#i want them cold and mean and fuming on the inside as they interact like a semi-tame animal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

erwinsvow · 4 years ago

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

#... uh yeah <3 step uncle eren #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager imagine #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger imagine #eren jaeger x reader #aot #fics #tw step cest #tw dubcon

2K notes · View notes

t0th3-ark · 4 years ago

Text

Foreign Shadows

Karl Heisenberg x Reader: Part 1

Warnings: weapons, blood, gore, kidnapping, torture, cursing, sexual content.

"Ethan, you can't be serious?" (Y/N) calls after her friend. "I am serious. She's missing and I'm going to find her." Ethan shouts, over his shoulder, continuing into the woods. "Its getting late, you can't go out there alone." She says, stomping after him. Ethan turns suddenly. (Y/N) bumps into her chest, inhaling sharply. He looks down at her with desperation.

"Then come with me."

(Y/N) walks beside Ethan, arms crossed. They hadn't spoken to each other for at least twenty minutes. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Ethan sighs, breaking the silence. "I know this is hard for you." (Y/N) starts, feeling an uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. Someone was watching. "But this wasn't a good idea. We're out here alone, in that dark, with a only a flashlight. I mean this is classic horror story shit." (Y/N) says. "I know, I know." Ethan mumbles. What sounds like a small branch snapping under someone's foot his heard. They both fall quiet. Ethan looks at (Y/N). Shs looks back wide eyed. He glances around, suddenlt noticing lights in the distance. He pulls (Y/N) to him, whispering in her ear. "There are light down the hill. When I tap your arm, we run, got it." He explains, having a feeling of dread in his gut. (Y/N) lets out a shaky breath feeling him tap her arm. She boots.

Ethan is hot on her tail, as they both sprint down the hill. The lights get closer and closer to reveal a small village. "What the hell?" (Y/N) whispers. Ethan doesn't see her stop running and bumps into her, knocking them both to the ground. "Shit!" Ethan says, grabbing the attention of some people walking the street. (Y/N) groans, sitting up, feeling eyes on her. "Ethan." (Y/N) says, patting the ground beside her. He was gone. She stares at the spot of the ground he once was sitting on. Did he leave her? (Y/N) stands, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Ethan!" She whispers harshly. "Dammit." She mumbles, looking entirely out of place in the village. "Are you lost?" Someone asks, from behind her. She turns, quickly. "I don't- I'm not from here." (Y/N) stutters watching the woman's face light up. "A foreigner! How lovely." She starts. (Y/N) doesn't let her finish. "Have you seen a guy, about this tall," She gestures with her hands, "Blonde hair? He was wearing a green jack-" The woman stops her. "I've seen no man. Please come, inside!" She says ushering (Y/N) inside her home. "Wait, but-" The woman sushes her. "I insist! We never get foreigners nowadays." The woman laughs, eerily. (Y/N) swallows, thickly. "Let me go find my husband, and I'll be right back." The woman says, giving her a creepy grin. (Y/N) shutters as the woman leaves. She rushes to the door, opening it. It slams on the wall as she bolts out of the woman's house and into the square. Where the hell was she? What was going on? Where did Ethan go? What was in the wood? Her breath quickens and she glances frantically around the village for an escape. Villagers stop in their tracks, staring at her as if she were a digusting creature. A dull pain, resonates on the back of her skull. She grunts, falling to the ground from the impact. She turns, seeing villager with some heavy object in hand. (Y/N)'s head pounds. Her adrenaline begins to kick in. The man raises his weapon to strike again and she rolls to the side hearing it clank on the brick below her. She kicks the man in the shin, pulling herself up. "Oh no you don't!" The man yells, aiming a shotgun at her. Where did her get that from? "What do you want? What's going on?" (Y/N) roars, anger filling her. "Where is my friend? What did you do to him-" The gun goes off, the bullets piercing her thigh. (Y/N) falls on her back, crying out in pain. Her hands shoot to her injured leg, holding it. Blood seeps onto her hands. She sobs, looking up through her tears at the man. "Mother Miranda will be very pleased to see you." The man says, confusing the hell out of (Y/N). "Please-" The barrel of the gun comes down the hit (Y/N)'s head.

Darkness.

"Oh, please, that is utter nonsense!" A female's voice booms. (Y/N) winces, feeling cold metal around her wrists. Her thigh is numb and pulsates with her heart. Her head hurts. It's throbbing, aching. She turns to lie on her back. "(Y/N)!" Someone hisses, from beside her. "Ethan?" (Y/N) croaks, quietly. "Thank God. I thought you wouldn't wake up." Ethan says. He's bloody and dirty. "What's going on? Ethan, please tell me this isn't real." (Y/N) whispers. "Ah!" The same female voice says. "They're awake." She chuckles. (Y/N) props herself up against a wall. Oh god. A woman looms above her. She's enormous. She towers over (Y/N) like a tree. She has to crane her neck to see the woman's face. She glances around the room seeing several other figures. Her eyes widen. What the fuck was happening? "Oh, don't be alarmed, darling." The woman, grins. "The worst is yet to come." She says. Someone snorts and (Y/N)'s head turns to see a gruff looking man, smoking a cigar. "What the fuck is going on?" (Y/N) projects, taking all of the strange people by surprise. Ethan feels anxiety bubble in him. "Who are you? What are we doing here?" (Y/N) drills. No one answers. "Answer me, goddammit!" (Y/N) shouts. Cigar man let's out a laugh. It sounded like it came from deep within her gut.

"What's so funny, cigar man?" (Y/N) growls, making Ethan kick her uninjured leg. "Dont provoke them." He mumbles. "Cigar man." The scruffy man repeats. "Don't provoke them?" (Y/N) says lowly. The strange people watch the two humans interact. "Don't fucking provoke them?" She shouts at Ethan, making him flinch. "Some dumbass shot me in the leg and all I was trying to do was get some answers." (Y/N) rants. "You're the one who dragged me out here to find you're precious daughter!" She says raising her hands mockingly. Ethan's face contorts. "Oh so it's my fault?" He says, laughing bitterly. "Obviously! We're in this situation because of you!" She argues, shoving her index finger into his chest. "Me? I'm not the one who-" The tall woman becomes tired of their bickering. "Enough!" She booms, shutting them both up. "Mother Miranda is on her way and she will decide what to do with both of you." She says, obviously annoyed. "I like her." The man says, pointing his cigar at (Y/N). "She's got spunk. Now him," He pauses, pointing to Ethan, "He seems like a pain in the ass, if I'm being blunt with you." He says, ignoring that the two humans were even there, talking to the tall lady. The large woman, sighs heavily. "It isn't your decision, Heisenberg." She says, sitting down. "Now hang on just a minute," (Y/N) says squinting. "Since when am I property?" She glares at all of them. Ethan swallows. "Since you set foot here." A new voice says. It's filled with power. It was quite intimidating. A female figure covered in feathers enters the room. "What the fuck." (Y/N) whispers, eyes trailing her as she walks. The Heisenberg man snorts. Ethan cowers to the wall behind him. Idiot.

Miranda stops at the center of the room. "We will decide your fate, from now, forward." She says, speaking with a kind of grace. "So we don't get a fucking say in this?" (Y/N) fumes. "(Y/N)." Ethan says, weakly. "Don't '(Y/N)' me. I don't want anything to do with this! This is insane. It this a joke? Did my mom set this shit up? She's been after me for years. I knew-" (Y/N) is silenced. "Shut your fucking hole and let the woman speak. Damn." Heisenberg snaps. "I thought you liked me, cigar boy." (Y/N) sneers. Heisenberg rises from his seat, suddenly, making her jump. Mother Miranda sighs. "Now you listen to me, princess." Heisenberg growls, stalking over to her. (Y/N) stands her ground, rolling her shoulders back. Ethan starts to shake in fear. He grabs her jaw, roughly.

"You ain't making the fucking decisions around here." He says. (Y/N) tries to pull her head out of his grasp, but he simply tightens it. "Your fate is already layed out for you. So I suggest to cooperate or you will face the consequences." Heisenberg grins. "Get your hands off me you pig!" (Y/N) says, lowly. A loud crack echos inside the room. (Y/N) falls back against the wall, hand to her face. He just hit her. "Learn your place or you won't survive." Heisenberg whimpers. (Y/N)'s eyes sting with tears. Everything hurt and nothing made sense. "Go to hell." She mumbles. "What did I just say-" heisenberg starts raising his voice. "That's a great show you put on for us, dear, but I think that's enough." The tall woman says, boredom in her tone. (Y/N) slumps back against the wall, defeated. It was no use.

"Ethan Winters." Mother Miranda says. "Your fate has been decided." She speaks with authority. There's a pause. "Lady Dimitrescu will have you." She states. The tall woman grins wildly. Ethan shrinks back against the wall. (Y/N) sits there, a cut on her cheek from something Heisenberg hand on his hand. Possibly a ring. She didn't care. Ethan is carried away by the tall lady she had learned to be Alcina Dimitrescu. "Good fucking ridens." (Y/N) mumbles to herself, watching Ethan struggle. "(Y/N) (L/N). Your fate has been decided." Mother Miranda repeats. "Oh, great." (Y/N) says, voice dripping in hate. "Lord Heisenberg will take you." She says. (Y/N) feels anger filling her. "I'm not going with that idiot." She says, looking at Miranda while referring to him. She hears him stand. Goosebumps rise on her skin, seeing his shadow on the ground as he looms above her. "Get up." He orders. "Fuck off." (Y/N) retorts, still looking at Miranda. "Get the fuck up!" Heisenberg booms. (Y/N) glares up at him. "I said, fuck off!" She yells back. Heisenberg smiles, adjusting his hat. "You're in for a ride, pretty girl." He growls, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to stand on her bad leg. (Y/N) yelps, numbing pain shooting through her ankle to her hip. She pants, pulling at the chains surrounding her wrist. She would glady, for no money at all, kick him in the balls, if her leg was healed.

"Well? C'mon walk." Heisenberg says, in a teasing manner. "I got shot, dumbass! I can't walk." (Y/N) spits. "Guess I'll either have to drag you or throw you over my shoulder. What'll it be?" He says, a glint in his eyes. (Y/N) remains silent. He grabs her by the middle, hosting her over his shoulder. "Put me down!" (Y/N) shouts as he begins to walk. "Oh! I see. You'd rather be dragged on the ground, huh?" Heisenberg says, stopping. "No." (Y/N) says, quickly. "That's what I fuckin' thought." He says, hand resting on the bad of her thighs. It didn't seem like he really cared about the wound on her thigh.(Y/N) starts to feel blood rush to her head. The man was carrying her at an uncomfortable angle. She grunts, wiggling to adjust herself. "Quit movin'." Heisenberg barks, slapping the back of her injured thigh. (Y/N) flinches letting out a pained sound. She dangles from his shoulder like a ragdoll. This was embarrassing to say the least. He was treating her like a sack of potatoes.

After what felt like a month, they reached some sort of plant. A factory maybe? This was all surreal. A whirring sound is heard and (Y/N) is walked through a door. "Welcome to your new home." Heisenberg chuckles. "This isn't my home." She snaps, hitting his back with her chained wrists. "Now you've done it." He says, before throwing her down on the floor. (Y/N) hisses, her leg aching. "Look, this us how it's gonna be." He starts, kneeling down to an eye level stance. "You ain't gonna cause trouble and your gonna do what I say. You hear?" He says. "You may need some trainin'," He pauses, eyes hinting some darkness,

"But you'll fuckin' learn."

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #resident evil #x reader

80 notes · View notes

kuroo-shitsurou · 4 years ago

Text

Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

#genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao imagines #genshin impact #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi #genshin #xiao

93 notes · View notes

sapphire374 · 3 years ago

Text

Soy Sol: Chapter 11 (The Cut that Burrows Deep)

Wattpad Link

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7 / Ch.8 / Ch.9 / Ch. 10 / Ch.12 / Ch.13 / Ch.14 / Ch.15 / Ch.16 / Ch.17

Ámbar feels like every step she takes, the more she can feel her heartbeat. It’s like she’s carrying it in her arms with nothing to guard it, out in the open alone. She opens the cold rusted handle of the entrance to the restaurant. There she is, her biological mom trembling while drinking a glass of water. Ámbar sums up all the courage inside her and takes the chance to approach her. When she grabs the seat in front of her, Sylvania can’t help but stare in shock. “Wow Ámbar, you truly have grown.” Ámbar may have brought all her walls down for the people she loves, but she puts them back up with this stranger.

“You can’t say that since you were never there for me. That’s no fair,” Ámbar chided. Sylvania chokes up and avoids eye contact. “Look Ámbar, I now know after everything that has happened the big mistake I made, but at the time it felt like the best option for you. I was young and didn’t have the means nor felt ready to take care of a child. I thought Sharon would’ve been a better parental figure instead of a young girl like myself. I later on regretted it and that’s something I shall have to carry with me for the rest of my life.”

Ámbar grips onto her purse trying very hard to hold back all her tears. She wonders why did this lady chose Sharon specifically and why did Sharon try to keep it a secret for so long? “I understand you were young, but I know that’s not the whole story because I have memories being in a different house that was NOT Benson Mansion. You saw me, you knew me, and didn’t like me enough to keep me,” Ámbar rebuked. Sylvania is showing tears now, she’s choking up with every word as her hand trembles just to take a sip of water. “It wasn’t like that at all Ámbar. I tried, I really did try to see if I was capable of taking care of a child. I noticed my arms weren’t so comforting for you. Sometimes when you love someone, so much, you have to let them go because you care,” Sylvania responded. Ámbar doesn’t know whether to believe what she’s saying or not. She wishes she can get out of these tornadoes of lies that always come chasing her. She’s sick of it all. She wants the truth. Is that too much to ask for?

Silence crowds the room, they’re breathing the same air but can’t even look at each other. Sylvania speaks up again. “I know this feels hard to believe but why do you think I came back? It was for that reason, I thought Sharon would be a better parent than me and would take great care of you. I realized I was sadly wrong.”

“Sharon? Of all people? What made you think that a woman who put a place on fire because she was jealous of her own sister would be a perfect parent for a child? Do you know she never showed me affection or love? I had to learn it all on my own. She only showed any signs of care when she needed me part of her plan that only benefitted her. You left me to a person who only cares about themselves,” Ámbar fumed.

“It wasn’t like that at all. I had no idea about her being the cause of the Benson fire and she had already adopted you before that even happened. When I met her, she was a kind woman, I was friends with Lili from work, so I had already knew the family. I assumed that Sharon had a good heart just like Lili, even though she was seemingly different. The whole time I would interact with her, she was always nice and seemed to really want a child because she always felt alone. It all just felt fitting.” Ámbar is trying to put together all the puzzle pieces in her head with Sylvania’s story. Part of her doesn’t believe it but…. It does kind of make sense. For her it justifies nothing even though she has hope.

Before she gets up from her seat, she leaves a wad of cash. “Ámbar where are you going? We haven’t even ordered yet?” Sylvania asks. “I’m not feeling hungry anymore, here’s some money for dinner.” Ámbar heads out the door with no remnants behind other than the tears that fall to the floor.

Jam and Roller

“Eyyy amigo I’m so happy for the release of your new music video!” Gastón exclaims to Matteo. They’re both drinking smoothies while watching the Youtube countdown from Matteo’s phone. These are the special moments Matteo loves to share with Gastón since he’s always been his pal for the longest. He also loves sharing it with Luna too, but they sadly haven’t hit it off as well for a while. Matteo is hoping Gastón’s plan will work for the upcoming days.

Simón heads to their tables with a fresh batch of popcorn. “Wow, how exciting! It’s even more special since you get to enjoy it here at the Jam and Roller with us!” Simón states. Matteo grins but it slowly fades when he sees Luna walk into the cafeteria and completely ignoring him. “What happened?” Simón asks when he sees Matteo’s vivid expression abruptly change. “No nothing, I just wish I got to share this moment with another person too.” When Simón turns his head and sees who Matteo is staring at, he realizes what Matteo meant.

Nina pulls out her purse and hands her phone to Luna. “I know you’re trying to pretend you don’t care but you do. Watch the video, it’ll get rid of all your curiosities.” Luna shakes her head in disapproval. “Nina, the least I want to do is watch a music video of the one I love flirting with a girl who has a huge crush on him as well. They’re practically soulmates, meant for each other,” Luna exaggerates. “Oh c’mon, I know it’s complicated, but you know that’s not true. If you’re not going to do it for him, then do it for yourself. You deserve to see why he arrived late to your date.” Luna glares at Nina and decides to take the phone.

Once the music video is out, everyone begins to cheer for Matteo. Luna sits even more depressed seeing at the ‘amazing’ chemistry Matteo and Viviana had in the music video. She can’t help but doubt herself even more when all the comments from his fans say they ship him with Viviana. “Nina, I’m not feeling so good. I think I’ll just head home.” Nina nods and Luna begins to get up from her chair and head out. Matteo notices and follows her out.

“Luna! Luna, wait up! I need to tell you something,” Matteo yells out. “Matteo not now, I’m not in the mood. Congratulations of your video, it was very nice. I just don’t feel so good okay.” Matteo catches up to her and stands in front. “Look Luna, I don’t know if you’ll listen to me now but please go to tomorrow’s concert I’m having. My manager is having me make a concert to promote the single, but it wouldn’t be the same without you. Please Luna. You never miss any of my concerts,” Matteo begs. Luna gradually smiles. “Really? You still want me there?”

“Of course, I do Luna.” Luna now can’t help but blush. “Matteo, of course I’ll go. Even though I’m still a little upset at you calling me jealous, standing me up on our date, and not believing or listening to me, I still care. Since you want me there, I’ll be there.” Matteo is surprised by Luna’s comment and begins to graciously smile too. It was a moment for them, they hadn’t had one like this in a long time. It felt needed.

Nico is in the rink sitting on one of the chairs, he seems to be working on something since he has his notebook open with his pen. Jim enters and sees him alone. “Hey there, what are you working on?” Jim asks. “Oh just a few verses, I’m trying to get ahead on the Roller Band song for the competition, but nothing seems to come into mind,” Nico says. Jim heads to the seat beside him. She sits down and carefully glances over his blank page. “Oh yeah you do seem to be having some trouble,” Jim chuckles. “If you’d like I can help, I’m use to writing songs with Yam.” Nico turns and faces Jim, “Yes of course. I need all the help I can get; it’s been a while for me since I got to write a song with the Roller Band.” They both laugh together and get working on the song.

Jazmín dashes to Delfi holding a small slip of paper. “You won’t believe what just happened?” Delfi carefully places her books into her locker after seeing Jazmín rush to her. “Is it something new for the Fundom or for your blog, Ja Jazmin?” Delfi predicts. “Nope, you’re very far off. Look at this,” Jazmín hands Delfi the note. The more she reads it, the more her eyes grow like a flower blooming in the season, keeps opening. She’s in plain shock as Jazmín nods from her amusement. “Right! I have a secret admirer!! I have to post about this on my blog!” Jazmín frantically grabs her phone from her pocket but right when she’s about to film, Delfi stops her. “No Jazmín, this is something special. Honestly, I think this is something you should keep for yourself, every celebrity likes to keep their personal life separate from their work life,” Delfi advises. Jazmín thinks for a second and says, “Nahhh I’ll still post it, plus this can even help us discover who the anonymous writer is!”

The Restaurant

Yam is wearing her golden shimmery dress that Jim helped her pick out. She’s very anxious about her date with Ramiro, she wants it to go out perfect since this was something she had been dreaming of for a while. He puts down the menu and slips his hand under hers to her surprise. He gives her a shy smile. “I had been dreaming of this for a while. Before, I would always try to move on, but I just couldn’t. My mind just couldn’t forget about you,” Ramiro admits. Yam begins to tear up. “I felt the same way for so long but never said anything worried you didn’t feel the same way. I’m so happy about this moment. I don’t care how long I had to wait, it was totally worth it.”

Throughout the whole night, Yam and Ramiro shared college stories and even old memories of each other. How Yam never stopped writing songs about him and how Ramiro would skate imagining about her. Everything went smooth till dessert came. A random man with a suit and tie approached their table and faces Yam. “You look familiar, are you Yamila Sanchez from that Ja Jazmin blog?” Yam stays startled and stutters, “uhhh yes why?” The man quickly pulls a card out of his pocket. “Hillside Records, I’m the owner. I would like to set up a meeting with you for a chance at a record deal.” Yam immediately glares at Ramiro for a response. He shows his approval and gestures for Yam to respond. “Yes I would love to!” Yam exclaims. “Great! I’m available tomorrow at 5 pm. There is one important detail I have to tell you,” the man says. “Yes, what is it,” Yam asks. “The record company is not in Buenos Aires. It’s in California.” He proceeds to hand her the card. “Think about it, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaves and Yam shows her disappointment to Ramiro, she couldn’t believe how such an exciting offer can turn to something so depressing. If she took this offer, that means she would have to leave her family, her friends, and her chance at being with Ramiro.

“Look I know this is hard to think about but just follow your heart. If this is something you truly want go for it, I can wait longer,” Ramiro grabs her hand and holds it. “I don’t know what to say. I never knew me pursuing a music career would mean I have to leave everything and everyone I love,” Yam gradually lets her tears fall onto her glittery dress.

29 notes · View notes

dracosaurusrex · 4 years ago

Text

Scavenger Hunt

Part 6 to Notebook! Notebook Masterlist

Summary: In which Draco is torn between his morals and desires, but chooses you.

Pairing: Draco x Gryffindor!reader

A/N: I don’t know how I feel about this chapter, pero lyke I think the two need a little push? More substance? Hnnnnghhhhhhh. It’s challenging to write Draco with realism aha, but I think it’s crucial for their growth as a couple (?) IDK...but as always, feedback is lovely and I appreciate it greatly. I hope you enjoy!

A certain blonde found his thoughts often flitting to the recent memories of the time he spent with you in Hogsmeade. He remembered how he well your hand fit into his while cherishing the taste of peppermint toads. Whenever he was alone, he’d remember all those small details: the feel of your touch, the shape of your smile, the ease of holding an actual conversation, and the overall warmth that you exuded on a day that was particularly cold. His heart skipped beats upon recalling these sensations. After all, it was relieving to put down the mask he has been keeping for so long. It was relieving to allow his walls disintegrate for even a moment.

Draco Lucius Malfoy was the only born son to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and the heir to an ancient and obnoxiously wealthy line of purebloods. He was raised upon expectations for perfection. Grades, appearance, skills, status, even the people he connected with—anything less than such was a call for a reprimanding followed by a constant reminder that he mustn't fall into the wrong sort. Such perceptions were embedded in his upbringing, and with efforts to bring his parents much pride and joy, it was his intent to strive for that very definition of perfection. Up until now, his life has been built around the goal of pleasing them.

“Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll know who you are, Draco. Remember that.” His father would tell him with a pompous and conceited tone.

The boy responds, “Yes, father.”

His childhood was a lonely one to say the least. Although he was surrounded by people his parents had approved of to be his friend, they felt more like acquaintances. Furthermore, they resembled hollow relationships founded upon networking and money rather than genuine care and trust. Perhaps that is the reason why your relationship with the golden bunch triggered him. The warmth that he felt with you can easily be seen in the way you interact with your imperfect friends, and he longed to preserve the feeling of it throughout his life.

You were of a different caliber. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was—simply put—an outsider looking into your life.

In all his honesty, Draco only knew several things about you based off observations and word of mouth. For starters you were in the rivaling house. You also weren’t as wealthy as he was. He knew that the people his parents strongly disapproved of were ones that seemed to bring you much happiness. Additionally, you never gave much priority for your status as a pureblood. Regardless of that, you somehow managed to live a vibrant and seemingly happy life. A life that highly contradicted his own. To that end, he knew deep down inside that you didn’t meet the standard of perfection set by his family. He could see his parents (mostly his father) scowl. But beyond all of the limitations the familial factors presented, your existence seemed to fill what resembled closely to a hole within his heart. He treaded over the line between securing the comfort of the reality he lived in and making the risk to realize the reality he wanted—you. His heart leaned towards the latter.

The weekend transitioned into Monday, and you still haven’t returned Draco’s notebook. While it frustrated him quite a bit, he felt butterflies over the idea of seeing you again. Class was going to start within 30 minutes, and the boy found himself seated on a tree within the courtyard, watching other students pass by. Sporadic sights of red, yellow, blue, and green crossed his line of vision until they landed on a rather large group of Gryffindors congregating near a corner. Seen among them was you.

A smile was plastered on your face as the attention of you and your friends was fixed upon George Weasely, who could be seen holding a camera. He set his device atop of a wall as he directed commands for you all to bunch closer together. After confirming the satisfaction with the placement, he clicked on the shutter and ran frantically to his place next to Fred.

“Say ‘Gryffindor’” You all responded enthusiastically. Arms were wrapped around each other's shoulders, cheeks pressed closely together, smiles all wide with glee. *snap* The scene elicited a tinge of jealousy within Draco’s heart. Before deciding to act upon his emotions, he remains planted on his tree, watching the scene continue to unfold.

“Y/N, Mione, Ginny, come over here! Let me take one of you girls.” The three of you arranged yourselves with you in between your two friends. Your arms interlaced with theirs and you gave a smile to the camera.

“Loosen up, Y/N! You look like you saw a basilisk!” Ron chimed. You threw a glare and adjusted yourself accordingly.

“That’s it! Smile now! 1, 2, 3!” The shutter went off, and you relaxed. Draco kept his gaze fixed on you separating from the two girls as you approached Ron to throw a seemingly painful jab to his shoulder. Draco chuckled from afar.

“Don’t be offended! It’s the truth!” Ron defensively rubbed his now sore arm.

“Oh, shove off Ronald!” You shared a laugh with the boy.

As your friends start to leave the site, your eyes met with the blonde, triggering a grin to spread on your face. You looked back as the group dissipated, heading to their respective classes.

“Mione, Ginny, go on without me! I forgot something, and I have to go and get it.” You called out to them. They nodded in understanding and followed the boys.

Once they were completely gone from your sight, you turned your focus back onto Draco and made your way to the tree he was in. In response, he jumped down and met you halfway with a discrete smirk.

“Didn’t know it was picture day.” He said coyly. You only rolled your eyes playfully and nodded.

“Yes, yes,” you chuckled, “It’s been a little tradition we have had since we were first years.”

There was a fond look you had on your face as you took a brief second to reminisce. Taking notice of this, the jealousy that was kindled in Draco’s chest only grew.

Without even thinking, he said, “I don’t understand why you associate yourself with the likes of them.” The rude tone in his voice offended you.

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Shocked at the question, you brought your hands to your hips as an incredulous expression fixed itself on your face.

“Granger’s a mudblood. The Weasley’s are quite crummy and embarrassingly poor. Potter’s got only a scar to prove his worth in the wizarding world. I simply don’t understand why you associate yourself with people as such.” There wasn’t a single stutter in his statement. Suddenly, the adoration that you once felt was replaced with fumes of anger.

“Who are you? Moreover, what makes you think it’s right to say that!?” You looked at him disgustedly.

“I beg your pardon?” The sight of your expression pooled the feeling of regret in the depths of Draco’s stomach.

“What’s got you acting like a total git?? Seriously incredible, Malfoy! Perhaps if you gave them a chance, then you’d see why I associate myself with the ‘likes’ of them!” You said mockingly. You fished his notebook out of your bag and shoved it aggressively against his chest.

“Not everything is about status, you know?” There was venom laced in your tone, which was accompanied by a look of disappointment within the angry expression on your face.

“But, then again, status must be all that you know.” You stated coldly before turning on your heel to march briskly away from the boy. Draco only stood there dumbfounded as he saw your figure retreat from view. Not knowing how to react, he smacked his face and begrudgingly went to class. This was not how he envisioned his Monday to play out.

His mind was absent from lectures throughout the day as he contemplated your words. Although his constant berating of students from other houses didn’t normally faze him, your words caused an internal uproar and prompted him to question his actions. It was the first time he’s ever seen you react to him so blatantly. Moreover, it was the first time he felt so ashamed of his values. Knowing that the girl he fancied saw him in an ill light made him feel sick to the stomach.

“Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are.” His father’s words echoed ever so clearly within his mind as Draco continued to think about you. The boy felt like he stood at a crossroad upon recalling your exact words. Uncertainty and instability filled the borders of his belief system, situating himself between the tug-o-war of his heart and mind. However, what hadn’t changed was his ardent desire to feel the warmth again. Therefore, as he situated himself in his shamefulness, he thought of ways to gain your familiarity once more.

Meanwhile, as the day trudged on, your thoughts distracted you from focusing on your studies, and you found yourself filled with an odd mixture of emotions. It initially comprised anger and frustration, but soon transformed into disappointment the more your mind lingered on the subject. Your internal turmoil had projected itself in the form of your oddly quiet nature, catching Hermione’s attention. While you were able to conceal your feelings for the young heir, the girl was always still pretty perceptive with your body language, so it wasn’t difficult for her to notice when you acted so distant throughout the day. She began suspecting you when she saw you doodling on your parchment instead of taking actual notes during transfiguration. Not wanting to assume so much, she continued to observe you. Her assumptions, however, were confirmed during dinner. You typically feasted excitedly whenever pasta and cookies were served, but as the others continued to pile their plates, your usually bubbly aura remained absent.

“Y/N” she called out to you. You looked up from the sad pile of noodles on your dish.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?” The concern that was conveyed in her voice broke your walls. You weren’t sure what it was about Hermione, but she always seemed to have a nurturing and motherly character. You were very thankful for it.

“I’m not actually,” you said softly, not wanting to gain the attention of others, “Can I confide in you?” Your eyes searched hers with desperation for a solution. Noticing this, she motioned her head towards the entrance of the hall and picked up her plate to make her way there. You copied her actions without looking at your group of friends. Fortunately, though, they didn’t seem to notice. You didn’t want to draw any attention to yourself with your issues.

As you exited the room, your eyes met briefly with Draco’s as his vision followed your movement. You didn’t know how to react, so you kept to yourself and kept on walking. You and Hermione found yourselves situated on a bench in the same courtyard where your clash with the boy had occurred. The moon was shining above you, as the lights from the illuminated hallway framed the scene’s serenity with comfort and familiarity. You held your plate on your lap as you twirled your fork to pick up some of the pasta.

“Okay, what’s the matter?” The girl asked.

You started off slowly, “I have a question- a hypothetical one.”

“Go on.”

“Let’s say you like someone, and he’s entirely different from you. You don’t know him much, but he makes you feel good. He treats you well, and you want to know him more. When you get to spend time with him, those feelings only get amplified, and it feels perfect.” You take a break to examine her reaction so far. She only urged you to go on.

You continue, “But it starts to crumble when he says something insensitive about something you care about. Of course, you get mad. Who would ever say such a thing? Right?” She nods in agreement.

“But what if you still want to like him despite the disappointment and frustration? What would you do?” Hermione’s eyebrows were furrowed as she allowed herself to contemplate on the situation you described.

“I suppose there should be a reason for his opinion. Hmm...If he truly cared, then ideally, he would talk to you. There might not be any excuse for his actions, but if he makes the effort to talk to you, then I feel that would show that he considers your feelings. How you respond is totally up to you, but on your end, I say that you should allow him to speak and listen.”

“Even if he was a total arse?”

“Speaking from a logical standpoint, you’d be a total idiot to accept an arse. However, disappointment and mistakes are bound to happen when getting to know someone. You might as well allow the person to show himself without your expectations pinned on him. You might be surprised with what may result from it.”

“What if it’s not good?”

“Don’t hesitate to walk away. You are deserving of much more than an ignorant git.”

You were grateful that Hermione didn’t press forward to ask about the identity of this person. Furthermore, her words imprinted themselves in your mind as the week went on. It made you feel a bit better, but Draco made no approach to you ever since that night, leaving you with a bitter taste of discouragement. Despite that, you found pride in keeping your emotions at bay, deciding to focus more on your schoolwork instead of allowing your mind to wander far. Friday had come along, which meant that you found yourself in the library once again. You recalled the week prior, and how your level of attraction towards the boy skyrocketed in the span of two days. It was in this very building that sparked your attraction, but you began to falter on the thought that it would become something more.

You sat at the same desk you did last week. Papers scattered all over once again. This time it was study of ancient runes, a class that you did well in. A good hour was put into translating runes to English, however the passage was so extensive that the process felt like ages. Feeling as though your head was about to explode, you laid your head down over the mounds of work hoping to close your eyes for a bit. Your moment of peace was interrupted upon the sound of an unknown object landing in the space in front of you. As you lifted your head, your sight was drawn to the presence of a paper crane. Written on its wing says, “Open it”. You follow the instruction with pure curiosity. Within the folds of the paper is another command: “Meet me at the reference section, vanishing charms.” You wearily look around to find any clue who the sender of the crane might be. Without a single sense of danger, you stood up from your seat, not bothering to tidy up your things, and navigated your way to the reference section.

Your fingers trailed through spines of familiar books as you recalled the first assignment you and Draco had worked on. A rosy feeling spread across your chest as you remembered how unusual his affections contrasted with his typical cold and insensitive demeanor. Could he be the sender? Why else would anyone guide you to the vanishing charm section in the library?

Soon, your fingers crossed over a foreign sensation, which broke you out of your thoughts. Your gaze was then set upon a piece of folded paper tucked so carefully between the spines. You pulled it out gingerly, admiring the precision of the creases before opening it. The next message elicited a smile from you:

“I was never good with expressing feelings. I still find it pathetic and have denied the ones I’ve had for you so long. Much to my annoyance, though, I find it pleasurable reminiscing the scene that took place in this remote little spot.” Your eyes trailed to the bottom of the page.

“Do you remember where we sat to work on the essay?” Your heart was bounding as the context of the messages confirmed the identity of the owner. Much like your first interaction with him, you didn’t know what to expect. That, however, did not stop you from walking towards the table situated beneath the window that casted rays of light from the setting sun. You began your search for the next note. The surface of the table was empty, chairs were tucked in neatly—it didn’t seem as though anyone had crossed this area.

‘What would Draco do?’ You thought. You recalled qualities that you were familiar with. He was pretty witty. At times he was annoyingly rude as well. He comes from a wealthy family with corrupt ideals. Regardless, the warmth that he had shown you had no tone of ill intent behind it. In fact, its very existence, in contrast to what others saw, illustrated an image of the boy being surrounded by walls within your mind. You then concluded that if you were Draco, you would be cautious about displaying affection. Keeping this in mind, you thought of areas that could be discrete enough to hide a note. Your hand reached towards the underside of the table and skimmed through its rough texture, hoping to find any abnormalities. Suddenly, a wave of satisfaction overcame you as your finger pads were met with a contrasting smooth surface. As you did before, you carefully plucked the new paper crane as your excitement continued to grow. The words “Almost there” was written across the wing. You opened the note and there was, yet again, another message:

“Y/N, truth be told, I’m quite taken by you—Your beauty, your warmth, the comfort you bring, your shyness when you say my name, the way you look when you’re so focused as you work, even the way you interact and defend your other Gryffindor friends,”

“I’ve made a mistake that Monday morning, yet the time spent away from you makes no difference in the way your presence occupies my mind. I fail at the very act of shoving you away. I see glimpses of you in smallest and largest parts of my day. Meet me at your desk?”

Written on the bottom of the note was a signature: “Draco Lucius Malfoy”

While peace filled you, there was still a feeling of uncertainty. You were overjoyed by the fact that Draco had feelings for you, but there was no denying that a relationship with him would be difficult. The boy carried a lot of baggage, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it. However, with a brave face, you walked towards the area where you had started your little adventure.

As you drew near, there was a familiar blonde figure seated at your desk. His facial features filled with admiration as his fingers stroked your work, fingers flipping through the loose pages of parchment. You giggled to yourself, recalling the way you had done the same just a week prior.

You came up from behind him and whispered in his ear, “Hello, Draco Lucius.”

His heart almost beat out of his chest at the sound of his name rolling so fluidly through your mouth. You pulled out the seat next to him and gave him a sad smile, his eyes not leaving yours for a moment. There was silence. Both parties were at a loss for words to say, and so you remain seated without a sound, allowing the comfort to trickle in.

It had been five minutes since you arrived, and Draco kept his head down low as his stare stuck to your knees. He, then, hesitantly looks up at you, and with a soft voice, he asks, “May I?” You meet his gaze before his eyes flutter to your hands. Instead of giving a response, you grab his hand and interlace your fingers with his, your other hand covering the one that’s already clasped. You immediately take notice how large his hand feels as it’s wrapped within your own. Silence overcomes you once again as your thumb rubs the surface of his own. It was a sensation both had missed

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of his mouth suddenly. You look up to see that he’s already staring at you.

He repeats himself, “I’m sorry.”

The silvery eyes that were once filled with arrogance and pride were now desperately searching yours with regret. If they could speak, they’d be screaming right now. You squeezed his hand harder before unfolding it only to hold it once more, except this time you were tracing the lines engrained on his palm.

“May you explain to me why you said those things?” You asked gently.

“Can we go somewhere more private?” He responds, his tone expressing a tinge of vulnerability. You give a nod of understanding before reaching over the table to gather your belongings. You hadn’t noticed how fast your heart had been beating until this point. All of your affectionate gestures came naturally within the moment that when you released his hand from your grasp, your emotions caught up to you.

You take a look at him and notice subtle things. You notice the way he towers over you, the way his body is angled in your direction, leaning towards you with a possessive stance. You notice the way his hands hang loosely on his sides and how he keeps his gaze on you with an expression that you can’t quite describe. His breathing is even but he looks at you with much intensity.

“Draco,” You call out. His attention goes to your face. Allowing your need for affection to overtake you once more, you take his hand once again and look in his eyes—they looked much relaxed now. You release a small a smile before standing on your tip toes to plant a long and affectionate kiss on his cheek. His grip on your hand had tightened in response.

Your lips ghost over his ear, “Lead the way.”

A/N: Idek. I hope you have a great day tho!

Taglist: @m-winchester-67 @bbeauttyybbx @un-limit-edd @poetontheblock @tttyrus @stretchyice @vaeonshi @bittersweetthoughts–ofinsanity @saptediavoli @kookie-vuitton @thatguppienamedbae @ccabian

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x gryffindor #Draco Malfoy x OC #draco x you #draco x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin #Gryffindor

123 notes · View notes

ivyglow · 4 years ago

Text

More than friends | Carter Hart

A/n: Sooo, I was supposed to be done with this piece before our win last night, but my laptop keeps stopping, and the new one only arrives this week, in the meantime I’m stuck with this one and taking longer than ever to write the requests. Anyway, thank you for the patience, and if you want to support my writing, you can always like, reblog and share my posts with a friend you think might like it.

Shout out to Tori for the amazing job proofreading this piece. You’re the best, @guentzgoal

PS. The songs mentioned in this chapter are Hozier (work song) and Ed Sheeran (friends).

Requested: Yes

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mention of Friday’s mess aka 5-0 against the Canadiens.

Summary: You’re the media management to the Philadelphia Flyers, and during the bubble time, you get closer to Carter being the person he runs to after the terrible game that day. You two finally realize something more developed between the friendship.

When everything started to crumble down, he wished for you. He’d imagined that you were probably in your room cuddled up with a bunch of blankets listening to your Hozier-favorites playlist while sipping cold tea. Carter occasionally even wished for everything to be a nightmare, that he was just sleeping on your couch while you watched one of your favorite horror movies, any different situation would be better than the current disaster happening.

He couldn’t help but blame himself for every little thing.

He was the one that let the puck reach the net four times, he thought.

Somehow his head made him sure of this thought when he was pulled off the ice to the bench. He was angry, afflict, and all he wanted was for the team to score at least once or twice, so the loss wouldn’t be as awful as it was feeling at the time.

But as you would sometimes say to him, “das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” and even more than to hear your strange sayings, Carter liked to internalize them, because usually, they were great instructions for life. And to think that “life is no pony farm” was useful in times like this, it reminded him that it doesn’t matter how much he wished or worked, sometimes, it wasn’t meant to be. However, it didn’t erase your feelings, and that’s why he was fuming when he closed the door and went to the locker room.

He tried to look unbothered enough to the media on the aftergame conversation, but on the inside, Carter was drowning in stress and guilt. During the drive back to the hotel, he thought about texting you to let you know he was crashing in your room that night, but he got carried away reading what people were thinking about his performance in the game.

Most of them hated it.

And so did he.

Carter was thinking about how poorly he played when he knocked at your door, and you probably thought the same, but Carter wanted, no, he needed to see you and hear you, and he was sure you wouldn’t let him down. Your presence always did wonders for him and his self-esteem. He would probably hear “das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” for the hundredth time, talk about how shitty he was feeling and let you caress his hair, and only this itself would make his day a little better.

When the door opened to show you wearing a bathrobe, Carter lost his air for a couple of seconds. The mop of curls wet sitting on the top of your head, the dark skin, long lashes, full lips...everything about you was perfect to him, and he cheesily thought that maybe in another lifetime you were his queen and he would bow and adore you like you were the most perfect thing to walk the earth.

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth, no grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her” Hozier was softly playing inside your room.

Carter thought about what to say, but nothing seemed to be enough, nothing made justice to how he was feeling on the inside, but he knew by the look in your eyes that you understood everything, every little detail, every bruise, and every deep and shaky breath.

You took the bag from his shoulders and dropped it on the side of the door, before grabbing his hand and bringing his body closer. You watched the whole game while working on some management reports, as part of the media management team. You wished you were there. Nevertheless, just like the hockey team, everyone had a specific task, and yours today was writing and studying some more essential ideas discussed previously. You were not expecting Carter to show up at your door so soon. You knew he would eventually come around, and Carter said himself that he preferred to be close to you whenever he felt bad because you knew exactly when to ramble about yourself to take his mind off whatever was bothering him and when to listen to him and give advice.

As soon as his scent hit your nose, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the hug. He was warm, and his hair was still wet from the shower, the fabric of his suit brought some kind of comfort when it came in contact with your skin and all you wanted to do was hold him until all his anguish was over.

“You’re okay, we’re okay,” you whispered, peppering kisses along the exposed skin of his neck and jaw, the available surfaces when you crushed against him.

You felt Carter nod his head, before finally putting a small space between the two of you.

“I’m sorry I forgot to text you to ask if I could just show up and…”

“Hey, it’s fine, we’re friends, no need to stress over this. And yes, you can crash here tonight as long as nobody notices, you know,” you traced his nose and the crease in his eyebrows.

And as much as you noticed every little detail of him, you were not able to see the way his face twitched when you said “friends” because as much as he loved your friendship, he got himself wishing for more in times like these.

“Thank you,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to your forehead.

You disappeared to take off the moisturizer from your hair, and Carter took the time to make himself comfortable by taking his jacket off along with his shoes, letting the blankets on the couch engulf his body.

“Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof,” you whispered when you came back. Now dressed in your pajamas and with your hair slightly damp, you lay beside your favorite goaltender on the couch. He dropped his head to your shoulders and made himself small, so you could take care of him the way he liked. And so with your favorite playlist playing and your fingers massaging gently at his scalp Carter fell asleep.

He woke up with your voice distant, and a playlist still going, although it was not the Hozier one anymore. The room was darker than when he lay there, the only source of light coming from the open windows and one lamp, he noticed that you had lit a candle on the coffee table and that there was also a cup of water sitting there.

Carter felt cared for and loved. He loved how your little details always made him feel better.

“I called room service, they’re getting our dinner here soon…” you appeared in the room again with your cellphone in your hands. “What’s up?” you asked, laying beside Carter one more time.

The distance was little, and he thought about the way your friendship worked. It felt like more than friendship, and Carter took his time thinking about how he never sleeps with his friends like he sleeps with you. The way his friends cared about him but never the way you did. How he wanted to kiss you goodbye every time you parted ways and how he wished to just lay with you for as long as possible, just taking your scent in, enjoying your company, and your very specific playlists.

“Hartsy?” you called again, confused with how he just zoned out. “Is everything okay? What are you thinking about?”

He shifts on the couch, and now your faces are even closer. “Nothing...I was...this is a good song, never heard it.”

You chuckled before directing your attention to the lyrics playing as background noise. Your heart did a little double-take, and you couldn’t help but turn your eyes to the face in front of yours.

“Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don't treat me like you do. Well, I know that there's a limit to everything, but my friends won't love me like you. No, my friends won't love me like you.”

You shivered when his thumb found your chin bringing your face even closer. It slipped through your face drawing little dots connecting every far end. You enjoyed the feeling, and though his hands were calloused, the pad of his fingertips felt soft and comfortable against your skin.

“Are we friends, or are we more?” his voice was so low you were sure if you weren’t staring at his lips, you would not understand.

And when his thumb found your lips opening slightly, you closed your eyes, too overwhelmed with the new sensations to bother with an answer. You wanted him to crash the space between your lips and finally dive in, you wanted him to be more than friends, and you wanted to comfort him after everything.

You wanted Carter and Carter only.

You wanted to be more than friends.

Carter tested the waters by dipping his face and caressing your nose with his. He liked the way your faces seemed to fit in place, and he was determined to kiss you when the bell rang loudly in your room.

“I have a saying for this,” you breathed out, wanting to laugh about the situation. “Aller Anfang ist schwer.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I’ll let you know later,” you fooled before getting up and going to answer the door.

Your legs were like jelly, and your mind was working at a fast pace, but still, you tried to keep composure.

Eating dinner after that interaction shouldn’t be easy, but it was for you and Carter, so he handled it so well it made you even more sure about how much you liked him. It wasn’t a real talkative dinner, but considering that hours prior, Carter was like a sad puppy, to see him smiling shyly at you was a victory.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked when you finished.

“You already did,” you tried to mess with him, and Carter rolled his eyes before getting on the couch again. “Of course you can, Hartsy.”

And so the rest of the night was just you and Carter randomly talking and listening to your playlist. He didn’t ask his question again, and neither did you, but you knew he was thinking about it when you went to bed. Especially laying there side by side.

You were used with his naked chest and with his sleep pants, but it felt different that night, and the question keeps replaying in your head. So this time, you were the one to voice it.

“Are we friends?” you turned to him.

Carter sat in front of you, grabbing your hands. His fingers were cold against your palm, and you shivered one more time that day.

“We’ve been ‘friends’ like this for more than a year, and even though I don’t know the turning point I know we are more than that and have been for a long time now,” his voice was firm like he was sure about what he was saying as he thought about it before. Your eyes dropped to your intertwined fingers, and you took a long breath before Carter started talking again. “Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don’t treat me like you do...everything my friends do to me feels different when it comes to you.”

It was the blink of an eye before your lips were connected, and you tried containing the growing smile between your lips. Carter’s lips were soft against yours, he felt like a summer day, one you waited a whole year for, and when it finally happened, it felt surreal. It wasn’t weird kissing him. It wasn’t odd sleep laying on top of him that night because it felt natural, it wasn’t anything new for the two of you. You were friends at the start, sure, but at some point, it turned into more, and you both handled it like it was only a friendship. You were happy to finally realize it had been more between each word, each interaction, each cheek kiss, and hug.

Sleep came easy that night, for you and him.

And even though his severe loss earlier, Carter felt valid.

You were there, you were his number one fan winning or losing, and he was happy he got to have a stable relationship with you.

“Do you have a saying for that?” he asked jokingly.

“Unfortunately, no,” you held his face close, lips centimeters away. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to spend time with sayings when I can spend time kissing you,” you confessed.

He chuckles, “Suddenly, life feels like a pony farm.”

You can find more of my work here

#carter hart #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #carter hart imagine #philadephia flyers #flyers #black!reader #friends to lovers #nhl imagine #mels writing

237 notes · View notes

sunshineseung · 4 years ago

Text

Royalty // Lee Know

💌 Info: Stray Kids Lee Know x female!reader smut 💕 Includes: beginning fluff/plot, praise, pet names, possession, pussy worship, blowjob (receiving), fingering, unprotected sex ✏️ Word Count: ~4k

——————————

Citizens lined the streets, cheering and chanting for their new queen. The royal carriage made its way down the road, the king and queen waving to the crowd with bright smiles.

You watched the parade from inside the small shop you worked at. Your mother, the owner, yelled at you from across the store, "get back to work!" You hazily continued to mop the wooden floor, but in your head, you’re dreaming of what could have been.

The new queen was a friend of your mother's, but after some heated arguments, they parted ways. The new queen's son, Minho, was your childhood best friend, but you had hardly spoken in recent years.

To see him waving to his people from inside the carriage as the new prince made your mind spin. The idea that you were once friends with the most coveted man in the city absolutely blew your mind. When you told people of this, they were quick to ask about the prince's childhood, with your only reply being "I don't remember much. We were both kids!"

He would seldom come into your family shop to buy necessities, but whenever he would visit, you would always catch him staring at you, eyes full of sorrow and regret. You'd wonder if he could be in the same boat as you: lonely, hoping for a friendship, even one long gone.

You didn't choose to go down different paths; it just happened. And now there you stood in your family store, sweeping away dust, wondering what could have been if you had just kept ties with the newly crowned Prince Minho.

"The nerve of her," your mother says under her breath while restocking shelves, "marrying the king after what she did. Absolutely shameless."

Minho's mother, also known as the Queen, slept with your father while your parents were married. Yes, taboo, but it's what ultimately broke friendships, both your mother's friendship with the Queen and your friendship with Minho. Deep resentment resided within your mother, but you just wanted to see Minho again.

You'd often lash out on your mother, her broken friendship being the reason for your coddling. She wouldn't let you leave as a child, fearing you would get snatched up by your father and taken away to the neighboring kingdom where he moved. After your falling out with Minho, you grew up with no friends until recently when you were hired at your mother's store.

The few people you interacted with there customers, some becoming your acquaintances after several of their visits, but none of them are truly your friends. You dreamed of leaving the town and moving to the forest, building your own house, and living a small, simple life, but you never had the courage to run away.

After the parade celebrating the new additions to the royal family, you got a letter. It was addressed specifically to you, marked with the bright red royal wax seal. Your heart dropped when you got the letter, and your mother was obviously fuming. You had to open it when she wasn't in the room.

"Dear Y/n L/n," the letter read, "It's with great honor that the royal family invites you to our celebration ball."

Your face is glowing, even through you believe every girl in the village received this letter. Upon further inquiring of your peers, you were the only one of them invited. Considering you weren't rich or well-known, you knew exactly why you were invited to the ball: Prince Minho.

The date was set and your dress was ready. Your mother allowed you to miss work, even considering what you were missing work for. You strolled up to the castle, and you realized what kind of party this was going to be.

There were girls from all across the land. They were all wearing expensive dresses, likely tailored for each girl, and they all had one thing on their mind: marrying the princes. What you had thought was an average party turned out to be a ball for Minho's suitors, which begs the question, why are you here?

Before you're able to turn around and leave, the guards close the massive front gate, actively trapping everyone inside the castle walls. The courtyard was full of large ball gowns and even larger hair making it hard to maneuver to the only thing on your mind: the food.

Most of the girls tonight are wearing corsets or bustiers, which gives you the perfect opportunity to eat as much as you want. Although your dress wasn't perfectly tailored or expensive, it made you stand out. While the party was full of women with hoop skirts and petticoats, you wore a slim, knee-high dress, which was a big no-no in the majority of the kingdom who valued modesty and conservativeness in women.

While at the table, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see a hooded figure with an indistinguishable face. They grab your wrist, but since your mouth had food in it, you couldn't scream. The hooded figure drags you around a wall to a secluded hallway leading to a guarded door.

"Trust me," says the voice. Considering how boring this party was, you blindly trust the voice and follow them to the door. They nod to the guards, and the guards nod back, opening the doors.

The doors reveal a small, enclosed garden with a koi pond and a white gazebo. They takes your hand and guide you to a marble bench next to the pond. While you're looking at the fish, the figures takes their hood off. Your heart stops beating when you see a pair of familiar brown eyes looking at you.

"Hey, Y/n. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" His voice is low, almost a whisper. Your focus darts from the pond to the prince. You're totally speechless, but he giggles at your flustered reaction. "I know this isn't what you were expecting tonight, but I honestly do miss you. I just wanted to see you again."

His smile is warm enough to melt your heart, and his kind eyes loll you into a sense of comfort.

"I wanted to see you again as well, Min- I mean, your highness." You laugh at yourself, hoping Minho didn't catch your slip up. He laughs as well, but he doesn't mind your slip up.

"I can still hear the music from the courtyard." Minho looks up into the sky, the lightest sounds from the band making their way into the secret garden. He stands up and holds his hand out, hoping for you to get the hint. "May I have this dance?"

You take his hand, and he whisks you away into the gazebo. Your hands gently find their way onto his shoulders and his neck, and he grips your waist ever so lightly. You smile at each other, the both of you fully aware of the absurdness of the situation.

"You know, I don't want to be prince." Minho's face dips in mood, the twinkle in his eyes fading away in an instant. "I just want to be a townsperson with y-"

"Minho," you cut him off, "You're going to be the best prince this town has ever seen. And whenever you don't feel like being the prince, I'll always be in the store awaiting your visit."

"Oh, so now you're okay with calling me Minho?" He chuckles, and your cheeks begin to burn red. "I should have come talked to you sooner."

"Just be glad we're here now."

You continue to gently dance with the boy, feet getting tangled together every so often. His pace is calming, and your bodies are perfectly in sync with the music from the band.

"Y/n, they're making me get married." His facial expression dips again. You can tell from his eyes darting downward that he's full of overwhelming thoughts. You cup his cheek in your hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm so scared."

"If you don't want to get married, you need to tell your parents that." Your advice is harsh, but you're truly trying your best. You two have stopped moving, totally ignoring the music.

"I have. They don't listen. They're making me marry a princess from another kingdom. I... I shouldn't be telling you this." His eyes go cold, the usual confident Minho returning for a moment. "We could get in trouble for being here."

"I'm willing to get in trouble if it means you have someone to talk to, Minho." Your eyes stare deeply into his. Silence washes over you two, both from the lack of conversation and the halting of the band. Without realizing it, your bodies are drawn closer together, faces inches apart.

"I know we just met again after years, but I want to spend my life with you, Y/n. I don't want to be here." His voice is low again, this time sending shivers down your spine from how physically close he is to you. "Let's run away."

"Are you crazy?" You retort, shaking your head. "There's nothing I want more than to run away, but your idea will get us both killed."

"I need you." His words are desperate, and your heart aches for him. To see your childhood friend in such pain breaks your heart.

However, his eyes dip down to your lips, and his expression goes from cold and emotional to dark and lustful. Seeing his face change so drastically makes your heart beat out of your chest. Suddenly, your nerves are on edge, and you feel his hot breath against your skin.

"May I... babe?" His soft words hit you off guard, and you look up to him with agape lips. You slowly nod your head, and your sign of consent is enough for him to bring you into a long kiss. It doesn't take much time for his tongue to slip into your mouth, your tongues exploring each other.

It wasn't until this moment that you realize how unbearably hot he is. His tight pants and buttoned shirt fit him perfectly, and the dark, velvety blue compliments his skin nicely. His face is that of a god, and his hair is soft to the touch. He's such a great sight to take in.

He pulls away, your spit creating a rope between each other's lips. You take a moment to catch your breath, and you make eye contact with Minho.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" He holds his hand out as he did to offer you a dance, but this time his expression wasn't nearly as sweet.

"As you wish, your highness." You curtsy to him jokingly, your tight dress riding up as you bent over to bow. You both chuckle at your remark, but Minho harshly bites his lip hearing you call him your highness in a lower tone than before. You take his hand, and once again, you're wicked away into unknown territory.

Minho takes you through a side door in the walled garden, and the door leads to a hallway within the castle. The halls are empty since all of the guards are at the party, so the two of you easily make your way to what you assume to be Minho's room. There's very few possessions in his room, and it hardly looks lived in aside from the disheveled bedsheets. You don't have much time to look around though, as Minho lightly pushes you onto the bed, looking down at you. Your legs spread without you thinking, and you suddenly feel shyness wash over you.

Minho, in an attempt to calm your obvious nerves, leans over and kisses you. The kiss is passionate, and you love the feeling of his hand roaming around your body. His hands circle your tits, but never go up to meet your nipples. His hand are caring, and his kiss is soft. Your worried melt away, and when your lips part from his, you're met with a smirking, horny prince positioned between your legs.

"You're going to be my princess tonight, baby. All mine." His gaze is dark, and you can't help but moan at his words. He gets down on his knees and pulls you towards his face at the edge of the bed. His grip on your thighs is tight, and he moves your dress up just enough to reveal your panties. "Dripping already, are we?" His index finger grazes your hole over your panties, forcing another moan out of you. The Minho eye-level with your cunt was completely different from the Minho you'd just kissed seconds earlier, but you liked it.

"I-I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." You didn't realize how wet you were until you felt your sopping panties press against you from Minho's finger. He blows against your clothed pussy, making you wince from the sudden stimulation. He laughs at your shocked reaction, and you feel your body heat up with embarrassment.

Minho hooks his finger around your panties and pull them down your legs, exposing your sensitive slit. "Fuck, your cunt is so beautiful." He eyes your heat, licking his lips at the sight of it. You rotate your hips, signaling him to touch you, but he just massages your thighs by making light circles with his thumbs. "You look delicious, princess."

His tongue makes a stripe up your pussy, making you jolt from the pleasure. Minho is taking his time with you, teasing you and sucking your skin. He's sure to lick up all of your juices, humming in response to your sweet taste. You're attempting to hold back moans, but as his tongue violates your cunt and your orgasm grows closer, high-pitched sounds escape your throat.

"I love your pussy so much." Minho is not shy to praising you, and you mewl after his every word. His fingers tease your entrance, threatening to enter you at any moment. You push yourself against his hand, and your pussy is clenching around nothing. You're so needy for him.

Per your silent but evident request, Minho gently pushes his middle finger inside your cunt, and he feels your walls tighten around his single digit. You move your hips in sync with his hand, and when he bends his finger upwards, he perfectly graces or g-spot, making you moan his name aloud.

"You feel so good, Minho." You look down at him, and his mouth is covered in your essence. The sight is enough to make you bite down on your lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He looks so hot under you, and the pleasure from his finger inside you and his tongue on your clit is enough to send you over the edge. "I'm so close."

Minho inserts a second finger into you, and his hand starts thrusting into you at a faster pace than before. His fingers scissor open and closed, and before you know it, you're cumming on his fingers, having one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had.

Through your orgasm, Minho continues to finger your and suck on your clit, and when you're done, he sucks every last drop of you off of his fingers. Your legs are shaking while he plants light kisses against your inner thighs.

"You did great, princess." Minho sits up and hovers over you, leaning down to bring you into a kiss. The taste of yourself against his lips makes you wet all over again, and you're needy for even more of the prince.

Minho motions for you to sit up, and you gladly follow his orders and flip your dress over your head, exposing your entire form to him. His jaw goes slack at the sight of your body, and he makes sure you know he loves every inch.

"My beautiful princess," he says as he traces his hands on your sides, outlining your figure. His cold hands send chills down your spine, but his praise makes it all okay. You know you can trust him.

"I think it's your turn, my prince." Hearing you call him prince makes his heart flutter, and that only makes his member harder. Your hands make their way to Minho's chest to unbutton his shirt all the way, revealing his abs. You run your finger down his chest and abs to the hem of his pants, and he hisses from your touch.

Minho smoothly pushes you back onto the bed, your head coming in contact with his pillows. He stands up off of the side of the bed and pulls down his tight pants, putting on a show for you. The bulge is his underwear is evident, and you see a wet mark from his precum. He pulls his boxers down, his erect member hitting against his abs. You close your legs together in an attempt to satisfy the slightest bit of need from your dripping pussy, but Minho is quick to position himself over you and pull your legs apart by your knees.

"Ready, babe?" He runs his tip through your folds, getting your wetness to coat the head of his cock. You nod eagerly, already biting your lip. His tip hooks on your clit, and you buck your hips up at him.

"Please fuck me, Minho. I need your cock so bad." The words flow out of your mouth as if you're used to being a sex toy for the prince. Minho grips your hips tightly as he pushes his member into you, stretching you out and filling you up completely. You let out the most pornographic moan, and a deep groan leaves his lips. He feels your tight cunt convulsing around him which only makes him want to drive into you more.

He throws your leg over his shoulder giving him the chance to pound into you even deeper. Sweat beats roll down his face from his forehead as he rolls his hips in sync with yours. His cock rams into your g-spot every time, causing slick sounds from your cunt to fill the room along with your shared moans.

"Princess," Minho coos to you, "you're so damn gorgeous." He cups your cheek and kisses you passionately, still rutting his cock into you. The intoxicating taste of Minho's spit mixed with the overwhelming feeling of his cock brings you up to your second orgasm. "You wanna cum on my cock, baby?"

Your nods are desperate, and the only sound able to leave your mouth are choked moans and pleads. Minho pounds into you even harder than before trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Your eyes roll back in your head as you tighten around him and coat his member in your cum. The string of expletives and moans that come out of your mouth give Minho all the boost he needs to thrust once more into you and cum, coating your insides with his semen.

"Fuck, Minho," you draw out, "I love your cum inside me." With one finger, Minho plays with your clit as he pulls out of you, releasing a loud grunt once his cock is fully out of you.

"You did so good, babygirl." Minho rests his body next to you and pulls you into him. "I don't want this to be the last time I see you."

"It won't be the last time you see me, don't worry." You rest your head on his chest and take in the scent of sweat and sex in the room. You catch your breath with his, chests rising and sinking in unison. It doesn't take long for a disturbing knock to scare both of you.

"Sir Minho, you've been requested in the courtyard by your mother." A guard stands outside, assuming Minho is alone in his room. "Your bride is awaiting your arrival."

"I'll be out in a minute!" Minho yells out to the guard. The footsteps outside of the room grow farther away, and Minho sits up at the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Minho. This isn't your fault." You sit next to him and pet his back in an attempt to calm him. "Let's get dressed, shall we?"

You take his hand and lead him to the pile of discarded clothes. You slip your dress back on, and Minho solemnly slides his old clothes back on before heading towards the door.

You smile at him as you two exit his room, the cool air from the damp hallway nipping at your legs. You cling onto Minho's arm, unaware of the layout of the castle.

"Go through this side door. I'll meet you in the courtyard." Minho gestures towards a small, wooden door.

"What about your bride?"

"Don't worry about her. I'll deal with it." Minho looks off to the end of the hall, unable to make eye contact with you. "I'll write you letters."

You give him a light kiss on the cheek as a goodbye and make your way to the door. Minho clenched his fists as he makes his way to the main gate.

You sneak your way through corridors into the courtyard again. The king and queen are on the top of the stairway in front of the main gate into the castle. They seem so happy for parents who forced their child into an arranged marriage.

"Now, we're proud to reveal, prince Lee Minho!" The gates swing open to reveal Minho, hair disheveled and pants on crooked. His shirt is wrinkled and partially buttoned. Despite his appearance, the girls in the crowd scream for him, and you sit back and watch.

Minho joins the partygoers, and you hardly see him through the groups of girls surrounding him. As the party goes on late into the night, you're about to leave, but Minho catches you heading towards the gate and yells to you.

"Goodbye, princess!" Minho yells over the adoring group of women around him, and they all gasp and turn around to you. You blush and run to the door before anyone can ask you questions about why the prince just called you his princess.

Days pass. You receive several letters from Minho, all with the royal wax seal. You hide them from your mother, partially because of the obvious red seal, and partially because of the contents of the letters.

Although some letters were romantic, other letters described in great detail what Minho wanted to do to your body when you two were alone again.

And when the sun sets and the moon rises, I hope to find your body under mind, shaking in my presence, heat wet with arousal. Your moans will sound like a symphony to me. My body is longing for yours, princess. To feel your lips against mine would be enough for my aching member and even more aching heart. Tuesday at 8. I'll be at your window, my love.

Sure enough, Tuesday at 8, he was waiting for you.

Who knew the prince would be so rebellious.

——————————

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fan fiction #skz fanfic #skz fan fiction #stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #kpop fan fiction #kpop fanfic #kpop #skz minho #stray kids minho #skz lee know #stray kids lee know #skz minho smut

297 notes · View notes

minghaocouture · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Hong Joshua x Fem!Reader

Genre: Friends to Lovers, fluff, angst

Warning: mentions of a toxic relationship, loneliness, language

WC: 3.6K

A/N: Happy Holidays @yutacrush!!! You absolutely amazing bean!! ily SO MUUCCCHHH! You are such a joy to be friends with and i hope this fic brings you even half of the joy you bring our group chat <3333

Age 10

“Sweetheart, this is Joshua. He’s our new neighbor.” The boy across from you stood before you, all smiles and cheer as you cowered behind your mother’s legs. You didn’t have too many friends in school and more often than not, felt isolated from your peers who seemed to almost look down on you. This boy was a stranger, a potential new villain in your life and you wanted nothing to do with him.

So when your mother left you in the room alone with him, while she and Joshua’s mother went to go have tea in your kitchen. You quickly dashed to the living room and snatched your favorite Whinnie the Pooh plushie off of the couch, and made your escape to the far corner of the room where you crouched down and hid behind the plush bear. As if Pooh bear was the perfect line of defense

The sound of soft footsteps hitting the hardwood floor had you cowering, covering your eyes as you prayed that he would just leave you alone. When the footsteps stopped you assumed that he had done as you silently wished, left you alone to continue your day in peace despite the wishes of your mothers. So you slowly pulled Pooh bear away from your eyes. Only for your eyes to meet the rich deep brown of Hong Joshua’s, the male who was now crouching down not even a foot away from you.

A small shriek left your lips as you quickly brought your favorite plushie back to cover your face again. Your reaction seemed to prompt a small laugh to leave the male, obviously amused with the situation.

“I’m Joshua, but my friends call me Josh!” He said, talking to you despite the fact that you were currently trying to disappear into the wall behind you. “You like Winnie the Pooh too? Roo is my best friend!”

At the mention of baby Roo, you slowly peered out and looked over at him with your eyes barely peeking out from behind the plush bear.

Age 13

“Joshua Hong, I swear if you don’t get out from in front of the tv I’ll make you regret it.” Your threat wasn’t as real as you wanted it to seem. After three years, Joshua knew that you were all talk and no action when it came to him. Which is why he didn’t even flinch at your harsh words, he knew he was safe.

“Your mom asked me to make sure you did your homework while she was gone, so turn off the tv and let’s work!” He was almost too responsible for his own good, at least when someone asked him to do something. Most of the time, he was just a goof ball and you honestly wish that translated over when he had ‘responsibilities’

Currently your mother was out on a business trip, so you were left alone in the house so she had asked Josh to keep you ‘in line’ since he lived right next door. Apparently, he was taking that request more seriously than you had expected.

With an overdramatic groan, you grabbed the remote and shut off the soccer game you were in the middle of watching. At your compliance, Joshua let out a small laugh.

“You’ll thank me later.”

“Yeah, seriously doubt that Josh.”

Age 16

“Josh! Seriously, that’s what she said to you?” You were fuming, pacing around your room while your best friend sat on your bed. You had honestly never seen Joshua so...down. This girl had stepped over so many lines and you were livid.

“Yeah, and then she left. So...guess I’m single again.” Even his voice lacked the usual energy it had. It hurt your heart to hear him this upset.

You took a second to take a deep breath, calming yourself. Now wasn’t the time to be angry, that could come later. Right now, Joshua needed you more than anything. This was about him and the pain he was currently feeling. Your need to punch that bitch in the face could wait.

You joined Joshua on the edge of your bed, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling the male into a tight hug. For a moment he was limp in your arms, just resting his head on your shoulder. It was soon followed by the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, his hands gripping tightly at the fabric of your shirt as he clung to you.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen Joshua cry, and it surely wouldn’t be the last, but it never got any less painful. Your heart ached for your friend, the feeling growing stronger as you felt moisture from his tears seeping into the fabric of your t-shirt. You hated it.

The only thing you could think was that you never wanted to see Joshua like this ever again.

A week later you were suspended for breaking his ex girlfriend’s nose.

Age 18

Over the years, your duo had become a trio with the addition of Yoon Jeonghan. He was...fun to be around but if you were being honest, a lot of the time it felt like you were being left in the dust.

It wasn’t that you disliked Jeonghan, you were just...jealous. You kinda missed it being just you and Joshua. It had just been the two of you for so long that sometimes it felt like an outsider had come in and simply stole your best friend.

Which is why you were currently sitting alone in your bedroom on a Friday night. Jeonghan had taken Joshua out for a ‘boys night’ as a way for Joshua to get to meet Jeonghan’s other friend group.

You were lonely, and jealous and that didn’t make for a good combination.

Your solution? Swimming.

The pool in your backyard was cold, but the chill was something you needed at the moment. The water encompassing your frame as you delved beneath the surface, the ice cold waters completely chilling your core. It was terrible, but it felt better than being lonely.

Popping back up to the surface for air, you flipped over onto your back and stared up at the stars above you. Counting them as you slowly drifted through the water. Your thoughts began drifting from the stars and back to your friends, it was honestly pathetic how you were acting. You knew that Jeonghan wasn’t ‘stealing’ Joshua from you, he was your friend too! It just so happened that he and Josh were...closer, and yet here you were acting like a child because of it. You felt pathetic.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Your thoughts were quickly stripped from you as you heard the familiar, although muffled, voice of the person who had been running through your mind. Quickly you maneuvered yourself in the water so that you could turn and face the back door of your home where Joshua and Jeonghan had just exited from. Joshua moved quickly to grab the towel that you had brought out with you, while Jeonghan moved to the edge of the pool and knelt down to watch you as you swam over with a look of concern blanketed across his face.

“I think it’s a bit too cold for a swim, don’t you little Piglet?” The nickname hit your heart, it wasn’t a mean one. It was an old childhood nickname that Joshua had given you based off of your first interaction, how scared you had been of him. When Jeonghan had joined your friend group he just adopted it since Josh called you that so frequently.

You brushed off his question, ignoring it in favor of asking your own.

“What are you guys even doing here? I thought you guys were hanging out with Seungcheol all night?”

Jeonghan reached out a hand and you got the message, taking it as he helped hoist you out of the pool. He let out a small giggle as he watched you shiver when the cold air hit your skin. He quickly began rubbing your arms gently to try and warm them as Joshua rushed over with the towel.

“Well, Pooh Bear here said he was worried about you, guess his little hunch was right.” Jeonghan tilted his head to gesture towards Joshua, who surprisingly ignored the male in favor of wrapping the towel around you which thankfully provided some much needed warmth. Though that could also be coming from the feelings in your chest at Jeonghan’s explanation. It made you feel better to know that Joshua...hadn’t forgotten about you.

“Go inside and get dressed, we’re gonna go out for dinner and we need you to not die of hypothermia before then.” Joshua ordered, a stern look on his face as he spoke. It was rare to see Josh this serious, but you supposed that you did just go for a swim in the middle of a chilly autumn night so...it was to be expected.

“Anything you say Pooh Bear.”

Age 22

“I seriously can’t believe Jeonghan, our little Roo, of all people is the first to get married.” You laughed happily. Sure this day had been coming for months but it was still just exciting to think about. You were doing your best to contain your excitement, but sitting with the two in Jeonghan’s dressing room as he prepared to stand at the altar and wait for his blushing bride, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

Jeonghan laughed along with you and Joshua as he straightened his bowtie...for the third time in the past 10 minutes. You could tell he was nervous, though you weren’t sure what for, you had seen the couple together and you could tell just how in love they were. It was quite adorable.

“I mean, I’m surprised too,” He confessed, glancing back at you through the mirror. “I always thought you and Josh would get married first.”

Across the room you heard Joshua cough loudly as if choking on his own oxygen, you flashed him a look of concern until he calmed down before turning back to Jeonghan.

“Don’t even joke like that dude. Chan would flip if he heard that.” Chan was your current boyfriend, he was sweet if not a little possessive. Something that both Joshua and Jeonghan had spoken to you about in concern.

At the mention of your boyfriend’s name you saw Hannie roll his eyes before reaching up to fiddle with his perfectly styled hair once again.

“Red flag~” He sang out, causing you to roll your eyes. It was frustrating that they were talking about this today of all days. You didn’t notice Joshua’s face harden in something that could only be described as irritation.

“If she’s happy with him then just drop it, Roo.” hearing Jeonghan’s familiar nickname warmed your heart. “Besides, this is your day. I thought you’d be happy to focus on yourself today.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right. I’m going to bask in this. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about my friends.

Age 24

To no one’s surprise, Joshua and Jeonghan had been right. Chan’s possessiveness had taken a turn for the worst. Asking you to cut off contact with your two best friends so you did the only thing you could do. You broke up with him, decided you would be cutting off contact and now you were driving away from your former shared apartment and making the hour trip to Joshua’s new place, hopefully he and his new roommate would be cool if you crashed on their couch until you found a new place.

Despite the fact that you knew this break up was for the best, it still hurt and you couldn’t stop tears from shedding while you drove. The liquid sadness blurring the road as you sped down the highway.

Once outside the door to his third floor apartment, you gave a firm knock. Eventually the door opened to the familiar face of Joshua’s new roommate, Seungcheol. You knew the guy fairly well as he’d been a mutual friend of Jeonghan’s and Josh’s during high school, you never really hung out with him too much but you knew he was cool.

Seeing your puffy eyes tear filled eyes, he quickly moved out of the way and gestured you in. With a small mutter about going to grab Joshua.

You took a seat on the familiar royal blue sofa, the plush fabric sinking down and pulling you in as you sat down. It was almost like the sofa was pulling you into a hug and you were grateful for the soft plush fabric. You had left your old Winnie the Pooh plushie in the car with the rest of the belongings you had been able to quickly pack after Chan had stormed out of the apartment.

You heard the soft sounds of speech as Seungcheol explained to Joshua what was going on, you couldn’t quite understand the words but it was followed by the slamming of a door and the sound of footsteps rushing to the living room.

All too soon, Joshua was in front of you and you felt the tears well up once more as you explained to him what had happened...why you had left Chan.

“He didn’t hurt you did he? I swear if he touched you I’ll go kick his ass myself.” You didn’t trust your voice so you simply shook your head, sniffling as you tried your best to keep a strong appearance despite the tears. It didn’t work, and he gently gripped your shoulders giving you a once over, looking for any sign of possible injury and letting out a sigh of relief when he found nothing.

Just as you had done during his break up in high school, his arms quickly wrapped around you. Pulling you as close to him as he possibly could. It was like whatever had kept your sobs held it was completely broken, and soon you were all out sobbing. A complete blubbering mess as you gripped his shirt and buried your face in his chest.

His hand lifted and gently patted your head, his other hand rubbing small circles on your back as you let out all your welled up emotions. It was all too much for you, everything was too much.

"You were r-right," you exclaimed between sobs, your voice muffled as your tears continued to stain his sleep shirt with your tears. "H-He told me...told me that..." Just thinking about it made your heart clench as you tried your best to continue. Joshua shushed you softly, trying to lull you into a sense of security so that you could calm down. He knew that you would get sick if you continued to wail as you did.

"You can tell me later, just breathe right now okay?" His soft calming voice hit your heart, but it was still quite a little while before your sobs died down. Once they did, you explained to him just what had happened. How Chan had told you that he didn't feel comfortable with you hanging out with Joshua or even Jeonghan anymore, despite you explaining that they were just your best friends and going so far as to remind him that he was AT Jeonghan's wedding.

Despite you being calm, you hadn't moved out of Joshua's grasp and the two of you had simply...migrated. Now the two of you were laying on his insanely comfortable couch, with you resting on his chest. It was far too hard to look up at him right now, your heart hurt too much and looking up at him was just a reminder. Right now, all you needed was just to be in his arms, the comfort of your best friend flowing through you as he did his best to comfort you.

"You deserve better than him anyway. Much better. You don't need someone who is gonna try to control you like that." He declared, his voice soft and calming as he rubbed your back. It was nice, it felt right. Maybe it was because it was natural at this point, the two of you had been there for each other through everything. "You can stay here as long as you like, I know Cheol won't mind. Hell, we'll even grab Hannie and go to help you grab the rest of your stuff."

You heard Seungcheol rummaging in the kitchen for something for a minute before joining the two of you in the living room and plopping a tub of ice cream onto their coffee table, along with two sets of spoons. He smiled down at the two of you as he did.

"Just think of us as your own personal bodyguards. I've got a few friends too that could help move stuff. My friend's Hyunwoo and Hoseok are built like they lift boulders for a living. They'd probably be enough to scare away any evil exes."

Joshua laughed softly at the mention of Cheol's two friends, glancing down at you with that soft smile of his. The same one that always warmed your heart in a way you couldn't describe.

"We're here for whatever you need little Piglet."

Age 25

"I am...so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I mean I just...” Trailing off, unable to think of the right words. You couldn’t look Joshua in the eyes, not after you had pressed your lips against his own...after kissing your best friend. You weren’t even completely sure why you did it, yet you had and you had also probably completely ruined the decade old friendship. Guilt welled in your gut. Out of everyone, you couldn’t lose Joshua. He was too important to you.

As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you seemed to all at once understand the cause of your actions and why you were so scared to lose him. Somewhere along the road, you had fallen in love...with your best friend. Your heart sunk into your stomach, if you felt like this for him then this was even worse than you thought. It wasn’t like Joshua had ever shown any kind of interest in you like that.

“You can do it again if you want.” His words caused your brain to freeze as if someone had frozen you solid. Thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to think of an explanation for why he would say something like that. Confusion etched across your face as your eyes hesitantly lifted from the floor to meet his. “I really don’t mind.”

“Josh, I just kissed you! I probably broke like, 30 laws of whatever best friend handbook there is!”

Your words simply caused Joshua to laugh, shaking his head lightly as he laughed. It was if you had just told the most hilarious joke.

“You know I’m in love with you right?” Well it seemed that Joshua was determined to take you off guard today. Though to be fair...you caught him off guard first.

“Since when? You never acted like it, or like...told me?”

“I mean, not for Han’s lack of trying. Did you really think he joked about us being a couple for no reason?” Now that he mentioned it, Jeonghan did make...quite a few jokes about the two of you just settling down together and they only got worse after you broke things off with Chan.

Rubbing the back of your neck in exasperation, your feelings being tugged in so many directions as you tried to comprehend the situation you were in.

“Okay that explains one thing but like, since when?” You had just realized your feelings but from what he said this had been...a long time thing. A small humorless laugh left your best friend, avoiding your gaze.

“You remember when we were in High school, and you got suspended for breaking my ex’s nose? Yeeeah.”

“That was...eight years ago Josh!” You were completely struck by this information. He had been secretly in love for that long? It would make sense when you truly thought about it, he hadn’t dated or shown any real interest in anyone after that year. As the pieces connected in your head, you felt Joshua grab your hand and lace his fingers with your own.

“Yeah, nothing’s changed though. Honestly i’ll probably never stop loving you, even if you don’t love me.” He gave your hand a small squeeze. It felt right, like his hand was made to fit with yours just like it always had. Maybe this was why Chan had felt threatened by Josh, maybe he could tell, maybe he knew where your heart belonged even if you hadn’t known at the time.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I think somehow you’ve always had me.” You began, unable to stop yourself from smiling as you saw his eyes light up at your words. “So now, I’m going to kiss you again and then we have to let Jeonghan know that we’re not being stupid anymore.”

You didn’t give Joshua a real chance to speak again before you pulled him close and once again connecting your lips once again. Your free hand weaving through his hair and your other gripping his hand tightly. Joshua wasted no time returning the kiss, free hand grabbing your hip and pulling you closer.

In all your life, you had never imagined making out with your best friend, yet here you were locked in an embrace. You gently nipped his lower lip with your teeth before pulling away and resting your forehead against his own.

“You know, we could always just keep it a secret from Hannie? See how long it takes him.” you couldn’t help but laugh at Joshua’s suggestion.

“I bet it takes him a whole year.”

“I’ll take you on that, baby.”

#caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kdiner #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt scenario #Joshua x reader #joshua imagine #joshua scenario #hong joshua x reader #hong joshua imagine #hong joshua scenario

116 notes · View notes

saltywithsarcasm · 4 years ago

Text

Just something to help with my writer’s block.

There’s just something about his best friend that brings Aizawa comfort, he couldn’t tell if it was the blonde’s down to earth but addicting personality or all the years they’ve been together that he’s just gotten used to being around the other man. They didn’t need to go out to eat or even go to a bar every weekend to enjoy each other’s company; They could just watch a movie at one of their apartments, cuddling up on the couch while sharing a blanket.

Those moments with Yamada were the ones he liked best.

He enjoys being close to the other man, snuggled up against his side with the comforting weight of his arm around him as they drank and talked about whatever came to mind.

The blonde has become a sort of security blanket for Aizawa without him even realizing it; Whenever he felt emotionally drained around other people, all he had to do is just grab onto Yamada’s sleeve or the back of the man’s shirt and the blonde knew he was wearing thin. More than enough times, Aizawa found himself pressing his forehead against Yamada’s back or shoulder to comfort himself and if it bothered the other, Yamada never mentioned it.

Aizawa has even found the other taking comfort in him by walking up behind him while he was working at his desk, just wrapping his arms around his shoulders and resting his chin on top of his head with a tired sigh. Or that one time when Yamada overworked himself with juggling three jobs and just showed up at his house unannounced (He has a key) and drape himself over the back of couch to lean into his best friend for emotional support.

It’s just how they worked, having gotten used to seeking out one another when they reached their limits that they don’t even think twice about it anymore. It’s just natural for them now, although Aizawa is more clingier than he likes to admit.

Yamada is his rock, his security blanket and-

Aizawa finds himself feeling flustered inside his sleeping bag, clinching his teeth and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Curse All Might, if he had kept his assumptions to himself, he wouldn’t be in his miserable debacle right now.

‘I didn’t mean-, I just thought you and Mic were together. You two are always so close, I just assumed.’

Aizawa burrows further into his sleeping bag, fuming and turns on his side, not sure what to think about this. Did everyone think this?

His cheeks are burning as he ponders over his and his best friend’s interactions. Yamada is pretty clingy around him, he isn’t shy to touch him even with others around. Wrapping his arm around Aizawa’s shoulders whenever he gets the chance to, laying down on the couch to rest his head across his lap when Aizawa is sitting on the couch. Always asking Aizawa to go grab something to eat with him or letting his leg brush up against his own when they’re sitting together.

It’s no wonder the older man had these assumptions but they’re just close friends, both him and Yamada are just so used to touching each other; There’s nothing more than that...right?

Aizawa wonders to himself if Yamada questioned the same thing? What if the blonde liked him more than just a friend and that’s why he allows Aizawa to practically cuddle him whenever he got the chance? He never thought about it like that. Maybe that’s why Yagi brought it up? Maybe he knew something Aizawa didn’t?

Did Yamada mention something to him so the older man brought it on himself to say something?

He has no clue.

Later that night after parole, Aizawa decides to swing by Yamada’s place and lets himself in with the spare key the other had given him. He takes his shoes off at the door, listening for any signs of Yamada being home. He should have just gotten home after finishing up at the station and heard the sound of the shower being turned off in the other room.

Aizawa glances down at the take out he brought with him, knowing the other man probably hadn’t eaten yet and sets it down on the coffee table, calling out to him to let him know he was here.

“Shouta?” Yamada pokes his head out of the bedroom door. “Hey! Didn’t expect you to be by, you usually give me a heads up before coming over.”

“I figured I could bring some dinner.” Aizawa says, rubbing the back of his neck as the other came out in just boxers and a T-shirt. “Um...”

He had no idea how he was going to bring the topic up; Should he just straight out ask? Would that be awkward? Yamada has never given him any reason to think he had any other feelings towards him other than just platonic...

“Did your patrol go okay?” Yamada asks, drying his hair off with a towel with a soft smile.

“It was a dull night.” Aizawa responses, sitting down the couch and starts pulling the food out of the bag. “I figured you hadn’t eaten yet and I was close by.”

Yamada takes a seat beside him, helping him set out the meal and gets up to pour them something to drink.

“You didn’t have to do that, Sho; I could have made myself something.” Yamada offers him a drink and sits down beside him again. “And...I figure you were upset with me, you barely spoke to me today.”

“...” Aizawa pokes at his food, thinking over his next words carefully. “...Am I...too clingy?”

“What?”

“Does it bother you when I cling onto you?” Aizawa says more specifically, watching Yamada raise his brow and he shakes his head.

“No? You’ve done that since we were teenagers, why would it start bothering me?” Yamada chuckles, bringing his cup up to take a drink. “Besides, I do it just as much as you do; Why are you asking?”

“I just...wanted know if it bothered you.” Aizawa mutters.

“Not at all, I enjoy it when you use me as a pillow.” Yamada laughs a bit, playfully elbowing his side; His words makes Aizawa’s chest feel tighter and warm at the same time. “It’s relaxing, helps me slow down and ground me when I’m too strung up with stress; I need it just as much as you do.”

Aizawa parts his lips but doesn’t know how to respond, he didn’t think the other liked the physical contact as much as him because Yamada didn’t particularly liked it when other people touched him, let alone clung onto him.

“Did someone tell you about my incident earlier today? Is that why you’re here? You came to check on me?”

“What?” Aizawa turns to face towards him with a raised brow. “What incident?”

“Well, I thought you were angry with me...” Yamada leaning back on the couch, rubbing the top of his thighs. “And I sort of had a meltdown in the teacher’s lounge.”

“What?! No, I wasn’t mad-I...” Aizawa shakes his head and takes Yamada’s hand in his own. “It wasn’t like that at all, Yagi said something to me and it was just on my mind all day; It was just on my mind all day.”

“What did he say?”

“He referred to you as my boyfriend because he thought we were in a relationship.”

“Oh.” Yamada cracks a smile, glancing down towards their hands. “Did it bother you that he thought we were together?”

“No.”

“Then why was it on your mind so much?” Yamada scoots closer, nudging his arm with his elbow. “Were you wanting to ask me out? Hmm?”

Aizawa bites his lip, not sure if that was the intention but he liked the idea of waking up with his best friend every morning and couldn’t really picture himself with anyone else.

“I suppose that was what I was doing.” Aizawa smiles, rubbing his thumb across the other’s hand.

“You could have just asked, I would have said yes.” Yamada lets his leg brush against his and offers a softer smile, the kind that only those who are closest to the man are able to see. His heart leaps up into his throat, face growing flushed and wonders if the blonde can tell if his hands are growing clammy.

“I didn’t want to risk making things awkward between us.” Aizawa confesses, stealing a glance towards the blonde and notices the other had lean closer. “Though I suppose that seems really silly now.”

“A bit since you’ve known me for years and think you’d get rid of me over something like that.” He says with an light, amused tone and presses a kiss against Aizawa’s hair. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me, goofy.”

Aizawa sighs with relief and just leans against Yamada’s side, resting his head against his and feels Yamada squeeze his hand.

“So does that mean we’re...?”

“Boyfriends? If you want to be.”

Aizawa finds himself smiling at that; Being here with his best friend and confessing their feelings towards one another, it felt right to him.

“Then we’re boyfriends.” He picks up a piece of chickens and offers it to the other. “Now eat your food before it gets cold.”

Yamada gives him a goofy smile before brushing his hair back behind his ear and eating the food that was held out for him; Their eyes meet while he chews and Yamada ends up having to cover his mouth from smiling so hard, muffled laughter hidden behind his hand.

Maybe he should thank Yagi later when he runs into him at work.

AO3

#erasermic #saltywithsarcasm #long post

19 notes · View notes

uwuyangin · 4 years ago

Text

i wish i were her. . . (hyunjin x reader)

✩ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: although (y/n) is only his best friend, she seems to have fallen in love with the one and only hwang hyunjin. however, it appears he has fallen for someone else and all (y/n) could do was watch in jealousy.

✩ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 + 𝐚/𝐧: based on conan gray’s ‘heather’ song. sorry if this sucks, i’m a bit rusty right now with writing but i’m trying to improve! cursing ahead as well. friend’s to lovers au! credit to original owner of gif.

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

you wished it didn’t hurt as much as it did. but you felt like your world was on fire and your body was slowly burning with each inhale and exhale. your vision had become hazy from staring too long, and even a single blink would cause irritation. but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene that played before you.

his hands were placed on her hips so naturally and teasingly, almost as if he wanted her to feel them lingering. the subtle tap of his fingers and growing smile of adoration showed that he was indeed paying attention to everything the girl was saying. the right side of his body leaned against the wall for support, and if this were any other moment, you would comment about his cool demeanor. however, your gut was twisting inside at the sight. the girl twirled a piece of hair in her fingers, too distracted by the beauty of him to stop her habit. they talked about anything and everything at the same time; their favorite colors, passions, what they did in their freetime, etc. they never stopped for even one second to pause and take a breath as their conversation was far too engaging. most students would complain about the shortage of time between passing from class to class, but this seemed neverending.

the school bell rang in your ears and shook you up a bit, making you bump backwards into your open locker. shit, only a minute to get to class. as you slammed the locker closed, you overheard their conversation clearly.

“i’ll see you at lunch? the usual spot?” she asked softly.

hyunjin nodded with a smile, his eyes crinkling as well. “yeah, of course. see you then.”

the girl reached up on the highest of her tippy toes and placed a gentle kiss upon his cheek. he stared at her with widened eyes as that was their first interaction of PDA. a grin soon broke on his face and he chuckled to himself as she scurried away not long after.

hyunjin turned in his tracks only to see you standing at your locker with a locked gaze on the tiled floor. typically you were first to enter a classroom so it was weird to see you standing around doing nothing. especially with only one minute left to get to class. he stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed over, a frown on his lips.

“(Y/N)-ah? are you okay?”

this snapped you out of your thoughts as you glanced up at the man before you. he looked so concerned... you always loved the way his lips would pout when he worried about you. It made you feel special in a way. but nothing about this was special. not when you felt like digging yourself in the ground from being second best.

“i’m fine.”

you lied, and it was obvious. hyunjin knew you better than that. at least you liked to believe so. you watched the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion because you were typically so open to talk to him. simple sentences weren’t something you believed in. rambling was one of your hobbies, and hyunjin loved that about you. it was clear that you were not mentally okay so he sighed and walked a bit closer, trying to examine your face for more evidence.

“i know you’re lying. what’s wrong?” he pressed. he cocked his head to the side with some of his bangs falling in front of his face.

he looked so beautiful like that and all you wanted was to reach out and caress his cheeks. to tell him how much you loved him and that you would do anything for him. literally anything. nothing could ever amount to him and you knew this. you knew you were in over your head with this friendship because he could never see you like that. could he?

“i-i don’t want to talk about it.” you mumbled.

your eyes avoided his though it was hard as all attention was on you. the second bell had run, signifying class had started. you inwardly cursed as you were missing mathematics and you knew you needed to bring up your grade.

“look, I have to get to class-” you started but hyunjin interrupted you.

“hey, hey. i’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s wrong. what are best friends for?”

god, that hurt a lot. best friends. that’s all you’ll ever be. because you could see how head over heels he was over this girl. you’ve never seen him be so happy and giddy, like a new chapter of his life was being discovered.

your frown deepened and hyunjin grew more visibly confused. why were you pushing him way?

“hyunjin, I really don’t want to talk about it with you.” your response was somewhat cold, and emphasized on the ‘with you’ part.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

it was no doubt that he was hurt. you always came to him for everything and now you couldn’t even tell him what was on your mind. he knew that your friendship was important but now it felt as if it was just a gap between the two of you. you couldn’t go to him anymore for things, instead, you depended on yourself. you felt alone even if hyunjin offered to hear you out. it wasn’t the same; it never would be the same. you rolled your eyes, and started on your way only to feel him tug at your arm. you stumbled backwards and scoffed.

“dude, what the hell? i have to get going,” you fumed.

“no, i want to know why you’re acting like this. i know you’re stubborn but not this stubborn. why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong? i want to help.” he insisted, and it was obvious he was growing annoyed.

you let out a bitter laugh. “you want to help me? oh, so now you care. just leave me alone.”

this took him by surprise as he let go of your arm, looking you up and down as if you were someone else. what happened to the (Y/N) he knew? his best friend didn’t act like this. his (Y/N) would’ve given in and hugged him, telling him what was on her mind while he issued advice. he was always known to be the shoulder to lean on but it appears (Y/N) didn’t need him anymore.

“what do you mean? i’ve always cared about you and our friendship. you’re not making any sense-”

“god, hyunjin! i don’t want to talk about it!”

your voice broke at the end, and if you continued to speak anymore then tears would begin to fall. you knew hyunjin hated seeing you cry because it always made him cry. the last thing you needed was being caught in the hallways during classtime in an emotional wreck.

hyunjin’s eyes softened at the sight of you and knew that you would crack any minute. he knew you like the back of his hand, sometimes better than he knew himself. “you can always tell me anything. i want to know what’s wrong, (Y/N)-ah. please stop trying to fight me.”

his words sent you over the edge, and the piled up angst had spilled out. you were angry, upset, and heartbroken. tears released from your eyes and slowly fell from your cheeks, your strong facade fading. he watched in silence as you became a mess in front of him. he wanted to know who hurt you and what he could do to kick their ass. nothing hurt him more than seeing you in such a state.

“it’s you! you’re the problem! you never make time for me anymore, and i feel like i’ve been replaced. we’re supposed to be best friends, right? it doesn’t feel like it anymore.” you exploded, only telling half of the truth.

hyunjin stood frozen in the spot as he was shocked that he was the problem. had he really been making you feel like that? before guilt could settle in, he soon became irritated because he had tried to make plans with you, tried to talk to you, but all you did was push him away. what exactly was he doing wrong? he could tell you were holding back from something and he clicked his tongue at her.

“i have tried to make you feel included in everything i do. i’m sorry if i’m more preoccupied with my time but i do try to fit you in as well. don’t tell me this whole thing is one-sided.” he couldn’t help but to get defensive.

“no, you don’t! all your time goes towards her, and it’s bad enough i’m losing my best friend-” you started but soon cut yourself off, almost outing your feelings. hyunjin rose his eyebrow at you.

“nevermind, i don’t care.”

“no, no. keep going. because as far as i’m concerned, you can’t seem to accept that i finally found someone who i love and you want to be selfish and tell me i should make more time for you? i’m sorry that i have more than one person in my life, (Y/N). but i’m finally happy.”

hyunjin knew his words were quite harsh but they were true. he felt happy, and he felt as if you should see that. if this were the other way around, he would be ecstatic for you. however, his shoulders slumped and his face softened once more at the way you crumbled before him. you were crying more than before, and it looked as if he went too far.

“i am in love with you, hyun. but i can see you don’t feel the same.”

your words were so soft and broken. he froze in his spot, his ears perking up at the word ‘love’. his whole body felt on fire and his cheeks warmed up from being put on the spot. despite his flustered state, hyunjin tried to reach out towards you. “wait, w-what?”

“it doesn’t matter.” you forced out and wiped at your tears before brushing past him, wanting to just head home and skip the rest of your classes.

as you continued on out the entrance of the school, hyunjin remained in his spot while staring blankly at the ground. he felt so dumb, and the guilt was beginning to settle in. you were in love with him, his best friend was in love with him. he felt his chest clench as he felt the second hand heartbreak you had been experiencing these past couple of weeks. he had been unintentionally hurting you and because of his defensive state, he had told you that she was more of a priority. he felt stupid and helpless in that moment. but more importantly, hyunjin felt defeated as he knew that things would never return to the way they were. though he should feel platonically about this situation, something in him was ignited about the fact that you were in love with him. so he leaned against the lockers and slowly slid down, collapsing against the tiles. all he could do was sit there and think about what to do next, regret filling his system.

let me know if you would like a part two. :)

#stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #angst #kpop angst #kpop au #heather #conan gray #songfic

112 notes · View notes

jeogiyall · 4 years ago

Text

To The Beat; P.SH

Word count; 12.1k (i have absolutely no self control)

Genre; Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Seonghwa x Reader, Marching Band! AU

Additional; Featured Ateez, Entirely Self Indulgent, Flute Player! Reader

Warnings; Mentioned Sex, Swearing, Suggestive

A/N; so this is one of the more embarrassing things i’ve written,,, we’re just not gonna talk about the fact that i’m both a band kid and a kpop stan!! i’d also like to say that it is based entirely off of my experience with band! yes, we are poor, yes the kids are actually this mean, and yes they are this horny! the bus incident actually happened at my school y’all! band kids r a mess bye- also if u want to know more about marching band please ask me! i love to talk about it!

There were few things that you wanted more than this. Maybe a boyfriend in middle school, or first chair, but looking back even those pale in comparison. The want of those is pathetic compared to how badly you wanted to be woodwind captain your senior year. After being section leader for the flutes you were sure that it would end up how it was meant to, but sometimes even things that aren’t supposed to happen do. Like freshman year when the pit captain got his mallets stuck in the bell of a tuba, or when your newly appointed drum major (Kim Hongjoong, best friend since freshman year and previous woodwind captain/saxophone section leader,) cried on the field after stepping on a moth. Some things just end up wrong.

But here you are, sitting in the cafeteria of your school surrounded by the people you decided to spend all of high school with and feeling as full as ever. Your director's voice boomed, “(Y/n) (L/n,) woodwind captain,’ and you thought that no four words had ever sounded so perfect together. You stood quickly, legs carrying you to the front of the crowded space. People were clapping, as they do every year, but this time it was for you. For your hard work, and dedication, and everything that you’ve put into this program for the past three years. You cast a smile to your band director, heart soaring incredibly high that you don’t think it’ll ever come down.

“Congratulations.” She whispers while giving you a firm handshake. You murmur thank you before taking your place beside Hongjoong.

“We made it.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, using his free hand to pinch your bicep. You smile even wider, something that probably shouldn’t be possible, and open your mouth to respond.

“Park Seonghwa, brass captain.” The words coming from your band directors mouth erases any thoughts from your head. He stands from his seat in the back of the cafeteria, face taking on a smug smile. You want to kick him. Instead you stand taller, spine pulled so straight that it could crack.

People clap still, but instead of responding gratefully he smirks (Seonghwa is always smirking or grimacing. You’re not sure which you hate more.) Hongjoong turns to you wearing an expression of annoyance. Normally, you would comfort the boy and tell him that it’s whatever. Tell him ‘Who cares about Seonghwa? We’re going to be so good at our jobs that he won’t even exist.’ But he will exist. He will exist, and you care.

“Looking forward you working with you.” He says lowly while extending a hand to you. If it weren’t for your band director watching you would’ve spit on him.

“Likewise.” You respond coldly, taking his hand into yours. The skin is obnoxiously soft, no doubt from his habit of never doing anything.

After a long winded speech from your director, you and Hongjoong return to the table where your friends are. Everyone wears a grimace.

“Does he have to be brass captain?” San complains before pouting his lower lip. If he weren’t obnoxiously drumming his fingers on the table you’d find it cute.

“Why does it matter to you? You're the drumline captain, you don't have to interact with him!” He pouts even more, shoulders shrugging into his ears.

“I’m just like... Sorry for you and Hongjoong.” You sigh at the words while relaxing against your chair. It’s easier said than done, seeing as the chair is far too small and made of cheap plastic.

“Me too, but I’m trying to not count him out. No one succeeds when everyone thinks that they’ll fail, even self righteous assholes.” San snorts, then returns to exchanging banter with Yeosang. You, however, are not as lucky.

Brass and woodwind captains are the people in band who have to work together the most, everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that you and Seonghwa do not get along, a fact that was solidified when he made you take four props to the field by yourself during a competition. He dropped your flute on the way to the field, and caused you to arrive on the field almost two minutes late by refusing to help. You earned a nice time penalty and got yelled at by the director, ever since you and the boy have fought like it was a war.

But maybe this season would be okay. He said he was looking forward to working with you, and he’s not a liar. He might be rude, arrogant, and full of himself. But he’s not a liar, if Seonghwa says something he means it. And sticks to it.

So maybe this won’t be so terrible.

Being wrong was hands down your least favorite thing. It was something so rare that you didn’t really have to worry about, but this marching band season seemed to be all about being wrong. Well all about being wrong, and Seonghwa.

The first day of band camp he scolded Jongho, your only flute freshman, for not bringing water. The poor boy looked like he was about to pass out and all Seonghwa could do was tell him to bring some tomorrow. You took him out during lunch break and apologized for your fellow leaders tone deaf behavior.

But the second week of band camp was when he really started to get under your skin. It was the groups first time marching while playing, and fifth time running a lap for the night. As everyone settled back into place and brought up their instruments Seonghwa mumbled under his breath ‘Maybe if the woodwinds knew their damn music,’ then cut you a painfully pointed glare. No matter how much your brain tried to write the comment off as tired frustration, there was no denying that you wanted to punch him in the jaw. It would probably break him, you’re not sure that you cared..

And of course, there’s now. Band camp is over, and now you’re two weeks out from the first competition. Around this time last year was when Hongjoong started up woodwinds sectionals, so you figured you’d do the same. Why try to fix something that isn’t broken and all of that. Unfortunately Seonghwa had the same idea, seeing as he’s standing in front of you and clapping his hands harshly while the block messily executes a visual from your opener.

“Reset,” He barks, hands wiping sweat away from his forehead, “that was messy. We don’t do messy. Let’s go again.” It’s almost scary how regimented he is. Like for a minute you forget that he’s Park Seonghwa of your graduating class, and instead he’s the person that decides whether or not you’re allowed to breathe.

“Seonghwa!” You chirp, trying desperately to keep annoyance from seeping into the lines of your voice, “When will you guys be done? Just wondering, it’ our first sectional today so-”

“First? This is our fourth.” His voice is painstakingly polite, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face and you want to hit him until it hurts. Your teeth bite on the inside of your cheek, which is still pushed up into a smile.

“Yea, first. I just wanted to gauge everyone’s skill set-” you don’t owe him an explanation, you don’t owe him an explanation, “When will you be done?” One of his perfectly shaped brows raises, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. His eyes quickly flick to his block, who are standing still as statues, then back to you.

“We’re staying until rehearsal tonight, you guys can have the gym.” The tone of his voice is back to normal, more commonly known as cold and infuriating. Hatred boils in your gut as you uphold a smile.

“But the gym doesn’t have yard lines. We need yard lines to practice marching, and since you guys seem to be just doing visuals you don’t really need them. I’m sure it would make everyone else happy too.” If looks could kill you’d be dead. Or whatever’s worse than dead, because he’s looking at you as though you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to strangle him.

“Let me get one thing clear, I do not fucking care what would make everyone else happy. I care about doing my job properly, as you should. If you wanted the field then you should’ve started sectionals earlier, so go to the gym or cancel your sectional. I don’t care, just get off.” You’re left fuming and ready to burst at the seams as he returns the block of brass.

Later that day you talk to your band director about implementing a sectionals schedule. Something that would be made at the beginning of every week by captains and section leaders then posted in the instrument room. Something that would prevent today from ever happening again, but of course you don’t tell her that.

“That’s a wonderful idea, (y/n!) No one has ever suggested something like that before, nice job!” She smiles approvingly over her desk, hands typing fervently on her keyboard. You thank her, then duck out of the room. It feels wrong to accept her praise when the only reason for it is to piss off Seonghwa.

He’s here. It’s your scheduled time to have the field, 3:00 pm on Tuesday, and Seonghwa is here. Seonghwa is here, standing on the front sideline and looking at your group as though you interrupted him.

“What are you doing?” You demand while stomping up to where he’s leading stretches, “You know I scheduled my sectional for today, you’re in the group chat.” He pulls his right arm across his chest, definitely flexing on purpose.

“We’ve been having sectionals at this time for three weeks now, I’m not planning on changing it.” If it weren’t for four years of constant arguing you’d think he’s being polite. Everything from the relaxed facial features to his calm voice, but you know that this is always how it starts. A polite tone, quickly turned into sneers and words that taste like poison.

“Well plan on it.” You spit, stepping closer to the boy. He’s surprised by your boldness, so much so that he drops the stretch, “You’re not above the rules, adhere to the schedule and stop being an ass.” His shocked eyes morph into slants, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.

“I may not be above the rules, but that doesn’t mean that you are the rules.” And there it is, the devilish quirk of his lips. It’s so blood boiling that you think he could be struck down by lightning and you would celebrate

“Oh you piece of-”

“Hey!” He shouts towards the bleachers, where the entire winds section is gathered. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice them leaving, “Did I say that you could leave block?” A bead of sweat rolls down the hollow of his throat, which is definitely not what you focus on as the brass scramble back into place.

“Seonghwa, I’m using the entire field. I’m the person scheduled, so you either have to stay on the front sideline or you have to leave.” He chuckles lowly, then turns to face you. His tongue smooths over the corner of his mouth again, you want to scream.

“I don’t take orders from you-”

“How about we just do the sectional together?” The low brass section leader, Mingi, offers quietly from his corner spot at the back of the block. He’s leaning one elbow on his contra, which is on the ground bell first, and trying desperately to hide his face behind his own hand. All that he manages to hide is his right eye, but it’s certainly an a for effort.

“No.” Seonghwa answers as soon as you sigh, ‘fine.’ His eyes shoot up to meet yours, finally filled with something other than anger or disgust, “Really?” An eyebrow quirks up so hard that it might as well grow into his hairline.

“Well if you’re not going to leave! I have things to get done and you’ve now cut into my sectionals time twice! So if sharing the field is what I have to do to get shit done then fine.” He stares at you in a way that makes you feel small, then shrugs.

“Fine, get into a block on the back hash.” You’re about to tell the woodwinds to stretch, but when you face the dented bleachers they’re all sitting in a circle with outstretched legs, exchanging laughter and smiles. Whatever Seonghwa took hold of in your stomach releases as your heart swells with pride.

“Woodies!” You call, smile spreading as everyone's eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Join the block!”

They shout back, “Yes mam!” Which makes you feel painfully old, and painfully happy.

The sectional went fine. Well, as fine as it could seeing as two people who nearly killed each other twenty minutes prior lead it.

“You were bad ass, (y/n!)” Resident bari sax, Yeosang laughs, “I really thought that fire was about to shoot out of your eyes.”

“I thought fire was about to shoot out of his eyes!” Yunho, the clarinet section leader, adds, “And you just stood there like ‘yea asshole, set me on fire! I can take it!’ No guys, I’m being serious-” All of the previous laughter from your boys halts as Seonghwa enters the room, steely eyes settling on your cluster of woodwinds. His eyes stay there, though you can’t blame him. If two sweaty teenage boys were staring at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong, you would stare back too.

“What?” He asks, the word so sharp that it could cut. Yeosang shakes his head while Yunho finishes putting his instrument away. The latter mumbles something about waiting for you in his car, to which you nod curtly.

“Okay, well... I’m gonna go.” Yeosang drawls, leaving the instrument room with the bari sax around his neck. You laugh to yourself at the sight of him waddling away, then return to what you’re supposed to be doing.

“You know, whoever holds a sectional is supposed to sweep the instrument room afterwards.” You exhale while moving to retrieve the broom from it’s corner.

“Oh, like you were just now?” He quips, hands moving deftly against his metal padlock. He doesn’t even need a padlock, the band director locks the instrument room door after everyone leaves. It’s just something else that he has to be annoying.

“Maybe it would go faster if you would help me, seeing as you held a sectional too.” They’re normal words, but your throat physically chokes on each syllable. The boy drops his lock, eyes narrowing as they come in contact with you.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders from you?” He takes a step closer, until his crossed arms are brushing against your knuckles. His skin is soft, almost like he waxes. It makes your head pound.

“I guess until I stop asking you to do your job, and not just the part of it that gets you praised.” You continue sweeping, trying desperately to get away from the boy. But of course he picks up on it and follows you.

“I do my job perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You scoff loudly, chin tilting up so that you’re eye to eye with the boy. He smirks.

“Clearly, you don’t.” The tip of his nose brushes yours, then his lips are crashing into you. His lips are crashing into you, and you kind of like it.

It’s an aggressive motion, filled with him gripping onto the collar of your workout shirt and you dropping the broom. The part of you with a brain thinks that you shouldn’t kiss him back, seeing as you hate him and what not, but then he bites your bottom lip and there’s no hope. Anyone would melt at that sensation.

And melt you do, body going limp as he pushes you against the closest wall. You bring up a hand to trace the hollow of his throat, copying the trail of his sweat from earlier. His moan vibrates against your palm and it’s all that you can do to not die right then and there. Pressed against the instrument room wall, in the arms of the boy that you hate.

“What were you saying?” He growls into your ear while pulling you in by the waist. If you were anyone else you’d moan something incoherent and let him keep kissing you with lips that feel like pillows. But you are not anyone else, you are (Y/n.) (Y/n) who is stubborn to a fault.

“That you’re an asshole, who sucks at your job.” He smiles down at you, eyes filled with a certain kind of thunder. A hand wraps around the back of your neck, then slams your mouth onto his. Hot breath hits your cheek as kisses you senseless. As you let him kiss you senseless. He tastes like coconut lip balm.

“Wrong answer.” The boy exhales before attaching his lips to your jaw. You’re about to argue with him, because you just don’t know what’s good for you, but then your phone starts ringing. Probably Yunho telling you that he needs to get home. You need to as well, but it’s impossible to think about that when Seonghwa is devouring every part of you as if he’s been paid to do so.

“Seonghwa,” You start, but it sounds far too much like a moan so you have to clear your throat before continuing, “Seonghwa! I have to go.” He doesn’t let up, tongue running against the spot where your jaw pokes out.

“I’ll take you home.” His voice comes out rough, like if your hands ran over it they’d come back scraped. It’s almost enough to make you stay, but then there’s the idea of having to tell Yunho that Park Seonghwa is taking you home. That you were making out with Park Seonghwa, and it was so good that you didn’t want to leave so he offered to take you home. The thought of your friends reaction is enough to turn you off.

“No, Seonghwa, I have to go.” You pull his head off of your neck, running one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell bad which is just infuriating, “Um... Do this again?” He smiles, but this time is a little different. His lips are still in a wicked curve, but his dark eyes have sparkles now. You almost think that he’s going to say something nice.

“You wish.” You want to tell him that he’s right, you do wish. Instead you sigh, push his body away, collect your bag, and leave with his gaze hot on your trail.

Seonghwa is still the thought that keeps you up at night with boiling blood. Everything from his evil smirk to the way his eyes always look unbelievably disapproving of everything. He’s infuriating in a way that evades words.

But there’s also other things to keep you up. Like the thought of his soft honey skin touching yours, or the way his throat feels vibrating against your palm. There’s him pushing you against the instrument room wall, but there’s also him yelling at you in front of the entire winds section. The line is slowly starting to blur and you’re not sure whether or not you like it. You are sure of two things, though. You’re sure that when you fall asleep all you can dream about is Seonghwas coconut flavored lips on your skin, softly whispering affirmations of hatred.

And that sometimes, things that aren’t supposed to happen do.

Before this season there were few things that you loved more than marching band. Maybe cookie dough ice cream, or speeding through downtown in the passenger seat of Yunhos mom van while Hongjoong and San yelled song lyrics from the backseat. Those were both good things, and the only things that even came close.

But then there’s now. There’s you and Seonghwa getting drunk off of each other while crammed into your school's equipment closet. There’s his soft hands pushing you onto the counter, his sweet lips growling crude words into your ear. There’s him kissing you, and then there’s something else that comes close to marching band.

Ever since freshman year your favorite feeling has been the one that you get after rehearsal. The feeling when your instrument comes off your face and pride swells all the way up to your cheeks. When San breaks from his final set next to you and offers up a childish grin, always accompanied by a high five and the words ‘Nice run, captain.’

Tonight doesn’t feel like that, tonight feels like your stomach is in the throat. Like the world is tilting and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Nice run captain!” San shouts, yet the words sound so far away. You nod slowly, high-fiving his outstretched hand while your free hand wraps around your own waist, “(Y/n?) Are you okay.” It’s all you can do to flash a thumbs up before falling to the pavement. Everything goes black for three minutes, but when yours eyes slowly open you can hear San curse. That, and also the entire band crowding around you.

You can still hear snippets of what they’re saying, but the thought of responding or comprehending is so exhausting that it could make you pass out all over again. Someone yells to give you space, a small part of you hopes that it’s Seonghwa.

For the record, it is Seonghwa. Seonghwa with furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips. His next words are to San, “Why didn’t you catch her?”

“I have a drum strapped to my body!” The taller boy shakes his head, setting down his freshly polished instrument and crouching next to your limp body. If you were more coherent you would’ve moved away. Or loved it. You would’ve moved away or loved it.

“(Y/n,) can you hear-”

“Hongjoong, (Y/n) died!” Wooyoung shrieks from across the field, causing actually everyone to flock to you.

“She didn’t die idiot, just passed out.” Yeosang responds while rushing to help Hongjoong off of his podium. The boy tries to jump the last three steps, which ends just as well as one could imagine. Everyone’s too busy staring at you to even notice.

“I told her that she should’ve eaten lunch!” Your drum major chides, “(Y/n!) (Y/n,) can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to you, sandy blonde hair tickling the tip of Seonghwas nose. You don’t even know why Seonghwa is still here, but a small part of you likes that he is. Almost like you two are more than boiling hatred and stolen kisses.

You hold a thumbs up to your friend, it takes every single ounce of your strength. Of all the reactions that you get, Seonghwa sighing in relief is the most satisfying.

“Told you she’s not dead.” Yeosang mutters from where he’s standing over you. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out to the boy, you almost want to laugh at their antics.

“Okay, Yunho is taking care of your field mics and prop. Do you think that you can walk by yourself?” You frown while turning your thumbs up into a hard thumbs down, eliciting a chuckle from your sweet friend. Seonghwa doesn’t laugh though, eyebrows still harshly furrowed while he stares down at your frail body.

“I’ll help her down to the band room.” He offers, causing Honjoongs eyes to go as wide as quarters. Along with Yeosangs, Wooyoungs, Junghos- pretty much anyone who knows anything about either of you, “I-I just don’t have a field job, and I can get Mingi to take my stuff down for me. She needs to get off the field soon, it’s slowing down the clean up.” Hongjoongs eyebrows clench slightly, but he eventually shrugs. You don't know whether to be grateful or to fight him.

But none of those thoughts are in your head as the tall boy scoops you up in his arms bridal style. His usually soft skin is tacky with sweat, yet he smells like fresh pine and spices. You think that it’s not fair that he smells good after a three hour rehearsal.

The last thing that you hear before dozing off against his chest is “You’re an idiot.” It’s whispered into your ear in a tone that almost makes you think that he’s being sweet.

The next time that your eyes open Seonghwa is propping your body up on the counter in the equipment closet. Something in your chest burns bright red at the memory of what the two of you were doing here after last rehearsal. It consisted of your hair in between his fingers, and bright purple hickeys blossoming on his neck. Now he’s forcing a huge water bottle into your face while trying desperately to hold you up by your shoulder. Considerably less sexy, to say the least.

“Drink.” He says curtly while handing the see through bottle to you. You accept with a shaky nod, then drink the water like you’ve been in the desert for the past fifteen years. It takes a minute before he manages to pry it away, “Hey! Not too fast you’ll get sick, and stop chewing on my straw!” A dry laugh escapes your lips, head tilting back ever so slightly. You don’t see the way that Seonghwas eyes trail on the hollow of your throat with a gaze so intense that it threatens to burn.

“Why’d you offer to bring me up?” You croak while reaching for his water bottle once again. He relents with a sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“No reason, just didn’t want you blocking up the clean up. Everyone was so focused on you that nothing was getting done.” His voice is flat, holding no traces of emotion, but you know that there’s something more. There was a reason that he was the first person to fall to his knees next to you. A reason that he scolded San for not catching you, “Don’t overthink things, (Y/n.) And stop chewing on my straw!” He snatched the water bottle away from you once again, causing both of you to laugh softly.

“Sorry.” You sigh, body relaxing as his soft hand comes to rest against your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, something so foreign in this relationship that you’ve created with your fellow captain, “About your straw, not the overthinking. Not that I was overthinking.” He exhales a short laugh at your witty remark, a signature smirk tugging gently at his lips, “Come on Hwa, just admit that you like me.” He leans in closely to you, hot breath fanning against the place where your neck and jaw meet.

“Okay,” He exhales, mouth dangerously wet and sweet, “I like you.” The words ricochet against the shell of your ear, teeth tugging against the skin where they’ve imprinted. It feels so good that you could collapse. He pulls away slightly and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You think that while you like when he throws you against a wall and kisses your lips numb, he’s good like this too, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still hate you.”

And then he leaves you in the musty equipment closet, with nothing except for his water bottle and your burning hot cheeks for company.

It happens like this; forty minutes after everyone’s finished clearing off the field. You were putting your flute away into your assigned locker when Seonghwa barged in grumbling about something that you couldn’t understand, then pushed you harshly against the lockers.

“Hwa, wait! I still have my flute, I can’t drop it!” He bounced back at your exclamation, head hanging cutely as he let you finish.

“My bad.” He muttered while reaching into his pants pocket to apply coconut chapstick. The part of you that hated him wanted to gag, but the part of you that kind-of-sort-of-maybe liked him was excited to kiss the taste off. You shut the locker door with a loud slam, then turned on your heel once again to face the tall boy, “Okay?” He questioned with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, hands screwing into the collar of his cotton t-shirt.

“Okay.” Then his lips were crashing harshly into yours, hands touching your body with a fever that can’t be measured. You all but collapsed beneath the sensations, “Your diagonal at the end is shit.” He whispers against your needy lips. Instead of responding, you tightly pull on his hair. It’s as if to say ‘Fuck you just follow the form.’ His low groan is a simple answer, ‘Absolutely not.’

He’s just starting to do that thing that you really like, the thing where he pulls you as close as humanly possible by your waist and the nape of your neck, when a high pitched scream erupts from the instrument room door. Even though it sounds like one of the freshman girls, you both know that it’s Wooyoung without even having to look.

“Shit!” Seonghwa curses, hands detaching from you so fast that your back collides with the lockers, “Oh gosh, (Y/n) are you-”

“Can’t talk, gotta run see you tomorrow!” You rush in one breath, dashing out of the door and into the band room. Wooyoung is about to walk out of the exit and into the parking lot, the parking lot where Yunho and Yeosang are waiting for you, “Woo, wait up!” You pant, stopping him right at the exit ramp.

“Do you guys do that after every rehearsal?” He questions, eyes blown wide as saucers, “Oh no, is that why we all leave so late? Ew, gosh, gross, gross, gross! That was so gross, like actually the grossest making out I’ve ever seen! It was so weird and hateful, a-and... And weird! I would’ve rather walked in on you guys fucking- nope take that back, I would not have liked to walk in on that. Wait, have you guys-”

“No!” You shout, hands coming to clamp on the frantic boys shoulders. Your eyes check the room while you lower your voice before continuing, “We’ve never done that, it’s just kissing. Weird, hateful, kissing.” He nods, face still twisted up in disgust.

“Why would you do that to yourself? Like, he’s kind of a dick to you.” You sigh heavily and bring up a hand to wipe the lines off of your forehead.

“Yea, but he’s also sweet sometimes. Not to mention like, really good at kissing-” Wooyoung gags dramatically at your answer, you think that if you weren’t so panicked that it would be funny, “Look, just please don’t tell anyone. Especially not my friends, I think that this is supposed to be like... A secret thing? I just want it to stay a thing, and I just know that they’d lose their shit...” You trail off, words turning into nothing but indecipherable noises and flailing hands.

“Why does he want to keep it secret?” Wooyoung asks with an uncharacteristically soft voice. It’s a question that’s been nagging in the back of your mind since last week in the equipment closet, when he softly whispered the affirmation against your sweaty skin, “You’re obviously into each other, so why?” You don’t answer, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it might start to bleed, “Maybe ask him about that before you worry about your friends.”

It’s late after your thursday rehearsal. You’re pressed flush against the door to the equipment closet, Seonghwas plush lips hot on your throat, when silent tears start to fall down your cheeks. For a moment they remain silent, mixing in perfectly with the whimpers you were letting out just moments ago. But then it hurts too bad to hold in, and you let out a loud sob.

“Jeez, it can’t feel that good.” The boy teases, face falling harshly when he sees tears mixing with your post-rehearsal sweat, “Oh no, oh gosh, was I too mean? I didn’t mean it, you’re really good at marching! Like-” You wave him away, not wanting to be doted on. While you and Seonghwa have definitely gotten... Closer over the past two weeks, this is certainly overstepping. More than that, it’s like barreling past the line and leaving everything around it crushed.

“It’s not that,” You respond, hands releasing from the fabric of his shirt (a black tank top that perfectly highlights his toned arms.) He wants to tell you that they could stay there, that they could stay wherever you want. So long as it makes you stop crying, “It’s... I don’t know what it is.” The words are flat, clearly a lie. You don’t want to tell him why you’re actually crying, that you think some part of you has actually started to like him. But not just like him as a friend, as someone that you wouldn’t mind spending a day with. More like, someone that you fall asleep to. Someone that could kiss you for days and it would never bore you.

“I, uh, I don’t know-” He doesn’t know what to do, which is painfully clear. You don’t particularly mind that he doesn’t know, just that he’s here. Here for you to hold if you need to. Until he also starts crying, that is, “why are you-”

“Shut up. I just, I cry whenever other people cry!” You cast him a questioning gaze, mind jumping to all the cases where he did not do that.

“That’s so not true, Mingi literally cried two days ago and you laughed at him!” You wipe at your cheeks fervently, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything about the red that was definitely painting your face.

“He cried over DCI! That doesn’t count, I cry for things that matter...” You want to ask what he’s about to say, to tell him that there’s no real reason for you to be crying either. But you don’t, because he’s crying. Sad, crystal tears that paint his sun kissed cheeks, and his arms are open for you, “Can I hug you? I feel weird not doing anything.”

You don’t say anything, just fall into the open space and inhale sharply. He smells sweet, and feels warm. Not the gross kind of warm that touches every part of you, but the comforting kind. The kind that feels like wearing fuzzy socks and sipping on hot chocolate.

“Don’t feel weird.” You mumble, lips moving softly against the fabric of his tank top, “I-I have to go soon.” He shushes you, hands softly rubbing the line of your shoulder blade.

“Just five more minutes.” It’s almost like a plea, like he needs it too, “You can’t go out crying, they’re gonna think that I did something.” He didn’t... But in a way he did. In a way, he made you fall for him by having lips that taste painfully like coconut. He made you fall for him by kissing like he’s made of fire. He made you fall for him by always smelling like a fall candle.

“You didn’t do anything.” You whisper, but it’s a lie. Because he did do something, something that he doesn’t even know about.

He made you fall for him, which is something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

In your freshman year there was an... Incident on the bus (one that consisted of a girl, her boyfriend, and very loud sex) which unfortunately resulted in separate boy-girl buses. Which meant no more sitting with Yunho, no more sharing snacks back and forth with Yeosang, no more geeking out over music with Hongjoong and San, and no more ignoring Seonghwa for hours at a time (a task that you found very satisfying as a meek little freshman. It was clearly before you learned how to argue.)

But then Junior year rolled around, and there were too many girls and not enough boys. Your director said that it would be fine for some girls to switch over, which equated to being back with your friends. The first time that you climbed onto the bus all of your friends cheered, to which you responded with bowing down jokingly.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes harshly, then muttered something that you couldn’t hear. What you could hear, however, was Wooyoung laughing and telling his friend to lighten up. He’d always been so sweet, up until two weeks ago you didn’t understand why he’d be friends with someone like Park Seonghwa. You’re starting to get it now.

“(Y/n!)” San cheers from the back, eyes crinkling into an excited smile. Someone starts clapping, the same way that they always do, and you laugh. Seonghwa claps as well, to which Yeosang shoots him a look that reads ‘what the fuck.’

“I’m sorry, the only seat left is next to-” Seonghwa. The only seat left is the aisle chair next to Seonghwa. Yunho’s eyes look apologetic as he tells you, but then there’s Mingi curled up next to him with hot cheetos and a gallon jug of water and you can’t even be mad at him. Even if you still despised Seonghwa, you wouldn’t be mad.

“It’s fine.” You respond quickly, one hand coming up to pinch the boys cheek. He smiles brightly, “Since when have you been friends with Mingi?”

“I guess as long as you’ve been friends with Seonghwa.” The comment is quick, painless. Almost like you could tell him everything and he wouldn’t mind.

“Fair.” You slide down comfortably into the seat with Seonghwa, pulling a pack of dried apple slices and sour gummy worms from the stuffed book bag around your shoulders, “Hey.” The word is tiny, almost a whisper.

“Hi, love the snack selection...” He opens up the bag of apple slices, popping one into his mouth before offering them back to you, “Good to see you.” It feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but instead of pushing you giggle and accept an apple.

“You saw me two days ago, dummy!” He smiles softly, heart going limp at the (now friendly) teasing. You turn away before he can keep talking, jumping immediately into banter with your friends, “Hey, Wooyoung! Can you call Jongho back?” The boy in question glances at the empty seat beside him then moves things for a second before cupping his mouth to shout to the front.

“Jongho!” Your freshman looks up with wide eyes, “Sit with me!” He grins widely, throwing back a thumbs up before gathering all of his things. You mouth ‘thank you’ to Wooyoung before turning back to Seonghwa.

“Do you know who has the speaker?” Seonghwas eyebrows furrow, making it painfully clear that he was not paying attention when the boys decided this.

“Yeosang, I think. Him or Hongjoong, somewhere in that seat.” You know immediately that it’s Joong, Yeosang never takes his speaker out of the house, “You better not play that shitty playlist-”

“My playlist is fire, thank you very much!” You slap his bicep with one hand while the other clutches your chest.

“No it is not, half of it is Hannah Montana!” His laugh is sweet, with a slight edge seeping through. Like there’s a dash of liquor in your coffee, “Joong, I have the playlist!” Your friend smiles affectionately and cheers, accepting your phone with a radiant smile.

“Everyone say thank you, (Y/n)” He teases, which unfortunately results in the entire back half of the bus chorusing back ‘Thank you, (Y/n.)’ You giggle softly, a sound that ricochets through Seonghwas head.

“Thank you, (Y/n.)” He whispers into your ear. If you two were alone in the instrument room he would’ve nipped at the skin there, the loss of that touch makes your body shudder. Seonghwa smiles at the way you roll your neck back, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re welcome!” You respond to everyone else. Right as you turn back to Seonghwa, Britney Spears floods the entire bus, “You’re welcome, Seonghwa.” He smiles, you almost think that he’s going to kiss you.

But then the bus starts moving, and everyone is cheering ‘First comp! First comp!’ You join in with a smile, Seonghwa rolling his eyes at everyones antics. Like he’s much too cool to have fun. Two weeks ago it would’ve been obnoxious, but now you think that it’s painfully endearing.

That seems to be the nature of things with Seonghwa. Everything that used to be the worst part of your day now brightens up any situation. You think that you hate it. Yet it’s also painfully okay.

Right as the band is done warming up for the competition your band director tells everyone to find a buddy to zip their jackets. You’ve always been able to do it by yourself, but before you can maneuver your hands to the space in between your shoulders Seonghwa is there.

“You’re gonna rip the jacket,” He grumbles, fingers making quick work of the zipper (there are definitely not sparks flying down your spine as his fingertips brush against your show shirt.) He pats it once after finishing, “good luck out there.” You turn around, hands dusting off the orange and black jacket. It hasn’t been worn in months, yet it’s like putting on your favorite dress. Comforting, empowering... Almost normal, yet if you were to wear this to a school or a grocery store you’d feel entirely insane.

“Let me get your-” He waves the question away right as you notice that Wooyoung is already taking care of it while chattering excitedly, “Oh... Good luck to you too!” Something about the lights of the warm up lot on his tan skin mixed with his uniform that elongates his legs and broadens his shoulders makes your stomach fill with butterflies, “You look good.” He grins in a way that’s shy.

“Thanks, you too.” In that moment you know that he must like you, because there’s sweat on your brow and a light slump to your shoulders. Every ounce of hair is plopped to the top of your head so it’ll fit in the shako, but Seonghwa said that you look good. He said that you look good, and he never lies. Not even to you.

“Mingi!” Wooyoung screeches, barreling towards the taller boy (who’s conversing excitedly with the drumline captain,) “Can I have an Oreo pleaseeee-” Mingi’s face twists a little bit, but eventually shifts with a wide smile.

“I don’t know, they’re Yunho’s so-” The boy in question shifts ever so slightly in his spot next to you. He flashes an apologetic smile to you before running up to take his boat of fried Oreos. He pinches one between his fingers and drops it into Wooyoungs mouth, who catches of the air like an excited puppy, and then offers one to Mingi, “Okay I guess it’s fine.” The contra player answers through a full smile.

“They’re so cute.” Yeosang coos while slinging his arm around your shoulders, taking Yunho’s spot. You smile and grab onto the boy's hand where it hangs down, “Before you ask, Joong is getting food with Jongho. Now, how was your run?”

“Fine, good. Always room to improve, y’know?” You both nod, knowing the exact feeling that you’re talking about, “But it was good.”

“And Seonghwa?” The question comes out so calmly that you almost miss it, but when the words finally settle in you’re left sputtering and confused.

“W-what?!” He looks confused, but you feel panicked. Down to the core of your body, you are panicked.

“Well you guys are friends, right? Like you seem to be friends now and... It’s okay to be friends with him. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not your friend, and it seems good too. For him, he’s nicer lately.” Warmth blossoms in your chest, rising all the way up into your ears as your eyes involuntarily move over to where the boy sits on the bleachers. Where he sits alone, “Go ask him to join us.”

“Really?” Yeosang nods, hand releasing from yours as hope rises along with your blush. A small giggle slips past your lips, “Okay. Yea, okay! I-I’ll be back, um... Yea.”

When you settle down next to Seonghwa he greets you with nothing more than a curt nod. It’s strange, to say the least, but you brush it off. He’s probably just pissed about something, because he’s Seonghwa and always pissed.

“Hey,” You exhale, “h-how was your run?” He shrugs, shoulders tensing violently.

“It was good.” He’s supposed to ask how you did, and you’re supposed to say what you always do. But he doesn’t ask, so you don’t answer.

“U-um... So I was just wondering if... L-like if you wanted to have- not have, if you wanted to-” He looks you square in the face with a glare that could cut, “I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with us.” One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek.

“If you want to make out you can just say so.” Something clenches around your vocal chords, throat closing up so hard that you think you could choke, “You don’t have to make up some bullshit excuse about wanting to be friends.” It’s not quite clear what tips you over the edge, maybe the biting tone of what he says. The hatred in his eyes that you were so sure you had moved past. The flicker of excitement that dies in your chest, but prickly tears start to gather in your eyes.

“What?” You squeak, swallowing hard, “I-I just wanted to-”

“To make out like we always do.” Those are certainly the words that come out, but they can’t be right. He can’t be actually saying that, because it’s not what you always do. Just two days ago this boy held you so tenderly that you could’ve broken, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know your name.

“Oh, um...” There’s a part of you that could cry. But then there’s also the part that could bite back, the same way that you would at the start of this season, “Just, fuck off.”

You barrel out of the stadium like a train that’s on fire, mind focused on nothing other than sinking down into your seat and crying. Or screaming. Or doing anything to get something out of your body. You’re halfway there too, weaving in and out of the rival schools buses with ease, until somebody's hand grips your wrist tightly.

“(Y/n) stop!” Seonghwa. His pink lips are parted and panting. You pull your hand away and cradle it into your chest, fire forming on the tip of your tongue.

“Do not touch me.” The words are spat out like venom, causing him to physically recoil. It’s strange honestly, how less than a month ago this was your normal form of communication and now it’s something that hurts, “Don’t touch me, or talk to me, or even fucking look at me.” His eyebrows crinkle, the soft skin there folding ever so softly.

“I-I just thought that-”

“Thought what? That you could make out with me, and comfort me while I’m crying, and fucking carry me to the band room, and that I wouldn’t care about you? That’s what you thought?!” Earlier this season, back at the second woodwind sectional, Yeosang said that he thought fire was going to shoot out of your eyes. You didn’t get at the time, but now you do. Now, with anger pulsing through every last vein in your body, you understand. Because you want to slap that stupid confused expression off of his face, you want to make him cry the way that you’re going to cry, “Fucking answer me, Seonghwa!”

“I... I definitely didn’t think that you would care about me?” He knows it’s the absolute wrong thing to say as soon as your jaw solidifies into a harsh line. It’s one of your tell tale signs, along with steely eyes that pierce straight through his chest. It seems that pissing you off for three years had some benefits, “Nope, no. Definitely not that, I-”

“Fuck off.” You bite harshly before turning on your heels and storming off towards the bus. He’s about to follow you, but something about your clenched fists and shoulders that are raised so high that they could mold into your ears tells him to stay behind. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or pissed. Maybe both.

When your back finally slides against the cheap leather of your seat, it’s clear. Definitely both. Grateful because there are fat, snotty tears falling down your cheeks with reckless abandon. Because your sobs are so loud that the people on the next bus can probably hear you. Because you’re crying in a way that you never have before.

But pissed, because no one has ever held you as tightly Seonghwa did just two days ago. Pissed, because the person who you were supposed to hate more than anything just broke your heart. Pissed because something that wasn’t supposed to happen did.

After hours (or minutes. Maybe seconds, you don’t really know) of crying you sit up and assume the natural post competitions pose. Knees hugged to your chest, fingers touching knuckle to knuckle, and head resting softly on the sweating window pane. When your eyes close Seonghwa is the first thing that you see, followed by dark sleep.

An hour later all of the boys crowd onto the bus, filling the space immediately with loud dialogue and banter. Hongjoong leads the group, holding a trophy nearly as tall as his torso and wearing a smile brighter than the sun. You quickly scan down the line for Seonghwa but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hey! Where were you, we got fir-” Hongjoong halts at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wrecked appearance, “What happened?” Seonghwa ducks onto the crowded bus just as your mouth opens. You don’t know whether you should let it all out or pretend like everything is fine and go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing, just tired.” You don’t believe yourself, and the drum major's tight lipped smile let’s you know that he doesn’t either. With an exhale and a soft ruffle of your hair, he moves back to his shared seat with Yeosang. Making just enough room for Seonghwa to slide in next to you.

“(Y/n,) I-” You twist to the seat behind you and drop the half eaten bag of gummy worms into the drumline captains lap. San looks up with a thank you already on his lips.

“Wake me up when we’re twenty minutes from the school?” He nods with a smile, hands already ripping into the bag of candy as if he’s starving. You poke the tip of his nose softly before falling back into the seat, where Seonghwas legs are touching nearly every part of you (really only your thighs, but it feels like he could sit farther away. Like he should sit farther away,) “I’m going to sleep, San’s going to wake me up so don’t bother with it.” His eyes look sad in a way that makes you want to scream.

“(Y/n-)”

“Goodnight, Seonghwa.” You manage through the fresh lump forming in your throat.

Though your head hits the glass immediately, you can’t fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Chattering boys and Mingis terrible playlist isn’t exactly the best backdrop for sweet dreams. But they settle down, cheers turning into yawns and a bluetooth speaker into Mingi and Yunho sharing earbuds. You do fall asleep eventually, but it’s not the booming bass of Mingis meme rap.

When you fall asleep, it’s to the beat of a rattling windowpane that won’t fully close and Park Seonghwa breathing deeply next to you.

There’s always a trend of depleting motivation after the first win of marching band season. Like freshman year after the regional competition, the following rehearsal was absolute torture. Color guard flags colliding with brow bones, entire passages of music forgotten, and too many dropped drumsticks to count. Then there was junior year (which painfully mirrored the season prior,) in which everyone was sentenced to laps until the sun went down. Each year you’d huff dramatically while complaining about the lazy members, to which Hongjoong would listen with a heaving chest.

Needless to say, that’s changed for the worst (just like everything else this season.) You spent the first lunchtime rehearsal moping drastically while refusing to make eye contact with Seonghwa. All of your friends asked you what was wrong, to which you made up a lie about having an empty stomach. Yeosang saw right through the lie, seeing as he watched you wolf down a chicken biscuit, but he didn’t say anything. In all honesty he probably knew what was wrong but was too conscious to bring it up, an act of kindness that you couldn’t thank him enough for.

Then there’s now, Tuesday after school. Four hours before rehearsal, more commonly known as sectional time. Even more commonly known as designated argue with Seonghwa time, which you don’t want to do today. A small part of you wants to make Yeosang fight him, but the other part knows that it has to be you. It’s not as though you have any other way to get out your anger with Seonghwa (there’s messy makeouts in the instrument room, of course, but you’d rather cut off your own lips than kiss him. Or you’d give the world to kiss him again. Somewhere in between the two.)

You take the final step onto your practice field, fully prepared to see a block of brass being run ragged by Park Seonghwa. But he’s not there. No one is except for your group and Wooyoung, who’s at the front of the field busying himself with tangled field mic cables. You glance around wildly before bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s genuinely infuriating how upset you are that Seonghwa isn't here, but there’s no time to think about that now.

“Um... Yunho and Yeosang, can you guys lead stretches over by the trailer?” The trailer which is parked on the exact opposite side of the field from where Wooyoung is, “Jongho too, just... Go through the basics, please.” They nod dutifully before leading the group away, Jongho doing so with an earth shattering smile. You wait until they’re all seated and chattering before moving over to Wooyoung, who’s adorning sad eyes and hair that’s too long tied back into a ponytail.

“Hey, (y/n.)” He greets quietly while placing the mic cable into its case. Your stomach churns tightly at the conversation that’s about to happen.

“Hey... Where’s Seonghwa?” The words feel like slow acting poison, the kind that’s threatening to eat you from the inside out and leave you for dead.

“He’s having sectional in the gym, said that you’d probably need the field.” That’s when it kicks in, burning a gaping hole into the center of your chest. You want to scream, or cry, or for Seonghwa to hold you so tightly that it hurts. Instead you stare blankly at the space next to Wooyoungs head, eyes glazing over and body going numb.

“... Oh, h-he was right.” Wooyoung nods before moving on to the next mic cable. It’s so silent and awkward that you almost think that you should leave, even with poison burning in your chest. Even with sadness eating at your skin.

“He told me what happened, and like... The stuff that he said. He doesn’t want to miss you.” Your band director always says that silence is the most impactful thing in music. You never got it until now, because there’s Wooyoung saying these things. Saying all of the right things that you want to hear, a call that waits for your response. Then there’s your response, that leaves a gaping hole in the score of this conversation, “He seems sorry.” You mull it over, words ringing sweet in your skull like an isolated harmony.

With a soft nod you respond, “Me too” before rushing away to where the woodwinds are assembled already in a block. The poison leaves you as sectional bleeds into rehearsal, but for a brief moment your eyes meet Seonghwas and you’re made painfully aware of the hole that it’s left where your heart should be.

The last moments in the warm up lot are spent with you trying to zip up your own jacket, and then Seonghwa swooping in to do it for you. His fingers brush the space between your shoulder blades, sending a shock through the core of your being. Goosebumps raise on your neck as his warm breath hits the skin there.

“You’re gonna rip it.” The words come out so much softer than the last time he said them, completely void of any teasing. If anything there’s tenderness, akin to the night that he had to carry you into the equipment room. Caring, gentle, loving. Everything that you’ve learned about Seonghwa in the past two weeks shining through in four words.

“Yea.” You swallow harshly, gloved hands moving to adjust the front of your jacket. It’s already pristine, but you need to do something with your hands or else your body will explode, “Good luck.”

The director calls everyone into show lines before he gets a chance to say “You too.”

It’s always a struggle to get dressed on the bus after a performance. For starters, your band has to get the cheapest buses possible so there are a grand total of three lights which flicker in and out of commission. You’re also one of the only girls, which just makes things weird, but your seatmates are usually pretty good at helping you hide..

Like now, with San holding up your oversized cardigan while you rumble through your book bag in search for clothes. The space is filled with rambunctious chatter, including Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung arguing over who’s going to buy the fried oreos (Yunho suggests three way rock paper scissors, which ends just as poorly as anticipated.) For a brief moment Seonghwa is speaking too, laughing with Jongho about a field judge that they accidentally knocked over, which is the only thing that your brain hears for the next five minutes.

“(Y/n,) are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” Even without seeing the drumline captain you just know that he’s pouting. It’s basically laced into his voice, causing guilt to pang in your chest.

“Yea,” You exhale while pulling out the more comfortable clothing (a dark green crew neck sweatshirt with fuzzy black sweatpants. You’ve been dreaming of the moment that you get to change since waking up,) “I just can’t see!” The boy chuckles with a nod that shakes the cardigan barrier.

“Hongjoong and Yeosang want me to tell you that they’re leaving and they hate you-”

“San that’s not what I said!”

“Hongjoong is saying to never speak to him or his family ever again.” The drum major sighs dramatically before slapping the side of Sans head, causing the boy to cry out like a child. A laugh bubbles out of your throat as the sweatpants come to a halt on the curve of your waist.

“I’ll text you where we’re sitting!” Yeosang calls from the front of the bus, which is now entirely void of people, “Joong I’m leaving you!”

“They’re a mess.” You grumble while pulling the sweatshirt over your head, “You can go San, I have to repack my bag and stuff.” He drapes the sweater over your head and tosses a packet of fruit snacks into your bag.

“Alright, I’ll probably be with the three amigos.” He’s already halfway out of the bus before you fully process the words, resulting in a giggle.

“Is that what we’re calling Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung?” He smiles the smile that makes his eyes crinkle and flashes a thumbs up before ducking out of the bus, leaving you to hum quietly to yourself. There’s something special about seeing an empty space when it was bursting with energy less than two minutes ago. Clothes are thrown around everywhere, uniforms hanging from cracked windows that let in an autumn breeze, bags thrown haphazardly into seats. Like a mist of peace has been pumped into this broken down bus, and you’re the only person lucky enough to see.

The only person until Seonghwa walks onto the bus, that is. You scramble to hide underneath your seat, praying to every being above that you managed to remain unseen. That you wouldn’t have to endure the painfully awkward conversation that’s about to come.

“(Y/n?)” He calls. While it sounds sweet, he’s biting back a laugh from the loud ‘thud’ that you made by rolling out of your seat, “Can you get off of the floor?” There’s a small bite in his tone. Where it should make you angry, it just makes you want to cry.

“No.” You answer, body curling in on itself. A small part of you is genuinely considering staying on the floor, but there’s something sticky about two feet from your hand Seonghwa moving back to where you sit. While the thought of facing him is embarrassing, the thought of him seeing you sitting on this disgusting floor is much worse, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.” His nose is almost touching yours when you stand up, sparking a flame in your stomach (you so badly want it to be anger. Red, hot anger. But he’s looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows, warm light flickering against the plane of his face, and you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.)

“I’m sorry.” He swallows heavily, pink tongue smoothing over puffy lips. You try to shove past him, but you’re halted by a hand on your shoulder, “Can we just talk? Please?” Sparkles form in his eyes, twinkling at you like stars. It hurts your stomach.

“No.” The word is hoarse, definite as you harshly push past the boy and storm towards the front of the bus. He’s trailing behind, hands still trying to grab at your own.

“(Y/n!)” The boy pleads, which does nothing to help your growing frustration. If anything it makes the tight coil of anger in your stomach snap, covering your body in nothing but fire.

“Seonghwa!” You bite harshly, turning around so quickly that your foreheads nearly bump together, “Leave. Me. Alone! It’s insanely rude to make someone like you, to kiss someone like the world is ending, to convince them that you care all for some weird sense of validations and then demand that they hear you out. I don’t owe that to you, so stop acting like I do!” Despite the firm words, your feet stay planted in place. As if leaving means that this is over forever.

“I know you don’t owe me that, I just... I want to explain myself, please just let me do that.” The light starts to flicker again, allowing you to see the sharp lines that compose his face. You’re supposed to say no, to leave and sit down in between your favorite people and make fun of other bands horn angles. Every part of you is screaming to go do that.

“You have ten minutes.” Clearly, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to.

“Okay, well um... I’m a dick? Like, just a huge dick and it’s just now setting in that I can change. S-some part of you showed me that.” When the light flashes across your bodies you can see that his eyes are brimming with tears. They’re different tears from last time; more timid and less silly. You want to dab at the one that spills down his soft cheek, “And I’m sorry. For tripping you in rehearsal freshman year, when your elbow got scraped?” You nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. There’s still scar tissue travelling up your shoulder from that night, “And for telling you that your solo at regional auditions sounded bad. It actually sounded really really good, which you probably already knew... Oh, a-and um for blaming the woodwinds for not knowing their parts, because honestly we didn’t either I was just being... A dick.” You inhale deeply, trying to push down the hope bubbling in your chest. While the words are promising, you know all too well that apologies are meaningless without action.

“Why?” The hope is quickly replaced with tension that’s definitely trying to make you cry.

“Why am I sorry, or why am I a dick?” In any other context it would sound funny, but now it’s just a question. A genuine, innocent question that Seonghwa is asking you with a face twisted into sweet confusion. You shrug with a deep exhale, trying desperately to stall your erratic breathing.

“Either... Both. I just want to know why.” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, then runs his hands through his ink black hair before releasing the air. It’s embarrassing how you follow his movements as if they’re the tip of a conductor's baton.

“Um... Well, I think I was a dick because I thought that having people didn’t matter if you were good. That if I worked hard enough that it wouldn’t even matter that I was lonely, but you have both. Good and loved, not to mention kind. Always so kind.” The light has stopped flickering, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. It doesn’t matter, because his voice wavers slightly at unspoken memories and you know that he’s smiling, “Which is why I’m sorry too, I guess. Because you never did anything to me other than show me that I didn’t have to be like... This.” The next words are so quiet that you barely hear them, “And for making you think that I don’t care about you.”

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them.” Your eyes find his through the darkness, locking together like it’s the only thing happening in all of the world.

“I mean it.” It’s a deceleration scribbled into the space between his body and yours, signed by the weight of his hands cupping your jaw, “I care about you.” Goosebumps rise on your forearms as they wrap around the boys slim waist.

“Seonghwa-” There’s probably a right way to do this. A right way to fall for the bane of your existence turned friend. It’s out there somewhere, written up in perfect cookie cutter steps that are easier to follow than words on a page. They definitely don’t include him whispering the affirmation, ‘I care about you,’ against the skin beneath your ear while covering the space in wet kisses.

The boy wraps a hand around the back of your neck before pulling back. You can see him clearer now, all pleading eyes and taunting lips, “Can I kiss you?” It sounds like the climax point of a piece, the part where a chord rings out as the tempo slows just enough to make it itch. You nod while snaking a hand around his jaw.

Seonghwa moves in as if you’ve never kissed before, noses bumping softly. There’s a soft giggle, the rattling of uniform hangers against window panes, and then Seonghwas lips touching yours as if you’re going to break. So much is the same, like how his lips taste like coconut or the spicy scent that floods your nostrils, but it’s different too. Different in the way that he moves against you, in the way that his teeth don’t bite at your lower lip, in the way that his hands cradle every part of you that they touch. He feels like a caricature and more like a person, like a person who’s kissing you softer than you’ve ever been kissed.

“I like you a lot.” He whispers while moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. Old Seonghwa would tease you for the whine growing in the base of your throat while trying desperately to hide the way that you’re affecting him, “Cute.” He exhales, becoming putty in your hands.

“Please stop talking and kiss me.” It’s clear that he tries to smirk, but the moment is too soft for it. Too gentle for the fire that his quirked lips elicits in you; instead he gives off a perfectly soft smile. Gentle and caring, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” His thumb runs across your cheekbone, then to the crease of your nose, and finally all the way down to the set of your jaw. It feels like he’s setting you on fire, “Okay.” His lips brush yours softly with the movement, followed by him leaning in so terribly slowly. You think to yourself that you’re going to love him.

In the moment before his lips touch yours there are two things; two hearts beating faster than is safe, and his phone ringing loudly. Your eyes shoot open right as the boy mouths ‘fuck!’ with a dramatic eye roll. You offer him a quiet laugh along with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, answer it.”

“No, I don’t need to. Just Wooyoung telling me to bring him his wallet.” You nod silently, nearly crying at the way that his hands untangle from you, “I’m really sorry, I wish i could stay but-” You silence him with a quick peck to the lips, he thinks that he’s going to love you back.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We can pick this up later.” He really does smirk now, the familiar look tempting you to stay and kiss him until your lips fall off, “Go get his stuff, I want to see the bands!”

After ten minutes of Seonghwa fumbling through Wooyoung's bag in the dark, the two of you finally leave hand in hand. It feels strange, yet at the same time like what’s meant to be.

“Seonghwa, wait!” you call as your boyfriend pulls you into the shared bus seat by your book bag straps. He was only trying to be sweet, but unfortunately failed to think about how pulling you would probably result in falling. There’s a yelp, and you tumbling into him, then of course a loud groan as your palm collides with his collarbone.

“Oh my, oh gosh, I’m an idiot. Ow.” Mingi is laughing at you two, and it’s only a matter of seconds before your so called friends start throwing things, “Let me help you up, also did I mention ow?!” You laugh brightly and press a kiss to his temple before pushing yourself up into a sitting position.

“I think so.” You swat his hand away from your arms and pull out a box of tissues (packed in preparation for the last competition tears that were almost a guarantee,) “I need to check on Joong, okay?” He smiles gently with a nod.

Hongjoong is in the very back seat laughing his ass off while crying violently. It would be weird if he hadn’t done it three times before, each time at the last competition of the season. Sophomore year you asked why he was crying, to which he responded that it makes the crying less awkward. And that it makes everyone else laugh.

“Has anyone told him a joke yet?” You ask while ducking into the huddle of your friends. San is sitting next to the drum major and passing him candy, Yeosang dabbing at his cheeks with tissues that are quickly depleting. He accepts your fresh box with a silent nod.

“Not yet.” Yunho answers while throwing a sealed water bottle to Mingi, who also has tears rolling down his face.

“Okay um... What do you call a cow with no legs?” The boy looks at you with wide puppy dog eyes and a gummy worm hanging from his mouth, “Pork chop! Oh no, that’s not right wait-” The boy starts to laugh even harder as you shout ‘Ground beef! Stop laughing I meant ground beef please-’

“Did she just say pork chop?” Wooyoung asks through a screeching laugh while breaking his way into the circle. You nod as your sides clench, stinging tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa eventually comes back too with Jongho, taking purchase in the seat across from the slowly dispersing huddle. Somehow you fall to the floor of the aisle and settle between your boyfriends legs. He plays with your hair in a manner so relaxing that Mingi’s meme rap is barely audible (still audible though, sadly.)

Similarly to the first competition, you fall asleep. Only this time it’s to the drum of your friends shouting excitedly and Seonghwas heart beating in perfect time with yours.

#ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez #seonghwa ff #writekpop #admin reid #if u enjoy pls like or leave something nice!#sorry if it's hard to understand

47 notes · View notes