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blindmagdalena · 2 months ago

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Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter seven)

18+ 7k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, heavy dubcon, fingering, clothed/unclothed, dry humping. gif credit | fic directory | AO3

As promised, Homelander allows you an opportunity to say goodbye to the life you knew. After which, he does what he must to prove that you belong with—and to—him.

Days spent with Homelander are simultaneously long and yet strangely fluid, hours blending seamlessly into one another. Every day that he comes home, you endure the flip into what you’ve privately begun to refer to as “performance mode,” in which you’re playing the role of doting girlfriend.

So long as you maintain the idea that it’s a performance, you don’t have to think too much about how good the heat of his body feels against yours. You don’t have to question the ease with which you’ve taken to toying with his hair while the two of you watch television, or why you don’t mind it so much when he rests his head in your lap.

There was a day he came home early and caught you absently dancing in the living room while you tidied. That alone was embarrassing, but it was mundane enough of a thing to be brushed aside, to forget. Except that he wouldn’t. He’d fixated on it like a dog with a bone, and you’d had to endure his relentless teasing about it for the rest of the day.

“You act like you’ve never seen anyone dance before,” you’d said.

“I haven’t,” he said. “Not here.”

Your role here has many names: girlfriend, cook, therapist, maid, lover, and reinventor. It’s about more than just romance. It's a complete transformation of his empty, lonely world.

It’s what you must do to survive.

You learn quickly that he’s a creature of habit, favoring the same routine each day. He gets out of bed at the same time every day, showers for the same amount of time, and asks for the same breakfast that he does not eat.

It drives you crazy to cook a breakfast only to find yourself emptying it into the garbage not an hour later, but the drastic and often unpredictable fluctuations in Homelander’s moods have made you reluctant to question or criticize him.

Besides, what do you care if he eats your food?

Caring is a creature with sharp teeth. It sinks its fangs into the deepest part of you and opens you up to deeper infection. Caring can hurt more than a punch, more than broken bones, more than anything that bleeds. Caring doesn’t break you clean. It’s a bone that doesn’t set, a cut that doesn’t close. Caring is to be vulnerable, to live as an open wound, and one thing you’re entirely certain of is that Homelander cannot be trusted with your vulnerability.

Yet you could not bring yourself to turn away from him. Not after he snapped at you, not after he screwed his eyes shut, not even as he began folding in on himself like a dying star readying to implode. Even though every primal instinct in you told you to run, your feet remained rooted.

You took him into your arms for the same reason you smother a flame rather than blow on it. In doing so, part of you has caught fire, embers continuing to burn.

The way he kissed you lingers on your lips like a ghost. His touches haunt every part of your tingling body, your fingertips numb with adrenaline as you pick up the containers from the coffee table. You can still feel the trail his hot mouth seared down your throat, branding your skin with the memory of his hunger.

He hadn’t embraced you so much as he’d clung to you, his hands testing every inch of the reality of you. He disappeared somewhere so deep in his own mind that it had shocked him stiff when you held him.

A panic attack…?

Strong hands settling on your hips break you out of your daze. Looking over your shoulder, you see Homelander’s smiling face. His eyes are bright and clear, his cheeks no longer streaked with tears. If you didn’t know better–know how easily and abruptly he can switch gears–you’d think you had hallucinated the entire thing.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, recognizing that expectant look on his face. Whatever he said, you didn’t hear it. “I was just thinking. What did you say?”

He huffs a little laugh. “Geeze, talk about a space cadet. C’mon, let’s get you airborne!”

Though your stomach flips, you nod.

I’ll take you flying again. You’ll be conscious this time around.

As soon as you have the containers of food safely tucked into a bag, he wastes no time scooping you up into his arms. The ease with which he lifts you is jarring; it’s less like being picked up by a person, and more like being strapped into a rollercoaster. There’s no sense of give in his strength, and all at once you’re shunted back to the memory of the night you were abducted.

It had felt the same way then, too. His arms coiled around you like steel, his chest a brick wall at your back. He’d held you then as gently as he holds you now. No matter how hard you thrashed, there was no give.

No escape.

Your heart beats hard against your chest, apprehension tightening around your throat like a collar being pulled tight.

When will it stop feeling like this when he touches me?

The derangement of the thought strikes your addled mind belatedly. Never, you remind yourself. His touch should never evoke anything but the fear he’s earned

A sudden rush of cool air from the door opening hits your face, the shift in pressure briefly paralyzing your lungs, halting your shallow breaths. You turn your face from it, nestling instead into the thick, textured fabric of his suit while you fight to catch your breath.

Somewhere over the furious drumming of your heart, you hear him laugh, feel the rumble of his chest against your cheek.

He adjusts you higher up, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You’re more secure in his grasp this way, and admittedly, you’re grateful for it.

“Relax,” he purrs in your ear. “I won’t let you go.”

Yes, he’s made that abundantly clear.

In an effort to gain some modicum of control, you slip your fingers into the front of his suit collar, gripping the fabric tight. It’s stiffer than you expected it to be, but it at least serves as a good handhold that way. His pulse can be felt in his throat, the beat of it fluttering against the backs of your fingers. It’s quicker than you expected it to be.

You wonder what in the world he has to be nervous about.

“Just give me a warning before you take off, okay?” you ask, focusing on steadying your breathing.

“Before I take off?”

There’s a particular playful lilt to his tone that makes you uneasy.

“Yes.”

“Hm. Can we pretend I did that thirty seconds ago?”

You rear back to look at him, and before you can think better of it, you turn to look down. Your vision tunnels, the edges of it blurring as your eyes fight to adjust to the sudden distance between you and the earth.

The reality of it sets in. It was one thing to understand his capacity for flight in theory, what it would be like to fly with him, but nothing could have prepared you for this. There’s nothing stabilizing you but him, the plummet below a nauseating hundred storey drop. Against your every wish, your stomach starts to churn violently.

Tucking back against him, eyes screwed tightly shut, you mumble, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Homelander sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s really gonna ruin someone’s day down there.”

“Shhh’up,” you slur, white-knuckling his collar with one hand, the other clutching the bag of food to your chest. “I changed my mind, take me back, take me back. Can we please just take the elevator and drive? I really don’t want to–”

“Hey, hey, relax,” he coos, tilting backwards, bringing more of your weight against his body. The movement only makes you feel sicker. ”Closing your eyes only makes it worse. Y’gatta adjust.”

You shake your head and swear you can feel water sloshing back and forth in your skull. “Take me back, please take me back.”

Warm lips press against your forehead, his breath wafting over your scalp.

“It’ll pass,” he says with the certainty of experience. “It’s worth it. Trust me.”

Trust him? The audacity of the ask is enough to make you temporarily forget your peril and look up at him through narrowed glassy eyes.

“Why in the world would I trust you?” you ask through your teeth, emboldened by your incredulity despite the way the tension in your body makes your muscles tremble faintly.

His grin doesn’t falter as he asks in turn, “What’s your alternative?”

Your lips part on an incredulous breath, disbelieving that he would be so blatant about it.

In the three days you’ve spent with Homelander, there have been both ambiguous and unambiguous moments of cruelty. Moments where you were certain he was rubbing your captivity in your face, mocking you.

Other times he seems so desperately lost you can almost understand the way he clings to you. Times where his cruelty comes not from an understanding of what will hurt you, but a complete inability to comprehend that you’re a living, breathing person with your own complicated innerworkings.

“You’re unreal,” you say, mystified by the enigma he presents.

“And you’re flying,” he says in your same tone, those ocean blue eyes glinting with self-satisfaction.

You take in a breath to retort, but pause. Though your grip on his collar remains tight, you’re no longer shaking. For a moment there, you’d honestly forgotten where you were. Leaning against him like this, with more of your weight supported on his wrought iron frame, you don’t feel quite so much like you’re precariously dangling.

Though your heart is still racing, and your mouth's as dry as sand, you don’t feel immediately ready to eject your lunch anymore.

“Don’t look down this time,” he tells you, towards the horizon. “Look out.”

Hesitantly, you turn your head to follow his gaze.

The view is surreal.

The afternoon sky is a clear and vibrant blue that the maze of steel buildings below reflect, giving the entire city an oceanic hue. Hundreds upon hundreds of windows lit with warm lights dot the way like fireflies in a field.

In the distance, the sun has fallen low enough that it casts a golden glow across the water. It refracts the light in endless shimmering waves. The spectacle of it is enough to make you forget that this isn’t some fantastical world, that you live here.

Never could you have fathomed seeing the world like this with your own eyes.

“Fuck me,” you murmur, slightly dazed.

Homelander barks a laugh. “What, now?”

Ignoring him, you tentatively let your gaze drift lower. From this distance, all you can see of the lives below you are faint black dots, the flow of them reminiscent of an ant colony. The same loud bustling streets that you used to walk every day are silent from this vantage point, giving the city an uncharacteristic sense of calm. It’s the world–your world–as you’ve never seen it before.

“See?” You feel the heat of the word against your temple as much as you hear it, his lips brushing along your hairline. “I told you it was worth it.”

You tear your attention from the cityscape and bring it back to Homelander.

While you’ve always distantly acknowledged that he’s attractive, he’s undeniably beautiful like this. Bathed in the glow of golden hour, his skin looks Midas touched, and the blue of his eyes is even more vibrant, the light giving them an almost crystalline appearance.

All over again you’re struck by the fact that, whether you want him or not, he’s inexplicably yours. Your captor, your roommate, your warden, your boyfriend, your gilded cage. You’re only where you are now–soaring above the city beyond the confines of that penthouse–because you found it in yourself to be all the things he wants you to be. The more you give, the more you get.

Play your part. Reap the reward.

This is survival.

“You were right. It’s beautiful,” you say, relinquishing your grip on his collar to instead slip your arm around his neck, leaning in to press your cheek to his in a make-shift embrace. You feel his surprise in the slight hitch of tension in his body before he relaxes back into you.

“Can I ask you something? Something about us. Or… about me, I guess,” you say, staring at the world from over his shoulder. Only now has your pulse begun to calm enough that you can properly hear yourself over the rush of your own blood.

His flag of a cape billows in the wind behind him as he flies languidly through the air, giving you something near to focus on.

“Sure you can,” he says, feigning ease that doesn’t quite ring sincere.

He doesn’t like it when you ask too many questions, or start poking holes in the idyllic little fantasy you’ve been living for him.

“Why did you choose me?”

There’s a pause while he mulls over the question, the droning winds around you filling the empty space. Your stomach gives a small flip as he shifts, changing his flight path, making you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, said the wrong thing.

You draw back to meet his gaze, but his expression doesn’t betray any kind of upset.

“I’ll show you,” he says, the words punctuated by a wink, though the gesture doesn’t exude his usual self assured bravado. Based on the tension in his jaw, you get the sense he’s actually masking a buried nervousness.

Within minutes, you’re soaring over a part of the city you recognize with stark familiarity. Seeing your route to work from this angle has a surreal quality to it, like remembering a dream in vivid detail. It’s difficult to fathom that less than a week ago, this was your life.

Drifting to the ledge of a nearby building, he sits on the edge of it, adjusting you on his lap. While the height remains dizzying if you think too much about it, you can’t deny that the warm strength of his arms have given you a firm sense of security.

“I used to come here a lot during my downtime. Between meetings and location work,” he explains, taking in a deep breath.

You do the same, cool air filling your lungs. It’s warm out, but the altitude brings in enough of a chill from the ocean to offset the late afternoon summer heat.

“I got familiar with this spot. The people, their routines,” he says, head lightly bobbing side to side.

“You saw me,” you fill in as understanding dawns.

“Yeah. I saw you,” he echoes, following the walkways below as if he’s tracing your path to work in the same way you are. “Every day.”

“You were really out here every day?” you ask with a lilt of surprise, looking at him. “I never saw you before.”

“People almost never do. You’d be surprised how rarely people ever look up.”

You hum quietly. Already you feel isolated from the world below. Nothing more than an observer. Knowing him as you do now, you can only imagine how outside of it all he really feels.

“Do you ever… go down there? Not as Homelander, but just as yourself.”

“I am Homelander.”

“No, no, I know, but…” You falter, wanting to be delicate. “You were someone else first, weren’t you?”

His gaze turns distant, no longer focusing on the streets below. “No.”

You think again of the young boy in the empty room holding back tears, and your heart grows heavy in your chest. That child–and the man he grew into–had to have had a name once, didn’t he? It’s unfathomable to think he didn’t. Homelander isn’t really a name. It’s a persona, a product patented and sold by Vought.

To have a name is to exist in people’s minds and hearts as a whole person. Whether the name is a gift or a choice, there is soul in a name. More than just an identity, a name is a love language. Be it a given name, nicknames, pet names, to name something is to love it.

Names begin in the heart, form on the tongue, become shaped by lips and cradled by voice. They're an intimacy not only of the body, but of the mind and soul.

Surely he has a name beyond the hero’s title of Homelander.

Project Odessa.

You take in a breath, the question poised on your tongue, but Homelander speaks first.

“I don’t remember when, but you started to stand out. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. I wanted to know more, so… I learned more. And I saw that you were lonely,” he says, but you’ve learned to read between the lines when he tells you things about yourself.

I was lonely.

“You needed someone.”

I needed someone.

“Someone to take care of.”

Someone to take care of me.

“I wanted to save you.”

I wanted you to save me.

“And I did.”

He looks at you then, his expression difficult to parse. There’s a challenge in his gaze, as if he’s daring you to contradict him, but that defiance isn’t enough to cancel out the fragility that always seems to linger when he admits to any sort of genuine feeling.

“I saved you,” he reinforces, voice quieter, firmer.

Sitting hundreds of feet in the air, you’re reminded that this isn’t a normal conversation.

This is a matter of survival.

Play your part. Reap the reward.

“Thank you.”

The tight line of his lips relaxes, spreading into a smile. It radiates the same sort of satisfied pride that he always gets when you show him gratitude for all he’s done for you.

To me, you correct yourself, fighting to keep those lines from blurring. When you look at your life through his eyes, you cannot deny that it looks small. Inconsequential. Lonely. Sad.

None of that changes the fact that it was yours. That it is yours. That he had no right to take it from you when he had every opportunity to ask to be part of it.

The worst part is that, given the choice, you’re starting to feel like you would have said yes.

It’s a conflicted kind of relief when he closes his eyes and presses his lips lightly to yours. The heat of his mouth–the instant memory of his tongue, his teeth, his roaming hands–sends a hot rush through you, but unlike last time the kiss is fleeting and chaste.

“Aaaalrighty,” he says, his voice suddenly full of vigor and performative boom. It’s a wonder he doesn’t give himself a headache with how quickly he’s prone to switching gears. “Let’s get this grubhub goin’.”

He pushes off of the ledge and your stomach lurches the way it would at the start of a rollercoaster, a drop followed by a sudden lift. Your arm tightens around his neck while his smile lingers, clearly pleased by the clinginess this has imposed on you.

You don’t have to tell him where to go. He knows exactly the alley to land in, sinking between buildings to the very back, as not to be observed by the bustling crowd below. You’d grown used to the noise of the crowds, but after several days of quiet, the clamor of New York is borderline deafening. It makes you wince and reflexively press on one ear, plugging it while you adjust.

Regardless of the noise, you feel an instant relief when your feet hit the ground. Homelander’s hands linger on your hip and your elbow, steadying you.

“Well?” he prompts. “You glad we flew?”

“Let’s not get carried away,” you say, huffing a quiet laugh. “I very much almost lost my lunch, but… yeah, I’ll admit it was worth it,” you say, checking on the containers of food packed away.

You’d considered hiding some kind of message amidst the food, but it felt too risky. There was too good of a chance that Homelander would check, and if he did, you wouldn’t have made it this far at all.

For all you know, he did check. You’re still not certain if he really has x-ray vision, or if that’s an invention of Vought’s for the movies. Better safe than sorry.

Maybe you won’t need a hidden message. Maybe you’ll be able to get across to John, without saying a word, that something isn’t right.

“If you wait here, I’ll be–”

“What, I’m not allowed to meet your friends?” he interrupts, hands on his hips.

“Oh, uh.” You blink, holding his gaze uncertainly. “I didn’t… think you’d want to.”

Homelander waves his hand dismissively.

“If he’s important to you, he’s important to me,” he says, slipping an arm around your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Besides, next to children, the unhoused are our most vulnerable population,” he says, sounding entirely too much like a politician with a list of talking points. “Anything could happen to him. I can keep a close eye on him for you, make sure he doesn’t get into any unnecessary trouble.”

His smile is too wide, too wolfish, and with a terrible chill you understand the words for the threat that they are.

If John causes problems for him, Homelander will remedy them.

Am I making a mistake?

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “Okay… Sure.”

Despite how heavily Homelander’s words hang over your head, you very nearly take flight yourself with the swell relief that hits you when you see John sitting at the end corner of the alleyway, hands busy with a Rubik’s Cube. He’s an imposing looking man in his late thirties, bearded and tall, but he’s never made you feel unsafe. He’s kind, and most importantly, he’s familiar.

You take in a sharp breath of excitement, his name on the tip of your tongue, but a crimson leather clad hand clamps over your mouth and pulls you back into the shadow of the building. Homelander pins you back against him, one hand keeping you quiet while the other slips around your middle, locking you in place.

Did he change his mind, or was this all just a game from the start? Your wide eyes prickle with tears.

“Ground rules,” he says, voice low in your ear. “We’ve been together for a couple of weeks, but for your own safety, it’s been kept a secret. You quit your dead-end job and traveled to Europe with me, from which we’ve just recently returned. Got it?”

Huffing shallow little breaths from your nose, heart racing, you nod.

“If I see any funny business, I’ll break his neck.”

You close your eyes, every beat of your heart a painful jab. His voice has the same cool hollowness it did when he warned you not to lie to him. It’s him, and yet simultaneously sounds like an entirely different person.

“Nod if you understand.”

A beat, and then you nod.

“Good girl,” he says, his smile audible in his praise. His hand slips away from your mouth and he kisses your temple, straightening out your clothes. His arm slinks around your waist, hand settling heavily on your hip. “Now, let’s get this over with.”

Rattled, you rub the tears from your eyes and take in a steadying breath, trepidation replacing your excitement. Dread pools in your stomach, the tide of it rising with every step, but you still manage to smile once you’re in earshot of your friend.

“Hey, John,” you call gently, lifting a hand to wave when he meets your gaze.

John does a double take, glancing up once, then twice, recognition flipping to confusion, and then rounding back to delight. He smiles broadly from beneath his wiry beard, pushing off of the wall he’d been leaning against.

“I’ll be damned,” he says as he approaches you. “You had me worried! I was beginning to think y–” he stops himself, belatedly noticing Homelander at your side. His eyes widen a fraction, and then his brows furrow.

In his myriad of expressions, you recognize yourself. That first night you woke up, how confused you were by where you were and who you were with. The whole thing felt like a dream, and John looks as though he’s wondering if this is one, too.

As a New Yorker, seeing Homelander–or any member of the Seven–in the flesh typically means one of two things: you’ve stumbled onto a promotional event, or trouble is close at hand.

“Is everything alright?” he settles on asking, the priority of his concern for you instantly warming your chattering heart.

“More than alright,” Homelander answers when you take too long, flashing a winning smile. He gives your hip a squeeze, prompting you.

You clear your throat, lifting the bag off of your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, yes, I’ve just–I’ve been away,” you say, already tripping over the lies catching in your throat.

If I see any funny business, I’ll break his neck.

Thanks to you, John’s life rides on this conversation, and he has no clue. You kick yourself internally, desperate to get your shit together for both your sakes.

“It was really impromptu, but, uhm, I didn’t want you to worry, and I have news, so I–” you flash Homelander a look, as if to say let me sell this, and he reluctantly withdraws his arm. “I asked Homelander if he’d come along, because I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me,” you say, forcing out a little laugh.

John hesitantly takes the bag when you offer it, but he’s looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, his eyes occasionally darting over to Homelander, who continues to stand akimbo behind you. “Believe you…?”

“That I’m dating Homelander,” you say, pulling your lips back in what you can only hope is a convincing smile, and not just a manic show of teeth.

“Oh,” he says, looking no less puzzled.

The whole situation is bizarre beyond words. That you would come to him, an acquaintance that you’ve known only through habit, through the quick conversations you’ve had in the transitional spaces between work and home, seems insane. That you would care that he knows or that he believes you’re dating New York’s premium hero.

Of course he won’t see that you’re a hostage. Why the hell would he?

You feel out of your mind the same way you did sitting on that stupid couch, punching in website after website after website. It’s futile. You’re outside, you’re right in front of another person, someone who would be just as horrified as you are to know the truth, and yet you can’t say a damn thing.

This will always be true. Whether you’re standing in front of a stranger, an acquaintance, or your dearest loved ones, your truth will put them in danger.

All because of one lonely little boy.

Your smile holds firm, but your eyes well with tears.

“I quit my job,” you say, fighting back the sob threatening to choke you. “So I won’t see you anymore. But I, uhm–I just wanted to say goodbye. So, goodbye,” you say, moving to turn away before your emotions betray you any further, but John catches you by the shoulder, his touch light and painfully human.

“Hey, you take care of yourself,” he says, looking to be shaking off the shellshock from what you’ve presented. “Y’always seem to be taking care of other people and their problems, so… Take care of you, too. If not for yourself, you’ll do that for me, yeah? For old time’s sake,” he says with a smile, giving the bag a little shake.

You stare at him, the confession of it all sitting heavily on the tip of your tongue.

Help me! you want to shout. I can’t do this alone. I can’t take care of this myself. I need help. It’s too much. I’m scared.

You start to move towards him, and his opposite arm opens, as if ready to embrace you.

“Lucky for her,” Homelander interrupts, hoisting you suddenly into his arms and out of John’s reach, shattering any potential illusions. “She’s got me to take care of her now,” he says, his Hollywood smile stretched instead into a thin sneer.

“Great to meet’cha, pal,” he spits, voice devoid of any actual camaraderie. Tears burn in your eyes as his fingertips dig into you, his grip like a vice, like chains slipping back around your limbs. “Enjoy the food.”

Anything John might have said in response is swallowed up by the rush of air parting around him as Homelander shoots up into the sky, leaving your world in the dust, and any hope you had with it.

The flight back to the penthouse is quiet.

Homelander flies faster than he did on the way out, itching to be back within the safe, predictable confines of home. You’re tense in his hold, but both of your arms are wrapped around his neck, your face tucked in under his jaw, and he takes pleasure in that, at least.

It’s a miracle he didn’t rip that filthy fuckers arm off for the way he grabbed you, for the way he tried to pull you into his arms.

God damn pervert is what he is.

You’re too naive to see it, but he isn’t, and there wasn’t a fucking chance he was going to let the guy cop one last feel before you were spirited away for good. The thought alone is enough to set his teeth on edge, to make him consider paying the son of a bitch a little visit anyways.

He grits his teeth.

No one touches his things.

It sets off something primal in him. A gnawing, feverish compulsion to claim you so thoroughly there could be no doubt that you’re his. He wants to fuck you, to mark you so obviously that no other man will ever touch you like that again.

By the time he lands on the concrete slab of his balcony, you’re shaking up a storm. He maneuvers inside without putting you down, as you’ve made no move to let go of him.

Something isn’t right.

He rubs your back, mimicking the patterns you make when you rub his, pausing when you suddenly make a choked noise that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

What the hell? He did exactly what you asked him to. You’re supposed to be happy.

He carries you to his bed, a dozen versions of the two of you reflected back in the surrounding mirrors, and sets you down gently. Your arms slide loose from his neck and fall limply to your sides. Bending down, he cups either side of your face and brings your gaze up to meet his, perplexed to find your eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey,” he says softly, swiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb as it falls. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You shut your eyes and make a sound he can’t make sense of, something between exasperation and agony. Though you try to pull out of his grip, he holds you in place, refusing to let you run from this.

From him.

“No, no. Look at me. I did what you asked,” he says, impatience slowly wringing the gentleness from his voice.

Your eyes are red and glassy, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and over his thumbs.

Christ.

This is a far cry from what he had in mind when he thought earlier about how you’d make it up to him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sob, taking hold of his wrists. “I just want to go home.”

His expression falls, brows furrowed in confusion, dismay, anger.

“What’re you talking about? You are home. You’re happy here. You have everything, you–I’ve given you everything,” he says, though a voice in the back of his mind reminds him that isn’t true.

He hasn’t given everything. Not yet. He’s been holding back. You both have, and now you’re both suffering.

Enough, he thinks. Hasn't he been deprived long enough?

Haven't you?

You try again to pull away, but this time he pulls you forward, pressing his lips to yours. You make a sound against his mouth that sounds like surprise, but all that matters now is the thrum of your skin against his.

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” he says between kisses, following you as you pull backwards, his knee hitting the bed as he crawls over top of you. He lets his hands roam, learning you in the way he’s been aching to since the day he decided that you would be his, and that he would be yours.

“You have no idea how fucking good I can make you feel.”

Pleasure has always been his greatest comfort. The ability to shut down his brain, to quiet the voices and focus solely on the physical. He needs it, and now more than ever, he can see that you need it, too.

He kisses your jaw, your cheek, kisses the wet streaks from your skin and licks the salt of them from his lips.

“I can make it go away,” he murmurs, undeterred by your hands pushing against his chest. You have a nasty habit of fighting what’s good for you.

“I’ll make you happy if you’d just let me.”

Your clothes put up less resistance than you do, the designer material tearing with ease. He swallows up your gasp with another kiss, slips his tongue into your mouth and grazes your teeth with it, daring you to bite.

Your pulse thunders in his ears, but not even the acridity of the fear coursing through you can hide the sweet heat of arousal seeping from between your thighs.

His own body aches in kind, cock throbbing needily behind his cup. His mind has already started to fog, the sting of rejection soothed by the need he can feel building in every part of your body.

You want him. You do. He can feel it in the drumming of every climbing throb he hears your body give.

“All this teasing, this tension, it can all end. We’re so close to what we both want now, what we both need.” His hand slips lower, forcing your legs apart enough to drag his middle finger over your cunt through the satiny fabric of your panties, savoring the way it makes you shudder.

“I don’t want this,” you say, hardly sounding convinced of it yourself.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me, ” he says, taking his hand away only to bite the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off with his teeth and tossing it aside. He moves it right back to your pussy, pressing in firmly to finally feel the hot, soaked patch of fabric against his bare skin.

“Look who’s all wet.”

“Why are you doing this?” There’s a tremble running through your voice, through your body.

He huffs an incredulous little breath.

“I’m doing this for you. For us. I’m doing this because you don’t know how to let yourself be happy,” he says, drawing back to look at you. You’re beautiful like this. Eyes glassy and vibrant, skin hot under his touch. “All you have to do is let go, and I’ll make all the bad stuff go away.”

You don’t respond, but he knows by the look of you that he’s struck a chord. He kisses you again, and this time, you don’t try to turn away. Instead, both of your hands slip into his hair, and to his elation, you kiss him back.

He moans against your lips, shifting onto his side next to you so that he can better maneuver his hand, bringing his fingers up to slip them into your underwear, letting out a low sound for the feel of your velvety wet cunt under his bare fingers.

“Keep breathing,” he reminds you, acutely attuned to every inch of you, including when your breath catches. “That’s it… Good girl.”

The last thing he needs now is for you to pass out.

He kisses a trail down from your shoulder to your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts before he kisses an apology into the soft skin, only to suck a mark at that same spot. He spreads your own slick from your cunt to your clit, massaging it between his middle and index finger.

You suck in a ragged breath, you whimper, and in that sound he knows he finally has you hook, line and sinker.

That’s when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror above. You shudder, turning your head away as if ashamed, but he won’t let you hide from this.

“Ah, ah, none of that. No shame in this. It’s a tale as old as time, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his middle finger slowly into the silky clench of your pussy.

“Boy meets girl… Girl falls for boy… Boy fucks her brains out,” he half laughs, half rasps, hooking his leg over yours both to pull your legs wider apart, and to give himself your thigh to grind against.

He angles his thumb to rub your clit while his finger crooks, stroking inside you until he finds that delicate, puffy little bundle of nerves he’s been taught to look for. More than just by the feel of it, he knows he’s found it when your hips jerk suddenly, and you look at him as though he’s just invented the spot.

“I told you,” he rumbles, kissing you slow, wet, hungry, “that I would make you feel good.”

He adds another finger, fucking you with them slowly, his pace building gradually. He imagines how it’ll feel to have his cock where his fingers are, and he nearly comes in his pants at the thought alone, his hips jerking against you.

“Look at yourself,” he sighs, his other hand cupping the back of your neck. “Look at yourself,” he says again, harsher this time, and your eyes snap up to the mirror above you.

You’re a mess, clothes torn apart and splayed under and around you, hickeys forming where he’s abused your skin with his lips. You’re fucking yourself down on his hand entirely of your own accord now, one hand fisted in his hair, the other in the sheets. Your tears have dried and there’s only sweet, mindless pleasure left in your eyes.

He’s never known a pain he couldn’t fuck away. He knew you’d be the same.

“So fucking perfect for me,” he coos, breath hitching on his own mounting pleasure. Your pussy squeezes his fingers, the lewd cacophony of pleasure filling the room the closer you get to the brink.

“Homelander,” you keen, voice fractured and sweet as sugar.

He kisses his name from your lips, licks up the honied taste of it while he fucks you deeper, faster, his pace never once faltering, not even as you begin to thrash against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to get closer or further, but he holds you tightly in place, gritting his teeth against the pleasure while he shamelessly humps your leg.

Your shallow breaths take on a pitchy sound as you writhe, as if part of you is still fighting him, fighting your pleasure, but in the end, it’s a battle you lose. Your cunt locks up like a vice around his fingers, your orgasm throbbing inside and out, your clit fluttering against his thumb.

You’re robbed of breath, of sound, and of sense as you come, capable of nothing more than a silent cry as pleasure–the pleasure he gave you–wracks your body.

He fucks you through it, relishing the way your quivering cunt squeezes his fingers, greedily pulling him back in on every thrust. It’s too much–you’re too much–and he loses himself to it, giving a ragged gasp as he comes shortly after. His eyes roll back, pulse after pulse of sweet pleasure filling his cup with liquid heat.

“I love you,” he gasps, nearly choking on the words, rocking against your still-trembling form. “I–fffuck, I love you, I love you so much.”

He’s languid but no less ravenous in the way he kisses your chest, your throat, your jaw, your mouth, all while his fingers rock lazily in and out of your cunt. Still coming down from his own high, he doesn’t stop until you’re grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand away, pleading your overstimulation with nothing but soft noises.

He licks his fingers clean, intoxicated by the feel, taste and smell of you. A shiver runs through you, and it’s only then that he realizes he forgot to shut the balcony door behind him.

Too enraptured to move, to risk breaking the spell your bodies have cast over one another, he drapes his cape over your naked body, tucking you in against his chest.

Satisfied that he’s made his point, that you finally understand the gift he’s wanted to give you all along, he wraps both arms around you and nuzzles against the top of your head, pressing a kiss to the crown.

While ending your first tryst sticky and wet in his pants wasn't his ideal scenario, he'll take it. The weight of you in his arms, the taste of you on his lips, more than makes up for it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the words slurring together slightly. He strokes your back, holding you close as the tremors subside. He gladly takes credit for the way your breaths even out, for the way you sink into his arms, the resistance wrung from your muscles.

All that’s left now is bliss.

“That’s my girl.” And you are, without a shadow of a doubt, his.

( chapter eight )

#i did it!!! 😭#i'm not ENTIRELY sure all the correct ways to tag this chapter but it's a heavy one #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #x reader #yandere x reader #my writing #homelander fanfiction #center stage in a gilded cage

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five-rivers · 7 months ago

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“Huh,” said Danny, lowering the binoculars.

“Huh what?” asked Jazz, glancing up from her book. They were watching their parents test new ghost hunting ordinance in the abandoned quarry an hour south of town.

“I think that the top of that garbage can reached escape velocity.”

“Literally?” Jazz was… dubious, but Danny could sometimes just tell things like that, when it came to space.

“Pretty sure, yeah.” He craned his head back and waved, looking a little dazed. “Goodbye from Earth.” He sighed. “Wish that was me.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Hey, I'd come back.”

“Desiree.”

“Oh yeah. Oops.”

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2024 #dannymay 2024 day 30 goodbye

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skay-ali · 14 days ago

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The Forgotten Daughter

well I finally did it.

first of all merry christmas and enjoy the chapter

Dear family

This may be sudden... I don't even know why I'm writing this letter anymore, it was supposed to be about the big decision I made that would change my life, but even so I don't know why I'm leaving explanations.

My plan was always to never see you again, each of you, I still feel very hurt by everything, although I know that these words will not make a big change in you.

But enough berating them, I'm not racking my brain to find the right words for a letter full of complaints.

I was always a girl who avoided problems or at least I like to think I was, Father, brothers and my dear confidant Alfred, despite getting into big trouble.

The lights were flashing brightly, the music at full volume filled the room, it was very hot due to the sweat that all the bodies were emanating, you watched all the visitors of the club go crazy with euphoria after a few drinks and continued with a long list of crazy things, you On the contrary, you decided that it was one of those depressive days, where you spent your time seeing the bad side of everything and being miserable.

You didn't follow your friends to any of their craziness; on the contrary, you stayed in a place at the bar away from everyone, along with a few glasses full of a low-grade cherry-flavored liquor.

You still taste the light cherry flavor on your palate. There were so many liquors on the shelf, many of different sizes, appearances, names, years and strengths, you wondered if anyone ever drank them all, if there was a person who in his miserable, boring, short life provokes every liquor on the restaurant's menu. bar.

You looked away when you heard the sound of a chair being moved, you saw a man taller than yours, with a somewhat abrupt but attractive appearance. You took another sip from your glass and returned to your thoughts as you watched the people on the dance floor doing stupid things.

Or so you tried, but by discreetly observing the actions of the man near your seat, it was enough to capture your full attention, to what that guy does in his notebook with his pencil.

“What an artist,” you addressed the subject sitting one seat away from you, “what are you doing in a place as crazy as this?” You turned your gaze to the man with blue-black hair, as you watched him take a sip of his drink and draw with his pencil.

Their eyes connected when the man decided to leave his world and pay attention to your beginning of interaction, he couldn't look away in time, although you didn't blame him, you did the same before because of the curiosity you felt when he saw him, you felt like everything was coming together.

He paused, just him and you, as if the two of you were the only ones in a large room of strangers.

A smile left your lips when you saw the man's dazed attitude, he was so lost in himself that it seems that he forgot about your beginning of conversation until a moment later.

Still, you were afraid that it wasn't nerves that the man was feeling but anger or annoyance at your interaction with him.

“Even if you don't believe it, inspiration can be found in unlikely places… Or even sometimes a muse” came those calm words from his thick but reassuring and animated voice.

You were relieved to hear him speak, but those words that had no sign of annoyance or complaints.

“uhh it's like that... I only saw this place as a garbage dump full of vices” you didn't know how you were still trying to maintain an interaction with that person, perhaps prolonging the feeling of company instead of the one of loneliness sounded more attractive.

“You should look at it from other perspectives, so you'll find things like this” you saw him tear a page out of his notebook without blinking and put it on your forehead.

You were surprised to see your drawing on the paper. Every feature of yours delicately captured with each stroke of the pencil on the paper.

“wow you left me speechless for a moment” you disconnected your gaze from the sheet you had in your hands.

“You are actually a great artist” the drawing was extremely beautiful, you never considered yourself a very beautiful woman, it was common for you to see all your flaws before your best qualities, seeing that paper where you felt that in that drawing you were perfect caused you a feeling emotion and a passing confidence.

However, you couldn't get it out of your head to see yourself drawn in other ways on paper, like a cartoon or Japanese version of yourself; before this moment, you never even had the chance to sit on a bench and wait for an artist to draw you. .

“What's wrong with that face, you look disappointed, maybe you're kidding me” you heard him joke.

“No no… no… on the contrary, I really like it” you quickly defended yourself, afraid of offending the man.

“It's just that..” you felt shy when explaining your reasons, especially when he had an attentive gaze on you.

You saw his eyes wait expectantly for your words.

“You know, the drawing is beautiful, but… even though it sounds silly, I wish I could see myself more in a cartoon or comic” you laughed nervously, after your babbling.

“ahh, are you a comic book lover or something?”

“Yes, well it's something like that” you liked to read some series in comic magazines from time to time, but you preferred mangas, you hid this preference, you weren't going to receive a few words of displeasure for that or start a debate about what genre it was.

Better, much less explain what they were if I didn't know what you were referring to.

“I think I can fix that,” the guy said with an animated and funny voice.

You watched him, fascinated, by how he held his book with enthusiasm, his hands moved quickly from one side to the other on the white sheet, the pencil was handled quickly, you could tell that he had a lot of experience with the ease with which he did it.

It was a long night, between different conversations and laughter with the new guy you met, the night became more tolerable with the man by your side.

Between drinks and meaningless talks, laughter on both sides, silly dances on the floor full of people, just two fools doing the most pathetic steps they had plus some little improvised old waltzes, it ended in a new day with two sleepless but falices talking in a viewpoint of a building that showed the entire city.

Oh, father, you don't know how enchanted I was with that man I met on one of my many outings to parties, I was stupid and childish, but I still allowed myself to dream and love.

You didn't expect to meet again with such a man with whom you managed to connect, but that's how it happened, destiny somehow led them to meet.

You liked having a new person in your circle, with whom you managed to get along so well.

From talking about his work as an artist, giving his opinion on different comics and mangas that they knew, talking about animation to becoming hoarse from speaking with so much emotion and passion with long monologues.

They visited many hidden places in the big city in their days of adventures, even if they were alleys that were not very crowded, now that you think about it, such a careless action was very crazy, but the beautiful places, with new views, like an alley full of colorful fabrics and with different designs that hung over the street, the walls of a neighborhood full of drawings with different artistic techniques, but with many bright colors, the tall buildings that showed views of the entire city.

The days of movies with crazy plots, but that had you glued to the screen to see what happened next.

The rare meals from the carts or street stalls, which they consumed without problems while they sat to observe the lights of the city or the dark sky, accompanied by silence, but the two of them together.

In that moment where the two were together and talking, you felt that they were exchanging many words of great importance to both of them, but seen from other perspectives they were nothing more than insignificant.

That's what love did, right?

And all for one crazy night where you hope to go crazy on alcohol, after sinking into a self-compose for your life.

You will never be able to forget when he gave you his name and you gave him yours... well, half of it, you admit to having lied to him, even if you regretted it, you already knew the problems they would bring you later.

Well at least that's what you thought, you had no idea of the true consequences.

You only thought about the fear of telling him your real last name, that he would look for you and know who you really were, you were afraid that he would see you differently, no longer a strange girl he met in a bar, but the daughter of a millionaire with a history. questionable life, the mere thought of him using you was too much.

So you avoided him by mentioning the amazing last name “Wayne” and mentioning a fake one.

More specifically, that of your false identification, something crazy that you did in your wild adolescence was left to be useful in your future, that false identification that you made with your friends from school to visit different clubs, you used it when you became independent, so that no one It will bother you in your new life.

“_____ , _____ Jones” unsurely you stated your name, you still remember when you made the false identifications with your friends and among all of them you were looking for a new name and surname for the others, you kept your name and they gave you the last name of the protagonist of the book of fashionable at the time because of the film that adapted the story.

A mental chuckle caused you to remember this along with the taunts they threw at you about where your diary was.

“Kayle, Kyle Rayner,” the boy smiled as he introduced himself.

You followed his smile, something in his ended up infecting you. Just two fools in a bar telling each other their names and being ignorantly happy.

It's a shame that that happiness ended some time later, when you never saw Kyle again. Even with a card for him to contact you, you never heard from him.

You woke up happy, in his apartment, the day after spending a night together, alone, without any sign that the man was home, without any note or notice, you waited excitedly for him to return, but he never did, even when you left a message. letter and ways for me to contact you again if the ones they already had didn't work, you never knew anything.

Maybe it was all an adventure and you got carried away... they never clarified what they were, hell maybe he didn't even consider you a friend.

But you and I know, father, that all the fairy tales one creates end quickly, most of the time in the worst ways.

I ended up with a broken heart, still, I kept good memories... and her.

I know it is late, very late, as it has been for many years, but I must confess it, because no parents and siblings would want to know it in the worst possible ways….

Alice Wayne, my dear baby….

You leaned back in your chair as you wrote the last sentence, you did it, you wrote what was overwhelming you so much, the beginning of the letter.

Your eyes burned, a few treacherous tears running down your face.

Your family, your passing love and your beloved daughter always made you sensitive.

It wasn't something you could avoid.

You leaned your head on the headboard of the chair, letting all the blood flow to your head, something strange you used to do to clear your head, you looked at the ceiling and the walls around you upside down.

You noticed the crib on the side of the room near your desk where you were writing.

You saw your baby sleeping calmly, a peaceful face with no signs of discomfort, he was an angel.

Your little angel, and your light... you knew you would do anything for her, like you did right now.

I think if we are similar in some way father.

I ended up having a daughter through carelessness like you did to me.

I need to ask you a big favor father and not only of you but also of the whole family, the biggest and most important one I will do in my life.

If something happens to me... if I end up in big trouble or I no longer exist, any situation that prevents me from taking care of my beloved daughter.

Please watch over her.

Make sure she has the best future, a happy life with everything she needs, that she can grow up as a girl full of light, that she is always kind, wise and with a loving family.

If that's not something they can give you, find someone who can give it to you.

Take care of my treasure, my only happiness, my only family... I know I left a long time ago without saying anything and returned in a hurry to their lives.

Maybe one day they will call me selfish knowing the path I took to leave little Alice to them, the decision I decided to make was not easy, but I did it because I want the best for my little light.

We are all selfish and mean, I was all my life, since I knew that my happiness only depended on me, that I was alone in this world, that only oneself can save oneself.

I think I still am by thinking that I can force them to do something about my problem, I can't force them to take care of someone or take responsibility for a short period of time, turning their lives upside down.

But maybe... with all the love and affection that you could ever see felt for me, I can make you consider helping me and fulfilling my difficult request.

Father, brothers and Alfred... I never said it because of all the anger I felt, because of everything that happened in the mansion, which devastated my thoughts with a lot of anger, forgetting everything I had and made me have a comfortable and pampered life.

Thank you.

Well, he's the father and maybe a future yandere, it's a possibility.

after an exhaustive investigation into possible characters to occupy this role in the series.

although there may be other possibilities with other characters....

Like I tried with the penguin's son, if ___ had decided to hang out more with villains and they adopted her or became her godparents.

Tag list: @kore-of-the-underworld @vanessa-boo @jsprien213 @delias-stuff @vanilliona @bat1212 @yanrandom @Quiarst @palabra de niño salvaje @el termino @leo227 @sirenethblog @ masa para galletas @blueberry19000 @con seguridad

#yandere dc #x reader #yandere batfam #yandere platonic #platonic batfam

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sixosix · 8 months ago

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notes wc 500; just came back from watching the battle of the garbage dump movie and i was so moved that i wrote this in one sitting… literally thats it. which means there will be spoilers!!!!! of who wins lol

You weren’t sure where you exactly stood in Hinata Shoyo’s life.

Friend? Classmate? Acquaintance? None seemed right, yet everything else was too much to describe your relationship with him. You’d been with him when he took a sudden interest in volleyball, starry-eyed by the scarce footage he could secure of the Little Giant. You’d been with him as he couldn’t even bounce back a ball for the life of him, awkwardly toppling to the side from his red arms. You’d been there to tally scores of his matches with Koji and Izumi, cheering him on even when his knees buckled from exhaustion. You had been there, you had been there—what would the point be in stopping after all of that?

“You’re my best friend,” Hinata said one day. It was years ago, back when you stayed behind to help him practice, and he grinned so widely that you couldn’t help but mirror it. But that was long ago—your relationship has changed.

Best friend. That felt much better, but it still wasn’t enough.

Hinata Shoyo was the force in your life that you wish wouldn’t ever stop terrifying you.

As the teams and the crowd dispersed, you watched Hinata stand in the center of the court, panting and dazed, his brain lagging behind. He looked stunned, as if he couldn’t believe what the scoreboard displayed. They won. Hinata’s team won.

“Oi,” Kageyama grunted, shoving his shoulder, then gestured vaguely. “Don’t keep people waiting, dumbass. The match is over.”

He stumbled backward, whipped his head around, and brightened when he caught your gaze.

“Shoyo!” You threw your arms out, a laugh blown out of you as he tackled you square on the chest. “Shoyo, Shoyo—”

He exclaimed your name in the same cadence, smile so unbelievably wide that his eyes were screwed shut. “You came! Auntie told me you wouldn’t be able to make it!”

“This is important to you. Of course I’d come,” you said, affronted that he would even believe otherwise. “I always do.”

“Yeah?” he whispered.

His chest heaved heavily, sweat trickling down his neck, and his eyes were still aflame as if the adrenaline still spiked high, but you had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze flicking between his eyes. His silent and intense gaze made you feel that flutter in your chest that you definitely didn’t want to feel towards your best friend. “Hey, is that Kuroo-san? Should I get his autograph?”

Hinata scrunched his nose at your pathetic attempt at diverting his attention. “What? Why?”

“Bokuto-san’s here, too. Do you think they’d let me?”

Hinata wavered for a moment, casting a glance at his master. “Bokuto-san’s awesome, but I should still be your #1, alright? You came for me.”

You nearly laughed. He was waving a finger in front of your face like he was scolding you, and he looked so serious, too.

“Of course, Shoyo.”

He nodded, pleased and grinning. Then he took you by the hand and zipped through the crowd toward a cheering Bokuto and a solemn Akaashi. Your gaze cut to where your hands were intertwined. Even after a victory, he was indulging in your dumb excuses, grinning at you from time to time, and let you witness this supernova of a man.

The fact that it was your hand he held first after one of the most important matches in his life made you understand where you stood in Hinata Shoyo’s life. You were special to him just as much as he was to you.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hinata shouyou x reader #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata shoyo x reader #haikyuu fluff

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bluecollarmcandtf · 10 months ago

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The New Garbageman

Lance slowed from his run and glanced at the trash compactor sitting outside his apartment complex. He needed to catch his breath, but he hated being so close. The young man gave a disdainful look to the laborer who seemed wholly unbothered by his choice in career. 'Some men are just meant for menial crap like this,' he thought to himself, 'God knows I wouldn't be caught dead doing it.'

The jogger looked straight ahead as he passed, not wanting to make eye contact with the sucker lugging away a week's worth of his building's refuge. Lance thought the smell alone was enough to make him gag, but he was even more disturbed by the garbageman's indifference to the squishy contents leaking all over his clothes.

'At what point is that worker just considered trash himself?' Lance pondered with a grimace.

Just as he was about to escape into the entrance of the complex, a sharp ripping noise sounded behind him, followed by a clamour of things crashing to the ground.

Lance made the mistake of looking back, seeing a huge mess scattered across the sidewalk. It looked like a garbage can had exploded and now there was rotten food and crumpled papers everywhere, but that damn sanitation worker had vanished!

"The hell!" Lance shouted in anger, but his rage didn't last long.

A sudden pain stabbed him in the back and he crumpled to the ground like all the garbage had moments before. Everything went black...

Lance shook off the daze and found himself leaning against one of the garbage bins. The pain in his back didn't feel as acute anymore. All he could feel was an unusual warmth spreading from where he had been stung.

"Where is that goddamn garbage man," he growled, wincing at the litter surrounding him. He was ready to give that idiot a piece of his mind.

He put his hand on the concrete in an attempt to get himself up, but was surprised by the feeling of gloves over his fingers. Lance stared at his gloved palms with total confusion. He was sure as hell that he didn't put those old worn things on!

Then he noticed his shoes. They weren't the sneakers he'd been jogging in moments before. They were some kind of work boots!

"What the hell!" he exclaimed, wondering if he'd actually been knocked out and robbed.

Lance pushed his fears aside and began climbing to his feet, but as he did, he noticed something had appeared over his shoulders!

"Where'd this come from?" he cried, becoming more and more angry as articles of clothing just kept appearing on his body.

He was positive this dirty old jacket didn't belong to him. It was covered with stains and reeked like a public bathroom. Lance had a habit of always keeping his clothes freshly laundered and fragranced. He wouldn't even wear jeans two days in a row without washing them, so what was this raggedy work jacket doing in his back?

Lance frantically started to pull the thing off, but it seemed stuck on his waistband or something. No amount of thrashing could get him to pull the thing over his head!

He moaned in frustration and threw his fists down angrily. Then, he noticed why the jacket wouldn't come off. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. The jacket was attached to the new pants he had on!

Lance shouted out in a state of confused panic. "Help!" he cried, not knowing what else to do, but even if someone did come over, what would he tell them? They'd never believe that his clothes were magically being replaced!

He couldn't even bring himself to look down at what he was wearing. Gone were his running shorts and tank top. In their place, a gross old jumpsuit had enveloped his body. Lance was struck by the itchiness of the course material, but he was even more horrified by how damp it felt against his skin. He didn't want to know what liquid those coveralls were saturated with; oil, sweat, or something even worse?

Lance couldn't find his phone in any of his new attire's pockets. He didn't know what was going on, but he was about to start screaming if he didn't find out soon. His breathing intensified while his heart raced out of his chest. He could feel the panic attack coming.

Then all of a sudden, he stopped...

That warm feeling in his back had washed over his entire body and told every tense muscle to relax. Lance's heart rate eased and his breathing slowed. The confusion, worry, and panic in his face was gone: a numb expression sat in its place.

Lance didn't understand why he had suddenly become so calm. Internally, he was still disgusted, horrified, and outraged, but he couldn't deny how relaxed his body had became.

Finally able to gain his bearing, the former jogger climbed up from the ground and gave his new outfit another look.

"What the hell is this thing," he wondered, but his voice had a comparatively lifeless tone.

Lance studied the clothing. The boots were caked with dirt and grime. He could feel his feet sweating inside them. In fact, his entire body felt like it was being cooked. He was completely covered from the neck down with some pretty heavy duty work wear. It was all clothing he would never be caught dead in, yet it looked kind of familiar.

Suddenly it, clicked.

"I'm dressed a goddamn garbage man," Lance spoke again with a monotoned voice.

Then his mouth moved on its own, "I am a garbage man."

The words chilled him to the core. He had not meant to say them! That warm feeling that started in his back had moved to his throat and taken over.

Before he knew it, his hands were moving on their own too. They were picking up the trash littered around him! His legs moved to, crawling his body across the concrete, and Lance couldn't do anything to stop himself.

His mouth wouldn't open when he tried! He wanted to scream! His arms and legs weren't doing what he wanted either. He was trapped in his own body! Lance couldn't speak; he couldn't run; he couldn't hide; he couldn't even panic. His own heart beat at a steady pace like he was the calmest man in the world! His lungs systematically drew in breath after calm breath, and his face was locked in an empty look of indifference...

Lance would have to get used to being around the trash. He was a garbageman now...

One Year Later...

Lance had never imagined he'd be trapped as a garbage collector for this long. His body hadn't let him look back once since he walked away from his old life. Who knows what happened to his apartment and family. He'd long since given up on the idea of ever going back to his old life.

His days were now spent being puppettered to take out other people's trash. It was disgusting hard work that he got no thanks for, but that didn't matter. He wasn't in control of his body, and his body just kept lugging rank bags of garbage day after day after day.

He'd been subjected to millions of dirty looks as people caught sight of him. Lance knew he must seem pathetic. He was sure he smelled even worse. How could anyone respect a man like him? Even after a year, his face still burnt red when someone looked grossed out by him.

The discomfort of his uniform has become normal to Lance. It was itchy and humid under there, which made sense since it hadn't been washed in the all the time he'd had it on.

Well, that wasn't entirely true...

Every night after work, his body would hop on the garbage truck and get dropped off at the sanitation department's parking garage. There he and the rest of the garbage crew would hose each other down. It didn't do much other than make him cold, but at least he got that.

After the makeshift shower, he and the rest of the guys would file into the garage. Lance assumed that every one of the laborers were being used as puppets like him, because they appeared just as numb and lifeless as he did. There was no chummy chitchat; there were no friendly waves or claps on the back; hell there wasn't even a smile or frown on any of their faces.

All the garbagemen acted like robotic slaves for unpaid labor, which is exactly what they were.

Lance's theory was that when he'd felt that pain a year ago, he'd had some sort of Syfy-futuritic-techno crap inserted in his back. It had to be controlling his actions. He could feel it on his spine, sending signals to the resto for his body for how to behave.

It was just a theory. He couldn't prove or disprove anything when he had no autonomy over his own body.

So he was stuck seeing himself play out the same awful routine everyday. 'At least the day's almost over,' he thought to himself. At least he could still dream of a life where he didn't wear this disgusting uniform and pick up garbage all day.

Lance's body joined the rest of the men on the floor. This was where they spent their nights. Whoever was controlling them was clearly too cheap to buy them beds let alone showers or laundry machines

It usually got pretty bleak in there: a whole room of men that aren't allowed to talk or interact outside of working together. There was nothing else to do but sleep, so Lance slid down to the concrete and closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be anything other than a smelly garbageman ever again.

He thought back to his old life, dreaming about that last morning run he'd gotten before all this happened. He fantasized about what would have happened if he'd just ran around the block one more time.

Would he have avoided this fate or was he just destined for menial crap like this?

Thanks for the Ask, workgearfan

#mind control #blue collar #gay mind control #humiliated slave #meat puppets

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 1 year ago

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part two to this little thing 'cause i saw these tags on the last part from @stevesjester and actually kicked my feet and giggled about it

After Pretty Boy kissed him, Eddie walked back to the staff break room in a daze.

His slow lumbering gait still managed to scare some folks, though, so that’s a plus.

He opens the door, slowly turns to close it softly, and leans back against it once it is.

“Eddie? You okay?” Comes a voice he’d know anywhere. “Wait, that is you, right? You’re supposed to be Piggy Man tonight?”

Eddie pulls the rubber mask off, making his stomach flip thinking about the last time it was pulled up. You know, ‘cause he’s a sap.

Chrissy takes in his shocked, sweaty face, “Oh my god, you okay? What happened?”

He looks up at his roommate (best friend, sister) in her bloody cheerleader costume, an ironic holdout from their time in high school, and breathes a laugh, “I fell in love.”

“OMG OMG tell me everything right now!!” Chrissy bounces over to him excitedly and pulls him down to the bench of their one (1) break table, a sagging plastic picnic table.

He looks up at her bright happy face and barks out a half hysterical laugh, “I can’t believe you’re this excited about me potentially falling in love with someone I’m literally being paid to scare.”

“Oooh, so they were a runner??”

“Yeah, literally in this case.”

“Start talking, Munson, or I’m going to throw all your guitar picks down the garbage disposal.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ.. Okay, so I did my usual creepy husky voice at him, called him all the usual things,”

“Let me guess, you started with ‘pretty boy’?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause he’s pretty. Duh. Damn was he pretty…”

“Uh huh. And you fell in love with him ‘cause he was pretty?”

“No, no of course not, listen to this:” Eddie sits up straighter in preparation for the story. “I had him backed into a corner, right? The fake gate over in section 2B,”

“Ah yes, of course.”

“Yeah! And when I lunged at him, he caught my arm, and spun me around.”

“Shut. Up.”

“No, never. SO he’s got me backed against the fence, and he–I swear to fucking Jesus H. Christ–lifts my mask up and kisses me.”

Chrissy starts to squeal incoherently. “Eeeeee!!! Shutupshutupshutup!! Holy shit there’s no way this happened!!”

“Look, 100% serious right now; he kissed me stupid, and spun around and booked it again.”

“Pretty Boy distracted you with a kiss to escape!?! I cannot believe this, c’mon..” Crissy grabs ahold of his arm again and pulls him out of the breakroom with her insane unchecked leftover cheer squad strength.

“Whoa, what? Where’re we going?? He’s probably gone by now! I was standing over in 2B like an idiot for a while after he left!!”

“Not that, we gotta go see Argyle.”

“Argyle why—ohhh shit. Oh my god, you think they caught it on camera?” Eddie’s actively following her now.

The two burst into the warehouses’ security office, where they’re met with the backs of two ‘zombie’ guards (and the leftover smell of weed).

“Argyle, Jonathan, you need to look at something for us,”

“Is it the footage of Eddie’s makeout sesh in 2B? ‘Cause we’re waaayy ahead of you pompom.”

“Ah!! Holy shit he was telling the truth?!” Chrissy bodies between the two, sending Argyle rolling away on his chair, and Jonathan staggering back a step.

“Dude, that’s so cool of your boyfriend to come to the haunt, keepin’ us in business.” Argyle directs at Eddie, though still spinning slowly in his chair.

“He’s not my–you thought he was my boyfriend?”

“Yeah man, why else would you look at him like that.” Jonathan points down at the screen.

Chrissy re-winds it again and Eddie watches himself charge forward at Pretty Boy (damn, he’s still pretty though this grainy footage too, how the fuck is that possible??), get spun and–oh shit, they’re right.

“Oh Jesus Christ.” he hangs his head into his hands, falling down into Jonathan’s previously abandoned chair.

“Sooo…he’s not your boyfriend..?”

Chrissy re-winds the footage again. Squeals happily.

“Nope. Just met him tonight.”

“Wow dude, that’s like, love at first sight if I ever saw it.”

She re-winds it again, squeals.

“Yeah I know, it’s embarrassing as shit, alright?” Eddie’s still talking into his palms.

Chrissy snorts at that, “Not for you! Well..kinda..but him too, did you not see that pause?”

“...What pause?”

His question goes unanswered as Jon and Argyle move back in over Chrissy’s shoulders and after a few seconds both “Ohh…” in sync.

“The fuck’re you talking about?”

“Look,” She re-winds the tape once again and points, “Watch after he lifts your mask.”

So he does, and..okay, there was a pause.

“...So?”

“He totally fell in love with you at the same time you did him. Fell with him. With each other?”

“You both fell in love at the same time.” Chrissy says what Jonathan was trying to. “We have GOT to find this guy somehow.”

Chrissy records the footage on the screen with her phone, intending to post it online to find the guy, but Argyle’s positive he’s gonna show back up tonight.

“Give him a chance, pompom, he’s totally in love too, remember?”

“Fine, but if he doesn’t come back today, I’m posting this. Maybe it’ll get us some more business too.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

“No.” Yep, there it is.

So, he rolls his eyes, puts his mask back on, and finishes out the night like everything is normal and he didn’t just fall head over fuckin’ heels for a random (hot) stranger earlier.

He’s done for the night before Chrissy since she’s got a lot of that fake blood to try and wash off, so he grabs up his stuff and heads out the front, intending to wave bye to Gareth at the front counter before braving the frigid late fall wind to warm up his car (and move it closer to the entrance so Chrissy doesn't have to walk in the cold).

“See ya Ed,” Gareth calls, and he waves over his shoulder at him as he passes, his attention pulled to a blonde with a choppy bob looking in through the glass of the door, partially silhouetted by the bright ass headlights of a shiny Tesla parked behind her.

He can see the shadow of someone in the driver seat too, as he gets closer and opens the door for her, their face only partially lit up through the tinted glass by the glow of a phone screen.

She starts rambling off immediately after the door is open. “Oh my god, I thought we were too late and you were closed and I completely didn’t even realize I’d left something here when we were here earlier an–”

“Nope, no worries, ma’am, just go talk to Gareth at the front counter and he can tell you if someone turned in…whatever it is you left here.”

She says her thanks and scoots past him, and he spins quickly towards the side lot where his old Neon is parked.

He glances back when he hears the bell chime over the door, a bit delayed (probably the wind holding it open), and sees that the Tesla’s stopped beaming their headlights into the front door, that’s nice of them.

He unlocks his car and gets in, turning the engine over and cranking the heat as high as it’ll go. Once the engine stops it’s signature ‘I’m cold as fuck rn, don’t even try to move me’ rattle, he drives to the front door to wait for Chrissy, pulling in next to the burgundy Tesla.

He scrolls down TikTok for a couple minutes before a banner pops up on his screen

Chris C.: oh my holy fucking shit eddie, get your ass back inside!

Panicking, he races back in through the door, not even bothering to shut off his engine (or close his car door for that matter), thinking shiny Telsa duo is like, robbing the place or something, but as soon as he gets back in, he’s stopped dead in his tracks.

His heart’s still beating a mile a minute, but now with nerves.

Because standing infront of the counter are Chrissy (who’s actually vibrating with excitement), choppy blonde, and…

Oh fuck.

No way.

“H–hi, hi. I’m Steve, you’re Eddie right?”

He can’t help the grin that splits across his face. “Hey, pretty boy.”

thanks to @henderdads for rightfully pointing out that modern day rich boy steve would probably have a tesla <3

tagging everyone i saw in the tags of the last post that seemed interested in more/wanted to see the aftermath lmao: @bangarangdarling, @tartarusknight, @kas-eddie-munson, @wormdebut (AMAZING url btw), @vecnuthy, @perseus-notjackson, @homosexual-having-tea, @matchingbatbites, @scarcrossdlvrs, @anzelsilver, @auroraplume, @kkpwnall, @wildwildsoul, @bennys-burgers, @steveharringtonssluttywaist

#steddie #st #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #st ficlet #steddie ficlet #platonic hellcheer #chrissy cunningham #jonathan byers #argyle #gareth emerson #modern au #noelle writes

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nouearth · 1 year ago

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once upon an eggnog.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: there's nothing better than physical touch to sober reader up after a christmas party.

wc: 1.1k. warnings: fluff, holiday!season, drunk!reader, maws!clark, worried!clark, co-worker!au, reader doesn't know clark is superman, non-descriptive mention of reader throwing up, clark has very warm hands and is a simp because he wants to make reader happy.

The groan you let out was feeble. Your shadow trailed behind your sluggish steps as you foraged through neighboring street lights, gravel and pavement, for a stake of its emanating warmth.

“Hey—“ A voice called out from behind you, the blanket of snowflakes and cold dulling the panic in the man’s voice. You rested your body against the lamppost, finding the warmth to be exemplary over your frosted cheeks, but unbearable for your insides.

You let out a deep sigh. The longer you stood under the light, sweat droplets began to frame your face, followed by an overwhelming urge to cleanse your body from the inside out.

“I don’t feel…” You slurred in your speech, holding your stomach as you craned over until you slid onto your bottom, head exposed to the light as you faced the comforting snow.

“Wait up!” He called out to you several more times in midst of his trudge, his panting audibly close.

You began grumbling incoherent sounds in response as you clumsily whipped off your coat. Your mind was frosted like the windows on the cars lined down the street as you drew in the cold air with a greed to pacify the strange feeling in your stomach.

“(M/N), keep that on!”

“What are you…?! My mom—“ The constant shifting and turning of your body, all in an attempt to strip yourself of the restrictive wool of your vest and reindeer sweater, churned the bottom of your stomach until it was mush.

Absolute.

Mush.

It was funny how the human body worked because even in your drunken state, your natural instinct to find the nearest public trash can surfed through the flood of eggnog and booze, and you immediately emptied the toxins out of your body with several strong hurls.

“Geez, I told you not to run off…” A messenger bag and a familiar coat dropped near your foot, and the man did not spare a single second to come to your aid. “And also not to drink that much...” He rubbed your back in slow and soothing circles, then in vertical swipes as you coughed out the remaining poison. The strong bass pulsating into his palm as a special way of saying ‘thank you.’

“Clark, it was just a sip—“

“You had six cups….” Clark confessed and your immediate frown was telling in whether you were an innocent bystander, or the reason why the office was running low on drinks. Rummaging through his pockets, he then offered a handful of crumbled napkins that he took from the party.

“The last two didn’t count.” You slurred again, slowly regaining your strength as you stabilized yourself over the rim of the garbage can before wiping your mouth with the napkin. “I needed a drink with my food—“

“You barely touched your plate—“ He cut himself off as soon as he caught you staring at him, the eggnog stupefying you into a dazed state in which crickets and holiday festivities replaced coherent thoughts.

“We gotta get you home. It’s freezing.” He said, and you swayed in place as if you were a palm tree basking in the summer breeze. Or maybe like a giant marshmallow floating yet sinking in the warmth of hot cocoa.

Clark tried his best to fight the smile that was creeping upon him as he tidied your outerwear for the fourth time tonight, shielding you from the dusting of cold when he layered you with your coat.

His jaw clenched while he chewed back an adoration for your nearly frost-bitten visage, stalling the fixing of your reindeer headband to be closer to you a little while longer.

Though he couldn’t tell whether the deep flush of your skin was caused by the weather or the booze, it didn’t matter in the end because the winter of your skin magnetized a bravery in Clark that stilled you in place. Warmth sprouted over your cheeks like an approaching spring, and you closed your eyes peacefully.

Clark had put his bare hands over your cheeks, cupping them like a delicate bowl of snowflakes until they melted into his skin, until all he could feel was you and your equally delicate skin.

“Better?” Hesitantly, his thumbs followed the trail of your dark circles. It was something you’d always complain about yet ironically, your evident lack of sleep ranked high on his ‘favorite things about you’ list.

“Mhm. If only your hands were a little warmer.” You sighed again, the snowing melting into your hair and skin battling Clark’s warmth.

“Hm…” Clark held your cheeks closer, deepening his palms into you, and he closed his eyes, silently channeling his energy into his affectionate hold over you.

Maybe it was the booze playing tricks on you, or perhaps it was your body shutting down for the night, but you physically felt his hands heat up, warmer than his previous offer. Nonetheless, you gave him a nod of approval, and despite drowsiness approaching, your eyes opened bright to thank him with a smile.

“I’m guessing that’s why you don’t wear gloves?”

“Uh…” Clark laughed, an anxiousness you could point out, but you couldn’t exactly trust your judgement in your current state. “I guess you could say that’s why.”

“Well,” You said before a yawn slurred your speech even more, feeling the muscles in your body losing its strength by the second. “Remind me when you’re nearby so I can use you as a…”

“As a..?” There was a slight push to his palms, a strange sudden heaviness before Clark realized you were gradually leaning forward. “(M/N)—“

Gravity pulled your eyelids down, then your body forward, a striking contrast to the graceful dance of snow that dusted the ground. “As…”

And you completely slumped into Clark’s arms. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick to catch you before you could even feel the slightest breeze.

“Let’s get you home…” He smile mirrored the gentle frame of your body as you sunk into him.

And he held you close, accompanying your deep slumber with a warmth that surrounded and protected your body like a string of Christmas lights weaved through pine needles and tree branches.

A warmth that campaigned against the icier gale, the ego of a higher altitude, during Clark’s flight to take you back home.

And a warmth that was victorious when Clark tucked you into bed, a measly makeshift of comfort and peace you thought during your stir of sleep.

Because Clark’s warmth was a newfound establishment from this night onwards.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x male reader #clark kent x you #clark kent fanfic #clark kent x y/n #nou.fics

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brewed-pangolin · 5 months ago

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The Adonis belt. Gym Rat Soap's most prized secret weapon.

Smug bastard teasing you with it by wearing a tattered gym shirt torn just below his navel.

Those sculpted devil horns luring your gaze to the waistband of his shorts, then dangerously lower to the Scottish iron hidden just beneath the veil of nylon fabric.

You don't care when he catches your eyes staring at him. He's used to it. Boosts his ego. Puffing his chest out as he moves on from the bench press to the nearest rower. Your addicted stare never leaving his and that overly confident stride.

"Are you done?"

A loud voice asks, pulling you out of a daze. Realizing you've been sitting on the bike motionless with a gaping maw for the better part of two full minutes.

"Oh shit. Sorry." Is all you can manage, another apology rolling over your lips as you hastily wipe down the seat of the bike.

Escaping to a corner bench to lick your wounds of embarrassment. Taking a few long sips from your water bottle, cooling the heat radiating in your lower belly. Unaware of the figure turning around the corner until he blocks your view of the gym completely.

"Ya a'right, lass?" He questions, noting your flusterd state. His voice hoarse and low. A sinfully thick accent particularly accentuating the 'ass'.

You nod. Barely.

Words a far gone cry. Mind blank. Fully dumbstruck as this 'sculpted by the God's' man stands above in all his smug glory.

"Aye? Ya sure? Could use a good cardio partner."

You hesitate. Pondering his words in your garbage disposal of a brain, leaning over to take a quick glance at the packed running section behind him.

"The treadmills are full." You state, trying to contain the silent tremble in your voice. Failing due to the dark look on his eyes.

He scoffs. Shaking his head. The frills of his mohawk swaying from excess sweat as he closes the distance. Never removing his hungry stare.

"Wasn't referrin' to tha' kinda cardio."

Fuck.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

#soap sqaud™️#gym rat soap #hes such a menace #i love him #the curse of adonis #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x reader #cod soap #call of duty #cod

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enhaheeseung · 1 year ago

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Come back to me - L.HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: cursing, crying, angst, divorce, alcohol.

WC: 3,720k

Part two

Heeseung was sat on the floor until morning, your wedding ring still in hand, while he blankly stared out the window, every event of the last eight months playing through his head.

He doesn’t know when it exactly happened, but he for sure knew why it happened.

The first night he went out with his co-workers, it was just for one simple drink, nothing more. He thought some company outside of work might be nice, so when he was invited to the bar downtown, he went.

You’d think, being a mature and married man, he wouldn’t be so easily influenced, but one drink after the other, and he started loosening up a bit, and after his co-workers made one too many dodgy comments about their wives, he decided to join in at first it was just a simple complaint about you “nagging” him about not putting his belongings away but the longer the conversation went on the more in-depth it got Jake would talk about his wife in more than unsavory ways which initially made heeseung uncomfortable, but since he wanted to hang with the new friend group, of course, he had to one-up then telling the guys about every little detail that “bothered” him even though he didn’t really feel that way he just said those things to fit in but the more he went to the bar after work the more those things suddenly became true instead of being repulsed by jays complaints about his wife he got used to it even laughing about it and adding in his own stories here and there.

Needless to say, when he came home from the bar, so did his attitude, and that’s when the change happened. He felt so stupid for trying to fit in where he didn’t. He feels like a complete jerk for treating you like you were less than human, and he wishes he could go back to the days when he wasn’t treating you like garbage.

At least Jay and Jake still communicated with their wives, and at least they were still happily married, but heeseung just had to take it a step further, and instead of it becoming nightly complaints at the bar, he took it home and just kept going and going until he was where he is at right now on the floor crying his eyes out cause he wanted to fit in, cause he wanted something new to talk about at the bar something that would get a laugh out of his friends and now thinking back on it he felt so stupid cause he gave up the love of his life just for a few chuckles and drinks after work.

The alarm clock going off is what finally broke him out of his heartbroken daze. He sniffles softly, eyes burning from staying up and crying all night.

He used every last ounce of strength in his legs to get up and turn off the alarm.

He didn’t even bother cleaning up before work. He went in, hair messy, eyes puffy, and suit wrinkled.

The day was a complete blur. Everything he did was almost robotic. There wasn’t any other thought in his mind besides you all day, just you, only you.

“You look like shit” Jake chuckles at his friend's crappy-looking appearance.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, glaring at Jake with eyes that could kill.

“Woah, man, my bad!” He pats heeseung’s shoulder. “Anyways you up for a round of drinks tonight? I’m buying.”

Heeseung thought about it for a moment and ultimately decided drinks would be the best thing for him. He wanted to get so fucking drunk that he’d black out cause maybe that way he’d see you in his dreams, and maybe in his dreams, you would both still be together. “Sure.” he shuts his eyes tightly, breathing a shaky sigh while he tries to appear to be okay.

“You sure dude? We can always cancel.” heeseung shakes his head back and forth.

“I’m good.” he tries his hardest to smile, but his lips don’t even begin to curve up. If anything, his frown deepens.

“Whatever you say, hee see you tonight,” Jake shrugs, going back to his cubicle to get some work done.

“You sure you good?” Jake asks.

“Just,” heeseung sighs deeply. “Just my wife, we’re not on good terms right now.” he knew that you guys were on more than just bad terms. Hell, you were divorcing him, but he was in denial cause, in his mind, you were both gonna buy a house, have kids, and grow old together, not get divorced after just a couple years of marriage.

“That’s a good thing, my friend,” Jay replies, thinking it’s just the same old same old.

“Not this time. I uhh, I don’t know..” he rubs his temples, a lump forming in his throat as he downed a shot.

“What is it? You can tell us your secrets are safe with us. You know that.” Jake nods, understanding the situation is a bit different than all the other times they gathered to talk about their significant other.

“Fuck” heeseung drops his head low, avoiding eye contact so they wouldn’t notice his bloodshot eyes and broken features. “She wants a divorce,” he whispers shakily as he buries his head into his arms.

Jay and Jake exchange shocked glances at each other, trying to find the right words to say to the shocking news. “I’m sorry, why so suddenly? I know you both had your little scuffles here and there, but not enough for a divorce,” Jake reasons.

“It’s not sudden.” heeseung lifts his head up, face red with snot running from his nose and tears leaking from his puffy eyes. “I fucked up” he hits his head against his palm, repeatedly beating himself up for ruining what used to be the perfect marriage. “I’ve been fucking up.”

“Woah, hey hey,” Jay grabs his wrists stopping him from hitting himself anymore. “I’m sure she was just upset. Maybe go home and talk things out with her.”

“I can’t,” he chokes out. “S-she’s gone, guys, she’s gone, and I-i- I don’t know what to do. I miss her, and I love her so much I can’t lose her.” he breaks down like a newborn baby, crying in front of his co-workers and every person in the bar without a care in the world.

“I think we should call it a night. I’ll drive you home, and we’ll pick up your car before work in the morning,” Jake consoles as he gets up from the table, and Jay follows soon after.

“O-okay, sorry f-for ruining the evening,” heeseung hiccuped, all the shots finally making their way to his system before he left. He takes the whole bottle off the table and throws down however much money he has left in his pocket.

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Jay assures.

Once they make it outside, Jay assists Jake as they move heeseung to the passenger seat, buckling him in.

The whole ride home, heeseung was a complete mess, crying hysterically. Jake was almost scared that he might pass out from crying so hard, so he stepped on the gas to get his friend home sooner.

“Y/n, please come back to me,” he mumbled, halfway asleep, tears staining his cheeks as Jake pulled into the driveway.

“Come on, big guy.” Jay had gone his separate ways, and now carrying heeseung up to his house was like carrying dead weight with how intoxicated he was from drinking the whole ride there. “Here you go,” Jake whispers after laying him down on his bed. “Get some rest. See you at work tomorrow.” Jake smiled sadly. Sure, they all had their little nights out of talking about their wives, but he knew deep down heeseung still loved you, and to see him like this wasn’t the easiest thing to deal with in the world, and Jake made a mental note to stop saying such negative things about his wife, and when he went home, he was going to shower her in love before he wound up in a situation like heeseung.

“Hey, mama’s.” it was currently the next morning, and heeseung was on his lunch break, finally somewhat over his hangover as he talked to your mom on the phone.

“Heeseung? Oh, hello sweetheart, it’s so nice to hear your voice,” he smiles, feeling the same way it’s been a while since he visited your parents.

“You too, it’s been some time,” she hums in agreement.

“It sure has” heeseung feels his heart drop cause if it wasn’t for him being a total fucking dick, he would have made it to last year's Thanksgiving dinner, but no, because you and him got into a fight prior, and he wasn’t man enough to apologize so he let you go to sleep angry at him, and the next day you were already out of town by the time he woke.

He swallows down the lump in his throat and makes a promise that he doesn’t even know if he could keep given his relationship status with you right now. “I’ll come over soon, I promise.”

“That would be lovely. My husband has been wanting to catch up with you, too.”

“Has he? I’ll for sure come soon, okay mama’s? Hey, could I ask you a question?” He bites on his lip nervously as he checks his watch to see how much time he has left on break.

“Of course, my dear,” she says sweetly.

“So me and y/n had a little fight the other day, and she left, so I’m assuming she came to stay with you?” He knows how bad it sounds that he didn’t even know his own wife's whereabouts, but at this point, he didn’t have much time to beat around the bush.

“Yes,” she sighs, remembering your hurt, tear-stained face as she walks in. “Yes, she did.” heeseung was half sad, half happy, sad because you were gone, and happy because at least you were somewhere safe and his heart could be put to ease. “Only for a while, though, then she went to sunghoons house so she wouldn’t be a nuisance. I told her she could stay until you guys worked things out, but she decided it would be best to leave, so I let her.”

Anything that came after the name sunghoon heeseung had nearly tuned all the way out because why were you over there? Why did you go to another man when he was at home waiting for you?

Before he could think of anything else that made his blood boil, his timer on his watch went off, indicating his break was over. “Ok, thank you so much, mama’s. My lunch is up so I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon. Tell pop’s I said hi.”

“Will do, oh, I can’t wait to see you! Have a good shift, my sweet boy, and keep me updated on you and y/n. She didn’t wanna tell me anything, but I’m hoping you two will figure this out. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”

“Hey, don’t worry, we’ll talk things out. We always do,” he says bye one last time and hangs up the phone once the conversation is concluded.

“That’s everything,” Sunghoon, one of your old friends, says as he helps you put up the final touches in your new room, aka his spare room.

“Thank you so much for everything,” you thanked him sincerely. You don’t know where you’d be without him right now.

“It’s no problem. You know I have your back since we were little.” he pulls you into a side hug, messing up your hair like he used to do when you were kids before releasing you from his tough grip.

“Hoon,” you grumbled, and he just laughed at your pouty face.

“Get some sleep, yeah? You look exhausted,” he pouted. He knew you were going through it right now. The day you came to him with suitcases and red puffy eyes, he already knew what happened, but when he grew to know the details, oh, how he wanted to rip heeseung’s dick off and shove it down his own throat before punching him to a pulp maybe that was extreme but he was fucking furious at your husband the heeseung he saw at your guys wedding would have never done some bullshit like that so what the fuck has changed?

“You’re right.” you nod, a half smile making its way to your lips.

“Goodnight, y/n. Hope you feel better soon,” he pats your back softly. “I’ll be at work early in the morning, so sleep in, and then later, maybe we can go out and get some groceries or something.”

“Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Night hoon.” You closed the door once he left and laid down on your mattress or the mattress that Sunghoon bought you. You were so grateful for a friend like him.

You didn’t want to burden your parents even though they would have happily let you stay.

You just felt like in your state and conditioned, it’d be hard to let them see you so broken it was hard to come to Sunghoon in your state as well, but it was less of a blow than seeing your mother's worried face every single morning.

You couldn’t even tell her exactly what happened between you and heeseung because you knew it’d break her poor old heart knowing that her son-in-law turned out to be the biggest piece of shit on the planet.

You simply told her you guys needed a bit of a break, and that was all. How could you tell her about heeseung’s reckless behavior? How could you tell her he’d been neglecting you? How could you tell her that you two were getting a divorce?

That would be a bridge that you’d maybe be able to cross after the fact of finalizing everything, but right now, you couldn’t deliver a gut-wrenching blow like that, especially cause your parents thought heeseung was perfect for you.

Sighing to yourself, you turn off the lights, struggling to go to sleep without your husband or ex-husband holding you close to his chest. The bed felt so cold and empty without him, but that would just have to become a thing of the past because the reality is he was not and was never going to be again.

The thought broke you into tiny little pieces, but what could you do? You were just a victim of another abusive marriage that ended in divorce because your husband didn’t care, and he loved going to the bar and his friends more than he loved you.

It was a hard pill to swallow and a tough reality check, but nevertheless, it was your life.

Heeseung clears his throat for the thousandth time while he stands outside of sunghoons door.

The amount of days it took to build up the courage to finally come to see you was embarrassing for him, but he finally stopped being a coward and came to apologize, and hopefully, at the end of it, you’d be coming back home with him so you could both happily sleep in the same bed again.

“Y/n, I’m sorry for the past few months. I just ugh.” he shook his head, not liking the way what he prepared was sounding out loud. “Y/n, I know I hurt you- fuck” he shook off his nerves a little bit, but not even that worked. “Y/n-“ he couldn’t even say your name out loud without feeling like he was going to cry. He missed you so much. The house was unbearably quiet. Your scent had disappeared days ago even though he hadn’t washed the bedsheets or your pillowcase since you left, and the hardest part was not being able to feel you cuddling up to him in the chilly mornings. It was so cold without you, so empty. His life felt meaningless without you there, and on top of all that, everything was his fault from start to finish. He made his bed. He knew that much, but he prayed he wouldn’t have to lay in it.

He pushed all his previous apology rehearsals behind him. He was going to just tell you how he felt even if his brain was scattered and his thoughts weren’t put together. He was going to give you his real raw emotion because that’s what you deserved, and it’s the least he could give you.

He took a deep breath before knocking on your door, or your friend's door, and the name Sunghoon almost made him roll his eyes, not cause he was a bad guy. No, sunghoon was a fucking great guy, and that’s what bothers heeseung. He was fucking jealous cause his little y/n was with another man that had him beat in every department by miles. He wasn’t one to compare, but it’s hard not to notice those things when he treated you the way he did heeseung turned into a piece shit, and he knew it, but what didn’t help the fact was that he knew Sunghoon could treat you better and that’s what he was scared of heeseung knew it was selfish but he wanted you for himself even if you were better off with someone one else.

When the door opened and revealed a very handsome, tall Sunghoon, Heeseung immediately shrunk back. He felt so small and insignificant, especially with the cold glare coming from sunghoons eyes. “Y/n’s not here,” he says without a single hello which hurt heeseung like heck 'cause they used to be pretty damn close, but apparently, he managed to fuck that up too.

“O-oh,” he gulped, eyes trained on his feet. “W-when wi-will” he was so nervous he could barely even breathe, let alone form a proper sentence.

“Don’t know, is there anything else you need? I’m busy.” heeseung looked up, finally meeting sunghoons gaze.

“Could I maybe t-talk to you? I’m sure y/n already told you, but-“Sunghoon opened the door fully, and heeseung entered the home looking like a dejected little boy.

Sunghoon led him to his room just in case you came home soon. He didn’t want you seeing heeseung there in case it made you uncomfortable.

“Your place is nice.” heeseung took a seat on the chair by his desk, the roses he bought for you still clutched tightly in his sweaty palm.

“Thanks,” Sunghoon mutters and takes a seat on his bed, angry but still interested in the other side of the story cause he wants to know what turned heeseung into the man you told him about.

“First, I’m sorry for hurting y/n. I know she’s your best friend, and I know this is probably just as hard for you as her,” he sighed, lowering his head in shame, but he couldn’t be a coward now, so he picked his head up staring at sunghoon with the most intense gaze he could muster. “There’s no excuse for the way I treated her these past months. I’m just a terrible fucking person,” he chuckles pathetically at himself. “I did stupid things, and saying it out loud sounds so fucking ridiculous, but I got around the wrong crowd, and what was supposed to be jokes about our annoying wives soon turned into my reality, going to the bar and hanging out with other married men you know letting the steam off or so I thought” he taps his leg a nervous habit that never seemed to go away until he met you, but he sees it’s making a little comeback. “Only that same attitude followed me home, and next thing you know, we’re getting into fights, not talking for days on end, but that didn’t stop me. It just gave me more shit to talk about the next day at the bar, and apparently, a few laughs and drinks were better than my own wife” he doesn’t even know when he started crying, but he did, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “At the end of the day, I was always sorry, but I never told her that,” he sniffles. “I love her. That woman is my life, and if she’d give me just one more chance, I’d never fuck it up ever agai-“

Heeseung looked like he had just seen a ghost. sunghoon was waiting for him to continue, but he never did. The sight of your sleepwear on your friend's bed was enough to leave him speechless he felt anger, jealousy hurt sadness all at once, but he couldn’t blame anyone but himself, and now he felt so fucking stupid for thinking he even had a chance with you again he sat there like a fool up all night thinking of words to say to you to show you he still loved you meanwhile you had already moved on and were making love to another man.

He smiles at Sunghoon softly despite his heart being shattered. “Here, give these to her. These are her absolute favorite.” he pats Sunghoon on his shoulder while the younger man just stares at him, bewildered by his sudden change in demeanor.

Heeseung felt horrible now, but knowing you were with somebody better made his heart feel at ease. sunghoon was a great man. heeseung knew you’d be safe, loved, and happy with your childhood best friend, and that made him happy even if he wasn’t the man behind all your laughs and beautiful smiles. “Protect that woman with your life, and don’t ever take her for granted.”

Heeseung let himself out in a matter of seconds, the air finally circulating in his lungs the moment he stepped outside on the porch.

He took a deep, shaky breath before the tears started to fall, yet again, he quickly got inside his car and drove home.

Once he made it safely, he went straight to the bedroom to willingly put his signature on the divorce papers. He was happy you wouldn’t have to be tied to someone like him anymore cause you deserve so much more.

A few tear drops fell, wetting the papers, but he had already signed and made his decision with the understanding that you’d never come back to him.

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#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen lee heeseung smut #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung angst #lee heeseung angst #heeseung enhypen #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #kpop smut #enhypen fluff

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lvlybin · 2 days ago

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✶ is it new year's yet?

summary ༝༚༝༚ … ZB1 as your New Year’s Eve kiss

reactions ! ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა ۫ ੭̲ 제비스 x 𝓯!reader ⊹ ( library )

爱 ࿁ ⠀ ˚⠀ warnings … kissing duh, alcohol & drinking, mentions of sex, mentions of social anxiety, they’re at a club in gyuvin’s part, not proofread

✉️ happy one week since new year’s! lol I wanted to post something cute that was new year’s related so I whipped this up really quick. sorry that it’s so late from the actual holiday >_<

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓙iwoong ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

The winter air is sharp as you step out onto the balcony. To keep yourself warm, you wrap your arms around your bare arms, wondering why you hadn’t worn a warmer dress to this New Year’s event. In your defense, you hadn’t planned to stay this long. It was supposed to be one quick drink, saying hello to everyone, and then back to your apartment. But then you’d realized Jiwoong was there.

It’s not like you would admit it to anyone, but you’d stayed for him. The two of you had been growing closer throughout the year and after the short winter break from work, you were desperate to spend a little more time with him. As if the texting hadn’t been enough. “Getting some fresh air?” God, even the sound of his voice was enough to have your heart racing. You glance back to watch him exit onto the balcony as well.

He looked so good in a suit. “It’s stuffy in there,” you say, rubbing your hands over your bare skin as you smile at him. Jiwoong doesn’t hesitate to slip off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you can even protest and the scent of his cologne surrounds you. “Thank you,” you whisper and he nods once.

“It looks like it’s about to snow,” he mentions, and, oh for fuck’s sake, he’s talking about the weather. You laugh and he looks over at you with a smile of his own. You suck in a small breath, the cold making your nose sting as he shifts closer to you. Both of you stand next to the glass railing, looking over the bright lights of Seoul as each person waits for midnight to strike. “YN,” Jiwoong says, snapping you out of your daze.

You try to keep yourself from sounding too hopeful, “Yes?” Jiwoong opens his mouth to say something, only for a particularly loud firework to go off in the distance. You jump slightly, in surprise, and Jiwoong moves to settle you by placing his hands on your waist. The touch makes your body warm despite the cold. “Must be midnight.” Another firework, and for a moment, you watch as the glittering gold fizzles out in the dark sky against small snowflakes.

Jiwoong’s eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment before they return to your eyes. “Happy New Year, YN.”

You were tired of waiting. Raising on your toes slightly, you press a soft kiss to his lips, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as you pull away. You like the grin that follows after even more. “Happy New Year, Jiwoong–” You barely get his name out before his lips are back on yours.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚ㅤ

“I am never hosting again,” you grumble as you finish wiping down the kitchen counter of your apartment, “Didn’t know our friends were such animals.” Hao’s laugh is loud from his spot in the living room where he’s picking up a few cups. You mentally thank your past self for not letting them stay all night, a few hours was clearly enough for them to do plenty of damage.

“We just got done with finals. They’re just blowing off some steam,” Hao says as he walks into the kitchen holding a garbage bag. You pout as you glance at the bag.

“I can’t believe Matthew broke that lamp, it was one of my favorites.” Hao coos softly at your complaint, setting the bag down. With your arms crossed over your chest, Hao places his hands on your shoulders to press a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll buy you another one.”

“No, you’ve gotten me enough Christmas presents already–”

“Then consider this a New Year's present.” You give Hao a pointed look as he pulls away. His thumb comes up to brush over your bottom lip. “None of that. You can’t stop me from spoiling you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, “Well there goes my New Year’s resolution.” Hao laughs again and your heart flutters at the sound. His arms wrap around you and he rests his chin on the top of your head. Slowly, the embrace causes the rest of your annoyance from having to clean up your apartment to melt away. He just had that effect on you–making everything feel okay.

Your relationship with Hao was hard to classify. He’d been your best friend ever since you started university, but it didn’t take long before it grew into something more. Something deeper. Now, it was a weird space between dating and not dating. You hated the word situationship, so you refused to call it that. Honestly, you were just waiting for the day when one of you forgets that you haven’t made it official and just starts calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

“It’s midnight,” Hao whispers into the quiet atmosphere of your kitchen. And he’s right, you can hear fireworks going off in the distance. Pulling away from him a little, you glance back over your shoulder at the clock on your stove. Sure enough, it reads midnight. But when you turn back to Hao, you’re met with his lips on yours. It’s just a soft kiss, his lips pressing to yours for a few moments before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “But you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

But you do. Grinning, you use your grip on his shoulders to pull yourself back up to his lips. Your tongue slips into his mouth, swirling with his as Hao’s hands trace two paths down your sides to grip your waist. The two of you are out of breath by the time you separate again. “That was the New Year’s present I wanted.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

Your boyfriend was such a genius. And while you knew he was romantic, this was by far the best surprise he’d ever planned for you. A small sigh escapes you as you settle into the hot tub, pine trees and a thick blanket of snow surrounding the cabin he’d rented for the two of you over the holidays.

“C’mere, baby,” Hanbin’s soft voice meets your ears as you sink further into the hot water, half swimming and half walking over to where he’s sat. The sight of his whisker dimples makes your heart melt as he helps you onto his lap, jets bubbling around you both to soothe your muscles. “Good temperature?”

“It’s perfect,” you reassure. “This is exactly what I needed after skiing all day. God, I love how your mind works.” Hanbin laughs and you absentmindedly trace your thumb over the tattoo that rests between his collarbones.

“Wanting to see my girlfriend in a bikini and having her to myself for a few days is hardly genius.” You shake your head in disagreement. Snow falls lazily around you both, landing in his hair and yours as his ears turn a little red from the cold. Or maybe it was from having you in his lap. Hanbin had never really gotten used to that over the two years you’d been dating.

“Still.” You shift a little in his lap to reach for your glass of wine, taking a small sip before setting it back down. “Best New Year’s Eve ever. Best Christmas ever.”

Hanbin lets out a small Oh as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you closely to him. “I try. Especially hard for you. And you know…” You hum in acknowledgment. “2025 is gonna be a big year for us.”

“Reallyyy,” you drag the word out a little as excitement rushes through you. You have a feeling you know what he’s referencing, but you won’t say anything about it, knowing he likes to plan things his way. Particularly when it comes to surprises and definitely when it comes to you. Like this little getaway. It had been bliss waking up every day to him and a stunning winter wonderland. Going into the small town for shopping and dinners. Going skiing and ice skating. And now, ringing in the New Year in probably the largest hot tub you’ve ever seen.

The reflection of the blue water ripples across his face as he nods, steam rising off the surface from the temperature difference. “Really,” he breathes as he moves his hand to cup your cheek.

The kiss he pulls you into is soft and loving, like he’s trying to pour all of his affection into you through the one action. Playfully, his teeth nip at your bottom lip as he pulls away. “Happy New Year, baby.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

The last thing you remember from New Year’s Eve was doing body shots with your roommate. It had been well before midnight when you blacked out. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you’d stayed up late enough for the clock to strike twelve.

Blinking harshly against the pounding behind your eyes, you peek your eyes open. Maybe it was the hangover but your bed felt softer than usual– this wasn’t your room. The walls were a shade darker, the bedding a deep gray, and all of the Pokémon characters and other figurines on the shelves were definitely not yours. You almost let out a small groan at the realization. Sure enough, when you glance down next to you, Matthew’s still passed out in his bed. He’s shirtless, and your heart drops along with your eyes and– Thank god. You’re not naked.

But this isn’t your shirt either. It’s Matthew’s. Which either meant that you’d stolen it last night while you were under the influence, you’d thrown up on the top you’d been wearing (which would be sad, you love that top), or certain activities had occurred the night before. Another rush of panic goes through you and your hangover is long forgotten as you reach to shake Matthew awake. “Matt!” He doesn’t stir for a moment, and you smack his bare shoulder softly. “Matt, wake up.”

He grumbles at that, his eyes peeking open a little and you imagine that he’s feeling the same way you are right now. Hungover and confused. “What?” he mumbles after a moment, his voice rough with sleep. It’s like he doesn’t even register the fact that you’re in his bed. Or maybe he does with the way he rolls over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your stomach. The action makes you freeze. You were used to him being touchy but this? This was new.

“Why am I wearing your shirt?” Matthew hums at your words, but he doesn’t move.

“You wanted to sleep in it.”

“Please tell me we didn’t–”

“Have sex?” You hear him chuckle softly as he pulls away from your stomach to glance up at you. “Nah.” You let out a breath of relief and his brows furrow. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

You shrug, hands absentmindedly going to brush through his messy hair. “I remember doing body shots. That’s the last thing, though.” Matthew groans as he rolls onto his back.

“C’mere.”

“Sorry?” you say, voice filled with confusion. Your roommate just gestures for you to cuddle into his side. Hesitantly, you scooch over before laying back down, resting your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

“Gonna have to remind you of our New Year’s kiss then,” he says before his lips meet yours.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

Superstitions were never something you’d believed in before, but you figured this was at least worth a shot. After all, you were going to need some extra luck if you wanted to follow through with your plan to kiss Taerae in approximately two minutes. Glancing at the bowl of grapes in your hands, you slip under Taerae’s kitchen table and begin to eat.

Only four of the twelve grapes are gone when your best friend’s face appears over the edge of the table. “What’re you doing down there?” his gentle voice meets your ears as you swallow.

“Nothing,” you mumble, eating another grape. Taerae gives you a look before he moves to sit under the table with you as well. When he reaches for a grape, you slap his hand away. He lets out a small cry, but you know he’s just being dramatic. You would laugh if you weren’t running out of time to finish these grapes before it was the new year.

“It’s almost midnight,” Taerae says, watching as you continue stuffing your face with the fruit. “Seriously, what’s with the grapes?”

“It’s for luck,” you say between bites. “Eat twelve grapes under the table and you get luck for the twelve months of the new year.” Taerae laughs.

“And what do you need luck for?” Your face warms as you look down at the two grapes left in the bowl.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” One more grape left and as you reach to take it, Taerae beats you to it. “Hey!” you cry softly, setting the bowl down as he chews, fighting back laughter. “Now I have to go get another one–”

His large hands find your cheeks pulling your lips to his. He tastes like the grape he’d just eaten, and you’re sure you do as well. His tongue presses against yours as he coaxes your lips apart, deepening the kiss as the clock strikes midnight. When he pulls away, you subconsciously chase his lips, craving the feeling of his mouth on yours again. Taerae grins a little, giving you another small peck. “Is that what you needed luck for?”

Your face warms, and you’re sure Taerae can feel it from the way his hands hold your blushing cheeks still. “How’d you know?” you ask shyly.

“You’re more obvious than you think.” You laugh as you let your forehead fall to rest on his shoulder, both of you still crammed under the table. Taerae’s back was probably hurting, but he didn’t say anything about it. “And did you really think that I haven’t seen what sitting under the table means?"

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

One of Ricky’s favorite things about his relationship with you was that you were comfortable with staying in just as much as going out. And while you both loved your date nights out, it was usually him dragging you out to the restaurants or museums or wherever else you were going. This time though, you’d done the dragging to a scene that was definitely going to overstimulate you both.

With small apologies, you push past people in the crowd filling the streets of New York’s Times Square, hand firmly in Ricky’s as you pull him along with you. The bright lights hurt his eyes and there were so many people around that the cold air couldn’t even touch his nose. His grip on you tightens a little, too worried about losing you in the busy crowd. Ricky had to remind himself that he was doing this for you. That you’d wanted to see the ball drop since you were little and used to watch it on TV with your family.

“Come on!” you shout softly to him as you find a spot in the crowd to stand and watch. Ricky’s quick to wrap his arms around you from behind, protecting you from the way other people were shoving to try and get a better view of the ball before the New Year’s countdown began. You glance up at him. “You okay?”

“I’m okay as long as you are.” And it was the truth. While Ricky may not be the biggest fan of crowds like this, he would do it for you. The way the shining lights illuminated the excitement on your face was worth any kind of social anxiety he might feel. Besides, having you in his arms like this, smiling up at him made all of those worries go away.

“It’s starting!” you gasp softly as the people around you both begin the countdown. You’re quick to follow along, shouting the words like everyone else, and with a small chuckle, Ricky begins counting down as well. It’s like time slows as he watches your eyes, the glimmer of awe in them as you watch such a simple thing happen. It was adorable. He knew he should be watching the ball like you were, but he couldn’t take his eyes off your face even as the shouts of Happy New Year rang out around the streets. Confetti explodes from the top of buildings, raining down on the crowd and you tilt your head back to watch with a small giggle.

Your eyes meet his and somehow, your smile softens even more. Then, like the other couples surrounding you in the square, Ricky presses his lips against yours.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

“D’you have a New Year’s kiss yet?” Were the first words you heard from the tall individual. You look up from your drink to the boy who approaches you as you sit at the table your friends had claimed at the club, expecting to tell off some ugly, egotistical douchebag. But the face that meets your eyes is anything but that. Fluffy brown hair falls over his chocolate-colored eyes as he smiles at you. Thank goodness you were sitting. If you were standing, you would’ve collapsed right into his arms at the sight.

“Me?” The boy laughs as he nods.

“Yes, you.” He offers you a hand. “I’m Gyuvin.” You give him your name as you take his hand. Being careful of your shoes, he helps you stand, and– Wow, he’s so tall. The top of your head barely meets his chin as his large hand grips yours.

“You’re offering your New Year’s kiss to a stranger?”

Gyuvin shrugs, grin never leaving his pretty pink lips. “Isn’t there a saying of how you give a kiss to who you want to spend the new year with?” Your eyes flutter and your heart probably does too.

“Yeah–” He cuts you off as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you a little as he carries you towards the dance floor. There are several bodies in the space already, moving to the beat as the seconds to the new year slowly count down. A small laugh leaves you as Gyuvin sets you down.

“Then consider this as me asking you out.”

“Well, you definitely get points for creativity…” you trail off as you wrap your arms around his neck. You have to stand on your toes a little to reach him, but you decide that it’s fine with the way his hands go to your hips. You could get used to this.

“Is that a yes?” You had a feeling you weren’t ever going to learn how to say no to him. So, you nod.

His body presses closely against yours as midnight draws nearer, almost drawing out the anticipation as all of his firm lines meet your softer ones. Your eyes never leave Gyuvin’s as you both mutter words to each other, already feeling strangely comfortable and at home despite meeting only a few minutes ago. What seals the deal, though, is how deeply he kisses you once the clock hits midnight. Gyuvin’s tongue doesn’t fight your lips open, having enough common sense not to try to make out with you in public (especially since it was your first kiss with him), but that doesn’t stop him from holding you even closer to him somehow.

And, yeah, this was the right decision, you conclude as he pulls away.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚

Giggling softly, you cling to your boyfriend as he carries you like you weigh nothing more than a feather. Gunwook stumbles slightly, and you know it’s from the drinks he’s had. The drinks you’ve both had courtesy to your friend group and the little New Year’s Eve party they were throwing. If you concentrated enough, you could still taste the sparkling bubbles and tangy grapes from the champagne. But you didn’t want to focus on that. You wanted to focus on the boy whose arms were wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Wookie,” you laugh as he tucks his face into your neck, your back meeting the wall behind you with a small Thump. He mutters a gentle sorry against your skin, but you don’t really mind. The alcohol is making you giddy and it’s making Gunwook clingy. When he pulls away to look at you in the darkness of the hallway he’d taken you to, your vision clears slightly. His skin almost looks like it’s glowing, rosebuds of blush blooming on his cheeks and you lift your hands to cup his cheeks. “You’re so soft,” you mumble, squishing his cheeks so his lips stick out a little. Gunwook’s pretty brown eyes crinkle into half-moons as he laughs at your words.

He shifts your weight in his hands to lift you higher and you wrap your legs around his middle. As his large hands knead at the softness of your thighs peeking out from underneath your ridden-up dress, a small shiver goes through you. “I love you,” he whispers, lips finding your cheek. Then your forehead, then your nose, and finally, the corner of your mouth. “I love you sooo much–”

“Love you too, Wookie,” you whisper, letting go of his face to hold onto his broad shoulders. Distantly, you can hear your friends begin the ten-second countdown to the New Year. They aren’t bothering looking for either of you, because they know you’re exactly where you want to be: in the arms of the person you love the most. Gunwook presses his forehead against yours as you wait for the cheers celebrating 2025 to sound. But as soon as the number One is shouted, Gunwook’s lips are on yours. He’s quick to pry your lips apart, meeting your tongue with his as he kisses you deeply. You can feel him smile as the words “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” ring through the house. Yeah. This was the best way to ring in the New Year.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓨ujin ﹙𝓱.﹚ㅤ

“This is so embarrassing,” Yujin grumbles as the two of you continue down the driveway from your house. His parents wanted him back home by 12:15 and considering his house was a good fifteen-minute drive away from the friend's house you had been hanging out at, you were leaving a few minutes before the new year. The only problem? Yujin couldn’t drive.

Not that he couldn't, he just didn’t have his license yet, so you were stuck being his personal Uber. Not that you minded. He did though.

His hand grips yours, keeping them tucked in his coat pocket so you didn’t get too cold. “I swear, as soon as I can, I’m making an appointment so I can drive you around like you deserve.”

You giggle, “What? You don’t like being my passenger princess?” Your boyfriend groans, the breath that leaves him showing in the air from how cold it is outside. “Seriously, Yujin, I don’t mind driving you around.”

“But I do,” his small pout makes your heart melt. You weren’t sure how a person could be so adorable. “Makes me feel… I don’t know, less manly? Like I’m a child.”

“We are children,” you remind him, squeezing his hand in his coat pocket as your head falls to rest on his shoulder. “One of us is just a child that can drive–”

“Gosh, never mind,” he laughs and you smile a little, glad that he doesn’t take your teasing to heart. “It’ll be my New Year’s resolution. Being more of a stereotypical boyfriend.” You raise your eyebrows at that. The both of you are walking slower than you usually do despite it being cold, wanting to prolong your time together.

“And how are you gonna do that, hmm?” He looks at you, cheeks rosy from the chilly air and your eyes flick down to his lips for a moment.

“I’ll buy you more gifts.” You hum at the thought. “And… I’ll be more romantic,” he lists off his ideas as you begin to approach your car, stepping into the snow. It crunches under your feet as you walk toward the street. “But to start…” he trails off, your hands leaving his pocket as he stops in his tracks and you walk on. He pulls on your hands so you stumble back towards him, standing chest to chest. “I’ll do this.”

And then in a move that’s much bolder than you were expecting from your boyfriend, his lips press against yours. It must be midnight, you think to yourself before melting into the kiss, enjoying the feel of the soft movement of his mouth against yours. Your forehead rests against his as you separate to breathe.

Breathlessly, you nod. “Kiss me like that again, and I’ll never bring up you not having a license again.”

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