#bc tomorrow is my birthday and in only a few short hours will i be turning 24 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

siolixz · 29 days ago

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~ Veils of Crimson ~

Chapter 2

Pairings: oz cobb x reader (Carmine Falcone's daughter)

Reader is the daughter of Carmine Falcone and upon her late father's demise, she is obligated to return home after 5 years to face her past. I edited some things, like Sofia being in Arkham only 5 years instead of 10. Hopefully y'all like it, again no smut, remember, good things come to those who wait (not for too long bcs im obsessed with writing about this man ughbhghgy)

Again, I took my inspo from Driving Miss Falcone by (https://www.tumblr.com/genevievedarcygranger here on tumblr), check out the story if you can.

Enjoy, give feeback if u want xoxo.

Warnings: mature language, smut (not in this chapter sorry AGAIN), general horniness.

“I wanted to tell you that tomorrow night I will be unavailable from 4 PM to 7 PM; your sister has requested me.”

Sofia was a very kind person; that much you knew. Your sister rarely did anything to hurt you or anyone else for that matter. So why on earth would she take Oz away for a few hours? Was she planning on telling him about your feelings? She wouldn’t. Maybe your smartass remarks finally caught up to her, maybe she wanted to teach you a lesson.

No, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay. Oz is a trustworthy guy, someone your dad depends on to take care of one of his most special treasures: you.

“Why?” you asked. You didn’t mean to make it sound so sharp; you weren’t mad, really, just curious.

“I’m sorry, but she said I couldn’t tell anyone.” He kept his eyes on the road ahead but glanced at you in the rearview mirror; his gaze was soft.

“Okay, if that’s what she said, it seems I’ll have to ask her.” You hated things not going your way, especially if Oz was hiding things from you. You two were supposed to be close, even if you were acting like a spoiled brat right now. If any other member of the staff had acted like this with you- it would have been a different story.

The next day, from morning until late evening, you tried to shake the uneasy feeling that your sister was gone to do something she was not supposed to. Either way, it was something very important. When you asked her, she quickly said it was none of your business and that you shouldn’t worry; she would get your driver back as soon as possible.

Something was definitely up. She took Oz with her when she had two other drivers. Maybe it was because Oz was intimidating; that huge scar on his face couldn’t have appeared there because he was a nice guy, and he wasn’t going to hesitate if push came to shove.

Tomorrow was your dad’s birthday party, and you had the most beautiful dress prepared: a gorgeous, short, white dress paired with the most stunning custom-made Louboutin heels, also white—a gift from your dad on your 18th birthday.

You knew tomorrow was going to be full of remarks like, “Oh my God, I haven’t seen you in SUCH a long time!” “I cradled you when you were just a widdle baby!” “How beautiful you have become!” Being the center of attention wasn’t so bad now; I mean, you were the baby of the family, and everyone doted on you.

The Falcone mansion was a very, very big house, full of rooms and bathrooms, and it was sometimes hard to figure out who came and went. As you rested on your family sofa in the living room, waiting to be welcomed in by your father in his office, you heard those familiar footsteps you knew so well.

It was hard not to know who he was; that leg of his became harder to move late in the evening. You discovered this by literally dragging him with you into every shop that piqued your curiosity. From early afternoon until late evening, you were on the “prowl,” as your sister liked to say at family dinners—from meeting the daughter of X and Y in I-don’t-know-what shop to trying on a multitude of dresses, shoes, and accessories. He never told you, but you were sure it hurt him as well; still, Oz never showed any signs of discomfort or pain. He was always ready with a smile or a funny remark.

When you saw him, he had his jacket removed, and you noticed the way his belly pushed against his dress shirt. A few buttons were undone at the upper part of his torso, giving you a full look at the hair there. His tie was gone as well. You knew his shift was done; clearly, Sofia had dismissed him.

You immediately jumped off the sofa and went to say hi to him. He was clearly surprised to see you, especially in your pajamas. You also forgot about the attitude you were supposed to have. What was all that about anyway?

“Hi Oz, what are you doing here?”

He said he wanted to talk to your dad. What was up with all this secrecy? Did they think you were too stupid or naive to have a say or an opinion? When you asked what it was about, he said it was just some business stuff, nothing too important. You two could talk outside if you wanted; he wasn’t allowed inside the house after all.

“Okay, whatever.” It was hard not to get annoyed at both of them. You hadn’t even seen or talked to your sister. Did she even come home?

He must have been in there for about thirty minutes, but finally, he came out. Outside, he lit a cigarette and asked if you were cold, he could get you his jacket-forever the gentleman. You said no, the last thing you wanted to do was push him like that. You asked again about your sister and he didn’t want to tell you, again, saying it wasn’t right to your sister. Ok, now you really had to find out and with your heart beating a thousand beats per minute, you got even closer to him. The smell of his cologne, the one he always wore, left a trail wherever he went—a sort of flamboyance he allowed himself- the only one he was allowed in the chains of his current position. The smell of the cigarette mixed with it wasn’t the most pleasant, but whatever; it smelled like him.

“Please, Oz, I just want to know. Everyone always keeps me in the dark. You’re my friend—well, I consider you my friend—just tell me. Don’t be like the rest of them because you aren’t.” You looked at him with the most pained expression you could muster at that hour, your voice breaking-low enough to be a whisper

“Doll, I—listen—” he started.

“Please, Oz, you're my driver, and you’re supposed to be by my side. I was kind to you; I always told you everything. I made sure my dad gave you all those bonuses for walking around with me.” You paused. “Please?” He looked at you like you were in hospice before saying:

“Okay, Jesus, um, your sister went to a journalist, that lady who came after her when you were off sulking in the car. She met up with her today—”

“What?” you interjected.

He inhaled deeply before continuing, “Something about your dad and some hookers at the club. Apparently, they died or something. Your sister was interested in whatever that woman had to say, nothing more.”

“Oh—”

“Oh, exactly. Now don’t go telling your brother or something—”

“Dad has hookers at the club?”

He looked at you, dumbfounded. “Y-yeah, I guess. Anyway, it is nothing you should concern yourself with, ya know?” You didn’t respond, lost in thought. How could she have been so stupid?

“Hey, hey—” he lowered his head to catch your big eyes, so full of things to say, a million thoughts running behind them. “Look at me. It’s going to be okay. Where do you want to go tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” you said.

“C’mon, you gotta think about something. Until your dad’s birthday in the evening, we gotta go somewhere. There’s this new restaurant that opened up; I heard only good things about it—” How could she have been so careless? “Something with C—ugh, I can’t remember right now.”

“Okay, tomorrow we go. You have a nice night, Oz,” you said. “Take care of yourself.”

“Alright, you too. Sleep tight,” he said, a bit surprised at your quick dismissal of him. You knew that, but you had to think.

This was huge, like actually huge. If your dad found ou—Why was Oz visiting your dad?

The birthday party was the same as every year: all the family got together to have material for gossip later on in the day and hate each other just as much as they did when they were away. You never went with Oz to that restaurant because, frankly speaking, you were scared shitless. Your dad loved you and your siblings you knew that, in his own way, and he would never endanger any of you.

When your dad called Sofia into his office and she got all excited to give him his birthday present, you never would have thought in a million years that the night would end with her being picked up by the police. Alberto called you in a frenzy that night, his voice shaking with anger. You knew—your dad let this happen. This arrest was made on his grounds, on his territory—why? How?

When you visited your sweet sister, everyone still believed she was going to go home. This was just Dad’s way of scaring her, maybe to teach her a lesson—the most important one he had been repeating all your lives: DO NOT SPEAK TO THE PRESS.

Her lawyer was very, very expensive, and yet not even she could save her. You thought she was going to jail. No, she was going to Arkham for six months until she would be judged. Based on the false accusations that she hanged those sex workers at your dad’s club. What? Now that was actual insanity. She started yelling that Dad set her up, that he killed all those women—he killed their mom too. This was a lot to process. Your heart was beating out of your chest seeing the person who you thought was the most calm and collected person freak out, and rightfully so, because police officers took her away in like five minutes.

It all happened too fast, way too fast for this to be okay.

What sort of judge allows this to happen?

You knew it was his fault. He did this. Upon arriving back home, you were a wreck. How could you look your dad in the eye again?

One thing you knew for sure: you never wanted to see Oz again.

And your wish came true! Because your darling sweet daddy sent you far, far away, abroad, because he didn’t want to deal with you either, you presumed. He sent you to France, where a large part of your mom’s family lived.

You never learned French, but now was apparently the time. Your aunt and uncle lived quite well over there and even if they didn’t really keep in touch with you over the years, they accepted you with open arms. They had a large villa in the south, a pool outside, the beach was one hour away, two dogs that would run around and make your days better.

But how could your days be good when your sister was in a looney bin, thrown in there like a rag, used and discarded? Your days were spent calling Alberto, asking about Sofia. You made sure he told her you loved her, that you asked about her, and that you two were going to get her out of there. Every year, Al told you she started losing herself more and more each day.

Oz, on the other hand, apparently thought he was a big man now; he ran the Iceberg Lounge, a funny name association, given that he hated being called “Penguin.” You knew he asked about you too, but Alberto said he told him to fuck off every time.

You weren’t allowed to go back home, at least that’s what you understood from your dad. He said you and your sister both lost yourselves a bit, maybe the money and the fame got to your head and that it was best you stayed there; the weather would do you wonders.

On the bright side, it had been five long years, and Alberto said he was 100% sure he was going to get Sofia out of that shithole, finally.

And when you thought that things were finally looking up for you, everything was going to be okay after such a long time of everything being shit—your dad died.

Your ears started ringing, like a train was passing in your head, when Alberto yelled out that he was gone over the phone. Your knees felt weak, like someone had transformed them into play-doh. I need to get home now.

Your dad wasn’t even cold in the grave when Alberto went AWOL—gone, no word from him since yesterday evening. Both you and Sofia were worried. Where was he?

You knew Oz was called to the house that day after your brother stopped responding to your texts. You could hear that loud voice of his, muffled but still loud enough to hear everything they said.

You hadn’t been here for quite some time—five years. Still, nothing changed. Sofia’s uncle Johnny and Milos filled your brother’s spot while he was gone; however, when he comes back-he’s going to be the boss, that's for sure.

Women weren’t allowed inside when the men were planning and talking business, but you weren’t inside. Plus, it wasn’t your fault Oz had a voice loud enough to hear from down the hall. Oz. Oz’s voice. Your heart skipped a beat whenever he spoke. This stupid attraction—you hoped in the years that passed it would go away, but apparently, it had not. In fact, it seemed to have grown alongside you. Maybe now he could have more courage; maybe this newly acquired upgrade made him the man you only saw glimpses of. You were a grown woman; surely now he had no reservations about you. Surely.

You didn't even hear your sister walk by with her bodyguards near your spot, attached to the door, too busy in your daydream.

“Am I interrupting you?” she asked, making you jump and curse under your breath. Her manner of speaking changed; so did her walk, her style, and her hair. But you knew the love you guys had for one another hadn’t changed.

“Fuck, Sofia, why are you sneaking up on me like that?” you whispered.

“Can you please move? I want to go inside,” she said, smiling, but the smile never reached her eyes. You moved, and the doors were opened.

“—in fact, it’s big. It has the potential to revolutionize the drug business,” you heard from inside. Huh? Is he referring to Al's plan?How does he know what Alberto wanted to do? You didn’t even know the whole story—of course you didn’t.

You decided to leave. You didn’t want Oz to see you, and you didn’t want to see him either. What was wrong with you?

On your way out, passing the exit, you saw this gorgeous purple car. Now there was only ONE man you knew who could possess something as flashy and in-your-face as a purple fucking car.

It wasn’t Milos, by the way. Then you heard his footsteps, and they were coming-fast, like really fucking fast.

Shit, okay, I’m leaving—go up the stairs now. Before you could hide yourself in one of the upper rooms, you heard Sofia yell out your name.

“Oz, you remember my little sister, right? She had such a fondness for you and you of her, from what I remember. You two haven’t seen each other for such a long time.” Okay, you couldn’t hide, so just put on a brave face and go say hi. “Hi, Oz, you ruined my life, but don’t worry, I would still ride you.” You wished you were back in Europe.

Turning the corner was the easy part; looking at him was the hard part. He looked different, yes—but still the same. His clothing had definitely changed; his black suit was now replaced with a purple one, like the car. Jesus. While you descended the staircase in your short flowery dress, it felt like your date was waiting for you downstairs to take you to prom. Those seven seconds you spent getting down the staircase felt like seven hours. Please, ground, swallow me whole now.

Once you got down and saw him again for the first time in five years, up close, he looked somehow more handsome. His scar was more pronounced, yes, but it added to his allure. Oh God, he’s smiling. Not only did he have a purple car and a purple suit, but this man had golden teeth as well. On a lighter note, he smelled like cologne, cigarettes, and aftershave—just like you remembered him smelling. Oh, that brings you back.

“Hi, Oz,” you said, smiling ear to ear.

He looked you up and down, still smiling. “Wow, you’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

#oz cobb x reader #the penguin x reader #oz cobb #the penguin #the penguin hbo #the penguin tv #oswald cobb x reader #oz cobblepot #oswald cobb

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kindred-spirit-93 · 14 days ago

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hey there chat, its me, ya girl.

long post ahead! aight on todays menu:

embroidery (more on that below)

short story (more on that in another post)

spring cleaning my blog lol (inbox and drafts)

other things ive probably forgotten

for starters, i live! i have like 36 more hours of sweet glorious freedom before resuming uni lol and so ive got a few projects lined up, and id appreciate yalls insight on one or two or ten of them ^-^

first one and the most time sensitive is my beloveds birthday gift lol

i started the stems this beige colour and regretted it half way through but continued anyway (im just like me fr fr), and im now considering taking them all out and going over it in black.

sorry for the awful quality lol. ill finish it tomorrow bc my everything hurts so ill see what the council decides then. will update :)

secondly, im story boarding a short story! yay :) i love tragic backstories lmao (done right ofc and not thrown in just because) and i have three potential ways to go about the heroines origin story. (ill make aother post with another poll right after this one with more details n stuff for whoevers interested :D)

third, i think ill get to answering a few asks at long last tomorrow night, so if youd like to send anything feel free lol. might schedule whats in my drafts already but idk. its getting a bit crowded so well see what happens.

also since were here there are a few other things in the works (an epic au muehehe and more polites & duck content lol) but they might have to wait a little longer :') again remains to be seen.

thank you for reading this far lol, take care, drink water, sleep well & dont skip breakfast (or ill personally hunt u down) and ill see yall soon!

- kindred

#kindred newsletter #me stuff #polls #how the hyuck do i even tag this lmao #uh #blog stuff #can i tag yall?#id like a sample size of at least 5 :')

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life4now · 3 months ago

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Saturday September 7th 15:54

Yeah it’s my sisters birthday today but this is going to be short. Anyway I was reading the start of my first post and it’s crazy that I’ve only just cleaned my room. Like 7 months. I started cleaning it 2 weeks ago. I’ve only spent like 2 days on it tho but yeah. I started Sunday 2 weeks ago at like 5 and spent a hour or so just getting shit together and last Sunday I spent like a few hours on it 3:30-7 and cleaned all under my be, couch and some of my wardbribe and floor but tomorrow Sunday I’m hopefully going to finish my wardrobe and floors. My wardrobe is going to be hard tho bc i have a lot of shit in there that just need to be gone. I have just sm stuff from when I was younger and still have in my draws idk just wish there was a magic disposal bin so I can get rid of all the stuff I don’t need from my draws and wardbride without the anxiety that come with it:

Anyway,

Finish: 11:58

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junghelioseok · 4 years ago

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heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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leossmoonn · 4 years ago

Text

One Day at A Time

masterlist

pairing - lip gallagher x fem!reader

type - angst, fluff

note / request - “Hi, I love your Shameless imagines! And I was wondering if you could write something for Lip Gallagher x Reader having a baby and struggling with their new life ❤️” alright so i named the baby fred bc thats lip’s baby’s name already lol also you and lip live in the house that lip wanted to buy for tammy. enjoy!

summary - you and lip struggle to raise a baby and survive

warning / includes - language, fighting, alcohol, smoking, but fluffy ending

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“Lip!” You shouted.

Your boyfriend ran into the room frantically. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to get me more baby wipes. Freddy took a big shit,” you instructed.

Lip nodded, going to the table where you kept the baby wipes. He gave you the whole packet only for you to yell at him.

“Hand me them! I have to hold Freddy down so we doesn’t roll off,” you said.

“Sorry, Jesus,” Lip muttered, handing you baby wipes each time you put your hand out.

You successfully cleaned your baby’s bottom and but on a new, fresh diaper. You picked Freddy and went downstairs with him. You set Freddy down in his high-chair, going over to the cabinet to get Freddy’s baby food.

“Are you um, are you going into work today?” Lip asked.

“Yeah, are you?” You asked.

“Yeah, I am,” Lip said.

You frowned, turning around and putting a hand on your hip. “You can’t. Someone has to watch Freddy.”

“Debbie can watch Freddy,” Lip said.

You scoffed, “She's never here. And before you say V and Kev, they’ve already helped us enough the past few months. They’re busy with their own kids.”

“Well, I need to go into work. We need the money,” Lip said.

“Yeah, and I need to go to work or I’m gonna get fired!” You exclaimed. You began feeding Freddy, your mood lightening a little once you saw the little guy’s face.

“What about working tomorrow? I thought that was our schedule,” Lip asked.

“It was, but one, I’m well overdue on maternity leave and two, my boss doesn’t care about my personal life. She doesn’t care that we are struggling to raise a child,” you explained.

Lip opened his mouth to suggest something, but nothing came out. He looked at you helplessly.

“Here, why don’t you work for a few hours and I’ll watch Freddy in the morning, then you come back home at lunch and I’ll go and work for the afternoon,” you said.

Lip nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

“Alright, good,” you said. You turned your attention back to the baby, feeding him the rest of his breakfast. Meanwhile, Lip went to shower and get ready to go to work. He came downstairs, coming over to bid you and Freddy goodbye.

“I’ll see you later. I love you,” Lip said, giving you a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

Even though you were mad at him earlier, you melted into his arms immediately. You hugged him back tightly, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“Hm, I love you, too,” you said, breathing in his scent.

Lip couldn’t help but smile at your actions. He pulled away after a few moments, walking over to Freddy.

“I love you, too, buddy,” Lip cooed, kissing Freddy on the cheek, making the baby giggle.

You smiled at the scene, enjoying seeing Lip interact with Freddy.

“Bye,” Lip called out before leaving.

“Bye!” You exclaimed, watching him leave.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the fridge. You looked at Freddy, who was clapping his hands on his high-chair table. You laughed a little.

“You’re so silly,” you said, going over to him and picking him up.

“Do you want to go to the store with me?” You talked to Freddy, bouncing him up and down while walking across the room.

Freddy make a little squeak and you smiled. “Yeah, I know you want go to the store with me. I’m gonna shower and get ready, you stay in the crib, okay? I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” you said, going up to the nursery and setting Freddy down gently.

You went into the bathroom, taking a quick shower and brushing your teeth. You went back in your room and got dressed into a pair of mom jeans, a dark-purple, buttoned-up shirt and put a grey sweater over it, taking the collar of your shirt and folding it on the collar of your sweater. You then returned to Freddy’s room. You saw him on his back, sucking in his thumb. You smiled and picked him up, quietly going down the stairs. You set him in his high-chair again, getting your coat, purse, and your shoes. You also got Freddy’s little coat and hat to keep him warm in the cold winter of Chicago.

You went out to your car, buckling Freddy into his carseat. You then went to the supermarket, putting Freddy in the front of the cart. You picked out fruit, vegetables, and salad mix. You got 2 gallons of milk, new coffee creamer, and cereal. You bought a few warm-up dinner packs and hamburger meat, going to the freezer isle and getting ice cream. You then went to the snack isle.

“What should we get, Freddy?” You asked, looking at the pop tarts.

Freddy pointed to the birthday cake-flavoured pop tarts.

“Good choice, baby,” you smiled, grabbing the pop tarts. You then grabbed a few packs of chips and gum, going over to check out.

“Cute baby,” the girl at the register said.

You looked up from putting the groceries on the table. You looked at her name tag and smiled.

“Thank you, Stacy,” you said. “How old is he?” Stacy asked.

“Almost 2 months,” you said.

“Awe, so cute. I just found out I’m pregnant,” Stacy said.

“Oh, really. Congrats,” you smiled. “Yeah, my boyfriend and I are happy,” Stacy smiled, putting her hand on her stomach.

She rang your groceries up. “It’ll be $103.98.”

You nodded and took your card out and a few coupons you and Lip had collected in the past month.

“Alright, with these coupons, your total is $80.56,” Stacey said.

“Great,” you smiled. You paid with your card, gathering the grocery bags.

“Have a good day!” Stacy smiled.

“Thank you, you too. Congrats again with the baby,” you gave her a kind smile.

She thanked you as you walked out. You loaded the groceries into the car and put Freddy back in his carseat. You then drove back home, putting away the groceries while Freddy watched you in his high-chair.

“Are you tired, baby? I’m tired,” you yawned. Freddy yawned right after you, making you chuckle.

“Why don’t you take a nap and let Mommy clean the house, okay? It’s a fucking mess,” you muttered the curse words, looking around the house. Clothes and toys were everywhere. Plates were stacked in the sink and on the coffee table. The house needed to be vacuumed and wiped down very badly

You put Freddy down in his crib, turning on the baby monitor. You changed into a tank top and shorts and put your hair in a ponytail, going back downstairs to clean.

You started with the dishes, washing and drying them off, putting them back in their cupboards. You then wiped down the kitchen counter, stove top, kitchen table, and coffee table. Next you decided to clean up all of the baby stuff that was on the floor. You put Freddy’s toys in the play bins you and Lip had bought and put Freddy’s clothes in the washing machine. You then vacuumed the living room carpet and swept the kitchen tiles, making yourself another cup of coffee. You were done in an hour and a half, taking a look at your work, smiling in satisfaction. Your house hadn’t been this clean since you and Lip had bought it.

It was lunch time and you knew Lip would be coming home soon. You decided to make you and him lunch. You made chilli and salad, knowing that it would last you two for a few days. You changed back into your work uniform before grabbing yourself a bowl and sitting down, eating your lunch quickly before you had to go to work.

15 minutes later, Lip had walked through the door. You got up to greet him.

“Hey, babe. This smells good, what did you make?” Lip asked. “Chilli and salad for lunch. You can have some,” you said.

“Ah, nice,” Lip said. He gave you a kiss on the cheek, going over to the kitchen. You frowned. He usually wasn’t this detached.

“How was work?” You asked.

“Good,” Lip said, grabbing himself a bowl of chilli. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you said. “ I um… I cleaned the house and got groceries.”

“Oh, nice,” Lip said, sitting down.

"Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” Lip said.

“Um, okay,” you said. “Well, Freddy is upstairs taking a nap. He’s been asleep for about two hours, so he will probably wake up soon. The baby monitor is here. When he wakes up can you give him a bath? He’s a little stinky.”

“Sure,” Lip nodded.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out why he was acting so off.

“I gotta go to work. I'll see you later, okay?” You said.

“Okay. Have fun,” Lip said.

You slammed the front door shut and walked to your car, letting out a long sigh. You wanted to ask why Lip was acting so distant, but you knew you had to go to work. You worked as a waitress at a local diner. You had been working there for the past 3 years. You hoped to be moving jobs to what you really wanted to do, which was cosmetics, but having a baby set you back a little. You were so thankful for Freddy, though, you didn’t regret having him one bit. It just sucked a lot. But you were good at your job. you were friendly to customers and co-workers, got the most tips, and never played around. You were your boss’s best waitress, despite you always having to change your shifts.

You worked from 1 pm to 9, going back home tired, but happy you at least got a shift in. You drove home, looking forward to seeing Lip and Freddy, but once you got in the door, your excitement immediately diminished.

Freddy was in his play pen and the person who was watching him wasn’t Lip. It was Carl.

“Um, hey, Carl,” you frowned, setting your coat in the closet.

Carl turned to you, a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, Y/n. How’re you?”

“Good, thanks. Where is Lip?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips.

“He went out,” Carl answered.

“To where?” You asked, your temper rising. “Um…. to the Alibi,” Carl said nervously.

Your eyes blew wide. “What?! He went to the Alibi and left you to take care of our baby? No offense, Carl.”

“None taken,” Carl shrugged.

“I…” you started to say. You put your fingers on your temples, rubbing in circles to try and ease the headache you were beginning to have. You were able to calm down a little.

“Thank you for taking care of Freddy,” you said to Carl.

“No problem. I love the little guy,” Carl smiled.

You smiled back, grabbing your purse. “Here, let me pay you for watching him.”

“I would usually say yes to money, but I’ll say no this time. I like spending time with Freddy, he's my nephew, I like watching him,” Carl shrugged.

“Are you sure?” You asked, holding a 20 dollar bill.

“Yeah, I am,” Carl smiled kindly.

“Alright. Thank you. I’m going to find Lip. Do you mind staying until I come back?” You asked.

“Nope. Can I have some of the chilli?” Carl asked.

“Yeah, of course. Do you know how to change diapers and feed Freddy?” You asked.

“Yeah, of course. I took care of Liam and Franny for Debbie sometimes,” Carl said.

“Right, of course,” you chuckled. “Thanks, again. I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Carl waved.

You didn’t bother grabbing your coat, rushing out of the house to find Lip. You drove to the Alibi, parking haphazardly. You went in, anger surging through you as you saw Lip smoking and drinking his liver and lungs out. He was talking with Kermit and Tommy.

“Lip!” You screamed, the whole room turning going quiet.

“Oh, hey, Y/n!” Kev smiled.

“Hey, Kev. Can I see Lip for a second?” You asked, clenching your jaw.

Lip looked at you, his eyes dropping. “Hey, baby.” He walked up to you, a stoned smile on his face.

You grabbed his hand, yanking him out to the alley behind the Alibi.

“What's up?” Lip asked.

“You! That’s what’s up!” You exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Lip asked.

“You fucking left Freddy alone!” You shouted. “I left him with Carl. He’s fine,” Lip shrugged.

“Yeah, but you didn’t call me to say you were going to leave Freddy!”

Lip glared at you. “I don’t need to call you. He’s my son.”

“He’s my son, too! I’m his mother. I need to know who he is with! What if Carl brought over Kelly and they started having sex on the couch where Freddy could see, huh? I don’t fucking want that!”

Lip chuckled. “They wouldn’t do that. Carl and Kelly are broken up or whatever.”

You groaned. “That’s not the point! I’m tired and super stressed out. You could have let me know!”

“I’m tired and stressed out, too!” Lip exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah, I bet you are. Getting fucking drunk and stoned,” you laughed sourly.

“I’m not drunk, I had 2 sips of beer, and I worked!” Lip exclaimed.

“Yeah? Well I worked, too! I worked until 9 at night. I should be home by then! And I was the one who cleaned the house and did the dishes and got the groceries, which by the way, you are fucking welcome!” You shouted.

“I never asked you to do that,” Lip said.

“i know, but I did it because we needed it. All I wanted was a thank you!” “Well I was tired and hungry when I got home,” Lip shrugged.

You glared at him, tears clouding your vision. “You’re so full of shit, Lip. So full of fucking shit!” You screamed, pushing him back. He stumbled backwards and hit the brick wall gently.

“What the fuck, Y/n?!” Lip yelled.

“Don’t do that! You don’t have the right to question me!” You screamed back.

Lip opened his mouth to yell back, but Veronica and Kevin came out.

“Hey, you two stop it!” Veronica yelled.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Kevin asked.

“She is yelling at me!” Lip pointed to you.

“Yeah, cause you’re a fucking asshole!” You screamed, your voice hoarse and tears running down your face.

“Oh, no,” Veronica muttered. She went over to you, wrapping her arms around you gently. “Let’s go inside and get you some tea, okay?”

You started to sob, leaning in to Veronica. Lip looked at you, his heart breaking at the sight of you so upset.

“Kev, you take Lip home and get him cleaned up, okay? Make sure Freddy is fed and changed and put to bed, too,” Veronica instructed.

Kevin nodded, putting his arm around Lip and went to Lip’s car. Veronica walked you inside, taking you to the back of the bar. She got you a beer and a hot cup of tea, placing them in front of you.

“T-Thanks,” you sniffled.

“Talk to me, baby,” Veronica said, sitting down next to you.

“Lip left Freddy home alone with Carl. I’ve been so busy and tired today. I cleaned the whole house, got the groceries. I worked for fucking 8 hours. I just wanted a little ‘thank you’ from Lip. That’s all I wanted,” you cried. “God, I’m such a fucking crybaby.”

Veronica put her hand on your arm comfortingly. “No, honey, you’re not. I understand, don’t worry, and Lip should, too. Maybe you should calm down a little and then go back home and talk to him. Really talk, no shouting and pushing.”

You took a big sip of your beer and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”

Veronica smiled. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine,” you said.

“You sure? We have some chocolate chip cookies,” Veronica smiled.

“Hm, okay. I'll have a few,” you smiled.

“Great!” Veronica squealed. She went away for a few moments, coming back with a container full of cookies.

You sat and talked with Veronica for two hours. You soon were about to pass out and decided to drive you and Veronica home since Kevin had taken their car.

“Thanks for the fun night, V,” you smiled at Veronica as you dropped her back to her house.

“No problem! Drive home safe! Call if you need anything,” Veronica said.

“Will do,” you said and drove back home, which was thankfully only 5 minutes away.

You got home, going in and seeing the living room empty. You took off your shoes, groaning in relief as your heels had been aching the whole day. You trudged up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard the shower going but didn’t bother to go and see Lip.

You changed out of your work clothes and into a pair of shorts and a tank top. You put your hair in a messy bun, flinging yourself on your bed.

Lip came into the room with Freddy a few moments later. You noticed his presence.

“What?” You snapped.

“I just… do you want Freddy and I to lay down with you?” Lip asked.

You looked to them, seeing Freddy smiling at you. You couldn’t help but smile back. “Sure.”

You scooted over, Lip setting Freddy down next to you and climbing into bed with you. You gave Freddy a big kiss.

“Hi, baby. I’ve missed you,” you cooed.

Freddy chortled, clapping his hands. You giggled with the baby, ignoring Lip until he spoke.

“So uh… how was your day?” Lip asked nervously.

“Fine. How was yours?” You asked, not looking at him.

“Mine was uh… good,” Lip said.

“Good,” you said shortly.

There was an awkward silence between you two before Lip spoke again.

“I wanted to apologise for my actions today,” Lip started to say.

This was the first time you felt like looking at him. You stared in his blue eyes, waiting for his apology.

“I’m sorry about ignoring the work you did around the house and I’m sorry for not letting you know I was having Carl take care of Freddy. And I’m sorry for going to the Alibi and getting stoned. I really appreciate you cleaning the house. It really needed to be cleaned and to keep it clean, I promise to try and not leave dishes out and pick up Freddy’s toys,” Lip said.

You smiled at his apology, scooting up on the bed so you could put your forehead on his without crushing Freddy.

“Thank you. And the house being messy isn’t totally your fault. I need to learn to clean up after myself more, too,” you said.

Lip chuckled, “That’s something we can both work on then.”

“Totally,” you smiled.

“I’m also sorry for yelling at you at the Alibi. I’ve just been so stressed with work and Freddy. I’ve never had to take care of a baby that was my own before. I’ve always had help from Fiona and Ian,” Lip said.

You put your hand on his cheek. “I know, baby. This is all new for me, too. And I’m sorry for yelling at you, too, you didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s alright. I kinda did,” Lip chuckled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile “Well anyways, we’ll get through this together, okay? I love you. So, so, so much. And I love Freddy, probably a little too much,” you joked. “Let’s just take this one day at a time okay?”

Lip nodded and pressed his lips against yours softly. You kissed him back before pulling away, making sure Freddy was okay.

Lip smiled. “I love you, too, you know.”

You looked back up to Lip with a big smile. “Yeah, I know.”

————

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quokkacore · 4 years ago

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can you dig it? (m) [kim doyoung & kim jungwoo]

summary: post concert highs can be a real bummer, and tonight, after a particularly intense performance, your boyfriends help you come down.

pairing: kim doyoung x kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre: poly!au, 70s!au, band!au, smut, fluff

warnings: drug usage (weed specifically), mentions of other substances (lsd and cocaine), shotgunning, established poly relationship, soft dom jungwoo, mentioned switch jungwoo, hard dom doyoung, sub reader, high sex, sex on a water bed!!, unprotected sex, spit kink, they're all so sweaty help, mxm, degradation kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, minor possessiveness

song recs: don’t stop - fleetwood mac // unlock it (feat. kim petras & jay park) - charli xcx // love her madly - the doors // ziggy stardust - david bowie // rhiannon - fleetwood mac // eclipse - kim lip (loona) // flick of the wrist - queen

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this is for my best friend, who i love with all my heart,bc last month we were talking abt the dowoo photoshoot and she said smth about high sex with dowoo. happy birthday queen <3 thank u for listening to me complain abt writing all the time :’)

masterlist

Friday, July 22rd, 1977

The concert hall smelled like cocaine and sweat, you noted to yourself as the three of you joined hands to bow. Cheers from the crowd bounced off of the walls as you bid them your final goodbye, wishing them a good night and telling them to drive safe. Still, their chanting persisted. "Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel!"

You wondered vaguely if this was what it was like to be a young god.

The curtain lowered, and the three of you were ushered offstage, to take some pictures and then head back to the hotel, to try and get some rest before you were off to Philadelphia, some five or so hours from where you were now: Boston.

Truthfully, everything passed in a blur. It was almost always like this after these concerts. The thrill and euphoria of performing made it difficult to focus on things. That might have also been because Jungwoo had passed you a joint before the concert. You couldn't be completely sure.

Your tambourine and guitar seemingly disappeared, but you knew it would show up tomorrow for soundcheck when you got to the Philadelphia venue, right along with Jungwoo's bass guitar and Doyoung's drum kit.

What you did know was that here, in the car back to the hotel that your manager was driving, lecturing you and Jungwoo about the importance of being sober when talking to reporters, Doyoung had a hand on your thigh, and that was all you could focus on.

Doyoung was high too. You knew this because ten minutes before you were needed on stage he pulled you forward by the hips and told you to take a few hits from the hand rolled joint and blow the smoke into his mouth. Of course, he wasn't as high as you and Jungwoo were, and he knew how to hide it better. But if you were to get close enough you'd notice the redness rimming his eyes, the dilation of his pupils.

The three of you were something, that was for sure. You had been, probably ever since Jungwoo joined the band, some eight years ago, in the fall of '69. You only really defined what you were once you got your first big hit thanks to some disc jockey in LA playing a song you had written, Calabasas, on the radio back in '73.

The song had blown up, and suddenly the three of you were whisked into a whirlwind of celebrities, drugs, paparazzi and producers who thought the three of you were born yesterday. Yes, you were college kids that ran on booze and weed, but you weren’t complete morons. That was when the three of you sat down to properly discuss boundaries, what slid and what didn’t.

You and your boys decided that night that weren’t down with the idea of everyone knowing. Too many prying eyes. The public didn’t really know, because the press would have a damn field day.

Other than that, it was a pretty open secret. In the industry, who was going around with who didn’t really matter—a lot of them were too off their face to even care. You realized that a few years back when David Bowie walked in on you watching Jungwoo and Doyoung get it on in a bathroom at some afterparty in New York City, and closed the door muttering something about how strong the edibles were.

So, what your manager said fell on deaf ears. Too much weed, too much adrenaline, too much energy for someone who needed to head back onto the road in a few hours.

When you finally got back to the hotel, Jungwoo grabbed your hand in the elevator on the way up to your rooms, which were right next to each other. "You said that your bed was really big… can we come up?"

You nodded, leaning against his arm. Doyoung hummed affectionately at the sight, noting how tired you both were.

"You two are about five seconds from passing out," Doyoung mumbled, and you waved your hand in denial.

"Are not," you protested like a child.

"Y/N, don't be a chump. I'm pretty sure if Woo weren't next to you, you'd have fallen over."

You didn't have the energy to counter, and as the elevator slid open, you were the first one to march out, ready to just take a cold shower and die for the next few hours.

Realistically, you knew that wasn't what would happen. What would happen was that you would shower, get into bed and then toss and turn for another hour or so. Only then would the adrenaline truly wear off. The weed didn't help, making you feel sleepy.

You unlocked the door, and Doyoung and Jungwoo gawked at the sight—and size—of your bed. It could probably fit all three of you easily.

Since only one room would spark rumors, the manager usually booked two: one for Doyoung and Jungwoo and one for you. Your room always went unused. Usually, you would have to push Doyoung's and Jungwoo's beds together to make enough room, leaving an awkward and uncomfortable dip for the person in the middle. Whoever got the middle was handed the terrible double edged sword: cuddles galore, but a sore back in the morning.

Immediately Jungwoo jumped onto the bed, gasping and immediately laughed gleefully as the bed sloshed underneath him.

"A water bed!?" He exclaimed, splaying out his limbs. "Oh, far out. You really lucked out, dollface."

He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle, eyes fluttering shut. You followed, sitting at the side as you peeled off your white leather go-go boots. Throwing yourself down next to him, you sighed at the sensation of waves beneath you, and nodded. "Oh, this is ace," You murmured, "Feels great."

Peeling one eye open as Jungwoo wrapped his arm around you, your gaze landed on Doyoung, who was still leaning against the wall. You beckoned him over with a hand. "C'mere, princey."

He made sure that the air conditioner was working before sitting down on the other side of Jungwoo, for which you were grateful. The still drying sweat on the back of your neck and on your chest started to cool instantly. You and Jungwoo giggled as Doyoung’s weight sent waves rippling beneath you.

"So, are you guys gonna sleep or what?" Doyoung asked, kicking his shoes off as well and peeling off his denim jacket. His eyes were still wide open and he didn't look tired at all. "I'm probably staying up a little later, I have some ideas for some lyrics I want to get down—"

"I would love to sleep. But I can't," Jungwoo declared before glancing knowingly at the both of you, "and neither can either of you."

You hummed in agreement. "Hmm, you're not wrong. Too much energy left."

You turned to bury your face into his chest. His forest green short-sleeved button up was only buttoned up halfway, easily revealing his collarbones. He smelled like pot, sweat, and designer cologne. His chest rumbled as he continued to speak.

"What about you, bunny boy? You can't tell me you don't still feel it."

"The weed or the concert jitters?" Doyoung's voice was raspy, cautious. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. Once you and Jungwoo ganged up on him, it wouldn't take long to wear him down.

"Both," You and Jungwoo said in unison. You laughed at the sound. Doyoung chuckled as well, and you cracked your eyes open, despite how cozy you felt with Jungwoo stroking the skin of your nape.

"Well, the jitters are still there. That's why I'm staying up. As for the weed… well, yeah. I still feel it."

Jungwoo sighed. "How's the weed hitting you, though?"

"Honestly?" Doyoung's eyes met yours, and you felt something simmer in your chest. He huffed, deciding to take a bite of the apple, and leaned towards the both of you.

"The weed, plus watching you two perform… Safe to say I'm pretty fuckin' horny right now."

You bit your lip, giving him a sleepy grin. "Oh, Woo, we turned him on." The teasing tone wasn't missed despite the sleepiness in your tone.

"And what about it?" Doyoung asked, leaning back on his hands. "You can't say that watching Jungwoo do the thing doesn't get you going."

"I have a thing?"

"We all have a thing, Woo. Princey's over there is at the end of Mr. Jones' Motorcycle. You know, when he finishes the solo? He always throws his head back, because there's sweat and hair in his eyes. You can see his neck and shit..."

Jungwoo blinked. "Shit, that is his thing… What's mine?"

You raised an eyebrow at Doyoung. "His is the thing where he gets so into it that he throws his head back and plays, and still manages to get every bass note right, right?"

Doyoung nodded with a satisfied hum. "Gets you going, right?"

You brought a hand up to Jungwoo's chest, slowly sliding it down his stomach. Your voice lowered to a raspy murmur, and Jungwoo's hand tightened around your waist. "Damn right it does."

"And plus, you both have told me that watching me put together the drum kit is hot."

"'Cause it is!" Again you laughed as Jungwoo said the same thing you did.

"Jungwoo." Doyoung's voice sounded thicker. "You can't tell me that Y/N isn't an absolute vixen on stage."

"You're right," The younger man answered, voice gruff. His hand slid down, gripping your butt and giving it a light squeeze, before directing his words at you. "Oh! Y/N, your thing is when—you know how every time you play the transition from Calabasas to Saturn’s Rings you sway your hips and flip your hair back and forth? Sometimes you’ll look at me or at Doyoung while you do, and you looked at me tonight. You're a little tease up there, dollface."

Your breath hitched at their words. “Oh, yeah?” You goaded, cuddling further into Jungwoo’s chest. You let a coy smile grace your face as your eyes fluttered shut. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Doyoung growled.

“No, Doie,” Jungwoo hummed. He suddenly sounded a lot more awake. “...What would you have her do about it?”

Your eyes fluttered open, swallowing despite the sudden dryness in your throat. Doyoung's pupils were still blown wide, but you were pretty sure it wasn't because of the weed. He licked his lips. "Princess, get on your knees."

Jungwoo prompted you up, pulling you up to stand at the side of the bed. Doyoung circled around the bed, before standing next to Jungwoo. Your gaze fluttered between your two boyfriends, one looking stern, the other looking like he was having the time of his life.

Quietly, you lowered yourself to kneel on the plush carpet, fingers gripping the silver fabric of your dress' skirt to hike it up, so that you wouldn't kneel on it. Your hands itched to reach for them but you knew you needed to ask for permission. "Can I touch you?"

Doyoung smiled, reaching for his belt. "There's our good girl," He said. Your mouth was already watering embarrassingly as you helped him undo his belt, pulling him out of his boxers. He was already half hard, and as you lifted your hand to spit in it, someone grabbed you gently by the rest. Jungwoo leaned over, turning your hand to reveal your palm to him. His eyes seemed to burn into yours as he let his spit fall into the palm of your hand. You felt your legs close, thighs trying to rub together at the sight.

"Go on," Jungwoo murmured, using a hand on your jaw to move your head. Your eyes fell on Doyoung's cock again, slowly getting harder and harder. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly as you met his smoldering gaze. You stroked him until he was rock hard in your grip, and his breathing turned heavy. Again, you swallowed, and Doyoung noticed this time.

“What is it, princess? You want it in your mouth?”

“Yes, please,” You whispered, eyes wide. He chuckled breathily, head tipping back as you ran your thumb over the slit. His eyes met Jungwoo’s, who was palming himself through his pants.

“What do you think, baby?” He asked him.

“Don’t be mean, Doyoung,” Jungwoo said softly. “Look at her, she’s desperate. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You whined, nodding. The pair chuckled. Jungwoo grinned at the state you were already in. “Go ahead, dollface. Give it a kiss.”

Before Doyoung could say anything else, you took his dick into your mouth, and let out a soft moan at how heavy he felt, hot and pulsing. He let out a guttural groan of your name, a hand burying itself in your hair. His other hand gripped Jungwoo’s shirt, pulling him forward to meet in a tongue-filled kiss.

Slowly, Doyoung’s hips started rocking back and forth, grinding into your mouth. Your hands stroked what you couldn’t fit, as well as his balls. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to relax so as to not gag on his length. But when he sped up, it became too much to avoid.

A tap on your shoulder, and Doyoung let you off of his cock. You turned your head to look up at a very flushed Jungwoo, who had pulled his dick out of his pants as well. The words, “Me too?” tumbled out of his swollen lips. And with that gentle, breathy tone, who were you to disobey?

You wrapped your lips around Jungwoo, who hissed at the sudden heat of your mouth. From there, something primal inside of you took control, wanting nothing more than to please—you took turns sucking them off and stroking them, the muffled sounds of their moaning spurring you on.

It was always like this—during sex, Doyoung was the meaner one, manhandling you and throwing degrading words in your face that made your stomach curl in sick pleasure. He was the one who could put you in your place when you became too bratty to handle. Jungwoo was gentler, but he was all too content to watch Doyoung toss you around. He would always swoop in after Doyoung took you apart, and piece you back together. He’d tell you how good you were, how good you made the both of them feel, and while he definitely didn’t treat you like fragile porcelain, he definitely didn’t leave as many bruises as Doyoung did.

And then, when they were both done, they’d shower you in kisses, and whisper in your ear how grateful they were to love you, and say some philosophical thing about eternal love and the cosmos that you’d always be too fucked out to comprehend, but that made your heart do a backflip regardless.

“Shit,” Jungwoo groaned, pulling away from Doyoung’s lips. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum.”

You pulled off of Doyoung to look up at Jungwoo. “In my—in my mouth, please, Woo.”

He nodded, licking his lips as his hands fisted themselves in your hair, gripping but not pulling as he allowed you to touch him the way you wanted. His hands gathered the loose strands into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide your mouth up and down his hot cock. His hips bucked into your willing mouth, the sound of his hissing and his moaning getting louder and louder, until…

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N… Y/N!" He groaned, as he came into your mouth. His head tipped back, which gave Doyoung access to his neck, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. This sight was worth the bitter taste that coated your tongue: one of your lovers in ecstasy while the other anchored him to the ground.

He left his dick in your mouth for a moment, before pulling out with a shaky breath. Doyoung pulled away, letting him breathe. As Jungwoo caught his breath, Doyoung pulled you up, and he sat on the bed, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

You turned your head to face Jungwoo, who smiled at you, coming closer to the both of you. One of his hands patted the top of your head. "That was wicked," He said.

Doyoung smiled softly, and gripped your chin to get you to face him. His sweet grin didn't disappear as his grip forced your mouth open. He groaned at the sight of your tongue coated in Jungwoo's semen.

"Gorgeous," He mumbled, eyes trained on your lips as it began to spill out.

"Kiss her," Jungwoo told him, "You know you want to."

So he did, his tongue almost immediately slipping past your lips to get a taste of Jungwoo for himself, swallowing it down greedily. Your hands came up to unbutton his black dress shirt, and his hands pushed up the skirt of your dress to get you to rock your hips against his. You gasped against his mouth at the feeling of only your soaked panties separating him and you, before pushing the shirt off of him.

He moved to lie you down on the bed. As he pulled away from you, you caught his tongue slipping out to lick at a dribble of Jungwoo's cum on his lips. To make matters even worse, the bed was rolling beneath you, making your head spin.

Jungwoo pulled his shirt off before he sat down behind you. Meanwhile, Doyoung moved down your body, parting your legs. He prompted you to sit up, resting your back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your earlobe as Doyoung peeled your underwear off of you, biting his lip at the sight of your drooling pussy.

"You're absolutely drenched, princess. And all from sucking our cocks, huh?"

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Jungwoo's lips began kissing along your jaw. When you didn't say anything, Jungwoo pinched your sides gently. "Use your words, doll," He whispered. From behind you, his eyes met Doyoung's. "You're gonna keep being our good little girl, right?"

"Y-yes, Jungwoo." Your hand lifted itself to press against his cheek, a silent plea for more kisses. He smiled against your skin.

"Atta girl," He praised, "On your best behavior for us tonight, huh?"

"The little slut's just being good because she wants to get fucked, Woo. Don't get it twisted."

"Please, Doie," You pleaded at the mention of being fucked, "Need it."

The older man chuckled lowly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit.

"Told you."

His tongue pressed itself against your hole, and you immediately cried out. You would have immediately started grinding against Doyoung's face if it weren't for Jungwoo's hands on your hips, holding you down and keeping it still.

"I don't think you wanna do that," He murmured. His hands travelled underneath your skirt, gripping the silvery blue gossamer as he tried to lift it up. You did your best to keep your squirming at a minimum as you tried to help him get you out of it. Finally, the bell sleeves were pulled off, and you were left naked as the day you were born.

Jungwoo’s hands moved to your breasts, playing with them as he watched you whimper at the sensation of Doyoung’s mouth working at your folds. When he slipped his tongue inside, you keened, head falling against Jungwoo’s shoulder.

“You’re so pretty like this,” He whispered.

Your chest heaved, squirming up and down as he began to tug and pinch your nipples, calloused fingertips making you cry out.

Doyoung’s free hand gripped your thigh, and his fingers on the other hand slipped inside when he pulled his tongue out. Immediately, he plunged in two fingers, curling his fingers as he attempted to search for that one special spot.

"Ngh, Doie, faster, pleasepleaseplease." Your legs were trembling slightly now.

"So fucking slutty," Doyoung mumbled, chuckling wickedly, "And all I had to do was stick my fingers inside."

He complied with no protest, and the sensation of Doyoung stroking your walls and Jungwoo continuously pawing at your breasts caused a string of moans to come pouring out of your mouth. Jungwoo had been sucking a bruise into your clavicle, but leaned up to press his lips against yours.

"Don't want anyone hearing what's meant for Doie and I," He said, lips brushing yours.

The idea made you even needier, the double entendre making your head spin. Jungwoo didn't want anyone to hear you because if they did, rumors would spread. And on top of that? He didn't want anyone to hear. You were theirs. They were yours. This was a sacred ritual between bodies meant to be witnessed by only the three of you.

Your head felt like you were floating, even though your limbs felt like they were sinking into the watery mattress. A coil began to tighten in your stomach, and your soft whines, muffled by Jungwoo's plush lips, increased in pitch.

They both knew what this meant, because a second later, Doyoung removed his fingers from your core, and Jungwoo pulled away, his hands moving from your breasts to rest on Doyoung's atop your hips. You were left reeling and breathing heavily, that familiar sensation floating away.

When you looked down at Doyoung, you swallowed at the sight of his lips, chin and fingers, all glistening with your wetness.

He lifted himself up off the mattress, and proceeded to sandwich your chest in between his own chest and Jungwoo’s back. He gripped his dick, rubbing it against your folds, which were now even more soaked than before.

"Tell me how much you want it, princess." He pressed his forehead against yours, hissing when the tip caught your clit. You let out a desperate whine, clinging to his broad shoulders.

"Do—Doyoung, please fuck me," You begged, reeling at the sensation. He was so close, all he had to do was slide in. But he refused.

"Not good enough," He insisted.

"Doyoung, don't be mean," Jungwoo said, but he seemed to be more amused by your desperation than anything.

"No, I wanna hear how much she needs us."

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gather your words. Jungwoo's hands stroked your sides, trying to calm you down. "You doing alright, doll? You wanna take a breather?"

"We can always stop." Doyoung's voice had turned stable, secure, safe. He started pulling away, until you grabbed him by the forearm and shook your head. You opened your eyes, seeing concern in his eyes

“No,” You mumbled, “Jus’ want some water. Think there’s some in the minibar. ‘M really hot.”

Doyoung nodded, getting up and striding over to the small refrigerator on the other side of the room. He pulled out a water bottle, and popped open the cap before passing it to you. Jungwoo had taken to fanning your face lightly with his hand. You took several long swigs of water, before setting it on the nightstand.

“I’m fine,” You promised. “Can we please keep going? I can take it.”

Doyoung pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah,” You said with a nod.

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo murmured, “Be careful.”

“I know, baby." He lowered his eyes to study your face. "I won’t go that hard on you, Y/N.”

You nodded, even though deep down you wanted to protest. You knew that this was probably the best route to take. You could already feel the high—from the weed and the concert—wearing off. You knew that if Doyoung were too rough you’d probably crash on the way down instead of float.

So, Jungwoo brushed some stray hair out of your sweaty face, and Doyoung grabbed your legs gently, wrapping them around his hips. Slowly, Doyoung eased in, and you sighed in satisfaction of finally being filled. He bit into your shoulder, taking deep heaving breaths as he let you get used to the sensation. Jungwoo took turns pressing kisses to the top of your head and the top of Doyoung’s head.

“I love you both so much,” He whispered, “I’m so grateful the universe brought us together.”

Doyoung looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “My baby,” He murmured against Jungwoo’s lips. He then turned to you and did the same, “My princess.”

You smiled at their words, but the need in your core was becoming unbearable. "Doie, Woo, I love you both so much," You murmured, "But Doyoung, if you don't move I'll pin you down and do it myself."

"And you were doing so well," Doyoung groaned with a laugh, before beginning to thrust his hips. It was a slow, torturous glide, and the way it caused the bed to rock left you dizzy in the best possible way. Doyoung was panting into your ear like some sort of beast, and you were whining softly with every cant of his hips.

"You must feel so good right now, huh, doll?"

"Jung—woo," You moaned, clawing at his bicep.

"I know, dolly, I know." He sounded sympathetic enough, but the way he was grinding his dick against your ass suggested otherwise. "Bunny boy is just so good with those hips of his, hm?"

"H-he is!" You cried, "Feel so full, ah, Doyoung!"

Doyoung's eyes met yours, and his hips picked up their pace, until your eyes rolled up into your head. Your head thrashed side to side, leaning against Jungwoo's shoulder. His mouth lowered once again to kiss at your neck, and your hand wrapped itself against his nape, while the other gripped Doyoung's shoulders.

Jungwoo's hands slithered down to where you and Doyoung were connected, and started rubbing at your clit. You shrieked, chest arching. Doyoung hissed. "Shit, do that again," He bit out, "Fuck, princess you just got so tight."

"D-Doie, harder!"

Doyoung looked up at Jungwoo, the two having an unspoken conversation. A second later, Jungwoo gave a cautious nod. Doyoung smiled, before he adjusted his legs. Then…

Then. He began pounding into you at a breakneck pace. Your legs tightened around him, wanting him even deeper than before.

"You love this, don't you? Our pretty little slut." His voice was tighter now, panting with exertion. You nodded.

"Yes, yes! I'm your slut!"

Doyoung grinned, before locking lips with you. His tongue dipped into your mouth, before letting you do the same to him. You could tell he was starting to feel something—he always kissed you or Jungwoo as a way of telling you he wouldn't last much longer.

Truthfully, you could feel it coming too—your body felt like it was on fire, and your hips couldn't stop squirming. Whether it was towards Jungwoo's calloused fingers on your clit, Doyoung's cock, or away from both, you couldn't tell. Your moans were getting shriller too.

You clenched down on his length again, and he grit his teeth, grunting as his pace turned sloppy.

"C-c'mon, princey," You pleaded, "Give it to me, give it…"

"Shit, yes…" His head lolled onto your shoulder. "Gonna stuff you so full, princess, you'll be dripping—"

"Please! Oh, please—"

The two of you fell apart almost at the same time, your orgasm triggering Doyoung's a second later. Your mouth fell open, legs trembling and heart pounding as waves crashed over and under you.

When you came down, Doyoung rolled off of you, turning onto his side to watch you and Jungwoo. Jungwoo, who ceased the movements of his hands and slowly laid you down. Your head landed against the pillows, and you let your eyes shut as you caught your breath.

"Can I take care of you one last time, doll?" You heard Jungwoo say. Your eyes opened blearily, and you reached a hand out towards him, legs parting of their own accord.

Both of your lovers groaned at the sight of your pussy, Doyoung's cum brimming from your folds.

"Absolute perfection," Jungwoo murmured, crawling between your legs. He gripped his dick with one hand, the other swiping through your folds, and you immediately whined at the sensitivity there, teetering the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Please," You whimpered, "Woo, I want it."

"You're insatiable." He sounded so affectionate, so in love. You watched as his eyes studied his index and middle fingers, covered in a mix of Doyoung's cum and yours, before dipping them into his mouth to lick them clean. You sighed, a dopey smile gracing your features. He lowered himself down to brush noses with you, dark eyes blown wide, wide awake despite the dark circles underneath.

"Guess I'll just have to do something about that."

He slid in as if he was coming home, immediately setting a solid pace that had you seeing stars, arms wrapping around his shoulders to lock hands at his nape. The sensitivity left you pliant in his arms, and Jungwoo didn't hesitate in cradling you in his arms.

"So good for us, Y/N. Always Doie and I's sweet girl."

You nodded, tears brimming at your eyes at the heaviness in your chest, the pulsing in your core. His hair was falling into his eyes, and you lifted your hands to his face, doing your best to brush it away. Your hands cupped his cheeks, heavy eyes burning into his. Your hips were rutting against his desperately now, wanting nothing more than to feel that high with him.

Jungwoo pressed a brief kiss to your neck, feeling something simmer in his gut embarrassingly fast.

Doyoung placed his head next to yours, gently lifting Jungwoo's head to kiss him, hand brushing the other man's ass. When he pulled away, he kissed you as well, and Jungwoo's mouth pressed itself to one of your nipples. You keened against Doyoung's mouth, hips losing all semblance of grace.

Here, you were needy, animalistic, running on instincts, and your boys were drinking it up like water from a desert oasis.

Doyoung pulled away, a thin trail of spit connecting his lips to yours. His hands cradled your head.

"Can you feel it yet, princess?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, silent moans falling from your lips. "Ah, yeah, Doie… s-so close…"

"Me too," Jungwoo groaned between your breasts, "So wet, Y/N…"

"That's from all the cum she's filled with, right, princess?"

You nodded. "Mm—ngh! Stuffed me so good, Doie."

"Yeah? You gonna let Jungwoo fill you up even more? Gonna keep it all inside, right?"

Your stomach did a backflip, and you felt your toes curl. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, I want it—"

"I'll give it to you, doll," Jungwoo growled, "It's all—fuck—all yours. S-same way this is all for us, right?"

Those words were what caused you to finally fall over the edge. Your high was so intense that you could have sworn that your ears popped—clawing at Jungwoo’s shoulders, your eyes squeezed shut. Only one side ended up scratched, since you always kept your right hand nails short to properly play guitar. You sobbed against Doyoung’s lips, and he eagerly swallowed up your cries, shushing you gently as you came back down.

You didn't feel Jungwoo come inside, but you felt it immediately afterwards—the satisfying stickiness, the warmth in your stomach.

You looked at Jungwoo, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead before prompting him to move off. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you towards him as his little spoon, peppering kisses to your cheek and whispering how good you were. The two of you looked at Doyoung. You reached out, making grabby hands at him. His eyes were drooping, and he was blinking blearily as if he were trying to fight off sleep.

Still, he got up and pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, as well as his lighter. As he sat back down on the bed, the waves sent you and Jungwoo further and further into the recesses of slumber. As consciousness left you, you caught Doyoung looking down at the two of you as if you were the most precious beings he'd ever encountered. His tone was low and grumbly, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eye.

"I hope you two are happy. I can't remember those goddamn lyrics anymore."

#kwritersworldnet #nct smut #doyoung x reader #jungwoo x reader #doyoung smut #jungwoo smut #kpop smut #kpop au #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader #nct fluff #my writing

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iplaydrake · 3 years ago

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"BIRTHDAY REGRETS" SNEAK PEEK

Hey all!!! I've missed you guys so much!!! Ok, so I've been working on this for a little while and I'm hoping to have it finished soon!!! But I was just so excited to start writing again that I wanted to share a sneak peek with you! This is from Birthday Regrets which is a side chapter of Full Circle! The smallest backstory I can give is "read the middle to end of Chapter 7" (I mean I hope you read the whole thing but the middle to end of Chapter 7 is this story detailed!). I'm using my standard tag list for this bc it's a DREMI story!

Tag List: @likethetailofacomet @carabeth @rhymesmenagerie @speedyoperarascalparty @butindeed @wannabemc2 @client-327 @jovialyouthmusic @be-still-my-aching-heart @riseandshinelittleblossom @lodberg @drakesensworld @alj4890 @rainbowsinthestorm @ao719 @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerisreal @whenyourheartskipsabeat @furiousherringoperatortoad @silentcoyotesong @choicesmacmakes @ladyangel70 @lady-alex-keith @notoriouscs @lynne1993 @qammh-blog @gnatbrain @sirbeepsalot @crookedslimecreatorpasta @moneyfordiamonds @annekebbphotography @desiree-0816 @emichelle @addictedtodrakefanfic @kingliam2019 @burnsoslow @twinkle-320 @bascmve01 @mom2000aggie @belencha77 @sfb123 @tinkie1973

*****

The single chime of the clock was overwhelming in her otherwise quiet apartment as she sat on the couch with her phone in her hand. For over an hour, she typed and deleted the number she’d had memorized for as long as she could remember, the repetition of it almost cathartic enough to soothe the urge to hit the green button. A few more minutes of back and forth passed before she found her resolve and she sat forward, blocking her own number before finally connecting the call and listening to it ring.

“This is Drake.”

The tears poured down her face as she heard his voice for the first time in 2 years. “Hello? … Who is this? … I can hear you breathing, asshole!”

“It’s my birthday.”

“What? What did you just say?”

“Today… It’s my 18th Birthday.”

*****

“Hey, Dickhead!”

“Leo? When did you get back?”

“This morning. And I’m supposed to be heading out again tomorrow, so don’t make any plans ‘cause we’re going out tonight. You go find Beaumont and I’ll find my brother. We’ll dodge security and head into the city. It’s been a while since I caused any trouble.” Leo said with a wink.

*****

“Alright, what should we toast to?” Maxwell asked as he passed the glasses around the table.

“Ditching security and getting wasted before they find us!”

“The 4 of us finally being back together, even if it’s only for a short time!”

“Duck…”

*****

That's it for now!!! Hope you like it!!! It's coming soon!!!

#drake walker #drake #choices the royal romance #drake x mc #liam rhys #liam rys #drake walker angst #drake x mc fanfic #the royal romance fanfic drake #the royal romance fanfic drake x mc #trr drake #dremi #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #choices #king liam #maxwell beaumont

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ddaenggtan · 4 years ago

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say you want passion (i think you found it) | M

you’re a tease. he’s tired of it.

pairing | shownu x fem!reader

wc | 6.5k

genre/warning | Covid doesnt exist sorry, big dick shownu, sweetheart shownu, dom shownu, sub reader, shownu is called hyunwoo in this, he also likes to be called daddy dont judge, sloppy blowjobs, but still, blowjobs, Shownu eats pussy like a CHAMP, Strength Kink, praise, degradation, degrading praise, this is HIGHLY specialized, you've been warned, deepthroating, DEEP deepthroating at that, nsfw pictures, aka shownu likes to remember it when he does a good job so he takes a picture bc it lasts longer uwu, talking with your mouth full (ill let u guess), doggystyle, teasing, brief nipple play, hickeys, begging, dumbification, rough sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, coming inside, gspot shenanigans, this is genuinely so unrealistic please do not think sex is like this ever in real life, i mean literally ever if you ever fuck someone and it's like this then they aren't real they're a fae or a god or some shit okay, aftercare, shownu uses 3-in-1 because He Does, Barely Edited by the grace of @personawife‘s beta that she fit in when she could ilu,

a/n | first n last shownu smut specifically bc its leilas birthday (@honiboyyoon). u better enjoy this. (side note for anyone who isn’t into shownu smut, but is curious: there’s a namjoon version on ao3 that i’ll link here), but this took entirely too much effort and i did my damndest to fit as many things that ur into in this one fic as i possibly could. i hope this makes up for u probably never getting the vampire maknae line foursome i kept promising you sdfkldjsfasdf

The front door opens as you step out of the car, and you grin as your boyfriend appears in the frame. He grins at you and your best friend and you search his expression for a sign of anything other than his usual sweetness, but find none. You resist the urge to pout - you won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Good luck!” Your best friend teases. You roll your eyes at her - she knows precisely what you envisioned upon arriving back to the quaint little house you call home with Hyunwoo. It’s the reason you wore this outfit, and tried on the clothes you did whilst shopping, and sent him selfies in the poses you did.

You’re on a mission, dammit. It’s been weeks - literal weeks, not even an exaggeration - since you were properly fucked, and you’re fairly tired of prancing around the house in your shortest shorts and deepest v-necks so that when you bend over just right to water your fern, he gets the perfect eyeful. It’s exhausting to try to send all these signals all day every day - but you know how flustered he gets when you ask him directly, so you tried a different tactic. You were being nice!

And it hasn’t worked. At all. He’s offered to help you water your plants, to let you borrow his flannel pajamas in case you’re cold, and even to buy you a sweater, at one point.

In August.

So suffice to say, you’re getting a little tired of him being oblivious. So you’d called up your best friend and invited her to go shopping with you, and yes, it was also very fun to hang out with her and get boba, but she’s also the master of hyping you up and making you feel sexy and desirable, so it was truly a win-win.

Plus, she color-coordinated her own houndstooth pantsuit with your pink houndstooth skirt/blazer combo, so really, you should send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe cookies.

The point remains that your boyfriend hasn’t responded to any of your borderline pornographic selfies or the very pointed videos of you holding various sex toys and asking if it would fit. You’re at your wit’s end, and you were really hoping that it would truly get through to him this time that you want nothing more than to be railed against the mattress so hard that you cry.

You’re a simple girl, after all.

But no! He’s got that sweet smile on his face as you carry your shopping bags in one hand and your purse in the other, carefully sidestepping the cosmos he’d just planted the other day so you wouldn’t step all over his hard work. His smile widens when you reach the door, and he presses a sweet, gentle kiss against your forehead that has you on the verge of tears.

He waves again to your best friend as she drives off, and as usual snags your shopping bags out of your hand so he can place them beside the door. You’ve already pulled your blazer off to hang in the entryway closet by the time he’s shut the door, and you gasp as you’re jerked back. His hands are on either side of your head, braced against the front door like it’s the only thing keeping him up, and you struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the way his muscles flex.

“Do you have any idea what today was like for me?” He growls. The sound of it brings heat between your thighs, and you resist the urge to cheer.

“Sorry, should I not have sent you any selfies today?” You ask, keeping your voice as light and innocent as you can. He makes eye contact with you; there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. “Did you not like them?”

“You know damn well what I thought of them,” he mutters, one hand coming down to rest on your hip. “I’ve tried so hard lately, y’know? The tiny shorts with your ass hanging out, the shirts that show everything when you bend over. God, the bending.”

“Really?” You breathe. It’s always exhilarating to know that you’re desired, but this is nearly heady. He fixes his gaze on you, eyes burning, and your smile softens slightly.

“I was trying,” he says, clearly holding himself back, “To be a good boyfriend. To make sure that you know that I want more from you than just sex, and that I value you as more than just someone attractive. I was trying so hard to prove that you– that we have more between us than that. That I respect you more than that.”

“So don’t respect me.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. You’ve been laying down signals galore the past few weeks, and clearly he did not get the memo.

“I’m always going to respect you,” he says instead, sighing slightly as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to disrespect you, you’re worth more than that. But fuck, all I wanna do is fuck you stupid right now.”

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks and now you might finally - finally - get it. “Disrespect me, daddy.”

The hand on your hip tightens, no doubt bruising the skin, and you gasp at the feeling. Hyunwoo makes eye contact - just long enough to make sure that you’re on board for whatever it is he’s about to do.

He could probably suggest a number of things that you’ve never considered and you’d say yes, at this point - you’re not ashamed to admit that you’re desperate.

The hand on your hips lowers - he traces all the way down your thigh and to the back of your knee before travelling back up, this time under your skirt. He kisses you as he does it - long, heated kisses that make your head spin so perfectly that you don’t know what he’s doing until he glides a finger across your clothed core.

You gasp into the kiss, but it doesn’t deter him. He pulls down, kissing and biting down your jaw to your neck as his fingers trace over you once more. You can feel him smile against your skin.

“You’re already soaked,” he tuts. “You’ve ruined this pair, princess. How naughty of you. Would you like daddy to take them off?”

“Yes!” You moan as his fingers ghost over your folds once more.

“Yes what?” He asks, and you could cry with how much you want him.

“Yes, daddy,” you tell him, and he smiles once more. It’s blinding, how bright he is when he smiles like that, and for a second you’re breathless. Then you feel them - his hands, burning a trail along your thigh to tug at the band of your underwear. It only takes him a few seconds to pull them down as he bends, and he kisses your thigh as he brings one of your legs up so he can slide them off completely.

He was right - they are ruined, the evidence of your arousal immediately apparent by the large wet spot in the center. He doesn’t bother to slide them off your other leg, though - just lets them hang from your ankle, no doubt as a reminder of how strongly he affects you.

He presses kisses to every bit of skin he can as he stands fully upright once more, suckling a mark into your collarbone that you’ll absolutely cherish when you have to cover it up before work tomorrow.

His hands don’t leave your thighs - warm and strong and utterly distracting, you can’t take your mind off them as he kisses you again, heady and intoxicating. You feel it as one hand travels back underneath your skirt again, gliding between your thighs.

A moan sticks in your throat as his fingers slide in between your folds - the feeling of them teasing against your hole before they move to rub light circles into your clit is nearly too much to handle.

“Hyunwoo, please–”

“Patience,” he interrupts. You can hear the smile in his voice as he slides over your hole once more, spreading your arousal across your lips before teasing your clit again. “Good girls have patience, right, princess?”

You whimper, hips arching off the door to try to guide his finger inside of you. It’s a futile attempt - he just returns to the slow, infuriating circles on your clit, and you would cry if it didn’t feel as good as it does.

It could be hours or it could be seconds that he continues this pattern - slow, maddening circles on your clit, then the slightest bit of a tease at your hole, just enough to make you think that maybe he’ll fuck you with his fingers, before he returns to the circles. It’s enough to make a stronger woman cry, and you can’t help the whines that you let out when he once again deprives you of the fuck you so desperately want.

“Please just fuck me,” you finally break, hands moving from where they’re wrapped around his neck to circle his waist and do your best to pull him in closer. You can feel him against your thigh, warm and thick and big, and you want him.

He hisses when you grind against him, and the one hand that remains on your hip tightens ever so slightly. “You’re being very bad, princess,” he chastises, but you couldn’t care less. Your mind is focused on the memory of what he felt like inside you, and you’re ready to burst with need.

“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, hands sliding up under his shirt to run your nails against his muscled torso. “I don’t care, I need you, please, I just want–”

“I know,” he cuts you off. His hands disappear from you entirely, but only for a moment - before you know it, two large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding yours out of his shirt. You can't stop whimpering, caught between the memory of the last time he was between your thighs and the reality of his lips against your skin.

Hyunwoo drops - he hits the wooden floor with a muffled thud, and before you can even react, his hands are underneath your skirt. He pushes it upwards, muttering something almost reverent about thighs as he does, and then he’s pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hands don’t stop, though - they keep going, shoving your skirt up until it pools around your waist.

“H-Hyunwoo—”

“Ssh,” he whispers, giving your thigh a light bite. A heartbeat later and you can feel his warm breath against your folds. “You wanted to feel good, right?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, hands instinctively tangling in his soft brown hair.

“Then be a good slut for me, and stay still while I make you feel good."

You stifle a whimper - he knows what his words do to you, and you jolt as his tongue gently nudges against your folds. There's no stopping the soft sigh that falls from your lips as he delves deeper, ghosting across your swollen clit to nudge against your hole. He's tentative, teasing with his movements - he likes to make you wait, tease you until you're grinding against his mouth.

You doubt this will be an exception.

A moan is thrust out of you as you feel your hole stretch slightly. Not much, not far - just enough to accommodate him as he fucks your hole with his tongue. It's just the right side of unsatisfying - you're aching, absolutely dripping for him, and this is just enough to whet your appetite and make you hungry for more.

You can feel his smile against you, and you already know what's coming - still, it's disappointing when he pulls his tongue out. You whine, unashamed of how you must sound or how loud you may be, and he chuckles.

"Patience, baby girl," he breathes. Warm air flows over you, and your hands move to tangle in his hair. His tongue shifts again, lapping at your clit for long enough that you think you may cum before he stops to draw mind-numbing circles around it instead.

Time bends around the two of you - it always does when he's between your thighs like this, when he's teasing and deliberate with every swipe of his tongue against you, every press of him against your hole. He edges you for so long; slow circles around your clit turn to quick thrusts inside of you that shift into laps against your hole that drag upward, just barely catching your clit before they stop.

You're sure there would be a puddle on the floor were it not for his dedication. The entire house is filled with the sounds of his mouth against you, only drowned out by the sound of your cries as he begins to suck on your clit.

Your knees quake on either side of his head, and he doesn't hesitate to bring his hands up behind your thighs. Without a second thought, he lifts - not even pausing in his mission, tongue still thrusting into you at an almost absurd rate - and then your thighs are resting atop his shoulders. You gasp, both in shock and in pleasure as he lets his teeth graze ever so lightly against that bundle of nerves.

This isn't the first time he's done this - put you on his shoulders and left you there while he eats you out within an inch of your life - but it's the first time in a long time, and it has you seeing stars as one of your hands stays tangled in his hair and the other is braced against the wall beside you.

"Hyunwoo, please–" You beg, but you can't catch your breath long enough between moans to say anything more. He sucks again, the flat of his tongue gliding over your clit as it's pulled into his mouth once more, and your vision goes white. Your knees quake, and you're sure that if you had been standing, you wouldn't be anymore.

"That's my girl," Hyunwoo praises after he's done cleaning up your cum. When you can see again, you realize he's set you down on the floor and is slowly massaging your thighs.

"Hyun, I....please....can you–"

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby?" He asks. His tone is a little patronizing, but that's okay, because it only serves to turn you on more. "Does my sweet little whore need my cock in her?"

"Yes, please," you whimper, hips tilting upwards against nothing of their own accord.

Hyunwoo stands and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweats. A few moments later he's pulled them down just enough to free himself. Your mouth drops open slightly when you finally lay eyes on him - you know he's big. You know that he is big, you've had his entire length inside of you several times now and you've felt it for days after each time, but it still never fails to shock you.

Because he is big. Thick, so thick you can hardly wrap your entire fist around him, and long, with the perfect curve that hits that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. His dick is nearly as perfect as he is, and that is a very high bar.

It's also so hard that you can see it throbbing, jumping every so often as his muscles tense.

"You want me to make you come with my cock, right, baby?" He asks, once again using that patronizing tone that makes heat creep across your cheeks.

You nod.

"Then you're going to have to ask nicely, aren't you?" He prods.

"Please, daddy," you say without hesitation, "Please fuck me, I want you to make me cum so hard that I cry, I want to be a good slut for you."

"Very good, baby," he praises. "Now I want you to prove that you mean it. Can you be a good little whore and suck my cock?"

You lean forward, not even bothering to use your hands because your bones still feel like jelly. You run your tongue across the tip of him, giving small kitten licks to the slit just how he likes. A groan rumbles through him, and he lets out a soft gasp as you slip your tongue down to wet the shaft as well.

"Fuck, princess," he moans, "I think you've gotten even better at this."

Encouraged, you let your mouth hang open– just barely wide enough to get your lips around the shaft– and let your tongue rest on your spit-slick lips. You glance up long enough to see that Hyunwoo's eyes are blown wide with his desire before you mouth sloppily down his dick. It's messy and would probably be disgusting if it were anyone but the two of you and Hyunwoo didn't have that look in his eyes that promises you'll remember tonight for several weeks.

His hands move, one adjusting his grip on the doorframe as you suck the head of his cock between your lips while the other comes down to grip one of the two buns you put your hair in that morning. He tugs - not hard, not yet, but firmly enough that it stings slightly and makes you keen.

"If you're going to make a mess, don't you think you should clean it up?" He asks. You lift a brow and he grins. "Clearly you're not that tired if you still have an attitude."

"No," you whine, "I am tired, my bones are basically nonexistent right now thanks to you."

The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and Hyunwoo tuts. "I have to do all the work, huh? Then get on your knees for me, baby girl, so I can use you like a good toy."

You rush to comply, and only wince a bit at the feeling of the cold floor against your knees. His hand stays where it is the entire time you're moving, but he waits until you're sitting still, legs folded under you and giving you that extra bit of height you'll need.

"Let me know if it's too much," Hyunwoo commands, and you nod. His eyes darken, slightly, and he runs his thumb along your jaw. "What's the signal?"

"Two taps on your thigh," You tell him, not for the first time. He's always so careful beforehand, and while you appreciate just how much he cares about you, you also are sick of just staring at his cock, and your mouth is beginning to water.

Hyunwoo coos slightly, and the hand in your hair shifts to guide rather than just anchor. "You're always so good for me," he mutters as he slides the tip past your lips. "Always such a good little slut."

You don't stop the whimper that escapes your throat – he loves them, and you know it. Your mouth is lax, nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he sees fit, and there's the slightest twinge of complaint as your jaw begins to stretch.

You ignore it, determined to get as much of him as possible this time. You've practiced for this, nearly every day, since the last time and you're not stopping until you beat your record.

Hyunwoo sighs as he hits the back of your throat. "God, you're perfect," he mutters as he begins to slide back out. You let your jaw relax a bit as he does, and when just the tip rests on your tongue, you give it a small kiss, just because you can.

Hyunwoo smiles, gaze softening for a split second. "Hands in position, baby girl," he reminds you, and you do as he says – one hand on back of each of his thighs, so you can tap out if you need to.

Also so you can feel those incredible muscles flex as he starts shallow thrusts, rippling and tensing under your fingers. If your mouth weren't otherwise occupied, you'd bite them.

Hyunwoo continues carefully, testing just how much of himself can fit before you start to gag on his length….and just how long you can choke before you really start to need air.

He pulls back before you even need to tap out, always careful to keep an eye on you for any warning signs. He slides back in and waits until he hits the back of your throat again, pushing slightly further, and just as he's about to begin pulling back out, you look up at him with wide eyes.

You know you look like a mess; drool gathering on your lips because your mouth is too full to hold it, tears streaming down your cheeks from your attempts to stop gagging. Hyunwoo loves it when you look ruined like this, adores taking your perfectly crafted image and crumbling it to pieces in his hands.

So it's no surprise when he lets out a low moan, or when he lets himself slip a little further down your throat. This is as far as he's ever gotten and you want him to know how good you are, how hard you've been practicing with the toys underneath your bed. He slides out, precum dripping onto your tongue as he does, and you bat your lashes at him.

"Use me," you tell him. "Use me like the toy that I am for you, Daddy." Something darkens in his eyes and he doesn't hesitate to thrust back in.

Your eyes water with the force of it and you don't stop the moan that escapes you as he slides deeper down your throat than he's ever been before. There's still a couple inches left before he'd be fully sheathed, but Hyunwoo doesn't even seem to notice as he pulls out just to thrust back in.

Neither of you are quiet — you can barely hear the wet squelch of your mouth. It's drowned out by the moans he draws from you, which in turn pull moans from him between the words he growls out.

"God, you're so perfect," he mutters as he fucks your throat with abandon. "The perfect angel slut, so good at getting throatfucked, just made for my cock no matter where it goes, huh? You're such a good whore, you're probably fucking soaked just from my dick in your mouth, aren't you?"

You whimper around him and he speeds up, relentless; he's not wrong either — you are soaked, can feel it between your thighs as your hips rock fruitlessly against empty air.

"Oh, look at you," Hyunwoo coos, "So desperate to be fucked while sucking me off. Maybe one day I'll get one of your buddies over here to fuck your throat while you ride my cock, since you're so desperate to get used like a good slut. But I don't even think that'll be enough, will it? Because they won't be me." He thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher, and you aren't sure if the noises you're making are as loud as they seem to you but either way, they only serve to egg him on.

"No," Hyunwoo continues, "They won't be Daddy, will they? They won't be able to get this deep in your throat, won't be able to fuck you like this. And you know why? Because this is my hole." He punctuates the sentence with a sharp thrust and you squeeze the backs of his thighs to show your agreement. "You're my perfect slut. My good little whore. Isn't that right, baby girl?"

You squeeze the backs of his thighs again, but it isn't enough. He stills, still buried nearly to the hilt inside you, and cocks a brow.

"Well? Aren't you my perfect whore?" Your face flames, heat burning in your cheeks. Your jaw aches from being stretched for so long, there spit and precum dripping down your chin and you can feel him throbbing in your throat.

And Hyunwoo looks expectant. He wants to hear you agree with him, wants you to remind yourself of this fact.

You don't even blink when he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. You can't see what he does, but based on how he angles it and the shallow thrusts he gives without looking away from the screen, you can guess.

"Aw, is my baby girl getting shy now?" He teases as you make eye contact with the lens and feel your face heat up. "Don't even worry about it, baby. I just wanna remember how fucking perfect you look right now forever. My perfect cocksucking slut."

You whimper, pussy clenching around nothing and you're overcome with a sudden need to feel him inside you.

"Are you gonna be a good slut now?" Hyunwoo continues, still recording. "Are you daddy's good slut?" You nod and can't stop the reflexive swallow as he goes even deeper. Hyunwoo groans at the feeling and you can see his grip on his phone tighten for a moment.

"Say it," he commands when his eyes open once more. "I want to hear you say it."

" 'm 'a'y's 'er'ec' 'ore," you moan. It doesn't even sound like words, at this point, but when you look back up at him with wide eyes. Hyunwoo looks proud.

"You absolutely are," he whispers. He hits a button and then pockets his phone again. He slides carefully out of your mouth and casually strokes his cock with one hand as he wipes spit from your face with the other. "I think you've been a perfect angel, baby girl, so you've earned your reward. Where would you like it?"

"Bed, please, Daddy." Your voice is hoarse and scratchy, but you don't care, and Hyunwoo doesn't seem to either as he pulls his sweats up and then bends. The world spins for a moment and then steadies, and you realize he's got you in his arms. Hyunwoo carries you like a princess towards the room you share, and tosses you on the bed without hesitation.

Your eyes widen as he starts to strip out of his clothes, and you can't deny that you enjoy the show. The torso of muscles all rippling, the golden skin all shining, the desire in his eyes. Then the sweats — they hit the ground with a thud and you idly hope his phone is alright before you remember there are more important things right now.

He is, unsurprisingly, still hard — almost painfully so, a deep swollen pink at the head and jumping every so often. The vein running up the underside is throbbing, and you can actually feel yourself get wetter with anticipation.

One knee rests on the mattress, then the other, and Hyunwoo is crawling towards you on his hands and knees, and you can see every muscle as it shifts and fuck you love this man.

"I love you," you tell him, not for the first time. He breaks for a second, a bright smile taking over his face.

"I love you," he replies, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Can we take those clothes off now, baby, because as great as you look, you're even better naked."

Breath catches in your throat and you nod. Hyunwoo is almost reverent as his hands glide up your thighs and is exceedingly gentle as he slides down the zipper and then the skirt itself. He smiles again, almost shy, and you can't help but marvel at the fact that this is the same man who bad you gagging on his dick not five minutes ago.

He leans in and gently nudges your nose with his, but when you lean forward to kiss him, he backs away with a playful grin. His warm hand rests on your waist and he leans in again only to dart back when you try to kiss him — not far, though. He's still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath mix with yours, but it's still infuriating.

You pout at him, and his smile just grows. "What is it?" He asks, teasing. "What do you want?" His lips ghost over yours as he speaks and it nearly breaks you.

"You," You whine. "I want you."

"You have me." He leans forward then, capturing your lips with an intensity you haven't seen in a long time. His mouth moves against yours and it's firm, commanding, and absolutely intoxicating as he pulls back just to lightly bite your lips. It's not rough, not really, but it's fiery and exciting and everything you've wanted.

He presses closer, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse in what seems like an instant. Warm hands cross your spine and then your bra is gone, too. His skin seems to meld to yours, hands moving everywhere as he lays you back.

Your breath hitches when you feel him against your entrance and he smiles into the bruise he's sucking into your throat.

"You're so fucking wet, baby," he breathes as his tip teases against your entrance. "You're always so wet for me, so ready to be fucked. Just a perfect fucking whore, huh?" He slides in then, but only a bit. Just like before, it's just barely enough for you to feel him stretching you out. Just a tease of what's to come.

"Hyunwoo," you whine. You can see the amusement in his eyes as he chuckles.

"What is it? You want more?" He slides in further, but just a centimeter. You whine again, pushing your hips up against his to try to push him deeper. You can feel yourself throbbing, aching, for him, and you're tired of being teased. You want to be full.

You tell him as much, watching his pupils dilate with every word until there's hardly any iris left to be seen.

"Is that so?" He mutters, almost to himself. "Well, your wish is my command." He slides in, slowly, but this time he doesn't stop. He just keeps going and going and going, until you can feel him at your cervix. It stings – you're stretched so far, and he's so deep inside – but you relish it.

"Beautiful," Hyunwoo mutters as he begins to slide back out, inch by agonizing inch. You whimper as the tip nearly slides out, too, and your hips lift of their own accord. Hyunwoo takes the hint and pushes back in; he creates a rhythm, one so slow, so maddening, that you're on the verge of tears as you whine and whimper underneath him.

He notices your frustration, pulls himself away from lazily mouthing at your nipples, and hums.

"What's wrong, baby? You aren't satisfied yet?" He gives you that Boy-Next-Door grin that you know hides a demon behind it. "Are you going to ask nicely again? Tell me no one fills you up like I do and beg me to fuck you the way you want? You look so pretty when you beg."

Any other time, you wouldn't. You would at least hesitate, make him work a little harder for your pleas. But you're desperate and frustrated and have no shame, so you don't hesitate.

"Please, Daddy," you beg, letting your legs fall open and arching your back so his eyes drop lower and lower. "Please, Daddy, no one can fill this pussy like you do, no one can fuck my holes like you. Pl–please," you moan as he slides entirely inside once more, "Please fuck me right, make me come on your cock, I wan– wanna be fucked stupid, want you to– to fuck me stupid, please, wanna be Daddy's perfect slut, pl– Ah!"

You can't help your surprised gasp as Hyunwoo flips you onto your stomach with a low growl.

Warmth drapes along your back as you rise up, palms splayed across the sheets and elbows locked to keep you upright; his skin is sweat-slick and heated against your own, and a shiver runs down your spine when he pauses to runs his teeth along the lobe of your ear.

"You are the best part of my life," he announces.

Butterflies explode in your belly a split second before he slides out of you.

"And I'm gonna make you cum so hard that you'll never forget that fact."

"Hyunwo— Oh!"

He thrusts into you with enough force to toss you into the headboard, had he not planted one hand firmly on your hip and had the other curled around your breast to tease your nipple.

"You like that?" Hyunwoo asks with a smile in his voice. He repeats the movement and you clench around him as you gasp out a moan. It's all you can do to nod and he flicks your nipple in response. "Good."

He lifts up, both hands now holding you steady by an iron grip on your hips, and readjusts his legs so yours are spread slightly wider. Your arms are trembling but you pay them no mind.

Until Hyunwoo thrusts forward, pulling back just as quickly only to bury himself again, a heartbeat later. His pace is absolutely merciless; the sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, mixing beautifully with the wet slide as he shoves back in and the rough, throat moans that he pulls from you. Your vision swims, and you can't concentrate on anything else as he gives you the fucking that's been haunting your dreams every night.

He adjusts his grip, one hand moving to sit firmly on the small of your back and press you down just a bit. The angle shifts – not much, but enough that the next time he pounds into you, he thrusts right up against that spot that makes your toes curl.

You cry out, vision going white as he hits it again, and again, and again, absolutely ruthless in his mission. Your muscles go weak, biceps twitching as they give out, and then you're face down in the mattress. Hyunwoo doesn't hesitate, just ghosts his palm down to rest between your shoulders and keep you in place.

He might be talking – you certainly think you hear the low tones of his voice as he speaks to you, but you can't make out words. It's too much work, too many syllables, too much effort to try to work past the haze that blankets your mind. You can still feel him, pumping in and out of your gushing pussy — the stretch barely stings anymore, and he throbs inside of you. Each thrust is still perfectly angled to hit that mind-numbing place that keeps you from doing anything more than screeching his name.

He slows, immediately switching from speed to power as he manages to put even more force behind his hips. The hand in your back moves, as does the one on your hip and then you're rising.

A warm palm across your throat – not choking, just keeping you in place while the other traces along your spread thigh.

There are words – something your brain is too fried to make out, and then a rumble that vibrates through you. A laugh. His thrusts get a little faster as he fucks up into you, and you're dimly aware of his fingers slipping between your folds.

Someone screams — no, not someone. You. You scream, something so loud and provocative that it can't even be called a moan anymore, as he begins to rub circles around your clit. Orgasms rock through you, every part of your body going boneless even as you shake from the force of it. It's impossible to tell when it stops, if it stops – the aftershocks are strong and he still hasn't stopped fucking you, though he's slower and gentler now, letting you ride it out on his cock.

"……perfect for me, " you hear him whisper as you're senses come back. "Absolutely perfect, an amazing fucking— just divine, you are."

"Hyun," you manage, and it's no shock that you sound absolutely wrecked. "D– Daddy."

"I'm here, baby girl," he mutters, "What do you need?"

"You," You respond instantly. "Want you, wanna fee– feel it, want you to fill me, please, in– ah, inside, want you dripping ou–" You're cut off once more as your body heaves with yet another aftershock, clenching around his hard length again.

"Whatever you want, baby," he promises. "Can you come once more for me, baby girl? Just one more time so we can come together?"

"Mm…." You pause, taking the best inventory you can as your muscles jolt again. You consider lying to him, or just omitting this, because you know he'll never stop reminding you of it, but decide against it. Instead, you quietly admit, "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Oh, fuck," he breathes. Within moments, you can feel his thrusts turn more erratic, more frenzied, and then you're impossibly fuller even as something warm drips down the inside of your thigh.

He's gentle as he lays you down on the bedspread, exceedingly so as he pulls his softening cock out of you. His weight disappears from the bed for a few minutes that seem to stretch into hours, and then the mattress dips, and his soft smile appears once more.

"Here sweetheart, drink this." He hands you a familiar cup and when you take a sip, the water is cool and refreshing. Wet warmth, surprising but pleasant, glides along your inner thigh and you look down to see him cleaning you up.

"Mm, this is quite possibly the perfect view," you tease, wagging your brows as you make a show of checking out his muscular arms. It makes him laugh, the soft one that's just for when you're being ridiculous.

"Drunk your water, you menace," he commands as he continues to wipe. "You're gonna need to replenish your fluids, after all that." He looks pointedly towards the bed and you follow his gaze, face heating when your eyes land on the rather sizable wet spot staining the sheets.

"Whoops?" You offer. When you look back at him, he only looks fond.

"Don't even start, it was hot. Besides, they needed to be put in the wash anyway. I'll start them after you get into the bath." He gives over you, taking kisses along every piece of skin he can until he reaches your lips. You can't help the way your breath catches – even after all this time, he manages to make you breathless over the smallest things.

He peppers kisses along your cheeks, and nose, and everywhere else until you're giggling and trying to turn away from him. Unfortunately, with his arms on either side of you, you're fairly well trapped, so you settle for fucking your head into his neck instead.

You pause. Sniff again. Back up. He looks sheepish, like he already knows what you're going to say.

"We were out of the fancy stuff—" He tries, but you don't let him.

"You used that 3-in-1 shit again?" You demand. "Actual body wash isn't even fancy, it's what normal people use! That's it, you're coming into the bath with me after you start the laundry so that I can make sure you didn't use it in your hair, too."

He smiles again, though you have a sneaking suspicion that he's just humoring you when he nods and says, "Whatever you want."

#shownu smut #shownu x reader #reader insert #dddaenggtan

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kim-ruzek · 3 years ago

Text

The moment I can breathe

Summary: Snapshots of moments in Kim's life, when it's autumn and pretty, warm but cool, and ever so peaceful-- her favourite time of year, even when the year is bad.

Word Count: 1.7k

Read on AO3

Notes: This is for my wonderful, lovely Cíara (@fighterkimburgess ). Just for being an amazing human and so kind and caring and never failing to make me feel supported. They compared me to a late September/early October day, which then we learnt is *both* our favourite days, and thus this fic was born.

This fic will also mean that I've officially published 100k words of fic on ao3. It's technically not for the same fandom, so I wasn't going to count it, since 3k of the words is for svu, but it's fitting I reach 100k published words on my account with a fic for Cíara so I'm counting it. Especially as I've got about ~60k unpublished words for cpd and I've published some drabbles and short one shots on here that I haven't yet posted to ao3.

But it's fitting because Cíara has supported my writing for Burzek and this fandom from the very beginning; I never would've had the courage to post like clockwork if it wasn't for them and so many of my ideas got better and more developed bc they helped me and was a sounding board and just a source of encouragement-- Cíara, you are the best cheerleader ever and one of my favourite people. I love you so incredibly much. ♥️

With that said; enjoy!!!

“What are you doing out here?”

At the words, said to her by someone standing behind her, Kim’s shoulders tense, the hair on the back of her neck standing on a edge. It’s only Adam, she knows that. Knows his voice, his soft, gentle, affectionate voice. One never filled with judgement, or dismissiveness.

But her eyelids flutter shut slightly, the warmth of the autumn sun beaming onto her face, and all she can remember is all the times before, of people—of them—not being even a touch as understanding as Adam, of them coming into her peaceful bubble, and popping it without a care in the world.

Kim opens her eyes only a few seconds later, turning slightly so that the sun shines on the side of her face, instead, and she smiles at her boyfriend. They’re at work, everything is so new, and it’s a secret, so she can’t step towards him, or invite him into her bubble, but she can smile and watch as he smiles back.

“Nothing. Just getting some peace before my lunch ends,” Kim answers his question.

“I wanted to kiss you, earlier,” Adam tells her later that day, when she’s snuggled up against his side, his arms around her. He noses her, nudging her affectionately. Kim lightly laughs, stealing a quick kiss before teasing him.

“You always want to kiss me,” At that, Adam chuckles, a throaty deep kind of laugh that shoots shivers down her spine and makes her ache with a need, a desire for him.

“That I do.” His voice is warm, warmer at how fast they are learning each other, how quick they are to etch these details into their souls. “You looked so peaceful, I just wanted to wrap my arms around you and cuddle you,”

Adam says those words, and Kim tilts her head more so she could look up at him. She chews her lip for a second, debating something that isn’t much of a debate, not with Adam, and she speaks again.

“Do you want to know why?”

Kim comes through her apartment door, hands full of her shopping. It’s still early, really, still plenty of day left. She has been up for a few hours, but the day, really, has only just begun. There’s a peace in her body; she is ready for the hours left.

“Where did you go?” Adam is on her couch, still in his pyjamas, lounging as he watches the tv. He mutes it, sitting up straighter as he asks her, his eyes following her as she walks in. She holds up her shopping.

“You’re a smart man,” She says, smiling at him as she does. Adam hums, looking at her curiously, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Kim feels oddly seen, like she’s transparent to his eyes.

“Don’t lie, Kimberly. You went to sit on a park bench and read, didn’t you?” Adam fishes at her half-read, semi-battered book from one of her bags.

Perhaps she is transparent to him. And perhaps she doesn’t mind, Adam not looking upon her with judgment or derision, just looking at her with care and love in his eyes.

He remembered that Kim’s favourite kind of days was those on sunny autumn days, when the leaves are deep terracotta earthy tones and falling, and everything is on that edge of winter, yet still looks so beautiful and magical. And he remembered not to mock her for being so caught up in it, but just because—just because he knows her.

Kim stares at the leaves laying on the ground, crumpled and stepped on. The shades are so pretty, deep reds and oranges, a sight that comes around only once a year, yet they’re discarded and forgotten by everyone who walks past them.

The trees are dying, shedding their unnecessary leaves, needing to preserve that strength. The air is getting colder, this last middling warmth of the sun will be gone soon. It will be snowy and cold, and everything will be dead.

Not yet, time is still caught in this magical time of being alive—of looking alive—and being dead—of looking dead.

Kim can relate to that, hoping that next year, next year will be different.

“Why did you want coffee here?”

Kim turns her head to look at her mentor, at Al. Antonio is her main partner, now, Al being assigned to whoever. But he’s still her mentor, even if Antonio believes in her all the same. Al is a special man, a force that everyone needs in their life.

“Sit.” Kim pats the space on the bench next to her and Al obliges, handing her over her coffee as he does so.

“Look—everything looks so pretty,” She indicates at the park land that lays before them, smiling at his beautiful everything looks. From the corner of her eye, Kim sees Al smiling that half smile of his.

“Hm.” Al is a man of very little words, and Kim will never know if he gets she wanted to bring some light in his life as Lexi’s birthday approaches, but she thinks he does, and she knows he appreciates it, knows that she’s sharing a part with herself with him.

“Sorry, is this space taken? I just need to rest for a moment—not as young as I used to be, me.”

Kim looks up from the fallen brown leaf she is aggressively staring at, the lead she’s been staring at for god knows how long. It’s an older man who’s asked, probably not too much older than Al would’ve been. He’s got a kind face, and she can tell the moment he sees the tears in her eyes, the utter distraught on her face.

“Are you okay, dear?” The man gently rests a hand on her shoulder, full of concern. Kim forces herself to nod, giving him a weak, watery smile.

“Here,” she stands up, making the bench available for him. He goes to protest, but Kim shakes her head. “I’ve got to go to work,”

She does, and it is good that the man came along, otherwise she would’ve been late, caught up in her memories, of how she’ll never drink coffee, silently, side by side with Al ever again as the autumn leaves fell around them.

“Tomorrow is meant to be a warm day, for October, that is,”

Kim looks at Adam, pausing in her task of grabbing her things from her locker. She frowns at him, unsure to as why he’s telling her—hoping he’s not planning on asking her out on a date. They’re spending time together, but that’s not for them, not yet, anyway.

“I was gonna go to Al’s grave—if you want to come with me? It’ll be the kind of autumn day you like.” Adam doesn’t leave her unsure for long. There’s a tightness in her chest, a constricting in her heart, at his words.

She tells herself it’s because of the thought of Al, not because Adam remembered her favourite kind of day.

“Kim? Are you asleep?”

Kim opens up one of her shut eyes, looking at Adam, who’s peering at her, a hand resting gently on her shoulder before shutting the eye again.

“If I was, I wouldn’t be now.” She replies, dryly, but with affection.

“Alright, smartass. I was just coming to ask if you want some lunch. But I’ll leave you to your ‘reading’, although I’d like to point out reading usually, you know, dictates reading that book beside you,” Adam’s words are said without malice, and Kim opens her eye again just in time to see Adam going to retreat away.

She catches his hand, halting his movements. She smiles up at him.

“Lunch sounds wonderful.”

“Kim! Look!”

Makayla’s smile is wide, her daughter beaming, as she jumps into a big pile of leaves that she had just constructed. Kim can’t help the equally big smile, affectionate and loving, which takes over her face at that, not that she’d want too.

Her daughter is laughing, a joyous sound, and she plays and messes around. Her excitement and happiness is infectious, and Kim finds herself feeling a new kind of peace watching her. It’s her now seven year old’s birthday, and there’s something oddly beautiful, Kim think, for Makayla to be born in late September, to be born on one of her favourite kinds of days.

It’s a low key birthday, but it’s perfect for her daughter, and so it’s perfect for Kim.

And as she plays, Kim thinks that one year she should take Makayla to see where she grew up, so that Makayla could play in the same place Kim did, the same place Kim fell in love with this type of day.

“Bet you’re happy these days are finally here,”

Kim’s head is resting on her fiancé’s shoulder, their hands entwined, but she tilts her head up slightly so she could look at Adam.

“Oh, don’t think I don’t know why you decided that we should go for a stroll in the park today. The sun is out, it’s autumn, you’ve got that peaceful look on your face. I bet you’re glad Ally was born in the spring so that she’s old enough now to be able to go out for longer,” Adam’s ability to see Kim as transparent has never faded over the years.

“Hm. You see right through me,” she says, her other hand gently moving Ally’s pram, turning her eyes back to watching Makayla play a little away from them.

“I wish you didn’t have to wait all year for these days,” Adam says a few moments later. “You deserve to be this peaceful all year.”

“Adam, I am.” Kim pulls away from him at that, her hand still attached to his, however. She moves so she’s looking at him more front on.

“This,” Kim indicates around them. “is beautiful and pretty. But I don’t need it anymore, not for that peaceful feeling.”

“Oh. Makes sense, kids do give that feeling, too,” Adam interrupts her before she’s finished, not quite understanding.

“It’s not because of them—well, not quite. They’re the bonus. But Adam, I could go forever without ever seeing a day like this again, because I have you. You are these days for me, every day with you is like this in my heart.” Kim tells him, earnestly, before cuddling back into him.

“I love you, darlin’,” he says not a second later, his voice breaking slightly.

“I love you, too.”

#burzek #kim burgess #adam ruzek #kim burgess x adam ruzek #chicago pd #burzek fic #chicago pd fanfiction #ree writes #ree's.writing #Cíara tag

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spencerreidslove · 4 years ago

Note

Angst but maybe no spoilers bc I’m only on s1😅

A/N: You are BOLD for reading fanfic when you’re in season 1. I could never. I was actually really excited to write this beacuse I’ve never written anything with Elle before and I love her. I tried not to spoil anything but we’ll see if I did a good job.

————

He was drifting. You could tell.

Three phone calls and no answers to any of them. You thought about calling Penelope and asking her if Spencer was ok, but you didn’t want to bother him if he was in the middle of the case.

It was dark outside and he still wasn’t home. Spencer said that they would be celebrating his birthday at work, which they did a few days ago, but then they got called out on a case.

Earlier today, Spencer had briefly called you and said that he would be home tonight. It was nearing 2 am and and he still wasn’t home.

You sighed as you looked at the cupcakes you had baked and put them in the fridge. Vanilla with chocolate frosting. Spencer’s favorite.

Maybe they ended up getting delayed with the case or the weather was bad and they couldn’t fly. It didn’t matter.

You went into your bedroom and slid into bed. You had work tomorrow and it wasn’t worth it waiting up for Spencer.

The next morning when you woke up, Spencer was in bed beside you. He was fast asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him, so you quietly slid out of bed and made your way to the kitchen.

You stood there for a moment before pulling out boxes of cereal and started making coffee. You were going to make waffles, but if you started now they wouldn’t be done in time for you to leave for work.

As you sat and ate your cereal, you flipped through the pages of a book. A little while later, Spencer came out from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

“Mornin’” you said, glancing up from your book.

“Hi.” Spencer said. He opened the fridge, and looked at the cupcakes that were sitting there. On the top in purple frosting they spelled out “Happy Birthday”

“Did you get delayed last night?” You asked, going over to the sink and rinsing your bowl.

“Yeah. Bad weather.” Spencer said quietly. You sighed. For being such a good profiler, Spencer was a horrible lair. Whatever had kept him last night it wasn’t weather.

“Well, we can celebrate tonight, right?” You asked.

“Yeah, unless I get called away.” Spencer said. You went back into the bedroom and got dressed. A few minutes later you were leaving to get to work.

“Bye, Spence! Love you!” You called out to the bathroom where Spencer was showering. You hoped the silence on his end was due to the water.

Over the course of the last few weeks Spencer seemed to grow more and more distant. His calls were brief, conversation short.

You knew deep down it was coming to an end, but some part of you just hoped it would all go back to how it was.

When he said “I love you too.” Instead of ignoring you or hiding away in the bathroom so he didn’t have to answer.

Today you were hopeful. Spencer was gone on a case, but he had been gone for three days, so you hoped he would be back today.

Around three, you got a phone call. It was from Elle. Even though she worked with Spencer, you, her, and Penelope had become fast friends.

“Happy Birthday!” She said as soon as you answered.

“Thanks!” You said, laughing. “Are you guys done with the case.”

“Yeah, we’re headed to the airport now and it’s a long flight so don’t expect Reid to be home til late.” Elle said.

You chatted for a few more minutes before she said she had to go because Morgan was bugging her.

Later you got calls from everybody but Spencer saying Happy Birthday to you. You hoped that was just beacuse he had a surprise planned, but deep down you knew that wasn’t it.

You stayed up on the couch watching your favorite movies and TV shows until nearly midnight. You decided to get ready for bed and then give Elle a call ask if they were off the plane yet.

You got an answer after a few rings. “Hey.” Elle said when she answered.

“I just wanted to know if you guys were off the plane yet.” You said.

“Yeah, we landed two hours ago.” Elle said. “Is Reid not home yet?”

Your silence was the answer.

“I’m sure he’s just planning something for you. You know the kid, he probably just got carried away in Party City or something.” Elle said, trying to reassure you.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be home soon.” You said. After a few more minutes, you hung up and grabbed a book and sat down on the couch.

You read for a little while before you fell asleep.

Around 3 am, you woke up to Spencer leaning over the couch and pulling a blanket over you.

“What are you doing out here?” Spencer asked with the most care in weeks.

“I was waiting for you.” You said, waking up. You took in his appearance. Spencer wasn’t holding any bags, or anything special, he looked how he normally looked.

“Why?” Spencer asked. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

You took a long look at his face. “Spencer what was yesterday?” You asked.

“Tuesday. The 18th.” He said.

You shifted so you were sitting up. “What else?”

Spencer didn’t answer.

“You have an eidetic memory and you don’t remember what yesterday was?” You said, getting a little upset.

“No? Should I have?” Spencer said.

You scoffed. “It was my birthday, Spencer. Everybody remebered but you. I even got a message from your boss telling me happy birthday but you couldn’t bother to remember!”

Spencer paused, before realization dawned on his face. “I didn’t mean to forget! I just...with the case, I only got back half an hour ago!”

“I know you’re lying. I called Elle to ask when you had landed. You got back at 10. Where were you?”

Spencer didn’t answer.

“Where was so important that you couldn’t be home on your girlfriend’s own birthday?”

“I was at JJ’s for dinner. I lost track of time and fell asleep there. I meant to be home sooner...but.”

You paused, trying to collect your thoughts. “Is that where you’ve been going recently? To JJ’s?”

Spencer’s silence was the only answer you needed.

“You don’t love me anymore, do you?” You asked.

Spencer didn’t answer.

“Do you?” You asked, needing to hear him say the words.

“No.” Spencer whispered. “I don’t know how it happened. I loved you until I didn’t.”

“Get out of my apartment.” You said quietly.

“Y/N, what?”

“Be glad we never moved in together, and get out of my apartment. I will bring you your stuff tomorrow. But for now, get out.”

Spencer grabbed his bag and quietly left. The moment you heard the door close, you broke down and sobbed.

Your heart was broken in two. You loved Spencer more than you had ever loved another person, and just like that he was gone.

He didn’t love you anymore.

Maybe you were never meant to be together from the start.

Tags! (Open)

@rexorangecouny @magnificentmgg @rachelxwayne @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @andreasworlsboring101 @just-damn-bored @zhuzhubii

#aaron hotchner #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #elle greenaway #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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myelocin · 4 years ago

Text

Diver | Miya Atsumu

Synopsis: For you, decisions have always resulted in one, then two, then twenty steps back from the jump you know you want to take, but never find the courage to do so. Miya Atsumu was one of those decisions, and it baffles you how he makes the edge seem so inviting.

Characters: Miya Atsumu, You

Warnings/Tags/Genre: Self reflection, Slice of Life, Fluff (atsumu is cute lmao), Mentions of sitting on a cliff, Friendship w Bo!! Pining!Atsumu, hard to get reader when irl ur just confused , more sky references are surprised? no

WC: 4.6k+

a/n: this was purely based on my desire to explore atsumu and the y/n i headcanon’s character more. this is also to those who struggle to decide which risks are actually worth taking. (atm this is not edited bc im just gonna do that tomorrow lol)

playlist: Hello by Elijah Who

++note: please click keep reading bc whole thing is posted!

You remember standing at the edge of the cliff and thinking about how big and beautiful the world looked at age seven. You think back to the words your grandfather tells you when he sits on the ground next to you and begins to tell the familiar tale of the boy who lived life too scared to leap. You don’t think it was a true story; some elements changed every other time the same story was retold but you listened with rapt attention either way.

Every summer when you visited your grandfather in that little house by the cliff hours away from the rush the city brought, more than half of your days were spent sitting by the edge watching the clouds chase and envelop one another. You’d watch as the blue moved into gold, then orange, then red, then back to blue—and finally dive into black. There was never a day where the chase looked exactly the same.

At nine, you still thought the world looked too vast and beautiful and now you think it was because there was still so much you didn’t know. At sixteen, you remembered seeing more streaks of pink along the horizon in the distance but when you look back at the photos now—it was still really just swirls of red and kisses of orange. Maybe that was the summer you first felt love, because the world you saw in those days were through the rose colored lenses that only you wore.

When your grandfather would ask you why you preferred to sit out by the edge instead of run in the field with the kids you knew nearby you only shrugged and said you didn’t want to miss the stories in the sky later that day. Some days, he’d sit next to you and you’d listen to the story of the boy who never leaped again, but during the last few years of his life when he became too frail for the world, he’d only ruffle your hair and go back inside the house.

There wasn’t a particular reason either; no dramatics that told a heartfelt backstory towards your infatuation with the sky, or a long spill about how you love letting the sounds of the waves crashing silence your thoughts—it was quite the opposite, really. Even when your first love told you it wasn’t working out and you spent the entire evening and the next crying over a story ended, you still sat and watched the colors changing with the expression of wonder that stayed constant since you were a child.

“I still care for you,” you remember him saying and his voice clear in your head doesn’t fight over the sounds of the waves crashing on jagged boulders below.

“—we’re just not meant for each other,” he says again but you don’t feel the need to look away from the sky because the sun’s beginning to dip into the horizon and the violets are starting to paint swirls in the sky.

“I don’t think I ever loved you, (y/n),” you hear along with the cry of a seagull somewhere on your left but you only let out the sigh you’ve held in when the show is over and the black curtains cover the sky. You remember closing your eyes to try to search for that twinge of pain you always read about when your first love is over. But, when you breathe in, you only hear the water below roar. When you breathe out, you hear your grandfather’s call from the house behind you.

That night when you stood up to leave, you dusted the dirt off of your pants and stepped closer to the edge; you weren’t going to jump but you wanted to step into that line of uncertainty to feel that rush.

The feeling you always get when you’re tipping your seat back and you let your fingers graze off of the table you’re supporting yourself with—and you’re dipping into the territory of whether you’ll fall forward or backward. Whether the fall either ways could mean good, or bad.

“Can’t we work this out?” is what you knew you wanted to try to say in the moment he turned his back. And then the first step towards him became one, then two, then three—before your hand stopped short of grabbing his shoulder because you realize you don’t want to say it.

Maybe because you were sixteen and the chemistry test you had to take next period was a more important thought than this, or maybe because this was the kind of puppy love where it as quick as it started—so you didn’t want to tarnish the final chapters with an ugly fight. But, really, you began to think, as your hand curled back into a fist and you watched him with dry eyes turn the corner and disappear, you just don’t have a reason to want to work it out.

So then as the bell rang, you turned to take a step that went from one, to two, to three, four—and then eventually six steps back.

Six steps away from the edge where you let yourself be dangled by uncertainty.

The strange part is you don’t remember what began shifting afterwards; when you lost sight of the horizon you spent years losing yet finding yourself in all at once.

After that night, for the years that led up to now it felt like there was never a balance when it came the climax of your decision making. Every time the atmosphere tensed and you feel your gut twist with the pressure of the outcome, your brain is suddenly creating loopholes to mend the situation and your body is already in motion—every single time moving one, to two, to twenty steps away from the drop. That way, you could rock your heels to the side or tip the back of your chair as far back as possible without the need to pull back because you know the steady ground would always break your fall.

You weren’t sure if you necessarily enjoyed it but the cliff by your grandfather’s house doesn’t look the same anymore. This time, you’re sitting in a chair on the porch, a heavy distance away from the pull of gravity down below. Because it’s safe, you reason, but the horizon from your spot doesn’t look quite the same. Peering at the strokes of colors in the 6pm sky through cracks in the porch’s rooftop makes the world feel so little. You hear the sound of the TV running inside the house instead of the water roaring below and you know it isn’t the same.

But when the sun peeks in finality before diving the world into dark, you stand at the edge of the porch like you did at the edge of the cliff so many times before.

One foot hovering over the ground below and you know your balance is tipping, but you don’t feel anything. There isn’t a hitch in your breath and the feeling of weightlessness and heaviness simultaneously nipping at your skin.

You sigh in blankness as you thrust your body forward and let yourself dive. Before you even leap you already feel the ground beneath your feet.

The ground is only two feet below you.

In your mid-twenties, Miya Atsumu came into your life in a whirlwind of laughter and expressions.

He wasn’t really that spectacular. Sure, Atsumu could twirl a pencil like the honor roll kids as well as he could land a service ace, but that was kind of it.

How the two of you became close friends was always a wonder to you as well. You knew his twin brother—Osamu, after frequenting his onigiri shop every day for lunch, but your interactions with him were mostly limited to the “hi”, “how are you”, “thanks”, and “goodbye”.

Atsumu was, well, interesting to talk to because of all the expressions that substituted some verbal cues in the conversation.

It took getting to know him for about a year and joining him in the last minute road trips he pulled with you to realize how much Atsumu embodied uncertainty.

He was like the push and the pull of the wind when you’re standing at that edge again. Like somewhere between the moments of unfiltered fear from plunging down into the ocean you know you can’t swim in, and that step back of reasoning that tells you a two more steps further means two more steps safer.

He was neither of those, but at the same time, made you feel the magnitude of both simultaneously. Atsumu, to you, was the cliff, the rocking wind, the steady ground, and the plunge below.

And it was frustrating because you couldn’t read him at all.

When he asked you one day if you wanted to join him for dinner, this time, just the two of you while the apples of his cheek blushed a visible shade of red despite the dimmed lighting of the sky—you felt your gut churn in uncertainty.

For a while you’ve felt he wanted to push the boundaries of your friendship into a territory more unknown to the both of you, but you thought it would just stop at the experimental prodding. You weren’t blind. You felt how his eyes would trail your profile when he thought your attention was too engrossed in a book, knew that the unmarked box of chocolates were from him because he wasn’t subtle in hiding the special instructions written on the bottom of the box. You saw the triumphant spark in his eye when you told him the gift he gave you on your birthday was exactly what you wanted even if he just shrugged and said he guessed lucky.

And that’s the thing—Atsumu was painfully obvious. He wasn’t explicit about his intentions—he was just obvious; you know he wasn’t dumb enough to leave all these hints and expect you to still not know so that frustrated you even further. Did he want you to find out? Did you want to find out?

“Do ya think you wanna get some dinner tonight?” he quips beside you, “—just us two?” he adds, finishing awkwardly as you two come to a halt in front of the train station.

You think about his offer; you really do. The feeling in your gut doesn’t go away and your left foot is subconsciously rocking backwards. One step back.

“Maybe next time,” you hear yourself say. Atsumu’s deflating in front of you and his right hand rests on the back of his head while he shoves the left into the pocket of his jeans.

Two steps, “I’d love to—“ you continue, “but I may miss the last train and I don’t really wanna take a taxi tonight.”

Atsumu’s nodding his head saying, “Of course! Of course. Yeah, definitely. Next time!” And in a way you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the fact that he could always drive you back instead of letting you take a taxi.

Three steps, as you wave at him from the top steps of the station’s exit.

Four steps, “For sure next time!” you call out as he waves at your retreating figure with a smile. Neither of you really have faith on when next time will be, nor were sure if either of you believed it in the first place.

It’s when the train doors close and you’re holding on the railing where it dawns on you that you just took about 20 more steps back.

Two weeks after Atsumu’s offer of a dinner date was when Bokuto comes to you to say that he understands why you rejected the offer.

“You and him are just too different from each other,” he says like he made a profound discovery and not like he’s commenting on your love life.

“Aren’t opposites supposed to attract?” you ask.

“Not all the time,” Bokuto answers almost immediately and you nod your head choosing to not expand on the topic while your mind begins to whirl at his words.

On the bright side, you were glad neither you nor Atsumu spoke much about it. The days where you’d spend the afternoons with the team until practice ended, if nobody wanted to catch dinner the two of you would eventually just part ways at the train station he walked you to every night.

“I could always drive you home, ya know, I’m a good driver,” he says when you search through your bag for your PASMO card.

“I live in the opposite way you’re going, ‘Tsumu,” you laugh, albeit still appreciative at his offer.

“I know,” he replies and rattles his keys in his hands.

You’re still digging through your bag as you look for the card you know you must have left at home before you finally sigh and look at him looking at you holding out his keys.

“C’mon, (Y/n), I won’t speed I swear!” Atsumu laughs as he leads the way to the parking lot.

A few more weeks pass and you’re glad no one mentions the fact that you follow Atsumu into the parking lot every time practice ends. The day after he drove you home for the first time, you flashed the PASMO card you made sure to have with you this time and told him thank you for dropping you off the day before. He only rolled his eyes as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you in the car with him.

In hindsight, you could have said no and waved him off like usual, but your feet were matching the steps in his before you could even process what you were doing. He just drove you home, made small talk, and asked about your days most of the time—so all in all it was pleasant.

And you lived in the west side of town so drive always meant that the both of you had a front seat view to the sky’s art show. One thing you noticed (and appreciated) about Atsumu was the duality in his focus.

First hand, you’ve seen up close the intensity of his focus during his serves. The air would whip itself into a deafening silence at the drop of his hand and his eyes steeled over as fast as the sounds came to a halt—it was eerie, almost. In the way that sent chills down your spine and admiration bubble in the pits of your stomach. Then, as quick as the ball slams on the spot of the ground he aimed towards—the yell of triumph he’d express and the smile that would break into his face would overflow from his whole being. Like exhaling shakily after a sharp intake of breath—Atsumu was everything intense.

But, Atsumu, you think as you peek at him looking at the skies in front of him, was also serene. The kind of focus that pulled you in all the right ways. Like the gentle teacher you had from elementary who would coax you softly to focus sounding out the words in the passage you had trouble pronouncing. His hands were steady on the wheel, at 10 and 2 and the car would slowly come to a stop at every red light instead of the sharp lurch your body moves into when you press the brake a little too harshly. He only sometimes put music in the car—he told you he prefers to have your voice as company instead of hearing about the weather from the radio.

It surprised you, but at this point Atsumu brought nothing in your life but surprises. Then again, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—you were just used to feeling the ground before you fell so his uncertainty was still very much of an unmarked territory for you.

“Is it something about me?” he asked when the two of you exited the car and stood outside the entrance to your apartment building.

You know what he’s talking about, but you opt to stay silent and look at him with your head tilted instead because you already feel the urge to take one step back.

He’s still looking at you even as the passing moments are stretching into an awkward silence so he sighs and shoves his hands back in his pockets—something he does when he’s nervous, you noticed—and waved you off when you opened your mouth to try to retaliate. You’re thankful because you aren’t exactly sure what it was you were going to say anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says as he turns.

“See ya tomorrow?”

He waits for you to nod and wave a goodbye at him, which he first smiles at, before he starts the car and drives away.

His question “doesn’t keep you up at night,” is what you try to convince yourself when it’s 2:05 am on a Tuesday night and all you’ve done so far is toss and turn in bed. To prove your own point, you’ve sat up and turned the bedside lamp on while you scroll through some unopened emails on your laptop.

Halfway into retyping the same email you know you’ve been staring at for the past hour, Atsumu’s contact photo chimes in your phone in the form of a text message.

“you up?” it reads from the notification bar and you automatically shut your laptop close, turn off the lamp, and throw your covers over your head.

“No,” you reply out loud and you internally groan because of how ridiculous you’re being.

Your thoughts from the night before still remain in your head as you’re sitting on the bench beside the court later that afternoon as you type away at your laptop. It’s still the same email you never replied to last night, but you try to ignore that. You also ignore the fact that you’ve kept count of how many times the ball slammed on the opposite side of the net when Atsumu practiced his serves.

You don’t notice it when Bokuto takes a seat next to you and looks over your shoulder at the email you’re not even halfway through typing.

“That’s the same email opened since this morning,” he points out and you groan before turning to face and quickly shush him.

He’s laughing when he takes a seat next to you.

“You know,” he begins, “I think you’re just scared to feel something for Atsumu.”

You close your laptop—the draft of your email unsaved, like it had any coherent content anyway.

“Bo, you’re being silly,” you reply knocking your shoulder against his in laughter.

“You’re avoiding the conversation, (y/n),” he laughs back and you wave him off towards the court in laughter when the coach calls for him. He stretches when he stands back up and tells you, “We’ll talk about this later because I think you need it,” before jogging off to the other side of the gym.

Inwardly, you heave another sigh, because this was one of the times where Bokuto’s being more serious. You had to give him credit—the duality in his personality and harsh line when he switched from jesting to seriousness was impressive. Bokuto Koutarou wasn’t smart in many aspects of the domestic parts of life—he didn’t understand taxes, or why you needed to change the oil often, but he had a way of looking through the layers people build around themselves.

At first, it caught you off guard because two weeks after you met you had only been sitting outside a convenience store watching him lick the melted parts of his ice cream on his hands when he suddenly turns to you and says, “(Y/n), I wish you would take risks more. You’re too cautious.”

He never brought it up again, but every time he chose to tell you something—it was always something you knew, never acknowledged, but needed to hear.

So when Atsumu waves at you and shouts that he’ll just shower and be out in thirty minutes, you ignore the urge to step back, and smile at him instead.

You’re thinking about Bokuto’s words again as you listen to Atsumu yell something at Sakusa from inside the locker room.

You’re too different from each other.

You suppose there are differences, especially in the way you address your friends—Atsumu’s not afraid to clap your back while he laughs while you choose to keep your hands to yourself. He’s not afraid to let his intentions be known while you try to wrestle with your thoughts every time you’re shifting closer to the edge.

You could always walk away, you tell yourself every day, but every day you also choose to not do that. You know day by day and sunset after sunset you watch with Atsumu you’re nearing that edge again—and you want nothing more than take twenty more steps back but each day he offers you a new joke that you genuinely laugh at you know it’s a couple centimetres closer to where you’re afraid of going.

Bokuto’s right, you’re different from each other, but you know deep down that you’re alike in so many ways. When Atsumu talks about what he wants to do accomplish in life outside of volleyball, he talks with such a childish wonder in the certainty of the tone of his voice. At times, he was stubborn to the core—just like you were, and you realize that would clash between the both of you some day but Atsumu smiling as he’s jogging towards you has you realizing that you don’t really mind at all.

“Ready to go?” he asks and you could only nod as you follow him out the door.

Bokuto’s looking at you and giving you a thumbs up which you nervously return with a smile of your own.

During the car ride back home, you’re thankful that Atsumu chooses to flip on the radio this time; you didn’t plan on telling much of a story, and your thoughts are too jumbled up with everything for you to even settle with small talk.

“You good?” he asks, then looks over at you at the red light. You nod yes and shift the bag sitting in your lap.

“The sky looks pretty today,” you begin, “—the sunset today looks like the ones I grew up seeing when I was a kid at my grandfather’s by the coast.”

Atsumu hums, but it’s still heard over the low volume of the car’s radio, “You should take me to see one day.”

Your gut churns and you curse yourself when you habitually chose to stay silent.

“I don’t mean it like I’m inviting myself there, (Y/n)—“

“It’s okay, you should visit with me next time,” you reply then turn to watch his expression shift from flustered to surprise from his profile. You’re watching him with baited breath and your heart thumping can almost be heard when the radio dips into a silence in the commercial.

The light switches to green and Atsumu eases his foot off of the break as the car slowly gains momentum before he’s nodding his head and saying a soft, “Yeah. Sure. Totally.”

It’s quite uncharacteristic for him to be so muted with his replies, but you suppose these are one of the similarities you’re discovering you have with Atsumu. He’s confident and barks out his comments when his emotions are running high, but at the moment you know the both of you are tiptoeing around that line of uncertainty at the moment.

When his pointer figure taps the steering wheel in an unknown rhythm, a nervous habit of his, you feel yourself slightly relax. The difference this time from that hallway breakup you had when you were sixteen was both of you were at the same page. That boy who said he didn’t love you let the certainty in his intentions be known in the way you could already anticipate the long term ending for. There was nothing more to be uncovered—and you didn’t find the push to dive down for more.

This, with Atsumu, was a different story. You had curiosity with the unclarity. You craved to unravel his truth.

Truthfully, every decision you’ve made so far had you already seeing the outcome—that’s why you’ve only felt like you were only jumping to a ground two or three feet under you.

With Atsumu, you’ve come to realize that he personified the edge. At the same time, he was the push and the pull of the wind when you’re balancing yourself between curiosity and reason. You know the frustration you feel when you can’t read him comes from the fact that you’re only seeing him from the surface. You see licks of who he is with every slam of the ball and every spark in his eye.

But just when you feel that knot in your stomach, you allow reason to cloud your desire to jump into the blurred lines of variability— Every. Single. Time.

And it frustrates you because twenty steps back have become too comfortable for you to try to leave. You hated it, but you knew what was waiting for you every time, so you learned to find the comfort in it.

The truth is, you’ve always had the curiosity towards what it felt like to plunge. Like the story your grandfather would tell you—it ended with the boy dying by the edge he never found the curiosity to jump in, surrounded by the questions that ultimately died with him. It was a pitiful end, and up till now you believe the entire story could have been avoided. You know you’re always thinking about the dive and what comes with it, but never found quite the push that’d lead you to want to throw your body forward and seek.

You know Bokuto always had a point in the passing comments he tells you when you least expect it. Bokuto presented them to you in forms of declarations not even in questions.

The sky in front of you is the same sky you stood under when you dangled your feet over the edge, fearless, years ago. Atsumu feels like the push and pull of the wind, and the tug of gravity under your soles when he looks at you as you stand in front of your apartment building.

You’re not in the cliff side this time but you see the horizon you forgot you loved when Atsumu shoves his hands in his pockets and offers you a smile.

You hear the cry of the waves below and the call of the seagulls to your left when Atsumu says, “About earlier, you don’t have to worry about it—I was just jokin.”

“You’re scared to feel something for Atsumu,” you hear Bokuto tell you when you itch to take a step back, then, “I wish you’d take more risks.”

“I wanna take the risk,” you say out loud and Atsumu looks at you quizzically, before softening his eyes when he realizes what you’re trying to say.

And you could almost laugh because of course he understands what you mean. Atsumu knew more than he let on and you could laugh again at the mirroring of your personalities. It was opposite and identical at the same time: identical like the both of you understanding each other’s metaphors without explanation, and opposite in the way he always addresses them while you do, well, the opposite of that.

“I wanna jump,” you say even if it doesn’t make sense because you’re confident the message will reach him all the same.

Atsumu’s beaming and you think it looks like the sun that’s looked at you from the horizon for years. When he takes your hands in his, you inhale yet feel breathless because the balls of your feet feel weightless and your body is leaning forward.

And when the clouds in the sky blend with the painting and Atsumu leans forward, you let gravity take you—

Then, you’re diving.

269 notes · View notes

tsukkisbean · 4 years ago

Photo

24 cakes pt.1 | oneshot

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

genre: fluff, mildly suggestive

warnings: none!

a/n: so this kind of turned into a oneshot but oh well. i also tried to make it so that you could technically read the two parts separately if you prefer fluff/smut over the other but idk how well that worked out. anyways, pt 2 has been scheduled to come out in 2 hours. n e ways TSUKISHIMA BEST BOY!! also this is a reupload bc my original post disappeared. if you already saw this NO U DIDN’T

the smell of smoke engulfs your apartment and you quickly run to slide open your balcony door. turning on your heels you make your way back to the kitchen. clambering atop the counter you try to wave the air clear with your palms. when the piercing sound of the smoke alarm finally cuts out, you plop down, letting your legs dangle over the edge of the counter.

your eyes land on the stovetop where your burnt creation sits. you let out a frustrated cry. you’ve made this recipe more times than you can count on your fingers because somehow they’ve all ended up in disaster. first, there was the time you underbeat the whipped cream, and ended up with a sticky mess. then there was the time you accidentally knocked the batter onto the floor. not to mention the time you dropped the cake right as you pulled it out of the oven.

this time you had gotten so wrapped up in your phone call with tsukishima you didn’t realize that your oven timer was going off. by the time you had come to your senses, it was too late.

you rub your temples in annoyance. despite starting weeks in advance to make sure you had the recipe down, it was now the day of your boyfriend’s birthday and you had yet to successfully finish the recipe even once.

taking a quick glance at the clock, you push yourself off the counter to throw away your burnt masterpiece and begin pulling out ingredients once more. tsukishima was supposed to be over in a few hours, so if you wanted to have enough time you had to start now.

you’re about to combine the dry ingredients together when there’s a brisk knock on the door. dusting your hands on your apron, you make your way to the front entrance. you swing your door open, and slam it shut just as fast.

the knocking starts up again, this time more persistent and more aggressive. your fingers fumble with the door chain, sliding it into place before cracking the door open ever so slightly. you’re about to peek out into the hallway, but before you can get a good view, your visitor tries to force the door open further causing you to jump back in surprise.

“y/n? what the hell are you doing?” the person on the other side says, irritation evident in their voice. when you don’t respond they speak again, this time with a much softer tone, “y/n please let me in. are you okay?”

“mhm” is the only thing you manage to squeeze out though it sounds more like a squeak. gently pressing the door closed again, you remove the chain to let your visitor in. when your boyfriend comes into full view, you flash him a bashful smile, “sorry, kei. i was just caught off guard, i thought we agreed that you’d come over at 9pm.”

the tall male scoffs, raising his hand to give your forehead a flick, before perching forward to press an apologetic kiss against the red mark, “nii-chan got held up at work so he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

you try to pull off your best scowl, only to have him to snort at you, “so? are you going to let me in or are you going to keep making faces at me?” he cranes his neck to look past you, his height giving him a clear advantage.

reluctantly, you step aside and he lets himself in, removing his shoes and changing into his slippers in the process. as the two of you step into the kitchen, you avoid eye contact, already able to picture the smug expression on his face.

his arms slip around your waist, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. despite the sweet actions, the nuance in his voice says otherwise, “aw y/n were you trying to bake me a birthday cake? you really shouldn’t have.”

you pull away from him, sticking out your tongue in response, “fine in that case i’m going to make this strawberry shortcake for myself.” you tap your chin pretending to deep in thought for a moment, “or maybe i’ll ask yamaguchi if he wants some.”

you expect a snarky remark but he says nothing, instead he strides over to one of the drawers to pull out an apron. you watch as he hooks the bib around his neck, and fastens the string around his waist.

he picks up the recipe by the corner, letting it dangle in the air. he shoots you a questioning look but you shrug your shoulders and snatch the paper out of his hands. “so i’ve already tried to bake this recipe a couple of times, it’s bound to have a couple of stains here and there.”

“how many times is a couple, really? three? ten? fifty?”

you mutter something under your breath, fingers fiddling with each other. tsukishima leans in closer, cupping his ear with his hand, “sorry, can you say that again?”

you roll your eyes, this time your voice at a normal volume, “twenty-three.”

this time tsukishima laughs with his whole chest, using his pointer finger to gently push your head, “twenty-three? i’m surprised you haven’t burned the entire place down.”

placing your hands on your hips, you challenge him, “what? you think you can do better?”

he shifts in his spot so that your eyes are level with his, “oh i know i can do better.”

with that, he snatches the recipe back from you, doing a careful readthrough of each step. you watch as he scoops a cup of flour, neatly levelling it with a metal spatula. just as he’s about to pour the flour into the bowl, you lunge forward, bumping your hip against his side. a white cloud rises into the air, coating the both of you in flour.

tsukishima grabs you by the wrists, clicking his tongue in annoyance “tsk, do you really hate losing that much?”

you feign innocence, flashing him your sweetest smile, “sorry, i lost my balance.”

unable to think of a comeback he releases you, turning his attention back to the task at hand. as works through each step, you shadow him, interjecting a few comments every so often.

wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your face against the side of his body, “are you sure that’s soft peaks it’s looking a little runny still”

he tilts the bowl towards you, lifting the mixer up so you can see how the egg whites droop over slightly, “yes i’m sure.”

you take your chance again when he moves onto the next step, “be careful not to add the sugar too fast or-”

but to your dismay he’s already one step ahead of you,“then the stiff peaks won’t form, i know.”

in a last resort to try and distract him, you throw in one last punch, “are you really sure you want to fold your meringue in now? it’s looking a little soft still.” obviously fed up with your antics, tsukishima grabs the metal bowl, flipping it above your head.

instinctively, you duck your head down and cover your head with your hands. cracking an eye open, you’re met with his usual smirk. and so, you shuffle over to the other side of the counter situating yourself on one of the bar stools.

you watch silently as he works through the final steps with ease. once the cake is placed in the oven he turns his attention back to you.

his long frame leans over the kitchen counter and kisses the tip of your nose, “sorry, but it looks like this is just one more thing that i’m better than you at. although 24 cakes does seem appropriate for today’s occasion, huh?”

you huff, crossing your arms against your chest, “technically you’re not finished until the cake its cooked, iced, and decorated.” turning your head slightly you side eye him, “besides you may be better than me at some things. but you’re definitely not everything.”

a sly smile appears on tsukishima’s face, “oh yeah? i can think of plenty of things that i can beat you at right now.”

your palms hit the counter as your body shoots out of its seat, “oh yeah? let’s go then. right here, right now.”

(a/n: if you want to read the smutty ending of this then please check out my blog at 3:00pm pst (in 2 hrs)! i’ve scheduled the next post for then. otherwise read on hehe.)

your entire body quivers under your boyfriend. never have you wanted to scream at him so bad before. but you bite your tongue and hold yourself back for the time being. there was no way you were going to lose to him, not when you had so confidently declared that you were going to beat him.

“left hand yellow, y/n.”

you let out a triumphant yell as your hand is already planted on a yellow spot. but the feeling is short lived when you realize that you now have to maneuver yourself to reach the spinner. it’s obvious your boyfriend is thinking the same thing from the way he shoots you a smile.

but you refuse to lose, not when you’ve held out for this long. before your hand reaches the spinner, a blaring noise fills the room.

the two of you look at each other, and this time it’s you who shoots him a knowing smile. he glowers at you as he twists his body to stand up. once he stands up fully erect, your arms and legs give out, your body crumpling onto the floor.

as you lay there, a delicious scent fills your nostrils. automatically, you rise to your feet, skittering over to join your boyfriend by the oven. he takes notice of your presence, and defensively holds his arms out, “don’t you dare come anywhere near my cake. you might ruin it.”

your mouth hangs open, reaching out to give his chest a playful shove, “hey i’m good at baking. i just had a few…mishaps.” your voice trails off momentarily, “plus i just beat you at twister, so technically we’re tied for today!”

tsukishima clicks his tongue, obviously irritated at the fact that he most likely would have won if it weren’t for the timer going off.

“let’s play another round, loser has to wash all the dishes.” he extends his hand out to you.

grabbing his hand, you give it a firm shake, “you’re on! prepare to lose, kei.”

your grip loosens but before you can completely pull your hand away, you’re tugged against tsukishima’s body. in one swift motion his lips capture yours in a chaste kiss. after a moment, he pulls away slightly, letting your lips brush against each other as he speaks, “whatever you say, love. but just remember today is my birthday.”

a/n: hello!! i’m putting my final author’s note here just because i didn’t wanna spoil the ending hehe. anyways i hope you guys liked the ending now i’m thinking about doing twister hc with haikyuu sooooooo look out for that :)

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu imagine #tsukishima x you #haikyuu scenarios #clara click clacks

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xcziel · 4 years ago

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get to know me

tagged by @vishcount (thank you!!) and i'll follow her format bc making two posts seems a little much - i'm not that interesting!!

(hilariously, this post shows up as blocked for me bc of the tag 'joker' which? tumblr?????)

Part I

name: i'm an internet old, so i never use my real name online, mainly because it's spelled in a very unique way (thanks mom & dad) - i mean like, if you googled it you could find my home address in a few seconds kind of unique - but also, though i do enjoy the spelling, i actually don't like it very much when it's said out loud? (is it weird that my name written down is 'me', but my name aloud has never felt like 'me'?) always wanted a nickname but never acquired one :/

at any rate, i've had the username xcziel forever and i go by that 😊 (pronounced ex-SEE-zee-el, similar to etc. or ex-SET-er-ah! thanks @xia-xueyi for pointing out that it can be confusing to guess!)

rest behind a cut because it got long!

pronouns: she/her

star sign: i don't ... really *do* astrology? but technically saggitarius

height: 5'4" (162.5cm for the intl folks)

time: 5:43pm but these thing take me forever to type out so ... ???

birthday: playing the 'internet old' card again .. but it floats around american Thanksgiving depending on the year

nationality: american

fave bands/groups/solo artists: lumping these together because i just .. don't really do music much anymore. if you had asked me this back in my 20s i'm sure i would have had all kinds of opinions and things to share, but these days i actually mostly prefer to listen music from when i was a kid. part of it is also that as an old, i prefer to buy my music, even digitally, and i don't really use spotify - which does so much to enable diverse music exploration i admit! but i mostly have earplugs in all the time and music does not work for me as background noise, so...

so i guess my answer would be 70s disco and classic rock and 80s new wave artists? i've never liked any artist's entire discography and prefer greatest hits-type compilations, but i guess duran duran and def leppard and depeche mode would be considered formative? i love new order but specifically late 80s new order, NOT joy division. the only concert t-shirt i've ever worn was the cult? i loved sonic temple but i can't listen to most of it anymore though i still adore love removal machine. i think maybe if you get old enough, for some of us there's TOO MUCH good music and we can't pare it down anymore

song stuck in your head: jamiroquai's canned heat

last movie you watched: re: the above, i re-watched center stage, the 2000 one with zoe saldana and the mandy moore soundtrack, bc it's a happy comfort movie and i just got a digital version

last show you binged: i can't really "binge" very often bc after a couple of hours i need a break, so i guess i'd say the tgcf donghua on netflix since it was short enough to get through all in one go

when you created your blog: in 2012 i stopped lurking so i could post about the avengers movie

the last thing you googled: 5'4" in cm? lol before that it was chinese wrapped street food

other blogs: everything is here! i discovered i compartmentalize about as well as i tag reliably (😓) but i do have several automated ao3feed-tag style sideblogs. and i did, very briefly, have a *winces* hockey sideblog too

why i chose my url: ooh i know i've done this before, sorry if it's repetitive, basically it was the username i picked back when my family first got aol: short, unique combo of letters - 14-year-old me really thought about it! and then it wouldn't let me use anything other than my name. thirty-some-odd years later, trying to come up with a livejournal username that wasn't already taken and getting fed up, i plugged it in and went: good enough!

how many people are you following: like 760-something last i checked? although many, many, many of them are deactivated

how many followers do you have: idk i don't like looking at that stuff, but way fewer than i am following

average hours of sleep: it varies too much day by day, my sleep schedule is too wonky, i have no idea what the average would be

lucky numbers: 7? cliché i know, and again not really buying into it, but somewhere in my hindbrain i like it that my first, middle, and last names all have seven letters

instruments: none. i like singing

what i'm currently wearing: giant black t-shirt and baggy black drawstring shorts, standard sitting around the house gear

dream job: don't have one. if i did it would give me something to be working towards *sigh* this is how you end up in retail for decades, kids! but also, to quote a random post i saw in true tumblr fashion "i simply do not dream of labor"

dream trip: covered this one before but: back to the uk and some railway daytrips, or a really fancy northern cruise, atlantic/pacific either one

fave food: uhhh, don't really have a favorite but i'm almost always in the mood for pizza

top three fictional universe you'd like to live in: none really, if i had to still be me..maybe some kind of actually utopian future? but the pandemic has confirmed for me that i do NOT like living in interesting times, so most fictional story universes are RIGHT out. my favorites to read about like discworld or diana wynne jones' worlds would be way to chaotic for my comfort. possibly diane duane's young wizards universe would be safe enough to be okay?

Part II

last song: watching center stage made me think of my dance playlist so sunrise by simply red

last movielast stream: i don't watch streams or youtube often, so it was the same as you, vish! liu chang's birthday stream was SO enjoyable i screenrecorded the entire thing just so i could play it back (and maybe gif sometime if i ever get the drive to actually do it)

currently reading: well i just finished the translated quan qiu gao kao or global university entrance exam novel, which was sparked purely from catching a single rec post here on tumblr and basically just *falling* into this 166 chapter epic that is *amazing* and not coming up for air until i got to the end, which is typical novel-reading behavior for me (yes i was the kid who read through lunch period and got hassled by people who kept pestering me with "what're you reading" questions and yes i realize probably a lot of you on tumblr were too) plus, the new murderbot novel is out tomorrow!!!!! so that'll be where i end up next!

currently watching: the entire dmbj verse (that i can get my hands on) but ... sporadically and stopping at random different parts because the thing is ... this type of show is not really the kind i enjoy so much? so since it's more for "research" and learning character arcs (and let's be honest: shots of liu sang), etc. it's easy to get distracted by other stuff. i'm also watching the sleuth of the ming dynasty, mr queen, bromance, the expanse, re-watching farscape and stargate sg-1, just finished the falcon and the winter soldier, and then anytime something new and short gets introduced it jumps the queue. there are just. so. many. things. to. watch! (now i have to look into anti-fraud league too!? you all are cruel ...)

what is antipoetry to you: i ... don't really think much about poetry? i know what i prefer is usually the more basic rhymed kind like lewis carroll, emily dickinson, poe, coleridge, etc. so i suppose i don't have much use for classifying non-rhyming verse? i can appreciate stuff like rupi kaur which i guess would qualify? or that william carlos williams plums poem? but it doesn't really stick with me the way lyric-like verse does

currently craving: i never know what exactly this is meant to be in reference to ... hmmm, i would love a new high-concept, high production-quality movie like say, pacific rim, to be released, just for that massive, excited energy that comes with something new that hasn't already got tons of disappointing or conflicting history behind it - that would be so fun!!

other than that, right now, i mostly kinda want some fried fish? but that will have to wait until i go to get my second vaccine shot on wednesday since it's on the way there. i'd also like my internal body parts to settle down and fly right but it's been more than a month and they don't seem inclined :(((( maybe once i'm fully vaxxed i'll think about consulting somebody about it

tagging @foxofninetales @xia-xueyi @momosandlemonsoda @memorydragon @thewindsofsong @elvencantation @mylastbraincql @hesayshesgotboyfriend @aurawolfgirl2000 @smaragdine-galaxy and anyone who wants to! but never feel obligated and if you don't get around to it for like half a year that's totally fine, i am still interested!!!

#xcedit #is my only like 'me' tag #tag game #long post #i wanna do one of these with more unusual questions but not like those themed ones ...#tell me if the cut doesn't work i'm still not used to having them on mobile!

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hoekaashi · 4 years ago

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For Better or Worse | B.K. + M.I.

a/n: this took me so long to complete, but here it is. yes, i was inspired by that one picture of tattoo artist deku w bakugou, ya know. that one. yes this came out longer than i wanted to it to be bc i have no self-control. also no banner bc im a lazy poop. also also, i had no idea how to end it, so yeah characters: bakuguo, izuku, mina, kirishima, sero, kaminari, a pinch of todoroki warnings: language, alcohol (they are all aged up), bakugou’s inferiority complex, deku looking dangerous in an all black outfit and a beanie yes yes taglist: @babydabi @suckersuki @bakugoustanaccount @animoozies @haiikyuuns @depths-of-your-soul @differentballooncollection @waitforitillwritemywayout

The thumping from the bass made Bakugou feel like his brain was rattling in his skull and the dim lights of the club were straining his eyes. He needed a break from the sweaty people around him, but his friends wouldn’t let him leave. He looked around the dancefloor, sure that he wouldn’t remember this moment in a few days from now. Lifting his half empty glass to his lips, he took another sip of his drink, the strong taste of the alcohol hitting him hard. He narrowed his eyes when the DJ let out a strong gust of wind again from the hoses on the ceiling next to the confetti cannons that had gone off not long before.

Again, Bakugou needed a break. One look at his friends taking care of the birthday girl was the only confirmation he needed that he could step away from them. Mina’s drunken complaining fell deaf on his ears as he pulled away from Kirishima’s grasp. As he made his way off the dance floor, the groups of people around him tried to push forward to fill the space he was leaving vacant. He walked over to the bar and leaned back against it, wishing there was an open seat for him to take. Downing the drink in one shot, he placed the empty glass on the counter and watched his friends from where he was standing.

Bakugou hated clubs. He hated the crowds of people who invaded his personal space as they danced on him or with other people. He hated being around people who couldn’t hold their liquor and did stupid things with their inhibitions thrown out the window. But most of all, he hated having to deal with drunk people constantly using their intoxicated state as an excuse to persistently hit on him or even feel him up. It was frustrating and annoying, and as he got older, he learned how to best deal with those situations rather than getting into fights. But it had been a while since he had been out and it was Mina’s birthday. Sure everyone had to get together and persuade him, but in the end he agreed that it wouldn’t be an awful time.

And it wasn’t. Hot, sweaty, smelly, claustrophobia inducing, and even sticky, but not awful.

He had been scrolling through his phone in hopes to prevent anyone from talking to him when his friends approached him.

“Bakugou, I want a tattoo!” Mina shouted. Even after all she drank, she seemed pretty sober.

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re all okay with this?”

“Nah bro, we’re all wasted so we told Mina that it was your decision.” He looked at Kaminari who was leaning on Sero for support.

“My decision?”

“Bakubro, just take care of her,” Kirishima said, placing both his hands on Bakugou’s shoulders.

“Take care of - what the fuck are you on?”

“Alcohol bro,” Kaminari said with a serious face. “We’re on alcohol.”

Sero chuckled. “I’m taking these two home to try to sober them up before going to bed.” He was DD for the night, in charge of everyone until Mina decided to go on a little adventure. “They’ll thank me for this before they head out to work tomorrow.”

Sero began to walk away with Kaminari using him as support and Kirishima shuffling behind them, leaving Bakugou alone with Mina.

“Please! Please Bakugou? It’s my birthday.” She looked at him with pleading eyes.

Bakugou didn’t even hide his annoyance. He looked at the time. It was one in the morning. “If there is a shop that’s open right now within a seven mile radius, we can go.”

Mina squealed and grabbed Bakugou by the arm as she ran in her heels to the exit. It didn’t take long for her to stop running with her grip still tight on Bakugou’s arm.

“Where’s my phone…” she mumbled to herself looking around for it. Bakugou watched in amusement as Mina began to pat herself down with one hand while searching the ground around them for her purse.

When he was fully amused, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here.”

Her eyes slowly lit up as she recognized her phone in his hand. Mina had no recollection of leaving her purse at home and Bakugou being nominated to carry it for her. She managed to get on the internet and started looking up tattoo parlors near them. After a few minutes of struggling, she managed to find one. Bakugou didn’t even try to hide his annoyance over the fact that he had to sit through Mina possibly getting a tattoo. It had been a long night and he wanted nothing more than to take a cold shower to wash away the feeling of all those people who were around him.

Bakuguou trailed behind the birthday girl who was dancing in the middle of the parking structure as she walked to his car. The chilly breeze and the fresh air were both helping her sober up and she had a vague memory of where he had parked. As annoying as he found his friends, Bakugou enjoyed moments like tonight where everyone could be themselves and forget about the stress of being an adult. When they could let their guard down and just enjoy life for a night. Why was he on board with this whole tattoo business in the first place? Because who was he to stop his friend from living her life the way she wanted to? It was a harmless tattoo, and he would be there to make sure it would be something she wouldn’t regret later on.

Getting into the car, the first thing Mina did was put the top down while Bakugou grabbed a water bottle he brought just for tonight and opened it, handing it to her so she could hydrate herself. Once he managed to get her to drink at least half the bottle, he took off, using her phone’s GPS to guide him to the shop.

Mina stuck her arm out of the car and leaned back in her seat, enjoying the feel of the cold air on her warm body. Bakugou relaxed as he drove, one hand on the wheel, and the other propping his head up. Even if this felt like a chore, he enjoyed nothing more than the feeling of the cool night hair on his skin as he drove.

True to her word, the shop wasn’t far from where they were. Bakugou was able to park right out front due to the ungodly hour that they were out at. Mina didn’t wait for the car to be fully parked before jumping out and running to the door, ignoring everything Bakugou was yelling at her. He followed behind her, taking his time as he waited for the hood to come back up, slowly feeling regret creep in.

When he entered, Mina was already sitting at a seat, talking the ear off of who Bakugou assumed was the artist. He was wearing a black short sleeve shirt, with a beanie that covered his green hair. Once he got closer, he saw that the man sported his own fair share of tattoos along with glasses and freckles that adorned his face. There was no other person in the shop.

“Bakugou! I decided on what I’m getting,” Mina giggled.

The artist glanced back at Bakugou but said nothing to him as he began to prep the design. Bakugou raised an eyebrow to her. “Are you gonna tell me?”

Mina continued to giggle. “Nope, it’s a surprise!”

“Why the fuck is the tattoo you’re getting a surprise for me? Now tell me before you get something regrettable inked on yourself. I won’t hear the end of this if I don’t.”

“No!” Mina stuck out her tongue.

“Alright, you said on your left shoulder, correct?” the artist asked.

“Yes ma’am!” Mina lowered the dress strap so it hung off her shoulder. He got to work, transferring the design to her skin and began the inking process.

Bakugou watched with his arms crossed as the artist worked. He noticed how there was a small crinkle on his forehead and how his tongue peaked out as he concentrated. His hands moved skillfully and quickly. Mina was talking about something that went over Bakugou’s head to which the artist replied to. He wasn’t engaged in their conversation, he didn’t have the brain power to be at this point. Mina fell silent when the stinging from the tattoo was finally hitting her. Bakugou refused to give her his hand when she asked for it, saying that she got into this mess herself and she needed to deal with the pain on her own.

“You know, you could just give her your hand,” the artist muttered. Mina wasn’t making a sound from the pain but she did flinch every now and then and hiss.

Bakugou blinked. Did the artist just say that to him? “Aren’t you not supposed to give tattoos to drunk people?”

He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t break his concentration from his work. “My method of tattooing is a bit different. I can give tattoos to tipsy or slightly drunk customers without the design getting messed up from the alcohol in the blood. She would also be much worse off if I tattooed in the traditional sense as well.”

Bakugou leaned forward and noticed that he did in fact use a different method of tattooing. “A different method isn’t going to prevent the alcohol in the blood from ruining the way the ink sits.”

The artist sat back and sighed. “Look, you don’t see me barging into your workplace and tell you how to do your job -”

“Because I’m not fucking dumb.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how to do my job.”

“Yeah, scamming people into getting some ink and for it to be fucked up like a month later. They paid full price for it and you don’t have to worry about anything because they signed paperwork just for this occasion.”

The artist took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “You could hunt down every one of my customers and I bet my entire business that not even a single one would say they were dissatisfied with the work done. But since you’re so hellbent on making me feel ashamed, why don’t you check back here in a month and tell me how fucked up you think the tattoo looks?”

“And what if it is? You’ll give her money back? She’ll still have a shitty piece permanently on her body.”

“You can tattoo something on me, anywhere you would like doesn’t matter how big it is,” he replied in a heartbeat.

That piqued Bakugou’s interest. He thought about the proposal while the artist got back to work. “What’s in it for you then?”

“If it doesn’t look bad, I get to tattoo you. Same conditions.”

Bakugou took a seat at the front of the shop without saying anything else. The shop itself looked pretty fancy, there was no doubt in his mind that this guy was probably famous in the tattooing world. But at the same time, anyone with some money could get a place that big and make it look impressive. He knew he should check out the reviews online, but it felt like that would take some of the excitement out of this bet.

Watching him work, Bakugou wondered if he gave himself those tattoos that decorated his body. If he did… he was about to be even more annoyed because they looked damn good. From what he could see on the artist’s arms and neck, they were all different tattoos but they flowed together effortlessly. It felt like they were trying to tell a story even though most likely they weren’t. Bakugou knew he was staring, but he felt himself get lost in what little he could see. Before he realized it, Mina was finished and wrapped up. She refused to let Bakugou see it properly since he wouldn’t let her hold his hand. Instead of staying with her inside, he got his car ready as she paid and the artist went over proper care with her. Just as Bakugou drove away, he realized he never got the artist’s name.

“Deku,” Mina said as the wind whipped past them. It felt different now that she was sober, but she loved it either way. “His name is Deku.”

“Okay, okay. My turn. Truth or dare?” Kirishima spun the bottle and everyone watched as it landed on Bakugou for the first time that night. Kaminari howled and Sero whistled.

“Make it a good one because this might be our only chance with him,” Sero commented.

Kirishima nodded and waited patiently for Bakugou’s answer.

“Truth.”

Kaminari booed.

“Why do you keep talking about Deku? I’ve seen his work and he’s good and all, but are you like… in love with the dude?”

Bakugou’s frown deepened. “I’m not fucking in love with that nerd. I’m annoyed. Pinky won’t show me her damn tattoo and I’m not about to lose this bet to him.”

“Oh, that tattoo looks awesome. I made an appointment to get one too,” Sero said, pointing to his arm where he was planning on getting it done.

“I just got a new piercing there this morning.” Kiri moved his hair out of the way to show his new helix piercing. “Deku is so chill, bro. We made plans to get lunch this Friday.”

“Man, I went by his place with Mina last night and he was a mess,” Kaminari said as he laughed from the memories.

Bakugou watched, slightly annoyed, slightly in awe of what was unfolding in front of him. Within a couple weeks, Bakugou felt like his world was tilted on its axis. All by one man whom he just met. As much as he told himself to not let it bother him, he couldn't help but to hyperfixate on this new person in his life who made a rage he didn’t know he had in him erupt. Never had he wanted to beat someone so bad in his life. As awful as he knew it was, he was hoping the tattoo came out looking shitty so he could have this victory.

He needed this victory.

Because to him, it felt like his friends were slipping away.

He felt like he was being replaced by someone more likable. More friendly. More easy going. Someone better than him.

And he would never admit how much that hurt him.

Bakugou stood up abruptly. Without saying anything, he headed outside of the apartment he was in and made his way to the curb to sit down. Was he overreacting? Probably. Most likely. But he knew his feelings were valid. He wasn’t the best friend, but they all stuck around for some reason. So he couldn’t be that awful. Right?

He let out a deep sigh and looked at the clouds that were passing him by. His gaze didn’t move even when Kirishima joined him.

“You know we aren’t replacing you, right?”

Bakugou didn’t respond.

“We don’t know why you hate him so much, but we respect your feelings. No more Deku talk in front of you.”

“That won’t stop you from hanging out with him,” he said drily.

“No, but even if I hang out with him and enjoy his presence, you’re my best friend dude. And that’s never changing. You’re stuck with me for life.”

A pair of arms wrapped around Bakugou’s shoulders and the force of the hug pushed Bakugou forward. “You’re stuck with all of us!” Kaminari shouted.

“Get the fuck off of me dumbass!”

“Not until you believe us!” Kaminari leaned forward and tried to kiss Bakugou’s cheek. Sero and Kirishima were laughing, enjoying the scene that was unfolding before them. It didn’t take Bakugou long to shove Kaminari off of him. The blond didn’t miss the small upturn of the corners of Bakugou’s mouth either.

“Okay, but since you’re boring as usual, we’re going to give you a dare.”

Bakugou stared at Kaminari in disgust. “No.”

“Get a piercing from Deku. Unless you’re too chicken…”

All three of them smirked. They knew Bakugou would do it. He never backed down from a dare. As long as it was sensible.

“You want me to waste money on a dare?”

“Nah bro, we’re all paying for you,” Sero said.

Bakugou took a minute to think about it. “After I complete this dare, all of you are gonna shut the fuck up for a week.”

“Bro, it’s not a bet. It’s a dare.” Kirishima frowned. “You’re not even paying for it. And we’re letting you choose where to get it. Kaminari wanted to you get your di-”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Kaminari interrupted, shoving his hand over Kirishima’s mouth.

Bakugou stood up and dusted his jeans. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The shop looked a lot different than how Bakugou remembered it, but it was also currently daytime. He took a good look at the sign, Deku written in front of some sort of drawing of an ugly, green, bunny ears mask. There were a lot more people inside as well. Bakugou hesitated going in - he wasn’t in the mood to talk to, or even see, the artist. Deku. Deku, the tattoo artist.

When he walked into the shop this time, he was greeted by someone at the register. He easily found Deku in the crowd of people, his green hair visible today. His outfit still consisted of all black, but it made him seem more edgy than how his friends make him seem to be. From the stories he heard, he would never have guessed they were talking about the same person he met that night with Mina. The Deku his friends knew was a clumsy, anxiety-filled guy who seemed to be in his head a lot. The Deku in front of him was too sure of himself and his abilities to be the same person.

“Hey Midoriya!” Kirishima said as he waved.

Deku looked up and smiled at him, casually passing his gaze over Bakugou. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. We came here for someone else.” Kirishima gently pushed a pouting Bakugou forward. “He’s here for a piercing.”

Deku raised an eyebrow and didn’t even try to hide the cocky smile on his face. “Is he sober? I might get a lecture if he isn’t.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and took a seat without being told to. “Gimme the damn paperwork and let’s get this over with.”

Deku motioned for the person at the register to come over and told him to prep Bakugou. As he filled out the paperwork, he couldn’t help himself as his eyes kept wandering over to wherever Deku was. What was so good about him that made people flock to him? What about him attracted so many people to his shop? He internally cursed himself every time he got distracted and went back to finishing his paperwork. He handed it off to Kirishima who went back to the front with the others to pay for what he was about to get done.

“So what’ll it be?”

Bakugou crossed his arms as he remained seated. “My tongue.”

Deku nodded and went to get what he needed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that walk-ins weren’t common during the day. All the artists in the place were busy with their clients. Deku actually had walked away from someone he was working on but the man didn’t seem to mind. There was a small crowd waiting for their turn to be seated - Bakugou assumed they were also walk-ins from how half of them were glaring at him. And from how one of them started arguing with the cashier who looked visibly scared and confused.

The sound of a stool being dragged over to him brought Bakugou’s attention back to the task at hand. Deku placed his materials down on a small table next to the two of them.

“What made you want to get this done? By me of all people?”

“They dared me.”

“Your friends?” Deku got everything ready before he got to work.

“Yeah.”

“Known them long?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “What’s with this small talk?”

Deku grimaced at his tone. “I’m just trying to be nice. Get to know you. I don’t think you’re a bad person…”

“And how would you know that?”

His expression softened. “You have some great friends. They wouldn’t hang around you if you were a bad person.”

Bakugou felt himself relax slightly. He motioned to the guy with the two tones hair Deku was working on before Bakugou came in. “What about him? Is it okay for you to leave your client like that?”

“Yeah.” Deku scooted his stool closer to Bakugou. “He’s a friend of mine, he didn’t care. Tongue.”

Bakugou leaned forward and watched as Deku put his gloves on. He picked up the needle and held Bakugou’s tongue between a pair of tweezers with two circles on either side to help him know where exactly to pierce the tongue.

“You’ll feel a pinch but it’ll be fast.”

Bakugou couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up slightly, amused by the warning. Deku didn’t lie, it was quick and he barely felt a thing. The rest of the process was quick and Deku talked him through care and maintenance of the new piercing. The cold metal balls felt foreign in his mouth and he kept moving it around to feel a bit more comfortable.

“And the pain will get worse the next couple of days. Soreness is normal, but make sure you keep cleaning it properly to avoid getting it infected. Also pay attention to the foods you’re eating.” Deku kept talking as he walked Bakugou to the front where his friends were waiting for him. Bakugou felt his annoyance increase with each word that left Deku’s mouth.

“Shut up ya damn nerd. You literally gave me a paper with all this fucking information.” Bakugou did his best to keep his voice down, but ended up yelling anyway.

“Sorry!” Deku replied instinctively.

“No need to apologize to him. That’s just how he is.” Kirishima slung an arm over Bakugou’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking him right now.”

Deku smiled. “No problem. I’ll see you on Friday.” He looked at Bakugou as he began to turn away. “And I’ll see you in a few weeks for your tattoo.” He walked away before Bakugou had a chance to reply.

It pissed him off even more how cocky Deku was acting about this bet. He was so sure that he would win, it made Bakugou want nothing more than to crush him. But that would have to wait until the one month was up.

Mina stretched when she got out of the car. “Thanks for driving us Bakugou!”

He grunted in response. All of his friends thought he always drove because he hated everyone else’s driving, which was partially true, but it was just that he enjoyed being in control of where he was going. He got out, eying the tattoo on Mina’s shoulder as she rushed into the shop with Sero and Kaminari rushing in after her. Kirishima waited for his friend as they walked in together. The shop was unusually empty for this time of day, but Bakugou didn’t question it. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would be going home with some new ink today and he didn’t need to deal with an even greater audience.

Mina was already showing off her tattoo to the two people inside. Deku’s friend nodded along as he listened to whatever Mina was talking about. Bakugou felt his palms get sweaty. He hated losing, everyone knew this, but where was this extra anxiety coming from? Why did Deku of all people make him feel like he would never be able to reach him - like he was on some immeasurably high platform and Bakugou could try to climb up there but he would never reach the peak.

Kaminari waved a hand in Bakugou’s face. “Earth to Bakubro. What’s your vote?”

He blinked once, twice. Looking at Mina’s tattoo properly for the first time, he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it. No line looked droopy, nothing looked distorted. “It...looks great…”

Kaminari laughed. “So it’s unanimous! All six of us think the tattoo looks fine.”

Bakugou didn’t realize the voting had already taken place. He was so deep in his thoughts, not that it would have mattered if he was paying attention.

He shrugged, not having enough mental power to fight this. “What’s it gonna be, nerd?”

Deku prepped a chair that was next to a set up table. “Take off your shirt and sit back.”

Everyone gathered around, wanting to watch Bakugou receive his punishment. Deku got to work, not bothering with transferring a design onto Bakugou’s skin beforehand. Seeing that made Bakugou worry about what was going to happen as Deku dotted his skin over and over again with the gun. Bakugou listened to everyone talk, never once speaking up, as he took in this moment. Seeing his friends interact with Deku and his friend pissed off Bakugou, but at the same time he felt warm inside. Something about this moment felt right to him, he was meant to meet all these people, they were put into his life for a reason. Deku? He was just the newest addition even if he hated to admit it. They were friends, sort of. But rather than the friendship he felt with anyone in his life, Deku made him want to be better. Bakugou felt so complacent after meeting Deku for some reason. Seeing him own his own successful business, have his own fanbase, but still be humble and kind. Bakugou felt like he needed to work harder before he could feel good about himself. And he was determined to get there even more now that Deku was in his life.

For better or worse.

The tattoo was finished faster than he thought, fully colored and swollen. He looked down at his hip where his new tattoo lived, and groaned. “You gave me that shitty green bunny mask? What even is it? Are you coming out as a furry?”

Deku blushed. “W-what? No! It’s like…” He hesitated, feeling embarrassed. “It’s a symbol that I adapted from this hero I liked as a kid from a comic.”

Bakugou squinted at the tattoo and realized what it was. “All Might.”

Deku looked at Bakugou in surprise. “You used to read his stories too?”

“Tch, of course. He was the best superhero and anyone who thinks otherwise is fucking dumb.”

The other five watched, all feeling different emotions, as they watched Deku try to have his first bonding moment with Bakugou and couldn’t help but share the same thought of how those two would become fast friends. Sure there would be lots of fighting, but there would never be a dull moment with them. They also knew Bakugou wouldn’t rest until he was able to tattoo something on Deku. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe it was bad. But no one could wait.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou fic #midoriya izuku #midoriya fic #deku #deku fic #bakudeku #kirishima eijiro #sero hanta #mina ashido #kaminari denki #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha fic #mha fic

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winterrose527 · 4 years ago

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I’m voting early tomorrow in Texas bc it’s my birthday and I wanna give my vote an extra oomph. I’m gonna wear blue since can’t wear specific political stuff and go with my friend.

I’d like something with a supernatural element for Myrcella and Robb, please. Maybe a ghost story.

Oh my goodness, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARLING! So so happy you were born, and so happy that you are taking the opportunity to do that most important thing - vote!

Here you go, it may be a bit different than you were expecting...

Only Sansa Stark could make enough friends in a week and a half to fill the entire bottom floor, and part of the grounds, of their new home.

Home.

Robb looked around the grand room he was in, completely with coffered ceilings and marble pillars. It didn’t look like any home he was used to. Their home up North had been large but well… homey. It had been full of wood and old photographs and at least one fireplace was going at any given time.

The kids had been overwhelmed when their parents showed them this place, with the pool and the tennis courts and the all of it. Sansa had nearly fainted when his parents showed her the suite she’d call her own, complete with the dressing room and a separate sitting room.

It was far too King’s Landing for him though. He didn’t care about more room for his clothes, especially because none of the ones he wore up North were usable now.

It was Halloween and it was warm. Really warm.

Up North, Sansa would always complain that having to wear a coat over her costume or layers underneath ruined the effect. Tonight though, she’d worn her toga and sandals and headdress and looked every inch a queen - no parka in sight.

She’d had the idea to throw a party last weekend and their parents, so grateful that one of their children was adjusting, had readily agreed. He hadn’t paid much attention to the details, too focused on his college applications and football practice, so when he’d come downstairs this afternoon and saw a giant cauldron on the lawn being filled by uniformed waiters with water and apples it had been his first indication that the party was going to be more than a few friends.

He recognized some people as he walked through. There were people dressed as weirwolves, and minions, and nurses. One girl dressed as a bubble bath, which was far more endearing than the countless girls dressed as cats. He nodded at a guy from his football team who was dancing with a girl in his homeroom, the pair of them dressed up as characters from some show everyone was watching.

Sansa was somewhere, the belle of the ball. She fit in better down here than any of his other siblings, better than him. Though, she actually tried to when the rest of them were focused on getting back North to their real lives.

He tried not to be a grouch about it, to set a good example, but this was his senior year. He was supposed to finish it with Theon and Jon, get their last championship and do Senior Prank Day and Senior Skip Day and Prom with all the people he’d been going to school with since Kindergarten.

And he hated everyone in the south for not being them.

He walked through the kitchen where a couple was making out against the fridge and down the hallway past his father’s study to the library. He rarely came in here, but he just needed a few minutes away from the music and the people to gather himself.

The light was on, which was weird because it had been made clear that everything past the kitchen was off-limits. He looked around warily, figuring that a couple had come in here to do more than make out.

“Oh!,” a surprised voice said.

He turned towards the window, surprised he hadn’t seen her standing there before. She was a wisp of a thing, to be sure, but with her golden hair and sparkly dress she was hard to miss.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, adding in his head in my family’s private room.

That wasn’t the sort of thing you said out loud to a girl who looked like her though.

“That’s alright,” she said and then smiled, as though they shared a private joke, “I suppose I’m the one that startled you.”

There was something in her voice - money and honey but something else that he couldn’t really place.

“A good surprise,” he admitted and then scratched his cheek, “Though uh, I’ll admit you’re not really supposed to be in here.”

The girl looked around the room and smirked, “Tell me about it.”

“What?,” he asked.

At the same time though she said, “I’m Myrcella.”

“Robb,” he waved awkwardly.

“It’s a pleasure to know you,” she smiled and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I… haven’t seen you around,” he told her.

She looked to be a year or two younger than him, maybe Sansa’s class, so they wouldn’t have any classes together. Even still, he definitely would have remembered her if he’d seen her in passing. She looked prissy, and certainly spoke prissily, so it was possibly she went to a different private school in the area.

Sansa would have died over her costume. Like her, Myrcella had chosen a historical one. She was dressed as a flapper, but it didn’t look cheap the way the ones in the costume stores always did. He wondered vaguely if the dress had belonged to someone in her family.

More acutely he was focused on the girl inside it.

She placed her hands behind her back and nodded, looking out the window, “I don’t come out very much.”

“Why not?,” he wondered, “Too shy?”

She looked at him and bit her lip, “Something like that.”

“Well I can leave you…,” he started, hoping she’d say no.

She shook her head, “It’s nice to talk to someone.”

He nodded and went towards her. She looked at him like he was a hunter, so he tried to appear as non-threatening as possible when he sat on the couch.

She sat in one of the arm chairs, crossing her legs at the ankles. Her skin was practically shimmering under the overhead light.

“So how’d you know to come over here?,” he wondered.

She looked at him and said, “Want to know a secret?”

“Yes,” he agreed readily.

“I used to live here,” she told him.

“Oh!,” he exclaimed. “That’s… that must be strange to be back here then.”

She smiled, “Truth be told, it feels like I never left.” They could hear the music getting louder and she closed her eyes, “It’s just splendid that there are parties here again.”

He wondered when she’d lived here. Maybe as a little girl. It was unusual for people to move out of their family homes, unless there had been a tragedy. Death, debt, or divorce.

He looked at her, really looked. Even with the golden hair and the perfect cheek bones and the sparkling eyes, it was clear. This was a girl that had seen a tragedy or two.

“Wha-,” he started to ask but then he heard a loud crash. “Fuck - sorry, I um… I have to go see what that was… can you… will you be here…will you stay?”

She smiled sadly, “Oh, at least for a little while.”

He nodded and got up. He should ask for her number, just in case, but that crash sounded bad. He waved at her and ran out.

The crash was bad. There were two guys fighting in the front hall and they’d knocked over an antique vase. More people had crowded in.

It was a half hour before he’d been able to fully break it up, and by that time people had gotten a little out of hand. He and Sansa decided it was time for the party to be over, so they ushered everyone out the door.

By the time the last person had left it was after midnight. He ran to the library but found it empty, and cold.

Disappointed, he went up to bed and called Jon. He and Theon were at a party and they put him on speaker phone so that the whole party could say hi. When he hung up he turned out the light, wanting to fall asleep quickly, and sleep through the rest of the year.

That night though he had the strangest dream. Myrcella was there, dressed just as she had been that night, but everyone else was dressed like her too. There was something he had to tell her. Urgently. Like his life depended on it - or hers did. He kept getting close to her and then she’d slip away. And then there was a bang! and he woke up.

He padded downstairs to the kitchen and saw Arya sitting at the island eating cereal and his Mom unloading the dishwasher.

“Mornin’,” he grumbled.

“Our hero,” Arya cooed at him.

His Mom looked over at him, “Morning baby, thank you for keeping things from getting too out of hand.”

He shrugged, getting himself a mug for coffee, “Sorry about the vase.”

He sat down next to Arya and sipped his coffee, picking a piece of cereal out of her bowl. She slapped his arm but nudged her bowl closer to him anyway.

“So,” his Mom said, “Did you manage to have any fun at all?”

To his surprise he nodded. His mom looked at him in surprise and he said, “I met a girl.”

“Ooooooh,” Arya teased, making kissy faces.

He clamped his hand over her mouth and looked at his Mom’s happy face and explained, “She used to live here.”

At that his Mom’s face fell into a look of confusion, “Robb this house was vacant when we bought it. Had been for… oh say…. thirty years? The last owner didn’t have any children, and it had been his since…I think the twenties…Are you sure that’s what she said? Could she have meant in King’s Landing?”

He thought about it and nodded, “I…I guess she could have? I haven’t seen her around. You’re sure about the previous owners?”

She nodded, “Yes, it was a Mr. Baelish who owned it. A bachelor til the end… there’s some things of the house’s past owners still in the library… we’ve hardly moved anything… so you can check but I’m almost positive.”

“Okay,” he shrugged, “I’m going to go for a run.”

He went upstairs and got changed into shorts and a t shirt and pulled on his sneakers and grabbed his head phones. He was going to take a run in the woods, there was a path that he liked, so he went down the back staircase.

He was about to walk out the door when he saw that the door to the library was open.

Usually he wasn’t so curious, but it was a bit strange. She’d made it seem like she’d lived here. Not in King’s Landing. In this very house.

He walked inside and started looking on the book shelves. Mostly it was musty copies of old books, their gilded letters starting to fade.

He was about to give up when his hand, seemingly on its own, found its way to a leather bound album. He felt a chill go down his spine when he touched it, which was ridiculous. He was just creeping himself out.

He grabbed it off the shelf and sat down on the couch and opened it to the first page.

The Baratheon Family, 1921 - it said on the first page. It wasn’t printed, the way their family albums sometimes were, but written in an elegant, almost lazy scrawl.

He opened the first page and saw the house. Even in sepia tone it was still the same. He turned the page and saw a large brown haired man standing with a smaller one. The larger man was smiling but the smaller man was smirking.

The person had written, Daddy and Mr. Baelish.

On the next page was an elegant woman, that looked somehow familiar. She was beautiful but scowling.

Mumsie, Summer 1921.

He turned the next page and saw two blonde haired boys, the oldest only a year or so older than him.

Underneath this photograph the same person had scrawled. Tommy and Joff, Summer 1921.

He turned the next page and his heart stopped. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

But there, looking back at him was Myrcella. She was dressed similarly to how she’d been last night, an effervescent smile on her face.

Underneath it the person had written, Me, me as bright as can be!, Summer 1921

He looked through the rest of the album. She was there a number of times, with the boy named Tommy, and the dour woman. A picture of a whole lot of them, other golden haired dandies and powerful men. Mr. Baelish, with that same smirk.

He was starting to feel lightheaded, but it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

In spite of his better judgment, he pulled out his phone and typed Myrcella Baratheon into the search. There were listings for a couple of numbers and he kept scrolling and then came across the following headlines.

Violence Strikes King’s Landing

The Tragedy of Myrcella Baratheon

Bootlegging Scheme gone wrong, daughter pays the price

He clicked on that one and read the story. It appeared that Robert Baratheon ran a successful bootlegging operation, and a man named Petyr Baelish had been part of his crew. There was a sting operation, Baelish had cooperated with the feds to catch Robert and his sons and wife, who were all part of it. Myrcella Baratheon was meant to be out of the house, attending a party with the man whom everyone was convinced would soon be her fiance, Trystane Martell, but she heard shouting as she was about to leave and ran into library. She spooked someone, though the article did not say who, and was shot three times in the chest.

He clicked out of that article and into the one titled The Tragedy of Myrcella Baratheon. The story was written by a teetotaler, who was using Myrcella as an example of how innocent lives were being ruined by drink.

In spite of his better judgment, he said to the room, “Myrcella?”

Unsurprisingly, no one answered. He went back to the first article and his blood ran cold.

It was dated November 1, 1921. She had died on Halloween night, nearly a hundred years before.

He placed the album down on the couch and as if on its own it felt to the last page. There was no picture, just the elegant scrawl.

See you next year.

#prompt #robbcella #halloween

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