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sleep-drunk-kitten · 6 months ago

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pairing: Sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, fluff, established relationship

content warnings: emotional neglect, some swearing, hoon is kinda a workaholic ig?, I don't think there's anything that really needs warnings other than this is sad but lmk if I miss anything!

summary: your boyfriend comes home late after promising to be home on time for once, only to find that you're nowhere in sight...

notes: this is another one that I'm not sure how to feel about ;-; but I hope you guys enjoy it TwT fun fact, the whole thing was inspired by an rp that I did with an ai where the robot somehow managed to call me by another person's name while cuddling XD

I'm making a general taglist for my fics so if anyone would like to be added please either send an ask or a DM ^w^

Everything below the cut is NOT proofread

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The white noise of your favorite movie buzzes through your living room, conversation and dialogue that you’d learned by heart filling the cold space with a false sense of familiarity. You sit cross-legged with your back pressed into the arm of the L-shaped couch in front of the tv, resting your chin on a plushie held close to your chest, looking not at the flickering screen to your right, but at the clock hanging in your kitchen–the only room in the house with the lights on.

9:17 pm, it reads. Roughly three hours and seventeen minutes since your boyfriend would typically get home from work.

Three hours and seventeen minutes since you’d been waiting on a barstool by the kitchen island where you both usually took your meals.

A tiramisu cake and a bouquet of flowers laid out in front of you.

Waiting.

So much waiting.

After an hour or so, you’d gently slid the cake back into its box, distracting yourself with the task of putting the flowers into a vase before they could wilt.

‘He’s late again,’ you think sleepily, eyes struggling to stay focused on the clock, ’he promised he wouldn’t be tonight.’

Your vision blurs as the long hand hits 12, eyelids too heavy to keep open, mind wandering to the conversation you’d shared with Sunghoon that morning.

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“What time will you be home from work today?” you asked sleepily, sitting up in your nest of blankets, having woken up to find that he was already in the process of pulling his socks on, careful not to wake you.

“I don’t know, Love, you know how crazy things have been with this update, I might be late again,” he said absently, looking around for his glasses. “Where the fuck did I put them?”

He runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, leg bouncing in agitation. It made your heart ache slightly in your chest, disappointment, guilt, and worry mixing confusedly in your stomach.

You loved Sunghoon, more than almost anything else in your life, he was the man you’d chosen as your partner, who you’d decided to stand by through thick and thin. But ever since the game company he worked for had started work on a new update, you’d been seeing less and less of him. Always coming home late, tired and stressed, mind wandering and absent even when he was sitting right in front of you. You understood, you really did. Between the two of you he was the one with the bigger income, the burden of taking care of you, of making sure that the two of you could build a future together, was on his shoulders. And it was a responsibility that he did not take lightly.

But still.

In moments like that, where you slid off your bed to fetch his glasses off the nightstand–blanket wrapped securely round your shoulders to fend off the cold that permeated your apartment since the heating had started to malfunction–moving round the bed to stand in front of him… you couldn’t help but feel like he was breaking your heart. Just a little.

It was in the way he only met your eyes briefly when he took them from you before standing and gathering the rest of his things, sighing in what could’ve been frustration or relief, it was hard to tell.

It was the way he didn’t stop the flow of movement steadily taking him away from you and towards the office till you called his name twice, stopping in his tracks and fixing you with a look that, though probably unintentional, made you want to bury yourself under your mountain of plushies and hide.

“I’m going to be late, (y/n), what is it?”

You winced. You couldn’t help it. Unaccustomed to hearing him say your name with so little emotion. “Just… could you come back on time tonight?” your voice is barely more than a whisper, tapering off into silence the longer you force your eyes to meet his. “Unless you can’t of course! I’m not saying you have to do anything, I understand that you’re busy and you can’t really dictate when or how things get done but just that it would be nice if you could be home on time tonight since-”

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll make it home on time tonight.”

His voice was softer than it had been a moment ago, giving you the courage you needed to meet his eyes. They were still heavy with worry, brows drawn together to dig a permanent crease into the middle of his forehead, but they weren’t quite as cold or distant. He was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time in what felt like forever.

It wasn’t much, you knew that. But it was still enough to ease the knot building in your throat. Enough to bring a small smile to your face as you nodded. “Mnm! Okay, I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Mnm, alright,” he said, a small, slightly strained smile coming to rest on his own lips.

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The apartment was almost completely dark when the lock to the front door chimed, alerting the darkness that someone had arrived. The figure that stepped through was slumped over, backpack sliding off one shoulder with his jacket, shoes abandoned haphazardly.

It took a moment for Sunghoon’s mind to catch up to his body, for it to fully sink into his bones that he was home. That he was home and it was nearly 11 pm. Home and the tv and kitchen light were both on, white letters onscreen asking the room if anyone was still watching Netflix.

Something in the kitchen caught his eye, a handmade vase his sister had given you for your birthday set out on the kitchen island, filled to the brim with pink, white, and purple flowers he did not recognise.

’Oh’

It was his birthday.

That’s why you’d asked him to come home on time.

Sunghoon groaned, face twisting with what could only be described as pain as he quickly set his bag down by the front door and made his way to your shared bedroom. You were usually asleep by this time, unable to pull all-nighters the way you used to back when you were in high school, always out like a light by no later than 10:30 every night.

’But she still stays up every night waiting for you,’ a voice in his head hisses.

’I know… fuck I know she does,’ his own voice replies, panic setting in when he finds your room empty, the bed neatly made, not even a dent to show that you’d been laying in it while working on your laptop during the day.

’She’s not here… are you surprised? How long did you expect her to wait?’ the voice whispers, a chill cascading down his spine.

The panic sets in with more vigor, wrapping round his throat and sending his tired mind into overdrive as he checks the bathroom, your home office, and finally the dark living room. Fear telling him that this was it.

He’d really gone and done it now.

He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew the moment you stood in the middle of your bedroom floor instead of closing the distance between you and wrapping your arms around his waist, choosing instead to clutch your favorite duvet like a lifeline, wincing when you heard his voice, all because you wanted to ask him to come home… he knew right then that he’d been an absolute idiot.

He’d meant to come home early, to be there to make it up to you, to apologise properly, tell you that he’d take some time off as soon as the update was done and dusted.

But he didn’t. He let work sweep him up again. Drowning in error messages and buggy code till the sky outside his office windows was filled with the flickering lights of the city at night.

And now… now you weren’t there.

He’d left you alone.

He’d left you alone too long and you were gone.

You were gone.

You were gone and-

’Oh.’

There you were.

The relief when Sunghoon sees you–curled up on the couch, partially hidden by a small pile of blankets and stuffed animals–is immediate.

He doesn’t really register the way he sighs your name, shoulders relaxing, body melting into the floor the moment he’s in front of you, hand brushing a few messy strands of hair out of your face. The need to feel the warmth of your skin, to confirm that you really are there in front of him more an instinct than a conscious decision.

You mumble something in your sleep, tilting your face away from his cold fingertips, eyes fluttering open. “Hoon… hi baby… welcome home,” you say tiredly, shifting under your blankets in an attempt to pull yourself up.

Sunghoon feels his heart crack in his chest. Why were you smiling at him? You should've been angry. You should've pushed him away, demanded to know why he was back so late, why he'd been neglecting you in the first place.

“Baby? My love… why are you crying?” you ask, reaching for him through the haze of sleep still clinging to your limbs.

Choking back a sob, he leans closer, tucking his head under your chin and doing his best to wrap an arm around you from his place on the carpeted floor. “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, though the tears soaking into your sternum say otherwise, “just missed you…”

Your vision blurs at his words, a thread of steadily building tension and worry that had been constricting your heart for the past few weeks snapping. “Oh…” your voice shakes slightly, lungs shuddering as your breaths begin to feel lighter, “I’m right here you goose, what’re you crying for?”

“Who says I’m crying,” he says, hoarse with tears.

“Right right,” you laugh despite the dampness now soaking through your own cheeks, “because my baby never cries, huh?”

“Never,” he sniffles, nuzzling closer.

You stay like that for a while, eventually urging him to sit more comfortably on the couch, allowing you to settle yourself on his lap, his arms still wrapped firmly round your waist, hands occasionally kneading whatever part of you he was in contact with as if he needed to assure himself that you were there, solid and real.

He waits until he feels your heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, trying his best to calm down so his own can match yours, beat for beat. The way it–in his opinion–should.

But it wouldn’t, there were words lodged in his throat, and every time he tried to get them out he felt that same panic wash over him, sending his heart into a frenzy.

You could feel like beating against your cheek, could sense that there was something he wasn’t saying from the way his grip on you would tighten almost imperceptibly, stiffening as if he was bracing himself for something. A part of you wanted to push him, prompt him and ask what was going through his head, why you’d woken up to the sight of him crying in the dim light of your living room. And you would’ve if he hadn’t beat you to it.

“I’m sorry, (y/n).”

“What do you mean? For being late? I know you can’t help it, Hoon, it’s not some-”

“No! I mean yes, I’m sorry for being late tonight but… I mean… I mean for everything… for not being… here, with you, like this… as often as I should be, I’m sorry,” he says, the hands at your sides nervously fidgeting with the fabric at your hips, nervously looking between your face and the static tv screen behind you.

Sunghoon had never been good with words. You’d learned early on in your relationship that he preferred to show how he felt through his actions. Yet here he was, fumbling through an apology because… because…

“My love… did you think I’d left?” you ask, gently cupping his face with one hand, urging him to look at you.

Puffy red eyes still wet with tears, messy unkempt hair from running his hands through it all day, tired and probably as emotionally spent as you’d ever seen him and still… still he was the most beautiful person in the world to you. He nodded, hiding his face in your chest again, hands stilling.

“Well,” you sigh, resting your chin on top of his head and running a hand through the hair at the back of his head, combing through it in a way he swears only you can, “at least you know you’ve got things you need to make up for…”

“I know… I forgot for a while… but I know…”

“That’s okay then,” you breathe, leaning back to kiss his forehead. “But Sunghoon… baby… darling… the love of my life… my little pookie bear… “ you both giggle a little at the pet names, “You know I’d never leave you over something like this right? I was sad, and hurt, and I still expect you to make it up to me by never doing this again but… I still love you, it only hurts because I love you… I’m not going anywhere.”

Sunghoon pauses for a moment, letting your words sink in. You think that when he looks up, lips slightly parted, it’s to say something in response, but you really should’ve known better.

Slowly, giving you enough time to pull away should you choose to, his breath mingling with yours before he steals it away with a soft, lingering kiss. Neither of you is in any rush to take things further.

It feels like a small eternity before he pulls away, like time stills for you both, but then he’s pressing his lips to your jaw, butterfly kisses tickling you down to your pulse point, making you giggle so you almost miss it when he says, “I love you too… so much…”

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It isn’t until the next day when you’re shuffling into your home office dressed in one of his oversized jerseys, complaining about a meeting that he remembers the flowers he’d seen on the kitchen island.

Pulling out his phone, he makes good use of his detective skills (and google lens), remembering all the times you’d spoken to him about the language of flowers, and the meanings behind certain blooms.

He wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or cry once he’d figured it out, opting to dig through the cabinets for a pack of waffle mix to fix you some breakfast instead. He had a lot of apologies to make…

Baby’s Breath: pure everlasting love

Pink Camellias: longing for you

Forget-me-nots: true love memories, do not forget me

#kiki writes things ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡#sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x you #fluff #enhypen fluff #angst #enhypen angst #cw: swearing #cw: neglect

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dark-fics-4-you · 11 months ago

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Heyyy saw ur request were open what about dark!rafe catches you talking shit about him to your friends over text???

How a Girlfriend is Supposed to Act

Warnings: noncon, forced sex, domestic violence, choking, slapping, oral (m!recieving), toxic relationship, gaslighting

Despite being with Rafe for almost a year, you had learned all of the quirks that he had when it came to his possessiveness very early on.

The first time you caught him reading your texts, you were surprised by just how nonchalant he was about the entire situation.

He was sitting on your bed after you returned from grabbing the two of you a snack, scrolling through your phone, not even bothering to look up at you until you asked him what he was doing.

“You’re my girlfriend, Y/N.” He said it slowly, like he was reminding you of something you yourself couldn’t possibly forgot. The accusing fire in his gaze made you squirm. “Of course I have the right to look through your phone.”

At first you were too surprised to react. You had never really had a reason to look through Rafe’s phone, but you imagined he wouldn’t be too happy if you did.

“Why the fuck do you look so nervous, huh?” He was starting to sound annoyed, and his eyes were flicking between meeting yours and scanning your phone. “Got something you’re trying to hide from me?”

“What? No, Rafe! I just didn’t expect to find you going through my phone, that’s all.” You explained breathlessly. You didn’t know why he was accusing you of trying to keep secrets from him.

Unfortunately, the last thing that you should have done in that moment was try to snatch your phone away from Rafe.

His hand shot out, tightly gripping your wrist as he dug his fingers into the bone beneath your skin. You cried out in pain and watched as your phone fell onto the bed, before bouncing to the floor.

Your boyfriend was furious now, easily pulling you onto the bed by your wrist and onto your back at a painful angle before straddling you. You struggled beneath him, trying hopelessly to stop him from putting his hands on you

When Rafe slapped you across the face the first time, your ears rang and you swore that your vision went white for a moment.

Every sound became muffled but you could hear Rafe angrily chastising you from above, “dumb bitch. I mean, I pay for your fucking phone, so yeah, you’re not gonna talk back to me when I go through it.”

That was months ago, and you later learned that that wasn’t even the first time that Rafe had gone through your phone.

You weren’t cheating on Rafe, that much was 100% true. The problem was that Rafe’s definition of cheating included behaviors that you knew were not cheating.

Texting your classmate a question about homework turned into a two hour long fight that culminated in Rafe giving you a black eye.

After Rafe saw you had and Topper had sent each other a couple funny posts in instagram dm’s, he choked you so hard you passed out, leaving you to cover up the extensive bruising on your neck around your friends and family to avoid explaining what had happened.

Ever since then you had learned to be careful about who you texted, and if you ever texted anyone Rafe wouldn’t approve or said something that he wouldn’t like, you made sure to delete the conversations.

You were always so diligent in covering your tracks.

Except for the one time you really needed to.

After another argument with Rafe had become physical, once you finally got some space away from him you had texted a friend, vaguely venting your frustrations with him, without revealing too many details to make her suspicious that Rafe was hurting you.

As you shakily typed out the texts you couldn’t help but think back on the fight you had had. After catching a guy staring at you in the club, the moment you returned home, Rafe had been quick to grab you by the throat, pushing you up against the wall before hurling insults at you.

“I mean you dress like such a fucking slut, no wonder I have to chase these guys off. I bet you wanted his attention, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at you with disgust.

You were so shocked by his outburst you had barely registered the fingers crushed your throat, and you finally gasped for air against his strong hand. “N-no, Rafe!”

His grip tightened as he regarded your fearful eyes, “nah, you always think you can fool me sweetheart but you never can.” His chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in his eyes, “I saw you looking at him when we first walked in.”

You shook your head against him, tears gathering in your eyes as you begged with him, “I wasn’t baby-”

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N.” He spat at you, squeezing so hard you were sure you would have deep purple bruises on your neck tomorrow.

“I never should have let you outta the house wearing that dress. You were looking for trouble walking around like that.” Rafe growled, his eyes were ice cold. You knew that he was itching for a fight, and you didn’t want to give him what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you struggled to force the words out with such little breath and Rafe finally gave you a respite when he loosened his grip on your throat. “You okayed it before we went out, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I knew every guy at that bar would be trying to fuck you with their eyes, but I didn’t think you’d be doing the same to them!” The more he spoke, the more pissed off he seemed to be making himself. You knew that he was just convincing himself that his actions were justified.

When he tossed you to the floor, you yelped in pain when your shoulder hit the hard wood. You barely had time to reach for your tender neck before Rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him.

“I mean, do you even love me anymore, Y/N?” His voice sounded hurt, and even though this wasn’t the first time he had used this card on you in the middle of putting his hands on you, you couldn’t deny the tug on your heartstrings you had when you looked into your boyfriend’s eyes.

“Of course I do, Rafe!” You insisted, knowing that your enthusiasm was expected and there would be consequences if you didn’t play along.

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and after being with him for so long, you were aware of the ways to deescalate a tense situation. In moments like these you would have said anything to protect yourself.

“Nah, you don’t mean that. You haven’t been yourself lately baby. Always too busy with work to spend time with me and now you’re talking back to me?” He shook his head, tsk-ing as he glared at you disgustedly. “Not to mention, you haven’t been fulfilling all of your duties as my girlfriend.”

You stared at him, puzzled and not understanding his meaning, “what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” He repeated back to you in a mocking tone, like he couldn’t believe how dumb you were to not get it. “I mean, it’s been, what, five days since you last let me have sex with you? I have needs, Y/N. And when you can’t just lay on your back and spread your legs for me, you’re being a bad girlfriend.”

His words stung, and you couldn’t tell if the tears in your eyes were because of the large hand tangled into your hair, or because your boyfriend was acting like you owed him sex, like you were in the wrong right now.

“Now you’re gonna make it up to me, because you are really pissing me off right now, and I don’t want to hear any fucking complaints, do you understand?”

Your body was screaming in resistance, but you numbly realized that you were nodding your head. Rafe’s hand left your hair, finding your chin and gripping your jaw hard.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” the sick grin that was spread across his lips told you exactly how much Rafe was getting off on your humiliation right now and you wanted to be sick.

“I understand.” You forced the words past your gritted teeth, swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up.

Rafe unbuttoned his pants before sliding the zipper down and pushing them down his legs before pulling off his boxers as well.

His dick was hard, a bead of precum already pearled at the tip of his intimidating length.

You swallowed nervously, already afraid of how rough your boyfriend was going to be. You felt like you weren’t ready at all, but the sharp pain the bloomed on your cheek after Rafe slapped you told you that you must have hesitated for too long.

“Quit your damn procrastinating, Y/N,” he hissed, tangling his fingers into your hair again and pulling you to his dick, forcing the tip past your plump lips.

You didn’t have any time to be surprised, gagging and choking on him as he pushed himself deeper towards your throat. He groaned at the feeling of your throat squeezing his cock, urging himself further into the back of your mouth.

Rafe was in heaven, basking in the sight of your teary eyes and the ruined mascara that now trailed down your cheeks. You had looked so pretty at the club tonight, but now you were a crying mess. The noises of your gagging and the steady sound of Rafe’s cock hitting the back of your throat filled the space. Nothing had ever made Rafe hornier than seeing your beautiful, tear filled eyes begging and pleading with his.

He reached out to your cheek, wiping up a bit of saliva that had been forced past your lips. Your glassy eyes were unfocused now that you had given up any thoughts of resistance, too cock drunk to try protesting against the stronger man.

You were doing all you could not to gag on him and choke, knowing full well that that would only spur him on. Every time you pushed at his thigh to get him to ease up, he would slap your hand away with an annoyed grunt.

His pace was relentless now, one hand was gripping your hair and the other was at your throat, holding you still so he could push himself deeper.

“That’s right baby, fuck,” he bit back his groans, ignoring your gagging and desperate eyes when he forced himself too far down your throat, literally choking you with his cock. “Oh fuck- god Y/N, you’re better than any sex doll, you know why?”

He knew you couldn’t answer him, especially since he had started thrusting faster past your messy lips, but he still paused to drink in the sight before him.

“Because they can’t fight back,” Rafe sneered, picking up his pace again, reaching a punishing fervor.

The blond’s dick was slamming into the back of your throat while the large hand at your throat squeezed in warning anytime you so much tried to pull back.

He sped up on final time, chasing his high by forcing you to take all of his cock. Rafe held you in place and watched you choke on him for a couple seconds before letting out a low groan and spilling his salty seed down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow every drop of it.

When he pulled his dick out of your mouth, you took a gasping breath, but weren’t allowed much air before Rafe slapped you across the face hard.

“From now on, I expect this and more from you every night we’re together. Because that’s how my girlfriend is supposed to act. And if you think about giving me any lip about that, then I’m gonna make you wish you had just kept your pretty mouth shut, got it?”

That rest of the night was no better than the beginning, after Rafe had helped you clean up, he basically immediately led you to your bed.

He chuckled in satisfaction when you didn’t fight back against his wandering hands, and as held tight to your wrists, plunging his cock into your slick cunt, he didn’t say anything about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

The next morning you had woken up sore, your entire body ached, and you weren’t surprised when you looked in the mirror and saw the red and purple blooming around your throat.

Rafe was still asleep, his deep snores letting you know that he wouldn’t be waking up soon.

You quietly snuck into the bathroom, grabbing your phone off of the bedside table on the way. Once you had shut and locked the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, unlocking your phone to check for messages.

Your friend had texted you asking how your night had gone, and feeling perhaps a little too honest, you told her that the two of you had had an “argument.”

‘he thought i was checking out a guy at the bar and said some really rude things to me last night.’ You laughed to yourself as you stared at your own words through blurry eyes. It was both funny and sad to you how used to covering for Rafe you now were.

The bathroom felt more cramped when you remembered that Rafe was just on the other side of the door, despite being asleep.

A new notification popped up soundlessly and you read your friend’s text. She was joking about gathering all of your mutual friends to gang up on Rafe.

If only she knew the extent of what Rafe had done to you. You were sure she wouldn’t be joking then. In spite of that, you were angry with Rafe and wanted to blow off a little steam with your friend.

Which is why you felt emboldened to continue texting her.

‘he’s such an asshole sometimes. i’ve been thinking about breaking it off with him soon.’

You huffed, putting your phone down before finishing up in the bathroom and opening the door.

To your surprise, Rafe was standing on the other side, waiting for you to get out before he brushed past you without a word.

You noticed he was taking longer than he usually did to just pee, and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, you realized with a horrible chill why he had been in there for so long.

Clutched in his hand was your cellphone, and you could see that it was open to the messages you had just sent.

“‘He’s such an asshole, I’ve been thinking about breaking it off??’” His voice was cold and you cringed hearing him speak your words. There was no denying he had read your texts.

You shivered, frozen in place as he stared you down, his blue eyes boring so deep into you that you swore you could feel them burning straight through you.

Your mouth was so dry, you had never felt so afraid of your boyfriend before. Even after everything he had put you through, you had never said anything about breaking up with him to his face. “Rafe, I-”

If your instincts hadn’t kicked in, you would have taken the blow right to your nose, however you had been lucky enough to dodge the phone fast enough that it only nicked your forehead before smashing into pieces against the wall behind you.

Unfortunately, while you had been focused on dodging your phone, the taller man had closed the gap between you, easily pushing you up against the wall by your throat and choking you with both hands. Rafe’s fingers pressed down against the bruises that they had left there the previous night.

You wanted to scream, but Rafe had knocked the wind out of you and no matter how hard you shoved him, he wasn’t giving up.

“You’re mine,” he hissed as you struggled against him. “Maybe I’ve been hitting you too much recently, because I don’t remember you being this stupid when we first started dating.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Rafe had spun you around and pushed you face first into the bed. One of his hands was forcing your head against the mattress, while the other pawed at your silk pajama shorts, opting to rip away the fabric covering you before freeing his hard cock from his boxers.

“You think I’m an asshole?” He growled, the tip of his cock brushed against your slick cunt and you shuddered at the feel of him beginning to force himself inside of you.

“I’ll show you how much of an asshole I can be.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron noncon #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic #how a girlfriend is supposed to act #rafe cameron x reader

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morbidapples · 6 months ago

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good luck charm

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖽!𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖽!𝖿𝖾��!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4,474 words; 24,496 characters

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: penis in vagina sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), fucking on a couch, praise kink, pet names, cursing, art is lowkey kind of a freak here, oral fixation, needy! art donaldson, established relationship, lovesick fools, brief mentions of future plans yada yada ya, reader is also a tennis player.

𝗮/𝗻: hey... i'm ovulating right now so i had to crank out another art donaldson smut fic. i am genuinely obsessed with the man, it's a little scary. but, i am actually starting to write smut more and mayhaps have another art fic coming out soon that involves a kitchen countertop... anyways. this is a medium length piece, not as long as the other art donaldson smut fic, but still a decent read (I hope). Don't be a ghost reader, and if you have any requests for anything, feel free to dm me.

Art loved you. You were always there for him. In the stands at every match, patching up minor scrapes after a fall. You were always there when he needed you.

He craved your attention like a drug, like it was the oxygen he needed to breathe. A bit needy, in your eyes. But you never minded.

"But you always come to my matches."

He had a small frown on his lips, his hands gripping your waist as you stood in front of him, your hands gently massaging the nape of his neck.

You smile softly at him and his antics. "I know, but I have my own match tomorrow. I can't miss it."

His pout deepened, whining a bit as he pulled you down on the couch next to him, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you onto his lap, making you straddle his thighs.

"But you're my good luck charm," he whined again, burying his head in the crook of your neck, lips planting gentle kisses over your skin.

Your breath hitches slightly at the feeling of his lips against your skin, but you still manage to speak. "Y- you don't need luck. You're a good player, baby."

He continues kissing, moving upwards to the spot on your neck that he knew you loved, his hands running up your thighs, slowly but teasingly.

"Sure, I don't need luck, but I want it," he mumbled against your skin, his hands now slipping under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing patterns along your sides.

Your head instinctively tilts back to give him better access to your neck, as you struggle to focus on anything other than Art's mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. "Are we really... talking about this right now? It's hard to... think rationally right now."

His lips curved into a smirk as he nipped at a sensitive spot on your neck, knowing full well the effect he was having on you. His hands continued to wander, moving higher on your sides, thumbs gently rubbing over your ribs.

"Thinking never got anyone anything, sweetheart," he whispered, his warm breath against your skin doing nothing to help your current state of arousal.

His lips slowly make their way to your ear, his mouth nipping at the lobe before he spoke again.

"Besides, thinking is overrated. You should just 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭."

With that, his hands found your waist again, and in a swift motion he had you pinned against the couch, his body hovering over yours as he looked down at you with darkened eyes.

His mouth continued its work down your neck, moving along your jaw until he reached your lips, his mouth claiming your own in a deep, passionate kiss.

Art shifts, trapping your legs between his as he grinded his hips against yours, a low growl escaping him as he continued to devour your mouth.

You gasp into his mouth at the sensation, hands holding onto the side of his stomach. You're breathless, hungry for him.

He takes advantage of your gasp, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring every inch of you.

His hands move lower, finding the hem of your shirt and starting to tug at the fabric. He breaks the kiss to pull the shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his eyes roamed over your exposed skin.

He leaned down, his mouth returning to your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone and between your breasts.

"You taste so good," be murmured, his fingers tracing over the lace of your bra, teasing you as he moved lower to your stomach.

His hands went back to your hips, holding you in place as he continued to shower your skin with kisses. He moved down your stomach, his lips tracing the lines of defined muscles, marking you as his own.

He could feel you squirming under him, your breathing becoming ragged, and he couldn't help but smirk against your skin. He loved having you like this, all flushed and needy, completely at his mercy.

Art's hands moved behind your back, easily finding the clasp of your bra and freeing you from the lace. He pulled away from your stomach to look at you, his eyes roaming over your exposed chest, a hungry glint in his gaze.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his calloused fingers gently tracing the curves of your body. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed. Vulnerable. It was something only he could make you feel. You were okay with that.

His mouth was on you again, his lips attaching to one of your breasts, teasing and pinching your sensitive flesh. His teeth latch on to your pebbled nipple, nibbling on the hardened bud.

He heard you moan, the sound going straight to his groin, making him grind against you again, trying to get some friction.

He pulled away, his breath hot on your skin as he spoke. "You like that, sweetheart?"

He watched as you tried to nod, your eyes half-lidded, your body arching up against his touch.

He chuckled under his breath, his thumb and forefinger gently pinching your nipple.

"Use your words, baby."

You bite your lip slightly, trying to form a coherent thought, chest flushed and littered with love bites, gaze hazy as you look at him. "Y- fuck, yes-"

He smiled at your response, pleased with the sound of your voice as you spoke.

"That's a good girl," he murmured, his mouth continuing its journey down your stomach, his teeth nipping at the skin.

He moved lower, his lips trailing over the waistband of your sweatpants, his hands pushing the fabric down your legs.

He sat back for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in the sight of you sprawled out on the couch, completely exposed to him.

He smirked, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he leaned back down, his mouth attaching to the inside of your thigh.

He left a trail of kisses up your thigh, his teeth gently biting at the sensitive skin. His hands held your hips down, keeping you in place as he slowly but surely made his way to your core.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of you driving him on as his tongue slowly traced over your folds, tasting you. He'd thought about being mean, teasing you, but his own desire overruled that thought process.

He heard you gasp, your body arching against his mouth, and he couldn't help but smirk against you, knowing how wet you were for him.

He continued to explore you with his mouth, his tongue swirling and tasting as he found the spots that made you moan and jerk against him. His hands kept you in place, his strong fingers gripping your hips as he worked you into a frenzy.

You felt like you were floating, the pleasure making your head spin. God, he was fucking good at this.

One of your hands grips his hair, while the other squeezes your breast, giving you that extra stimulation. Your head lolls back against the couch, half delirious and hazy, as you let out needy whines and moans.

"Art- Art, fuck- s' good... so good..."

His mouth never left its place between your legs as he heard you call his name, the sound going straight to his cock. He hummed against you, the vibrations against your sensitive cunt making you squirm even more, your hand in his hair tugging at the locks.

He pulled away for a moment, his mouth slick and shiny with your arousal as he looked up at you.

"That's right, sweetheart. You're being so good for me," he purred, his voice gravelly and low from arousal.

His mouth returned to you, his tongue picking up its pace as he devoured you. He could feel you getting closer, your body tensing, moans growing louder and more frequent.

He held you down even more, his fingers gripping your hips almost painfully as he pressed you into the couch, his mouth never stopping its relentless assault.

Your moans are rising in pitch, voicing his name repeatedly like a prayer. Your cunt is clenching around his tongue, and your chest is heaving up and down. You're going to cum very soon, and he knows it.

He could feel you getting closer, your body practically shaking with need. He doubled his efforts, his tongue working overtime as he pushed you higher and higher.

He looked up at you, watching the expressions of ecstasy on your face as he brought you right to the edge.

"That's it, that's my girl. Come for me," he growled against you.

His words combined with his tongue send you careening into your peak, hips canting up, core clenching, moaning his name almost pornographically.

"Oh, god- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- s' good to me, Art-"

He keeps mouthing at you through your climax, prolonging it by never letting up his efforts. He loved this, the feeling of you coming undone under him, the sound of his name leaving your lips in between gasps and moans.

He pulled away once he was sure you were spent, but he couldn't help but tease you just a bit more, his tongue darting out to swipe up the last bit of your arousal.

You whine, hips twitching at the overstimulation. Your gaze is hazy, lips bitten, eyes dilated, as your head tilts back against the couch, half delirious from your orgasm.

He watches you for a moment, a satisfied smirk on his face as he moved up your body, gently pressing a kiss to your stomach before capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

He pulls back to look at you again, his hand cupping your face.

"You're so pretty like this," he murmured, his thumb tracing your bottom lip where it was bitten red.

As Art's thumb presses into your mouth, your tongue darts out to trace it. He swallows hard as he slips his middle and ring finger into your mouth, and you keep eye contact with him as you suck on his digits, eyes blown wide with desire.

He watches you intently, the way your lips wrap around his fingers and your tongue swirls around them nearly making him shiver in anticipation.

He leans forward, his mouth hovering over your ear as he speaks, his voice low and seductive.

"You look so good with your mouth full, sweetheart."

You moan around his fingers, tongue still coating his fingers with saliva. You've always been a sucker for praise, especially from him.

He chuckles quietly at your response, his eyes darkened with lust as he watches you take his fingers deeper into your mouth.

"You like that, don't you? You like it when I tell you how good you are?"

He pushes his fingers deeper, his other hand holding the side of your neck, thumb rubbing over the skin gently.

You moan again, eyes fluttering. You both have a heavy oral fixation, you know it, and he knows it, too. Your hands go down to his jeans, fingers grazing over his erection. You want to please him, too, just as he had done for you.

He can feel your hand on his jeans, the gesture not going unnoticed as he sees your eyes flutter. He growls lowly, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

"You want to take care of me too, sweetheart? You want to show me how good you can be for me?"

You whine, needy and uninhibited. You want to make him feel good, too. Your mind is fuzzy with only one thing, him.

He smirks faintly, watching you get lost in the feeling, the sound of your whine making his cock twitch inside the denim confines.

"Alright, baby," he purrs, taking his fingers out of your mouth and gently lifting your chin with his hand.

"You know what to do, don't you?"

You're quick to discard him of his jeans and shirt, and underwear, as you lightly push him back on the couch, his legs spread. You settle in between his legs, on your knees on the floor, sucking and biting the skin of his thighs and hipbones, your slender hands pressing down gently on his thighs.

His head rolls back at the feeling of your lips and teeth on his skin, a low moan leaving his lips. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, his muscles tensing as your touch sends jolts of pleasure through him.

"That's it, sweetheart," he gasps breathily, his grip on the couch tightening. "You're so good to me."

One of your hands move to cup his base, squeezing gently, and you begin to leave teasing kitten licks at the top, the other hand gripping his thigh.

Art hisses at the feeling of your hand on him, his hips involuntarily bucking at the contact, his toes curling against the carpet.

"Fuck..." he gasps, his hands finding your hair and fisting the locks, trying to control himself. "You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart."

When your tongue runs up from his base to his tip, and flattens against his slit, he nearly loses it. And you haven't even put your mouth over him fully yet.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands trying to ground himself in your hair. He's never felt so wound up, so worked up, the touch of your tongue making him lose his mind.

"Baby-" he gasps, his head rolling back against the couch. "I- I won't last if you keep this up."

When your mouth closes around him, his mind goes blank. It's so warm, so soft, so good. Your tongue is swirling around his slit now, hands gripping his legs as you take him in fully.

Art can't think, can't form a coherent thought, can't do anything except feel the sensation of your mouth on him. His hips twitch, his hands gripping your hair tighter, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps and moans.

"Oh, god-" he gasps, his back arching off the couch slightly. "That's- that's good- s' so good, sweetheart-"

It isn't long before his hips are stuttering forward into your mouth, and you're taking it like it's nothing, mouth wrapped around his cock. You aren't letting up, and he's on the cusp.

He knows he can't hold on much longer, the pleasure building higher and higher, his hips involuntarily bucking into your mouth, needing more friction.

"I- I'm gonna-" he chokes out, his hands gripping your hair tighter again. "I'm gonna- sweetheart, I-"

After a few seconds, you ease off, and he scrambles to get himself the rest of the way off. His hand frantically moves up and down, he's so close, so, so close- he cuts himself off with a strangled moan as he cums, releasing on his hand, and all over your chest, dripping down the valley between your breasts.

He can barely catch his breath, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high, his body shaking slightly from the aftershocks.

He looks down at you, a mixture of satisfaction and awe in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you, your chest covered in his release. The sight nearly does him again.

"You're- you're amazing, sweetheart," he gasps, his voice hoarse from the strained vocal chords. "So fucking good to me."

You look at him then, eyes hooded and half-lidded. Then, you take your index and middle finger, scooping up his creamy spend on them, and suck your digits clean, all while keeping eye contact with him.

𝘖𝘏 𝘔𝘠 𝘎𝘖𝘋. He could come again just from watching you.

Art's eyes widen as he watches you, a guttural moan escaping his lips. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

He reaches down, grabbing you by the upper arms and pulling you up onto his lap, his mouth finding yours in a desperate, messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

You moan into his mouth, hands cupping his face, hips rolling against his. God, you're soaked, he can feel the wetness against his exposed cock.

He breaks the kiss, his mouth trailing down to your neck, biting and sucking at the skin, leaving his mark on you. His hands are on your hips, gripping them tightly, helping you move against him.

He can feel how wet you are, how much you want him, and it drives him wild.

"You want me, sweetheart?" he murmurs against your neck, his breathing ragged. "You want me inside you?"

You gasp, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. His cock is hitting the right spots to make you squirm, and that's all you can think about.

"Yes- fuck, please- need you-"

He smirks against your skin, his hands roaming all over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"You need me, huh?" he teases, his mouth now on your ear, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. "You want me to fill you up, sweetheart?"

Your voice takes on a high and breathy tone, bordering on begging. At this point, you are.

"Please, please- I need- need you to fucking fill up- Art-"

He leans back slightly, his eyes roaming over your body, raking over every inch of skin. He takes in the sight of you, desperate and needy on top of him, and it takes all his self-control not to give in right then and there.

He captures your mouth in a rough, hungry, messy kiss, mostly teeth clashing and tongues licking into each other's mouths.

"Get on your knees, baby."

You do as he says, as he places a cushion under your hips. Always thoughtful, he is, even when he's completely feral for you.

He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your spine, as he positions you comfortably and prepares you.

He takes his time, his mouth and hands roaming over your back, leaving a trail of kisses and bites in their wake.

He positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his breaths hot on your skin as he speaks.

"You ready for me?"

You nod so fast he swears you could've given yourself whiplash, moaning softly, needily. "Yes, yes- please-"

He holds your hips steady, his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing ever so slightly.

He leans down, his chest pressed against your back, his mouth by your ear.

"Take a deep breath and relax," he murmurs, his voice almost sultry.

He takes a moment to let you adjust, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips, waiting until you give him the okay to continue.

When you do, he pushes into you slowly, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. It's a struggle to not start pounding into you immediately, but he's coherent enough to recognize you need a minute.

You moan once he fully bottoms out, your hands curling into the fabric of the couch, arching up against him. You feel so full, so stuffed.

Art holds you close, his chest pressed against your back, his mouth leaving tender kisses on your shoulder. He takes a moment to gather himself, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"You okay, sweetheart? M' not hurting you?" he asks, his voice thick with arousal, his hands on your hips holding you still.

You take a second to adjust to the stretch, and when you feel like you're ready, you tell him. "I'm good. Y- you can move."

He nods against you, his hand coming up to gently grab onto your hair, pulling lightly to get your attention.

"I want you to look at me. Can you do that for me?"

He watches as you turn your head to look at him, your face flushed and your eyes hazy with desire.

"That's my girl," he praises, his grip on your hair tightening slightly. "Now hold on tight."

Within a second, he's pulled out, turned you over so you're on your back, and gone back in. He wants to see your face as he makes you feel good. And you already look wrecked.

He looks down at you, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every little expression— the way your mouth hangs open, how your eyes flutter shut, the moans and gasps leaving your lips.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his hands coming up to cup your face, holding your head in place so he can watch you come apart under him.

He continues to move, slowly at first, his eyes never leaving your face, taking in every reaction you have to his every touch and movement.

He watches as the pleasure builds within you, your body arching up towards him, your hands coming up to cling to his shoulders.

He leans down, his mouth finding yours in a deep, messy kiss, his tongue delving into you, tangling with your own.

He feels your legs come up, wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer, deeper, the new angle making him let out a guttural moan.

You moan into his mouth, as he hits a deeper angle inside, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half crescent moons in their wake. The room is warm, not only from the hot summer air, but also the heat coming off of both your bodies.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as his breaths come out in ragged gasps. He can feel your nails dig into his shoulders, and the stinging sensation only serves to drive him wilder.

"You're so good to me," he pants, his hands roaming over your body, tracing over every curve and contour. "So goddamn good to me."

He quickens his pace, his hips snapping forward harder and rougher, his eyes locked on yours, not wanting to miss a single expression.

He can't even think coherently anymore. All he can focus on is you. How you feel, how you look. Every noise that is drawn out of you with each thrust of his hips.

He can feel his own release building, the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment.

He continues to move, his motions growing sloppy and erratic as he begins to lose himself to the sensation.

"I'm gonna-" he gasps, his voice strained and uneven. "I'm gonna-"

He's determined to bring you over the edge first. He reaches down in between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and applying pressure.

You moan, eyes fluttering, lips parting, jaw going slack. Your nails dig into his shoulders, as you clench around him. You're so close, he can feel it.

The feeling of your walls clenching around him drives him insane, the moans and gasps escaping your lips only adding to the sensation.

He keeps up the pressure with his thumb, his own release building, his muscles tense and taut with effort, but he refuses to let go until you've come undone first.

"That's it, sweetheart," he gasps, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come apart."

"F- fuck- Oh, oh god-" His thrusts hit just the right spot inside you, and it sends you careening over the edge, eyes rolling back, voicing his name over and over like a prayer.

He watches as you fall apart beneath him, your body writhing and trembling, the sight of you coming undone pushing him right to the edge.

His movements become erratic, his hips stuttering as he clings onto the precipice, the sensations almost too intense.

"Oh god-" he moans, his voice trembling. "Gonna- I'm gonna-"

When you clench around him again, it's enough to finish him off. He moans hoarsely, hips thrusting through his own release.

His release hits him like a freight train, his hips stilling, his body shuddering with the intensity of it. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps against your skin.

"Fuck-" he pants, his grip on you tight, his whole body shaking from the aftershocks.

He tries to catch his breath, his body still slumped over you, his heart racing in his chest. He lifts his head up slightly to look at you, and god, the sight of you, so utterly wrecked and breathless, nearly does him in again.

You look down at him, eyes hazy and filled with affection, as your hand comes up to gently card through his sweaty hair.

He practically melts under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he lets out a contented sigh.

He moves slowly, carefully pulling out of you, trying not to hurt you. He then collapses beside you on the couch, his head resting on your stomach.

"You're going to be the death of me, y'know that?" he mumbles sleepily, his voice rough but fond.

You laugh quietly, a faint smile appearing on your face. "That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

No, it wouldn't. It really wouldn't, he thinks. You are marked with love bites, put there by him, you're this wrecked because of him. You love him.

He grins at your comment, his eyes drifting up to take in the sight of your marked skin. He feels a sense of pride at the sight of the love bites he left behind, a silent claim that you were his.

He lifts himself up, propping himself up on his elbow so that he's staring down at you, his gaze soft but possessive.

"You're right," he answers quietly, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin. "It wouldn't be so bad at all."

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you're both tired. Art can feel his eyelids drooping, the allure of sleep calling to him. And you're not faring much better, drowsy and content being here.

He can tell you're just as tired as he is, both of you coming down from the adrenaline high and now feeling the exhaustion seeping into your bones.

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. He burrows his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of you.

"Let's take a nap," he murmurs sleepily. "Just a little one. We can clean up later."

You hum softly in agreement, body perfectly melding into his. As Art drifts off, he's only thinking about how much he never wants this to end. He never wants to stop having you.

The last thing he remembers as he slips into unconsciousness is the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your breaths, and the gentle beat of your heart.

He falls asleep dreaming of a life with you, filled with love, laughter, and happiness. And he knows, deep down, that he'll do anything to make those dreams a reality.

#challengers #mike faist #smut story #challengers smut #art donaldson #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fanfiction #challengers 2024 #challengers film #challengers movie #challengers fic

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yeoubbi · 1 year ago

Text

accommodations i’ve had approved as an autistic college student

helloooo today i finally had a meeting with the disability office and have accommodations after 2 years of being in college without them. im autistic and have cptsd/dissociative issues and had a hard time finding what was even available to me to request for accommodations so i wanted to make a list to help anyone else who might be having trouble.

• Priority registration

i get to register for classes earlier each term to make sure i can create schedules that’ll work for my routine

• Extended time on assignments

self explanatory i think? was also offered extended time on tests or a separate room to take them but testing isnt where i struggle

• Flexible attendance

as long as i email beforehand i dont have to stick as strictly to professors attendance policies

• Alternative formats

if i buy a physical textbook i can request the ebook/pdf/audiobook for free to have multiple methods of studying depending on what works for me on a given day

• Note taking

allowed to audio record class and send to a service called messenger pigeon who will give me a transcript of the class and professional notes based on it

• Access to lecture notes

able to access professors lecture notes prior to class/instruction

• Devices

allowed to have phone/ipad/laptop for social buffering and notes in classes that may have policies against electronics

• Flexible participation

no cold calling, option to work alone for group projects/assignments, not required to present in front of class

if anyone has any questions lmk these are just what i have been able to get at my school so far! hope it helps

edit: this is blowing up so fellow autistics, students, language nerds, etc pls be my mutual i want friends lol my dms are also open any time !!

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writingwisterias · 25 days ago

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hiii, I saw that your requests are open and do you think you could write about how Leon Eras would act with a S/O who is going through a kind of difficult phase..? like depressive days and even anxiety attacks. it's just that (all) Leon is my comfort character so he always helps me get through hard days😭 lol. I'm sorry if this is a sensitive topic for you, hun, you can just ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable :] 💗

your writing is so sweet and makes me like DAYDREAM EVEN MORE ABOUT LEON sldjmdaljsl

Hello!

Ah your so sweet I'm so glad you like my writing 🥹I would love to do this for you! I have had a hard week so I've been thinking about this a lot as well! My Dms/Inbox are always open if anyone needs someone to talk to even if it's just about Leon don't hesitate! I have a lot to say 👀❤️❤️

Warnings: Fluff, Depression, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort,

(there is a harder hitting subject area please read with caution! It is highlighted in red and plenty of warning before scrolling!)

RE2:

Okay so this Leon is more than likely to drop literally everything they are doing to come and help you.

Like nothing is too big of an ask for him, he will drive to wherever you are

If it's an issue with your home life he'll put more gas in his car and take you on a long drive

Won't press you to talk about anything that's bothering you, is more than happy to just be there for you. Even if the silence kills him.

Best hugs.

Like I'm talking crushing bear hugs if you need them.

Forehead kisses as well, he's prone to them.

He's so smitten with you that people often tease him about it. He will take any of the teasing as long as you are happy with him and he's doing his absolute best to care

Writes messages on the mirror in the bathroom if he showers before you 'you got this, I love you'

RE4R:

In one of my other Eras I mentioned that Leon's love language is acts of service and I think it would apply here as well.

Would drop whatever he's doing (if he's nearby) to ensure that you are okay.

Massive cuddler, will get dead arms if it means you stay asleep again his biceps

In terms of Acts of Service I'm thinking like he will take the stress of things for you as you deal with it.

Like don't worry about doing the laundry or cleaning he'll have that covered.

If you as struggling to get up and out of bed he'll make sure you have something fun to do as a reward.

If you don't want to leave the house don't worry he understand, breakfast in bed it is.

Will bed rot with you if you need...he probably needs it as well.

He would help you brush your hair and teeth if needed.

Will not let you say a peep about it, like this is how he shows love. No ask is too big for him. He would rather you be here and okay than have to fold laundry for you.

Infinite Darkness:

So he's away a lot more, they send him literally everywhere in this time of his life but that doesn't mean he won't work damn hard to make sure he's still there.

He would appreciate it if you texted him throughout the day even if you are sad. Like just a small text

'not feeling great today'

When he has the time he would call you and listen for hours to you, or even talk about everything that happened in his day if you need it

If he is home, he's either rotting in bed with you or treating you

He'll carry all your shopping bags for you don't worry!

Always makes sure he smells nice for you, something that makes you chuckle when you hug if you aren't feeling great and his aftershave over powers you

The idea of him quickly spraying himself is too funny to me.

Forehead kisses! Top of the head kisses! All the damn kisses. He'll make sure you feel loved

Has a note in his notes app of all your favorite foods and drinks and will pick them up when he comes to see you to make sure you are okay

Damnation:

As long as you have breakfast for him he's there jk!

Literally drops everything, he doesn't give a shit about the government anymore so you are his first priority

If anyone tries to stop him it's a death glare or punch in the face.

I reckon he uses a baby voice sometimes but instantly cringes and apologizes when it slips out.

Is more than happy to drink with you if that's how you want to deal with things

Will prefer if you don't go any path like that but also knows he's not one to talk so he will support you just begrudgingly

Prefers to have you on his lap when you cuddle, buries his head in your neck as well just taking in you.

Wouldn't really talk unless that's what you wanted, is more of just a calming presence and is very happy to be there for you like that.

RE6:

Will focus on you more than himself.

I'm talking like makes sure you get sleep by staying up and watching you.

Big foodie so will literally eat whatever you want as long as you are eating.

Won't force you to do anything if you don't want to either, he's had that his whole life and knows how it feels.

Big on talking about the future helping you create a plan that can range to activities for the next week or even the end goal of your life.

I think he starts to struggle with a path a head and the ideals of where he actually wants to end up so having someone to plan with wouldn't just make you feel better but himself.

Vendetta:

Even though he is literally a mess himself I think he would make it his first priority to help you.

If he found out.

Don't hide it from him it would make him feel bad that you felt like you had to in order to help him (even though he's literally going to do the same)

I think Leon really needed something else to focus on in this time something to help him get pushed back on track so hearing you are suffering is like a switch flicked.

That being said it doesn't mean he's instantly ready to help you but would be paying closer attention and making changes on himself to help you. Just slowly.

Because it's a slow progress for the both of you I think it would be mainly cuddling and staying inside to help you out. Lots of physical affection as words are hard for the both of you.

I can imagine like movie nights in bed or on the couch.

I think it's more of a we are both suffering so let's suffer together type of thing.

Death Island:

Idealy the most stable out of all of them to handle something along the lines of this.

He would be the biggest brick wall for you to lean on.

Doesn't leave you alone unless he actually has to. Has even refused to work in refusal to stray away from you just in case.

He would be the type of person to be like 'lets go for a walk and get fresh air with the endorphins'

He means it in a good way though. But wouldn't drag you to do anything.

Wouldn't let you rot in bed at least making you sit in the living room or something just won't let you stay in bed.

Will cuddle you until you tell him to move.

Probably would buy you a dog or another animal to focus on something else.

Will learn any of your hobbies to do it with you.

He's the type of person to just try and keep the spark going and encourage you to still go even if you really don't want to.

Will sit in silence if that's what you need, however would end up falling asleep and ruining it by snoring.

Harder hitting topics underneath!!

Please read with caution and my Dms are open if you need someone to talk to!

Tw: Sh, Suicidal thoughts

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

This section applies to all Leon's:

If you told it has gotten this bad his initial reaction would be shock and maybe anger. But not at you.

His brain would immediately switch and go towards helping you in any way he can.

He's got minimal first aid training nothing fancy but enough to ensure that you are clean and nothing is infected.

Would listen to every single word you have to say about your situation.

The type of person to ask if you would rather rant or want actual advice.

He would actively ask you quit with the harm and take away any means for you to do it until he can trust you again.

This also includes not taking weapons into his house. He's got a mean kick if there's danger he'll swat them away.

That being said if you did somehow relapse he would not be mad in the slightest and instead care for you and help you out.

Would be heartbroken if you told about how you truly felt about the world and be there every single night.

He is not missing a single second with you

Would constantly check up on you but if you said it's too overbearing he'll apologize and step back even if he really needs to know that you are okay.

Doesn't care about scars, nightmares, trauma, substance abuse...he does it too and would actually use the opportunity to help you and help himself

Would go to therapy with you if that's what you needed or at least be around if you wanted to go on your own

Will make sure you are taking all of your meds and are eating properly.

If you need him he will be there no questions asked.

He doesn't care if it's unprofessional for Hunnigan to put you through to him during a mission he'll just treat the woman to coffee keeping it under the table

If you need him he will come

He'd rather have you than not..

Nothing is too big of a problem for him.

#~mads rambles #~mads~mail💌#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up.

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around.

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready.

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl.

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite.

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head.

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you.

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window.

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off.

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated.

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.”

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order!

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers!

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out.

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all.

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.”

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you?

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.”

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it.

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you.

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.”

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks.

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter.

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you.

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual.

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him.

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests.

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that.

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers.

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise.

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?”

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again.

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces.

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone.

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks.

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.”

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way.

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you.

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic.

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger.

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner.

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway.

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him.

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way.

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week.

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier.

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks.

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman.

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment.

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.”

“No--”

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button.

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat.

“I don--”

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--”

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery?

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Are you...” he says your name again.

“... yes.”

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation.

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole.

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real.

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame.

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #the quiet ones #dark!fic #series #the gray man

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eddieandbird · 2 months ago

Text

Eddie wants you to know he's here for you

(Bird update underneath the cut)

hi lovelies! i have missed you all so dearly. how have you all been?

first of all, happy stranger things day! hoping for more s5 content today!!

second of all and more importantly, i hope you all are safe and okay, especially to my american followers. i know yesterday was rough and lots of people are disappointed and terrified. i am in the same boat with you and i want you to know that my dms are open for anyone who wants to talk. i am not really sure what else to say except i am so so sorry. we'll get through this, please hang in there. if you are struggling, please reach out for help. you deserve to be here, you are loved, and you mean so much to so many including me.

doing my best to start posting more content on here, it might be slow to start but i miss you guys too much, i wanna be here with yall

-bird

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie notes #stranger things day

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riizegasm · 7 months ago

Text

Cherry Waves || H. DM (Taesan)

❀ pairing: boynextdoor taesan x fem!reader (mentions of riize anton)

❀ genre: college!au, fluff, minor crack

❀ word count: ~5.1k

❀ warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, taesan is a little bit of a loser here (endearingly), slightly ooc!taesan

❀ summary: You don't like Deftones. You like Han Taesan. Han Taesan likes you and Deftones. All it takes is some rock music, a bad college party, and a few broken vinyls for you to reconcile the differences. With stuttered words and an embarrassing amount of blushing, you learn to make it work.

❀ a/n: My first piece with absolutely zero angst! Are you guys proud of me? I absolutely adore this piece, so I hope you guys do as well. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged!

masterlist

“Dude, just go talk to her!”

Taesan immediately flushes at the comment, smacking a hand over Jaehyun’s mouth. It doesn’t matter if the music in the party is loud enough to drown out every conversation. He can’t risk anyone else hearing, especially you.

“Shut up,” he hisses, finally releasing his hold on his best friend’s mouth. “What if she hears you?”

Jaehyun cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want her to hear me? HEY Y/N!”

Taesan scrambles to cover Jaehyun’s mouth again, but it’s too late. The damage has already been done.

Your eyes light up when you spot the duo in the kitchen, waving animatedly. Taesan struggles to contain the stampede running through his stomach and the blush overtaking his cheeks. You always look stunning, but there’s something about your baggy jeans and cropped graphic tee that has Taesan swooning. It should be embarrassing, how good he thinks you look, but nothing can overcome the feeling of sheer panic as you begin to approach.

“Myungjae! It’s been forever,” you say, reaching over to pull your friend into a hug.

“I know! It’s weird not having classes together anymore,” Jaehyun responds with a dramatic fake sob.

Your slight giggle is barely audible above the music, but it’s almost as if Taesan’s ears are specifically in tune to you and every sound you make. He silently curses when you turn your eyes to him, a soft smile gracing your face. He knows his face must be fire engine red at this point, simply unable to cope with you being so close.

“Hi Taesan. Long time no see.”

It hasn’t been that long since he’s seen you, but he’s not quite sure how to articulate that without sounding like a total creep. That’s not to say he’s a stalker or anything, but the two of you seem to cross paths quite frequently on campus. You wouldn’t know, of course, since Taesan always ducks for cover any time he spots you coming. Instead of saying that very fact, he opts for a simple smile.

“Yeah, it has. How have you been?” He mentally cheers at his ability to get his sentence out without stuttering. “Jaehyun told me you’ve been pretty busy.”

Your smile grows even brighter, eyes taking on a teasing glint. “You asked about me?”

Even the overly loud bass line can’t vibrate a single cell in Taesan’s body, the man having grown rigid at your question. The short answer is yes. How could he not when even the tiniest glimpse of you has his heart racing in his chest. He knows he can’t say that, though, mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he flounders for an answer.

“I’m just kidding!” You giggle. “But Myungjae is right. I’ve been so busy this semester. My research project is taking up all of my time.”

When Taesan looks to his left, he notices the aforementioned man is nowhere in sight, clearly having abandoned you two. Taesan makes a mental note to beat him up a little bit later. But for now, he just has to focus on not weirding you out.

“Oh! Um, what’s your research project on?”

With the way your eyes brighten underneath the dim purple glow of the party, Taesan wishes he had his camera. He wishes he could simply capture something that showed just how happy you were. For once, he understands why artists spend hours capturing their subjects on canvas. He could fill an entire gallery with paintings dedicated to the light in your eyes and the brightness of your smile.

“It’s on how urbanization and lack of green spaces affect mental health,” you beam. “And I’ve lowkey gotten so much pushback from my professors because they feel like it’s been done before but—oh shit.”

Taesan barely registers the fact that you stopped talking, too engrossed in the delighted expression on your face. But when that drops in favor of a panicked look, he finally snaps out of his reverie. Despite the dim lighting, it’s clear that you’re looking at something, or rather someone. When Taesan turns to figure out exactly what it is, you’re quick to place a hand on his cheek, turning him back to face you instead.

“Don’t look!” You exclaim in a whisper. “It’s my ex. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The words take a second for Taesan to digest, still focusing on where your warm palm lays on his cheek.

“Your ex?”

Taesan was vaguely aware of the fact that you were in a relationship about a year or so ago, having heard from Jaehyun about the hardship of your breakup. He didn’t know you back then, but he imagined that it would have made him sick, to see you stupefied in love. He never considered himself the jealous type, but when it came to you, he imagined that even another person looking at you too long would set him off.

“Yeah, shit. He’s coming. I’m about to do something and please just go along with it.”

Taesan flushes when you make eye contact again, your hand making a slow trail from his cheek down to wrap around the back of his neck. He struggles not to moan when your nails begin to play with the small hairs at the nape of his neck. It makes it even worse that he can’t help but track the movement of your mouth as you lick your glossy lips, cheeks pulling upward into a sultry smile. When your other hand places itself gently on his chest, Taesan doesn’t know whether to curse or cheer. A fuzzy feeling is slowly clouding his head, all of the blood in his body having rushed south.

He knows he has to make this believable, though, so he snakes a hand around your waist, thumbing at the bare skin between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your shirt. It takes all of his resolve not to explode right then and there. How the fuck are you so soft?

“Y/N?”

Your eyes sharpen as they make contact with the tall man rounding the corner. Your hands still stay glued to Taesan, though, not willing to part from the close contact. Your ex seems to notice, judging by the way his eyes scan the points where the two of you are connected.

“Oh, Anton! Didn’t know you’d be here.” Your voice carries a tinge of annoyance as you regard the man. “What’s up?”

Anton stutters out an answer, voice coming out too soft to compete with the noise of the party. You cock your head at his words, not fully able to hear what he’s saying. It’s not like you’d want to, anyways, not with the calloused fingers splayed across the exposed skin of your waist and the soft locks peeking through your fingers. You don’t seem to be the only one who doesn’t want to part, though. This close, it’s easy to feel the heart thundering underneath your palms and the goosebumps rising where your nails tease the skin of a neck. Interesting.

“What was that?” You question, cocking your head cutely.

Anton’s blush is clear despite the colored lighting of the party. “Um, never mind. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

You nod, watching as his overly tall form retreats. Once he’s lost in the throng of people crowding the party, you let out a sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. Taesan remains frozen where you hold him, eyes widened in shock. It’s only when you take in his expression that you realize that the two of you are still connected, rushing to take a step back. Taesan takes a breath when his own hands fall to his sides, chest shaking as he exhales.

“I’m so sorry!” You wince. “But thank you for doing that. He’s, uh, persistent, I’ll say.”

“N-no problem,” Taesan stutters.

Silence lingers between the two of you, except the sultry music of the party makes it not all that silent. Distantly, you hear a call of your name, just barely audible above the smooth melody of the R&B track that blasts from the speakers. You turn to give your friend a quick wave before facing Taesan once again, not surprised to see his gaze trained on the floor.

“I’ll, um, see you around,” you mutter, smoothing a hand down the expanse of his bare arm before leaving to meet your friend.

Taesan remains rooted in place, unmoving for a long few moments. The phantom warmth of your hands against his skin has him shivering, unable to think of anything else. After a moment, he sighs, silently willing his erection away.

. . .

“And then her nails were playing with the hair on the back of my neck, and I swear to god, I was about to cream my pants!”

“Ew,” Woonhak gags as he fiddles with the game controller.

“No talking about how Y/N gave you a boner in front of the baby,” Sungho nags. “Save it for your studio and put it in a song.”

Taesan sticks his tongue out at the older man, always having hated when he puts his motherly persona on. Normally, Taesan isn’t the one to take up all the air in the room discussing his newest infatuation. But after last night, it’s all he can seem to talk about.

He would admit that Sungho has a point if he hadn’t already written three songs in less than twenty four hours just about the feeling of your hands on his skin alone. It’s as if you’re consuming him, quite literally engulfing him in the memory of you. You exist so vividly in his mind, the curl of your smile, the color of your eyes, the sweet scent of your perfume. Just the memory of it all has him wondering if he needs to compose a fourth song right now.

“Where did Jaehyun go?” Donghyun asks after he loses the game, pointedly ignoring Woonhak’s celebratory dance. “I feel like he’s been gone for an hour.”

Sanghyuk barely looks up from his phone, speaking through a mouthful of potato chips. “He went to meet up with Y/N for ice cream. Apparently she was having an emergency or something.”

A complete sense of dread overtakes Taesan’s body, fully frozen in the beanbag he had chosen to sit on. What if your ex had come back? What if he was able to see right through your little act and had come back to try to win you over? What if the two of you were getting back together? Or even worse, what if you were telling Jaehyun about the moment you had yesterday, complaining that Taesan was a creep for liking your touch so much? What if you felt uncomfortable around him?

Worst of all, what if you saw his boner?

He isn’t afforded much longer to stew in his hypotheticals, as Jaehyun chooses that exact moment to come through the door. Instantly, he locks eyes with Taesan, expression curling into an annoying smirk. The younger tries his best to seem nonchalant, but he knows his friend can likely see right through him. He’s never been the most subtle.

“Han Taesan,” Jaehyun practically yells as he approaches the living room, ignoring everyone else in the room. “You son of a bitch!”

Taesan’s eyes widen into saucers, staring down the man as he approaches with the force of a bull. “What?”

Jaehyun continues to smirk, plopping down into the beanbag next to him. “I can’t believe you’ve actually done it. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Didn’t know I had what in me?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” the man responds, miming zipping his lips shut. “But just know that I’m proud of you, son.”

“I thought I was your son,” Woonhak whines from in front of the tv.

Jaehyun immediately grins, not missing the opportunity to smother the youngest. He moves to go crowd him against the couch, pressing obnoxiously loud kisses all over his face. Donghyun laughs at the antics, happy that it finally gives him a chance to beat Woonhak at the video game. Unfortunately, Taesan isn’t able to laugh, still left reeling over Jaehyun’s earlier comments.

What the hell did he do?

. . .

You take a deep breath, smoothing out your clothes and checking your makeup in your compact mirror. It’s not like you have much to worry about. You know that you look good, having spent an extra twenty minutes getting ready for this exact moment. Thankfully the ten minute walk to get to your destination wasn’t enough to ruin your appearance.

A little bell above the door jingles when you enter the tiny record shop, instantly greeted with the loud riffs of a Deftones song. It’s somewhat jarring and not exactly to your taste, unexpected from a quaint shop near a college campus. But when you remember exactly who works here, it all makes sense.

“Welcome in!” A voice calls from somewhere in the depths of the store.

With all of the stacks of CDs, records, and magazines, it’s impossible to see the majority of the store. But you don’t need to see to know exactly who the voice belongs to. The fact that he’s here brings warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to take a deep breath to keep your composure. You remind yourself that he can’t see you with everything in the way. First thing’s first, you have to fix that.

Inky black hair is the only thing visible when you approach the counter, the worker crouching underneath to unpack some boxes. You try not to laugh when you hear a muffled curse, the cashier clearly displeased.

“Hey Taesan,” you say softly, trying your hardest not to sound as flustered as you feel.

Your response comes in the form of a loud thump, followed by a curse. Before you can react, Taesan is standing to his full height, hand rubbing a spot on the back of his head. His eyes are rounded in surprise, mouth hanging open in half a groan of pain.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” You question.

“Y/N,” he breathes. “Yeah, I’m, um, fine. It doesn’t even hurt!”

You bite back a giggle as the man stutters over his words. “Are you sure? It sounded pretty gnarly.”

“No, not at all. I’m good, I swear.” Taesan’s hand finally leaves the back of his head, moving instead to awkwardly scratch the base of his neck. “What are you doing here?”

In reality, you should have known that he was going to ask. It’s a good question, really, because you don’t know. All you know is that Jaehyun mentioned that Taesan worked here and you’ve been working up the courage to drop by ever since. In the week that you’ve been preparing to come, it never crossed your mind to come ready with an excuse.

“Oh! Well…” your eyes scan the area, looking for anything that could be your saving grace. “I was looking for some retro rock albums! I was telling Myungjae and he said I should come here because you work here. He also said you have really good taste, so…”

It’s not completely untrue, which you feel like is better than flat out lying. And seeing the excited smile bloom on Taesan’s face proves just how much it was worth it.

“You’re into rock?” He asks, eyes lit up like a child on Christmas. “Who’s your favorite band?”

Fuck. “Deftones!”

You guess they are your favorite, since they seem to be the only band you recognize as Taesan rambles on about his love of 90s bands. It makes it easier to zone out, tracing the shape of his lips as they form excited syllables and getting lost in the glimmer in his eyes. You were always so attuned to how attractive Taesan is, but seeing him so excited is undoubtedly different. You try your hardest to ignore the continuous fluttering in your chest.

“So?” Taesan asks, drumming his fingers against the wooden counter. “Are you looking for vinyl, cassette, or CD?”

You’re quick to snap out of your reverie, smiling sheepishly. “Vinyl.”

. . .

Taesan swears he must have been a hero in his last life or something. He must have saved kids from a burning orphanage or stopped a war from happening. He must have saved one million trees or stopped robbers from ransacking grandmas’ houses. How else can he explain why he’s been blessed with so much of your presence over the last few weeks?

Every Tuesday and Friday, you waltz into the record store like clockwork, looking like nothing short of a dream. You never really buy anything, which doesn’t bother Taesan, because it means you spend extra time talking to him. He constantly swoons when you laugh at his jokes, perpetually fighting a blush near you. The angelic sounds of your giggles are always heard over the harsh guitar riffs of Deftones, which he makes sure to always have on when you walk in.

You’re giggling now, head tipped back and nose scrunched adorably. Taesan swears that one day he’s going to record the sound and put it in a song. It would just add to the list of countless songs he’s produced about you, a plethora of hard hitting raps and softer rock ballads. He wonders if one day he’ll ever get to play them for you.

“I can’t believe you knocked over the entire display,” you giggle. “Did any of them break?”

Taesan smiles sheepishly. “Let’s just say a huge chunk was cut out of my paycheck to repair the damage.”

It’s hard for Taesan to do anything but stare as you chuckle once again. The tips of his fingers itch to reach out and smooth back the stray pieces of your hair that have freed themselves from your neat style, desperate to make any type of physical contact. He’s craved to feel your soft skin again ever since the party two months ago. He wonders if you’re still just as soft, if your nails would scratch his scalp the same way, if you’d bite your glossy lips as you peered into his eyes again.

“You know, I wish I could work in a place like this. I feel like it would just be perfect since I love music so much,” you gush. “I’ve always wanted to make my own song, but it seems so difficult.”

Taesan lights up at your admission. “I could show you!”

At the cute tilt of your head, he decides to backtrack.

“I mean, I don’t know if you know, but I make music. It’s actually how I met Jaehyun! So, if you’re curious on how to do it, you can drop by the studio sometime and I could show you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

You don’t even know the beginning of what Taesan would do for you, but instead of telling you so, the boy just nods. “Of course.”

The two of you make arrangements for you to stop by the next day, Taesan fighting a smile as you give him your number so he can send the address.

He ends up using it for more than that, the two of you chatting via text for the rest of the afternoon. You try your best to dismiss it as him just being friendly, ignoring the heat that rises to your cheeks every time your phone goes off with a new notification. It’s right before you leave for your morning class that you get another one, causing you to snort out a laugh:

See you in the music building on the second floor! Lmk if you get lost. That would suck :(

The music building is one of the oldest buildings on campus, its ivy-covered brick exterior serving as a trademark of your school. But when you push through the grandiose front doors, you realize that the inside is actually much nicer than you had expected. Sleek linoleum floors are polished so well that they practically serve as mirrors, reflecting the light from the opulent overhead fixtures. Even the staircase is nice, its carved wooden railing cold to the touch as you ascend to the second floor. Pretty signs make studio 2N easy enough to find, tucked at the end of a long hallway.

It’s only as you approach the door that your nerves begin to show themselves. You knock on the studio door with sweaty palms, hating the way that your heart hammers in your chest. The feeling of being so nervous before you see Taesan has become increasingly familiar as you both have spent more and more time together. Despite the number of visits you have paid to the record store, your body has never stopped kicking into overdrive at the thought of seeing him.

Before you can knock again, the studio door swings open, a tall figure standing in the doorway. He’s bathed in blue light from the LEDs that hang along the walls, creating a halo around his dark locks. A pair of thick black glasses frame his eyes, softening his normally intimidating look. When he breaks into a smile, you find yourself doing the same, mirroring his infatuated expression.

“You made it,” he says softly, motioning you inside.

The door is heavy when it falls shut behind you, leaving the both of you in a blue bathed silence.

“I did,” you reply, looking around at the various recording equipment strewn around the space. “This place is incredible.”

Taesan shoots you a closed lipped smile, sitting down at a desk on the far side of the room. He motions to a comfy looking chair next to him, smiling fully when you sit down next to him.

“Thanks. Jaehyun and I got special permission to decorate it and make it more of our own. I feel like it makes it easier to get the creative juices flowing, you know?”

You have no idea, no longer having paid attention after the first word. It’s too easy to get lost in the way Taesan’s mouth moves as he speaks, something you have found happening over and over again whenever you see each other. You thank the divine that he hasn’t seemed to notice your habit.

“Oh!” Taesan interrupts his own ramblings. “We also have a fridge. Do you want anything? Water, juice, beer?”

“You guys can have beer in here?”

Taesan smirks as he approaches the fridge. “Nope. Catch!”

The can is ice cold when it falls into your hands, serving as a cool refuge for the otherwise clammy surface. You wait until Taesan settles back next to you to crack the drink open, smiling when he bumps his can against yours in a silent cheers.

Being with Taesan in his studio proves to be extremely different from being with him in the record store. He’s clearly in his element here, showing you what each button of his complex equipment does as he stacks sounds on top of each other. He even asks for your input, seeing what you like best before adding it to the track. The beer also seems to help ease his nerves, no longer a stuttering mess whenever he addresses you.

It makes the time that passes feel like nothing as the two of you work on the song. A couple of hours in, you both have created an entire instrumental track, just waiting for lyrics to complete it.

“Who knew you were such a good producer?” Taesan asks as he saves and closes out of the track. “You must have been an artist in your past life.”

You roll your eyes at the joke, cracking a smile at the boy’s antics. When you glance back at the screen, however, the smile instantly dissipates from your face.

“Taesan,” you breathe. “What’s that?”

The man in question follows your gaze where it is trained on his computer screen, clearly stuck on a folder that is simply labeled with your name. He feels his heart rising into his throat, rushing to open up a new window to hide the folder.

“N-nothing,” he stammers, but judging by your expression, he knows it’s too late. “I promise it’s not anything weird or creepy or anything! Shit, that makes it sound more creepy. But it’s not, I swear.”

“Taesan,” you repeat slowly, “what was that?”

The man buries his face into his hands, groaning loudly before looking at you again. “Fuck, you’re gonna think I’m such a loser.”

You choose not to respond to that, motioning at his computer again. Even in the artificial blue light, you can see the color that begins to rise to his cheeks. In any other situation, you’d consider it cute, but you’re still not sure whether or not to be creeped out.

Taesan sighs, double clicking the folder to reveal a plethora of untitled files. You try your best to see what they are, or what they could contain, but Taesan opens one before you get a chance. It brings you right back to his producing software, a track beginning to load.

“Just listen.”

The melody that plays is hard hitting, a little jarring in the small space. There’s a strong drum beat for a moment, only to be slowed down right before a voice starts rapping.

Taesan keeps his eyes firmly trained on the floor as the song plays, trying his hardest not to cringe at his own lyrics. He goes on and on about the way you laugh, the color of your eyes, the swell of your hips. In the chorus, he highlights how much he wants to be yours, how perfect you are. It all repeats until the end, where he confesses how perfect he could be for you.

When the song ends, neither of you move, letting an oppressive silence linger in the small space. You don’t even notice the way your mouth has hung open until you feel a slight pain in your jaw. Despite it, you can’t seem to keep your mouth closed, continually floundering for words.

“You wrote that?” You question, voice barely coming out as a whisper.

Taesan simply nods.

“About me?”

When the boy nods a second time, you can’t help but stand from the chair, taking the two steps necessary to stand in front of him. He’s clearly startled when you place a hand on his shoulder, eyes tracing your figure as he looks up. The light of the computer screen is reflected in his eyes, making them appear as if they are sparkling.

“You like me?”

Taesan swallows thickly at your question, nodding again slowly. He goes to look away, but you place a hand under his jaw, preventing him from turning.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taesan whispers. “You’re you and I’m me. I like you so much, but you’re, like, so out of my league. I didn’t want you to laugh at me.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes at the boy’s confession. But it immediately dies in your throat when Taesan squeezes his eyes shut, looking on the verge of tears. You instantly scramble to reassure him.

“No, I promise I’m not laughing because of that,” you coo. “It’s just…why do you think I kept coming by the record store?”

Taesan opens his eyes, glistening with unshed tears. “Because you like Deftones…?”

“Oh my god!”

You can’t help but fully laugh this time, releasing Taesan’s face in favor of squeezing onto his lap. His mouth drops into a soft “o” as you settle in, hands frozen awkwardly on the arm rests. You take his surprise as an opportunity to snake a hand around the back of his neck, letting your nails scratch at the base of his skull like they did months prior.

“Taesan,” you whisper. “I don’t like Deftones.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I like you.”

You wish you had a camera to capture Taesan’s expression at the moment when what you’re saying clicks for him. It takes a moment, the words seemingly churning in his head before their meaning becomes apparent. His head cocks to the side, eyes no longer glistening with unshed tears, but rather sparkling with disbelief.

“You like me?”

The chuckle that escapes you is dripping with fondness, your hands tightening where they rest around Taesan’s shoulders. “Yes. I like you a lot.”

“I also like you a lot.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “You already mentioned that part.”

Taesan still looks nervous, hands clearly fumbling as he decides whether or not it’s okay to touch you. “So…what now?”

You inch forward, slowly minimizing the already small distance between the two of you. It’s close enough that you can feel Taesan’s shaky breath, warm as it fans your face. He goes a little cross eyed as he tries to maintain eye contact, clearly still startled at the newfound close contact.

“Now you kiss me.”

There’s a brief hesitation, the tiniest moment in which Taesan’s eyes flicker down to your lips before meeting your gaze once more. But then, he immediately surges forward to close the distance between you two, his soft lips blanketing yours. It’s a timid, chaste kiss that only lasts a few seconds before he pulls away.

“Taesan,” you whisper, as if not wanting the words to escape the cocoon that you have created with your bodies. “Kiss me again.”

And he does. He kisses you again and again until your hands travel to his cheeks, keeping him in place. It allows you to kiss him deeper, savoring the warm feeling of his mouth on yours.

Despite his shy nature, Taesan seems anything but inexperienced as he finally relaxes into the kiss. His hands slowly migrate from the arm rests to your hips, hands smoothing along the fabric of your jeans. He strikes a comfortable balance between the gentle way he kisses and the firm groping of your body.

Just when you start to lose yourself in the feeling, he pulls away, leaving both of you panting.

“Wait, Y/N…let me play you another song.”

With a little bit of shuffling and clicking, Taesan finds the audio file he's looking for, kiss-swollen lips settling into a satisfied grin. He leans back to observe you as he presses play, letting a melody flow through the speakers.

You're my girl

And that's alright

If you sting me, I won't mind

'Cause you're my girl

And that's alright

If you sting me, I won't mind.

.FIN.

#boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor #boynextdoor smut #boynextdoor fluff #bnd #han taesan #han taesan imagines #written in the stars

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