#simple christmas pictures to paint

[judeswhore]

santa baby

summary: you have an extra special gift for jude this christmas

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+, hints of brothers bsf!jude, grinding, mentions of sex

notes: i Need him!!! you can find my masterlist here. i might make a second part to this

"can i open my eyes yet?" jude asked. he was seated at the very edge of your mattress, legs spread wide and arms behind him as he rested back on his palms, the perfect picture of calm. the barely noticeable tick in his jaw was the only giveaway that he was on edge and it sent a thrill through you knowing just how much you affected him. it boosted your confidence, made this little show feel a lot more exciting despite the slightly nervous tremor in your fingers.

for a few quiet moments you simply admired the man in front of you, basked in the opportunity to drink him in without his eyes on you. he was shirtless, per your request and the sight of his bare chest and that teasing ladder of hair made you a little dry mouthed, filled your head with endless fantasies. dragging your gaze upwards you settled on his face, on the stubble covering his jaw, the soft curve of his lips and his lashes, so unfairly long, they made you jealous. he was stupidly pretty, gorgeous in a way that had landed you in trouble the second your brother had brought him home. jude was supposed to be off limits. yet here he was, half naked in your room and growing slightly impatient with your surprise.

"babe?"

"hmm?" you hummed softly, still caught up in running your eyes over his arms, cheeks growing hot at the bulge of his biceps. you wanted to sink your teeth into them, into his shoulders and chest, to mark and claim him despite all the reasons you shouldn't. jude's huff of laughter brought your attention back to his face.

"can i open my eyes?"

"oh." you coughed quietly to clear your throat and straightened up, prepared to spin as you double checked your outfit was perfect. "yeah, you can open your eyes." you held your breath and watched his lashes flutter open, watched almost in slow motion as his jaw dropped, dark gaze bouncing rapidly over your body. he didn’t seem to know where he wanted to look most, a soft curse falling from his lips as he suddenly sat up straight.

you gave him a slow twirl, felt the tiny skirt you were wearing lift up just slightly and you were rewarded with a low groan from jude at the peak of your ass beneath. the outfit was simple enough, a tiny red skirt, equally as tiny red bra and a santa hat but the boy in front of you was staring as though you were a prized painting. it made your pulse thunder and your skin felt hot and prickly wherever his eyes roamed. goosebumps had risen across your chest because jude’s gaze was suddenly pinned to your boobs.

“merry christmas, jude.”

“holy shit.” he gave a light, breathless laugh, swallowed harshly and twisted his finger in the air. “fuck, gimme another spin.” you did as you were told, twirled for him and then stopped with your hands on your hips. a smile tugged your lips.

“what do you think?”

“what do i- jesus christ.”

“yeah?” you raised your eyebrows at his obvious lack of words, at the dazed look he was wearing and the desire burning in his eyes. jude bit down on his bottom lip, head shaking as he tracked every inch of your body and the heat of his gaze felt like the caress of his fingers over your bare skin. up along your legs, lingering just slightly on your thighs before sliding over your bare stomach, drinking in the way your boobs half spilled from the slightly too small cups and then over your face and to the little hat sitting lopsidedly on your head. he was grinning by that point.

“you’re gorgeous. it’s- i don’t- how do you look so fuckin’ good?” he groaned low in his throat, sounding almost like he was in pain. “that skirt.” a half shy smile was making its way onto your face as you fiddled with the hem of the skirt, hyper aware of the bulge that had appeared in jude’s shorts and even more aware of the way his hand had wandered only inches from it.

“i have something else for you.”

“something else?” jude gaped a little, shifted on your mattress to adjust his shorts but it did nothing to hide his cock. you swallowed, swiped your tongue along your bottom lip before slowly making your way over to him, hips swaying as you tried your hardest not to look ridiculous. the way this boy was looking at you however suggested that wasn’t a possibility. you came to a stop in front of him, tits so close to his face that jude simply couldn’t help himself as he leant forward, nipped softly at the flesh spilling out over the material before soothing the mark with a kiss. he glanced up at you through his lashes, eyes so dark they almost had you gasping for air. “what more could you possibly have?”

with your hands on his shoulders, you pressed your knees into the mattress on either side of his thighs, settled yourself in his lap only inches from his aching cock. you could feel the heat of him and wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him but you wanted jude to see the last part of your little gift. unable to stop yourself from teasing, you lowered your hips, ground down a little so you could drag your pussy over the tent in his shorts and grinned at the low hiss he let out. his hands clamped down on your waist.

“lift the skirt up.” your voice was a low command, silky smooth and you felt him shudder beneath you, watched his eyes fall closed for a moment when you lifted yourself back off his lap and simply hovered.

jude’s hands settled on your thighs and his fingers were soft as they slid up until they rested at the hem of your skirt. he fiddled with it for a second before flipping the material up, revealing your silky red underwear and his jaw ticked when he spotted just what it was you wanted to show him. stitched across the front of your underwear in pretty white thread, was one simple word, jude.

“thought you’d like it.” you whispered, heart thudding in your chest at his silence, heat flooding your cheeks because jude simply couldn’t look away. his throat bobbed on a swallow, lashes fluttering as he blinked once, twice before finally dragging his gaze back up to yours.

“you’re not real.” he didn’t give you chance to reply to that as he tipped his head to kiss you, lips slotting messily over yours as he curled one hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer. his other hand flattened against the top of your thigh, your skirt falling over his fingers as you settled back down into his lap.

for the next few minutes you simply got lost in his kisses, in the slow drag of his tongue over yours and the occasional nip of his teeth against your bottom lip. nothing mattered but jude’s mouth and the feel of his cock beneath you as you rocked slowly against him, unaware of the damp spot that was slowly spreading over the crotch of your new underwear. a startled whine bled past your lips when jude’s hand shifted beneath your skirt and his thumb pressed firmly over your clit. he rubbed it in soft, slow circles that matched the lazy press of his lips.

“want you to keep these on.” he mumbled, words muffled as he started to work his lips and teeth along your jaw. his hand had knocked your hat slightly askew and when he pulled back he helped to fix it for you, grinning dark and dirty at you when you eyed him in confusion.

“hm?” you were a little dazed, rocking into his hand and down onto his cock, fingers sunk deep into his shoulders for purchase. you choked on a quiet moan when his fingers slipped down and pressed against your already soaked hole, pushed against the damp material of the underwear he was now so infatuated with.

“y’gonna ride my cock like a good girl,” he told you, fingers deftly hooking into the material and tugging it to the side. two fingers brushed over your pussy, circled your clit before sliding back down. “but i want you to keep this pretty little outfit on, okay?”

[joeyfranchise]

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕨𝕠

cindy lou who…

ex!joe x fem!reader

summary: the boy that you love is with someone new…

warnings: none, it’s just sad. sfw, but minors please do not interact with my page.

word count: 1.2k.

note: based on the song cindy lou who by sabrina carpenter. i also drew inspo from harry styles’ cover of girl crush, and heather by conan gray.

it was christmas eve again, and you were all alone in your apartment, deciding against traveling to be with your family.

with a glass of wine in hand and your coziest robe on, you sat on the couch ready to get comfortable and watch a christmas movie. for most of the day you moped around, sad you’d be spending christmas alone… but it was up to you to change that.

you scrolled through the endless amount of movies before settling on a favorite, love actually.

you sipped at your wine as the movie began to play, trying to immerse yourself in it. you thought about getting up and making a snack, but your phone buzzed, and that took all your attention. it was a text from your sister, nothing that really required your attention, but you opened it nonetheless.

attached was a picture of herself and her boyfriend in front of a gigantic beautifully lit christmas tree. she was smiling from ear to ear, and her boyfriend was looking at her so sweetly. the message along with it read “we miss you! wish you were home!”

you love reacted the message and responded back with a simple “miss you!” but all it really did was remind you how lonely you were. you exited out of your messages and turned your attention back to the movie briefly before opening up instagram, ready to doomscroll. movies could never really keep your attention, but you needed the background noise.

when you looked back at your phone screen, the breath was almost knocked from your lungs. the first post was from your ex… you weren’t sure why you still followed him.

in the photo, joe was standing in a grandeur hallway, poised in front of a beautiful archway that was decorated with beautiful lights and red and green holly. next to him was a beautiful girl, the one who you could only assume replaced you.

she had long, silky, perfectly curled hair. her hand was on his chest, her beautifully manicured nails painted with tiny candy cane designs. her makeup was gorgeous as she smiled up at joe, the wing of her eyeliner was perfect, her lips the most beautiful glossy red you’ve ever seen.

he looked so happy as he stared into the camera, and it broke your heart for a moment knowing that you weren’t the one creating that happiness. you swiped to the next photo. it hurt even worse than the first.

in this photo, joe’s hand was pressed to the small of her back and he was pulling her into him. he smiled down at her, and you could almost feel the love and adoration beaming from his eyes onto her.

you knew how it felt. he used to look at you that way.

you wondered how they met, what she did to pull him in. you wondered what it took for her to break down that hard exterior he had, how she was able to melt him down, how she got him to smile like this... to post photos like this. you felt physically sick looking at it.

you swiped to the last photo. she stood there between joe and robin, with joe’s dad on his other side. they all looked so happy, smiling in the christmas lights. you could feel the bile rising in your throat.

there he was, the man you loved, smiling so happy and in love with someone else. you wanted to hate her, but how could you? sure, she was doing things you used to do, but it seemed like she brought the light back to joe. you hadn’t seen him that happy in a while, especially not the last few months of your relationship.

you reminisced on christmases you’d spent with him, how it used to be you taking photos with his parents. how it was you who woke up with him in his old bed, underneath his star wars themed sheets and bedspread.

how you’d help his mom cook breakfast, you’d spend time with his brothers’ families, you’d open gifts with him. you giggled at how you’d sneak upstairs late after everyone was asleep to have a christmas treat, trying not to laugh too loud and wake everyone up.

you tried not to throw up as you imagined them kissing under the mistletoe that’d be hung above the hearth, just like you used to. you thought about how beautiful a ring would look on her finger, about how elated joe would be to give it to her.

you remembered everything you felt for him, when he won the natty, the heisman, when he was drafted.. you were there, you were in love, but the fire began to die. joe was becoming more and more unhappy, and you had to let each other go. and now, as you sat lonely, without even your family, here was joe. happy and in love with a beautiful girl, someone who wasn’t you.

you wondered if it was snowing in ohio, you were almost sure of it. would he take her outside and spin her around in the snow, just like he did with you?

it stung, but all you could do was force yourself to be glad for him. he deserved love, you knew that. you wanted that for him, even if it was with someone else. you wondered everything about her. what did she smell like? was her skin soft? what does her voice sound like?

she was everything for joe that you couldn’t be, but that was okay. you had to be okay with it. you noticed joe tagged her in the photo, but you wouldn’t bother scrolling her page, or if it was private, you wouldn’t send her a request. her life with joe was none of your business, even if it hurt.

you didn’t know if it’d be messy, but against your better judgment, you liked joe’s post. you were going to be happy for him, no matter what. you locked your phone, placing it face down on the couch as you stood to go make yourself some popcorn.

once you returned, you focused your attention back to the movie which left you bawling by the end. you finished your wine as well, and you gathered your dishes to take them to the sink before pulling the curtains closed. you stopped for a moment to admire all the lights outside before you had them fully closed.

you picked up your phone as you got ready to head to bed, your heart sinking as you noticed an instagram notification on your lockscreen. when you opened it, your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth, your legs feeling shaky, almost like jello.

joeyb_9: merry christmas, y/n.

that was all it read, but it nearly ripped your heart from your chest. what made him message you, you weren’t sure. you started to sob, the cries wracking through your body. it took everything in you to respond, but you did, you had to tell him one last thing.

y/n: merry christmas, joe. i’m so happy for you.

and with that you were off to bed, dreaming of joe and his cindy lou who… the girl who wasn’t you.

all photos and dividers used are not mine. credit to original owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @joeyburrrow

[whyeverr]

Red Brick Ranch

This right here is my childhood Christmas: a wood paneling, artificial tree, opening presents on shaggy carpeted floors kind of Christmas. This particular simple ranch home isn't based on either of my grandparents' homes, but it might as well be. I've made divinity in that kitchen. I've watched the snow fall out that picture window.

Ranch homes get a lot of slack for their datedness and lack of character. But I'm here to defend them, especially at Christmas. In fact I almost called this one Rudolph the Red-Nosed Ranch, but that felt a little too on the nose. They might not be anyone's Pinterest-perfect dream home, but as home ownership becomes more and more unobtainable, a simple ranch starter home might just be your dream come true. That goes double for disabled folks, or older folks aging in place, as their single-story floor plan makes them one of the most accessible types of homes available!

This home might be perfect for: a single mom who works two jobs, grandparents (mine, specifically, but also maybe your sim's?), sims that use mobility aids, in your story or in actual gameplay, should we ever get such a thing, or developers looking to paint some brick, slap down millennial gray laminate floors, and flip this bad boy...

Lot details:

Lot Type: Residential (3 bed, 2 bath)

Price: §33,470

Size: 40x30

Location: Miner Mansion, Evergreen Harbor

I’ve used from all packs freely here. As always, no CC!

Download links and floor plans below the cut 🎄

Download via the Sims 4 Gallery or tray files via Sim File Share. You’re free to do whatever you want with the place but please don’t re-upload or share without credit. Thank you!

[merakijinx]

A Gift from the Heart (toxicgf!Jinx) ｡𖦹°‧

Summary: It’s Christmas night, and Jinx gifted something special for you! However, your reaction wasn’t up to her standards..

Word count: 1.3k

(a/n at the end)

wlw

You were sitting on the floor next to Jinx’s workbench, hands over your eyes, when you heard a heavy thud land in front of you. “Open your eyes!” Your girlfriend’s voice rang out excitedly, and her cheerful expression matched her tone when you lowered your hands to see your blue-haired girl.

In front of you lay a cardboard box painted in red with a green bow running along the sides, and tied neatly on the top. “Wow, Jinx! What’s this? Looks so cute,” you said, giggling as you brought it closer to you.

“Open it and find out, toots,” Jinx responded, scooting closer to you so she could watch you closely unwrap her present.

“Okay..” You chuckled at her eagerness to watch you open the gift, not keeping her waiting any longer. You tugged on the green ribbon, letting it fall loose to the floor. When you took off the lid, there was a device that lay inside.

You took it out to examine it further, and recognized that it was a… sort of contraption where the center looked like it was altered (Ripped out and stuck in) to fit a mini-figurine of you and Jinx holding hands, rotating together within a ring of sparklers, like a music box.

“Jinx, this is so cute! What is it?” You asked, stifling a laugh at how chaotic the device looked. “It’s a Valdiani. Of us,” Jinx answered, her voice strained as she observed your reaction, chuckling nervously. “You like it?”

You leaned close to her with a hand cupping her face, and brought her cheek closer to plant a kiss. “I do. Thank you so much,” you said softly, then pulled away to tuck the device under the tree.

Jinx looked at you in confusion when you suddenly stood up and walked toward her couch, ending gift-giving time just like that. “So what do you say about watching a Christmas movie before we go to bed? I heard Carol’s a good one,” you said while walking on the propellor.

Her eyes shifted to the gift she got you, just sitting there underneath the Christmas tree while you were on the opposite side of the room. It was still spinning and sparkling under the fir tree. “Uh, a movie?” Jinx repeated, though her mind was elsewhere.

“Yeah, we can finish the rest of the cookies..”

Your voice drifted far away, and the other voices took over. Did you see how she reacted to your gift? She didn’t even like it!

She liked it, but she didn’t say she loved it.

The gift was too messy, she probably thought you half-assed it. She hates it.

How could you mess up a Christmas gift?

When you turned back around, Jinx was still sitting on the floor, spacing out into the void below. “Jinx?” You called out, but she didn’t respond. “Jinx..!” You repeated a little louder, and she snapped out of her trance. “Y-yeah, coming!” Jinx stood up and quickly walked over to you. It was Christmas, she wouldn’t let them ruin this night.

She brushed past you and slumped onto the couch, trying to play off her near panic attack l earlier. You crept up next to her, leaning yourself against her slowly to ease up the both of you. “Hey, you alright?” You asked gently. You could subtly feel her cold sweat, and she didn’t respond for a minute.

“What do you think of my gift?” She finally asked. “Your gift? I think it’s nice,” you replied simply. It was a nice gift, it was cute, simple, and meaningful.

“Just nice? Did you not like it?” You heard a hint of defensiveness in her tone now, and felt, too, the way she tensed up beneath your touch.

“No, I did like it-! I do,” you assured her, sitting back upright to face her directly.

For some reason, your withdrawal from Jinx just fueled her anxiety more. Why did you pull away? Are you fighting her now? No, Jinx, look at the bigger picture..

“You do,” She repeated, suspicious. “Then why did you just… you know, brush it off? Sweep it under the rug, or… Christmas tree in this case..,” She rambled, eyes darting away from your gaze as she slowly started losing herself. “I mean, usually that’s the time when you’re supposed to be all happy and over the moon, thanking me!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t mean to brush it off, I really do like it. I’m sorry.” You tried calming her down with reassurance and apologies, but you weren’t sure it was working.

“I worked really hard on that, you know..,” She finally said, her voice shaking now. “It’s a real Valdiani, you should be grateful,” Jinx dramatized, shifting the blame to you now. Her pink, shimmer-infused eyes were boring into yours intensely.

“What? It wasn’t on your wishlist? Too… tacky for ya’? I poured my heart into that, you know.. Into us.. Don’t tell me you’re just gonna ignore that? Gonna ignore that and… hurt me again,” Jinx ranted, inching away from you and curling herself into a ball. She was glaring at you now, arms crossed at her chest like she’s guarding herself from you.

“No, Jinx, please don’t think like that. I love it, it’s a meaningful gift. I’m sorry for hurting you, I didn’t mean to,” you apologized profusely, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder, to make her come back to you.

She slapped your hand away, shrieking, “Don’t do that! You’re just faking it, you’re looking at me like I’m crazy!”

In turn, she looked at you with defiance and fear— Fear of what you might do, or fear of how she’s acting, she doesn’t know.

You flinched, immediately pulling back when she pushed you away. “No- I’m sorry,” you managed to speak out softly as you watched her stand up, her hands curled into a tight fist.

“Hah, I give you my time and my-… my love and you’re gonna give me that… half-assed reaction?! My gift isn’t half-assed, I thought about it clearly!” She started raising her voice, but it was hard to tell if she was yelling at you or the ones that haunt her. Then, she looked back at you with a manic glint in her deep magenta eyes.

She placed her hand on the backrest of the couch and the other on the cushion itself, and loomed over you. “And you.. Am I not your… top one anymore? Your favorite gift out of all? Did I lose that spot, because of my tacky, not heart-felt gift?” She spat out sarcastically.

“Do you hate my gift? Is it not good enough, huh?” She looked intimidating but her voice was trembling, like you could hear the little girl seeking for your approval.

“Stop it please,” you whispered, tears building up in your eyes. “I love the gift, I love it. It’s still my favorite, you’re my girlfriend,” you tried to convince her. “It’s a pretty, meaningful gift. I mean, it’s a r-real Valdiani, isn’t that cool?” It was strenuous to smile through the worry and pain, but you would do anything to keep her by your side. Jinx can be terrifying, she could kill you at any time, but you love her, and you won’t let go.

It wasn’t your words that brought her back to reality, it was seeing the tears stream down your cheeks. The desperation and resilience on your face broke her, the walls she tried to build up crumbled completely, and she dropped to her knees before you.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, hands roaming your face like she was grounding herself with your presence. If there was anything she hated more than getting hurt by her loved ones, it was hurting those she loves the most. An angel like you shouldn’t be crying, and it shouldn’t be at her hands.

“Please don’t cry. You won’t leave me, right? I wasn’t being me,” she continued, now crying with you in regret of how she acted out.

“I’m sorry, babe. I lashed out, I’m sorry for ruining this night.. Please forgive me, doll. I was acting stupid, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Let’s just forget about this, okay?”

｡𖦹°‧

This is also my first time writing a fanfic with toxic Jinx, so I hope it was okay and notttt overboard.. I wrote this at like midnight so when I’m awake & sober I’ll probably be embarrassed at this fic

Took inspo from a headcanon where Jinx would overthink if you didn’t “like” her gift enough.

[kairoot]

BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSiDE. ──── PSH.

ׂ ִ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬．𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗇，𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾́ 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗐 — 𝐩. 𝖿𝗂𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾́！𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗐𝖺 𝗑 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝐠. 𝑓𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿，𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗒，𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 — 𝐰. 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌，𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁，𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗌．

✉️ ──── for my babydoll, sav @wonsdoll ♡︎ the best hwa girl, also he’s so christmas and winter coded idk…..

HOME

“BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE,” you whined to your soon-to-be-husband. you wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your body tightly while seonghwa was crouching down, pulling on his snow boots.

the snow was falling heavily outside your window, the snowflakes seemed to be bigger this year, making you shiver just by looking at them. ever since it started snowing in korea and hwa had been off of work, he’d been begging you to go outside with him. it was rare that you both stayed home together these days because of your busy schedules.

“come on, baby, it’s not that bad. let’s just play for a bit, yeah?” he stood up, pressing a kiss to your forehead with his hand resting on the side of your neck. you sighed, complying with him as you slipped on your coziest shoes.

he held your hand as you both slipped outside, stepping through the snow carefully. seonghwa pulled you close for a moment, looking up and admiring the snow that fell to the ground and covered the rooftops in your neighborhood.

“it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, in absolute awe at the sight in front of him. you smiled at him, loving his reaction. he seemed as if he’d never seen this type of weather before, though it was known to snow in korea nearly every year.

“it really is,” you replied, resting your head against his arm. “but you know what else is beautiful?”

“you?” he turned his head to gaze at you, the corner of his lips turning up in a small smirk. you chuckled, turning your head to hide your very flustered expression.

“i was gonna say little snowman babies, but that’s a good answer, too.”

he hummed, acting as if he was thinking for a moment. “that’s not a bad idea.”

you and seonghwa had managed to pick up a few small piles of snow and build your little snowman family. he had went into the house to get old hats and scarves for them, along with some fruit and vegetables to make their facial features.

he made sure to grab your old polaroid on the way out, just so he could capture the moment with you. you both posed in front of the snowmen, the first picture capturing you both sharing a kiss on the lips while his arm wrapped around you tightly.

the second one was you hugging one of the snowmen carefully as hwa snapped the picture, giggling at your fearful expression. you were scared of hugging the figure too tight, seeing as the snow could’ve toppled over into a pile of nothing. he was definitely going to put those in a scrapbook.

after building your snowmen and posing for the camera, you lay beside each other in the snow, creating snow angels.

“see, babe? told you it wouldn’t be that bad,” seonghwa said, glancing at you as his arms and legs moved through the snow.

you rolled your eyes playfully, not being able to hide your grin, “it’s still cold, but it’s much more fun when you aren’t focusing on the temperature.”

he hummed in agreement, looking up at the clouds that covered the dark sky above you.

you peered over at him for a moment, taking in how attractive he was, even when he was just laying there. his eyes slowly blinking up at the sky while his nose and cheeks where painted with a rosy blush from the cold.

“baby?”

he looked over at you as the simple but sweet endearment left your lips, calling for him.

when you caught his attention, you rolled over to him, leaning over him as your faces seemed to be inches apart.

“i can’t wait to watch our babies play in the snow. running around in the yard and having snowball fights.” you ranted, watching as seonghwa’s smile grew at the thought of your children enjoying the snow as much as their father did.

“and making them hot chocolate when they come in.” he added, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair into your hat. he looked at you for a second, his thumb coming to drag against your bottom lip slowly.

the small gesture made you shiver under his gaze, the two of you watching each other until one moved in for a kiss. it was a kiss that was full of love and affection, one that felt like you two were saying goodbye.

you wrapped an arm around his torso, hugging him as you both remained there, enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence.

when you pulled away from the kiss, seonghwa only smiled up at you again, too dumbfounded by your beauty.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too, honey.” you whispered.

“now, how about that snowball fight? let’s practice for the kids,” he suggested, smirking playfully.

“hwa, no, i just got my hair done—“

• • •

﹙ 🔖 ﹚ ──── @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @elysianiki @mmygnolia @nshmuras @who-tf-soddhi — send an ask to join

﹙ 🌐 ﹚ ──── @k-films

[grayskies2525]

A Sneezy Little Christmas

This is just an incredibly self-indulgent 2,500 word one-shot about one of my OC's who has a cold on Christmas (well, Christmas Eve) and can't stop sneezing. That's it -- that's the whole story. I can't emphasize that enough. This is literally just sneezing 😅 Warning for a tiny bit of mess toward the end.

***

Felix isn’t going to sneeze. He isn’t going to sneeze because he’s already sneezed what must be one hundred times today, alone, and surely that should be enough to satisfy his body. There’s no rational  reason he should continue having to endure sneeze after sneeze. So, he makes the decision that he is done.  With his lips slightly parted, he pushes out a slow, steady breath and then slowly inhales the same way. He smiles at the victory. One whole breath and no sneeze! He deserves a medal, or trophy, or a bench dedicated to him, or— 

“HEP-NkxxT!”

“Bless you,” Connor says, his voice low, from his spot next to him at the dining table, as he rubs Felix’s back soothingly.

Felix narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. His annoyance isn’t from being blessed, but is instead from the simple fact that now he’s going to have to open his mouth to speak. Here he is, fighting for his life desperately trying to keep breathing from triggering a sneeze — and now he has to try speaking.

“Connor heh! Hhhhh hehhhh HEN-NKT’choooo!” Felix pitches forward, capturing the sneeze in his pitifully used tissue. “I think may-maybe we should hhh hhhh  put a moratorium on blessings during this dinner be-because —” Felix can’t finish the sentence. He just can’t. His nose is brimming with itchy, burning sneezes that are begging to topple out of him. His eyelids flutter as he focuses on the Santa Clause painting hung on the dining room wall. He stares at it as he continues letting out little gasps of air. “Heehhhh hhhhh Hhhhhh!”

“Oh dear,” he hears his mother say from her spot at the table across from him. “Okay, well, Felix is obviously too occupied by his cold right now to offer much to our conversations. So, Ben, why don’t you tell us how things have been with your jobs?”

Felix is thankful for attention being redirected to his best friend. Ben is, for all intents and purposes, his brother and is one of the closest people he has in his life. Ben also has a propensity to talk a lot about nothing, which is exactly what Felix needs right now because all Felix is capable of doing — all he’s been capable of since he woke up on this horrible Christmas Eve — is sneeze. Felix sits, fork in hand, in a futile attempt to maintain the pretense of actually being able to eat the dinner his parents cooked. 

He takes a shockingly deep breath — a breath that seems to draw in as much air as his lungs can physically hold— and continues staring at the picture on the wall. This time, there’s no gasping or hitching. He’s trapped in this one single breath while his eyes prickle with tears and his nostrils flare as his body prepares for the inevitable. He clenches one fist at his side. He uses his other hand to frantically wave his tissue —  a tissue that is, admittedly, strikingly damp and likely useless at the moment — in front of his face. He silently begs for the release to finally just come — to please, please just come already.

And it does.

“EEHHHHH-ETzz’SCHIEWWWW!” 

As prepared as he was for the sneeze, he’s still shocked by the force at which his entire body snaps forward. The way Ben suddenly jerks away from him —  putting an almost comical amount of distance between them — and his subsequent exclamation of “Christ, Felix!”  gives Felix the impression that he may not have captured as much of the spray with his tissue as he had intended. He supposes it would have been better to have had the tissues actually covering his nose and face instead of held out a foot in front of him. In his defense, he can normally stifle with ease, so he wasn’t exactly prepared for the harsh release of spray.

“Sorry,” Felix mumbles, sheepishly. He looks around as his father, mother, boyfriend, and best friend all stare at him. “I, uh… I think I must have picked up an especially bad cold from somewhere because I just can’t stop heehhh I can’t-can’t stop hep-NKT! HEH-NxxT! AH’NKT-chooo! At’NKT! HEP-nkt! I can’t stop sneezing hhhh hhh no matter h-h-how how hard I HEP-N’GKT! Holy shit,” he mumbles, blinking hard, keeping his harm pressed to his face. “Uh pardon my language, Mom. I just really can’t stop, oh my god.” His chest is heaving and more sneezes quickly begin tumbling out of him. “Eh-NKt’chooo! NKT’choooo! HmpKT’choooo! EH-TCHOOO! NKT’shooo! HMP’tshoooo!”

“Damn,” Ben says, sounding awed. “You know he’s really sick when he stops holding them in like he normally does.”

“Okay, um, excuse me. I need to uh st-step away MMpt’shhhhhhh! MPPT’SHOOO! HMPT’ShOOOOO!” Felix continues muffling sneezes into his arm as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

__________

Felix stands in the bathroom for a couple of minutes and still doesn’t think he’s ready to come out. His breaths are coming out erratically and there’s still such a sharp tickle buried deep inside his sinuses. He has already sneezed an astonishing amount, and he’s not proud of how many germs he’s sure he’s released into this small room. He’s just helplessly under control of this cold. He’s lost all autonomy when it comes to choosing to sneeze or not to sneeze. 

He hears a knock on the door and a “Felix, are you all right in there? Is it okay if I come in?” 

Felix sniffles. “Y-yes you can come in HET-NgT’CHOO!” The failed stifle bursts free in what Felix thinks to be a rather dramatic fashion with droplets of various sizes glistening on the bathroom mirror’s reflective glass. 

Connor opens the unlocked door and steps in, wearing a sympathetic smile. “Hey there. How are you feeling?” he asks as he places his hand comfortingly on Felix’s back. 

“Uh…” Felix says, then sniffles deeply. “Babe, I think I’m, like, super sick,” he says before sneezing down at the floor. 

“Really?” Connor asks, letting out a light chuckle. “I think we may need further evidence before we can draw a definitive conclusion.”

Felix tries to glare, but only succeeds in sneezing. “This is no time for jokes. I’m dying, Connor. I know people joke about dying when they have colds but I’m — I’m — I’m? HeeEEHHH’NGT’CHUUUHH!” 

And with that, the air becomes tainted with yet another contagious, germ-filled cloud. “Connor, I — I can’t even fucking cover anymore. They just — they won’t stop. To catch all of them, I’d have to have a perpetual arm held up or a ti-tissue heh-it’shhoooooo!" Felix lets out an exasperated sigh. "And, quite frankly, I’m too exhausted for that. Why? Why why why do they just keep coming?”  he asks, mostly rhetorically. 

Connor hums in thought next to him. “I think it’s your body’s way of banishing the cold from your body.”

“I know. I teach biology. I understand viruses, but — but why so — so many heh-m’KTshoooo!”

“Well, uh, something tells me you have a lot of that cold virus in you and your immune system is kind of… well, it’s freaking the fuck out. I think it’s trying to expel all those little viral demons out of you all at once,” Connor says with a gentle smile

“Well, personally, I find this to be an overly aggressive reaction and — EH-mpfft’shuuuh! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I’m going to tear this whole thing off my face!” Felix exclaims in anguish, throwing back his head and groaning. 

“Oh, don’t do that. I love your little nose,” Connor says, smiling fondly at him. 

“You wouldn’t love it if it were yours, Connor,” Felix says, voiced laced with annoyance as he  rubs his nose. Feeling fatigue settle deep in his bones, he wanders over to the toilet to shut the lid and sit down. He rests his head against the wall, keeping his eyes shut.

He feels Connor’s cool hand against his forehead. Felix hums in contentment at the soothing touch. 

“You don’t feel like you have a fever,” Connor says.

“No,” Felix agrees. “No fever, but I feel like I could sleep for 20,000 years,” he says, not having the strength to open his eyes.

“Aw, don’t do that. I’m afraid I would miss you.”

“You’d be better off,” Felix says, hating how it comes out as a whine. “I’m useless now.”

“Aww, Felix. You look so pitiful,” Connor says, though Felix doesn’t miss the small laugh Connor lets out.  “We’ll get you feeling better soon, okay? Do you want to go ahead and leave? So you can get some rest?” Connor asks.

Felix contemplates this, but his nostrils are flaring and his breath is hitching and he’s about to — 

He feels something clasp around his nose and opens his eyes to see Connor pressing tissues against Felix’s face. “You look like you’re about to sneeze, and I don’t mean to offend you, but your sniffles sound… well, let’s just say that your next sneeze doesn’t sound like it’ll be a pretty sight if you leave it uncovered.”

Felix can’t process the words. He’s preoccupied with more pressing matters.

“HEFF-mph’ssshhhhttttt! MMg’shuuuhhhh! Eck’fshhuuuhhh! Aff’shhhtt! K’SHUUUH!”

Connor was certainly correct in his assessment of the current state of Felix’s nose. It is not a pretty situation. Even with the tissues, he can still feel steady trickle of warm wetness seeping past his nostrils and down his lips. He sees Connor’s wide-eyed, shocked expression and has a single millisecond to feel shame course through him before his body’s lost to another violent paroxysm. 

“HEP’NKxxxT’SHOOO!”

Felix truly did attempt a stifle out of courtesy, considering Connor’s hand had still been firmly pressing tissues over his nose. It seems, though, that the attempt created even more of a mess. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, voice mangled by an obscene amount of congestion and the tissues still clasped against his nose. 

Connor clearly attempts a smile, but it resembles more of a wince. “Bless you…. Uh, I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I thought this decision through entirely. I guess I thought you’d just have one sneeze? You kind of just kept going, though.... But, that was totally my bad. Nothing about today has indicated that your nose would be happy with one single sneeze. Do you… do you mind taking over now, sweetie?” Connor asks and Felix realizes he’s still sitting there while his nose drips with Connor holding Felix’s soaked tissues.

Felix slowly brings up his own hand to take over. Connor hands Felix over several more tissues. Felix blows his nose, feeling its contents pour into the tissue. It's a gurgling, long-lasting blow that easily drenches his tissues. He’s vaguely aware of Connor washing his hands. He winces slightly as he realizes that Connor had surely gotten some of Felix’s mess on his fingers.

Felix finishes blowing his nose, dropping the used tissues into the wastebasket. He scrunches up his nose at the itch he still feels present. 

“Oh, your poor nose,” Connor says, frowning.

“I know,” Felix says with a sniffle. “I’m one step away from Santa asking me to guide his sleigh tonight.”

Connor laughs, then cards his hand through Felix’s mess of wavy hair. He lowers his head, placing a gentle kiss on Felix’s forehead. When Connor draws back, he smiles and locks his gaze with Felix’s. “You know,” Connor starts. “I do recall someone warning you to be careful at the mall the other day. When there were… oh, I don’t know, dozens of people coughing and sneezing literally everywhere. In fact, if my memory serves correct, you seemed to completely ignore these suggestions, choosing instead to walk directly into the path someone openly coughed in.”

Felix cringes at the memory. “That may have been a mistake.”

Connor smiles, and Felix appreciates how it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. As annoyed as he is at Connor’s taunting — though truthful —  words, when Connor smiles like that, Felix will melt every single time.

“You’re cute when you wiggle your nose like that,” Connor says. Then, to Felix’s horror, he touches Felix’s nose. It’s only the tip of it and Connor is quick to pull his finger away, but the touch is firm and with Felix’s nose full of a cold, that’s all it takes.

He shakes his head violently and holds his hand out in front of him. He feels his warm, hitching breaths hitting the palm of his hand. 

Felix sits on the toilet seat, his chest heaving and eyes streaming tears. “HEHHHH Hhhhhh HHH HHHHH hhhhhhhh HHHHH!” 

He sees, through watery eyes, Connor roll his eyes and huff out a laugh. “I think I’m going to do us  both a favor and hurry this along.” With that ominous statement, Connor hands Felix several tissues. Felix, breath still hitching, gives Connor a questioning look.

Connor brings his long, slender finger up to Felix’s nose and begins to lightly trace over the bridge. Feeling the vibrations radiate throughout his entire sinus cavity, Felix throws his head back, using one hand fiercely to grip the side of the toilet seat and his other to clutch the tissues over his nose, while his breaths come out in desperate gasps until sneeze after sneeze begins to explode out of him..

“AAHHHHHH N’GXXT! N’GXXT! G’NXXT! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T!” Felix’s shoulders shake and his head pounds with the force of the stifled sneezes, but he instinctively continues stifling because that’s always been his natural response. “NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! HAAHHHHHH NGT’choooo! NGT’chooooooo! NGxT’choooooo! HEP’NKt! HEP-NKT! NKT’SHOOOOO! EP’nkt’choooo! ET’SCHIEWWWW! ET’SCHIEWWWWW! ET-SCHOOOOO! ECK-SHOOOO! ”

Though many of the sneezes were stifled, he still manages to flood the tissues. He blows, sneezes some more, then looks up at Connor.

“Babe, I’m literally dying,” Felix says, his eyes still pouring tears and his nose is dripping like a faucet.

Connor is looking at Felix the way one typically looks at a swarm of ants feasting upon a rotten piece of food — as though Felix is disgusting but too interesting to look away from. 

“You’re not dying,” Connor says, rolling his eyes, though still smiling fondly in that way he often does. “You just have a really bad head cold. Like, really bad — to a truly impressive degree."

Felix feels another itch burrowing out from the depths up his sinuses, slowly crawling along to the surface. Felix can’t hold back a whimper as his shoulders sag and his expression crumples in defeat. 

“More?” Connor asks, sounding incredulous. 

“More,” Felix confirms, breath already hitching.

“Maybe you are dying,” Connor says with an expression mixed with concern and amusement.

Felix can’t roll his eyes, or shoot Connor the glare he deserves, or respond in any way other than to sneeze. So he does.

Then, he sneezes again. And again. And again.

Felix hears Connor muttering something about Felix needing rest and maybe some Benadryl, but Felix is helpless to respond. He’s at complete and total mercy of this cold. Felix resigns himself to the fact that this is simply going to be how he spends Christmas this year.

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]

[jenoslutie]

nct dream reactions: you as their wallpaper (M)

warnings: 18+ mdni, all members contain nsfw.

a/n: thank u to @hall0ween-twn @calibabii21 and @jasminexox5 for helping me come up with some of the ideas !! :D love u all lots. also for chenles part this is the reference!

MARK 

Mark is a simple guy, his lock screen would probably be a picture he took of you off guard. Maybe one he took while the two of you were on a date. Definitely something with you and the sky. Whether it be mid-day, at sunset or even with the night sky with stars. His two favorite sights, his girl and the sky. If he’s feeling bold, Mark would definitely be the type to make his wallpaper a pic of the two of you but where one of his hands are on your ass or tits..preferably ass. Mark’s an ass man. 

RENJUN

Renjun. Renjun’s an art freak we’ve been knew. His wallpaper would be a picture he took of the both of you at an art museum. Or Renjun begged you all day to let him paint on you, for you to be his personal canvas and when you finally agreed, not even halfway into his painting he’d already be bricked up and ready to show you just how pretty you look for him. And ofc he’d take a picture at the end to remember his work of art. That would be Renjun’s wallpaper. 

JENO

Jeno’s in love with taking pictures of you. Whether it be in the morning when you wake up next to him, while you’re eating your favorite meal, or anything you’re doing, Jeno loves to photograph it. That also goes for when he has you bent over with his cock buried deep in you. He knows you love when he takes pictures of you when hes fucking you and he doesnt disappoint ever. Even going the extra mile to make it his wallpaper so he can look at how pretty you are all day. Also see him as the type to take sneaky pics like with you sitting on his lap in a pretty skirt but underneath the skirt, he has his cock buried deep in you. 

HAECHAN

Hyuck’s a freak. If there's anything he loves more than you, it's showing you off. He doesn’t give a fuck about what other people think about his wallpaper as long as you’re okay with it. He’d be shameless about what his wallpaper is. One day it’ll be something cute and wholesome and then next it’s a picture of you naked, on your knees looking up at him with the smile he loves so much and if he’s feeling frisky, he’ll change his lockscreen to a picture of you in the same position with your face painted with his pretty cum <3

JAEMIN

Jaemin’s wallpaper will most likely be something with you and his cats, maybe you struggling to hold all 3 of them while sitting in front of the Christmas tree the two of you decorated together. something super domestic is what jaem would most likely go for however on the occasion he’s feeling like showing you off, he’s making his wallpaper a picture of your neck with his hand wrapped around it. Something simple but enough to show off who you belong to. 

CHENLE 

Chenle’s an interesting one. He has no shame. His wallpaper will most likely be something obscene unless he feels like just having a pretty picture of you that he took. maybe from a basketball game he took you to. Otherwise Chenle’s the type to make his wallpaper a picture of you, in his warrior’s jersey, legs spread, showing off your pussy that’s leaking with his cum.

JISUNG

Jisung loves the sky. He loves space and everything about it. So naturally his wallpaper would be the two of you outside at night with the pretty night sky glimmering behind you. Or if he’s feeling up for it and risky enough, it’ll be a picture of you in only the infamous cum stained hoodie with a fresh new load of cum on the hoodie as well as your face. Jisung loves to paint your face with his cum. 

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 14

Hey guys! Welcome back! So this chapter is getting a little heavy on the angsty side, so just a heads up.

Things have been going great for all the stories especially the Christmas one.

This will be the story that keeps its usual schedule next week. Every other posting day will be finishing up the Olympic Swimmer one. So be on the look out for that.

Also super long chapter!

Steve tries out some hobbies, Joyce pushes, and Steve gets depressed.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

~

Steve would like to say he got right on the job search the next day, but he really didn’t. He woke up refreshed and feeling good about himself. After a run on the treadmill and big breakfast he had already talked himself out needing to.

But instead he decided that he wanted to learn new hobbies. He had the money and pretty much unlimited time so why not?

The first thing he tried felting. Yeah, he had a lot of money, but he wanted to start with something cheap in case he got bored with it.

Taking the kit out of the box, he already ran into a problem. The leather finger gloves were much too small. Like he didn’t have fat fingers or anything but they were much too tight to fit on even his pinkie fingers he turned them inside out to see if he could make them bigger somehow.

He only succeeded in ruining the finger gloves. He tried rubber thimbles as replacements but still the sharp tool would pierce even the tough rubber.

The kit sat abandoned in a corner of his hotel room until one of the porters saw it and asked if he could have it. His sister did the felting all the time and she was having trouble finding colors she liked.

So Steve let him have it. Three days later the porter came back with a bright yellow canary and a female robin. He proudly displayed them on his nightstand next to the phone and alarm clock.

Robin loved them, but refused to take the robin. She said they shouldn’t be separated at any price.

Steve loved her a little bit more when she said that.

The next thing he tried was painting.

That lasted all of six hours before they got handed off to Will. It was a beautiful oil, acrylic, and water color set, with all the paint brushes and pallet and metal wood-handled pallet knives.

It lasted that long was because that was the time it took for Steve to set everything up, including an old sheet Rosa let him have, start painting and promptly knock everything over. The water, the paints, the easel. Everything. He broke the easel, knocked a hole in the canvas, and smeared paint all over the apron he had bought just for the occasion.

Will was happy to receive the paints, but in turn he gave Steve a simple notepad and pencil and taught him how to draw.

Steve liked that.

It was just for doodling and making silly pictures so it didn’t make him feel like a failure. He went to the bookstore and bought a bunch of books on how to draw certain things. Animals, the human figure. He even found this great reference book on clothes sorted based on the English monarch who was in power at the time the were wore.

Which was all well and good, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

One day while he was over at Will’s talking art and whether or not kneaded erasers were worth the pain they caused if you dropped, Ellie introduced him to a new hobby. Will was against the things, Steve was for.

Jonathan huffed, “That’s probably a class issue as Steve here can afford to replace them and Will can’t.”

Steve and Will stared at each other in complete shock, but had to admit that Jonathan was probably right.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve huffed, “that’s fair. I guess I really didn’t think about it because it’s not my money I’m spending.”

“Have you tried looking for a job?” Joyce asked. She didn’t like that someone was paying to keep Steve safe. As nice as it was, in her experience the well tended to dry up when you least expected it to.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Byers.” Which he had. Yes, he had been focused on trying to learn things that would keep his mind from atrophying, he had also been looking. “If they seen me coming they take down the sign or if they don’t get to it in time, they say it’s an old sign and that they forgot to take it down.”

Joyce’s shoulders slumped in sympathy. The rumor around town is that because Mr. Harrington was the landlord for a lot of the properties that the businesses were on, he had threatened to raise their rent if they gave Steve a job.

Something that all the adults promised not to tell Steve so that he wouldn’t get so discouraged as to not try at all.

But surely Clint Harrington didn’t own every business in Hawkins and she told Steve so.

“No,” Steve huffed. “But he’s friends with ones that he doesn’t. I’m going to try the mall next. Most of the them are franchises and have their main bosses outside of Hawkins.”

She let out a little sigh of relief. It showed that Steve was trying and actively thinking of these types of pitfalls.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “What have you got there, Ellie?” he asked trying to shift the focus off of him for a moment.

Joyce was watching Ellie while Hopper was at work.

The young girl held up long satin strings of embroidery thread. She had three shades of pink, a white, and a red. She tied the ends to a safety pin that was pinned her leg.

“I’m making friendship bracelets for me and Max,” Ellie said proudly. “The pink is for me, and then I have these colors for her!” She held up blues and purples.

“That’s way cool!” Steve said scooting over to sit next to her.

Jonathan and Will shared a smile. Steve was lost to the shiny allure of friendship bracelets.

“I could teach you if you like,” she said with a smile. “I also have boondoggle!” She held up shiny plastic strips. “I make key chains and other things that need to last a lot longer than the thread.”

Steve really lit up, but then frowned when he saw out intricate it all was. “I’ll never be do anything that fancy.”

Ellie sat closer and pulled out a little paper that she had in her caboodle. “I couldn’t at first either, so I went to the library and took out a book on all the different ways you could plait and how to do boondoggle. Then I copied a couple of the pages I wanted to try.”

She handed it to him and pointed to the easiest. “That’s the one I started with and it will probably take a little bit to get the spacing right.”

Steve tilted his head. “Is this like braiding hair?”

“Yes!” Ellie said excitedly. “That’s right. I forgot you braid Max’s hair all the time. So then it will be easy for you.”

Soon they were off in their own little world.

Joyce watched with her arms crossed and a concerned expression. Jonathan spotted her and shook his head. He stood up and went to stand next to her.

“You’ve got to let it go, Mom,” he said gently. “You aren’t his mom and even if you were, he’s still an adult. As near as anyone of can tell, whoever is footing this bill isn’t in it to exploit Steve, just making sure he’s taken care of.”

Joyce breathed out through her nose as she tried not to snap at her son. She didn’t know that as a fact and Hopper’s reassurances weren’t enough. She hated having to take his word that whoever this was wouldn’t harm Steve. And that galled.

“It’s all the expensive gifts,” she tried to explain. “The car, the unlimited credit card, cash drops weekly, the gold necklace, the hotel. It’s just not right, it’s not decent.”

Jonathan shook his head. “What about all the non-expensive gifts? Things this benefactor thought Steve would like or get a kick out of? Like that little canary with top hat that he keeps on his dashboard? Or all the music tapes they send, thinking Steve might want to try something different. Hell, according to Steve until they left the country, they talked once or twice a day. That doesn’t sound like someone out to hurt him.”

She let out a shuddering sigh. Because Jonathan was right, that didn’t sound like someone trying to use Steve. “I know.”

Jonathan patted on her shoulder and then went into his room, probably to call Nancy. Another person like his mom who worried Steve was being taken advantage of. But even if he was, that was a lesson he was going to have to learn the hard way.

On his own.

Will had long since left to go hang out with Mike while Ellie and Steve made friendship bracelets. He made four. A black, red, and dark grey one for Eddie, a red, a brown, and a light grey one for Robin and two yellow, white, and black ones. So he could one each to Eddie and Robin.

“Those are really pretty, Steve,” Ellie congratulated him. “Those are some interesting color choices.” Spoken as though she was silently judging, but too polite to say so.

He blushed and held up the first one. “This is for my special friend, they are his favorite colors.” Then he held up the second. “And this is for Robin. The colors remind me of a female robin and the last two represent who I am now.”

Ellie blinked for a moment as she took in the information. “I can see that now. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“I get my thread at Melvand’s,” she said serenely, “if you wanted to continue to make more, that’s where you would go to get your own.”

Steve kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Ellie.”

He didn’t stay much longer than that, now that both of the other boys were gone, Joyce was keeping too close an eye on him with Ellie. He knew it wasn’t the gay thing as she didn’t mind Will being around her. And it wasn’t being a barely legal adult considering she would gladly leave Jonathan to look over her.

Nope.

It was entirely because she didn’t know who Steve’s mysterious benefactor was. And the thought of this unknown, probably male, person might hear about Ellie later? Yeah, that’s where she drew her invisible line.

Which was bullshit, like with Robin’s mom, Eddie wasn’t going to prey on little girls. He was freaking out about Steve might be underage when they met in the club. But it wasn’t like he could tell Joyce that. She might revoke his time with Will and Ellie if she learned he had been underaged drinking that night. The night Eddie saved him.

Steve went up to his hotel room and flopped face first into his bed. He was tired. Tired of all the questions about finding a job and getting out from under Eddie’s thumb. Like Eddie was financially abusing him or whatever.

He just wanted to bring people to his hotel room and show them all the little things Eddie sent him just because he walked into a gas station and saw something cute he thought he would like. The keychain from Kansas City with his name on it. The bright yellow shirt that said “I don’t take no shit” and had the Iowan state bird of the American goldfinch. That one came with a little note explaining that it was a canary, but the black on the wings reminded Eddie of the deliciously tight black leather pants.

Steve blushed for hours after that one.

He wiggled onto the bed and crawled under the covers without having taken off any of his clothes. Maybe he could hibernate until Eddie got back in America.

~

Steve managed to bury himself under the covers before the porter with the felting sister ripped the blanket off from over his head.

He stared blearily up at the porter. “Martin?” He struggled to sit up, but flopped back down on the pillow in distress. “Just leave me alone.”

“It’s Marty actually,” the porter huffed. “The only people that call me Martin are my boss and my mom. You’re not either.”

“Marty, I just want to go back to sleep.”

Marty pulled the rest of the blankets and yanked Steve off the bed. He went with a startled yelp. He leapt to his feet to fight him, but he saw that Bob and Rosa were standing by his bed with looks of concern on their faces.

“I have the shower running,” Bob said, “you will get in there and at least clean off the sweat you reek of. Then Rosa will change the sheets. Marty will bring up some food while you are showering, then the three of us are staging an intervention, because this isn’t like you!”

Steve opened his mouth to refute that statement, probably something about how no one called the whole time he as sulking.

Bob pulled out a stack of messages. “I have thirteen messages, and that’s only because the answering machine is full.”

Steve looked behind him and sure enough the machine was blinking complete with a full tape.

“Oh.”

He meekly went and did as he was told. He was only going to do a perfunctory wipe down because they were waiting for him, but once he got under the water it felt so good that he began to thoroughly scrub himself down. Normally going without a shower for a couple of days really didn’t do much, but because he had barely moved to pee, he was covered in thin layer of sweat.

He washed his hair and got out of the shower. He dried himself off and put on the long robe Eddie had gotten him. He opened the door and was instantly hit with enticing aroma of chicken noodle soup. He moved out of the bathroom to the main room, lured by the scent of real food.

The sofa was full of the hotel employees so he grabbed his bowl of soup and spoon and sat down on the armchair curled up as small as he could make himself.

“You frightened us, mi corazón,” Rosa huffed. “You weren’t answering your phone, you weren’t ordering food. The only way we could tell you moved at all is that occasionally the cup in the bathroom would be wet or you would be on the other side of the bed.”

Bob nodded. “We were told to look after you, money was no object. That’s what we were told, but you turned out to be kind and generous and frankly better than ninety percent of the patrons here. You treat us like we’re human, so it became our pleasure to serve you. So when you weren’t opening your door to anyone or answering your calls, we knew something was wrong.”

“Sorry,” Steve muttered into his bowl. “I just got so tired of everyone trying to find out who is bankrolling my life style and telling me to get a job that I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“It’s none of their business,” Rosa huffed. “They’re just jealous that they don’t have this life. I know your papa wants to hurt and all this for you protection, but it seems to me your friends just see the money you...” she snapped her fingers. “What’s the word?”

“I’d use ‘splash around’,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Ehhh,” she knew it wasn’t the word she was looking for but it would have to do. “They see the good. Not the bad. They see new car, but they weren’t there to see you give up your old car. They see the fancy hobbies, but they don’t see your big room and no one to fill it with.”

“She’s right,” Marty said. “I don’t think even the girl that comes with your gifts from Eddie Munson quite understands the crippling loneliness and isolation you have to be feeling right now.”

Steve sniffled into his soup. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know how to impress upon them how dangerous this all is for me. Like the only ones that remotely understand are the Hendersons and that’s because my dad showed up on their doorstep. But even then I don’t think Dustin quite grasps the enormity of it all, but then he’s thirteen so...”

“The only reason your father hasn’t penetrated hotel security,” Bob said with a grimace, “is that the owner, Dr. Sam Owens hates business men like your father. Otherwise, his hold over this town would have extended to here, no doubt about that.”

“So this is what’s going to happen,” Marty said, “if you need to sneak out and just go for a drive to get out of your head, call Bob and he’ll arrange it. If you need someone to talk to ring up Rose or myself. We’re here for you. We understand that Mr. Munson is out of the country right now and it makes it harder, but we’ve got you, okay?”

Steve nodded and said weakly, “Okay!”

~

Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

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10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts

[riewritten]

QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS ˚ · . READ ON AO3

『JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER』

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Set a decade after the monster's last havoc in Runenheim; he managed to settle someplace nobody knew him, resolute to wander alone until his questions were answered. Needless to say, a companion who'd be willing to stay amid his solitude was the last thing he expected on this journey.

˚ · .─ TAGS: post-canon, developing friendships, romance, fluff, soft johan (whew), pining, domestic bliss, acts of service, johan acting like a male wife when he's just a friend lol, johan is soft but his unremorseful tendencies still show itself if you squint hard enough. ˚ · .─ WORDS: 5.8k

⭒ ⊹ ⭒ hapee holiday season, everyone! here's a christmas gift for my johan lovers:)

You come by Johan's crib after a long day of work. The door's open and there’s a faint albeit very comforting scent of smoke oozing out of the kitchen—your favorite soup. You knock softly (as if Johan didn't already sense your arrival with the clanks of your feet from the hallway; he had come to memorize your footsteps at this point). You find him by the stove, stirring something, movements deliberately slow.

“Smells good,” you say, voice light but sincere.

He doesn’t turn immediately, focus maintained on the pot. "It's just a simple dish. I thought you might be hungry."

He says it as if it's nothing. As if he just coincidentally thought of cooking your favorite dish. You smile, walking over to the table where a fresh and warm buttered loaf of bread awaits.

“You always know exactly what I need.”

Johan almost lets out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle, still not looking at you. "I'm learning."

The first time you met Johan, it was in the bookstore you both frequented, the perfect place to disappear for hours in the quiet maze of shelves. You got to know him by the murmurs first then speaking to him second. It was the constant whispers of the librarians and regulars about a blonde man who seemed to have nothing in his closet but turtlenecks and trousers, yet the awe in their voices spoke volumes—albeit in hushed tones—as it tipped from intimidation to admiration. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” one of them had said once, “like straight out of a painting.” “I know,” replied the companion, her voice barely above a whisper. “But doesn’t he feel… untouchable? I wouldn’t dare.” You’d followed their gazes and caught the sight of him for the very first time. Seated by the large window in the philosophy section, he was a picture of quiet solitude. His blonde hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, but it was his stillness that struck you most. Calm and composed—indeed he must be carved from stone. Since then, you’d noticed the way others seemed to orbit around him, drawn in by his presence but never daring to get too close. “I hope someone gets the gall to talk to him,” you overheard one of the librarians mutter once. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time when he spends most of his days here. I get he might prefer it that way, but still…” The words had stuck with you, stirring a strange kind of curiosity. Who was he, this man who seemed to command so much attention yet cold enough to remain distant? Oh, if only you knew what the future holds for you two, you wouldn't be so nervous about it.

“Why are you laughing?”

When you snap out of it, the stove’s already closed and Johan’s attention is full at you. Needless to say, you’re flushed, but you at least manage to smile and say, “Nothing. Just remembered something funny.”

“Great,” he blankly muses as he carries the food to the dining area. “At least we’ve got something to talk about over dinner.”

The first time you gathered the needed gall to approach him yourself was when you were wandering the aisles. He was in his usual spot with a small stack of books aside. His posture was relaxed, one hand cradling a book while the other resting on the arm of his chair. The whispers you had heard didn’t do him justice. He was striking, indeed, but there was something else, something intangible—a quiet volume in his presence hiding beneath the tranquility. It was the same volume that made you hesitate, and so you lingered by the shelves first.  It wasn't until the librarian’s words echoed in your mind. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time…” Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and blurted out (casually, or so you hoped), “What are you reading?” When his gaze met yours, you felt the air shift. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue you had ever seen, perhaps akin to a lake hiding depths you’ll never reach. Looking back at it, you might’ve been right during that moment, for there are still so many things you don’t know about Johan even now. Going back, Johan took his own time, as if weighing your question, and for a fleeting second, you think he might ignore you entirely. Fortunately, he tilted the book slightly so you could see the cover. “Being and Time,” he said, voice as quiet as the space around you. You’d expect his voice to be deep and manly, but his soft-spoken tone didn’t disappoint you either. In fact, you might’ve liked it more than you imagined. “Heidegger,” you say, mostly to fill the space. “That’s… a lot to unpack.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is.” Then he closed the book in a manner so poised that it felt almost reverent. “Have you read it?” You shook your head. “Not yet. Philosophy’s always been a little intimidating. Too many questions, not enough answers. Not my thing.” For a brief moment, however, you thought it'd be nice to pretend you liked it just so you could talk to him longer. His smile lingered, softer this time. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The questions.” “And you like that?” you took a small step closer. “Questions without answers?” He leaned back slightly, considering you with a quiet curiosity that mirrored your own. “I think it’s better than answers without questions.” “Not really.” He raised his brows, and it didn’t take him too long to signal his hand on the spare chair in front of him, inviting you to his table so you could expound on your answer. You realized then that talking to Johan means having to deal with his words hanging often in the air, and even now you still find yourself caught between wanting to unravel his meaning and simply basking in the way he says it. Amid his tranquil is a tension, that invisible string pulled taut just before it breaks.

And, with that said…

“You don’t talk much about your past,” you start, voice almost shy. “I respect that. But I think I need to understand. Not for me, but for you. We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Johan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers are wrapped around his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as though it could offer him the answers. You’re right, all you know about him is that he’s named Johan. He’s past his thirties. He seems to like your company over dinner or while reading his daily dose of books. He likes spending the rest of his day in the library where you two first met after he’s done with his informal job of tutoring children around the neighborhood for a small price—because to quote one parent, “Mr. Johan is good at children! They love him,”—which almost made him chuckle sardonically at one point, only if he wasn’t with you at the time it was said.

He has always been careful with his words, but this time, he seems to hesitate a little longer than usual. Finally, he speaks, albeit his voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m not the person you think I am, you see…” he starts, and with that simple remark, he's able to deduce that he's not ready to talk about it at all. "...but the past is a weight deplorable people like me are not willing to carry. 

Not that he ever would be ready to talk about it, with you no less. Johan had spent so much time hiding his true self for the past decade not any more thrilled to see the reactions of others who’d come to know who he really was, even more not willing to see your reaction once you learn all of it, too.

But needless to say what he just said is progress. This is the first time in a decade that he has admitted out loud that he is a deplorable being. And that couldn’t be truer for him because even now as you talk, Johan still has no plan to carry the burden of his sins the way his victims would want to. 

He is, in fact, stuck in here, wandering aimlessly, still struggling to understand the need for it, still wanting to see the world the way those people had seen it. The vision doesn’t appear to him no matter how many books he reads, how many buoyant children he tutors, or how many happy parents he comes across. 

Then why does he allow you to see him little by little if he fails to understand it all?

“What only matters for me right now is what’s here,” He gestures around, eyes briefly meeting yours. “This. You.”

You don’t know what to say, but the fire starts feeling a bit warmer after that remark.

On Johan’s end, he seems to have formed some kind of enlightenment with his remark, too. 

Here, in his little crib, with you by his side, he’s slowly but finally allowing himself to be seen (in ways he can and knows how) for the monster that he is, and it's all thanks to your presence. His growing fondness for you has the potential of freeing him from his aimless wandering. And if this fondness, perchance, starts developing for other people as well (to your neighbors, to the kids he tutors, to the parents trusting him, to the librarians doing favors for his books), he believes he could finally start seeing the world the way those people have seen it.

“But I don’t need to know what you’ve done or whatever it is that makes you ‘deplorable’," you quote in the air. "I just want to know you."

And his questions will be answered. And, in time, Johan can finally face the weight of his sins with full understanding.

He looks at you then, his gaze steady and calm. “You already do.”

On the second, third, fourth, and perhaps even fifth time you two came across each other at the library, you had always pretended to see him coincidentally (feigning shock with a high-pitched “Oh hi there, Johan! Didn’t know you were there! It’s been a while! How are you?” that you prayed he didn’t find annoying) because, little did Johan know, your intrigue had been keeping you up at night. You frequented the library—with all sorts of books and topics diverse—to quench your curiosity about lots of things. But with this blonde man, how could your curiosity about him be quenched if not through this? At times, you thought he’d seen through your friendship scheme, but your inner demons brushed off the thought. After all, how could he tell that these moments were, in fact, not coincidental when you two were known by the librarians for frequently requesting library cards because the old ones had been too full to fill up? You glanced at the stack of books beside him and realized that they have a rather eclectic mix—existentialism, psychology, classic literature. “You have a theme going,” you say, nodding toward them. He followed your gaze. “These authors had… interesting ways of seeing the world. I like to understand how people think.” The faintest edge to his voice, however, made you wonder if he was speaking about others—or himself. “Do you ever agree with them?” “Not always, but understanding isn’t about agreement. It’s about perspective.” You nodded then, rendered into silence, unsure how to respond. There was a weight to his words that felt out of proportion to the simplicity of the conversation. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it makes you want to keep talking to him.  “I’m sorry—” you said suddenly, realizing you had been standing there for far too long. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just couldn’t help but notice. I’ll be off then! Have a great time.” When his gaze met yours again, there was a flicker of something softer. “It’s not an interruption,” and for the first time, his voice held a hint of warmth. “Sometimes, a conversation can say more than a book.” You smiled at that, feeling a strange, inexplicable comfort in his words. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about… questions without answers, I’m around!” He didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted, the faintest trace of curiosity mingling with something you can’t quite name. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last, and though his words are polite, there’s a quiet sincerity to them that makes you believe him.

After dinner, the quiet hum of the night wraps around you as you sit in Johan’s small, meticulously organized living space. The fire dwindles to a much softer glow, casting long shadows across the room before you notice Johan's gaze flickering between the firelight and you. His hands rest loosely on the arm of his chair, seemingly content in the silence. His stillness betrays a quiet attentiveness though—for he's always aware, always considering.

“You didn’t eat much,” says Johan, proving your musings. It's not an accusation either, just an old flat remark on his end.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier.”

He gets up without a word, movements unhurried as he disappears into the small kitchen. You hear the faint clink of a ladle against a pot and the gentle hiss of steam as he pours something. Moments later, Johan returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Eat."

You hesitate for a moment before picking up the spoon, letting the warmth of the soup seep into your hands. “You don’t have to take care of me like this, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply before meeting your eyes, the usual coolness softened by something you couldn’t quite decipher. 

The soup is more than perfect, though—rich and comforting as always—and he knows you'd feel guilty if you don't eat it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you mumble in between, “but you always make things feel… manageable? I don’t know.”

He tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Do expound."

"I’d rather not."

The chuckle he lets out with your statement has made it more difficult for you to hide your fluster, but much to your relief, Johan doesn't press you further.

The same chuckle wraps every crevice of your body with warmth. Oh, to have a friend taking care of you like this. His solitude can be dreary, but so utterly comfortable nonetheless.

Making Johan live next to you will always be one of the proudest decisions you ever made.

It was approximately three months after those fateful (intentional) encounters, that the library had become a haven for you both. Your quiet camaraderie grew into something akin to a routine. You’d share the same table, absorbed in your respective books, the soft rustle of pages turning creating a rhythm that felt comforting in its simplicity. Occasionally, you’d catch Johan glancing at you, and there would go his unreadable gaze for a moment before returning to his book. That time, you were engrossed in a novel while Johan seemed to be studying Hegel. The silence between you was companionable, feeling like you had carved out your own little world amidst the whispers and movements of the library. But the spell broke when Johan spoke, “May I ask you a favor?” Not that it annoyed you. It actually did quite the opposite. Johan, this guy, asking you a favor? He rarely initiated conversations in the first place! Still, you tried to be calm about it, settling down your book with poise and all. “Of course, what is it?” “I’ve been considering moving to a quieter neighborhood. The place I currently reside in… lacks a certain tranquility.” You tilted your head, “Quieter, huh? You don’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate noise for long.” He gave you a faint but genuine smile. “It’s not the noise itself. It’s the... atmosphere. I’d prefer somewhere where the days feel less hurried.” “I might know a few places. My neighborhood is pretty quiet, actually. There’s a lot of greenery, and the people keep to themselves. It’s the kind of place where you can choose to go weeks without bumping into your neighbors or talk to them to your heart's content.” His eyes lit up very slightly, but that rare glimmer of interest in his face made your heart skip. “That sounds ideal. Do you happen to know of any available apartments?” You hesitated, mind racing. The apartment beside yours had been vacant for months. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. The thought of Johan living next door—of sharing more than just library visits—has kept your tongue tied for a while. “A-actually… there’s a place right next to mine.” But hey, at least you were still trying to sound casual about it. “It’s quiet, and the landlord’s a nice guy. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “That’s very kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” “Not at all!” you replied quickly, perhaps too eagerly. “I can show you the place after we leave here if you’d like.” “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

And now, as you go back to the present, you wonder why you’ve been feeling a bit too nostalgic lately, though it doesn’t stay unanswered when you glance at Johan’s calendar.

This day, last year, was the time you started sneaking on his spot at the library to initiate a talk. Reflecting on it now, your stupid tactics will never be something you’ll regret. He’s one of your closest friends now. 

Johan’s friendship isn’t one for grand gestures, but it becomes clear that his acts of care are his way of expressing what he’d prefer not to put into words. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing has appeared on his coffee table. A small vase of daffodils now sits on the windowsill the next time you visit. His dinners are always for two, even when you show up unannounced—and if, for instance, you try to ask him about it, he’d just casually shrug and say, “I just ended up cooking a lot. Eat it while it’s hot.” More, and more, and more. It’s as though Johan is slowly turning his house into your own, too.

The same goes for the stuff you accidentally leave at his place. Your scarf? You’d see it neatly folded on the chair by the door the day after. Feeling a bit too cold during the evening? There, he has a blanket ready before you could even ask. 

One night, you arrive at his house later than usual, steps heavy from a particularly grueling day. The door's unlocked, as it has been when he expects you.

“Johan?” you call, shrugging off your coat.

“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.

You follow the sound and find him standing by the stove while stirring a pot. The dim light casts a warm hue over him; his sharp features soften along the way.

He glances at you briefly, offering a small nod. “Long day?”

You lean against the doorway with a tired sigh. “You have no idea.”

Without a word, he turns off the stove and begins ladling soup into a bowl. He sets it on the table, gesturing for you to sit.

He sits across from you, his own bowl untouched. Then there goes his gaze, lingering on you, unintrusive but steady, as though he's reading every line of exhaustion on your face and filing it away.

“You should take a break."

You smiled wryly. “From what? Life?”

“From pushing yourself too hard."

His words hang in the air, simple yet profound. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Johan’s protection of your peace became a natural extension of his care for you. He never pushed you to do anything for him. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. But he shows up. Every day. Quietly. Steadily. 

The warmth of this dinner where Johan casually asks about your day, muses about his, shares the books he had read, makes you chuckle at the tomfooleries of children he has tutored, and more has been consuming you. It doesn’t take long until you finally work up the courage to ask a question that’s been lingering in your mind for quite some time.

 “Why do you do all this for me?”

Johan looks at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he might deflect, as he so often does when conversations edge too close to vulnerability. But then, he answers, his voice quieter than usual.

“Because you stay.”

The simplicity of his words struck you. Johan, who has always been careful, always guarded, is telling you more than you realize.

“I stay because I want to."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but you notice the subtle shift in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible relaxation.

“I know,” he replies, and for the first time, there's a hint of something like certainty in his voice.

With the winter deepening and the night growing colder, the warmth inside Johan’s home never falters. The conversations drift to lighter topics—books you’d read, places you wanted to visit, small dreams you’d never share with anyone else. Johan listens intently, his focus unwavering.

“I think you’d like the mountains,” he says at one point. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

You smile. “You make it sound perfect.”

“Well, it could be.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. “Don't you think so?”

There's something in his tone—something unspoken, undecipherable, and yet undeniable. You realize something that made your heart ache and swell all at once: Johan isn’t just taking care of you. He's allowing you to take care of him, too, in the only way he knows how: by letting you stay. And, just like what happened just now, his likes and preferences will slip out of his mouth without him noticing from time to time, albeit much of them still projected as something you might like instead.

It's not easy for him, you know. But every bowl of soup, every blanket, every quiet moment shared in his little home is his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

And for now, that is enough.

Johan’s care remains consistent, though you begin to notice small changes in his interactions with you.

His gaze often lingers a second longer, softening in ways you don’t know how to interpret—maybe it even softens a little too much especially when you’re telling him about your days. And his voice—oh, his voice that has bewitched you since the first time you had heard it in the library—recently it lowers in an almost tender way, his tone more perceptive of what you need even before you realize it yourself. 

Then there goes the gestures. An extra blanket he drapes over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. A cup of tea that spawns on the table whenever he notices your mood falter. A brush of his hand against yours when he steadies you under the weight of too many things. All these moments feel small, insignificant even, and yet they’ve become harder and harder to ignore. 

Maybe it’s a you problem (even though you tried your very best to stop the thoughts, to be fair) but oftentimes you can’t help but ask, has he always been this way?

No way Johan could like you, that much you know. But if we’re talking about you and the things under your sphere, the feelings that you can control, what would you answer if he came one day to ask if you still like him as a friend, or if it has progressed to something more dangerous—what would you tell him, then?

Fortunately, the Christmas season has brought a whirlwind of gatherings—giving you the space that you need from your colleagues. And for the night of Christmas itself, you’ve chosen to attend one with your friends instead of having dinner with him. It’s not that you don’t enjoy his company; you do, perhaps a bit too much, even, but you thought a change of pace would help clear your head.

You never intended to get yourself wasted, but the way you kept thinking of him during the gathering, spacing out, wondering if he managed to cook his own dinner or if he ‘accidentally’ made it again for two. At one point you even considered excusing yourself early just so you could go back home—to him. Oh god, you’re doomed indeed.

Hours later, the cold night air hits you as you stumble back to your apartment, the warmth of good food and too much wine still buzzing in your veins. While fumbling with your keys in the dark, you notice a figure standing at the door next to yours.

Johan.

His posture is impeccable as always, but his face is unreadable, bathed in the soft light of the hallway lamp. His sharp eyes meet yours, flickering briefly to the keys trembling in your hand.

“How long have you been—”

“You’re late.” His voice is rather calm, but there’s a note of something you can’t quite place.

“Merry Christmas, Johan,” you smile softly, the silly intoxicated mind finding his concern oddly amusing. “But oh, wait! Sorry, you told me you don’t celebrate holidays, right? Silly me,” you sway slightly. “Still, I bought you a gift, but I—hic—I left it inside. Maybe you can accompany me inside so y—you could, uh… what was I gonna say again?”

“You’re drunk,” he states the obvious with eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“No, I’m, hehe, not.” Though your keys clatter to the floor as if your body is mocking your denial. “Shit. I don’t have a spare key.” Disappointment so palpable as if the keys falling to the floor renders it unusable.

Johan sighs, bending to retrieve them with effortless grace. Without another word, he steps forward, unlocks your door, and gently guides you inside.

The warmth of your apartment envelops you, and you’re too tipsy to protest as Johan helps you to the couch. He disappears momentarily and returns with a glass of water.

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You comply, sipping obediently, though you can’t help but watch him as he hovers nearby, his movements ever careful and deliberate, as though he’s weighing every action. When you finish, he takes the glass from your hands and sets it aside. “You should lie down.”

You nod. But then, Johan doesn’t accompany you to your room. He instead readies himself to leave. Why would he leave? He turns off the lights, assuming you are indeed on your way to your bedroom, and then bids you good night.

No.

The room spins slightly as you try to reach out to him. You fail miserably though, but Johan’s fast reaction steadies you immediately. He picks you up by the arm before you can even fall, “You okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Johan squints his eyes, his thoughts lurking towards something. “Did something happen at the gathering? Did someone perhaps—”

“No, I—” you stammer because Johan’s proximity seems to have sobered you up. He gently sits your flailing body on the floor. He’s crouching, though his hold on your shoulder didn’t cease. “I just…I just realized something.”

He hums, waiting for you ever so gently to respond.

The same gentleness that pushes you off the edge.

“I like you.”

But the lights are off. You wouldn’t see Johan’s reaction.

The silence stretches painfully, and it doesn’t take long until you feel a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you think he might leave. But then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost strained. “You didn’t disappoint me,” he says finally, and you find it strange how that simple—perhaps even empty—clarification plucked out a thorn in your vein. “It’s just that you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I do,” you insist despite the haze in your mind. Your eyes scan everything else but his face above, trying to articulate it in a way he’d believe. “I’ve liked you since we met at the library. I pretended to come across you accidentally just so we could have something to talk about. I—I used to sit there for hours just hoping we’d talk. It kept me awake at night… thinking about you, about the way you look when you read. I thought I was just like that because I wanted to be your friend so bad, but I—” you exhale, ragged, exhausted. “I don’t think it passed even when we became close. There go your habits, and how you’re so kind to me… I can’t deny it any further and pretend I just want to be friends.”

Your words trail off, and the silence thereafter has felt suffocating. Johan remains unmoved, his posture rigid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow…” Johan starts. “When you’re sober.”

“Okay…”

And yet, no one dares to move.

You finally look up after five minutes or so, and there you catch Johan’s gaze lingering on you—not piercing, but steady, contemplative. His hands rest loosely on your shoulders, yet you notice the slight tension in his fingers, the faint clench, and release as though he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been quiet,” you finally say, voice softer than intended, eyes up at him and nothing else.

“So have you,” he replies, and though his tone is even, there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if he’s caught in something too raw to name.

There goes the silence again, not because it’s awkward but because something has changed. Your body can sense it—the urge to move just a bit higher so you can reach his face, perhaps cup his cheeks just a bit, and maybe a small kiss on the forehead too…? Your heart flutters like a bird aching to be let out. Your feelings for Johan have been climbing higher than you ever intended tonight. And yet, the way he looks at you now, guarded but searching, makes you wonder if he feels even a fraction of what you do.

“Johan,” you say, voice trembling, “I…”

He looks at you again but in a manner quite different from how he usually reacts whenever you call his name. Still, you don’t let it scare you off. 

“I don’t care if you can’t carry the weight of your past,” you say, the words spilling out like water from a dam. “I just want to be with you, and… maybe—”

It’s just that you don’t get to finish.

Johan leans in fast; you feel the time pacing a bit quicker, perhaps so it could cater to your shock. His hold on your cheek is gentle and controlled, but the way he meets your lips fervently speaks the urgency of it, as though he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

And so when you do more than push him away, your hand tentatively reaching for his arm instead—he deepens it further, his restraint crumbling just enough to let you feel his response to your confession. After all, what Johan lacks in words he always compensates in action. His care has always been consistent and predictable in its subtlety and restraint, thus making his lack of control and patience right now unusual and out of character. But even then, his lips have a careful precision that still feels so him.

Oftentimes you'd wonder how Johan's skin would feel against yours. He barely looks alive so you thought he'd feel cold. But oh how wrong you are. His hand languidly slides to your back, and then he abruptly pulls your body towards him. It's warm, perhaps too much that it overwhelms you. His heart is beating fast, the needed confirmation that this affects him just the same.

Johan’s movements feel as though he himself is unfamiliar with this feeling—as if this is the first time he's had this reaction. Your mind then races with questions. Does this mean he feels the same? Or is this meant to keep me guessing? What happens after this? 

The thoughts melt away when he pulls away, eyes lidded, lips puffed. “Johan, what—”

Only to kiss you harder again. Perhaps he did because he felt your attention drifting away from him. It’s as if to say you wanted this to happen, so relish it without thinking about anything else. This sudden assertion after keeping himself subtle is doing something in your brain.

Johan seems to take pleasure in your reactions, too—the way you pant as your lips pressed together, your hands clinging onto the waves of his hair, and when you slip out a little moan because his hands slide into your shirt to feel the heat of your back, you feel him smile. Then he becomes more passionate. More desperate. More longing. And in this moment, Johan feels more reachable, more understandable.

Perhaps his lack of usual poise also says a lot about how he’s still doing everything in his power right now to hold back, and he’s asking you to cooperate.

Johan pulls back for good in a rather slow, deliberate manner, just in sync with your panting breaths. His forehead brushes lightly against yours as he stays close. 

“I told you, hadn’t I?” His eyes, now open but still lidded, seemingly search your face for something—fear? Regret? Understanding? What is it? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’re not listening to me.”

You open your mouth to say something but his fingertip presses gently to your lips.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice softer, reminding you of his restraint. “Not yet.”

But I just want to say that I liked it and I want more.

“Please,” he adds as if he just read your mind.

What a sight to see.

The way his face looks right now makes you feel his inner turmoil. The weight of his past he claims a deplorable being like him will not be willing to carry is making him more reluctant to let himself have this—to have you.

He needs time, doesn’t he? And so you finally nod, temporarily ceasing the itch to have your questions answered.

Johan sighs in relief, sounding genuinely tired as if this night has taken all of his energy and willpower. He doesn’t forget to usher you up, and when he realizes you’re not wobbling that much anymore, he nods, taps your cheeks, kisses your forehead, and repeats his good night.

As soon as the door closes, you slowly walk to your room. Eyes wide, fingertips touching your sore lips, and you plopped on the bed unceremoniously. 

For now, in the quiet of your apartment, with the taste of him still lingering on your lips, at least you can now assure yourself that for the first time since you’ve known each other, he finally let himself be vulnerable, even for a moment. And that is more than you ever could have asked for.

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@melonvrs @s0m4-sh4rk

[glitter-stained]

What your favourite batfam member (of the ones I know enough about) says about you- a 100% accurate list of logical conclusions that are true about everyone.

(Those are not assumptions, just cold-hard logic based on what is appealing about each of the batfam members.)

> Alfred: One time in a shop, you picked up a holiday decoration, one of those bright red and gold shimmery ornaments they hang on Christmas trees, and it was so simple and beautiful your throat clogged up with grief over something you could not name and you were tempted to crack it open like an egg. You didn't.

> Kate: The other night, you were at the park, and it was that time of the evening where the cold breeze picks up just a little and breathing just a little raw, and there was a woman standing under a street lamp with a long black coat and she was smoking a cigarette and she took a deep breath and exhaled a cloud of smoke and the lamplight went out and you watched the woman disappear.

> Bruce: At the nearest comic store next to you, there's a young woman behind the counter who chews bubblegum and has a pink strip in her hair. She knows every issue you will think of and can navigate the obscure sorting system of the shop in her sleep. Sometimes, on the weekends, there's a little kid in a big scarf that will huddle in a corner of the shop and read comics, and she will not say anything about him, and neither will you.

>Barbara: At your local library, the books are organized along the official system, but you can tell this change was recent, due to the faded book tags on the spines. Very often, people will leave their bookmarks in the books: elegant, woven lace or printed leather ones, painted ones homemade with care and watercolours, practical ones that double as a ruler, thematic ones from books or shows or favourite bands, the ones with the holographic animal pictures... The librarians know this. They leave them in the books like a little treasure hunt.

> Dick: You were a little kid, eating cereal in the morning before your parents were awake, watching cartoons with the volume on low. Your favourite cartoon came up and you hummed the theme song under your breath, careful not to wake anybody up. It was a Saturday, no school today. You were wearing your favourite pyjama.

> Cass: When you were ten years old, you would crouching over a tree root in a corner at recess, watching a little colony of firebugs travel in line out of the tree trunk. You took a little bramble and held it in their way, just to see what would happen, if they would climb on it instead. They walked around it and carried one their way; you didn't insist. Nearby on the ground, you found a beautiful marble.

> Steph: Seven months before you were born, your mother was walking down the street to get some last minute work groceries, when she took a wrong turn and ended up staring at a tv screen from inside a shop, and she couldn't hear the noise but something in the image petrified her, mouth open in awe, blue light reflecting in her eye with the empty grocery bags hanging limp in her hands.

> Jason: Your neighbour has a dog. Though you've never seen it, you can hear it barking and whining from behind the wall. When it gets cold, you blow in your hands and rub them together, and the air you breathe out swirls up in a little cloud. Something you stand on the side of the road for a little too long and that old lady sitting at the bus stop looks at you with concern. It's going to snow soon.

> Tim: On your birthday this year, a group of old ladies gathered together to discuss the important events of this month. One of them made tea and offered it to the others; the whistling of the kettle and the chiming of cups and little spoons sign the beginning of this ritual like the ringing of church bells. They didn't know that this was your birthday. If they knew, maybe they would have whispered about it amongst eachother - "didn't you hear? This one's one year older, just today. My, my, how time flies."

> Duke: One time you and your friends were swimming in the lake and your fiend's necklace slipped out. You dove under the surface and opened your eyes to find it, and came face to face with a fish that swam away the moment that you blinked. You're not that good at holding your breath, but your friend really cared about that necklace, so you swam deeper and eventually you saw it, slowly sinking between dead water flowers floating around like algae. You picked it up, dizzy, and swam to the surface; when you emerged, you took a deep gulp of air, and it felt like stepping out of a different universe.

> Damian: Picture a frog. It's a relatively normal-sized frog, round-shaped like a little ball with big, comically bulging eyes on either side and a prehensile tongue that jolts out from time to time to catch a fly. It looks a little silly, fingertips wide and splayed on a water lily, but also very serene, practically unmoving, in the middle of the pond. The frog is a beautiful glossy green like the grass in a luxurious valley. Now here is a mind frog. You like the frog.

[xlmibby]

you didn't know what rafayel could possibly give you for christmas.

there are way too many things someone as creative as him can come up with. for example, it could be a simple yet meaningful gift like a necklase with a heart-shaped locked where he'd ask you to put his picture in. a hand-painted shirt with a silly design that fits perfectly your tastes. or a messy sketch of you tangled in his bedsheets that he created after turning you into a moaning mess until you fell asleep, tired and satisfied.

nevertheless, you have never expected to come to mo art studio and see rafayel's body tied up with long red ribbon.

it's not that you're dissapointed. you would be happy even to put silly little christmas-themed hairclips in his hair and laugh while watching some cheesy romcom. everything's nice as long as rafayel's involed.

it's just... you're surprised. very much so.

you stare at him for a long moment, a bit dumbfounded. you're not sure how many time has passed until rafayel whispers your name, his voice low and husky like a siren song that calls out to the deepest parts of your soul.

without thinking, you take a step closer. then another and another; until you're next to him and your fingers brush against the red bow tied on his chest. rafayel sucks in a breath and you hold in yours as you feel your heartbeat speeding up to the point where everything else in swallowed by its sound roaring in your ears.

your whole world now is only you and him. tension lingers in the space between the two of you and settles in the pit of your stomach, hot and heavy.

rafayel looks up at you, his stare half-innocent, half-dark. a small knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips as if your hesitation is yet another part of being lured here by him. as if it's all his plan to watch you trenble in anticipation, desperately yearning for more.

you swallow. your fingertips itch with sheer desire - to unbutton his shirt that in the haze of desire seems so awfully useless now that your patience is wearing thin, to kiss him senseless until both of you are breathless and the tips of his lips are flushed with the prettiest shade of red - and it takes everything in you to stay still because you crave him so much–

but you do. you do stay still; even when your emotions blend together into one overwhelming mix that causes you to shiver ever so slightly.

his name lingers on the tip of your tongue like a hushed prayer of a starved person. rafayel.

you watch his gaze sharpen as you lean in just a little bit before you slowly - agonizingly slowly - start to tug at the edge of the ribbon. rafayel is so close that you can almost feel his hot breaths fluttering across your skin; but you keep your moves steady as gradually, you undo the bow.

after all, the best thing about getting gifts is taking your time to unwrap them... and enjoying everything they have to offer.

[b0n3s-is-gay]

What does the gang get you for Christmas?

A Very Merry Outsiders Christmas Masterlist -> here!

Darrel Shaynne Curtis:

This man, if he was to get you anything for Christmas, it'd be some simple piece of jewlery that doesn't cost that much.

If you're serious serious in this relationship, like you've been together since Highschool, think 5 years. There's a small chance it'd be his mom's engagement ring. Not the wedding ring of course, Sodapop keeps that close to his body at all times. (I will always write about how Darry would propose, sue me.)

He'd wrap it up in a little bit of tissue paper and then put it in a bag. If it's a necklace, he'd help you put it on and kiss you after.

Keith "Two-bit" Matthews:

This man is a joker through and through, so the first gift is a joke gift. Something to get him laughing and you a bit upset, but he'd never over do it.

The joke gift would be something like chocolates (if you don't like them) or a box of coal.

But his actual gift is a lot more thought out than you might think. It's a butterfly knife, stolen just like his. It's something he hopes you don't have to use but you'll have just in case.

Dallas "Dally" Winston:

Dally doesn't do Christmas. He just doesn't. Don't ask, don't tell.

But if Christmas gifts are really your thing, he'll steal you some kind of expensive piece of clothing you were looking at.

Does he wrap it? No, not at all. He loves you, but not that much.

Sodapop Patrick Curtis:

Sodapop would have a hard time picking something to give to you for Christmas. But, he'd get you something with his own money. Maybe it'd be something small related to your hobby.

He'd get you something nice from his DX funds, think like new paint brushes if you paint or a roll of polaroid blanks if you do photograpgy.

He'll wrap it up with help from Darry. Nice little packaging or bag depending on what hobby you have and what he got you.

Steve Randle:

Something homemade. He does work at the DX but his money is pitted towards his survival, so he'll make you something for Christmas.

Maybe a little wooden heart or a few metal roses. Like that little picture captioned with "I will love you until this rose wilts", that kind of metal rose. That's what he'd get you.

He'll tie it up with a little bow or ribbon and give it to you with a kiss under the mistletoe.

Johnny Cade:

Much like Steve, Johnny doesn't have much money for gifts. So he'll take you out to dinner or make dinner for you.

I see him as a quick learner and he's always watching when others cook. So he'll pull out some of Darry's recipes and make you a wonderful dinner to the best of his abilities.

He'll meet you at the door, pull you inside, and treat you like a princess the whole night. He'll even dress up (with what he has) and wine and dine you for Christmas. He loves you, trust.

Ponyboy Michael Curtis:

He's drawing you for Christmas. His gift will be customized artwork of you.

When I say customized art work, I think he'll have a refrence photo of you and he'll draw you with words he thinks describe you. Something like this.

When he gives you the picture, it'll be in a little envelope with the sweetest little christmas love note. He's cheesy, don't hold it against him.

Tags: @witchyleehibernates

[hannahssimblr]

Later, in bed, I toss about. There are too many throw pillows. Astrid’s childhood bedroom is unexpected like that. Floral wallpaper and painted storybook style furniture painted soft green. Fabric lamps printed with delicate petals and trimmed with lace. The bedroom of a fictional princess. 

I’m bothered by the pearl earrings, back in their box on the side table, lit faintly by moonlight through thin curtains. Replaying the scene by the Christmas tree over and over. Coming at it from different angles, all of which I come out looking like the idiot who doesn't know his own girlfriend.

“We all know you love Pat Conroy,” said Mia, when she handed her that book. Does she? Does she like Pat Conroy? She never mentioned it to me. I could have bought her a Pat Conroy book. I could have bought her all his work if I had known that. How is it I’ve seen her read dozens of books, but never thought to ask her about them? Every one of them might have been Pat Conroy, and I was too idiotic to check, assuming she'd turn her nose up at such humble a gift as a book. Not even a new book. It was second hand, with a red discount sticker on the back. She loved it.

And Pernille, with that lavender pillow spray. “Do you remember,” she said, “when you were a teenager and you had that terrible bout of insomnia? You couldn’t sleep for weeks, and eventually it was lavender oil that helped you. Such a simple thing, wasn’t it? How funny.”

The socks from Gitte. Colourful stripes on them. “Ha!” I thought when Astrid unwrapped them. “She won’t wear them.” But I was wrong. She wore them all evening. Took pictures of them and sent them to friends. Look! So cute! She wrote. There they are now, on the chair in the corner of her room, ready to be worn again tomorrow. I toss a throw pillow onto the floor and turn over. The little bed creaks. 

“Mmph,” Astrid murmurs. 

“Did I wake you?”

“Are you okay?”

“I just can’t sleep.”

“Oh. Do you want my pillow spray?”

“It’s fine.”

A minute passes. Two, maybe, and she might have fallen back asleep, but I’m compelled to speak through the silence. “Did you like the earrings?”

She turns, the silhouette of her sloped nose outlined against the window. “Huh?”

“Did you really like the earrings, or were you just being nice? I want to know. You can tell me.”

“Yeah, of course. I think they’re beautiful. Why are you asking me this?”

I pull the blankets under my armpits and stare at the ceiling. Stickers there of woodland animals. “I don’t know, just the things your family got you… they weren’t things I would have ever imagined you would like. I've been second guessing myself.”

“Of course they got me things I like. They’re my family. They know me.”

“Well, I didn’t know you liked certain novels, or that thing about your insomnia, for example. As your boyfriend I'm supposed to know you, too.”

“Oh, well, I suppose those things never came up.”

“You never told me. You never mentioned the insomnia.”

“When have we ever discussed insomnia specifically?”

“Well, never, but I’m sure there’ve been opportunities where you could have included it in some conversation, like for example if I ever said I didn't sleep well the night before, or we watched a film with an insomniac in it, you could have been like, 'oh, that reminds me of this one time', or whatever.”

She gets onto her elbow and stares at me. “Are you angry with me because I never told you about something that was happening for six weeks when I was sixteen?”

“No, I’m confused.”

“Confused.”

“Yes.”

“It is confusing to you? Like I don’t seem the kind of person that would suffer from insomnia?” She’s kind of laughing at me, but it isn’t funny. No, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to have insomnia. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to have any ailment or condition, be it insomnia or athletes’ foot, bronchitis or an under-the-skin pimple on the side of her nose. 

“Astrid, I feel like your family were bringing up stuff about you, and telling stories, and I had this moment in the room down there where I felt exposed. As if I don’t know you at all.”

“You think your gift was inappropriate because it wasn’t related to my past?”

“I'm worried you’ve been pretending to like the things I get for you, or something.”

Her hand comes to my hair, combing gently my scalp with her fingernails. “I don’t pretend. I like that you choose them for me.”

Incredulous. “You like that I choose them.”

“Mm. It’s a window into the way you see me.”

With a surge of emotion, I inhale loudly through my nose and her cool palm moves to my face. “What?”

“The way I see you,” I repeat. “What if I want to see who you actually are?”

“Well, you do. This is who I am.”

“What’s ‘this’?” 

She pauses. “Who I am at home and who I am with you… it’s just different sides. I like getting your gifts. I like the jewellery, because I like being who you want me to be.”

“And I want you to be…?”

“A woman who wants expensive things, reads mysterious books, and never had insomnia.”

I groan. “Is it?”

“Yes.” 

“But I’ve just realised I couldn’t even imagine you being sick at all, you know? I was with girls before who would go on about periods and shit, but you’ve never brought that up with me.”

“I don’t get period cramps.”

“Okay, well, you see my point.”

A low laugh. “I think if I did, I wouldn’t discuss it with you.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason. I don’t think you want me to have ailments and aches and pains. It’s not who I am with you.”

I cover my eyes, dizzy with a mild headache from the effort of our conversation. “Ugh!” I manage. It’s so late, and my stomach is still so full from dinner that I wish I’d just be sick to ease the discomfort. My frail mind cannot handle this discussion.

She comes closer, rests her head in the curve of my neck. “You know, this is special. Having you here on Christmas.” A strategic subject change, not gone unnoticed, but allowed, given the circumstances.

“Hm?”

“I haven’t had a boyfriend over in years. Since I was at school.”

“Oh. Should I feel honoured to be the first guy in your bed?”

She chuckles. “No. My boyfriend from school was here first, sorry to say.”

“Your mom was alright with that, was she?”

“Yeah, sure. I told her I was going to lose my virginity with him and she lit candles and left a box of condoms and some chocolates and things in a basket on the table. She was very supportive.”

“Oh, God, okay. You lost it in this very spot, and your mother knew about it while it was happening.”

“I think she would prefer here than somewhere dirty or unsafe.”

“Very progressive of her.”

“And what place did you do it?”

“Hm. Not at home. Never did anything there. Would have been too weird. I used to just do it anywhere I could find some privacy. On the ground, and stuff. Then eventually I got a car and graduated to the passenger seat.”

“Do you think your parents knew?”

“Nah, they think I'm a virgin.”

“I don’t think so.”

I nod. “Anyway, what I’m picking up from all this is that your weird little princess bedroom is not off limits? She’s already seen it all?”

“Not it all, but some. Tame things.”

“So we’re allowed? Gitte isn’t going to burst in with a bucket of water halfway?” I roll over to deliver a playful bite to her neck. “What type of woman are you, Astrid? The type to fuck a guy in her childhood bedroom while her family sleep in the other rooms?”

“If you say so,” and turns automatically to put her face into the pillow for me, but I halt her, whispering, “No, I literally couldn’t tonight. I feel too horrible from all the food. I just like knowing the option is there.”

“Sure,” she replies. “It's whatever you want.”

I know that already. This is what I want now. To kiss her temple, pull the covers over her, and let her drift off in my arms.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[insuke69]

What's in a name? P2

Part I, Part II, Part III

2/3

☆ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

★ Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩ Warnings: cussing, Some more angst, 'crybaby’ reader, misunderstanding, SMUT

★ smut: P in V, unprotected, pull-out-method, oral (F!receiving), pierced pp.

Rating—M

✩ 7,1k words

______

If one word could describe how the next few days of your life was, It’d be bittersweet.

Bittersweet Because of how sweet Spiderpunk was to you. Or rather, how sweet he was to who he thought was Emily.

So sweet while you couldn’t describe how you felt with him, with your own behavior more open and carefree with that dark mask you bare almost every night when you sneak out and ‘accidentally’ run into him. It makes you grin like an idiot when he stands close or when you see him webbing over to you as you chill around the bench.

That bench where you two met, where you always helplessly cried as a little girl now being a place you look forward to going every day. The second the sun sets you tell Roxy you’re going out and you stay out until any hour of the night with not even Roxy knowing about the special punk that makes your heart pound and your body ease with some kind of feeling that makes you want to be close to him physically and emotionally.

Something about how exhilarating and free you felt around him, his arm around you while you held onto him. You two often webbed some nights, to buildings you know inside out since you helped your dad design some, or some simple spray painting in canals, and if you were lucky: You two would end up on some rooftop talking while looking into the night sky with few stars because of light pollution.

One night you’re bent beside your bed with the collection of pictures with you and Spiderpunk, you’re wondering if you should show him who you are: But that's the bitter part.

Spiderpunk loves and is close to the masked street artist he simply knows by her fake name, Emily.

Bitter because he doesn’t care for the actual woman below the mask, yet he enjoys the mask and the personality below. Spiderpunk seems to despise y/n Osborn. He doesn’t make his rebellious habits too known since he didn’t do that for attention and was always his own unfiltered and blunt self. How the hell will you two ever know each other when he wears his mask for anonymity and you wear yours to not end up getting stabbed at every turn.

“I just.. I feel like she's always trying to act as if she’s so much better than her dad, when she doesn’t even leave her house to avoid the people who see her as she is.” you remember Spiderpunk shrugging since the topic had moved to ‘you’.

“Yeah? What a hot take.” You comment sarcastically with a chuckle. You couldn’t defend yourself/who is the true woman behind the mask since he would likely be offended that you would defend the daughter of such a monster.

Your small memory moment cuts short as you hear your door knock in the way you know exactly who is the one behind the door and quickly shove the shoebox full of pictures of Spiderpunk and you with the art you’ve been putting up on most osborn buildings under your bed and sit on the edge of it while the door opens and Roxy walks in.

“Hey, remember to get ready for the event.” She said as she looks away from you and goes straight to your closet. “This is important to your father, he needs his daughter there and he needs you to behave for it.” Roxy continued as she began picking out an outfit for you.

This was a christmas event where your dad made a whole thing just to show off he donated some money to a cause about homeless and unfed people around in Brazil, meanwhile he hates the needy people down in the city less than a ten minute drive away–and actively keeping them ignored.

“What's the.. Uhm..” You begin before pausing to think of the word,

“Schedule? It's from five to twelve.” Roxy chimed.

“What? Dude! I won’t be able to go out w-” You cut yourself off before rewording your words, “I don’t want to go.” you say as you lean back on your hands before adding with a scoff. “It’s a waste of time and we both know I just have to smile for a camera and look pretty like some display model.”

Roxy didn’t know about Spiderpunk, nobody did. You couldn’t let her know about Spiderpunk, it's one thing to sneak out and arrive home late with spray paint stains and smelling like an unfamiliar cologne and musky scent faintly drafting through the air you walk through–mostly because you have to hold onto Spiderpunk as you two swing through the musty camden air.

“Yes, but you also have to understand how important this is to your father, and I’ve been trying my very best to make sure your Mr. Osborn h-”

“My dad, Norman, I couldn’t care less.” you interrupt with a slight grimace, “You don’t have to ‘Mr. Osborn’ him to me.”

Roxy nods and clears her throat, “Norman,” She corrected, “In shorter words, I’ve trying so damn hard to make sure he doesn’t find anything out about whatever the hell you do when you go out, The least you can do is listen to me and miss what you do just this once.”

Her tone is a bit exasperated while still calm as if it were nothing while she rummaged through your closet and took out a sparkly low cut red dress with black edges along with lace over where cleavage would’ve been visible, along with black stilettos. She places the dress and pair of shoes onto your bed beside where you sat and moved over to your vanity for the jewelry to wear with everything, settling on a pearl necklace and a pair of white gold earrings and placing them in the middle of your vanity for you to put them on before makeup.

“I still don’t get why you have to pick out my outfits, still.” You murmur under your breath with snark as you look over what Roxy had set up for you.

“You are still dependent.” She answered bluntly while grabbing tights for you, fishnets to have below the skirt of the dress.

Still dependent.

You go quiet for a moment. So even Roxy thinks you’re a daddy's girl who can’t think for herself. She’s always picked your outfits for you for events, it always pissed you off how she never wanted to teach you about what colors clash or what is too tacky. How are you supposed to know if nobody has taught you anything?

“Your hair will be half up-half down.” Roxy adds as she gestures to what she had set up for you.

At least you had your own abilities to do your own damn hair, how generous. And with that, Roxy had walked out of your room to leave you get changed and ready for the event.

You roll your eyes and start getting changed, you look at yourself in the mirror and take a breath before testing your fake smile while looking at yourself, partially not really recognizing the reflection behind it.

Some dolled up girl wearing things that cost more than most people can wish for, your money that you don’t earn, you can't earn anything. You’re like some little girl who has to rely on the people who refuse to even teach you anything. Your face just feels as if you’re being forced to enjoy and display everything that holds blood and dirt, almost muddily dragged on your skin and collar bone.

You huff and rip your gaze from the mirror and move back to your bed to take out the balaclava and gloves hastily and shove the shoebox back under your bed and hidden away then moving over to your closet and grabbing a black and white purse–shoving in the gloves and mask before spraying on your usual perfume and leaving your room to start being on your way to the event.

_____

In summary:

The event is shit, the event has loud music, loud overwhelming music, the whole time you have to be stood with a smile that barely reaches your eyes and having to awkwardly hug or shake hands with the most random strangers you have to interact with.

There's good food and catering–but you for whatever reason was told to stay by the big decorative tree and some security guards around you since it's the usual thing at events, your father isn’t really loved by all so it's for your safety to have some random big dude hovering your every move and interaction.

“Hey, what time is it?” You ask the taller man who wore dark sunglasses and a serious look on his face that barely glance at you, almost protecting you like you were some safe that has to be observed because of secrets and riches it held.

“It’s..” He changed his statue-like position and checked his watch, “Seven o’four.” He answered while moving back to his earlier position and staring dead ahead as if you were medusa, he was still and cold as stone anyway.

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest at the time. Five more hours of standing beside some man who doesn’t care to at all speak or interact with ‘the goods’ or the product he's protecting? No. You glance around and see some double doors that are labeled with two signs which indicate a woman's bathroom and the dude bathroom with a smaller sign with some writing that you can’t read all that well.

You take a step to walk in that direction before feeling a hand on your shoulder like a chain around your ankle holding you back.

Oh right, the statue-bodyguard

“Where do you th-” The guy began before you shake his hand off of your shoulder and keep walking in that direction.

“Bathroom! Little lady Osborn has to go to the ladies room.” You say sarcastically while walking over to the doors you saw, the bodyguard letting you go after saying something about not wasting time and five minutes–you tuned him out because you already felt so free without him hovering.

You walk towards the doors and read small instructions that pretty much tell you/the one reading that where the bathrooms are.

Turn left to the second hall and third door to the right, follow the hall where the restroom signs are.

-Oscorp

You push the door and walk through to see some big hall where there are other rooms, an untouched area of the venue that seemed to be rooms to take care of kids, like some daycare or classrooms. The hall has a barely yellowish tint and has a hall that goes to the bathrooms. You explore a bit more to find an exit with a bright green sign to indicate exactly what it is.

You grin and clutch your purse as you head to the emergency exit and push it open–the cold air of the night hitting you immediately and you curse at yourself for leaving your sweater to the guard.

You take a deep breath and let the cool air flood your lungs before taking a few steps away from the building to find what part of the city you’re in and start walking more while taking out your balaclava and gloves then putting them on.

You zone out while taking the refreshing walk away from the loud party your dad- well, ‘oscorp’ has thrown, a wasteful event full of music and food to distract people from the ruined lives caused by this large and overrated company.

You then hear a familiar THWAP appear from behind you.

Oh god.

Not now-

Your mask is over your face along with your gloves but that doesn’t hide your expensive jewelry or dress, or heels or anything of the sort that shows you aren’t the lower middle class woman Spiderpunk should think you are.

“Emi’?”

A voice you always want to hear, whether it's asking or telling you something, whether it's called out or whispered in your ear, you love whenever his deep cockney words are directed at you. The nickname he gave you since he often joked about Emily being too much of a hassle to pronounce.

But right now it feels horrifying, heart full of dread at the possibility of him figuring out you aren’t who you’ve been saying you are- hell- your name isn’t even Emily, you just named yourself after your dead mother.

“Emily.” Spiderpunk said more firmly once he recognised that mask, the same mask he sees most nights–and to little of your knowledge..

Really want to see what's below it.

Really wants to see the face of the woman he's growing to love.

You swallow your pride and turn to face him as if you were a kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.

The lenses to spiderpunks masks widen a little as if to represent a bit of surprise once he sees the figure below what he usually sees, a worn out hoodie or random tee and some jeans. But now he's seeing a curvaceous colored figure in a dress that's glamorized with jewelry made of pearls and white gold, shining in the streetlight and faded moonlight.

You expect his expression shift of disgust or something at how you’re dressed, rich girl, looking like a classy brat whether there's a mask and gloves to seal something that's already leaking through your image. You’re ready to blink away tears at the feeling of your sinking heart, hands tensing and feeling like you’re holding the world's problems along with your own chained to your palms.

But to your surprise, he starts to shrug off his iconic leather jacket, before you can get a word in he passes it to you and puts it over your shoulders. “Its cold as hell tonigh’, what the hell are you wearing out here.” He says playfully with a chuckle as he looked over at you so the rhetorical question sinks in.

How the hell are you supposed to answer that?

“Uhhhhhhh..” You try to register the warm jacket now over you that had that lingering punk scent that a part of you wanted to steal genuine sniffs but you knew you couldn’t really other than subtle inhales, that scent so comforting for no reason beside the one who radiates it.

“I was at an.. ‘Important’ event but snuck out like usual.” You summarize as you adjust the jacket so you can put on the sleeves and snuggle into its warmth and scent.

His warmth and scent.

“So d’you wan’ to do the usual bullshi’ on rooftops or do you wan’ to jus’ want to fuck around Osborns buildings some more?” He asks with a grin in his voice as he lazily puts his long lanky arm around your waist like he did every night ‘platonically’, ready to tighten his hold the second you say yes for you two to swing wherever.

You smile and nod “Yeah no, I’m fine with whatever as long as it’s with you.” to which he happily shoots a web and you both begin swinging through the well lit streets of Camden, at least the part of town you both were in. The cold air soon felt a bit heavier, indicating the part of town less taken care of and more polluted. You two glide over several streets but Spiderpunk lowers and slows down around an alleyway, a familiar alleyway..

The Alleyway that started it all.

You could see the same gas station a bit down the street, bright and open. The same station where you had bought food for..

“Squaishy!” Spiderpunk greeted that same person as he let go of your waist and left you to come closer on your own accord instead of dragging you into the space, not knowing at all what has happened here for you. Little did Spiderpunk know that ‘Squaishy’ was the one who caused your tears that night. Squaishy seemed to be doing better but still with the worn out jacket but they were happy and glad to see Spiderpunk as they greeted each other with a handshake and small hug, A smile in Spiderpunk’s lenses. But Squaishy’s eyes darken as he looks over at you and recognizes your mask.

But Spiderpunk follows his gaze, not realizing the tension. “Squiashy! This is my friend, Emily.” he introduced as he put his hands on your shoulders and almost pushing you into the conversation.

A knowing amused smirk falls onto Squaishy’s lips as they raise their eyebrows, “Emily?” He echoed.

Fuck.

“I have to go.” You say abruptly before Squaishy can have a quip or comment about your name..

Or mentions that it isn’t your actual name.

Words couldn’t explain how Spider-punk looked as his head whipped to look in your direction as if you said something so appalling that it insulted his whole bloodline, “Wha’?” He asked as the lenses of his mask widened, looking almost like round ovals–but the important thing is that you suddenly feel his eyes burning into yours, as if he was shifting his attention onto you to not leave so soon. Squiashy’s smug expression shifts slightly when he notices how Spiderpunk when from seeming happy and in a good mood, to worried and uncertain.

“I was out on a walk.. You know, from where I escaped-slash-snuck out from, and I don’t want them noticing I’m gone or anything since I’m an ‘important factor’.” you say awkwardly, trying your best to say everything but nothing at the same time.

Hobie isn’t stupid though, he can always tell when there’s more to the story, especially now since your excuses are getting more vague and sloppy.

“I can take you back?” He offers, either wanting to spend more time with you or curious as to what you do or who you actually are. These half truths are starting to make Hobie more curious of the woman behind the balaclava every night. At his offer, trying to know more about you, not knowing that you aren’t the Emily you’re displaying yourself to be.

Emily is bold, playful, sarcastic, sweet, thoughtful and fun. She's the woman spiderpunk wants to hold close at night and would do anything to see her eyes below the mask smile.

But he didn't know the person who you have to keep hidden from him like how you keep ‘Emily’ from your father.

Y/n is quiet, keeps to herself, diffident, rich and spoiled. The woman who spiderpunk feels indifferent about beyond disdain and a grimace when he hears her, or the Osborn name in general.

“No, no. or.. Can you take me where you found me?” You request awkwardly with a small smile, hoping he’ll say yes, half knowing he will but won’t stop asking things. He’s as curious as a cat.. An adorable, tall, lanky punk-cat.

He nods and says a quick bye handshake with Squaishy and turns back to you, putting his arm around your waist firmly and holding your body against his then shoots a web, soon launching into the air and swinging, your arms and around his neck. Palpable tension beyond your face in the crook of his neck to shield your face from the cold air hitting you both. Tension now because of what even started this relationship..

His unanswered questions, and your half answers.

Once you arrive where Spiderpunk found you, when he sets you down he keeps a hand on your shoulder as if to keep you from leaving/running off. “So, would you mind telling me at least wha’ even’ you’re talking ‘bout?” He prompted as he looked into your visible eyes through the balaclava. It felt like he was looking into your soul, making your mouth go dry.

“..I mind? I’m- I’m sorry but I really do have to g-”

“Don’ start with that!” He cut you off with a scoff as he moves his hand off of your shoulder, letting you be able to go if you really wanted to, “You always have to end up disappearing, I understand your need to have your identity secre’, but at this point it's like you don’ trust me.”

He isn’t wrong but he isn’t right either. You do trust him, there's so much you know you have freedom of doubt in him but.. It's the one thing you can’t tell him about, the one thing that you can’t control and that you doubt he’d understand. The filthy name that comes after your first.

Osborn.

Tears make a glossy layer on your eyes, You’re stuck. On one hand, if you tell the truth, he won’t ever see you the same. On the other hand, If you still avoid it, you may slip up and he’ll find out the hard way.

“Not- not yet.” You whisper, “I’ll tell everything you want to hear, but I just can’t right now.” you murmur as you took off his jacket he lent you and passed it back to him before taking some steps back, as much as you didn’t want this argument to end on this sour note, you couldn’t risk anything going wrong with your father.

Spiderpunk watched with furrowed eyebrows under his mask as you went away, disappearing as you turned a corner. He cursed at himself under his breath as he put the leather jacket back on, a faint lingering fragrance of your perfume, conflicted thoughts and emotions circling his mind like a toy train. On one hand, he knows your boundaries and wants you to be comfortable and able to cry on his shoulder, on the other hand: He won’t let himself be manipulated and lied to, whether he's infatuated or not.

He shook his head and clasped his hands over his face.

“This is a breach of her privacy. This is a breach of her privacy, this is a breach of her-” He repeats in his mind as he shoots a web and runs up a building to arrive at its rooftop. He takes off his mask and stands by the edge as he looks out at the street you went down, his mind screaming at him and his heart telling him it's a bad idea.

“She won’t like that you followed her. She won’t trust you, you can just wait..” “But wait how long? What is so bad that she has to keep it from me? How long can she play me as the fuckin’ fool..” His mind debating against himself, but still looking out for you.

He spots you and jumps over buildings while running, his eyes on you to see where you’re going. What you’re doing. Why you are in such a hurry. Watching as you approach the venue, going towards the door you went out from. Osborn’s charity event.

It was dark but he saw your figure, the way your hands moved to first take off your gloves and shove them into your bag but something fell without you noticing, then your mask. It’s like Hobie was watching it in slow motion, your hands raising to the end of your mask and starting to raise it.

In a flash of awareness, he turned around completely before he saw your face. This wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, this isn't how he wanted to see the woman hidden behind that fabric, but the need to know was almost hurting his mind, but he remembered you dropped something so he put on his mask then jumped and webbed closer to where you were and strained his eyes looking at the ground to see what you dropped.

A gold bracelet with the names “Anne-Marie, Emily, Y/n.”

Spiderpunk read the names and recognized Emily of course, so it was clearly yours, he thought. But he also recognized the name of the offspring of the man he despised. He webbed back up to the building he was on earlier and took off his mask to inspect the bracelet a bit more.

Hobies gaze softened as he gently held the delicate gold bracelet in his hand, for as small and thin it was, it was heavy. It really was gold. Hobie didn’t know what to think. Who are you?

The Event ended eventually and he just watched everyone leave, blankly staring at Osborn and his daughter-

His daughter wearing the same thing you were. The same purse hung on your arm.

Hobie felt his heart almost drop.. The woman he wanted to keep safe and protect was the daughter of the man he wanted to protect everyone around them from. He clenched the bracelet in his hand so hard that he bent the gold ever so slightly with his mutated strength. He wanted to laugh at how badly you didn’t want him to figure anything out yet, scream into the sky until it shattered because of the betrayal, the anger, the hatred brewing, the hatred for the Osborn’s moving to ‘Emily’, a girl who he thought was someone humble, who he wanted to have by his side, in his arms, and in his bed. It hurt. The avoidant truths. The way that he couldn’t think straight anymore as his mind and hands were tense.

The car drove off from the venue where the Osborn’s were going home. Hobie was going to confront “Emily”, He couldn’t recognize them anymore. As if he was going to confront a stranger he used to know. He followed the car from afar until it parked, he waited by the forest beside your house, he was about to climb a random tree to get a better view without being seen, but his hand was met with some rough fabric, his first reaction was to clench and pull it down.

He sees that in his hand, is her backpack. The one he looked through naively having little to no idea that she wouldn’t have to be a drug dealer when she can easily buy whatever she wants whenever she wants.

A bedroom window lights up and it catches his attention, he thwips a web to the outside wall and quietly walks on the wall and peeks into the window to see you kneeling down beside your bed in front of a shoebox.

“How was the event, Emi’?” Spiderpunk asked sarcastically as he let himself in through the window, you flinched and eyes shot immediately towards him with your usually smiley and once gorgeous to him eyes as wide as glass dinner plates.

“What- what do.. Shit- I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you bu-” You began as you stood and began walking closer before he cut you off with his voice raised and clear distaste as he spoke to you. You’ve never heard genuine venom in his tone, he always spoke happily with the lenses of his mask beaming.. That was gone, all gone from his hateful gaze.

“Tell me what? That you’re part of a corporation thats forcing Millions of people in poverty? That you-”

“That I have nothing to do with!” You snap, years of verbal abuse from people who have always assumed the worst from you, and now it was even worse since he supposedly knew you internally. “Aren’t you someone who fights against stereotypes? Who fights against things that are unfair?”

“Don’ you dare. Thats differen’, you were actively Lying- Hiding the damn truth from me, Hearing me say all these things about Osborn- Your dad- Ugh.” He groaned while clasping his hand over his face, trying not to yell since he knew about your sensitivity towards being yelled at. “I have been nothing but caring towards you and it feels like you’ve stabbed me in the back.” he summarized, slowly taking off his mask to show his seriousness.. And to show that he still seems to trust you.

He felt betrayed, lied to, his trust was broken–yet.. He would tell you his plans, he would tell you which ones of Osborns buildings he was going to vandalize and on what days he planned to do it, but he’s never been caught.

He’s never been caught, you’ve never snitched.

You were there most of the time, you’ve had every chance to get him in trouble and caught, that means something.

Your expression softens, now wasn’t the time but he was handsome.. Stunning. His eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed while pinching the bridge of his nose, the scowl showed that he genuinely felt conflicted and you had to know the actual reason why. It almost hurts that you are being the cause of his frown instead of the reason of his smile.

You shake off the pained thoughts and continue as you step closer so he could look at you, “Can’t you see why I never told you? Look at how you’re reacting. You know me, or you at least know ‘Emily’, so what makes (y/n) any different?” you ask with a gesture of your hand, “I’m still the same girl who would spray paint with you, who’d come with you to put up art over my father’s buildings, the same girl you laughed with and the girl you held as she cried.” You tell him as your voice trembles with tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, vision already blurred from them pooling in your eyes, looking away before he could see the effect all of this is taking on you.

He's silent for a second, he wants to yell, he wants to talk, he wants to sob, he doesn’t know exactly what to do for a moment so he swallows his pride and interrupts you right before you were about to break the silence yourself.

“Because I loved you!” He spat as if he never wanted to admit it himself, “I loved the girl who’d spray paint with me,” Hobie takes a step closer to you this, “I loved the girl whose art I’d put up on Osborn’s buildings, and I loved..” He trailed off for a moment as he put his hand on your chin to force you to look at him gently, “..The same girl who laughed with me and who I held as she cried.”

Loved.

“Loved”..

“So what? Not anymore? Because of an ‘asshole’ who happens to be my father?” You ask as you pull back from his touch, upset at the fact that Hobie was blaming you for your dad’s actions, “it’s fucking unfair.” You added under your breath as the crybaby in you was coming back stronger for ever, now the frustration from that night and every hateful interaction you’ve had coming back full force.

“I.. don’t know.” He answered honestly with an empty chuckle as if his own internal turmoil was funny as he looked into your watering eyes, knowing full well he was causing them, and that knowledge felt like a drill to his heart.

The water in your eyes thickens as you feel like he’s slipping from your hands, the one person who saw you as a person at one point now seeing you like a monster like everyone else did, always compared to your dad by everyone else, it wasn’t new.. But this just hurt so much more. So much more.

And Hobie’s heart is torn, this wasn’t how he wanted to find anything out, this isn’t how anything was supposed to go, he never wanted to make you cry. He closes his eyes and takes a small breath once your face scrunches up while choking back a sob, remembering how affected you probably are in this moment, recognizing your own heartbreak as he thought of your words.

Unfair.

It was unfair what your father was doing, unfair how many innocent people like Squaishy now sleep in cold tents in abandoned areas just to not be killed due to the cold or by other not as nice vagabonds. Nothing was fair in this moment, no stars were aligned, no god that smiled upon them, no luck in a single charm..

At this point you were on the verge of fully breaking down at this, everything just went downhill in a matter of moments. But the second you let out a choke sob, Hobie knew what to do. You suddenly felt his hand on your jaw and he pulled you into a kiss, a passionate yet soft one. His plump lips and warm piercing against your surprised ones, you fully thought everything was over and here he was: Spiderpunk/Hobie brown, kissing you with his neck craned to accommodate your height and his other hand moving to your waist to hold your body flushed against his.

He was beginning to regret having kissed you at all since you weren’t reciprocating but those thoughts were wiped once he felt your hand move to the side of his neck and an eager response from your mouth. This felt right. Whether you were some masked street artist, The daughter of a sadistic sociopath, or simply (y/n) Osborn, and if Spiderpunk was some masked Vigilante, a punk squatter, or simply Hobie Brown, this was right.

Hobie was clearly more experienced with his kissing skills, considering the fact he probably had more than quadruple the social life you did: He at least probably had much more than double the sex life too. And it doesn’t take long for the repressed emotions, repressed love and the electric tension when you two swung through the city catches up to you two. Hobie’s tongue mixing into the kiss tentatively and his hand that was on your jaw snaking into your hair and keeping you close in an intimate yet not-forced way.

This feeling was intoxicating, finally having him close and his lips slotted in yours, fitting together like some kind of perfect pieces from different puzzles. Hobie advanced ever so slightly which made you take some steps back until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he then gently pushed you back and climbed on top of you before pulling you into another deep kiss, but more greedy and ever so slightly wanton, and this change of pace made your heart begin to beat a bit more quickly with your lips hardly keeping up with his, his tongue dancing an expert tango and yours swayed a newbie ballet. He probably thought you had some kind of experience but you really didn’t, nobody dared get close to you emotionally and much less physically.

And its like alarms went off the second his hands lowered to your hips and thighs, close to the edge of the dress you had been wearing earlier at the stupid event earlier. You pulled out of the kiss and your hands almost slapped onto his in a haste to stop him, quickly muttering a quiet “Oh shit, sorry.” Under your breath as you rubbed his hands where your hand had landed on.

“You alrigh’?” He asked as his eyes looked into yours, ignoring your apology and focusing on why you had moved your hands to stop him so quickly, not wanting to move past your boundaries–he's not that kind of man, no matter how upset he was at you moments or however badly he wanted you in that moment. He was ready to put you first, you and your comfort first.[a]

“I.. I haven’t really done anything like this before.” You tell him bluntly yet a bit quietly as you averted your gaze in slight embarrassment, he was obviously a pro and an expert and here you were: Hardly able to know what to do with your tongue while making out with someone. This information clicked into Hobie’s mind and he nodded, “You don’ have to do anything you don’ wanna.” Hobie assured you as he gently put a hand to your cheek and made you look at him, his eyes boring into yours with raw concern and care.

“No no- it isn’t that I don’t want to..” Its that you don’t want to disappoint him or underwhelm him, but how the fuck do you tell him that after crying in front of him and literally disappointed him earlier when he learnt who you really were. “..I do want to, but.. I’m no model either.” You say half-jokingly to try to lighten the intense mood.

Hobie nodded again before leaning in and kissing you again, he didn’t really mind as long as you could express your limit, “Alrigh’, but if you need me t’stop, just say the word.” He reassured you while practically looking in your soul through your eyes.

He then leaned in and began kissing your neck, his hand moving to your waist while the other moved to your back and slowly began pulling down the zipper of your dress, the feeling of his touch and his lips on your neck like a kind of blue electricity that went all through you. The dress soon lowered to your waist, exposing your breasts that simply had nipple pads due to the dress having been one of cleavage, Hobie carefully peeled them off and set them aside onto your nightstand and began kissing down your collarbone with one hand already massaging your tit and pinching your nipple, his other hand working to lower the dress more. Over your abdomen, past your hips, down your thighs, and off your legs and body.

He carefully let his hands lower and gently hold the band of your fishnets and panties, but he paused as he awaited a yes or no from you, everything was going to be on your terms.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, breath slightly shaking and his hands were calloused yet soothing on your soft skin, but you wanted more and so you nodded in approval and soon enough–Your panties were gone too, your cunt fluttering once exposed to the cold air and Hobie’s hungry gaze. In a moment of self-consciousness your thighs press together, or at least you try to before Hobie stops you with his hands on your knees and easing them apart, not at all forcefully but just enough to show what he wanted.

“Do ya trus’ me?” He asked softly, the exact same way that spiderpunk did all those nights ago, his hand once that lingered too long on your hip now on your knees, showing yourself and your vulnerability.

“Never stopped trusting you.” You answered with a small approving nod.

And with that, Hobie began to pepper small kisses into the plushy flesh of your thighs and slowly inching closer to where you felt you needed him most. After what felt like hours, he finally reached the lips of your glistening pussy and his warm breath touching your puffy clit. He kissed it once before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit then latching his mouth suddenly to your bud, blissfully making out with your lips expertly like he was with your upper ones earlier.

“Oh.. shit..” You moan breathlessly with your hand knotting into his hair. His hand moves from holding you by the knee to keep your legs spread towards the hole of your pussy, easing in a finger that entered with not too much effort due to his spit and your wet arousal welcoming him. Yet your hips squirming due to the intrusion, making Hobie slow down his finger and focus on your cunt.

He slowly pumps a single finger in your pussy while licking his name letter by letter on your sensitive bundle of nerves.. H-O-B-I-E B-R-O-W-N. You quickly feel yourself get more sensitive and your hips squirm, unsure of how to react to this new sensation, his fingers reaching places you never could and much less stimulation at the same time in your hole as it is in your bundle of nerves.

You quickly come undone and your thighs almost press Hobie’s head between them, but his hand remains on your inner thigh to keep it open, lapping up your juices with his tongue flat on your cunt and his finger pumping in and out a little more before pulling it out of you and licking it clean. Something about this lewd display makes you clench around nothing, maybe it was the fact that he hardly took his eyes off of you once, studying your expression for any hesitance or regret.

He pulled up to show his raging hard-on, straining his jeans and creating a beautiful bulge. You watch as he fumbles with his belt and lowers his pants and boxers, his cock springing free and leaking beads of pre-cum, proudly standing eight inches at least, a silver Alberts piercing. He lazily strokes it a few times and aligns it lower to your sensitive virgin hole.

“Please.. Be gentle?” You request softly as you put your hand on his abdomen as if to make sure he had stopped and listened. He nodded before leaning down and kissing your lips slowly and passionately as he slowly eased himself into you with his hands moving to your hips. You felt a slight sting or burn while he pushed himself inside, yet his lips stayed on yours for you to be able to keep your focus and sounds averted while tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips come to halt once he’s fully inside, giving you time to adjust as he separated his lips from yours and waited for your green light patiently.

At the second nod of your head, he slowly pulled out and went in once again, creating a steady rhythm with his hips with pretty groans and praises falling from his lips.

“Fuck.. pretty cun’ sucking me in- tigh’ as hell.. Shi’.” He mumbled beautifully into the crook of your neck while his hips began rutting more into you, as if desperately chasing for more with his piercing stroking your spongey G-spot and his high.

You feel yourself clench around him as your orgasm washes over you once again, Hobie quickly following suit, Pulling out and stroking himself a bit more before finishing and cumming on your abdomen, his hands quickly moving to the sides of your head to stop himself from falling onto you and instead falling onto the space on the bed beside you. He laid on his side with a protective arm around your waist and held you close.

“Emily fuckin’ Osborn.” He mumbled almost to himself as he looked up at your fucked out expression, a small layer of sweat on your pretty face, normally he had fantasized of whoever you were under the mask being an expert at everything including dick and cunt, meanwhile here he was laying beside the daughter of the man he always swore to destroy.

“...Is now a good time to tell you that Emily is my moms name?”

“..wha’?”

___________________________

★| Taglist!:

@craziblondi @fodmdk123 @vinxernica @muffinlovesfiction @jane-3043 @coffeeandtealol @alecmores @azuurr3 @nyumei @noharaaa @alisoncdariel @dailyhobiebrown @malatuadimadre @ziarah @i-want-to-be-hit-by-a-car @malyjohn @horrorcore2002 @jess-fae @bluupen

@eyesxxyou

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I’m really sorry if this is bad/underwhelming/not as good as the last one, I was really rushed and I felt bad for not getting this out sooner :(((

I love y’all so much <3

[star-lights-up]

I have like 5 million headcanons for the Hear Me Out au and I can't fit them all into the fic, so here we go, part one of character headcanons:

Charles:

He identifies as queer because he experiences romantic attraction and gender differently than others due to his telepathy (much more fluid). Generally he just uses male terms but he really just doesn't care all that much about pronouns.

he's nearsighted, and wears glasses.

he may not be able to figure out his own life, but he's got great advice for everyone else (and usually it works)

he's kind of been wanting to get his ears pierced for years but he's worried it'll clash with his academia aesthetic

If he's not wearing jumpers and button-ups he owns like five million oversized hoodies in varying colors

he collects converse

He likes classical music and pop and lofi

He just randomly has teabags all the time

Erik (sorry about his face idk what happened):

He generally respects people he'd just rather not talk to them.

Learned to cook and bake from Edie, it's become cathartic for him.

Knows how to paint and draw but will never tell anyone about it. He also makes sculptures from metal when he's bored.

Likes running and working out.

Angel:

Taylor swift girly to Raven's sabrina carpenter obsession (they've got all these records on their walls)

Does yoga and mountain biking

Makeup specialist of the house (since raven can just do it with her powers)

Will sometimes go flying with sean but he makes her nervous a lot because like, what if something happened to his suit?

Haunts the local starbucks

Raven:

Only wears gold jewelry and loves pink

Will kill anyone who hurts her friends (and they'll never find the body)

Has watched the sabrina carpenter christmas special like ten million times

does "natural makeup" tutorials for mutants with all different skin colors. People send her pictures of their mutation and she shifts into them, spends time making the look, and then posts it for them.

Sean:

Started to learn to cook when they all moved in together (just simple foods for now but he's getting better and really enjoys it)

Wayyyyy too much energy at any given moment

Has perfect pitch and is a great singer because of his mutation. He can also play any instrument by ear.