#angst? on my blog? more likely than u think

[dandyshucks]

Abandoning the fae realm must have been quite the undertaking, and yet, somehow you managed it! Now, how about a second time, "Dandy"?

Dandyfae gets dragged back to the fae realm after a few months (freedom was just too good to be true!) and Wardell believes they've abandoned him and thus has no interest in helping them escape again. the rest of Taraxacum Court is Not happy w Dandyfae for the little stunt they had pulled a few months prior. uh oh!

[emmyrosee]

helloooe i don’t know if u write for gojo (i’m new in your blog and haven’t seen gojo posts lately or maybe i haven’t scrolled far) and saw that your looking for angsty requests, can i request angst as in the different levels of gojo and reader, that gojo is so powerful and that the world constantly needs him so he can’t give reader enough attention, in a way actually hit them both in their relationship?

if not, it’s okay, i hope you’re doing fine!!

GOJO ANGST MY BELOVED-

---

"If you leave, you will come home to an empty house."

The warning falls confidently from your lips, as if premeditated and ready to be released into the air at any given trigger. Satoru stops getting his shoes on and turns to face you. Your eyes hold nothing but exhaustion, eyes under your bags dark and the lifelessness in your face sends a shiver through him. Had you looked so worn out all day?

"What... did you just say?" He whispers, brows pinching in the center in betrayal.

"You heard me. If you leave me right now, without a second thought of my regard, you will come back to nothing from me but my scent and this memory of us."

Thirty seconds ago, he smearing frosting on your nose and when you pushed him away, he’d peppered kisses over your face and fingers dug in your sides. Thirty seconds ago, you'd been interrupted in your baking by the man who would move mountains and swim oceans for you, only for his phone to ring just seconds later, calling him away like it always does.

Thirty seconds ago, he was kissing the laughter from your lips. Now, you’re threatening him.

You're cruel for this predicament, this choice and this bomb to be dropped on him mere seconds from him leaving for who even knows how long. But it doesn’t matter to him. You knew what you were getting into, and it’s not his fault he’s needed more often than not.

You should love him no matter what. As he does you.

He swallows thickly, "don't do this. Not right now."

You shrug, "this is your choice. Not mine. You know my terms.”

Bile rises up his throat and his hands tremble before fisting themselves into a little ball, "this is your choice, you doing this right now when I need to leave-"

“You always need to leave. I’m just sick of it.”

Now, Satoru just feels himself getting angry, "is this ultimatum really necessary right now? You couldn't have waited three damn days-"

"I think you're optimistic in guessing you'll only be gone for three days," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest. He sees the hurt in your features, but he merely shrugs it off as he continues to put on his shoes. “I’m not kidding, Satoru,” you warn. “You leave. I leave.”

“Then leave!” He shouts, hating the way tears sting at his eyes, “do it! I dont need you! You think I do? I’m Gojo Satoru.”

He does. Good fucking god he does, Satoru needs you like he needs water, craves food and forces breath into his lungs, he needs you like he’s paid to and loves you more than himself.

But you can’t know that. Even if not knowing it will drive you away.

You just your lower lip out and shrug, “then leave. Gojo Satoru.”

In desperation, he searches your eyes for something, anything to call your bluff, anything to tell him you’re lying, you won’t leave him. But your eyes tell him nothing, your eyes are closed off and protecting yourself from his venom.

He balls his fists and takes a sharp sniff through his nose in an attempt to ground himself.

“Maybe I will.”

He opens the door before slamming it shut behind him, the vibrations rattling his bones and making him feel even weaker than he was before. He knows that you might slam the door in a not too dissimilar way in but a few hours, cupcakes abandoned and bags packed into your car, leaving your keys in the mailbox and leaving his life for good.

All he can do is hope otherwise.

But in all the lies he can tell himself, that’s one he’s having a hard time believing.

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 2

<-former chapter ~ AO3 link ~ next chapter-> I will block any ageless blogs. Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 6181.

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: reminder that reader is kinda a bitch at some points, thinking mean, unjustified things about our 141 once in a while. Unreliable narrators, my sinner. Apologies for any grammatical errors , the bad russian and such. So uh, this got waaay longer than intended so here you go. It will be a couple of days before the next chapter, so enjoy this snack for u all, my sinners.

chapter 2: Delivery from the Hybrid's Den!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I have a friend coming over for a while,” John softly said next morning, hand resting on your head, fingers stroking your long ears now and again,, “to help us with getting the boys settled.”

You were on the floor, half way beneath the kitchen table, snuggled up against Price’s leg, feeling much more needy, knowing the ‘boys’ as your owner called them, would be delivered later today or tomorrow. They needed to be chipped and Price had asked for a full health check from his vet, as well as vaccinations and dental care. John was a caring owner; the mere fact that he did this from the get go was proof of that. He had done the same when getting you, made sure that any recent wounds or scarring were taken care of - getting your teeth fixed and your nails checked.

You didn’t have much of your fangs left when he got you; your earlier owners had taken those, the memories still haunting you once in a while. They had done it without anesthesia, not even by professionals. Same with your claws, that wasn’t beneath your nails anymore, thanks to former owners as well. Price had gotten the wounds cleaned and fixed up; they had almost grown closed by now. For most of the time that you lived with John, he had made sure your nails were always done nicely, however you wanted them.

John was a good master. You loved him, more than you knew you should, desperate for his attention, acknowledgment and praise. You didn’t want to share him, not with these hounds he had decided to get…

… not with this apparent friend.

You didn’t answer with anything but a displeased sound, tightening your grip on Price’s pants; when he offered you another piece of sausage you were quick to eat it, licking at his fingers while he chuckled. For a moment your tail wagged, eating the food and pressing against his hand.

He couldn’t be serious - abruptly changing so many things? and you were just supposed to accept it? Finally, you replied.

“Do I know your friend?” You didn’t bother to seem excited in any way, your skepticism seeping into your voice like poison. Price took another sip of his tea, not commenting on it.

“You’ve met him before but it’s been years. First year I had you, I reckon. Remember Nikolai?” 

Nikolai. Nikolai. Different faces flashed for your eyes, trying to pinpoint who you had met that bore that name. 

“No,” you finally admitted.

“Can’t blame you, lass. You were a little mess when you met him.”

You let out a huff at his words, embarrassment making your toes curl. It was true, your mind was muddled when it came to the first half year or so together with Price. You had been wary of every single person, desperately acting out and having to wear a muzzle, slowly getting used to the gentleness and rules of John. How he was fair and didn’t change his rules, didn’t punish you without reason.

You heard the front door open, ears peeking up a little, a small bark leaving you on instinct.

“‘Morning,” Laswell called out, making you settle again with a huff. While Laswell was strict and sometimes a meanie, she wasn’t a threat. Only to you and John’s private time.

“Good morning,” John called out, “I’ve made coffee.”

“Ugh if I wasn’t a lesbian I would marry you,” Kate groaned happily, by now so comfortable with John that she simply moved to take a cup in the cupboard, helping herself to the coffee and some food. They had known each other when younger, that was all you knew. Their stories always changed when you asked.

“Morning puppy,” she greeted, leaning over to give you a small pat that you leaned into, tail wagging once more, “are you going to misbehave again today?”

“Hopefully not,” John hummed, picking up his tea cup once more, “Nikolai is arriving in a couple of hours.”

“Ah, your old crush,” Laswell mused happily as she sat down across the table, once again making you wonder how long they had known each other, “going to pull yourself together this time?”

Wait. Crush… crush? Your head whipped up to look at your owner and oh fucking hell, John fucking Price was blushing. You huffed, clearly not pleased at all with this new knowledge.

Wonderful, wasn’t that just fucking wonderful? Now he was going to abandon you fully, to run around being a lovesick puppy and playing with the new hybrids.

“Don’t tease me,” John answered, clearly embarrassed, a rare sight indeed, “that’s none of your business.”

Kate just laughed. You let out a grumble, trying to snuggle even closer to Price, practically clinging to his leg by now. Price returned his hand to your head, petting you once more, looking down at you. You returned his gaze, doing your best puppy eyes, letting out a little whine. He smiled at you, his other hand scratching you beneath your chin.

“It’s been years,” he mused and you were pretty sure that he wasn’t even talking to you, “he had to return to Russia. His mother passed away.”

Russia? A memory appeared in your mind. A small party. Champagne, treats. Praise from Price’s friends and colleagues, attention and love that you had basked in. Other hybrids that sent you longing and lustful looks. A tall, broad man with a loud laugh and a strong accent. Wearing a gold chain. Long hair, rough hands when he scratched you. He would almost make your owner shy with his teasing but he would shower you in love.

“Did I meet him at a party once?” You asked, “big guy, strong accent ? Wearing a gold chain?”

John laughed, “yes, that would indeed be Nikolai.”

Huh. It was not much you could remember about him. You remembered liking him, but despite that, you weren’t really interested in him getting here.

“He is going to help with Soap, Ghost and Gaz,” John then said, almost as if to convince himself that was why he was here. You rolled your eyes at their names. Not that you had any say, you were usually just called different pet names, but you no longer bore the name your mother had once given you. It wasn’t unusual for pets to get their names changed with every new owner. Your legal hybrid name, with John, was Daisy, even though the man rarely ever called you that. He called you so many other names, Princess, Darling, Sweetheart, Birdie and so on. But apparently he had decided not to change these working dogs’ names.

“Sure,” Kate answered with amusement in her voice, taking another sip of the coffee before adding, “whatever you say.”

Price didn’t answer with anything but an annoyed grumble.

“Those are stupid names,” you muttered. A sharp tug on your ear made you yelp, one of your hands grabbing onto his wrist to get him to let go of your furry ear. 

“Be nice, Princess. You’re going to behave, am I understood?” You didn’t meet his eyes, a little whine merely escaped from you.

“She just needs to be shown her place,” Laswell carefully said, John not letting go of your ear, much to your dismay, but he didn’t tug on it - just kept it there as a warning, “maybe they’re better at that.”

“Hopefully they’ll be better at it than me,” he muttered and you whined - the grip didn’t loosen and he didn’t look down at you.

“Nikolai is going to help with that too?” 

“He had ideas, at least.”

Fucking wonderful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nikolai was the first of the four men that you already hated, to arrive. 

You stayed inside the house, watching John appear from one of the stables, almost lighting up at the sight of the man who exited the car.

He still looked like the old memory you had of him; big, long black hair and a grin on his face. He was taller than John but not by much, Almost seeming completely opposite to your owner. While John wore working clothes, a grey T-shirt beneath his blue flannel, dirt on his pants, Nikolai was wearing a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Even inside the house, you could hear the booming man that was Nikolai - he greeted your owner with a loud “John!”, before hugging him, even spinning him around. You couldn’t help but stare; John was far from small but the other man had swung him around like he had been a teenage girl. 

John was blushing like one too. The sight made you curious - just like you wondered how he and Kate met, you wondered how this Nikolai met your owner.

You couldn’t help but wag your tail at how happy they looked. Despite how you hated the idea of the man staying here, even just for a little while, you liked seeing John happy like this.

Then two pairs of eyes suddenly looked directly into the window, both staring at you. It made your ears tip back a little. Your tail kept wagging, eating up the attention. 

When they moved, you moved too - rushing towards the entrance, stopping in the doorframe to the living room. 

“My my, if it isn’t the famous puppy,” Nikolai mused, his Russian accent strong, eyes almost twinkling as he looked you up and down, “up to trouble, da?”

You huffed, crossing your arms, though you felt your tail betray you by wagging a little, “I’m never up to trouble.”

Both of the men laughed, making you growl a little. 

“Unruly - just like last time I met you!” Nikolai mused, looking over at John by his side, “you gave up on training?”

John shook his head, “don’t even get me started, mate.”

“You told enough over phone,” Nikolai answered, waving his hand at John while pushing his shoes off with his feet.

Ah. So he had talked about you with Nikolai already? The fact made you scrunch your nose a little. Maybe Nikolai was just as stupid as John when it came to realizing why you were upset.

Nikolai stepped into your personal sphere with no warning, almost backing you up against the door frame, making you panic and growl a little. Tail no longer wagging - you could see John tense up in the corner of your eye, but you were too distracted by the stranger.

“Nik—“

A part of you expected him to hit you - you had met plenty of strangers with your former owners, who didn’t even let you sniff their hand or anything. Some hurting you and —

He offered his hand. It didn’t hit you, but raised to your nose instead. You squinted at him, before taking a couple of sniffs, still not quite sure what to make of him.

“Don’t like you,” you growled in warning, showing your teeth a little, not even attempting to be polite. 

“You don’t like farm life yet, puppy?” He asked, tipping his head to the side, voice demeaning, stupid smile still on his face. You wanted to slap it off his face. “Stupid little puppy.”

Instead you chomped down on his hand, Price instantly scolding out your name, moving to drag you away. But Nikolai didn’t even flinch - didn't move besides laughing again. 

It made both you and John confused.

“If you want to hurt me, you would have to bite harder, Princess,” Nikolai crooned, “now let go.”

You wanted to piss in his shoes and rip his socks to pieces. Maybe scratch up that leather jacket of his. Yet you found yourself letting go of him, your teeth barely even having made a dent in his skin.

“Get your ass into your room,” John hissed, a redness in his skin that you weren’t sure came from embarrassment or anger from your action.

“No harm done, John,” Nikolai laughed; he scratched you behind your right ear, just a tad to the left and it was like your brain melted for a couple of seconds, your body reacted on its own, tail wagging and right leg moving as well, “she just attempt to be dangerous no?”

John let out a small sound that you weren’t sure  what to make of before he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you away from Nikolai, “and that’s the kind of behaviour I don’t want.”

“He was being mean,” you whined in self defense, unable to not follow the hand dragging you into the living room, “he almost dared me to!”

Perhaps an overstatement, but you already knew what was going to happen the moment that Price pushed you over the armrest of the couch, “I bit him to defend myself!”

“You will not, and I repeat myself, not bite my guests,” he pulled up your skirt and down your panties with such a quick movement that you didn’t get to point out that you didn’t care, one hand grabbing your tail; his other hand collided with your ass cheeks, once, twice and then a third time, before he snapped out, “got it?”

A defiant bark left you, because while you knew it was bad behavior, you also wanted to prove that you weren’t afraid of this Nikolai. You twisted a little, knowing your ass and pussy was basically on display for both men. 

The grip on your tail tightened making you cringe with pain, jaw tensing.

“Apologise.”

You shook your head in defiance, ears hitting your face. Price leant over you a little, hissing out, “I would advise you to apologize, princess. Now.”

A part of you knew he was upset because he liked Nikolai. If he actually had feelings for him, as Kate had pointed out and several things pointed towards, you knew he wouldn’t like being embarrassed too much. Your ass still stung a little.

You were the actual victim here, weren’t you? It wasn’t your fault he decided to change everything you loved and then accept that he had his lost love over, who immediately tried to push your buttons.

“‘m sorry,” you mumbled after two seconds.

“Louder.” John demanded, straightening up, so that you were no longer hidden.

"I'm sorry."

There was silence for a moment - then the sound of a lighter and as you dared to glance over at the bigger man, who was leaning against the door frame, you saw him staring right back at you, a lit cigarette now between his lips.

“Is okay, Lapochka.” He said, stupid smile still on his face.

With that John finally let go off your tail, pulling up your underwear and your skirt down, ignoring your whine. He didn’t even touch your pussy! Didn’t even give you some love!

You pouted as you looked over at them, sliding down from the armrest of the couch, hands going beneath your skirt to rest against your warm skin on your cheeks.

“Sorry Nik,” John once again apologized - as if it was him who John had just spanked! The audacity! You let out a little displeased bark.

“She usually doesn’t bite people,” he continued as he ushered Nikolai as if you weren’t right there, needing love and attention.

“Is okay,” Nikolai answered with a shrug, casting one last glance over at you, smirking for just a second, “some of it was my fault - wanted to see what she would do.”

Asshole.

“Room, princess - now.”

“But he literally ju—“

“I said now.”

“You’re being so fucking mea—“

“Crate then.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You might have slammed the door to your room, growling as you plopped down on your big fuzzy dog bed. 

It was about 30 minutes later than you dared to wander from the room to the kitchen again, standing in the doorway, watching the two men talk. Eyes moved to watch you again, as you whined and got on your knees. crawling to the two men, shamefully settling between Price’s legs on your knees - tail carefully wagging, sending your owner a pitiful glance.

“‘m sorry,” you whimpered, knowing John was easy to sweeten up, “‘m sorry, sir.”

A hand moved down to scratch you, though it wasn’t John’s-  you carefully licked his hand, a pleased rumble leaving the guest.

“Smart one,” he muttered, giving your cheek a little pinch, “knows how to be sweet, da?”

“Always,” John answered, looking down at you with his usual loving eyes, “soft lass is hard  to stay mad at.”

“Perhaps you need some more company,” Nikolai pointed out, “I worked with military pets before, they’re much different than you, milaya.”

“We don’t need them,” you whined, having no idea what Nikolai had just called you, “John will forget about me, will be too busy, he –”

John’s foot ever so gently pushed against your stomach, “don’t start that again.”

“Just insecure,” Nikolai suggested, making you huff.

“Am not,” you argued, but you still nuzzled closer to John, starting to move your hands to his inner thighs, moving to look up the best you could, looking from under the edge of the table, sweetening your voice a little, “It’s just a mistake, that’s all.”

“Spoiled, that’s what you are, darling,” John pointed out, but he still reached out to gently pat your head, “however, the boys will be here in a couple of hours and there is nothing you can do about it.”

You whined pitifully at his words, upset that your clear dissatisfaction with them joining the farm wasn’t clear. It was like John didn’t want to realize at all that he didn’t need to stay out on this farm. He needed to go back to the city, to the fancy penthouse apartment, to the parties that lasted out to the late hours of the night, where you could gossip with all the other hybrids.

“Milaya,” Nikolai repeated again, rustling with something in his jacket that hung over the back of the chair he was currently sitting on, pulling a little package from it. You watched curiously, though trying to seem disinterested. That was until he opened it and the most wonderful, mouthwatering scent you had smelled in a while appeared and you instantly moved from between John’s legs to Nikolai’s, making your owner chuckle.

The piece of jerky looking meat that Nikolai held in between his thumb and pointer finger, looked simple but oh the smell of it made it known that it was good.

“You behave and let us look through papers now, da?” 

“Yes,” you said, unable to look away or stop your tail from wagging, “I’ll behave.” 

The moment Nikolai offered you the piece, you were on it, barely missing his fingers with your teeth as you stole it from his grip. Nikolai was chuckling, putting the bag back into his jacket, while you chewed, a pleased moan leaving you as you settled beneath the table. 

Hopefully these mutts would prove themselves too difficult - so that John would send them away again. You would happily wave goodbye to them. 

With the sweet aftertaste of the meat in your mouth and their soft voices discussing fences, you closed your eyes.

You weren’t going to help with the pack settling in - that was for sure.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You barely got used to your owner’s crush, before there were once again new things happening. Kate appeared, greeting Nikolai like an old friend as well. You hadn’t figured out much about the man, other than he had worked with a lot of hybrids throughout the years. And with helicopters. However that all fit together, you didn’t know… didn’t really care.

The big truck that arrived a couple of hours later, stood out against the farm houses; a colorful logo was painted on the otherwise steel gray vehicle.

THE HYBRID’S DEN! helping owners find their perfect hybrid pet since 1960!

You remembered seeing their logos everywhere when you were sold to the auction, years ago. The auction houses and facilities had often felt like an intermission from your former life to your new; never knowing what was going to happen, treated with the minimal care, but kept healthy enough for the auctions. 

The staff wore the colorful logo on their black uniforms, exciting the truck a few moments later. You almost wanted to tell them to ‘get the fuck back into that truck and drive off’ again, but you figured it wouldn’t result in them actually doing so.

You kept your distance, standing on the steps of the front door - strategically keeping Nikolai between you and the closed metal crates that were inside the truck. There were nothing more than a few air holes in the boxes, from where some different sounds appeared. Barks and a growl or two, though they all sounded a little slurred. Nikolai moved, giving you a better look at them, as he joined John who was nodding along to some of the information, while looking through and signing some papers. Though you were mostly distracted by the crates, you could hear some of their conversation, catching words like sedated, muzzles, stressed. Your own trip hadn’t been nice either but a part of you wanted to point out to your owner that this only proved your point of this being a bad idea.

Some of the auction workers helped move the crates to one of the bigger empty sheds that Price had apparently been renovating without your knowledge. So apparently not so empty any longer. Not that it had been hard to do that, you ignored most of the different renovating and building jobs that both John and the helpers did.

Still… he could have told you. God, did your master tell you nothing anymore? It didn’t really help your mood, your growing annoyance clearly amusing for Nikolai if his smiles back at you were anything to go by.

Despite your repeated frustration with this entire situation and these new hybrids’ mere existence, you followed along inside the shed. It was nice… Isolated, with a tiny bathroom, an area padded with mattresses, which was clearly for them to sleep together, pillows, blankets… you wanted that too. Sure, you had loads, but this only made you want more, want more from Price, so that he could prove he still loved you. 

There was a radiator, several windows, lamps and electricity outlets. You scrunch your nose with displeasure. They didn’t deserve that. At least they weren’t inside the main house. 

There was a little notch in the other corner opposite the bed area, almost like a tiny expansion, another door next to it; it was almost like a small horse stall - a deep layer of hay covered the floor. You didn’t even step into the place, but you knew the hay would itch.

You wanted it. Not the itching of the hay, but the entire place, simply for the sake of having it, so that they couldn’t. Speaking of them, you watched from the main entrance as the metal boxes were opened.

The Belgian malinois and German Shepherd mix was the first one to stumble out of the box; he fell two steps later, directly into the hay, a deep sigh leaving him, eyes darting around. You could barely see him from the amount of people inside the stall. 

“It’s alright, Gaz,” Price comforted, while you stayed in the door, keeping his distance to the hybrid, “You’re okay, boy.”

Gaz didn’t answer, just panted a little, ears tipped backwards - his eyes looked a little blown from what you could see.

“When will the sedatives wear off?” Laswell asked one of the workers, but you didn’t look at them, eyes instead at the other hybrid. 

When you had arrived, you had been scared and angry, drugged as well. But you had been alone. While you grew up with your parents, in a nice enough place, you hadn’t seen them for years - and while you had befriended a lot of other hybrids throughout the years, you had never been a part of a “pack”. You were alone — but this Gaz wasn’t and a part of you envied him, even for that.

“In an hour or two,” the worker replied, pulling you from your deeper thoughts, “they weren’t too happy to settle down before we left. It was necessary.”

A small bark left the man in the hay. It was answered by the two other hybrids, who still hadn’t come out of their respective boxes. Nikolai gently tapped on the top of one of the boxes with a knuckle.

“Come join your friend,” the Russian suggested, voice not as loud as earlier.

A moment later the border collie mix, Soap, crawled out of his box, eyes instantly on Gaz, letting himself lay halfway on top of the other. A little growl leaving him, muffled from behind the mask. Not even a second later, Ghost got out of the last crate. The Great Pyrenees almost got on his legs, growling despite the muzzle and swaying from the drugs.

You watched the staff pull back the metal boxes, letting the hybrids get some space. Ghost didn’t stay on his legs for too long, eventually sitting down next to his pack mates, the lower half of his face hidden from view as he looked around the shed.

His gaze stopped at you; you were unable to sense the reaction from seeing you again, if there even was any.

“We’ll let you have some minutes, okay? Then we’ll take the muzzles off.” John gently offered, pulling the giant from the moment, so that he looked away, giving Price a small nod. Your owner was at the edge of the hay filled area but he didn’t step into it.

You stepped back, letting the staff members from the auction pull away the boxes, Laswell and another farm worker helping them. Nikolai looked from the pack, then over his shoulder at you, barely even trying to hide a smile.

Then he winked. You sent him an unimpressed look back, tipping your chin up a little, looking away from the three hybrids in the hay, pretending you weren’t curious about them.

Some more rustling in the hay and then a half croaked, “mah held hurts,” left Soap, voice a little slurred - you couldn’t help but look over at him. His accent was weird. His ears were tipped down, some hay already stuck in his hair. With the pathetic look on his face you didn’t understand how he was supposed to be a big bad soldier.

You weren’t being petty at all.

“It’s the sedatives,” John calmly answered the hybrid, who let out a big breath from behind the muzzle.

“If I take the muzzle off, will you behave?”

“We have water for you,” Nikolai added, keeping his distance - you kept him in between you and the dogs, not risking anything. You trusted the men to be able to defend themselves. But with no claws or fangs, you weren’t a fighter - more a runner. Even if you didn’t like running.

The two muzzled ones, Soap and Ghost, sent each other a look - but it was Gaz, half hidden beneath Soap, who let out a tired “please.”

Ghost gave a small nod then. John stepped into the hay, unhurried as to not spook them, and it was Ghost who tipped his head down first to let Price open the lock with a small key. The moment he was free, he smacked his cracked and dry looking lips. 

Clearly, the man had never heard of chapstick.

Though, much more apparent, where the colony of scars on his lower half of the face. Trailing from around the lips, one over the nose as well - cheeks and chin. As he smacked his lips, you saw he had lost a fang in the bottom of his mouth. It wasn’t just sanded down like yours, the tooth was fully missing.

Price repeated the action with Soap, the hybrid instantly opening his mouth wide with a yawn, his jaw even making a popping wound.

Nikolai appeared with three bottles of water from a little cooler in the shed - you didn’t have your own cooler, which meant you would be demanding one… not that you needed it but still — giving the hybrids each one, that was always immediately opened. Gaz pushed Soap away and sat up too, while John backed away.

“My name is John Price -we met shortly at the auction. I’m the owner of the farm and you will all answer to me. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” For a moment you were impressed with the three hybrids’ synchronized answers. Only a short moment however. They were probably just beasts trained to answer like that. Yeah, yeah, you could do that too, if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“This is Nikolai, my friend, he will stay with me for a while, helping you all to settle in properly. You will follow his orders too - as well as a mean looking woman, Kate Laswell, who will appear at some point.” Humour tipped into the last part making Soap snort and Gaz give out a half-slurred giggle, while Ghost just let out a grunt.

“And this,” Price suddenly turned over to you, looking a little amused from the distance you kept between all of them, “is my pet, Daisy.” 

“Well hellooo, bonnie lass,” Soap said, his tail immediately wagging, grinning at you, as he slurred, “aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes.”

Nikolai and John dared to laugh at his words, his rather pathetic attempt at being charming, while you growled, watching Soap get an elbow in the side from Gaz, while Simon just stared, almost differently than the scot, like a hungry beast. If you were fully inside the shed, you might be able to smell if they were turned on. Disgusting. 

“Come’ere, sweetheart,” John crooned, clearly pleased with the reactions from the men, while you scrunch your nose, tipping your chin up a little - giving it a shake to reject the command.

“Do not be like that, milaya,” Nikolai suggested, “thought you were going to behave, no?”

You just growled a little again, unable to help your tail go between your legs a little; you didn’t really want to be spanked again, but you didn’t really want to become acquainted with these hybrids either.

“My princess isn’t too pleased with you lot being here,” John calmly explained without taking his eyes off you - they were still all staring at you - as John raised a hand, making a ‘come-hither’ motion that had you swallowing some spit, “but she isn’t going to chase away any wolves, are ye, pet?”

You huffed, crossing your arms before stepping inside the shed. The scent in there was nice and clean, even with the vague scent of the newcomers, and you walked to John, stopping halfway hidden by him.

However, as John’s arm snaked around your soft waist in a strong grip, you whimpered as you were pulled forward a little, unable to hide behind him. Both Gaz and Soap were wagging their tails at you, while you tried ignoring the scent of the room the best you can.

“I’m expecting you all to get along - and not hurt each other too badly, understood?”

While the others answered in agreement you just hid your face in his shoulder, twisting a little in his grip.

“No playin’ too rough,” Nikolai added, “Puppy isn’t used to other hybrids.”

“I am!” you snapped, “Just not…”

The shed was quiet for a moment as you mulled over your next words. What to call them. Military dogs. Strays. Mutts, un –

“Not what?” Nikolai almost seemed entertained by your declaration and you looked away, before finally mumbling.

“... working dogs.”

Simon huffed. You shot him a sharp look that he didn’t really seem to be affected by, in any way.

“I’m sure you all will get along,” John just mused, before looking down at his watch, “A certain princess has become too bored now we’re no longer in the city -” he ignored your mutter of ‘have not’, “- and I can’t entertain her all the time. Mentally or sexually.” 

You whined with embarrassment, a little angry growl seeping into it, but Price didn’t really react, barely moved as you twisted in his grip, ignoring the grin of the several males in the house. 

“ - Now, I will leave you three to get acclimated a little. But, there are a couple of rules that I expect you all to follow, if not there will be punishments.”

Synchronized nods. You still twisted, digging your fingers into his arm to no avail - then a hand snagged onto your collar from behind, choking you shortly as you were pulled back, Nikolai pressing against your back. Now free, Price pointed to a little map over the area, that you hadn’t noticed on the wall.

“Your jobs will essentially be to help keep the place safe. We have had problems with wolves and foxes, and so has the neighbors, since there lives a bunch in the area. You three will help keeping them away and Soap will help around my sheeps and goats in particular, given you’re a herding dog–”

Soap nodded, tail wagging, all three dogs staring at the map intensely.

“- I will find other things for the two of you to help with as well, but your main focus will be on keeping the animals - and the rest of us - safe. One of the neighbors got some horses stolen not too long ago. I would like to avoid that as well.”

You didn’t even know that. What you did know, however, was the heat of Nikolai’s body behind you, keeping you close and tethered so that you couldn’t run off.

“Most of the wildlife will go away if intimidated, but at times you might need to attack them. I am not going to give you any firearms yet though,” John looked over at them, his voice  firmer than you usually heard it, “That will come along the way, if needed. We can discuss other weapons later on.”

The mere idea of John giving them any kinds of weapon made you want to throw up - or throw a fit. Had he gone fuckin’ mad?? giving them guns? They were going to shoot everyone, going to kill John and you. You really didn’t want to die.

“My farm includes these - and these fields. You will not and I repeat not, leave my land without a valid reason. There will be punishments if you do - you will all be given collars like another certain puppy–” all eyes watched you for a moment and though, you wanted to hide  your face in your hands, you didn’t, merely crossed your arms, ignoring the low laughter from Nikolai behind you, “that are fitted with trackers, so I will know if you do.”

Great. So hoping for them to run off wasn’t a possibility for now.

“Biting or attacking my staff in any way will result in severe punishments. You will lose privileges if you don’t do as told, without a valid reason. Is that understood?”

“Yessir.” 

“Good boys. Now, these upcoming days you will most likely be following me or Laswell around, while we get you in on all these. All dinners will be eaten in the main house and you will be given keys once I get them made one of these upcoming days. I will give you a couple of hours now –” Price looked down at his wrist watch, “Then call you in, an hour or two before dinner, so that you all can shower. Any injuries, allergies or anything that the Hybrids’ Den didn’t write down, that I need to know?”

They all shook their heads, behaving like synchronized swimmers in your opinion. 

“Good. You’re all free to relax here or explore the farm if you wish so, when the drugs wear off.” 

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As you entered the farm house, you shrugged off your jacket and abandoned your shoes in the entrance, not caring to clean up after you, ignoring John’s irked huff.

“Insane!” you declared, walking further into the house, “You’ve gone insane! You’re all going to forget about me and those horny knotted mutts will be all up in my business!”

You flopped down on the couch, face first, continuing your ranting into the fabric.

“I might as well barricade myself inside my room - Because I dont have a tiny house!! but guns! SURE ! give them guns!” Your voice was muffled, but you were, perhaps a tad dramatically, loud in your ranting. You could just make out whispering between the two men but you didn’t care… not until you were forced to, quite literally.

“Little puppy,” Nikolai’s accent was heavy - his body even heavier as he settled on the back of your thighs, a fist coming to rest next to your head, that kept his full body weight from you, “Throwing a fit again, da?” 

You could feel the slight bulge against your fat ass, making you swallow - and tail wag, hitting Nikolai against the thighs, making the man chuckle. John as well, who settled down with a cigar in one of the arm chairs opposite the couch. You didn’t even need to look to know that he watched as Nikolai tugged at your skirt.

[highvern]

When in Rome TEASER

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, cheating, penetrative sex, nudity, mentions of drug use, more tbd

Length: tbd, teaser: ~3k

Note: excited to have this for the @svthub world tour collab! thank u to everyone who helped me brain storm and ofc @gyuswhore for dealing with the insanity that is my brain

Summary: After months of no contact, Seungcheol isn't sure what to expect when he sees you again at Jeonghan's wedding. He's prepared to apologize, to grovel, to bear the weight of a cold shoulder. Whatever it takes to have you back, his best friend since diapers; or whatever will ensure the last third of your trio has the best day of his life. But when he overhears the most recent development in your relationship, he must come to terms with something he was never prepared for, or risk losing you for good.

m.list

Leave a comment if you would like to be tagged when this is posted on July 7th. YOU MUST HAVE AN AGE IN BIO TO BE ADDED!

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

There are fewer places Seungcheol hates more than airports. Dentist offices, his grandparents’ house during the holidays when they ask about grandkids, and even the time he ran into his elementary school science teacher the first time he was buying condoms at the pharmacy, all were more favorable than the hustle and bustle of an international airport. 

Seungcheol likes to be straightforward and direct. Something that becomes seemingly at odds with the average person traveling because at the one place everyone has somewhere to be, they act as if they have all the time in the world.

But the simple thought that it's all temporary, that his personal ninth circle of hell is the only thing standing between him and a week in Italy is enough to grin and bear it. 

On the other side of the terminal, his best friends are waiting for him. It’s not as if they haven’t seen each other for long; Jeonghan and Sofie were at bar trivia last week as their last hurrah before tying the knot. As usual they wiped the floor with everyone, rousing several allegations of cheating that Jeonghan deserved. But Seungcheol is about to watch them get married and it makes him a little misty around the eyes because he loves his friends more than anything. 

The only concern, which is less of a concern and more of a titanic size anchor sinking in his gut, is that you’re Sofie’s maid of honor. And you haven’t spoken to him since New Years when you revealed you were moving to New York with your boyfriend, Johnny.

Another place Seungcheol dreads, right next to the airport, is anywhere Johnny happens to be. He’s everything you aren’t: abrasive, arrogant, catty, disorganized. And those are just the traits at the front of the alphabet. 

You had a plan. A list of criteria he had to listen to over and over again after each failed date. Even the guys Seungcheol set you up with after carefully vetting didn’t seem to make the mark. It was respectable, commendable. You wouldn’t settle for anything less than “perfect.” Whatever that meant to you. 

At a bar, three years ago, Johnny approached you. Seungcheol watched from across the table as you mentally ran over your checklist. Johnny met the physical ones: tall, good hygiene, well kept appearance. The other things would need more investigation. What did he do for work? Was he close with his family? Kids? Opinions on cheating at bar trivia?

The more Seungcheol learned about Johnny after your detailed debrief from a few dates the more confused he became. Johnny worked in banking. You hated finance bros and called them scum of the dating pool. He was an only child and only talked to his parents on holidays and birthdays. You had grand dreams of close grandparents and houses full of cousins. He didn’t want kids. You did. He didn’t think bar trivia was that serious. Seungcheol watched you threaten Jeonghan’s life on more than one occasion over the use of Shazam during the music round. Johnny was everything you said you didn’t want. 

And then you followed him across the country after two years of dating cut with three breakups. 

It didn’t make sense. 

When Seungcheol pulled you aside after you announced you’d be moving, trying to figure why you thought living with the man who once asked if you really needed to wash bath towels if you only use them when you’re already clean, you told him to mind his business. Later that night, after enough drinks to make everything blurry, you two got into a screaming match on the sidewalk with your shared friends attempting to play referee. It was the last time you two spoke. 

In over twenty five years of friendship, founded on the backs of elementary school shenanigans under a reign of terror of one Jeonghan Yoon, you and Seungcheol’s real fights can be counted on one hand. 

The sixth grade field trip where you and Jeonghan left him out, senior year of highschool when the girl Seungcheol took to prom argued about his parents taking more pictures with you than her, and junior year of college when Seungcheol caught you making out with his frat brother after ditching him under the guise of having a stomach bug. That was it. Three fights, all of which were resolved within a week because as stubborn as you both are, you’re best friends. 

Five and a half months of not speaking, except when Seungcheol texted a half hearted apology and you responded with a quarter of forgiveness. That was it. 

But Seungcheol won’t dwell. He refuses to make things awkward for Jeonghan and Sofie during the most special week of their lives. Knowing you, you’ve probably already come to the same resolution. The only person you’re closer to than Seungcheol is Jeonghan with Sofie a close second. If there is anyone you two will agree to put aside an argument for, it's them.

The sun has already begun setting when he makes it through customs and out towards the Arrivals, painting everything in buttery yellow. 

“SEUNGCHEOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!” Sofie screams, hands cupped around her mouth.

She’s half outside the cherry red sports car. An Intermeccanica Italia Spyder because Seungcheol knows three things in life: expensive watches, expensive whiskey, and expensive cars. Sofie’s family happened to have plenty of the last and Seungcheol assumed the first two as well.

When Sofie became his study partner in law school she ended up following him on Instagram. He assumed from the way she carried herself, perfect posture with tailored clothes and an ‘air of society’ as you called it, that she was well off. But then, during a late night gossip session, you and he did a deep dive and found out Sofie wasn’t just well off. Her family had more money than God. 

But everything on the surface was a contrast to who Sofie really was. Heiress to a fortune but studied more than anyone in their class just to graduate second. Perfect posture and tailored clothes are a stark contrast to her favorite bar where she’d outdrink anyone, and cheer when the prize for trivia was cheap plastic margarita glasses.

Or right now, where she belts Seungcheol’s name again like some drunk frat boy while sitting in a car worth more than his life.

Seungcheol jogs to where she waits, already smiling. 

“I would have brought a ‘Welcome back from rehab’ sign but my mom thought you’d be embarrassed,” Sofie says as she hugs him over the console. 

“At least make it ‘welcome home from prison’ so people won’t walk in my way.”

“I’ll make sure Jeonghan remembers you have a preference,” she calls over the wind. 

Technically, the house (which is really a mansion) is almost an hour from the airport. With Sofie’s driving it only takes twenty minutes in which Seungcheol thinks he might need to start going to church. 

The pebbled driveway crunches underneath the tires as they approach. 

In the evening light, the house is more daunting. An imposing stone facade rises from the ground, more akin to a small castle than an actual home. Smooth stone with detailed carvings, windows with huge shutters, and on the top floor, a balcony, fenced with wrought iron, juts out.

Even after years of seeing pictures, Seungcheol still can’t believe his friend grew up here. 

Sofie throws the car in park right in front of the door before jumping out. 

“By the way, there were some issues with one of the rooms.” Sofie drops her voice, “My aunt and uncle are fighting, so I hope you don’t mind sharing?”

Seungcheol knows most of the guys coming to the wedding. Worst case scenario he’s stuck in a twin size bunk bed with a weird cousin. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Perfect! Just leave your stuff, everyones out back.” Sofie pushes him as hard as she can manage which isn’t much at all given she’s five foot nothing. 

The garden is filled with bodies upon bodies crowded together, some old, some young. Seungcheol recognizes a few faces in the mix: Soonyoung, Joshua, Seungkwan. More friends from law school. Jeonghan’s sister waves from across the way. Everyone seems to be paying attention to whatever is happening at the iron garden table. 

And then, like a scene in a movie, everyone parts for a second and time freezes. 

Seungcheol would recognize you anywhere. Even if he can’t see your face, he knows it's you. The curve of your shoulders, the tilt of your head. The bark of laughter as your chin drops forward. He knows it's you and the weight in his stomach lightens and leadens in an odd cycle.

He missed you.

Then everything comes back into real time. Wine and cards. Then he sees the chips on the table, your stack to the side significantly higher than anyone else's. 

Months of ruminating over what he’d do when reunited fly out the window. Seungcheol doesn’t waste a minute as he approaches, hand on the back of your chair as he peeks over your head to sneak a glance at your hand.

“Who let you talk them into poker?”

You’re already smiling when you tilt back to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Oh, how he missed you.

“She said she didn’t know how to play,” an old man grumbles from the side. 

Seungcheol doesn’t recognize him but he’s got the same expression as all the people you’ve sharked before: mildly impressed and slightly murderous. Two other guys sit at the table, one old enough to be his grandfather looks almost proud. Seokmin fills that last seat, head in his hands at being swindled so easily. 

“I said,” you start, throwing your gaze to him. “I hadn’t played in a while.” 

You look back up at Seungcheol for some kind of support. Eyes round and innocent in a way you both know you’re not. Pool, cards, darts, any game a man a few drinks in could beat you at was easy fodder for your con. Usually it ended with free drinks, sometimes money, but mostly it’s Seungcheol playing referee for the disillusioned guys you swindled while wearing a bright grin. 

Tossing a few chips towards the three men at table with a smart “don’t spend it all in one place,” you rise and throw your arms around Seungcheol like everything is normal. 

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck.

Seungcheol’s hands are already curled around your waist, pulling you in tight. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“I see that you can’t even greet your best friend.” Jeonghan coughs from the side.

Seungcheol squeezes you tighter at the jab. It’s Jeonghan’s wedding but the last time Seungcheol saw him was last week when dropping the couple off at the airport to come here. He’s far more interested in dragging out his reunion with you as long as possible. “I’m in the middle of that actually.”

He scoffs in response, walking away. “Whatever, I see too much of you anyway.” 

Another two hours of celebrating, filled with drunken toasts and more card games with Sofie’s family that only end with you digging into their pockets even deeper, fly by before the exhaustion of a day starting in one continent and ending in another catches up to him. You’re too busy arguing over if Jeonghan cheated in the last round to notice Seungcheol slipping away from the table and towards the door leading inside.

Sofie is in the kitchen just beyond, another bottle of wine sloshing in hand as she talks animatedly on the phone. “Okay, look. I am on vacation. I’m about to get married. I literally left notes for everything I'm not working on during my wedding week. Figure it out. Bye.”

She hangs up without response, tossing her phone on the counter before taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Good?” Seungcheol asks.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. I leave and suddenly no one knows how to do their job.” Sofie rolls her eyes. “What’s up? Need another glass?”

She raises the same bottle and the thought of more wine nearly turns his stomach.  

Seungcheol brushes her off, moving to the sink and rinsing his glass with finality. “I think I’m gonna crash for the night.”

“Really?” she asks. “But the party just started!”

“For you maybe, some of us have been cramped on a plane all day.” He feels it. In his back and knees. The cramp in his neck from passing out halfway through and waking up bent at ninety degrees. And the hours he spent agonizing through emails with the inflight WiFi because even on vacation he can’t sit still for more than one minute. But now it’s a ticking time bomb before he curls up in a chair and passes out until morning.

Sofie snatches his glass before shooing him away from the sink and taking his place. “I forgot you’re an old man now.”

“You’re the same age as me?”

“Anyway,” she sings. “I know we promised you’d have your own room but—”

“That’s fine. I really don’t mind rooming with one of the guys.”

“Well… you and Y/N were the only ones not sharing and she said she wouldn’t mind for the weekend.”

“Huh?”

“I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal! Seokmin and Kwan agreed to share and room with Josh so things are pretty tight but I can see if we can switch things around and—”

“No, if she’s okay with it then it's fine.” Seungcheol says. “We just haven’t talked since, you know?”

Sofie seems to soften at that. “Seems like everything was fine outside.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighs. “I missed her.” 

“I know she missed you too.”

“She said that?”

“Oh please, neither of you have to say anything, you’re both pathetic,” she says while pouring another glass. “But I think this weekend will be good for you guys! Like old times.”

Old times. Before the fight. Before you moved away.

“Yeah, just like old times… At least we aren’t sharing a bed, right?” He jokes. 

“Actually,” Sofie grimaces. 

The one solace Seungcheol is gifted is the bed is massive. Almost the entire room is dominated by the plush mattress, a dresser, and a chair in the corner. He considers sleeping in that instead for all of a minute before realizing you probably wouldn’t let him and the absolute torture it’ll do to his neck. 

At least the forced proximity won’t be awkward since you’ve silently agreed to leave the past behind you. He can’t imagine Sofie would consider this solution if you were still mad at him, even if it was her wedding week. The realization lightens the weight on his shoulders an ounce more.

Seungcheol throws his bag down at the foot of the bed. It’s no big deal; sharing a room with you. Childhood sleepovers had been the norm, a few nights in college you’d shared a clunky old twin bed when you both were too drunk to find your ways home separately. Your first apartment together, when you two had to share a mattress on the floor for the first weeks because all your money went into paying rent, flash in his head. Old times.

Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean clothes, Seungcheol heads back downstairs for a glass of water before bed.

He remembers where the kitchen is after Sofie’s short tour, trapezing through the huge house easily. Behind different closed doors he catches glimpses of pre-sleep conversations: couples spitting harsh whispers to each other, a few cartoonish voices reading bedtime stories to an audience of childish giggles. But when he reaches the threshold of his destination Seungcheol stumbles into an entirely different atmosphere.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“No. I didn’t feel like the kind of thing to say over text.”

“Well you could have called him!”

“And say what? ‘Hey Cheol, I know we haven’t talked in months because we got into a huge fight about my boyfriend but Johnny and I–’”

Seungcheol strains his ears to hear the rest of your sentence but fails to decipher anything before Jeonghan’s voice cuts in. Whatever ‘it’ is, you’re not ready to tell him.

“Just tell him.” Jeonghan says through a mouthful of something. “I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

His mind races with a million possibilities, all related to Johnny, all things you wouldn’t have told your best friend of over twenty years because of some stupid fight. Something you don’t know how to tell him over the phone, something you need to tell in person.

The realization strikes like lightning.

You and Johnny are engaged.

Thirst forgotten, Seungcheol turns back the way he came. He thinks through the new information as he stumbles up the stairs.

How could you not tell him? How could he make you feel like you couldn’t tell him? How long have you been hiding this? And why did Jeonghan and Sofie know before he did? Was everyone in on the secret and he was the odd man out?

You and Johnny weren’t even that serious when you moved away; or, that's what Seungcheol thought. In all honesty he fully believed it was some joke when you told him. A drunken practical joke taken too far but then the boxes were packed away and the moving truck came and you left with it. 

Everything else hits him in the seclusion of the bedroom. Your shared room. At least for the rest of the week.

Seungcheol isn’t happy. He is, but because you’re you, argument aside. If Johnny makes you happy enough to tie your lives together then he can bite his tongue. You’re his best friend and by default he’d never think anyone was good enough for you but if you loved Johnny, if you were this serious about him, then Seungcheol would support you.

Even if it meant there would always be a Johnny sized ravine between you.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited

[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

One thing you love about Simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. Strong, steadfast, there when you need him. Even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

Not that you’ll tell him that.

You hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. Whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

Except for Simon.

Which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. You don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

Losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. You've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

But losing Simon? You don't think you'd ever get over that.

It's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. Your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

Your call log is all Simon.

Some appointments here and there, but Simon everywhere else.

Fuck.

You hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

You don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

He answers before the third ring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. You take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "Am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired. “No, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. You’re only half-convinced.

"I'm sorry," you begin again. Your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. You're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "I didn't know who else to call, and I lost my tram pass, and I don't have an umbrella, and — "

“Dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. You ache.

"I can just walk home, I-I'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone. “Darling,” he says, a little stern. Not angry, never angry. Trying to focus you. “What’s wrong?”

“U-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "I waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "Messaged him too, y'know. He just. Didn't show."

You think you hear Simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick. “Where are you?”

There's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. You manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking. “Twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “Sit there and be good and patient and I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"Okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

Thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. You make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

You can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

He says your name gently. You take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. He's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. Assessing you, worrying.

"I'm sorry," you croak out. You can't help it. It's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. He doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"Love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. His eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." Your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "You know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. He hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"This is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. You were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "You really think I'd let you stay home alone?"

His eyes are so fucking bright. It startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"I..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "I was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"As if I don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. You scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"Go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

You hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"Go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

His flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

Well.

You might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. It's a you're a bit clumsy thing. Simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

His bedroom is familiar as well. Which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

You take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. You’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

As you pad back out to the living room, Simon’s already on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. You’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

His balaclava is off. The last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“Knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“Am I that predictable?” you mumble, a small thank you as he hands you a bowl.

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

The silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“Were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

You blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. You can’t read his eyes. Something hot twists in your gut.

“I-I don’t know, Simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “Maybe?”

He doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “Depends how the date went, I suppose. Doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. His gaze hasn’t changed. “Why?”

His jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “You deserve better ‘n that.”

A confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “I know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

He seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. You feel sick.

Dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. You bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“Don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

Your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. Relationships aren’t easy. Being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

You never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. You don’t deserve that kind of attention. After a while, they’ll get tired. You’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

It’s easier to be by yourself. The only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“Love.” He tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. How hasn’t he gotten tired of you yet?

A hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. Your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“What’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

You swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “No one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

Frustration burns the back of your throat. Isn’t it obvious? You can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. How can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? How could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“You wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. You crumble back into the couch.

“Make me understand.”

Heat flashes at the nape of your neck. He takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. Your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“How aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. You look at him. Hesitant. Scared.

The silence is loud. His own frown deepens. It takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

Your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“Because you do the same for me,” he continues. You doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

His touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. He slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips just above the waistband of his boxers.

You slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. Firm and broad and safe.

“You apologize so much. You worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. One hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

You shake your head, a no caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, love.” He cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “You have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

He lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. His cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. You’re so tired.

His lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. You’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[giamee]

🌺 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘!

STARRING. ノ dan heng

request. ノ anon: helloo if it's right up your alley, could you do a danheng x reader hanahaki au? one where the reader thinks he and someone else have something going on given how caring danheng is through that stoic face of his! but really, danheng is just too kind and you're much too caught up with your own feelings

word count. ノ 3.4k

contains. ノ hanahaki!reader, u and dan heng r both kinda dumb, angst pertaining to the hanahaki trope, you can tell how old this fic is because it's set during the jarilo-vi story quest, some unfounded jealousy of march 7th?, mentions of death and injury and some graphic descriptions of blood and illness

gia's notes. ノ this was the very first request that i ever received on this blog. over a year ago. i drafted this fic and wrote out about 70% of it then let it rot at the bottom of my drafts. anon, you have the patience of a saint if you're still here.

THE MOMENT THAT YOU STEPPED FOOT ONTO THE ASTRAL EXPRESS, you had the sneaking suspicion that you were doomed. Your fate was set in stone as soon as you felt the hard encasing of a seed clutch the walls of your heart in a vice grip when you first laid eyes upon him.

Dan Heng was elusive. The others had been warm in their welcome, but it took the combined efforts of yourself and March 7th to find him hidden in the recesses of the train’s records room. His greeting was a mere nod in your direction before Welt required your presence again, but that’s all you needed.

His eyes were cool, practically piercing through your skin as March 7th ushered you pack to the parlour car, and you felt yourself shiver as his intense stare burned itself into the back of your head.

And while he’s intimidating, sure, that’s not why you stayed away from Dan Heng. He had a cold and callous exterior that you had never seen crack, yet all the same you had felt the start of a crush start to take root.

And this may not have been a problem at all if it weren’t for two details that were like a slap to the face for you.

One, you were fairly certain that Dan Heng had his eyes for March 7th.

And two, if your crush didn’t return your feelings, you would die.

It wasn’t a case of exaggeration, either. You had been aware of the fact that to develop feelings for someone was dangerous, as it had been drilled into you from a young age by your parents. They had gripped your hands, steering you away from other children with little more explanation than that, always chastised you for wanting to forge a human connection, keeping you isolated from the world around you, better safe than sorry.

And you had felt so alone.

Being forced to live a life in confinement was not an easy one, and despite your parents’ wishes, you had told them of your plan to to finally go out into the world, to live a life from experience and not watching it unfold as an impassive reader of a book or on your phone screen, danger be damned.

So it wasn’t really your fault that you had been so quick to develop those feelings that had been so often described in the books you read, as an explosion of butterflies erupted within you upon meeting someone else, another person for the first time.

And yet you found yourself in the same predicament- a watcher from afar. The heart wants what it wants was a bitter mantra that seemed to enjoy your misery as you watched March 7th excitedly chatter with Dan Heng, and you could have sworn the man even cracked the smallest of smiles at whatever she was saying. And really, could you blame him for it? March was kind, bubbly, outgoing- a perfect match for the stoic and seeming immovable Dan Heng.

It was more common sense than pessimism that had you concluding that you didn’t really stand a chance for his affections against someone like her. You doubt that Dan Heng even looked at you more than he had to. You, so secretive and elusive that you gave him a run for his money; and two similar poles never attracted each other. It was a funny hand that fate had dealt you, but you had to play with those cards regardless.

As if to mock you, you ducked away from the outskirts of the room, feeling a coughing fit coming. You had barely made it to your room before you doubled over, feeling your insides run ragged by the prickly thorns of the rose bush that grew inside you.

A single bloodstained petal fell into your palm.

Besides the quickly growing issue that you refused to acknowledge, life on the Astral Express wasn’t awful. You hadn’t yet confided in anyone about your condition, so to speak, and not entirely because you didn’t want to. To be completely honest with yourself, there was much that you didn’t know about it.

And so you timed it well- you waited for the subject of your affliction- for Dan Heng to leave his unofficial bedroom before you slipped through the door into the records room, desperate to find any sort of information that might help you find some sort of cure.

There was a small computer in the corner that you quickly typed your symptoms into- flower. unrequited love. coughing fits. You didn’t know if the single digit of entries was a cause for concern or not, but your brows furrowed as you began to scan through them. The number of obituary entries that were listed on this one document alone was making you shiver. You clicked out of it, about to open the next one before the door sliding open had you starting like a frightened animal.

Dan Heng strolled in, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he registered that you were in the room, in his room. He spoke your name, softly, as if trying not to scare you further. You would have said something, honestly, if it weren’t for the sudden explosive coughing fit that came on a lot quicker than usual.

You could barely get a word out before you were bent over from the force of your coughs, tears pricking your eyes from the newfound intensity of the pain coming from inside you. Despite your hands clasped over your mouth, a couple of petals escaped and fluttered down to the floor, some distance between you and the horrified Dan Heng.

He was frozen in place, fingers itching to reach out to you and comfort you, but with the way you practically flinched away from him, he wasn’t sure if his presence was wanted. He barely caught a glimpse of your pained face before you darted around him and back to your own room on the train.

Dan Heng scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to act, before his attention diverted once again to the bloody petals on the floor, and the files on the record searcher that you hadn’t completely closed. He cast one last guilty glance back in your direction before heading closer to the screen and beginning to read.

The Trailblazers’ journey must progress, and your heart hammered for another reason other than a sighting of the raven-haired male who you still harboured feelings for. You had ultimately left your home to explore the world, and with the Express finally stopping at the planet Belobog- your promise to yourself was a step closer to being fulfilled. You disembarked alongside Stelle and March, doing your best to avoid Dan Heng like the plague ever since that fated day. You didn’t know how much he exactly knew, but you had no intentions of finding out.

Your plans of peaceful exploration, however, were short lived with the arrival of Silvermane guards to greet you. In the chaos of the smoke, it was not lost on you that Dan Heng had instinctively protected March, practically shielding her with his body. As Stelle dragged you along some backway path in pursuit of some mystery saviour, you felt the excruciating addition of a new thorn in your heart.

The adrenaline of the escape had worn off by now, and you could feel your secret threatening to spill over any second now. You could barely warn Stelle to let you move off to the side before you were keeled over, closer to gagging than coughing as a large ball of petals and dark, dark blood forced its way through your throat. You felt faint, barely registering the panicked calls of your name as you felt your world turn sideways, Stelle’s face and voice being quickly replaced by another deeper one, with fear in their eyes and a certain desperate edge as you felt yourself slip into unconsciousness.

It's a dreamless sleep, yet it isn't restful, judging by how you feel like you've been hit by a bus when you sit up. Every fibre of your being aches, and there's a harsh overhead light that dazzles you as you blink awake.

As your eyes grow accustomed to it, there's a surge of panic as you don't recognise your surroundings. It looks like a clinic of some sorts- and there was the cloying smell of chemicals that invaded your nostrils. You struggled to sit up, until you felt a hand place itself gently against your chest.

A dark-haired woman with a doctor's coat smiles down at you warmly, and you eye her warily.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Natasha, I'm a doctor in the Underworld. Try not to move around too much, dear. You've been unconscious for quite some time and your condition is unstable, you still need rest."

"Where's the people that I was with?"

"They've all awoken a few hours before you." She casts a quick glance at the clipboard in her hands, as if to fact check herself, giving herself a quick satisfactory nod. "Don't worry, you haven't been abandoned. They should be just outside. The young man sat by your bedside while you were unconscious only left a few minutes ago- he got whisked away by one of my... colleagues."

Your mind's racing now, wondering who she could be talking about. Hoping that it was who you thought it was. But she reiterates her request to lie back down, and you comply begrudgingly. You start to settle down, until you catch a glimpse of the mess lying atop your blankets. A visceral combination of blood and crumpled petals rest upon the fabric, and you watch the doctor's expression become grave.

"That is the unstable part of your condition that I wanted to discuss." She pulls up a chair besides you, settling neatly, hands folded in her lap. "How long have these symptoms been ailing you?"

You furrow your brows, recalling how they started a mere month or two ago, after you joined the Astral Express. After you met him.

"A couple of months." Natasha nods, a frown forming on her face again.

"Considering how quickly it has developed, I imagine that your case is rather severe." You shrug, a humourless smile on your face.

"There's not much that I can do about it, Doc."

"I'm sure that you're aware of the risks that come with a confession, but as a bystander rather than a doctor, I think that you should talk to him."

"Who?"

"The man who refused to leave your side for all of these hours."

You hoped that Natasha was right. Deciding to ignore her advice of continued bed rest, you force yourself up, walking out of the clinic in search of him. Welt was no young man, and there wasn't anyone else that came to mind based off of Natasha's description. It couldn't be anyone else than him, right?

You stumble out onto the streets of the Underworld, garnering a few odd looks from passerbys as you wander around, looking for not just Dan Heng but anyone that you recognised.

You round a corner, seeing the back of a head and clothing that looks an awful lot like him. Who you're planning to confess to. You call his name, out loud, voice a little hoarse.

And he turns, beautiful crystalline eyes meeting yours. Call it a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that they shone a tad lighter when he saw you. But your gaze drifted past him, and all bubbling hope was quelled once again in your heart as you recognised the figure of March 7th stood with him.

Of course he would be with her.

If you looked closer at the pair of them, all signs indicated an intimacy to them that made you feel sick. There was a serious look on her face, one of her hands rested against his arm, but she soon recognised you too, her face instantly perking up as she began to ran towards you, calling your name.

"You're finally awake, you're OK!" she calls out in delight, her arms wrapping around you as she practically barrels into you, threatening to knock you off balance. You stumble, returning the hug, the nausea turning to guilt as you remember how the girl has been nothing but good to you. Of course Dan Heng would harbour feelings for her, not you.

The Doctor's order was wrong.

You sigh to yourself in defeat, unwinding your arms and shooting March 7th the best smile that you could muster in the moment.

"I feel better, but I'm still feeling weak so I might go back to the clinic."

March 7th frowns, eyes scanning your figure in concern.

"Are you OK, Y/N?"

"Do you want me to walk you back?" You twitched, not even realising that Dan Heng had caught up to the pair of you. He was also looking at you with concern, and you could feel an onslaught of petals coming.

"No, it's fine, I'll go back on my own." You don't really give either of them the chance to respond, spinning on your heel and trying not to run back from where you came.

You felt... worse. Before, you had at least been able to function, but now you felt so much limper, and weaker. You cursed at yourself for allowing false hope to be instilled, just as the coughing begins. It wracks through you, so hard that you almost dry heave as you keel over, and you watch in horror as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and see it come back crimson.

At least the clinic was around the corner.

You barely make it inside, unable to stand up straight by this point. Natasha springs to action, helping you back into a bed, helping you through the worst of the coughing. It's so much more draining than before, and you're quick to fall into a fitful sleep.

Even unconscious, you don't get a reprieve. Even in your dreams, he's all you can think of. There's a spitting image of him stood before you, eyes soft and voice like honey as he calls out to you, hands outstretched. And you try to join him, fingers straining to touch his before you watch them turn into branches and flower before your very eyes. You look down, and it hurts, with brambles wrapping themselves around your middle. And just as fast as they grow, your new floral appendages wilt before your very eyes. Branches drooping, flowers losing their hue, and you feel yourself start to fade, his name one last desperate cry from your lips.

You wake up, tears staining your cheeks and you trembling. For a few panicked seconds, you think you're still dreaming because he is here, sat by your bed, and as he stands up to wipe your tears you shrink back in fear of turning back to branches again.

But his warm palm cups your face, solid against your trembling state, deft thumbs wiping away your tears, an uncharacteristically soft hushing and cooing coming from Dan Heng as he promises you that everything is okay now.

It's easy to believe him, with the way he moves even closer to hold you, cradle your form against his warmth, patting your hair and letting you cry until you can't any more amidst the petals on your bedsheets.

You don't know how long the pair of you stay like this, your face pressed into his chest, his heartbeat leading yours back into the range of one at rest rather than its prior pounding against your ribcage. You would stay there for the rest of time, if you had a choice, but you had to admit that the oxidation of blood and its drying against your skin was making you feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.

You clear your throat, as best as you can in your hoarse state, and Dan Heng picks up on your withdrawal as he all but flinches away from you, returning the distance that usually lies between your two bodies. But his eyes still scour your figure, your face, for any and all signs of discomfort. Like a lover would. The thought melds with the already-bitter taste of blood residing against your tongue, and you frown down at your lap. At the petals. At your pathetic form lying beneath the blanket, obscured from view.

“How long has this been happening for?” Dan Heng sounds so timid, as if he were walking on glass sheets around you. Ever since that fateful day in the records room, it felt like he had done nothing but tiptoe and tread around you, a careful dance of avoidance that you were forced to be his partner in. You sigh deeply, a hand gingerly beginning to gather the gorey sight of such beautiful pink marred by the visceral crimson that remained, not yet dried.

“I’ve had it all my life, apparently, but it only started making itself known once I joined the Astral Express.” Once I met you.

“I, um- I looked into it more. In the records.” His admission made you snap your head up to face him, cautious of his next words, whatever they may be. He looked nervous himself, with eyes that refused to meet yours and fingers that twisted into his clothes, toying with the hem of his jacket.

“I read of many such cases where people were able to make a full recovery.” He sounds so hopeful, even daring to meet your eyes, that you almost feel bad for him. It was like looking back at a past version of yourself, so hopeful for a happy ending that once sparkled in your eyes, now a dull flicker you can see when the lighting is just right.

“It’s not that simple, Dan Heng.”

“What do you mean, it said that there weren’t any later cases of symptoms returning-”

“That’s because it’s not an illness from the body.” You’re snappier than you intend to be, you see it in the way his mouth snaps shut and his throat bobs against his collar, as he sits up straighter, waiting for you to continue. “The only cure is to confess to the person that I love.”

“And why haven’t you?” His voice is barely above a murmur, and even from his place in the seat next to our bed, you hear him just fine.

“Because I’m sure that he has eyes for another.” You’ve collected all the petals in your palm by now, observing them with a dry humour as you notice that they’ve begun to wither, much like yourself. You doubt that you could go on much longer after this conversation. Part of you urges to get it over with, to confess now and let yourself bloom with one last glance upon his face.

Dan Heng must have scoured each and every record, because you didn’t need to offer an explanation of what would happen with such unrequited feelings. He’s silent again, an awkward and palpable tension as you can feel his confliction from here.

He finally manages a lame “you never know” that has you laughing, a brief reprieve before you dissolve into another coughing fit. It’s hardly something to worry about, but Dan Heng is by your side again, palm smoothing over your shoulder blades as you are wracked with coughs. You appreciate it nonetheless.

“What would happen if someone else confesses to you?” You shoot him a sideways glance, confusion written all over your features, urging him to elaborate. “What if you held no feelings for them, but they confessed to you all the same. Would that cure you?” He’s earnest now, hands scooping up your dirtied ones, clasping them in his grasp as he looked at you with stars in his eyes.

Your shrivelled heart begins to beat again.

“What- what do you mean?” Play dumb. Don’t mistake curiosity for what you desire most.

“What if I told you right here and now that I love you?” His eyes are searching yours, pleading with you for an answer that you’ve been screaming at him for so long. One that he does not have to search for, because it’s been laid there at his feet this whole time.

“I would tell you, Dan Heng, that such a confession is not unrequited.” You’re grinning now, the smile on your face growing wider and wider as you watch recognition flood his features.

And then he’s smiling too, laughing, holding you ever closer to him before he pulls away again, just to cup your face now. It’s only natural to close the distance between the two of you, lips touching his for a kiss that quickly becomes searing, welcoming a new season of heat into your body.

The thorns in your heart reside. Spring begins to bloom.

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence

roommate!dan heng x reader

➤ alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here!

[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 33,577 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

The habit of loneliness settles in between, and the flame they thought in deep slumber rekindles, burning with their long time unattended needs.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

[1-800-kami]

R U MINE? feat gojo satoru (II)

gojo satoru has got to be the picture definition of a stereotypical college frat boy. he’s cocky, loaded with his daddy’s money, and dangerously handsome. it seems like common sense to stay away from him since you’ll never get more than a one-night stand out of it. 

that’s why you choose to turn a blind eye once you’ve come to the horrific realization: you’re in love with him. and you’re just itching to ask…

“are you mine tomorrow? or just mine tonight?”

IMPORTANT: this is part TWO (and the final part) of the r u mine? mini series. make sure to read part one of this fic before proceeding! :)

content: 5.4k words, afab!reader, rich college frat boy gojo, SMUT (fingering & unprotected sex.. wrap it before u tap it kids!) ANGST, (i listened to deftones while writing the breakup era LMAOO i was in my feels 😔) gojo "everything reminds me of her" satoru is really going thru it, idk how to feel about the ending tbh, cheating implications, kinda proofread ig, more emo gojo (u luv to see it)

author's note: guys. where do i even start?? first of all, thank u for all the support on the first part of this mini series!! we also hit 100 followers on this blog so tysm for supporting me n my writing <3 here's the long awaited part two (n also the finale) as i promised that i would get it out over the weekend! just a quick announcement that i may be a little bit more inactive from here on out.. mainly because classes r starting again nd im starting to get busier. i do have more fic plans though, (and a geto smut in my drafts? 👀) so i'll make time to write when i can! happy reading and thank u for all the support on this silly little series :)

tags: @soley613 @feariteriu @bear-likes-mushrooms @96jnie @keilaq1 @whydohumansss @luftyluft @fatbootymuncher (bold = i'm unable to tag u)

reblog and interact for a kiss ;)

everything’s been hazy.

you don’t really remember how you got home– you either waved down a cab or walked until you somehow found your house. either way, the alcohol is worsening the pounding in your ears. the straps of your dress are clinging terribly against your skin–you want to take it off, you want to wear something more comfortable, you want to just go to sleep, preferably forever… but you can’t bring yourself to.

you can’t even bring yourself to move.

so the rumors really were true? but why did gojo pursue so far just for you? why did gojo say those words to you when you spent the night together? why did gojo try so hard to convince you that night that he wanted to have sex with you because he loved you–and not solely because he wanted to have sex?

why did gojo lie to you?

another series of pings sound throughout the room, and you finally move to silence your phone. the noise is all so overwhelming. why the hell is your phone blowing up?

you check your notifications–mostly dms from people you don’t know, either asking if you and satoru were dating, or questioning you about what the hell happened at the party. you know that you’re gonna be the subject of gossip once you’re back at campus, and you hate it.

you were surprised at the numbers once you scrolled down your notification list a little further. ten missed calls from satoru, accompanied by a series of fifteen panicked messages. you open it, and you stare sadly at his contact photo and name, remembering the fond memory behind it. once you two actually started dating, you were merciful enough to add a heart next to his name, and even updated it to “toru”. he was elated at that.

you think you can barely even call him gojo now.

the most recent message was barely sent a minute ago. like it was on cue, you see the bright headlights pull up outside of your door. you wanted to sink into your couch and never resurface ever again.

you hear suguru’s car door open and close, and then frantic knocking outside. you walk to the door while sniffling, looking through the peephole just to confirm your suspicions. it was satoru.

“i can hear you crying through the door, y/n. i know you’re there.” he takes a deep inhale, and the tears start rolling down your cheeks again once you hear the complete and utter vulnerability in his voice. you just don’t know what to believe anymore. “shit, i’m crying too. well, i’m gonna explain myself even if you don’t care enough to listen to me. uhm, believe it or not, what happened at the party wasn’t my doing… at all. when you went to use the bathroom, this girl went up to me and started flirting with me, like she was waiting for you to leave or somethin’. i was g’na tell her to go fuck off but she pushed herself on my lap and before i could do anything about it you walked in and it was just all horrible timing and- god. i know it sounds unbelievable, right? you must think i’m terrible right now.”

“you don’t have to believe me. if i were in your shoes i wouldn’t know what to think either. i’m just… explaining what happened.”

there’s a long period of silence between you and satoru, aside from the occasional sniffling on both ends. you don’t know what to say. you want to believe him. you want to do nothing more than to open the door and let him hold you in his arms again, but you just don’t know what to think anymore. you poured your entire heart out to a man who you knew you shouldn’t be messing with, and now you don’t know who or what to believe. you feel like a fool, and you’re just tired. so damn tired. the silence feels asphyxiating, like it's tearing your relationship with satoru further and further apart the longer it draws on.

satoru is the first one to break the silence. “i’m guessing from the silent treatment that you don’t believe me. it’s okay, y/n. i’ll wait an eternity for you to forgive me because i’ll always choose you- fuck… over anything, and i hope you know that.”

your mind is a mess, and satoru’s words make it even messier.

i’ll wait an eternity for you

i’ll always choose you over anything

you put your head in your hands and sob. it hurts.

a minute passes–gojo hears you get up from where you’re sitting behind the door, and his heart fills with hope.

“i just… i just don’t know how to believe you, gojo.”

his heart breaks when he hears the door–presumably to your bedroom–open and close, leaving him alone with his shattered heart. his heart breaks when he takes in your voice, noticing how weak and exhausted you sounded. he wonders how much you’ve cried just from this past hour alone. his heart breaks once he realizes that he’s alone with his thoughts again, alone with the voice in his head that was berating him for not being able to prevent all of this if he hadn’t frozen up and just pushed her away the second that girl started flirting with him. finally, his heart breaks once it registers that you called him gojo–the last name that he shares with his corrupt and money-crazy family… the family he tries so hard to get away from. it was also the name you called him during the days that you barely trusted him.

now, he’s back to square one, and he has none of your trust again. this time, satoru swears that he’ll do anything in his power to get it back once more.

you didn’t come to school today.

there’s been nothing but radio silence on your end. gojo has sent you countless messages over the weekend asking how you’ve been, with the occasional desperate voicemail where he tells you that he loves and misses you. you’ve turned off your read receipts, so gojo doesn’t even know if you’ve seen his texts or listened to his voicemails. he’s concerned for you, even though he knows that he’s the reason behind all of this. he was hoping to talk things out with you today.. but you weren’t even here.

one thing gojo knew about you is that you cared deeply about your academics, and you wouldn’t miss attendance even if you were sick. it pains him to know that he was the reason that you weren’t here today. you were avoiding him, and he felt helpless.

he’s talked to geto—and the best advice that his best friend could offer was to “find proof that you didn’t cheat on her.” he’s right, though. the last thing you had said to gojo was that you don’t know how to believe if he’s telling the truth or not. gojo has absolutely no idea how to prove his fidelity to you, since words clearly weren’t enough. it frustrates him to no end.

gojo now knows that he feels absolutely lost. all when he’s not with you.

it feels nerve-wracking to walk the halls. 

he remembers telling you the night that you slept together that he’d learned over time to drown out the rumors about him. he learned not to care about what other people thought about him, and he eventually became unaffected by the school’s gossip. 

however, this time was different.

this time, he finds it difficult to drown out the rumors when he hears your name in them. he flinches every time someone whispers your name and his as he walks the halls, feeling that all eyes are on him. “i heard y/n and gojo broke up…” “they were dating?!” “yeah.. i didn’t believe it at first, either! apparently he…”

he doesn’t want to hear it, so he walks a little faster. it hasn’t felt this suffocating to be on campus in a while.

maybe that’s partially why you didn’t show up. rumors are hard to ignore if you don’t know how to shun them out. 

gojo lets out a sigh. he decides that he’s going to ditch the rest of class. you weren’t here, he couldn’t talk to you, and he felt he was gonna go mad if he heard your name spoken by someone again, so he turns to leave, but flinches as he feels a hand lightly tap his shoulder.

“gojo-san?”

he turns around, with a girl that he’s never seen before standing in front of him… not that he pays attention to them in the first place, though. he raises his eyebrow in question, and the girl looks so nervous she might pass out. “i have to tell you something-“

“if it’s a love confession or whatever, i don’t want to hear it-“

“-no!” she flushes a deep shade of red, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. she coughs awkwardly at his expression. “um, no.. it’s not that. please, just give me two minutes in the library. i have something to tell you.”

he decides to entertain this girl for a bit. he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious about what she had to talk to him for. gojo sighs and says, “two minutes. that’s all you’re getting.”

“this is about the party last friday, no?” he says while taking a seat near one of the tables. he feels sick just being here. he’d never gone to the library before meeting you–as he had no reason to go here at all. then, he started accompanying you everywhere as he tried to win your heart. “study dates” were frequent here, and he even remembers forcefully changing his contact name and number on your phone during one of your dates.

gosh, everything literally reminds him of you. he can barely live like this.

she takes a seat across from him, and she shamefully nods at his words. “i went to the party on friday, and i just want to say i’m sorry-”

gojo gets up to leave. he can’t do this. he doesn’t need anyone’s pity. pity can’t change the fact that you still won’t talk to him. she panics as gojo is about to walk away. “wait!”

the librarian tells her to quiet down, and she mutters an apology. still, she persists. “please, just wait for two minutes… i need two minutes to explain myself. you promised you’d give me that.”

she stares at gojo, who hasn’t left yet, and takes that as her opportunity to speak. “i was a friend of… her,” he doesn’t need an explanation to know who she was talking about. “the reason why she came up to you was because of a dare i told her to do. she’s had a crush on you for a while now, so of course she was willing to flirt with you.”

“um, that was the dare, by the way. my friend told me to record it, because we were all drunk, and we thought it would be funny. just another memory to laugh at in the future, right? we didn’t know you were dating the girl you were with at the party. sorry but, we assumed she was just a fling… or something… we didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

“yeah, i was dating the girl at the party.” gojo scoffs, and he feels his anger bubbling up again. “then your friend had to do that stupid dare, and she won’t fuckin’ talk to me now.”

“i’m sorry-”

“i don’t need your apologies. is that why you came up to me? to apologize so you don’t feel guilty about what happened anymore?” gojo sneers. he was right, though. guilt is ridden all over her face, and she can’t even meet his eyes. he’s about to leave, thinking that this entire conversation was useless, but gojo thinks back on what she said earlier.

“...my friend told me to record it…”

he turns back to look at her, which surprises her, to say the least. “hey, you said you recorded the dare, right?”

“uhm, yes.”

“so you still have the video?”

“it should be in my camera roll somewhere-”

“if you came here to apologize to me, then you should send me that video.” she looked a little horrified at his words, and gojo could almost laugh. “what? i’m not gonna do anything bad with it, god.”

she thinks about what gojo’s intentions could be with that video, and her eyes light up in recognition as she connects the dots from what he said beforehand. i was dating the girl at the party… then your friend had to do that stupid dare… and she won’t fuckin’ talk to me now.

she nods in understanding. this is the least she could do for him. she pulls out her phone, looking for the video, and says, “i hope you two make up soon, gojo-san.”

gojo satoru walks- no, runs out of that library with determination. determination as he finally has the video evidence of what happened at the party–his saving grace so he could finally get you to forgive him.

you miss him.

you miss him like hell, actually, and you blink at the messages he just sent you in complete disbelief.

you didn’t show up to class today because you were afraid. you were afraid to see satoru again, yes, but you were also afraid of what everyone else would say about you. the party was one thing, but the after-effects and the rumors were something completely different. you didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that, unlike satoru, so you stayed home. all because you were afraid of what would happen on campus.

you just wish things would go back to how they were before… all of this happened. you didn’t want to admit it, but you’ve read all of satoru’s messages, and you’ve listened to all of his voicemails. you’ve cried to them. and it hurts because you’re still torn apart in the midst of your own feelings. and now, satoru wants to talk to you, because he’s been wanting to do nothing but fix everything between the two of you.

the doorbell rings, and you almost jump out of your skin. 

you didn’t even know if you would open the door or not. despite that, you felt your body moving on its own, like you were relying on your own instincts. you washed your face to get rid of the dried tears on your cheeks, brushed the tangles out of your hair, and dressed into something more presentable. the next thing you know, you’re leaning against the wall next to the front entrance. your shadow is visible underneath the door, so satoru knows that you’re here.

“hi, y/n..” he sounded so nervous that you almost laughed, but you felt equally as terrified as him. “i have something to show you… uh, on my phone. if you don’t want to see me, it’s fine, i’ll just send it to you, but i’d really prefer if you open the door and we’ll talk about this inside-”

your hand is already reaching the door knob before you can even think about it. it’s such an impulse decision that you look at him in surprise once you open the door. it’s the first time you’ve seen him ever since you were at the party. it’s only been three days, but you can’t help but notice how his eyebags are more prominent, his eyes are a little redder, and he looks nothing short of exhausted.

“hey,” he manages to breathe out, his eyes meeting yours. “can i come in? please?”

you nod, too stunned to say anything, and he exhales in relief as he walks in. the two of you sit on the couch, and gojo notices how you’re keeping your distance from him. it breaks his heart a little.

he looks for the video on his phone and gets ready to show it to you. this is it. his last ditch effort for your forgiveness. he’s really fuckin’ hoping that this works. “i got this video from a girl who came to the party. it’s a recording of, um, what happened.”

he hands the phone over to you, and you take it skeptically, still choosing to keep silent. you press play, and you watch the recording. a shaky hand holds the camera, and the person behind it says, “holy shit, she’s actually doing it!” they're presumably talking to their friend, and the camera focuses on a girl walking over to gojo. your heart is pounding, eyes widening in recognition as you stare at her... the one who caused all of this in the first place.

the all too familiar girl comes up to him, saying something out of earshot. when gojo looks at her, completely uninterested, she pulls that move. the scene you saw at the party before you ran out. tears fill your eyes again, and you almost want to stop the video, but your interest is piqued at the next part.

..this… this part was something that you didn’t see. gojo angrily reacts at the girl’s move, with her falling on the floor as she looks at him, stunned at how furious he looks. the person behind the camera gasps, continuing to record out of shock as a crowd of people turn to stare at the two. geto eventually comes into the frame and takes gojo away from all the chaos. the video ends there, and you grip gojo’s phone shakily.

holy shit.

tears roll down your face, but this time, they’re tears of relief. you waste no time in hugging satoru, crying your heart out as you bury your face in his neck. you’re happy. you’re so fucking happy, and so relieved knowing that he didn’t lie to you. of course he didn’t.

“m’sorry-” you sniffle into his shoulder. gojo is so shocked at what was happening that it takes him a second to hug you back, but when he does, he starts crying. “m’so fucking sorry i didn’t believe you-”

“shh, it’s okay, it’s okay…” he says, and you only hug him tighter. “m’so tired, you know that? these past three days fucking sucked. i’m just so glad you’re in my arms again, fuck-”

“-i love you, i love you, i love you so fucking much, toru.” you repeat, laughing as you kiss him all over his face. it’s been a while since you said that to someone. you wipe his never-ending tears away, still in disbelief, and whisper, “you’re real. right? you’re actually here with me right now ‘nd i’m not dreaming, right?

“i’m very much real, baby.” he says, putting his forehead against yours as you take in his features again. “god, i missed that pretty face so much.”

he finally closes the gap between you two, pulling you into a much needed kiss. it’s a kiss filled with so many emotions–desperation, happiness, relief. satoru thinks his heart is finally whole again. he’s missed you. he’s missed you so fucking much, and you’ve missed him too. 

you’re like an anchor to satoru. the light of his life that keeps him grounded. and god, he’s been apart from you for too long. 

you reposition yourself as you’re deepening the kiss. you’re on his lap now, and you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging on his hair in desperation. “oh yeah? ‘y gonna do anything about it?"

“of course i am,” he says, hands roaming underneath your shirt as he caresses your bare waist. fuck. he needs you. right now. especially after thinking that he was about to lose you forever–for something that he didn’t even do. “i’m gonna show you just how much i missed you, baby.”

gojo can’t let you go.

you’re in your bedroom, and both of you waste no time undressing each other. he takes you in–all of you, in awe of every crevice of your body as he trails his hands further down your waist.

god, you’re so beautiful. “i can’t believe i almost lost you.”

his words are shaky, like he’s still uncertain that you’re real and you’re in his arms again. he can’t seem to break himself away from you, almost like you’ll disappear if he lets you go. “but i’m here now, toru.”

“i’m here to stay, and i’ll never let you go again… ‘m yours,” you whisper, and your words set a fire in him, fueling his body with nothing but desperation. desperation to have you right here, and right now. 

he wastes no time in plunging two of his fingers in your cunt, and he groans at just how wet you are. “satoru-”

“fuck, you’re so wet… and it’s all for me,” he mutters, spreading your legs effortlessly when you try to close them, thighs shaking in pure pleasure. he adds another finger, and you already feel stretched to the brim, and you haven’t even taken him in yet. the thought of his cock inside of you makes you even wetter than you already are, and you look up at satoru with eyes full of lust and desire. “missed you so much, baby. missed you and your pretty little cunny,”

his fingers are long, and you whine at how full you feel right now. you’re so loud, and you don’t even care. right now, it’s just you and satoru finally feeling each other again. it’s only been three days, but it feels like you’ve been apart for years.

everything about this was filthy. from your erotic moans and the way your cunt squelched against his fingers… not to mention the vice grip you had on them- fuck, satoru thinks he can cum untouched just from watching you like this.

“haa-” you whimper when his fingers curl and hit that spot in your cunt that you can barely seem to reach on your own. it’s exhilarating, and only fuels the growing heat in your stomach. “toru- don’t stop- please, i’m close-”

“really?” he taunts, and it feels so fucking good–your head is numb, and the only thoughts filling your head are thoughts of satoru. the pleasure is too much, and you try to get away from him, but he keeps you in place, curling his fingers faster as punishment. “don’t run away from me, baby… be a good girl and just take it, yeah?”

“toru- fuck- i’m gonna cum, please-” you’re on the brink of release, but suddenly, he stops, ruining your orgasm. “no- wait-”

he pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss of stimulation. you were so close–why did he take that away from you? you try and swat at his hands, but he just takes his fingers and puts them in his mouth, locking his eyes with yours with a sly smile. “you taste so sweet, i can’t help it,”

“aww, is my baby mad ‘cause she didn’t get to cum?” he coos sarcastically, caging you in between his arms as he tilts your face up with his finger. “too bad… the only thing you’re cumming on tonight is on my cock.”

and with that, he eases his painfully hard member into your walls. your insides hugged him perfectly–it was like you were made just for him. you gasp once he’s fully sheathed himself inside of you. his fingers were already a lot to take in, but his cock was something completely different. he moans your name, barely keeping his cool. “fuck- you’re squeezing me so tight,”

“missed everything about you, baby. i need to hold you, please,” he pleads desperately, clasping your small hands against his. the size difference alone between the two of you almost makes him cum, but he holds himself back, choosing to bask in this intimate moment. he’s missed every part about this. “you ready f’me?-”

“-just fuck me, satoru, please-” he doesn’t need another confirmation from you.

he can’t bring himself to hold back. next thing you know, he’s fucking you into the mattress, and you feel the headboard shake at how fast satoru is going. fuck–you feel every part of him, every part of his cock as it slams against your tight hole. he’s so big, you feel yourself gasping for breath, and you moan out loud as you notice the prominent bulge forming in your stomach. it’s him, it’s all him, and it’s driving you mad.

satoru follows your eyes in the midst of all of this, and he watches everything in fascination. he decides to be a little mean, and presses his free hand against your stomach–it feels so good, you could almost scream at the pleasure. “you feel that, baby? that’s all me inside of you, hmm?”

“please-” the onset of pleasure feels so overwhelming, and tears fill your eyes. you feel an oncoming orgasm coming, and you know your release will hit you like a tidal wave. your heart is pounding, but satoru only grips your hand tighter and fucks you even harder. “oh, fuck!”

“m close, baby. are you g’na cum too?” he manages to say between pants, and you somehow nod, mind hazy and your release only coming closer. you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “cum inside of me, toru- please- i need to feel you-”

gojo groans at your words, and you both cum together. you ride out your high, screaming as you spasm around his cock, the pleasure overfilling your senses until you’re trembling from it. he fills you up, staying inside of you as the two of you catch your breath. everything’s hazy, and you’re barely aware of your surroundings… it takes you a few minutes to recover. 

“angel, are you with me?”

“yeah, fuck, just… give me a second.” you say, and gojo thinks that he would gladly give you all the time in the world if you needed it. he pulls out of you with a hiss, and his warm seed drips out of your cunny. it makes his cock twitch, but he knows that you’re probably not considering a round two right now.

when you come to your senses, you notice satoru–who put his clothes back on already, wiping your legs down with a rag. his touch is so soft, like he’s afraid to break you, unlike how he handled you just a moment ago. you look down and notice the bruises starting to form on your legs and waist. satoru looks guilty as he stares. “i didn’t go too rough with you, did i?”

“not at all,” you reassure him, and you see him soften up a little. “it felt really good, actually… thank you, toru.”

“s nothing. you know my girl only gets the best,” he teases, and you laugh. “i’m gonna go get you some new clothes and some water… i’ll be back, okay?”

you nod, closing your eyes again as satoru leaves the room. he’s back in two minutes, and he’s gently changing you into new clothes that he found in your drawer. you’re so tired that you can hardly move, so you let satoru do all the work. he caresses all of your bruises, apologizing again even if you already said that it was okay. he’s so gentle, a swift juxtaposition to what just happened beforehand, and so soft with you. once you’re clothed again, he brings a glass of water against your lips, and you greedily gulp it down as he keeps a hand on your back. he places it on the nightstand once you’re finished, and you grab his wrist after, tugging him back to the bed. “lay with me for a bit, toru.”

satoru doesn’t hesitate, laying down next to you on the bed and placing your head against his chest. your breathing is back to normal, and you feel his heart thumping against your ear. you wrap your arms around him, and satoru thinks that this moment is so domestic that he can’t help but daydream. he looks at your face, memorizing every feature about you with a lovesick look in his eyes. you’re so beautiful, so perfect, and he’s just so fucking glad that he didn’t lose you. 

satoru thinks he could wake up to this everyday.

“you’re starin.” you say with an amused look on your face. gojo doesn’t even try to play it off. “what’s on your mind?”

“nothing. i just… love you so much, y/n.” he says, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. satoru would trade anything if it meant that this moment wouldn’t end. “m so glad you chose me.”

“i think it’s the other way around,” you tease. “you chose me. ever since you saw me at the party, you’ve done nothing but try to win my heart.”

“how could i not? there was just something different about you compared to everyone else.” he reminisces about that night at the party, and how far he’s come with his relationship with you. he remembers that night like it just happened yesterday.

you sigh, almost like you were thinking about that night too. you pull him into a kiss, finally finding the courage within you to say a proper “i love you.” to the man who meant the world to you.

“i love you too, angel.” he says, and you snuggle into him tighter. “you know i’ll always choose you…”

“..from this life and into the next. i’m so glad you gave me a chance, y/n. i’ll forever be grateful to now be called your husband. i’m the luckiest man ever knowing that you let me into your life, and i’m the one who gets to read these vows to marry you. i cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. i love you so much, y/n gojo.” he’s crying. gojo satoru is crying, and he’s hardly ever cried before. though, that changed after he met you.

the last time he cried was during pre-k, and now he’s done it time and time again… all because of you. he cried once during your first argument with him, another during the night he thought he’d lost you forever, and then another when he finally had you in his arms again once he proved his innocence… and now, during his wedding, when he finally gets to call you his wife.

and when you share your kiss at the end of the ceremony to symbolize your togetherness, you hear all your friends cheering. mainly shoko, utahime, and geto. if you showed this very scene to shoko during your university years, she’d call you crazy, saying this would never happen. gojo satoru was once a man who’d never willingly committed in a relationship before, but you came into his life and you changed everything about him. it was like magic.

you pull away from the kiss, wiping his tears away and whispering against his lips, drowning out the crowd, “thank you.”

for memorizing all my favorite foods so you could buy them for me. for walking me to class every day. for making me fall in love with you that one day at the park. for waiting for me to slowly love you even when i was scared to love. for waiting for me even if i didn’t trust you. for loving me. for proving those rumors wrong. for proving that satoru gojo is actually capable of falling in love and pouring his heart out to the one he loves the most.

for everything that you have done to love me.

it was like gojo could hear all of your unspoken words. he smiles, letting one more tear roll down his cheek, and says, “it’s all worth it if it’s for you.”

thanks for reading <3 -kami.

[anton-luvr]

Hi, how have you been? I love your blog and the way you write!💖 I have a request to make, if you're comfortable with that... How would Riize react when you think they are cheating on you, but in reality it's all a misunderstanding, and they're just too busy. (English is not my first language so I'm sorry if this is a little confusing!)

# WHEN YOU THINK THEY'RE CHEATING ON YOU ; 7riize.

⚝ bf!riize x gn!reader | angst | bf au ⚝ note ; im kinda busy, but im doing good!! thank you so much ily :( and don't worry abt it i understood your req perfectly!! thank u for requesting, i hope u like it <3

# SHOTARO. - for the first time ever, shotaro doesn't smile. he can only sit in silent shock while he processes your words, and the first thing he can think of to do is to hug you. holds you tight as he whispers apologies over and over again, feeling terrible that he made you think that he was cheating on you. reassures you gently that he would never, and promises that once he gets a rest day, he'll spend all his free time with you.

# EUNSEOK. - eunseok isn't one who usually shows his emotions, but pain and guilt is so evident on his face after hearing what you said. he had no idea that you were feeling this way from how busy he's been these days, and he feels awful about it. tells you that he's sorry while wiping your tears away, and he swears to himself to start treating you with more love and care from that day onwards, starting from right now.

# SUNGCHAN. - he hates himself for making you think that he was cheating on you. calls up his boss immediately with the fakest cough and sneezes, lying without batting an eye about how he was 'terribly sick' and needed 'at least two days off' to 'recover'. he spends those two days with you, never once leaving your side as he takes you out to all your favorite places and showers you with love and compliments.

# WONBIN. - even though he immediately reassures you that he's not cheating on you and spends the night with you in his arms, he still feels so bad. life still goes on as usual for the both of you the next day, him busy at work while you were busy with yours. but just to make it up to you, wonbin has a bouquet sent right up into your office - a bouquet of a hundred and one roses, reminding you that you're his one and only lover.

# SEUNGHAN. - he understands how you feel and why'd you think that way, so other than seunghan promising that he'll try to spend more time with you, he also lets you voice out your worries in detail. he listens with full attention, nodding when you mention how you didn't like one of his female coworkers because she seemed so close with your boyfriend. and right after the words have left your lips, seunghan slips out his phone and blocks her on everything, right in front of you. he wants you to rest assured knowing that he couldn't care less for anyone else in this world other than you.

# SOHEE. - sohee has not and would never cheat on you. he loves you too much for that. he tells you just that as he gently kisses away your tears, holding you tightly in his arms for the rest of the night. he feels horrible for making you feel insecure in your relationship, so he makes sure to shower you in extra affection for the next few days. breakfasts in bed, long kisses before he leaves for work, and constant updates with photos about his day to you.

# ANTON. - his heart literally shatters into pieces. he can't help but cry too, because how could he make the love of his life feel this way? he apologizes to you through sniffles and sobs, promising you that he'd never cheat on you. tries his best to finish up his work faster the next day so he can come straight home to you and into your arms.

© anton-luvr, 2023.

taglist : @wonbons @mxlly143 @keehobaldboy @shawyle @yenart @lycheecheeseyogurt

[nereidprinc3ss]

okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 

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

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 

“Can we talk?” 

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 

He chuckles. 

“At an entirely different university.” 

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 

Spencer sighs. 

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

[abbyromanoff]

I have a request if you're taking them, I may also request this to a few other blogs, so don't mind that, I absolutely love your work btw!!

I was hoping for Wanda and reader

wanda recently invited her gf R to live with her, but R has a habit she doesn't know about. The previous person R lived with always made R do the laundry, make all the food, do all the cleaning, and do everything, and R doesn't realize how messed up that is, R thinks their ''lower'' than whoever they live with, therefore they should do everything.

wanda is heartbroken to see R waiting on her like that, making her meals and cleaning up after her, and doing it happily too, and is upset that her love thinks so low of themselves.

que Wanda reassuring R they will split the work evenly, and R doesn't need to do everything

thank u in advance!

YOU DESERVE MORE THAN THAT

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 1401

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, past abusive relationships, sorry for anyone named Blake you’ll understand eventually, happy ending, that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Your hands worked tirelessly with the cloth, the dish beginning to shine under the bright light coming from the ceiling. You were exhausted, but that didn’t mean you were allowed to stop just yet, not until all tasks were done for the day. It was only fair, after all, Wanda accepted you into her home when asking you to move in with her, so while she spent hours in the office you would be cleaning and tending to the house.

Your phone's alarm went off and you quickly headed towards the laundry room, grinning as the dryer's loud sounds came to a stop. You opened the door and placed the clothes into a laundry basket, carrying the heavy load into your shared room and placing it on your side of the bed, making a mental note to finish it once the dishes and dinner were done. It was her favorite meal that you made, your famous lasagna that always made her mouth water.

“Y/N? I’m home, baby!” You turned to greet the owner of the voice, smiling as you ran into her muscular arms and felt a kiss on your head.

“Mm, missed you s’ much, love.”

“‘Missed you too, Wands.” She leaned back, chuckling at the small red dot on your nose before wiping it away.

“Must be the pasta sauce.” Her eyes widened at this, a smirk growing on her face as she took a whiff of the air.

“Did you make lasagna?”

“You guessed it.” She rose up and down on her tiptoes, her arms wrapping around you once more as she swayed you back and forth quickly.

“Ugh, you are the best.” You helped her remove her coat but were stopped less than halfway through, causing you to furrow your brows.

“It’s okay, I got it.” She placed it on the coat rack and led you into the kitchen, huffing as she noticed there were still ten minutes left on the oven clock before her meal was ready.

“Ugh, I don’t think I can wait that long, I’m starving!” She exclaimed, and you could hear a small rumble coming from her stomach, proving her point.

“I’m sorry, I was a bit backed up. Uhm, did I not pack enough for your lunch?” She brushed you off, massaging her shoulders and letting her hair fall from the tight ponytail.

“Don’t apologize. And, you did, my coworker just forgot her lunch so I gave her some of mine.” You nodded, returning to the dishes that were left unattended. You continued to place them in the dishwasher, occasionally needing to scrape stains out of pots or pans.

“I can pack more for you next time if you’d like.” She found herself behind you, placing both hands on either side of your waist and humming as she rested her head on your shoulder, leaning in to leave a peck on your neck and sending shivers through your body.

“Don’t worry about it, your lunches are just enough. Besides, she never usually forgets her food, she was just in a hurry this morning, she said.” She took the cup from your hand once rolling up her sleeves, and you couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of her veiny hands and arms.

“I can do this for now, you just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?” You hesitated to agree to her request, only giving in once she lightly took them from you while you were unable to speak your disagreement.

“No, really, it’s okay, you’ve been working hard all day, it’s only fair.” She didn’t listen, instead continuing the job you were supposed to be doing. That was your job, you had to do it.

“Uhm, I’ll go fold the laundry then.”

“Nonsense. C’mon, we both know you need a break. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get dinner ready for you tonight, yeah? We can have a nice bath together later too, if you’d like.” A tear was threatening to escape, and while you were trying your hardest to hold it back, you couldn’t stop it. Wanda turned when she heard sniffling, seeing your gaze fallen to the floor while your hand came to your cheek and she guessed it was to wipe it dry.

“Honey? Hey, what’s wrong?” She dried her hands on the hand towel, her forehead crinkled together as she slowly stalked over to you who stood in the middle of the kitchen.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong, these are happy tears.” This only caused her concern to grow, and the beeping of the oven became nonexistent in her mind, but not yours. You used it as your excuse to remove yourself from her hold, coughing to cover the waver in your voice as you used oven mittens to remove the large dish. You let it cool, grabbing the counter tightly in your hands before finally giving her the attention she wished for. She looked so defeated, so concerned, you felt horrible.

“Sorry, I- uh, I didn’t mean to worry you.” She stepped forward once again, this time cornering you between the furniture and herself so you wouldn’t escape. She grabbed both of your hands, kissing the backs of your palms before holding them in the air near her stomach and your chest. She used her thumb to run across your knuckles, and the soothing manner nearly caused further tears.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did I- did I do something?”

“No, of course not!” You quickly assured, but that heightened her confusion.

“It’s just, I don’t know, I don’t know how to handle this.”

“What do you have to handle? If you mean the cleaning and everything, I’ll- I’ll help, I promise-“

“No, I mean this- you! You’re so fucking good to me and I’m so scared I’m gonna lose that somehow, I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand.” The woman spoke, and you sighed as you recalled the previous endeavors you were forced to experience. She treated you horribly, and you didn’t deserve that, but Wanda didn’t exactly know this. Wanda only knew some of the horrors you chose to share.

“When I was with, uh, Blake, she- she would always be mad if I didn’t finish everything. I would come home from a double shift, and she’d be drunk on the couch, but she yelled at me for dinner, to finish the laundry, clean the dishes, sweep and mop- I had to do everything, Wanda. If I didn’t have the bed made for her I’d be forced to sleep on the couch, and if I didn’t make dinner I wasn’t allowed to eat for the night. She’d yell at me if I didn’t want to have sex, and then I wouldn’t be able to even apologize before I was being blamed and, once again, forced to sleep in the living room. Leaving her was the best choice I ever made, I just never thought I’d have someone so caring as you, I guess she made me believe I didn’t deserve that.” Wanda’s heart felt heavier the more your voice broke, and she never wanted to cry more. She hated hearing others' troubles, but yours felt as though they were hers.

“Baby…I don’t know what to say, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, and you know you don’t have to do all this, I’ve told you this before.”

“I know, I just fell into such a routine with her, I didn’t know how to stop. And I like doing it for you, you actually appreciate what I do.” You chuckled, but she didn’t return it. She brought you forward and blew out a deep breath, and you instantly returned her hug.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. Please don’t forget that.”

“You’re nothing like her, Wanda, and I really do love you. I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“You didn’t freak out, and I couldn’t blame you for that. You make me so happy, and I’m so grateful for everything you do for me. I want to change that for right now, okay? You’re going to sit down and I’m going to be setting the table tonight. We can have some ice cream on the couch, and I’ll give you a nice massage. Then we can have a bath and I’ll get to hold you all night in my arms, and I’ll never let you go. Does that sound alright?”

“That sounds perfect.”

[asahicore]

how to get back at your ex - lhs (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact

pairing. heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis. When you catch your boyfriend of four years cheating on you on the day of your anniversary, your first reflex is to get black-out drunk by yourself at a bar near your place. There, you run into your colleague and close friend Heeseung, and together, you come up with a plan to get back at Sunghoon for what he did. But as you carry out your pranks with Heeseung, you realize that maybe, what they say about love is true - sometimes, it is right there in front of you, patiently waiting for you to recognize to it.

genre. f2l, coworkers au, mainly fluff and smut but also some angst, heeseung is crazy about reader and sunghoon is the asshole cheating ex

word count. 19.9k

a/n. you’re probably thinking why the hell is there a cat pic between the 2 heeseungs… just read further and it’ll make sense 😇 hello everyone and welcome back to another repost from my old blog bc i currently have no time to write something new.. maybe next week will be the first fic of the 100 kisses event! but no promises 🥰 anyways i really enjoyed going over this again so i hope y’all like it and as always pls lmk what u think ok bye love ya

Park Sunghoon, that fucking bastard. You were going to kill him. If your hangover didn’t kill you first, that is.

You wake up with a pounding head and an unquenchable thirst, groaning at the awful sensations you knew you wouldn’t be able to get rid of for the whole day. But worse than the dry mouth and the ringing in your ears, you had a broken heart, and to your disappointment, the alcohol hadn’t managed to glue it back together. If anything, it had only deepened the cracks and made you drown in self-pity. You felt terrible physically but you also felt sorry for yourself: what had made you think drinking four bottles of soju to yourself and probably double as many cans of beer would help you get over your asshole of a now ex-boyfriend Park Sunghoon?

You manage to sit up on your bed, eyes half-open from the bright sunlight that your thin curtains failed to keep from entering the room. You realize you’re completely naked, which doesn’t surprise you as you have a habit of completely undressing and collapsing in bed after a night out, never bothered enough to put on some pajamas or take your makeup off. Your room looks the same as always, but there’s a scent in your bed which you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s familiar, yet it feels odd, smelling it here. You turn your head towards your bedside table and notice a watch that clearly isn’t yours lying there. You pick it up and examine it more closely: you’ve definitely seen it before, but on who?

You manage to sit up on your bed, eyes half-open from the bright sunlight that your thin curtains failed to keep from entering the room. You realize you’re completely naked, which doesn’t surprise you as you have a habit of completely undressing and collapsing in bed after a night out, never bothered enough to put on some pajamas or take your makeup off. Your room looks the same as always, but there’s a scent in your bed which you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s familiar, yet it feels odd, smelling it here. You turn your head towards your bedside table and notice a watch that clearly isn’t yours lying there. You pick it up and examine it more closely: you’ve definitely seen it before, but on who?

The small clockarms of the watch let you know it’s 7:46 a.m. - you have no time to give any more thought to who might be the owner of this watch. You scramble out of bed, not wanting to be any more late for work than you already are. As you wash your face and brush your teeth, you curse yourself for drinking yourself into oblivion on a Tuesday, of all nights. Now you were going to have to face the whole office with one of the worst hangovers you’d ever had in your seven years of legal drinking.

As you enter the office and walk to your desk, you feel your colleagues’ stares and pitiful looks. You check the time on your phone: you weren’t late, had somehow gotten lucky enough to arrive at 8:30 on the dot, so why were they looking at you like that? Was it the sunglasses? You’d worn them in hopes of hiding your tired, puffy eyes, but they were probably just making you more noticeable.

You sit down at your desk and hold your head in your hands for a few seconds, catching your breath from having run all the way from the bus stop to your office building, and mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead. When you raise your head, two of your colleagues are standing next to you, looking at you with sympathy in their eyes. Your eyebrows perk at the sight of them, and you’re wary of what they might be about to say.

One of them, Miyeon, sighs, and starts speaking first. “Y/N…” she sighs again. “We just wanted to let you know that we’re here for you. We’ve heard about… you know,” she says. You slowly nod and turn your head away from them. The realization that everyone knows about your breakup with Sunghoon hits you, and no matter how nice your coworkers are, right now, you just want to get as far away from them and their unwelcome pity as possible.

“What he did,” the other one, Yuqi, picks up, “is really terrible. You know how rumors travel fast here, and, well, we’ve all decided we wouldn’t talk to him unless it was work-related,” she says, and you try not to scoff. As if work wasn’t the only thing they talked to him about anyway. Still, you know it’s coming from a good place, so you muster a smile and thank them, saying you appreciate it. You hope they’re done and will leave, but they hover around your desk, so you turn your gaze back to them with a questioning look.

Miyeon puts her hand on your shoulder. “You know… this happened to me too, a few years back. I know how shit it feels, to have someone you love and you thought loved you cheat on you. If you ever need anything, I’m here,” she says, and you give her a small but genuine smile this time.

“Yeah, anything,” Yuqi chimes. “Whether you wanna talk about it, or get drunk,” and you try not to visibly cringe at the idea of alcohol, “or punch him, just call Miyeon or me. Or both of us. We’re menaces together,” she says, and the three of you laugh.

“Thanks, guys. I’m glad you’re here.”

As you watch them head back to their respective desks, you feel somebody else staring at you. When you meet eyes with Heeseung, his face perks up and he gives you a shy wave. You’ve known Heeseung for ages, having joined the company as interns and getting promoted to full-time employees at around the same time. You’ve seen that face and that smile almost everyday for the past four years now, yet today it feels different. He’s never waved shyly at you, as if he was excited yet embarrassed to see you. You don’t mean to frown at him, but you’re so confused about the sudden change in how you see him that you can’t help it. His hand drops and he awkwardly turns his gaze back to his computer. You keep staring at him, trying to recall something that might explain this shift in his behavior. It was fine yesterday at the office… Could it have happened after work?

You try to go through the events of the previous day one-by-one in your head. Wanting to prepare something special for your four-year anniversary with Sunghoon, you’d gotten off work a bit early, a skip in your step. But when you came face-to-face with him kissing another woman in one of the stairwells, you halted straight in your tracks. You’d just stared at each other for thirty seconds, one surprised they’d been caught, the other trying to figure out whether their eyes were deceiving them or not. Sure, your relationship with Sunghoon wasn’t always perfect, but you hadn’t thought it was so bad he’d need to go stuff his tongue down somebody’s else throat - and that at your shared workplace, too. It’s like he wasn’t even trying to hide it, like he wanted you to find out. The embarrassment and humiliation were almost worst than the pain and betrayal.

“Y/N…” he started, making you snap out of it and realize that yes, this was your boyfriend of four years you had just seen kissing another woman. You took a step back as he moved towards you, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Y/N,” he repeats, “I’m- Listen, this isn’t- Let me just explain-” he scrambled for an excuse, but nothing came out. There was no justification for this.

“Save it, Sunghoon,�� you spat. “Whatever you have to say for yourself, I don’t wanna hear it.” You continued past him down the stairwell, ignoring his pleas for you to stay and hear him out.

“Y/N, please, just give me a minute to-”

“No, Sunghoon!” you almost screamed out, turning around to face him. “You can go fuck yourself.” You hadn’t let yourself cry in front of him, not wanting to appear more pitiful than you already felt. As soon as you got in your car, you burst into tears, gripping the steering wheel as you sobbed like a baby.

You shake your head at the fresh and painful memory, not wanting to dwell on it any further. You’ll probably feel like shit for the upcoming weeks or months, so you’ll have plenty of time to rehash the painful memory later on.

After that, everything is a bit of a blur. You remember managing to get yourself home without crashing your car despite your tear-induced fuzzy vision, then throwing your bag and coat somewhere on the floor and immediately opening a bottle of wine, gulping most of it down in a pathetically short amount of time. And that’s about it.

The overwhelming emotions you were feeling along with the fact that you hadn’t eaten anything since lunch that day made the alcohol go straight to your head, and you were drunk very quickly. Foggy bits of your night flash in your mind: picking up your stuff and heading out, sitting at the counter at the nearby bar, chatting animatedly with someone else. The memories are hazy and nothing is coming back to you precisely, no matter how hard you try to focus.

You realize you had been frowning at Heeseung the whole time you were recalling the evening’s events. He looks up at you and returns your frown, seemingly upset at the look you were giving him. You suddenly see his face in your mind, except the Heeseung you picture then is different from the one you see everyday. He’s still in his work clothes, but the tie has been discarded and the top buttons have been opened. He’s smiling lopsidedly at you, as if he too has a few drinks in his system.

That’s when it hits you: you were with Heeseung yesterday night. Your frown turns into a suspicious gaze, which he imitates, tilting his head to the side as he peers at you. You text him to meet you in the break room in five, hoping he could fill in the blanks. You desperately needed a coffee anyway.

In the break room, you gulp down a bottle of water while you wait for the coffee to be ready. Heeseung struts in a minute later, a smirk you’ve never seen before on his face. He’s heading straight towards you, and your eyes widen when he doesn’t stop at an appropriate distance from you, just keeps walking until he’s towering over you. He’s definitely acting weird today.

“Miss me already?” he says as he leans in close to you, making the small of your back hit the counter behind you. The sudden proximity with your friend makes your eyes go even wider. He’d never been so close before and you could smell his cologne on him, an oddly familiar scent.

“W-what?” you stutter out. Registering your confused face, Heeseung takes a quick step back and starts fiddling with his thumbs, avoiding your gaze. His demeanor is a total 180 from the one just a second ago, and the change gives you whiplash.

“Sorry, I just- I thought since last night, you know, you would maybe want me to, I don’t know- I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me…” he trips over his words, still not looking at you. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out, trying to make sense of the situation. You look down at his nervous hands and notice he’s not wearing the watch he usually has on everyday.

The watch, his scent, his strange awkward yet flirty behavior, the fact that you’d remembered seeing him last night… Everything is starting to piece together. You gesture between the two of you. “Last night… did we…?” you ask tentatively, hoping he’d get the message.

He looks up at you. “Do you not- do you not remember?” he says, disappointment in his voice.

You cover your mouth with both of your hands as you gasp in shock. How could you have hooked up with your friend and colleague of five years and not even remember it?

Heeseung’s head drops and he lets out a dejected scoff. “Guess you don’t.”

You take a step towards him as you raise your hands, trying to defend yourself. “No, no, I do, a little bit. It’s just all… very fuzzy,” you say, hoping it’ll make things a bit better. You clear your throat. “Could you, um, tell me what happened exactly last night? Might help me fill in the gaps.” You smile at him but he doesn’t return it; he just sighs.

“Sure,” he says, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. “You know Jake and Jay?” he asks, and you nod. You’d met Heeseung’s friends at a few parties he’d hosted. “Well, we were out drinking last night ‘cause Jay got promoted. When we got to this bar, I saw you drinking by yourself at the counter so I invited you to come and sit with us, and you said yes. You looked really upset, but you got so excited as soon as you saw us.”

A scene suddenly flashes in your mind. You were losing yourself in your thoughts as you sat alone at the bar, two empty bottles of soju in front of you. Your head that had been resting in your palm was about to slip and hit the counter when you felt a hand clasp your shoulder.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice shouted excitedly, and you turned your head to find Heeseung grinning at you. The sight of him brought an immediate smile to your face, and you got up to engulf him in a hug.

“Hey!” he called out again, and you said ‘hey’ back, your voice muffled from having your face buried in his neck. Had he always smelled this good?

You took a step back and greeted Jay and Jake, who waved back at you, smiling. “What are you doing here all alone?” Heeseung asked, and the alcohol stopped you from coming up with a lie.

“Sunghoon cheated on me,” you answered, pouting. Now that you weren’t sitting and didn’t have Heeseung to lean on, you were swaying a bit. The three boys looked between each other with shocked expressions on their faces, not expecting this to be the reason you were solo-drinking.

Jay and Jake looked at you with sad smiles, saying they were sorry you had to go through that. Heeseung, on the other hand, looked angry. A deep frown made his eyebrows crease as he shook his head. “What an asshole! He has no idea what he just lost,” he exclaimed. Then, putting his arm around you and leading you to another table, he added, “Let’s go, Y/N! Come and drink with us.”

You look at Heeseung standing in front of you in the break room and nod slowly. “Okay, I remember that. Then what?”

“Then we just talked and drank. Jay and Jake left around midnight, but we stayed until the bar closed. I don’t remember myself that well what we talked about, but we definitely talked about Sunghoon, that jerk.”

You cringe at the mention of your ex. “God,” you sigh, “I hope I didn’t cry or wallow or something embarrassing like that.”

“Nothing like that,” Heeseung says, a smile teasing his lips. “If anything, you were cursing his name. You told me about all the shit he did that annoyed you, like how he would always forget to buy the milk or how he got overly mad at you for putting the pots back in the wrong cupboard. You were absolutely enraged. And so was I, to be honest. Look,” he says, pulling out his phone, “we made a list of ways to get back at him.”

He hands you his phone, the Notes app open. You read it out loud.

“How to get back at Y/N’s ex, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Disclaimer: none of this can back-fire against Y/N, so they must be small things that will mess up his everyday life but can’t be traced back to her, i.e. no keying his car or TPing his place, as satisfying as those things would be.”

You let out a chuckle. “We really thought this through, didn’t we?”

Heeseung laughs as well. “Yeah, I’m not sure how we did that considering how drunk we were.”

You start reading the list, all of its boxes left unticked. “Go into his office and mess up his paperwork. Buy a bunch of keys on Amazon, write his phone number on them and lose them all over town. Change the labels on his shower products and hide his TV remote when Y/N hands him back his stuff. Make him regret what he did.”

You look up at Heeseung. “These are pretty good ideas, actually. He always needs everything to be super organized, so he would definitely freak out at some of these. And the keys one would just make anyone go insane,” you say with a chuckle.

Heeseung smiles at you. “I know we were drunk when we made this list, but I promised you I would help you get revenge on him. So, if you still want to do it, I’m down. I can’t lie, I really want to see him suffer the consequences for what he did.” You stare at Heeseung for a bit, grateful that he’s willing to help but perplexed as to why he would do it. What would he get from getting back at Sunghoon?

He watches as you stare at him, the left corner of his mouth lifting into a small smirk. The action is simple, but it makes your stomach flip. You blame it on the hangover.

“Let’s do it,” you say, trying to make the tension in the air dissipate. “Let’s make his life hell. For a short while at least. Just until I feel better.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung asks, raising his eyebrows in an amused manner.

“Yeah.” You guys high-five, laughing at the childishness of your plan.

His eyes don’t leave yours for a second and you don't think Heeseung’s ever held eye contact with you for such a long time - the way it makes you feel is too unfamiliar and you have to look away. After a small pause, you timidly ask, “By the way, did we- last night, did we actually, you know…”

“We didn’t,” he says, making you look up at him. “We almost did, but we were both so drunk that we kinda just… fell asleep mid-way.” You slowly nod your head, memories slowly coming back to you for what feels like the hundredth time today. “We made out. Naked. But we didn’t actually have sex,” he finishes, finally averting his gaze from yours.

You remember kissing Heeseung in front of the bar and then running with him to your building, laughing like teenagers, and heatedly making out in the elevator all the way to your apartment, then to your bedroom. You remember bursting into fits of laughter every now and then, the both of you so drunk that you couldn’t take what you were doing seriously. Everything made you laugh: the lipstick stain on his lips because of you, your mismatched underwear, how either of you could barely walk straight and fell on top of each other on your bed. You remember falling asleep, your face buried in the crook of his neck, both of his arms protectively wrapped around your waist.

“How come you weren’t there when I woke up?” you suddenly ask, remembering your empty bed that morning.

“I woke up really early, but you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you up. I would’ve left a note but I couldn’t find a pen anywhere, so I just… left. Sorry about that,” he apologizes, his hand coming up to the nape of his neck.

“That’s alright,” you say, but you couldn’t help wondering what it would’ve felt like to wake up next to Heeseung. Probably better than what you woke up to this morning, you think.

You’re about to say something when you hear the door open, and Heeseung’s piercing gaze towards the person who just entered tells who it is before you’d even seen him. You turn around to find Sunghoon staring right at you, his eyes already pleading with you.

“Y/N,” he starts, but you cut him off immediately.

“I’ve already told you I don’t want to hear it, Sunghoon. You can save your breath.”

“Can you at least let me apologize, please?” he asks. You look at him, and you’d be lying if you said this didn’t hurt like a thousand little papercuts. You hadn’t let yourself feel anything since last night, preemptively drowning your emotions in alcohol. Now that your ex stands in front of you, trying to apologize, his betrayal and the end of your relationship hits you like a ton of bricks. And it doesn’t feel very nice.

“Did you not hear her? She said she doesn’t wanna hear it,” Heeseung steps in, but you take his wrist, not wanting the two of them to get into a fight at the office. Heeseung and Sunghoon had never liked each other, your friend deeming Sunghoon wasn’t good enough for you, and your boyfriend judging Heeseung and you were too close for friends.

“It’s alright, Heeseung. Just go back to work, I’ll see you later.” He stares at Sunghoon for another second and turns to you, clearly not wanting to leave you alone with him. You mouth a ‘please’, and he reluctantly walks away. Before he can leave the room, though, he turns back around and says, “Oh, by the way, I think I left my watch at your place. Could you give it to me tomorrow?”

You pivot towards him with wide eyes, cursing him for mentioning it in front of Sunghoon, but he’s not even looking at you. He’s staring right at your ex-boyfriend, clearly having said this just to rile him up. You stutter out a ‘yes’ and Sunghoon starts towards him but you stop him before he can get to Heeseung. The latter finally leaves, a victorious smirk on his face.

Sunghoon’s eyes, who were apologetic just a minute ago, are now burning with anger. “What the hell, Y/N?! Is this your way of getting back at me or something? Getting into bed with the first guy who throws himself at you?”

You glare at Sunghoon, in absolute disbelief at his words. You want to scream, pull out his hair, kick him in the shins, but above all that, you want him to apologize - even though you have no intention of accepting his apology whatsoever. So you close your eyes, breathe out through your nose, and say, “I thought you were here to apologize, Sunghoon.” You open your eyes to see him still visibly angry but trying to stay calm like you. When he doesn’t say anything for a few moments, you add, “For your information, Heeseung and I did not have sex. And even if we did, you lost the right to get mad at me when you slept with somebody else while in a relationship with me. Just say you’re sorry, and leave me the hell alone.”

Sunghoon looks at you, appearing somewhat baffled by how calmly you’re taking things. You were usually sensitive and reacted emotionally and your serenity was throwing him off. He had always been the cool and collected one in your relationship, not you. He doesn’t like this sudden shift in your attitude, and he doesn’t like the fact that Heeseung thinks he can have you now. “You know what? I was going to apologize, because I know what I did was wrong, but I don’t want to anymore. I guess Heeseung was glad you were rid of me so he could finally fuck you, huh?” You flinched at his loud voice and prayed no one else could hear your conversation.

“I just told you we didn’t have sex!” you whisper-shout back. Thankfully, he takes on the same volume as you.

“Then why is his fucking watch at your place?”

“That’s none of your fucking business anymore!”

Sunghoon and you just stare at each other for a few moments, and you fight back the tears pooling in your eyes. You’ve cried a hundred times in front of Sunghoon, and you want him to feel bad for how much he hurt you, but for some reason, it feels like crying in front of him would be giving in. It would be saying, You wanted to hurt me and you did. You wanted me to hate you and now I do.

“Just leave, Sunghoon, please,” you say, voice weak. It takes all you have not to fall to your knees and bawl your eyes out in this break room. Sunghoon calls out your name, and his voice is much softer than it was seconds ago, as if he finally realised just how much he’d fucked up.

You look up at him and a single tear rolls down your cheek. “Please, Sunghoon. Leave.” He opens his mouth and closes it again twice, lost as to what to say anymore. Finally, he just leaves silently, and you’re immensely disappointed but not in the least surprised. You’d always fought for your relationship, fixed things when they had gone wrong, apologized first after a fight even when it wasn’t your fault, and Sunghoonhad never returned your commitment more than half-heartedly. You’d foolishly hoped that maybe, this time, after such a big mess, he’d want to make things better.

You watch him walk away, taking a moment to gather yourself in the break room. When you finally muster the courage to leave the room and go back to your desk, you almost walk past Heeseung who had been waiting right outside the room this entire time. A worried look in his eyes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Let’s ruin this asshole’s life,” you say, and Heeseung grins at you.

—

That day at lunch, you and Heeseung start scheming. Hunched over your pasta salad, you discuss the first step of your evil plan, namely, ‘go into his office and mess up his paperwork.’

“Easy. We sneak in there when everybody’s left, and we fuck his shit up,” Heeseung says, stealing some of your lunch.

“What if somebody is working late?” you ask, nudging his fork away with your own.

“Well we’re not gonna barge in there. We’ll check that the room is empty.”

You hum. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Heeseung looks up at you, registering your hesitant expression. “What? Already deflating?” he asks, a grin on his face. “C’mon, Y/N. It’ll be harmless fun… mainly.”

You meet his eyes and let yourself be convinced again. You lean in a bit closer, and he mirrors your action. “If we do this, we have to be subtle about it. We can’t just throw his papers all over the place, that’ll be too obvious and he’ll probably figure out I did it.” Heeseung nods his head, urging you to go on. “We need to put some files in the wrong folders, hide his color-coded post-its, exchange the lids on his pens, that kind of stuff. It’ll make him go crazy.” You bite down on your lip, trying to suppress your excited grin, but you can’t help it. All these years, you’d been subjected to Sunghoon’s obsession with having things neat and in order, no matter how tedious it was. The idea of him freaking out over a stapler in the bottom drawer instead of the top one brings a smile to your face, even though you know how petty such a prank was.

Some colleagues join you at the table, and you spend the rest of lunch chatting about work and making small talk. All throughout the afternoon, Heeseung and you exchange sneaky glances and giggle at the eye contact, both filled with childish excitement for your evening plans.

Eventually, your colleagues start trickling out, and by 7 p.m., only you and Heeseung are left. He joins you at your desk and tries to distract you from your work for half an hour, making stupid jokes and pointing at non-existent faults in your files. You think he must be starting to be bored out of his mind when he starts humming to ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’, so you pack away your stuff, shut your computer and announce it is time for the prank. He jumps up from his seat with a huge grin, shouting out, ‘Let’s go!’ before marching out of the office. You watch him go with an endeared smile, shaking your head at his antics.

You walk side by side towards Sunghoon’s office, looking around to make sure you don’t walk past anyone on your way there. The whole floor seems to be empty, and you get there without being noticed. You enter his office, the both of you tip-toeing to Sunghoon’s desk for dramatic effect, but quickly burst into a fit of giggles when you realize how stupid you must look. Lucky for you, everybody’s already left: every seat is empty and the lights are off, the whole office basking in the glow of the moon.

Heeseung lets out a low whistle upon seeing Sunghoon’s desk. As you’d described, it is very neatly arranged, to a point that it seems almost obsessive. Every load of paper is stacked so perfectly into place that if you peered at it from above it would look like there was only one sheet of paper, each pencil has been freshly sharpened, and he’s got three to-do lists (a daily one, a weekly one and a monthly one) on color-coded post-its. There isn’t a thing out of place.

“God, was he as much of a control freak in your relationship as he is at work?” Heeseung muses, peering in horror at your ex’s desk.

You can’t help but laugh at the comment, even though the truth behind it almost makes you wince. “Yeah, he kinda was. He would decide on every little thing we did, whether it was what we ate that night or how I should organize the cutlery drawer in my apartment.”

Without missing a beat, he deadpans, “How could he. Everyone knows you should never mess with someone’s cutlery drawer.”

You look at each other for a second, and you weren’t sure whether he was being serious or not; but when you see a small smile appearing on his face, the both of you dissolve into laughter at his stupid joke. Maybe the adrenaline of what you’re doing is also part of the reason why it takes you a few moments to calm down, but when you do, it hits you that you haven't laughed so much in a long time. Heeseung and you have been good friends for a while, and you’ve always known he was funny; but spending more time with him makes you realize just how giggly he makes you.

The realization fills your heart with warmth but you don’t want him to notice the growing blush on your cheeks, so you turn towards the desk, pretending to analyze its contents some more. You take a long look at it and decide where you should start.

You pick up the sheet of paper at the top of the neat stack on the desk and place it randomly somewhere in the pile. Heeseung snorts at the seemingly insignificant action and you can’t help but think it’s ridiculous as well, but you know it’ll strike a nerve in Sunghoon.

He joins you closer to the desk and starts picking up random objects only to move them by an inch or placing them in one of the drawers. You do all the things you said you would: exchange the pen lids so that he’d take a red pen thinking it was a black one, stick his post-its underneath the desk like schoolkids do with used chewing-gums, and slightly mess up his files. Neither of you can stop laughing at how ridiculous you’re both being; you thought you had this great idea for a prank, but here you are, hiding a pencil sharpener. When Heeseung simply flips over Sunghoon’s pencils so that they are eraser-up rather than tip-up, you hit your limit of stupid things you could do. You burst out laughing, bent over and clutching your stomach. Heeseung can’t help but follow you in your laughter, loving how much you’re enjoying this prank.

You’re barely catching your breath when you see the light from a flashlight appear at the door and you hurriedly grab Heeseung’s wrists, bringing him down with you to hide underneath the desk. You hear footsteps approaching, soon followed by a booming voice: “Hello? Is anyone here?”

It’s the security guard - either he’s doing his regular night rounds, or he’s heard the ruckus you and Heeseung are causing. You hear him mutter something under his breath, but quickly enough, he walks away. When you hear the door close behind him, you release a breath you’d been holding for way too long, and the feeling of your nervousness dissipating all at once makes you let out a laugh. You meet Heeseung’s eyes only to find him staring back at you with wide eyes, and that’s when the reality of the position you’re currently in hits you.

You’ve still got a tight grasp on his wrists and you’re holding them up to your chest, so that the two of you are sitting face-to-face, crammed close together under the desk. You realize just how close he is when he releases a shaky breath and you can feel it fan on your lips. Your heart starts to pound at the proximity, and with how close he is you’re scared he might hear it. His eyes drift down to your lips and you feel panic bubbling inside of you: what if he actually tried to kiss you?

You hastily release his wrists and try to get up from under the desk, but you’re so distraught that your head hits it, making you yelp out in pain.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Heeseung asks, emergency in his tone, and he immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders to stabilize you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, it was just a small whack,” you say, even though you feel a bit dizzy, which you prefer to think is because you hit your head rather than because of Heeseung’s gaze mere moments ago.

“That sounded like more than a small whack. C’mon, let’s go get something cold for that, you’ll get a bump on your head otherwise.” He gets up and extends his hand out to you to help you do the same, and you stupidly stare at it for a few seconds before finally taking it. He guides you to the elevator, and there he lets go of your hand to put an arm around you. You don’t have the heart to tell him you can stand up on your own. You garner a few weird looks from the security staff as you leave the office building, but ignore them and hurriedly walk to the convenience store across the street.

“Sit down here, I’ll go get something for your head.” He sits you down on the little stairs in front of the store and puts his jacket over your shoulders, heading inside before you can protest. He’s back in less than five minutes, a pack of frozen peas and two ice cream cones in his hand.

“I saw these next to the peas and I couldn’t help myself,” he says with a sheepish smile. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

He was holding up the two cones in front of his face, waiting for you to choose. Your heart skips a beat at the simple but sweet gesture; when buying food, Sunghoon would never ask for your preferences, assuming you’d want the same as him.

You take the frozen peas and the vanilla ice cream, thanking him in a small voice. The cold of the peas immediately appeases the pain and the ice cream tastes sweeter than usual. The two of you sit in silence for a while, occasionally humming and swinging in rhythm to the music playing in the convenience store. In this moment, you feel oddly peaceful.

From your side view, you notice Heeseung turning his head to look at you. You mirror his action and find an amused glint in his eyes. “Are you satisfied with our work?” he asks.

You look ahead of you, thinking for a small moment. The adrenaline of doing the prank has worn off, and you try to see how you feel now that it’s over. “Yeah. I think I am,” you say, turning to look at him again. You’re no stranger to Heeseung’s features: you’ve seen him almost everyday for the past four years of your life. When you close your eyes, you can easily picture his face, his eyes, his smile in your mind. Not that you’ve made particular notes of his habits, but you know how his eyes crease at the corners when he laughs really hard and how he seems to unconsciously raise one of his eyebrows when he talks about something he’s interested in.

But tonight, he looks different. You don’t know if it’s because of the way he’s looking at you or if it’s how the LED lights of the store sign are hitting him perfectly, making him look like he comes straight from a rom-com, but somehow, right now, you’re not looking at your colleague Heeseung. You’re looking at your friend Heeseung, the one who agreed to help you get revenge on your ex, the one who got you a pack of frozen peas for your insignificant injury, the one who shivered at your touch and looked at your lips not fifteen minutes ago. You find yourself wondering what it would’ve been like if he’d actually leaned in to kiss you. Would his lips be as soft as they look?

You shake your head, trying to rid your mind of such thoughts: your break-up was not even a week ago and you were in no state to get back into a relationship so quickly. It wouldn’t end well for either of you. So you turned away from him, escaping his gaze that made you feel too many things you didn’t have the strength to understand.

Heeseung nudges your shoulder with his. “I hope it makes you feel better knowing that he’ll get to the office with an unorganized desk tomorrow morning.”

You chuckle, but the mention of Sunghoon still makes your heart sting. Nothing you do will ever be enough to hurt him like he hurt you, but you don’t see much point trying to do that, anyway. Making his life a bit worse for a while will have to do. “It does,” you simply say, not wanting to dive into complicated emotional territory. You were thankful enough that Heeseung had helped you out tonight, you didn’t want to put your baggage on his shoulders as well.

When you’re both done with your ice creams and your head feels better, you decide to call it a night and head to the building parking lot together. Your cars aren’t parked on the same level, but Heeseung insists on walking you to yours first. You hug him goodbye, and you intend it to be a short hug, but he snakes his arms around your waist, bringing you close to him. You’re a bit taken aback at first, but his scent is comforting and you wrap your arms around his neck, grateful for the warm hug.

“Thanks for tonight, Heeseung. Really,” you say, voice a bit muffled from having your face buried in his shoulder.

“Of course, Y/N, anytime.” You don’t really want to pull away, but you also don’t want things to get awkward if the hug lasts too long, so you lean back, hiding your disappointment at the loss of warmth. You fumble around your bag for your keys and hold them up with an embarrassed chuckle when you finally find them. Heeseung is looking at you with a sweet smile and you curse your damn heart for pounding so foolishly, body and brain at odds with each other. With a last quick ‘bye’, you get into your car, wave him goodbye, and drive away, releasing a shaky breath.

You see Heeseung in your rearview mirror, hands in his pockets, looking at his feet as he kicks a pebble on the ground, and you think you even see a grin on his face.

You smile the whole way home.

—

Heeseung pours himself a cold, well-deserved beer as soon as he gets home. He flops down on an armchair in his living room, not even bothering to turn the lights on; the faint glow of the streetlights outside will have to suffice. He unbuttons the top of his shirt and undoes his belt, getting himself more comfortable.

You haven’t been off his mind for a second since you parted ways half an hour ago. To be fair, you haven’t been off his mind much since you too met way back when. He can still picture you, four years ago, as a fellow fresh intern, your curious eyes and polite manners he’d found so endearing. The both of you were often tasked to work on projects together, and he’d admired your drive, hard work and attention to detail since the beginning. But then he’d started to notice other things than your professionalism, like how you’d frown when you really liked the food you were eating or how your lips would form a straight line when you tried to not laugh at his stupid jokes. He’d quickly started to make those jokes just in hopes of seeing your cute attempt at hiding a smile or, even better, hearing your laugh. He’d ignored the swelling in his heart and the sweat in his palms every time he saw you as long as he could, until he realized he shouldn’t have ignored them. He’d convinced himself he wasn’t jealous of the way your whole face perked up whenever Sunghoon entered the room, but when you told him you were officially dating that asshole, and how completely smitten with him you looked, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Heeseung had the stupidest, fattest, most unachievable crush on you.

He’d had to see you experience your highest highs and your lowest lows with Sunghoon, even though he knew you always tried to keep your relationship problems at home and not bring them in the office. He’d tried to be as good a friend as he could, never letting onto his feelings for you. If he couldn’t have you the way he wanted, he’d settle for being what you wanted him to be.

When he found out what Sunghoon had done, he was angry beyond words. He wanted to punch that jerk, but more than that, he wanted to make you feel better. So that night, he let you drink as much as you needed, he made you laugh as hard as he could, he agreed to your revenge plan, and when, outside of the bar, you drunkenly pressed your lips to his, he let you. He let you take him home, and take off his shirt, and he’d be lying if he said he was only doing it for you; he has dreamt of your hands on him for the longest time now, but he didn’t want for it to happen like this. So he easily got you to stop and fall asleep before you could do anything you’d regret the next morning.

When he woke up next to you, he felt his heart longing for something that is so close and yet so far out of reach. He softly tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, making you whimper in your sleep, and it took everything in him not to hold you in his arms as hard as he could right there and then. But he didn’t want to wake you up, and he didn’t think he wanted to be there when you woke up either; he wouldn't know what to say, how to explain his presence. He wanted a few hours to think and talk to you in the office later.

We all know what happened after that.

Now, he doesn’t know whether he’s inching towards his goal or he’s fucked everything up. He can tell you’re behaving differently around him; he’s noted everything about you, so of course he’d notice as soon as something changes with you. He hoped it wasn't creepy that he complimented your haircuts every time you got one without you telling him first.

He thought everything between you might have been ruined when you banged your head on the desk in shock when he looked at your lips, but your little moment in front of the convenience store and in the parking lot made him hopeful that your friendship might shift into something more. He knows you’ve too recently broken up with Sunghoon to be ready for a new relationship, and he’s waited four years, so he can wait a few months more; but he also wants to make sure you won’t go anywhere else now that he has a chance. He doesn’t think he could forgive himself if he let you go again.

—

The next day at work, you hear gossip going around the office about an apparent ‘tantrum’ that Sunghoon threw upon arriving at his desk. He was going on and on about his post-its being gone, his pens and pencils being all messed up and his files being disorganized. Everybody thought he was crazy, though, because his desk looked just as neat as usual. You and Heeseung exchange a knowing look, and you’re quite proud that it had the effect you had hoped for.

You don’t talk about doing another prank until the next Friday; you do want to do another one, but you think it’s best to not have them too close together, and you’re not sure if Heeseung wants to help you with it. You make a note to mention it to him after the weekend.

As you’re about to leave work, Miyeon and Yuqi enthusiastically step towards you, wide grins on their faces. “Y/N!” Yuqi calls out, making you stop in your tracks.

“Hey, guys! What’s up?” you said, sensing what was coming. They exchange a look before looking back at you.

“Come get drinks with us, please!” Miyeon says, and before you can protest, she adds, “we know you’ve had a tough week, but we think it’d be a good idea for you to get your mind off of things!”

You smile a bit sadly at them, genuinely appreciating their concern but wanting to spend a nice, quiet evening alone.

“No. Nope, don’t give us that look, it means you want to say no,” Yuqi scolds.

You sigh and say, “I’m really sorry, guys. Thank you so much for the offer, and I promise we’ll go out together soon, but I don’t think I can tonight.”

They sigh as well and take turns hugging you, Miyeon saying, “That’s alright, we did expect it a bit.” They start walking out of the office, but not without Miyeon pointing at you with her finger, adding, “But you better keep that promise!”

“I will!” you reply, watching them leave with a smile. You follow soon after and drive back home, looking forward to a tranquil night in.

And it is, until you hear a knock on your front door around 8 p.m. You haven’t ordered any takeout, so who could it be? You’re only wearing a tiny tank top and pair of shorts, so you quickly grab a sweatshirt to cover your figure and open the door. Heeseung is standing there, holding up an Amazon delivery packet in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other.

“Evening!” he beams down at you.

“H-heeseung? What are you doing here?” you ask, stepping to the side so he can come in.

He hands you his things as he enters, then takes off his shoes and jacket. “Well, I overheard at the office earlier that you weren’t going out tonight, and I thought it’d be nice to keep you company.” He notices your surprised face and immediately his eyes widen, stammering, “Oh God, that’s so rude of me, I just completely invited myself over, I’m so sorry, Y/N, I’ll leave-”

He tries to take back the packet and the bottle from you but you just giggle at his antics, reassuring him that it’s fine and that he’s more welcome to stay. “I said no to the girls because as sweet as they are, it’d be socially draining to spend the evening with them. It’ll be fine with you,” you said, not realizing how true the words were until they were out of your mouth. Being around Heeseung was effortless, you could just be yourself without having to worry about the clever thing to say or tip-toe around certain subjects.

He grins at you and you try to ignore how pretty his smile is. “I’m glad to know that.”

You tell Heeseung to go sit down in the living room while you go get two wine glasses. When you see him sitting on your sofa, something weird but not entirely uncomfortable settles in your chest. He’s been to your apartment a few times before, for office party after-drinks or for projects with other colleagues, but he’s never been by himself (well, except for Tuesday, but that doesn’t count, you tell yourself), and you’re not unaware of the implications of having an attractive man alone at your place and drinking wine with him.

“What’s in the Amazon bag?” you ask as you put the glasses on the coffee table and start pouring you both a drink.

“Something you’ll be very happy to see,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He opens up the packet to reveal a plastic bag full of keys with a “Ta-da!”. Each key has an unmarked keychain tied to it, and you remember your plan: buy a bunch of keys on Amazon, put his phone number on them and lose them all over town.

You start nodding fervently, a huge smile on your face. “Yes! Part two of the plan shall commence,” you say, and you hand him his glass so you can clink them together. But before that, he raises his hand, looking at you solemnly.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” he starts, making you snort at his fake pompous tone, “to you, Y/N, for not letting that asshole bring you down and still being the coolest person I know.”

You giggle as you clink your glasses with a cheers. You’re surprisingly touched by his words, but you don’t wanna turn the atmosphere all emotional and mushy, so instead, you tease, “I’m the coolest person you know? The people you hang out with must not be very cool then.” You look up at him from your drink with a mischievous smirk, and if you had any idea of the way that look made him feel, you’d probably be blushing hard.

“They are cool,” he insists, “just not as cool as you.” He stares back at you with that glint you can never figure out in his eyes, and it’s too much after five seconds so you look away with a huff.

“Whatever, let’s just get to work.” You go get two pens and plop back down in front of Heeseung, letting the keys spill from the bag onto the couch. The two of you chat and sip on wine while you write down Sunghoon’s phone number on a hundred keys each. He tells you about how he met Jay and Jake in freshman year of college and how they’ve somehow stuck together all this time no matter their differences, and you tell him about your childhood friends you only see when you go home from time to time but often keep in contact with. He brags about his karaoke skills and you make him promise to show you one day; he agrees in an instant. You say you’ve been thinking about getting a cat now that Sunghoon’s not around to complain about his allergy and ‘the mess it would make anyway,’ and Heeseung offers to come and choose one with you at the pet shelter. It’s such a nice thing to do, you think, and you try not to suffocate as your heart grows three times its size.

“Thanks, Heeseung. I’d really like that, actually,” you say, and if he notices that your eyes have teared up a bit, he doesn’t say anything.

“How are you, by the way?” he asks after a few moments of silence. “And don’t give me that bullshit you give everyone at the office. Tell me how you’ve been, really.”

You sigh deeply, willing your heart to get back to its normal size. “I tell everyone I’m fine because it’s so much easier and faster than the truth. I’m not sure how I am, to be honest.” You look up at him and his eyes softly tell you to keep going. “Sometimes I feel like there’s been a weight lifted off my chest and sometimes I feel like I’m gonna crumble under it all. I knew my relationship with Sunghoon was bound to end; we were both obviously getting tired of each other. This might be TMI, but we only had sex like once or twice a month towards the end, like an old married couple,” you say, chuckling a bit awkwardly. You could just blame it on the alcohol. Heeseung lowers his head so you wouldn’t see the blush creeping on his cheeks at the idea of sex with you.

“I think we lost feelings for each other a while ago, but it was easier staying in a fading relationship until we actually had a tangible reason to break up. Guess he provided that for us,” you say with a dry chuckle. “But in a way I’m happy it ended badly, because if we’d broken up amicably, I’m scared I might have had moments where I doubted whether it was the right decision or not. Now I know I’ll never go back to him.”

You wouldn’t go back to Sunghoon - Heeseung hopes you don’t hear his shaky intake of breath at that news. He doesn’t say anything, so you keep going.

“I think I’ve realized that ifI’m upset, it’s because of how humiliating what happened is, not because it actually happened. Does that make sense?” you ask, looking up at Heeseung.

He nods. “Yeah, I think it does. It’s just cowardly, isn’t it? If he wanted a reason to break up, there are a thousand more respectful ways to do it. Talking about it, for one.”

“Exactly. Which I think is why I want to do all this,” you gesture at the keys in front of you, “if I was actually sad because I lost him, I’d just be a crying mess right now. But I just want to piss him off, make him feel some kind of repercussions for what he did. He’s not a suspicious person originally, but I’d love it if this made him think he was being punished by the Gods or something.”

As Heeseung and you continue talking, you both keep shifting in your seats so that you end up cross-legged, facing each other and knees touching. You try not to pay it too much mind but it feels like all the heat in your body has gone to the spot you’re touching and you wonder if it would feel this warm if you touched him anywhere else.

After another thirty minutes, you’re done filling in all the keys and put them back in the bag to spread all over town the next day. Heeseung agrees to a movie, so you prepare some snacks as he gets the movie ready on your TV. When you come back in the living room, he’s got a blanket wrapped around him, lifting it and tapping the seat next to him when he sees you. Your heart melts like ice cream in the sun at the sight, and you curse it for doing so many weird things tonight.

The movie is a rom-com you’ve seen a thousand times, so you use that excuse to focus your attention on the man next to you rather than what’s playing on the TV. You’re scooted close enough to him so that your sides are touching, and your theory from earlier turns out to be true: it feels hot in all the spots your bodies come into contact. You want to fall into him because somehow, you trust him enough to catch you. You settle for resting your head on his shoulder, and his arm comes immediately around you as if he’d been waiting for you to make a move. He starts to rub gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb and your whole body relaxes under his touch.

You turn your body towards his, and you hesitate for a few minutes because you’re afraid he might hate it but his soft caresses tell you it’s okay, so you shyly put your legs over his lap, your arms coming up to wrap themselves around his neck. “Is this too much?,” you mumble and he tries not to shiver at the feeling of your lips moving against his neck. You’ve been longing to have someone close for months now, but all your attempts at giving Sunghoon your love had been turned down so coldly that you were fearful to try it with anyone else.

“No, no, not at all. You could never be too much, Y/N,” he mumbles into your hair, and your heart races (because it just won’t settle down, tonight) at his words. You don’t think too much about it, though, otherwise your brain might short-circuit.

When you feel your eyelids getting heavy, you gather the strength to say, “I‘m getting sleepy, Hee,” the nickname leaving your lips before you can stop it.

“That’s alright, you can fall asleep,” he whispers back, and drifting off to sleep wrapped up in his arms feels like being in a cloud.

—

The next morning, the sunrise drowns your living room in warm yellow light, and the brightness wakes you up. Your eyes flutter open and you find yourself pressed to Heeseung’s chest. You can feel his heart quietly beating against your cheek and the sound of his soft snores fills the silence in the room. So this is what it feels like to wake up next to Heeseung, you think, and you really like it.

You lean back very slightly to raise your head and get a better look at him. His mouth is wide open, and there’s a small pool of saliva at the corner of his lips, but you’ve never found him more adorable. You suppress a giggle at his cute state and bury your head back into his chest, hugging him a bit tighter. You’re not sure whether you should do this or jump away from him, but the first option feels right. Plus, if you fell asleep like this, he surely wouldn’t mind waking up the same way, right?

Heeseung feels so warm in your arms. Now that you’re awake, you’re having a bit of a hard time staying still. You hike your body up his a little bit, intertwining your legs even more, and engulf your face in the crook of his neck. You take in his scent and it’s almost dizzying. His cologne has practically worn off even though hints of it are still there, but it’s the smell of his skin that makes your mind cloud. It should feel odd, being in such an intimate position with someone you’ve considered a friend and colleague for so many years, but it’s somehow comforting. You smile into his neck, nuzzling your nose a bit further into it.

He squirms a little in his sleep, and he tightens his grip around your waist so that instead of having his arms loosely wrapped around you, he’s now holding you closer to him. He lets out a low hum as he slowly stirs from his sleep and the sound makes your stomach flip. You sigh into his neck and feel him shiver at the feeling. You start rubbing his back and he hums again. “Are you awake?” you murmur softly, lips moving against his skin.

“Mh-hm,” he sleepily replies, slipping his warm hands underneath your shirt. Goosebumps appear where he touches you but your skin is on fire. As your breath gets quicker, you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time bubble in your stomach: need. Right now, you need Heeseung. His hands on you and the proximity of your bodies are intoxicating, but you need more.

The feeling is overwhelming and you don’t know what to do with it; you feel it in the tips of your toes and the palms of your hands, and it makes your head spin. You bring yourself somehow even closer to him and you bury your whole face in his neck, desperate for something, anything, and you hope he gets what you’re trying to convey.

His hands that were resting on the low of your back ride up against your shirt, exposing your back to the cold air. You exhale at his touch, squirming and biting back a whimper when his hands trace the line of your waist, making you arch your back and bringing your chest closer to his. He likes how sensitive you are and caresses you along your sides so he can hear you whine because of him. He’s just touching your back, but it’s sending you into a frenzy, and you can feel wetness pool between your legs and the knot in your stomach get tighter. You hear his breath hitch when you press a soft kiss right underneath his jaw.

“Y/N…” he breathes out, and the thought that he might want you as much as you want him right now makes you double down on your ministrations. Oh, if only you knew. If only you knew how long he’d been waiting for this, and how he thought he might be dreaming it all, not believing that he was actually holding you right now and that he could feel your lips on him.

Your soft kisses turn hungrier and sloppier, and soon you’re leaving wet marks all over his neck and jaw. His hands snake down to your ass, grabbing it tightly as he brings your crotch down onto his, and the friction makes you mewl. You untangle your leg from between his to hook it over his hips so you can feel his growing erection against you even more. As you grind against each other, you’re both breathing and moaning loudly, and his needy whimpers make your brain draw a blank. Keeping one hand on your ass, the other comes up to cup your jaw, making you look up at him, and he kisses you ravenously, tongues meeting in a desperate clash. You moan into the kiss as your hips rock together, his erection rubbing perfectly against your core. You pull back to catch your breath, but keep your lips close together so that you’re breathing each other’s air, making you feel dizzy with pleasure and want. You rake your hands through his hair, tugging at the strands, and he breathes out a curse at the feeling. He dips his hand under your shirt, tracing the outline of your breast with the knob of one of his fingers before playing with your nipple, softly twisting it between his digits.

“Fuck, Heeseung,” you moan, “that feels so good.” Your mind is completely blank, overwhelmed with the intense pleasure you’re feeling, and you feel like you might cum without him even touching you down there at all. “How does it feel so good?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know either,” he purrs in your ear. “I think I might cum in my pants like a fucking fifteen year old,” he says, and you choke out a laugh.

“Me too. It just feels so fucking good.” As you utter those words, the knot in your stomach starts to get tighter and tighter, and you feel it might break apart anytime now. “Fuck, Heeseung, I think I’m gonna cum. I can’t cum like this, fuck, it just feels too good.”

Heeseung presses his fingers into your hips, surely leaving marks for you to find later there, bringing you even harder down even harder against his clothed cock, and you whine out at the feeling. “Please, please cum for me, Y/N. It’s okay. Please cum for me,” he begs, and his words send you over the edge. The knot breaks as your orgasm ripples through you, making you moan out a string of curses and Heeseung’s name. He doesn’t stop for a second, desperately chasing his own high and slightly overstimulating you.

“Say my name again, please.”

“Hee- fuck, Heeseung, you cum too, baby,” you stutter, unable to bite back the moans that escape your lips as he continues rutting into you. He brings his forehead to yours, resting them against each other. You kiss him all over his face. “Heeseung, fuck, baby, cum for me.” With one final thrust, his movements still, pleasure written all over his face as he shoots out his release, making a mess all over himself. You kiss him softly on the lips as he comes down from his high, the both of you catching your breaths.

You meet his gaze and burst into a fit of laughter, him following soon after. “Fuck, what was that?” you ask between giggles.

He rakes a hand through his hair then covers his eyes with forearm, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know, but it was fucking amazing.”

The two of you stay there for a few moments, arms around each other, basking in the sensation of your orgasms, and you can’t stop smiling. After a few minutes, Heeseung breaks the comfortable silence.

“As much as I’d love to stay like this for hours, I’m really sticky now,” he says with a laugh. “Shall we go get cleaned up?” he asks, a tempting glint in his eyes.

“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Head first, I’ll join you in a minute.”

Heeseung nods, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before heading off to the bathroom. You lay there, closing your eyes as you try to make sense of what just happened. You and Heeseung had just gotten off on each other, and it had felt damn good. You wanted more of him; all of the cells in your body were screaming at you to get up and follow him into the shower. But it was also so confusing: you broke up with Sunghoon just a couple weeks ago, and here you were, lusting after your co-worker and friend. You aren’t blind, you’ve always known that Heeseung is an attractive man, but the sudden change in the way you see him these past few days makes you dizzy. Whatever this is, you don’t want it to be because you suddenly feel free and jump at the first man in sight or because you need someone to fill a Sunghoon-shaped hole in your heart. You don’t think it is, but you also don’t fully trust yourself to have your head screwed on right at the moment. All you know is Heeseung deserves better than being someone’s rebound, and you’re scared you won’t be able to give him what he should have.

The sound of the shower turning on wakes you from your thoughts and you get up from the couch, joining Heeseung in the bathroom. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him in all his naked glory. He’s standing back to you as he lets the water run over his head and down his toned back, and you try not to gawk at the muscles there. You want to trace the outline of them with your fingers, you want to feel his shoulder blades move underneath your hands, you want to press kisses down along his spine, you want to see goosebumps on his soft skin at your touch. You want him. But you also don’t want to hurt him.

So for now, you take your clothes off and join him under the hot water that’s already started to fog up the mirror and the glass walls of the shower. He lets out a soft gasp when you place your hands on his waist and he turns around to look at you. He looks just as perfect from the front as he does from behind.

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling down at you.

“Hi,” you say back, roaming your thumbs over his sides. He leans down to trap your lips in a kiss, and you let him, even wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer. You open your mouth for him when he traces your bottom lip with his tongue, and you only pull away when the both of you are breathless.

You look down to see that he’s gotten hard again and you both laugh at the sight. “Sorry. Can’t really help it,” he says, grinning. You shake your head and give him a peck on the lips. He could probably slip right in, with how wet you were, but there was a line between you two that you were a step away from crossing, and you didn’t know if you should or not.

“Heeseung,” you call, holding his face in your hands. He hums in response, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch, and your heart feels heavy with unexplainable emotions.

“I’m scared,” you say honestly. He opens his eyes again at your words and his hands come up to cover yours, intertwining your fingers together as he brings your arms down so that they’re hanging at your sides.

“Of what?”

“Of this. Of all the things you’re making me feel that I shouldn’t be feeling right now.” You drop your head, not wanting to see the potential disappointment on his face, but he takes your chin in his hand to bring it back up. The look he gives you makes you feel more naked than your actual lack of clothes.

“Why shouldn’t you be feeling them?” he asks, eyebrows slightly furrowed. You get the sense that he’s not upset at you, however, just genuinely confused. “Because you just got out of a relationship?” he asks, and you nod. “But didn’t you say you lost feelings for him months ago?”

“I did, but it’s still a shock, breaking up after four years of being with someone. I don’t wanna string you along.”

“Y/N, you could drag me through dirt and I’d thank you. I’ll take anything you give me if it means I get to be around you,” he says, and his words pierce right into the deepest crevices of your heart, filling them to the brim. “I mean it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m desperately in love with you. I haven’t particularly tried to hide it, especially this past week, and I’m sorry, I should’ve realized you’d need time before getting into another relationship. That is, if you’d even want to be with me.” His eyes never leave yours as he confesses his feelings for you. All you feel now are his hands around your waist, the water hitting your skin long forgotten.

“You- You’re in love with me?” you stutter, shocked by the sudden news.

“Yes, but that’s not what’s important here. If it’s time that you need, I’ll give it to you. I’ve been waiting for almost five years now, I can handle another few months.”

“Heeseung…” you start, but all you can do is hug him close to you and bury your face in his neck. Words aren’t enough to express how grateful you are for him.

“I’m sorry if I’ve pressured you. I just think I finally saw a chance and jumped on it, but the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” you say into his neck, “you’re not. You could never. Thank you for understanding and being patient.”

“Of course,” he says, keeping an arm around your waist and the other one coming up to stroke your hair. You lean back to take a look at him. How did you not realize how perfect he was all these years?

“I’m sorry. You deserve better than someone who makes you wait while they get their shit together.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m happy you’re even looking my way at all. Don’t even get me started on how ecstatic I am to be in a shower with you right now,” he says, making you both laugh. You bring your lips to his and he kisses you back like it’s second nature. Before it can get heated again, you pull away and smile at him. He looks at you like you hung the moon in the night sky.

You should feel shy being completely naked in front of Heeseung, but for some reason, it doesn’t faze you at all. The love in his eyes makes you feel like there’s nothing to be shy or embarrassed about. It’s worlds away from Sunghoon’s cold gaze you had gotten used to.

You press some body wash in your hand and lather it all over his torso and back, letting your hands roam down to his butt with a giggle. He does the same thing for you and your heart pounds as you feel his hand all over you. You try not to moan when his palm brushes over your sensitive nipple.

“You’re so pretty, I could eat you right up,” he says as his eyes rake your body up and down, voice lower and eyes darker than they were moments ago. When his gaze meets yours, his face however immediately softens. “But I’ll wait before I do that,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

Later, you get out of the shower and dry off, then get ready for the day ahead. You spend it going around the city hand-in-hand with Heeseung. Even though the goal is to spread the keys all over town, it just feels like one day-long date. You let your footsteps take you in any direction, through paved alleys, over bridges and along tramway tracks, making sure to drop keys here and there, sometimes leaving them out in the open or hiding them behind flowerpots, so that they’d be found either in the next hour or in a year.

When you start getting hungry, you buy sandwiches and sodas from a convenience store and sit down by the pond in the park, enjoying the sun on your skin and each other’s presence. You can talk freely about anything with Heeseung without feeling judged in the slightest, and even when you’re rambling on about a show you watched or your latest random obsession, he listens to you like you’re telling him the solution to world peace. He laughs at your jokes and makes you blush with compliments and you don’t even think for a second about the reason you’re doing this in the first place. That is, until you run head-first into him.

You spent another few hours walking around and dropping keys, but got too tired and decided to get an early dinner in a bar-restaurant in the center of town as a reward for your hard work. It’s one of Sunghoon’s favorite places, and you were hesitant to go there at first, but decided that it was time to make new memories and replace bad ones with good ones. The restaurant hadn’t done anything to you, so there was no reason to avoid it. Except that the chances of running into your ex here are somewhat bigger, and of course, he had to be there now of all times.

You’re almost done eating when you see him. Or rather, you hear him. He’s screaming at the TV that’s playing a baseball game and apparently, the team he’s rooting for is losing. At first, you think the sound you hear is a fragment of your imagination: Sunghoon doesn’t get drunk and scream at TVs, especially in public places. Hell, he doesn’t even keep up with baseball. You think it’s just someone who sounds eerily like him, but you turn your head and find him hunched over the bar counter, four empty pints of beer in front of him. Sunghoon doesn’t drink beer, you think.

You gawk at him, in disbelief of his behavior, and soon enough he turns his head and sees you as well. He squints his eyes as if he’s having trouble figuring out whether that’s you or not he’s seeing, and when he confirms it, his eyes go wide and he immediately gets up, heading towards you like a drunk bull towards a red cloth. He’s teetering and you think he might fall down when he gets to your table, holding onto it for dear life.

“H-hey, Y/N,” he says, eyes looking at you but not quite focussed. He doesn’t even spare a glance at Heeseung. This isn’t the man you were dating for four years, you think. This cannot be the same man that organizes his desk maniacally or considers one glass of wine heavy drinking. But it is, and it’s a side of him you’d practically never seen before because he keeps it in the deepest corners of himself. It’s the side of him that lets go of any control, that finally doesn’t care about anything. It’s probably the side of him he hates most.

“Hi, Sunghoon.”

“Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I’m having dinner,” you curtly reply, nodding towards Heeseung. Sunghoon takes a look at the man in front of you, eyes widening then squinting again.

“Heeseung? Seriously?” he says as he clearly tries to suppress burps, slurring his words. “God, I should’ve seen this coming. You always made googly eyes at my girlfriend.”

“I’m not your girlfriend, Sunghoon. Not since you cheated on me,” you say, staring hard at him. His head falls and he drops to a squat, still holding onto the table. He looks back up at you and does something you’ve almost never seen him do before, and definitely never for you.

He cries.

His eyes are red and already puffy from the alcohol, but now tears swell in them as a tear rolls down his cheek and his lips start to quiver. Then all of a sudden, he’s full on sobbing in the restaurant, garnering curious looks from other customers.

“Oh, God,” you say under your breath, holding your head in your hands. There have been so many times he could’ve done this, showed you that he actually cared, but he just had to choose now. When he takes your hand in his and brings it to his face, Heeseung seems to hit his limit. He gets up and you think he’s going to manhandle Sunghoon out of the restaurant, and he does do that, but only after paying for the unfinished meal. When he comes back from the till, he takes Sunghoon up by the armpits and makes him walk to the outside of the restaurant, you following close behind.

The chilly night air hits your face, calming you down slightly. It’s still infuriating to see Sunghoon acting this way, and it takes everything in you not to just punch him in the face when he starts towards you again, trying to take you in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am, please just give me another chance. Or at least let me talk to you! I promise I’ll be better,” he screams out between sobs as Heeseung holds him back from you. You just cross your arms and stare coldly at him, willing the tears forming in your eyes to not fall. If there’s one thing you don’t want him or Heeseung to think, it’s how sad this is making you. Your tears are angry, frustrated ones; not heartbroken ones.

“You’re drunk, Sunghoon, I don’t wanna talk to you right now. Actually, I don’t want to talk to you, ever.”

“I’m not- I’m not drunk, I swear,” he says just before tripping over his own feet, almost face-planting on the pavement had Heeseung not been holding him steady. “I just had a really bad day, people kee- people keep calling me about keys, and I miss you so goddamn much, Y/N. I’m sorry. Plea-please, come back to me.” His words all sound meshed together and it takes effort understanding what the hell he’s saying.

“Why don’t you go to whoever you cheated on me with?”

“She doesn’t- she’s no match for you, Y/N. Please. I miss- I miss you.” You just roll your eyes in response.

He continues begging and making false promises, and you order an Uber after two minutes, not able to take any of this anymore. You sit him down in front of the restaurant, telling him to stay put, then take Heeseung’s hand and start walking away. You don’t even bother checking that he got in the Uber safely; he’s not your responsibility anymore.

You walk in the direction of your apartment. It’s silent for a few minutes until Heeseung speaks up, softly asking you if you’re alright. “I’m fine, just pissed off,” you reply colder than you mean to. You don’t want to take your anger out on Heeseung, but you feel like you’re going to explode if you bottle it in. He tries to get more out of you, to get a glimpse of how you’re feeling, but you’ve spent the last four years not talking about emotions because Sunghoon considered them a nuisance and you don’t have the strength to unlearn that behavior right now. You find yourself snapping at Heeseung when he asks you questions, and he quickly figures out that now is not the best time to talk to you.

You spend the rest of the walk in silence, Heeseung’s presence next to you the only thing keeping you from hitting a wall or screaming into the night. When you get to your apartment building, you’ve calmed down, and you apologize for acting that way towards him.

“I’ve just never seen him like that before, and it makes me so angry that he does this now. The sheer audacity of this man to cheat on me and then make a scene in front of everyone. He’ll never go to that place again, I’m sure,” you say with a dry chuckle.

Heeseung takes you in his arms, resting his chin on top of your head and slowly rubbing your back. “I’m sorry about him. All I can think to explain his behavior is that he has nothing to hold onto now, so he comes back running to you. I can’t lie, I really wanted to punch some sense into him, but I didn’t wanna make anything worse.”

You take a step towards him and nuzzle your face in his chest, warmth spreading all over you. “I had such a good day as well. I’m mad it had to end that way.”

“I know, me too,” he sighs into your hair.

You lean back to look at him and he brushes some hair out of your face. “Thank you so much for today, Heeseung. I had an amazing time. And I’m glad to hear he’s already been bothered about the keys,” you say with a laugh.

“Anytime, Y/N,” he says, placing a kiss at the top of your head.

“I think I want to be alone tonight. Just to think a little bit.”

“Of course. I’ll see you Monday at work, then?” he asks with a smile, which you return.

“See you Monday, Hee.”

He kisses your head a second time and walks away, and you already miss him. You call out to him when he’s a few yards away, and he pivots, still smiling at you.

“What’s the next thing on the list?”

—

The next day, Sunghoon sends you a text thanking you for the Uber and apologizing for his behavior but still asking to meet up so you can talk. You tell him you’ll drop his stuff off at some point after work this week. Then you block his number.

—

Being at work feels different now that you know about Heeseung’s feelings for you. You like to catch him staring at you then tease him about it during your breaks. You have lunch together, laughing hunched over your tupperwares, and if you weren’t so engrossed in each other, you might notice the knowing look Yuqi and Miyeon exchange whenever they see you acting like highschoolers. Now that he doesn’t have to hide how he feels, he gets you coffee every morning and gives you little notes that never fail to make you smile. In the evenings, he texts you about random stuff, and then apologizes about how he might be coming off too strong. You tell him that it’s fine and that you like it a lot; more than you should, probably, but you don’t say that. The two of you aren’t even properly together, yet you’ve never felt so cared for by anyone in your life.

On a Thursday night, you decide to go to Sunghoon’s and drop his stuff off together. At first, you say you should probably go alone, but Heeseung insists on accompanying you.

“I don’t want you going over there by yourself, what if he’s as drunk as last time? Plus, it says it right here that I need to be there for the prank to work,” he argues, and you agree that it’d be reassuring to have him with you. You re-read the list you’d drunkenly made together: Change the labels on his shower products and hide his TV remote when Y/N hands him back his stuff. This is a two-man job, after all.

Once at your apartment, Heeseung loads the trunk of his car with the two boxes of things Sunghoon had left behind and that you’d already gotten ready while you mess around with his shower products. You exchange the shampoo and conditioner labels and empty the bottle of body wash, replacing it with shaving cream. Sure, he’ll quickly figure out what happened and know you’re the one behind it, but you don’t care about that anymore. It didn’t matter that he knew what you were up to; this was the last prank, anyway.

Heeseung drives the both of you to Sunghoon’s apartment. When your ex-boyfriend opens the door, he seems taken aback to see the both of you there but quickly masks it, his poker face back on. Now that’s the Sunghoon I know, you think.

“Hi, Y/N. Heeseung,” he curtly greets, stepping aside so the two of you can come in. “I’m guessing you’re here to return my things?”

“Yes,” you say, looking around the familiar apartment. Nothing’s changed: it’s still as white and tidy and squeaky clean as it’s always been.

“Right. Just put them over there then, that’s fine.” Heeseung puts them down where Sunghoon points, then there’s a silence for a few seconds.

“Well, if that’s it, then…” you start and head for the door, not wanting to be around Sunghoon for longer than you needed to.

“Wait!” he suddenly calls out, making you and Heeseung look at him expectantly. “Y/N, can I uh, can we talk for a minute? Alone?” he asks, poker face suddenly crumbling.

“Um, fine, sure,” you say, and follow him into the kitchen. When his back is turned, you gesture at Heeseung to go into the living room and hide the remote as per the plan. He gives you a thumbs up as you enter the kitchen.

Once you’re in there, you cross your arms, waiting for a clearly struggling Sunghoon to start. “Right. You know I’m bad at stuff like this, so I’ll just make it short,” he says, and you try not to scoff. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am, for how things ended, and for getting drunk and being embarrassing like that the other night.” He shivers at the memory. “I said a lot of things I know I shouldn’t have said, and even though I kinda meant them, I should’ve kept them to myself.

“I don’t have a great excuse for what I did, and I don’t think you want to hear a made-up one. Things between us hadn’t been great for a while, had they?” he asks, and you shake your head in agreement. “It was painfully obvious that neither of us wanted to stay in the relationship, but… you weren’t saying anything, and I didn’t know how to bring it up…”

“So you found a way to end things without having to talk to me about it?” you say, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice. You know it’s hard for Sunghoon to talk to you like this, but you wish this had been the way you broke up. It would’ve saved you a lot of pain.

Sunghoon lets his head hang. “Yeah, I guess. If I could do things differently, I would. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well… Nothing we can do about it now.” You both stand there in silence for a while, avoiding the other’s gaze. You don’t know what to say next but it feels weird leaving now, like there’s still something unsaid.

He breaks the silence first. “So. What’s um, what’s with you and Heeseung?”

You look at him, surprised by his question. “I’m not sure. We’re figuring things out,” you reply cautiously. He nods his head slowly, taking the information in.

“So, he’s not like a rebound or anything?”

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “No, Sunghoon, he’s not a rebound. If I needed a rebound, I’d have gotten one months ago.”

“But we would've been together then…?”

“So? That didn’t stop you,” you say coldly. “Anyway, I think this conversation’s over. Thanks for apologizing, I guess.”

Sunghoon doesn’t try to stop you, and you try not to be disappointed. It would’ve been a nice ego stroke.

Walking back to Heeseung’s car, you nod and exhale through your nose when he asks you if you’re alright. You ask him where he hid the TV remote, and he says he stashed it between towels in a cupboard in the bathroom: “There’s no way he’ll find it there anytime soon. You guys were talking a while, so I also changed some books’ places on his shelves in the living room.”

In the car, Heeseung gives you silence, which you’re grateful for. You need some time to think about what just happened, and what will happen now. Your talk with Sunghoon could’ve gone somewhat better, but you shouldn’t have expected that much from him; him sincerely, soberly apologizing already makes you feel better. You think about the final thing from the list: Make him regret what he did.

“Hey, Heeseung?” you call out, and he hums in response, turning his head slightly towards you but keeping his eyes on the road.

“About the last thing on the list. I guess that’s already done, no? I don’t think there’s anything else we can do that’ll make him regret what he did more, is there?”

He seems to think for a minute, pouting his lips in reflection. “I guess not. I’d say he seems pretty regretful as well. How did your talk with him go?”

“It was alright,” you sigh. “At least he wasn’t drunk, this time. I’m happy he knows what he did was wrong, and I’m glad he found it in him to apologize. In all our years together, that must’ve been the third or fourth time.”

“Wow,” Heeseung breathes out. You turn to look at him and see that he’s clenching his jaw. He notices your stare and chuckles, explaining: “It’s just frustrating knowing you had to go through that for such a long time. I could already tell you weren’t happy with him, but I didn’t know how bad it was. If I had, I think I would’ve had a savior moment and tried to rescue you from there.”

You laugh with him, and contentment suddenly fills you. It’s so easy, being around Heeseung. It’s easy, and it feels good. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

He stops at a red light and turns to look at you, his eyes trapping you in. “Yeah, I am.”

Another comfortable silence settles in the car as you face the window, hiding the blush creeping on your cheeks. Heeseung takes one of your hands from your lap, holding it on your thigh as he keeps his other hand on the steering wheel. He doesn’t let go of it until he parks in front of your apartment, turning to you with a smile.

“So, what now?” you ask, feeling giddy under his gaze.

He giggles at you and brings his hand up to pat your hair. “Whatever you want.”

You’re not used to being given the right to make decisions, and the fact that Heeseung so easily gives you the reins takes you aback. You try to figure out what you want, but it’s a bit hard; there’s nothing you want to do that jumps out at you, and so you tell Heeseung that.

“That’s alright. Do you know if you want to be by yourself? Or should I stay with you?”

You take another moment to ponder, checking the time. Your phone screen blinks back 8:03 p.m. “I think… it’s already quite late, I think I want to go to bed early. By myself, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling at you. “I’ll let you go, then.”

You kiss his cheek goodbye, then head to the entrance of your building, waving at him when you reach it. He gestures for you to get in, and you like that he waits for you to be inside before driving away.

—

Heeseung is so patient. He doesn’t make you feel bad for not giving him a straightforward answer after a month, he just keeps on smiling at you, making you laugh, and doing sweet gestures. He reminds you everyday that he’s there through his actions but never pressures you. As promised, he comes with you to the pet shelter, and together you choose an orange tabby that you’d fallen in love at first sight with.

One day after you’ve gone out for drinks with Yuqi and Miyeon and you’re not thinking very straight, you call him in drunk tears, apologizing for making him wait and saying you don’t want him to be upset with you.

“I could never be upset with you, Y/N. I’ll wait however long you need, and I’m happy as long as you are too.” His words stick with you and they echo in your mind whenever your gazes meet.

One Friday night, Miyeon invites everyone in the office out to celebrate her recent promotion. Heeseung sits next to you and holds your hand under the table. You find yourself wishing you didn’t feel the need to hide your intertwined hands from your colleagues. You turn your face towards Heeseung who’s engrossed in a conversation with your manager, and you love how his face lights up and how animatedly he’s talking. He looks so beautiful and you hold his hand a bit tighter. He turns to you for a second with a smile on his face, squeezing your hand before turning back to the manager, and it’s all you need to know you’re ready for him.

You and your colleagues close the bar, and Heeseung and you stand outside for half an hour, making sure everyone gets safely into a taxi. Heeseung had said he didn’t feel like drinking that night, and you had stopped as soon as the realization had hit you, wanting a clear head.

When everybody’s left, you and Heeseung shyly avoid each other’s gaze, kicking small pebbles on the ground, bursting into a fit of giggles when your eyes meet.

“So…” he starts.

“So…” you repeat, looking up at him with a grin.

“I live quite close to here, if you’d like to come over,” he offers, voice quiet.

“I’d love that.” He looks at you, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You both laugh again, and you think it’s crazy how he manages to make you feel fifteen again. He takes your hand in his, swaying it back and forth the whole way to his apartment. He opens the door for you, grandly gesturing for you to go in. You’ve been here before for after-drinks with him and your colleagues, but just like when he had come over at yours a few weeks prior, being here now by yourself feels different. Heeseung’s apartment is cozy, inviting and very him. Old books stand on the same shelf next to the latest PS5 releases, he’s got framed pictures of him and his family next to his TV; there’s even a few which you’re in. A colorful knitted throw covers the brown leather couch, and he shyly explains that he’s found a new hobby these past few months.

“It started out when my niece was born, I wanted to knit her a small hat…” he says, and you want to squish his cheeks with how adorable he is.

You take another look around the living room before your eyes settle on him. He hopes you can’t hear how loud his heart is beating right now. He clears his throat. “What do you, um, what do you want to do?” he asks nervously.

You know what you want to do. You feel it burning inside you, but you don’t know how to put it into words. You take a step towards him, your eyes never leaving his.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” You shake your head. “Water?” You shake it again, taking another step closer to him. He closes his eyes and releases a shaky breath when you’re standing right in front of him, mere centimeters separating your bodies.

“Heeseung?” you say, and he hums at the sound of his name but keeps his eyes closed. “Thank you for waiting.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing the side of your face into his chest. His arms immediately come around your waist, hugging you closer to his body.

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to make you wait anymore,” you say quietly, and when he doesn’t answer after a few moments, you think he might have not even heard you. He leans back to look at you, and you swear his eyes have gotten a shade darker.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes trained on your lips.

“Yes. Kiss me, please,” you say, and he doesn’t need to be told twice before pressing his mouth to yours.

You find release in his lips. The kiss starts out slow and careful at first, as if he’s scared you might go back on your word at any moment, but he’s quickly reassured that you won’t when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, your hands finding purchase in the soft strands of his hair. You can feel all those years he’s waited to do this in his kiss, all of his desire and need and desperation. You hope the way you kiss him back makes him understand how happy and safe he’s made you feel these past weeks.

He bends down and picks you up, making you yelp in surprise at the sudden action, then carries you bridal-style to his bedroom, laying you down gently on the mattress. He places feather-like kisses all over your face, ears and neck, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. You grab his face to bring his lips back down onto yours, and he gladly reciprocates the kiss, the both of you smiling into it. The shots of soju you had hours ago have nothing to do with how light-headed you feel.

You untuck his button-up from his trousers, dipping your hands underneath it to feel the warm skin there. He shivers at your touch and kisses you more hungrily, his tongue asking for permission inside your mouth. Your hands come from his lower back to his chest and you start to unbutton his shirt from the top down, marveling at the sight of his toned chest and abs once the shirt is off. You push down on his shoulders so that he lays on his back as you straddle his hips. You dip your head down to press warm kisses down his shoulder and between his collarbones, your hand caressing his stomach and feeling him squirm at your touch.

When his hands come to hold you at the sides, you sit up and let him take your top off, laughing together when it gets a bit stuck around your head. His big hands brush against your stomach and come up to cup your breasts over your bra, which you quickly unclasp. He breathes out a ‘wow’ at the sight of you half-naked on top of him, and you think there’s no way you’ll ever get tired of that look of admiration in his eyes.

He leans in and wraps his soft lips around your nipple, licking and nipping at the sensitive bud, making you moan and arch your back in pleasure. He keeps one arm around your waist and uses his second hand to tend to your other breast, making sure they both get attention. You graze your fingers through his locks, tugging at them when it feels particularly good. His actions make a fire burn in your core, and you’re so desperate for any kind of friction that you start rubbing yourself over his growing erection, making him moan around your nipple.

He kisses from your breasts back up to your lips, trapping them ravenously as his hands snake underneath your skirt to grab at your ass, bringing you down even further onto him. You let your arms hang around his head as you bury your face in the crook of his neck and he continues pressing kisses in your hair.

“Want you inside me, Hee,” you croak out, voice weak.

“Hmm. You have no idea how much I want that baby, but I want to take it slow with you. Make you know how much I love you,” he says, his words sending shivers down your spine.

His arms come around you as he lays you down on your back again and hovers over you. “L-love me?,” you ask quietly.

He kisses you once on the lips and looks you in the eyes. “Yes, love you. So much.” He starts kissing down your body, sucking a mark right underneath your collarbone. “More than you could ever know.” He sucks a second mark in the same spot, and you look down to see that he’s formed a heart with his love bites.

He hooks his fingers under your skirt and looks up at you, asking for permission. You nod your head and he pulls your skirt and underwear down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor next to the bed. He rakes his fingers up and down your sides, remembering from last time how sensitive you are there. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, Y/N. I can’t believe I get to see you like this,” he says as he openly stares at your naked body in front of him.

He sits up at the end of his bed, undoing his belt and taking his trousers off so that he’s left in his boxers, the fabric stretching around his hard member. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you reach out a hand, laying it in his chest. “Please, Hee. I need you.”

He smiles softly at you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve waited so long for this. Do you think you could be patient for me tonight? I promise I’ll give you what you want. I just want to take my time,” he asks and you nod fervently, eyebrows furrowed. He’s right; you’ve made him wait for such a long time, the least you could do is let him go slow tonight.

He hovers down your body, taking your left foot in his hand and placing a soft kiss on top of it. He kisses all the way up from your foot to your thighs, gently biting the soft flesh there. “You’re so pretty, all spread out like this for me. Do you know how pretty you are? Hm?”

You can only hum in response, mind too clouded with pleasure when he’s barely touched you yet. “Please,” you breathe out.

“Please what?” he asks, still nipping at your thighs, making them shake in anticipation. There was a fire between your legs and you didn’t know how long you could take it. “Use your words so I know what you want, baby.”

“Plea-please touch me, Hee.”

“Touch you where, baby? Here?” he says as his thumb strokes up your folds, already soaking wet, making you moan at the sensation.

“Fuck, yes, right here, please,” you whine, bucking your hips up, craving more of his touch.

Heeseung could cum at the sight in front of him, of you so needy for him, of you begging for more. He feels like he’s dreaming, but your moans and your grip on his arm remind him that this is real, this is actually happening. “You have no idea what you do to me, beautiful,” he breathes out before diving into your core, his tongue lapping up all of your juices, licking stripes up your folds and sucking at your clit. He eats you out like he hasn’t had a meal in ages, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach much sooner than you’d like to admit. You tug at his hair and claw at his shoulders, not wanting to hurt him but needing something to hold onto.

You’re a blubbering mess underneath him, and it only gets worse when he slips a finger inside you, quickly adding a second one when he sees how wet and accommodating you are around his fingers. Not even a minute later, you’re moaning out his name like it’s the only thing you know to say and bucking your hips into his face and hand as your orgasm comes crashing down on you, taking your breath away for a few seconds. You hold for dear life onto his shoulders as he helps you ride out your high, then kisses all the way back up to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He lets you catch your breath for a moment, kissing your face softly and telling you how well you did, how pretty you are. When you’re rested, you grab his face, kissing him with all the desire in your body. Your hand snakes down to palm him over his boxers and you see him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and you can’t help but kiss him there over and over again. You help him out of his boxers, letting his erection spring free as it slaps against his stomach. You take him in your hand, spreading the pre-cum all over him as you bite at his neck and earlobe, reveling in the sounds he’s making for you.

“Need more of you, Hee,” you whisper in his ear.

“Mhm. Anything for you, beautiful. How do you want to do this?” he asks, looking at you with hooded eyes.

“I think… I want to ride you. I want to look at you.” He nods and sits up back against the headboard, taking you in his arms with him and sitting you in his lap. Feeling him against you is enough to make your mind draw a blank. He reaches for his drawer, saying, “Let me put a condom on first,” but you stop him.

“I’m on the pill. Want to feel you without anything, if that’s okay.”

He lets out a shaky breath and nods. “That’s more than okay,” he says with a smile.

You raise yourself on your knees, taking him in your hand and rubbing his tip between your folds a few times before finally sinking down onto his cock, the both of you releasing heavy breaths at the feeling. You sit there for a minute or two, chests pressed together, letting yourself adjust to his size as he grazes his fingernails up and down your back.

“Take your time, baby. You’ve already done so well. And you feel so good just like this.”

“Mmh. Feels good for me too, Hee,” you murmur in his neck.

“Yeah? I’m glad,” he says, letting his hands roam down your back to your ass and behind your thighs. Feeling ready, you move a little bit in his lap, tentatively rolling your hips over his, and the sensation takes over your whole body. You both moan at the same time, and when you pick your pace up, Heeseung can’t stop muttering curses under his breath.

“Fuck, just like that, Y/N. That feels amazing. You’re so perfect.”

He hands grab at your ass, massaging the soft flesh. You then start raising your hips and slamming them back down onto his and he bucks his up to meet yours, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. You try to keep up a quick pace, desperately chasing your high, but soon enough your thighs start to tire and you don’t have the strength to go as fast.

“Heeseung… Need help…” you breathe out, collapsing on top of him.

Without a word, he places a hand between your shoulder blades, pressing you close to him and making you raise your hips. He then digs his fingers into the sides of your hips and starts pounding into you at a much quicker pace than you could ride him, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and your gradually louder moans filling the room. “I’m gonna cum, Hee,” you warn, voice breathy and high-pitched.

“Fuck. Me too, baby.” You’re a moaning mess on top of him, and you can feel his thrusts getting sloppier as he approaches his own high. He grips his fingers tighter in your skin as his orgasm hits him, curses and moans escaping his lips. The sinful sounds he’s making and the feeling of him shooting his seed inside you are enough to send you over the edge, and you cum all over his dick, muttering his name over and over again.

You stay locked against each other for a few moments as you regain consciousness, feeling him getting softer inside you. He pulls out, making you hiss slightly, and rests his head against the wall behind him, looking at you with a cheeky grin and heavy eyelids, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your hips.

You lay down on the bed, body feeling heavy, and rest your head on his thigh, your hand coming up to caress his other one. You place a kiss on the inside of his thigh, then another one of his hip bone, and wrap your arms around his waist, closing your eyes and letting his hand in your hair lull you to sleep.

“Hey, lovebug, don’t fall asleep on me. Let’s get you cleaned up first,” he says, and you let out a low hum, letting him unwrap your arms from around him, get up and help you to the bathroom. “I’ll go and draw us a bath, okay?” he asks softly, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

When you’re back from the toilet, the bath is all filled up with water and he’s laying in it, arms resting against the sides of the tub. He opens his eyes when he hears you coming and he sits up a little bit, gesturing for you to get in with him. You settle yourself between his legs, his arms wrapping themselves around you and rest your head against his chest. You hum at the feeling of the warm water enveloping the both of you and of him against you.

“I think I could stay like this forever,” you say, hands coming to cover his on your stomach.

He lets out a small laugh. “Me too, only if it meant we didn’t get pruny fingers and feet.”

“Ew,” you laugh with him. The two of you chat for another twenty minutes, talking about this and that until the water gets cold and it’d feel cozier being under the sheets together rather than in the tub. He helps you out of it, drying the both of you off with one towel, making you laugh when he wraps it around you two.

You get into bed naked together, and you breathe in the scent of his skin that’s already become so familiar and comforting. Before you can drift off to sleep, you call out his name softly.

“Yes, love?”

“You won’t hurt me, right?”

He feels his heart ache for you, for how right you deserve to be treated and for all the love he wishes he could’ve given you this whole time. “Never in a million years, Y/N.” That’s all you need to hear to fall asleep peacefully.

—

You wake up in the same position you had all these weeks ago, your back to Heeseung’s chest and his arm lazily over your waist, and it's the most perfect way to start off your day. Your mouth feels dry so you sit up, reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand, but Heeseung’s arm around you tightens as he sleepily mumbles, “Stay here.”

You turn around to face him and press a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I just need some water, Hee.” He lets out a small groan but lets you go, and you gulp the water down.

“Should I go make us breakfast?” you ask even though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, drawing out the vowel, “stay here. Come here.” He opens his arms wide, inviting you in his hold. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and you feel at home.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he says, hugging you tight to him.

“Good morning, Heeseung.”

“Hm, don’t call me Heeseung,” he whines. “Call me Hee. Like you did last night. I like it more.” You laugh at his cute behavior, making him whine even more. “Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” He starts tickling your sides and you laugh even more.

“Sorry! Sorry!” you say, trying to catch your breath. “Sorry, Hee.” He hums appreciatively and stops tickling you, kissing your forehead.

“Better?” you ask teasingly.

“Better,” he says just as his stomach starts growling, making you snort.

You give him a small tap on his butt, and, ignoring his whines, say, “C’mon, let’s have breakfast.” You manage to escape his grasp and rummage around his drawers, finding a t-shirt and pair of boxers of his for you to wear. He watches you get dressed with a lazy smile.

“Are you trying to get me hard again, baby?”

“No, I’m trying to make you get up so we can eat.”

“I can just eat you.” You grab a pillow from his bed to throw over his face, making him laugh. “Sorry, sorry,” he says between giggles, and gets up, grabbing clean clothes for himself.

You spend the day lazing around his apartment, fueling up on snacks and kisses from each other. You can barely keep your hands off of him; his skin is warm under your hands and you feel at peace when you can feel him against you. Sunghoon had never much liked skinship, and you’d always had to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him. But Heeseung melts under your touch every single time; he kisses your palm when you cup his cheek and caresses your hands when you wrap your arms around his middle from behind and strokes your hair when you rest your head against his shoulder. His moans and whimpers are the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard; you go down on him while you’re watching a movie and then again in the shower just to hear them over and over again. He eats you out like you’re dessert, telling you you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. When he spoons you on the couch, neither of you can keep it innocent for long before you ask him to cockwarm you, and he readily obliges, burying himself deep inside you.

“Y/N?” he calls out when you’re in that position, watching the nth movie of the weekend.

“Yes, Hee?”

“I’ve been thinking about that list. You know how ‘make him regret what he did’ is the last thing on the list?”

“Yeah, and we said that was already done, didn’t we?” you say, not really wanting to talk about anything related to Sunghoon anymore.

“Yeah. But I was thinking, the only way he’ll really regret it is when he sees how happy you are without him, don’t you think?”

“I guess…” you reply, curious as to what he’s getting at.

“Would you let me do that? Make you happy?”

You let out a small ‘oh’ at his words, and immediately feel tears welling in your eyes. It’s hard, wrapping your head around the fact that someone wants to be there for you and look after your happiness without asking for anything in return. “You already make me so happy, Hee.”

He giggles, burying his face in the crook of your neck and leaving a kiss there. “I do?” he asks, and you don’t know how he doesn’t see it.

“So much. And I want to make you happy, too.”

“You do that just by being here, lovebug. You don’t need to do anything else.” You take your hand up to your mouth and kiss him all over his fingers and palm.

“What should we tell people at work?” you ask, gently biting his knuckle to annoy him, but he just lets you, biting your neck in return.

“About what?”

“About us.”

“Us?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I think everybody already knows I’m in love with you. I was, well, still am, pretty obvious about it, so I’m not sure how you never saw it.”

“Sorry,” you say, kissing his knuckle in apology.

“It’s okay. What do you want to tell them?”

“I don’t know. Should we let them figure it out without saying anything?”

“Figure what out?”

“That we’re together.”

“We’re together?!”

“Of course we are!” you laugh, gently tapping his hand.

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“I thought it was obvious!”

He joins in your laughter. “We need to stop thinking we’re being obvious and just tell each other how we feel.”

“I agree. How do you feel?”

“I love you. How do you feel?”

You pause for a second, and because it feels right, and because it feels like the truth, you say, “I love you too.”

—

It takes Yuqi and Miyeon approximately two days to figure out that Heeseung and you are together. And once these two know, everybody in the office knows. To be fair, the two of you do try to keep things professional; it's not your fault that Yuqi walked in just as you placed a quick peck on Heeseung's cheek in the break room, or that he spends more time at your desk than usual, always pretending there's nothing he needs to talk to you about.

“The two of you are like Jim and Pam,” your manager complains jokingly when he walks past you.

Heeseung and you just exchange a knowing glance, trying not to burst into laughter in the middle of the office. You look at him and he looks at you, and you’ve never been happier.

permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @sd211 @lalalalawon @w

© asahicore on tumblr, 2023. please do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works. reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

[yelenasdiary]

what if i have a drabble idea?

yelena x reader

TW self harm trigger warning tho

after the date things get a little heated and it all brings the two into the bedroom. the only thing is that r forgets about the scars on her thighs, and when yelena takes off her pants, silence falls. r starts mumbling, worried about Yelena's reaction, but Yelena starts saying very nice things that warm R's heart and make her feel loved!!!

yeah well, I hope you can do something about it lol

love u, byee

Drabble || My Beautiful Love

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: Yelena assures you that she loves you no matter what.

Angst, Fluff, Suggestive Themes

Warnings: Light Smut, 18+ ONLY! Minors & Men DNI! Mentions of Self-Harm & Scars, Mentions of Depression & Dark Thoughts. This is not proof read or corrected! | 0.4K

Translations: detka (baby), голубь (dove), moya krasivaya lyubov' (my beautiful love), milyy (darling),

AC: Thank you for sending this, I hope this brings comfort to anybody who needs it. Remember that you are never alone and if you ever need somebody to talk too, my DMs/Asks are always open x

From the front door to the bedroom, the steamy make-out session didn't break. Yelena carried you to the bedroom, your legs wrapped round her waist and your hands tangled in her locks of blonde hair. Gently, she laid you down on to the bed, her lips making their way to your neck making you moan softly at her touch.

Her lips kept you distracted while her hands worked your clothing, you managed to pull her t-shirt off and throw it to the floor before she sat back and slowly pulled your pants off, adding them to the small pile of discarded clothing on the floor.

"Detka" Yelena said ever so softly. Your eyes dropped to your thighs and quickly you pulled the throw blanket over your legs, muttering things Yelena couldn't quite make out. She notice the way you were doing your best to blink back the tears that were building up. "голубь" she spoke once more, moving closer to you, taking your hands into hers, "please don't hide from me" she added.

Silence filled the room before you looked up at her. Without hesitation she kissed you deeply, "moya krasivaya lyubov' , I'm not mad with you and I don't think any less of you" she said, slowly removing the blanket from your legs, "we all have scars" she added.

"B-but mine are...I did that" you replied in a stutter. Yelena gently cupped your face, "you are stronger than anybody I have ever met, ever know for that fact" her thumb gently stroking your cheek, "why didn't you talk to me?" she asked.

You shrugged, "I don't like to worry you with my issues. You have must more important things to worry about than my stupid depressed mind" you replied.

"Detka, nothing is more important to me than you being happy and healthy and that you're safe. I would take a bullet for you if it meant you were going to be okay. Worry me with your mind detka, tell me all those thoughts that keep you up and I will do whatever I can in my power to make you feel better"

Her words meant more to you than you knew it, she pulled you into her arms, hugging you tightly while she whispered sweet nothings to you. She truely was the best, somebody who misunderstood but knew you inside and out and cared about you more than you realised.

"Lena, if it's okay with you...could we just cuddle and watch a movie tonight? I...I j-just want to fall asleep in your arms" you asked. Yelena smiled softly, "of course we can my angel, what movie would you like to watch?" she asked before getting out of bed and getting pjs for the two of you.

Taglist: @marvelfan98 | @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | @itsalwaysskorpioszn | @caporal-nino | @natashamaximoff-69 | @evilcr0ne | @boredandneedfanfics | @teganmiller | @ihavezeroclue13 | @tobiaslut | @itsmelulu | @axolotllover225 | @koinsss | @nuianced-tck-enby | @springsheep | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

[highvern]

Talk

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

warnings:  oral sex/face sitting/69, prone bone, dom/sub dynamics (dom!reader/sub!hoshi),  protected sex, impact play (spanking), mentions of butt stuff but nothing explicit

Length: ~ 4.3k

Note: this ended up way longer than i originally planned... by like 2k but im weak for sub hoshi. realized i accidentally made them schmidt and cece from new girl.... oh well. as always thank u @gyuswhore for suffering my horrible punctuation and EVERYONE HAS TO READ HER UP COMING HOSHI FIC FOR PIRATE HOSHI I DEMAND IT

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], YUCK [f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Soonyoung talks. A lot. 

Sometimes it makes no sense. Like the occasions he calls you after a night out and slurs his words through the speaker as you hum agreement to who knows what until he passes out while still on the line, letting you hear every snore and smack of his lips until you hang up; or when he’s inside you and it's all a bit too much that he has to tell you how good it feels in excruciating detail; or when you both wake up in the morning, you late for work and him trying to talk you into keeping the sheets warm for just a few more minutes, and Soonyoung thinks he’s convinced you but fifteen more minutes really won’t hurt because his apartment is closer to your office anyway.

He talks so much that not hearing his voice the second he opens the door is like a slap in the face.

There's no invitation inside, or lukewarm greeting. The door hangs ajar, Soonyoung already back down the hall in the direction of his room with the expectation you’ll follow. 

You do, but with the same hesitancy you’d approach a wild animal: curious and on edge.

Despite the hour, his roommates aren’t anywhere to be seen. No bodies sprawled across the couch or light under their doors. Their presence never stopped you before but it’s unsettling that there's no buffer of anything to break the storm cloud choking the atmosphere. Just stark exposure to whatever is clearly bothering Soonyoung that he won’t tell you about because, technically, you two don’t do that. Or, he does and you vehemently refuse all of it with less and less authenticity each time.

Soonyoung doesn’t prattle on about his day or ask about yours as you trail behind him. He throws off his shirt without a word, collapses on the edge of the mattress, and roughly pulls you into his lap. It’s cold and unfeeling and exactly the kind of sex you’d enthusiastically participate in a year ago. But nothing like the Soonyoung you’ve grown familiar with over the past few months.

He doesn’t comment on the low cut of your top, falling into the motions without the usual banter. 

You wiggle free from his grasp, trying to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He doesn’t look at you before taking back up where he left off.

“Stop.” You push him back, trying to get a look at his face but he stays in the crook of your neck. “Stop.”

The silence that follows is loud. He collapses back into the bed, arms curling up to hide away from whatever is chasing him.

“I said I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“Could've fooled me,” you huff.

“Doesn’t matter. Not what you come here for anyway, right?”

A half truth that stings more than you’d like. It sinks in your gut in the quiet dark of his room.

“You know what? Forget I asked, I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” he says, arms attempting to snake around your waist but you’re already up.

“No. You don’t need to be an asshole when I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Because you’re sunshine and rainbows all the time?”

“Did I fucking say I was? If you’ve got a problem with it you’ve had long enough to lose my number.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” he sighs heavily. “Bad day.”

You soften at the break in his voice. Stepping back over, you stand between his legs. He looks small, hunched over with his head in his hands and the weight of the world on his shoulders. The light you’ve come to associate with having him within reach is gone and all that's left is a man you don’t really recognize. He buries his face in the warmth of your stomach, and goes limp as you run a hand across his shoulders.

“Do—” you clear your throat. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Because if Soonyoung is talking there's less chances for you to open your mouth and screw it all up. You don’t know how to be doughy and tender with the same level of ease he possesses. You’ll probably fail trying but it's the least you can do.

It’s uncharted territory; for you, for this, whatever this is because it doesn’t really resemble anything you’ve done before even though the foundation is the same. Because you care about Soonyoung, and he obviously cares about you. But you’re not sure how to let him and even less sure how to return it.

“No.” 

“Okay,” you say, at a loss for what comes next.

Inactivity breeds restlessness. Without any idea how to do this on your own, you default to the steps he took when you were half cooked on your bathroom floor.

Soonyoung eyes you with questions but doesn’t speak as you drag him into the en suite. Bites his tongue as you work off your clothes under the sterile overhead light and then move to work on his; raising his arms when you poke him and managing his pants on his own. He even smiles, or his mouth twitches in a vague allusion to a grin, when you flick water at him after guaranteeing the temperature won’t give you both pneumonia.

Finally tucked behind the shower curtain, he stands dumbly. Not another move to help, content to watch you wash his hair, nails raking over his scalp until he shivers. 

You ignore the prod at your thigh. Focused on letting the warmth of the water do the heavy lifting, you soak a washcloth in soap and lather his skin until it tinges pink. A shampoo mohawk earns a kiss dusted along your shoulders and you might even blush a bit if you weren’t so focused on perfecting the spikes so he looks like one of those 90s alternative poster boys.

Out of the shower, his vow of silence continues. Everything he isn’t saying is clear in his eyes, especially when you slather his face in one of those mud masks, painting him bright green. He’s less intimidating with chunks of clay in his eyebrows.

He isn’t accommodating but he also doesn’t outright refuse which seems to be the best you’re going to get. 

“You look like Shrek,” you snort, satisfied and turning towards the mirror to cover your own face in a matching shade.  

“Well then you're Fiona.” His head comes over your shoulder, chin digging into bare skin to watch you in the mirror. His chest is sticky against your back from steam but you don’t mind if it means he’ll talk to you.

“Actually,” you think, wiggling to face him. “I think you’re more like Donkey.” 

“The dragon fits you better anyway.”

“Are you calling me scary?” you gasp.

“Yes.”

“Good. Remember that next time you want me to suck on your balls.”

He winces. “I can feel them retreating into my body already.”

“Don’t make me laugh, it’ll mess up the mask.”

Without a care for the still drying mess of his face, he takes refuge back in his favorite place. Tucked under your chin, he sighs.

“I’m sorry I was a dick earlier. Work sucked today. I didn’t get a contract I wanted, they picked some other kid at the studio for it. I’ve taught him for years and they picked him over me.”

“I’m sorry.” You placate him with a gentle hand up his back, nails tracing loose patterns as the fan hums over head.

“Not your fault.”

“No, but it still sucks.”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles closer, arms heavy around your waist like you’d even think to move away. “It’ll be fine though. He’s a good kid and I couldn’t be mad at him. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Fifteen minutes later, you both wash away the flakes of clay, cracked around the corners of your eyes and mouths, and retreat back under the covers in one set of pajamas split between: you in one of his shirts with nothing underneath, and him in sweatpants with nothing on top. 

Soonyoung insists that Pirates of the Caribbean is his comfort movie, something about Kiera Knightly with a gun being his sexual awakening (which explains a lot), and you let him put it on the tiny screen of his laptop with plans to fall asleep in the first five minutes.

His lips are at your temple, a dull pressure that makes your blood hum. “I always wanted to be a pirate growing up.”

“Really?” you ask, edging towards unconsciousness from the lazy drag of his fingers on your hip.

“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes glued to the screen. “Have my own ship, no rules, a bunch of sexy wenches.”

“Half naked women with scurvy were a part of your career plan?”

“Okay, maybe I added those just now but my point stands.”

The picture of Soonyoung with a scar on his chest and one of those ruffled linen shirts straight off the cover of a dime novel some grandma would read on the train with no shame isn’t that bad. Actually, it’s pretty sexy. But you won’t feed his delusions.

“What point?”

He rolls on top of you, face open with grave seriousness. “We should role play. Me as the hot pirate captain, you as the beautiful princess. Forbidden love, enemies type stuff. You run away from being royal and end up joining my crew. Oh no, Captain Hoshi, I had no idea this was your room! What an impressive sword!” he squeals in a breathy mock of you.

“And then,” you gasp. “you come in five minutes and I convince everyone to throw you overboard?”

“Hurtful. But I’m willing to forgive you if you call me captain. Just once.”

He’s close enough to kiss, lips pouted as he waits for you to give into his demand. A gentle peck bordering on domestic makes him sigh, the taste of toothpaste lingering on his breath. Just as you think you’ve distracted him away from such an ridiculous idea, he leans back with a gleam in his eye that says he’ll wait all night if you make him.

“How about we roleplay falling asleep?” you sigh, eyes closed against his expectant gaze.

“Nope, too late. I’m thinking about you wearing nothing but a pirate hat and now I’m hard.”

He curls right into the meat of your thigh, hot and ready to go if you give the word. Sleep is tempting but the thought of a quick tumble wakes you up enough to entertain him. 

“Alright, but you’re doing all the work,” you sigh. “Take off my clothes, captain.”

Pausing to let the idea settle, he shakes his head. “That’s actually not as hot as I thought it would be.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you fuff. “I’m watching the movie.”

You try to shove him away with zero intent to actually let him go anywhere and end up pinned, fingers in a tight grip around your wrists that you pretend to fight against. Soonyoung knows you like to be reminded of his strength on occasion; whether thats fucking your mouth until your throat burns or bending you over. This potentially being one since he’s had a hard day and you’re hungover from making him feel better about it. 

He tongues across your pulse until you go pliant against the pillows, legs spread to cradle his hips. A shuffle of clothes and a lift of your hips and he’d be inside you. There's more steps; a condom, a little fingering because his dick was made to stretch your limits. Your legs shake already, desperate for quick fuck so you can passout while Soonyoung cleans you up. 

But his new mood means he’s making up for lost time. Presently, that's bunching your shirt up to your chin and tracing each inch of newly uncovered skin with his tongue.

“Hellooooo ladies,” he sighs, nose buried between your breasts.

“God, you’re lame.”

“Be nice to me, I had a hard day,” he pouts, releasing your hands in favor of plucking at your chest until you sigh in delight.

“I’m literally letting you—hmmm— see my boobs after you said that corny shit. How much nicer can I be?”

He doesn’t answer, choosing to coax a low groan out of your chest with passes of his mouth until you're kicking the sheets. The good kind of sting that ruts your hips against his thigh and makes you dizzy. There will be a permanent wet patch if he doesn’t give you relief soon.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Like what?” You twitch at the thoughts running rampant. Short of donning that pirate hat mentioned earlier, anything he suggests is guaranteed to make you feel better too. 

“Can show you better than I can tell you,” he bites into your nipple, sucking it to a stiff peak for his fingers to pinch before shifting focus to the other. 

“If you try and put your dick in my ass I’ll rip it off.” The words are breathy off your lips. No real threat because he might be able to talk you into the idea if you let him. If he keeps pulling your strings the way he’s learned how. 

But Soonyoung has different ideas, pulling off your nipple with a rough suck, curling your shoulders in. “That was one time and it was an accident!”

“Let me slip a finger in next time I blow you and tell me how you like it.”

“You have and I do. Keep talking about it and I’m gonna need another shower.”

“God, you’re a freak.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes the initiative to roll you on top, palms massaging your ass while enjoying the view of you naked in his lap. 

A sudden moment of vulnerability roots in your chest, warmed by the set of brown eyes peering up at you. “You know I don’t just come here for this, right?” 

Soonyoung’s eyebrows twist for a moment and then soften. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not ready for anything deeper. The air is already thicker with the weight of that confession, suffocating. In an effort not to drown in it, you drop your chest flat to his, latching onto the jut of his collarbone. “Is this your big idea? Me on top? Not very original.”

A hand at your ass drags you along his covered cock, already begging for attention. It’s not original but you’ll dry hump him into the mattress until your bones are jelly if he wants. 

“Sit on my face.”

It’s your turn to pull back. “What?”

“Sit. On. My. Face.” His hand is already firm against your thighs, forcing you halfway up his chest before you can argue.

“I heard you the first time, just confused how that's supposed to make you feel better.”

“You underestimate the power of your pussy. Now get up here.” 

The shuffle up is less than sexy. Soonyoung is eager from your permission, rushing you up to his mouth until you nearly knee him in the head.

“Wait,” you say. 

Soonyoung locks his arms as you move off him, reflexive because he lets go a second later. Turning, you eye the tent in his pants as you kneel back down. Perfect position to touch him while he touches you.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fingers tracing through your wetness despite the horrible angle.

You don’t get a chance to orient yourself. He’s already quick to work with teasing passes of his tongue that turn bolder every second. 

“Jesus Christ, give me a second to get your dick out.”

But he doesn’t; too consumed with tasting all you have to offer, wringing you out to dry the second he gets a chance. The flat of his tongue laps up your arousal like it’s more vital than oxygen. There's a wet mess smeared between your thighs from the vigor. 

It takes all your focus to force down his pants, mouth watering at the shiny head of his cock straining from some heavy petting. You keep steady with one hand, jerking him off into your mouth with the other. Soonyoung malfunctions between your thighs as you swallow his cock, a moan right to your clit makes you fumble that last inch into your mouth.

He chokes you with a buck up but you take it in stride. Sucking harder, lashing against the slit until he whimpers. Normally, you’d exaggerate the wet noises at the back of your throat but with the crude dig of his tongue in your entrance there's no need. 

“God,” you warble into his crotch. You arch back into his face, Soonyoung’s fingers digging into the meat of your ass, spreading you out like a full course meal.

In theory it’s hot. Your cunt on his face and his cock in your throat, rutting against each other until you're numb and twitching and covered in each other's mess. In practicality, there is nothing Soonyoung is more relentlessly dedicated to than eating you out until your vision turns white and you have to force him away or risk passing out. It only takes a few minutes before you’re forced to tap out, panting into his thigh and weakly fisting his length with no regard for the mess sticking between your knuckles, as he fucks you along his tongue.

“Gonna come, oh–fuck,” you choke. You want him to come too, in your mouth, on your face if that's what he wants. But by some glitch in the universe, Soonyoung is able to hold back and you’re the one racing to the finish first. “Oh my god, Soonyoung, fuck.”

You jerk him off, grip tight despite the slick mess of spit and pre-cum. It doesn’t help that ever squeeze at the swollen head sends a moan straight into your clit, forcing you hips to rut desperately. 

“Don’t stop. Just, shit – need a little more—”

You pull one his hands away to take over your short strokes, spitting into his palm and squeezing until he figures out what you want; to watch him touch himself while eating you out. The contrast of his fingers tangled between your own, both glistening because Soonyoung is just as close as you are, gets you there.

“Close.” Thighs locked, you suffocate him but Soonyoung doesn’t complain. A palm at the base of your spine forces you down when you shy away from the edge. “Oh, oh, oh!”

A sting of your nails into his thigh is all the warning either of you get. Back arched tight, eyes clenched, you shudder through it. Soonyoung doesn’t stop, sucking away the fresh wave of arousal, tongue verging on punishing against your clit as you sink.

“Okay, that's enough—god,” your voice breaks. “Enough.”

You fall to the side, face first into the covers without effort to soften the blow. The lower half of your body is numb but you can feel his hand skating up the back of your calf.

“Good?” he asks, all too aware of the issue; the smirk is clear in his tone, happy to see you strung out from a few minutes on his mouth.

“Shut up,” you warn but the bite isn’t in it. The urge to kick him in the head is there but none of the energy. 

“Are you tapping out on me or…?” 

The sound of the drawer pauses in case you say no but the idea of not feeling him inside you sounds like the worst thing you’ve ever heard.

“You’re not that good,” you mumble into the blanket. “Fuck me like this, you promised you’d do all the work. Remember?”

“Like this?” he hums, rubbing the head of his cock back through the mess with admiration. 

He obeys with a wet kiss to your shoulder, parting your legs and sliding between without a word. You soak in the stretch, ass arched into his hips to take it all. The cold bites down your back when Soonyoung leans back to watch.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he whines. “Shit.” 

He drives into you with a bruising pace, betrayed by his own need to come after having you on his mouth without a tease of relief. You arch into it, the head of his cock dragging deep inside pushing disgusting noises from your lips you pray his roommates aren’t around to hear.

“Spank me.”

He loses it for a second. A rough thrust pushing you down the bed and he scrambles to follow. “Seriously?” 

“Do it,” you bark. 

The first strike is weak. More of a firm caress than the sting you crave; hesitant to push for too much too fast lest you take away any privilege he has.

“Harder.”

The next impact comes hard enough to burn an outline of his hand. And another one that makes your tongue feel too big for your own mouth.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” you whine. “More.”

Arms pinned beneath your torso, all you can do is lay there and take it. Nerves gone, he spanks you like it’s second nature. Like he’s thought about it before.

“Good?” he asks. Sounds more like a beg for validation. That he’s the one driving you crazy, molding your insides to his cock until it’s all you can think about.

“So good, f–fuck me so good.”

“Yeah?” he breathes against your neck, a hand wedging beneath your hips to drag against your clit in messy strokes. “You’re so hot, fuck.”

There will be a bruise to hide come morning but you can’t care. The slap of his hips against your ass, the flame of his hand still lingering on your ass, his cock drilling your insides; there's no room for anything but Soonyoung, Soonyoung, Soonyoung.

You arch your back to feel him deeper only to have him pull out completely on the next stroke.

“No!” you protest, racing to keep him inside. 

It’s no use, Soonyoung flips you on your back before you can convince him otherwise. He hooks your knees over his elbows, spreading you wide and driving home in one smooth push with his teeth at your neck.

“Gonna come,” he begs, voice weak. You know his game, what makes him tick and come so hard he goes blind.

“Not yet,” you warn. A rough twist in his hair only works against his thinning resolve and that's exactly why you pull harder until his hips kick into a jilted rhythm.

“I can’t – please – I can’t—”

“Not yet,” you gasp. He’s deep, right in the back of your throat making you foggy. “Be a g–good boy and wait until I tell you.”

Hips frantic, voice cracking, he tries to hold off; knows it's better when you tell him exactly what to do. Makes him choke into your chest.“Fuck, fuck!” 

“Tell me how bad you want it. How much you love this pussy.”

“Love it, love your pussy.” He folds in half on top of you, desperate. Every drive of his cock into your center forcing your own desperate noises out. “Please let me come for you.”

“Look at me,” you demand. The command in your voice is paper thin but you're both too lost. His eyes are glassy, frantic to do whatever you ask if it means he can come. “Beg for it.”

“P–please,” he whimpers through gritted teeth. “Please let me come. Need it, wanna come. Please. Please!”

He’s too good to edge. Perfectly pliant to any demand and it makes you want to give him whatever he wants. “Give it to me. Fuck me through it. Let me feel you come for me.”

He latches onto your breast, sucking your nipple as his hips turn sloppy. The squeak of mattress springs are a sound track to his end. You won’t come again but you don’t need to. Satiated with the choked whimpers of your name as he swells against your walls, forcing himself as deep as possible like he’s fucking you raw and full of his cum.

Maybe someday you’ll let him.

Your hips are sore from being forced in half so long but you won’t move away until Soonyoung comes back down. Less from your own will power, more because you’re running on fumes and might fall asleep with him still inside you. He gives a few more pathetic twitches and then goes slack.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Welcome to the club,” 

With the grand finale complete, your aching muscles give out completely. You can’t even laugh when one of his hands moves to check your pulse.

“Oh my god,” Soonyoung gasps. “I killed you with my dick.”

“You didn’t kill me.” You slap away his hand weakly. Without distraction, the stickiness of your skin from sweat in the worst places settles in but it’s a problem for later.

“A man can dream,” he says wistfully.

“Of homicide by cock?”

“Of dick game strong enough to murder someone.”

He rubs his nose along yours, breathes mingling in a lazy kiss as exhaustion creeps over your both. 

“Your face smells like pussy.” You slouch into the mattress, deadweight while taking all of his like the perfect blanket.

He kisses you again, tongue teasing at your lips until you give the very real threat of teeth against it and he backs away. “Your mouth tastes like cock so I guess we’re even. C'mon we need to shower again.”

“Nooooooo,” you grumble, clinging to him in an effort to delay the chill waiting to invade between you.

“At least let me get a rag.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, locked at the ankle for dramatic effect. “If you pull out I’ll cry.”

“Words every man wants to hear,” he hums into your cheek with a kiss. “But my dick is sore and we both need to sleep.”

“Fine.”

When he pulls away you feel empty; devastatingly so. But you don’t ask him to comeback. Just pout at the loss and revel in placating pampering you receive in return.

He goes through the steps with familiarity. Wiping away the mess between your legs, tossing your shirt back up from the floor but you forgo it, choosing to sleep naked much to Soonyoung’s delight.

You use his chest as a pillow, curled into his side and tucked under his chin. The steady beat of his heart lulls you off. The last thing you register, on the hazy perimeter at the edge of sleep, is his fingers at your cheek and the ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

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© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[snowsonlylove]

hii!! i commented about making a fic of coryo w or about the song haunted by beyonce, i was thinking maybe something smut if ur comfortable! if not its okay but the fic could be academy!coriolanus x academy!reader and theyre school rivals both working hard to beat each other and theyre obsessed with each other but they hide it with the fact they wanna win but they j wanna fuck (or get together) maybe theyre both possessive and jealous or coryo is the one thats really extra with it,, the story could go rlly slow too and then theres just a part where the facade and tension goes away and theyre needing each other so badly at that moment rushing everything, just like how the song goes idk if i made any sense :o im so excited to see the result!! this song just gives me coriolanus vibes

You Must Be Haunting Me..

a/n note: hii!! yes, i loved your idea and i mostly stayed with your vision, only changing some minor things so the situation makes sense and dw i managed to deliver 🫡 hopefully you like it!! tysm for your idea and i look forward to seeing if there are some things you want to expand on (maybe with little blurbs on this dynamic bc i absolutely LOVE this trope!) & i'm totally comfortable with smut so dw about sending me kinky asks or requests. i totally accept them!!

Pairing: Academy!Coriolanus Snow x AcademyRival!Reader

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow have been academic rivals ever since the beginning of their journey in the Academy. It’s no secret that both Y/N and Coriolanus are the two top students of the Academy, both of them only being able to beat each other, the rest are just no competition for them. However, they genuinely have no idea why they're doing this constant battle against each other. Little did they know, both of them always think about each other behind closed doors and are obsessed with each other, each equally impressed at the other at how intelligent they are. One day, things just boil over with how Coriolanus constantly riles Y/N up and they explode in a huge fight which results in a turmoil of deep, rough and passionate sex. 

Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+, Enemies to Lovers trope, dramatic behaviour from both of them, a wee bit of angst (mostly derived from the name-calling but in my head this is more funny than it is angsty 😭😭😭)

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do this guys, use a condom. reader is on birth control), rough pushing, harsh words used from both Y/N and Coriolanus, degradation (use of whore), cunnilingus (female receiving), squirting, lmk if i missed anything else

Word Count: 2k

I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Beyonce and her team. 

I do not allow my works to be republished or translated under any circumstances. Any instances of this happening and YOU WILL BE BLOCKEDDD. 

Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.

Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow began this disastrous journey from the age of 11-12. Both students entered the Academy with an air of poise and elitism about them as they knew what it took to defeat the competition in the Academy, most students not even being a possible candidate to them. It was all fine and well, until one year, Y/N and Coriolanus were put in the same class for the year, and the rivalry then started..

The first assignment of that year was an individual project on what each student thought the Capitol looked like during its earliest times. Each student was tasked with coming up with a drawing with their thoughts on said topic. This was their chance to go up against each other. Both Y/N and Coriolanus would stay up in the library after school and collect piles of books and do their research and by the time the task was due, Y/N and Coriolanus obviously submitted the best sketches.

After acknowledging this, the professor asked the class to vote for who’s sketch was the best. Small pieces of paper were given out to write either Y/N’s and Coriolanus’s names and as the professor then collected the papers, making both students anxious. As the professor counted the votes, Y/N’s heart was beating out of her chest, Coriolanus’s as well. It was then announced that Y/N won, which made Coriolanus furious as he spewed a full speech on how much he hated her. “You’d never be as good as what they say you are. You’re just dirt under my feet. God! You’re such a bitch!” He screamed as the professor and the class started at him in astonishment as they’ve never seen him lash out before.

Y/N was heartbroken when she heard this as sometimes when Coriolanus wasn’t looking, Y/N would sneak glances towards him and she started to be enamoured by him. Their time together after hours in the library would usually end up in them having conversations about their day and this time together helped them bond better. With this in mind, Y/N truly thought Coriolanus was at least civil enough to be respectful towards her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes as she ran out of the classroom, the professor telling her to wait.

Coriolanus, still blind with rage, kept on screaming and yelling obscenities about Y/N as he stormed off to his seat, his face red and his whole demeanour fueling with rage. Unfortunately, this fateful day was what started the vicious rivalry between Y/N and Coriolanus as the two would fight over who got the better grades, which teacher favoured which student more, the differences in their scores in each assignment every single day.

As of current, both Y/N and Coriolanus are 18 and in the midst of graduating. One of their last assignments was unfortunately a pair assignment. Dr Gaul once scoped out the Academy and witnessed one of the fights between Y/N and Coriolanus and she noticed how by getting them near each other, she could make them into the power couple of Panem and have them continue the Hunger Games, which inspired her to whisper in the ear of Dean Highbottom to get them to be in the same class and for them to share a table together until they graduated. Both Y/N and Coriolanus were very unhappy about this, both choosing to ignore each other while they were in their seats. 

With both of them getting older, both Y/N and Coriolanus started noticing certain things about them. Coriolanus noticed how Y/N’s facial features were more prominent, how her ass got bigger, her breasts more plump, making him unable to control a certain urge at times which led him to mastrubate thinking about her sometimes. Y/N also noticed a few things about Coriolanus. How he started to grow muscles, how they cling to his academy uniform whenever he took off his academy jacket, how his jaw was sharper, how his nose was becoming more emphasised, how he lost his baby fat. She can honestly go forever and forever about how attractive he is.

That being said, there was one particular day where everything just blew over the water. Y/N and Coriolanus were taking notes during Dean Highbottom’s lecture when Y/N felt Coriolanus’s elbow dig into her arms whenever they got to writing. This obviously made Y/N frustrated as she harshly whispered to Coriolanus to stop a few times, which led to a hushed debate between the two before it grew louder and louder until they were screaming at each other, making the whole class look at them and Dean Highbottom staring at them in shock before yelling for them to stop and stay after class for detention.

Both Y/N and Coriolanus felt embarrassed as they were lectured by Dean Highbottom after class before an assistant of Dean Highbottom requested him to join Dr Gaul for a meeting about the Hunger Games. Dean Highbottom sighed as he looked at the two young teenagers, “Look.. I feel that you two are now old enough to know what is acceptable behaviour in class. I’ll be back soon, do not kill each other while I’m gone.” As Highbottom left the classroom, the tense atmosphere began to build as the door closed behind him.

Almost immediately after he left, Y/N and Coriolanus stared at each other with the most hateful expression ever. Y/N menacingly glared at him while saying with gritted teeth, “See, Coriolanus! If you’re long ass elbow didn’t fucking dig in my arm every single time, that old fart wouldn’t lecture us for one fucking hour! My god, you’re truly dumb!” Coriolanus glared at her before stating, “It’s not my fucking fault that happened with you were taking over the whole goddamn table with your arms everywhere! Geez, Y/N! I thought you’d be more modest!”

Y/N looked at him, shocked, “ME?!! You’re blaming ME for something YOU did! That is so fucking misogynistic coming from you, a man! I swear to god, this is discrimination towards women at its core! Grow the fuck up, Coriolanus! We’re not children anymore! God! I’d be spending my time with Sejanus right now if it weren’t for your stubborn ass!” Y/N huffed while rolling her eyes. Coriolanus stared at her, his face full of jealousy before gritting out, “Sejanus? What the fuck are you doing with Sejanus?! You’re such a fucking whore! Ugh, you’re such a bitch!” Y/N looked at him, offended, “Bitch, weren’t you just fucking Clemensia a few weeks ago? Yeah, I heard about that! Everyone was practically talking about it! Don’t pretend to be so innocent, Coriolanus!”

Coriolanus looked at her, his expression turned dark as he stalked towards her, her taking a step back until her back had hit the wall. Coriolanus leaned towards her, lifting one of his arms to go above her, bringing the other hand towards her chin and lifting it. At this point, the height difference became very apparent as her head was tipped far back, her still glaring at him. “Are you baiting me, Y/N? You talk so much for someone who just fucked Felix Ravinstill of all people a few days ago..” Y/N continued to glare up at him, “At least I had the decency to keep it in my pants longer than you! God, I hate you!” Coriolanus looked taken aback as he muttered while leaning in to cup her cheeks, her face wiggling to be let out of his grip, “Well, I hate you too, sweetheart…” 

Coriolanus leaned in as he captured Y/N’s lips with his, their mouths fighting for dominance as they kissed each other as if they needed each other to breathe. The previous tension broke into a more sensual type of tension as Coriolanus wrapped his hands around her hair ravenously while Y/N’s hand made friends with the back of his neck. One of Coriolanus’s hands found its way to Y/N’s waist as he dragged her away from the wall, pushing her towards a nearby desk before propping her up on the desk and spreading her legs, allowing him to be closer to her, not once breaking their kiss. Y/N broke their kiss as she moved her lips to Coriolanus’s neck and trailed them down his Adam’s apple while taking off his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt, Coriolanus doing the same to her.

As they undressed each other, they continued to slide their tongues against each other, the sound echoing around the classroom. They managed to undress each other down to them both only wearing underwear before Coriolanus kneeled down so that he was face to face with the apex of her thighs. Coriolanus leaned in and captured his teeth to her underwear as he slowly pulled it down, revealing her aching, dripping pussy. Coriolanus licked his lips as he roughly shoved two fingers in her cavern as he curled his fingers in and out her folds, creating a beautiful sensation as he found her G-spot with no difficulty.

Y/N moaned as she threw her head back and slid her hands down to Coriolanus’s hair and tugged on it while pulling him closer to her heat. “Oh my gosh.. Coryo, it feels so good…” As he kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, he suddenly attached his lips onto her clit as he sucked on her clit and pumped his fingers harder, each movement feeling more and more intense for Y/N. He kept on going as he curled his fingers one final time, which made Y/N yell out as she squirted and covered his fingers with her wetness.

Y/N sighed in satisfaction as she helped Coriolanus up and gave him a deep, passionate kiss while tugging down his underwear and hooking her legs on the bottom of his back, Coriolanus leaned in closer as he aligned his erection with her heat, tapping his dick on her clit a few times before pushing his hardness in her heat. He only pushed in half of it when Y/N suddenly exclaimed, “Coryo, it’s too much! I can’t take all of it!” 

Coriolanus leaned down so his forehead was laying against hers before whispering in a comforting tone, “It will fit, Y/N. Trust me, trust me..” He closed his eyes as he leaned in to capture her lips with his as he pushed in slower this time, now being able to fill her pussy with his cock to the point where their hips were against each other. Coriolanus groaned as he slowly pulled out before thrusting in again, “Fuck, Y/N… You’re so good. Such a good girl..” 

Y/N moaned at hearing him praise her as he started to thrust his dick in faster, each time harder and rougher than the last. The room started to echo with the sound of her moaning, his groaning and the sound of skin slapping. Y/N closed her eyes as she moaned, her mouth forming an “O” shape as she threw her head back once more and arched her back, needing to feel closer to him. Coriolanus wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her in closer and kissed his way all around her neck, leaving furious red hickeys which would soon turn purple.

The pace in which he was fucking her got rougher each time he would thrust his aching hard dick into her dripping pussy, the slapping sound really turning them on and his balls slapped to her ass, their moans becoming louder and louder each time. The furious force in which he was fucking her started to reach a boiling point as Coriolanus moaned, “Ugh.. I’m fucking cumming, Y/N. Oh.. You’re such a good girl. Such a tight and wet pussy..” 

“Ohh.. Coriolanus… So good, so deep… I’m gonna come, gonna come.. OH MY GODD!!” Y/N screamed as she came. Coriolanus groaned as he came inside her, sighing as he tried to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm, holding Y/N tight against his chest in the process. Y/N left kisses and hickeys around his neck as she looked up at him with a dazed but satisfied expression and kissed his lips however, this time the kiss shared between them wasn’t one full of hate, it was one full of love.

As they pulled away from each other and started to get dressed, Coriolanus faced Y/N and said, “You know, if you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve said so.” He said with a smirk. Y/N turned to look at him, acting shocked as she huffed in feign frustration, “Oh shut up, Coriolanus!” She smacked his chest as both of them gave each other a silly grin before hurling in laughter.

[gardenofnoah]

i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u 

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds. 

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often. 

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance. 

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be? 

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning. 

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting. 

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”.  he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother. 

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise. 

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction. 

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him. 

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?” 

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again. 

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him. 

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites. 

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. 

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth. 

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding. 

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. 

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you. 

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.” 

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually. 

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.” 

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off. 

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.” 

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself. 

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him. 

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous. 

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.” 

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up. 

“can i meet him?” 

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall. 

“c’mon then.” 

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy. 

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!” 

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting. 

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting. 

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?” 

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.” 

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply. 

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish. 

“i—uh. didn’t.” 

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown. 

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment. 

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.” 

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor. 

“why?” 

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.” 

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar. 

“alright. Buck it is, then.” 

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit. 

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.” 

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead. 

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright. 

“okay. see you, Touya.” 

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.” 

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him. 

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy. 

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you. 

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you. 

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare. 

it was even harder to get away with it. 

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.” 

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?” 

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response. 

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him. 

“pick a color.” 

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?” 

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy. 

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.” 

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking. 

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them. 

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center. 

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space. 

“whatcha thinking about?” 

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.” 

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch. 

“made you something.” 

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands. 

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?” 

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them. 

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.” 

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering. 

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work. 

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor. 

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door. 

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.” 

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.” 

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.” 

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment. 

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter. 

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks. 

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came. 

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately. 

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it. 

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break. 

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it. 

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone 

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong  answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family. 

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek. 

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier. 

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early. 

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth. 

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face. 

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look. 

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house. 

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light. 

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children. 

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this. 

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar. 

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it. 

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment. 

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know. 

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any. 

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you. 

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once. 

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery. 

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave. 

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either. 

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn. 

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch. 

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation. 

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t. 

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length. 

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.” 

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh. 

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened. 

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise. 

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely. 

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin. 

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny. 

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing. 

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered. 

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt. 

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire. 

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret. 

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold. 

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it. 

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you. 

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing. 

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole. 

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now. 

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch. 

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it. 

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits. 

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him. 

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar. 

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

you seem to be aware of that, too. 

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far. 

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing. 

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way. 

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you. 

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him. 

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp. 

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now. 

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried. 

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems. 

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely. 

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue. 

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache. 

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it. 

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again. 

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t. 

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die. 

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath. 

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory. 

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it. 

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that. 

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you. 

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can. 

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation. 

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand. 

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh. 

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep. 

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out. 

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that. 

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you. 

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting. 

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else. 

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves. 

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you. 

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too. 

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it. 

“you could’ve fooled me.”  

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple. 

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch. 

“let me know if you see one, then.” 

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh. 

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.  

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down. 

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it. 

he does. 

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?” 

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth. 

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time. 

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant. 

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely. 

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts. 

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear. 

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.” 

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration. 

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it. 

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this. 

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.” 

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there. 

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.” 

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud. 

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion. 

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.” 

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put. 

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest. 

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now. 

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying. 

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh. 

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart. 

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him. 

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms. 

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve,  “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners. 

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there. 

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again. 

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body. 

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.