#lol it was supposed to be a few hundred words

[chelseahotel2004]

are you guys ready for another cleo lore drop? ok well im sure i mentioned a while back that i developed an encryption system when i was 13 or whatever and it was kind of a whole thing and apple wanted to buy it off of me and all that stuff. anyways well hold that thought. so i was chatting with my mum the other day and she was telling me about how one of her students was into weezer and so she showed her class a tiktok that i was in (against my will mind you😐) that had gone viral where me and my roommate were performing o canada for our highschool grad and decided to weezer the audience. are you still following me? okay. well i groaned about it i was like mum why would you show them that. and she said. hey come on its not like thats the first time you went viral. and i looked at her and went. huh???? and she said oh don't you remember the time that science webseries on youtube heard about your encryption system and tracked you down to ask if they could make an episode about you so you said yes and went in for filming and then it got like 26k views. and i had to go 😃 oh. yeah

[a2zillustration]

Farewell

Not "farewell," but "see you later."

| First | | Previous |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

...Time to blather on under the cut. I've got thank yous, some notes about potential future comics, and if you scroll to the end of the post, I've decided to compile Croissant Adventures into a physical book. It's mostly for me, so I can hold all TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE of these strips in my hands, as a brick, but if you'd like to own a copy as well, I'll have a link to the preorders down below. If this is where you're going to stop reading, I'll extend a quick heartfelt thanks to you for joining me on this adventure!

Thank you, reader.

This is undeniably the largest project I've ever tackled in my art career; it was never supposed to be this big, and I expected maybe a handful of people to read it, at most. Instead, it became this massive project that I've been working on for ten months straight, and in the end these characters meant so much to me. I'm incredibly grateful for everyone who's bothered to read my little comic strips, whether it was just one or two, or if you've been here since the beginning, following Croissant's adventure from the minute they plummeted off the nautiloid. Thank you so much for being here and supporting this project. Thank you to everyone who left kind words and comments, sent me asks about Croissant, liked or reblogged these posts, or just read these and enjoyed them! While I was determined to finish this project no matter what happened, you certainly made it all the more fun and kept me excited to tell you the next part of Croissant's story.

Thank you, Larian.

If by some chance someone at Larian ever happens to see these, I also want to give an immense thank you to everyone who was a part of making this game. I don't play that many games these days, but BG3 rocketed to the top of my all-time favorite games almost immediately. (It was also the game that made me feel the most out of anything I've ever played; I got legitimately depressed for a few days during my run don't worry I'm fine now we're all good haha). You can tell there was so much work, and so much love involved in this game's development, and I'm so happy the studio has been rewarded with multiple awards in recognition of that dedication to making a fantastic game. Thank you again for sharing this story with us, and I can't wait to see what the studio does in the future.

Is this goodbye?

I'm hoping this is less of a "goodbye," and more of a "see you later." I'll probably take a bit of a break, since I've put off other projects for months, and art fight is happening, but I have many more things I'd like to add to Croissant's story! I have yet to play the epilogue, and I intend to illustrate parts of that depending on what happens. I also have a handful of comics for post-game Breadweave, in addition to some scenes I thought would've happened in-game but weren't canon so I left them out of the original story. (If I haven't gotten to these in a few months and you find yourself wondering about Croissant again, my ask box is always open, feel free to give me a good kick to get me back into their story, lol).

...A book?

I said I never intended this project to be so large, and I meant it. But now that I'm sitting here with two hundred and five Baldur's Gate 3 Tav comics, I really wanted to compile them into a physical book for me to hold. This is mostly for me, but if you'd also like one, I'll have a preorder available in my shop until the end of July.

✨✨✨ Croissant Adventures Preorder ✨✨✨

If you made it to the end of this post, I can only thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I hope Croissant's story brought you joy, and if you're able to play BG3, I hope that you're having just as much fun in your own tavs' stories.

[shawtuzi]

i’m still deciding whether i want to write for ellie or abby in my next tlou fic but until then pls enjoy these construction worker!eren hc’s bc i am sooo thirsty for him

cw include: black fem!reader, lots of fluff, lots of smut, eren being the cutest thing ever

sfw

construction worker!eren whose only dream in this life is to have a pretty wife with a litter of kids and a big ass house to go with it. he’s already slipped a gorgeous fat rock on your finger and talks of getting pregnant with your first child were slowly but surely happening which meant he was getting closer and closer to what he truly wanted most.

construction worker!eren who is a total mommas boy!! his mom is so very dear to him and to know she adores you just as much as him makes him so so happy.

construction worker!eren who looks so cute in his everyday work outfit. whenever he’s got his hard hat on around you you can’t help but knock on it a few times but it’s okay he thinks it’s super cute.

construction worker!eren who starts his day a six-thirty every morning and is always home by five o’clock on the dot. his morning routine consists of giving your forehead and lips a sweet good morning kiss as soon as his eyes open, a quick fifteen minute shower with music softly playing in the back (usually the trapsoul album by bryson tiller), making a big ass pot of coffee bc lord knows he’ll need it with the airheads he works with, quadruple checking to make sure there’s food in the fridge and pantry for you, another sweet kiss to your lips before he heads out, and then spending five minutes trying to pry you off of him while you beg him to take the day off. “m’sorry sugarplum i cant take off today, gotta save up for that big house we want you know how it is,” he’d always say before shushing your whines with a kiss full of tongue n passion.

construction worker!eren who is so tired and sore when he gets off work but is never too sore to accept one of your bone crushing hugs as soon as he walks through the door to your shared apartment. he’s always extra careful to make sure his hands that are usually covered in residue don’t touch your clothes even though you could literally care less.

construction worker!eren who facetimes you everyday around the same time to enjoy your company while he’s on his lunch break. usually the conversations consists of you telling him to make sure he’s applying a lot of sunscreen (bc this heat was nothing to play about), your plans for what you were making for dinner, and if anyone happened to piss him off that day you’ll surely hear about it.

“how’s your lunch?” you asked giving eren a loving smile as you watched him practically devour the leftover lasagna from last nights dinner. he wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking, a content smile on his lips. “food is perfect honey tastes just as good as it did last night,” you smiled at his words but it faltered just the slightest bit when you saw how reddish pink his cheeks were. “baby have you put on any sunscreen yet? weather app says it’s supposed to be almost a hundred out today,” you pouted wishing so desperately that he was there so you could give his little sunburns kisses. eren observed his face in the tiny box on the corner of his phone, letting out a small hum. “don’t worry about me sugar i’ll put some on before we get off the phone,” he gave you a comforting smile which you returned. you folded your freshly manicured hands together before speaking, “so…for dinner i was thinking steak kabobs?” “now we’re fuckin’ talking”

construction worker!eren whose nicknames for you are sugar, sugarplum, honey, angel, and my honeysuckle (which is a type of flower heje)

construction worker!eren whose stomach is almost as big as his heart lol this man loves him a good home cooked meal!!! he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a wife who feeds him as good as you do but you best believe he thanks his lucky stars everyday for it. and yes he’s fs the kind of man to completely devour his food in record time meanwhile you’ve barely made a dent in yours, this usually leads to you splitting the rest of yours with him bc this man always has room to eat more food.

you had decided to make steaks for dinner and like usual eren had devoured his plate in less than ten minutes. “was it good my love?” you giggled taking a bite of the roasted potatoes you made as side. bc he had a full mouth all eren was able to get out was a satisfied sounding ‘mhm!’ eren had washed his dishes and put them away before making his way back to the table to keep you company while you continued to eat your food, love and adoration swarming in those jade irises of his. without a word you swiftly got out of your chair and got comfy on his lap. eren didn’t say a word but by the way he was looking at your plate you could tell he was dying for another bite. you cut off a piece of steak and held the fork up to his lips with a smile, “go ahead take a bite i know you wanna.” without a second thought eren took a bite and for the rest of dinner you took turns feeding him and yourself.

construction worker!eren who becomes even more attentive and loving than he already is once you’re finally pregnant!!! you have morning sickness?? he’s right behind you rubbing your back and even offers to brush your teeth for you after you’ve finished. you need your feet rubbed?? prop them up and he’ll get straight to work. he even takes more days off work than usual bc he misses your touch just as much as you miss his. ever since he found out there was a little him growing in you he frequently started talking to your belly.

construction worker!eren is a girl dad no ifs, ands, or buts!!!!! crazy story but he had the strongest feeling you were having a girl and low and behold on the day of your gender reveal you found out you were having a girl!! yes he cried like a baby himself and yes connie has it on video.

construction worker!eren who treats your daughter like she’s the finest china when she’s finally born :( the first time he did skin to skin contact with her he swore his heart was gonna explode with how much love his had for the tiny human in his arms. and once she was sound asleep in her lil bed he was quick to leave the hospital to buy you whatever foods you were craving—you deserved the best princess treatment for bringing his lil princess into the world.

construction worker!eren who keeps a polaroid pic of you, him, and your newborn daughter in his worn out wallet, showing it to everyone at his job…and a couple strangers….he rlly can’t help it you two are his pride and joy <333

“hey reiner did i ever show you this picture?” eren beamed holding up the polaroid in reiner’s face for the third time that day. reiner chuckled a bit before nodding, “yes eren you showed me, she’s a cute one you and y/n are lucky,” he smiled and eren nodded in agreement, still staring down at the picture. “yeah…m’the luckiest guy in the world aren’t i?”

nsfw

construction worker!eren who is six foot six and pure muscle. it’s a wonder how he eats so good and manages to look even better but hey! you weren’t complaining. he certainly was lacking down there either baby he’s the full package. his dicks eight and a half inches with two prominent veins on the underside that rubbed against your sensitive walls in the most delicious way possible.

construction worker!eren who has a raging breeding kink but is that really a surprise? whenever you two fuck and he’s able to rlly take his time with you i kid you not he has to cum inside you at least three times or he will not be satisfied. sometimes whenever he pulls out he’ll push down on your lower belly and watch his cum spill out with dark, predatory eyes. majority of the time he’ll use that as an excuse to fill you up for the umpteenth time bc he just cannot let any of his precious cum go to waste.

“so pretty,” eren had a lazy smile on his face as he watched three orgasms worth of cum ooze out of your puffy, spent pussy. just when you thought he had his fill and was ready for a much needed good nights rest you felt his one softening dick begin to harden up against your still trembling thighs. “eren…” you whimpered, but he just shushed you with a kiss mumbling a quick ‘jus one more’ before slipping back inside you with ease. he was extremely low on energy so he wasn’t quite able to fuck into you like a madman like he was before so he just settled for grinding into you. “o-oh honey! f-fuck!” you squealed wrapping your legs around his waist. between his swollen tip continuously bumping into your stomach, and the coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive clit you were slowly but surely going dumb. “yeah jus’ like that, f-fuck yeah let daddy fuck a baby into you baby c’mon make me cum.”

construction worker!eren who is nawt a fan of quickies at all!! he’s a man that likes to savor the moment when it comes to sex and if he’s able to admire the faces and sounds you make then what’s the point?? when he’s got you all to himself expect to be occupied for the next couple of hours bc like i stated before he’s not satisfied until he’s cum in you at least three times and made you cum twice as much!!

construction worker!eren who is a certified MUNCH!!!! this man loves having his mouth on your pussy and yes if ur wondering he definitely eats it through your panties. he’s so sloppy and loud with it you’d almost be embarrassed if he didn’t completely turn you dumb whenever he tongue fucked your weeping pussy :(

“mm renny,” your brows scrunched together in pleasure as eren sloppily ran his tongue up and down your soaked folds. his hair was still damp from his shower and was slowly soaking the couch from the droplets falling from his locs but neither of you seemed to care. “couldn’t stop thinking about you today…i mean i already think of you all day but i kept thinking about you in that way and fuck it was so hard to focus. reiner almost ripped my head off from how distracted i was,” as he was talking he was pressing sloppy, wet kisses all over your cunt and the inside of your thighs. he inserted two fingers easily into your dripping center and couldn’t help the groan that rumbled in his chest when he saw how tight you were squeezing his fingers. “you got the prettiest pussy honey, you know that right?” he gave you a small smile before spitting directly on your clit making you jolt. you whined in embarrassment ofc and covered your face with a near throw pillow, whimpering out a pathetic ‘stop ren s’embarrasing.’ eren just hummed and attached his mouth back to your pussy, wrapping his slightly swollen lips around your throbbing clit, “m’never gonna fuckin stop my pretty little honeysuckle never ever.”

construction worker!eren who is a biggg fan of the 69 position. sometimes you suck him so good he tends to lose focus but you don’t mind in the slightest. your big strong man never stops working whether he’s on or off the clock so if he gets a little consumed in his own pleasure who are you to snap him out of it?? if you’re putting some serious work in he’ll moan n groan so loud into your pussy you could cum alone just from that!!

construction worker!eren who had the prettiest moans *sighs dreamily* he’s never shy to let you know you’re making him feel good and it’s so fucking hot hearing his breathy whines and moans especially when he accidentally overstimulates himself which he happens to do a lot heh. you’ve definitely had a couple complaints from neighbors bc of the noise but he don’t even give a fuck!! he knows it turns you on more than anything to hear him be so vocal so why on earth would he ever stop??

construction worker!eren who was soo nervous when you suggested having sex while you were pregnant. it was no problem for him at first but once you started showing that’s when the panic started to settle in—he was so afraid he’d accidentally hurt you or the baby that he kinda went on an sex hiatus much to your dismay, but after some convincing be finally gave in.

you were on your side and he was spooning you from behind, giving your shoulder or neck a kiss of encouragement every once in a while. “jus’ let me know if it hurts at all or you’re uncomfortable okay? cant believe you talked me into this…” eren mumbled into your shoulder. you replied with a soft ‘mhm’ your patience wearing thinner by the second. it had been a good couple of weeks since you and eren last had sex and you were almost sure you were beginning to lose your mind. you’d finally had enough when he came home from his morning jog looking like an absolute dream with his chest heaving and brown baby hairs sticking to his forehead. that’s how he ended up here: one hand securely holding onto your small bump while his other was slowly pushing his dick inside your awaiting entrance. “oh wow…” your eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss, toes curling once he bottomed out. “f-fuck that feel okay hun?” it felt more than okay. you brought your hand to your clit and began rubbing quick circles to dull out the stinging stretch. eren peeped this and replaced yours with his own, the rough pads of his fingers on your clit had your lips trembling. “y-you need to stop this—hah! sex strike and fuck me more please i—i miss this,” eren heard your plea and nodded feverishly. god was he a fool for ever depriving yourselves of each other, he will never be doing this again.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

I Know it Won’t Work || Tom Blyth x singer!reader

Summary: You and Tom break up after three years of dating and you perform a song about the truth of the breakup for the first time live.

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 23 and Tom is 30

Wc: 658

A/n: these r addicting to make lol. Also, changed up some lyrics for the sake of the storyline making sense. 2/4? Fics I’m posting today!

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You let out a shaky breath, "I left you here, heard you keep the extra closet empty," You sing the first words of your unreleased song to the crowd. "In case this year, I come back and stay throughout my twenties, what if I won't? How am I supposed to put that gently?" You had just freshly turned 23 and broken up with Tom.

You honestly don't know how you ended up here, in-front of a crowd of hundreds in London. Performing in front of people was the last thing you wanted to do at the moment but you had to keep a strong front for your supporters, this show was highly anticipated.

"I've had the thought, tried to work it out through anxious pacin'" Your biggest coping mechanism was writing songs. You never knew how to really express your emotions in sentences to someone, so instead, you write them into songs. Your real feelings and emotions laced into words that in the end, formed a song.

"But it's a lot, all the shine of three happy years fadin'" The crowd watched in silence, partly because it was a new song and they did not know the lyrics to sing along, but also because they were mesmerised. Your voice held so much emotion.

Your fans weren't aware that the two of you have broken up, but a few had already pieced it up. "The whole facade, seemed to fall apart, it's complicated." Everyone viewed you and Tom as the power couple, deeply in love with one another with no flaw or doubt in the relationship

While half of it was true, the other half wasn't. The seven year age gap different had been brought up so many times throughout your relationship. You remember the first time the two of you got together, you were 20 and he was 27.

You both received heavy backlash from the internet but the two of you ignored them all. They weren't the ones in the relationship, they weren't the ones to make the call about whether or not you should be together.

"And part of me wants to walk away 'till you really listen, I hate to look at your face and know that we're feelin' different," As the three years went by, uou hoped you weren't the only one in the relationship that doubted a few things. You didn’t want to admit that other people's comments were getting to you. As the three years progressed with Tom, you felt as if you were just both in such different phases of life.

You were still so young in your early twenties and fresh in your career while it seemed that Tom was ready to settle down, marry, and start a family. He would always mention starting a family and you would listen, not really knowing what to say to him.

But recently, you came into terms with the truth that both you and Tom don't share the same feelings or goals at the moment. "Cause part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" You loved Tom, parts of you still do. He never did anything wrong, he was everything you could have ever wished for. You like to think of him as the right person, wrong time.

But nothing was going to change the fact that you two were just in different stages of life. Nothing will change the seven year age gap between the two of you. "I know we cut all the ties, but you're never really leavin'"

Tom hasn't left your mind. It would've been easier if he did. But he just couldn't. "And part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" Your voice slightly cracks, a single tear drop runs down your face. Eyes closed, you let it. The dewy stream your tear left—accentuated with the bright lights focused on you—did not go unnoticed.

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in heaven (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: foul language, alcohol, book-accurate Roman lol, (and he is such a brat???)

summary: you really, really hate Roman Godfrey. but what you hate most, is that he doesn't notice you at all.

word count: 4,502 (a/n: part two HERE!<3)

I didn't like Roman Godfrey— not one bit. 

Everything about that spoiled brat was infuriating. All from the way he walked around as though he owned the town, to the way that he'd get a kick out of throwing tater tots at people. Fucking child. The amount of times I'd sat at the bleachers and watched him throw it at the cheerleaders, specifically aiming right down their shirts, made my blood boil.

Roman Godfrey believed that the world was his, including the people living in it. That's exactly why he dared to take such liberties. 

I specifically hated the way he'd move his hair out of his green, green eyes, the look he'd give me after he tugged my hair in the hallway with a sneer, and his sadistic need to claim his conquests in the absolute weirdest ways known to man. If we are to believe Brooke Bluebell from the cheerleading team, he also had an affinity for poking girls with needles in public just for the sheer thrill of watching them squeal. Because who would tell him off, right? I wondered if he was familiar with the word 'no' at all.

After the needle-rumour spread, I made sure to keep a few meters between us at all times. There was no way in hell that he would get away with doing that to me, anyway. 

And I would've stayed as far away from Roman as possible, had it been up to me. Sadly, my best friend at school was his cousin— just my luck. Letha, like the rest of the girls at school, was quite fond of Roman; since she was the oldest of the two, she somehow couldn't see that he had grown past the age of five, treating him as though he could do no wrong.

And this was why Roman was always invited whenever we would have study sessions at Letha's place. He would splay himself out on the bed, stretching out his long limbs, watching us as we worked and he lazed away. 

God, how I hated him. I hated the way his hair was kissing his forehead when he laid like this in Letha's bed, the way he'd grin whenever he watched me erase a wrong answer, and the way his cologne would linger in my system several hours after he'd left.

Currently, we were supposed to be working on the half-year assignment everyone in our year had to do. Letha was sitting at her desk with her back turned to us as Roman and I sat on the bed, each with our own computer. My meter-rule to protect myself from any incoming needles was impossible to implement on Letha's tiny bed, and I let out a huff as Roman's knee touched mine. I prayed to every God in the universe that he didn't have a needle in his pockets somewhere— I was quite fond of my knees, and would very much like to keep them intact.

"Five hundred bucks," Roman tried, nudging me. "Do this assignment for me and it's yours."

I rolled my eyes, shifting further away from him on the bed. "Do your own shit," 

He proceeded to sneer, watching me with his big, green eyes. "Six hundred,"

"No,"

"Seven?"

"Suck it, Roman," I cracked my knuckles, doing my best to get back into the flow of writing the assignment. It was so damn hard to focus when Roman's incessant sighing continued, almost as though he was being forced to take his own life. 

"Help me, then," he mumbled, moving closer to me. His leg was almost on top of mine, now. "How did you answer question b?" Roman leaned over me, his head now obstructing my view of my screen. In a flash of pure instincts, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair that was tickling my nose. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that smelled so good— him or the shampoo?

I got yanked out of my state when Roman pulled away, typing away on his own laptop, finally inspired. 

I couldn't help but sigh; I hated Roman. And I hated that he didn't notice me in the way I wanted him to. I hated the way he smiled, the way he'd so blatantly flirt with girls at any opportunity he'd get, and how my heart fluttered when he flirted with me once in a blue moon.

It only got worse when we were in chemistry class the next day, and Roman had caught me sitting all alone in the back. I wasn't sure what came over me and why I had allowed him to sit down next to me again— the last time had been an absolute catastrophe where he got the both of us kicked out for bickering too loudly, so I hoped it wouldn't be a repeat-situation. I really needed to make sure I was getting every drop of information out of class today, as we had a test coming up soon.

However, Roman was the absolute biggest distraction on earth. I knew this. He kept leaning over to draw crude drawings in my book, making me have to swat his hand away over and over; "Stop it!"

Roman huffed, leaning back against his chair with a bored expression on his face. "You're no fun," he whispered back. 

And this was when it hit me— maybe I wasn't fun? Did he really think that of me? 

... Maybe it was time to show him how fun I could be?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When Letha mentioned a party happening this weekend and the fact that Roman would be joining, I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of dread— I knew what that would entail for him. He'd either disappear with a girl upstairs and/or get absolutely shitfaced, as always. And was I really going to put myself through seeing him disappear with someone else again just to prove I wasn't boring?

Yes— Yes, I was.

As I sipped my drink, I couldn't help but feel my hatred for Roman simmer and come to a boil— I hated how he had me doing the most ridiculous things known to man just to get a sliver of his attention. Why was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer. 

As I stood in the kitchen with Letha, I spotted Roman passing by the door, laughing with a friend of his. My heart thumped hard as I let out a shaky breath; "Letha, I have to tell you something,"

She turned to me, a beer in her hand. "Don't tell me you've killed someone again? I don't have the energy to drag another body out of my car today,"

"Ha-ha," I mumbled; had this been any other instance, I would've thought it was funny... but not right before I was about to tell her why I had come tonight. I dreaded it; I knew she'd disapprove. But just as I opened my mouth, ready to put my friendship on the line, I caught Roman backtracking and appearing in the door again.

"Girls!" He walked over, looking tipsy as ever. Up close like this, Roman towered over the both of us, and I had to look up an unusual amount to meet his eyes. "I've been looking for you all over! They're playing seven minutes in heaven downstairs, wanna join?"

Had this been any other night, I would've given him an immediate no— but tonight was different. Tonight, I was fun. Shrugging, I glanced over at Letha to check her reaction.

"That's so childish," Letha mumbled, sipping her beer. "I don't know, and I'm sure grumpy over here isn't too keen on that either—"

"No, I'm in!" My words came out like a panicked squeal which immediately made my cheeks burn. 

Roman seemed caught off guard by my reaction, but he eventually reached out to pat my shoulder, looking smug as ever. "There you go," he cooed, clearly teasing me. "Maybe you'll finally get laid or something!"

I was abruptly reminded of why I hated him so much in the first place. Swatting his hand off of me, I brushed my fingers over my shoulder where he had touched me, feeling a lingering burn. "If you think seven minutes is enough for everything that goes into sex, I think you need to lower that ego of yours,"

Letha bit back a smirk as Roman's lips parted in shock. Maybe the spoiled rich kid hadn't gotten a reality-check from his long list of women before? He eventually recovered from the diss, rolling his eyes; "Well, seven minutes with me can be more than enough. Need me to show you?"

Letha let out a loud snort, shuddering; "Ew, Roman! I've told you not to talk to my friends like that!"

As they turned to each other, bickering like siblings, I gripped the counter behind me with all my strength. I was almost compelled to agree, to say yes to letting him have a go, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. After a few drinks, I knew I could get a little loose-lipped.

It didn't take long before we all made it downstairs, everyone spreading out on the couches and chairs scattered in the basement. Letha and I sat down on a few pillows on the floor, far away from Roman and his rumoured needles. 

I felt my throat go dry every time the bottle spun around, landing on random people from school who later went into the empty closet nearby. But my attention was elsewhere; I watched as Roman put his arm around the girl next to him, whispering something into her ear which made her laugh. It made me want to slam my head into the wall behind me— I would rather pass out and bleed out than witness him picking up another girl again. 

I swallowed hard as the people in the closet came back out and the bottle got spun again. The first person was picked; a girl with long, brown hair whom I remembered from history class; huge bitch. Holding my breath, I watched as the bottle got spun again— it eventually slowed down and pointed to Roman, which made the girl's friend group cheer as though they had won a million dollars. It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest as Roman got up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. The girl he had just had his arm around wasn't as happy, to say the least.

This whole display was making me sick. I bit the inside of my cheek as Roman closed the door to the closet and the previous drinks in my system threatened to come up. Everything about this was making me sick. I got up, taking hurried steps to the nearest bathroom, planting myself on my knees in front of the toilet just in case.

I heard a few knocks on the door before Letha stepped in, looking worried. "I told you not to drink that vodka crap," she mumbled, locking the door before she sat down next to me on the floor.

I felt my tears press on as I grew further nauseous. "Don't mind me," I breathed. "I just need a minute." 

This only solidified my absolute and utter hate for Roman. Spoiled fucking brat— why did he have to make me feel this way? Why was my jealousy making me so sick and bitter?

Letha put her hand on my back in an attempt to soothe me; "Maybe I should drive you home?"

"No!" I said, fighting my gag reflex. "I need— I need to get out there again."

This only made Letha sigh, her hand now reaching for my hair to be ready. "You have a crush out there or something...? You know that you don't need this stupid game to get whichever guy you want, right?" 

I did my best to get up from the floor without immediately falling back down. Of course she didn't understand. 

"Seriously, hold on—" Letha grabbed my hand, holding me back from leaving the bathroom. Her eyes were just as green as Roman's, and up close like this, I could see all their similarities; the upward curve of their nose, the same full lips, and the exact same way of weaving their brows together in worry. "You don't need to do anything just because you want to prove Roman wrong," she said, squeezing my hand. "I know you came down here to make a point, but... do what's best for you, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled, tugging at her hand. The seven minutes were almost up, and I wanted to see the look on that girl's face after she left the closet with Roman. I wanted to see the look of bliss in her eyes, the hint of red in her cheeks, and watch her inhale with soft, sharp breaths just like the rest of his girls always did. The best part of watching this, was imagining that the girl was me instead— that I was the one feeling euphoric, and not her. And on the other hand, the masochistic part of me wanted to feel my heart burn with jealousy and my chest tighten with the ache I had gotten so familiar with. "Let's go. Please."

My nausea dulled down as I sat back down on the floor, realizing Roman was back. Maybe it was good that I missed the moment they came out— maybe it was good for me to spare my psyche, just this once? As my eyes met Roman's across the room, I couldn't help but notice the dark satisfaction on display across his lips. It was almost as though he knew— or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked a little sick? Did he like the look of pain in my eyes? I was reminded of Brooke Bluebell and her needle story... how he liked imposing pain on girls he found to be vulnerable. The fucking needle thing would haunt me forever.

I barely noticed that the bottle had been spun again, and I was yanked out of my mind-storm when Letha nudged me. "You don't have to," she tried, nodding towards the bottle that was now pointing at me.

My eyes immediately moved from the bottle and straight to Roman, who seemed to grow further amused. There was no way in hell I would back down now— maybe this would change his outlook on me? I had to prove I was fun, after all. Shrugging, acting as though it was no big deal, I reached for the bottle, spinning it.

I couldn't help but ponder if someone up there in the sky was playing games with me when the bottle pointed at the one person I had hoped it would be.

The girl Roman had just been with protested; "What? That's against the rules! He can't go in two times in a row!—"

"Sure can," Roman shot in, watching my every movement like a hawk— something told me he was a little excited about this as well. He got up from the couch once more, walking up to me with confident strides, reaching out for my hand. 

As I looked up at him, breath short and choppy, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his. I had always imagined what it would be like to look up at Roman from this angle, to see the sheer look of satisfaction on his face as I— Oh no, my mind was wandering again, wasn't it? I did my best not to shiver as I accepted his hand, feeling our fingers intertwine as he smoothly got me up from the floor.

I didn't even dare to look at Letha in this moment, knowing how she probably felt about it, but I really didn't have time to dwell on it— and it didn't take long before Roman closed the closet door behind us, pulling me back into the moment.

We were quiet for a few seconds, the sounds of our breathing filling the closet— I didn't know what to say or do. The beating of my heart was so loud that I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the light in the small room was dim and warm, making it a rather disorienting experience. It didn't take long before I felt my back hit the wall, letting out a little wince; the alcohol was definitely doing wonders for my balance. 

Roman snorted at the sight, emitting a soft laugh; "Careful, there," 

I let out the breath I had been holding, happy that he had been the first one to say something. "It's the vodka," I mumbled, rubbing the part of my head that had hit the wall. 

Roman hummed; "Typical,"

"What is?"

"That you can't handle your drinks,"

I wanted to smack him— that was allowed in seven minutes of heaven, right? "So what if I can't? It's not a big deal,"

"Sure," Roman said, nodding to himself. "You just need to be broken in or something." 

I wasn't the biggest fan of his choice of words— I was also not a fan of the thought of Roman breaking me more than he had already done, all whilst being completely unaware of it. Choosing not to comment on it further, I switched the subject; "So when was the last time you didn't do anything with a girl in this game?"

He needed a few seconds to scour his brain; "Never, I think,"

Typical. "Even back in middle school?"

"... Definitely,"

I held back a rather large groan— I should've predicted this. 

Roman caught onto my eventual silence; "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"... Yeah,"

"Okay, I see," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, as he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've always wanted to try out and haven't dared to, now's the time."

My breath hitched as I hoped the thumping of my heart wasn't loud enough for him to hear. There were many things I wanted to try out, sure, but not here.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

... Oh? Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman yet, and I knew she'd be against it.

However, I was being served my biggest dream on a silver platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again? 

"Okay..." I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me, then?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he was holding a needle or not. One could never be sure... and this was how I knew my anxiety was through the roof.

"So... you want a kiss? That's all?" Roman asked, looking rather pleased with himself and the situation.

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would switch up and tell me no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he didn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what I was actually asking for before I fully understood it myself. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system. 

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

Doing my best to still my breathing and not faint, I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

For fuck's sake. I mumbled a curse as Roman laughed, clearly amused by the terrified look on my face. "No, I wouldn't do that," he teased, pulling away just a bit. "I'm not that bad, you know that, right?"

I huffed, not meeting his gaze anymore. Confessing to liking him had given him all the power over me in the world. "I don't know... You tend to be quite horrible,"

"And what horrible things do I do, may I ask?"

Oh, I was ready for this question— I had been ready for a while. "First of all, the fucking tater tots," I grumbled, meeting his amused eyes. "The fact that you pull my hair like you're five years old, you've drawn about a hundred dicks in my chemistry book, and the whole needle thing!"

"Needle thing?" Roman furrowed his brows— damn, he and Letha really had the same face, didn't they? 

"Yeah, the needle thing! Brooke told us!" Something about the confusion on his face felt rather satisfactory; your turn. "You pricked her and her friend Rachel and just... laughed, or something!"

Remembering the incident, Roman burst out laughing. "Oh, that!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, that was fun, I can't lie. So, okay, maybe I'm a bit bad, but... you still like me." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and I knew it could lead to no good. "You still want to kiss me, so you can't be too scared? Or maybe..." Roman's hand travelled up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he smirked. "Maybe you're just a massive masochist?"

"What? No!" My protests were quick and loud— I wondered what the people outside this closet thought we were doing. "Roman, just... Ugh, fuck this, I'm leaving."

As I reached for the door, Roman grabbed my hand with force I hadn't expected of him, pinning it above my head against the wall. Like this, he was even closer to me than he had been just under a minute ago, and my eyes went wide with the realization that I could physically feel his bottom lip against mine, not yet coming together in the kiss I so desperately craved.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," he whispered, words slow and low. Something about this whole situation was so intense, I nearly gave in to a shiver. "Whatever this will be, you and I... won't be easy."

"There is no you and I," I mumbled, feeling my heart beat up against his chest. "We do this once, and then we forget it." Please.

Roman hummed, a cocky grin spreading across his plush, pink lips. "You think you'll be able to? I have a feeling you've wanted me for a while,"

Fuck's sake. I hated him even more when he was right. My gaze hardened as it met his, and I wondered how much time we had left. No matter how mad I was at him, I still wanted to kiss him, just once. This might be the only chance I'd ever get, and I was going to take it. 

"Okay, then," Roman accepted my silence as an answer. Nudging my nose with his, he finally pressed his lips against mine with a softness I didn't know he had in him. 

This was not what I had expected. Something about this kiss was shaking up my whole view of the world, along with my view of Roman. The most obnoxious guy with an unmatched arrogance could... kiss like this? Like he actually had a soul? 

His lips moved against mine as though I was made of glass, and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine in the hand he was holding above my head. It sent shivers down my spine as my mind went haywire, wondering why he was being so careful with me. I brought my free hand up to cup his face, feeling how soft he was against my palm. I had expected him to be rough, aggressive... so what on earth was this?

Roman's arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, and I let out a shaky breath against his lips— heat swirled in the pit of my stomach, feeling as though I was burning up from inside. 

But just as it started to get heated, two knocks were heard at the door; Roman pulled away, a victorious smirk in place as though he had successfully proved his point. "Thirty seconds left," he said. "Now, convince me why I shouldn't tell Letha."

What? Still trying to catch my breath, I felt myself freeze up. How was I supposed to think clearly when I was in this state? Roman's hand slid out of mine, waiting for my answer; "So?"

"Just don't," I breathed, putting a hand on my chest to feel my heart— did all of this just happen? "Don't tell her."

"That's not good enough," His green eyes were drilling into mine, and it was clear that he wished to corner me. Sadist.

"I'll do your stupid assignment,"

"Nope,"

"I'll... fuck, Roman, I don't know!" 

Roman snickered at my panic, fixing his hair, checking his clock; ten seconds left. "Fine, I'll be nice," he said, reaching out to swipe his thumb along the edge of my lip, wiping away some lipstick. "But you owe me."

Owe him? I wasn't the biggest fan of making a deal with the devil reincarnate in front of me. However, did I have any other choice? I let out a sigh of defeat; "... Fine,"

And this was when it truly hit me; I hated Roman Godfrey with all my heart— I hated the fact that he could make my heart flutter with the smallest gesture, that he could practically walk all over me with no remorse, and that he always looked so fucking good. 

However, at the end of the day, what I hated most... was how much I wanted him.

(a/n: click to read part two HERE!<333)

[dollfacefantasy]

Meant to be Broken ♡

pairing: corrupt cop!naoya zenin x fem!reader

summary: on your way home from work, you accidentally hit naoya zenin with your car. you believe you're in huge trouble when you find out he's a police officer. luckily (or unluckily) for you, he has a few ways you can make it up to him in mind.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dub-con, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, car sex, misogyny (it's naoya lol)

word count: 3k

a/n + tags: comm for the bestie @nexysworld @gor3-hound picture of naoya by @/sso_s__ on twt

Your fingers thrum against the steering wheel as your car glides along the road. You match the beat of the music playing in the background. It's a good distraction for you. It was a nice enough day out, but your mind wasn't as sunny and serene.

You'd had a shitty day at work. You woke up late and got shit from your boss for it. Your computer wouldn't log in, so you had to work at the outdated one towards the back of the office under a drafty vent. On top of that, you had a killer headache. You really just wanted to get home.

The sun was setting over the horizon in the distance, the sky a pretty hue of pink. You take it in while making the turn into your neighborhood. Only a few hundred yards till you could pull into your garage and walk into the comfort of your home. You just have to get down one more street.

You're making the final turn on your route. You can nearly feel the soft fabric of your sweatpants and oversized t-shirt when there's a blur in front of your windshield and a sound thud against the hood of your car. You slam on the brakes as fast as humanly possible, jerking yourself hard against the seat. Whipping the car into park, you sit there for a moment. There was no fucking way you just hit someone. If asked, you would swear on everything that no one had been crossing.

After a couple moments, you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out. Your movements are a little slow, simply for the fact that you're still questioning if this is some kind of joke.

You round the front of your car and gasp at the sight before you. You'd actually hit someone. A man lies crumpled up near the bumper, writhing in pain.

"Oh- Oh my God. Are you ok?" you ask him. You rush over and crouch behind him.

He turns to face you, and your heart drops. His face is stained with scarlet, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead. He's got a nasty scowl aimed at you too.

"What do you think?" he snaps. You're pretty sure you hear him grumble something about how of course it was a woman that hit him, but you can't be sure. Your pulse is pounding in your ears too loud to focus on mumbling.

"Jesus, I'm so so sorry," you say.

"Instead of wasting your time with apologies, you could try helping me up," he says.

"You're right. My bad. Here," you say, offering your hand. He takes it but doesn't stop glowering at you for a second.

You help him to his feet again. Once he's stable, he lets go of your palm and wipes it on his pants. A bit rude, but you supposed you deserved it.

"Are you hurt? Could I take you to a hospital or anything?" you ask. 

You try to sound as sweet as possible. He could be as pissy as he wanted, you were just praying to any higher power you could think of that he wouldn't sue you.

He simply rolls his eyes at your question. Your cheeks burn, and you awkwardly avert your eyes. You notice he'd dropped his wallet on the asphalt, so you reach down to retrieve it for him. Once you pick it up, your blood runs cold. Inside the wallet is a shiny silver star. A police badge.

Panic runs through you. The last thing you needed was a ticket, let alone a criminal charge. Your eyes dart up to him. He's wearing the smuggest grin you'd ever seen.

"Officer. Sir, I am so so sorry. Again, please let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. It was my stupid mistake. I swear, I'm normally a super safe driver," you say.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's cute how you little girls try to get out of trouble once you see how helpless you really are," he taunts.

You're speechless. If he was going to be like this, you were truly fucked.

"Don't tell me that's all you have for an apology. I've heard better from a mute," he says.

"I really didn't mean to hit you. Please, I'm just having a really bad day," you start timidly, but he cuts you off.

"Stand up. You look like a bitch begging for scraps down on your knees like that," he says, flicking two fingers to beckon you up.

You rise quickly at the command. You hated obeying a total asshole like him, but he held so much in his hands right now. There was nothing to do but follow along.

"There we go," he says and brings his hand to your face. It runs down your jawline to your chin. He tilts your face around, getting a look at you from all angles. "You're cute. No wonder you hit me."

Confusion flickers through your eyes. "What's that mean?" you ask as non-confrontational as you can manage.

"Well you know what they say: a pretty face or a brain, women don't get both," he mocks.

Now it's your turn to scowl. You can't even help it. The expression shows itself before you have the chance to hide it. Your previous mindset shatters in a matter of seconds.

"I didn't hit you cause I'm a woman. I hit you cause you darted into the street," you say.

His eyes brows raise with amusement, and the urge to bicker with him dwindles inside you.

"Really?" he asks, "Are you high then? Drunk maybe? Those are the only other reasons why you'd make such an egregious error."

Internally your blood pressure rises, but externally you keep it cool. "I promise it's neither. It was an accident. I just didn't see you," you explain.

"An accident? I don't know if I believe that," he tuts, "Before you said mistake. That could imply some intention."

"Accident and mistake mean the same thing," you dispute with a little desperation.

"I don't know... changing your story, cause to suspect intoxication, arguing with an officer. Things aren't looking good for you. I have reason to write you up at the very least," he chides.

"Please don't," you practically beg, "I'm sorry for arguing, but I swear on everything that I'm not on anything and it was absolutely not my intention to hit you with my car. Please there has to be something I can do."

That grin from earlier spreads across his face again. "I suppose there's a few things you could do. Don't think we should talk about them in the middle of the street though."

"Oh um, did you want me to pull my car to the side of the road?" you ask.

"Sounds like a good start, don't you think?" he asks.

You nod and quickly turn around to hop back in the car. Alone in the interior, you let out a shaky breath. You had a feeling as to what was coming. It wasn't ideal, but you guessed it was better than hundreds of dollars for a ticket or thousands on bail. Maybe he didn't get laid often with an attitude like that, and you could make him cum quick.

You drive a little way down the street before putting the car in park again. It crossed your mind to speed off and drive away, but you'd bet your life he had your license plate by now. You let out a final deep sigh before the backdoor opens, and he slides into the car.

"Get in the back with me," he says.

You obey again, opening your door and transferring to the rear seats of your vehicle. You look over at him with a mix of apprehension and annoyance. It entertains him all the more.

"You look like you know what I want," he says.

"I have a pretty good guess," you say, your voice quiet compared to his.

He leans in closer to you, nuzzling the side of your head and taking in your scent.

"You get yourself in this kind of situation often?" he asks before nipping at your earlobe sharply.

You wince and pull away slightly. His hand comes up and keeps your head close before you can move too far away though.

"No," you scoff.

"Good," he chuckles.

Despite his pretty face, everything about this moment is absolutely vile. He teases your ear and down your neck with a mixture of his lips and teeth. Simultaneously, his hands slide up your body to fondle your breasts. He gropes the mounds haphazardly, digging his fingers into them a bit too hard.

"You got nice tits, I'll give you that. Think I should've frisked you first," he whispers, "Maybe taken you back to the station for a strip search. Though then some of the other guys would've wanted a turn, and I don't like sharing my toys."

You scowl and look in the other direction. He was repulsive, but at the same time, some heat was beginning to pool in your belly from the combined touches of his mouth and hands. Though just as you're coming to enjoy the sensations, he takes them away. He pulls back from you, his hand going to the hardening bulge in his pants instead.

"I wanna try out that cute mouth first. I know there's a better use for it than talking," he says.

He's quick to undo his fly and whip his cock out. He gives it a few lazy strokes. It's pretty like everything else on him, the head already starting to glisten with pearly white precum.

He smirks at you taking in the sight. "What're you waiting for? I don't have all night."

Reluctantly, you get on your knees on the bench and lean forward. Your fingers wrap around the lower half while your mouth engulfs the top portion. The salty liquid spreads over your tongue, and your eyes flutter shut.

You hear him grunt from above you. One of his hands comes to rest on the back of your head and pushes you down a little more. You suck him deeper, laving your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"There you go. Take it," he moans quietly.

You tune him out and begin to bob your head. Soft slurping noises come from your mouth. Your hand lazily strokes the base. He was long enough to give you a little challenge but not thick enough to present a real struggle. You pick up a little speed, still wanting this to be over as quickly as possible.

He hums with satisfaction and relaxes against the smooth leather seats. His head tilts back and a low, whiny purr leaves his lips. You give his dick a gentle squeeze and suckle on the tip, letting some of your drool dribble down to his balls.

His hips buck up at the onslaught of sensations, and you gag a little. The noise isn't too loud, but he hears it. His eyes glow with desire at the thought of making you do it again.

His hands find their place on either side of your head. He acts as if he's guiding you at first, but he doesn't have the patience to truly ease you into having your face fucked. Before you can really register it, his hips start to thrust upward. His tip rams against the back of your throat, his shaft sliding between your lips over and over.

You give him what he wants and gag again. Spit seeps from between your lips onto his length. Your eyes water as he forces his cock as deep as physically possible.

"Think your throat was made for this. With lips like yours, it has to be," he mutters.

He keeps going, using your mouth as his fleshlight for the next minute or so. Your nose is nestled against his pelvis before he finally yanks your head off and sits you up again.

You're a bit dizzy when you're upright again. It's a relief to get a full breath of oxygen without the obstruction of him in your throat. He laughs quietly at the dazed look on your face, your teary eyes, and your saliva-coated lips.

"You liked that, hm? Think you needed it more than I did," he mocks.

You don't give him any indication either way. You're occupied with your vision coming back into complete focus.

"Now, face down ass up for me," he commands.

You go to move, but then pause and stare at him.

"In the car?" you ask uncertainly.

"Yes, in the car," he says, "It's cute how you ask that as if you have a choice."

"But- but why? I could make you cum if you lemme use my mouth a little more," you offer, but he shoots you down.

"I don't want your mouth. I pulled you off for a reason. I want a taste of that pussy before I cum. If you know how to give a blowjob like that, you must have something worthwhile between your legs," he says.

It's hard to fight off the heat creeping to your cheeks after hearing that. But you still don't move just yet.

"But someone could see... that's more obvious," you try to reason.

"Yeah? And what's anyone gonna do about it besides live with the knowledge that you're a slut?" he asks.

Just like that, you're really reminded of what this situation is. You flip over and pull down the clothing on your lower half to expose your cunt to him.

A whistle comes from behind you. You feel his hand come up to cup one of your ass cheeks. He drags his thumb up and down your folds, feeling the small amount of arousal that had collected there from giving him a blowjob. He dips the digit inside for a moment before pulling it out again. He just wanted to hear the sweet little noise you'd make. He wasn't disappointed by the whine he received.

"Are you on the pill?" he asks.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Clean?"

"Yes," you scoff.

Your attitude amuses him. It doesn't discourage him from rising to his knees behind you in the slightest. He balances himself on the seats before nudging his tip at your entrance and sliding in. The both of you moan and groan at the feeling.

Your nails claw at the seams of your seats as he sinks all the way in. He grabs your hips and makes sure you can't squirm away. He goes in until he bottoms out, completely wrapped in the warm wetness of your tight heat.

He doesn't give you time to adjust before he begins thrusting. He starts rocking right away, chasing his own pleasure like it's running from him. Your cheek rubs against the leather as he bumps you back and forth. You can tell the car is shaking from his movements, you just hope it's not too obvious to anyone who passes by. Though it wouldn't really matter. Even if they didn't see the car's motion, they'd surely spot the silhouette of the man in the backseat.

"Fuck," he whines, "You're tight. Think this might feel better than that mouth of yours."

You simply mewl in response. His cock was sliding deep, reaching all the little spots that didn't get as much attention as they needed. Your breathing turns to panting which only makes Naoya thrust harder.

"There you go, puppy. I knew you'd like it. This is what you're good for," he says as he continues pistoning himself inside you.

You try to hold in your shameful moan, but it slips out anyways. Your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut, rolling back behind the lids. From above, Naoya continues speaking. You're pretty sure he gets off to the sound of his own voice.

"I could've fucked you right in the middle of the street and made you thank me for it," he grunts, "You would've done it too, you little whore. Knew from the moment I saw you that you'd let me do anything I wanted."

You whimper because in a way, that was partially true. You gasp as you start to get closer. He smacks your ass hard while he continues rutting into you.

"Dumb slut. Not so concerned with people seeing now that you're about to cum, huh?" he taunts.

Shaking your head in agreement, you press your cheek further against the seat. You'd have preferred if you could at least maintain the story that he didn't make you cum, but it didn't seem like that was going to be the case. And honestly at this point, you felt too good to care.

He knows that he's getting close too. He can feel how his dick is pulsing with the need to empty his balls, fuck you full of his load.

He goes faster, gripping your hips strong enough to bruise. He's going so fast that it's like a blur. That's what pushes you over the edge. You clamp up on his cock which in turn causes ecstasy to spike through him and drag him to the finish line.

The two of you cum in tandem, you gushing on his cock and him stuffing you with his release. Even with your disdain for him, being fucked full of cum gives you the warm feeling of satisfaction. By the time he's finished, you're practically a puddle in your backseat.

He pulls out quickly, not caring to let you adjust to the emptiness as you would have preferred. He doesn't rub your back after or tell you that you did good. Doesn't let you curl up to his side or stroke your head. He simply pulls his pants up again and wipes the sweat from his brow.

He glances at your fucked out state. It brings him nearly as much satisfaction as his actual orgasm had, seeing how totally ruined you were.

Patting your ass, he scoots to the door and steps out.

"Have a good night, miss. Make sure you watch out for any pedestrians on your way home," he says, imitating a professional tone.

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you to scrape yourself back together.

[idleoblivion]

"An Unexpected Lesson in Envy" Cater Diamond x GN Reader

Synopsis: Cater wants to show off pictures of you on Magicam, but the online response is not what he was expecting.

Word Count: ~1.4k

A/N: Well it turns out that Cater’s speech and whole overuse of internet lingo thing feels so unnatural to write for me so I think I ended up making him more serious than I was supposed to lol, I did my best. Also the @ looks like that cause I almost accidentally tagged a real person lol

Warnings: jealousy, light reverse comfort

“Come on, just a few more!”

“You said that ten minutes ago!”

You loved him, you did, but your boyfriend had a habit of roping you into photo shoots that could be inconveniently long. You were too cute, he’d always say, he couldn’t help it. You were in the gardens of Heartslabyul, which made for the perfect background as well. Today though, you have a history essay that you really need to get started on. If you stuck around too much longer, you’d have to work pretty late into the night to finish in time. 

“You’re so cruel to leave me~” he whines, which you respond to with a lighthearted glare. “Fine,” he sighs, “We’ve already gotten enough good pics anyway.”

“Thanks. I’ll text you later tonight.” You quickly kiss his cheek before hurrying back to your dorm to work. 

Cater returns to his room as well. While he’s ascending the tall, twisted stairs to get there, he’s scrolling through all the photos he got today. He’s almost giddy as he looks through them, you ended up with some fantastic shots today. 

He flops onto his back on his bed and starts collecting his favorite ones to post. He decides on a short collection of them, and rushes to Magicam to show them off. 

‘Some adorbs photos with @ ididntasktobehere in the gardens! Some of my fav pics I’ve taken! #aesthetic #gorgeous #photoshoot #CayCaythebestphotographer’

He smiles to himself, satisfied with the caption he typed out. He posts them immediately, excited to see the response that they’ll get. And the attention starts coming within minutes of posting. 

He knew the pictures would get some popularity, his followers liked almost anything he posted featuring the gardens, and you were always a stunning model in his opinion. What he doesn’t expect is the amount of attention. The comments and likes start rolling in like they never have for him. No other post of his has gone as viral as this one. 

He’s ecstatic about it, until he starts actually reading the comments. 

-OMG, who is that? They are BEAUTIFUL 

-literally ethereal omg

-They could slap me and I’d actually thank them for real

-JUST ONE CHANCE PLEASE I BEG

He’s…conflicted. 

Of course you’re beautiful, and of course people would notice. That was to be expected, so why was his chest still feeling tighter and tighter the more he read?

He wasn’t the jealous type, really. He never got upset if you were affectionate with your friends. He never blamed you if some other guy flirted with you, because of course you always turned them down. And as long as they took no for an answer, he couldn’t really blame them for finding you attractive either. 

It’s never been so many people though. Especially all at once. It wasn’t just one person who wanted your attention, it had turned into hundreds thanks to his post. People were praising you with every compliment they could think of, and some were even asking if you were single. 

Your account was private, so he wasn’t worried about you being flooded with unwanted attention suddenly. But he was worried about what you’d think if you saw all the comments. Would you be uncomfortable? 

…Would you like them? He guesses he could understand if you did, everyone was being so nice and complimentary. But he realizes a part of him really doesn’t want you to. 

He was the uncomfortable one. As uncharacteristic as it was, he was jealous and had to admit it. 

Now he was at a loss for what to do, though. Does he delete the post? You followed him, so if you checked once you were done with your essay and the pictures weren’t there, you might ask what happened to them. He technically could respond to everyone that you were taken, but didn’t that make him seem insecure? He should be able to just brush it off, he thinks. 

It’s getting late by this point, and he decides to just try and ignore it for the night. He’d deal with any more comments in the morning, when his head was a little clearer. 

—-

He could not ignore it for the night. Every few hours he was up and checking for any more replies to his post, always finding at least a few new ones. His frown deepened with each additional comment. For the first time, he was actually loathing the popularity of his own post.

You could tell something was off when he greeted you with only a half-hearted smile and spent your whole walk to class together clearly lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t any better anytime you spotted him in the hall between classes. He still wasn’t any better at the end of the school day, which is why you follow him to his dorm to confront him about it.

“Come on, you know you’ve been weird today. Are you feeling sick? Is something wrong?” “It really isn’t that big of a deal.” There’s absolutely zero pep in his tone, none of his usual Cater mannerisms present. He seems almost exhausted.

“That’s a lie and you know it. Cater, why can’t you talk to me about it?” He ponders for a second, still feeling guilty for being jealous in the first place. But clearly he wasn’t hiding it well, and making you worry about him didn’t feel very good either. So he takes a deep breath in before laying out everything that happened with the post.

“...That’s it? I saw the post, you even tagged me. I looked at the comments too when I saw you were getting so many. I honestly just rolled my eyes at them. I didn’t realize they were making you upset.”

“I…I guess I didn’t expect to be either? I just…I don’t know why. It’s not like I think you’d break up with me for one of them or anything.”

“It’s still okay to feel weird about it though. Do you want to take the post down?” “I thought about it, but I’m not sure. And the same thing might happen if I ever post more.” He seems extra dejected at the thought of that. Luckily, an idea pops into your head.

You grab his phone out of his hand. He looks at you surprised, but lets you open up his camera and sit next to him.

“Okay, now like this…” You put his arm around you and lean into him close. He seems to get the idea at this point and smiles widely before pulling you in tightly himself. You both position yourselves in frame, and you press your lips to his cheek as you take the picture.

When you pull away and hand him his phone back, his mood has already flipped completely. Even more so as he types out his next caption:

‘Thanks for the love on the pics we posted! Me and my lovely partner @ ididntasktobehere have been reading all the nice comments together! #cutestcouple #cutiesinlove’

“‘Cuties in love?’ Get rid of that, that’s embarrassing.” “But it’s true! We’re a couple of cuties, the cutest couple in the school!”

He laughed at himself and closed his phone with a satisfied grin. He was sure the two of you got the point across to everyone. With his confidence restored, he looks at you and starts brainstorming again.

“Oooh, maybe Vil will let us use one of the rooms at Pomefiore, everything in there is so fancy, it would totally blow up if we did a little shoot there.” “You’re seriously already planning another?” You laugh.

Of course he was. Now that everyone had it straight that you were taken, he was going to take every opportunity to show you off. 

Plus, if anybody had something to say, he could always just ask you to kiss him on camera again. In fact, he decides, he’ll probably ask you even if they don’t. Because as good as showing you off felt, it didn’t feel nearly as good as showing off that you were his and he was yours.

[spreadyovrwings]

Honey, I Can Feel Your Pain

A late night heart-to-heart before the end of the world. Or, two idiots try to talk about their feelings but they’re both demons and not very good at it.

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: my writing/me trying to navigate a complicated character, i cringe therefore i am

A/N: literally just ignore me lol i wanted to see if i could write Alastor well so this is something of a personal challenge and a warm up for me (and i’m obsessed with him) so hopefully i’ve done him justice. there’ll be a part two if anyone wants one!

//

Chapter One

The door to Alastor’s studio was always locked to everyone but you. You weren’t sure how he did it. He was a complete technophobe, so a hidden camera was out of the question. Perhaps he’d cast some sort of spell or could sense you coming. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that if you needed to see him, and Alastor permitted it, his door was always open.

That night, the radio tower was dark and still, the only sound a slow, jazzy number sent oozing over the city and into people’s homes.

You found Alastor at his sound desk, one long finger poised idly on a bakelite dial, as if debating whether to alter the sound his tower produced. His ever-present smile was fixed in place but his lips were closed, his deep red eyes focused.

You tapped your foot against the floor, once, twice, three times, announcing your presence as gently as you could so as not to disturb him too abruptly. It didn’t matter that Alastor had to let you in in the first place, it always seemed impolite to come barging in.

He didn’t look up as you approached but you could tell you had his attention, and when you put your hand on the back of the chair next to his, a question, he answered with a short nod.

“Are you alright?”

Alastor barely moved, his eyes fixed on the glowing buttons and dials in front of him.

“Fine, fine.”

He spoke faintly, airily, with no hint of static, as if he were lost in thought. You couldn’t help feeling like you’d interrupted a private moment.

“It’s just you’ve been locked away in your room for days now.”

“Hard at work! Nothing more.”

As if to prove a point, Alastor wrapped his long fingers around the dial and adjusted the volume, then slid his fingers along the desk to conjure up the next song.

This tune was a lot more uptempo. It wasn’t like Alastor to be so sloppy, you must really have caught him off-guard.

Alastor seemed to realise his mistake too. He turned to you, leaning back in his chair, exuding a confidence and poise that many envied and few saw through.

“Is there something I can help you with, my dear?”

His attention was yours. Too late to go back now.

“You’ve been quiet ever since Charlie came back from Heaven.”

“Well, I-”

“And you don’t go quiet,” you pressed on, refusing to let him chart the course of your conversion. “So what’s wrong?”

The two halves of his face told two different stories. Alastor’s eyes were fiery and guarded, he didn’t like being questioned but you’d cornered him. Below, his smile stretched his skin. You wondered if it hurt.

“I’ve been reviewing the situation,” he said after a thoughtful pause, every word considered and weighed.

“You’ve missed dinner four nights in a row for that? I made all your favourites to try and entice you down, you know.”

Alastor hummed. He wasn’t listening.

“Do you know, for almost one hundred years, I have lived here quite happily. I’ve carved out a nice little niche for myself. And then the princess started getting bright ideas…”

Alastor’s long fingers danced over the faders again but he didn’t move any of them. It seemed to be the habit of a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

“The angels… Unsettled me. And you’re quite right, I don’t get unsettled. It required meditation.”

“The angels unnerved you?”

“Unsettled. But I suppose there’s not much point arguing over semantics. Either way, the result n’est pas bon, cher.”

“What did they say that unsettled you?”

One of Alastor’s ears flicked in irritation. It was a rare thing for him to give away even that much. It was a particular kind of personal hell, for him to have a body that could betray him so visibly. He could rattle everyone with his big grin, he could even hide pain behind walled eyes, but the attributes given to him, gifted to him, shackled to him, when he fell, weren't so easy to control.

“It’s not quite that simple, my dear. The angels are all bluster and hollow virtues. I care very little about what they have to say, the self-righteous...”

He took a breath.

“But then they halved the time till the next Extermination. It’s of little consequence to me. They’re clever enough to leave me alone most of the time and if any angels do try their luck, well, they’re quietly done away with. Plus, it’s just plain old good sport to watch the show.”

You smiled.

“Might have to disagree with you there, handsome.”

Alastor laughed humourlessly, a dry, sharp sound like a bow pulled roughly against violin strings.

“That’s just it, I might too. The issue is… Now it’s only a few weeks away…”

The song changed. Low, smooth, like sand through an hourglass, a single trumpet groaned into life, filling the room before disintegrating and travelling along the airwaves. Was it a distraction? Was Alastor struggling to hold his focus? Who knew? Maybe not even him.

“Alastor,” You leaned forward in your chair, undeterred by his hesitancy. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze slowly slid to you. The close-mouthed smile was back. It was the closest he ever came, or ever could come, to relaxing his expression completely.

“It usually doesn’t bother me,” Alastor murmured, his words barely audible over crackling static.

You frowned.

“But this time it did?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Alastor’s nose wrinkled.

“Because before, I didn’t have you. It was easier. I’ve never relied on anyone or had anyone relying on me. Now there’s the hotel, its inhabitants…”

You remedied the sting with a vacant smile of your own.

“When you say ‘you’, you mean all our friends?”

Alastor shook his head.

“No. No, I was attempting to obfuscate.”

“Oh.”

Alastor stared at you. You stared back. Then, with a clang, the penny dropped.

“Oh!”

“Mm.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Quite.”

You smiled at his sour expression. Your own face was burning but you bravely ignored it.

Your relationship with Alastor had been a nebulous, vague sort of a thing. He was a terrifying colleague to have at the hotel, and at first, you couldn’t be sure why in Hell he was there. He liked to watch others struggle, suffer, and fail miserably, it was all just good entertainment for him. But that couldn’t be all there was behind his sudden interest.

As soon as you figured out that Alastor served himself and himself only, things became a lot clearer, and it was a lot easier to like him. You didn’t have to worry about trusting him, because you couldn’t. You didn’t have to question his motives, you knew they were ill-intentioned and that you were better off not knowing. He liked to pretend he was oh so mysterious, but Alastor was perhaps the most honest person in the hotel.

Mutual respect grew into friendship, into something more. You often went out with Alastor when he required assistance or just wanted some company, and you were always the first person he came to when he got home.

Slowly, incrementally, that trust bloomed. Alastor began to ask for your opinion. You would sit together in companionable silence, reading by the fire long into the night. He didn’t need to ensnare and trick and manipulate you, because you did things for him happily and without question, though within reason.

He was always honest with you, or at least, as honest as he could be without it endangering his own self-preservation. And you respected that. It was a harsh world, you had to look out for yourself, but slowly, so slowly that neither you nor your friends had noticed until it was too late, Alastor had bound his life to yours.

You hadn’t appreciated the depths of that connection. You’d always known you had a soft spot for him, ill-advised as it was, but never in all that remained of your afterlife could you have anticipated a requited affection.

Alastor interlocked his fingers and rested them in his lap, keeping his composure well considering the situation.

“It pains me to think of you in danger.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed quietly.

“Steady now, Alastor. You sure know how to sweep someone off their feet.”

He’d never rolled his eyes at you, he was far too refined for that, but Alastor gave his equivalent, waving an airy hand at you and soldiering on.

“We have always been close, you and I. Right from the start.”

“That’s not how I remember it but…” You smiled. “I like to think of us as a little team.”

He brightened, his pained smile morphing into something a little more authentic.

“Exactly! A team! But what was once companionship and, admittedly, amusement-”

“Do you mean we have fun together or do you mean amusement at my expense?”

Alastor waved his hand again.

“A little of column A, a little of column B.”

“Wonderful.”

“What I mean to say is… My feelings have evolved somewhat.”

In all the time you’d spent with him, you’d never known Alastor to be so hesitant. In fact, you couldn’t remember a time when you’d seen him show any sign of apprehension. His stitched-on smile was still intact but his clawed fingers drummed against the sound desk and his gaze had been lost in safer ground, somewhere over your shoulder.

“Evolved into what?”

Though your heart was thudding in your ears, you didn’t hesitate to push him. You thought one of the reasons Alastor had grown to enjoy your company so much was that you liked to talk, as well as listen. He got bored so easily and he’d always been a chatterbox; you were one of the few people in his life who could match him in that without any sign of fear or an ulterior motive.

Alastor’s ear flicked again. This was a hard conversation for him.

“The Extermination meant nothing to me before. But now, the thought of it…”

You watched his eyes grow unfocused as his imagination consumed him. His fingers stopped drumming. The song on the radio rose by a few decibels.

“Alastor, it’s okay-”

“It frightens me. And it’s not about self-preservation this time. When I consider how our companions may fare…”

“They’ll be okay.”

“What if I can’t protect you?”

Sensing you might need to ease off, take a breath, anything, you leaned in closer, reaching out for him but never, ever touching him without asking first. Instead, you rested your hand beside his on the desk.

“I don’t need protection, Alastor.”

“Still, I want to keep you safe, my darling. There’s a… A sharp tug here…”

He pressed one clawed hand against his empty chest.

“And here…”

He dragged the same hand down to the pit of his lean stomach.

“When I think about you in any kind of danger.”

How did he always manage to be so charming, even when he didn’t mean to be?

You barely held back a pleased smile. Like Alastor’s, it tugged at the corners of your mouth, threatening to spill over into a stupid, happy grin.

He didn’t have the language for what he felt, that was fine. You and Alastor had always found a way to communicate, even without words. He’d told you more with one gesture than you ever could have expected him to say aloud.

But it wasn't just unexpected, it was completely astonishing. You couldn’t let him sense that though, it might make him retreat into himself. So instead, you turned it back around on him, letting Alastor choose how much he wanted to give away.

“What do you think that could be?”

“I have an idea. But I dread to think.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you knew you were on the same page.

It would be difficult for him, far more than it had been for you, to pin down and explore and accept the feelings you had for each other. You hadn’t been able to figure out a better word for whatever it was that fizzled between you, though, like Alastor, you had a sneaking suspicion and it terrified you.

Nothing sounded right. Logically, you knew there were some words that ought to fit, but acknowledging them felt like wearing someone else’s shoes.

You couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for Alastor to come to terms with it all. So it surprised you when he slid his hand over yours.

It wasn’t the first time you’d touched, he was always holding out his arm for you, patting the top of your head, often even lifting your hand to his lips when he greeted you in the mornings or bade you goodnight. But this wasn’t a fleeting brush of his hand against yours, this was sustained, purposeful contact, and it meant something, to both of you.

Alastor’s gaze still couldn’t meet yours, so he stared at your hands, his close-mouthed smile back in place.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you,” he said quietly, and it was just his voice you could hear, no static, no sound effects, just Alastor.

You smiled.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you too, handsome. I get the same feeling.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

“Oh, well, that’s reassuring, at least.” Alastor finally met your eyes, his head tilted quizzically to one side. “Have you told anyone?”

“What, and admit I’m in love with the Radio Demon? No thanks, I’d never live it down.”

Feedback shot through the room, a grating, warped sound, like someone had held a microphone too close to a speaker. It was hard to tell if the sound emanated from the mixing desk or from Alastor himself, but his scarlet eyes were wide.

His hand tightened over yours, though it was more likely out of surprise than him trying to give you comfort. The tips and edges of his sharp claws dug into your skin, not enough to hurt, but it still made your jaw clench.

Alastor, to his credit, didn’t seem as put off by the admission than you might’ve expected. Maybe he wasn’t surprised by the actual sentiment, just that you’d finally said the words out loud.

You smiled.

With just a week or so left until an Extermination that would surely kill you all, there wasn’t much room left in your damned soul for shyness. It wasn’t an all-out ‘if this is my last chance to say it’ confession. You and Alastor had always appreciated candour, and with so little time left, why not say what you were both thinking?

“Have you spoken about it with anyone?”

Alastor shrugged.

“Well, yes, I’m doing it now.”

“No, I meant someone you can trust. Someone you can talk about your feelings with.”

Alastor watched you blankly.

A second penny dropped.

“Oh.”

You had to resist the urge to shiver under his heavy stare.

“You couldn’t talk to Rosie?”

“I considered it but, bless her heart, my old friend can be a sentimentalist. No, best just to get to the source of the problem.”

“Alastor…”

You huffed, pretending to be insulted, and Alastor’s smile once again looked a little more real. It met his eyes, open, unguarded and calm.

“So, what would you like to do about it?”

“Hmm,” Alastor raised the hand that had covered yours to tap one long finger against his chin. “Any chance you’d let me lock you away in a secret, impenetrable bunker?”

Your smile grew.

“Sorry, honey.”

Alastor tutted.

“I thought as much.”

“Do you have one of those?”

“Hm?”

“A secret, impenetrable bunker.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, my dear. You’ll just have to be particularly careful. And perhaps this… Feeling will go away with time.”

You smiled, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Perhaps it will.”

“When I’m right, I’m right, my darling.”

”That’s not the expression and you know it.”

//

Master List

[foreveric]

"𝓘 𝓓𝓞."

pairing — john wick x f!reader content — 70% FLUFF 20% ANGST 5% SMUT words — 2,284 dividers — @saradika-graphics tagging — @feinv and @iovesia (srsly their blogs r what kept us inspired to finish this while sick, lol)

This is it.

The day hundreds of lives were ended so that John would be able to settle down in his life with you, the most precious thing that he’s ever had in his life. You’re like his rock that he’s never had growing up, and he wouldn’t dare risk allowing his bloody career to get in the way of the life that he could have with you. And now, everything that he had planned and gone through that day for this very ceremony was coming into fruition.

Today made it feel like everything he did that night was worth it: all of the lives he took, and the blood he had to so violently spill. Watching you walk down the aisle in the dream wedding dress he’d always imagined on you, kissing you slowly at the altar after you’ve shared your vows to seal your commitment after years of dating each other. 

Hearing the marching music begin to fade in, John’s gaze flickered up to meet your own, even if it was covered slightly by the mesh of the white veil you were wearing. Lifting the veil up, John would flash you a smile full of warmth and affection; the most emotional smile the man was ever able to muster in his entire life — you could just see it behind his eyes.

“Do you, Mr. Jardani Jovonovich, take Ms. (Y/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife…” The Officiant asked, his attention focusing on John as he stood at the altar, holding onto your hands.

A few months earlier, John was in a much different place mentally. Instead of getting prepared for his wedding with you, he was preparing for his final assassination, the “impossible task”, as Viggo called it. Of course, John was more than willing to perform such a task, if it meant getting to settle down with the love of his life.

“You did well, Jonathan.” Viggo commented to John with his hands held behind his back.

“Thanks,” John replied with a small nod of his head, silently expecting Viggo to add onto his statement.

“I suppose you still want to be released from our organization?”

“Yeah.” He answered firmly, yet he still tried to keep himself level-headed after the adrenaline rush of the mission.

“Well, I wish you and your lover the best life.” Viggo replied to John before turning his back to him, holding his hands behind his own back while he stared out the large window that was just placed just behind the desk. “Be seeing you, Mr. Wick.” He added in a colder voice than before. It was a tone that didn’t go unnoticed by John, but he didn’t care then. At least, not about this “family” he’d been stuck in since his childhood. No, now all that he cared about was the future he was about to lead with you.

In the shower at home, you were luckily not home that day, giving John the perfect chance to wash the blood away from his body. None of it was his blood, though. No, he was washing off the lives he’d ended a mere few hours ago. But, he was used to this feeling — he was used to killing, to seeing the red on his hands and chest after an exhausting mission. 

And now, John tried to make himself focus on the plans he had made for today many months ago — to propose to (y/n), and make you his officially. That ring he got a few weeks ago? It was going to be used for this special day. His heart leaped when he opened up the box to check on the ring, the diamond shimmering brightly in the sunlight that seeped in through the nearby glass windows of the mansion he was now sharing with you. A smile painted itself across John’s lips as a reaction to the thoughts he began to have flooding through his mind of the day that would soon be in his future.

Then, just as he’s lost in thought, John’s head whipped up to the sound of the doorbell ringing, announcing your presence at the front door. Quickly hiding the box away from view, underneath the bed, John sprinted out of the bedroom to greet you at the door. There’s a smile still present on his face as you open the door, immediately welcomed by him wrapping his arms around you to pull you into his embrace and kiss the top of your head.

“Hey, hon.” John greeted you, his voice more cheerful than it normally is.

“Hey…how was your day?” You ask, your voice sounding groggy from working long hours throughout the day.

Catching on to your exhaustion, John gave you a light nod of his head before taking his right hand and gently placing it on the back of your neck, his thumb resting on the side of your jawline. 

"I've been thinking about you," he says with a tone of sincerity laced through his voice while his deep brown eyes were locked onto your own.

"Yeah?" You reply with a hint of playfulness that John quickly caught onto, making him smirk down at you.

"Mm-hmm." John murmurs affirmatively right before leaning in to lock his lips onto yours; they always surprise you with how soft they are every time you feel them. After breaking the kiss, he brought his lips up to brush them against your ear, sending shivers down your entire back. "You go take a shower while I cook you some food, alright?" He offers, yet there was a silent hint that he wasn't going to budge on this.

"Okay." You agree, nodding your head lightly in response to the offer John had just made you.

Lying wounded on the cold ground of the warehouse in which Viggo's enemies operated in, John gasped for breath as he locked eyes with the sky, which was pouring down the same tears he nearly shed at the idea of not standing at the altar with you, not putting that ring on your finger, not marrying YOU. He couldn't bear himself if this is how it all ended. When he noticed he was unable to get up, however, you seemed to have a spiritual hold on him — or, maybe even...a connection? John began to hear his phone ring, prompting him to glance down and take a look until he saw that it was your contact displaying as the number that was calling. At first, John was hesitant to answer. Not because he didn't want to answer your call, it would be far from that. No. Instead, it would be because...he was terrified of what you'd think of him if you were to find out about the truth of his past and what he used to do for his life. But, something clicked inside of John for him to press the green button on the keypad of the cell phone, lifting it up to his ear to hear your voice speaking to him once again.

"Hey, babe. I got dinner ready a few hours ago and you didn't come home, are you okay?" You ask as the line connected, the concern evident in the tone of your voice.

"Long story..." John answered in his own weakened and strained voice. You could immediately discern that something was horrifically wrong.

"Where are you?"

Not a beat was skipped between either of you before you swung your purse over and around your shoulder, jingling your car keys in between the crooks of your fingers. John gives you the address to the warehouse he was in. Of course, the sketch location raised questions in your head, but you knew you couldn't probe him for answers now; not when he's in such a risky position.

"I'll be right there." You say as you swing the front door open and begin to rush out to the driveway until you reach the car that was left.

In a matter of no time, John would soon begin to hear the engine of your car rumbling in the near distance until it was parked a mere few yards away from his limp body. "Oh, John!" You exclaim in concern right before rushing over to where John was leaning against the warehouse wall, the adrenaline immediately beginning to course through your entire being.

"I'm alright, honey." John replied in a soft-toned voice that was only meant to comfort you through the distress he knew he must be putting you through.

"I'm going to get you in the car," you declare in a tone that leaves no room for him to argue with you. But, in that moment, it really seemed as though John had no thoughts of even attempting as such. Taking his arm over your shoulder, (y/n) used your strength to walk John back over to your car to the passenger side. Once he was seated, you quickly pulled the seatbelt over John’s chest and buckled him in right before shutting his side’s door and darting around the car until you were able to get into the driver’s side.

Back at home, you gave John the stitches he needed for the deep gunshot wounds he had when you first got to him. There was a surge of emotions flooding throughout your entire mind, mostly being that of fear and concern for John’s well-being. You couldn’t lose him, not when you still have the chance to save him. Shoving away the questions you may have wanted to ask him, you focus on the task at hand of saving his life.

After you took John’s black tuxedo and white dress-shirt off by sliding them up his arms and chest, revealing two gunshot wounds to his right shoulder and chest, eliciting a gasp out of you.

“Jesus Christ, John.”

“I know, I know…” he attempted to speak up while keeping his voice low and soft-spoken, but you were too panicked to even hear him as you prioritized making every last move count.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen you.” You continue to mumble to yourself as you attempt to concentrate on the bloody wounds that were penetrated straight through John’s skin.

“(Y/N)—”

“Where the Hell even were you?” You question, quickly followed up by an exasperated sigh with your eyebrows furrowing deeply in frustration. The thought of someone hurting John made your blood boil into pure rage.

“(Y/N), relax.” He finally spoke up, this time at a much louder volume than before to ensure that he got your attention. John would then notice you flinch back slightly, prompting him to reassuringly reach both of his hands up to lightly yet firmly place them on the top of either of your shoulders, his thumb slowly rubbing the exposed skin underneath your crewneck top. “I promise, I’m okay.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” You sigh before reaching your hands back down towards the one gunshot wound you were giving stitches to. John appeared to hardly even flinch the entire time, only raising more questions in your head. But you knew that now was not the time to probe for anything. After you have finished stitching up John’s wounds, you exhale out a deep sigh and rub your forehead with the back of your hand. He could see how exhausted you were after a long day, making him reach his hands out to hold onto your shoulders. Your eyes lock onto each other’s.

“Thank you,” John said. A soft smile curls up across the corners of his lips and he trails one of his hands up from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, prompting you to lean in closer to him. Locking your lips, you and John began to share a searing kiss. It was one of those that made your heartbeat start to speed up against the walls of your chest, one that you would never forget for as long as you shall live 

That’s the moment that John recalled when he snapped back into reality to see you standing in front of him, looking like the most gorgeous bride ever. His eyes sparkled with love and affection, his smile growing warmer right as the Officiant continued on with his speech. The music already faded out and it was all silent on the Western front – only the Officiant spoke, and the audience was also silent, even the babies. “— in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” The Officiant asked while his head was turned in John’s direction, who answered with a light nod of his head in confirmation.

“I do.” John responded to the Officiant, his eyes never once straying away from yours.

“And do you, Ms. (Y/N), take Mr. Jardani Jovonovich to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

The ring bearers then handed the proper ring to the bride and groom, which was then followed by you and John sliding either ring on each other’s ring finger. You both were smiling gleefully at each other while the trade was made between you. “In the power vested in me, I hereby declare you husband and wife.” The Officiant announced with joy radiating through his tone of voice as he took a small step back, allowing you and John to close the distance between the both of you. “You may now kiss the bride.” He said to John, who didn’t waste a second in making your marriage official.

That kiss, it’s like one that you could only ever dream of. It was one that would change either of your lives forever; not like how your first kiss did, no. This kiss was one that would change the course of your relationship for the rest of your lives, officially making the both of you legally married. He was your husband, and you were his wife. And now, you could live happily ever after.

[revasserium]

I can do this, I thought. Then: And even if I can't, I have to.

Karasuno request, lol

from David Levithan, How they Met and Other Stories

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

can, would, have

atsumu; 3,045 words; fluff, childhood friends to lovers, no "y/n", highschool to post-timeskip, kissing and banter, lapslock bc lazy

summary: there's no could have. not for him, anyway.

a/n: is this my hq!! revival phase? network @houseofsolisoccasum

there’s no such thing as could have — there’s only did, or didn’t.

can or couldn’t.

it’s something that he’s always said, though you’d never really thought about it. till now.

“you did it!”

“course we did,” atsumu drags a hand across his chin, feeling the sweat slick off his skin even as you press a cool, damp towel into his hand. he reaches out to pinch your cheek, smirking when you swat him away, pushing a bottle of pocari sweat into his chest.

“mm — for a second there, it looked like you were gonna drop a set — mmph…”

your words are cut off by a pair of large, warm palms squishing your cheeks together, forcing your face back up to meet dark, honeyed eyes. they’re narrowed as atsumu levels you with a frown.

“oi oi oi, don’t you dare doubt us now — this ain’t the u-19’s for nothin’!”

you make a valiant attempt at rolling your eyes, even as atsumu holds your face steady.

“right. so… everyone else here’s supposed to be just as good, no?” you grin cheekily up at him as he finally lets go of your face to wipe his palms on his jersey.

“alright, alright — that was a great series of scrimmages, but you all must be hungry! dinner time!” the coach hibarida says, clapping his hands, a wide, fatherly smile crinkling the edges of his eyes.

“don’t forget to stretch properly!” he calls as the crowd of teenage boys start to break off a few at a time, heading for the gymnasium doors.

“yeah, ‘tsumu — y’hear? you gotta stretch properly,” you parrot, grinning as atsumu whips around to glare at you, halfway through reaching down for his gym bag.

it is not the first winter break you’d spent with atsumu (and by extension, his twin osamu), but it might be your last for a few years, though neither of you knew it at the time. because youth, as everyone no longer considered youthful by an standard knows (painfully, immutably), is truly wasted on the young.

wasted because it is never treasured the way it ought to be. wasted, because time isn’t yet a concept that they’ve been caught victim to.

“you really think you’re invincible, don’t you?” you ask, one night, towards the end of training camp, when the air is still cold enough to make you tug your jacket around your shoulders.

atsumu hums, spinning a volleyball absently with one hand, a grimace digging its way between his brows as he looks at you.

“why’re you always askin’ me stupid questions?”

“how’s that a stupid question?”

“cause you already know the answer, duh.”

atsumu rolls his eyes, tossing the volleyball up and catching it before bumping it lightly on the top of your head.

“i’m asking you because i’m not sure about the answer. i… i know what you might say, but… i don’t know that you will. not… a hundred percent…” your words trail off as atsumu blinks down at you, looking nonplussed.

“ha? i mean — i don’t get half’a what you just said but — uh — i guess i do think i’m invincible. why? don’t you?” there’s a twang to the end of his words, like a tease or a test. you pause to cast your eyes up at the moon, round as white as a rime of rice —

“i think… that whatever you believe… you’re right.”

you smile, satisfied with your own answer, even as atsumu makes a strange, low-level groaning noise that sounds something like a car engine refusing to start. your smile lopes into a smirk as you turn to glance at him.

“eugh… you’re so weird.” atsuma shivers, tossing the volleyball up again. he twists away before you can see the inexplicable heat washing into his cheeks; he speeds up his pace, forcing you to jog to keep up with him as he makes his way back to the youth camp dorms.

“t-tsumu! wait!”

he only twists around to stick his tongue out at you before turning to dash off, cackling into the night. you chase him all the way to the entrance of the dorms, where he swivels around to catch you round the middle, the pair of you toppling into a patch of manicured lawn. you yelp as you realize that the grass is still damp from a recent bout of watering, but atsumu’s hold is firm and you can’t get free, no matter how hard you try.

so you allow yourself to go slack in his arms, laughing and laughing, your face pressing into his chest. his whole body shakes because he’s laughing too, but at a certain point, he quiets down just to watch you, to listen to you, to soak in the rich, generous sound of your laughter.

“c’mon, we’re gonna get in trouble!” you say, still laughing, your eyes bright beneath the darkened sky, cut with shiver shafts of moonlight.

“mm, didn’tcha know? trouble’s basically my middle name,” atsumu says, though he lets himself be pulled up, one hand clasped in both of yours. and your smile, when you look back up at him, is bright enough to put every single star to shame.

—

“it’s alright — you can say it,” atsumu says, a few months later, walking off the spring tournament court, karasuno’s cheers and shouts still fresh in all your ears. you bite your lips, shaking your head.

“i… i don’t know what you want me to say…” you admit, head drooping as osamu slams a hand into the locker room door and atsumu buries his fingers in his hair.

“say — say that you knew it! say that you told us so! y-you’re always sayin’ we goof off too much so —”

“but that’s not true,” you say, your voice steady, even as your heart thunders behind your ears, blood rushing into your head, your cheeks, the backs of your eyes, until your whole head is pounding and you have to steady yourself against one of the faded metal lockers.

“you asked… if i thought i was invincible,” atsumu says, his voice low — too low for the rest of the team to hear. faintly, you feel rather than see osamu shift by the door, his sweat-drenched hair still covering his eyes. but you know he’s listening.

“i — i did,” you admit.

atsumu sighs, “i… i guess i’m just not smart enough to doubt stuff like that.”

your eyes flash up, catching his with such a sharp look that he almost stumbles back. you purse your lips, curling your fingers into your palms hard enough to sting. there are bruises on your legs from all the late nights you’d stayed to help them practice, scars and scuffs on your arms from all the times a stray volleyball had flown out the court and found you instead.

“yeah, well —” you find your voice oddly steady as you press him back against the lockers with a firm hand, your eyes hard and certain —

“i’m smart enough not to.”

—

he does not win his first game with the jackals, but at least you’re not there to see. not there in person, at least. because when atsumu gets off the court to check his phone, he sees a missed call and another one incoming.

he sighs and picks it up.

“if you’re just callin’ to rub it all in —”

“you did good,” you say. and it stops him in his tracks. and then —

“well. not good enough.” his voice is quiet, is flat, is not quite like himself.

“so you’ll do better next time.”

“hn. could’ve done better this time.”

there’s a silence across the line that makes atsumu pause, makes him straighten up as he tugs open a bottle of sports drink and chugs half of it before wiping the back of his hand across his lips, feeling the sweat slick off his skin.

“there’s no such thing as could have,” you say, your voice even, your words solid and steady as the passage of time itself.

neither of you are children anymore. but you’re still young enough to act like it, sometimes.

atsumu grins, chuckling as you stares down at the sports drink in his hand, “yeah. guess there ain’t. just gotta do better next time.”

he can hear your smile in the way you breath out, “yep. simple as that.”

—

they do not win the olympics, but they get close enough.

“we’ll get the gold next time,” atsumu says, leaning back as hoshiumi loudly challenges bokuto to another drinking game and hinata hiccups, laughing with kuroo.

in the corner, osamu is grinning as he chats with some old high school friends, kita and aran each nursing a beer each, though osamu is still wearing his server’s apron.

all around you, people are drinking and laughing and eating.

you run a thumb around the lip of your drink, a bubbly cocktail of some sort that’s probably too alcoholic for your own good.

“i’m sure you will.”

“what? you don’t believe me?”

you laugh, shaking your head, “it doesn’t really matter what i believe, does it? you’ll get what you want, no matter what.”

your voice is soft, and atsumu pauses, his eyes flickering down to your lips. your entire body stills as you notice him noticing you. you fight the urge to purse your lips.

“ah…” atsumu turns to face you properly, setting his drink down with a dull clunk. you swallow, unable to help the way your heart flutters inside your chest. you thought you’d done a good job of keeping your feelings to yourself. you thought you’d gotten home safe.

because you’d grown up friends — hadn’t you? best friends. with him, and his twin and — your eyes skip over towards the corner where most of the inarizaki grads are sitting; you find osamu watching the pair of you with a knowing smile. the moment he catches your eyes, he cocks his head and has the audacity to wink before letting his gaze slip back towards aran and rintaro.

“oi. where’dyou think you’re lookin’, hm? ain’t we supposed to be celebrating my insane olympics debut?”

your attention snaps back to atsumu, now leaning down way too far, pressing into your personal space.

you purse your lips, “celebrating you? it’s the national team, right?”

atsumu rolls his eyes, leaning back with a soul-heavy sigh, “ah — you’re no fun.”

you bite back a laugh; he’d always been so good at making you laugh.

atsumu’s arm brushes against yours, and all of a sudden, you feel your stomach lurch, your entire body on high alert as he reaches over to sling his arm casually over your shoulders, pulling you close.

“so. you think we got it in the bag next time?”

you’re stiff for three seconds before you force yourself to relax. it’s not the first time he’s been this touchy, not even the first time he’s held you like this, looped into his side, tucking you into his body as if that’s just where you’d always belonged.

“in four years?” you ask, peering up at him as he reaches up to tug at the ends of your hair, “sure, if you think so.”

“if i think so? hm… you’ve always said weird stuff like that.”

“have i?”

he ruffles your hair, and you reach up to swat at his hand, but he catches your wrist, tracing up your skin till he slots his fingers through yours, and suddenly, he’s pressing you back into the bar, the hard edge digging into your lower back as he looms over you with that god-forsaken smirk — sweet and lazy as a summer moon.

“tell me,” he drawls, letting his vowels stretch out on his tongue like toffee, his voice dipping dangerously low, “if i were to ask you to kiss me… what’dyou think you’d say?”

“w-what do i think?”

“mhm,” he nods, leaning in further, till his nose is almost brushing yours.

you’re stomach-twistingly aware that you’re both standing in the middle of an izakaya, rented out by the japanese national team, filled to the brim with people who have know the both of you for far too long.

and still, all it takes is one smooth sweep of his dark, thick brows for your world to spin down to a single turning point — to him and you and the negative space caught between the pair of you, to the gravity of your lips and his, to your shared breaths twisting in the solid, stagnant air.

“i think… that you’re… not as stupid as you make yourself out to be,” you say, quietly, so that no one else can hear. but somehow, you wonder if everyone can hear you, because you can’t seem to hear anything else. not the ruckus of the karasuno alums, not the clink of chopsticks on flatware, not the dull thunks of glasses being put down and picked up and put back down again.

“see?” atsumu says, cocking his head, seemingly satisfied with your answer, though he makes no move to hide the fact that his eyes track down the length of your face to fix on your lips.

where they stay, and stay, and stay.

“i-if you were to ask me for a kiss… what do you think i’d say?” your words are breathless. eager. in a way that you’ve no power nor wish to take back.

atsumu’s grin stretches as he makes a mock contemplative noise.

“i think… that whatever i believe… i’m right.”

“a-and… what do you believe?”

atsumu’s lips are so close to yours you almost feel the weight of them against your skin; you let out a sharp exhale, your chest aching like an open wound.

“well… i believe…” atsumu traces a finger along the line of your jaw, holding your face still as he cocks his head to one side, watching you with those dark, hungry eyes of his —

“that you’re mine.”

you inhale, the sound sharp and short and wanting.

“and,” he adds, tugging you in till it’s really a miracle there’s any space left between the pair of you at all, “that you’ve always been mine.”

“then…” your lashes flutter; his thumb draws tiny circles against your chin, “i guess… you’d be right.”

faintly, you register that his lips taste like overpriced beer and ricecakes. faintly, you register that someone is clapping, that someone else is cheering, and then that someone else is telling the first two people to shut the fuck up and mind their own business.

you don’t care — because there, atsumu is kissing you. and you’re kissing him back. and of all the things you’ve thought and believe, you don’t know if you’d ever thought this would come to pass, if you’d ever believed hard enough that he might even feel the slightest bit the same way that you do. that you’d always done.

but it doesn’t matter, because clearly, he’d believed enough for the both of you.

when he pulls away, it’s with a satisfied smirk, your lips slick with spit, your breath coming in short, staccato pants.

“ah — tsumu —”

“mm… always wondered what my name’d sound like comin’ out your mouth like that…” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair absently from your cheek, before trailing his finger down your face to tip your head back up towards his again.

“h-have you?”

“mhm,” he nods, humming as he traps you against him with his free arm looping around your middle, “sure have.”

“that’s — why — why didn’t you — earlier —” words tumble from your mouth, and atsumu seems content to catch them between his lips as they fall. he grins at your relative incoherence, pulling back with a wicked grin.

“cause… i was a stupid, volleyball-obsessed kid. still kinda am sometimes…” atsumu cocks his head to one side, slow and steady, his eyes dark, half-hooded as he blinks down at you, “but i’d like to think i’ve gotten… a lil bit smarter. though you were always smart ‘nough for the both of us, hm?”

he taps your nose affectionately, and suddenly, it’s as if someone’s turned the volume back on in the izakaya, and all the sound comes flooding back in. you bury your face in his chest, curling your fingers into the front of atsumu’s loose-fitting shirt.

“don’t really feel smart right now,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut as your cheeks begin to burn.

atsumu tuts, running his fingers through your hair, “ah… don’t go thinkin’ bout stuff that could’ve been — i’ve told you before, right? there ain’t no could have. only did and didn’t —”

“can and couldn’t —” you finish for him, lifting your head back up to meet his soft, certain gaze.

“though… i think i’ve learned enough to add one more to that list…” atsumu runs a thumb along your bottom lip, his dark eyes going even darker as his pupils dilate at the parting of your mouth.

“bet i can guess,” you say, feeling the spark of that familiar, youthful recklessness bubbling up inside you.

“oh yeah?”

“sure — will and…” you lean in, reaching up to tangle your fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck. your revel in the way he gasps.

“kiss me,” you say, batting your lashes, “won’t you?”

atsumu hisses as you tug on the ends of his hair; when he twists to look back down at you, all the light’s gone from his eyes. all you see there is a deep, dark, unrelenting hunger.

“i sure as well will.”

[lemoncrushh]

What Happens In Vegas...

Summary: Your Vegas trip to celebrate your friend's birthday turns into a night you hadn't expected when you meet Harry Styles in the casino.

Warnings: Fingering, hand kink, gambling (well, it is Vegas). 18+ ONLY!

Word Count: 3533

A/N: One shot originally posted in 2017. Inspired by Harry's performance at the iHeart Festival in Las Vegas. Edited to be a reader fic. This is for the gals with the obsession with his hands. Also, rereading this, I realized you aren't that great of a friend, but hopefully you can look past that lol.

"Thank you," he said to the crowd. "I am a narcissist, so that will help my ego, thank you very much."

"Oh God," you rolled your eyes. "Like he needs any help boosting his ego."

You felt Simone poke you in the side, her apparent glare of disapproval burning a hole into your profile. You chuckled as you lowered your head. She'd drug you to this iHeart Radio concert in Vegas. You hadn't really wanted to go when she announced she had tickets, but because it was part of her birthday trip, you'd agreed to attend.

Harry Styles. Give me a break, you groaned. The kid had come out looking like a cross between a court jester and a Tim Burton character in his harlequin suit and nearly see-through shirt with a big bow at the neck, and you were supposed to swoon? Apparently so, you thought to yourself when you heard the crowd made up of mostly females fill the room with screams louder than any heavy metal audience you'd ever been a part of. And you supposed the bow was supposed to signify his desire to be a present you were to unwrap?

You giggled during his set as he pranced across stage trying to be a rockstar. You had to hand it to him. He definitely had the stage presence and charisma, and despite the fact that you'd never been a fan of boy bands, you could see why he had so many fans. Plus, you had to admit even if only to yourself, he had an incredibly handsome face. No doubt he knew it though.

Stepping further out to the catwalk, Harry gave the audience what they came for, even if they hadn't initially come to see him in particular. You couldn't help it though. Watching him dance around in that suit had you laughing, especially when he'd bop his head from side to side as he sang about "having your baby" and "it's none of your business."

By the time his set was over and he'd walked off stage, you knew Simone was waiting to let you have it. You gave her a smirk as she shook her head at you and rolled her eyes.

"I don't wanna hear it," she said.

"What? I didn't say anything!" you laughed.

"No, but you're thinking it."

"What?" you held up your hands. "It was actually not bad. I kinda liked it."

"You thought it was funny."

"Yeah," you laughed harder. "It was. But that last song's gonna be stuck in my head for a while, so you should be happy about that."

"Ugh," Simone groaned.

You stayed for a few more acts that you didn't think were much better before finally calling it a night and heading back to your hotel.

"You're going to bed?" you asked when you saw Simone pull her bag of toiletries from her suitcase and walk to the bathroom.

"Yeah...why?"

"This is Vegas!" you exclaimed. "The city that never sleeps."

"I thought that was New York."

"Whatever. Let's go hit the tables."

Simone slumped her shoulders. "I'm kinda beat."

You stuck out your bottom lip in an attempt to sway her with a pout. "But your birthday's not over."

With a sigh, Simone dropped her items on the bed and grabbed her purse.

"C'mon," she grinned. "Just an hour or two."

"Yay!" you squealed as you opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Luck was on your side for the first twenty minutes or so, and you were up a good three hundred when you suggested you make your way to the higher dollar tables.

"Are you kidding?" exclaimed Simone. "You'll lose it all on one bet!"

"It's called gambling," you snorted.

Despite her argument, Simone followed you to one of the exclusive rooms. You saw the pit boss eye you as you sat down at the table, but he didn't say anything when you laid down your chips. Hesitantly, Simone did the same and you caught her swallow hard when the dealer placed a card in front of her and then one in front of you, followed by two more cards facing up. You grinned when yours was an ace, and the dealer slid the cards into the finder. Flipping up the bottom card, he revealed a Jack.

"Woohoo!" you cheered.

"Damn, you are on a streak," Simone commented as she decided to stay on a six. Unfortunately, the dealer didn't bust and she lost. "Crap. I'm gonna sit the next one out. Meet you at the bar?"

You were barely listening. Something - or someone - had caught your eye as he walked across the room.

"I'll be damned," you muttered.

"Huh?"

"Look who just walked in," you nodded toward your right. "Mr. Ego himself."

"Holy shit!" Simone breathed. "Ooh he looks good, too. He changed out of his suit."

You turned your head slightly to notice that he indeed was wearing a basic white t-shirt and black jeans.

"Well of course," you mocked. "Even a narcissist like himself can't keep up the facade all night."

"Stop calling him that," Simone argued. "You know he was just being cheeky, and he doesn't have a big ego."

"Please," you rolled your eyes. "His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow."

"All bets up," you heard the dealer say.

"Oh, I'm done," Simone shook her head while you placed another healthy bet.

The dealer slid the cards in front of you. Your top card was a three. Not good. you took a peek at your bottom card. A queen. Shit. Fortunately the dealer had a four, so he was likely to bust. you went with the odds and stayed. Turning over his bottom card, the dealer revealed a ten. Taking another card, he turned over a king. Yes!

"Oh my God woman, you have some luck!"

You beamed at Simone just as you heard another voice behind you.

"Ah, wonderful," he clapped. "Looks like I picked the lucky table."

"Hello."

It was Simone who actually spoke. For the first time ever, it seemed you were tongue-tied.

"Hi," Harry greeted. You caught a glimpse of his dimpled grinned before his fingers grazed your back and he took the seat next to you.

Clearing your throat, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Harry placed a stack of chips on the table. But it wasn't the obvious amount of money he was willing to chuck on a single bet that caught your attention the most. It was his hand and the lovely rings that adorned it.

You'd always had a thing for nice hands on a man. And Harry definitely had them. Long, slender fingers, great for playing piano, guitar and...other things.

The cards were dealt, and you peeked at your bottom card. You already had seventeen and the dealer had a five showing. You were definitely going to stay. You watched Harry's hand as he tapped lightly on the table, seeming to contemplate his next move. Suddenly, he leaned towards you and whispered.

"What should I do?"

You raised a brow. "Excuse me?" The kid didn't know how to play?

"Well, I...I know the rules of the game. It's just...you seem to have the luck on your side, so I wanna make sure I make the right move."

"Oh," you chuckled. You looked at the dealer's card and pointed. "He's only got a five. Odds are, he's gonna bust."

"And why's that?"

"Because...the dealer has to get to at least seventeen. You have to assume he has a ten underneath. So that's only fifteen. The next card has a high chance of being a ten or a face card. That would make him bust. So...you have a three. If the card you're not showing is anything over an eight, you're gonna want to stay."

"What if it's an eight?"

You grinned. "Well then, that's eleven. You're gonna want to double down."

With a stoic expression, Harry grabbed a stack of chips the same height as the first and placed them next to it. Then he nodded and gestured at the dealer who laid another card down for him. A queen. When the dealer revealed his own cards, your prediction had been right and he busted. Harry turned to you with a Cheshire cat smile.

"Thanks, love," he said.

You couldn't help but smile back. "Anytime."

You played several rounds, both of you winning most of them except when the dealer got an automatic blackjack. You heard Simone yawn behind you, and you felt a tinge of guilt that you'd almost forgotten about her.

"Are you ready to go?" you asked her.

"Yeah, but you can stay."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." Then she leaned to whisper in your ear. "I told you he's not a bad guy."

You pursed your lips. "I didn't say he was."

"Yeah...you kinda did."

"Okay, okay," you nudged her. "We'll talk about it later."

You said a quick goodnight, and she walked away just as Harry got another blackjack. He hooted, making the dealer chuckle.

"I reckon you're good luck," Harry beamed at you.

You shrugged, nonchalantly. "I have my moments."

You watched as Harry inspected his next facedown card, completely mesmerized by his hands. You suddenly felt flushed as you wondered what they would feel like on you. You blinked hard and shook your head. What the hell was wrong with you?

"I really like that ring," you finally said aloud.

"Which one?"

"That rose-shaped one. Very pretty."

"Thanks," he looked at the ring and back up at you. "It's one of my favorites."

A handful of games later, you realized you must be up at least a grand. Unfortunately, luck only lasted so long, and you started to lose, busting a couple times and then staying when the dealer got a twenty.

"I think it's time to cash in," you admitted. "While I'm still ahead."

"Oh, don't go," said Harry. "You're my good luck charm."

You laughed. "I'm sure that's not true. You're doing great on your own."

"Stay. Please."

You sucked in your lips as you looked at his face. Goodness, he was cute. Perhaps you had been a little harsh, dismissing him merely because of who he was...or rather, who you suspected him to be. It wasn't fair.

"Okay, but I'm not playing anymore."

"Then we'll play something else," Harry suggested. "Craps? Roulette?"

"I'm not good at either of those," you frowned.

"Roulette's easy. It's just a guessing game. C'mon."

Taking your chips, you followed Harry to the roulette table where a larger crowd was gathered.

"Pick a number," he said.

"That easy, huh?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"There's probably more to it than that, but I have no idea," you commented.

"Probably. But we're just playing for fun."

You watched the wheel spin and the little ball stop in the number twenty-two. A woman squealed and the dealer paid her her winnings.

"Playing for fun is for Monopoly money," you said. "This is real money."

Harry chuckled. "So was blackjack."

"Yeah, but I know how to play that."

"Pick a number, love," he said again. "Or a color if you'd rather."

You looked at the board and considered your options. Finally, you chose the number thirty-five. You watched Harry's fingers as he placed a stack of chips on the number itself, more on the column, and even more on black. You weren't sure how much money that was, but you weren't about to ask. Your stomach was in knots as you watched the wheel spin. Finally, the ball stopped.

"Number eleven!" the dealer shouted. Your heart sank, but you caught Harry smiling.

"What happened?" you asked.

"You won," he replied. "Twice."

"Huh? How'd I do that? He called eleven."

"Eleven is black and it's in the same column as thirty-five. That's where I put the bets."

"Oh," you mouthed.

Harry rubbed his hand up your back. "Told you, you're my good luck charm. Now pick another number."

"I can't keep betting with your money!"

"Alright. Then we'll use yours," he reached for your hand.

"Hey!"

Harry laughed harder, grabbing only a few of your chips. "C'mon, pick something."

"Fine, but I'm just choosing black."

"Black it is," Harry nodded, setting your chips down. Then he took more of his own and placed them between several different numbers in different places. you weren't sure what he was doing, you were lost. Finally, he turned to you.

"Have an idea," he said.

Sliding the rose ring off his finger, he kissed it, then placed it on top of your chips on the black.

"What's that for?" you inquired.

"That's yours if you win."

All you could do was stare at him. The dealer spun the wheel, you could hear the ball bouncing and the other players cheering. But you just stood there staring at Harry Styles. This guy you'd thought was a complete egotistical douchebag until about thirty minutes ago.

"Number seventeen!" the dealer called.

You cringed, trying to read the expression on Harry's face. But he merely stared back at you.

"Is seventeen black?" you asked him.

He threw his head back and let out a loud guffaw. "Yes, it is."

Your eyes grew wide and you pushed his chest with your hands. "What the fuck, no way!"

Harry continued to laugh as he covered your hands with his that clung to his t-shirt. Your eyes fell down to look at them and it was then that you noticed his shirt was almost sheer, just like the one he'd worn on stage, minus the pineapple shapes. You could see several splashes of ink displayed on his chest, and for a second you wished he would let you examine them all in private.

Your chest rose and fell from excitement and exhilaration, and you chuckled to yourself. Letting go of you, Harry collected the winnings and his ring.

"Here you are," he said, handing it to you.

"No," you shook your head. "No, I can't take that."

"Why not? I said it was yours if you won."

"This is too..." you felt the ring in your hand momentarily. "No, I can't accept it."

Twisting his mouth in confusion, Harry watched you as you slid the ring back on his gorgeous finger.

"That's where it belongs," you whispered.

"Sorry?"

"On your hand," you let out a sigh. "You have really beautiful hands."

You heard him giggle slightly as you continued to stare at them, taking them both in your own hands as though you were inspecting them. You were probably creeping him out, but you were lost in your own thoughts.

"Um...here's your...your money," he swallowed, releasing his hand from yours and reaching for your chips.

"Oh, thanks. I should..."

"No, thank you," his lips curled up. "I really do think you had a lucky streak tonight."

You grinned at him, your tongue darting out of the corner of your mouth. "Not completely lucky."

Harry's smile grew as he raised a brow at your cheeky comment.

"See ya, Harry," you winked and turned around. "I had fun."

"Wait, where are you going?" you felt his hand on your arm.

"To my room," you pointed up at the ceiling.

"Do you have to?"

You paused and glared at him. This guy was very hard to read. You could tell he'd been flirting with you, but it also could've been harmless, and he was just being kind. Now he didn't want you to go? You bit your lip and stepped closer to him.

"I guess not," you nearly whispered. "But I think I might be done with gambling for the night."

"No worries," he said low, his eyes looking down into yours. "We could go somewhere else."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"My room."

You should have known he'd have one of the biggest rooms in the hotel. It took up nearly the entire side of one floor, front to back. You stared out the windows at the city lights, the amazing view taking your breath away and making you feel alive at the same time.

"Here you are," you heard Harry say behind you.

You turned to see two glasses in his hands. Taking one from him, you murmured a thank you and took a sip of the best tequila you'd ever had in your life. You threw your head back with a sigh as you heard him hum in agreement.

"So you stay in rooms like this...all by yourself?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Must get lonely."

"Sometimes."

Taking another sip, you strolled around the outer perimeter of the room, stopping at the other corner window where you could see a view of the mountains.

"I love Vegas," you commented. "I used to want to move here. It's like it's own little word, separate fr-"

Suddenly, your glass left your hand and Harry set it on a nearby table. Then he grabbed you and kissed you, hard, his tongue darting deep into your mouth.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded as his lips traveled down your neck.

"What?" you asked, breathless.

"What you want me to do to you. I'll do whatever you like."

"Oh..." you said with a moan. "Your hands. I want your hands on me."

"Okay. Where do you like to be touched?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. I just...I want those gorgeous hands and fingers on me."

Harry's eyes met yours, and he nodded his understanding. Reaching behind you, he found the zipper of your dress. It fell to the floor instantly, pooling at your feet. Though there was a cool temperature in the room, you suddenly felt hot all over as Harry's gaze roamed your body. Then giving you his hand, you stepped out of your dress and kicked off your heels. He pulled you closer to him until his hands cupped your naked breasts. You shut your eyes at the contact, the sensation already more than you could bear.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his thumbs grazing over your nipples causing goosebumps to rise over your flesh.

You covered his hands with yours, slowly guiding one of them down to your panty line.

"Mmm," he sounded as his fingers slid down and met wetness.

You heard his breaths quicken with yours, and he swallowed hard. His fingertip touched the outer rim of your center, teasing you in tiny circles. You bucked your hips to allow him access, but he was insistent on keeping with his own rhythm.

"Please," you begged softly.

"Not yet, love," he cooed.

Releasing his hand, he pushed your panties down and off. Then he kissed you again before guiding you to the plush sofa. He sat down and pulled you on top of him so that you straddled him, your hands on his shoulders. His eyes dark and lids heavy, his hands caressed you softly before kneading your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples.

You moaned low, wishing he would put his mouth on them, but you could tell he was taking you at your word, giving you exactly what you'd asked for. You looked down at his hands as one slowly slid down your stomach, and his thumb met your already swollen bud.

"Oh God," you panted, lifting yourself on your knees so he had better access.

Harry then brought his hand to his mouth where you watched him lick two fingers before returning them to your clit. He stroked you slowly, making your knees buckle until he finally, ever so gently, inserted one finger, then a second.

You threw your head back, your own hands clawing at the neck of his t-shirt as you rode his fingers. You could feel the cold chill of his rings against your skin and you let out another cry of pleasure.

"Tell me how it feels," you heard him say as he picked up speed.

"So good," you breathed, urging his other hand up your breast to your neck. "Feels so good."

Harry brought his fingers to your mouth, where you licked the tips seductively before sucking.

"Mmhmm," he agreed. "You look so good, too."

"I want you," you sounded, looking at his face, his shirt in your fist.

Harry chuckled. "I'm right here."

"I want you inside me," you clarified.

"I am inside you," he smirked. Cocky asshole.

"No," you pouted, sliding your hand down his chest to the bulge in his jeans.

"You said you wanted my hands." Harry raised a brow smugly, his fingers nearly finding just the right spot. You leaned towards him, your head falling in the crook of his neck.

"Please."

"I'm gonna watch you come like this," he said. "Then we'll fuck, yeah?"

You moaned against his skin, your hips bucking as you felt yourself reach your peak.

"Say my name when you come," he growled.

You looked into his eyes and smiled. "So you are a narcissist. I knew it."

"You bet I am."

You rolled your eyes, but not at him. The truth was, there was no way you couldn't have said his name. He made you come harder than anyone ever had. Twice.

Harry Styles and his fucking ego.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

adorable dividers always by @firefly-graphics

[igotyupls]

Big Score

WC: 1100? Anyway, took this from my previously written wattpad book, took that down, cause Jesus looking back my writing was horrendous, so is this, just a little proofreading but it still is shit, only posting this cause I feel bad lmao, I just need like a few hundred words to finish the two actual stories I was going to post but I can’t move my right arm without feeling like my sides on fire so anyway, at the time of writing this like in 2021, I replayed gta5 for the nth time so this is based off of that just a shittier, lamer, bs rendition lol

"Ready?" Y/N asked his partner Trevor as they sat in the getaway-car waiting for the right time to rob the bank.

"Oh fuck yeah I am" Trevor replied to Y/N in his equally "excited" voice.

"Our big score huh” Y/N emphasized , putting on his mask while T does the same, and jumping out and making their way into the bank,

Opening the door, and rubbing inside inside as T took down the security guard hitting him in the back of the head. While Y/N jumped over the counter,

"EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU GET BACK FROM THE COUNTER AND ON YOUR KNEES" He yelled, waving his M762 at the few workers In front of him.

Luckily , they listened scared shitless for their lives as Y/N took their phones in tandem with T, who’s taking the phones from the customers, once done,

"Bank manager, Get the hell up!" Y/N barked, and after a few seconds a man in his late 50's got to his feet.

"Not you!" Y/N said shoving the man back on the floor, and pointing towards a woman, "Her" he says, staring dead straight at the actual bank manager.

"EVERYONE GO TO THE FUCKING FRONT!" Y/N yells, making the rest of the workers go around to join the customers, quivering on the marble floor,

While he drags the manager unceremoniously towards the vault, as Trevor deals with the rest, keeping an eye on them

"When is the time lock going to be released ?" Y/N asks her, even though he knows when,

"At around 9 a clock" the manager blurt out shuttering through her sentence.

"Don't lie to me, it's gonna be released at 08:30, I fucking know that shit!" He says shaking her with one hand as he grits his teeth, eyes steely behind his mask, before gruffly letting out a breath

"Listen, I won't hurt you, but that dude over there ," Y/N says as calmly as he can while pointing at Trevor, who's taunting the others with his gun, like a mad man if not a pure lunatic,

"I can't say the same thing for him, so don't get yourself killed for somebody else's cash" He says patronizingly shaking her shoulder, while watching the clock, only 15 seconds left on it, "Alright, open it" He tells her once the clock reaches 08:30.

She shakes, both from the fear and the adrenaline raving inside her body but she gets it open and then gets dragged inside with Y/N while he starts shoving cash in his bag,

Once the bag's filled to the brim, Y/N leads the manager back to the front where everyone else is,

That's when he sees T talking to a female customer and harassing her, scoffing in frustration, Y/N pulls him back,

"You're supposed to be looting the drawers, you horny fuck!" He says bewildered to say the least,

Making Trevor wave his hand dismissively, blabbering a lame excuse "I already did, fucking hell, I'm just having a little fun." Smirking a little, "I'm thinking I might take her with us-" he says, only to get shutdown,

"That's not happening, T" Y/N says pretty straightforward..

But of course; Trevor doesn't get simplicity, "This is the big score and I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I want" he says before pushing Y/N, almost making him drop his loaded bag, while he saunters to the woman, "Come here girly"

*THUNK* he falls short however as Y/N, smacks him with the back of his M7 knocking him into oblivion, followed by a thud as the heavy bag of loot falls from Trevor's shoulder,

"You fucking idiot, T" Y/N mutters, kicking Trevor's unconscious body, before checking his watch, no time to waste but he needs that second loot bag,

"Ay, you" He calls back pointing to a brunette woman, kneeling in the corner with the rest of the customers, "What's your name?"

"Lisa" The said brunette says back, astonishingly less afraid than the rest,

Y/N nods, "Okay Lisa. You are going to pick up my friend's bag and come with me" He says kicking the bag, making it skid to Lisa,

"no, she won't " some wannabe macho-man suddenly yells as he gets to his feet and stands in front of Lisa, angering the already fiery rage in Y/N,

"don't be a hero today, you'll get killed" He says deathly calm, hand already on his trigger, he didn’t come in thinking he’d kill, but now he doesn’t care,

But people do say, women are smarter than men, as Lisa inches closer,

“I'll come, just-, don't hurt the others " she says shakily, but it seems fake as she brushes past the so called blubbering hero and hurls up T's bag.

Y/N pulls her in front of him, using her as a human shield,

"Dont any of you dare follow us, otherwise you'll also be on the ground like him" Y/N says pointing towards T, while he kicks him again for good measure,

Getting out of the bank while making sure Lisa was in front of him, he rushed to the getaway car, shoving her quickly in the passenger side and tossing the loots in the back, he runs to the driver's side, driving away as quickly as he possibly can.

Speeding out of the city fast, at a constant speed and the constant feel of the silence around him and the dewy brown eyes on him,

Y/N finally stops the car inside one of the tunnel entrances under a random bridge, “Yes?" He says quirking one eyebrow, but of course she doesn’t answer so he takes off his mask, throwing it carelessly wherever,

"T had it coming, okay?" He says shrugging while faux jutting his bottom lip,

"Yeah, I guess so, but I didn't think you would knock him out , like actually, Y/n" she finally says, with a chuckle, and a shake of her head,

“Meh” is all Y/N says shrugging, seeming almost childish and not the big; bad robber from just minutes ago,

They stare at each other for a few more seconds before breaking into smiles, "we get extra money this time huh?" she speaks up again,

Y/N nods with a cheeky smile, pulling her into his chest and pecking her temple, “Mhm” he answers lazily while hugging her, as police cars zoom past the tunnel entrance sirens blaring,

But Lisa just hugs his arm, not even flinching, “I love you" is all she says snuggling closer

a/n: yikes man, what was middle schooler me thinking, this is deffo getting removed once I start posting “sophisticated” one shots lmao🥲

[nouearth]

life of a writer blog on tumblr:

accounts, who don't even follow you, rushing you to hurry up with their requests through tumblr messages. they've never went through your rules and guidelines, so they send their request through there!

what makes me annoyed is when these users pretty much detail their request from scene to scene, word to word. at this point, why not write it yourself? i kid you not, i've gotten multiple 400-500 word requests, and they would later demand me to make it "extra detailed, extra long, extra smutty, etc."

this began at the start of my account, so i was pretty excited to take on any requests, but the blog grew pretty quick, and my inbox already had 20+ requests, lol. they'd leave me on read after asking them questions, and would only check up on their requests after a few months. and still, they haven't followed me, or have shown any support for my works. it's a petty problem, sure, but 🤷 i'm not going out my way to be writing a 10k fic per request if you haven't shown me any love!

y'all, i do this for free. i do this as a hobby. this is supposed to be fun, and i get a lot of asks as well (99% i just delete them because why should i give them the spotlight) to hurry up with requests. i have a life. i just graduated. i should be focusing paying my student loans. i should be focusing on family and friends. i'm not writing 24/7.

i have so many responsibilities in my life that i prioritize over writing for a few hundred likes on tumblr. it's becoming more scarce to have users leave feedback on stories on here. i don't even know if the anons i've written a fic for even read them because they rarely leave any messages that they did (to those that did, you know who you are, ily).

it's draining most of the times. the community on here feels so small, yet so distant at the same time.

[mikavlcs]

Reverie

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x cryomancer!reader

Summary: In the midst of investigating, a figure from your past returns, sending you into a panic. Wednesday is there to help pick up the pieces (and maybe get some revenge too).

Warnings: panic attack, implied abuse and violence, blood, reader is a Simp, it gets a bit morbid near the end lol, abrupt ending

Word count: 5.5k (sigh)

Notes: this fic made me realize just how much i struggle with character descriptions... but anyways this is a long request for literally the nicest anon ever, whoever you are i hope you enjoy this! 

Masterlist | Part 2

Silence was something that you cherished.

Throughout the years, the numerous group homes, revolving door of foster parents, and whirlwind of schools you attended instilled a yearning for calm and quiet. A need for peace to soothe your daily anxieties.

Loud noises were bothersome, they reminded you of things better left forgotten which is why you put forth your best effort to avoid them wherever you ended up.

Nevermore Academy was no different.

Though it was a school for outcasts, it was still a school. A place that housed hundreds of rowdy, unruly teenagers for the better part of the year. And teenage outcasts were still teenagers.

You learned quickly to avoid the quad at all times of day except after curfew, the only time when it was completely empty save for some roaming teachers. 

Lunches were spent in empty classrooms instead of the cafeteria and free time was spent exploring the campus for a place to claim as your own, like you have in every place you inhabited over the years.

But luck, it seemed, was not on your side because not a single place you found fit your needs.

Sure, there were quieter places like the library or the dorms (depending on the hour), but it was rare that found a place that offered actual meaningful silence.

Surprisingly, the solution to your problem came the moment you looked beyond the cramped campus of the school, and that solution was the forest.

The vast woodland that separated Nevermore and Jericho was thick, comprised of thousands of trees, and filled with life of all kinds—tall, vibrant green trees, a myriad of bird species, scampering squirrels, and even foxes during parts of the year.  

Unfortunately, not all of the life that resided there was welcome. You heard whispers of something in the forest killing unsuspecting hikers and truckers. The mayor said it was bears, but you knew better.

Knowledge of the danger that lurked amongst the trees only made the woods that much more enticing to you. You trusted your ability to keep yourself safe with your powers. A wall of ice was a simple thing for you to create, but not for someone (or something) else to break.

The forest became your safe haven. Because of the murders, both students and Jericho residents alike tended to keep their distance, which made your solitude nearly guaranteed.

The chirping of birds in the distance and whistling of the trees in the wind made for a beautiful ambiance to read in. And it remained unequivocally yours for the first part of the semester.

Then a new student arrived mid-semester.

You never went out of your way to look for her, knowing you would hate that kind of attention yourself, but you still managed to see glimpses. Truthfully, she was hard to miss.

A girl dressed head to toe in black, twin braids framed a permanently impassive face, dead eyes set on the path in front of her. With her came a sense of foreboding, like storm clouds on the horizon. You would’ve sworn she was also a cryomancer with the way she seemed to chill the atmosphere around her.

Students parted like the Red Sea when she walked through the halls, determined to avoid her wrath. Given the few rumors you heard in passing across the school, you supposed you couldn’t blame them.

But those glimpses were few and far between, mere moments when your eyes caught a flash of monochrome, then she was gone.

She shared a handful of classes with you, but she was always seated across the room from you, just out of your sightline. By the time class ended and you got your things together to leave, she was on her way to her next class.

The first time you truly saw her was in passing.

You were at your spot in the woods, resting your back against the broad trunk of a tree as you read when the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention. Curious, you glanced up toward the sound and sure enough, there she was a few meters away heading in your direction.

She paused when your eyes met but remained silent. The only indication of surprise was the way her eyes narrowed, brows lowering ever so slightly.

“It’s dangerous to be out here alone, you know,” she said. Her voice was cold as a winter breeze. You liked it, it suited her.

“I could say the same to you,” you shrugged, turning your attention back to your book. You kept your focus on your story, eyes dutifully scanning the sentences, but in your peripherals, you could see her still standing there.

Another moment passed before she resumed walking, heading off in the direction she had been going before and you couldn’t help the way your eyes lifted to the retreating figure, following her until she was completely out of sight.

A curious encounter, but not one you ended up giving much thought to.

Then she showed up again.

Only the very next day did she appear once more, the circumstances exactly the same as before. You read, she walked. Except this time she didn’t pause, just kept marching past you.

Same with the next day. And the next. And the next. You were almost convinced that you two had a pseudo routine when, with no warning, it changed.

One rather humid afternoon, you heard her footsteps and didn’t bother looking up, knowing she would just continue on her way. But today she didn’t. Today, her steps faltered as she went by you, and above your book, you saw her pivot.

Your eyes were drawn up by the unfamiliar movement. Brows furrowed, you watched as she settled against a tree opposite of you and rummaged around in her bag, pulling a textbook and paper out.

From where you were, you couldn’t see what the paper was, but the book you immediately recognized. It was a textbook for Botany—one of the few classes you shared with her. The paper must’ve been the homework that you finished in class.

You were almost tempted to offer your help, but you knew she had no need for it.

So you turned your attention back to your book, reading a bit slower with the distraction of the girl across from you.

The worksheet, unsurprisingly, took Wednesday all of ten minutes to complete, but she stayed there with you for the better part of the afternoon, pulling out a book after she finished the homework.

Not a word was spoken between either of you, not even an exchange of names. Just you, her, and the blissful, silent serenity of the forest around you.

She left at sundown, packing her things and walking away without sparing a glance your way. You left soon after, a smile pulling at your lips.

When she returned the next day, that same smile appeared. Even when she didn’t stop to sit.

Your pseudo routine had shifted.

Some days she left to venture into the forest, some days she stayed with you. And though you were content to just sit with her when she allowed it, you couldn’t help but wonder where she went off to on the days she chose to keep walking.

Your answer ended up coming from Enid. The girl had asked to sit next to you in Vampire Anatomy class and you didn’t have the heart to say no.

Through the blog posts that Enid insisted you read, you learned that her name was Wednesday Addams, and she was trying to find the “monster” that lurked in Jericho’s forest.

Your existing interest was piqued after that. The urge to tag along with her pulled at you every time you watched her disappear into the forest, but you tried to ignore it. 

Though true crime had always been a passing interest, it wasn’t something you knew quite enough about to be of any actual use to Wednesday.

Still, you couldn’t help but try.

When you asked to join Wednesday in her investigation, you expected a cold and firm no. Instead, she neither accepted nor declined your offer. Simply looked at you, normally dull eyes shining chaotic as lightning, then walked off into the forest, leaving you scrambling to catch up.

Thus began your actual new routine. You’d head to the forest after class, read until Wednesday arrived, and wait until she informed you of her afternoon plans.

If she sat against the tree that you’d begun to call hers, then the afternoon hours would be spent together in blissful silence. But if she didn’t, she would walk past you, only pausing briefly to spare you a glance, extending a silent invitation that you always accepted.

Afternoons that weren’t spent in the serenity of the forest were spent acquiring evidence, gathering information, and sussing out any potential suspects.

Weeks of slow, but steady progress were made (mostly by Wednesday) and you enjoyed every second of it.

She still didn’t offer up much information about herself—her likes and interests (aside from general morbidity) were never so much as alluded to during your time investigating, but you liked that. 

In your mind, she was like a puzzle that not many had the patience to put together. But you enjoyed the intrigue, savored the challenge.

You kept much of your own history to yourself as well. If asked you would say that you did it in a bid to make yourself seem more mysterious, but really you just didn’t like talking about it.

The past was something you desperately just wanted to forget and Wednesday excelled at making you do just that, even if she didn’t know it.

Before you knew it, you found yourself falling for her in a way you never had before. But who could blame you, really?

A short, but statuesque figure with eyes like black ice and a constellation of freckles scattered across her cheeks that put the stars to shame. How anyone couldn’t be entranced at first glance was beyond you.

Your closeness with Wednesday, even if only for professional purposes on her end, served to further the distance between you and your classmates but you didn’t particularly care. What they feared, you admired and while you could understand their fear, you couldn’t fathom ever being afraid of Wednesday. Even at her most grotesque, she was enchanting.

Stupid as it may be, you’d follow her anywhere. You knew that, once you exhausted your welcome, she would likely discard you, but until then you’d just sit back and enjoy the ride with her.

This sentiment led you to Outreach Day.

To put it simply, Outreach Day was a goddamn mess.

Part of your day was spent in a pilgrim-themed dystopian hellscape trying to find information on Joseph Crackstone, another deep in the forest behind Jericho, searching the dilapidated remains of a meeting house from centuries ago.

Naturally, this culminated in the two of you getting chased by the very monster you were trying to investigate, which certainly wasn’t part of your plans for the day when you woke up, but with Wednesday you never really knew what you were going to get.

Fortunately, your near-death experience wasn’t for naught because you had learned one incredibly important fact.

The monster, whatever it was, was human. It was someone that either lived in Jericho or attended Nevermore Academy with you and Wednesday. Likely, it was someone they had already interacted with, knowingly or not.

That thought haunted you the entire long walk back into Jericho. So much so that Wednesday had to tell you to calm down because you were freezing the rain around you into snow and leaving icy footprints wherever you walked.

By the time you stepped back into the town, you were ready to go to your dorm and call it a night. Thankfully, the day was almost over. The only thing standing between you and your bed was the stupid statue unveiling everyone was forced to attend.

You were walking to the town square when it happened.

Thoughts about the monster’s identity were just starting to abate, boredom taking its place as you entered Jericho proper. Wednesday was beside you, matching your strides perfectly while she talked with Thing about something you couldn’t quite hear.

Even in the middle of the day, the town wasn’t bustling (though when was it ever?). A few residents peppered the streets, going about their day quietly while you and Wednesday passed them.

You idly scanned the town goers, eyes snagging on a woman on the opposite end of the road who looked oddly familiar.

The woman had her head turned, appearing to be on the phone with someone. You watched her carefully, slowing your pace slightly, and when she finally turned her head, it instantly clicked.

Walking down that street was your former foster parent, Mary.

You could remember the day you met her like it was yesterday.

It had been years since you’d been adopted out and swiftly swept back into the system once your last family found out that you were an outcast. You’d been told that someone was finally interested in you again and you were overjoyed to meet them.

Mary was a tall woman with a kind smile and the name of a catholic saint. You weren’t religious, but you figured (hoped) that it had to mean something.

You thought her your savior, your ticket out of the system forever, and she ended up being responsible for the worst years of your life.

When you snapped back to the present, you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Wednesday was a few steps ahead, giving you a strange look. You wanted to explain or, better yet, grab her and drag her out of the town entirely, but it was too late. Mary was already looking your way.

Your eyes met and suddenly, you were twelve again. Angry shouts reverberated in your ears, mimicking the way they echoed off the cramped walls of the house. You saw yourself cowering in the face of her anger, shrinking into yourself as much as you could.

There was a flurry of movement, a sharp crack, and even now you swore you could feel the sting of the impact on your cheek.

She hated you, and you could still see remnants of that hatred now, even from across the street.

Distantly, you could hear Wednesday say something, but the sound was muffled by the roar of your blood in your ears. Despite the cool temperature, you were beginning to sweat, heart rate gradually picking up as you stared at the ghost from your past.

Mary hung up the phone and started toward you. That was all you needed.

The last thing you felt was the brush of cold fingers on your wrist before you ran.

You ran and ran and ran, feet carrying you as fast as physically possible. There was no real destination in mind, just away from her.

When the burning in your chest became unbearable, you stumbled into an alley. Your chest heaved and just as you were going to try and catch your breath, your legs crumpled beneath you, sending you careening into the nearest wall. You slid down to the ground and squeezed your knees to your chest.

Clarity evaded you no matter how much you tried to find it. You had seen people you knew in public before, even your other former foster parents, so you had no idea why seeing her was affecting you so badly.

Your heart pulsed endlessly in your chest, blood pumping through your veins like you were moving at a million miles per hour, yet you were frozen, your body permanently suspended in motion. A living contradiction that you couldn’t make any sense of.

The pain in your chest intensified, drawing your limbs in to try and relieve the ache. It felt as if your body was trying to collapse in on itself, like a dying star.

Tears gathered in your eyes, and you were helpless to stop them from streaming down your cheeks as the ache grew.

For an awful moment, you genuinely thought you were going to die.

A flash of movement and suddenly there was something—no, someone in front of you. They crouched before you, their face coming into view and familiar dark orbs stared at you in a way you’d never seen before.

Wednesday.

Relief momentarily cut through your misery. You figured she would find you at some point, likely after the ceremony, but the fact that she was here now made something other than agony bubble in your chest.

Suddenly, you noticed that her lips were moving. She was saying something. You tried to focus your hearing against the chaos, but nothing could be heard over the erratic beating in your chest. Frustration mounted, making you further curl into yourself.

Wednesday moved a bit closer, stopping just short of you so she was the only thing in your line of sight. This time you were just able to catch the tail end of her statement. “-st look at me.”

You complied.

“Identify five things that you can see. You don’t have to say them out loud,” she instructed you, slowly and firmly.

You took in her words, but your eyes never strayed from her.

The first thing you saw was her eyes. So dark that they appear black in most settings, but under direct sunlight they reveal themselves to be the most beautiful shade of brown you’ve ever seen. Second was her hair, the way her wet fringe clumped together, forming short tendrils on her forehead.

Next, you were drawn to the starry sea of freckles on her cheeks. The temptation to try and count them tugged at you. You disregarded it, wanting to complete the task at hand for Wednesday.

Your eyes moved to trace her jaw, number four on your list. It was clenched, the way it always was when she was either angry or worried about something. You briefly wondered which one she felt now.

Her lips were the fifth and final feature you saw. You didn’t let yourself think about them for long, simply cataloged them.

Once you mentally documented all five, you looked to Wednesday, your breaths coming somewhat more consistently.

“Got it?” she asked, voice sounding a bit clearer now. You nodded. She continued. “Alright, now four things you can feel.”

You stiffly unclasped your hands and set them on the ground at your sides.

Surprisingly, the first thing you felt beneath your fingers was the solid frigidity of ice. In your panic, you must’ve partially frozen the alleyway around you. The warmth of the air around you told you that you hadn’t frozen too much, thankfully. You counted the temperature as your second.

Third, you felt the weight of your soaked clothes. The way they clung to your skin pulled a small grimace from you. That segwayed directly into the fourth thing you felt—your wet hair. Droplets of water were still running down the back of your neck from it, making you shiver. Lastly, you felt the rough, uneven texture of the brick wall at your back.

Moving up slightly, you turned back to Wednesday, who was watching you attentively, and gave her a firmer nod. The tension in your chest was beginning to dissipate.

“Three things you can hear.”

Your ears perked and you tried to focus on the noises around you. Even on its busiest days, Jericho was a relatively quiet little town, so it was easy to hear things you normally wouldn’t be able to in more densely populated places.

The first thing your ears picked up was the chime of a ringtone a block or two away. A pop song, the kind that Wednesday detested. Second was a loud giggle from someone that sounded suspiciously like Enid. The sound of it almost made you smile. And third, the clatter of a cup onto the ground and an angry curse that immediately followed it.

Someone must’ve dropped their coffee. Again, you almost smiled. Your heart began to slow in your chest, the ache there subsiding as well.

Eyes returning to the girl in front of you, you nodded.

“Two things you can smell.”

That was easy. Wednesday’s usual scent of old books and incense was present, mixed with traces of wet grass, a reminder of your earlier excursion. Another smell you could identify was the pungent odor of days-old garbage. Your nose scrunched. Of course, you chose an alleyway with a dumpster.

Your posture loosened, muscles relaxing as you sent Wednesday yet another nod.

“One thing you can taste.”

The metallic taste of blood on your tongue almost made you startle. Pain flared in your cheek, an answer to your question of where it came from. You weren’t sure when you bit it, and presently, you didn’t really care.

Swallowing harshly, you gave the girl before you a shaky thumbs up. The firm set of her jaw relaxed as she continued to observe you. You returned the favor, gently resting your chin on your knees as you watched her.

“Who was she?” she asked, tone softer than usual.

Not expecting the question, you blinked. “Hm?”

“The woman, who was she?”

You swallowed. This was never something you wanted Wednesday to know about, but you supposed she deserved some sort of explanation after helping you. 

“Former foster parent. Just one of the many people to hurt me over the years,” you admitted with a wry chuckle.

Wednesday didn’t laugh.

The faint sound of instruments caught your attention. It seemed that you were officially missing the unveiling.

“Shouldn’t you be playing?” you asked, remembering Weems’ comment about Wednesday’s cello earlier that day.

“The Jericho high school band doesn’t need me. You do. Weems will get over it.” She maneuvered herself to sit down next to you, bringing her knees up to mimic your pose. The space between you was virtually nonexistent, but she still wasn’t quite touching you, which you appreciated.

A few minutes passed in silence. The lingering effects of your panic began to fade, leaving behind an all-encompassing tiredness that nearly made you slump over. 

Beside you, Wednesday sat perfectly still, occasionally sending glances that you pretended not to notice for her sake.

The chill she emanated was too soothing for you to really care about it anyways. You resisted the urge to lean closer, to steal more of it for yourself. But you just further lowered your body temperature with your powers instead.

You rested your head back against the wall. Honestly, just being within such close proximity of Wednesday was nice. You swore you could stay sitting there all day with her if time allowed…

An explosion in the distance made you jump. Concerned, you turned to Wednesday who looked much too unsurprised for it to be a coincidence. Only now did you notice Thing’s conspicuous absence. Brows furrowing, you leaned forward. “Wednesday, what did you do?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” she replied easily, lips quirking at the screams of terror that arose from the town square. Promptly, she stood and tilted her head down at you. “Come on, we need to secure our seats at the back of the bus.”

A soft nod was all you could manage in response. Standing was more of a struggle than you anticipated, your exhaustion so heavy it felt as if it settled into your very bones and weighed your limbs down, but after a few attempts, you were on your feet.

The moment you gained a semblance of stability, Wednesday snagged your sleeve and tugged you out of the alley, her grip gentler than you’d expect as she guided you back to the bus. You didn’t miss the joyful spark in her eyes at the chaos unfolding around the town.

When you arrived at the bus, the door was wide open and your companion wasted no time hauling you both inside, immediately making a beeline for the back row. She stopped in front of the seats you occupied on the ride into Jericho, dropping your sleeve as she stepped aside for you to sit.

You gave her a tired smile, grateful that she was giving you the window this time, and collapsed onto the seat. Wednesday slipped in right after you, sitting noticeably closer this time. Close enough that her arm lightly rested against yours.

Heat flared in your cheeks, but you didn’t dare point it out. You just rested your head against the window and closed your eyes.

The slow arrival of other students and staff barely registered, your focus altering between the events of the hour prior, and the comfortingly cold weight of Wednesday’s arm pressing against yours.

The bus ride back to school passed by in a blur and you were being pulled off the bus by Wednesday before you even realized it had stopped.

In a similar fashion, Wednesday dragged you by the sleeve to your dorm, all but shoving you toward your closet once inside.

“Get changed and get some rest. I will return in a few hours after I deal with something,” she said, eyeing you as she edged back toward the door.

“Where are you going?” you asked, concerned that she would try to continue investigating by herself. Wednesday turned to you, and for a moment you were convinced she would tell you that “what she did was none of your concern” or just leave altogether without a word, but at the last second her demeanor shifted.

“It’s nothing to do with the monster. I won’t be putting myself in danger in any way, you have my word,” she assured you, tone firm. There was no room for argument, and if you were being honest, you were compelled to believe her anyway.

You nodded slowly. “Ok.”

She held your gaze for another second then turned and strode out the door. You stayed standing in your spot until her footsteps faded completely.

Fatigue weighed on you once more and that was enough motivation for you to quickly shower and change into dry clothes. You abandoned your discarded uniform in the bathroom to dry, halfheartedly trudging to your bed and flopping down on it.

Scattered thoughts littered your brain, taking you from one turbulent topic to the next. Crackstone, Wednesday’s vision, the monster, Mary—until Wednesday herself came up and instantly everything else was irrelevant.

You thought about the way she treated you today, how she helped you, how she touched you. It made you much happier than it ought to.

As your eyes slipped shut, you wondered about where she could be. You just hoped she was safe.

Finally, your exhaustion overtook you, thoughts of Wednesday sending you into a deep slumber.

-

Hours later, you were woken by a sharp knock on your door.

The harsh sound nearly sent you tumbling out of bed. You were half-tempted to not answer it, but Wednesday said she’d be back later and the last thing you wanted to do was keep her waiting.

So you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, smiling when you were met with Wednesday’s usual deadpan stare. She walked past you into your dorm, not bothering to wait for an invitation she knew you’d give her, and while you shut the door, you took the chance to look at her.

She appeared unharmed. Her uniform, now dry, was perfectly situated as always and not a single hair on her head was displaced. She looked as if she’d just returned from a peaceful walk through the woods, but something told you that was far from the truth.

Wednesday walked over to set her bag down on your desk, carefully slipping something out of it before turning to face you. She beckoned you over and you complied.

“I was told to give this to you.” She extended an envelope in your direction.

A brow raised as you took the envelope, inspecting it closely. You never got mail, so you were immediately suspicious, but it looked harmless enough. A simple, white envelope, entirely blank besides the small writing of your name on the back.

Curious, you ripped it open and to your surprise, it was a letter from Mary. The scrawl was messier than usual, almost panicked, but the handwriting was distinctly hers. You read through it slowly, your initial apprehension turning to disbelief.

The letter detailed all of her transgressions against you and how genuinely, unerringly apologetic she was for hurting you.

Under the body of text, her name was written in a red ink so dark, you’d think that it was blood… And there was a smudge of crimson at the bottom of the page. As if the ink had been crudely spilled onto the paper.

You knew you shouldn’t be finding enjoyment in this. Frankly, you should be terrified but the feeling that bloomed in your chest was the furthest thing from fear.

“Is it to your liking?” she asked, jaw set in determination. The look in her eyes told you that if you said no, she would go back to Mary and make her write another one. If she was still alive that is.

“Yes, it is,” you said, dumbfounded, “but you really didn’t need to do anything, Wednesday.”

“She deserved it,” she retorted, a touch of hostility in her tone. A beat. Then, “You said there were others. If you give me their names, I will hunt them down and seek retribution on your behalf.”

The declaration shouldn’t have made your cheeks warm, nor should the bloodthirsty look in her eyes, but it did. It was equal parts horrifying and charming—the perfect cocktail of emotions to get your heart racing.

Maybe Wednesday was starting to rub off on you more than you thought.

“That…won’t be necessary,” you said slowly. You knew you should just leave it; you really did. But you couldn’t help yourself. “How exactly did you find out where she was staying?”

The ghost of a smirk appeared on her lips, all traces of hostility replaced with blatant self-assuredness. “I have my ways.”

Her blatant cockiness pulled a laugh out of you, the first of the day in fact. You wondered if you were imagining the relief in Wednesday’s eyes at the sound. Turning back to the paper, you sobered a bit.

“Wednesday, seriously, thank you. This is more than most people have ever done for me,” you admitted. The ethics of whether you should be thanking her be damned, this was a touching gesture in your mind. Shameful or not, you were going to properly thank her.

The sudden emotional vulnerability seemed to catch her off guard, eyes widening slightly. But she caught herself quickly. Her eyes darkened a bit and her smirk softened, turning into something suspiciously akin to an actual smile. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.”

Another wave of warmth rushed through you, and you prayed that it wasn’t visible on your cheeks. It struck you that this was the first time you’d ever seen a (possibly) genuine smile on her face. 

With that, the room lapsed into silence and like always, you let it sit between you.

She, too, let the quiet linger, holding your gaze with a confidence only she possessed. For just a moment, her eyes flicked downward, the movement so fast it was nearly imperceptible.

Nearly.

It was over just as quickly as it began and by the time you properly registered it, Wednesday was straightening up, dark eyes fixed on yours once more.

“Our investigation will resume tomorrow assuming there are no more unplanned interruptions. Meet me in my dorm after classes tomorrow.”

“Of course,” you responded automatically, still trying to figure out if what you saw was real or another possible figment of your imagination.

She headed for the door, and you panicked. You wanted to say something, anything to get her to stay for just one more moment. But nothing came to mind (nothing you had the courage to say, anyways).

Suddenly, she paused, turned to face you once more.

“Good night.”

You smiled. “Good night, Wednesday.”

A final nod and she was out the door, closing it behind her with a soft click.

Again, you stayed there until the echo of her footsteps was no more. You looked down at the letter in your hand, pursing your lips. Reluctantly, you set it down on your desk. You would unpack all of your feelings regarding it later. Now, you had more pressing things to deal with.

For the second time, you flopped onto your bed, but this time, sleep was the last thing on your mind. In its place was the girl that chilled you with her presence mere minutes prior.

The smile on your face was immovable, as if it were permanently etched into your skin. You replayed the conversation over and over again in your head, highlighting the moments before she left.

You wondered, maybe pointlessly, if she could possibly like you back… Either way, you supposed it didn’t really matter now.

Even if she didn’t feel what you did, today’s ministrations proved that she at least cared for you on some level. That simple fact was enough to send you into a high unlike any other. 

The idea of her actually reciprocating your feelings only propelled you further, your giddiness threatening to swallow you whole as you lay in your bed.

You spent the remainder of your night in a quiet daze, your mind consumed with nothing but familiar obsidian eyes and an addictively deadly smirk.

[lyingindecay]

I really loved your Thaddeus fic lol :))

So I was wondering if you could write another with this prompt.

“i bought a few pieces of lingerie. want me to model for you?”

Gnaws at the bars of my enclosure.

Love

[Thaddeus x AFAB! Reader]

Summary: You get some lingerie from the dodgiest place, but it's okay because it's cute. You just have to show your boyfriend. Warnings: 18+ minors dni!, thigh riding, pet names, established relationship, first 'i love you's Word Count: 1.7k A/N: No pronouns used, but it is written wtih AFAB reader in mind. i love Thaddeus!!! this was supposed to be like 500 words since it's a prompt request, but this is a whole ass oneshot lmao i love writing thaddeus cause he's so failboy and sweet! hope you like this, thanks for the req!

You are sneaking through a mall when it catches your attention. Lace and shiny silk. The horrible lighting of the mall does not help at all, but it’s still alluring. You pause to stare at the articles of clothing.

The one you want is red, a sultry red. Some dust spots, but still very beautiful. You snatch it up from the broken display and shake it out. You can’t help but wonder where it came from. It doesn’t look worn, just dirty from the world around it.

You hold it up and notice it’s a pair of lace underwear. Your smile widens. You look back down and find the bra just a few feet away. You bend down to pick it up and hear a gun click behind you. You freeze.

“What are you doing in my store?”

You groan. “Um,” Your hands, still holding the underwear, go up, “just looking around.”

“Thief!” The woman behind you shouts. You slowly turn and shake your head. “Yes, you’re trying to take my product!”

“Ma’am,” You think being polite will help. “I was unaware this was your shop! These clothes… they were laid out. Look,” You stare back at the bra on the ground. “I will pay you however many caps you want. I need this set…”

Her brow cocks. She drops her gun slightly. “Okay. One hundred caps.”

You purse your lips. “Fifty.”

“Seventy-five.” She deadpans. “Take that or bullet in your fucking head.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.” You huff and grab your pouch of caps. “Take this.” You throw the bag at her. “You obviously need it more than me.” You mumble under your breath. She doesn’t question what you said. You grab the bra from the floor, stuffing that and the underwear into your bag, and turn back to the woman.

“Whoa!” She’s looking at the caps in what used to be your pouch, “I hope whoever you’re wearing that for fucks you nasty tonight. With this much, feel free to grab that green silk pair as well.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head. “Thanks?” Your face contorts, but you don’t question her. You grab the other pair.

“No, thank you!” She closes the pouch. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”

You do not hesitate to listen. You rush out of the mall and back towards your place. You only hope your boyfriend has not made it back to your home yet. One, because you need to surprise him with your new clothes, and two, because you did not want him to be anxious about you not being home.

You reach the settlement and someone, one of your neighbors, walks up to you. “Uh, hey,” his face drops, his eyes move towards the left of him, and his hand motions the same way. You follow his hand and see he’s pointing to your house. “Who the fuck is that man on your porch?”

Your eyes focus and you notice someone on your porch, facing the door. His forehead is against it, his arms are by his sides. Your palm hits your forehead, and you sigh.

“He says he knows you… But won’t elaborate.”

“Yeah,” You nod. “I know him. That’s my boyfriend. I’m gonna go check on him.” You smile at your thoughtful neighbor and walk past him. “Thaddeus?” You know it’s him, but it comes out as a question. He turns around, lighting up. His forehead is red from leaning on your door. “Baby, what are you doing?”

He freezes in his tracks when you say ‘baby’. His brain seems to short circuit. His eyes widen and he smiles. A goofy smile.

“Did you just-” Thaddeus blinks a couple times. “You called me baby.”

“Well,” You walk up the steps and reach Thaddeus, “you are my boyfriend, so that seems-” Thaddeus’ color drains from his face. It’s your turn to freeze. “You are my boyfriend, aren’t you?”

He can read your panic. “I am! I’m your boyfriend!” He grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. “I’m your boyfriend…” He seems to be reassuring himself. He pulls away and you give him a look of confusion.

“Um, Thaddeus, you alright, bud?” You cock a brow at him.

“Can you call me baby again?” He gives you a soft smile.

“Sweetheart,” You grab his shoulder, and your expression softens, “let’s go inside.” Thaddeus nods. You walk past him and open the door of your house. “I was out, uh, looking at some stuff.” You place your bag down and turn to Thaddeus. He nods, wanting you to continue. “I bought some… I bought a few pieces of lingerie. Want me to model them for you?”

You watch Thaddeus shift awkwardly. “Lingerie?” He seems flabbergasted. You nod at him. “You want to model it for me? Like, put it on and show me- show me what it looks like on you?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yes, silly.”

Thaddeus nods violently. “Okay! You wanna do it now?”

You nod and turn, walking towards your room. You wave for him to follow you and he does, happily. You motion towards your bed, “Sit down, please!” As soon as he does you walk back out of your room, “I’ll be right back. Close your eyes!”

You peek over your shoulder and see if he’s following orders. He is. He always is. You grab your bag and carry it to the bathroom with you. You strip down and grab out the red lace pair first. You put them on and stare at yourself in the mirror. You suck in air and smile.

“You coming out soon?” Thaddeus sounds excited and impatient.

You open the bathroom door and walk towards your room. You lean against the door frame and clear your throat. “You can open your eyes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Not in the slightest. His eyes hit you, they’re going up and down your body. He doesn’t know where to settle. His hands rub up and down his thighs and he swallows hard. You bite the inside of your lip and raise your brows at him. “Do you like it?”

Thaddeus nods, unsure of what to say. “Can I-” He stops. “I want to touch you.”

“Oh,” You stand up straight and saunter towards Thaddeus. His legs spread slightly, and he gently pats his thigh. You sit down, straddling his thigh and you wrap your arms around his neck. “Y’know what’d be really hot?” You raise a brow at him. He hums, the only sound he can form as he stares at your chest. “Me getting off on your thigh.”

His eyes cut up from your breasts to your face. “Oh?” He is thinking about it. “That would be really hot.” You nod slowly in agreement, your heels planting on the wood floor. You grab a hold of Thaddeus’ shoulders to steady yourself and your boyfriend watches you. You begin to grind on his thigh, slow and steady.

Thaddeus’ hands move to your hips, and he holds you. His eyes watch you closely; how your tits bounce, how focused you look. You are absolutely divine, before him like a feast. And you are all his. You lean forward and begin to kiss him. Thaddeus doesn’t hesitate to kiss back. His hands grip your hips tighter as you roll into his thigh, and you moan.

Thaddeus’ tongue darts into your mouth. You continue to rock on his thigh as Thaddeus’ tongue explores your mouth. You let out a low whine and your nails dig into his shirt, scratching at his back. Thaddeus’ mouth moves from yours and to your jaw. He places sloppy kisses down your throat.

“Thaddeus-” You mewl. “Baby,” that catches his attention. He pulls away and looks at you. Your head is rolled back and your eyes are shut. “Help me out here. I’m so close!”

He pauses. His hands bare down on your hips as you grind into his thigh. Thaddeus raises his heel, resting on his tiptoes before bringing his foot back down. You let out a strangled noise and lean into him, your chest against his. “Again! Please, do that again!”

Thaddeus is obedient, and he does as he’s told. The friction from the fabric and his thigh has you slowly unraveling. A heat is building up and your body grows tense. You push yourself up on your tiptoes, getting a better angle on his thigh and place your forehead against Thaddeus’ shoulder. You let out a soft, pleasure filled cry.

“Thaddeus!” You moan into his shoulder. “Fuck!” Your grinding picks up the pace. Your orgasm hits hard and you are tense against Thaddeus. You’re groaning and moaning against him, your movements coming to a halt. You say the first thing that comes to mind as you come down from that euphoric high. “I love you.” You whisper into his neck as you place a kiss against it.

Thaddeus tenses up. “What did you say?”

You smile against his neck, “I love you.” You say it with more confidence.

“You do?” Thaddeus seems to short circuit again. You laugh and pull away from him looking in his eyes. You nod at him. He gives you a smile. “I love you too!”

You place your forehead to his and bite the inside of your lip. “Y’know, I spent an awful lot of caps on this lingerie, and I still have another pair to show you-”

“How much did you spend?” Thaddeus’ brows knit together.

Your face drops. “Uh, enough for the vendor to tell me she hopes whoever I’m wearing it for fucks me nasty…”

Thaddeus swallows hard. “I can do that- Give you your caps worth.” He shifts, obviously hard. He palms his pants and you smirk at him.

“There’s no doubt in my mind. Do you want me to show you the other pair? Or-”

You do not get to finish. Thaddeus shakes his head ‘no’. “You can show me later, I’m about to lose my fucking mind. I need you.” You laugh, and as soon as you give the ‘okay’ Thaddeus is on you. You’re flipped onto the bed and he’s above you. “I wanna show you how much I love you.”

You know you aren’t leaving the house for the rest of the day.

[flowerui]

♫ three little words (dedicate them to me), cyj

fluff, 4.8k words ୨୧ oh my god they were roommates :0 sorry to any academic weapons reading, im projecting a bit as an academic failure lol

wherein it only takes you about twenty-nine years to realize you're in love with your best friend... at least you got there!

꒰ requested. gender neutral reader (no pronouns or gendered terms used), reader is younger, unspecified age difference (but its implied that theyre very close in age), childhood friends to lovers, nonidol au, roommates, idiots in love, time skips, aging up, alcohol/drinking, a bit dialogue heavy, vomit is mentioned a few times, friend group ot4 ꒱

It’s hard to recall a time without Yeonjun; he appeared one day and stuck to you, almost as if he were a stubborn thorn in your side (said endearingly, of course).

It must’ve been when you were still in kindergarten—right, Yeonjun and his parents had moved in next door, and your moms both became friends and arranged a play date. Yeonjun had brought his PlayStation over and let you play it with him, so, obviously, to five-year-old you, that made the two of you best friends right away.

“Are you almost done?” Yeonjun bemoans from your bedroom floor, urging you to look up from your piles of textbooks and worksheets finally.

“No, I told you I needed to study and that you should go to your own house, you bum. Just ‘cause you don’t give a shit about your education doesn't mean I don’t.”

“You almost flunked last year. And you’re only studying because your mom saw you got a three out of a hundred on your algebra test,” Yeonjun deadpans, “how do you even score that bad?” Ugh, lucky, naturally academically gifted asshole. You roll your eyes and toss a pencil at his stupid face.

“Whatever,” you grumble, it’s not your fault you can’t be an academic weapon, and that school is whooping your ass instead with academics as a weapon. “I feel like my brain is about to start leaking out of my ears anyway, wanna go to yours?”

Yeonjun grins, sitting up from your floor with a start, finally regaining some of his earlier excitement before he had to wait nearly four hours (all of which were spent pestering you) while you attempted to study. “I ditched school yesterday to get a copy of Resident Evil 4 from GameStop.”

“What the hell—and you didn’t invite me?” you whine, “That’s cold, you better let me try it first.”

It’s hours later into the evening when you’re watching Yeonjun attempt to get through the wretched cabin section that you died approximately… thirteen times trying to get through, that he says, “You remember that guy, Taehyun, right? In my AP History class.”

“Mhm,” you hum, blinking your bleary eyes at Yeonjun’s TV screen from your very comfortable spot on his couch.

“He doesn’t usually talk a whole lot to me, but today, I couldn’t get him to shut up,” Yeonjun huffs a laugh as he maneuvers the character, Leon, up the stairs on screen, seemingly making it farther than you could. “He was complaining though, ‘cause he was partnered with this person who was into me. He couldn’t get any work done, they were just bugging him about me.”

You tear your focus from the TV to look at the side of Yeonjun’s face, you can see part of his furrowed brow and pursed lips. “Oh.”

It doesn’t surprise you that a lot of people seem to be interested in Yeonjun at school. In middle school, people started coming up to you, asking if you’d put in a good word for them with Yeonjun, because they ‘like-liked’ him, and you were his best friend. Then, it was at the end of eighth grade that you started telling those people to grow a pair and talk to him themselves.

You suppose you kind of understand. Yeonjun’s nice when he’s not being a little shit… and he’s not horrible to look at, one might even say he’s good-looking.

“Are you into them?” The question seems to roll off your tongue easily, but you’re not even sure why you asked, you don’t think you want to know. For some reason, thinking about it churns your stomach a bit.

“...No, I mean, they’re pretty, but,” Yeonjun sighs, tossing his controller to the side as he dies a second time. “they seem kinda… much. I dunno, Taehyun said they literally wouldn’t talk to him about anything besides me the entire class. It kinda weirded me out.”

“Hm, yeah.” You hum, a weird feeling of… relief washing over you. Yeonjun’s mom comes in to ask if you’re staying for dinner before you can think about it too hard.

Later that night, when you’re stuck staring blankly at your ceiling, you decide you were just relieved that Yeonjun wasn’t going to end up with some overly possessive weirdo. It’d suck to lose your best friend that way.

“Please do not throw up, because if you throw up, then I’m gonna throw up.”

“I’m not gonna throw up,” Yeonjun insists, but it doesn’t sound all too credible with the way he slurs his words, maybe you’ve also had too much to drink, but you swear he looks a little green. “I… am perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Uhuh.”

“Don’t ‘uhuh’ me,” Yeonjun grumbles with an attempted glare, you find that you can’t take him all too seriously, though; the flush on his cheeks, his inability to keep his eyes open for more than five seconds, and his perpetual pout make it all too difficult. “Oh, I—I think I’m gonna hurl.” He braces himself against the bar, eyes suddenly more awake.

That would be the reason you end up in a grimy bathroom on your twenty-first, making sure your best friend’s hair is out of the way as he empties the contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl.

“Why’d you drink so much, you know you’re a lightweight.” You ask when Yeonjun seems to be done, frowning as you wipe off his mouth with a paper towel.

“Am not,” he protests petulantly. “I was just—I just felt like it ‘cause I thought it’d make me feel better ‘nd I could stop thinking about other shit.”

“Did something happen?”

“...I stopped seeing that person I told you about.”

“Why? I thought it was going well?” ‘Well’ might be a bit of an overstatement. Like most of Yeonjun’s partners, you didn’t hear a whole lot about this new one, met them once for a brief moment, then didn’t hear of them again. It seems to be a common theme in Yeonjun’s relationships—his fleeting interest, you haven’t figured out if you should say anything about it.

“It was just, um. ‘M not over someone…. I didn’t feel right staying in a relationship knowing I’m still not over someone else.”

Oddly enough, that felt rather sobering to hear. You hum, stomach feeling a little off—you hope you aren’t going to throw up next… “You haven’t told me about that, wanna talk about it? It might feel better than drinking too much and throwing up in a disgusting bathroom. Don’t quote me on that, though.”

Yeonjun blinks slowly, then chuckles, “I’ll tell you about it some other time, I just really want to be in bed right now.”

Instead of getting an Uber or something, you trudge down the sidewalk with a clingier-than-usual Yeonjun, who barely manages to walk in a straight line. You internally celebrate when your apartment building comes into view; one of you seriously needs to get a car.

You have to convince Yeonjun to shower before you, almost like a petulant child. 

And apparently, wanting to be in bed means taking up most of your mattress and hogging your blankets for the night, because when you finish showering, you return to your room to find your bed occupied. You could just steal Yeonjun’s bed for the night… but you end up just crawling into bed beside him, listlessly trying to reclaim your covers.

He never ended up telling you about this mystery person he’s not over.

“I just don’t think it’s going to work out.” You sigh.

“But why? I thought things between us were going great, I—”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see this relationship progressing any further.”

“But, I—I told my mom about you! You can’t leave me, I love you!”

“Ugh, you asshole,” you cry out as Yeonjun pretends to cry hysterically and shakes you by your shoulders, “You’re supposed to be taking this seriously and helping me!”

Yeonjun cackles as you shove him away, “I mean he could react like that, couldn’t he?” Then, he sighs and places his hands on your shoulders—not shaking you this time. “Okay, seriously, it’s going to be fine, you’ll be in a public space, so worst case scenario, he embarrasses himself.”

“You’re right… ugh, I’m gonna be late.”

“You’re the one who wanted to rehearse the conversation again.”

Before sending you off, Yeonjun smushes your face, cooing, “Okay, go dump your boyfriend, my duckling, I’ll be waiting here with takeout and beer.”

“You are a grown-ass man.” You deadpan before you’re finally off.

It’s been a good few months since you started seeing this new guy—his name’s Mark, you realized you liked him enough to make things more official after several good dates. But, you’ve already been considering breaking things off with him for a while now; you seem to have this recurring issue when it comes to relationships… You just can’t seem to envision a future that includes your partner, even when it’s going well you ultimately lose interest.

Mark seems like a good guy, too, which makes you feel worse, but it’d be even worse to just lead him on, right? That’s what you continue reminding yourself as you trudge into a nice café that will be tainted by the memory of you dumping a nice guy for the rest of your life. You’ll never be able to enjoy the sweet treats of ‘Arcadia’ ever again.

“Hey, there you are,” Mark smiles as you take the seat across from him.

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I had to help my roommate out.” A fib, even though your mother tells you honesty is the best policy. Well, she lied about Santa and the tooth fairy; besides, your fib sounds nicer than ‘I was rehearsing how to break up with you with my best friend’.

“No worries.”

“Um,” it’s better to just get it over with, you remind yourself, just rip the bandaid off, “so, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound too good,” Mark chuckles, then clears his throat and continues when you don’t laugh, “What’s up?”

With a deep breath, you let it spill out all at once, “I don’t think this is going to work out, I just don’t see us—this relationship going any further. I’m sorry and I hope you can understand.” Okay, that wasn’t too scary, if you’re ignoring your shaky, clammy palms against your knees.

Mark nods, then looks down at his lap, then back at you, “I guess I should’ve seen it coming, I mean, I’ve seen the way you and your roommate look at each other.”

“Uh… you what?”

“You don’t have to play dumb about it, it’s obvious the both of you are in love. Guess I just liked you so much I hoped I could change your mind.” Mark sighs, “I think I’m gonna… go, sorry.” He says, then leaves you to spiral.

‘Obvious the both of you are in love’? You and Yeonjun? That’s ridiculous, right?

Leaving what was once your favorite café in a daze, you’re suddenly glad that you’d decided to walk instead of drive; you barely register entering your apartment complex, and unlocking your door.

“Hey,” Yeonjun is on the couch, takeout and a pack of beer spread on the coffee table as promised, “how’d it go?”

“It went fine,” you say with a smile that doesn’t quite make its way to your eyes, “he took it as well as he could have.” It’s weird, that you don’t just word vomit out every small detail, like you tend to with Yeonjun. But somehow, something about divulging everything feels weirder, so in a rare twist of events, you keep quiet.

Seemingly taking the hint that that’s going to be all you say for the time being, Yeonjun changes the topic, “Go change so we can eat, the new episode of The Vampire Diaries is literally about to start in like two seconds.”

“What the hell! I didn’t think I was gone for that long!” You shriek and make a run for it to your room to change out of your outside clothes.

Yeonjun snorts when you return, plopping onto the couch while trying to catch your breath. “I lied, there’s still like half an hour.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you hiss, and pummel him with the nearest throw pillow.

“I’m starting to think I’m gonna end up alone,” with a grunt, you tug your blanket up higher, “why’re we both so bad at relationships?”

“Rude,” Yeonjun flicks your forehead, and if you weren’t so cozy, full of food, and three cans of beer drunker, you might’ve sat up to take your revenge. But alas, moving even a mere inch feels like a herculean effort.

“You’re rude,” you stick your tongue out at him childishly. “Y’know I didn’t mean it like that, though, right?”

“I know.”

“Mm. Maybe…” You focus your bleary eyes on Yeonjun’s face above you. Even from this unfortunate angle, from where your head rests on his lap, he looks so… “If we’re not… If we’re still single by the time we’re thirty-four, I think we should just marry each other.”

Yeonjun laughs, “Okay, I think it’s bedtime, don’t you have work in the morning?”

If you hadn’t fallen asleep right then, you might’ve clapped back with a witty response, or you might’ve sat up, and looked at Yeonjun dead in the eyes and told him that you were serious.

“No, Mom, I am still not in a relationship,” you pause, then sigh, “Yes, I know I’m not getting any younger. And, no, I’m not gonna—wait, what?”

“You heard me, I asked when you’re going to give in and just marry Yeonjun. I like him, he’d be a nice son-in-law, he practically already is at this point!”

Only mothers would have the audacity. You have to pull your phone away from your ear to stare at the outgoing call screen in astonishment. “What… are you talking about?” You ask when you bring your phone back to your ear.

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve been living together since you were what, nineteen? Neither of you dates anymore, you spend all your free time together…You may as well get hitched at this point, instead of denying your poor mother the opportunity of watching her child get married any longer.”

You perk up at the call of your name, seeing two of your coworkers rush over, “Hey—random question—how early do you think is too early to get engaged? Lia’s only been with her partner for like three months, and they’re already engaged! You’ve been with your boyfriend for years, right? And neither of you has proposed?”

“Uh? My… boyfriend?”

“Yeah? Your boyfriend, his name’s Yeonjun, right?”

“Oh, he’s not my… He’s just my best friend.” You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing, the fact that all this time, it seemed like you and Yeonjun were dating, or having to tell two of your coworkers that you are actually painfully single. It doesn’t make it any better that the majority of your coworkers, while nice, are known for gossiping—all mostly harmless.

You expect your mother to make you feel bad about your relationship status (out of love), but not your coworkers.

“It’s weird, lately, I’ve realized that people think me and Yeonjun are together…? My mom even told me to just go and marry him, like?”

“Oh, you poor sweet summer child…”

“Have you still seriously not realized?” Taehyun pipes up beside Kai who regards you with a pitiful look. What’s up with everyone lately? You’re starting to feel like you’re the only one missing something.

“Realized what?”

“Oh, you’re hopeless.” Taehyun laments, looking as if he’s about ready to tear his hair out or reach across the dining table to knock some sense into you.

Ideally, you’d like to think you’re not at all oblivious. But, after many strange occurrences, you can’t help but consider: that you’ve never properly thought of Yeonjun that way—in a romantic sense. He’s always just been Yeonjun; the only person who you know for a fact you can trust with anything, and the only person who will stick with you despite all of your bullshit, like a stubborn thorn you can’t seem to be rid of (not that that’s an issue). He’s your everything, really.

When you imagine your future, you always see him fit in there somehow—but it occurs to you that as someone who’s never had a complete interest in marriage, or any romantic relationships for a long time for that matter, you could imagine walking down the aisle with Yeonjun, and more. Not only that, but you like imagining it.

Oh.

How dense can one be to fail to realize they’ve been in love with their best friend all this time? After nearly three decades of friendship, it’s seriously taken you this long to get to this conclusion? All those failed relationships you tried so hard to make work, it was all for nothing, because you couldn’t realize what you felt for what you already had! So much time wasted…

“Are you feeling okay?” Yeonjun apparates beside you, a palm carefully tracing circles over your upper back.

You feel bad for how you jolt away from him, seeing the surprise and mild hurt pass over his features in a split second. If you didn’t know Yeonjun like the back of your hand, you might’ve missed it. “...Sorry, I dunno—I’ve been kind of out of it lately, I think I just need to relax.”

“You haven’t been overworking yourself again, have you?”

“No…”

Yeonjun gives you a look as though he doesn’t quite believe you, but drops it. This time, you don’t jump away like frightened prey when he touches you—wraps around your side. “Let’s watch something tonight? I’ve been hearing about this new Kdrama called ‘My Demon’.”

“That sounds straight out of Wattpad… I’ll order the food.”

“Happy birthday,” Yeonjun sings as he saunters into your bedroom at… way too early in the morning. But all’s forgiven with the realization he comes bearing gifts—food. “What’s that, thirty-four punches I’m gonna have to give you, now? Fuck, you’re old,” he says as he sets down a delectable-looking plate of your favorite breakfast on your nightstand.

“Shut up, you’re older than me.” You narrow your eyes, sitting up to reach for your birthday breakfast.

“And if you punch me thirty-four times, you will not live to see another day, Choi.”

Getting older has meant that your birthdays have become a lot less eventful, but you haven’t quite minded it. They’re spent with your favorite person, anyway, so no complaints on your end.

Yet, somehow, you end up on a beach on the night of your birthday, sitting on a beach towel Yeonjun had neatly spread out and admiring the night sky. You’d had a simple plan to laze around at home all day, eat something good for dinner, drink a little more than you should, and then sleep like the dead. However, Yeonjun had other plans when he’d announced the night before that he was taking you on a day trip the next morning. ‘It’s only a six-hour drive’, he’d said, because he’s insane.

You suppose you had a little more to your original plan… you guess you also intended to profess your newly realized love for your best friend, and potentially ruin about twenty-nine years of friendship if things happened to go wayward. Well, you still intend on getting that over with.

“Happy birthday,” Yeonjun says once more, as he returns from the car with an unopened bottle of wine and two wine glasses. Huh, you guess that’s why he took so long to grab something to drink from the ‘cooler’, actually... do either of you even own a cooler? “Better appreciate this wine, it was pricey.”

“I distinctly recall telling you not to spend much on me this year,” you sigh, but you’re staring down the bottle, “and you already arranged this impromptu trip.”

“Well, I wanted to, it’s not every day you turn thirty-four.” Yeonjun doesn’t add anything else, as he hands you the bottle of wine; you decide not to call out how he can’t meet your eyes properly.

Cabernet Sauvignon 1999, the bottle reads. You don’t know much about wine—you’re not that old yet—just that it usually tastes good. “Is it good? I don’t think I’ve tried Cabernet Sauvignon, have I?”

“You haven’t, I think you’ll like it. It would’ve gone well with dinner.”

You hum, taking a corkscrew handed to you, as Yeonjun takes a seat beside you.

A couple of glasses later, you blurt, “Thanks. For this—the trip, dinner. And the wine. I like it a lot.” It’s not quite what you’d meant to say, in such a stilted manner. You guess you need a little more liquid courage, as you pour yourself another glass.

“I can tell, that’s like your third glass.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, as Yeonjun snorts into his glass. Cheeks warming, you start internally motivating yourself—if being alive for thirty-four years has taught you anything, it’s that everything’s worth a shot. You miss a hundred of the shots you don’t take… or whatever the saying is. “Do you remember that time I said we should just marry each other if we’re still single by thirty-four?”

After a pause, Yeonjun raises a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m surprised you remember that, considering you passed out right after… Are you saying we should get married, then?” Something passes over his features before he turns to you, and laughs something that isn’t exactly humorous, “I think that might be enough wine for you.”

“I’ve only had two glasses.”

“Two-and-a-half,” you correct after glancing down at your half-full glass. “I’m not drunk, maybe a teensy bit tipsy, but—fuck, that’s not the point.”

“What is the point you’re trying to make then? Yeonjun laughs, it almost looks like that familiar glint has returned to his eyes. You’d appreciate it if you weren’t about to implode.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat. Yeonjun continues to regard you with amusement; you vaguely wonder if he’ll still be amused once you manage to get the words—your confession out, or if you’ll go and ruin everything because of some stupid feelings. “Fuck, this is kinda difficult.”

“Okay, um,” maintaining eye contact is a test of your mental strength, which is why you avert your gaze even though you’ve turned to face Yeonjun, as you utter your next sentence, “So, it’s taken me an embarrassingly long time to realize that I’ve, uh, sort of, kind of been in love with you for probably forever. No, I—”

“I’m in love with you,” you rephrase more confidently, yet you end up shrinking in on yourself when the only response you receive is Yeonjun blinking blankly at you. “So, um, you could say something… right about now. Like, you hate me and are kicking me out? Well, ideally, you could say that you feel the same and—”

“Breathe,” Yeonjun reaches over to squeeze your clammy hand. Taking a breath as instructed, you realize you have not been breathing properly since you began speaking. “I was just—you’re being serious? You aren’t just drunk, and you aren’t fucking with me?”

“Two-and-a-half glasses, I’m tipsy at worst,” you reiterate, “and I’m not fucking with you either.”

“Oh.” Yeonjun breathes, which does nothing to assuage the anxiety that feels like it might have colored your face pallid, as it incessantly knocks against your ribcage.

“Oh? C’mon man, I just confessed my love to you, give me a little more than ‘Oh’, I’m nervous as shit right now.”

“Sorry, I was just…” Yeonjun laughs, the asshole laughs. “We really are best friends, huh? I spent all week trying to figure out how to make your birthday special, and confess my love to you at the end of the night. And here you are, beating me to it.”

“You… oh.”

“C’mon man, give me a little more than ‘Oh’, I just told you your love is reciprocated,” Yeonjun laughs as he repeats your previous words, teasing, “I’m nervous as shit, too.”

So, you down the rest of your glass before setting it aside and scooting too close for comfort, and ask, “Can I kiss you?” Because if thirty-four years of life has taught you anything, it’s to not waste any more time.

“Uh… yes.” Yeonjun’s widened eyes dart from both of your eyes, to your lips, and back.

And, so, you close the distance to kiss him. 

Maybe it’s not magical, maybe you don’t feel any supposed sparks or fireworks. But it feels right, like it’s meant to be as you cup Yeonjun’s cheek and shift to curl your hand around his nape. It feels like caressing the petals of a burgundy rose.

(“Have you just always known you loved me? Even when I threw up on you the first time we got drunk?” You ask, a few hours, and a couple more glasses of wine later.

“Ew, but yes, I knew I loved you even then.”

“...Huh. Would you still love me if a witch cursed me and I turned into a worm tomorrow?”

Yeonjun snorts, “A worm?” then he hums in thought, “I would buy the biggest terrarium, and the nicest dirt I can find, and take care of you. I’d find the witch and make her turn you back into a lovely human, too.”

“Good answer,” you smile, leaning over to kiss Yeonjun again, he tastes a little like remnants of Cabernet Sauvignon, deep and red, urging you to kiss him a little deeper. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips when you part.)

Upon thinking about it, not much changes between you and Yeonjun; apart from the kissing, consistently sharing a bed, sober I love you’s, and the other ‘unnecessary PDA’, as Taehyun so kindly put it, while Soobin had fixed the two of you with a disgusted look (you know that deep down somewhere, he’s happy for you both), and Beomgyu shot a thumbs up before going back to hogging the cookies Soobin baked—Kai was more focused on trying to steal some cookies, which he managed.

Your mother had practically wept out of joy when you told her the news, ‘I’m going to see my baby get married! I thought the day would never come!’ she’d cried out, and rushed to tell anyone that would listen to her. Overdramatic, and a little hurtful, by the way… You didn’t even say anything about marriage, either!

“Hm?” You reluctantly blink your eyes open at the call of your name, to see Yeonjun looking at you with a suspicious grin on his face.

“I love you.”

“...What did you do? I love you too, though, even if I have to become an accomplice.”

“I didn’t do anything bad, I just love you.”

“Mm, you loser. I love you more.”

“Hm, are you sure about that?” Yeonjun hums, your eyes follow him as he sits up and reaches for something from his nightstand, “‘Cause I think I love you more? So much that I’m asking if you’d do me the honor of marrying me.” He says so casually, contrasting how he carefully opens a small, velvety box. It gives a quiet creak as it pops open, revealing a simple silver band. A ring. An engagement ring.

After blinking the fatigue out of your eyes, and confirming that you’re not seeing or hearing things, you sit up with a start, “You—

“You dick, why would you propose to me while I’m half-asleep?!”

“Well, if you said no, I could’ve just written it off as you being tired and mishearing me… I’ll get you a nicer wedding ring, too, if you say yes, that is. Well, I already have one—”

Yeonjun grunts as you throw yourself onto him, “You’re such an idiot, I love you. Yes, I’ll marry you, there’s no question about it.”

You can’t recall the moment you started loving Yeonjun; maybe it was the day you met and he let you play his PlayStation. Maybe it was in middle school when more people started to see him, or maybe it was in high school…

Maybe you can’t pinpoint the exact moment, maybe you’ve just always loved Yeonjun. It’d be hard not to love him; he’s as beautiful as a white rose—inside and out—one that you’d pluck from the dirt with your bare hands, thorns and all, just to keep to yourself, even if for a little while. Maybe that’s selfish, but you think that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

You part from Yeonjun as your friends and family cheering fills your ears. Feeling like words can’t do your feelings in that moment justice, you kiss him once more, in hopes to convey them a little better.

“I know. I love you,” he says, because he knows you best.

Grinning so happily that your cheeks begin to ache, you properly part from Yeonjun this time, and walk hand-in-hand down the aisle.