's just something about them in this light, in Eddie's house, on Eddie's couch.

“It's actually a real pretty name, Edmundo. Don't know if I've ever told you I think that.”

“Don't think I've ever told you your eyelashes are kind of pretty, so that makes us even, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at Buck, big and genuine, and somehow it's so easy.

Buck smiles back. Looks a little confused, or pleased, or both. Eddie's not sure, but either is okay with him.

“Um, thanks?”

Eddie bites his tongue between his teeth in a poor effort to stop his grin turning positively goofy.

Buck takes it for what it is, and bats his eyelashes at Eddie, silly, and laughs.

His whole demeanor then changes as he finally settles properly into the couch and gifts his lungs with what might be the first proper breath he's taken since he arrived.

“Anyway, Evan is the worst of the three. It means yew, like the tree? Which is—it symbolises, like, spirituality, and rebirth and shit like that. 'S not really, uh, me, you know?”

“You mean like Evan isn't really you?”

Buck bites at his red, red lip again.

Eddie decides it'd taste like cherry Chupa Chups.

“Yeah. But it's—my name.”

“Except it isn't though, it's it?” Eddie reminds him. “You're name is Buck, Buck. You decided that.”

“I don't know why he always insisted on calling me Evan. Or why I just—let him. It was kind of weird.”

Tommy.

"Called? Past tense?” Eddie flips his tongue in his mouth. Breathes a little more deliberately.

Buck looks at his phone again before he's slowly placing it down on the couch between them.

His fingers are touching the outside of Eddie's thigh, and Eddie's suddenly acutely aware that he still isn't wearing any pants.

Buck leaves his hand where it is.

“He, uh, he dumped me. Because I—”

Buck sucks in oxygen, a lot of it, and holds it in his lungs before puffing out his cheeks as he makes a show of blowing it back out again.

“I asked him to move in with me.”

Eddie was not expecting either of those statements.

"Ouch.”

Buck's fingers twitch against Eddie's skin, and Eddie feels it travel right down his leg and into his toes, which curl involuntarily into the carpet.

“You wanna talk about it?” he offers, kind of knowing Buck doesn't. He will when he's ready.

“Not really.”

Eddie licks at his lips. They taste like beer, and a little like confidence.

“How about Buck?”

Buck looks at him, perplexed.

Eddie's leg is starting to cramp a bit.

He doesn't move it.

“A Buck is another name for a stag, right?” he continues. “And the stag symbolises strength and purity—

“Don't forget fertility” Buck is looking at Eddie, and it feels like something.

Eddie snorts. “'Course, don't wanna forget fertility.”

Buck smiles the first proper Buck smile of the evening, and Eddie's feels it in his chest.

“Hey, hang on, how come you know so much about stags, Edmundo?”

“You did that project with Chris about the forest.”

Buck blinks at him.

“Dude that was, like, years ago. And, as you said, I was the one learning all about the woodland creatures and different types berries and toadstools, so how do you—”

“Because you told me,” Eddie shrugs a shoulder.

Buck blinks some more.

“And you—remembered that?” he asks.

In this moment, Eddie couldn't blink, nor look away from Buck, even if somebody were to pay him.

“I remember everything you tell me.”

It's weird but it's like the air itself is crackling as they sit here, just staring at each other.

They look at each other for what feels like a long time. Or maybe it's just a single heartbeat, Eddie can't really be sure.

He watches as Buck swallows, his Adam's apple a calling card.

Eddie isn't entirely sure of why he thinks of that.

Until he is.

When Buck moves his hand, it's to slide it fully onto Eddie's thigh to just sit there, right at home.

Eddie's suddenly blinking so much he's a little worried he might be stroking.

He doesn't mean to say, “Can you smell toast?” but finds himself saying it anyway.

Buck smile is both crooked and adorable.

“You worried you're having a stroke, old man?”

“We'd have been at the same school at the same time, Buck. I'm not that much older than you.”

“You are old and I am young and everyone and the universe knows this,” Buck claims, cocky and sure of himself once more.

Eddie licks at his lips again.

“I, uh, I think I finally believe you.”

Buck now mirrors him, licking his own lips.

Cherry Chupa Chups.

“You mean about the universe?” he's asking, like he doesn't almost always knew what Eddie means.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

Buck waits.

Just as Eddie is thinking he really should go put some on some sweats or something, Buck must get impatient because he replies, “I think it always wanted you to believe.”

Eddie doesn't have a clue what time it is, or whether he had dinner or not, or how he got so damn lucky.

“I'm gonna choose to believe, because you believe—and I believe in you, Buck” he says, somehow both sure and unsure of absolutely everything that is to come.

At long last, he finds he is totally okay with that.

“Anyways, I can hear it now,” he tells Buck, “and I'm listening.”

.

unedited; pls be kind!

.

edited version now found HERE on ao3 if you'd like to pop across and leave me a comment xp

[always-just-red]

I NEED some angst+comfort with Zayne PLEASE. It could be anything, the reader being run over in front of him, him being stressed about work and being mean to the reader... Literally anything

This was my first request, so thank you so much! I started this last night with a cup of tea and an "I'm sure I can manage some angst for Zayne, why not?" sort of attitude, and it culminated with me evil laughing to myself at 3am. Enjoy I guess? 😭

Reserved

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You've been looking forward to this dinner with Zayne for a week, but it seems he has other priorities.

Genre: angst, SO MUCH angst (but sshhhh... we save it with some comfort... 👀)

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, fluff, uses of y/n, reader is feeling neglected, Zayne gets a tiny bit mean

| Word count: 1.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Zayne… c’mon. Let’s go.”

You feel like a child, whining for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half hour, but you’ve little else left to do. You’re perched on Zayne’s desk, having long ago lost respect for the sanctity of his workspace, and you pout as you stare down at the phone in your palm. The screen is lit up by a reminder you’d set a week ago: Reservation. The Cerulean. 8 o’clock.

It’s 8:25, and you’ve snoozed it five times already— each time more pointedly than the last.

“Just a minute,” Zayne mumbles.

“You said that an hour ago!”

The man hums in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. His face is bathed in the ghoulish light of the screen, his glasses shining as he dips his head— just a fraction— to glance at the paperwork spread before him. You give him his minute: let second after second tick by, though you mark each one with an idle tap on the desk’s cold surface.

A murmur: “Stop that, please.” His patience is thinning too.

You’re feeling petty, because you’ve been listening to the patter of his keyboard forever and it’s driving you insane. You purse your lips and tap louder. One second. Tap. Two seconds. Tap. Three. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Stop it.” Zayne’s hand catches yours, his grip soft, but his face stern.

And he still won’t look at you.

He releases your hand, and his dutiful fingers are back to their post, pattering away. With a huff, you come away from his desk, stalking past him to the window, where you fold your arms and study the barren street below. The view is obscured by the dark and the drops of rain that carve hazy trails down the glass. You can just about make out a couple, emerging from the hospital’s entrance. No uniforms. A patient and their other half, and they’re leaning on each-other— no— pushing each-other, competing for the cover of an umbrella that’s much too small. They’re laughing, you think.

Your chest aches.

“Zayne,” you press.

His chair rolls back, wheels harsh on the floor, and he’s standing, logging out of his computer with a final, few clacks. “I’m done,” he snaps, but his tone says otherwise. He tugs his coat from the back of his chair. “We can go.”

…

You sit on the edge of the wet pavement, rain seeping from your hair and soaking the fabric of your clothes. You should be cold, but you’re not. You’re nothing. Your eyes are cast downwards and all you see is grey, though it’s illuminated by an orange glow.

Behind you, light bleeds through the windows of a busy restaurant. Zayne is still in there, playing diplomat. Playing doctor: always trying to fix things.

Your phone buzzes, and you slip it from its home in your coat pocket. There’s a message: having fun? Then another: ur welcome, miss bodyguard.

Rafayel. He knows a guy who knows the guy who owns this place, so you’d called in a favour. You and Zayne had been drowning in work for a week: him, overwhelmed by new patients at the hospital, and you, out hunting the wanderers that had put them there. Linkon is getting worse. Everything is getting worse, and you just wanted one, single night for yourself.

Well, not just yourself.

The monotonous drum of the rain breaks to the creak of an opening door, but you don’t react. “Y/N?” Zayne sounds far away. “Where did you— Y/N!?”

Footsteps echo on the pavement behind you, splitting puddles, and the orange light is gone. You’re trapped by a shadow that’s talking, speaking your name, but you pretend you can’t hear it. Let him say it a hundred times. A thousand; you can wait.

“Just a minute,” you lilt, your voice dripping spite.

You’re going to sit here for an hour.

“Y/N…” The doctor is oh so patient. “Please get up. You’ll catch a cold if you—”

“Good!” you spit, rounding on him. “Then why don’t I check myself into the hospital? Maybe then you’ll actually think about me once in a while!”

Zayne is towering over you: a small, wet, pathetic little thing, but you still make him draw back. His virescent eyes are wide, his lips parted ever so slightly. He almost always knows what to say, but this is an exception.

After a long moment, he moves around you. Slowly, he lowers himself to sit at your side.

“Do you have any idea,” you start, staring out across the slick road, “how selfish you make me feel? How much I hate myself when I… when I ask you to…”

The confession catches in your throat. It hurts, but you force it out anyway:

“What you do is so important, Zayne. You’re saving lives. You’re giving people back to their families, their loved ones, and you’re amazing for that. I think you’re amazing for that. But I miss you. It feels like I have to share you with the rest of the world, and I know I have no right to ask it, but sometimes? Sometimes I just… want you to be mine.”

You’re looking down, now. Hugging your knees— burying your face, so he won’t see you cry. There’s rain and salt in your mouth, and you wish he would say something. Anything. 

You have to wait a few seconds, but then you feel it: something heavy being draped over your shoulders. His coat. Then his arm is around you, drawing you close, closer, until you’re nestled against his chest.

“You have every right to ask,” he soothes, his tone so warm when it’s compensating for the rest of him. “I am yours, Y/N. I will always be yours.”

“But your work—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you. “I know I forget that sometimes. And I’m sorry. But you?”

He lifts your chin, gazing down at you with something you can only describe as adoration.

“There is nothing in this world more important to me than you.”

Your heart flutters at the words and the feathery touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away a tear. It’s futile in a downpour, but it still makes you smile. Rain is spattering on your forehead, some dripping from his now-soaked hair, and you laugh as he tries to dry your face with his sleeve.

“You’re important to me, too,” you manage between chuckles, “and I’m sorry, too.” Your cheeks are flushed, even in the cold. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“No.” A statement: not up for debate. Zayne untangles your limbs from his as he helps you stand. “We have a reservation.”

“We had a reservation. They gave away our table, Zayne.”

“Did they?”

There’s a hint of smugness. “Wait… what did you—”

He nods at the restaurant, and you follow his glistening gaze to where a waiter is holding the door— a menu clutched above his head, shielding him from the rain. He’s looking back at you. Waiting.

“Rafayel isn’t the only one with friends in high places,” Zayne smiles, leaning down to speak into your ear, and it makes you shiver. “The head chef is a friend of mine. I saved his brother’s life, you know.”

[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

Doubt

Title: Doubt

Pairing: Alastor x reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Part 1 of the Never and Always series

Word Count: ~2,881

In which the reader inadvertently lets her feelings slip, and she finds out what she really means to Alastor.

Warnings: Slight angst, Fluff, A cuss word in there somewhere, ooc Alastor maybe

When the Radio Demon himself had asked you out to dance, how could you possibly have said no? After all, he wasn’t just the Radio Demon to you, he was Alastor - the man who had saved you from a life of imprisonment after you had naively sold your soul to the Vees, who had brought you back to Charlie’s Hotel, and who had since become one of the most trusted people in your life.

Even now, you weren’t exactly sure what had drawn Alastor to you all those years ago. Whenever you asked, he was quick to change the subject or deflect. 

Not that you would ever complain, of course. Alastor had saved your life and demanded nothing in return, save for you staying away from the Vees’s territory, which you were only so happy to do.

Once you had settled into the hotel, you had found yourself a real family. One who watched your back and hugged you when things got hard. One who loved you despite your past and your flaws. One who didn’t abandon or use you. 

All in all, your life here was better than your life when you were alive. You couldn’t wish for anything more.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Now, as you rifled frantically through your closet, you couldn’t help but wish that Alastor had given you a bit more warning before your outing. 

He had approached you only half an hour prior, materializing in your room and grabbing your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles before straightening and asking if you would do him the honor of accompanying him to his old friend Mimzy’s club tonight.

You’d said yes, of course. Who would ever deny a night out? And how hard could it be to get ready in only an hour? 

Exceedingly difficult, as it turned out.

Your rummaging became increasingly desperate as you searched your closet in vain, throwing dresses, shirts, blouses, and everything else that you owned on the floor as you discarded them. You were going out with Alastor, after all. You had to make a good impression.

You were stopped by a sudden knock at the door. 

“Come in,” you called over your shoulder.

You listened as someone’s light footsteps entered your room. “Geez, dollface, was there a break-in or something?” The voice’s tone changed from confusion to amusement. “Or are ya finally burning all of your clothes so I can take you shopping?”

You huffed in indignation and spun to face Angel Dust, hands on your hips. “My closet is fine, thank you. I’m just-” you looked back at your empty closet and sighed, dropping your hands to your sides. There was no way you would be ready in the next half an hour without some help.

You turned back to face Angel, a sheepish grin on your face. “I don’t have time to go shopping, but I’ll let you give me a full makeover tomorrow if you help me get ready to go dancing at Mimzy’s club tonight.”

Angel smirked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back against your doorframe. “A full makeover? You going on a date or something?”

“I’m going out with Alastor.”

His smile only grew in size. “Going out with Smiles tonight, huh?” He glanced down at your discarded pile. “I guess I can put something together. How much time do I have to work my magic? A few hours?”

You flushed, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Can you make me presentable in the next thirty minutes?”

Angel waved his hand dismissively before grabbing your hand and leading you straight out of your room and across the hall to his own bedroom. “Of course I can, sweetcheeks, that’s nothing. I’ll have you ready in a jiff.”

You smiled appreciatively as Angel led you swiftly to his vanity and sat you in his chair. “I owe you one,” you promised.

He gave you a wink. “You don’t owe me nothing, sweetheart. Just sit back and let me work.”

~~~

True to his word, Angel managed to have you brushed up and looking like a princess in less than half an hour. To be honest, you were pleasantly surprised when you saw the finished look. 

Not that you ever doubted Angel’s skills, of course, but where you had expected a bold face of makeup and a showy dress that followed today’s trends, he had gone in a vastly different direction. 

Your makeup looked much more natural than you thought Angel was capable of. Your eyeshadow was dark, but subtle. Your eyeliner was winged, of course, and he had painted your lips a dark shade of red. The best part of the ensemble, though, was that he had dressed you in a surprisingly 50s looking modest black dress that he had had in his closet ‘just in case’. All in all, you had to admit that it was better than anything you could have ever put together.

You spun in front of his full length mirror. “I love it,” you said quietly, unable to stop the grin that spread across your features. 

“Of course ya do,” Angel replied from his place on the edge of his bed. Fat Nuggets had taken up residency in his owner’s lap, and both of them were watching you with smug glee. 

Well, as smug as a pig could get, anyway.

“And if I ain’t mistaken,” Angel continued, “Your date started five minutes ago. You should probably stop spinning and start walking.”

You stopped admiring your reflection and flushed. “I’m that late?” You walked backwards towards the bedroom door. “Thank you Angel, I owe you, really. See you later!”

The sound of Angel Dust chuckling kindly followed you across the hall as you quickly closed the door to your own room behind you. 

A voice sounded out of the darkness. “Ready now, are we?”

You jumped at the sound and whirled around, flicking your lights on and staring in surprise when you saw Alastor perched on the edge of your bed. 

“You know, my dear, it really is bad manners to…”

The demon trailed off when he finally caught sight of you.

You suddenly felt exceedingly self conscious as his eyes started to roam over your ensemble. It was 50s inspired, sure, but what if Alastor found it offensive? What if he thought it was laughable? What if he hated it? What if -

You stepped back as Alastor melted into the shadows and reappeared directly in front of you. His eyes studied your face almost curiously.

“Angel helped,” you piped nervously. “I couldn’t have done it on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Alastor replied as he raised a hand. He gently grasped your chin in his fingers and tilted your head from side to side. “The outfit you wore when I asked you to join me would have sufficed.”

You scoffed, pulling your chin back and looking down at the floor. “We’re going to Mimzy’s club, Al. I couldn’t have just shown up in a random shirt and pants.”

A clawed hand tilted your face back up to meet Alastor’s. You gasped in surprise when you saw that the two of you were practically nose to nose. “I do hope you haven’t finally started to doubt me, my dear,” Alastor said in a low voice.

“Never,” you breathed, not daring to blink.

If there was any one consistent presence in your life, it was Alastor. He had never steered you wrong, and the least you could do in return was trust his word.

The Radio Demon’s smile softened at your response. He released your chin and stepped back, looking you up and down one more time before turning away. 

“I meant what I said, darling,” he drawled, the static in his voice ever present. “You would have been quite a gem even in your-” he rolled his eyes and waved his hand dramatically “-random shirt and pants.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from rising up to your cheeks. It was one thing for Angel to appraise his own work, but it was quite another for Alastor to agree with his assessment. 

You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry I was late. Should we go? I know Mimzy doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

A lie. You’d never met Mimzy before in your life. But if you were going to try and stop your blushing cheeking from giving away just how much you appreciated his compliment, you had to distract yourself somehow.

Alastor looked down at his pocket watch and hummed. “I do suppose we should be on our way. She did request an audience, after all.”

You blinked. “An audience? I thought…”

The overlord looked back at you with a raised brow, looking more confused than anything. “You thought what, my dear?”

You felt your shoulders sag, though you internally chastised yourself for feeling at all disappointed. How could you have assumed that Alastor’s only goal today was to dance with you at a club? Of course he had another motive. 

You forced a smile on your face. “Nothing. Sorry. We should go.”

You tried to brush your disappointment away. It didn’t matter why he had asked you. The fact that he had asked at all was plenty.

Except it isn’t, a little voice inside of you whispered. For years now, Alastor had been your protector, watching over you and ensuring your safety, even while helping Charlie to look after the hotel and feuding with Vox. 

As time had slowly gone by, you had hoped that maybe you could help Alastor as much as he had helped you. He wouldn’t let you help at his radio station, and since the Radio Demon wasn’t exactly an emotional sharer, you had decided that the least you could do was be a constant, solid presence in his life. 

You had even thought that you were making progress over the past few months, and your hopes had been solidified when he had asked you out to Mimzy’s club. After all, he would never have asked you if he didn’t see you as some sort of friend, right?

Now, though, you could see how foolish you had been. How could you have ever hoped to help Alastor in any way? He was a demon of solitude, and your wish to help him had made you blind to that.

You started towards your door, hoping to hide the embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

But before you could make it, a shadow appeared ahead of you, frowning down at you as it blocked the door.

You refused to look him in the eye. “We’ll be late, Al. We need to go.”

“It seems as though you aren’t quite ready, my dear.” The static of his voice grew closer as he spoke. You tensed up when you felt his faint breath on the back of your neck. “After all, you’re never fully dressed without a smile.”

You finally turned to face him, hating the feelings flooding through your veins and the thoughts rushing through your head. How was Alastor ever meant to learn to lean on you if you couldn’t even hold yourself together? It was bad enough that you lacked his grace and poise, and now he would see what a truly pathetic and fucked up specimen he had saved all those years ago.

Alastor looked down at you, his expression ever passive, his smile ever present. But beneath the mask, his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were narrowed as he studied your face.

From behind you, his shadow placed two gentle hands on your shoulders, carefully holding you in place as if afraid that you would bolt.

You swallowed and forced your head up to meet the Overlord’s eyes, plastering a false smile on your face. “I’m ready.”

“You most certainly are not, my dear,” Alastor replied, the static in his voice fading to a soft buzz. He raised his hand silently and placed it on your cheek.

Instinctively, you tilted your head and allowed your cheek to be cradled gently by his clawed hands, closing your eyes as you savored the feeling. It was almost enough to make you forget what had upset you in the first place.

“Mon chere,” Alastor said, something resembling concern present in his voice. “What’s troubling you?”

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring into his. “I thought…” you began once again before pressing your lips together. It would do nobody any good if you confessed your thoughts out loud. You might even inadvertently push him away.

“Thought what?”

His eyes were searching yours for an answer you weren’t sure you were yet willing to give. His hand remained cradling your face, and his shadow behind you had yet to release you from its gentle touch. 

You took a deep breath. Even if your true feelings did push him away, didn’t you at least owe it to him after all this time to be honest? Even if it was the last thing you were ever able to do for him.

You closed your eyes again. “I thought we were going to Mimzy’s to spend time together,” you admitted, hating the way your breath caught, hating the way your voice cracked, and hating the way your heart stopped. You pushed forward. “I didn’t realize you were going for business, I thought maybe you wanted to spend time together.”

A laugh bubbled its way through your lips. “It was silly of me to assume, though. I know you’re busy, I just thought maybe I was getting through to you. I thought you were starting to let your guard down around me, and that I could just be there for you.”

You stepped to the side, away from both Alastor and his shadow. “I thought we were becoming something like friends. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” You squeezed your eyes shut in desperation. “I know that I’m nothing more than a soul that you saved. I know that, I promise I do. And I won’t ever again mistake your actions for something that they’re not. So please don’t give up on me, Al. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

The room was silent. 

Too silent.

You slowly glanced up.

Alastor’s shadow was gazing at you, unmoving from his spot by the door. Beside him, Alastor was looking past you and at the wall, his hands clenching his staff and his smile strained. 

“You don’t need to say anything,” you said as you rushed to fix what you had broken. “Truly, you don’t. Let’s just go to Mimzy’s and forget that this ever happened.”

“Unfortunately, my dear,” Alastor drawled, his eyes flickering back to you. “This isn’t an interaction that either one of us will be able to forget by morning.”

You swallowed heavily, fighting back the tears that so desperately wanted to escape. “Please, Al.” Your voice was hardly a whisper. “Don’t give up on me, not now.”

At your words, his shadow melted into the ground and materialized before you, placing both hands gently on your cheeks and lowering his head down until your foreheads touched. Just as suddenly, the shadow stepped back and melted into the ground again, allowing the real Alastor to take his place.

He looked down at you once again, but this time, his expression was almost open, almost tender, almost endearing. He took your hand in his and pressed it to his lips before pressing it to the place that his heart would have been beating if you had met in another life.

For a moment, he said nothing. You waited with bated breath, trying to ignore the warmth in your chest at the fact that Alastor had yet to release you.

Then, when you thought you couldn’t bear the silence any longer, Alastor hummed softly. “I do hope you haven’t started to doubt me, my dear.”

“Never,” you vowed without a moment’s hesitation.

Alastor’s smile seemed to ease slightly. “I may not rely on you as much as you yourself would like.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was trying to choose his words carefully. “But do know this, mon chere. I doubt I would still be in one piece if it wasn’t for you. And I have no intention of giving you up.” His eyes flashed. “Not ever.”

Your knees almost gave out as you breathed a sigh of relief. Without thinking, you pressed forward, burying your face in his chest and wrapping your arms around him tightly. “Thank you, Al,” you whispered, your spirit bright.

Alastor gently took hold of your shoulders and pushed you back, though his eyes shined softly. “Careful now, my dear. We wouldn’t want to ruin all of Angel Dust’s hard work, now, would we?”

You laughed and lowered your arms. “I guess not.”

The Radio Demon smiled down at you, holding out his arm like the gentleman he was. “Shall we, then, my dear?”

You smiled back at him. For all of his secrets and tricks, he had only ever been kind to you. Why wouldn’t you accept?

You linked your arm through his and grinned as he guided you towards the door. 

Perhaps you were doing a better job with Alastor than you had thought.

Part 2 Here!!

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged in the series!

[beecauseevan]

first kiss in front of the team/at work!!

"You ready?" 

Eddie turns. He's been staring at the firehouse, but Buck is a much prettier sight, cast in gold by the morning sun filtering through the car windows.

"Ready? For work?" 

"Sure." Buck rolls his shoulders into the Jeep's driver's seat in a half shrug. "For work, and for—you know. Twenty-four hours is a long time."

Eddie leans against the door at his back, a smirk blooming on his face. "Is that a pickup line?"

"I don't have to use pickup lines on you," Buck tells him, but he's smirking too. "I picked you up a while ago."

Eddie hums.

"All I'm saying," Buck continues, "is that twenty-four hours… is a long time."

Eddie could keep playing hard to get. Taking the bait sounds more rewarding, though. He reaches for Buck, curls his fingers into the front of Buck's black t-shirt,  "Guess I better stock up on this while I still have the chance, huh?"

"I guess so," says Buck.

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the parking lot. It's empty, not a soul in sight.

"We're all alone," Buck mutters, voice softer than before, though the gleam in his eyes hasn't changed.

"All alone," Eddie agrees, and tugs him close.

They arrived in the parking lot half an hour early, but when they actually make it inside, their shift is about to start. That means the locker room is empty, which in turn doesn't mean much—the glass walls provide no privacy—but Buck is nothing if not bold.

"Stop," Eddie mutters, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, which hangs half-open from his shoulders. He doesn't have to glance up to know Buck is looking at him, can feel the weight of his gaze on the exposed skin of his chest. It makes him feel stupid, and tingly all over, and warm.

"I'm not doing anything," Buck replies, equally quiet, though the smile in his words is loud. 

"You're staring."

"I'm admiring."

And, honestly. Buck just spent four consecutive nights admiring every inch of Eddie's body. He should've looked his fill by now, but when Eddie finally meets his eyes, the hunger in Buck's smile is as obvious as it was this morning, yesterday, two weeks ago. Eddie shivers, glancing past Buck at the app bay to make sure nobody is watching them. 

What if they both took a sick day? What would Bobby say then?

He pulls himself together and slaps Buck's (gloriously naked) chest. "Get dressed."

"Yessir."

"Oh my god," says Eddie, and moves to the other side of the locker room before he forgets himself. 

And just in time, too. Hen knocks on the glass door, then sticks her head inside. "You guys coming?"

"Did the bell ring?" Buck asks, eyes wide. 

Hen narrows hers and looks from Buck to Eddie and back to Buck. "No. I think you would've heard that."

"Right," says Buck. "Sure. I wasn't distracted or anything."

Hen frowns at Eddie, clearly expecting him to know what is going on with Buck, and she's not wrong, but Eddie shrugs anyway, feigns ignorance. Hen sighs.

"Bobby made waffles," she says. "If you don't hurry up, I'm giving your share to Ravi."

The city keeps them busy, after that, provides them with a steady stream of fender benders and fires and the occasional cat stuck in a tree. By the time they get another moment to themselves, the sun is setting over the city and the station is awash in shades of crimson and gold.

Eddie is just stepping off the treadmill, sweaty and in dire need of a shower, when Buck joins him in the gym.

"Hey," Buck says. 

Just that. Just hey. He's smiling and his curls look soft in the afternoon sun, and Eddie wonders if this will ever stop being thrilling, if he'll ever be able to look at Buck without feeling like his chest is going to burst from all this love, if he'll ever be able to exist in Buck's presence without wanting, no, needing, to put his hands all over that glorious body.

"Hey yourself," he says, and Buck's smile widens, and he steps towards Eddie as if magnetized.

"I've missed you."

"You saw me ten minutes ago."

Buck shrugs. "You know what I mean."

Eddie does. He doesn't wish that he didn't. He likes knowing. 

"Sixteen hours," he says lowly, as Buck stops in front of him, just a few inches shy of appropriate—but then they've never needed much personal space when it came to each other. "Think you can manage?"

"Barely," Buck replies, before his smile sweetens. He looks down at his feet and Eddie looks down too, at Buck's hands, which are twitching at his sides as though they're desperate to reach out. "But, yeah. I'll manage."

Eddie nods. He drags his eyes back up and finds Buck watching him in return. He's so close Eddie can count his lashes, could trace the smile lines in the corners of his eyes.

"There you are." Chim strides into the gym and stops dead in his tracks, frowns at them, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that Eddie just jumped away from Buck like he's been stung. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Eddie says, too quickly.

Chim's frown deepens. Behind him, Hen appears on the scene of the crime, watching them over Chim's shoulder.

"If you guys are in some kind of trouble—"

And really, that's just uncalled for. Eddie opens his mouth and closes it again when he realizes he doesn't really have an excuse. Not for the first and probably not for the last time, Buck saves him.

"It's, uhm. Christopher's birthday party," he says. "We're—making plans."

Hen looks at Chim, who shakes his head.

"Chris' birthday is months away," she says.

"Well." Buck scratches the side of his neck. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared, right?"

He slides a pointed look Eddie's way, waiting for backup. Eddie opens his mouth.

It's new, still, this thing between them, new but not fragile. Three weeks ago, when their first kiss shattered every single one of Eddie's defenses, when he finally allowed himself a shot at true happiness, he warned Buck—told him that it would take him some time, that he would not be able to be Buck's plus one to a wedding any time soon.

Buck laughed at him, told him to stop worrying and we're not going to any weddings anyway, Eddie, unless you know something I don't, and kissed him again, and ever since then, he's been—patient, and careful, and wonderful, and everything Eddie could ask for and more.

He'd live like this, in secret, for another six years if Eddie asked it of him.

"Cause, you know," Buck continues, probably realizing that Eddie is too distracted to help him, and covering for him immediately, because he has his back even now. "Teenagers, they have—expectations. Right?"

"Right," says Eddie, and then he reaches out a hand and cups Buck's cheek and pulls him into a kiss, firm and sweet. When he breaks away, Buck is slack-jawed and glowing, and Eddie clears his throat and turns back to Chim and Hen, who are watching them with twin blank expressions. "Any more questions?"

"Huh," says Chim.

"Huh," adds Hen, and then, to Chim, "you owe me so much money. I knew it would happen before Christmas."

Chim groans loudly. Eddie leaves him to his misery and turns to Buck, who still looks stunned.

"Okay?" he asks quietly. He's lightheaded and giddy and so, so happy.

Buck's expression morphs into something different, something new, something that looks a lot like the inside of Eddie's chest feels—soft and warm and wonderful. "Okay. You?"

They have to talk to Bobby, and soon. Their future holds questions, of that Eddie is sure, and a lot of paperwork. He doesn't care about any of that right now.

"Never better," he says, and kisses Buck again.

[malereadermaniac]

Serial Cheater ~ Mako x Male Reader

This takes place somewhere along season 2 - Mako having just broken up with Korra and chatting to Asami again You are a core member of team Avatar! word count: 750 - Short fic! Sorry lol m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Even though Mako is the kind of guy fan girls swoon over, most people would say that he's pretty down to earth

Your friends wouldn't describe Mako as flirty or as a serial romantic

But for the entire time you've known the muscular fire bender, some things have stuck out to you - most notably that he is, in fact, a flirt and a serial cheater (on accident)

Mako never actually means any harm to the girls he dates, but you have noticed a trend in his dating patterns of dating drop-dead gorgeous girls with a little overlap between them

It may just be the law of attraction - maybe Mako is just a magnet to romance and he can't help it

But it's most definitely a fact that if an opportunity is presented to the police officer, he takes it

And that is exactly what got the both of you into this situation

Mako and you were hanging out, Korra away somewhere on avatar business and everyone else at their respective jobs

The two of you were just chilling in Mako's apartment, having ordered take-out and drinking some new companies mass-produced rice-wine

As conversations drifted from one to the other, Mako started to vent about his highly active love-life

Being a good friend, you listened to the tall police officer - nodding along to assure him that you're listening to his ramble about his feelings for Korra and also for Asami

You of course throw in a joking comment or two at Mako's adulterous nature, but all in all you listen to his problems and offer your comfort

And your comforting and caring nature, mixed with the alcohol in Mako's system, was what resulted in your current situation

That being you on Mako's lap, making out with you handsome friend

Yes, you broke the kiss initially

Yes, you said you two shouldn't do this because of your close friendship with both of Mako's love interests

Yes, Mako begged for your warm, soft lips and for your comfort

And yes, you gave in...

Even though Mako was just yapping on about kissing Asami less than 24 hours ago, his chiseled face and warm brown eyes drew you in like an inescapable black hole

As the two of you made out, clothing started to make its way off of your body - the air in Mako's apartment becoming hotter and stuffier

But as your nude chest rubbed against the handsome man's pecs, a knock of the door forced you two apart

"Mako? Hey I wanna... talk about earlier!" you could hear your dear friend's voice shout

Asami was behind that door, and you most certainly didn't want her to walk in and see you and her not-so-boyfriend-boyfriend getting it on

You and Mako struggle to get off of one another and desperately reach for your clothes to cover up

You head to the bathroom to hide and dress back up as Mako let's Asami in to talk

You over-hear the two as you wait in your friends' tiny bathroom

Their conversation had ups and downs, but it definitely ended in an up

You peaked out of the crack between the door frame and the door, watching as Asami and Mako kissed goodbye

As the front door shut, you open the bathroom door and lean on the frame

"Sooo... looks like you really just can't help yourself" you say with a smirk to Mako

The tall man chuckles as he walks over to you

"Heh... yeah, I guess so"

"I don't think you deny being a playboy much longer, haha..." you joke

Mako holds you head up with his soft hand to make you look him in the eye - Mako's height being emphasised

"Shut up... and what if I am?" Mako half-lids his eyes as he focuses on your features

And while you know that it's a dick move on your part, breaking Asami's and even Korra's trust, you couldn't help but push your lips against Mako's

Your hands rest on Mako's strong chest, his tongue slipping past your lips as his masculine hands slip onto your waist

"That's what I'd do if your were... Hmhm~" you laugh after breaking from Mako's warm lips

The two of you laugh as the strong man picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck

As Mako makes his way to his bed, all thoughts of guilt float out and away from your brain

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛ. ᴀꜱ ʜᴇʀ 11ᴛʜ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀꜱ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ, ʟᴜᴄᴇʀʏꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ʀʜᴀᴇɴʀʏᴀ. ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ-ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴋɪɴɢꜱ ʟᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ.

This story will follow canon events of HOTD and Fire and Blood. However, I am changing some of the years when things took place so I can build my story's plot better.

126 AC

Rhaella peers down at the baby whose big brown eyes captivate her. She decides that Joffery Velaryon is Westeros' cutest baby when he smiles at her.

"Does he cry a lot?" She asks

"Sometimes. Mostly when he is hungry." Rhaenrya says

"Aren't babies always hungry though?" She asks

"I suppose they are..." Rhaenrya replies "I guess that means he cries a lot then."

Rhaella smirks at her cousin's admission. Even if he did cry a lot he was still cute.

"Rhaella what are you doing in here? You rarely visit without Jace and Luke." Rhaenrya asks

"I am hiding from the Septa. She insists that I learn about history with Heleana." Rhaella sighs "If she had half a brain she'd know Maester Edric has taught me it all already."

Rhaenrya lets out a snort of laughter at her half-a-brain comment.

"Our histories are important." She says "I will agree with you though, Septas can be a bore."

"I'd much rather be in the training yard with Jace and Luke." Rhaella admits "I don't understand why I must learn to sew while they get to fight with a sword."

"That is the way of the world," Rhaenrya says

"The way of the world can go fuck its-"

Rhaella stops her speech when her cousin's eyebrows shoot up.

"I mean to say it is idiotic that I cannot train with them."

Soft silence settles as baby Joffery coos in his crib, laughing when Rhaella sticks her tongue out at him.

"Do you truly wish to be outside with them?" Rhaenrya asks

"Of course. I want to be like Visenya in the books that line the shelves in my room." Rhaella says looking up at her cousin, "Since I do not have a dragon I wish to have another way to fight."

Rhaella watches Rhaenrya's face and doesn't miss the way the corner of her mouth twitches into a slight smile.

"Come with me." She says

As if it's magic, a wet nurse is there to watch over Westeros' cutest baby and Rhaella is following Rhaenrya through the maze of halls and stairways that lead the the training yard.

"Ser Harwin!" Rhaenrya calls

They waltz past Ser Criston Cole who is working with Aegon, Aemond, Jace, and Luke. Aemond's eyes widen when he sees her out of the castle and standing in the muddy yard.

A monstrous-looking man answers Rhaenrya's call. His mess of curly dark hair has been tied back neatly and he bows as they approach.

"Princess. My Lady." He greets

"This is Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaella. He is Lord Commander of the City Watch." Rhaenrya says "Lady Rhaella wishes to train, the way the Princes do."

Rhaella isn't entirely sure about this Ser Harwin. She expects him to turn her away, mutter something about her being a girl, and for Rhaenrya to tell her to go back to her sewing.

"I'll teach her." He says

Rhaella nearly falls over at his acceptance.

"You will?" She gasps

"It is a request from Princess Rhaenrya herself. I'd be foolish not to accept." He smiles at Rhaella and then Rhaenrya. "Tomorrow we will begin. I expect you to be dressed in something worthy of a great sword fighter."

Rhaella looks down at the silk dress she had been dressed in just hours ago.

"Of course." She smiles

"For today, I want you to go back to the Septa. Sit and do your lessons and tomorrow you can spend as much time as you want with Ser Harwin." Rhaenrya says

Training is harder than she had expected, and a lot dirtier too. The practice swords are so heavy they make her arms ache. It had been three months since Rhaenrya had introduced them and Rhaella was sure she was disappointing Ser Harwin.

"Straighten your arms, plant your feet. Having a strong stance keeps you from being knocked over." Harwin's voice commands as she swings at a straw-filled man, "Jacaerys, you too. You look like a gust of wind might blow you over."

Ser Harwin was tough, Rhaella could tell that he was an experienced fighter. She wanted to do her best under his tutelage but she found herself failing. Perhaps it was because the sword was too heavy, or maybe she didn't like the feel of mud between her fingers. What she did know though was that the sharp eyes of Criston Cole were not helping things. It felt like he was watching her every step whenever she arrived to train. She swore he was also watching Jace and Luke who often were beside her in training.

"Perhaps they cannot carry your orders out simply because they are too weak, Strong," Cole says

"Ignore them, boys, Rhaella. One day you will all be stronger than him." Harwin says

Every bone in her body was aching by the time she got back to her chamber. After working with the swords Harwin had taught them hand-to-hand combat, something he claimed was just as important as working with a sword. The only plus of today was that she had been able to overpower Jace and land a good hit on his side. He'd probably get her back for that one in a few days.

The sound of her door opening had her groaning. She loved Heleana but she did not wish to talk about bugs at this moment

"Heleana might I bathe and then come to visit you I am dirty from training still." She said not bothering to look at the door from her seat at her desk.

"Not only are you dirty but you smell awful."

"Aemond!" She exclaimed and shot up.

She had found herself becoming a bit more self-conscious around the prince in the past few months. She'd often make sure to her hair til it was perfectly silky or spray a bit of sweet-smelling perfume before going to see him. Maester Edric said it was a part of getting older and becoming a woman. Rhaella believed it was because she didn't want him to make fun of her. How could she become a great warrior if she was made fun of by her closest friend?

"We have not spent much time together recently. I thought you might be upset with me." Aemond said walking over to her.

"I am not upset with you." She affirms "After training I am often too tired to move. Not to mention Heleana and I have been spending time together as well."

"Heleana and her bugs can wait, you were my friend first," Aemond declares, sitting down on the end of the bed.

Rhaella lets out a small laugh of amusement at Aemond's possessive tone.

"Your name day is soon right?" He asks

"In a fortnight. I will be 11." She smiles

"You're getting old." Aemond teases

"You'll have your own name day eventually as well. 10 years is a very serious age." She says, trying to sound like an adult

"You're 10 now and you laughed when Luke drank his water too quickly and water spurted out his nose just a week ago." Aemond reminds

"Anyone would've laughed at that!" She defends

Her eyes widen when she sees how her Uncle Viserys has planned to celebrate her name day.

"I do not think a feast is necessary, Uncle." She said

"Of course it is, it is your first name day with family. Tell me have you ever had a grand celebration for your name day?" He asks

Rhaella's mind combs through the name days she can remember. Most of them were spent with cousin Gerold teaching her to hunt or Edric gifting her new perfumes.

"I have not..." She trails off

"Then a true celebration is in order. I have invited many lords and ladies of the kingdom. Even your cousin Gerold has sent word he will be here." Viserys says

"Are you excited for tonight?" Maester Edric asks

Rhaella catches his gaze through the mirror as a handmaid braids her hair.

"I am nervous. I do not know most of the people who will be at this party." She sighs

"You don't need to worry, they are here for you. You should focus on having a good time, this is your first proper name day celebration." He says, "I wish I would have been able to give you a celebration like this when you were younger."

"I don't. Every name day I have spent with you, Gerold, and the staff of Runestone has been perfect." Rhaella admits

The party is as lavish as Viserys had described. Numerous plates of food are piled high with dishes she couldn't even name. Music played as they ate and Rhaella hoped she wouldn't get anything on her dress.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Viserys asks

"I am, Uncle, thank you." She smiles truthfully

"I used to have feasts like this for Rhaenrya every year on her name day. She asked me to stop after she was married." Viserys reminisced

"I am sure they were wonderful." She says

Supper goes by smoothly as the many guests talk and feast. It is after the food has been devoured that Rhaella can feel herself beginning to sweat. She is sure they expect her to dance or make some big speech, anything that will have all eyes on her.

A sharp tap interrupts her train of thought.

"Do you want one of these? There weren't any on your side of the table." Aemond asks, his hand is out stretched with a delicate-looking pastry in it.

Her glance drops to the table where a large plate full of them rests just within arms reach of her.

Laenor nudges Rhaenrya who sits by his side. His wife had been scolding Luke for eating too quickly and making himself sick.

"I believe Prince Aemond is blushing." He whispers

Rhaenrya follows his gaze to the young children who are staring into each other's eyes.

"He is handing her a pastry," Rhaenrya observes, " He looks....rather foolish."

"His face is red, look at his cheeks and ears." Laenor laughs

Suddenly the young prince's eyes fall on Laenor and he immediately switches his attention to the intricate hairstyle Rhaenrya has donned for the evening.

"Yes, very uh well done, the braids." He mumbles

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a child." Rhaenrya laughs

"Little boys don't like it when people know their crushes. Aemond won't want me knowing his." Laenor says, thinking back to how embarrassed he was when Laena first found out about his crush on his father's cupbearer.

A moment passes and before he knows it, Rhaenrya grabs his arm.

"Looks like you were right." She says

Laenor's eyes follow his wife's and he is surprised when he sees Aemond leading Rhaella, the same nervous little girl who nearly combusted when she tripped in front of him once to the center of the room for a dance.

"Maybe he'll step on her feet." Aegon's disinterested voice carries across the table.

A lively beat starts up and all eyes are on the two children who clumsily try to recall all the dance skills they've learned in their lessons over the years.

"They shouldn't be the only ones down there. Rhaella looks like she's going to faint and Aemond...well he clearly isn't doing well either." Laenor says

He's about to ask his wife to dance for the first time in years when the doors to the hall open wide.

"Gods help us." He hears Alicent murmur.

Rhaella can feel the sweat trickle down her back as Aemond tries to lead her in a dance. She hasn't had many dance lessons but she swore she did better in those than she was now.

The sound of opening doors makes her and Aemond pause. A man and woman, with two young girls behind them, enter the room. Each of them had valyrian features but the man stood out the most.

"Daemon." Her Uncle calls from behind her "I did not think you were coming."

Daemon? As in...

"And miss the first feast thrown in my daughter's honor, on her name day?" His foreign voice fills her ears for the first time ever.

Daemon Targaryen. Her father has shown his face to her for the first time ever.

"Let's go back to the table," Aemond whispers as he grabs her hand to lead her back towards their family.

"Daughter." Daemon calls "You have grown up."

Rhaella feels like someone has stuffed cotton into her mind. She does not know what to do, or how to reply to this man.

Aemond leads her back to the table and she stiffly sits back down.

"Someone bring chairs. Lady Laena must sit down." Ser Lanor's voice makes its way into her mind.

At some point, the pregnant wife of Daemon's sits down, most likely near her brother. Her daughter, those half-sisters Rhaella had heard about many times were in her peripheral vision, as was her father.

"Wonderful party, brother. Truly a worthy display for my eldest." Daemon praises

The room is silent and Rhaella watches as Daemon takes a long sip of wine from the cup a servant brings.

"So, daughter. I'm glad to see you take after me in looks. You look a bit like my mother, Alyssa." He says with a playful smile "Either way I am glad you don't look like that bronzed bitch. If that had happened I'd remained in Pentos."

Brozed bitch? Did he mean your mother? He was speaking ill of your deceased mother?

"Daemon. Enough. This is a night of celebration. You are not here to torment anyone." Viserys speaks up

Daemon shakes his head a bit and laughs before his attention is drawn to Laena.

The music begins again and Rhaella feels like her heart has lept into her throat. So many times she had imagined what it would be like to meet her father. She was told that he was a fierce warrior with a blood-red dragon named Caraxes. Instead of the gallant dragon rider she had expected, she was met with a crude man who clearly shared no love for her mother.

Her eyes were bleary with tears when Edric approached the high table to retrieve her.

"Your Grace, might I take Lady Rhaella back to her chamber. I think tonight's events have been a bit too much for her." He asks

"Yes, I think that is for the best." Visery's words bounce around in her mind as Edric helps her stand.

She locks eyes with Aemond one more time before leaving. His eyes seemed like they were full of pity as he disappeared from her view.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I've spent years filling your head with tales of his heroics. I failed to teach you what a crass man he truly is." Edric softly said

"It is not your fault. It is not anyone's but his own." Rhaella whispered back.

Ewww, cancel Daemon!!

Jk. I love Daemon. He's just going to be a bitch for now. (In true Daemon fashion I guess.)

Anyway sorry if some people seemed a little ooc. I like to Imagine Rhaenrya, Laenor, and Viserys as pretty jolly people, especially towards kids.

Next Part

Comment below to be added to the taglist

Tags:

@caspianobsessed

[euphemiaamillais]

smth like reader and coryo being best friends and getting stuck in a small room (or smth like that yk) and they just can't ignore the sexual tension!! Please 😭😭

blurb - best friend!coryo and reader get up to some antics in a bedroom once they realise they are locked in…

cw: 18+//pussy eating//piv sex//semi-public sex//tipsy (but consensual) sex//alcohol consumption

(an: coryo is way too nice in this for my liking, but i don't think the reader would be that close with him if he was a complete asshole towards her

your head is swimming from all the noise that pounds out of the speakers at lysistrata vickers’ party. you are all celebrating the end of the semester, and the last break before you will officially be graduates of the academy. you are wearing a tiny black dress; barely covering your ass, and have to admit you are getting a little hazy on account of the whisky somebody had poured into a glass for you about an hour ago.

you stand to one side in the cramped hallway, watching as drunken seniors stumble past, some with their arms around each other; others patting their friends—green in the face—on the back before making a beeline for the bathroom. you’re alone, for now, and are pondering on how you shall entertain yourself for the night. you’d arrived here with your best friend, coriolanus snow, but he’d wandered off some time ago when festus creed had offered him some vodka.

as you waited, gnawing on your lip, loneliness swilling in your belly, your felt somebody creep up behind you. their breath was hot against your neck, and soon enough a pair of hands crept around your waist, pulling you flush against what appeared to be the torso of a well-toned boy. you swore to god if it was festus trying to coax you into his bed again—that had ended badly the last two times—you were going to turn around and slap him square across the jaw.

‘guess who,’ a familiar voice rings out, and you sigh with relief.

‘coryo!’ you turn around, thankful that it’s him. his blonde hair hangs in one eye, and you reach up to tuck it behind his ear. your cheeks are a little warm as you feel yourself caress him a little too much, but you put it down to alcohol. he’s your best friend after all.

‘don’t tell me you’re standing here all alone,’ he cajoled, and you smile sheepishly, casting him a knowing look.

‘you were the one that left me, if i remember correctly!’ you scold, smacking him across the arm.

'mhm, i'm sorry,' he gives your waist a squeeze, causing you to inhale sharply in surprise. he's always so touchy with you; you know it probably means very little, but still, you can't help but feel your heart pounding.

'well, what have you been doing then?' you cock a brow, an impish grin playing upon your lips.

he chuckles, shaking the bottle of what appears to be posca—that goddamned drink that they plied you with at academy dinners. 'well, festus was so insistent that i have some of his mother's homemade posca—he practically forced it down my throat.'

you roll your eyes at his inability to resist what's offered to him, after all, he's a capitol boy, star pupil at the academy. he's not drunk though, just a little buzzed—perhaps that's why he's gripping your waist still. not that you mind...

the party grows louder; and you feel your ears start to ring with the ridiculous noise that is churning out. some underground music from one of those nightclubs that a lot of your peers frequented.

'it's so loud!' you exclaim, pushing yourself closer against the wall, a little breathless. he's still standing so close to you...

he nods, and you glance around, wondering if perhaps you can find a spare room to talk to him. you hadn't come to the party with the intention to be ignored by him half the night—there was so much to discuss! especially when it came to livia cardew and her antics. he always enjoyed relishing in her miseries.

'look, i think that door's open,' you remark, casting your gaze to the door behind his shoulder.

you step away from him, reaching for the doorknob, and wiggle it a little. it lets loose, and the door eases open. the room is small—well, at least by capitol standards—but well adorned. it's some sort of guest room, you assume.

coryo follows you, and you let the door shut behind you with a click. for some reason, you are compelled to check if it is shut properly, from the inside. you twist the knob, but find that you cannot get out. your face is red with embarrassment.

'oh!' you cry out, and coryo casts a bewildered look in your direction.

'what's wrong?' he's a little perplexed by your outburst; typically you are very sound of mind.

'it seems that we're locked in,' you slap a hand to your forehead. 'fuck!'

he laughs, and takes a sip of the posca, wincing a little as the sweet herbal notes of the drink hit the back of his throat.

'there's nothing funny about this, coriolanus!' you scowl, using his full name to underscore your disgruntled nature. 'if we can't get out, we're going to be stuck in here all night!'

you realise how that would look—coriolanus snow finally fucking you. people had always assumed you were too close, and now this would only confirm the rumours if you couldn't manage to get out.

'you act like that's the worst thing in the world,' he rebuts, posca clearly dampening his usually more serious temperament.

‘well, not all of us are delighted at the prospect of being locked in a room with nothing to entertain them!’ you huff, dropping down on the bed in a haze of fury.

he waves his bottle of posca in your face. ‘not nothing, hm? why don’t you have some? you really need to ease up.’

you accept it, and take a large gulp, trying your hardest not to spit it out in disgust. you’d forgotten how potent it was. your head was swimming already.

‘see, i bet you already feel so much better,’ he slurs a little too enthusiastically. your roll your eyes, quite unnerved at his sudden change in personality. you preferred his more dour nature.

‘nuh uh,’ you shook your head, and then leaned against his shoulder. you were a little sleepy; it was well after midnight, and the posca began to make its way to your limbs. your legs were numb—you knew if you even attempted to stand up you’d send yourself straight to the ground.

coryo wraps one arm around your shoulders, rubbing his hand over the bare skin of your arms. you nestle into him, tingling at his touch. he’s so warm, which is unusual for him—he’s naturally cold blooded—but you relish in it. again, your heart seems to leap in your chest at his touch, like you’re some giddy schoolgirl. you never felt like this when festus had touched you—not even when you’d let him fuck you, mostly out of boredom. did you like coryo?

your head floods with thoughts. surely not? he was your best friend. to do that would be… oh, you don’t know… unnatural? wrong in so many ways? but you did have to admit, he was gut-churningly attractive, with his piercing blue eyes and blonde hair that fell in just the right way.

you recall the rumours from last year about his affair in the alleyway with some girl—something which earned him the reputation of a 'player'. you'd never brought it up with him, just as he'd never questioned what you and festus had gotten up to that cold week in january.

‘you’re so warm, coryo,’ you find yourself slurring. god, what had this posca done to you? you were behaving like a fool.

‘yeah?’ he asks softly, and you feel his touch drop lower, one hand caressing the outline of your breast. he’s practically ghosting over the fabric of your dress, but you can feel the fabric prickling ever so slightly as he moves his fingers.

‘coryo…’ you slur, but you don’t stop him. it feels nice.

he’s wanted this for so long. he’s usually not one for the girls at the academy—besides you. his beautiful best friend, his intelligent best friend. at first he was disgusted that he was able to admire a woman in such a way, but he decided that if everybody else did it, it wasn’t entirely beneath him. and besides, you were worthy of him. you’d proved yourself adequate in many ways.

coryo places a kiss on your outstretched neck, and you gasp, his lips hot against your chilled skin. you feel something hot between your thighs; that nagging sensation you got when you touched yourself late at night. goddamnit—why did your body have to betray you like this?

‘you’re so fucking perfect,’ he murmurs in the crook of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin of your décolletage. ‘gonna make you mine…’

your heart pounds in your ears at his last sentence; the way he utterly wants to possess you. you wonder if it’s just the heady effects of the posca, or if he really means it.

his kisses send shivers down your spine, skin tingling with pleasure. you had to admit, it felt so damn good. if you were going to be locked in this room all night, perhaps letting him touch you a little wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

‘mhm,’ you sigh, wrapping your hands around his neck. you pull him away from collarbones, where he’s sucked hot, red marks into your skin, and press your lips against his.

it’s gentle at first, not like the other boys you’ve kissed who shoved their tongues down your throat. he kisses you with passion, mouth hot with want, hands clawing at your dress which has already begun to ride up around your hips.

you moan into him, and open your mouth, feeling him slide his tongue in. it’s so hot and wet, your lips pressing against each other, him driving a hand between your thighs. he doesn’t ask, but you don’t mind, ceding all rights to him. the posca is causing your head to spin, but if anything it only makes him want you all the more.

you pull away for a moment, catching your breath. you are almost gasping. ‘coryo… i,’ you huff in exasperation.

‘shhh,’ his hand is stroking the inside of your thigh, and reflexively you clamp your legs together, trapping him. you don’t mean to, it’s only that you’re just so pent up.

‘i’m sorry,’ your voice trails off, watching as he pushes your legs apart, fingers ghosting over the sensitive apex that leads to your cunt. you’re aching for him, so wet that you can hardly bare it. it’s embarrassing.

‘fuckin’ hell’ he grits his teeth together in awe when he brushes a finger over your panties. ‘so fucking wet. is this all for me?’

you nod drunkenly, head nestled against his shoulder. you are barely afloat, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you are unable to hold yourself up.

‘dirty little slut,’ he spits, and you whine as he begins to rub at your clit. ‘all wet for your best friend. you’re practically begging for me, what, locking us in this room.’

‘didn’t mean to…’ you slur, but you’re too lost in the way he touches you; your core aching with every ministration. you felt that familiar nagging knot in your stomach begin to form, growing as he touched you more.

‘look at you; it’s pathetic,’ he cows, pulling away from you. you’re whining, desperate for him, bottom lip trembling with need.

‘please coryo,’ you grab his hand, attempting to put it back against your sensitive clit. he pulls away, shaking his head.

‘oh no, you don’t get to tell me what to do,’ he scolds, and you scowl.

he slides his hands back up your thighs, rucking your dress up around your waist and sliding your panties down. he shakes his head in disbelief. they’re soaked completely through.

‘you wear these just for me, huh?’ he questioned, holding the tiny, black lacy thing in his hands. ‘wanted me to take them off and fuck you like the stupid slut you are?’

your mouth goes dry. the way he’s speaking to you… it’s so nasty, and yet you can only feel yourself aching for him. wondering how his cock would feel as it stretched you out; fucking you until you were crying out his name.

‘coryo…’ you can hardly speak; the words are like dirt in your mouth.

he tosses your panties to the side, and moves away from your clinging grip, sliding to the ground. he’s on his knees, hands on either side of your thighs. is he? you’d never done this before—festus had been all about receiving, not giving.

‘spread your legs,’ he coaxes, and you oblige, cunt so fucking wet that you can feel the slick dribbling down your thighs.

he presses kisses up your shins, and then further, past your knees, as if he is praising your body. he gets to your thighs, which are hot and humming with fervour, and nips at the soft skin just as he did on your neck.

you are in agony over how slow he is, so you reach down to rub at your throbbing clit, but he grips your wrist, hard, and casts a disappointed look at you.

‘what did i say about touching yourself?’ he clucked his tongue in displeasure.

you sigh, helpless, and prop yourself up on his elbows. his mouth is edging closer to your cunt, and you whine again, desperate to be touched. you wonder how many girls he’s done this to before—but you find your heart spurs with a little jealousy at the thought of that. no, he’s your coryo after all.

‘please!’ you gasp pathetically, and he obliges, for once, tongue ghosting over your wet slit.

you whimper, his mouth soothing that hot desperation that burns at your core, and grip at the tresses of blonde curls that spill from his head. you have to admit, you’d thought about this a few times—he was terribly attractive after all.

he laps at the slick that is dribbling from your cunt, and artfully moved his tongue up and down your folds; taking care to ek out your desperation by avoiding your clit. he delights in teasing you; at the thought of making you beg for him to let you cum. his pretty best friend, her even prettier pussy, all for him.

you taste so good, and you hear a muffled moan escape his throat as he fucks you with his tongue. he moves his mouth up further, finally wrapping his lips around your clit. you cry out, cunt throbbing with want.

his hands move to grip at your thighs, hard enough that you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow. he’s lapping at your cunt like it’s his last meal; deftly sucking on your sensitive, throbbing clit.

you feel yourself getting closer; that tight knot unfurling, your walls clenching. you sigh at the pleasant tingling feeling that begins to dance upon your skin as you tug lightly on his hair, coaxing him on.

‘i’m so close,’ you somehow manage to gasp out, admiring his skilful abilities with his tongue.

he keeps the same pace, clearly well-versed in the art of cunnilingus. you feel yourself clasp your thighs around his neck, unable to control your pleasure.

‘sorry,’ you groan out, realising you are half-suffocating him. he gives your thigh a squeeze, indicating that he’s enjoying it.

you feel yourself unravel right there, slickness gushing from your cunt as your walls contract. he moves his mouth from your clit and licks up all the slick, moaning at the sweetness of your spend. he sticks a finger into your hole, and you whine at the overstimulation.

‘so fuckin’ sweet,’ he licks your wetness off his fingers, and moves to sit himself back on the bed.

you’re completely fucked out, high on bliss and pleasure; half-forgetting that you were at a party. you wonder if anyone had heard, and prayed silently that they hadn’t.

coriolanus brushes hair from your eyes, tendrils sticking to the beads of sweat that clung to your forehead. you manage to sit up, a little hazy, and see that he’s throbbing in his pants. your mouth fills with drool at the thought of his cock, and your face burns hot in embarrassment.

‘you’re hard, coryo,’ you tease, hand reaching out to rub the outline of his bulge. he grunts, but doesn’t stop you this time.

you purse your lips, and cast him a wide-eyed look. god, he wants to fuck you right then and there. but before he can do anything, you push him down against the bed, straddling him with your tender thighs.

‘that fucking desperate for me?’ he inquires, and you nod, fucked out on the desire for his cock.

you grind down against his pants, bare pussy rubbing against the rough fabric. your hands travel to the zipper, and you manage to pull his pants down to his knees. you palm him through his underwear—letting him know that two could play at the teasing game—until he practically had to beg you to stop.

‘gonna fuck you,’ you mouth hotly, slipping your hand under the waistband of his boxers.

you feel up and down the length—it’s long, for sure, and thick. you’d wondered if the rumours about him being largely endowed were true; now you could certainly feel that they were.

‘don’t be such a tease,’ he pleads, and you giggle, managing to slide his boxers off completely.

his cock is pressed flush against his stomach; it’s throbbing and so red, the tip almost angry looking. you slide your pussy over it, wanting to rile him up, but feel his hands grip at your love handles. he cocks a brow in disapproval.

‘you’re so big,’ you sigh breathily, trying to position yourself to slide him in. your cunt is trembling with want.

‘afraid i might stretch you out?’ he asks vulgarly. you shake your head with a little laugh.

‘mhm, no, i’m just glad,’ you remark. ‘festus was so inadequate.’

you see him wince at the name, and pout a little. classic jealousy on his behalf. he never did well with being second-best.

‘oh, don’t worry coryo,’ you stroke his chest teasingly. ‘you’ve done more than prove yourself already.’

having to soothe his ego was a little frustrating, but you figured he was probably going to be better than that useless rut. he’d already made you come. that was a start.

you ease his tip in slowly, gasping as he stretches you out. you find, unfortunately, that you’ll have to be slow. he’s just that big. he groans under you, cock twitching with desperation.

‘so fuckin’ tight,’ he says, one hand clutching at your ass. you sink down further, taking him in about halfway.

‘gonna stretch you out,’ he coos, rubbing gently at the small of your back.

you sigh with contentment, bucking your hips slowly, trying to take him further. you groan, the slick of your cunt coating his throbbing cock.

he thrusts up into you, and you feel him stretch you out more; pushing himself to the hilt. you gnaw on your lip, trying to hold back a whimper. it feels so good; the rigid veins of his cock brushing against your sensitive walls.

‘oh, coryo,’ you find yourself gasping out as you slide up and down his cock, the sound of your wetness mingling with that of skin slapping.

‘fuck,’ he grunts, fingers digging into your ass, pulling you down hard against his cock. ‘you feel so fucking tight.’

you toss your head back in pleasure, and find yourself wondering why you hadn’t done this sooner. he feels so good inside of you, pounding your achy cunt. you feel your core growing warm again with desire, and slide your fingers down to rub at your swollen clit.

‘mhm,’ you sigh pleasantly, fucking yourself stupid on his big, hard cock. ‘so fucking good, coryo.’

you build up a little momentum, needing him with more urgency, and find he responds diligently. he pulls you down against his cock, so you’re almost flush against his belly, and he pounds into you.

‘taking me so well,’ he mutters, grunting as your tight cunt squeezes him. he’s close, he can feel it, his muscles tensing up, cock trembling with need. his mouth goes dry at the thought of finishing inside of you.

you feel him cry out with exasperation, and it’s not long before he finishes inside of you, hot spurts of cum leaking from his tip. you continue to rock back and forth against him in feckless hope of making yourself come again, but it comes to no avail.

he slides out of you, cock still dripping with cum, and you lay down sloppily next to him. your breaths are ragged, the posca washing a tiredness over you. he drapes one arm lazily around you—a little more affectionate than he’d been with you before.

you rest your head against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. you’re yet to fully comprehend it all. you’re sure tomorrow you’ll probably wake up questioning what you’ve done, regret washing over you.

you’re not sure how to feel—you enjoyed it, that’s for sure; the way he made you cum using only his tongue, how he stretched you out with his big cock. but he’s your best friend… you’d never assumed something like this would come to fruition.

you decide that it’s probably for the best to put it aside, at least for the evening. your eyes begin to flutter shut, and you nestle into his warm embrace.

you feel yourself drifting off, heady with bliss and the effects of potent alcohol…

—

taglist (comment or send me a message if you want to be added!): @personalque

[puck-luck]

moving along | john marino

warnings: established relationship, general complaints about Jersey, minor brat!reader but it’s not part of the sex, untraditional sex in the sense that they do not have furniture, unprotected p in v, sex as means of resolving an argument i guess?, fingering (fem!receiving) (sometimes i wonder if i need to clarify that because i personally am not into fingering my man’s ass and i doubt it’ll ever make its way into my writing), reference to oral (m!receiving), eating come (so true) pairing: John Marino x fem!reader request: “Could I request John Marino smut where after he’s traded to the Devils from Pittsburgh his girl is upset about the move but when they get to New Jersey he decides the best way to handle the move is for them to christen the new apartment to make it feel like home?  Like literally no furniture has arrived yet and they’re already going at it.” wc: 2570

Pitt had been your home since John first signed his contract with the Penguins in the summer of 2019. You’d moved there with him because he asked, you two had curated a shared apartment space that you loved and considered your first real home as an adult. You were happy in Pittsburgh and John was happy with the Penguins. You hadn’t really known about the trade until it came, just ten days shy of the three year anniversary of Pitt becoming your home base, your foundation.

You knew that the NHL was a fickle business when John first joined. Injuries were abundant, trades happened more often than you thought they would, and at weird times. Hell, people lost their teeth all the time in hockey. It was a weird sport, but for three years you and John had made a place for yourself in Pitt. 

John had just signed a six year contract extension with the Penguins a year and a half ago– so, yeah, you were still in denial about leaving Pittsburgh. It just didn’t make sense and you couldn’t wrap your brain around it.

You had packed up in what seemed like lightning speed, ditched the town that you knew, and now you’re arriving in Jersey. You don’t know anyone or any places except your new apartment complex, your new home. 

You’re cranky because you’ve been in the car for six hours. Not because you hate New Jersey and everyone there for uprooting your life in a mere instant.

Obviously.

John has been a saint about the move and the trade. It’s not his first– since he was originally drafted with the Oilers, he’s been through this process before. The difference, as you’ve reminded him multiple times now, is that he never played with the Oilers. He was picked, but he went to college. Then, he went to Pitt. And Pitt, John, was home. Not New Jersey.

That’s the gist of the same argument you’ve been having with your boyfriend over the past week or so. It’s never escalated because John is patient with you and so great, but you’ve noticed the tick in his jaw when you huff and puff and tense up in his arms. You don’t want to be angry at him, of course you don’t, because you know that it’s not his fault he was traded. It’s just the way the cookie crumbles. However, his presence has been a reminder of the fact that you were so happy in Pennsylvania and you’ve been nothing but bitter about New Jersey.

And now, standing in your empty apartment with a frown on your face, John has reached his limit.

He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck and one of your hands finds its way to his curls. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” John murmurs into your ear, another kiss adorning your neck.

You scrunch up your nose and side eye him. “Duh,” you reply. John knows that you two have been together long enough that you’d damn near follow him to the ends of the Earth, even if the end of the Earth is in New Jersey. 

Your response causes him to chuckle, kissing you again. He turns you in his arms and smiles down at you. 

You glare, pouting, but John can tell that you’re more upset than angry. It’s been a lot of change over the past few days, and even though you’ve been a little bit of a brat, your behavior has been justified. John’s heart clenches a bit when you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

It’s quite the sight– a sweet, long embrace between partners in their newest home.

At least, it’s sweet until John ruins it.

“I have an idea about how we can make this place feel a little more… homey,” John says. You know the lilt in his voice by heart, having been with him for years. 

Pulling away, you roll your eyes and making sure John sees, knowing exactly where this is headed. You play along anyway. “What’s your idea?”

John grins and whispers conspiratorially, “We need to christen the apartment. It’s not a home until it’s been christened.”

You hold back a laugh, but a smile slips through. “We don’t have a bed yet.”

“We don’t need a bed,” John says. He slides his hands down to your hips and walks forward, only stopping when your back hits the wall and he’s crowded into your space. His head dips down and he mouths over your jawline. “I can fuck you right here, against this wall.”

“Mmm, dreamy,” you quip, your hands smoothing over John’s shoulders. You tilt your head back so he has more access to your neck and he rewards you by sucking a hickey near your pulse point. “You really know how to woo a girl, Johnny.”

John’s hips press against yours and you can already feel him stirring in his pants, growing harder as he continues to suck bruises along your skin. His hands have found your waist and hold onto you desperately. His lips make their way to yours and you share a brief kiss before he pulls away. “Just want to make my girl feel better,” he says, blinking innocently at you with his beautiful brown eyes.

Oh, how you fall for those eyes over and over again.

You draw out a sigh, looking around the apartment. One of your hands returns to John’s curls and pets through them, making him wait for your response. John, patient as always, waits for your response with an attentive smile and a tiny tilt of his head. His eyes rake over your face, taking in all of the details. His thumb comes up to your chin, tilting your head up. He leans in for a kiss.

You offer your lips up willingly, letting him control the pace. When he pulls away, you relent. “I guess we can christen the apartment,” you faux-complain, like it’s a job to keep up with John and his libido. 

John growls, teeth finding your bottom lip. “Let’s see if I can convince you to be a little more enthusiastic,” he teases, sneaking his hands up your shirt and lifting it over your head. He tosses the fabric behind him. Out of sight, out of mind. 

You hadn’t worn a bra today, since all you had done was sit in the car all day, and John reaps the benefits of that fact almost immediately.

He latches onto your chest, licking over one of your nipples and pinching the other. You pull on his hair, arching your back away from the wall. Your mouth opens in a silent moan as you puff out your chest, chasing the sensation of his tongue swirling against the peak of your nipple. He switches sides, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

“Johnny,” you say, and he smiles against your skin. You bring him back up to your lips, groaning when his tongue finds its way into your mouth and makes contact with your own. 

He runs his fingers all over your body, cupping your breasts and tracing your sides. He takes a handful of your ass and squeezes, making you jump against him. His length is fully hard now, still pressing into your hips, and he breathes out a moan when you roll your hips, grinding against him. 

You tug at his t-shirt, a wrinkly old stained thing from college, and he pulls away from you just long enough to get the offending clothing over his head before reconnecting your lips.

Now, your hands are the ones roaming his body, mapping his details through feel alone. He’s always been lean, but his skin is warm against yours and he’s defined in all the right places. He’s also soft and solid and he moves with your hands, making sure you’re always touching him in some way. You place the flat of your palm against his stomach, and the other against his chest, and you can feel John’s heart beating underneath your touch.

John sinks to one knee, pulling your shorts down and kissing over your stomach as he does. He removes your shorts and your panties, leaving you bare against the wall. He holds you steady, completely unnecessarily but sweet nonetheless, helping you step out of the clothing. He kisses his way back up your body.

Pecking your lips, he runs a finger through your folds. “So wet,” he mumbles into your mouth, pride filling his tone. He brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean, then traces his tongue over yours. You can just barely taste yourself and it makes your knees a little weak. 

You lean into him, pulling him close. John works his finger back into you, pumping it slowly into and out of your entrance. It’s barely enough contact, barely fulfillment, and it isn’t long until you beg John to add another finger.

You’re scrambling, holding his bicep with a vice grip as he hikes your leg up onto his hip to give himself more access. You’re fucking against his hand, chasing the feeling of the orgasm that’s just out of reach, and it makes your eyelids flutter shut.

You moan aloud when John crooks his fingers and traces the spongy spot inside of you, teasing it. When you open your eyes, you find his trained on your face, lips parted and eyes wide. He never gets tired of seeing you like this, seeing you come apart on his hand.

“Please,” you breath out, voice cracking. You know you can come anytime, whenever you’re ready, that you don’t need permission, but you need John to give you just a little more.

“Touch your clit for me, baby,” John replies, kissing just under your earlobe.

You reach around and pet over your bundle of nerves, the contact making you clench down on his fingers. John groans at the feeling, sagging against you. You’re trapped between the wall and his warm, solid, strong body. 

“Make yourself come,” John encourages, voice soft. “Wanna see you.”

A wanton whine rips from your throat as your climax overtakes you. You arch into John as much as you can and he brings his mouth to your nipple once again, sucking harshly as the waves of your orgasm overtake you. It elongates it, makes your mind reel with pleasure, and you’re shaking in John’s arms by the time you come down.

He kisses you until you’re on solid ground again, the hand that’s not covered in your come crading your face. The other hand pushes at his shorts until they’re low enough that he can kick them away, then he does the same with his boxers. John grinds against you, his cock twitching against your oversensitive folds, but not breaching your entrance just yet.

He rubs himself against you until you pull away from his kiss and blink up at him, eyes hazy. Both of your hands find his cheeks and you smile at him, a little dopey. He returns the smile, goofy and oh, so pretty before dropping a kiss on your forehead.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” He asks, rolling his hips forward again with a bite to his bottom lip.

You nod, a quiet “please” falling from your lips. Your arms loops around his neck again and John brings his hands to your thighs, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist.

“I’m gonna fuck you in every room of this apartment,” John promises, lining himself up with your entrance. You sink down on him as much as you can, as soon as his tip pushes into you. “Make you come over and over again, until you love our new home–” He thrusts his hips forward. “Just as much as you love me.”

“Impossible,” you reply. “Love you too much.”

John grins, a hand on your hip and the other bracing himself against the wall. “We’ll see.”

He drills into you, the sound of his hips slapping against yours filling the empty apartment. It seems to echo off the walls, surrounding you. John’s grunts and moans fill your ears, and your whimpers fill his. He bites your neck, then soothes the skin with a pass of his tongue, letting his saliva cool over your throat. It’s almost as satisfying as the weight of his hand would be.

He fills you so well, and he’s pent up, having been waiting to fuck you for hours. His favorite way to satisfy you, to make you content, is to fuck all of the negativity away and make it so your head is full of thoughts about him and the pleasure he’s giving you, nothing more and nothing less. The move was the perfect excuse to fuck you hard and fast and dirty, the way John knows you love.

As evidenced by your walls clenching down around him, the wet slick dripping from your cunt and gathering at the base of his cock. God, if he can get you to come before he does, he’ll have you lick it all off until his come paints the back of your throat.

Just the thought has him fucking you harder, faster. You’re barely able to make any noise because it’s just so good, and John relishes in the feeling of your fingernails digging into his back. Back in its favorite place, one of your hands pulls on his curls, grip so tight that his head has to follow. 

John brings both hands to the globes of your ass, leaning into you so that your back against the wall supports you both. He presses into you, fucking so deep that he swears he can feel the tip of his cock against your cervix with each thrust. 

You cry out, tensing against him as he fucks you through a second orgasm, your legs shaking around him. You’re breathless and despite the overstimulation, you’re still fucking down onto him, rolling your hips to meet every thrust. 

John ditches his other plan on a whim, burying his face in your neck and allowing his hips to stutter, his warm seed shooting off inside of you. You moan aloud at the feeling and John almost buckles, and would have if the wall behind you hadn’t been holding the both of you up. He catches his breath, his thrusts slowing as he continues to fuck his come deep inside of you, feeling the way your walls drag against his shaft. 

“So good,” you sigh as John lowers you to the floor.

He slips out of your warmth with a wince, his cock softening. His mouth waters as he watches the come slide down the inside of your thighs, a milky mixture of both of your releases.

You laugh a little at the feeling, dragging your hand over the skin to stop the flow and licking the liquid off your palm to clean yourself up. 

John groans at the sight. “Fuck, baby, don’t do that,” he complains. “I can’t go again yet.”

“Mmm,” you hum around your fingers, drawing them out of your mouth with a pop that has John wilting. You smile, sickly sweet and teasing. “Just like at home. Nice to see that a change of location doesn’t affect your refractory period.”

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Thirteen

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: so... yeah it's been 7 months. whatever! i'm back bitches!

Word Count: 7k+

Chapter Thirteen:

You gasped when you woke, folding yourself upright in shock. You only had a few seconds to stabilise yourself before the headache from hell hit you like a drill to your skull. Groaning, you brought your hand to your forehead, and you could have sworn you could feel your brain throbbing. 

“Morning,” Roy said lowly, and you almost broke your fucking back as you turned to look at him abruptly. 

“Fuuucking hell,” you whispered. That was all your voice could handle at that moment.

As your heart thumped incessantly in your chest, your eyes ate him up. Roy sat at the dining room table, legs crossed and donned in a pair of tartan pyjama trousers. A loose fitted white cotton t-shirt covered his top half, and his hair was just slightly ruffled. He brought a coffee mug to his mouth, and smiled to himself in amusement as he took a sip. Nothing of what you’d previously imagined Roy would look like in the morning was what met you there– it was so much better. He looked softer, and calmer. 

Regretfully, you had to look away. It wasn’t just from the way your gut coiled, but from the stabbing pain that had begun in the middle of your forehead. “What the fuck happened last night?”

“Well, as the guys say it.”Roy stood slowly, and made his way to the sofa. Dropping himself next to you, he took another sip of coffee. “You got Danied.” 

Your groans could have been heard all the way over at Nelson Road. The guys would already be there, prepping for a game later that afternoon. You wondered how badly some of them were suffering, or if their bodies were already used to dealing with Dani related hangovers. Yours, however, was not. 

“I guess I went a bit overboard,” you croaked. “We were just having fun, and being festive, and possibly decking the halls far too much for my body to handle.”

Roy smiled. “Yeah, well it’s lucky you didn’t deck the halls with your fucking vomit last night, either.”

You scrunched yourself into a ball immediately, armadillo style, and grumpily shrugged the blanket you’d slept with over your head. You didn’t want the world to see you today, didn’t want to be exposed to the stares of your friends or neighbours, yet– here you were. In front of the one man you’d promised not to see over this holiday period. Drunk you hadn’t read the fucking rule book. 

Gently, Roy placed a hand on your ankle. Your entire body buzzed, as a shudder ripped its way up your body from his point of touch. “It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t worry about it.”

You swallowed away the urge to be sick, but not from your hangover. Roy squeezed your ankle ever so slightly. “Where’s Phoebe?” you asked, trying desperately to change the subject and revert his attention onto something– someone– else, other than groggy you. 

“My sister came by about an hour ago to pick her up.”

“And I didn’t hear them?” you exclaimed, muffled beneath the blanket. 

Roy shrugged. “You were out cold.”

“Fuck my life,” you muttered, before you realised something. Quickly, you revealed yourself from beneath the blanket and smacked your hands into your lap. Your hair was everywhere, an utter mess, but nevertheless you looked towards Roy. “What time is it?”

Roy glanced at his phone. “Just after midday–”

“Fuck!” You practically jumped out of your skin. Scrambling up from your section of the sofa, and struggling to fling the blanket off yourself, you finally stood up. “The pre-game is at quarter past two, which means I’m already fucking late!”

Roy watched as you panicked, but nothing could be done to slap away the affectionate smile he held on his face. You busied yourself by pacing the living room and checking your various messages, a few of which were obviously from the guys themselves, and you cringed incessantly when you read them. When you started counting on your fingers, Roy hoisted himself from the sofa with a subtle growl. 

“Will you calm the fuck down? You’re giving me hives.”

You shot a death stare at him. “I said I’d grab coffee with Rebecca at one o’clock, which I’m now probably not going to make. And I still need to shower, and get the stench of tequila off my body, and–” You stopped talking at the thought of alcohol, and had to place a hand on your chest to stop yourself from gagging. 

Roy abruptly reached out and grabbed your bicep softly. “Stop fucking thinking about tequila.”

You swallowed painfully. “Sorry.”

Roy’s fingers squeezed you softly, and the sensation alone was enough to ground you. You inhaled deeply, and got the thought of booze and lateness and stress out of your mind as much as you could. All the while, as your eyes were stamped shut and your chest shuddered through struggling breaths, Roy was there. He held onto you thoughtfully and with patience; two qualities that Roy definitely wasn’t known for. 

When you opened your eyes, you found Roy’s steady gaze on yours already. “Sorry,” you repeated. “I’m good, I’m fine.”

“And I’m Shania fucking Twain,” he said sarcastically. You let out an amused huff, and his face softened. 

The mere seconds you had looking at each other in this way was enough to make your heart hurt beneath your ribs. Just a little bit, just a tinge, but it only acted as a reminder of how this– you and him– wouldn’t ever work. You saw it in Roy’s gaze, too, and when he swallowed the words that rested on his tongue, just waiting to be said out loud. Maybe they never would. 

Roy gently removed his grip from you, but the softness didn’t leave his face for a second. “Can I get you a coffee?” 

You relaxed instantly, hardly registering your problems in that moment after his offer. You didn’t care about time anymore, or the fact that you had plans; you only cared about him. All you could do was nod, hit with the sudden urge that you didn’t want to leave so suddenly. It was you that had instigated this Christmas meeting, you who had shown up at his house– drunk– with no other intentions, other than wishing him a Merry Christmas. The word ‘wholesome’ had never come to mind alongside your actions, but you were struggling with what to describe the situation now. 

It was wholesome, and it was all you. 

Until it wasn’t wholesome anymore, and certainly not all you. 

“Last night,” you started, swallowing back some nerves that fluttered up from the pit of your stomach. “Before I fell asleep.” Roy took a small step back. “What were you saying?” 

You looked at him as innocently as possible, despite the increase in your pulse. Roy’s demeanour changed instantly, as he quickly raced his eyes up and down your hungover form. Quickly, he swivelled around and headed for the dining table. He picked up a small package that lay in the centre, next to other Christmas cards and scraps of old wrapping paper, before he turned back to you. 

Roy stopped a metre from where you stood and stuck his hand out slowly. “I got you a present,” he said softly. 

As you took in the image of him, your make-up stained eyes almost started to well. You could feel the tears ready to form, and begged to whatever fucking god was out there not to burst into tears. You sucked in a breath, but scoffed it back out as an inappropriate giggle erupted from within you. 

“Jeez, Roy,” you said, smiling. You stepped closer before taking the gift from him, and shot him a golden stare when you held it in your hands. 

Roy smiled. “Sorry it’s late.”

You scoffed again. “That was definitely my fault for falling asleep with a beer in my hand.”

Roy chuckled lightly, and innately you knew you’d never forget the sound of it. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back. 

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. Roy caught on immediately and stepped forward quickly, going to comfort you in whatever capacity he could– but you stopped him. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said, waving him off as if everything was fine. “I’m just hungover, and tired, and late– fucking late!” You remembered the entire situation so fast that you almost dropped your gift. “Coffee will have to wait. I need to run home.”

“I can drive you.” Roy offered, almost desperately, but you waved him off again. 

“No point. You have a studio to get to, and I have a very tall blonde woman to try and meet before the Richmond game.” Quickly, you shuffled out of the living room and towards the front door. You clutched your belongings in your arms– your jumper, your scarf, your jacket, Roy’s gift– and attempted to slip on your boots as fast as humanly possible. 

Roy appeared at the end of the hallway. He no longer looked soft, as he started stomping closer to you. “I’m not due at the studio till two o’clock. Let me drive you to Nelson Road, or fucking something–”

“Really, you don’t need to.” You tied your laces messily, knowing that you only had to survive getting out of his door and off his drive before you could finally burst. 

This was just it, wasn’t it? This– him and you, the gift giving, the coffee, the softness– was all too fucking much. You regretted going to see him last night, you regretted infringing on his Christmas like this, and now he desperately wanted you to stay. 

It was all a recipe for disaster. 

You whipped yourself up to standing and dared to look at him. “Besides, I’ve already overstayed my impromptu visit.”

Roy furrowed his brows angrily, getting worked up. “You haven’t been here in a fucking month, fell asleep after two bloody minutes, and you think you’ve overstayed your welcome? Just– fucking stop, and I can drive you, and we can–”

“Roy.” 

With the tone shift of your voice, Roy stopped. His chest rose and fell quickly; an attempt to calm down the erratic beat of his heart. You looked into his eyes deeply, and everything translated as clear as if you’d spoken the words. 

We’re not supposed to do this, remember? This is what you wanted, and I can’t be here anymore without it being painful. Let me go. 

He stepped back a little and un-balled his fists. He nodded, and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from choking, or saying something he’d definitely regret. 

You nodded back. It was all that needed to be exchanged for you both to understand. Grabbing the handle, you opened his hulking, oak front door and stepped into the cold Richmond air. Before you closed it behind you, you turned back to him.

Roy looked defeated, tired, slumped. His arms dangled by his sides without strength, and the look on his face had you rethinking your entire decision to leave; love-sick, or swarmed with thoughts of what could have been, if only he hadn’t put a boundary on how far this thing between you could go. His jaw was the only thing that stayed rigid, stuck, like he was clenching every single muscle to stop himself from spilling words onto his porch. 

You smiled sadly. “I’ll see you on the telly.” The front door slammed shut. 

You grappled for air as you ran up the steps to the Dogtrack. Coffee with Rebecca had been postponed, and you’d savoured the time you had to recover and get ready before you had to shoot out the door again. You navigated the inside of the stadium like the back of your hand, until you emerged outside into Richmond’s box. Rebecca sat in her usual spot. You dropped yourself down next to her and sighed deeply, finally letting yourself relax after an eventful early afternoon. 

“Hm.” Rebecca huffed in amusement. “Hello, darling,” she said with an air of knowing. 

“Don’t.” You dropped your bag to the floor and crossed your legs sturdily, wrapping yourself up comfortably and warmly within your puffer coat. 

“Good Christmas?” she still asked. You refrained from rolling your eyes, but knew you owed her an explanation.

“I got Danied.” 

“Oh, how those boys love you,” she said, laughing to herself. “They were quite jovial in the locker room this morning. There was something circulating about you performing Elton John’s Benny and the Jets after dinner.”

You shut your eyes and tried not to cringe at yourself. “Was that all?” you said, opening your eyes slowly. 

Rebecca shrugged. “Other than the abrupt departure and denial of needing a lift home while pissed beyond belief– no.” She smiled at you so widely that you couldn’t help but copy her. You sighed again and faced the pitch, praying innately that she couldn’t divulge you from a single stare. 

“I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” you asked.

“I can drop it altogether,” she stated. “If– you tell me where you raced off to so suddenly afterwards.” You turned to her, your smile all but gone. You swallowed painfully, traipsing through a maze in your head at how you were about to go about this conversation. 

You hadn’t told Rebecca about what had happened between you and Roy after the double date. You hadn’t told Keeley, either. It was a secret that you hadn’t intended to keep, but it had all seemed like the easiest option. To let things dissolve until the prying questions from your friends about yourself and Roy came to a close. That– and the fact that talking about it out loud made it all the more real. 

Sure, it’d been a month since the talk, the deal, the confession– whatever you could call it without it being too sad. And sure, you’d told yourself everyday that it was the easiest option to take. Less complicated, no strings attached, all that jazz. 

But– and it was a massive but– it didn’t mean you and Roy could immediately switch everything off when you were around one another. It didn’t stop those tired stares from earlier that afternoon, or the soft way Roy handed you your Christmas present (and the fact it was burning a hole through the lining of your bag, unopened). 

You smiled sadly at Rebecca. “I have something to tell you.” 

Rebecca shuffled in her chair, her expression dropping into one of concern. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed your hands with her own. “What’s going on?” 

You sucked in, ready to speak, but were cut-off by the whirlwind that Keeley Jones took with her everywhere. She dropped herself into the seat next to you, making you and Rebecca flinch. “Fucking hell– I almost got stuck in the mob outside!” Keeley exclaimed. She turned to you both, and her face dropped instantly. “Oh god, I interrupted you, didn’t I?”

You smiled at her softly and let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you said gently, meaning every word. She embraced you without question– firmly, warmly, as if she was attempting to make you feel better without even knowing what was wrong.

“Right on time, Keeley,” Rebecca said. Keeley reached over you to grip Rebecca’s hand in her own. She took one of yours in her other, and the three of you held each other’s hands lovingly. 

“What did I miss?” Keeley asked. 

“Well–” You sighed. “Where to start?” 

You told them everything, your girls. They listened, and squeezed your hands in their own at the right moments. They smiled sadly when you spoke, and looked at you like you were gold, and never interrupted. At the end, they hugged you from both sides. 

The boys ran out onto the pitch, with Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The whistle blew, and the match started. 

You tried not to think of him, but it was impossible. You thought of Roy as the ball was kicked into play in the centre; cameras on him, suit donned, hair slicked back and beard shaved to perfection.

You thought of him because you’d finally said it out loud– he’d turned you down, stopped this thing between you before it’d even had the chance to start, and it would be okay. In time, sure, but it would be okay. 

When you got home that night, you remembered the present in your bag. It was wrapped neatly, too neatly for what you’d assumed Roy was capable of, and topped off with a small card. You opened it in the darkness of your bedroom and read the words slowly. 

Just another thing to remind you of home. Roy.

You swallowed away the want to cry and opened the gift. Inside a small box was a strip of four photos, the kind you get from a photobooth. You stared at them in awe, flashing back to the night in which they’d been taken– a month before your departure from the club. 

Yourself, Ted, Roy and Sam were shoved uncomfortably into a photobooth in a local Richmond night-club. The four of you were squished beyond belief, but that didn’t stop you from thinking of it fondly. A drunk and impromptu night, right before the beginning of Roy’s troubles with playing the game. It had been your idea to get everyone into the booth, and you’d practically dragged Roy in against his will. You and he were shoved into one corner so badly that you’d practically had to sit on his lap. Sam sat on Ted’s lap beside you, and they smiled together into the camera. Each photo showcased a different laugh, a different smile, but not from Roy– until the last picture.

That’s when you’d draped your arm around his shoulder and looked at him face on. He’d looked back, and, in that millisecond of softness behind his eyes, the photo had been snapped.

You’d totally forgotten about that moment, had never actually seen the photos until now. Roy had picked them up. He’d kept them all to himself for this long. Even after the end of his career, his time at Richmond, all of it. He’d kept them. 

It had been there once, the possibility of something. It had been there more than once. You and Roy, Roy and you. It was snapped up in moments like then that you hadn’t realised until the end of his career. He may not have realised it either, until that time in his Jeep where feelings had seeped into the leather of those fancy car seats.

There was only so much you could think of the what could have been before it all became too much. The one that got away, the right person, wrong time, whatever it was. You’d been thinking about all of that since after the double date, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

There was nothing you could do about it but move on. You couldn’t ponder or think in hindsight or imagine a different possibility. You had to move forward, and that’s what you were taking his gift as. Recognition that it was there, but now it was gone. 

You clutched the photo strip to your heart, just for a moment, and then you let it go. Perhaps this was exactly what you’d needed. Perhaps it was what Roy had needed, too. In some backwards way, it made everything clearer. There was no bad blood and there never would be. Your feelings were free, and a weight had lifted from your shoulders. 

At the end of the day, you’d run after Roy Kent once, and it had still resulted in this outcome. At the end of the day, you’d both confronted what you felt and still picked the option that was best. 

For the first time in a month you slept soundly, without thoughts that rattled around your head. Your mind was clear, so was your heart. Christmas in Richmond had finally come to a fucking close. 

A few weeks into the new year, Roy Kent was restless. His routine was static now. The constant grind of getting up, of filming, of dealing with the press. He was still a favourite on the telly, and you still watched him religiously. Alongside your own sluggish work, getting home to a new episode of Soccer Saturday spurred you forward. It kept you in the loop, in the know, and despite Roy being on the other end of the television screen, it kept you in his life. 

Pluto Press had become worse. There was no reason for you to deny it, and no way you even could. You’d been there for eight months now, and were very much out of the honeymoon phase. You hadn’t touched your novel since before Christmas, and you were feeling the repercussions of it. 

On the other side, Roy was feeling that same shift. The disconnect from the football world was grating on him more and more, and with every match missed or only seen from the insides of a studio, parts of him were disintegrating alongside. 

He texted you a lot. 

Jeff won’t stop talking about his wife. I can’t fucking stand it. 

Did you watch last week's game? I can’t believe Bumbercatch scored that shoddy fucking goal.

Isaac is really struggling right now, isn’t he? 

You replied to them all, because Roy was always right about football to an extent. You’d noticed it, too. Isaac McAdoo’s sudden struggle with being captain. The pressure that was placed upon his shoulders last season suddenly came to light. 

At every game you saw live, you noticed it even more. Perhaps that was a knowledge that Roy wouldn’t ever have now, but only saw over VTs. 

During the final week of January, you grabbed lunch with Sam. Sat opposite him in a small Richmond cafe, something lurked in the air. He scanned his menu a dozen times before he picked something, and smiled whenever he caught your eye, but you knew something was up. 

“Hey.” You reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “What’s up?” you asked sincerely. 

Sam let out a long sigh, and his shoulders collapsed. “Truthfully, I cannot pinpoint it. We are doing well in the FA Cup, the days are starting to get longer, yet I feel this immense pressure that I cannot explain.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. “Richmond are under a lot of pressure. I’m not surprised that you’re feeling it as a player.”

“It’s Isaac, too,” Sam said smally. “He has not been himself for a month now. We’ve tried to help him, to reassure him and show him how hard we’re working, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking in.” 

You retracted your hand and went for your glass of wine instead. “Hm,” you hummed. 

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

You nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “He’s overthinking it all. I can see it as clear as fucking day.”

“I know. I just wish he could see it, too, so he could start easing the reins. He has been tough to be around, you know.”

“How so?”

“During debriefs, he yells at us. On the pitch it’s even worse. You saw him during our last game.”

You thought back to Richmond’s match from the week prior, where Isaac had started on Colin after a missed assist. He wasn’t himself in the slightest, and his team were trying and failing to deal with the repercussions. 

“What’s Ted doing about it?”

Sam shook his head. “I do not know, but I hope he does something soon. We are up against Leicester City next week, and we need to be ready for it.” 

You smiled at him apologetically, trying to offer hands on support. There was nothing you could do to fix this for the guys, which was always a hard pill to swallow. You missed them so vibrantly. Half of your days at work were spent thinking about the next time you’d get to watch them all play, or drop by during training, or see them like this with Sam; outside of the office or the stadium. 

“Anyway– enough about football. How are you doing? How’s work?” 

You grimaced immediately, but tried to hide it by taking a large gulp of your wine. 

Sam saw through your facade, and frowned immediately. “Is it that bad?” 

You slammed your glass on the table. “Define bad?” 

Sam copied your grimace, but sat higher in his chair. “Come on, lay it on me.”

You sighed deeply, and readied yourself to word vomit all over the table. “It’s not even the hours, or the commute, it’s everything else. They delegate work to me like I’m two levels higher than my current position, and sure, it’s nice that they trust me for that, but what I’m paid hardly covers my job description, let alone the extra work. I have no time to write anymore, my boss is a creep, my colleagues never want to grab a drink after work anymore, the centre of London fucking sucks, and– well–”

You inhaled, paused, and exhaled again.

“It’s not AFC Richmond. It’s not you guys.” 

Sam’s smile filled you with warmth, and it was his turn to reach across the table for your hand. He squeezed your fingers affectionately, and you thought about whether or not to tell him about Roy. It was probably best not to divulge everything to him, not because you thought he’d spill to the team, but because you were trying to move on still. 

Still.

“You know you are always welcome at Nelson Road. We miss you too.”

“God, that just makes it worse.” You dropped your head into your free hand. “I know Rebecca would find a job at the club for me in a heartbeat, but Keeley has taken over my role and is so much better at it. She deserves the spot more than I do, and I just– I can’t fathom asking for favours.”

“What about Roy?” Sam asked, and your body stalled. You sat up straight, and slid your fingers away from him quickly. 

“What about Roy?” you repeated. 

“Is there nothing you could do for him? You know, a personal assistant, or his agent, or something like that.”

You snorted immediately. “Are you joking?”

Sam smiled in amusement. “I’m just saying it could be a good opportunity,” he joked.

“Oh, fuck off,” you huffed. 

“You have always been an unlikely pair, you and Roy,” he said. “You make a good team. Plus, I have never seen someone put him in his place like you have. It takes a strong person to do that.”

“Enough,” you said, smiling. You finished off your wine and looked sadly at your empty glass. “I need another fucking drink.”

“Get a bottle,” Sam said. You perked your brows at him excitedly. “I have– what is it called?- gossip.”

“Sam Obisanya has gossip. What the hell has been going on?”

Sam shuffled on his chair in excitement, and your heart melted. You loved him so. “Keeley encouraged all of the players to get this dating app–”

“Bantr,” you said the name before Sam even could. 

“Ah, she has got to you, too.”

“Long ago. But go on.” You rested your elbows on the table and dropped your chin into your hands, ready to hear everything. 

“Well, I have been talking to someone.”

“Someone,” you repeated, widening your eyes. 

“Yes. And, well, she is intelligent and smart and loves literature.”

“Awh, Sam!” You almost exploded out of your seat, too full of excited energy to care about others sitting around you in the cafe. “Have you met up yet?”

“No, not yet. But I hope to ask her soon. The guys are being very supportive.” 

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all the gory details when you finally meet up.” You grinned at him mischievously, and he slapped your arm playfully. 

“I don’t kiss and tell!”

“For me, Sam Obisanya, you will kiss and tell.” 

For the remainder of lunch, you and Sam gabbed like you’d known each other since you were children. It always felt foreign whenever you were reminded of just how little time had passed. You’d only known the guys for less than two years, yet Richmond and the team had become your home. You’d only known Roy for that same amount of time, and… well. Look what happened there.

In fact, not to your knowledge, these same thoughts littered the minds of every member of AFC Richmond alike, every once in a while. For Rebecca, she thought of her departure from Rupert, and how much she’d grown in that time without him. For Keeley, she thought of her career, and what else she could do to open doors for herself as a businesswoman. For Isaac, he thought of his leadership, and how he’d never be able to replace the likes of Roy Kent. 

And for Roy– he thought of you, and what he’d halted before it’d even started. He thought of Richmond, his old team, and what he’d left behind after he’d all but abandoned them. 

Secretly, Ted thought of Roy, too. He thought of picking up his phone and texting him, he thought of asking for his help while Isaac struggled to see the bigger picture of the game. Ted’s thoughts soon became reality, and then it was too late to take back the text that he chose to send to the ex-Richmond captain. 

A few weeks later on your way back from work one Friday, battered and bruised both physically and metaphorically, you caved. You got out your phone and clicked the call button next to Roy’s name, not even thinking twice about it. 

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said softly, as soft as Roy Kent could possibly say anything. 

“Hey,” you spluttered, smiling to yourself. 

“Hey,” he repeated, both of you at a loss for words just a tad. You hadn’t called each other many times, and never without a warning text beforehand. 

“We should probably stop saying ‘hey’ before it becomes an endless cycle.”

“Hey,” Roy said again, and you giggled down the phone. “What’s the occasion?” he asked. 

“Long day– week– at work, and I’m in desperate need of a drink with someone that doesn’t care about useless things like gossip, or shit reality telly, or… or…” Your mind went blank. 

“Two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.” Roy finished your sentence.

“Exactly! Useless!” you exclaimed. 

“A drink sounds lovely,” Roy began. “But, I can’t tonight.” 

You stopped walking suddenly, overcome by disappointment. You swallowed back the urge to cry just a little, but crying about Roy being too busy this evening to go for a pint was fucking crazy. You weren’t crazy, and you blamed it all on the general lack of sleep and emotional trauma from your fucking day job. 

Instead, you opted for a joke. “Got a hot date?” you asked, panicking slightly. Roy growled lowly. Evidently, it had not been funny. “Okay, so no date, then.” You attempted to save yourself. 

Roy thought to himself, sat on his sofa in his gym gear about to leave his house– what could he actually tell you? This evening, he’d agreed to meet Ted and Isaac to impart some wisdom onto them in an attempt to help Richmond at their next game. This was the closest Roy had come to being around AFC Richmond since he’d retired, and he knew you’d latch onto that idea immediately. 

Perhaps, a lie was best. Perhaps, it was easier this way. 

“No, you’re right,” he said convincingly. “I am going on a hot date.”

“Oh,” you let out. You didn’t mean for it to sound so sad, or for your voice to be so coarse. It just slipped out like that. You coughed dryly. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, trying to save this trainwreck of a conversation, and a poorly made joke that you couldn’t actually believe was real. 

Roy was dating. Four months since he’d shut you and he down, and he was back to dating. 

“I need to go soon, actually.” Roy knew he’d fucked up. “But– how about next Friday?”

Truth be told, you’d love to say yes to his offer. Inside, however, you were deeply raging. It wasn’t the fact that you hadn’t had sex in borderline two years, or that Roy had moved on far quicker than you had since before Christmas, it was because he actually had a fucking date. And you didn’t. 

Or, perhaps, you did. 

“I can’t,” you blurted. “I actually have a date, too.” Jesus, you should have gone to school for Drama. You started walking again as you felt something that resembled confidence surge through you. You wouldn’t let Roy win, not this time around. Sure, there was nothing there anymore in ways of romance or more, but there was still competition. 

“Oh, right.” Without meaning to, Roy said exactly the same as you had. 

“He’s not much of a football fan, either. It’s quite refreshing.” You lied.

Roy stood up from his sofa as fast as humanly possible. “What?” he almost bellowed it. “Well, he sounds boring as fuck. Great job.” 

“Well, my previous experiences with footballers haven’t exactly gone perfectly, have they?” you said smugly. 

Roy short-circuited in his living room. To anyone that saw him from outside, he’d look like a statue about to fall off its perch. “I– well. You–”

“Am I wrong?” You knew you’d got to him. 

Roy breathed in deeply through his nose. “No. Now fuck off,” he said sternly. “Have a good evening.”

“Have a good date!” you yelled in amusement, before Roy hung up the phone immediately after.

You strolled back from Richmond underground station with a smile on your face. With each passing day, things between you had got easier. In some weird way, talking about dating other people had allowed a barrier to descend. Friends. Good friends. You were content with that.

The Saturday after, you entered the Dogtrack on a particularly cold afternoon in February. The air cut you deep to your core, but the buzz of electricity from the approaching match was enough to warm you. AFC Richmond were still very much contenders in the FA cup, but McAdoo’s captain tactics had still been subpar at their last game. 

As you made your way to the home box, you prayed that he’d eased the reins. Football was a game after all, and you missed seeing that spark in Isaac’s eyes whenever the ball came into his corner. Rebecca and Keeley were talking away as you sat in your seat, too engrossed in conversation to notice your arrival. 

“Ted said it was a success, so I guess we just have to believe him,” Rebecca said. 

“Good on Roy, though! It’s been fucking months since he’d even stepped foot on a proper football pitch,” Keeley said jovially. 

“What’s this about Roy on a football pitch?” you questioned, crossing your legs to get comfortable. Keeley twisted herself to face you happily, wrapping her arms around your neck in greeting. “Hi, babes,” you whispered to her fondly. 

“Roy didn’t tell you?” Rebecca replied. “Last Friday, he helped Ted with the Isaac problem.”

Keeley sat back in her seat once more, tightening the Richmond scarf around her neck warmly. “We’ve nicknamed it the Isaac problem. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Last Friday. Last Friday night. You sighed heavily and raised your shoulders to your ears from a lack of what else to do. “Well, I’m sure Ted was a very hot date,” you muttered.

Rebecca and Keeley caught eyes confusedly. “What?” they said simultaneously. 

You waved your hand at them. “Nothing. I’m just an idiot. Nothing new.”

Keeley found your hand quickly. “Everything alright, babes?”

You nodded at her, softening your expression. “Yeah, yeah. Just been a long few weeks at the office.”

“God, you need to get the fuck out of there.” Rebecca crossed her legs strongly, raising her chin. “You know, I could speak to admin and see if there’s space–”

“Rebecca,” you interrupted her. 

She waved her hand this time, brushing off your sternness. “I know. It’s fine.” 

“Let’s just watch the match, okay?” you leant over Keeley to grab Rebecca’s hand. “It’s positive that Roy helped Isaac out, he’s got heaps of experience being captain here to have done something. And it’s… well.” You smiled to yourself. “It’s good that he’s back around the game a bit more, isn’t it?”

Rebecca patted your palm. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The three of you settled into your seats in comfortable silence, feeling the growing roar of fans as the time until kick-off loomed ever closer. You surveyed the pitch before you, noticing the thin layer of frost on the green grass, the white breath of ten-thousand fans, the blue tint of the sky as if colour graded by an expert film editor. 

You always associated the Richmond team colours with one person, not the entire team as a unit: Roy. It was Roy you’d first met almost two years ago in that car park out the front of the training facility. Sure, he was wearing black as is his custom, but when you’d spotted him in his football kit on the field, the colours were forever imprinted behind your eyelids. The reds and blues all over the Dogtrack, the blue letters on Ted’s believe poster, the number six above Roy’s all cubby. He was everywhere. He was everywhere around you. 

But, he wasn’t here today. He hadn’t been to an actual Greyhounds’ game since his retirement. He hadn’t stepped foot on the grounds, or spoken more than a few chaste words to Ted and Beard in the city– he’d only really spoken to you. And you weren’t a part of Richmond anymore, not really. You didn’t have an office a few doors down from the locker room anymore, you didn’t have lunch with Rebecca with too much wine involved for a working day, you didn’t have Roy. 

All of a sudden, your chest compressed painfully. Your heart rate accelerated, your breathing spiked. You felt sick, ill, like you could easily sit on the cold concrete of the stands and never stand up again. You didn’t know why it’d taken you so long to realise that everything had changed, and you could have sworn you’d felt the shifts from last year when they’d all happened. If that was the case, then why now, why here, did you feel so utterly alone that you could hardly stand it?

You’d moved past this! You’d settled somewhere new, with new people, in a different, grey part of the city. You’d adapted to the ways you’d still fit in– lunches, quick drinks, impromptu visits to Roy’s or Mae’s or Keeley’s or whatever. That’s how it all worked for you, and it had been doing so since last year. So, why now?

“Babes.” Keeley grabbed your hand swiftly. “Are you okay?” she questioned, but you didn’t have the emotional capacity to look her or Rebecca in the eyes. You knew you’d burst if you did. 

“Darling.” Rebecca leant closer to you. “Breathe. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

They watched as you broke down in the stands again, not four months after Roy had broken things the first time. Now, this was a different ball game. Complete and utter rejection of the life you thought you’d finally made for yourself, by yourself. A life that wasn’t actually what you fucking wanted anymore. It was all shit. This was all shit.

You sucked in a stuttering breath. “I don’t think I can be here right now,” you said coarsely. 

Rebecca and Keeley nodded quickly. “Okay, what do you need? To go inside? To wait for the game to be over?” Rebecca said.

“To go.” You gulped down a large breath. “To go now.”

“Okay,” Keeley said strongly. “Go, babes. Do what you need to do.”

You got up as quickly as you’d sat down, and started towards the inside of the stadium. You moved slowly, needing to clutch your hand to your heart at the halfway mark just to make sure it was still beating. Anyone could see this was a panic attack, but you didn’t want to admit that things had gotten this bad. The culmination of everything finally hit you in the face. Innately, you’d known this was going to happen, but you didn’t think it’d happen here. Your home. 

The crowd growing louder didn’t exactly help, but when they cheered suddenly at the teams arriving on the field, you could feel the vibrations within you. You could feel your blood, your flesh, your heart beating. You shut your eyes and breathed it all in, not daring to turn around and look at the pitch. 

Then, the cheering increased. They were screaming, yelling, exclaiming, doing whatever football fans did when something big happened. Had someone scored already? That wasn’t possible– kick-off was another thirty seconds away. 

“Oh my fucking God!” Keeley jumped up from her seat immediately and bound towards you. “Babes.” She gripped your shoulders gently. “You might want to turn around.”

“I just need a minute,” you said, calming down slightly. 

“No, I think you’re really gonna want to see this,” she tried again. “Come on, just one small look, and then you can go wherever you need to go for some peace.”

Reluctantly, you followed her instructions. You turned back towards the pitch, overseeing the players in their starting positions, the ball not yet in play. The fans weren’t yelling at the team, they were screaming at something– someone– else. 

As your eyes focused, you realised what you were seeing. 

Adrenaline spiked through your blood, as invigorating as an ice pick to a frozen heart. You lunged towards the home box wall, gripping your fingers over the edge as you looked down at him. As if on cue, Roy Kent tilted his head to the stands in search of you. When he found you, he stopped. He smiled. Your frozen heart shattered instantly. 

“I’ll be right back,” you told Rebecca and Keeley. Then, quite stupidly, you jumped the wall of the home box and into the stands. 

“Hey!” Keeley.

“Be fucking careful!” Rebecca.

As soon as your feet hit solid concrete, you ran down the steps of the stands without a second thought. That’s when you heard it all– his chant. 

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where, Roy Kent! Roy Kent!

It echoed throughout the pitch like a homecoming song. It hadn’t been heard here since last May, when Roy hobbled off the pitch during his last game of football ever. 

“Roy!” you yelled. You didn’t think he’d hear over the immense noise, but he turned back to you immediately. Almost like he’d been listening out for you this entire time. 

Roy paced it to your side of the stands, past Ted and Beard, past the guys on the pitch, past the incessant roar around him. You did the same, descending more stairs each time you stepped forward. When you reached the last few, you jumped them, bombarding into the locked gate at the bottom barrier. 

Roy caught you by the shoulders before you folded in half like a lawn chair. His grip sprouted those same colours in your mind– blue, red, blue, red, blue, red. 

“Thanks for dropping by,” Roy said, smiling so excitedly that you could hardly believe what was happening. 

“I could say the same for you, you know,” you replied, utterly overcome. 

“Turns out I missed it here. Just like you, I missed it here.” His thumbs gently rubbed your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine. 

“We missed you, too.” You wrapped your fingers around his forearms, just as an excuse to hold him a bit longer. 

“Coach!” Ted yelled from twenty metres away. You caught his eye quickly, and you knew the game was about the start. Roy heard him, too, but didn’t move a muscle. 

“Go. You have a team to coach.” You pushed Roy ever so slightly, just a small nudge to remind him of where and what he was. A coach at AFC Richmond. “Go!” you chuckled, pushing him gently in his chest this time. 

Roy sent you one last colossal smile, then dipped forward to place a warm kiss on your cheek. He bound away as soon as he had, and jogged back to Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The stadium erupted as the whistle blew, signifying the start of a new era for the Greyhounds, and perhaps– for you, too.

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum  @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7 @sareim123122 @jaymum @lwritesstuff @kravitzwhore @preciousbabypeter @blue-bujo @dark-academia-slut @imsupposedtohaveaname @tigolebittiez @strawberry07cake @eugene-emt-roe @dd122004dd @marjorieisreading

[libraryofolive]

relax

featuring: Takuma Ino x gn!reader

genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

word count: 819

synopsis: Your boyfriend comes home after a rough day at work, but luckily you're there to comfort him.

Like this? You can find my smaus here and my drabbles and other fiics here!

Do you have a request? You can find my rules for requesting here!

The door closes with a thud, a heavy sigh following shortly. You can hear the muffled sounds of shoes being kicked off and keys being thrown down into the small plate that lies next to the entryway. It was late, moonlight seeping through the half closed blinds of your boyfriend’s living room. You rubbed your eyes, a dazed expression on your face, as you started to comprehend the sounds of your surrounding and the reasons for your waking. He’s finally home - you found yourself smiling slightly at the thought.

Ino’s footsteps were heavier than usual, his shoulders stooped as he came into your eyeline. He walked straight past the now cold plate of food you had made him earlier that still sat on the counter waiting for him, throwing off his mask, his hair standing up in every direction, frizzy from a a long day pulling it over and away from his face. His bones were cold and heavy, and he felt the need to clench and unclench his hands repeatedly from stopping them going numb. A day full of fighting curses left little room for a break, and the hunger he had felt a few hours ago had long passed into nausea at just the thought of eating. He just wanted to collapse into his bed and rest.

“Hi, baby.” You greeted him, your voice barely above a whisper. His head snapped up, his gaze finally lifting from the floor. Your voice cut through his negative thoughts and feelings, a beacon of light after such a bleak day. His face broke into a grin at the sight of you, all bundled up in blankets on his small couch.

“Hey, pretty girl.” His steps picked up, he needed to be close to you right now. He flopped onto your lap, his arms snaking their way around you, head pressed into your chest. He breathed deeply, wanting to match his breathing pattern to yours. He could hear your heartbeat, and the steady rhythm soothed him. He was here, and he was with you, and you were both okay.

“Hard day?” You asked, still whispering. It felt right, in that moment, to stay quiet. After what you could guess was a day full of chaos, disturbing the calm of the night was jut wrong. Takuma just nodded, nuzzling his face closer into your chest. You decided not to comment on the wet spots forming on your shirt where your boyfriend’s eyes were scrunched closed, or the way he was still trembling. You brought one hand to his head, stroking his tousled hair into a more presentable state.

“Don’t stop.” Takuma’s voice shook as much as his body, making your heart clench. You knew what he got up to as a sorcerer, but it still hurt every time he came home after a rough day. A rough day to him wasn’t just his boss being a prick, or a co-worker getting on his nerves, or having to stay late to pick up someone else’s slack. For him, a hard day could mean watching someone die, unable to save them. You knew about the guilt that wrecked him when he was too late to help someone, and you wished more than anything that you could take some of that pain away. But all you could do was be there for him, to hold him when he came home like this. To make sure he was eating properly and taking care of himself as much as he wants to take care of others. Your hand stayed stroking his hair in a reassuring pattern.

“You wanna talk about it?” He shook his head in answer to your question, and you exhaled deeply. You knew he would open up about it eventually, and you didn’t want to push him when he is in such a vulnerable state. Instead, you stayed quiet, kissing the top of his head, trying to put the insurmountable volume of love you felt for him in the one simple gesture. “Well y’know where I am if you do.” He hummed in acknowledgement of your words, and you felt his body slowly start to relax.

“Love you.” He mumbled into your chest, his tears drying. A loud yawn escaped him, his exhaustion finally taking over.

“Love you too, Takuma. Go to sleep, baby.” You kissed his temple one more time as his breathing evened out, sleep overtaking him after a gruelling day. Seeing your boyfriend relax - especially when in a state like this - always brought a smile to your face. He was so dedicated to being a good sorcerer, to do everything the right way, to help people by exorcising as many curses as he could, that he deserved to sleep peacefully. And you would do anything to make sure he was okay, and comfortable, and able to do just that. Relax.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: friends(?) to lovers, one sided pining (kinda), a lil angsty, smut, f reader, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

pairing: joshua x reader

wc: 3369

masterlist

you had first met joshua a few months ago when jeonghan walked him up to your established meeting place in the university's cafeteria. it was a common thing for him to bring strays (as he liked to call them) upon befriending them with his very particular and friendly personality. joshua had been the latest addition; an overly pretty boy with the manners of an angel and with a humour similar to that of jeonghan's, making them the perfect pair.

despite now having been in the same friend group for a few months, joshua never really seemed to like you much. he's never made it overtly obvious, nor has he ever said anything mean (at least to your face), but has still made it clear with his lack of interest towards you in comparison to how friendly and invested he's always been with everyone else in the group.

you, on the other hand, had always taken a special interest to the pretty guy jeonghan decided to introduce to your friend group a few months ago. you'd always tried to make friendly conversation with him, always asking him for his opinion on things and trying to make him feel as included as possible. your efforts always seemed to be fruitless, however, as he would often give you monosyllabic answers or straight up ignore you in order to talk to someone else in the group. you never understood the root of his attitude, but you also never let his attitude deter you, having a bit of a crush on the guy, and thus never wanting to give up hope.

you hoped that as his birthday approached you'd be able to find some one-on-one time to give him his gift (a guitar, which yes, might be a little too much for a guy who clearly doesnt like you, but enough for a conversation-starter), and maybe have a chance to talk to him a little bit.

when the day finally arrived, you knew jeonghan would go all out with the party he prepared for his friend, as he always did. so, you dressed up prettily for joshua, wanting to finally have some of his (positive) attention after feeling ostracized by him in your own friend group. you mightve been slightly over dressed, but who was gonna beat your ass over it anyway?

showing up as soon as possible, you knocked the door to jeonghan's and a few of your other friends' shared house, being welcomed in by the owner himself. he chuckled as soon as he saw you, eyeing you up and down, "is that for joshua?", he smirked, taking notice of your dress and fully glammed face.

"shut up. its a party, of course i'm dressing up for a party," you knew it was a dumb excuse, having attended multiple of jeonghan's parties before in less favorable outfits, but you were NOT going to be bullied out of getting joshua's attention dick tonight.

you pushed past him, bumping his shoulder jokingly before entering the buzzing party, going straight to looking for the man of the hour, dropping your gift off with the rest of the pile. it wasnt until half an hour into your arrival (and two drinks later) that you had found joshua. he had his hair slicked back and was wearing a button up that made him look irresistible. his attention was occupied by hoshi and mingyu, who seemed to be challenging him to take some shots.

well, there was no time like the present, you thought before decidedly marching his way.

mingyu's eyes widened at your presence, "holy shit, __. you look amazing. whats with the dress?", well shit. you guess maybe you did overdress a bit.

"shut up, i always dress like this," you lie roll your eyes in response, not fully minding your friend. "hey, josh, i was wondering if-"

"uh wait, i gotta go say hi to some people," he interrupted you distractedly before bolting away almost immediately.

your friends, well aware of your crush, couldnt help but feel sad to see how easily joshua dismissed you any time you approached him. even as you had showed up to his party dressed to the nines and with a thoughtful gift, "listen, __, you shouldnt take it to heart. he's just a stoic guy," mingyu tries to reason as soonyoung nods while pouring himself another drink.

after regretfully indulging in the impromptu pity party, you attempted to find josh again only to be met with the same outcome. this continued to happen a few more times through the night. you'd arrive to whichever part of the house joshua was at, only to be met with his instant departure, which was clearly caused by your mere presence. disheartened didnt begin to describe how you felt. you'd done everything thus far to fix whatever had destroyed your friendship with joshua before it had even started, but josh wouldnt even give you the time of day.

you were finally able to catch him alone just as you were giving up on your plan for the night. you had said goodbye to a few friends and prepared to leave with your tail between your legs when you caught a glimpse of joshua stepping into what you assumed to he his room. alone. like any irrational person, you sneakily walked towards the door and opened it, stepping in as quiet as possible, closing it behind you.

upon hearing the sound of the door, joshua turned around, tilting his head in confusion at you, "what are you doing in my room?"

"uhh," okay you didnt think this through. but hey! now you had him alone!

"can you get out? i have to change my shirt. mingyu spilled beer on this one," he sighs, muttering the longest sentence he had ever spoken to you, his back to you as he unbuttoned his shirt.

you stood there, only thinking about how you were buzzed and in a room alone with an almost shirtless joshua. in a movie this wouldve been the perfect time to-

"listen. i dont want to be rude. but you have to stop doing this. i dont know how else to get you to take a hint," he halted his unbuttoning as he turned towards you upon realizing you had not left the room like he'd asked.

..

"what?"

"i get that we're in the same friend group or whatever, but that doesnt mean we have to be friends. ive tried to keep my distance but it doesnt seem to work."

oh.

you had thought he was just indifferent and maybe slighting uncomfortable towards you, but it seemed like there was something deeper behind the way he constantly avoided you.

"i ... is there something i did to offend you?"

"does there have to be?"

"i-i mean, yeah?", well, since your hopes with joshua were already fucked, there was no point in holding back with any questions, "its customary to have a reason to hate someone."

"hate? who said hate? i dont hate you," he dared to draw shock onto his face at the mention of the word, "and either way, its not important."

you were beginning to get peeved off at his carelessness about the issue. and you were also still buzzed from the extra drinks mingyu and hoshi had fed you when comforting you earlier, so you decided to just give it to him.

"joshua. i dont know what type of shitty communication issues you may have grown up with, but some petty one-sided beef with me is not a valid reason to ostracize me from a friend group i was part of first. you ignore me, you roll your eyes at me, you know that i like you and you just dont care to consider my feelings even a little bit by showing the tiniest ounce of politeness towards me. you let me embarrass myself over and over again by blatantly rejecting any type of interaction regardless of how innocent it may be. whatever it is that i did, just fucking say it so we can move on and i can salvage my dignity at least a little bit," you felt a weight off your chest, finally admitting both to yourself and to joshua how his repeated rejection has continued to hurt you since you first met him a few months ago.

"you dont even remember, do you?"

what?

"remember what?"

he scoffs, taking a seat on the side of his bed, looking up at you, "you don't remember knowing me in high school?"

what??

you had gone to high school in a different country. you were pretty sure none of your friends even remembered what school you went to prior to university.

"we went to the same high school. we knew each other back then. you really dont remember?"

"i-what? joshua, we've never met before jeonghan introduced us?"

"yeah, thats not true. you knew me. pretty well, actually. or well, i guess the other way around," he chuckled sadly, taking a pause, "i used to have a huge crush on you in high school. we sat next to each other in biology, and you'd ask to copy my notes almost every day. we were friends. or at least i liked to think so," he paused, "that is, until you got a boyfriend. liam? i think?"

well, that part checked out. you did date your high school crush for a few months in junior year.

"after that," he continued, "you pretty much just cut me off. you started ignoring me when i said hi in the hallways, partnered with someone else for bio, moved your locker away from mine ..." he took a pause, sighing as he looked down, "... laughed in my face when i asked you to junior prom even though i knew you had a boyfriend..."

oh. everything he was saying checked out as true. he suddenly reminded you of that phase in high school were you had turned into a bit of a mean girl upon scoring the quarterback at school, but joshua wasnt there for any of this, that was jisoo, the nerdy foreign exchange student who- OH.

"you're jisoo?!"

"yeah," chuckling with no real emotion behind it, "i stopped going by that when i moved back to korea. i felt like an idiot crushing on the only girl who was nice to me in high school and getting brutally rejected in front of everyone, so i cut my stay short and tried to start brand new back in korea."

jesus christ.

you had always regretted the last interaction you'd had with jisoo, feeling so ashamed you removed it from your memory, scolding yourself every time it came back to you. you knew jisoo had ended up moving away before senior year, but you hadnt known you were one of the reasons for it. you'd never felt shittier than at this moment.

speechless, you took a seat on the bed next to him, unable to meet his eyes.

"joshua, i'm so so-"

"dont. its fine. i dont know why ive held onto that grudge for so long. its been so many years."

"so you recognized me when jeonghan introduced us? oh my god, does jeonghan know? do any of them?!", you hadnt thought about how your friends would feel about this til now.

"yes. and no. i recognized you immediately, but i still felt so embarrassed after what happened i thought i should just pretend i didnt. but i was still mad, specially knowing you did that to me but didnt even remember," although his words hurt you, he didnt sound angry, but moreso solemn.

"joshua. fuck. i know you dont wanna hear this, but i'm so sorry. i always regretted what i did. you didnt deserve that. you were always so nice to me and i let popularity and my ex's stupid clique get to me. i was young and an idiot. i know thats not a good excuse, but i hope you know i've never forgotten about you. you just look so different, i'm sorry i didnt realize you were jisoo earlier," as you spoke, you got up and neared the door, turning to look at him one last time as you swallowed back tears at your shame, "i understand if you hate me. you can tell the guys the truth. they think you hate me for no reason, but they deserve to know what really happened."

you were about to leave when he spoke up again, causing you to look back at his figure that was now standing in front of you.

"i already told you. i dont hate you. its so .. i hate that i dont hate you. i didnt want to lose the first group of friends i ever made, so i thought i could just put up with it and stay as far as way from you as possible. but i still couldnt stop thinking about you."

you had nothing to say. there was nothing you could possibly say at him hitting you with one shocking statement after the other.

"its funny, isnt it?", he chuckled bitterly at himself, "i still like you even after all this."

"joshua-"

"did you ever like me? as jisoo, i mean. was .. what do you like about me that i didnt have as jisoo?", his gaze was now facing the floor due to the vulnerability of the situation, unable to meet your eyes

you could tell joshua was beginning to feel emotional, his speech appearing to be taking a turn to a self-deprecating expression of his old self.

despite knowing you might get rejected once more, you stepped towards him, putting your hands on his cheeks and forcing him to look at you.

"nothing. jisoo. you were as perfect then as you are now. i hate that i ever did this to you. dont let the stupid actions of a teenage girl make you think you were ever anything less than you are. i hope one day you'll forgi-"

that's as far as you were able to get before joshua suddenly closed the space between you with a kiss.

with eyes closed and furrowed brows, joshua put everything in himself into that kiss, expressing every pent up emotion he had felt towards you in the past years.

unable to help yourself, you grabbed onto his hair, pulling him as close as humanly possible and moaning loudly into the kiss as he tilted his head for a better angle. upon opening your mouth, he stuck his tongue inside, playing with yours and moving his hands down to your waist in order to push you as close as possible to him.

it continued on like this until you found yourself laying on his bed, him on top of you holding your hands over your head and exploring your mouth as he saw fit.

he pulled away suddenly, ripping off his beer-stained shirt as you caught on and pulled off the pretty red dress you had worn to catch his attention. he immediately ran his hands over your figure, excited to finally have the girl he had been crazy over in high school. the same one he had unknowingly pined after all these years.

he stripped off of his pants and ripped off your bra. gluing his mouth to your breasts as you whined his name, "jisoo. oh fuck jisoo, please," you couldnt help using his old name, feeling an even deeper emotional connection now that you knew joshua was the sweet boy who looked after you in high school.

taking his mouth away from your tits, joshua pulled himself off of you and got on his knees next to the bed, pulling you towards him by your thighs. he kissed and licked at your thighs, savoring the taste and smell of you.

"tell me," he demanded, staring up at you in a daze, "tell me how much you want me."

"j-jisoo. so bad. please, so bad."

"more," he kitten licked at you through your panties, making you whine and tense your thighs.

"jisoo, please. want you so bad. i'll do anything. just .. just touch me please!"

he dragged your panties down your thighs, pressing them to his nose like a deprived pervert and taking a breathy whiff at them, moaning at your scent.

"jisoo ..." you moaned at the depravity of the act, having never had someone express such nasty want towards you.

"fuck. so tasty. always wanted to know how pretty you smelled, baby. bet you taste even better," and with that he began going at your cunt like a mad man, burying his face between your legs and moaning whenever you'd grind on his face in desperation.

"jisoo! oh fuck, jisoo. dont stop fuck, please. i'm gonna cum- argh, shit."

your incessant moans and cries had him going crazy, wanting nothing more than to prove to you what you'd been missing all these years.

as soon as you came, joshua got up and discarded his boxers, grabbing a condom from his nightside table and climbing on top of you again, ready to enter you before you spoke up.

"wait."

"whats wrong?", he furrowed his brows worriedly

"i wanna ride you. can i?"

with no verbal response, he flipped you over, moaning at the pressure of your naked core pressed up against his dick, feeling as if his heartbeat had migrated to his nether area.

"jisoo ..." you said in an exaggerated moan as you began to grind on him, scratching up and down his chest, "wanna make it up to you," you breathed, lowering your face to his, "wanna show you how much i like you. how much i want you. how perfect you are and the things you do to me," you licked his lips as you said this, causing him to open his mouth for you, allowing your tongues to meld together in a mess of spit and open-mouthed moans.

you finally took the initiative of lowering yourself onto him, cringing at the intrusion at first but then finding the pleasure behind it. the stretch drove you crazy, making you throw your head back and move your hands to your nipples, rubbing them as you ground yourself back and forth atop joshua.

joshua couldnt believe his view. the girl he had fantasized about since high school. the girl who broke his heart and made him spiral into finding a new sense of self. the girl that took his breath away as soon as he found her again. the girl he tried to punish but was actually punishing himself. the girl that walked into his party and made him lose his mind all over again. the girl who has now making him lose all sense of reality as she rode him desperately trying to prove to him how his feelings were finally mutual.

it was easy for the both of you to find your ends with one another, having had pent up emotions for so long, your bodies were unable to hold back for too long.

you screamed his name as he began to thrust up, unwilling to let himself cum before you, "baby, give it to me again. show me how much you want me. fuck, give-give me what ive wanted all these years."

with that, you came, with him following closely after, finding nirvana almost simultaneously.

joshua made sure to take care of you. he cleaned you up and laid you down under his covers as he wrapped his himself around you, content to hold you in his arms after finally having you in the most intimate of ways. joshua felt love in this moment. he might have struggled through the issues that arose inside him after that fated day, but he felt a sense of contentment knowing his anger was misplaced, and that what he truly wanted all these years was just you.

"jisoo ..." you interrupted his thoughts once more, turning in his arms to face him. you rose your hand towards his cheek, caressing it softly, "icare about you. i hope you do know how much you mean to me. then and now."

he smiled at this, happy you understood and accepted his feelings. "i want to put it all behind us. you hurt me. i hurt you. but now i have you. it was all worth it if this is how it ended."

"happy birthday, jisoo. thank you for the new start."

a/n: i did proofread it this time but idk if it makes sense .. anyways hope u enjoy <3