#but for the actual doing the laundry part you just put it in the machine and add detergent and then the machine does the rest??

[soni-dragon]

Never ever EVER buy household appliances with ai in them. Most ridiculous things I’ve ever encountered

[walterdecourceys]

idk why people hate laundry so much its not that hard. the hard part is putting it away

[mirohlayo]

hii can u do a lando one where like one of them (lando or reader) kiss in the midle of an argument

hi, of course i can !! i don't know if that's what you wanted but i wrote it more in a cute way, not really angst :)

KISS ME, FORGIVE ME | LN4

( you and lando had an argument and kissing you seems like the best way for him to settle everything. )

warning: none

note : not really satisfied with it but it's still okay i guess

word count : 1.5k

!! english not my first language !!

you were stubborn yes. but not for too long. you're stubborn because of course your ego is on the line and sure you're too proud to admit it's your fault.

but right now it's not your fault. well, that was your point of view.

you're sure the argument you just had with your boyfriend was not because of you, but him. yes, because of lando norris himself. and you hate when you have to be the one to apologize when it's not even you the problem.

but on the other hand, lando is pretty sure you're the one who started it all. he is stubborn too. he has his own proud and ego too and he knows for sure he'll never let himself being disrespected like that.

but the truth is that this whole argument is just stupid. it is a silly argument. you guys keep complaining over something that is not even a big deal at all.

cleaning and housework are things you and lando talked about before, during the beginning of your relationship. you agreed on the fact that you would switch up the cleaning tasks each week. so like that both of you would take part of the domestic tasks.

it was lando's week. he had to get the laundry done. you were sure about that because housework is very important for you and you really take care of your house's cleanliness. but for him, it was your task. he accidentally forgot that it was his week because of his busy f1 schedule.

and with the jet lag, he completely missed the fact you cleaned the house by yourself those last two weeks. so actually he should do double cleaning duties, but considering he needs a lot of rest after the race season you just leave it to him for this time.

but here you two are, mad at each other. nobody talk, nobody care about the other. just for a silly argument.

lando yelled at you because he was sure you had to clean up the house. when actually he was the one to do it. you yelled back, because of course you are not the one to blame at. and now it's been 3 hours since you last spoke together.

lando is still mad at you of course, but less than you. he thought about the argument during these 3 hours and, he knows it. he's wrong on that. he shouldn't have yelled at you when he's the one at fault. he feels guilty now.

you pass in front of him, walking away in a quick walk. he just looks at you, following you with his puppy eyes. he knows it's his own fault and he blame himself right now.

he wants to apologize. even though he's still a bit mad, he truly needs to apologize to you because deep inside he cares about you and he don't like when you're upset. so he follows you in the bathroom, where the washing machine is in.

he watches you open the washing machine's door and put all the dirty laundry in it, of course with an irritated expression and also making a lot of noise. you look clearly mad and angry, like you are still pissed off.

you can feel lando's presence and intense gaze on you and it gets on your nerves.

lando notices it. he notices that he clearly annoys you now and that you're still mad at him. that's why he wants to help you. he wants to apologize to you and he thinks if he starts by helping you with the laundry it'd be a good idea.

he approaches you carefully and put the others dirty clothes in the laundry basket, sorting the colors at the same time. he wants to do a good job. he extends his hand to grab the detergent but stops when he hear you sigh. "stop acting like you want to help"

he shift his head and look at you. he frowns a little bit. "but that's the point, i want to help" he replies, dismayed. you roll your eyes, you don't even want to hear whatever he's trying to say. "i don't need your help. i guess doing a third cleaning chore won't hurt after all" you coldly answer and glare at him.

you keep putting the clothes in the washing machine and he just stand here, not knowing how to react. "but you should have told me earlier that is was my week !! how could i know it ?" he defends himself, a bit annoyed. "you're a grown man and you don't even know how to follow a cleaning schedule ?"

now you face him, and he can tell you're absolutely irritated. he doesn't like that. "but i race, i have others things to think about !! and i'm tired, of course i can forget that fucking cleaning schedule!" "don't you think i'm tired too ? i also work every day and still i always clean up the house when you're not home !! i do your chores but yet i don't complain"

he stops arguing. he knows he's the one at fault and he already feels guilty, so you adding a layer affects it even more. he genuinely regrets everything he said earlier, he knows he is wrong for that and now all he wants is to apologize and do household chores for the next months.

"you don't even want to admit that it's your fault, or maybe you're too stupid to even reali-"

oh, you didn't expect that.

you feel his lips move on yours. he wraps his muscly arms around your waist and deepen the kiss. and then he pulls back. "i know. i admit it it's my own fault."

you still freeze. what just happened ? you were cutting off by his sudden kiss. you don't even know how to react or what to do, you stay silent for a while, blinking. trying to process everything. "w-what ? you're going to apologize like that ? with a kiss ?" you finally say, not really sure about your sentence but add a roll eyes.

"oh because you want to settle this in the bedroom ?" he says, grinning at you. you frown, confused. but still like that he is able to make you blush, and you slightly slap his chest. "shut the fuck up you".

now your feelings are mixed. you're still a bit mad of course, but the sudden kiss literally change your mood. you love his kisses, so you don't really know how to feel right now. a part of you want to keep playing the annoyed girlfriend but the kiss just changed everything. it seems way easier to forgive him now.

"okay, but still i don't forgive you yet" you pronounce trying to keep your eyebrows down and he grins wider. he quickly leans in and place an other kiss on your lips, softly bitting your lower lip. "and now babe ?" he playfully asks against your pink lips. his eyes are filled with amusement.

you can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach, your heart flutters. you avoid eye contact and cross your arms. "no. i'm still mad at you". you genuinely know you already forgave him and all you want is to kiss him back. but you need to make him regret it a little more.

"you really want me huh ?" he whispers and without even realizing it, he's already kissing you once again, but this time more roughly. your back suddenly presses against the washing machine and he strokes your waist with his hands.

but even you can't resist him. you join in the kiss and bury your hands in his curls, playing with them. he lift you up and make you sit on the washing machine, holding you tight. he pulls back, his face still close to your lips, and plant his eyes in yours. he grins at you, and peck your rosy lips because he bites them way too hard.

you shyly smiles at him and can't even look him in the eyes. "i know you can't resist me baby. but that's okay, cause who can actually ?" "i swear you really need to keep your mouth shut" you roll your eyes but grin with him, because maybe he was right. nobody can't resist him, it's a fact.

he gives you a quick kiss again. "now can you accept my precious help and let me do the cleaning tasks with you please ?" you act like you were thinking about it, showing a fake hesitant expression. "please, love. i'll even do the next cleaning session if that's what you want. just let me help you" he begs you with puppy eyes, you obviously had to say yes.

"okay but cuddle me in the bed before. your kisses made me needy" you says and he can't hide his big smile. "whatever my baby wants" he playfully replies and carry you to the bedroom.

you two finish cuddling close in the bed, telling how much you love each other. and maybe also completely forgot about the laundry.

[your-nanas-house]

Just a... thong

◇ Pairing: Dad's Best Friend!Cillian Murphy X Bff's daughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: mention of masturbation, age gap (all off age, Cill is in his 40s, Y/n 20s), pervert Cilly, laundry, dad's best friend, cramps

◇ Summary: Cillian decides to take care of the laundry and finds his best friend's daughter's thong.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Another piece of the "AU/series" of Dad's Friend. Thank you @drcranessweetestdoe to encourage me to write smt. It's bit shitty but I hope it will "satiate" you a little. 🤭

It had been several weeks since Y/n, his best friend's daughter, had come to stay with Cillian for the summer holidays.

He had rearranged a bit of the usual routine that the man had made his, now that he was in his 40s and considered himself too old for several things.

However, he had adapted quite well, thanks to the collaboration of the young woman who also did not want to cause any disturbance to him and therefore followed his schedule a bit.

They had established little silent rules, such as the times of breakfast and meals in general, who cooked and when. They had also decided without talking about it that they would do the dirty laundry individually even though she was the one in charge of running the washing machine and making sure of the little details like which clothes could go together and which couldn't.

Usually Y/n took care of the sorting too, before Cillian could do anything, so it was the first time for the man to take care of that task.

The young woman was busy on a call with her family and the Irishman didn't have much to do, so when he passed by the room where the washing machine had finished he approached it, deciding to do it himself to take away a task from her seeing how well he was taking care of all the things he had asked her to do in exchange to make her stay under his roof.

His baby blue eyes scanned the object, taking in the different buttons before making sure it was actually done.

When he was sure of it he opened it, rushing to get the basket to put all the wet clothes in there and then go and hang them outside since the weather permitted.

They were mostly his things and a few things from Y/n, just clothes he had seen on her the previous days, some sports tops and... a lacy piece.

A lacy... A lacy piece of clothing, Cillian repeated to himself before his eyes snapped quickly back to the undergarments he was holding in his hand. His breath catching in his throat as his mouth dried, his heart started to beat faster, drumming against his chest at the realization.

A thong.. it's just a thong, Cillian, get yourself together, he thought, scolding himself, as his eyes snapped towards the door and back to the fabric when he was sure that he was still alone.

Her underwear was soft under his fingertips, smooth and silky except the lacy part that decorated it in an innocent but provocative way.

There was little fabric... he really wondered why she worn something like that since it covered barely her cunt, exposing probably fully her round ass cheeks.

"Fuck" the older man murmured under his breath, his breath becoming heavier as his mind wandered, imagine his best friend's daughter wearing something like that... just that, her body completely bare, her breasts on full display as the thong hugged her hips, teasing him with its little see not see game.

His body reacted pretty quickly and he was hard.. again.

It had been happening quite frequently since she entered his life in a daily basis. He really felt like a pathetic teenager by the way his body acted at the mere display of a bit of her skin.

Cillian bite his lip, taking a deep breath as he stroked the fabric in his hand for a couple of seconds, groaning softly at the feeling while his other hand moved slowly to his boner which was quite noticeable because of the sweatpants he had choose to wear that morning. His thick fingers slowly brushed his clothed hard lenght, before palming it... his bottom lip caged by his white teeth as his mind started to play different scenarios.

"Fuck" he cursed lowly, moving his hand again to pull out his cock irrationally, following the wind of his carnal desire with no shame, too blinded by lust.

"Is everything okay? Is it your back again?.. I heard you curse" Y/n's sweet voice interrupted him, making his blood run cold and move quickly up.. stretching his muscles in the wrong way.

He really was too old for this kind of things, he thought dramatically while cursing softly.

A shock of pain hit him, making him lean against the washing machine in an attempt to regain himself.

Karma.. just Karma, Cillian repeated in his head while inhaling deeply, now feeling pretty much self-conscious about his actions. Luckily she didn't look like she had noticed the perverse actions he was about to comply.

Her look was one of worry and not disgust, even when she moved quickly closer to make sure he was alright and help him sit on the sofa to relax a moment while she continued the task, not noticing the piece of clothing that was missing since he didn't have the opportunity or the time to throw it back in the basket before she took it to another room, warning him that she was coming back to check on him and his back.

[mockerycrow]

Can I request just some comfort Fluff with soap? Maybe him just being at home with the reader and finally being about to fully relax

— love your writing 🤍

MINE, OH MINE (Soap x GN!Reader)

soap masterlist — 808 words

a/n: I had actually gotten two of this request, so 🐤 anon, this is for you, too!!! i apologize for my slowness lol this is also short </3

[WARNINGS: None, domestic fluff!]

Johnny has always loved the mornings after he arrives home to you. Of course, he loves that first near rib breaking hug you give each other—he loves the slow and thankful unsteady kiss you share at the front door with his duffel bag at your feet. Johnny loves the way you run your fingers through his messy mohawk during the sweet kiss, the way you lean and melt into him so naturally.

He loves the way you tremble; like you can’t believe he’s with you and he isn’t looking at you through a facetime call. Johnny adores the way you basically refuse to leave his side the rest of the night, barely giving him enough space for him to use the restroom by himself. He doesn’t mind though, because he knows he’s the exact same way. You are clingy the first two days whilst he is clingy all the way up until he has to leave again; neither of you mind.

Johnny loves the way you wear his clothes while he’s away, the way he sees more of his own laundry than yours in the laundry basket by the washing machine down the hall in the laundry room. Johnny loves the way it’s clear when he steps into the bedroom to put his bag away, you hog his side of the bed. He appreciates your insistence on helping him take a bath, his pajamas already in your arms. You know how to massage the knots out of his shoulders and back, you know the exact pattern on how to stroke his hair and tickle his neck to make him incredibly still. Johnny loves the way you’re concerned about his eyes when washing your hair, cupping right about his forehead to prevent any possible droplets of soap to drip down into his tear ducts. Johnny loves that you care enough to squeeze his hair at his hairline to keep it from dripping down his face.

Johnny loves the way you allow him to rub your back once he’s out of the bath and properly dressed; you’re sitting on the bed with the Scot sitting behind you, his legs crossed as his big and rough hands press against the tense muscles of your back through your his shirt. He loves the way you sigh with your lips closed from being content, the way you instinctually lean back into his touch, the way his thumbs press into your shoulder muscles and rub them in circles to relieve the tension that has most certainly built up, deep in your bones and tissue. He loves the way you tilt your head when he peppers soft kisses to your shoulder, leading up to your neck.

What Johnny loves the most, though, is waking up next to you after these nights together, after returning from deployment and missions. He loves waking up with his nose buried into your shoulder with an arm wrapped around you, the other under his own head for comfort. Johnny loves waking up with his head buried in your chest, or maybe your head is buried in his. He loves waking up to see you still sleeping, your lips parted ever so slightly in your sleep, your face devoid of stress and anxiety. If you snore, the man very much treasures every noise coming from you; it’s a sign of life, and he would fall asleep to the sound of it every night if he could.

Johnny likes to run his fingers against your brow ridge and then down your temple to your jaw, his fingertips sliding against your pulse for a moment, just feel your heart go ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum. Sometimes on a rare occasion, you’ll wake before him; which is how he found out you watch him sleep. Of course Johnny isn’t upset when his eyes flutter open and the first thing they do is lock onto yours. He finds out you wait for him to wake up like he waits for you, admiring his face, his chin scar, his hair. You look at him like there’s nothing else in the world and that makes his chest so tight and gooey.

He likes it when you mumble “I can’t understand you” in the mornings, the grogginess thickening his accent. Johnny likes your little smile when his voice rumbles in the morning, the sound penetrating deep into your chest and staying there. Johnny likes it when you kiss him in the morning, despite the fact that his morning breath has always been worse than yours. He likes it when you cup the back of his head in these morning kisses—all he can think about is you, you, you. Johnny likes it when you insist on staying in bed for a bit longer, despite your alarm for work having already gone and past.

Yeah, Johnny loves coming home to you, alright.

[darlingshane]

Dirty Laundry

Shane Walsh x F!Reader

Summary: Shane doesn't approve of the way you do laundry. He tries to school you, but he loves you so much he can't really stay mad at you for long, especially when you start taking your clothes off.

Content/Warnings: 18+. Explicit, Smut, Crack, Oral Sex (f. recieving), Vaginal sex, Pet Names, Bratty reader. No ZA.

Word Count: 1.9k // AO3 Link.

You were aware Shane had his quirks before moving in together. Some you already knew, like having five pairs of boots from the same brand, or the way he chews his thumbnail when he’s nervous, or how he frantically runs his hand on his hair when he’s pissed… Most of those were quickly revealed after you started dating. Others you'd only come aware of them upon moving in together.

One that is highly surprising is his obsession with laundry. You noticed that his clothes were always perfectly clean and ironed as he wore them on any occasion you went out, no matter how fancy or casual. But once you were sharing the same bedroom, you found out that even his underwear is always neatly pressed and folded in the drawer as if it had just come out of the package. With how much he works, you always thought he'd have taken to a cleaners or something, but that’s not the case. He not only cares for his own clothes but making laundry is something he actually enjoys. It relaxes him, he says. Which it’s the complete opposite for you. It makes you anxious anytime you have to do it. Especially the folding and sorting part. When you lived alone, there was always a pile sitting on that chair in the corner of your room. But not anymore. Now that you are living with Shane there are no more random piles collecting dust for days at a time in any chair of the house. Anytime he does laundry, you come home to find your drawers perfectly organized. It’s not something you can complain about because Shane is a true dream of a partner. Quirks and all, you wouldn’t have it any other way. So, in return, any time it’s your turn to make laundry, no matter how much you hate it, you make the minimal effort to at least take the same care of his clothes as he does for yours. Though you could tell that sometimes he doesn’t approve of your messy folding technique, and has to rearrange them when you’re not around, he never says anything either.

But today, when it's your turn to do laundry, he comes home to catch you transferring all the dirty clothes from the hamper into the washing machine, both yours and his without much regard of type, color, texture… That's how you've always done it. Yes, it's messy, and you've had a couple of mishaps, but nothing really atrocious ever happened. You never put that much thought into it, to be honest. It's just clothing. But not for Shane. Watching his precious shirts, and uniform with the rest of the load makes him physically ill. He stares at you as if you were killing a puppy.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he goes off, taking stuff out of the washer. “You can't mix delicates with towels. And what the fuck is this?” he picks up a pair of dirty sneakers from the bottom of the drum. “You were really gonna wash them with all these? You're a fuckin’ savage.”

You lean against the dryer and try not to burst into laughter at how annoyed he is. It's kinda cute actually to see him frown at you with scorn, and hearing his voice pitch a little higher than usual.

These past few weeks, you've been collecting a series of firsts since you moved into your new home. The first time you cooked in your new kitchen, the first time you disagreed when it came to rearranging the living room furniture, the first night you woke him up when you heard a strange noise in the hallway… And today it's the first time you've truly seen him irritated.

“It's just clothes, babe. Who cares?”

“I care.” He frantically goes through the heap of clothes, divorcing them into several piles on top of the washer. “Please tell me at least you're not using the speed cycle to wash everything.”

“What? It saves time, water, electricity…”

“Yeah, but at what cost.”

“Gee, it's not like I murdered someone.”

“You were about to murder my uniform. That's the real crime.”

“Hmm, you look better without it anyway.” You tease, reaching with your hand to pinch his booty covered by a pair of jeans.

“Stop, this is serious.” Shane stays firm in his position but tries to hide one corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile. “Look, I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

“Ohh, fun. I'm about to get schooled by the laundry police. Please enlighten me, Officer.”

You roll your eyes and half listen to him explaining the washer’s control panel to you as if you were an idiot. It’s not that you don’t know how to use it, it’s that you’re lazy and rather put everything together and save time. Then, he proceeds to elaborate on which categories you should separate the different types of fabrics.

“That would take me all day if I have to do that many loads.”

“So? That’s what weekends are for?”

“Noooo. Weekends are for resting, watching movies, and chilling.”

“Who said you can't have that too?”

“You! I think I lost five years of my life by just listening to you explaining how to do laundry.”

“You’re being a little brat today.”

“Am I now?” You smirk and push one of the piles he had on top of the washer to the floor. “Whoops.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“Nothing.” You push the next one.

“You're playing a dangerous game, darling.”

“Yeah? I just want you to teach me again how to do it.” Next, you grab the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing, pull it over your head and dangle it in your finger. “Where should I put this, deputy?”

“I'd put it up your ass. Bet it'd look real nice there.”

You snort and let the shirt fall to the floor.

“What about this, Mr. Delicate?” you unclasp your bra, slip the straps off your arms, and drape it on his shoulder. “Do you like it there?”

Then, you brace your palms on his chest, your lips draw a grin as you lean to whisper closer to his mouth. “Or do you want me to put it back on?”

“Don't fucking dare putting it back on?” He mutters, swatting the bra off his shoulder before having his hand holding your jaw firmly.

There's actually no other choice for him than to join your little game. Laundry be damned when it comes to choosing between you or clothes.

Licking his lips, he pulls his head back, eyes roaming down to your bare chest as you move your hands to hold his waist. When his stare travels back up, you both lock eyes for a second before having his mouth pressed against yours with a sloppy, pushing flick of his tongue forcing itself past your lips.

His hand keeps your head still while he shoves your back against the wall. His free hand snakes its way under the waistband of your sweatpants at the front. His fingers shamelessly rub your pussy back and forth over your panties, tucking the fabric in your slit. Hitting all the right spots, he earns a good moan out of you.

All of a sudden, his tongue comes to a stop. His hand too. Shane drops to his knees. From that position he pulls your sweatpants down to your ankles and grabs your hips as his tongue juts out to draw a wet circle around your navel. He then trails down, as your skin comes alive into goose flesh. He yanks your underwear down your legs to join your pants at the floor before having his mouth shoved at the junction of your hips. His mouth travels all over your sex, leaving kisses and nibbles your outer lips, licking your folds, teasing your clit…

“Shane… Fuck…” you bury your fingers in his hair and pull tight as the tip of his tongue circles your opening.

Your body writhes against the hard surface holding your back, your grip tightens on his hair while his lips viciously start sucking your clit. Your pussy melts as much as any time he goes down on you and just as fast as before, his mouth is suddenly gone before the job is done, leaving that sweet aching lingering all over your cunt. He lifts his stare to seize your unsatisfied expression as you gasp for air. He quickly yanks his shirt off before holding your hips and bringing you down to the floor.

“C’mere, dirty lil brat,” he growls, and you yelp as he manhandles your body, rolling you to your back right on top of the pile of dirty laundry you tossed to the floor.

Shane removes the clothing hanging around your ankles and sets your knees widely apart so he can kneel in between. He unzips his jeans, pulls them down to the middle of his thighs along with his boxer briefs to release his erection. He’s hard as rock. The flared tip of his dick is swollen and red, begging for some friction. There’s a dark shine in his eyes that matches the glossy layer of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. As he lowers his body down, you frame his face with both your palms, pull his face closer to capture his mouth while he blindly guides himself into your opening. Your core knots tightly as he pushes all his length up to the hilt. His breathing shallows as you devour his mouth with hunger. He comfortably settles on top of you, holding one of his arms on the side of your head while his other hand clutches to your hips. His thrusts come sharp and steady, filling the room with the relentless slapping of his hips against your skin and the desperate sounds of your kisses.

“God, I love you,” you groan in his mouth.

“Love you more, sweetheart.”

You breathe the air of his lungs, eat his tongue and swallow the sweet grunts that come out of his throat one beat at a time as you both lose the ability to draw deeper breaths. His cock swiftly comes in and out of you as your legs tremble and lock. You move your hands to hold his ass as the erratic waving of his hips drives you out of your mind. A pulse later you're hit with a mighty climax that almost makes you lose consciousness. As your walls flutter around his thickness he spills all his warm juices deep in your walls.

“Fuck me,” his voice falters as he slips out of you.

He lays flat on top of you for a moment as your orgasm slowly ebbs. His skin is warm and damp against yours as your palm glides up his back to comb the hairs at his nape.

“Oh god, now the laundry is dirtier than before,” you laugh softly as his smile grows wide against your neck.

“And whose fault is that, huh?” he lifts his head to look at you with an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Technically… it’s yours. If you had let me do it as I wanted, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Ain’t that right?” he playfully pinches your side making you jolt and chuckle.

“I mean… I’d rather do you than do laundry, so I'm not complaining.”

“Yeah?” he sweetly dips to leave a chaste peck on your lips. “I'd rather do you, too.”

[peppermintquartz]

Prompt: laundry day

Tommy does not want to wake up. It's the day he has to do Most Dreaded Chore: Laundry.

He's certain that if he does go to hell because of the whole gay thing, his punishment will be to do laundry for eternity. Sorting. Washing. Drying. Ironing. Folding. Hunting down stray socks.

Before he even runs the dryer, he will need to clean out the lint trap and then check the vent. The past week the 217 ground crew had to help with not one, not two, but three houses that caught fire because of vents clogged up with lint. Tommy is feeling a little paranoid.

Grumbling, he rolls out of bed and pulls on the very last shirt and pants combo he has left: a faded green tee with holes in the side and a pair of purple shorts from his, let's say more... exhibitionist, days.

He's trying to work out whether Evan's teal sweater should be parked under delicates or darks when the owner of the sweater enters the bedroom, armed with a tray of breakfast. It smells so good that Tommy's stomach rumbles loudly in complaint, but Tommy doesn't move. No eating until the first load is in the machine.

"Hey, you're up," Evan says brightly. He sets the tray of food on the nightstand and joins Tommy on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out how to wash this sweater," Tommy says.

Evan takes it, looks at the label, and glances around. "Honey, what is your system?"

"Darks here, lights here. Then tops, bottoms, socks and underwear." Tommy points to each pile. Then he holds up the knit sweater. "I don't know if this will shrink in the wash or not."

Evan stares at him. Then he heaves a sigh. "Okay. How have you mastered flying a chopper but don't know how to sort dirty laundry? Go. Have breakfast. I'll do this round and then I'll teach you."

"What? No, there's no need-"

"Thomas Kinard. Go eat the breakfast I cooked for you. Drink your coffee made the way you like it." Evan hauls Tommy to his feet and pushes him in the direction of the bed, smacking his ass in his tiny purple shorts for good measure. "Don't even come near this part of the room until you've finished breakfast."

Bossy Evan is very sexy in Tommy's eyes, but his hunger for actual food outvotes his libido. As he scarfs down scrambled eggs and pancakes, Evan is re-sorting the pile, muttering under his breath that he should put up a chart of care tags here and at Eddie's, this is why home economics should be mandatory for grown adults living alone, etc.

Tommy is about halfway through when Evan carts the first load off to the laundry room. Eyeing the piles left behind warily, Tommy wonders what complicated system he's going to learn.

Evan comes back. "Finish your food," he orders. But he's smiling as he says it, so clearly Tommy's lack of competence in washing his dirty clothes has not turned him off yet.

"Thank you," Tommy says, "for the food and for that." He gestures to the piles on the floor.

Evan joins him on the bed, accepting a slice of tomato from the end of Tommy's fork. "A third of those clothes are mine anyway." He chews and swallows. "Anyway, you had some concept, so it's not like I had to do it from scratch." Then, as Tommy eats the rest of his breakfast, Evan talks about reading care labels, sorting by color and fabric, and how he learned to hand wash delicates after ruining some very expensive lingerie belonging to an ex-girlfriend.

Tommy can't look away from Evan's animated face and the way he can't keep his hands still as he speaks, and he thinks, I want to keep him forever.

"Move in with me," Tommy says.

Evan stops mid-spiel. "What?"

"Move in with me," Tommy repeats. "Not... Not because you can cook or do the laundry, that's not the reason why I'm saying it. It's just. I like this. I love this. The whole bit where I wake up and I don't have to remember if you're here or at the loft, and we can steal bites from each other's meals, and I can look after you the way you look after me. And you already have my key. We can meal prep together, and I can do the dirtier chores, I can scrub the toilets and unclog the vents - don't run the dryer until I do - and maintain your Jeep, and we can fall asleep together whenever we don't have overnights."

It's a lot of words for him to say at one go, and Tommy feels himself faltering near the end. Licking his lips, Tommy swallows dryly. He reaches for Evan's slack hand.

"I love you and I want to be with you as often as possible. If you prefer to keep the loft, then it's also okay, I'm not pressuring you to-"

Evan shuts him up with a firm kiss. Then he smiles into the kiss. "Yes. I'll move in with you. My lease is almost up anyway."

Tommy exhales. Then he nudges Evan's nose with his own. "Alright. Let me drink my coffee, and I'll go check on the vent, and then you can teach me how to sort our dirty clothes."

"Okay. I'm gonna go find out what you have in your kitchen so I won't bring duplicates."

[flowerfreya]

Weaponized Incompetence

“Do you know how to clean”

Part 1

Pairing : John Price x Reader

John and you are going through a rough patch , one that may not be solvable

John is going to win his wife back. How? He doesn’t know but it will be done. He loves you with all his heart and he hasn’t been showing it in the best way. He put you on the back burning , a constant always in his life that he didn’t nurture or pet. Never stimulated. Didn’t think he needed too. Thinking paying the bills, having money, and not cheating was enough to be a good husband. (It wasn’t).

Price has been cleaning all day, trying to make things right. He brought flowers for the house. Vacuumed every room , mopped the kitchen and bathroom and started laundry.

He thought he had a great day, so he decided to take leave for the next three weeks. He hasn’t told you yet but he thinks that you will be excited.

That’s not the case.

When you step into the house, Price is standing at the door waiting for your reaction, if you have any at all.

Looking around and then seeing his face and looking likes he’s waiting for something, “What’s going on ?” , you say with a little chuckle.

“I cleaned up” , he says, lifting his arms up and turning his body in a look around motion.

“Oh…what did you clean up?” , you ask, starting to walk around the house.

“I vacuumed, mopped and started the laundry”.

“Did you put down carpet freshener?”

“No”

“What did you use to mop?”.

“Just water”.

“Did you separate the clothes by light and dark?”.

“No”.

John looks up and sees you just exasperated and shaking your head.

“I honestly don’t know why I’m surprised”, you walk over to the washing machine and stop it, pulling out a light pink shirt that you know is for sure supposed to be white.

“John, you basically just pushed dirt around when you mop with just soap you know that right”, you start getting the mop bucket out with soap.

He thinks that’s found a solution , “maybe if you write me a l-”, he stops talking when you whip your neck and stare at him.

“Are you a child or an adult?”, you ask.

“An adult”, he answers.

“I’m not making you a list to clean, you're in the military, you should know how to clean…do you know how to clean?”, you turn off the water and turn your whole body towards him., “are you going to answer the question?”

John clears his throat,”yes, I know how to clean”, he doesn’t understand why you are so angry. He thinks that he did a lot for you today, shit almost everyday he does a lot for you and you being angry at him and not telling him why is starting to grate his nerves.

“What did I do to you”, he snaps, “because you are angry at me and I don’t understand why”

“I guess it’s because you act like a child and I’m tired of it”, you snap back.

“I heard what you said to your friend over the phone, do you actually feel like that?”, he ask, moving closer to you. He doesn’t want to argue with you. He wants to be better for you. He wants you to want him not because of convenience , but because you love him.

“Am I tired of cleaning of your shit, shit that I have AKSED you multiple times to clean up….?”, you answer him.

You start to cry, an angry frustrated cry , “I work too you know , I’m tired all the time, and when I get home from work and see nasty dip bottles on the floor I get frustrated.” , you start to mop , like you don’t want him to see you cry.

“I remember asking you to clean up the bottle, to not leave it just laying around, you said okay, do you remember that”, you look up at him with raised eyebrows. He nods his head because he does remember that, actually he remembers all the times you’ve asked to not leave the dip bottles everywhere.

“In my head, I told myself that this would be the last time I ask you to clean up after yourself, and the next week a fucking dip bottle sitting right along side the couch”, you let a self deprecating chuckle.

“I’m done”, you say with such finality. It scares him that he won’t be able to get you back.

[3liza]

the other thing about duvets is i dont like that theyre a big pillowcase. this is more trouble than its worth imo. i think duvet covers should actually be two separate pieces, or one long piece in a taco format, and you just spread it out on the bed or floor, spread out the duvet on top, and THEN fasten the top of the duvet cover closed with either buttons or a concealed zipper along the edge. zipper texture unpleasantness could easily be tucked inside a padded border so it doesnt scratch you at night.

duvet covers were introduced to the usa in the 1960s as a part of the "scandinavian" interior decor movement during midcentury modern (they were brought from Sweden, so not actually scnadinavian, but americans dont know the difference and we dont care [edit: i am being informed sweden is actually considered part of scandinavia, i had been previously misinformed]), apparently from the Habitat store in London. i thought Biba was involved for some reason but I may be confusing a bit of documentary i watched with something else. in the documentary, the older lady they were interviewing who used to work at the department store that she claimed popularized the duvwet (either Habitat or Biba) talked about how the sales girls were trained to "demonstrate" the "convenience" of the duvet vs the traditional British method of quilt+sheets, and she remarked she got so good at it she could put the duvet in the cover in about 30 seconds. however when she tried to demonstrate for the presenter she got completely flummoxed by the damned thing. it was at that point i knew duvets were a mistake

anyway im finding some interesting gadgets for securing duvets rn, the one that looks least ugly is a thing that looks like a fabric-covered button that snaps into another button using a tack that pierces the duvet and cover layers. the other solutions also seem fine but are all ugly plastic doohickeys that would bother me on an aesthetic basis. the tack would probably damage the fabric but if you're not using your nice linens i bet it doesn't matter much, especially if the duvet cover is a rustic textile of some kind

the wikipedia article about the duvet is very interesting. i especially liked the part about how previous attempts to introduce it to england were failures

one of the other home bedding issues in the usa is that home washers and dryers and apartment washers and dryers are generally not big enough to effectively wash a down duvet or a quilt thats larger than about a Full, depending on thickness. this bothers me. feather down is especially irritating in this respect because it will get mildewy instantly if it isnt bone dry immediately after laundering. mentioning Sweden yet again, a friend showed me her shared laundry facilities in her Swedish apartment once and they DID have large, industrial machines that could easily take a duvet. she said this was typical. america continues to be difficult to live in for no good reason. its like literalyl everything you do here is 160% harder and more expensive than any other "comparable" country

[carlsdarling]

HEAR ME OUT (up to you!!)

Part 4 to no mercy where they had the baby and they can actually resume to being rough and negan is just being an overprotective grandpa😭😭

No Mercy Part IV

Carl and Y/N have their son and are finally back to enjoying rough sex after a jealousy drama with Enid. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, slightly violent sex (consensual)

After your and Carl's son Jamie was born, you had moved out of Rick and Michonne's household and had been assigned your own house in Alexandria. By now Jamie was three months old and you and Carl still hadn't resumed your sex life; mostly you were too tired because of the baby, you were still breastfeeding, plus you were still showing your pregnancy and that affected you because you were unsure if Carl would still find your naked body attractive. There were veins on your legs that hadn't been there before, and your stomach was softer and less firm than before, and milk came out of your breasts at the slightest touch.

Carl was on guard duty and you were taking care of Jamie and tidying the house. You decided to do some laundry.

You froze as you emptied the laundry basket from the bathroom. There was something red dangling from the pocket of one of Carl's jeans. You pulled it out and frowned at it: it was a thong, and it wasn't yours. Jealousy seized you painfully, because you immediately had a hunch who the owner of the panties was: Enid. The thong had a golden butterfly embroidered on the top edge, and you had seen it often enough over the hem of Enid's jeans.

Enid had also made no secret of how angry she was that Carl had ended the relationship with her after you returned to Alexandria and revealed to Carl that you were pregnant by him. She didn't respect Carl's relationship with you and took every opportunity to try to sabotage you. She kept stalking Carl somewhere and trying to change his mind; to get him to leave you and get back together with her. There had already been several bitter arguments between you and Carl about this. Carl swore he was no longer interested in Enid, but Enid just wouldn't give up, and apparently she had succeeded. It hurt so much.

You stifled your tears and quickly stuffed the panties into your own pants pocket as you heard footsteps approaching the bathroom, then your father Negan appeared in the doorway. Ever since Jamie was born, Negan had been paying you regular visits - much to Rick's annoyance. But Negan was completely in love with his grandson. Even now, he carried Jamie in his arms. "Jamie can already turn himself around," he announced proudly, as if this was his achievement. "He'll be a leader one day. He'll be just like me."

You preferred not to comment on it - firstly, Negan wasn't going to change his mind anyway, and secondly, you had other things on your mind. Your father seemed to pick up on your bad mood, and he looked at you inquiringly, asking what was wrong.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," you mumbled and gathered up the dirty laundry to put it in the washing machine. On your way to the basement, you saw a silhouette on the porch, you pulled back the curtains on the front door and recognized Enid, so you dropped the laundry to yank the door open. "What do you want?" you asked rudely. You would have liked to scratch her eyes out, but it wasn't her who had betrayed you, it was Carl.

Enid tilted her head and smiled sweetly. "Is Carl here?"

"No," you replied dismissively. "He's on guard duty."

"Oh, it's just... He left this at my place recently." With an innocent face, Enid handed you one of Carl's boxers.

There were a few telltale stains on the light blue fabric. Your face turned red with anger and pain. Carl hadn't had these underwear for long, so he couldn't have forgotten them during his relationship with Enid. And then there were the red undies in his pocket! The evidence was clear. Enid was obviously hoping for a reaction from you, but you didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so you grabbed the boxers and slammed the door in Enid's face. Now you couldn't stop hot tears from running down your cheeks.

Negan heard you crying. "Tell me what's going on, Y/N," he demanded angrily. "What did that girl want?" Then he spotted the boxers in your hand and put one and one together. "Are these Carl's?" he asked sharply, reaching for them. You nodded. Negan's expression darkened menacingly as he eyed the stains on the fabric. "So Carl's cheating on you. That little bastard; I'm going to kill him," he threatened.

"No, do not get involved," you ordered brusquely. "Please take the baby carriage and go for a long walk with Jamie." Carl would be home soon and you wanted to talk to him alone - even if there wasn't really anything more to discuss.

When Carl entered the house a little later, sweaty, dirty and exhausted, you were waiting for him with teary eyes and arms folded across your chest. When he tried to hug you to say hello, you pushed him away. "What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled.

"You're the one asking?" you shouted at him and threw the red thong and his stained boxer shorts to his feet. "You're cheating on me! You are a liar and a cheater!"

Carl looked completely taken aback. "What?" he asked confused and bent down to grab the underwear. He held up the red slip. "I've never seen this before," he said, confused. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, Carl! You're cheating on me with Enid!" you accused him. "These are Enid's panties, and they were in the pocket of one of your jeans!"

"But that isn't possible," Carl claimed, ruffling his hair. "I swear I've never seen those panties before and I'm not cheating on you!"

"Oh yeah? And why did Enid just come by and bring your boxers that you left at her place after you fucked her? Those are yours, aren't they?" You pointed your finger accusingly at the boxers.

Carl picked it up and inspected it. "Yes, it is," he admitted. "But I don't know how Enid got hold of them, I..."

"Stop lying to me!" you shouted. "Enid had your underwear! And there are cum stains on them! The case is very clear!"

Carl turned red with embarrassment. "I can explain about the stains," he mumbled ashamedly. "It's... the thing is, we haven't had sex since Jamie was born, and... and I... I still have needs, and that's why..."

"That's why you fucked your ex," you said coldly. "Great, Carl."

"No!" protested Carl outraged. "Why won't you let me speak? I wanted to say that... well, I have no choice but to pleasure myself at the moment. I was on guard duty alone recently and... well... I thought of you, and then I... and I didn't have a tissue to clean myself afterwards, and that's where the stains in my underwear come from." With bright red cheeks, Carl looked down at his feet.

"Bullshit!" you snarled. "None of this explains how Enid got hold of your underwear."

"But I don't know that either," Carl tried to defend himself. "Any more than I can explain Enid's panties being in my pocket! All I know is that I tossed both the jeans and the boxers in our laundry basket! Last week already!"

"I don't believe you," you cried.

Carl held out his hands to you, looking desperate. "Please, Y/N, I love you, I would never cheat," he pleaded. "Enid's just jealous, she orchestrated this somehow."

The doorbell rang. "We'll continue talking in a minute," Carl promised and opened the door.

Michonne stood on the threshold. She looked suspiciously from one to the other. "What's going on here? Are you two fighting?" Carl sighed and gave a censored version of events. He left out the part about the stains in his underwear. Michonne frowned. "That's strange," she mused, "because a few days ago, on Monday, I saw Enid come out of your house. From the back door, to be precise. You weren't home, and when I asked her what she was doing in your house, she looked caught off guard and claimed she'd just wanted to return some comics to Carl."

"But I hadn't lent her any comics, and there weren't any comics there either," Carl said immediately. "Enid must have gone into our bathroom to steal my underwear and put her panties in my pocket," he stated angrily. "She wants to break Y/N and me up. That bitch!"

"I want to hear it from Enid herself," you insisted. But on the day in question, you had been home before Carl, and you hadn't actually noticed any comics anywhere.

"Let's go to her and confront her," Michonne suggested. "I can confirm that she was in your house."

The three of you went to Enid's house. Enid grinned gleefully at first when she saw your tear-stained face, but when she spotted Michonne, she suddenly looked panicked. Michonne spoke up. "So, Enid, spill the beans," Michonne said angrily. "What were you really doing at Y/N's and Carl's house a few days ago?"

"I...it was like I said...the comics..." stuttered Enid.

"That's a lie," Carl cut her off, upset. "I didn't lend you any comics."

"Yes, you did," Enid contradicted stubbornly. "You just don't remember."

" Oh really? What comics were they, and where did you put them?" Michonne questioned.

"I... I..." stammered Enid. "On the stairs," she then said.

"But I was home before Carl on Monday, and there were definitely no comics on the stairs," you replied.

"Then... then I put them somewhere else, I can't remember exactly..." Enid squirmed.

"Just admit that you wanted to cause trouble between Carl and Y/N," Michonne demanded angrily. "You could have given the comics back to Carl at any time without going to his house, that's a lie, Enid. I'll tell you what you actually did. You rummaged around in their laundry basket and put your panties in Carl's jeans pocket, and you stole one of his boxers. All to pretend that Carl was sleeping with you and cheating on Y/N. That is so vile, Enid. They have a kid together. Don't make it worse, admit it."

Enid blushed crimson and clenched her fists. "All right, yes, that's how it was!" she hissed, "But it's not fair! Carl should be with me, not her! He just ditched me when Y/N came back and announced she was pregnant! Even though she left Carl without a word!"

"That's not true," you said furiously. "I was sent back to my dad all of a sudden! I didn't even get to say goodbye to Carl! I didn't want to go, I didn't leave him voluntarily!"

Enid didn't respond. "And who knows if your brat is even Carl's? Probably not! You foisted it on him! I'm sure you've fucked several guys!"

Carl stepped forward, his teeth clenched. "That's enough now, Enid," he growled. "You apologize to Y/N right now!"

"'Forget it, I only had your best interests at heart, Carl. She's not good enough for you," Enid raged, slamming the door, but you didn't care if she apologized or not anyway - it had been proven that Carl hadn't been unfaithful to you, and you didn't care about anything else.

You and Carl returned home. Negan was still out with Jamie. As soon as you closed the door behind you and realized the two of you were alone, Carl grabbed you roughly by the wrist, kicked off his shoes and dragged you up the stairs to your shared bedroom, where he pushed you onto the bed and began to undress. "Carl!" you protested, "What..."

"Shut up," he said impatiently. "I want you now." He carelessly tossed his flannel and shirt aside and undid his belt, then unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down and off, along with his boxer shorts. His cock sprang free, hard as a rock and the tip glistening with precum, veins protruding. The sight and scent of it made you tingle with excitement.

You tried to get up from the bed, but Carl immediately pushed you back and pressed you into the pillows, hastily fumbling with your clothes. "Carl, I'm sure my dad will be right back with Jamie, and I really don't feel like it, it's too soon, I'm still breastfeeding, and..."

Carl leaned forward and bit lightly into your neck, then sucked hard and left a hickey. "I don't care," he murmured, his voice hoarse with excitement. "It's been months since I've been able to fuck you. I can't take it anymore. And I don't care if your body has changed. I miss you, Y/N." He tugged at your clothes, dropping them on the floor beside the bed and ripping your lacy panties in his hurry; he held your wrists together above your head with his left hand and spread your thighs with his right. Carl was so needy that he wasted no time with foreplay, he slid his glans over your clit and the opening of your pussy a few times, then pushed his hard shaft into you, moaning.

You let out a soft cry of pain as Carl's dick suddenly stretched your walls, you weren't used to his size anymore and you weren't ready at all, but at the same time, it felt so amazing. It was so intense to finally be intimate with Carl again.

Carl forced himself to wait a moment for you to relax, then he let go of your wrist and began to thrust hard and fast. "There you go," he gasped. "You're getting wet."

You promptly slapped him across the face. "How dare you just fuck me?" you hissed.

Carl grabbed your throat and gave it a quick squeeze that made you black out for a few seconds. "'Slap me again and I'll turn you on your stomach and take you from behind so you won't be able to walk for days," he whispered. "I'll fuck you whenever, however and whereever I want. Remember? Got it?"

Excited to the extreme, you caught your breath as Carl took his hand off your neck; it was true, you were reacting to him as you always had: With every second he was inside you, the wetness between your legs increased. You began to whimper and moan, digging your fingernails into Carl's back. "Oh my god, Carl. You're so good." You put a hand on his firm butt, feeling the motion of his muscles as he thrusted into you.

Carl propped himself up on his elbows and pulled out of you for a moment. He licked off the milk that had leaked from your breasts and sucked and nibbled a little on your nipples. His cock was dripping wet with the fluid from your pussy, even his pubic hair and the area up to his belly button were wet and slippery. "Look how horny you are for me, Y/N," Carl whispered, grinning naughtily.

"Put it back in," you moaned, writhing on the bed. "Please, Carl."

Carl did you the favor, penetrated you again and increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts. Your pussy was on fire, throbbing, you wrapped your legs around Carl's hips, only now realizing how much you had missed having sex with Carl. The room was filled with both of you moaning, sighing and the wet sounds your bodies were making.

"Cum with me," Carl gasped; pounding even faster, unable to hold back any longer. The orgasm swept over you like a hot tsunami, you screamed out, arched your back and buried your teeth into Carl's left shoulder as your muscles spasmed. Carl shot his load into you, collapsing on top of you, quivering with arousal and exertion. You both were totally breathless, Carl's heart beating hard right next to yours. His weight pressed you deep into the mattress, and you languidly stroked his back. You both enjoyed the afterglow, you kissed and looked deep into each other's eyes. "I love you," Carl whispered. "Only you, Y/N. Just you and me, no one else."

"I love you too, Carl." You feathered kisses on his neck and on the red teeth marks you'd left on his shoulder.

After a while, Carl lay down next to you and you snuggled together under the covers, exhausted, sweaty and happy. "Y/N? Are you home?" you suddenly heard Negan's voice. Before you could react, he appeared in the bedroom entrance and stared perplexed at the scene before him - you and Carl in bed in the middle of the day, the smell of sex in the air and your clothes scattered all over the floor. Negan cleared his throat sheepishly. "I'm... glad to see that things seem to have gotten sorted out between you," he mumbled, rubbing his chin, preferring to retreat to the living room.

Carl looked at you mischievously and you both burst out laughing.

--

Tags: @knochentrocken0808 @taylormarieee @xxcarlswifexx @tessasweet @richardsamboramylove55

(Sorry that this took so long. I was simply never completely content with the fic)

[jennaajoseph]

ㅤ ❛ Laundromat. ❜ ⸻ Jake Gyllenhaal x F!Reader.

── ﹙౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ MASTERLIST&INFO.﹚. ☆

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ SUMMARY. ⸻ Jake spots you doing your laundry.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ PAIRING. ⸻ young!jake gyllenhaal x fem!reader.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ CONTENTS. ⸻ uhhh washing machines??, Jake's cringe rizz attempts, light cursing, female reader.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ A/N. ⸻ I was watching shopgirl (2005) recently and the scene at the begining got me kinda inspired so yeah... (take the pics as the reference for his looks)

Also I've been thinking about a second part for this one cuz I have a small idea in mind.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ CREDITS. ⸻ photos - pinterest , divider - @/cafekitsune.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ﹙©jennaajoseph﹚

It was a chilly evening, and you took the opportunity to finally do your laundry since you didn't have any time to do that in the past few days.

You put your dirty clothes into the washing machine, and searched for some coins in your purse.

"Do you need change?" You heard a man's voice speaking from afar. You looked around the place, confused, until your eyes landed on the man that was sitting on the other side of the place.

"I asked if you need a change!" He said louder.

"Um, no! Thanks!" You yelled back awkwardly, and looked back into your purse.

"Okay!" He yelled back, and turned to look at the floor again.

You found a few coins, put them into the washing machine, and started it.

"You do your laundry here often?" A man's voice spoke again. You looked into his direction.

"My washing machine broke, it's my first time actually." You replied, not really sure if you should keep the conversation going.

"First times are always the worst, are they?" He replied smiling. You furrowed your eyebrows at his cringe response.

"I guess so." You whispered to yourself and sat back next to the washing machine you were using.

After a minute, you heard quiet steps approaching closer to you. "My name's Jake." he said, holding his hand out to greet you.

"y/n." You replied shortly shaking his hand.

"That's a pretty name." He smiled, leaning against the watching machine in front of you. "What a pretty lady like you is doing here all by herrself?"

"Laundry?" You looked at him confused.

"Good point." He whispered, looking around the place.

Your gaze dropped on the floor again as you two sat in silence for a bit, you — waiting for your laundry to be done, and to finally get away from him, and him — trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going.

"Where do you work?" He asked suddenly, and you looked up again.

"I work in a small shop with gloves and other accessories for women."

"Yeah, that's nice." He smiled. "You are very pretty by the way."

"Thanks."

Jake noticed that his washing machine finished the laundry and quickly went back to his "spot". You sighed tiredly, praying that your laundry will be finished soon. After a while, he comes back, scratching the back of his head. "Do you have, maybe, some change I can borrow?"

"What?" You looked up at him.

"Uh, my clothes are still damp, and I don't have any on me right now." He chuckled awkwardly patting his pockets.

You raised your eyebrow and looked into your purse. He literally asked if you needed change before. Jake looked at you patiently as you handed him the rest of your coins. "You're a life saver, thank you y/n." He said as he turned back to his dryer.

You pitched the bridge of your nose, suddenly hearing the familiar sound, meant that your laundry is done.

"Fucking finally." You whispered to yourself and put all the clothes in your laundry basket. When you were about to leave Jake quickly approached you.

"Hey, thanks for your help, here's the rest." He held his hand out to give you the rest of the coins, but you declined. "Keep them, it's okay."

"You sure?" He put his hands into his pockets.

"I'm sure."

He smiled at you. "Thanks again, you are very nice."

"It's really not a problem, it's just some money, really." You replied struggling to keep the basket in your hands.

"Do you need help, maybe?" He asked pointing at the basket.

"No it got it-" He cut you off by grabbing your basket quickly.

"It's okay, I got it." He smiled.

"But your laundry is still in the dryer I think?"

"Yeah, it can wait, where do you live?" He insisted.

You looked at him, confused. "Just right down the street."

"Okay, cool, let's go then." He started to walk towards the door, you were right behind him, trying to keep up with his steps.

You two were walking in silence, the town was pretty quiet today — which was weird since it's usually quite noisy.

"I don't like this town." He said suddenly.

"Why not?"

"There's lots of weird people and junkies here." He shrugged.

"You're acting like you don't look like one." You whispered to yourself quietly.

"I may look like one but I'm not. I'm a cool guy actually, don't worry." He chuckled, adjusting the basket in his hands.

You rolled your eyes at his response.

"Do you like this town?"

"It's okay."

"It's okay." He quietly repeated what you said to himself, looking at the basket.

The rest of the walk went in silence. You two finally approached your apartment, and you turned back to him. "Thanks for helping me."

He smiled widely. "It's okay, I had fun." He handed you the basket, and you just stood there for a while.

"Well, see you around I guess?"

"Oh, do you want to give me your number? So we could, you know, stay in touch maybe?" He chuckled awkwardly.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

You didn't want to give him your number, he was just a little too weird for you, but something in him also made you want him to keep talking to you. It was probably just a need for attention. "Do you have a pen and a paper?"

"No."

You chuckled in disbelief. "Are you going to remember it then?"

"No."

"Then what do you want me to do?" You replied slightly annoyed.

"Can I come in?" He leaned slightly towards you, his hands behind his back.

"What? No-"

"Oh c'mon, you clearly see that I like you, you are really bad at reading signs. I even left my laundry for you!" He threw his hands into the air.

You stood there, looking at him with a confused look. Well, that was a quick confession.

"I can fix your washing machine." He tried again.

"You can fix a washing machine?"

"No, but I'll try."

"Okay what exactly is your point? You keep gluing to me the whole time when I was trying to do laundry, and now you want to get into my house for no reason? I'm not looking for one night stand, if that's what you want." Your tone got louder as you finally decided to speak up what's on your mind.

"Okay, I know, I may be a little weird, but i promise I'm not here to fuck you." He tried to calm you down.

"No? Because that's what it looks like." You frowned. "I'm not falling for that." You began to open your apartment door.

"y/n let me just say something..."

"Just go get your laundry and go home" You spat at him, finally walking into your apartment. When you wanted to close it, his foot quickly blocked the door. His head peaked out of the small gap.

"y/n I know how it looks like, but it's not my intention I swear!" He started. "I'm just really bad at talking to women, and I find you very, very, very attractive, and I just wanted to ask you out for dinner. I'm sorry if I sounded like a weirdo earlier." His tone got more desperate when his response continued. You opened the door further, and he gave you a pleading look. "Please just one dinner, if you don't like it, I promise I will leave and never come near you again."

You sighed and your head dropped down. "Okay." You replied like you didn't have any other choice.

"Okay?" He replied in disbelief.

"Yeah, whatever, just tell me when, and what time."

"How about I pick you up tomorrow at 8? We can walk towards my favorite restaurant." He gave you a grin.

"Sounds good."

"Really? That's amazing! Thank you y/n!" He pulled you into a tight hug.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and returned a hug. Surprisingly, it felt nice. Spending so much time alone just made you melt into the smallest drops of affection someone gave you. His hand gently caressed your back and you hummed softly at his gesture.

"I can do that all the time if you want." He chuckled.

"It just feels nice." You whispered.

"I bet it does." He smiled. "Tomorrow at 8, yeah?" He pulled you out of the hug.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I'll pick you up at 8 then." He gave you a goofy smile. "Good night, y/n." He waved at you, and began to walk away.

"Don't forget your laundry!" You yelled to him.

"I won't!" Ye yelled back, quickly walking towards the laundromat place.

"Good night, Jake." You whispered to yourself before getting into your apartment.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover 1

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: can't stop, won't stop. Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

“Boris, I need that big breakfast,” you call through the window.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cook gristles back as he clinks a plate onto the metal, “you don't wait.”

“It's been twenty minutes,” you rebuff as you take the hot dish and veer around Monica at the counter.

You come around and carry it over to the only customer at a table. The officer came in looking underslept and worse for wear. A bruise is faded to yellow under his eyes and his stubble is just shorter than an actual beard.

“Here you are, honey,” you put on your customer service voice, “more coffee?”

“Yeah,” he puts his phone face down and unwraps the cutlery.

You go to the machine and grab a pot. You return and fill his cup as he jabs at the scrambled eggs.

“There ya go, honey, anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, stop calling me honey,” he snarls.

“Oh, sorry… sir.”

You back away and retreat back to the counter, offering more top ups as you burn with embarrassment. You suppose you can come on strong when you're looking for tips. Besides, you can't blame him for being grumpy. He seems to have a good reason for it.

You put on a fresh pot as you replace the urn on the burner. You dip behind the counter as Monica brings Vi her tea and egg whites. The old lady is one of the mainstays of the place.

“So,” Monica turns her back to the customers and lowers her voice, “how's Will?”

“I think he's liking college… must be having fun since I never hear from him,” you shrug, “only asks when he can come get his laundry done.”

“Typical, I'm not looking forward to Brandon being that age.”

“Yes, enjoy them while they're young and sweet,” you cluck.

“Waitress!” The cop booms from his table.

“Chipper guy,” Monica mutters under her breath as you turn on your heel.

You go back to the table. You notice the wrinkles in his uniform, the buttons aren't lined up properly either. He has his hand on his forehead. He leans over his plate as his shoulders tense and you see his boy racking.

Oh god, no! You've seen this before. Will would get like this when he brought home the flu.

“Oh no, just…”

You put your hand on his back and urge him over the plate as he pukes. You smell the alcohol then. You rub between his shoulder blades as he retches, not bringing up much more than the few bites he took.

“I'll get ya something,” you pull the towel from your apron and offer him that.

You try not to wrinkle your nose as you pick up his plate and carry it behind the counter. You dump it in the bin as Monica lets out a blech. You agree but you don't want to bring too much attention to the situation.

You go into the kitchen and wash your hands. You find a bucket and bring it out to the cop. He's bent over the table, head on his arms.

“Hon– sir,” you put the bucket on the table, “you want some water?”

He doesn't react. You go and get water for him, setting it by his elbow. He breathes heavily but doesn't move.

“You gonna be sick again?”

“No,” he grumbles, “I'm fine.”

You open your mouth but think better of it. You almost wonder if he's actually a cop. Maybe you should call the real ones.

You leave him and go to hide behind the counter. You have enough to worry about between tuition and your mortgage.

“Guy's a mess,” Monica whispers.

“Just a bit,” you agree.

“It's not even noon…”

“Shhhh, he's having a rough one,” you say, “he'll go eventually.”

“As long as he pays his bill,” she tuts.

“Yeah, let's hope,” you frown and peek over your shoulder. So much for a decent tip.

🍽

The cop leaves about an hour after he got there. You forget quickly with the lunch rush. You spend your last few hours running yourself ragged.

You exchange your apron for your coat and leave through the side door. As you come into the alley, you notice the cruiser parked beside the dumpsters. You sidle by, stopping as you see the figure strewn over the back seat.

It's the same cop that was in the diner. You're content to keep going but your shoe hits a shape that jingles. You look down, a set of keys that can be for nothing other than the car in front of you. Those doors only open from the outside… wow. You won't call the guy a disaster, you can't exactly say you're any better.

You bend and pick up the keys. You unlock the door and open it, the edge hitting the dumpster. You don't know what to do so you just grab the cops ankle and shake his leg.

“Sir,” you raise your voice.

He throws his arm off his head and props himself up on his elbow, “what?”

“Um, you dropped these,” you place the keys by his shoe. “Sorry.”

He grunts but doesn't respond. You back up, leaving the door open. He slowly slides to the edge of the seat and hands his legs out of the car, bracing the door as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

“Was sleepin’ good,” he growls.

“I… I was just checking on you… are you okay?”

“Does it matter?” He pulls himself up, snatching up the keys and slamming the back door. “Doing just fucking fine.”

“Alright, I wasn't…” you show your palms defensively, “have a good day officer.”

“Thanks, waitress,” he scoffs.

You bite down on his tone. It's not the first time you've been spoken to like that. In your line of work, it's all too common, and as you get more years under you, it's just how it is.

You turn and head towards the street. The engine rolls over behind you and as you near the end, you hear the tires crunching on pebbles. You barely manage to move out of the way as the officer steers into the street. You just stand back and watch him veer off. As bad as your day might be, his seems worse.

[missinghan]

falling asleep in a time machine ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : mafia au; fluffy angst; hurt/comfort; female reader insert

❖ word count : 6,9k.

❖ warning : swearing, implied major character death, mention of arson, depictions of vomiting, killing, blood, death, can be brutal (!!!), delusional happy ending. 

❖ summary : four times you try to go back in time and save chan; or alternatively, you keep dreaming about chan to see if there is a way to undo his death when in reality there isn’t — from the world of illicit & priceless.

❖ author’s note : just finished my first term of uni (like actually the first term ever) and I’m so dead inside so here’s a silly little something. I can’t use pts anymore so pls bear with the banner *cries and dusts off this old blog* also I try to explain here why Chan was so attached and pissed off when mc stole his mother’s ring even though it’s accidental.

first attempt —

There are three missions that have altered the course of your and Chan’s relationship.

The first mission goes back to when you were still going on heists and Ryujin had foolishly put a piece of Chan’s mother’s sentiments into your pocket. Neither you nor Chan have come to know or like each other much before it.

The second one is the mansion with a bomb planted in the basement and Chan got locked inside a conference room with a three-layered door, one of them made from the same metal as the fucking Titanic. The third mission involves a casino where the Germans and Italians came together to push Chan toward a dead-end they had cultivated for the Devil himself, to his ultimate demise. They are all too arrogant to admit that Chan will take over the entirety of the East Asian market before any of them can start rolling in their graves.

Three missions of importance and not long after that, you and Chan have agreed to never go on a mission without each other. An unwritten contract. An unspoken promise. Nothing that the mafia engages in is legal so everything runs on trust, on how much faith you are willing to give those who you keep close.

However, there is a fourth mission that the Underworld records will fail to keep because even only a minuscule part of the Bang family is informed about this—how their precious heir has been summoned to bring home the girl he loves.

“Would you do laundry and taxes with me?”

“That’s an odd way to propose to someone, Y/N. And please, you’re asking an obvious question.” Chan looks up at you from his book. His smile is gentle, soft at the corners with his dimples sinking in—it’s how you know that he means it—the way it usually is these days. The way it has been for the past year. It is almost obscure, you think, how you both would have wanted each other’s head on a stick a year ago before one of you managed to make the other person cry out of gratitude.

You lift the book away from his face, glimpsing at the cover. Because Chan is an absolute heathen, he has been reading No Longer Human and you’re being annoying about it because he hasn’t come out to train with you for two days already. “Are you telling me you’ll say ‘no’?”

“We’re already doing laundry and taxes together. We will just have matching rings and a signed piece of paper,” Chan gives you a pointed look; he always looks so serious whenever he wants to correct you as if your sarcasm is that dry. “So it naturally implies as a ‘yes’, idiot,” he nags, even though he doesn’t mean the last part.

“Oh how you wound me, love,” you bite back, even though you don’t mean it either. “Chan, come on. You’re locking yourself up in a prison.”

Chan lets out a long, heavy sigh as if he’s insulted that you have just called his room a prison—which you never verbally hinted at, he simply interpreted it that way. He reaches over to grab the book from your hand, seemingly giving up his reading time for you, and places it on his bedside. 

“What are you–” You watch as Chan walks over to one of his mahogany drawers. “-doing?”

“I need caffeine to talk to you.”

Despite your bristling, he stays true to his words and finds himself a mug, a tea bag, along with a boiler. By the time Chan finishes filling up the boiler with water and turns on the heating switch, your legs are dangling over the edge of his bed as you puff up like a cat, baffled and offended. 

“So,” Chan inquires, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “What’s up?”

“I find your current state distressing to look at,” you elaborate with glee, a glint coming into your eyes that Chan knows you’re up to no good. “Take a week off with me. We can go anywhere you want, it’ll be a short getaway, just the two of us.”

Chan’s back is turned toward you because he’s too busy searching for a spoon but you can boldly assume that he’s smiling. It’s hinted in his tone when he asks, “You mean a vacation?”

“Brilliant interpretation, Chan,” you smile wryly. “Of course, I meant a vacation!”

“No, you can go have fun by yourself. You have my permission,” he shakes his head. “I have things to attend to. Meetings, banquets, important business transactions. You know how boring the mafia lifestyle is.”

You still, voice low and suppressed in something Chan can’t seem to grasp at. “You’re going back to your family.” It’s barely a movement, a small enough action. Any passerby would think that you have only faltered a little but Chan has observed you for a good while now to notice you’re holding your shoulders back from trembling. 

“I am going back to my family,” he repeats calmly. “Only for a week, though. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Chan, I know they want to see me.”

Chan tries not to let anything show on his face. “And they may very well kill you because that is what they are. Godawful, egoistic, and incapable of compassion.”

“Let me go with you, I—” you begin, though you cut yourself off almost instantly. The room is suddenly steeped in silence, unwieldy at the absence of your words. Every noise seems amplified in the quiet: the boys’ chatters echoing dully from the living room, the ticking hands of the clock, and every breath you take to calm the anxiety in your rib cage.

I do not fear death, sickness, or anyone’s hatred. What I fear most is losing you, Chan. It’s all so beyond you because a year ago, you were a thief, taking things as you please and sending them away when they’re no longer of use for your benefit. Now there is someone who you will live for and his kiss you will kill for, his laugh you will die for.

“Chan, do you have any idea what I would turn into if you left me?” You have always worried loudly, from the volume of your attentiveness and the anxiety beneath your skin all lie in the tender manner of how you love Chan—the same goes for him, that you can be certain of.

“I will never leave you, Y/N. We will be okay,” he assures you, unbearably calm.

Chan is a liar. 

second attempt —

Chan is supposed to go back to the Bang family’s estate with Yuriko for the New Year. Yuriko is the housekeeper whom he has retired for about a year ever since you came into the picture. The boys, especially Jisung, have been forced into keeping their surroundings clean because, for some wicked reason, they think you are absolutely terrifying when you’re upset about their muddy shoes dirtying the floor after a mission. Yuriko always giggles at that, her Young Master surely knows how to pick a partner. 

“I’ve got word that your father wants you to back to the estate, Young Master,” Yuriko tells Chan when she finds you and Chan in the archive because you have insisted on reading about something you won’t say a word to him. Surely, Chan recognizes what you’re searching for but he doesn’t mention it. 

“He said he wanted to make sure you are ready to take over his position. And there is a dinner he wants your attendance for,” Yuriko continues, hands clasped behind her back. You didn’t even realize when she stepped in and approached Chan—for a mere housekeeper to be so swift and quiet with her movements, you have long guessed that she’s not just any old woman to be hired by the Bang family.

The way Chan stiffens in his seat is telling all on its own. You are suddenly struck with the recurring memory of how Minho used to babble about how much of an ass Chan’s family is when he has had one too many drinks. “You don’t know how bigshot mafia families treat their children, do you? They kept the world from knowing for a reason. I’m surprised Chan didn’t turn out to be a monster like them.”

“Forgive me, Yuriko, but you can tell the old man to suck it up,” Chan says softly but his voice is dark, tense, riddled with a sharpness you haven’t heard from him in a long time—you were threatened just the same way when you had stolen his mother’s ring. Now you realize Chan only ever speaks so heartlessly if something precious to him is hanging on the verge of being taken away. 

“Young Master,” Yuriko frowns for two reasons; firstly, Chan has never been able to decline his blood family of anything and secondly, there isn’t much that she can do to solve the problem at hand. She’s a mere servant for the Bang family; she doesn’t have much power to begin with and therefore, she can’t exactly tell them ‘no’. 

“No, you can’t make me,” Chan grits because he knows, he understands it all too well. Unsaid words of all the things money can buy hang in the air like bile. 

“Young Master Christopher, you must know what happens if you defy your father.” And there goes Yuriko’s final warning along with Chan dashing out of the archive, straight through the hallway and the front door of the mansion, completely vanishing in the white curtain of December snow.

Yuriko murmurs something under her breath, unintended for you to hear her. You continue staring forward, the file in your hands completely forgotten. “He can come home with me,” you say without actually thinking about it until she turns to stare at you, expressionless before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“I think Young Master would like that.”

With that, you set off to find Chan.

“No one will love you unconditionally like we do.” “You belong to us, so do as we say.” “Work to kill, kill or you’ll die. You were born to kill, it’s a gift that not everyone receives.” “The world will bow before you and sway the way you want it but you’ll have to-”

“I don’t want any of that,” Chan hisses but the voices keep coming back louder, harsher, with more bite than he has ever heard from them. “None of you ever gave me anything that matters! You just can’t admit that you made me a murderer!!” 

The snow around him sinks with each step he takes, their words still echoing in his mind and sending shivers down his spine, driven so deeply inside his skull that he wishes he could have nothing of this reality. “Be mindful of yourself. Control it.” “Your fangs and claws are too sharp for you to be swinging just at anyone,” he hears them again

His nose burns in the cold but Chan doesn’t notice something warm and wet trickle down his cheekbones. “You never cared about restraint. You said I must kill or I would die. You all just want to possess me, you want me not as an heir but as a commodity!!”

“It’s how we’ve been running this family. It’s how we keep things in order. You’re one of us, Christopher, you are this family.”

With a huff, Chan eventually gives in and listens because he has no other choice but to; he slides down against concrete with a white-out vision, a quivering figure with nothing on but his cardigan. “Then you’re just as godawful as any of them,” he tells himself, knees curling against his chest, almost justified in his own lie that he wants to burst out laughing.

Chan knows they have made him more of a weapon than a child, more of a monster than a man and he is stuck with it for good. He has been holding onto life just because he can, not so much that he wants to. Because he never truly wanted anything before or was wanted in any way.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking man-child!”

He hears someone’s nagging from afar and ignores it, hugging himself impossibly tighter because asking for comfort is unacceptable, they taught him so. “Chan!!” He hopes it goes away with all of the other voices. 

It doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer in a humane form, boots crunching against the snow and warm breaths sounding rhythmically. “It’s been an hour. Do you have any idea how worried we all were- how worried I was?! What the actual hell,” you snap. “Now I’m going to hear all this shit from Seungmin again because I let you run off and he’s too terrified of you to properly lecture you. God-”

Your rambles cut off when you kneel down next to him, rummaging for a scarf, a pair of gloves, yet another pair of gloves, his puffer jacket, and a hat from your bag. Chan quietly watches as he tries to blink away the oncoming tears but he can’t—they keep coming. He doesn’t reply when your scolding goes on because even though your voice is sharp, Chan can catch the worry hidden along the edges. Being cared for and cherished like this has made him realize how much he doesn’t want to come back to his family and he wants to cry like he’s the fourteen-year-old boy who used to refuse to pick up a gun all over again.

A child who was unable to stuff down the overwhelming agony and grief forced upon him. A child who was weaponized. A child who was threatened into killing his own mother. “If you can’t kill what you hold near and dear, you’ll never be able to kill anyone to save yourself.”

“Chan?” you call out to him, unbearably soft. There’s a certainty, a sort of gentleness in the way his name is said that only makes his tears come hotter, more and more of it because your love feels big, overwhelming.

Chan hates crying so he never did, not when they had locked him up in his room, not when they had starved him because of his disobedience, not when they had made him pull the trigger with the gun’s mouth pressing against his mother’s chest. Chan hates crying but it seems to be all he’s doing now. 

You’re wrapping him up so gently and trying to warm him up because you know he’s just as human as any mundane individual out there. Humans shiver when the temperature drops, they shed tears when they’re upset, and they bleed and bruise at the right amount of impact. That’s why humans are so clingy toward each other so they can prevent harm from coming the other person’s way. Because no one enjoys getting hurt and there is no good reason to voluntarily get hurt; it sounds like common sense but Chan never grew up with such things. He never came to think he was deserving of such things.

“Chan, come home with me. Forget your family. I don’t need to know about them,” you smile at him, somehow empathetic and so understanding when Chan has barely given you an explanation, when he is desperate to fill the silence but he knows his voice will be weak with tears, stumbling, and pitching all over the place.

Chan sniffles, finding the courage to say something back because he wants to, not because he feels like he has to, “Can I really…come-come home with you?”

“I’m sure the girls wouldn't mind, they might be a little annoying. Yeji, though, can be wary of strangers,” you shrug, something so relaxed about your posture tells him that you have learned to accept something without telling him. 

A breathy chuckle. “Especially when they’re a mafia leader.”

An exhale. Chan shudders when you embrace him wholly—every moment of pride and arrogance, betrayal and hurt that he has been boxing away—as the beautiful mess that he is. You’re the safest person on the face of Earth not because you are on equal terms with him in power but because you never care about those things. You will let him break something, burn something down, cry, and laugh however he pleases but you won’t ever let go of his hand. You never ask him for anything in return while continuing to save him over and over again.

He’s so unbelievably lucky, Chan thinks but doesn’t say it aloud, instead, he tells you, “If you’ll have me.”

The night after you drive Chan back to your mansion, the place goes up in flames. Only you are able to open your eyes to see the next daylight.

“Welcome home,” you want to whisper but can only watch a last smile bloom on the face of a ghost amidst the orange blaze.

third attempt —

You decide to come home with Chan.

For a non-mafia family, it might go like this.

Meeting Chan’s parents will be the hardest thing you have ever done—and that is coming from someone who has broken through the world’s most modern security systems and got your hands on objects worth billions of dollars. 

You will bow when you meet them, use the politest speech you have taught yourself last minute, and desperately try not to remember how Chan was forced to shoot his own mother as a child. They will pinch your cheek and call you lovely, chuckling at how stiff you are and offering you a ‘Come on in! Don’t mind the mess, it’s always how our house is.’

You will smile and you will play along because you want them to like you so badly it hurts. 

Chan will gawk at you without even trying to hide it because you have given him a completely different experience upon your first encounter. Casual, timid, and quick with your tongues when it comes to those witty retorts.

They will then ask you, ‘‘What are your hobbies? Any sports? Instruments?’’ Purely in the Asian parents’ style. 

You will be so nervous that you forget you play the violin and practice meditation occasionally. You will sit at their dinner table in their cozy, lived-in home, and rack your brain for a proper answer that might be deemed reasonable for a mundane girl. “It can be anything you do for fun, honey. No need to be nervous,” they will say again and you will give them a small grimace in return. 

It’s probably deeply fucked up when the first thing that comes to your mind is ‘I retired from heists a year ago because museums are fucking boring so I have moved on to finding new and creative ways to eliminate anything that might be the cause of Chan’s suffering.’

“…You play the violin beautifully,” Chan will suggest quietly beside you, his hand laced with yours beneath the table. “And you interrupt my reading time whenever you need attention.”

“I…I like to be with you,” you will finally find the courage to say with a firm squeeze of his hand, and the strength to smile when his eyes widen faintly, flustered yet not surprised. 

Still, it doesn’t matter whether Chan was born from a mafia family. You don’t hesitate to hold his hand beneath the table when Chan tenses up from the disappointed gaze of his father, lean over ever so slightly, and whisper, “I like to be with you.” He almost gasps but refrains. “Wherever we are. As long as you allow me to stay by your side.”

For once, Chan lets himself think that he won’t fuck up something before he even gets to have it in his arms. 

You did come home with Chan even if the dinner is anything but cozy and mundane. Their smiles are cold porcelain, a familiarity with death so staggering you feel nauseous. They are all here, though. Every single one of them. “I’ll be back,” you say and excuse yourself to use the restroom, he assumes.

Chan finds an uneasy slick in his throat, almost thick like blood when he sees a bright thing in your eyes. He lets you go anyway. Will things happen differently if he holds you back? 

Minutes after your withdrawal from the dinner table, an explosion goes off downstairs. The mansion quivers with a long string of rumble, a horrible feeling looming over everyone in the room like an ugly shadow. Though, no one bats an eye. Maintaining such a high position in the Underworld for so long is more than enough for the bounty on each of their heads to go up to millions of dollars. 

As much as Chan detests his blood family, he doesn’t want to die here, a horrendous place for his corpse to be found. So he stands as the rest of the room begins arming themselves, doing his best not to pay any heed to his father, and bolts downstairs. 

In situations like this, he is taught to close his heart and kill. Hence why there was barely any screaming when the commotion occurred, only the metallic sounds of bullets being clicked into their chamber. Truth be told, there is a weapon vault on the main floor of the mansion. Chan knows the most efficient shortcut there and can run through any hallways even without any lights on. He did grow up in this terrible place, and now he will make use of that to get you out of here before anything else. 

Chan arrives at the main floor and there is nothing but a giant hole and crumbled metal pieces in the weapon vault—or what used to be the weapon vault, blown up by a bomb it seems. Well, shit, he doesn’t even know how to register this. The entrance to his father’s most treasured place in the mansion has a three-layered door with an extremely lethal surveillance system, who and how the fuck-

He stops. He doesn’t so much as twitch. It gives him a moment of pure chill when the main floor has gone completely muted, both audibly and visually, like his life has just tipped off balance and leaned towards the bad part of a zombie movie. Upstairs, there is a cry for help and the sound of bullets continuously firing. 

“My fucking god,” Chan curses and turns on his heels, steeling himself mentally while rushing up the stairs. 

Upon arriving at the scene, it’s difficult to say whether turning up just five minutes earlier would have made much of a difference. Fuck, but if he had held you back, would things have taken a different turn?

There is a lot of blood. Too much blood to be explained away, and too much evidence to be traced back to no one else other than you. Well, to be fair, you’re the only person still standing and kicking aside from Chan anyway. The shotgun in your hand with a silencer attached speaks volumes, a knife between your teeth, and your left hand is fisted tightly. 

“…Y-Y/N,” Chan utters, in disbelief. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?” 

You release something in your left hand and several fifteen-bullet magazines drop to the ground, the sound scratching his spine in the wrong way. The knife also hits the ground, metal echoing loudly against hard marble. 

“You’re here, Chan,” you reply, like your hands and clothes aren’t painted red. Swiftly, you duck to fumble for something beneath the dining table. Chan’s gaze follows you suit, prompting uneasiness to crawl down his throat when he realizes everything is, quite literally, drenched in blood. When he manages to snap out of it, you are unwrapping something from a white blanket—Berry, his eight-year-old Spaniel. 

You don’t look one bit surprised to see him—you have been expecting him. You simply keep on tucking Berry neatly into the blanket, murmuring something along the lines of ‘it’s over now’ and ‘I’m sorry I scared you’. Berry offers you a small whimper in return, still startled and recovering from the loud ruckus. 

Chan inhales very slowly. Exhales. “What did you do?”

“I killed everyone here,” you say levelly, as if mass murder is no big deal. “You’re a little late. I thought your intuition would be keener than that.”

“This is no time for a fucking joke,” he snaps. Chan has snapped because he’s mad at himself. He has been living purely by his intuition for more than two decades already, without it he would have died a long time ago. Yet when it comes to you, he’s always the most irrational. 

Your lips twitch like you’re about to smile but realize he’s upset. “You’re right, sorry.” 

Chan moves further into the room, his shoes squelching with each blood-drenched step he takes. He takes the scene in once again and keeps calm because that is what he has trained himself to do ever since the first time he got kidnapped. When his gaze brushes over the corpse of his father, he tries not to think about anything just yet. What’s done is done but Chan can piece the scene together from the explosion downstairs—a bait that anyone will be eager to take and a good way to disarm your enemies—to the scattering of hole-filled bodies, their blood blooming against the marble floor like a grotesque bouquet.

The crux of it is you know all too well he will run to find you without question, lending you the space and time to kill whoever remains.

“Why?”

Your eyes sweep over the mass of bodies, dull and distant. “Does it really matter?” You don’t think it’s fair to say you did it because you love him; it will become a curse that haunts him for as long as he lives. Yes, you love Chan with your entire soul but you also simply want to act as you please, allowing yourself to have your selfish ways of declaring your love for him. 

His chest heaves without any stability. “I thought you said you’re used to taking many things but you don’t take lives!!”

You cut right in, all glass. “Will anyone be able to do anything about it? Can anyone possibly arrest me, Chan?” 

Chan shudders, a sour thing gnawing at the back of his throat. It’s a morbid feeling he knows will become recurring at night, on the bad days. Chan wants to be furious, it feels like a moral obligation to be. Then again, everything the world has learned about empathy is already torn up by his family, they smeared it beneath their feet like it’s common trash. In the end, all of his nightmares and source of fear amounts to this, a mass of corpses with no resolution. 

“Do you want to kill me, Chan? If so, do it. You’re your own person, you are free.” 

Your eyes have turned into ice, and suddenly you have become so intangible that Chan slowly grows afraid. He thinks of terrible things, Am I allowed to have you? What makes you want me so badly? Why am I different from any of them?

The sound of retching interrupts his train of thought. It takes him precisely half a second to stare at how you are folded over your knees, dry heaving at the marble floor with Berry fumbling for help right at your side. Chan rushes to you to keep your hair out of your face as you gasp for air, choking on stomach bile and body raking with shudders. Once his hand smooths over the fabric on your back, you eventually cough and hack out the last of whatever is left that your system rejects. 

You breathe as shallowly as you can. Quiet wheezes, hollow breaths that pull in and out of your lungs too quickly. Chan rubs small, gentle circles on your back and doesn’t expect it when you snap up to look at him with wide, pained eyes as though you didn’t just murder his entire family in cold blood minutes ago, like you didn’t just take out the Underworld’s most feared lineage of demons by yourself.

Chan decides not to say anything, lets you lean into him shakily, and tries to figure out what you’re attempting to do with your hands. Dry blood makes your skin itchy every time your fingers twitch but you don’t mind it. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he finally whispers with you sitting in the circle of his arms; you’re shaking like you’re sobbing even though you make no noise and cry no tears. Chan lets you squirm with a wild mania in your eyes, frantic and lost. He can’t quite pinpoint what you want until he gets it. 

You stop shaking the moment your head leans against the left side of his chest, right where his beating heart is. A pattern in his rib cage and a rhythm in your ears, relief so immense you feel like you can finally breathe. What you want is just to hear the sound of his heartbeat. It makes Chan feel a little exposed, somewhat scrutinized but he really doesn’t mind taking himself apart to hand his heart over to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your tone wet and warm with oncoming tears. 

Chan presses his lips into a thin line, feeling like a hypocrite when he keeps you caged in his arms. “What are you sorry for, silly?” From the bottom of his heart, it’s abominable, he thinks—that even amidst such gruesome bloodshed created by your own hands, Chan is relieved that you are not hurt.

“I’m sorry this isn’t real.”

fourth attempt —

Chan is coming home with you. The childhood home you used to grow up in with two extremely loving, a little too oblivious parents who never once questioned their daughter’s occupation in the big city. 

It takes time to adjust but Chan is sliding into your little family without noticing it himself. He manages to impress your mom with his cooking and discusses politics with your dad. You might be going delusional but you swear you saw him chuckling faintly at your parents’ terrible taste of reality TV. 

The house might only amount to one-tenth of his mansion but it smells like fresh laundry all around, tender and soft, smothered in the love of ordinary human beings. So everything just feels that much bigger, a love so warm and overwhelming it stains Chan’s eyes with unfamiliar myriads of emotions. It takes him a few days to finally laugh a little louder, not refraining his speech to specifically formal phrases, and allowing himself to nag you in front of your parents. He even makes a sound of disbelief when you keep telling them he’s only a friend from work.

“Oh my god, why are you so salty about it,” you chide and close your bedroom door. “If I had said you’re my boyfriend, they would have started interrogating you!” 

Chan sits on the duvet you have laid on the floor for him—your childhood bed is too small to share—and mumbles something morbid under his breath, “I am quite good at tolerating any methods of torture thank you very much.” However, he doesn’t miss the look your parents give you whenever you bid them goodnight with Chan hovering over you in a way that’s nowhere near platonic.

You snort, actually, no, it’s too bitter for you to even react. “The worst they will do is leave you out when we watch TV,” you grin to relieve the inevitably building tension, shit-eating and all.

“That’s cruel. You know I love reality TV,” Chan replies, completely monotone. He flings an arm over his eyes like he’s putting in effort to mimic a dying body trying to convey his love in a Shakespeare play. Wrestling with like ten other housewives to buy those eggs on sale for your mom was more of a workout than any gun fights he has engaged in.

“Sleep. Mom said we’re going outside tomorrow,” you huff, tossing him a teddy bear from your bed—the amount of stuffed animals you own is impressive, they easily take up half of your bed so Chan had to accept his fate with the duvet. 

“I thought we’re heading back?”

“We will after going out with her. She said she wanted something from the bakery.”

Chan hums in response, his gaze skimming over the interior of your room again. Light pink wallpapers, white bookshelves and wardrobe lining the corners, and soft hues of blue on your bed and curtains to top it all off. “Truly, you are the designer of a generation.”

“Toddlers usually don’t like black. And I was eight, Chan, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, the sound so hearty it makes him want to bottle it and keep it all to himself like a child hiding his favorite candy. 

“Hurts my eyes a little, but I like it,” he declares and unwinds for the day.

You never realize you don’t really walk around town every time you visit your parents. Maybe it’s because you didn’t have many friends growing up, meaning there’s no one to call up for a hangout, or maybe it’s because all of the memories you want to relive here are with your parents, in the warmth of their home. So you walk down the sleepy streets with laziness on your shoulders, somewhat at peace when Chan can’t seem to keep his eyes in one place, secretly comparing the imageries of bright, colorful Seoul with this hazy rural area.

“What is that place over there?” He asks when you stride past a sketchy-looking building when in reality, it’s a spa run by this really nice old lady upstairs.

“Did you go to school here?” He ponders when you glance at what looks like a middle school; no kids are running and shouting in the playground since it’s the New Year holiday. 

Your mom notices how much curiosity Chan has for an apparent mid-twenties young adult so she giggles, offering to point out something she thinks he might be interested in, “That’s a small park Y/N used to play at. She wouldn’t leave when I came to pick her up after work.”

You can’t decide if you should scowl at your mom or burst out laughing at her implication that Chan, the leader of a notorious mafia group, should go and sit on one of the swings while she heads inside the bakery. “Come on, Chan,” you quickly make your choice. 

Chan sighs, though the sound is fond because he sees a sort of excitement blooming loud and clear in your pretty eyes. You have observed Chan long enough to know when he has given in so you laugh, turning to your mom and saying, “We’ll be back in a minute.” The familiar promise melts Chan inside out but he doesn’t tell you that. 

You accidentally drop your phone while walking down the stone steps so you turn away for half a second. And when you look back, Chan is seated neatly on the swing which is definitely not fitting for his age—his long legs dragging against the soil as his arms are crossed in front of his chest. As serious as he tries to look, you find the whole imagery so ridiculously unserious. He senses your gaze burning holes on the back of his neck so he stands, reaches upward, and lifts himself to sit on the metal bar that the chains rain down from.

“Chan, what the fuck, that’s not how you use a swing,” you chide, nearly rolling on the ground and barking a laugh. “If I take a photo of you right now, how dead am I?”

Chan doesn’t even need to turn his head. “What do you think?”

He looks down when your footsteps squish against the snow and he tries to imagine how a little you would hang around this place for an entire afternoon, up to no good things while waiting for your mom. “Concise as always, boss,” you purse your lips at him, nostalgia a heavy weight on the curve of your shoulders as you peer over places you used to designate as your hiding spots. 

Chan catches something shifting on your face and he ponders; why would you voluntarily involve yourself in outlaw doings when you could have had a perfectly normal life? “When did you start stealing?” 

“Probably when my parents sent me away for university. I hated it. School was hard and the expenses were awful for their bank accounts but they wouldn’t tell me that,” you mutter and decide to join him, legs dangling over the edges, a confession dragged from your lips unwillingly. 

Chan scoots a little closer, a hand reaching over to your left side to keep you from falling. “And you figured you were pretty good at it?”

“Nothing to be proud of, obviously,” you shake your head and can’t help a small grin. “Okay, maybe just a little. I was making money from racing on the side as well.” 

It takes him a moment to register your words when surprise halts the words in his throat. No wonder you’re better at handling car chases than any of his teammates who have been involved in this business for years. You look over at him, seeing that he’s having trouble reacting so you pinch his nose teasingly, “I know, so sexy, ain’t it?” 

Chan rolls his eyes, neglects the warmth spreading on his cheeks, and simply sits with you. The swing creaks and groans beneath the weight of two adults, rust staining his hand when he lifts it to check. 

“It was enough money for me to graduate and I was fine with that. Mind you I was always the top of my class,” you scoff, thinking of long days when you used to get little to no sleep, of when you had mustered the best smiles for your parents through FaceTime, of how you had begun not caring for how much money the jewels you had stolen were worth. 

None of it matters anymore, you think as you lean into Chan, and he lets you. “I’ll guess this, you were homeschooled?”

Chan doesn’t answer immediately as realization tightens his ribs. You don’t talk about home or how you grew up, and Chan doesn’t talk about his parents. Perhaps you both are similar in that way so neither of you mind when the other person never initiated it. “I was. Everything I ever learned was taught in that forsaken mansion. Most of it, actually.”

“Everything?”

“You can’t run away from what you’re surrounded with,” he says, and there’s a chilling edge to it, an icy kind of shiver that makes your fingers more numb than the winter cold ever can. 

“Chan, you’re not them,” you declare out of the blue, eyes crinkling up in adoration. “You are free, okay? No matter how hard they try to ruin you, you can’t become them.”

When you look up again, his eyes have a glassy shine when he says, “I know that now.”

“Don’t cry,” you huff out a breath.

“I’m not crying,” Chan shakes his head slowly, voice suspiciously shaky. “I guess I just thought you had a lot to live for and I was…you know, it was arrogant of me to keep you by my side.”

You laugh, a sharp, crisp bark of a sound that cuts right through his doubts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If I wanted to run, I would have and no one could catch me, not now, not ever.”

“Well, I did,” Chan retorts, though there is no bite to it.

“Only because I let you,” you play along sedately. It’s the soft hum of your voice that makes breathing for him feel easier, and his shoulders feel lighter. When Chan exhales, it no longer tastes like the unfathomable, untouchable nightmares that he was so used to choke down, swallow, and not allow himself to throw them up as proof to show anyone else. 

Your mom returns perhaps in about an hour, a box tucked in her arms and groceries hanging from her elbow. “Time to go back,” she yells from the top of the stone steps. “We need to cook dinner, kids!”

You don’t dare budge. Chan notices it and nudges your shoulder gently, sensing your discontent. “You heard your mom, come on now.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you disagree. “Let’s stay here. I want to go to the beach with you when it gets warmer. And diving, kayaking, too!”

“You told me to leave my credit cards back home. You’ll have to feed me and pay all of my expenses,” Chan reminds you.

“Guess what, I left mine at home too,” you reply breezily. Maybe you both need to find new jobs. You don’t think Chan should worry about that because there’s nothing that he can’t do if he puts his mind to it, he’s just that great. Chan is the greatest thing there is, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You watch rosy lips part, brown eyes widening as his grip on your shoulder falters faintly. “I don’t deserve good things, Y/N. I can’t stay here with you,” Chan says like he means it. “Tell me to leave.” He really is stupid until the very end.

“If you’re worried about that, I’ll kindly decline my spot in heaven and go to hell with you,” you assure him, your voice chirping with mirth but even that doesn’t seem to elevate his gloom at all. A groan. “Fine then, as the most wonderful person alive, I now denounce us of all our wrongdoings. And I announce us to be the best of normal friends as normal people!”

His solemn expression crumbles and now he just looks straight up insulted. “It’s supposed to be ‘husband and wife’,” Chan nags while fighting off a grin of his own.

A light feeling burgeons in your chest. “I thought you didn’t care about that kind of thing? We’re already doing laundry and taxes together, right? It’s not like we have enough money to buy the rings either.”

“I suppose I’ll have no say in that,” Chan sighs in defeat, finally smiling brightly as he reminds himself of what he has, and what he wants to become for you. “But I like to be with you as well. If you’ll have me.”

You look back at him, wanting nothing more than to burn those words into the flesh of your heart. “I already have you right here, don’t I?”

Because Chan’s existence is etched deeply somewhere inside your soul. And you love him everyday for that.

❖ note (yet again) : hello there, if you have reached the end, thank you so much for reading! I wish 2024 will bring you and your loved ones nothing but happiness and great health! (no one asked but I really tried to simplify their speech of affection towards each other here compared to illicit & priceless because all they really want is to be normal people living a normal life)

[sea-of-dust]

Joker,Akechi,Futaba,Haru x GN!Reader

You made a doll out of them, time to make them think they're one with it

N: I need those idv skins bro every ask is 5 bucks/heavy j. This post shall multiply my luck by 10 fold no 100 fold!!! I WILL GET FUTABA I WILL GET HARU I WILL GET FUTABA I WILL GET HARU RAAAAA

"That doesn't look like me" you pick up the doll and widen it's arms "where my hug at?" Imatating his voice, he goes to wipe his eyes, hitting his glasses, yet still doing the gesture. "Son?"

He would smush his face, twiddle with its hair, all the gestures you'd do to him. "Is my face really this smushable?" He pinches the cheeks of the doll. "Yea" you pinch his actual cheeks

He'd actually treat it like his son. "Why are you doing his laundry?" The doll stares at you with a towels wrapped around its head and waist it's clothes swashing around in a small kids washing machine. "Where did you even get that?" "A friend sent me an address on where to find em" it's silent as you watch the washing machine whirr. "Sooo" "soon I'll teach how to do it himself" he goes to wipe his eyes, only to hit his glasses again and still going through with the gesture.

Don't make him new clothes...either of them. His first thoughts when you show him the dolls new outfit is ask where to find the human sized versions. "It's just clothes you already have" you put headphones around the dolls neck "I don't have those" you find them instantly showing them to him. ".." "you can match with him" he would send you pictures of him smiling wider than a cartoon character with a matching outfit to the doll

Morgana would accidently talk to the poor doll instead of him. "He's so werid right mini joker?" The doll stares into oblivion "I know right" he'd have deep conversations with that doll, you accidently made Morgana a ride or die partner

"How amusing" you show him the doll holding it up by its hands. "It's you" "it isn't it dosent have any physical resemblance to me" you look at the doll and look back at him. "I think this is your long lost good twin"

He'd stare at it if you weren't in the room. It's soulful little eyes it's little smile. "Akechi why are you in a roll of tape?" He turns thinking your speaking to him only to see you pull his imposter out of the tape.

He'd wouldn't interact with it much besides tying it to celling fans, eventually he did examine it. The attention to detail was top notch, the parting of his hair the details on his clothes. He caught himself smiling at these features. "I see you're growing fond of him" he almost throws it but instead hides it behind his back. "I don't know what you're talking about"

You can't be away from minikechi, the life sized one would bring pictures of you three. Either to use as proof as you mearly breathing near the doll, or because he misses you and the doll was just in frame. "I wasn't touching him" he smirks "really now?" "Yea really" he pulls out a picture of the doll falling on your face. "He fell on me that's gravity"

He's gonna open a seam at one point. Maybe a lot depending on the saw traps he gets put through. He takes this as an opportunity to try and learn how to sew. "Okay wear this" you place a thumb cap over his finger. "What's this?" "It's so you don't poke yourself" he'd take what he's learned from you fixing the doll and minor clothing repairs to "pay you back" by fixing torn things that could be fixed via stich. Would complain after and that's how you know he did it. "That took too long for just a few stitches" "don't use a whole wingspan worth of string next time"

"NOOOOOOO" her scream of anguish would have vibrated the house "I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT" "right about what?" "REN SAID YOU CAME INTO HIS ROOM AT MIDNIGHT TO STEAL MY HAIR AND PUT IT IN A DOLL" "I wasn't there for your hair" "oh" "I was there for answers he forgot to send them to me so I put whipped cream on his hand"

She loves it, convinced to make it a tiny ufo. She'd look up a little too many paper 3d sites to make one, finally finding one and barely able to put it together, she had to call the one person she knew!! "INARI!!" "I'm a painter, I'm afraid I may only be able to help with design and not overall structure" he still comes over to help tho

UFO SET UP, mini futaba put in! Yusuke praising it to God, and the mini futaba totally not being held up by string so she doesn't stress out the paper (suggested by you) "it's cute" your famous last few words before seeing a white spot on the ufo "oh you missed a spot-" "INARI NO"

She'd try to make her own doll of you. "3d printing y/n!!" She giggles to herself as she stitches carefully around the dolls head, she's continue to hype herself up, and then come to leblank like a zombie

The doll replaces her at video calls. Sojiro calling? "Dolltaba speaking!" "Can you tell Ren to get up" "Okey doki!" Sojiro had to get used to it, not like he could tell her to stop either she just went harder taping a printed paper with her face onto the doll so she could keep using it for Webcams.

"Really?" Her eyes widen when the doll looks at her. Touching its features. As long as she doesn't look down you can convince her the doll and her share consciousness

You'd catch her trying to tone her skills with it. "Haru?" "Yes?" "Why are you glaring at the doll like that?" "To practice my skills" she stares even harder at the mini haru. "You're gonna pop a vein" "all in a days work" without a secound of hesitation you speak up once again "are you trying to explode her with your mind?" Her eyes widen, her head nearly snapping to you and back at the doll staring even harder. "Alright that's enough no mind explosions" "but y/n!" "You don't have powers"

"Would you like tea?" The dolls 1000 yard stare answered for it l, you pouring it pretend tea. "Truely a spleaded tea party" "indeed" you both extend your pinkeys to a painful degree. You two would enjoy actual snacks while leaving nothing for a doll, this would sadden her. "We should buy doll food" "Haru her mouth is string how is she gonna eat?" "Are you familiar with the plastic food for kids toys?" Finally the doll could join in being an estimened guest

There's hair matienece..for both. At the same time. "You have more curls than a lala loopsey doll" you carefully comb its hair "I should stop using yarn" finish it up with a plastic hairclip that totally wasn't from a discount store and she'd nearly instantly ask for the same thing. She'd come to school with a diffrent sweater to match the hair pieces making Ryuji think she had been switched with ghost

The only person with a near perfect condition doll. Because she keeps mini haru in a case. "Haru I appreciate the fact you care to keep her clean, but she's being held hostage" "your right.." You sigh, thinking she's agreed with you. "I'll need to buy her a home!" Your eyes shoot open, too late now you're already assembling mini Haru her own home. Atleast she lives rent-free

[dullgecko]

All the bad kids taking turns teach Fabian basic life skills like how to do his own laundry, cook, wash dishes. Because they all realize that Fabian isn’t just spoiled he genuinely doesn’t know how to do things on his own and it’s frustrating for him.

It was really annoying at first. Fabian would leave a mess in his wake and seemingly not care that other people were having to pick up after him. Dirty dishes at sleepovers just left on side tables or on the floor, spills on counters left for someone else to clean up, garbage sitting around and not in the bin. If you tripped over a pile of clothing left in a heap on the floor there was a 90% chance it belonged to the half elf.

They didn't realise he didn't KNOW any better until junior year, when his bedroom filled will piles of dirty laundry and he was literally tossing garbage into an unused garage because he just... didn't know what to do with it. He was depressed, he was lonely, and no one had taught him how to look after himself at all and now he was suffering for it.

Riz was the first one to notice, clocking that Fabian had come to school in clothes that weren't freshly clean for a couple days in a row. He doubted anyone else would be able to tell but his sense of smell was certainly the strongest. He'd gone home with the half elf that night under the pretext of using his computer for something just to check, and when he saw the literal mountains of unwashed laundry it finally clicked.

He'd used his briefcase to get everything out of Fabians room, all of the dirty clothes shoved inside until they could actually see the floor again. The next part was the hardest though, finding the damn laundry. Fabian had NO idea where it was since he'd never actually needed to go there.

They found it eventually though, tucked around the back of the manor out of sight, and Riz had spent hours showing the half elf how to sort out his lights and darks, put detergent into the machine, hang some things to dry and put others in the dryers and finally how to fold and put everything away. Honestly the goblin was glad everything was set up for someone the size of a halfling because if he'd had to climb to do ANY of this he would have died of exhaustion before they were finished.

To his credit Fabian didn't complain once during the entire ordeal, very earnestly trying his best to do what Riz was showing him and commit it to memory. It took them three afternoons to get through everything (he'd literally been buying more clothes when he ran out of clean ones for MONTHS so there was a lot) and by the final day he was able to do it all by himself.

Teaching him everything else he should really know before living on his own though? Riz was going to need more peoples help.

[ssinboo]

We're no Good Alone

summary: Seungkwan finds himself in a month long slump and you're recruited by his manager to help him get back on his feet.

He finds your presence a lot more comforting than he'd be willing to admit.

or

You visit Seungkwan in Seoul and spent the weekend like you don't hate each other.

Part 2 of As it Was

pairing: Middle School Teacher! Reader x Entertainer!Seungkwan

word count: 5.9k (24~ min read)

warnings: mentions of drug use and scandals, unprotected sex, making out, DIlf Mingyu (He's a warning in itself), angst

A/N: sorry for the delay! this has actually been finished for over a month I'm just a perpetual procrastinator OTL I'll be tagging everyone that asked for a sequel on this work, so let me know if you'd like to be tagged on the 3rd installment!

You didn’t visit Seoul as often as your teenage self dreamed of. It was hard enough having free time and the hours-long trip wasn’t something easy to squeeze in your schedule.

But when Seungkwan’s manager called, you found the time.

He’d gotten into a cannabis related scandal a month or so ago and the public didn’t take it well. Soon, he was replaced as the host of ‘Bad Clue’ by none other than his declared arch-nemesis, Kim Mingyu. And his health has been on the decline since.

You didn’t blame him, it was a lot to process. But it had been months and his manager was worried sick.

The concierge recognised you and let you go upstairs without a hitch, you already knew his passcode – His dog’s birthday, so getting into the expensive penthouse wasn’t an issue.

Immediately hit with the strong scent of booze and stale food, you gag, complaining loud and clear so he will hear your disgust.

Kicking your shoes and putting aside the grocery bags, you march down the hall toward his bedroom. His house is completely engulfed in darkness.

“Goddammit, Seungkwan, did you fucking die in here?” You hiss at the musty smell of a room that hasn’t seen Sunlight in weeks.

He’s bundled up in the bed, unruly hair peeking out from under the duvet.

“Kwannie,” You call out to no avail. With a sigh, you walk toward the bed, pulling at the covers to reveal the apathetic man.

He’s got deep-set eye bags that cling to his pretty eyes and an uneven stubble along his jaw. It’s unsightly in a way that tears apart at your heartstrings, watching this unbreakable image of Seungkwan’s self esteem slip away.

“Come on,” Your voice is a lot softer now as you lean forward, running your hands over his messy hair. “It’s 6 in the afternoon, have you eaten anything?”

He doesn’t reply, even as you sit down, hands running along his arms. Seungkwan’s eyes are unfocused, glazed over, staring away from you.

With a sigh, you lean forward, kissing his forehead.

“You look like shit,” You whisper, running your fingers through his tangled locks “I’m making a light soup that’s easy on the stomach, why don’t you go wash up, mhm?”

No answer.

Making your way to the kitchen, you make sure to pick up scattered clothing from the floor and toss it in the same corner so you can do the laundry later. As expected, the fridge holds nothing but canned beer and convenience store snacks.

It wasn’t the first slump Seungkwan ever had. When he first came to Seoul, there was a similar scenario, but this one seems to be worse. Given how he looks and how long it’s lasted, you can only imagine how fucked his head is right now.

The scandal had not only resulted in unending hatred from the media but the loss of his spot as the host of Bad Clue, a show he had written and planned.

The scent of fresh homemade food seems to wake up his stomach, and though he has no energy to get up and eat in the kitchen, your threats are quite energising.

You busy yourself with cleaning while he slumps over the countertop, sipping at the piping hot broth. When you shove everything into the washing machine and let it run, wiping your softener-covered hands over your jeans as you come back to the kitchen, you’re suddenly threatened with thoughts of domesticity.

It’s a brief, fleeting and imaginary scenario of calm mornings – You’d wake up to sunlit kisses, make breakfast before work and enjoy each other’s company without the looming pain of ‘no strings attached’.

But it’s gone as soon as it comes and you shake your head, making work of opening windows and pulling curtains away to let sunlight in.

When he’s done with the food, he sits there, eyes burning holes on the back of your head.

Though you feel his intense, questioning stare, you choose to ignore any thoughts he might have.

“Was it tasty?” You ask, scrubbing at the dishes.

Seungkwan shrugs, remembering you can’t see him from the sink so he just hums.

That’s enough for you.

“Why are you here?”

Here we go.

You stop scrubbing the porcelain bowl, “Because Sunggyu is worried sick about you.”

“I’m fine. Leave.”

With a sigh, you resume your activities. “Why don’t you go wash up?” You ask.

Seungkwan doesn’t move. “You cooked, I ate. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’ll leave after you’ve showered and shaved.”

It gets him moving and stomping toward the bathroom.

Once you’re done with the dishes, you set them aside and make your way to the bathroom. You knock and he doesn’t protest, so you come in.

He’s run himself a bath, steam engulfing the room with the scent of overpriced bath bombs and shower gel.

You’re happy he’s got enough energy to bathe.

After going through his cabinet and picking up the items you needed, you sit on the edge of his large tub, shaking the shaving foam can.

Seungkwan doesn’t fight you, even as you smear the foam over his upper lip and chin, which says something about his current mental state.

You pull the cap off the disposable razor and turn to face him.

“Stay still I don’t wanna hurt you,” You whisper, holding his jaw taught.

You’re so careful, holding his face in your soft hands with such tenderness he hasn’t felt in decades. And your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, long lashes fluttering along your pretty eyes.

And Seungkwan finds himself torn between wanting to push you away and tell you to leave at once and to lean into your touch, to hold you closer and strip you bare – and he finds that it is intimacy he craves and that is the scariest thought of all.

As the razor glides along his chin, it makes a muffled scraping sound.

You’ve got your lips parted in concentration, in the same silly way he teased you in university when you made him hold up a compact mirror all so you could touch up your mascara.

“I need to do your moustache now,” You say, cleaning the razor off on the towel laid by your thigh before rinsing it off in the bath water.

Seungkwan doesn’t say anything, but obeys, pressing his lips together so his upper lip is tight enough to prevent injury. You’re doing it so carefully and yet, still manage to nick a tiny scratch on his skin.

He hisses and you immediately panic.

Picking up the towel you wipe off remaining foam to inspect the damage, there’s a bright red droplet of blood gushing down. You coo, muttering a soft sorry.

“God, I’m so sorry–”

Your fingers are caressing his cheeks, and your eyebrows are furrowed in worry, pretty lips pursued in a pout and he hates it. Hates that your touch makes any brief pain from the cut immediately disappear, hates that you look the prettiest you’ve ever looked despite your clear lack of makeup or any attempt at looking presentable.

“You can’t do anything right, can you?” He hisses, slapping your hand away.

You hit him back, muttering curses. “I should just shave off your fucking eyebrows.”

“You know I could pull it off.”

“Wanna see?” You smile, reaching for the razor and he immediately grabs your arm, stopping you from going any further because he knows you are just that crazy.

You finish off the last remaining bit and throw away the razor, moving onto shampoo. His expensive hair treatment smells like a fruity cocktail and you hum in envy.

Seungkwan closes his eyes, leaning into your fingers as you massage his scalp, worried about it well. Once it’s clean and conditioned, your job is done. While he soaks in the bath, you busy yourself with tidying up his vanity.

“What is this?” You ask, opening a bottle to smell its contents; it's a fresh scent, a little citrus-y. “Mhmm, smells good,”

“It’s a face toner…” He explains, not bothering to open his eyes, “It was a collaboration with a skincare brand.”

“Ooh, fancy,” You sing-song, putting it aside. “Where are your clean clothes? Do you even have any?”

“I don’t wear clothes at home.”

“You’re such a freak,” You laugh, tidying up the last bottle in its place on the dark marble counter. “I’m gonna throw the laundry in the washer, can you finish up by yourself?”

He hums.

So you leave the bathroom and gather the piles of forgotten items, squeezing everything into the washing machine without a care for his designer items; If he wants them to be carefully washed, he can wash them himself.

When you return to his room, he’s out of the bath and wearing a robe, it’s clearly fancy with its navy velvet and embroidered initials.

Seungkwan throws himself onto the bed without ceremony, finding some energy after the bath to finally plug his dead phone into the power.

“I’m gonna use your shower,” You announce, not waiting for his reply.

His phone blows up as soon as it turns on; hundreds of missed calls and messages from his manager, as expected. There are also messages from family; his sisters and mother still send in daily updates of their lives despite his lack of replies.

There are notifications from his social media accounts which he ignores. Nothing good will come from it.

Seokmin sent him a picture of his invitation for Sohee’s wedding, he looks at her name written in pretty cursive alongside her future husband’s for longer than he wished to admit.

There’s a bitter taste of defeat that lays heavy on his tongue,

Sohee was living proof of his weak, young self, whom he believed to be unlovable – getting his revenge on her meant avenging young Seungkwan with the awkward bangs and the rosy chubby cheeks.

The little boy from Jeju who would take mean-spirited comments without a fuss, who did everything to fit in, he’s the one that needs to be protected, right?

So why does he feel so fucking vulnerable, right now?

When you leave the shower, he hasn’t moved an inch; laying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through his timeline. You sigh, closing the bathroom door with a thud to call for attention.

You sit on the bed, laying down his expensive skincare bottles, the loud ‘pop’ from the lotion bottle finally gets his attention.

“What are you doing?”

“Skincare,” You say as a matter of factly.

He watches you smear the lotion over your bare face, happily humming at the citrus-y scent. With every swipe you make a comment on how good it is.

And then, you put some more on your hand and reach for his face, dotting the lotion along his cheeks and nose.

“Don’t put your disgusting hands on my face,” He groans, but makes no effort to push you away.

“I just showered, they’re clean!”

You straddle his waist, depositing the product all over to make sure of even coverage. Once you’re satisfied with your placement, you start rubbing it in.

His skin, usually silky smooth and without a blemish in sight, feels so rough you barely recognise it. You’re careful not to poke him with your nails– God knows he would never let you live it down; How dare you harm his beautiful face.

Seungkwan lets go of his phone, unconsciously reaching to settle his hands on your body – anywhere, they just feel so cold and empty away from you.

“Need to schedule a facial,” You whisper, running your fingers along his defined cheekbones, studying every one of his gorgeous features you’ve engraved into your brain.

He hums, fingers rubbing circles along your thighs. “Still look better than you.”

You laugh, surprised by the unexpected jab. It’s good to see him making jokes again. Done with his lotion, you lean forward, chest flush with his and faces only inches apart.

“In your dreams, Kwannie,”

And he wants to kiss you so bad.

Wants to wrap his arms around you tight so you’ll be there by the time he wakes up.

But you’re busy squishing his cheeks together so his lips will pucker up.

He shoves you into the mattress, robe slipping off partially. You’re wearing an oversized t-shirt found by his closet door, it smells strongly of his cologne and you’re sure the scent will stick to your skin by the time you wake up. And part of you, a foolish part of your stupid brain wants to never wash off the traces of him.

Seungkwan is pulling at the shirt, finding you’ve foregone underwear – not with any agenda in mind, you just didn’t want to wear your used panties to bed.

“Kwan– Wait,” You smile, swiping at his torso.

But it feels different.

This sort of rushedness is usually welcomed with excited butterflies in your stomach but he doesn’t meet your eyes, he doesn’t bite at his lips, doesn’t squeeze your waist with a teasing smirk.

He barely acknowledges you.

“Seungkwan, wait–” You pull away, shrinking into the headboard and he finally stops.

He looks… Angry?

That’s not quite it, but you can’t wrap your finger around it.

“We– We don’t have to do this…” You say, studying his expression.

“Do what? Fuck?”

You almost jump at the word. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to–”

“That’s all we always do isn’t it?” His eyes finally meet yours and you feel hideous– It’s as if he’s looking at an inconvenient stranger. You’ve known him half of your life, you’ve laughed and cried together and this is it? You’re some quick fuck in an uneventful night. “We meet, we fuck and then we leave. Let’s get this over with so you can fucking leave already.”

“We can talk when you little temper tantrum is over. I’ll be in the guest bedroom,” You stomp away, closing the door with a ‘Bang’ loud enough to maybe set his wits straight.

It’s a sleepless night for you, tossing and turning around the expensive bedding. Sometime around 2 am, you hear nervous shuffling by the door. It's a good ten minutes or so before he finally opens the door to peek inside.

“Just come in,” You say, his agitation getting to you.

Seungkwan jumps at the sound of your voice, not expecting you to be awake.

“You’re up?”

You hum, kicking off blankets to sit up. “C’mere.”

He approaches the bed, sitting by the end, far away from where you are but you tap the empty side with enough force to make him immediately scurry to lay by your side.

“Thanks,” He whispers, voice hoarse with sleepless anxiety.

Humming in response, you adjust yourself on your pillow, bringing his head onto your chest so you can run your fingers through his damp hair. “For what?”

“For not giving up on me,” Seungkwan snuggles against your ribcage, beating heart already lulling him to sleep.

You smile, digits tangling in his hair.

“I don’t know what I’ll do now…” He whispers, “The press had a field day with me.”

“We’ll fix it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, we just will…” You shrug, “…It always works out in the end.”

Seungkwan scoffs, although your words are soothing.

“I didn’t know that girl would share those pics,” He sighs.

It wasn’t uncommon for celebrities to meet up and make use of certain substances, but there was an unwritten rule of no pictures or media – for obvious reasons. A model had posted a video on her Instagram Story and Seungkwan was amongst other celebrities recognised almost instantly.

He was immediately put on a hiatus by his company and substituted by Kim Mingyu for future episodes of Bad Clue.

“Honestly… What the fuck was that bitch thinking?!” You exclaim, angrier than expected.

“Rookies these days have no social media etiquette,” He says.

You giggle, “Oh, back in your day, they did? You sound so old.”

Seungkwan laughs at your comment

“I mean it,” he elaborates, “when I started out, Instagram wasn’t that important… Nowadays, agencies check your followers.”

“Sounds exhausting,” You hum and he agrees.

“I have more followers than Mingyu, though.”

And you let out a sincere laugh, chest shaking with giggles under his head. Seungkwan can’t help the sweet smile that finds his lips.

Before you, is TV sensation Kim Mingyu in the flesh, you still wondered how the hell did you pull this off. There were so many phone calls, you were certain somewhere in the middle the person would just hang up.

But alas, it all worked out and now you’re face to face with the man.

“I have something to offer you… I’ve heard you’ve been trying to get your babies into a good kindergarten… I could help you.”

Mingyu had twins – Not that the media knew about it. A young, handsome guy like him needed to play into fans’ fantasies a little. So, the agency hid his family life, against his wishes.

Mingyu is suddenly very interested, “What do you need from me?

“Get Seungkwan back on Bad clue.” He isn’t surprised at all by your request, but remains quiet. “If… If you were both MCs, you could play into the whole rival thing… You could do a pilot test… I know for certain if you talk to the company, they will allow it. If you can get back on air, I’ll get your girls into that school.” You’re this close to pleading, Mingyu was your only chance of fixing this situation.

“I would do that regardless… I do feel pretty bad for him,” He sighs, “not to say that the help wouldn’t come in handy– I am going crazy trying to get that spot.”

You smile, “It is a rather competitive school.”

“I know!” Mingyu whines, “They’re just babies, why is it so hard?! And I’ve got twins, it’s twice as hard!” You laugh at his complaint.

“Have you tried taking turns with them? They are identical, no one will know.”

“That’s what I said!” Mingyu exclaims, completely serious, “My wife almost did my head in.”

You laugh at the thought.

“I’ll talk to the company today.”

It’s as if a weight has been lifted from your chest.

“Thank you, Mingyu, really–”

“Don’t mention it… I was worried about taking his spot,” He explains, “Your idea is pretty good, I’ll relay it to the higher-ups… They might wait a little to scope out the public opinion, but I don’t think they will oppose… Seungkwan is just that good.”

With a smile, you clap your hands together, “Oh, that’s great to hear, thank you so much,” Mingyu waves off your gratitude. “I have a colleague that works on the school board… Just make sure your girls can pass the admission test and she can get them in.”

“Ah, you have no idea how helpful that is!” He exclaims, clearly burdened with worry about his babies’ futures.

And now, it was a waiting game. Hopefully, Mingyu’s charms would melt the director and Seungkwan should be returning to Bad Clue.

The conversation with Mingyu was a mood lifter, enough to make you buy ingredients for a rather special dinner. A good steak that was on sale, plenty of side dishes, and wine – Not anything special, you were working with a teacher’s salary, after all.

But it was enough to have the apartment smelling of herbs and spices as Seungkwan emerged from the front door. – He had finally gathered courage to talk to his manager about the future.

You’re happily humming, wearing the same shirt you wore to bed with your damp hair haphazardly pinned up with a pencil. His kitchen is currently upside down, with pans and pots strewn everywhere and ingredients awaiting to be cooked.

And it’s a new feeling; coming home to someone cooking you a warm meal, ready to welcome you home.

It was a pleasant surprise, almost enough to make him forget about the news that had overtaken the agency that day. A paparazzo had spotted Mingyu talking to you of all people in a lovely lunch setting.

The internet, unaware of Mingyu’s marital status, (Despite his lack of efforts to hide it), theorised you must be his girlfriend. This wasn’t about you and him, Seungkwan reminded himself. This was about morals.

After all, you were friends, were you not?

Friends didn’t go on lunch dates with their friend’s married rival.

There’s a song coming from your phone and you’re singing along terribly. And Seungkwan may or may not have used the opportunity to give you the jumpscare of your life.

The moment his hands pushed on your back, you jumped with a loud screech, accidentally nicking your finger with the knife. – Maybe that wasn’t the best idea Seungkwan ever had.

He is immediately remorseful, however, holding your bleeding finger and inspecting the damage. It didn’t help that you had pepper juices all over your hands and the cut stung like a bitch.

“I– Fucking hate you,” You hiss as he brings your finger under the tap.

“I know,” He says softly, reaching for a dishcloth to wrap your hand.

“Do you have anything in your first aid kit?” You ask, predicting his answer.

Seungkwan shakes his head.

His mother had made him a first aid kit when he first moved into this penthouse and he had used up all ointments, pomades and bandaids she’d carefully packed into that tiny white box.

You sigh, “My bag is on the sofa.” He brings you your bag and you urge him to rummage through your things to find plasters and antiseptic spray. He finally finds a small white pouch with the red cross embroidered.

Properly cleaned and disinfected, you picked out a Hello Kitty bandaid for your brand new wound.

“Why do you only have character band-aids?”

“I’m a teacher, dumbass. I’m constantly playing nurse to those suicidal babies. ” And Hello Kitty does scientifically, help heal all wounds, don’t fact check it.

“It’s weird,” He shrugs.

“What?” You put away everything, throwing the plaster packaging into the trash bin.

“You’re, like… A grown woman…”

“Wow, did you just find that out?”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean… It’s like… Just yesterday we were in school… And now you’re the teacher.”

“I know what you mean… Sometimes the school does feel pretty nostalgic.”

Seungkwan nods. “What are you making?”

“Ah!” You’re suddenly reminded of your forgotten dinner plans. “Steak and stir-fried vegetables.” “Mhm,” He hums, “That sounds amazing, I’m starving.”

“Can you cut up the vegetables for me?”

He gets to work, only slightly butchering the potatoes. You busy yourself on the stove where your band-aid is safe and away from direct contact with the food.

Slowly, you pry off the news from today. His manager was very worried but relieved to hear from him, they spoke about damage control and made plans for appearances and community work to appease the netizens.

You could only hope Mingyu would get through the directors and everything would return to normal.

Foregoing sitting down for a formal dinner, you had your plates by the counter, standing in the middle of the kitchen and chowing down on your masterpiece.

Midbite, you remember the wine sitting on top of the fridge and pop it open. Seungkwan makes a show of complaining over your cheap wine, but drinks it regardless.

“This is nice,” You say, genuinely.

Seungkwan stares at his plate. “Wasn’t your lunch with Mingyu nicer?”

You almost choke on your food. “What?!”

“You were talking to him…” Seungkwan crosses his arms, triceps flexing under the dim kitchen light.

“Mhm, yes, we met at that restaurant downtown,” You say as a matter of fact.

“Why?”

His voice is about an octave lower than usual, sending goosebumps up your spine. That was a tone you were used to hearing… in bed, and not in the middle of his kitchen.

“I had some things to discuss,” You explain, carefully watching his expression.

“And you needed to meet in such a romantic place?”

Oh, god, he was jealous.

“Kwannie–” Finally putting your half-finished plate down, you give him your full attention. “He’s married.”

“What about it?”

“He’s a married man with a beautiful wife and two beautiful kids.”

“That never stopped anyone. Men are trash.”

You can only laugh in disbelief.

“I’m not interested in Kim Mingyu,” You reach for his hands, grabbing his plate and putting it aside, “And I can assure you he is not interested in me either.”

Seungkwan humphs quietly.

“You’re cute,” Chewing on your lower lip, you study how taut his defined jaw is.

“What?!”

“I said you’re so fucking adorable I could eat you up,” You whisper against his lips and Seungkwan feels the blood drain from his body and rush toward his groin.

His hands hold your neck in place, free hand pulling out the pencil that held your hair off so his fingers could tangle into your locks. “Watch your tongue.”

You bite your lips, nodding at his words.

There’s a look in your eyes that he’s extremely familiar with, the dark glaze of lust that covers your beautiful gaze. You’re leaning against his body, rubbing your thighs together and he can’t help but love the situation you’re in.

Seungkwan brings your mouth to his and you mewl, fully melting into his touch. He walks forward until your back hits the counter and he’s pushing you onto cold marble, hands finding your bare thighs.

“Don’t meet him again,” He nips at your shoulder, trails of saliva dressing your skin in a lustful sheen.

You don’t respond, too busy arching your chest into his lips. Thoughts fogged up under his undivided attention.

“Answer me.”

“I won’t…”

Seungkwan settles between your legs like he belongs there, grabbing handfuls of skin with boundless desperation, consuming your body whole.

The sharp tracing of your fingers along his nape makes Seungkwan groan by your ears. Though it’s still not enough to pry off his attention from that sensitive spot just below your jaw which always seemed to be covered in purple spots after your rendezvous.

His hands–, his gorgeous, beautiful hands, tug at the shirt you wear, bunching up the fabric around your hips so he can finally tug your underwear off. Much to his surprise and delight, you’ve once again gone commando.

“Fuck,” Seungkwan bites his lips at the realisation you were completely naked under that oversized shirt all along. Nothing between your delicious pussy all along. “You’re driving me crazy, y’know that?” He whispers against your sensitive lips.

Slender fingers scissor you open; You gasp, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and just about anything you can reach. You’re dripping against his palm, filling the kitchen with nothing but lewd squelching sounds.

“Need you–” You hiss, contorting against cold marble, fingers tangling along his hair.

Seungkwan stills his movement, lifting his head from your cleavage to meet your eyes.

“Beg.”

The dark look that has taken over his usually sparkling eyes sends a shiver down your spine. There’s a sadistic undertone that drips from his hoarse voice you have yet to meet; And it excites you more than you’d expect.

You clench around his unmoving fingers.

Seungkwan smirks.

Before he can tease you any further, you give in.

“Please–” You plead, leaning forward until your lips are mere inches apart, “Please, I need you, Kwan– Need your big cock– Need you to fuck me ‘til I can’t walk.”

You watch him visibly gulp at your words, the volume poking at your leg getting more evident by the second.

And there’s a mischievous smile that finds your lips while he scrambles to undo his belt.

Because he wasn’t the only one with a sadistic little streak.

Though it’s all forgotten once he sinks fully into your entrance, groaning against your shoulder, grazing teeth hiding his silent grunts, of whispering how well you fit around him.

He smiles proudly against your skin, diving into your warmth to suck and nibble on the body he owns– just for the night, he reminds himself. Once morning comes you will leave and seek company of another.

A gentleman who will buy you flowers and never argue against your wishes because he will do anything to please you. A man who will never hesitate to hold you in public because he isn’t afraid to show the world you’re his.

A man who deserves you.

But for tonight, he will lie in your intoxicating smiles and pray sweet nothings until you forget every single one of his flaws– Forget he is unworthy of your attention.

With every thrust, you let out a breathy moan, but it’s not enough.

He wants his name to pour out of your lips, saccharine sweet and sultry; a siren’s beckoning. A call so tempting he can only dig further into your skin, bury himself into your heat, make a home in your veins.

“Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You–” You gulp, “You– You!”

“Say my name,”

“Seungkwan!”

He smiles, kissing your swollen lips and fastens his hips, pistoning into you. “That’s right, baby, you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You nod, glassy eyes looking up to meet his with such unadulterated adoration. There’s nothing in your mind in this striking moment other than the way he pries you open, rubbing against your gummy walls, hitting your favourite spot every single time.

There are tears welling along your lash line, holding nothing but pleasure. You’re fucking crying because of how good he fucks you.

“Kwannie– I’m close,” You hiccup.

And Seungkwan kisses away your tears, crashing your lips into his, letting you fully melt into his kisses, drinking your every moan and whine as if he could consume you, little by little.

He lets your body relax into his arms, lets you scratch his skin open while you’re hiccuping into his lips, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

You come, stilling in his arms with a high-pitched, strained cry of his name; He kisses every syllable off your lips with a satisfied smirk.

He keeps thrusting into your hips, riding out your body-shattering orgasm while finding his own; so, so close. Especially with the way you’re clenching around him, a ring of your slick collecting on the base of his cock.

“Are you–?” You have half a mind to ask, still coming down from your high.

“Yeah–” He replies, “Fuck– You feel so fuckin’ good.”

Nodding, you don’t suppress the muffled whines that escape your throat when he speeds up.

Yet, he still finds in him to hold a hand on the top of your head, preventing you from hitting the cupboard with such strenuous movement.

But you don’t notice. Running your lips against his neck, feeling your pleasure border on overstimulation, tears threatening to fall.

Seungkwan finally comes, hand tight on your hip, pressing onto your flesh as he slows down his pace, riding out his orgasm, coming undone into you with thick hot spurts.

You nearly collapse on top of him, and he chuckles, grabbing your arms to wrap around his shoulders for a more secure hold.

“Fuck…” He breathes out, a content smile on his swollen lips. “You were amazing,”

Seungkwan kisses your hair, a soothing hand running up and down across your back. You can only hum back, fingers lazily playing with the tag on his collar.

“Stay.” He speaks. “One more night.”

“Kwan– I can’t, I already bought the–”

“I’ll pay for everything. I’ll get you new ones, better ones. Stay, please.”

And you can’t bring yourself to ever say no.

The morning comes in lazy yawns and sleepy stretches. You’re tightly snuggled against his bare chest, tangled limbs strewn across his adored silk bedding.

Seungkwan leans to his side, bringing you closer to his chest. You let out a sleepy whine that tells him to quit moving and let you sleep.

He chuckles.

“Are we gonna stay in bed all day?”

His voice is hoarse with sleep and so irritatingly domestic and loving, you hate how it makes your stomach tingle with annoying butterflies.

“Maybe.”

With no protests toward your reply, he lays back and closes his eyes, fully intent on getting more sleep. But you’re fully awake and the awkward wetness between your legs doesn’t stem just from the remnants of last night’s activities.

You groan out, accepting just how fucking turned on Boo Seungkwan made you with a single phrase.

Kicking the duvet off, you slot yourself on top of his bare legs.

Seungkwan stares back at you with his stupidly adorable wide eyes. “What are you doin–”

That is, until you start moving back and forth, gliding your slick along his soft cock.

He lets out a strained moan, contorting under you.

It’s not long before he’s hard, and you guide him in.

His eyes are still drowsy and half-lidded, his pretty lips are parted in a permanent ‘o’ – and you can see the reddened skin you’ve bit. You’re fucking yourself on his cock, tits bouncing up and down with how vigorous you’ve started moving.

And the view is straight out a wet dream.

“Slow down–” He groans out.

“Can’t– Feels too good–” You whine out, leaning forward to capture his lips.

“I’m gonna cum too fast.” Seungkwan whines with an adorable pout and you smile against his lips.

“I don’t care– Give me your cum. Fill me up–”

Hips matching your own, Seungkwan makes true on his previous warning, coming undone in a strained moan. His fingers dig into your hips, enough to leave marks but still, careful enough to prevent injury.

Yet you keep your pace, milking his cock dry with a hand splayed across his bare chest as you chase your own high.

His eyes, half-lidded and laced with post-orgasmic haze, can’t believe the fantastic view he gets this early. Your slightly sleep-swollen face, furrowed brows, parted lips – which are marked with his kisses.

Once you come, you crash into his comfort. You dive into the warmth his body provides, letting it envelope your own and lull you into a sense of security.

His arms immediately wrap around your heaving body, nuzzling against your hair.

And he hates how much he loves this. The domesticity of waking up next to each other, lazy morning fucks and languid makeouts followed by sleepy brunches and doing nothing all day.

Fucking hell.

You’re awakened a couple hours later by the muffled sounds of Seungkwan readying himself for a day out.

“Where you goin’?” You groan out, still struggling to keep your eyes open.

Seungkwan looks at you with such a warm smile, walking toward the bed with excited steps.

“They called me this morning… I think this might be good,” He giggles excitedly and leans forward to kiss your cheek, “I’m leaving now, there’s leftover bagels on the counter.”

“Mhm– Bye. I love you.”

Seungkwan freezes.

Your words crashing onto his body like ice shards, shattering upon impact and creating ripples of cold goosebumps that travel down his spine.

Your stomach drops.

The realisation washes away any remaining sleep from your tired body. You lie still, eyes glued to his face; waiting, begging, for a reaction, anything.

A beat passes.

Then another.

And there’s nothing.

So you jump out of bed, scrambling for your scattered clothes and bag, heart pounding against your chest with a suffocating throb that crushes your lungs with every passing second.

He calls out your name, finally awaking from his trance.

You don’t reply.

You will not acknowledge these feelings.