#lovers alone wear sunlight

[justalilguyoops]

WE ARE BACK BOYS!!!!! LET THE FREAKBOYS FREE!!!

[im-getting-help]

reading WIPIP vs reading LAWS

@justalilguyoops

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - i.

selkie!soap x reader. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

When your mother asks you if you’re planning to kill yourself, you have to lie to her.

To be fair to you, it’s a half-lie. You have no plans. Courage, you find, is as slippery as an eel in gloved palms—you don’t actually think you could do it if you tried. You’re deeply averse to pain of the bloody sort, and doing the deed would take a will and an energy you don’t really have.

But still. You’ve stopped looking both ways when crossing a street. You forget the stove is on, hot oil in the pan popping like the report of a handgun. The sound of shattering glass is the only thing that makes your heart sit calm in your chest, and the only thing that can make you fall asleep anymore is the notion that when you die, the earth will welcome the molecules of your body back into its folds.

So a half-lie is not the truth. You sit in the terminal, the afternoon smell of airport coffee in your nose as you swear to your mother that you’re not looking for a cliff to jump off of, or a convenient wave to pull you under. You’ve always wanted to visit Scotland, remember?

You can’t tell if she believes you. Probably not. People not planning to kill themselves don’t blow their savings on a first class ticket over the Atlantic with no scheduled return flight.

Especially not after quitting their job.

The flight over the Atlantic is uneventful. Quiet as money can buy. You sip champagne at your window seat, recline as far back as you can go, and watch the ocean, far, far below. Its depths exceed, you remember, the heights at which humanity can fly—but you can’t really tell, looking at it from so far above. It looks like nothing less than a thin veneer stretched overtop the crust of the earth. A puddle that could barely cover the soles of your feet.

There’s not a single murmur of turbulence across the fifteen hours you’re in the air. Much that you might’ve welcomed it.

Your connecting trip to the Hebrides is much shorter. The massive sprawl of Glasgow shrinks and recedes as you leave it behind, replaced not long after by a spit of an island chain that, from a distance, hardly looks worth populating.

You land on Barra, on a sandy stretch of beach still wet and compact from the receding tide. There’s a cottage here with your name on the rental agreement for the next month, and your mind is already there ahead of you, thinking about arranging your toothbrush and toothpaste on the bathroom counter and sitting and listening to nothing but cold island wind in the grass. The cottage’s owner has graciously agreed to drive you there.

When you step off the plane, you miss him at first. You’re expecting someone completely different—an older man in cable knit, perhaps more mustache than face, and the morose demeanor of someone for whom sunlight is as common on the island as veins of gold. So your eyes skip over the younger man, even despite the sign he’s holding with your name on it.

But then you look again. Because with a man like him, you can’t not look again.

He’s wearing a sweater, sure. But he also looks like a rugby team maverick—burly and tall, rugged, tattooed, flaunting a dumb haircut because he’s handsome enough to get away with it.

He stands out from the few people in the airport as if the whole world has adjusted its lens to bring him into focus, sharpening his image such that anything in his periphery is too blurry to notice. He does not in the slightest look like he rents out an old fisher’s croft in the least popular place in Scotland.

But then you catch your name. Do a double take. Clutch your suitcase handle a little tighter, because when you approach, the man’s eyes widen, look you up and down, and then crease with a too-confident smile.

“Bonnie!” he exclaims when you introduce yourself. He has a deep, rough voice, burred and low. More still, he’s kilted, plaid hanging at muscular knees, with an odd speckled pelt slung around his hips.

You’ve never seen that before—maybe it’s an islander thing.

“You must be Mr. John MacTavish,” you say. Up close, there’s a weathered look to him, as if buffeted by the salt in the wind.

“Johnny’s fine,” he says, winking. His eyes are a lively, vibrant blue. The color of the ocean in some place much nicer than this one. “Welcome to Scotland!”

Then, incredibly, “Johnny” pulls you into a hug before you even realize what’s happening, brawny arms closing around you like the noose of a snare. You go rigid—what the hell?—but this man, whom you have met only just now, doesn’t seem to notice, compressing you against the blazing pillar of his body in an embrace that flattens your lungs behind your ribs.

“Um,” you manage. He smells like axe body spray and diesel fuel, and cold ocean wind. It wipes the forefront of your mind blank, like sweeping an arm across drawings etched in sand.

After at least five whiplashed beats of your heart, Johnny pats your back several times and lets you go, grinning.

“Sorry, bonnie. Scots are huggers.”

Then without warning, he reaches for the handle of your suitcase, warm hand nudging aside your own. “Let’s get you down there ‘fore the tide comes in. Canny wait t’show you the place, I fixed it up m’self.”

You let him take your luggage and follow; he sets off at an energetic clip that you struggle to keep up with. He gestures with his free hand as he talks, motions rising and falling with the tenor of his voice.

“You know you’re m’first guest? Was startin’ to wonder if I was gonna have to sell the place, no one seemed all that interested. Guess I can see why, no internet, barely any signal. Me, I think that’s a good thing, people spend too much time on their phones, y’know?”

You make a noncommittal noise.

Were you this cold before he let go of you?

“But it’s a great little place to get away, I promise you, nice and quiet, and I updated everything m’self. Radiator in the bedroom and everything!”

Another noise from you.

Thankfully, you reach his car—a small truck, older than the both of you, with only one row of seats and what looks like large spools of rope in the bed. Johnny pauses briefly to secure your suitcase beside them with a couple of bungee cords, and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in.

“It’s not too far from town too,” he continues as he slides into the driver’s seat. You attach your seat belt. He does not. “You got your essentials there. A supermarket—think you call ‘em grocery stores? There’s that and a cafe and a pub. No bank though, so let’s get cash now if you need it.”

“I have some.” You’d exchanged for a few hundred pounds in Glasgow.

“Good! You want to stop by the store? Took the liberty of filling up the fridge too, but if there’s somethin’ you want—”

“No,” you say.

“Alrigh,’” says Johnny.

You feel his eyes on you—when you look at him, he’s smiling again. You are not pleased to find, through the benefit of close proximity, that he has dimples.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothin,’” he says.

Johnny drives you across the causeway from Barra to Vatersay, the latter of which, he helpfully informs you, is populated by less than a hundred people.

“More wildlife than anything,” he comments, as the ocean outside the window passes by. The water is dull and gray, hidden from the sun by an overcast sky. “That’s what the tourists come for. You here to see the seals?”

“Seals?” you ask.

“Aye,” Johnny says, grinning. “They come here for breeding season.”

You ignore the quirk of his eyebrows.

The cottage stands alone, a ways out from the island’s main village at the top of a modest hillock. Island grasses sway along the dirt road as Johnny directs the truck upwards, coming to a stop a few meters away from the house proper.

It’s quaint. Thatch roof, cobbled walls. A generator hooked up on one side. There are flower boxes flanking the front door, although nothing’s in bloom; it’s the wrong season for it. The window frames are unpainted, and the glass panes, despite looking recently cleaned, are crusted with salt at the corners.

And it’s smaller than it looked in the pictures online. Even close up to it, the blue-grey sky overhead, swimming with dun-colored clouds, swallows it up.

You exit the truck into a cold breeze that tugs at the collar of your fleecy sweater. You’d read online that this time of year was the last gasp of summer into the autumn months in the Hebrides—it hardly feels that way, with the chill that drags its fingers across your hairline.

“It’s on a septic tank so y’ve got alright plumbing,” Johnny goes on, hefting your suitcase over one brawny shoulder. “Canny say much for the water pressure in the shower, but other than tha’ it’s alright. Matters more that it’s hot, ‘f you ask me—and it is! Come on, I’ll give y’the tour.”

The cottage is not big enough to warrant one. Johnny shows you the four rooms—kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom—in under five minutes. It ends with him leaned up against the counter, arms folded genially across his plush chest, grinning at you like he knows some embarrassing secret of yours.

“Was thinkin,’” he says, scratching the stubble on his jaw with one thumbnail, “this’d be kind of a honeymoon thing, y’know? That woman with the time travel show, lots a’folks been comin’ here lately ‘cause a’her.”

“Is there anything else to do here besides look at seals?” you ask.

Soap gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking. “I dinnae think you leave the bedroom much on a honeymoon, do you?”

You flush. “I never really thought about it.”

“So you’re no’ married, then?”

“No. Not—not interested.”

Johnny lifts one brow. “In marriage?”

“In anything.”

He keeps fucking smiling. You have a barely controllable urge to smack him; you settle for wringing the hem of your sweater, imagining it could be his neck.

“So what brings y’here, then?” he asks, tilting his head like a cat playing with its food. “If no’ a honeymoon?”

You frown.

The truth is, of course, that nothing brought you here. Vatersay, nor the Hebrides, nor Scotland itself were actually of any consequence. You’re ambivalent about the ocean, and you certainly don’t care about seals.

You just hadn’t been able to think of anything you wanted when you asked yourself that perennial question. You wanted nothing.

You wanted nothing.

So you found as much nothing as you could and bought the soonest first class ticket heading toward it.

Your only stipulation had been no language barrier—so here you are now, cursing the lack of such, because it means this man, who belongs on this island no more than you do, is bothering to try and talk to you.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet,” is what you decide to say.

“Needed a change, aye?” Johnny nods sagely, as if understanding. “I did too, when I came here. Was in the army. Special forces.”

“O-okay,” you say, because you hadn’t asked.

“Didnae plan to stay,” he continues.

He turns his head to look out the kitchen window; on one temple is the ghost of a scar. A starburst-ripple in the shaved side of his dark hair—nothing more.

But something about it suggests that the wound it closed around was a horror to behold.

Then he turns back to you, the corners of his mouth quirked. “But somethin’ about this place is hard to leave.” The quirk turns into another smarmy grin “Bet when your month’s up, you’ll know what I mean.”

It seems rude to say probably not. “Maybe.”

The radiator in the kitchen breathes a swell of warm air through the room, blooming with Johnny’s diesel-and-ocean scent. There’s very little space between you, him against the counter, you across from him at the sink. Johnny’s bulk claims what little room there is to maneuver, and if you tried to move away, it would require first moving closer.

“So,” you begin.

“Here,” he intercedes. “Wanna show you somethin.’”

The only reason you comply is because he leads you outside, which is a step closer to him finally leaving you alone. Johnny circles around the cottage, revealing a footpath that leads down the hill. The ground transitions from soil to sand as you both walk; the wind picks up as the sound of waves grows. Eventually you reach what turns out to be a small cove, hidden by the curve of the island, flanked on both sides by cliffs of only middling height.

The tide is only now making its way in; probably why you hadn’t realized it was here earlier. You think you’ll be able to hear the waves when you go to sleep tonight.

“Oh,” you say, unable to hide that it’s impressed you.

“Yeah,” Johnny replies, smug. “All yours. Come down whenever you like. Dinna recommend skinny dippin’ this time a’year, though.”

You look at him, intending some sort of flat response, but what you see stops your words up in the chamber of your throat.

There’s something…different about him. There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A dangerous cant to the angle of his grin. He suddenly feels very real to you—

Like standing in front of a wild animal.

Realizing, at the same time it does, that there is no barrier between it and you.

He looks you up and down. He doesn’t even try to hide it; too-blue eyes jaunt from yours down to your throat, the span of your shoulders, lingering on your chest before drifting down your stomach and hips. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, shoulders lifting as his chest expands, and you get the strange sense that he’s trying to smell you.

The ice that slithers through your veins, drips down the rigid column of your spine, wars with the spike of heat that breaks across your face. You feel here. You feel very present, your heart pumping wet in your chest, electrical wisps zipping to every nerve ending and back up your cerebellum to remind your brain of every part of your existing body.

Suddenly you are in Scotland, thousands of miles away from home, freezing fucking cold, only half of all the money you have in the world left in your bank account. Tomorrow stretching out in front of you. The next day after it.

Panic, which you thought buried, turns over in your belly, grave-dirt too light to keep it down. Hard earth is beneath your feet. A light drizzle is starting overhead. You begin to shiver, your nervous system’s effort to warm your hairless mammal body up, to save you from the cold and the wet and the fucking predator standing two paces away from you while gazing at you like it can’t wait to break your bones open for the marrow inside.

“Okay,” you finally snap, though you’re unable to keep your voice from quivering. “I really appreciate you driving me, Johnny, but—”

His eyes flash. The ocean-depths of them shift with an awareness beyond your ken, the dark edges deepening, the vivid blue swirling. The expression on his face transmutes into something unknowable—like the difference between the look on a pet dog’s face and a wolf’s.

Something isn’t there that should be, and what is in its place is entirely unfamiliar.

What is in its place is something your species evolved long past being able to understand.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the flash is gone. Johnny is human again, as if he had always been in the first place. The thin crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he gives you what he probably thinks is a sympathetic smile.

He doesn’t seem able, or perhaps willing to hide how amused he is, though.

“Long flight, I know,” he croons, meeting your gaze again. “Dinna worry, bonnie, I’ll let you get your rest.”

Whatever you were about to say dies. Your mouth hangs open. Johnny backs away from you, hands casually in his pockets.

“I’ll take you to see the seals tomorrow!” he calls to you before he turns away. A sudden gust ruffles the pelt hanging around his hips. “I know all the best spots.”

He throws you a casual wave, and then disappears over the rise.

You do hear the waves that evening, when you lay down to sleep. The covers are soft over you, cozy and warm even as the ocean wind hums outside.

You can’t stop shivering.

next

a/n: last fic of the year (probably)! i'm so into this one tbh. i figured out the ending a while ago and i'm so dang excited to get to it.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

DEAR SPRING, STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO, SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your lovers, in the wake of a new spring.

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up. 

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you? 

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes. 

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin. 

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now. 

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you. 

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses. 

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question. 

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips. 

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?” 

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog. 

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you… 

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away. 

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes. 

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms. 

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin. 

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour. 

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. i feel neglected in this household.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten. 

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun. 

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this? 

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning. 

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours. 

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd. 

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking. 

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up. 

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks. 

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come. 

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again — a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins.

and you smile.

(it’s springtime, now. a little warmer. 

here’s to another year together.)

[delirious-donna]

My Lover’s The Sunlight [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: a wonderful thought that I simply couldn’t pass over when it was suggested to me, especially as a glasses wearer myself… Hiromi likes it when you keep your glasses on.

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: reader is a glasses wearer, bit of domestic bliss, alcohol mentions, making out turns into much more, NSFW

The evening had been a pleasant one. Not often did you take the time to cook together these days, more often than not it was hastily thrown together hodgepodge meals or heated up prepackaged food for convenience alone.

It was understandable when you were both so very busy, and it wouldn’t go on forever, that much you knew for a fact. So, to have shared a delicious home cooked meal and a lot of laughter at Hiromi’s supremely lacking culinary finesse, it was a balm for your heart and soul.

With bellies full and good humour in abundance, settling into a nightly routine was as easy as pie. Your latest book rested on your chest, legs up on the couch with your feet in Hiromi’s lap. He massaged the tired arches, rolling his knuckles along the soles and pinching playfully at your wiggling little tootsies. The movie he had stuck on played quietly as background noise to the idle chatter you indulged in, everything was perfectly at peace.

“We should have evenings like this more often,” you mused out loud whilst reaching for your wine glass and taking a long, well deserving sip.

Hiromi agreed with a noise in his throat. His gaze moved from the screen to your face, dipping from your eyes to your mouth, watching as you licked away a stray droplet of cabernet. The hand at your foot moved to your ankle, thumb grazing over your ankle bone before grasping to tug you deeper into the cushions.

You offered a saccharine smile, dripping in honeyed possibilities. “Need something mister lawyer man?”

~

It had started innocently enough from that point. Discarding your book in favour of indulging in the spicy heat of your husband’s mouth. His tongue licked across your teeth to curl with yours. Your fingers ran through his thick head of hair, twisting the black strands near the roots just how he liked.

Soon you were sat on his lap, straddling him with your chest flush to his and your hips undulating to rut your pelvis against the bulge that was awakening impressively fast. Hiromi’s hands explored beneath your sweater. Broad palms glided along the length of your sides and his fingertips teased at the lace of your bra, dipping past the cups and tweaking at your nipples to hear your breathy little squeaks.

Hiromi’s kisses moved to your jaw, your neck and your décolleté. His hooked nose nudging insistently at the modest neckline whilst he grabbed at you more firmly, making you gasp.

“Off,” he ordered to your surprise. The bark of the word was so unlike him that you merely blinked for a moment, meeting simmering eyes that told rich tales of how he was going to devour you this evening. “The sweater, please… it’s in the way.”

“You’re lucky you added a please or else I might have said no…” you teased, knowing full well that was not the case. The arousal between your thighs had increased from his tone alone, causing you to clench in anticipation. There would be no refusals, but it was always fun to toy with him a little. A sleek eyebrow rose by reply, Hiromi questioned your certainty and gazed down to where you were mercilessly grinding into him.

Huffing at being caught in the obvious lie, you reached up to remove the glasses from your face only to be stopped. Hiromi’s hand encased your wrist, stroking over the pulse. “Keep these on. I like it when you wear them when we—y’know, when we… fuck.”

Oh.

A jumble of hastily discarded clothes surrounded you. Underwear sticky with arousal obscured the corner of the television, Hiromi’s tie decorated the side table lamp and a stray sock had managed to land in the plant pot by the window. None of it mattered, not when the man beneath you had a mouthful of your breast and was lining himself up for you to sink onto his cock.

You glanced at him over the rim of your glasses, eyes low-lidded and sultry. You were aware your glasses were perched further down your nose than usual, knocked slightly askew from the fervour of shared kisses. Hiromi bucked upwards without thought, his cock slick with precum lost its place at your entrance, slipping to your clitoral hood and adding such sudden pressure and friction against your pert clit that your nails clawed into his shoulders. The chain reaction continued; hot moans muffled around your breast, streaks of red decorated his shoulder down to his chest and you twitched in Hiromi’s hold, desperate to be stretched and filled.

“Hiro—dear god… you’re going to be the death of me! Come… here.”

Reaching between you, the velvet skin of Hiromi’s foreskin rolled back with little effort. Pumping him once then twice, gasping when his teeth sunk a little deeper around your areola, you rose higher and welcome him inside—welcomed him home with a low guttural moan of satisfaction.

You rode him slowly, careful to roll your hips and draw them back enough that only the tip of him remained lodged between your walls. Hiromi hissed through clenched teeth, finally withdrawing from your tender breasts to let his head fall backwards, sweat edging his hairline and the tendons in his neck stark in their strain. His hands pawed at your backside, spreading you further open whilst he watched you through near shut eyelids. Leaning in, your lips claimed his. His hot breath mixed with yours, spurring you to move faster when his stomach contracted, and he whined into the depths of your mouth.

“You—I… oh fuck—fuck! Look at me, lemme see you,” he wailed, his voice an octave higher and filled with urgency.

The second you pulled back to glance at him, he bit savagely into his bottom lip and his eyes travelled between your face and your tits that moved in time with your frantic bouncing. It made you smile, lopsided and punch drunk, seeing your husband still so affected by you after all these years. His cheeks were a ruddy pink, droplets of sweat running from his hair to his jaw and if eyes could look like hearts, then that would be the only way to describe the love and adoration following your every movement.

“Fuck—love you. So much. Fucking goddess… so beautiful,” he slurred enthusiastically.

Hiromi wrapped a hand around the hair he could reach, tugging it into his palm and driving upwards with sudden ferocity. Hiccuping from the unexpected change, you clenched around his length, letting him take over as the pressure in your belly reached the point of no return. Your orgasm broke over you more quickly than expected, the taut stretch of tension snapped in half as pleasure contracted your muscles and made you spasm over and over. He fucked you through it, holding your pliant body to take every impact of his cock drilling into you, angling you so that the soft tissue near your belly cushioned him perfectly.

He was lost to his desires, to his obsession of memorising every line and detail of your blissed out face. Your glasses squint and foggy, eyelids drooped and mouth agape. Your breasts jiggled perfectly, shiny from his spit, tender and swollen from his mouth and how he had bitten and suckled your skin. What pushed him over the edge was the reflection in your lens, his face reflected back to him and the raw adoration more than evident in his expression. He loved you. He loved you much, and he would never able to verbalise it as eloquently as he would like, despite his years of schooling and far from lacking vocabulary.

Everything was perfection to him; you were his everything and he poured the entirety of his essence into the orgasm that shot through him with a sound like a war cry. Only then did he loosen his hold, welcoming you to drape yourself against his panting chest. Boneless and dewy with sweat, your skin tasted salty when his lips found your shoulder and he licked at it like a kitten drinking milk.

“That was…” you panted, trying to catch your breath. “That was something, huh?”

“It was more than just something.” Hiromi kissed your cheeks before returning to your mouth, speaking with his lips ghosting yours. “You’ve really got no idea how sexy I find you, do you?”

His cock twitched, sloppy movements causing you to arch and stretch from the continued fullness of being impaled. Of course you knew, it was written all over his face, but it still made you flush to think about, not least admit.

“I have some idea.”

Hiromi sighed, a happy sigh though he shook his head. “Darling, you have no idea.”

[justluxy]

Addiction

Go support the original creator https_Poki on wattpad!

Aki Hayakawa x Bottom Male Reader

Where you want to make Aki forget about his addiction

Warnings: Smut and smoking

"Let me be your new addiction"

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

The first rays of sunlight illuminate the room, sunlight hitting your face through the window, you let out a sigh rubbing your eyes, a smile appears on your face, Aki is curled up around you, his arms around your waist hugging you from behind, the closest your bodies have been in days

Aki is not the affectionate type but he tries, just for you, and nothing but you

You roll your body, your forehead at the height of your still sleeping lover's chest, Aki's hand rises to cup the your cheeks giving them a soft caress, rising again to pass it through your messy hair leaning down to leave a soft kiss on your forehead and release a sigh, all with his eyes closed still without abandoning his sleep; however, he moved and you realized what your lover was looking for

His pack of cigarettes, you opened your eyes just to find Aki with cigarettes between his lips, leaving the box aside he took the lighter, the small flame appeared being used to absorb the tobacco, the smoke flooding the room

-Idiot - You whisper complainingly, feeling the tobacco flood your lungs, the older man's eyes looking at you questioningly upon hearing your complaint - You have to stop smoking - you scolded him

Aki sighs knowing you're right and it was exhausting, he hated his job, he hated having to get out of bed to leave you alone, he hated his horrible smoking addiction, he hated it all but he had brought it on himself, his hands trailed over his chest, the hickeys his little boyfriend had left six hours ago now fading into his skin, and all the marks fading too. The bruises he had left on your hips healing and fading again, your own hickeys fading into a memory

-I love you - You whispered

-I love you too - he said, taking out the cigarette and expelling the smoke he had absorbed.

The smell floods your nostrils and you hide your face in Aki's chest drowning in his cologne that still lingers on his body so as not to feel what he is used to but hates so much, you lift your body moving the cigarette away and being able to kiss those lips that fit perfectly with yours, you move them slowly feeling the tobacco, you separate leaving soft kisses on Aki's neck creating a small messy path, your playful hands remaining on your lover's exposed chest running your fingers over the small scars he obtained over time as a hunter

You move to sit on Hayakawa's lap, your face separates from Aki's neck, you adjust your position giving him a pleased smile, you moves your hips shamelessly with the intention of provoking him, the dark-haired boy's hands move until they catch the naughty body above his, stopping your movements without even letting go of the cigarette

You sigh when you sees that it is inevitable, the cigarette is again between the lips of your beloved boyfriend, Aki's hand stops on your thigh going up and down perhaps to calm you down because he knows you're getting angry, you take the cigarette from him before he takes one more puff and crush it against the ashtray leaving it there

-I wish you'd stop smoking - You say defeatedly, pushing the pack of cigarettes aside before Aki can take it again to smoke

Aki sighs, running his hands under the shirt you are wearing, trying to convince you in vain. The coldness of his hands makes you shudder at his touch. He caresses your abdomen and slowly moves up your chest

-Please -he begs when he notices that you are refusing to give him the pack

You throw the pack out of reach, your hands cradle the older guy's face, you bring your foreheads together, closing your eyes and starting to speak

- I can keep your mind off smoking for a while, if you'll just let me. I know it's early, but it's better than damaging your lungs any further, you know? Please let me be your addiction and forget about all the others, let me be the one you turn to for stress, let me be your new and only addiction that you defend above all else. Get addicted to me...

-Distract me then - He hummed, removing the clothes within his reach, enjoying the image that was being given to him, his little boyfriend's chest with his marks about to disappear, his hands run over the warm skin descending to the edge of the shorts you were wearing, his slippery hand slides, feeling your tight hole, his other free hand searches the nightstand for a bottle of lube that he remembers, spreads the thick liquid on his other hand, a finger rubs your hole making you shudder at his touch releasing light moans when he enters the first finger inside of you

-Aki... - You moan, joining your lips in a desperate kiss, your arms surround your lover's neck, your fingers tangle in his black hair pulling them without hurting him, your lips move together, when your lower lip is bitten, you release a sigh leaving your cavity open, your tongues come together and form a battle for dominance, you being the one who wins, so happy to win, having total control creating a lustful little waltz that you enjoy before separating from the fiery kiss, a thick line of saliva spilling from the corner of your swollen lips

-Ah... - you moan when a second finger invades your interior, moving to its liking inside of him, rubbing against your gummy walls

Your gazes meet, for the first time in a long time you sees Aki who has a smile that made you want to leave anything and everything you know just to experience happiness with him and only him, your dear Aki

The last piece of clothing is removed, leaving you completely naked in front of him while he releases his hard cock, he places you right on top of him, his hands take your hips to make you go down his long and thick cock. You started moaning feeling him enter your tight hole that is still not used to his large size

-Fuck... - He curses under his breath, feeling his cock being completely sucked by the gummy walls, despite having lubricated it, it is still tight around him - Move - he demands, your small hands resting on his abdomen, you begin a slow movement up and down on his cock, you increases your rhythm, letting Aki's hands guide you

The movements become fast, a small splash is heard between the four walls, the grunts and moans come together, Aki feels his cock being so deliciously sucked by that lustful interior that squeezes him without wanting to let him go, his hips rise helping in the desperate movements of his partner on top of him, his hands go up to the small swollen nipples in need of attention, his fingers play with the sensitive nipples stretching them or pinching them anywhere, he just likes the expressions his little boyfriend makes

-Fuck like that... — he growls as you bounce on his cock, going so deep this time, the movements become slow but hard

-Aki... f-fuck - You call between messy moans, your eyes almost bulging, feeling your lover's cock reach so deep inside you, the reddish tip brushing his abused prostate, your tired legs trying to make them both reach your climax

-Just a little more... - Aki whispers, he knows that you are close to your release and he is too, he roughly grabs your hips, creating his own desperate rhythm, he lets out low grunts along with your soft moans

You screams as long strips of cum leave your cock, small drops of sweat slide down your face with a light blush on your cheeks, taking advantage of the small break that your lover has granted you, you begin to let out light screams when your interior is attacked again, your hands take place on Aki's shoulders burying your nails in his skin, your body bounces up and down, your legs almost numb just tired waiting for Aki to reach his prompt release

Your interior is painted white, the thick essence flooding your insides as you release intermittent sighs, your lover's face hidden in the curve of your neck, feeling his sighs against your damp skin, your hands caress his blackish hair, pulling the strands without hurting, a smile appears on your face that shows tiredness, feeling the other boy's arms tangled around your waist, both lovers taking a breath

He stops his caresses, your eyes meet, Aki's hands slide over the exposed skin leaving soft caresses; with a small smile on his face he begins to speak

-You said you'd help me forget about smoking, but... are you willing to be awake all night and make me forget?

[justalilguyoops]

LAWS hiatus

Hi beebs! LAWS is gonna go on hiatus until i'm done with all of this moving business. I'm just stressed and tired, plus i need to get so much done still which really just saps away at my will to write :/ super sorry to leave y'all on a WACK cliffhanger but!!! I'm hoping I'll be back to click-clacking on my keyboard by the end of the month :) LAWS will return! I have so much planned and am so excited to continue, I appreciate your patience <333

[im-getting-help]

i panicked so much reading LAWS that i opened discord to scream a little and then left lmao

@justalilguyoops the artist you are ❤ plz stop torturing me

[cinderella-ish]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga), Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket Another Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou, Sohma Momiji/Original Male Character(s), Sohma Hajime/Sohma Mutsuki Characters: Sohma Hajime, Sohma Kyou, Honda Tohru, Sohma Momiji, Sohma Mutsuki, Sohma Yuki, Original Male Character(s), Sohma Hatsuharu Additional Tags: Manga: Fruits Basket Another, First Crush, Nostalgia, Family Fluff, Parenthood, Growing Up, Light Pining, Beach Holidays, Summer Vacation, Light Angst Series: Part 23 of lovers alone wear sunlight Summary:

At their annual family beach trip, Hajime wrestles with some big feelings.

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

BUSY BOY

fuckboy!leon x fem reader

warnings: suicide jokes, some slight secondhand embarrassment, unwanted advances, drinking. lots and lots of pining. everyone left fboy leon alone but I’m still here unfortunately. title taken from busy boy by chloe x halle.

Bright sunlight filtering through the blinds of someone’s unfamiliar dorm room wakes you up, red coloring your eyelids. Oh, fuck. You hit the vodka and rum and wine coolers a little too hard last night.

God, you should just bar yourself up in your room whenever you drink. You always make bad decisions when you’re blasted.

One time, you woke up in a ditch wearing someone else’s clothes.

Another time, you got arrested for biking home blasted out of your mind because that apparently counts as drunk driving.

This is the stupidest of all the decisions you made.

Leon snores in the bed next to you, one arm extended over his head and the other across his freckled chest.

He’s kinda cute when he’s not fucking with you, pink mouth parted and bangs falling into his eyes.

Like when you guys were in the same communications-slash-effective speech class and he made a persuasive presentation on why you should go out with him as part of one of the units. You don’t know how, but he actually got a good grade on it.

Maybe that criminal justice major is a perfect fit for him.

You, however, knew better, and made sure to keep away from him. Two words: community dick. Until yesterday.

Last night flashes through your mind—

Dancing. Grinding. Bright lights. Vodka. Making out so messy spit drips down your chin. Stumbling into his dorm room. Your back hits the door, then he hauls you into his arms and throws you onto the bed. More kissing. Oral. Sex three different ways before you both pass out.

—and you groan before you can stop yourself.

He shifts next to you, his snoring stopping.

You freeze and go deathly quiet, hoping against hope that he’ll stay asleep, changing a glance backwards.

Your prayers are answered because he goes right back to sawing logs, nearly crowding you out of bed because he starfishes when he sleeps. Fuckin’ figures. You know he’s not a selfish lover, but he’s gotta make up for it in other ways.

Fuck.

You gather up your clothes—all except your underwear, you couldn’t find that without turning his room upside down and waking him up.

Whatever, going commando’s better for you or some other hippie bullshit your mom texts you about.

You manage to make it out of his dorm without waking him up and hightail it to your own a couple minutes away, exchanging your clothes after a quick shower and brushing your teeth.

On your way to class—that you have with him somehow—you snag an energy drink and down half of it in the three minute walk to your class.

You look like you got dragged backward through a row of hedges, but at least you’re on time.

Leon, king of hearts, shows up five minutes late with a wave to the professor and parks his happy hungover ass on the other side of the room from you.

Good, you were hoping this would be one and done.

Class ends after an hour and you grab your things, getting up to flee before he has a chance to talk to you.

It’s too late, he’d already sauntered up to you while you were putting your notes away.

“Think you forgot something.” Leon says nonchalantly, then digs into his pocket and dangles your underwear from a finger, tongue poked between his teeth with a smile.

You might just hit him. You’re gonna knock his ass out and go to jail.

You snag the underwear from him with a scowl and he huffs a laugh, tucking his hands back into his sweatpant pockets as you shove your underwear into your own pockets.

Never mind, you might have to find a hole and crawl in it and never come out. Actually, campus has a pond that you could reasonably try to drown in like some sort of dark academia aesthetic post that’s a little too on the nose. But it seems like it’d be painful and take a long while.

You stomp out of the classroom and don’t look anyone in the eye, stopping to refill your water bottle and to find a corner to catch up on your work in, trying to put your embarrassing hookup out of your mind.

You fucking feel like everyone’s eyes are on you. Logically, you know they’re not. You know that they’re not and that people are too damn busy to stare at you.

You groan, rubbing your eyes after throwing down your pencil on your work.

Leon slides into the seat next to you. “Been avoiding me?” He asks, muscled arm sneaking over the back of your chair.

“We only had one class together.” You reply measuredly, a headache building in your temples and pressure behind your eyes.

“Two, since we count the speech class.” He replies easily, setting the back of his knee on the opposite foot.

“You’re such a fucking lawyer.” You mutter, picking up your homework pointedly. There’s no point, you’re no good at math, but hopefully, it irritates him that your attention isn’t on him.

Leon gives you a catlike smile, head tilting to the side. “That’s what I pay tuition for. I’d say it serves me well, since I got that A in the persuasive speech about why you should go out with me.”

Your eyes roll to the ceiling, an annoyed and unamused look on your face. “What the hell do you want?”

“To fuck you again.”

You actually look around when he says that, your face heating up. It’s ten in the morning, mind you. Thankfully, nobody gives a shit. His laugh catches your attention and you glare at him.

“Jesus. You’re acting like it’s such a big thing.” Leon rubs the back of his neck, then looks around disinterestedly. Since when has he had that tattoo of a lion? That’s a little on the nose.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He kisses his teeth, unable to fight a grin. “Harsh words.” He remains grinning when you smack him on the arm. “Ouch, that really hurt. Can you kiss it better?”

“Ew.” You enunciate each syllable in the word, brows raising as you lean slightly forward for emphasis.

That grin of his is implacable. Unstoppable force (your irritation) meets immovable object (his smile).

“You know you want me.”

Scratch that. Unstoppable force (your irritation) meets immovable object (his self-confidence).

When you only stare at him, Leon leans forward, pushing hair behind your ear, a far softer look in his eye than you’ve seen on him before.

Any stomach fluttering you may have felt is immediately undone by him smirking at you, that smug perma-smile on his face again. “I knew it.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.” You reply incredulously, that same feeling written all over your face. Your face heats all the way up, rivaling the sun itself, compounding your embarrassment.

“Mm-mm.” He pokes your cheek, leaning back in his seat, one corded forearm settling on the shared armchair.

He needs his ass beat, preferably by someone bigger than both of you so you can have the satisfaction of seeing him black and blue.

You get your wish a few days afterward, watching him waltz into class with a bruise on his cheek and split knuckles. This time, you walk up to him afterward. “You look like someone dragged you backward through a bush.” You say bluntly, sipping your coffee.

Leon smiles, pulling his bag over his shoulder and stepping away from the desk. “You’re a ray of sunshine this early in the morning.”

You take a step back so he can get out of the row. “Just saying. What’d you do?”

He shrugs blithely, pushing a hand into his pocket. “Barfight.”

Your eyebrow twitches up. “You lost?”

His head tilts to the side, a sly smile pulling at his mouth as he blatantly stares at your mouth. “You should see the other guy.”

Jesus Christ. Yeah, okay, now you kinda see why he pulls as many bitches as he does.

He steps a little closer. “Were you worried about me?”

Other kids filter into the classroom, so you walk away. This time, Leon follows you. “Remind me why you don’t want us to hook up again?” He says casually, grinning when you scowl at him.

You roll your eyes. “Because I don’t.”

“Disappointed?” He asks innocently, following you into the library building.

“No.” You say quickly, then scowl. “Yes.” Trick question, either way he’s going to try and argue that into his favor. Fucking lawyers.

He hisses through his teeth, that implacable grin on his face again. “Ouch. How can I make it up to you?”

“By leaving me alone.”

He pouts at you and you almost laugh. That’s probably what he wants, he wants you to laugh so he can worm his way into your good graces. He’s not a bad looking guy—and probably not so bad a guy—you just think he’s a hoe. Good for him, but he’s not for you.

He shrugs after staring at you for a bit, then walks away, whistling tunelessly.

That’s it?

That was not fucking it.

Since your little mishap with Leon, you’ve made it your mission to go for a party once every business month.

You had a good streak of not seeing him until you went to his frat. You figured, ‘Hey, what are the odds? The place will be packed. Needle in a haystack odds of seeing him.’

No such luck. He’s going shot for shot with a brother of his, face pleasantly flushed and blond hair tousled, an impish grin across his face and dimples out in full force.

You immediately turn the other way to avoid him, wandering back to your friends and dancing with them, going back in for shots whenever your drinks are too low.

What happens next is about Shakespearean levels of drama. The beginning scene is this: your friend has a guy grinding on her even though she’s told him to stop and is currently trying to get the hell away from him, you and your other mutual friend trying to bodily block him.

He calls her a stupid, ungrateful bitch, trying to step up to her as if he doesn’t have a head and at least thirty pounds on her.

She calls him a cunt and that makes everything worse.

“Bro.” Leon says, tapping his brother on the shoulder from the side. “Leave her alone, man,” He hiccups mid-sentence, turning his head away and hiccuping into the back of his hand. “she said no.”

Said brother slaps Leon’s hand away, a sneer on his face. “Fuck off, Leon.”

Leon shrugs and seems like he’s about to walk away until he bodily blocks the brother from your friend when he tries to step up again. “Dude, leave her alone. Go find some other girl.” He sounds a little like he’s sobering up.

The brother shoves Leon away, sending him back a step. Leon responds by clocking him in the jaw and knocking his ass to the floor, shaking out his hand and jumping headfirst into the scuffle less than a second later.

They break apart in about five minutes, Leon sporting a bloody lip and a butterfly bruise on his jaw and the brother with a lot more wear and tear.

Leon keeps himself between the brother and your cluster of girls until the brother spits at his feet and storms off to lick his wounds.

“Are you fucking stupid?” you ask immediately, silently amazed that he’s not more hurt. You saw the other guy he got in a bar fight with about a month ago and he looked like he lost a fight with a deer, so you should maybe not be so surprised.

He chuckles, wiping a streak of blood from his lip on the meaty side of his thumb. “I’m drunk.”

You look at him as if he grew two heads. “Yeah?” Obviously, you mean.

You never would’ve taken him for a bloodthirsty son of a bitch. He just seems so unassuming, frat boy antics aside. Maybe that’s his cover. Maybe all his criminal justice classes taught him how to be a better criminal.

The fight somehow didn’t sour the night, everyone as they were once Leon’s frat brother walks away to cool off, bass shaking the floor.

When Leon goes to the kitchen, you follow him and stop him from taking a swig of gin straight from the bottle and using it as antiseptic.

When you look around, you realize there’s no rubbing alcohol or peroxide or anything. That’s what you get for assuming the best in a group of men brought together by binge drinking and pack behavior.

Leon smirks at you, then takes a swig of straight gin, making sure to get his split lip soaked in it and grimacing when he’s done. “Damn.” He swipes his tongue over his lower lip and watches you pretend like you weren’t watching him.

“That’s the least of what you get.” You grumble, turning his face this way and that to assess the damage.

“It’s cute that you’re worried for me.” He licks a little blood off his teeth and takes another swig of gin.

“What if you get arrested? What happens then?” You prod at a bruise to see him wince. “Does it look good for a prospective law enforcer to be dinged with a drunk and disorderly?”

“A few d’n’ds aren’t enough to get me kicked from the program.” He muses, rubbing at the furrow between your brows with his thumb. “I think it’ll make me more relatable, personally.”

“So you’re going to be a defense attorney.”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him, surprisingly.

Maybe the vodka you’ve had is making you feel a little too warm. You take one step back.

“Thanks for stepping in.” You say after a stilted moment, looking around the rather unpopulated kitchen.

“That guy’s an asshole.” He sounds a little tipsy again, blame the gin and lack of rubbing alcohol. “Nobody—nobody wants him around, he’s such a little bitch.”

You watch amusedly as he gestures a little as he talks, one hand cutting through the air. “It’s like, the third time he’s done that, I’m gonna—g’na talk to the president to… about kicking his sorry ass out. You can’t do that to girls, man, it’s not cool.”

“What if he tries to jump you?” You lean a hip against the counter, folding your arms over your chest and watching his eyes wander. Damn, you were right to peg him for a spring coloring, that alcohol blush makes his eyes pop.

Leon laughs, taking another swig of gin. “He can try.”

This time, Leon wakes up before you do, morning sun in his eyes this time around. He rolls over, pressing his face against the back of your neck and snaking a corded forearm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He hopes you stay this time, you’re not so bad when you’re pretending like you’re immune to his charms.

[carnalcrows]

YANDERE GANGSTER

☆ name: Felix Marino (Феликс Марино | Félix Marino) → "Fortunate and Of the Sea"

☆ ethnicity : Italian-American

☆ age : 34

☆ gender : Male

☆ mbti : INTJ

☆ his story : [click to proceed]

Once just a regular blue-collar worker with a simple dream—build a good life for his wife and their unborn daughter. But fate had other plans. A tragic misunderstanding led to his wife's brutal murder at the hands of a gang seeking revenge for a crime he never committed. Grief turned into vengeance, and vengeance turned into power. One by one, he eliminated those responsible, leaving no stone unturned, no soul spared. But revenge wasn’t enough—it never is. By the time the dust settled, he had built an empire from the ashes of his pain. Now, he rules one of the most feared mafia syndicates in the world, his name whispered in both reverence and terror.

He’s a ghost of the man he used to be, his heart long buried with his wife. He tells himself love is no longer for him—his wife would have hated the monster he’s become. But in a world of blood and betrayal, the past has a way of creeping back in when least expected.

☆ appearance:

Dark brown hair, always neatly styled but never too perfect—like he doesn’t care, but somehow, it still looks effortless.

Dark green eyes with brown flecks, almost black in the shadows, but strikingly green in the sunlight—if he ever lets himself stand in it.

6'2" with a lean but powerful build—every move he makes is calculated, every step, deliberate.

A face that looks carved from stone—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, an expression that rarely changes.

Wears expensive but understated suits, always in dark colors—nothing flashy, just powerful.

Tattoos: His wife's name on one wrist, their unborn daughter’s name on the other, the only softness left in him. He has various other tattoos of flowers and snakes running down his arms and his back.

☆ personality:

Cold, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient—he doesn’t waste words or emotions.

A master of control—of himself, of his enemies, of the entire underworld.

Speaks in a quiet, measured tone, but when he gives an order, it’s absolute.

Loyalty is sacred to him—betrayal is met with ruthless consequences.

His patience is legendary, but once it runs out, there’s no going back.

Haunted by his past but refuses to show it—his grief is a private wound, one that never truly heals.

Believes emotions are a liability, yet can't fully extinguish the ghost of the man he used to be.

☆ with a lover:

He doesn’t do casual—if he lets someone in, it’s serious, but that’s a rare occurrence.

Overprotective to a dangerous degree—if you’re his, no one touches you. Period.

Doesn’t believe he’s capable of love anymore, but if it happens, it’ll be deep, intense, and consuming.

Shows love in subtle ways—protecting, providing, making sure you’re safe before you even realize you’re in danger.

Will never say "I love you" easily, but his actions will speak louder than any words ever could.

Doesn't do jealousy—he does ownership. If you're his, he makes sure you know it.

☆ strengths:

Unmatched strategic mind—he sees five moves ahead at all times.

Ice-cold under pressure—he never panics, never loses control.

Deadly with both words and weapons—he can end someone with either.

Inspires fear and loyalty in equal measure—his presence alone is enough to command a room.

Never forgets a debt—whether he owes one or is collecting one.

☆ weaknesses:

His past—no matter how much he buries it, it never truly stays dead.

Love—he tells himself he’s incapable, but if he ever lets someone in, they’d become his greatest weakness.

His wife's memory—she is both his strength and his curse, the one thing that can still make him hesitate.

He doesn't know when to stop—revenge, power, control—he always wants more.

Has built his empire alone and trusts almost no one—loneliness is his own prison.

☆ relationships:

Wife (deceased): The only woman he ever loved, the only person who ever made him truly happy. Her memory haunts him, and he wonders if she’d still recognize him now.

Unborn Daughter (deceased): A life that never got to begin, but one he still mourns every single day.

Right-Hand Man: The only person he trusts, the only one who dares to speak freely in his presence.

Enemies: Too many to count, but they all share the same fear—crossing him means death.

Potential Love Interest: If someone ever manages to break through his walls, they’ll find a man who is both terrifying and deeply, painfully human.

☆ extra:

Speaks fluent Italian, English, Russian and a handful of other languages (for business reasons).

Has a soft spot for old jazz and classical music—not that anyone would dare comment on it.

Never lets anyone see his wrists uncovered—those tattoos are the only vulnerability he has left.

Keeps a single photograph of his wife tucked inside his wallet. No one has ever seen him look at it.

[gamerwoo]

Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf (Part Five)

Characters: Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, enemies-to-lovers-ish??, slowburn, werewolf/alpha!chan, (werewolf)hunter!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort ig???, [dialogue in bold is meant to be korean]

Word count: 3,307

Summary: You've learned to do whatever you can to protect yourself after an incident almost a decade ago had your father and brother dragging you to a new country to start all over even though they blamed you for what happened. After finding yourself stuck in a house of werewolves, you're forced to come to terms with your feelings over what happened back home when the alpha imprints on you and his pack claims they're keeping you prisoner. You know exactly how this will end if you give in, and yet you can't seem to get yourself to leave the sweet and charming werewolf who's willing to do anything to make you comfortable. You're just hoping that maybe there'll be a good end this time.

Previous | Next | TGWDCW Masterlist

Chan was more than confused when he woke up. Not only were you no longer on the inside of the bed anymore, but your clothes were thrown on the floor, and half of your body was hanging off the bed and out from under the blankets. He didn’t know how you managed to not only take your clothes off but climb over him and switch spots with him without him waking up, but...it happened. He must’ve slept really soundly beside his mate. And all he could do was chuckle and gently tug you back onto the bed, despite the fact you were in just a bra and underwear.

As much as he wanted to stay there for a few moments longer and stare at you, maybe even caress your skin gently just to know how soft it was, he opted for putting the blanket back over your almost naked body. His wolf had instincts that had built up and up every single day that he couldn’t be as close to you as possible wanted him to, but he always fought them back. Your comfort came first. That would override any instinct he had.

You whined in your sleep, kicking the blankets off again.

Oh, it clicked in his head, it’s too hot.

He laughed softly, his head landing back on his pillow again. Not only were you wearing a sweater, but you were under a thick blanket with him, who literally radiated heat. He reached over to gently brush hair out of your face, and found another laugh rumbling in his chest when he saw your open-mouthed face squished against the pillow in a deep sleep. He wondered if you’d ever even slept so deeply during your time at his house.

Your stomach growling loudly signaled it was time for you to wake up. He placed a hand on your bare back and gently shook you, whispering your name until your eyes blinked open, squinting against the sunlight that poured into the room. You slowly sat yourself up on your forearms and looked around in a daze before your eyes rested on Chan. You were about to question how he got there until you remembered, and then focused on the breeze you felt, looking down at your bare torso except for the black bra clipped around your body.

“How did--” you cut yourself off, looking at your clothes tossed into a pile at the side of the bed. “We didn’t...did we?”

“No!” Chan laughed loudly, his head tossing back as he found your confusion to be absolutely amusing. “You did that all by yourself in the middle of the night. I guess it got too hot for you.”

Feeling the warmth his hand emitted just on your back alone, you looked at him with raised eyebrows, “You’re like the sun, Christopher.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked as you leaned over to grab the sweater off the floor.

“Actually...really well,” you admitted, shifting yourself so you were sitting criss-cross before you tugged the sweater on over your head. “I didn’t even dream.”

He smiled at you softly, stroking your hair, “Well I’m glad you slept better than you have been.”

You turned to look at him with a stern look, “That doesn’t mean this is happening all the time.”

“I know, _____,” he chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

-

You curled up on the couch with a book after breakfast. It was usually how you entertained yourself, but the wolves didn’t have many books. It kept you occupied when you had nothing else to do, but you wished there was something more interesting to read than The Encyclopedia of Birds. However, your attention kept getting pulled by someone staring at you, and for once, it wasn’t Chan.

The only other people in the den with you were Changbin, Jeongin, Jisung, and Seungmin, and three out of four of them were busy. Jisung was glancing back and forth between an open book, and a mortar and pestle in front of him, working on medicines they needed to stock up on. Changbin was stacking firewood by the fireplace, and Jeongin was watering the plants around the den. That left Seungmin, just staring at you blatantly. Even when you’d glance over to meet his gaze due to the weight it left on you, he wouldn’t look away.

With a sigh, you finally gave in, “What?”

“What?” he shot back.

“Why don’t you take a picture, weirdo?” you grumbled.

As you went back to your book, shifting on the couch and settling into a new position, Seungmin suddenly asked, “How’s your neck?”

You looked back up at him again, your hand subconsciously touching the skin of your neck, “My neck?”

You’d almost forgotten about Minho and Seungmin’s second attack until just then. You hadn’t really thought about any marks he might’ve left on your neck, either. But apparently he had, and he was still concerned.

Your face turned into a smirk, “Feeling guilty?”

Seungmin rolled his eyes with a scoff, “You wish.”

“Then what was the sweater for?”

Both of your eyes snapped over to Jisung, sitting on the floor by the coffee table. He had stopped grinding herbs and was looking up at Seungmin, wide-eyed. Despite the snappy comeback, he seemed to be genuinely curious about the answer.

“That was just so Chan didn’t get his panties in a twist,” Seungmin stated, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back into his seat.

“Well, it looked really great on the floor last night,” Chan’s voice came from behind you, making you jump.

You frowned at his comment and reached behind the couch to hit him but he easily dodged it.

Changbin narrowed his eyes, but kept them trained on what he was doing, “You didn’t do anything. We all would’ve heard it.”

“We didn’t do anything,” you stated, turning around to give him a glare.

Changbin stopped his actions, turning to look at you even though he was still half-bent over with firewood in his hands. Then he glanced over at Chan, “Have you considered maybe some Korean lessons for her?”

Chan laughed.

“Wow, Chan,” Seungmin was smirking again, but it was aimed at Chan behind you now, “what kind of alpha can't even get laid?”

An alpha? Your expression turned to one of amusement as you eyed the man that was supposed to be your mate, a smirk playing at the edge of your lips, “Alpha, huh?”

“You didn’t know?” Jisung asked.

“Nobody told me,” the smirk widened as you watched Chan walk around to the front of the couch. “That’s cute.”

Chan grinned back at you, but it was more teasing than genuine, sitting down on the floor in front of you, “Oh? You think I’m cute?”

“No, no, no. I think the fact you’re an alpha despite the fact you can’t even stand up to me is cute. You…are not cute.”

“That’s a lie,” he scoffed. “Your instincts say otherwise, _____. We all know you’re attracted to me.”

“And without actual proof of that, your testimony means nothing,” you told him with a wave of your hand.

Changbin looked at you again, then at Chris and nodded his head in your direction, “She is the real alpha.”

“I agree,” Hyunjin chuckled as he entered the living room, wiping sweat from his forehead. “She kicked you out of your room.”

“Yeah, you’re too nice to be alpha,” you nodded. But then your eyes went wide and you let out a soft gasp. “Wait, don’t all alphas have a power? What’s yours?”

Chan ignored your question, his bright smile genuine as he leaned into you, his head resting on the edge of the couch as he looked up at you with a twinkle in his eyes, “You think I’m nice?”

“Answer the question,” you frowned.

“Nothing that cool,” Seungmin mumbled, rolling his eyes, “that’s for sure.”

“You don’t even have a power,” Chan shot back at him quickly before he went back to his dopey smile as he looked at you. “So, you think I’m nice, huh?”

You gave in with a sigh and patted his head, letting the smile slowly form on your face despite the fact you rolled your eyes. Something about Chan wanting approval from you was...cute, “Yes, Chris, you’re nice. I thought you already knew you were nice to me.”

“I still like hearing you say it,” he shrugged with a happy sigh.

“You’re whipped,” Jeongin murmured, setting down the watering can and going to exit the living room. “I hope I’m not as bad as you when I imprint.”

“You will be,” Changbin assured him in a flat tone. “We all will be. Well, except maybe Seungmin or Minho.”

“Yeah, good luck to their mates…” Hyunjin scoffed as he plopped down on the other end of the couch that Seungmin sat on.

He promptly got a throw pillow to the face.

-

After lunch, you went into the bathroom to check your side. The place Seungmin had scratched you had been bothering you more than usual lately. Chan, Jisung, and Seungmin himself had all confirmed that the wound would heal fine – minus the huge scar you’d have forever – so you didn’t know why it kept hurting. Was it some sort of weird...werewolf sign of some kind?

You lifted up the fabric of your sweater, and peeled off the large bandage taped to your skin. The mark was still red around the edges, and a little shiny from the ointment you were instructed to put on it. Maybe it was infected? Maybe it wasn’t cleaned out well enough? God, you hoped it wasn’t infected. If they had to reopen it to drain it and clean it out, it would hurt just as bad as it did the first time; maybe more. Should you tell someone about it?

You groaned, knowing how Chan would react. Not only would he take it out on the younger wolf but he’d be stuck by your side constantly. It wasn’t that you hated having Chan around – you really didn’t even if you still wouldn’t admit it – it just was something you were still trying to get used to. You still liked having your freedom, and if the scratch Seungmin gave you got infected, your mate would be glued to your side. But how were you supposed to keep it a secret when Chan seemed to know everything you were thinking and feeling?

Maybe you could do it yourself and just not tell anybody. It shouldn’t be too hard to drain it and clean it out, right? You had to do it with your brother when he got injured and didn’t completely clean his wounds – him and your father lived by the idea that a little dirt was good for it – and he said it stung a bit but it wasn’t too bad. You could do it. If you could train to kill werewolves and even face a pack of them, you could fix your own wound.

You stuck on a new bandage, throwing the other one away, before pulling your shirt down and exiting the bathroom, running straight into the side of someone.

“Ugh, do you look where you’re going?” Minho huffed, grabbing your shoulders to straighten you up anyway.

You yanked away from his grip, almost falling backwards into the wall, “Do you know what manners are?”

“Oh, says you,” he laughed dryly, rolling his eyes. The fact he was speaking to you in a language you understood took you by surprise, your eyes widening as he continued, “You have no room to talk to me about manners when you treat your mate like shit.”

Minho had been struggling a lot internally as of late. He hated how close he had to be with everyone – especially with Felix still bunking in his bedroom. He felt like he wasn’t getting any space or time to himself, and it was irritating him. But that was just the shitty cherry on top of the even shittier sundae that was his worry over his alpha.

You were technically still being ‘held hostage’. The only reason you were sticking around was because Minho and Seungmin said you couldn’t leave, and he realized that the previous night when he heard you mention going back home. While he knew they could force you to stay, they couldn’t force you to accept Chan. Even if you stayed here with them, they couldn’t make you want to be his mate. He was afraid that any day now, Chan could get worse, or you could run away and that would be it. And then what? Would he be alpha? Or Changbin? Or, Gods forbid, the baby?

All of his worries and frustrations stemmed from you. You were the problem, and he hated you for it.

You couldn’t deny that his words kind of stung. Instead of trying to come up with a comeback, you just rolled your eyes back at him and walked up the stairs, trying to get away from him. 

However, his voice trailed up the stairs as he called up to you before going into the kitchen, “He deserves a better mate!”

Trying to block out his words, you quickly made your way down the hall and to your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You took comfort in Chan’s bed, laying down on top of the blankets that were still strewn about from last night.

In the silence by yourself, you couldn’t help that your mind was only concentrating on Minho’s words. They bounced around inside your head, echoing over and over. You knew he was definitely right. You were the worst possible mate Chan could get stuck with, but he had to put up with you or he’d die. He was stuck whether he actually loved you or if he just loved you out of pure instinct. 

Part of you wanted to give into the pull you felt toward him and just...maybe be happy for once in the last decade. Accept him and hope that your family never found you, or trust that Chan and the pack could keep you and themselves safe if they did find you. Let your walls down and let his brothers in a bit more, bonding with them and becoming part of their adopted family.

But all you could hear was your father and Nolan in your head whenever you had those thoughts and daydreams. Screaming lessons and insults at you. You felt guilt because of your mom, and because you didn’t want to be a failure in your family’s eyes. But it felt like ever since your mother died, you couldn't be anything other than a disappointment.

And Finley… You didn’t know why when you felt guilt, he’d pop into your head along with your family. Maybe because…you were his–

No, you couldn’t think about that. Especially not now.

Either way, what Minho said still hurt you whether you wanted to admit it or not. Chan was stuck with you, which meant there was a good chance he’d always be miserable. The part of you that you tried to shove deep, deep down that did care about Chan and wanted him to be happy didn’t like that thought. He’d be better off without you. Maybe it would be better if you just ran away; maybe destiny would just pick him out a new mate instead of killing him. Then again, at least in death, he couldn’t be miserable and stuck with someone as flip-floppy and unstable as you.

You heard a soft knock on the door, interrupting your sulking, so you chose to ignore it. Due to the silence, Chan opened the door anyway. “Hey, I was gonna go– _____?”

His face fell as he approached you and sat down beside you on the bed, placing a gentle hand on your upper back as he looked at you with concern. You didn’t even realize you were crying until his fingers were wiping away tears. 

“_____, what happened?” he asked you softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…” you sniffled, looking away from him. “Don’t worry about it.”

He let out a short laugh, smoothing your hair back, “That’s not likely.”

“It was Minho,” Hyunjin, who was passing by your room mentioned, speaking up loud enough to be heard by both of you through the closed door.

You felt the growl vibrate in Chan’s chest as his eyes narrowed slightly, “What did Minho do now?”

“Nothing!” you insisted.

The door opened, and Felix poked his head in, “He said _____ is a bad mate and you’d be better off without her.”

You picked one of your shoes up off the floor and whipped it at the door, but the freckled wolf had already closed the door with a quick, “Sorry!” followed by him and Hyunjin giggling at their meddling and getting the older wolf in trouble.

You sighed deeply and looked up at the ceiling, hoping it would suck the tears back in. Chan had only seen you cry that one time, so he was especially concerned that this affected you so much – it also made him a bit happy you cared that much but now wasn’t the time to tell you that.

“_____, you’re not a bad mate,” he promised.

“Yes I am,” you laughed, wiping under your eyes as more tears formed. “I’m awful because we’re opposites. Part of me– God, part of me really wants to just say ‘fuck it’ and give in to everything, but then I feel…angry and guilty and afraid. And I can’t just stop feeling that way. I wish it was just as easy as turning my brain off, but it’s so loud and I– I just can’t–”

“Hey, hey, you’re fine,” he quickly calmed you down, holding your face between his hands and wiping tears away with his thumbs. You couldn’t look at him, your eyes closing and causing more tears to slip out, but he continued to look at you and only you. “_____, trust me, I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this must be for you. It’s conflicting, I know. I wish I could make it easier for you, too. But I promise you that nothing about how you’re feeling makes me wish I imprinted on someone else. Maybe I wish the situation was different, yeah, but I’d still want it to be you.”

“But I know it’s frustrating because I can’t even get myself to talk about anything,” you mumbled, eyes opening but looking off to the side. “I’m even frustrated with myself.”

“There’s a lot going on in that pretty head of yours,” he told you, with a chuckle, moving his head so he could look into your eyes. lifting your chin with his index finger and making you look at him. “I get it’s hard to open up to someone about it, especially a werewolf. I don’t want you to force anything. Do it when you’re ready.”

“What if my dad finds you while I’m here?” you sniffled, looking into his warm eyes. “Or Nolan?”

Chan shrugged, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“They’ll hurt you before they try to get to me,” you told him in a mumble because you knew what you were implying and you felt…conflicted letting Chan know you were worried about the safety of him and his pack.

He offered you a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry about us. We’re a lot stronger than you think we are. Just like you’re a lot stronger than you think you are.”

Chan really was too good for someone like you. But you opted to keep that thought to yourself or you’d be going around in circles all day. Instead, you just gave him a half-hearted smile back.

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[zorosdimples]

AFLOAT

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ this fic is slightly suggestive, but it’s more fluffy than anything else. reader has an unspecified devil fruit power, and thus cannot swim. reader wears a bra and underwear, and is implied to be shorter than zoro, but no gendered terms are used.

word count ༄ 1365

notes ༄ my birthday fic for zoro! this has been in my drafts since july. it’s disgustingly self-indulgent and filled with emotion; i hope you all enjoy regardless <3 tagging my beloved wife @redskyvenus!

sitting on the edge of a rickety, weather-worn dock, you dip your legs in crystalline water and try to keep your focus on the depths: on the flora that roots at the bottom and reaches to the sun, on the schools of tiny fish that flit around the underwater jungle.

but your gaze keeps drifting to the man swimming laps around the spring, admiring how gracefully his strong body cuts through the water. the midafternoon sun hotly caresses your skin and presses into you like a greedy lover. you lean back on your palms and tilt your head up to soak in the barefaced sky; its cerulean is only obscured by the dense foliage that surrounds the secluded watering hole.

you’re startled from your thoughts when you feel something tickle your toes. with a strangled yelp you scramble back from the edge of the dock. as you steady your breathing and wonder what the hell just touched you, a familiar mint green head bobs up to the surface.

“asshole!” you shout, slamming your hands down on the wooden planks for emphasis.

zoro laughs heartily as he hoists himself out of the water and plops down next to you. he ruffles his hair, sending sparkling droplets flying in the sunlight, landing on your sweat-damp flesh. your eyes flicker to the rivulets that ebb and flow down his naked torso into a little pool beneath him.

remembering your irritation, you half-heartedly punch his tricep and scold him. “you scared me so badly i could’ve fallen into the spring and drowned. and then you have the audacity to laugh at me?”

zoro snorts at your dramatics, but glosses over them, nudging you with his elbow. “i’d never let you drown and y’know it.”

he’s right, of course. zoro is certainly strong enough to haul you out of the water. you’ve watched him save countless people—friend and foe alike—from a premature grave. you put your feet back in the spring, playfully kicking the swordsman’s leg in the process. the chilled water cools your body but isn’t enough to stop the perspiration that beads at your hairline.

“i miss swimming,” you state, thinking aloud more than speaking to the man beside you. you can’t see the way his lone eye maps your profile as though he will forget the cant of your nose and the curve of your lip once this moment passes.

silence hangs comfortably for several breaths before zoro turns to you with a sly—or is it sinister?—smile. “let me take you swimming.”

you blink at him a few times, face scrunching into the signature scowl he secretly adores.

“did you hit your head on a rock or something? i’m a devil fruit user. it’s physically impossible for me to stay afloat in water, let alone swim in it.”

his grey eye shines with mirth. “just listen for a sec, will ya? no need for insults,” he chuckles as he rises to his feet and offers you a hand.

you appraise him with a quirked brow. you will yourself to push away thoughts of how beautiful he looks bathed in sunbeams and how you wish you could chart the planes of his body the same way you are charting the grand line. how you would see and count and kiss every scar etched in his flesh and tell him how happy you are that he’s alive.

zoro keeps his expectant stance, and you focus on his outstretched hand, just as sinewy and scarred as the rest of his body.

“d’you trust me?” he inquires. his eye searches yours for truth.

“more than i trust myself,” you answer without thinking. the admission is perhaps too honest, but you catch his dimpled smile and feel a little lightheaded as you grasp his rough palm and stand up beside him.

zoro leads you off the dock and around the rocky curves and edges of the spring to an ideal point of entry. you reach a stretch that resembles a beach: a sandy shore that slopes into the water. he starts walking into the spring expecting you to follow, but when you hesitate, he pauses and spins to face you.

“somethin’ the matter?” he asks.

you wordlessly glance down at your jean shorts and white top. “ah,” he says with a curt nod. “you should just wear your swimsuit. don’t wanna get all bogged down with wet clothes.”

you absentmindedly fiddle with the edge of your shirt and clear your throat. “i don’t have a swimsuit, zoro.”

“huh? nami’s always got one on. you’re tellin’ me you don’t?”

you rub your temples. “oh my god, zoro. nami can swim—i can’t. why would i ever wear a swimsuit when i have no intention of swimming?”

after a few tense beats, he tries again. “so—”

you interrupt him with a huff. “just turn around and wait a second. please?”

he obeys without question and you sigh. before you second guess yourself, you undress, leaving your shirt and shorts in a tidy pile on the sand. you’re left in your bra and underwear. they’re nothing special: just a matching cotton set that has seen better days. they are well-worn and comfortable—perfect for the sticky summer heat. you muster all your courage and start walking toward the shoreline.

it’s not a big deal.

it’s just like a swimsuit.

he won’t care.

it’s not as though he likes me.

zoro can hear your tentative steps, faint splashes in the water behind him. he doesn’t turn to you since you never told him he could. once you reach his side, he angles his head so he can look you directly in the eyes, saying, “we’re gonna walk until the water is up to your shoulders. is that okay?” if you saw a rosy flush on his cheeks, you could have easily mistaken it for the heat or too much sun.

“yeah,” you breathe.

the two of you walk in silence. you feel fine until the water hits your waist, then reality sets in. you haven’t been in a body of water since you were a young child. icy panic surges through your veins when you feel a fish graze one of your legs; you instinctively grab zoro’s tanned forearm to steady yourself.

“easy there, s’okay,” he soothes, stopping so you can get your bearings. when you don’t let go of him, he adds a simple “c’mere,” securing a strong arm around your waist. the water is cold, but his touch burns you.

it’s a strange sensation, delving deeper in the clear water, the surface lapping at your shoulders. it’s both nostalgic and new, familiar and foreign, frightening and exciting—even more so with the man holding you.

“see? you’re a pro,” zoro teases, calloused fingers gentle as he squeezes your waist.

usually, you would bite back, but you’re transfixed by the feeling. you attempt to turn and face zoro, but stumble in the process, unused to how clunky your legs feel underwater. he wraps both his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him.

it dawns on you how close you two are: your bodies pressed together, a thin layer of sodden fabric separating your flesh from his. the swordsman hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. (you would if you weren’t so focused on your own heartbeat.)

you peer up at zoro, hands splayed on his firm pecs, and for the first time, you see unguarded longing in his steel gaze. it’s awkward, the way neither of you can bring yourselves to speak. but leaning into one another feels right.

uncharacteristically, zoro breaks the quiet. his voice is rich—husky—as he asks, “you okay?”

boldly, you link your hands around his sun-warmed neck, thrilled when he doesn’t pull away, but instead sinks into your touch. you stand on your tiptoes, inching closer to him. zoro’s head hangs low, chapped lips parted, breath heavy. he’s so close that you can see him and smell him and hear him and feel him, but you want to taste him, too.

“let’s just stay like this,” you murmur.

and in the middle of the chilly spring, two burning souls stay afloat, zoro’s lips moving, melting, blurring against your own.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 38

Jaskier has kept a secret for years. The ring with dandelions carved into it that he wears every second of every day is the only thing keeping him from turning into ash. He sleeps with a lovely woman one night, desperately trying to move on from Geralt (it doesn't work, he is still very much in love with his best friend) only to awake in the morning and find- FUCK She stole his ring! That conniving little-! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What does he do!? He races to the mirror and it confirms his worst fear. The glamour the ring gives him is gone. He can't see his reflection. He reaches a hand up to his mouth and feels his fangs. No- Nonono! Then his worst fucking nightmare ON TOP of his worst nightmare happens. He hears the stomping footsteps of a witcher approaching their room. Godsdamn it all. He hears the doorknob jiggle and.. Alright, he'll be the first to admit it, he panics. "DON'T COME IN, GERALT" The doorknob jiggling pauses. "Jaskier? Are you alright?" "Y- YES! Perfectly peachy! Don't come in!" Jaskier rushes around the room, pacing in panicked circles like a caged beast. He was a caged beast. He reaches to close the curtains of the only window in the room and like an idiot, he fumbles in place and ends up with his hand in the direct sunlight. He shrieks in pain and holds his hand to his chest. Geralt, scenting agony and hearing Jaskier yell, barges in without another moment of thought. Only to see Jaskier scrambling away from him in fear. In all his years of knowing Jaskier, he has NEVER been afraid of him. It physically pains Geralt to see it now. He doesn't understand why he wasn't allowed in. There's no lover of Jaskier's hiding in a corner embarrassed at being caught, Jaskier isn't indecent or anything, so why-? Then he looks at Jaskier, truly looks at him, and sees his blue eyes are glowing, and his mouth - Parted open as he pants - reveals fangs. Geralt's eyes dart to Jaskier's neck and it's confirmed. The worst part of it all, is the way Jaskier's eyes keep glancing between the door out of the room, and Geralt's silver sword. Geralt is infuriated. Not only did the woman Jaskier take to bed last night turn Jaskier into a vampire, but she also made Jaskier fear Geralt because of it. When Geralt says he isn't going to harm (let alone KILL like Jaskier had feared) Jaskier for the twentieth time, Jaskier finally believes him, and begs him to help him track the woman down. Geralt is intent on killing the vampire that ruined poor young human Jaskier's life. Jaskier is intent on getting his human-glamour, sunlight-immunity-enchantment ring back from this human he slept with, so he can go back to pretending he's human, like he has been doing for the past hundred or so years.

[spnbabe67]

So Come And Do It For Me

Kinktober Day 15: Phone Sex (D.W.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Fingering, Masturbation (F. described, M. implied), dirty talk, slight power exchange if you squint

Summary: Cabin fever sets in for Tori as the fifth day alone in the Bunker gets to her. Luckily, Dean calls to take care of his girl.

Word Count: 1640

Authors Note: Title inspired by the song Love Me by Ex Habit

Tag List:

@zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature

Tori hated being injured. Hated the clean, hospital reminiscent smell of the antiseptic wipes. Hated the way the cast material clung to her lower leg, restricting her mobility. She hated laying in bed all day, or sitting at the table in the library when she could be out with Sam and Dean chasing down leads. Most of all, she hated being useless. Tori didn’t care how many times Dean had tried to placate her, telling her that doing research and being whatever law enforcement contact they needed was helpful. She knew better.

She knew there wasn’t any piece of lore Sam couldn’t find in a library or on that laptop of his. Knew that Bobby or even Garth could play FBI/DNR/U.S. Marshall supervisor 10 times better than she could. It felt, lazy, irresponsible even, to stay sequestered in the Bunker when she could be out there helping people. Saving people, hunting things. That was the motto, not ‘take it easy, let your fractured tibia heal”. Doesn’t really have the same ring to it.

Tori had heard her mom use the phrase ‘hurry up and wait’ many times in her youth, but she’d never truly understood the sentiment behind it until now. Not to mention the fact that loneliness was a monster that had carved a hole in her chest, curled itself up and settled in. Tori’d never realized how quiet the Bunker was without Sam and Dean here. Sure the pipes groaned and the building itself whispered and hummed with all the machinery housed under it’s roof. But with her boys gone, there was no bickering, no classic rock blaring in the kitchen, no clinking of bottles in toast. Just the ambient noises that had her feeling smaller than a flea as she hobbled down the long, empty, hallways.

It was probably her imagination, but Tori could have sworn she had started to wear a track between her and Dean’s bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen and the library. It seemed like weeks they’d been gone, but Tori knew it was barely five days. But the seconds blended into minutes and minutes into hours and the hours turned lonely days into even lonelier nights curled up around one of Dean’s flannels she’d shoved onto a pillow in an attempt to pretend it was his chest she fell asleep upon. 

That’s where she was, on her third time rereading the same page in the novel she started, when her cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. Tori sighed, knowing it was Dean on the other end of the line. He called her each night around this time. It warmed her heart, gave her something to look forward to at the end of the day, days that would otherwise bleed together with the lack of sunlight in the Bunker, given the lack of windows; even with the crutches Sam had ran out and got her, she was still too awkward on her feet to try and brave the stairs, feeling a little too much like Bambi than her pride would allow her to acknowledge.

Tori smiled to herself as she accepted the call, bringing her phone to her ear. “Hey.” She greeted him.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Dean’s voice was soft even though it was slightly distorted over the phone. “How’s my girl today?” 

Tori shrugged, facing a few seconds of silence before she remembered that duh Dean couldn’t see her. “Eh. It’d be better if I was there with you and Sam.”

“I know, Sweetheart, I know.”

Tori shoved away the sadness she felt creeping in at the edges. “How are things going?”

She listened attentively as Dean recounted how he and Sam were tracking some obscure monster from some mythology even Tori hadn’t heard of. Sam, living up to his ‘Boy Genius’ nickname, had found the monster's M.O. in some archaic text buried in the back of the town's library, all of the methods matching to a ‘T’. The hard part, according to Dean, was finding the sucker. 

“I have faith in you Baby.” Tori murmured, rolling from her side onto her back, slinging the hand she wasn’t using to hold the phone to her ear, over her stomach.

“I have faith in you too, Sweetheart.” Dean answered, and Tori could faintly hear what she could only assume was the motel bed’s springs squeak as Dean must have sat down. “You’re so strong, and so brave. You’ll be back out here with us in no time.”

Tori sighed. “I know.” She toyed with the material of her sweatshirt. “I really miss you, De.”

The praise falling from Dean’s lips, traveling across the telephone lines to her ears, had Tori squirming in their bed, heat rushing between her thighs. With Dean gone and the lack of motivation plaguing her, Tori was revved up way too easily. 

“I know Sweetheart. I miss you too.”

“Dean.” Tori could hear her voice become breathy as she toyed with the waistband of the boxers she stole from Dean to wear while he was gone. “I really miss you.”

She could practically see the smirk she knew was forming on her lover's face. The rustling of clothes over the receiver turned her on even more, knowing what Dean was doing. Sam must have been out or the boys had gotten separate rooms for Dean to readily be available to do this with her. Either way, Tori wasn’t gonna question it, grateful that Dean was raring to go just like she was. She knew he was missing her just as badly as she was missing him. He hated leaving her alone, regardless of if it was on a hunt or a simple grocery run.

“You touchin’ yourself Baby?” Dean’s voice had gotten a shade thicker, that gravelly intonation in her ear sending shocks of arousal on a straight shot to her core. 

Tori slid her hand beneath the cotton boxers to slide a nimble finger down the seam of herself. “Mmhm.” She hummed, tipping her head back against the pillow, the movement wafting Dean’s cologne to envelope her. 

“Good girl.” Dean practically growled into the receiver. “I want you to rub that pretty clit of yours real slow, okay?”

Tori suppressed a whine. She didn’t want to go slow, and she knew Dean knew that. Her back arched up off the bed at the first contact of her middle finger against her dully throbbing clit. Behind her eyes she imagined Dean sprawled out on the motel bed, his handsome cock gripped in those big hands of his. She imagined those hands all over her body, one taking the place of her own rubbing small circles around her puffy clit.

“How’s that feel?” His voice caressed the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

“G-Good. Wish it was you touchin’ me, De.” Tori moaned softly as her ministrations had her bucking her hips up, chasing her own hand.

“I’m right here, Sweetheart.” With the phone pressed flush against her ear, it was almost like he was here with her. “I want you to slip one of your fingers inside that tight pussy for me. Keep it slow, Sweetheart. I want you to feel yourself. Take your time with it.”

Her lips parted, mouth dropping open as she thumbed her clit, freeing her middle finger to slip inside herself. Tori curled her finger upwards, her inner walls clenching around the digit as she brushed against that spot that had her moaning unabashedly. Dean praised her, his own voice breathy and raw. She could occasionally hear wet sounds as Dean fucked his fist. The erotic image that conjured spurred her movements, pistoning her finger in and out of herself, adding her ring finger once Dean instructed her to. Her fingers didn’t fill her quite as nicely as Dean’s, but this wouldn’t be the first time she explored her own body, inside and out. Tori ground her hips against her hand, thumb still strumming away at her clit in time with curling her fingers in a come-hither motion. 

“That’s it, Baby. Fuck yourself on your fingers. I bet you look so pretty like this, your fingers shoved to the knuckle in that pretty pink pussy. Wish I was there to lick your taste off of them.”

Tori moaned shakily, unable to form a coherent sentence in the face of the pure filth Dean was whispering in her ear. Her inner walls began to throb around her fingers, that too-good feeling starting to flood her lower belly. She whined his name, her thighs starting to shake, her hips thrusting erratically against her hand.

“I know Baby, me too.” Dean moaned to her. “Just a little longer. Be a good girl and wait for me.”

Tori whined into the receiver, trying to hold back the immense wave of pleasure cresting inside her. She panted, sweat beading on her forehead as she held back her orgasm. Tori moaned his name in a seemingly unbroken loop, a plea for him to give her the word. She cried out, nearly sobbing as Dean gave her the word, her legs going lazy, hips wildly bucking against her fingers as she came. Dean’s guttural moan as he came had her clenching down like a vice around her fingers. 

Tori sighed satisfactorily, pulling her fingers from under her boxers. “I love you, De.” She mumbled sleepily.

“I love you too, Tor.” Dean panted, his voice thick with affection. “I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Tori mumbled, already feeling her eyelids grow heavy. “Be safe and come home to me.”

“I will, Baby. I’ll see you soon.”

Tori murmured more I love you’s before hanging up the call. She sighed, smiling as she tugged the Dean-pillow closer, burying her face into the flannel, dreams of Dean and a promise of seeing him soon lulling her to sleep.

[sunboki]

001. RECORD PLAYER LOVER — ANTHOLOGY

PAIRING. Christopher Bahng x fem. reader | WORD COUNT. 3.3k & 20 minute read | SERIES PLAYLIST. | WARNINGS. cursing | TROPE. enemies to lovers (somewhat), fishing town au, friends to lovers, coincidences, making-up (in a way)

( ✉️ ) — if you want an idea of where the small town boy! chan brainrot came from, seek this post back in july.. it only got worse from there(＞＜)

There’s a new guy working at the Record Shop you’d been to countless times as a kid. So when you show up and see a stranger working the register and not the sweet old man who’d give you lollipops, you’re not too pleased.

The last time a new face showed up in your town had to be before you were born, and as someone nearing twenty-one, that said a lot.

On the bright side, there wasn’t much judgment unless it came from choosing the wrong batch of strawberries in front of a grandmother, or perhaps that was simply your experience living here all your life.

Although, twenty-one years later, you didn’t expect for someone new to show up.

.

.

.

Familiar chimes clatter above your head while opening the door, bright blue label reading “Po’s Vinyl” decorating the windows and staining the tile floors an iridescent tone from the midday sunlight. It’s pretty, it’s ordinary.

Except something isn’t ordinary, because after a good few minutes or so of browsing, your normal stop by the register stops you in your tracks.

Clad in a black beanie with bouncy, tangled curls peeking from the fabric is a stranger. A stranger with toned arms and a pretty nose and kind features you stare at for too long.

But he’s not the grandpa, not Mr. Po who’s been dearly greeting you each and every day for more than twenty years.

Your stomach drops.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” You scramble to the counter, his warm pools for eyes flickering up with surprise. “Where’s the old man- Mr. Po- the one who works here?”

“Oh! Mr. Po? He retired a few days ago.”

Now your stomach decided to do backflips, and there’s a pit of nausea climbing up your throat.

Curse the boy in front of you for looking so happy-go-lucky. This moment is detrimental, why is he smiling? …And why is he cute?

Preparing to ask a billion questions, you pause, fixing the handsome man with an incredulous look before he catches onto your confusion.

”Sorry sorry, I’m Chris, ‘moved in last night. And you?”

Debating upon either running out the door right now to end up apologizing later, you crack a small smile you hope looks a tad bit more graceful than earlier.

Chris, huh.

“Y/n,” You reply, noting the soft dip of his dimples. “And uh.. you haven’t met Miss May yet, right?”

The question, coming off as more of a warning than anything, earns a sheepish shake of his head noticing your pitying expression.

Granted, the woman wasn’t that awful, she’s just.. Miss May. An unmarried, stubborn, seventy year old prune who will rightfully argue with anybody about anything and rightfully enjoy it. Not to mention her addiction to finding a suitable lover, and not just for herself.

Trust, once she lays eyes on this breathtaking hunk of husband in front of you she’ll never leave him alone. Might as well treasure your days until you’re stuck in the witch’s dungeon.

“Can I ask what you mean by that?“

Spaced out watching his lips move, you barely caught the question till he cleared his throat and every particle in your body resorted to self sabotage.

Way to make an introduction.

Opening your mouth to respond, you choke on your words, hastily run behind the counter and whisper-scream for him to duck at the sight of said woman passing by the window.

Speak of the devil.

At his attempt to peek out, your hand unconsciously forces his head down, slapping on your best “nothing to see here!” façade while the heel-wearing matchmaker saunters in.

“Why hello dear,” She casually drawls, thin brows raised.

The woman slowly grins, stepping forward to lean over the counter and peer down where Chris hides blinking up beside your calf.

“You can come out now.” She says with a chuckle, and he hesitantly raises up, face blooming pink.

Erupting with obvious delight, she claps her claws hands together, and you can feel the dread creeping in from a mile away.

“My my, I didn’t know you two knew each other- -“We don't!” Shouting in unison, you synonymously turn to each other, nothing but utter puzzlement etched across your faces. It’s like something out of a sitcom. Literally.

“He’s Chris,” Nervously, you refer to the man with an uncertain point of your finger, him doing the same.

You’re certain if this situation got any more awkward you may win a spot in the book of world records.

Miss May amusedly shook her head. “So you do- -“No!”

She might as well have been internally arranging a wedding by the way she stared through your souls, neither of you daring to move a muscle out of fear she might pop a ring out of her ass and declare you engaged if you breathed loud enough.

“Alright alright, I’ll leave you two to your business then.” Waving like some pretentious heiress, you make sure to mock the action once her back is turned—Chris stifling a bubbling laugh beside you when she finally leaves.

You have an itch this won’t be the last time she stops by. You’ll just pray it won’t be when you’re within a six foot radius of both this shop and the man next to you.

Sorry Chris, it’s every man to themselves with Miss May.

Brushing off your clothes, you step back slightly, not realizing how close you’d gotten to him before nearly bumping into the dark-haired man. And, in the least weird way possible (that's still weird), from your closeness, you discover he smells like the ocean. Not too salty, not too strong. Like the sea’s air clings to his clothing.

Considering he got here a day ago, he must’ve stopped by the harbor on his way here. Strange.

“I’m.. gonna go. See you sometime?” Heading toward the door, you spare a glance behind you, vision again magnetically pulled down to his lips—so plush and pretty, then back to those equally pretty eyes that crinkle when he smiles goodbye. A nervous habit.

Who knew a potential heartthrob would show up here out of all places.

Guess things were finally getting interesting.

Your trek home wasn’t too eventful, unless you counted locating Mr. Po, begging him to come back, and avoiding the severely bitter tea he kept offering—then yeah, not too eventful.

Jamming the key in your door and being sure to successfully waste at least three hours forcing the newest addition to town out of mind, you’d like to say by the time 6pm rolled around he was completely void of your thoughts, but the coffee stain on your shirt after imagining his face said differently.

Best part about not having a neighbor? Walking around without a top, bottoms, or anything on was always on the table. Sort of gross, but you get the picture.

Best part about not having a neighbor yet.

You should’ve put the pieces together sooner, because already halfway into pulling your shirt up off your head did you notice a pair of eyes meeting yours from the other, usually vacant house next door.

Chris’ eyes. Unmistakable and currently swimming with horror.

It wouldn’t surprise you if you looked the same right now.

Urgently yanking the fabric back over your body, you practically throw yourself down, met with nightmare-fueling reality and too much embarrassment to properly function nor rise from your squat on the floor.

Moved in last night, he’d said. But the one thing he forgot to mention was that he moved in right next door.

Fucking. Fantastic.

. ..

Over the next five days, you’ve come to the conclusion that Chris makes music. Or something involving headphones, his finger tapping a beat, and the occasional nod of his head to a rhythm—observations made from peeking out the window each evening.

It’s sort of mesmerizing watching him routinely click buttons. Like, in a sense, you learned the first clue about his life before telling him your name.

That is until he rises and you prepare to duck, fixated on his adam's apple bobbing when he swallows, pretty, still damp strands of dark hair crowning his forehead.

The last thing you need is for him to catch you ogling after having witnessed you half naked, something that would, quite literally, be the cherry on top of demolishing your ego.

Knowing him though (after only physically meeting once), he’d probably gladly forgive and forget, but you couldn't, and that was the problem. Couldn’t shake that incessant pit in your stomach telling you if it were anyone else you’d be able to move on.

Anyone other than him, other than Chris.

Something about him. There was something about him.

On the other hand, Chris couldn’t forget either. The image permanently tattooed in his brain for what felt to be eternity.

Not just your body (and also your body), but you, the incredibly attractive new acquaintance he’d met hours beforehand was, coincidentally enough, his neighbor.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out you were avoiding him since, frankly, it was virtually impossible not to run into everyone in this town at least once a day.

He was a nice guy, so he gave you your space. Nevertheless, that didn’t keep him from picking some fun from time to time.

Like yesterday when he’d noticed you standing by your sink, repeatedly stealing not-so-sneaky glimpses.

Slyly deciding on honing the most nonchalant move in the book, he stretched. Rolling his head back, a tiny bit of his abdomen becoming visible when his arms raised up, and even sighing just to add to the ambiance.

Trying not to laugh had never been so difficult in his life.

Regardless, avoidance never lasted forever, and seeing you practically tiptoe around town was too obvious not to pay mind to.

So when the door to Po’s Vinyl creaked open during his evening shift, he craned to greet the customer, only to be met with bare space. Well, prior to noticing your hunched frame stalking through aisles, crouched down rather comically.

Biting his tongue, he watched you scour like a mad-woman, finally stilling in front of at a new arrival, the latest album restocked yesterday.

Turns out you were fated to run into each other again somehow. One way or another.

Maybe this was his chance to clear things up, or maybe that was the wrong move, maybe it would mess everything up and you’d move away and— Oh. You’re in front of him now, pale as a ghost and religiously averting eye contact.

“This,” You mutter, barely forming coherent sentences while sliding the album forward, hand wildly fishing through your bag in search of your wallet.

He stays quiet, periodically fixating on your expressions while scanning the barcode. Debating, contemplating.

“Hey can we—“

“Sorry! I really need to go to the vendors today, another time?” Scrambling, you snatch your purchase and rush off, ceasing to take note of the playful smirk painting his features.

He has an idea, an idea that may or may not work.

He’ll test his luck.

Spending the majority of his shift waiting for you to pass by again, he immediately locks onto your frame sprinting past an hour or so later.

Stepping from the store and calling out your name multiple times, it only makes you walk faster in response, leaving him to gradually catch up and move in front of you.

You try slipping past each side, finding yourself blocked every time. Your brows knit frustratedly.

“Y/n, can we talk, please?”

You sigh, stalling your movement to cross your arms and send him a taut gaze.

He can tell you hate this, hate standing here and especially hate his invitation, but the small, curt nod he got after a few seconds was enough.

Perhaps, that “maybe” would turn out true. The chance to clear things up.

He hoped.

. ..

“Look, I didn’t see anything.”

“Liar.” You grumble, jogging to keep pace without heading anywhere in particular.

If only you were a toddler and could throw a tantrum to get out of this due to simply being petty. Except you couldn’t. You were an adult, and you had to handle the situation like one.

What bullshit.

Flailing his arms helplessly, he tugged his jacket tighter against his body, the chilling air only dropping further as you neared the ocean.

“I’m not lying! Seriously!” Voice childish whilst avidly squirming around, the sound of gray rocks clattering beneath your shoes muffles your conversation.

He halts suddenly and you do the same, ceasing to acknowledge how far you’d aimlessly walked till the Lighthouse, located on the furthest side of town, looms above.

There’s a good minute of silence, interrupted by clearing his throat and simultaneously sending you a mischievous glance.

“Although,” He begins. “That red color was cute.”

You blink, watching as he gestures to his chest before swiftly dodging your swinging fist, looking mere seconds from exploding.

It’s sort of adorable.

Adorable in a dangerous, likely-to-kill-you way. But adorable.

Albeit expecting you to drown him, sucker punch him or suffocate him (quite possibly all three), you alternatively grab his hand, dragging him towards the Lighthouses’ entrance and up the winding rails.

Chris doesn’t interject nor pull away, face instead broken into a sweet smile while following you, observing you.

Arriving at the top that overlooked blue cascades, you sit down, not caring to explain with your knees pulled to your chest. He doesn’t mind.

It’s hard not to admire the endless abyss of water overwhelming every expanse in view, the moon’s glint scattering upon its surface. Wind whips your hair in wild directions, and it’s rather cold now above ground level.

Chris quietly hikes up the last few stairs behind you, easing off his jacket to drape around your shoulders—earning a hum of appreciation as he drops down on your right.

Silence.

“Hey, um, thanks.” He speaks, but his voice is softer this time, sadder this time, and if it weren’t for you two being mere inches apart you doubt you would’ve heard it.

“For what?”

“Nothing important. Just, thanks.” Peering at you with a tilt of his head, you decide not to pry, reflecting his subtle happiness.

Being completely honest, you don’t have the first clue of what Chris’ life was like before here. Somehow, it felt better staying that way. We all have secrets, and in a sense, this seemed to be his escape, his own secret.

Whatever his history entailed, you’re glad it led him to Seoul. Lead him to you.

“Awe,” You shove his shoulder lightly and the man pouts, cheeks dusted pink from the biting cold while his eyes stay trained on the sea, glimmering.

You sit there for a few minutes, listening, appreciating.

“Say, ‘wanna swim?”

The sky dark overhead, Chris gives you an incredulous look, wondering if you’re joking.

He’s quiet, eventually nodding and nearly toppling down the circular stairs after you, hastily pulling off your shoes to run through sand and scattered shells.

It’s stupid, so stupid swimming in freezing cold water at night.

Something the you who didn’t know Chris wouldn’t ever consider. But now he was here, currently taking off his shirt and— shit. He’s taking off his shirt. Holy shit.

Unfortunately, you weren’t given much time to be shocked (and mystified) before being picked up and literally thrown in, clothing and all very much intact.

Sputtering as you surfaced, you instinctively covered your top half, earning a giggle from the greek god of a man a few feet away, calf deep in the water.

“What’re you all shy for? ‘S not like I haven’t seen your—“ Now it’s his turn to be dunked, and you’re more than happy to force his curls into the water below, both drenched and shivering.

This is like a fever dream. Like you’ll wake up in your cozy bed to never have any of this happen in the first place. Never have had Chris happen in the first place.

Unable to contain the question, words basically pour out at an alarming pace the moment you open your mouth.

“Are you real?”

Because the moment feels too good to be true.

You both stop.

“Am I real? What, wanna find out?” He cockily points to his flexed arm, leaning your way while you shrink back, face contorted with disgust.

Best to have kept that one to yourself, but hell, you’d give in just this once.

Wading closer, you wrap your arms around his tummy in a sticky, uncomfortable hug. Chris doesn’t pull back though. Alternatively, he reaches up to pat the back of your head, surprised expression transforming into that of fondness.

You stay that way, wordlessly confessing so many things in a minute and a half as the stinging breeze seems to rattle your bones. Things you don’t have the courage to say aloud, things Chris understands all the same.

Walking home was a blur, filled with shapes and colors you barely recognized till the sound of a door opening knocked you back onto your feet.

Too cold to comprehend anything, you both race into separate rooms, coming to the realization this isn’t your home when searching for a towel to cover yourself.

Not your home, but his.

And you wonder if his setup is still situated directly in front of your window like normal. Wonder if, possibly, it was a coincidence you were now in the house you’d been staring daggers into for weeks, or if it all was a twist of fate.

How funny.

There’s quiet, childish interaction as he knocks on the door, sheepishly handing you a pair of his shorts and a t-shirt while his eyes stay glued to the floor.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to tease despite how bad the urge is, because he’s just him.

And you’re wearing his clothes. That too.

A hair dryer seated on his bathroom counter catching your eye, you pop your head out the door, yelling to Chris who’s busied himself somewhere in the living room.

“Hey Chris! Want me to dry your hair for you?” You shout, and he shuffles to make out what you said, practically lighting up witnessing you wearing his clothes.

The view is better than he could’ve ever imagined.

Laughter fills the air, all squeaky and high-pitched with you seated above him on the couch, occupying the floor while drying his wild curls that fly in every direction.

Clicking the off button, his head falls back to look at you, long eyelashes dusting and perfectly framing chocolate brown orbs. He’s practically glowing, and cupid has to be lingering nearby by how fast your heart thumps in your chest.

“…Can I spend the night?”

Whispering, you carefully place your hands on either side of his face, glancing back and forth erratically between his eyes and lips.

You don’t notice how close you are, a habit picked up from the start. He draws you in like a Siren, and you’re more than happy to senselessly follow his song.

His lips part, breathlessly uttering.

“Yes.”

And before you know it, you’re capturing his lips just as senselessly, kissing the man as if a near microscopic thread connected the both of you.

That is until Chris took charge, pulling your right-side up face against his upside down lips. Deeper, hungrier.

Crashing, like the moon-reflected waves you’d seen earlier. Messy and greedy, fervent. So many feelings, so many words without sound. You were good at doing that.

You’d like to admit it lasted for a few seconds, but from how you managed to somehow end up in his lap in the process, that definitely wasn’t the case.

“Here,” Chris says, handing you a warm mug of tea and settling beside you on the couch once you finally finished eating each other's faces, TV playing continuous episodes of Friends that numbly buzz your eardrums.

Neither of you spoke apart from exchanging drinks, atmosphere comfortable, exhaustion growing the longer you sat. Your eyelids began to droop before your head (unbeknownst to you) plopped onto his shoulder.

Initially Chris tensed, waking up from his own dazed daydream to marvel at the now sleeping beauty, you, cozied up against him.

He stared for a while, taking in what small interactions deprived him of. Those tiny details of you, the imperfect perfections. Beautiful.

Brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, he smiles—one that he can’t contain, one that hurts his cheeks from how big and bright it is.

“I’m so glad we met.”

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