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spruceplank · 4 years

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I told you I was brave but I lied

AN: based on this post by @blocklasagna

Or the AU from the time after Wilbur’s death and before Tubbo’s peaceful driven presidency can really begin because rebuilding has just started: The universe takes Tommy from Dreamsmp and asks the admin of Hermitcraft to help him heal. Cue Tommy now in Hermitcraft re-learning how to live again and not just survive because he deserves a chance to be a kid again.

ao3 || 4k words || First | Current | Next

It's warm. He can feel cool air on his skin but for some reason he feels the warmth more. He feels safe. Safe in a way he doesn’t remember feeling for a long time now. He can hear the whistle of wind and the occasional sound of flapping wings. There’s a steady heartbeat he can hear clearly nearby. This is the best dream he’s had in a long time. He doesn’t want to ever wake up.

When he wakes up he’s in a place he doesn’t recognize. It's bright but only in the way the sun catches on the yellow and white block pallet around him. Where is he? It's warm here, warm and bright. His hands catch on the grey blanket around him as he slowly sits up, hesitantly eying the area around him. The sound of footsteps catches down the hallway and he freezes in place. No, no, no, please not again. His hands curl into the fabric of the blanket and his panic is all but halted when he realizes there’s something on his wrist.

There on his left wrist is one of Phil’s wristbands. The red heart seems to help keep his own steady even though it's merely a picture. At least he thinks its only a picture, Phil had magic he didn’t usually understand on a good day. He slips a finger under the band and spins it around his wrist, making sure it's actually there and not some sort of hallucination. He catches the feeling of a piece of paper on the inside part of the wrist band. Slowly he turns his arm over and pulls out a small, folded up piece of paper from the space between his wrist and the band. Ignoring the way his fingers tremble slightly, he begins to unfold the paper to reveal a message.

Tommy,

I’m sorry to do this without asking you first but I feared that if I did not get you out of this smp asap I would lose another one of my bois to whatever has infected this server. I cannot say for certain where you will be once you wake up, but you will be safe wherever you are. I wish I could say all I want to let you know but time grows short and there is much to do. I will get your brothers back to normal I swear it. When it's safe again I will come for you. By wearing my wristband I will know you are safe and you are alive, just as you will be able to tell the same of me. I love you Tommy, and I hope wherever the universe has decided to send you will give you a chance to remember and experience the world as it should be, unaffected by whatever has dream’s smp. A world full of all the things you think are merely dreams. I love you Tommy, please never doubt that, and I'll come bring you home soon.

Ph1lza

His heartbeat is echoing in his ears. Phil, Phil abandoned him. Something was wrong on the dream smp, no one actually hated him. Phil loved him. His brothers were in danger. His friends were in danger. Wilbur was dead and Techno had killed him. Phil left him to keep him safe. Phil loved him. He was all alone now.

Someone clears their throat way too close to him. Immediately he crumples up the paper and swallows it whole. Ow, his throat is scratchy already before eating paper so that doesn’t help it in the slightest.

“Oh my goodness me, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” An unfamiliar voice apologizes. He turns his head to look at a tall person in some sort of bed outfit? Yeah no, that's a bee outfit alright. It's a weird one, like it's painted armor of done sort but the colors don't lie. Especially not with an actual bee hovering next to the person. He narrows his eyes to try and make out the details of this person who isn't even that far away from him. Why is his vision blurry?

He blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes to focus but it doesn't seem to be working. He's so confused. Where is he? Why is he here? Who is the bee person? Someone is talking to him or maybe he's just hearing voices again. The entire world blurs together and his head throbs. Everything goes dark.

Waking up again is painful. His head hurts, his throat hurts, and he feels so weak. Is he sick? He doesn't remember the last time he was sick.

"Are you back with me now?" There’s that unfamiliar voice again. It's soft and warm like one of Wilbur’s sweaters he used to wear when he was small and they were much too big for him. He manages to open his eyes enough to make out the weird bee themed man at his bedside. Two bees over the man’s shoulders can be seen flying away out of the room when he starts to move.

"...hhhh?" Is all he manages to get out in some sort of whine. His mind nor voice wanted to cooperate with him. He felt like absolute shit.

"I'm assuming you have questions for me, yes?" The bee man asks and he nods slowly. He very much so would like some answers to whatever the fuck was going on. The bee man's expressions are hard to read through the dude's helmet with only the visor really giving him a glimpse of what bee man's expressions are. He thinks that the bee man is worried about him though because the bee man keeps talking, "Well I'll be happy to answer them if in exchange you could eat some of this food and at least drink some of a regen potion."

The bee man brings a pink potion and some bread into his field of view. The bee man looks at him expectantly and he is hungry and he feels like shit but he can't. Bee man has only been nice to him but he doesn't trust anyone. Not after Wil blew up L'manburg. Not after Techno killed him and his friends. He manages to get his voice to work enough to rasp out a response, "...No…"

"No? Do you not feel like eating? You surely have not been eating enough with how light you are, never mind how pale your skin looks." The bee man looks worried and he feels bad for making the bee man worry. The bee man keeps talking, "Well I would rather you don't pass out on me again, gave me quite a scare there earlier. Is there something wrong with the food? Do you not like bread?"

He loves bread. Bread reminds him of L'manburg in the very beginning. Of Niki's bakery and laughter. Of better and more peaceful times. He's dragged out of his thoughts when the bee man keeps talking.

"I promise you it's rather good, I just baked it fresh myself earlier. It wouldn't hurt to at least give eating a try would it? I promise you it's edible, I'm not that horrible in the kitchen." Bee man looks at him and he feels like the bee man can read his mind because the bee man asks, "Would it make you feel better to see me eat some of it first?"

He nods as much as he can without making himself dizzy. Which isn't very much sadly. Bee man doesn't take it personally though because bee man chuckles and he finds he doesn't mind at all because he knows the bee man isn't laughing at him.

"All right then give me a moment," The bee man says and he's confused for a moment before the bee man lifts his hands to the sides of his helmet, flicks some latches, and pulls it off. There's a soft hissing noise as the bee man removes the helmet and sets it to the side. He watches the bee man pick up a piece of bread and rip a chunk of it off to eat. Purple eyes seem to glow slightly just like the purple freckles on the bee man's face that he hadn't seen before because of the helmet. The bee man eats and remains completely fine after the fact. He feels better about this now and the bee man offers him some bread while saying, "See, perfectly fine. I'd be happy to brew a new potion right here in front of you if you're worried about it as well."

"...Thanks.." He says as he slowly starts to eat the bread. He's starving but he knows eating too much too fast will only hurt in the long run so he forces himself to eat slower. There's simply silence that is strangely not uncomfortable while he eats the first loaf of bread. He thinks the bee man leaves the room for a moment, because when he looks back up after eating the bee man has out a brewing stand and potion materials. The materials for a regen potion. With the man is another few bees that the man waves away out of the room.

It's when he's handed the second loaf which he takes with another quiet thanks that the bee man breaks the silence, "You're quite welcome. Ah goodness me where are my manners, I did say I'd answer your questions. Well for starters my name is Xisuma and I'm the admin of the world we currently both are in which is called Hermitcraft."

The bee man, Xisuma, is the admin of this world. Hermitcraft is not a place he's ever heard of before. He only has more questions now, "How…?"

"How did you get here?" Xisuma finishes, looking to him before continuing at his nod in response to the admin's question. "Well to be honest I only know so much about that myself. About two days ago I found you in the middle of nowhere in the deep End. You definitely could not have gotten there on your own nor could you have survived there on your own. I was tasked by the End itself to help you and keep you safe until your father could come for you. That is all I know."

That answer only makes him more confused, "The End?"

Xisuma stops paying attention to making the potion and turns to him, the admin's helmet still being off allows him to see the expression of hesitation on the man's face before he asks, "What do you know about the End?"

What does he know about the End? He has to think and recall all the vague memories he has of it as he lists them off slowly, "... Other realm… endless void… endermen… Dragon legend… Dad likes it there…"

"Does your father have magic?" Xisuma's sudden question nearly makes him jump but he manages to only flinch instead. The admin doesn't comment on his reaction even though Xisuma has been watching him while he was listing things off.

Does Phil have magic? He has to actually think about the things Phil has or does that he's just accepted are a part of Phil that are probably not normal. There are only a few things he can think of off the top of his head for sure, "Wings… World walking… This is his…"

He holds up his left wrist to Xisuma so the admin can see the wristband he's wearing more clearly. Xisuma looks at the band for a moment before coming closer to inspect it.

"May I?" Xisuma asks. He nods and goes to remove it but Xisuma holds up a hand to stop him, "You don't have to remove it, don't worry, I just want to get a closer look."

Xisuma gently takes his wrist and stares directly at the wristband. It's kind of weirdchamp but he doesn't find it all that awkward actually. After a few moments Xisuma hums in understanding, "Hardcore? So your dad's an ascended player then. An old one too at the likes of it. That explains it."

"Wha…?" He questions, not really processing what he's being told. How did Xisuma know Phil was a hardcore player? What was an ascended player? He knows Phil was old but he wasn't that old was he?

"What do I mean?" Xisuma asks, once more chuckling at his rapid nod in response. He doesn't think Xisuma is making fun of him though and he likes the admin solely for that alone. Xisuma hums for a moment before beginning to explain, "Well not only did I find you, a human, out in the deep End where the air should be too thin for you to breathe normally. You were completely unharmed and not even seemingly aware of the coldness in the thin air of the void. The End, my home, went out of its way to call me back there and lead me to you. Something that no doubt cost quite a lot both from the universe and your father. The fact that you were not only there but alive and guarded by the void itself, means your father is loved quite a lot by the End. And because he loves you so dearly that means the End adores you just the same."

That's a lot to process at once. He finds himself blankly trying to make sense of all that information until he feels a warm potion bottle being pressed into his hands. He takes it without thinking and drinks some of it before stopping. Bleh, he forgot how bad these tasted. Thankfully it kicks in rather quickly and he manages to get enough of his brain back in working order to ask a full question this time, "... Then why, why am I here?"

Xisuma looks at him expectantly and he drinks more of the potion without even thinking about it. Xisuma smiles with an approving nod and he ignores how he feels about that. He does not have the time he needs to unpack all of that right now because Xisuma starts talking again, "I don't want to make guesses or speculate on a situation I don't know anything of, but while I said you are unharmed I only meant physically and even then really only unharmed currently. You have a number of scars that some of the players in this world don't have despite a history of fighting. I was told to watch over you until your dad could come for you and while I can only make guesses as to what that entails I'm fairly certain your father wanted to make sure you were safe in his absence. As for what your dad would currently be doing, well I'd wager a guess it has something to do with all this corruption clinging to your code like pollen to a bee. Goodness me I haven't even really tried to deal with it because I know people are sensitive to having others digging through their code but this is ridiculous."

Phil wanted him to be safe. He doesn't know why but he believes it more when Xisuma says it than when he read it in Phil's letter. Phil wanted him safe while he was fixing something with the smp. But what was wrong with it? Corruption? Code? He has no fucking clue what Xisuma is talking about, "My code?"

Xisuma nods at his question, "Yes your code. It's what makes you, well you. It's the thing that allows you to come and go between worlds at ease. To respawn upon dying and travel between overworld, nether, and end."

"I don't see anything." He says looking down at himself curiously. This is the first time he's ever heard of this code shit.

"Would you like to?" Xisuma asks and it's not even a making fun of him question, but a genuine offer. He feels excited about learning something new and can't help the smile that breaks out on his face when he nods. Xisuma shakes his head amused but gestures to the half drunken potion in Tommy's hands, "Drink the rest of that potion and I'll show you."

"Bleh." He complains after finishing the potion. A small price to pay for cool new knowledge. Xisuma laughs at his response when the admin takes the empty bottle from him and he feels embarrassed about it.

"You're right, they're not very good but trust me they used to be worse. Give me a moment to readjust the settings here for you." Xisuma explains, picking up his discarded helmet from earlier before he fiddles with it. At least he wasn't making fun of Tommy's response or telling him he was just being a big baby. He decides to ignore those thoughts and thankfully is given the opportunity to when Xisuma says, "Alright, go ahead and put this on then."

He takes the helmet which isn't as heavy as he thought it would be. It's certainly not as heavy as netherite or even diamond. He swallows his sudden anxiety and sticks in on before he can overthink it. He looks around the room confused, "Nothing looks different?"

"Give me a moment here… " Xisuma says, trailing off as a screen pops up at the admin's finger tips. It just looks like a translucent blue screen which glows white wherever Xisuma taps it. It looks like the admin is typing but he can't see anything on the screen so it just seems random. Xisuma stops tapping at the screen finally to ask,"How about now?"

He's confused because nothing changes at first. Then like a furnace roaring to life suddenly there's a flash of purple across the visor as everything suddenly gains a slight glow around it. It's pretty pog to see, "Woah"

"Okay so look at my arm here, what do you see?" Xisuma asks, holding an arm out between them.

"An arm? Wait it's got all these little numbers popping up around it…" He watches amazed by the numbers. They radiate off the admins arm, briefly glowing white before vanishing from view.

Xisuma nods,"Now look at your own arm, what do you see?"

"It's also an arm. Wait the numbers, why are they all glitchy like that? What's this weird glow?" He likes this. He thinks it super cool right up until he looks at his own arm and it does not pass the vibe check. The numbers coming off his arm are like vibrating in the air. Appearing like static in a mess of colors before vanishing much sooner than the ones around Xisuma did.

His attention is pulled away from it when Xisuma talks again and he turns to look at the admin who watches him with a look he can't decipher, "That, my friend, is the corruption."

"Oh… wait, the wristband…" He nods mutely and goes to pull off the helmet when the wristband catches his eye. It's surrounded in a soft, solid green glow with no glitchy numbers but rather opaque blue boxes. Like the screen Xisuma was tapping earlier but this one has white text on it. He looks at it and starts to read, "Health bar, monitors player's health and displays it. Currently tracking,... Dad."

"If you look at the details of how it works, you'd find it's a set. One wristband out of two. The other, is connected to you." Xisuma explains, tapping on the floating description next to the wristband. Indeed there is a whole description he doesn’t bother to read but he does notice the 1/2 in the corner of the tiny screen.

That’s why he has one of Phil’s wristbands? So Phil can make sure he’s still alive? He hesitates for a moment but asks despite feeling stupid for asking, "So if I died he would know?"

Xisuma hums, considering it before answering, "Not quite? Because your dad's a hardcore player it's set directly to his code. Hardcore players take damage directly to their code, or well a subsection of their code. Your dad has it wired so if either your own code or his code starts to become so corrupted then it will be displayed on the corresponding wristband. It's a genius design in these bands if the other makes the matching set I'm assuming it does."

He has no idea what they’re currently talking about. He has so many questions, "But he doesn't stay in his hardcore world?"

"Even so, his base code is written for a hardcore player. It'd be the same as a hybrid player, where their base code contains their hybridness? That didn't work quite the way I wanted it to." Xisuma explains. When the admin looks at his face though it’s very clear that he has no idea what Xisuma is trying to tell him. He thinks about hybrid players, people who aren’t human, usually part mob or something and then thinks about the bee theme.

"Are you a hybrid player?" He asks before thinking about it.

"That's quite the personal question." Xisuma answers looking surprised.

"Shit my bad, … I wasn't aware it was personal. I just can't tell if the bee thing is an outfit or not." He explains hoping Xisuma won’t be too mad.

Xisuma looks even more surprised by him swearing, "Does your father know about your language?"

"You sound like Bad does! Yes he knows and he doesn't care!" He groans, waving off the concern. He wasn’t twelve, what was wrong with swearing?

"Alright, alright just asking." Xisuma assures him before saying, "As for the bee theme, it is just an outfit."

"It is? But the bees seem to like you more than they even like… A friend…" He trails off looking down as his thoughts drift to the people he’s left behind back on the smp. Even if it had felt like a rift had been forming between him and Tubbo, they were still best friends.

Xisuma doesn’t comment on his weird sentence thankfully, "Hmm well I can't give away all my secrets to someone whom I don't even know the name of."

"Tommy."

"What was that?"

He looks up and repeats himself, "My name is Tommy."

"Well then Tommy, allow me to formally welcome you to Hermitcraft. I'll show you around and such tomorrow when I'm sure you won't faint on me, though for now I will be needing my helmet back." Xisuma says, gesturing to the helmet still on his head.

He pulls the helmet off and hands it over, "Oh shit, sorry."

"No need to apologize, I did let you use it after all." Xisuma tells him, taking the helmet back and fiddling with it for a moment before putting it back on. It was strange to see the admin with the helmet on again but he guessed this was the usual norm. Xisuma stands up and checks something on his communicator. Idly he wondered where his own communicator had wound up before his train of thought is derailed by Xisuma offering, "Well if you feel up to it I could show you around my base here for today so you're not bored in bed all day."

That sounded so much better than being bored in bed all day.

Xisuma's base was incredible. Not only did he base stretch through multiple tower buildings full of so many different redstone contraptions he had never seen, but he was the only one who even lived here! It was entirely his base and his base alone! And it was full of bees! They were so cuddly and soft! He didn't know bees could hang around people so much! Even Tubbo's bees got bored of them eventually and went back to doing bee things. And Tubbo's bees loved Tubbo!

Not only that but the amount of resources the admin had! It was ridiculous! Phil was the only person he knew with this many resources. Well Phil and Techno but he didn't want to think about Techno so only Phil.

At some point Xisuma went to go check something or whatever, he had stopped paying attention to the admin when a couple bees flew over and started buzzing around him. Eventually he sat down in this grassy area with the same bees who all piled around him. A fuzzy bee pile. It was nice. He really was curious as to why these bees were so friendly. But for now he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Its warm, soft, and safe. He doesn’t even realize it when he falls asleep.

#hermitcraft #dreamsmp #hermitcraft fanfiction #dreamsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfic #xisumavoid #tommyinnit #will i continue to put this fic in the main tags?#you betcha!#will i be insecure about it for some reason?#hell yeah babyyyy!

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atiny-ahgase · 4 years

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If You Can’t Stand The Heat

Author’s Note: This is an idea that I’ve had for a while but I couldn’t get the chance to write it. Also, I’m basically clueless to any and all culinary terms but I’m trying my best. As usual, I’m open to suggestions, feedback and creative criticism. Sorry that it took me so long to write this, I’m tryna organize some things...Anyway, I hope you’re all doing okay. Sending love- Gabby. (Ps. I had no idea what to name this soo)..

Summary: Y/N and Yunho have been friends since their high school days, they had first met at Y/n’s parents’ restaurant. Bonding over Yunho’s inability to cook even the simplest of dishes; the friendship has managed to withstand the tables of time. Y/n is now the head chief of their parents’ restaurant and finds Yunho in a culinary dilemma. He’s trying to improve his cooking to impress someone that he likes, being the great friend that they are Y/N offers to help him despite the feelings that they’ve harboured for Yunho for years.

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Pairing: Yunho x Gender Neural Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Contains: Fluff, Angst, Gender Neutral Reader, Yunho starting a fire,

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“Yunho you do realize that you’re supposed to wash the vegetables before you start cooking them right?” you jokingly ask your best friend while looking at him on a video call. “But they’re easier to wash when they’re already in cute little bite-sized pieces,” he responds while attempting to dice some uncleaned carrots and failing miserably. Rolling your eyes you respond, “If you wash chopped vegetables you're removing all of the water-soluble vitamins dummy,” you chuckle, “also; you do know that you still have the knife cover on right?” Even from your subpar camera quality, you could still see a pink tint spreading from his ears to his face; gently adorning his cheeks. “I was just making sure you were paying attention”, he laughs awkwardly while scratching the back of his neck.

Yunho had never been that skilled in the kitchen and by that you meant that he was absolutely horrible in the kitchen and you didn’t feel comfortable leaving him near a stove unsupervised. Sometimes you’ve wondered how he lasted this long without setting something on fire; he’s been very close to doing so on multiple occasions though. Yunho was a handful but at least your time together was never boring. He was always able to brighten your day even just by doing the simplest of things.

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You’d first met Yunho while working at your parents’ restaurant, you had just returned from school and the Music Festival down the street had attracted a lot of teenagers to the restaurant. Usually, you'd only work on the weekends but the packed dining area and waiting room had proven to be too much for the usual staff to handle. Changing into your uniform which consisted of a white dress shirt and black dress pants with comfortable shoes, you hastily made your way to the dining area.

You’ve always loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, what could be more satisfying than delivering edible works of art to others. Each dish that you served was a well-sculpted masterpiece waiting for consumption. Every aspect from the plates they were served on to the type of ingredients used were all thoroughly thought out with the goal of enchanting the pallet and while enriching the body.

The day sped by in the blink of an eye and before you knew it closing time had arrived. Your parents had left the task of closing up to you as they went to procure produce for the next day. The kitchen was cleaned, dining chairs wiped and tucked away ready to welcome new customers on a new day. Wiping the perspiration off of your brow you grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, only to be greeted by a small group of boys entering the dining area. “Could they not read?” you thought to yourself while welcoming them with your signature ‘Customer Service’ smile. “Good evening, sorry but we’re closed for the night,” you politely stated while looking at the group in question.

Now that they had fully entered the restaurant you could see their faces more clearly, they were all incredibly handsome; easily surpassing anyone you had ever seen in magazines. The one that seemed to be the shortest of the bunch let out a soft sigh while running his hand through his red hair before speaking. “Sorry about that we must not have seen the sign,” he smiled softly “, Yunho isn’t feeling very well so we thought that maybe he should get something to eat,” he continued while gesturing to one of his friends. “We’ve been out all day and I think the noise, the heat and the fact that all he ate today was a sandwich is finally getting to him”, he continues before letting his head gently hang down.

Looking up at the friend in question you are greeted by two warm, brown orbs; the caramel colour sparkled more brightly than the richest caramel sauce you’ve ever served. His complexion was bad, the pale white undertones reminding you of the pastry sugar you use to garnish deserts; smooth and delicate, perfect for baked goods, not so much for people. Was it wrong to be this infatuated with someone who was feeling ill? Even at his worse, this man was still a sight to behold. Towering above you with a smile that shone so bright, like the crystal clear chandeliers that hung over your head his smile could easily light up a room. Truly a dazzling sight to behold...

The sound of someone’s voice had pulled you out of your thoughts. Recomposing yourself quickly you came to realize that it belonged to the red-haired boy. “We should get going guys,” he stated with a dejected tone. “They must be tired”, you thought “, one meal surely couldn’t hurt”. “The kitchen staff have all left,” you spoke, nervousness in your voice, “but I can make you something if you’d like.” You averted your eyes as your face began to heat up, you’ve only ever cooked for your family and the restaurant staff. What if you messed up? What if they don’t like it? Your mind flooded with negative possibilities- “Thank you.” You looked up, searching for the owner of that sweet and gentle voice. If you had to describe it it would be an Angel food cake; soft, light and airy; it filled you with comfort.

You smiled brightly when your eyes meet. Yunho was his name, right? It’s amazing; how could one person shine so brightly? He wasn’t even trying, with washed-out skin, beads of perspiration and soft airy gasps for breathe he still manages to get your attention as the most handsome in the room. If this was his presence when ill how brightly was his light when he wasn’t? You felt a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You shook it off, trying to stay focused on the task at hand; preparing a dinner that won’t upset an already upset stomach. Easy right? Keeping that in mind you opted to make a Simple Italian Gnocchi Soup with extra vegetables to boost his antioxidants. It wasn’t the most extravagant meal you’ve made but you didn’t want to overwhelm his pallet or upset his stomach further.

You went to the kitchen and prepared the meal because it was simple it didn’t take you to long. Plating the meals you arranged them on the waiters’ table and began rolling it to the party of boys.

The loud, environment of the bustling dining room you remembered from earlier paled in comparison to the thunderous sounds made by the group of boys upon the arrival of food. Their excited noises and gestures filled the building and also your heart. Despite their slightly reserved demeanour, they had an almost childlike aura surrounding them. It was a warm comforting feeling which you gladly welcomed. Placing their meal on the stark white table cloth, you smiled shyly before retreating to the kitchen.

You stayed there attempting to busy yourself with your phone, this action, however, proved to be futile. Your mind was filled with the bright-eyed boy seated only a few steps away from you. If you stood up you could peek through the door into the dining room, where you were sure he was eating happily. Radiating that joyous aura that had already captured your heart and refused to let go.

You don’t know how much time had passed but you were pulled out of your thoughts by the kitchen door swinging open and colliding with your leg. “Ouch,” you surprisingly exclaimed. You really weren’t expecting that. Pulling your eyes away from your slightly bruised leg you look up to be greeted by two bright brown orbs dripping with concern. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-” he began to explain rather quickly, words mending together as he desperately attempted to apologize. Your laugh had quickly cut him off though and his once worried expression is replaced with a puzzled look.

Placing your hand over your stomach in an attempt to ease the pain of your laugher you tried your best to compose yourself. Further investigation of the boy in front of you; you finally realized why he had entered the kitchen in the first place. With him, he had all of the used dishes and silverware stacked neatly on the waiters’ table. “Thank you for bringing them in I’ll take it from here,” you stated courteously while stretching for the handle of the cart. Your action was deemed unsuccessful due to one rather handsome and seemingly troublesome male grabbing your hand. Little did you know that this one chance encounter would turn into the strongest friendship that you’ve ever had.

“I can help,” he smiled brightly at you.

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You smile fondly before you are yanked out of your thoughts by what you assumed to be the sound of water being poured on a hot pot. Placing your hands on your temple you massage your growing headache as you look at your hopeless friend who seems to make preparing fried vegetables look like a warzone. “Hey, Yunho, why don’t you just come over and I’ll make anything you wanna eat okay,” you say to your best friend who looks like he’s having a fistfight with a clove of garlic and the garlic is unfortunately winning.

“You know that I love your cooking but I really can’t,” he states, “I need to learn how to do this kinda stuff on my own.” You lightly chuckle at his determination; of all of the years that you’ve both known each other, he’s never once expressed any interest in learning how to cook on his own. “Where did this sudden revelation come from?” you inquire; eyebrows raising in interest. “I just wanna be able to make a fancy steak dinner for two,” he mumbles while stretching the back of his head. You couldn’t stop the shocked gasp from escaping your mouth. Did he just say what you thought he just said? From the red hue that had made its way up to Yunho’s face accompanied by wide eyes and an agape mouth, you knew that your assumption had been right.

Yunho had a crush.

You couldn’t believe it. You had just assumed that Yunho could never be interested in anyone. You’ve both been friends for so long and he’d never even shown the slightest of interests in anyone. “Pretend that you didn’t hear that,” he shouts while pointing an accusatory finger at his phone screen trying his best not to appear like a deer in the headlights. “Pretend that I didn’t hear what? That my little YuYu is tryna impress someone with a lovely dinner,” you tease him; smiling from ear to ear. He released an exasperated sigh before placing his head on the cold marble counter in a futile attempt to cool his heating face. “How about you take them to my restaurant? You guys can sit at the best table we have and everything,” you offer a suggestion to your best friend; your nosey side getting the better of you.

“No, I wanna do this on my own” he states while stepping closer to his phone screen, a look of determination clearly on his face. “Wow, you must really like them then,” you mummer softly; more to yourself than to Yunho but that doesn’t stop him from hearing every word. “I do like them, I have since the very first day I met them,” he says, his eyes never once leaving yours. A clear glint shone from them as they stared directly at you.

You both were unsure of how long you’ve been in this staring contest but you broke apart upon hearing the blaring sound of Yunho’s fire alarm. He’s finally done it. It took a couple of years but he’s finally succeeded. He has successfully started a fire. It was honestly only a matter of time. You see Yunho rush to the sink to get water to extinguish the fire “, No, you can’t use water on a grease fire!” you exclaim. “Find a lid to cover the pan. The fire will suffocate once there is no more oxygen,” you instructed. Yunho followed your instructions perfectly and managed to get the fire under control.

Releasing a sigh of relief you slouched into your chair as Yunho attempted to shut off his fire alarm. “That’s an interesting technique. I’ve never seen someone beat their alarm with a broomstick before,” you commented, chuckling at your friend. “This isn’t funny Y/N. Why am I so hopeless?” he asked sighing heavily as he rested his head into his palms. “You’re not hopeless; you can reach to the top shelf at the grocery store for me,” you jokingly respond trying to lighten the mood. You’ve never seen him this distraught before, this must be important to him, they must be really important to him.

Yunho chooses to ignore your comment leaving his face to rest in his sweaty palms. There had to be something that you could do, you were his best friend after all. “Okay how about this? I’ll teach you everything that you need to know,” look at him biting your lips (that had always been a nervous habit of yours). He peeled his hands away from his face and you readied yourself for rejection. “You always were a nosey one weren’t you?” he said smirking at you. “You could say that it’s my middle name,” you smile at him.

Thus began your weekly cooking sessions well more like weekend-ly cause you’d meet up every weekend with the kidlike giant you called Yunho. The first few sessions were just basic knowledge or at least that’s what you thought but apparently it wasn’t because Yunho could literally burn water if you gave him a chance. You all went through everything from how to light the stove to how to chop vegetables and even how to properly season meats. I was really fun which wasn’t very surprising since you were teaching Yunho after all, he was basically a walking party. You were usually really serious in the kitchen but there was just something about Yunho that just always brought out your childish side, his playfulness was highly contagious.

Yunho was surprisingly a fast learner, you knew that he’d always excel in physical activities but growing up you were never in the same classes so it kinda surprised you how good his memory was. After 2 weeks and four sessions, he was already making the perfect sauce and chopping vegetables like a pro. Well, he wasn’t as good as you but he really was amazing, once he’s really put his mind to something he always does well at it.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Yunho calling your name. “Y/n, earth to Y/n. Is anybody in there?”. You jump back slightly surprised by his presence. Not like he was here all day cooking with you or anything. Raising your head slightly you look up at the male who easily towering over you. He smiles slightly, a soft shape of pink dusting his cheeks. Holding a silver fork he raises his hand towards your mouth, what appeared to be a medium-rare steak sitting on its edge. Oh yeah, you both were making steak today. This was the second to last day that you both would be working on individual components of the meal, next week you were supposed to work on preparing fresh salad. You were convinced that Yunho could at least do that on his own but he desperately expressed that he couldn’t, almost begging you to teach him. Was fresh salad really that difficult to make?

You opened your mouth allowing him to place feed you the steak. Retrieving the meat from the fork you chew the tender substance letting the taste fill your tastebuds. You couldn’t help the smile that lit up your face; it was good, like really good. You’d season it with a bit more garlic but you’ve been to restaurants whos meals didn’t taste that good. “This is amazing YuYu!” you exclaim pulling him into a hug, you were so incredibly proud of him; granted he could only cook one meal but isn’t it better to be great at making one meal then be able to make multiple subpar dishes or at least that’s what you thought. Yunho looks down in a futile attempt to hide his evergrowing blush spreading from his face to his neck. “You really think so Y/N”, he asks while scratching the back of his neck.

“Of course I do. It’s really good,” you state while reaching for a knife and fork to procure another bite for yourself. “So there is nothing you would change?” he inquires while looking at you; smiling at the little dance you did after taking another bite. “Well,” you begin while finishing your second bite before speaking “, personally I’d like it to be seasoned with a little more garlic but that’s just my personal preference,” you continue while wiping a speck of sauce off of the corner of your face. You see Yunho scurry to the kitchen counter where he had a notebook which he called his “Taste-book” cause it’s a play on the word Textbook. You had once made the mistake of pointing out that he was technically wrong for naming it that because his book was a notebook and not a textbook to which he responded with a simple “, It’s actually better than a notebook because it contains your words.” How were you supposed to respond to that? How? You just left it as it was cause there was no way that you’d be able to win a fight against him..unless he let you.

You saw him scribble some notes in his hardly legible penmanship, you had no idea how he was able to comprehend what he wrote but he’d always say the same about you. Glancing across the dining table you look at the clock before releasing a long sigh. Yunho had always left at around 6 every day, he could stay longer if he wanted to but you could never muster up the courage to ask him to stay even a minute longer. It wasn’t like he was interested in you anyway; he already had someone that he liked. You feel your lower lip begin to quiver as you attempt to hold in the tears which were attempting to fall. You’ve known that this day would come but you thought that you had at least a few more years, just enough for you to find someone else to love, that there would be someone who would make you feel at least an ounce of the happiness that you felt when you were with Yunho.

You liked him, like you really liked him. You thought that maybe you would be okay standing at the sidelines as long as he was happy but a part of you always believed the pretty words that he would speak to you when he had just a little too much to drink on the days when he’s spent a little too long with his friends. He’d always drunkenly end up at your doorstep slurring something about him being hungry and wanting to eat your cooking. After making some simple Hangover Soup for him he’d lay on the couch resting his head on your lap while you aimlessly played with his hair until he fell asleep. He’d always nuzzle himself into your lap murmuring to you about how happy he was to have met you and that he was always the happiest when he was with you. And a part of you would always just blindly believed him, you needed to believe him. You helplessly gripped at that little glimmer of hope that his words gave you, you would’ve held unto them forever if you could. Although it hurt to hold on for so long you knew that it would pain you so much more to let go.

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in your eyes from gently trickling down your cheeks. Hastily wiping the tears which escaped your eyes trying your best to seem as inconspicuous as possible. But Yunho being the Golden Retriever that he was almost immediately picked up on the drastic change in your mood. “What’s wrong Y/n?” you hear his ask as he rushes to your side holding your shoulders in his hands while bending slightly to look you in your eyes.

“Nothing dummy,” you force yourself to say while putting on your best fake laugh “, it’s the onions that you left on the counter.” Slightly pushing at his chest you step back slightly before grabbing at the open bowl of onions that Yunho had neglected to cover. “I didn’t think that I had to teach you how to clean up after yourself YuYu,” you chuckle while raising your eyebrow slightly. Yunho looks at you with a puzzled expression probably attempting to read your mood. Afraid that he’d see through your lie you remind him that it was almost time for him to go. You see Yunho’s eyebrows furrow before he pulls you into a hug. This hug was so much different than any of the countless hugs that you’ve shared before, you relaxed in his arms as you held unto his shirt holding on for as long as you could before he inevitably pulled away. But he never did, neither of you did. You stayed there enjoying each other’s embrace, drowning out everything around you as listened to the steady beat of each others’ hearts.

Hearing the blearing sound of what you could only identify as Mingi’s car horn breaking through the silence that you both had grown comfortable in you jump slightly. You attempt to end the hug that you and Yunho had been engaging in but this action was soon proven to be futile as you feel Yunho’s grip tighten around your back pulling you in even closer. You feel a warmth in your cheeks as you attempt to calm your heart; your mind already going into overdrive due to your close proximity. “Same time next week teacher,” he softly whispers into your ear before finally pulling apart. You could see the smirk on his face before he turns around to grab his things.

Why was he doing this to you? Holding on to you so tightly when all you were trying to do is let go. Showing you the world in colour knowing that one day you’d have to wake up to a world of black and white, a world without Yunho.

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

Today was supposed to be your last class teaching Yunho and honestly, you were both happy and sad. Happy because you no longer have to fake a smile as he happily cooked, practising for the person that he loved; a person who wasn’t you. Being in his presence hurt when his smile wasn’t because of you, it hurt knowing that pretty soon he’d leave and you’d hardly ever get to see him. He won’t show up at your apartment at ungodly hours asking for soup and snuggles, you’d really miss that. You’d always stock up on all of the ingredients that you needed every time he spoke about going out drinking with Hongjoong and the boys; rushing through the grocery store frantically searching for everything that you needed because he was coming over and he got pouty every time he couldn’t get soup. You could never say “No” to those puppy dog eyes filled with sadness upon hearing that you couldn’t make him his hangover remedy.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind you take a few deep breathes before walking down the hallway of Yunho’s apartment building. Yunho had texted you earlier saying that he couldn’t make it to your place because he was really busy with work. You told him that you could just reschedule for another day but it seemed like he was having absolutely none of it. So there you were walking down the halls of Yunho’s apartment at 6 p.m. because he couldn’t get off work before that. He usually didn’t work on weekends but he did say that work was getting more demanding, you really hoped that he wasn’t burning himself out in order to impress someone. Reaching his apartment door you gently knock on the oak surface.

Waiting for a response you bounce on your heels until you hear him shout from somewhere in his probably dishevelled apartment. Grasping the doorknob you step into his apartment, you’ve been there at least a hundred times but it looked so different. All of the lights were off; the entire living area dimly lit due to the candles burning. Looking down you see a trail of bright red rose petals contrasting with the dark wood of the apartment floor. Dropping your bags in confusion you follow the trail which leads to Yunho’s dining area. Turning the corner you were greeted by a candlelight dinner. Placed at the centre of the table was a bouquet of your favourite flowers with rose petals bordering the vase. Tall slender candles framed the room burning their bright lights throughout the area, you can smell a hint of lavender; your favourite scent.

Glancing beyond the beautifully decorated table you spot Yunho dressed in a dark brown blazer and a bouquet of roses in his hand. Even the dimly lit lights of the room couldn’t prevent you from seeing the blush that consumed his face. “T-table for two?” he asked fumbling over his words. “Oh umm these are for you,” he says averting his eyes and extending his hand with the roses. Taking the bouquet from his hand you smile before mumbling a soft “Thank you”. If someone had asked you what you expected to see when you walked into Yunho’s apartment that sight was going to be the last response on your list; if it was there at all. Hearing shuffling you look away from the roses in your hands you see the man in question pulling a seat at the table before looking at you hopefully. You’ve never seen that look in his eyes before, a bright glint of happiness mixed together with despair. Was this the cause? Were you the cause?

Taking a seat at the table you wait for Yunho to speak but only silence filled the room. Turning around in search of Yunho you’re greeted with emptiness. What is going on? Your mind was racing the longer you remained in that room alone. Soon enough Yunho’s voice breaks through the deafening silence “, Your appetizer,” he states before placing a small plate containing a few pieces of what appeared to be Cheesy Pesto Bread. You smiled to yourself while looking at the dish, it didn’t look perfect but it screamed Yunho, it was funny how he could take such a simple dish and make it so..him. You loved it; you loved him.

Looking up from the plate you notice Yunho’s eyes staring at you, the warm brown hue drip like honey off a spoon. Taking a bite of the bread you’re pleasantly surprised, for something that you didn’t teach him it tasted amazing. Looking up from your meal you hear a soft chuckle from Yunho. “You have crumbs on your face,” he says while extending his hand to wipe the remnants of your meal off of your face. You smile softly at the action. Was this all for you?

Dinner was mostly silent besides the gentle clattering of each other’s silverware against the plates. Once you had both completed your meal Yunho cleared his throat before sitting up straight looking you in your eyes.

“I like you Y/n,” he states voice faltering slightly as he attempts to swallow his nervousness. “Since the day that I met you, I always wanted you by my side. I don’t think that I can live another day without being able to call you mine,” he continues. “I know that its a lot to take in and I’ll wait for your answer for as long as it takes just promise me that you’ll at least consider it.” You look into his eyes shining so brightly even under dim lights

“Can I answer right now?” you inquire. “I’d rather you not; I need to emotionally prepare myself for rejection,” he responds half-jokingly while scratching the back of his neck eyes suddenly finding interest in the candles which glow by the door. “I like you to Yunho,” you state while reaching for his hand from across the table. “I like you so much that I sometimes don’t even know what to do-” you begin. “Date me,” he interjects; his voice more steady than before eyes once again finding solace in your own. “Okay,” you respond squeezing his hand slightly while smiling at him.

“You know that you didn’t need to do all of this for me right?” you inquire giggling slightly at Yunho’s extravagant nature. He waited three weeks, honestly maybe even more; just to be able to prepare you a candlelight dinner so he could confess He really didn’t have to, you would have easily said yes if you were both sitting eating pizza while watching movies in your pyjamas on a Friday night. “I didn’t take confessing to you lightly cause I don’t take my love for you lightly,” he responded without an ounce of doubt in his voice. His determination was a personality trait which seemed to have extended to his love life as well.

“So what dish are you making for me next?”

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Tagging @yunhoshoe cause he said so...hope it lives up to your expectations

#ateez fluff #ateez angst #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #Yunho fic #Ateez fic #i worked way too hard on this #But I love it tho

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artsoupsoupart · 3 years

Text

Madney Week 2021: Paint Me as You Mourn Me

Day Three: “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.” + angst

Read on Ao3

“Ch-Chim,” her voice is so far off in the distance, somewhere behind the ringing in his ears. It’s dark, but there are flashes of light pulsing into his line of vision, and he knows he’s hit his head at some point. “Chim, you can get out. Something—”

Her own grunt of frustration cuts her off as he shakes his head, eyes blazing with certainty as his vision clears enough to focus on Maddie, the one person he had secretly vowed to protect from the moment he had met her (even if he didn’t really know the extent of said vow). He looks around for something, anything that could free her from the weight crushing her. “No, gotta get you out first.”

He can think a bit clearer now that the dust has settled, and he’s taken in his surroundings. There had been an earthquake. It had shaken everything and anything, but then it had stopped. The aftershock, though, was quick and intense, and then they were falling, and Chimney was losing everything that meant anything to him. She’s not gone yet; he has to remember that. She’s not allowed to leave him he thinks to himself. Not yet at least. There’s a long trail of blood dripping from her head, thick and oozing, and her eye and side of her face is already beginning to bruise something grotesquely purple. He remembers the ground shaking, remembers thinking this is one of the biggest earthquakes he had ever experienced. He had shielded her with his own body, protecting her in the passageway of the parking garage but then the floor gave out beneath them, and they fell and tumbled to whatever was below.

“Baby, I’m…” she groans out in a pain so distinct that it sinks his heart. “I’m stuck. You have to go. If you don’t,” Maddie winces in pain, her words slurring. “If you don’t—”

“No!” he cuts her off again, his hands cupping her cheeks. “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.”

The first time he had picked up a paintbrush, Howard Han was eight years old and at school. It had been the most natural transition from crayons and color pencils to acrylics and watercolors. He had loved it immediately and had gushed to his mother over and over again about how he had wanted to paint for the rest of his life. He painted even the most mundane of scenes. There were canvases of the sky and the moon and the woods behind his home. He had journals and sketchbooks of little moments of ice cream trips and big events like graduating. He mapped out every important event of his life through acrylic and graphite and watercolor.

Setting up Maddie’s security system had been an easy tradeoff for beer and pizza. He had said yes before even meeting her, mainly because he is kind and gentle and the safety of someone is his main priority no matter if he’s on the clock or not.

And then he had seen her. She had said she’d never seen Mission Impossible and what a travesty that is, he had joked. Immediately he takes notice of her, drinking her into his system in the least creepy way possible. She’s blue but not in the dangerous, threatening midnight or oxford blue of a raging ocean where the sea threatens to swallow and drown him whole. She’s nothing like the broad strokes of a pallet knife, thick and aggressive and coarse. She’s far from the aquamarine that drips of hopelessness and grief that he knows so well. She doesn’t make him sad. She doesn’t make an alarm go off in his mind that encourages him to put up false pretenses that will lead to absolutely nothing and drain him of everything he thought he was.

Instead, the strokes of paint are soft under the round brush. Featherlight but abstract because this is already beautiful but so wonderfully new. Chimney doesn’t know the last time he’s felt like this or if he’s ever felt this feeling before. He yearns for her already though they barely know each other, they don’t know each other. Still, she’s a calming sapphire, welcoming and brilliant. He wants to learn what makes her smile, what makes her laugh, what makes her dream of love and light. She sparkles already and he’s only known her for a couple hours. For just a moment he knows he can’t begin to capture what she makes him feel on a piece of linen wrapped around planks of pine.

…

Takeout and a movie between friends, that’s all this is. It’s all this will be because they’re friends and he’s content with that. For each tomorrow, he makes a vow that says if friendship is all they have, that will do. Because she’s been through a lot. It’s what she needs and what she deserves and he’s grateful to be witness to a side of her that he thinks is reserved for few people in her life. He is witness to her tenderness, to her gentle hands and soft voice. He’s on the receiving end of her bright sarcasm and welcomes it just as she does his (corny) jokes. They are friends, but they’re closer than that. She leans her head against his shoulder when they watch movies. He comforts her when scenes are a bit too much. Being allowed to hold her hands is sage green with wide, smooth strokes. They laugh together. She makes him walk and talk differently but they’re just friends. Maybe.

The thin liner brush traces the blobs on the canvas, outlining, defining the images beneath the black paint. For what it’s worth, the old Chimney is gone. The old Chimney would contrast with what exists now. The old Chimney is replaced with one that compliments the sage of who she is. Perhaps now he is a blush of pink that mimic his cheeks when he’s near her, or a muted orange that is warm in a way he couldn’t be before. Together they are a peach sunset on a sprawling meadow. He’s relaxed when he’s with her. He doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to lie. She laughs at his jokes and leans against his side. They are warm and inviting and everything good pools just from being together.

They’re just friends and he can be okay with that for as long as she is as well. He won’t push. He won’t press without her because they’re friends but somehow they’re also partners. Together, they are free to be, to exist and open themselves up entirely.

…

He told her he loved her. She is who he loves, with cats in her throat in the morning. She is who he loves, dancing together in the kitchen, cuddled together on the couch, the morning after saving a life. He is who she loves, with his jokes and his strength. He is understanding and hope and joy. She loves him just as much as he loves her and that burns across the pages of his sketchbook, page after page being filled with their desire, affection, and devotion to one another.

Her eyes shine as she smiles at him, they sparkle more than stars in the deep onyx of an unpolluted sky. Perhaps that’s what he’ll miss the most if he loses her one day. The way those deep ebony pools of burnt umber darken because he loves her. The look in her gaze shoots him directly in the heart every time, without fail. She’s gold, a brilliant yellow that blazes through his very being, his very soul. The light that they’ve turned on is bright and blinding and he thinks this is the end all, be all for him, for them. It takes every bit of self-control in him to not fidget as he paints their passion against the pale beige canvas.

Then they’re red, scarlet, burning bright as they connect with one another. This time is different, better. They’ve professed their love for one another, and it shows in their touch, in their kiss, in the warmth of skin against skin. The strokes are angled, precise. He thinks of time as he paints. How they’ve spent so little of it together in the grand scheme of things, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because time goes along with space and they’re well beyond that. They care about each other’s most benign details. They are one and will be for as long as they chose to be.

…

Chimney doesn’t know why he brought the paintings. Each one leans against the wall of the hospital room, comforting him, mocking him. His eyes flicker to each one and his heart breaks that much more. The doctors say she’ll be fine. Somewhere in the back of his mind he believes their optimism, believes she’ll wake up and won’t hate him for failing her, for losing his grip on her, for being the indirect cause of why she’s even in the hospital in the first place. She’d never see it that way, see him that way. Still, he can’t help but think he should have held her tighter, protected her better.

He looks over at Maddie, watches the rise and fall of her chest under the skinny tubes connected to her. There’s so many wires, so little sound, so much light in this room and it’s overwhelming. Everything about this situation is overwhelming. He can’t get the flashes of falling out of his head. He can’t figure out why his hold on her hadn’t been strong enough, how he could have possibly let her slip out of his grasp. It’s not his fault, he’s heard it many times in the last two days. But he had let go, he had let her arms go as they fell, and she had ended up pinned beneath thick, unmovable cement and there had been a rebar of her own through her shoulder. And so much blood.

He’ll never get the image of the color fading from her face as she joked that they’d have matching scars. If only he was good enough, worthy enough to be able to wake her up. He wants to hold her while he waits but can’t risk jostling her and making things worse than they already are.

“I’m going to love you for a long time, Maddie.” His hand finds its place back in hers, tears pooling in his eyes as he realizes how cold it is. She runs cold anyway, but this is practically frigid ice against his. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he knows. The fact doesn’t stop him from worrying anyway. “So, just wake up now and then you can rest until you’re better.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, or speak or even flutter her eyes.

With one hand still in hers, he turns to the travel easel holding a small canvas frame and picks up a paintbrush, dipping it into the flat wash with a sigh.

#madneyweek2021 #maddie buckley #howie chimney han #angst #chakayla’s royal decree #ignore that this is late #the rest of the prompts might be bc i scrapped a lot of stuff #being a perfectionist is fun

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lastluvbug · 4 years

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Okay I've got another one! How do you think Leona, Vil, Rook, Idia and Malleus would react if their fem reader asked them to dress up as the beauty and the beast for Halloween BUT! She wants to be the fem!beast and them as the male! beauty. Will they agree? And how will they dress up? Thanks!

Is This My Trick? (Feat. Leona, Rook, Vil, Idia, and Malleus)

Rook Hunt-

How fun! You want to dress up as the beast to his beauty? He’d agree without a second thought, believing you to be beautiful no matter what you wear.

He’d sweep you into the bathroom, where you two would do the other’s makeup and hair, a sweet melody of compliments streaming from Rook’s lips as he played with your locks, and you his. Let’s say only one of you took the night seriously, and it wasn’t Rook.

You’d given him a wide smokey eye, blended with a little gold to flatter his hair color. For a little extra pop, you painted his lips with a clear gloss, and his cheeks with a fair anount of blush, making him look more princess-like than princely.

There wasn’t much you could with his hair, so you settled instead with curling it slightly, giving him waves instead of the pin straight bob everyone knew.

His outfit was fantastically flamboyant; an indigo colored overcoat with a tail that split into two ends, with matching colored trousers leading to black dress shoes. A vertically striped vest was beneath, covering a button up white dress shirt, a blood red bow tied around his neck.

“You’ll be almost as spectacular as Vil when I’m done!” He’d clap as soon as you were done marveling at him. And with that, he set to work.

He’d tease you mercilessly, throwing you for loop after loop as he sung little rhymes laced with complex adulation, just to turn around and lightly poke fun at you. At first, he painted on a cute little button nose over yours, with whiskers flaring out over your cheeks, biting his lip as he tried and failed to muffle his laughter at your shocked face.

Wiping it off, he’d truly go all out, giving you the face you desired after you shrugged on your dress.

It was so spot on, you almost questioned if he’d done something like this before. Your eyes had been framed in a dusty black eyeshadow, creased with white to bring out your elongated lashes. Your face had been shaped with blends of browns, blacks, and white, making your cheekbones and jawline appear sharper, the makeup around you nose connecting down to your lips in a V shape.

Your dress was almost as exquisite. Long sleeved with mesh gloves, it was an ombré of blue to black, coming to a soft v-neck across your chest that was half concealed with the same mesh as your gloves. The skirt was knee length, folding over itself to create the twirling look. And, to point out your waist, a thin black belt looped around you, the same color as your boots.

As soon as you were done thanking him and gushing over your makeup, Rook bowed as he laughed, extending a hand towards you.

“Your beauty far surpasses that of a beast, but just for the enchantment of the night, let us play the roles of prince and cursed princess! We shall sweep the crowds off their feet!”

Vil Schoenheit-

Excuse me? Did—Did he just hear you correctly? You want to dress as a beast for Halloween? No, absolutely not!

It doesn’t matter how much you beg or ask, his answer remains a solid no. He can’t afford to be unsightly, and neither can you. Though, he can’t help but feel bad when you disappointedly walk away, so he comes up with a compromise.

He’ll take your hand and lead you into his extremely large bathroom, and as soon as the perfumey smell hits your face, you know something is about to happen. “I can’t allow you to walk out of my dorm looking like a beast, but I can allow you this very special offer,” he’d say curtly, sitting down before his mirror, “only for tonight, you have permission to do what you please with my cosmetics. Do it well enough, and I’ll give you the opportunity to style my hair.” He’d grin, reaching for his makeup remover to give you a clean slate to work with.

You were ecstatic. Vil never let anyone into his room, let alone do his makeup! You eagerly set to work, using his brand name materials and trying to keep yourself from bursting.

It was a little insufferable, as Vil would criticize you ever two minutes over the way you held the eyeliner, and how hard you were pressing against his skin, and—oh, for the love of the queen, stop shaking!

At the end, he deemed it of passing quality before allowing you to style his hair, of which you accepted without question. You were quite proud of how it all turned out at the end, and honestly, you didn’t really care what Vil thought.

You’d given him a thick cat eye, using a black mascara to extend his lashes and bring out the highlight of the look; the golden eyeshadow. You’d picked up a few tricks here and there, and had executed a flawless glittery eyeshadow that blended into a dark crease, the vibrant color dotting the inner area while circling under the eye. You went plain with his hair, styling it into a sleek looped updo and letting down a few strands of hair to finish it off.

Vil was in charge of dressing himself, which he’d done prior to your little makeup adventure. He’d chosen to wear a jacket of stark white, a black silk button up shirt under and a frilly cravat tied around his neck. He’d slipped on a pair of lace cuffs, the thin mesh falling around his hands, similarly to the way his white trousers fell over his golden heels, risen a good five inches from the floor.

“Don’t worry dear, you’ll be the starlight bright princess to my prince soon.” He’d smile, raising your hand to his lips as you resisted the urge to kiss him right there.

He’d use a gross amount of pink shaded items, some for only a second, and others for what felt like an hour. Though, after all of the materials had been piled onto the countertops, he’d announce that he was finished, much to your delight.

You were astounded by his skill, though really, what did you expect? This is the Vil Schoenheit, anything below exceptional was an insult!

He’d used a rose gold eye shadow to color your eyelids, darker towards the outer ends before shading into a more salmon-esque color. He’d used the tip of his finger to dab on silvery glitter, emphasizing the natural sparkle in your orbs. Your lips were covered with a petal pink, matching your dress, which of course Vil had chosen specifically for you.

It was more of a ball gown than a costume, with a billowing ankle long skirt and a tightly fitted bodice, flowy sleeves falling around your arms while nature-esque embroidery was threaded into the torso. You looked close to a fairy, practically radiating glitter and light as you excitedly clung to Vil’s arm, thanking him up and down.

“Anything for my little forest flower. As my princess, I promise you to give you an evening that will be magically gorgeous.”

(Of course, he wouldn’t really do anything. He has to keep his skin baby soft, and that hair? Oh honey, you wouldn’t know the half of it.)

Idia Shroud-

He’d be against it at first. He really didn’t want to leave the comfort of his room, especially on Halloween, where there’d no doubt be a huge party just waiting to grow his anxiety ten times bigger than usual.

Seeing your expectant face paired with Ortho’s encouragement was what broke him, though he was reluctant to dress up. “Babe... do I have to...? Can’t we just stay here?” He’d uselessly try as you’d pull him into the bathroom, Ortho bouncing happily after.

Neither of you listened as Ortho went searching through Idia’s closet, looking for the clothes to suit the occasion, while you pulled out your makeup, both of you smiling wickedly as Idia sweat dropped.

One busy hour later, Idia stood self consciously in the mirror, inspecting himself as you and Ortho made the room glow with your smiles.

You’d given his eyes a cut crease look, using a metallic blue-blended-with-gold to compliment his hair, as well as hide the bags created from too many night stayed awake playing video games. You’d chosen a mauve lipstick to match, making his lips appear full and plump.

Ortho dressed his older brother magnificently; he chose a pair of high waisted tights that hugged his hips and calves, four golden buttons glinting off the light. His shirt was rather decorative, with a frilly collar and chest, the sleeves flowing over his pale skin before being trapped in the tight wrist cuffs.

“Hmm...looks nice. But I’m not going to be the only one doing this.” He’d grin, mischief written on every frame of his face.

Against all of your protests, Idia would refuse to allow you do your own makeup. He’d snag your pallets and anything else you brought, laughing out loud when you finally sagged in defeat. In short, it was a mess.

The dress you wore, probably the only thing that wouldn’t draw a laugh from onlookers, was plain black, with a fitted off-the-shouldered top and lacy sleeves that wrapped around your arms. The asymmetrical skirt fell down to your calves, before looping back up to reveal your legs as it stopped around mid thighs. Your midnight shoes lifted you about three inches, though you were still shorter than Idia.

Now you’re makeup... that was a completely different story. Since Idia had insisted, he gave you a cute little pink nose, a line of black leading down to your lips that were colored a dark red, black dots sprinkled across your cheeks as a set of three whiskers flared out across each one.

Idia made you a cat! A cat’s not a beast, at least not usually!! When you complained, all he did was laugh and drape his arms around your shoulders in a hug from behind.

“Sorry... I just painted you as you are. You’re too cute to be a beast... I love you for it though.”

Leona Kingscholar-

No. No no no no. Nuh uh. No way.

He’d honestly be a little offended by the question, though he’d be a dead man before he let you know that.

“Isn’t the trickery supposed to wait until later?” He’d nonchalantly ask, tail whipping in the air. He may be a royal lion, but dressing in those tight clothes was an absolute no-no. He was the beast here, he even had the ears to prove it.

It would be near impossible to convince him, but after enough of your wide eyed attempts, he’d eventually break, allowing you to waltz him into the bathroom so you could tame that wild mane and dress him however you pleased. It took a long, long while before you finished, but it all was worthwhile in the end.

The result was breathtaking, in your opinion. You managed to tie Leona’s hair into a half-up half-down style, embellished with a rose pin, a simple product threaded into his locks to create waves and curls instead of the frizz you were so used to.

He was stuffed into a yellow blazer over a long sleeved white dress shirt, the laced cuffs brushing over the middle of his palms. To compliment, a pair of black pants with a gold strip down each leg followed, black dress shoes finishing the getup.

“If it were anyone else, they’d be running for the hills right about now. Let’s see how beastly you can be, my little mouse.” He’d growl, clearly unamused by your laughter as you ran a hand down his arm.

Leona would stand by, watching curiously as you transformed yourself into the beast to pair with his beauty. After you finished, he’d quite literally be speechless, even more so blown away by your choice of dress.

The makeup wasn’t anything special, you just used a little bit of eyeliner and black facepaint to paint over your nose, dragging a slim trail to your lips, which were covered in black lipstick. You used darker browns to blend around your cheekbones, and made your eyes look a touch larger than they were with a risky cat eye that paid off in the end.

Your dress was magical, to say the least. Floor length, with silky fabrics of gold and blue twisted into elegant arched and loops over the gown, the bodice fitted and off-the-shoulder to expose your collar.

By the time you were done, you caught Leona’s intense stare, maybe a hint of a blush darkening his already tan cheeks. When you said something about he, he’d merely pout before taking your arm and pulling you close, so that his cologne and your perfume mixed into an entirely new scent.

“I don’t know if I’d call you a beast, my beautiful little herbivore. Let’s go, I’d like to show off all this work. And for the record... you better give me my treat later.”

Malleus Draconia-

Oh? You want to dress up as a beast? He’d done his fair share of research on this human tradition, and had wanted to try it out for an embarrassingly long time, so he had no problems agreeing.

He didn’t have much of a designer’s touch, so he watched with an intrigued grin as you excitedly ran around gathering your materials. “Careful, we don’t want to waste that energy before the party, do we?” He’d laugh, sitting on the chair you brought and allowing you to do your work.

He was a little jumpy, but by the end, it didn’t matter as he marveled at the outcome of your delicate work.

You’d expertly woven his thin black hair into a loose braided crown that fell around his horns, half of it still cascading down his shoulders and shining in the artificial light. His eyes were rimmed thinly with eyeliner, accentuated with a dark eyeshadow.

He was dressed in a deep blue overcoat, a white button down dress shirt underneath. Around his neck was a pristine white cravat, the ends laced with black, matching his dress pants and shoes. It was rather simplistic, but suited Malleus all too well compared to his usual attire.

“Stunning. I can’t say I’m upset with how you’ve pampered me, dearest. What ever shall you do next?” He’d grin in a closed eye smile, sitting patiently as you worked on yourself.

You worked diligently, applying so many different types of makeup that he’d become a little dizzy trying to wrap his head around the names and colors. When you were done, you hardly looked like the same person. You’d used an assortment of greys and browns to rim your face, two lines cutting down your cheeks to create pronounced cheekbones. You’d painted your eyes in a thick layer of black, shimmery silver blended up to your eyebrows and highlighting your irises. Your lips were a delicious fuschia, so bright against the rest of your face.

Your dress was immaculate, a single shouldered black-and white apparel. The sleeve was made of a thin line of black lace shaped like various flowers, snaking over the colorless bodice and skirt before rounding over the hem. It was rather short, ending just above mid thigh, a calf high pair of strappy boots at least five inches tall doing basically nothing to promote your height compared to Malleus.

When you gave him a little twirl as you put away your cosmetics, he let his eyes wander over his every part of you, thoroughly enjoying the temporary view.

“My, my... You’re truly a sight, dearest. Come, let’s show them all the beauty that will surely make history.”

There we are! Honestly, it was so fun designing all these clothes, except Rook’s. Sorry loves, I had no brain juice left and could only think of his Ghost Marriage outfit.

Thanks so much for reading, and thanks to @blackstrawberrynightmare for the ask! I hope you enjoyed!

Stay lovely!

#twisted wonderland #twst #fem reader #vil schoenheit #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #rook hunt #idia shroud

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intruality-overlord · 5 years

Text

A Generic Mistletoe Fic

Date: 23.12.19

Ship: Logicality

Type: Fluff, light angst

Words: 1336

v^V^v^V^v

December first.

Mistletoe.

Damned mistletoe.

Death, big and or small, dangled above their heads daringly. The glossy white berries glared at him. Logan glared back. Fluttering leaves like eyelashes, it tried tempting with its mockery of puppy-dog eyes. He wasn't sure if he was being dared to eat the berries, or ignore the basic principles of consent. Neither option appealed.

Tradition.

Damned tradition.

What was so important about it? How could "But it's tradition!" be a valid argument when it's so vulnerable to subjectivity. Tradition was only obeyed when convenient, and burned and spit on otherwise (like it most often should be).

No.

He refused.

How was he expected to burden him with an unwanted kiss because of the mere pretence of seizure berries looming above the two, high and smug with tradition's permission? Mistletoe stole the meaning, the intimacy, and consent. A kiss under mistletoe was like assuming the ocean was only as deep as it was clear: That stars were only as big as your naked eyes told you so. Shallow as a puddle, small as a firefly, trivial as a handshake.

If a kiss ever were to happen between them (especially the first), it would be on their own terms, rather under an understanding of boundaries, with full knowledge of requited affections. And certainly not with an audience hidden horribly next to the lamp obnoxiously screeching and taking photos, Roman.

Logan side stepped out of the kitchen doorway.

When his eyes settled on Patton, still frozen in the doorway, his cold glare melted as the tension in his jaw slacked. Patton was taking quick shallow breaths that visibly flexed his rib cage. His eyes were wide, and they took a moment catching up to track Logan's movement.

Strangely, Logan felt himself not in the mood for giving a big lecture. Clutching the cup of coffee he came to the kitchen for, he escaped back to his room.

He refused. He ignored the mistletoe.

v^V^v^V^v

December twenty third.

"Salutations, Patton," Logan said, leaning on the kitchen doorway with otherwise impeccable posture. A question was tucked under his tongue, ready to spit out at the first opportunity.

Patton startled mid-step as he looked through the cupboards. "Oh! Hi—" Patton chirped, spinning on the balls of his feet to face him, "Oh, uh, Logy!" But he reflexively whipped back around as soon as he saw Logan. Finding Patton in the kitchen was unsurprising. Lately, Patton had been popping in and out of the kitchen very frequently. He always found some excuse, "Silly me, I forgot a napkin," and, "Silly me, I forgot my, uh, chopsticks?" Frankly, Logan didn't think Patton really was so forgetful, in his humble opinion.

Tipping his head back, Logan's stare locked on the white seizure berries. They had been joined by tinsel framing the doorway, as well as a few Christmas ornaments over the course of December. Everything was love heart themed or had a red pallet. Although cheesy and confusing (why were they here when they had a perfectly good Christmas tree—), Logan had to admit, the decorations had a charm to it that the mistletoe wasn't contributing towards.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Patton preparing a mug of hot cocoa. Considering how many of those Patton had chugged in the last couple of hours, Logan was surprised he wasn't having a sugar rush. (It was also odd Patton wasn't regulating his intake of sugary treats.)

Sparing him a glance, Patton's stirring slowly halted. His eyes swept across the mistletoe, and lingered on Logan.

Then snapped back to hyper focus on the boiling kettle. Noisily, the spoon clinked as he stirred the milk and chocolate powder. Some spilt on the counter from his twitchy movements.

The kettle finished boiling. The clinking spoon became louder.

"Who hung up the mistletoe, Patton?" Logan eventually asked. (He'll admit he wasn't great at segways.) He had his suspicions with Roman, but concluded that it was a biased hypothesis considering any one of them could have done so. Asking Patton, a naturally honest person, was the obvious next step in finding the culprit.

Patton nearly dropped the kettle while he was pouring.

"I—" Patton set down the kettle, seemingly not trusting his hands. Red highlighted his freckles.

"I forgot the marshmallows," he muttered, and made to dart out of the room. But he paused, watching Logan expectantly.

"Who hung up the mistletoe?" Logan repeated. When silence took over, Logan finally rested his eyes on Patton and his fidgeting.

...

Patton caved easily. "I did..." he said. He couldn't help it. Not when that stare gave him so much attention.

What? That... made sense, but wasn't what Logan expected. The right puzzle pieces wanted to fit together, but they weren't the correct orientation yet.

"Why?" He said, as if the answer wasn't obvious. It threw off his assumption of the mistletoe being just a prank of some sort. Shoulders hunched, Patton whispered, "I was hoping that... the person I like would kiss me. But clearly..." and he trailed off.

Logan was so confused. Only because he couldn't scrunch his nose and eyebrows any further did he realise he had in the first place. He short circuited. "Why don't you just ask?" He said, baffled. Bowing his head, Patton watched his shuffling feet, too. "I don't want to be too forward," he shrugged.

"And this approach isn't forward?"

"W-well I— I um," he stammered, "I just thought— If... he liked me, surely he'd take the opportunity to kiss me. It would be romantic." Patton's hands couldn't pick between playing with the hem of his shirt and rubbing his arms.

"I don't find anything about mistletoe to be romantic," Logan said bluntly. Directing his eyes back to the mistletoe overhead, he tried to take the pressure off Patton. Maybe the lack of his watch did make him more comfortable or he shocked him, because there was a long pause before Patton's feeble, "What?" Poor Patton was becoming wobbly.

Enough, Patton's nervousness was becoming contagious.

Logan's expression softened into a smile, which barely qualified as such, yet was genuine. Movements slow and obvious, he rested his hands on Patton's shoulders. With gentle coaxing, he guided Patton's shoulders to relax. Warmth from his palms seemed to help ease the tension further. Once again moving slow and obvious, he took both of Patton's hands away from where they tugged at his sleeves. In both hands, he clasped them protectively in a hold loose enough to shake off. Logan thought Patton needed gloves.

Intently, Patton watched him with widened eyes with widened pupils.

"Mistletoe," he began, "makes the kiss because of an obligation." Logan swiped his thumbs over Patton's chilly fingers. "Not because of love, like it should be," he softly explained in short. With a puff of warm air, Logan continued to rub warmth into Patton's hands. It seemed to work as Patton flushes pink.

A heartbeat of quiet. Not silence, a comfortable quiet.

"Who do you like?" Logan asked quietly, his hope leaking into his tone. "U-uhm," Patton's voice cracked. His frenzied eyes dashed around, however never left Logan's face. Especially not his docile smile.

"I l-like you," Logan took a leap of faith. Pink smudged across his cheeks and nose.

Patton squeaked, "O-Okay?"

"What does— wha— what does that mean?"

"I like you, too," Patton said at last, sighing in relief.

Logan smiled infinitely brighter. So bright, the grin looked like an alien star on him. "In that case..." He drew Patton into his chest, into the kitchen doorway, under the mistletoe. "Can I—"

"Can I?" They both said in sync.

"Yes—"

"Definitely."

Patton giggled, "Absolutely."

Logan began to lean down, and Patton was already on his tiptoes. Their lips meet halfway in a gentle press. Through the kiss, slow and sweet, Logan tasted the spoonful of chocolate Patton had sampled. Of course, he just thought it was the flavour of Patton. When they eventually broke apart, Logan said, "In the future, just talk to me. Yeah?"

"I will."

#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #logicality fic #logicality #ts logan #logan sanders #ts patton #patton sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #fluff #logicality fluff #lallyphant’s writing #my writing

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bbq-hawks-wings · 6 years

Note

Hello friend! I just went to a wedding and it was incredibly beautiful! So I was wondering if you could make a scenario of hawks getting married to his female s/o? This was my first time sending a request so I hope I did it correctly! Thank you and have a nice day! :)

This man makes me w e a k, and don’t worry anon, you nailed it.

I’ve always wanted to plan a wedding and see it play out. Maybe someday I will for real. Done, anon. (P.S. If you want an idea of where I got the color pallet in this chapter, may I draw your attention to my favorite ring in the world.)

The day he had asked you to marry him and you said yes was the happiest day of his life. He had spent time getting to know you, opening up and being truly vulnerable for the very first time, and you had never done anything but give and give and love him. He would rope the stars and the moon if you asked him, and he wanted so badly to declare his love for you to the world. However, your relationship had remained quiet and out of the spotlight. Especially since you were actively avoiding the attention he had taken measures to keep your meetings clandestine, to keep your name and face out of the public eye. A watchful fan might be able to sense something amiss (he couldn’t escape the spotlight forever), but they never had enough to do anything but throw out mere theories.

He wanted to give you the biggest fairy tale wedding money could buy, and he wanted to invite the entire country, if not the world to watch; but he understood your reservations about it. For your safety, privacy, and peace of mind a small wedding was worth the price. As well for him, the fact that you knew he would hand you a blank check for whatever you wanted but you still tried to keep spending down because you didn’t want to treat him like an ATM made him fall even deeper in love with you whenever the subject came up.

He agreed to whatever venue and theme you wanted on two conditions: one, let him order some custom wedding ring designs because he wouldn’t have his one of a kind girl wearing a piece that hundreds, maybe thousands, of other women were also wearing; and two, spare no expense with the dress! He knew that a wedding was mostly for the bride at the end of the day; and he wanted to let you feel like a princes- no, a QUEEN on your wedding day without worrying about the price tag. He told you that come what may, when it came to looking back the photos of him fawning over you in that dress would be able to give you happy memories whenever you needed them, and anytime the everyday stresses of the world dragged you down he wanted you to be able to look at that ring and let it remind you that you were like no one else in the world to him just like that little piece of jewelry.

The venue was small and private. Only both your immediate family and close friends - heroes, high school, or otherwise- were invited. Just trusted people who had known you were together to begin with. He didn’t bother to mention the event to his sponsors. He wanted them and their world as far separated from you and your new lives together as possible. They didn’t care anyway.

It was a small, chapel-like building. A few rows of pews on either side flanked the aisle which was laden with a soft, white carpet and red trim. White chiffon hung up on the walls and lined the inside of the pews with small bouquets of red roses, ferns, baby’s breath and tiny sprigs of acacia blossoms. It was dark outside, and the light in the hall danced and sparkled from the crystal chandeliers which allowed the stained glass windows to display their full range of color without distracting and taking from the scene inside. That alone was picture perfect as Hawks waited at the end of the aisle, proud of your planning but increasingly nervous for the upcoming ceremony.

You’d caught that he was self conscious about the color of his wings in your wedding photos - lamenting that they might distract others from how beautiful you were in that white dress. Red was a far more dominant color, he explained. White disappeared and took a seat next to it unless it was an accent color, and his wings were just too big to pass off as some kind of “fashion statement.” He even complained that even if they were white it would be more attention on him than he wanted. But you were clever - or at least you had clever hero support friends with a knack for design!

You had called on their expertise to tie in the concept of white and red mixing together and complimenting each other instead of fighting for dominance. They came up with a fantastic solution of tying in two other main colors - stunning pink gold and humble burnt umber - as intermediate accents and trim. His tuxedo consisted of a white jacket and trousers, red cummerbund and tie, with pink gold and satin brown trim lining the lapels, pleats on his shirt, and shiny gold buttons and wrist cuffs with modest brown shoes. Though he didn’t usually appreciate formal wear he felt really good when he put it on, feeling like his wings actually fit the design instead of distracting from it. He was just anxious to see if this was how you dressed him, what did YOU look like? Luckily after the hours of nervous pacing, anticipation, and anxious bouncing on his toes for the ceremony to start he would see.

The music played and all the guests rose as the doors at the front of the aisle gently parted for you to make your way down. The sight of you in that dress was beyond magnificent and took his breath away.

You had taken him seriously when he asked you to go all out. The flowing white skirt of the ball gown possessed a gorgeously understated gold lace layer over it and fell around you gloriously, demanding room and reverence around you though your gait denoted a calm spirit unburdened by the gaze of others. The white bodice pulled in at your waist and gently flared out to a Bataeu neckline that was a perfect balance of alluring and elegant - the shoulders of which were red chiffon blending in perfectly with the red bead work on the bodice fading down to white, and in the center of the neckline sat a simple round brooch with a brown gem centerpiece, small white jewels around the edges in a rose gold setting. You wore a choker of gold with red and white rhinestones that draped across your otherwise bare shoulders and dipped down in an arch delicately. Your chapel length veil possessed gold and satin brown trim around the edges to mirror the ensemble of your groom, though the smallest of red and pink rhinestones hidden in the lace would sparkle and reflect an extra splash of color. It wasn’t immediately obvious from the front, but as you walked up the steps to stand next to your husband-to-be a bright streak of red ran from where there were the gaps in the shoulder straps on your back (a subtle set of wings as a nod to his nickname, “Angel,” for you Hawks would come to learn later), together into the waist of the bodice, and then in one demanding band of satin red in a dramatic flair all the way down the monarch train of your skirt where it bled off into the red, pink gold, and satin brown lining for the lace layer that would sweep up into the two side panels that met again in the front at the bodice, allowing the gold pattern to end spectacularly around you and leave the panel of pure white unblemished in front of you, tying back into the solid white part of the bodice.

He couldn’t tell by virtue of being absolutely star struck in the moment, but he very well almost cried at the sight of you. Like everything else, you blew his expectations out of the water. Whatever he gave you or asked of you you always managed to return to him two, five, or tenfold times beyond his wildest dreams. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you as you approached, sure that he was either going to wake from a dream or just drop dead from the overwhelming weight in his heart. He noticeably jumped when the minister spoke up at the end of the music. If not for the rehearsal the night before, he would have forgotten to turn shoulder to shoulder to you, though he wished mightily he could just stare into your eyes for the rest of eternity.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” and the rest was lost on Hawks’ ears as he desperately tried to continue looking at you through the corner of his eye, which only made you blush and smile when you noticed. How the hell did you just manage to be even more beautiful than what he witnessed just now?! The ceremony continued on for both far too long and not long enough when he was finally broken out of his trance.

“(Y/N), will you have this man to be your husband; to live together with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” Your words were clear and even, though the way you blushed under your eyelashes as you looked to him betrayed the way your heart was racing.

The minister then addressed Hawks, “And will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together with her in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”

“I wi-Ihl-” His voiced unintentionally cracked around the lump in his throat, and you could both hear a chuckle from the pews behind you. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I will.”

“With that, we would have the bride and groom exchange wedding vows and rings. May the ring bearer please come forth.”

Tokoyami had been incredibly surprised when Hawks had not only invited him to the wedding, but asked him to be the ring-bearer. The experience he had gained during his internship he had considered generous enough, but to think Hawks could have taken enough of a liking to him for this honor was beyond him. Reverently approaching from his place to stand next to the both of you, he offered your ring to Hawks with respect and Dark Shadow offered his to you with excitement before they both returned to their spot.

“Sir, please take (Y/N)’s left hand and repeat after me.

“In the sight of all these witnesses, I, (state your name), take you, (Y/N), to be my wife,”

He repeated in kind back and forth until they reached the end.

“...to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

He looked down as he readied the ring he had spent so long designing onto your ring finger as he continued. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you.” With that, he slowly slipped on the ring and allowed you to admire it - this being your first time ever seeing it. The band was made of small silver feathers that swirled together into a spun gold nest-like setting with a magnificent round fire opal as the centerpiece flanked by small white diamonds and a few, tiny, inconspicuous silver feathers tucked into the gold strands of the nest.

The minister then turned to you and asked you to repeat the same vows before you readied Hawk’s ring as well and placed it on his finger when you had finished, “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you.” It was a wide, masculine band, but in it were many gold feathers stemming from the shaft of a silver arrow that wrapped around his finger - the feathers meant to symbolize all that he had to give you; and the arrow his vow to protect you, his desire to provide for you like a feather carries an arrow to its target, as well as a personal point on the compass to point him home to you.

The minister gave one last address to the congregation gathered as you held hands and gazed into each others’ eyes, excited for the part to come next. “Now that these two have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife.

“You may kiss the bride.”

A thousand thoughts raced through his head as his hands gently, slowly moved to raise the veil from your face. This was it! In everyone’s eyes you were his missus, his wife, maybe the only thing in the world that was truly his. Your relationship had not been an easy one to establish by any means. There were tears and heartache and pain; and there were times he was sure that there was nothing he could do for you but to let you go; but even in the worst of circumstances you had returned to him time and time again and done nothing but hold him and love him. Everything in his world could crumble out from beneath him, but he would be able to fall safely into your arms - and really, wasn’t that what it meant to truly have everything?

He had genuinely meant to make the kiss short and sweet, but like many other things in his life his thoughts spun in his head too fast for his own good; and in the first split second he went from a gentle, chaste kiss with your face in his hands as the crowd applauded to pulling you close by the waist in a deep, passionate embrace to the sound a few whoops and jeers.

“Save it for the honeymoon, love birds!”

The comment made both of you blush as you pulled away from each other, but at this point, he didn’t really care any more. There was no more doubt, no more uncertainty, no more gaps between you. This was the first day of the rest of your lives together. He had you now, and he was never letting go. He lifted you up into the air and spun you around without regard, nearly knocking over the rest of the wedding party in the process.

This was truly the happiest day of his life!

#bnha hawks #mha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x reader bnha #hawks imagine #hawks x reader imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines #ugh I'm such a sucker for love stories!#Especially from men's point of view!#thanks for this anon I loved writing it!

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 7 years

Text

Pink (A Sehun One-Shot)

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Smut (18+) / Neighbor!AU

Pairing: Sehun x You

Description: You run into your attractive neighbor in an unexpected place.

Word Count: 11.4K

A/N: This story is a Secret Santa gift for Alba @messyscriptorium , I was so excited to receive Alba for the gift exchange as part of @kpoptrashnetwork ’s Secret Santa Project / Holiday Haul, because I actually know her and because she’s an amazing human being whom I adore. Alba provided a few of her biases and Oh Sehun happened to be the very last one… I picked him because I’m feeling pretty fucking noodly lately and Alba, I hope you enjoy this story that I wrote just for you. :D I used Pink since the color pallet you provided included pastels and Neighbor!AU seemed doable to me as a one shot.

Also thank you to @dancinghell666 for coming up with the location for the opening scene of this story. :D it was perfect!

It wasn’t your scene. The neon lights and bright colors when you walked through the door and that smell, what was that smell? Like a layer of industrial cleaner over something flowery and just below that was something else. Something dirty and biological maybe. Most definitely. You eyed the rows of red curtain covered doorways that lined the back wall with the sign at the top that read, in an innocuous font, a simple and nowhere near as explanatory as it should have been, “viewing rooms.” Your mind flashed to the sign on the front door with the scary message.

‘Absolutely no persons under the age of 18 allowed to enter.’

You wanted to leave.

Well, you kinda wanted to leave.

But you had also always been curious about this place. You had to admit…it felt like walking into a mysterious cave with its blacked out windows and secretive exterior, standing inside of it on your own two legs as you looked around with your own two eyes feeling instantly taken aback with the sheer number of penises you could see all around you.

Hundreds. Possibly thousands. This place felt like a shrine to the mighty dong and you wondered if you should maybe say a prayer or light a penis-shaped candle in its honor. It definitely felt like the star attraction.

“Oh come on, it’s just a sex shop. Loosen up!” Your best friend in the world, Gina, and the woman who was much drunker than you were as she celebrated her birthday with dancing and laughter with friends had dragged you with her into this place as you both made your way to the subway.

There was a microscopic bit of movement that caught your eye and you instinctively turned your head to the disinterested hand wave of the lone employee at the counter. Your entry had nearly pulled him from something he did at the sales counter. But not quite. The ding of the bell at the front door was clearly not interesting enough.

“Welcome,” he said in a bored voice, his face buried in the screen of the laptop in front of him. Never before had you witnessed such boredom in the face of so many penises. He seemed to be watching something, but the sounds of the various pornographic movies playing on the screens around the shop drowned out whatever sounds his laptop was making.

It was fine to you. The fewer people who interacted with you in this place, the better.

Something smacked you on the arm and your focus was taken away from the top of the man’s head that peeked up with shiny black hair over the back of his screen and you flinched to see the huge black rubber dildo that had just hit your arm.

“Dude.” You whispered to her, but she merely giggled and hit you with the dildo again. It was the size of your forearm and you sincerely wondered about the logistics of something so large.

“Do people actually use ones this big?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word dildo out loud.

“Probably,” Gina said and tossed it into a basket with assorted sizes, shapes, and colors of rubber sex toys.

“We should get a movie and watch it.” Gina was too loud and you looked at the man at the counter when she practically shouted her intentions.

He didn’t look up.

“Something gay,” she said with a smile. “I like the boys.” Her fingers were trailing along the spines of the rows of DVDs.

“Excuse me?” She lifted the volume of her already too loud voice and shouted toward the counter.

You heard a sigh. A low, sigh that went on for a very long time and there was a click of keys on a keyboard.

“Excuse me where is the gay section?”

He lifted a hand with a finger pointed to the left of the store. Your eyes followed where he pointed noticing the low grunting and whining sounds coming from the screen on the wall where the two men fucked as a third dick appeared on the screen, waiting for his turn to shine. This was obviously the section. It wasn’t that hard to figure out the layout of the store, but Gina was drunk and didn’t usually like to work too hard for things.

You on the other hand. You preferred to do things yourself.

You left the drunk girl to her extensive porn selection and wandered down another aisle. Noticing how the titles changed when you reached the different sections.

Did people really buy these? Didn’t they have the internet at home?

When you rounded another corner and looked ahead of yourself you could now see him. The man who worked at the store. The mysteriously disinterested counter man who you had come around to the back view of now as he sat in front of his computer watching what…you squinted for a better view… what appeared to be a movie. Only shockingly lacking in penises for this place.

You caught the face of the actress on his screen and recognized the drab grey dress and white collar. The white headdress and redness in her cheeks and you could see the man leaning closer to the screen as the tears streamed down the emotion-filled face of Jane Eyre as she cried and yelled an screamed at Mr. Rochester, the man she had the misfortune of falling in love with. The man who was to be wed to another woman.

“Because you are to be wed. To Blanche Ingram.” Jane cried and you wanted to pull up a chair and watch with him. You practically had the scene memorized. It was your favorite adaptation. You found yourself moving in closer to catch the look on his face…the moment when Jane declared her right to her own feelings, despite her unfortunate appearance, that she still mattered. That she still had the right to fall in love. He watched, enraptured. Eyes wide and lips open and from what you could see of his was…beautiful. He was distractingly handsome. You nearly missed the way Mr. Rochester gripped Jane’s shoulders and shook, telling her how he loved her all along.

The deep inhale the man behind the computer screen took mirrored your own and he gripped at his own chest with the slow exhale. Finally, a bit of emotion evident in his eyes and you watched his profile for exactly three seconds when the couple kissed before it hit you.

It was an instant recognition. You knew this man.

You knew him from your walks to your apartment with your hands full of grocery bags and his shy smiles as you passed each other in front of his front door and you knew him from the runs around the park he would take, decked out in black sweats that fit his body and namely his ass perfectly and tall stature that towered over you and a face so stunning that it actually had an almost physical impact whenever you saw it.

You knew him.

He was your neighbor.

And you were now staring at him, with your mouth open and eyes wide as he watched Jane Eyre in the middle of a seedy sex shop only a few blocks from your building.

And oh, he was beautiful. You hadn’t seen him up close yet, not like this. Not with him unaware of your presence with the muscles in his back tense from the emotions that his posture emitted. Despite the blank expression on his face, you could see something in his eyes. Something within those brown irises that the screen of his laptop pulled in. He gave in to the pull and leaned as his blinks slowed to a languid and lazy pace and a hand rested on his chest, below his neck where he felt it the most. When the kiss happened you could see a flinch in his body. It wasn’t the kind of reaction you had expected. There was a soft gasp in his chest. His lips parted and that hand on his chest lifted gentle fingertips to graze his bottom lip. He was consumed by it. Just as you had been the first time you had seen it and you wondered if he was a fan of the book or if he just happened to be watching this particular adaptation today.

You wanted the backstory, but more than anything you wanted in. To anything about him, you wanted to know his name and you wanted to hear his voice and sit next to him and feel the softness of his arm against yours as he leaned against you and whispered his thoughts on the passionate way Mr. Rochester kissed Jane Eyre. His Jane.

Would he kiss someone like that? Or would his kisses be slower and softer? Would his fingers linger in her hair or would he grip tightly around her waist as he pulled her into himself?

When was the last time you were kissed like that? When was the last time you were made entirely of the pure oxygen that another person needed to survive? When were you last consumed like some delicious treat?

When were you last savored?

You shifted on your heels and something loud fell on the other side of the shop where Gina was drunkenly fucking with something she shouldn’t be and the sound pulled his head up from where he had sagged into his seat in front of the screen.

All at once, his focus shifted and you saw a flip of his head as he caught the sight of you standing and watching him in his peripheral vision and all at once, the spell brought on by the romance and tension on that computer screen was ruined.

He jumped, visibly, when he noticed you and his eyes widened to near painful widths as if the things might just fly right out of his head and shoot across the room.

With the startle came the grunt from deep within his chest and you stood, frozen like one of these big rubber dildos that lined the glass countertop, waiting for the perfect chance to wiggle and jiggle when someone touched you the right way.

Your hands flew up when you noticed the alarm on his face and his focus flew back to the screen in front of him as he quickly hit a key on the keyboard.

Gone was Mr. Rochester. Gone was the passionate kiss and gone were the tears of poor ugly Jane Eyre and in its place the default desktop wallpaper, probably the same one that came preinstalled on the laptop when it was purchased.

His cheeks were pink and his eyes frantic as he inhaled a deep breath and worked up whatever courage he needed to face you again. Your own amusement rose up quickly inside your gut the more you absorbed the absurdity of the situation.

He was embarrassed at being caught watching what he had been watching in the middle of a sex shop filled with the sinful moans and grunts of sex and sloppy wet flesh slapping against sloppier wet flesh.

The sounds of fucking. Romance didn’t belong in this place. He was embarrassed.

His pink blush that colored his cheeks and changed his face, giving him a boyish appearance, was all of a sudden, your favorite look on him and you were living. Suddenly reanimated by his quite charming human reaction of trying to hide something he had been caught doing. It warmed you from the inside out.

You were also trying your best to keep the expression on your face neutral when all you wanted to do was hold two arms over your own belly and laugh to your heart’s content at the man’s reaction.

You were definitely in trouble.

He cleared his throat and blanked the expression on his face. It was a skillful move that struck you with just how well he had done it and when he looked up into your face you saw no traces of the previous embarrassment that had been so evident mere moments before.

What you did see was a flash of recognition pass over his eyes as he widened them briefly, looking over your face and then lower, down your entire torso, he most definitely knew you, just as you knew him.

“Oh, hello,” he finally managed and the simple greeting felt incomplete considering the realities of the situation you and he currently found yourselves in.

“Hi,” you said and his eyes wandered behind your head as he looked at the walls behind you, glancing along the counter filled with the rows and rows of sex toys. His lips were closed but he seemed to be biting down on his upper lip when his focus was drawn up to the tv above both of your heads.

‘Ah. Ah. Ah. Yes. Fuck me harder….OH, I’m gonna cum!’

“Umm, what are you doing here— I mean, did you need some help finding something?” His question was nearly drowned out by the over the top dramatic screaming.

She was cumming, just as she promised and she was louder than loud. You opened your lips to speak, but only the sounds of her animalistic screeching filled the space over the counter where he watched your face carefully and you gripped against your bag tightly, opting just to wait her out before you spoke to him.

She seemed to be winding down now and you inhaled a breath to speak, ready to tell him that you were actually just looking and waiting on your friend.

The pause in her screaming seemed to finally arrive.

“I’m actually–” Your words were interrupted by another loud screech. Was the woman being butchered? Your face must have betrayed your annoyance as you looked up into the air at the woman who trembled and screamed and the pool of liquid that accumulated between her legs made you take a second look with your lips parted now in genuine surprise.

He covered his mouth with his hand and snorted out a laugh before moving the hand down to cover over his chest as the laughter hit him hard.

“Sorry, she’s a squirter. She goes on and on. I’ll turn it off.” He was laughing out right now and climbing up onto the countertop directly in front of you to reach for the buttons on the side of tv that was mounted on the ceiling.

“She’s enjoying herself, you don’t have to.” You mumbled into your own laugh while you looked up at him standing on the countertop directly in front of where you stood.

You didn’t intend to look.

You really didn’t.

But in this shrine of penises…of course, it was where your eyes wanted to wander.

The tv above your heads went silent and you watched the way his groin bunched and bulged as he reached and stretched high above his head.

With the silence from the tv came a sudden stillness immediately around the counter space. Only the stillness seemed to be on both sides and you realized that you were still staring at the zipper of his jeans.

Your own sense of properness jolted you into action and you quickly blinked away the trance you were in and looked up at his face.

Had you been caught?

Had he noticed?

He was frozen with his eyes on your face and his hands still raised into the air, fingertips still caressing the buttons that lined the flat edge of the tv.

“Umm–” You filled in the silence with idle noise and he was moving now. Lowering himself down from way up in the air, instead of heading back behind the counter where he came from you saw his knees bending as his butt rested on the countertop in front of you.

You should have backed up. You should have given him the space he needed for his descent but your mind was in a bit of an overloaded state and things like personal space seemed to be a foreign concept in this place.

So when his knees came forward, they were placed on either side of you and when he braced to hop forward off the countertop and back onto the floor, he did so by placing a warm hand on your shoulder and standing directly in front of where your stubborn legs refused to budge.

He was warm. He was close.

The memory of the substantial size of that bulge below his zipper flashed through your mind like the replay of some movie you didn’t want to be watching right now and his warm hand moved slowly down your shoulder to your arm before it finally left you. Not without leaving behind a burn that lingered like a ghost, possessing your skin with the imprint of heat.

You felt the remnants of the heat from his hand travel below the surface of your skin as it extended along your shoulder, up your neck, flooding your cheeks with the heat you knew he had caused with his touch.

He was still watching your face too carefully and you were certain he saw evidence of the heat you felt on your cheeks.

“So…uhh…what brings you-“ his words felt stifled. As if he was forcing them out through his pink parted lips as his eyes scrutinized you up close.

There was a loud plop that sounded out on the glass countertop that caused you both to jump.

You took a careful step away from him, your legs jump-started by the surprise of the two surprisingly normal sized dildos Gina had roughly tossed on the countertop and you looked back into his face to catch the way he blinked his eyes quickly and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Hey…pick out a vibrator, I’m feeling generous and I know you don’t own one.” Gina was talking loud and fast as she lifted a drunk hand toward the wall behind the countertop where several boxes of vibrators were displayed. Many cute and pink things, some bigger and white, seeming to be more geared toward treating aches and pains than to self-love and a terrifying contraption that seemed more like a torture device to hide in a dark damp basement than something you kept hidden in your underwear drawer.

“No, Gina, it’s fine–” Her head was shaking vehemently before you could even get the refusal out and knowing what you knew about your best friend when she was drunk, you might as well give in now to shut her up than give in later because she wouldn’t shut up.

“You,” Her hand was pointed at him, the man with the touch who’s burning you could still feel on your shoulder, “what’s your name again?”

“It’s Sehun, Gina. Just like the last three times you’ve asked me,” he said with a wide eye roll before his focus bounced between the two of you.

“Right! Sehun, I remember now,” she said, “let’s pick out a good one for her. She deserves it.”

His face was blank for a moment and you had to look down at the square of tile you stood on kinda wishing you had just kept walking toward the subway, leaving Gina to explore her drunken sexuality on her own. Yet at the same time, kinda wishing you could get the shape of his thighs out of your mind, or the quick way he leaped up onto that counter. Wishing you could stop thinking about dicks maybe.

He didn’t speak, nor did he move and Gina turned her attention to the ‘wall of pleasure’, as the sign above said.

“Do you want me to pick one for you?” His quiet question interrupted your focus on your friend and you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes.

Did you? You didn’t really know too much about them. The shrug was confined to only your face and it was small but he caught it and nodded his head.

“Okay, uhh–” Something in his voice sounded a bit unsteady and he cleared his throat before you felt the warmth of his hand on your back again. This touch was a bit less steadying and more guiding as it moved down to the small of your back and you moved with him toward the wall with as deep a breath as you could manage with his hand actually touching you right now.

He steered you in front of the merchandise and faced the wall. His hand, thankfully off of your back now and crossed over his chest as he took on a somewhat pensive position with one hand over his chin.

“Have you ever owned one before?”

“What? No.” You heard the quick denial on your tongue and his eyes darted to look at you out of the sides of his eyes. The selection was overwhelming and frankly, your head was beginning to spin from even thinking about having to make a choice.

“How about a Hitachi,” Gina supplied and Sehun suppressed a snort that was quickly covered away by that hand below his chin. What was so funny? You were certain that if you knew what a Hitachi was then you could handle one just fine.

“What?” Your voice rose an octave, “what’s wrong with a Hitachi.”

His eyes were back on you and the grin he had been controlling was gone.

“Nothing is wrong with it, I just think it’s a bit much. Maybe something with less power.”

He was moving now, past the big scary sex toys, past the rubberized ones with realistic veins, past the smaller ones with remote controls and he reached for a small pink box that with minimal writing on the outside of the packaging.

“How about this one?” He asked.

Did it have to be so pink and dainty? You scrunched up your nose at the idea that just because this was your first one, that it should look like Barbie’s plaything.

He must have noticed your reaction. “Oh come on, let’s give her a chance before you judge her so harshly.” The tremble you had heard in his voice earlier was gone. You could practically feel the dare on his voice now as he held the small box in his hands and walked beside you.

“Her?” He ignored your question except for a quick bob of his eyebrow over his eye and as he neared where you stood he reached down and grabbed ahold of your hand.

You looked back at Gina who had gone uncharacteristically silent where she stood. Her eyes were on his back as he moved and when he pulled on your hand, making you follow where he took you behind his little dildo covered glass counter her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Hey, why are you being so helpful…and nice?” Her voice was thick with suspicion and he stopped his movement to turn a thin torso back in her direction.

“What? Gina, I’m always nice.” He spoke to her but had turned his focus back to you with a smug smile on his face. Somehow the force with which he held the smile on his face made you doubt his words.

“No. You always ignore me and tell me to get out. I’ve seen you ignore the other customers too. You’ve never been this helpful to anyone before.” There were wheels turning in her head and you could see a new tension in Sehun’s face as he inhaled a deep breath and tossed the pink box on the counter.

“Or touchy,” she added and his chest and chin rose up in defense.

“That’s because you are annoying when you drink too much. And besides,” he lifted a hand and pointed it toward your chest, “we know each other.”

He hadn’t acknowledged it before this and you were beginning to wonder if he actually would. Yet just that morning you remembered his friendly greeting and the soft smile on his lips as he passed you on the walkway that led to your apartment. He was just leaving his place for a morning run and you were coming back from checking your mailbox.

“Y-Yeah, Sehun is my neighbor,” you said, instantly feeling the need to back up his story.

Gina leaned in over the countertop where you stood beside him, having been allowed back here you felt a strange sort of connection with him. It was clear with the blank face he now wore and the lift of his eyebrows and tension in his jaw that Gina was not invited behind his counter.

“You know each other, or you know each other,” she leered and your eyes rolled.

“God, I hope one of these is for your mouth.” He said mostly to himself with a nod toward the two dildos she had tossed on the countertop earlier and he unboxed the small pink thing that looked even smaller out of the packaging than you thought it would be. “Why do you need so many of these anyway? You bought five of them last month.”

He was bending down behind his counter for a package of AA batteries.

“I send them to my enemies where they work,” she said and you heard the short chuckle from his chest. “Ahh…I thought you were some sort of an alien.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, dropping her voice an octave and you recognized the flirtatious look on her face. Obviously, he was an attractive man. He had modelesque good looks and height. Strong muscles in his chest and his arms and you were nearly positive from the small glimpse of skin you saw below his navel when he was jumping up on that counter right in front of your face, you saw abs and just a dusting of a happy trail. The man was sexy and he knew it. That pretty face of his was icing on an already extremely tempting cake.

“I’m all woman, baby,” she said. His face impossibly, blanked out even more and he looked square at her with impassive, emotionless, ever-blinking eyes. You held your breath to keep from laughing.

“Wanna find out?” A wink was attempted and she nearly lost her balance when she did it with as badly as she swayed on her feet.

“Hard pass,” he said, promptly turning his torso away from your best friend toward you, with the damn pink bullet shaped vibrator in his hand.

“Alright, Sweetheart, sorry about that,” his voice was back and it was close to you now. Low and sweet sounding with just a tinge of residual annoyance left on his tongue and you tried your best not to believe the pet name. Obviously, someone who worked in a place like this, a man of his level…certainly knew how to work the girls. He knew how to make the sale and get the customers to believe any of the stories he sold them.

Gina was too drunk to be offended. She merely straightened her posture again and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched with an open mouth as Sehun took yet another step closer to you and flipped the switch.

It buzzed in his hand. You could hear it and he held it lightly between this thumb and forefinger.

“See this is a nice, gentle buzz. Nothing too crazy or scary, just something…soft.” You felt his fingers reach for your hand and you jumped but instantly tried to hide it. Honestly, he could be holding a potato right now and you would have jumped with him touching you like this. His hands were warm and he lowered his head closer to where your head was, blocking the view of Gina who stood at the counter in a trance.

You could feel the buzzing that he held in your palm and you couldn’t help but look at his lips as he spoke to you. When he licked his lips you fought the urge to do the same and you settled for biting your bottom lip instead.

“Sweetheart? A personal hands-on demo? Who are you and what have you done with Oh Sehun?” Gina rattled off again and his eyes moved up from where you were certain you saw him looking when you gave in and licked your too dry lips.

“You’re never like this. Do you like her or something?”

His head spun and his fingers slipped as he laid his hand directly over yours, sandwiching the buzzing between both of your hands. He was right. The actual vibration was gentle and you were pretty sure you noticed a switch with speeds just in case it was too gentle. But something about the heat of his hand coupled with the buzzing was making your brain fuzzy and you had to close your eyes.

“Get out.” He said in a serious voice. Gina laughed a drunken chortle. “You get out. Leave your card with her and she can pay for this, but you’re out.”

“Ohh, I hit a nerve,” she sang as she pulled out her card, placed it on the counter, and laughed her way out of the store.

He took a moment to turn and face you. His focus remained on the door that swung shut with a soft chime that echoed throughout the store, just barely audible over the moans on the other tv screens. All the while the buzzing continued and his hands still held yours as your mind grew hazy the longer the warmth of his skin connected with yours and you finally had to breathe in a slow steady breath. You hadn’t even realized you weren’t breathing right until the dizziness started and you were positive the heat of his skin had affected you enough for the automatic process of breathing to become interrupted.

“So what do you think?” He said a moment before he turned his head to face you again and your voice felt trapped well within the confines of your chest. Too affected and too stunned to find any way to set them free, you merely watched his face as you breathed through your parted lips and he lifted his hand off of yours at last. The absence of his heat released you.

“Umm… It’s probably fine…feels kinda—” Your response was a whisper and he picked up the vibrator from your hand. “—kinda soft I guess.”

“Well, it has higher speeds…and your hand isn’t as sensitive.” He didn’t say what your hand wasn’t as sensitive as but the tiny inhale he took brought out the pink in his cheeks and with him so close to you, watching your face, in this place surrounded by sex definitely had your mind racing and your body responding.

You no longer trusted words. The nod of your head was quick and shallow, wishing for some reprieve from this. It honestly felt like torture. How dare someone so beautiful touch you in this way, with that look in his eye and that whisper on his tongue? You had too many urges coursing through your body at once. To touch him back, to sink your fingers into the flesh of his skin, to taste the pink of his lips against your tongue, to bring him home with you instead of the vibrator.

He had already turned it off. He removed the batteries and was busying himself with placing it carefully back into its box.

His pace was suddenly and suspiciously quick as he reached for the other items Gina had intended to purchase and you wondered if the time to remove yourself from behind his counter had come. He wasn’t really looking at you as he scanned her items and placed them into discrete paper sacks with nowhere near as much care as he had handled that damn precious pink box.

You could feel your exit’s approach and your chest ached with its nearing. The pull of him had been entirely too strong and much like the way your eyes always sought him out when you passed him in the hallway, and the way you found yourself bringing you up the stairwell on the north side of the building that you knew he frequented, that pull into him felt magnified with each and every interaction you had with him. Still, you couldn’t exactly stay here all night. Your sense of proper social behavior tugged at your legs and brought you out from behind his little sanctuary, to the side of the counter where you had belonged all along.

He had a face on now, grumbling down into the bag of items he had just finished ringing up and charging to Gina’s card.

“I feel like I’ve been supplying a terrorist with weapons of mass destruction. She’s such a menace.”

The paper sack with the dildos bounced hard and heavy against the glass and he reached down behind his counter for a handful of batteries and something else you couldn’t place, some small packets, samples of something maybe, which he carefully placed inside the other bag.

“What’s that?”

“Just some samples. Lubes and condoms and such.” The receipt was printing and he carefully placed the small strip of paper on the counter in front of you. “Some are flavored, m-maybe you can find something that your boyfriend likes…I gave you lots of different kinds.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of those.” You reached for the pen and quickly scribbled in your signature on the dotted line, trying to ignore the trembling in your hand as you pushed the paper back toward him.

He looked down at the receipt, holding the tiny strip up too close to his face as he scrutinized it for too long and you found no other reason to delay your departure. You could feel his eyes watching as you left and when you turned back around at the front door, he was definitely still watching you.

“Let me know how you like the rest of Jane Eyre,” you called back to him and his eyes widened as he glanced once over at his laptop, “it’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah, definitely,” he said with a chipper note to his voice and the little wave of his hand practically hit you right in the chest with how adorable it was.

Your period started almost as soon as you stepped foot into your apartment that night, bringing with it all the usual cramps and annoyances that usually accompanied it and you scowled at the bad timing, chucking the bag with your shiny new toy onto the kitchen counter to think about much later.

Ventures outside of your apartment that week had a different flavor now. Much sweeter with the anticipation that you might run into him. You checked your mailbox just a few more times more than necessary and walked just a little bit slower up that stairwell on the north side of the building.

You were rewarded for your efforts every now and then. You found yourself inside the little room with the rows and rows of mailboxes closing it to the realization that you were checking your mail for the second time that day even though you knew it would be empty when the sound of the door opening behind you brought your attention and your hopes up. You spun around to see who might also be checking their mailbox on a national holiday when there wasn’t even any mail being delivered.

“Oh,” Sehun’s face was genuinely surprised and it took just a moment for the sweet smile he seemed to reserve just for you to fill his features, “Hi.”

His steps through the door halted for just a moment and his eyes trailed from your face down the entire length of you, right where you stood, hand still on your keys at your now closed mailbox.

The descent of his eyes felt quick, like the strike of a matchstick and yet the heat caused as the friction ignited a flame burned under your skin. When he pulled those eyes back up it was with parted lips that hung open and the tip of his tongue danced along the pink of his bottom lip. You knew…you knew the flavor of those lips had to be sweet. With a face like that, you were nearly certain they would be.

When you heard the sound of your name said in that voice of his, it honestly took you a moment to realize he had said it twice. You must have been in another Oh Sehun induced trance. He had just asked you something.

“Hmm?” You’d missed it, only brought out of the fantasy by the sound of your name.

He laughed. His eyes curved, cheekbones popped up pink rounds and you heard the short chuckle from within his chest as he laughed.

His legs moved now, animated by your airheaded response, he took three big steps on this long legs and found the mailbox that sat only two spaces away from yours, found a space to place his feet right beside yours close enough for the warmth of his arm to brush up against yours and you watched the side profile of his face as he unlocked his mailbox, bent his head down and peered inside.

His lips, which had been pulled into a harmless smile, downturned as he looked inside his empty mailbox.

“Nothing. Not even a bill,” he said into the hollow square with his neck still craned downward to see inside the box, “Nobody loves me.” His pout was pronounced and powerful.

You stared at his profile, breathing through parted lips and wondering if you had actually said hi to him when he came in or if you had been silently gawking at his beauty. You searched your memory of the last minute. Checked him out - check. Imagined the taste of his lips - check. Noticed the way his shoulders and biceps below filled out that soft pink sweater he wore - check. Imagined kissing away the pout on his lips again and again until he kissed you back - check.

“No mail, no texts, no calls, no visitors…you won’t even say hi or answer the questions I ask you—“ he turned his face, still hunched down at his mailbox level and coincidentally your level as well and you inhaled a sharp breath when his eyes caught ahold of yours and held on tight.

“Hi, Sehun,” you squeezed out, “Sorry, I didn’t hear your question earlier.”

He lifted his head and angled his chest toward you when he moved, leaning a shoulder against the wall of closed boxes with hardly enough space between you for a whisper let alone a normal conversation that you might be able to handle like a normal person.

“You didn’t hear it?” His eyebrows danced on his forehead and you fought the flinch when you saw him moving, leaning in closer. You took a breath through your parted lips and you smelled him. Clean, crisp, much too strong and much too good for just one breath, you inhaled again as he moved in closer and when the tips of his fingers trailed along your face you were certain that your skin was on fire.

“Is this better? Can you hear me talking to you now?” His lips brushed against your cheek as the low timbre of his voice danced over your ear. Every square inch of your skin prickled and your breath caught once inside your chest before you forced your lungs to expand.

You nodded your head and he felt it against his cheek as he pulled his face back and away from you to look into your eyes again.

“I hear you now,” you managed despite the whirlwind spinning inside your chest and the fire raging over your skin.

This man…

“What was it that you asked me?” Within the fire burned a curiosity now. You could feel the playfulness in his actions and you were never much for being teased. Something about Sehun’s teasing was something else altogether and you ached to get to the bottom of it. Was he just playing with you? Was this just for his own amusement? Did he feel the same desires as you did? Did he want to come over?

“I just asked if there was any mail today, but you ignored me and made me walk all the way over here to check for myself.” He was pouting. You were certain of that as you watch the plump downturn of his lips in front of you.

You weren’t sure what this sensation was, but it surged through your chest and it was complete. His face was so close to yours and those hands with their warm fingertips that laid lightly over your jawline certainly had some magic inside of them. Whatever the magic was, it took your voice. Your response, although you were certain had some structure deep within your mind had scattered upon the wind and vanished like ashes on the breeze over a cliff and you stood, mouth agape, eyes wider than necessary to see his face clearly, and you watched as the pout on his lips slowly lifted and flattened.

“I’m kind of glad I did though,” his whisper felt like a secret and you, the voyeur who caught a glimpse.

“I think it’s a holiday today,” you said after the eternity you spent caught within the aftereffects of his whisper and the sharp inhale of breath he took seemed to bring with it the strength needed to remove his hands from your skin. Instantly, as if the electric charge no longer had a path to travel, you felt emancipated.

He pulled his shoulders back and your eyes lingered over their broadness of their own will.

“Why are you checking your mail if you knew it was a holiday?” The question pulled your focus up into his face and he narrowed his focus and his eyelids with a subtle smirk, “Don’t tell me you came in here just so you might run into me?”

That sensation was back, only this time it moved through you hard and fast and you swallowed hard against the lump that dammed up your throat.

You rolled your eyes. You rolled them fast and you rolled them wide enough for even a spectator watching from across the street at the coffee shop would be able to see it clearly enough and you did it for self-preservation. This was survival. The inhale you forced into your lungs only made it halfway and you felt like gasping again as the oxygen deprivation had offed with your sharp mind again. The eye roll would have to be enough of a denial. Your brain simply wasn’t cooperating with you anymore.

A subject change though– “So how did you like Jane Eyre? Did you finish both parts?” Remarkably, your own voice didn’t sound as though it had been fed through a tunnel on a 1930s gramophone, but actually sounded quite stoic and controlled to your own ears.

His eyes widened dramatically and his face suddenly came alive with the dramatic gasp he took. You watched with burning envy, the ease of his breathing in and out. He didn’t seem to be light headed at all in your presence.

“I didn’t get to see part two!” he practically shouted with the dramatics in his voice and the sound of his own excitement reverberated off the walls of the tiny room, making him glance around himself as if he had been unaware of his own volume.

“My laptop crashed. I lost everything.” His voice dropped some and the pout was back, this time much more sincere than the last and you fought the urge to frown your lips in response to his little frowny face. “I have to wait until it’s repaired before I can download it again.”

“I have it.”

Stupid lips, stupid tongue, stupid mouth. You were pretty sure he would survive until his laptop was repaired and he was able to download the stupid second half of that mini-series himself. It wasn’t exactly a life or death situation. Why did you always do this? Offer things…to sexy people…who probably didn’t even like you like that?

“Jane Eyre. That adaptation that you were watching, I have it at home.” His ears perked up instantly and his frown vanished with the lift of his eyebrows.

Yet his lips remained closed despite the genuine life you saw surging within his brown irises.

“It’s my favorite actually. I’ve watched it over and over again. I’ve seen the other ones too but none of them hit me quite like this one does.” Try as you might, you just couldn’t seem to stop it. His silence didn’t help one bit. Was he actually biting down on his bottom lip right now? “If you wanted y-you could–”

“Come over and watch it with you?” when he finally chose to speak, it was over your bumble of words and you found yourself struck dumb with his suggestion.

You had been thinking more along the lines of letting him borrow the DVD but this…this felt–

“Oh…oh okay,” you said.

“I mean if that’s okay with you.” The pink you were certain you had seen on his cheeks during some of your previous interactions was back and he cleared his throat softly and rubbed at the tip of his nose with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, no–yeah, that’s…” You had to close your eyes and steady your tongue, “that sounds nice. Uhh, I’m actually free all day today, so like…whenever–”

All at once his face transformed. The pink faded some as his smile spread and you watched the physical manifestations of actual excitement paint his features. There was a little celebration in his limbs a split second before you felt the warmth of his arm as he wrapped it easily around your shoulder, sending your consciousness into another realm as the smell of him hit you hard and fast.

“Yay,” he was cheering and steering you out the door of the mail room down the walkway that led toward your apartment. Of course, he knew which was yours. You knew which was his and the soft warmth you felt in the palms of his hands as he touched you freely and liberally was beginning to send foggy clouds through your mind’s eye.

Could he possibly… You suddenly couldn’t see anything clearly anymore.

You felt his warmth at your back as you fumbled with the lock and your nerves were sent into overdrive when you felt the weight of his chin rest over your shoulder as the stupid key missed the keyhole twice before you made it in.

You wanted to lean into his cheek with your cheek and feel the softness there. You wanted to turn your head and see if he would stay put as you placed a light kiss on his cheek or if he would turn his head and meet your kiss with his own.

It couldn’t just be you… right?

Inside your apartment was a mess. Well not terrible, but definitely not as clean as you would have liked if you knew you would be having company, but if Sehun noticed he made no sign of it. He merely released his hold on your shoulders and followed you inside, slipping off his shoes and still feeling impossibly tall and impossibly sexy without them.

This man was unfair.

Your eyes were on him.

His looked around with a quiet wonder as he took in your place. As you busied yourself with rooting through your DVD collection for the familiar title.

Sehun’s eyes were on your things. Your mantle that housed small framed pictures of your family. Little decorative pieces that you rather enjoyed displaying for their design or their colors. He lifted a hand, touching things with a smile on his lips as if he were visiting an exhibit at a museum.

“Is this you?” He picked up a blue frame that you knew had an old Polaroid from when you were five years old, wearing some fancy dress that made you feel like a princess that you had insisted you must wear for a casual stroll around the block.

You nodded and tried desperately to pull your focus back to the entertainment center where the movies were not organized in any way that would make this search easy.

“You’ve always been cute,” he said under his breath and you wondered if you passed out from dizziness, would he call an ambulance or just awaken you with a kiss.

He had run out of mantle now and turned the corner into your kitchen as he looked at the display of pictures you kept stuck to your fridge.

You really couldn’t help your sentimental nature. Memories faded without the frequent reminders and you could see him snooping along below the cupboards that gave you just enough of a view of the kitchen to know he would be running out of places to look unless he decided to start opening cupboards.

You’d reached the end of the entertainment cabinet. The elusive Jane Eyre remained absent and you were struck with a memory from last week.

You had been a lotta bit drunk and just a little bit weepy about the state of solitude of your life and you’d pulled the movie out to watch alone in your bed. You’d have a good cry and finish the chocolate covered almonds you found in the cupboards but the alcohol had other ideas and you passed out with your jeans still on only to wake up late for work and with a splitting whiskey headache.

There was a rustling of paper in the kitchen.

“Sehun, I think I left the movie in my bedroom. I was going to watch it in bed the other night-“

The rustling stopped when he emerged from the kitchen carefully holding a pink box in both of his hands and your words got stuck within the quicksand that filled your throat.

Though your words failed you, you found yourself pulled toward him with an urgency in your legs, pulled by that damned pink box and the compelling need to get it out of his hands. Sure, he had touched it himself. Sure he was the one to first turn it on, but it was yours now and you had been working up the nerve to open it for two whole days after your period ended.

You swore up and down, you were getting to it, dammit.

He saw you closing in and you felt the corner of the box for a split second before it was gone and Oh Sehun, fucking Oh Sehun used his height against you with a simple straightening of his arm over his head.

“Do you mean to tell me, you’d rather watch sad movies and cry in bed than…than…try out this wonderful little thing that I personally picked out for you?”

He sounded hurt, but it was fake. You knew him well enough by now and you could definitely hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m hurt,” he whined and the downturn of his lips didn’t even tremble at the edges as he sold it well.

You jumped a little, reaching harder, and he placed a hand out over your belly, fingers splayed as he lightly pushed you back and lifted the box up higher.

“Did you even open it?” You felt something strange and something real in this and the doubt made you stop your attempts to retrieve the box and look at his face.

“I-I was going to, eventually…I just didn’t get the chance yet.”

His fingers suddenly moved over the box, reaching the edge you watched as he pulled the package open and peered inside with focus.

He slipped two fingers inside of the box and pulled out a small card with what appeared to be writing on it. He set the box down carefully on the counter and held the card in his hands for a moment before he also set the card down, face up and right beside.

“I thought maybe you were just too shy to call me,” he began and you could make out his name written in hasty blue ink and a phone number below, “and at the same time I thought maybe you didn’t like me.”

No way. There was no way he slipped his phone number into that box that you didn’t even open. And to think, all this time you could have been staring at those digits scrawled in his own handwriting below that beautiful name that begged to be called out in your sweetest voice when he answered the call. You could have been working up the nerve to hit the call button on your phone instead of just working up the nerve to use a fucking sex toy designed for women for fuck’s sake. You pushed forward, slipping your hand below the space between where his arm rested over the countertop and his waist leaned up against your cupboards and you touched the little paper card with your index and middle finger as you carefully slid it off the edge of the counter into your waiting fingertips.

He let you, his eyes following the movement carefully as you took the card into your possession and held it below your nose so you could see just what you had been missing.

Oh Sehun

The writing was small and delicate and you remembered the sharp edge of the fine tip pen you signed your own name with on that receipt paper. On the other side of this card, was, of course, the name of the sex shop, but that didn’t matter one bit because here, on the back, was his name and his phone number.

“You’re smiling,” he whispered and you quickly bit down on your lips to control your reaction. He made a sound at the back of his throat. It was a whine and you bit down on your lips harder.

“It’s gone now,” he said with a sigh before turning his attention back to the open box on the counter. You heard a rustling inside the paper bag again and he was pulling the packaging open just as he had done in the store to free the little pink vibrator from its commercial confines once again. The batteries were in and you clutched the tiny card with both hands squarely in front of your chest as if this tiny thing could offer you any sort of protection at all from the tension you felt building inside your veins as you watched him.

“Why didn’t you use it? Why didn’t you just open it and find my number and call me?” Sehun was complaining. A quick succession of words flew out of his mouth with a faint buzzing soundtrack and you pouted your own lips with your chin down in full chagrin when he looked at you.

“I was going to eventually. I was working up the nerve.”

“Nerve? What nerve? You just turn it on and go. There is no nerve when you are alone.”

How to explain? How would you be able to put into words that you had never used any sort of sex toy on yourself and you weren’t exactly sure it was all it was cracked up to be. How to explain that you agreed to let him pick out the stupid thing for you when all you really wanted was to go through the process of him picking out the stupid thing for you. When all you really wanted was that interaction with his beautiful face and his voice and his hands on you and his attention. How could you explain that what you really wanted to bring home was him and the vibrator was just an afterthought?

“I just don’t really know about that thing Sehun.” Your excuses were not enough. You had so much more bubbling deep inside of you that you wanted to say but everything about spilling your guts with confession after confession made you feel so intimidated that you could hardly even get the excuse out believably without feeling like a fool. “B-But…If I found this card, I would have called you.”

The second sigh from his chest was longer and more drawn out and his eyes watched your face closely for a moment before he took a step closer to where you stood with your back against your fridge now, still clutching that stupid card in between your fingers.

Your eyes widened when you saw him take the step and you closed then instinctively in some vain attempt to calm your racing heartbeat that was beginning to make you deaf from as loud as it rang out against your eardrums.

When you opened your eyes he was in front of you and the buzzing continued within his hand. There was a soft tug on the card and you held your grip, pinching your fingers tighter when he tried to pull it.

“It’s mine,” you said with a petulance to your voice that he seemed to find amusing. You saw the signs of his smile in the curve of his eyes.

“What is?” he said softly. You tried your best to ignore the faint vibration you felt against the back of your forearm where he rested his closed hand. “My number? Technically it’s mine.”

“But you gave it to me.” You caught the slip of his eyes as he watched your mouth as you spoke.

“I gave it to you to use, just like this.” the buzzing changed and you felt it, more pronounced against your arm, moving higher up your shoulder as he followed the pathway with his hand. As he rounded the curve of your shoulder you had to close your eyes again. The vibration felt more pronounced along the curve of your neck and you could make out the steady sounds of his breathing when it reached the tip of your earlobe.

You felt, all at once, overwhelmed. The heat that had spread within your veins felt electric and your skin felt too sensitive for him to not even be touching you with his hands, but only that little buzzing thing. You felt the electricity lower, spreading throughout your chest, hardening sensitive buds and prickling your skin as it moved through you, leaving a sticky warmth in its wake.

He wasn’t finished at your ear. The actual sound of the buzzing quieted some and trailed a pathway along your jaw until it reached the plumpness of your bottom lip. Here, the sensation was magnified even more and you had to relax the grip with which you held your hands so tightly, ignoring the fluttering of something to the ground you reached for him instead.

In a flash, the buzz was gone and your eyes were open to see his face up close. Your hands had found the knit of his billowy sweater and he watched you with half-closed eyelids and his lips parted, jaw relaxed.

When you leaned, it was into him and the journey was cut in half when he leaned into you.

Sehun kissed you, or you kissed him. You weren’t quite sure who reached who first but the softness of his lips and the wetness of his mouth that opened up over yours felt like the first long overdue drink of water after a five mile run in the summer heat.

That first quick kiss didn’t quench it. That first taste merely heightened the thirst that you felt within your chest and when the need for a pause came, for his lips to pull back and his head to rest lightly against your forehead, the taste of him on your tongue lingered and beckoned you into him.

The second kiss was definitely your doing. He seemed somewhat stunned as he watched your mouth up close with a languid blinking pace of his eyelids and his breath escaping his lungs in heavy bursts.

His trance provided you with the opportunity and you were, frankly, too desperate for the man at this point to give a damn. You leaned and your lips sought out his lips and he groaned into the hollow of your mouth. A low sound pulled from deep within his chest and your hands, unsatisfied with the woven strands of the fabric of that soft knit sweater he wore, your palms flattened and your fingertips dipped over his chest. He was firm. How could he be so firm and yet covered in such an unassumingly soft sweater that felt like the greatest lie you had ever been told. Yet you felt it, muscles upon muscles, fit and flexing below the tips of your fingertips and his kiss was changing.

The soft slack of his bottom lip, which had been perfectly formed to rest between your teeth tightened with the smile and you heard the small chuckle from his throat a moment before he pulled away again.

“Honey, I believe you’re trying to feel me up.” His kiss pulled away, but more significantly, he angled his chest just enough away from your roaming fingertips to bring a wave of disgruntlement into your mind. You must have pouted because he looked down at your lips and reached forward to kiss you once more. “It tickles,” He said into the kiss.

“Of course I’m feeling you up. How dare you be this fit?” His only response was a laugh and you came to the half realization that you hadn’t felt the buzzing of that vibrator in a while. A glance down at his hands showed them empty and yet you could still, just lightly feel it somewhere.

Sehun watched your face during the brief examination before he moved into you again, even closer this time, you felt the hard knob of his knee as he pushed against your thigh, urging you to part your legs and let him inside and all at once you felt it when you straddled his right leg.

It was in his pocket, and there was a naughty smile on his lips when he reached for your legs, hooking both hands behind your knees with the cold stainless surface of your refrigerator at your back, shocking enough without the sudden and intense buzzing that sat directly between your legs. It was in his pocket, and you knew for sure that you weren’t the only one feeling it just a bit too close to your most sensitive parts. He had to feel the buzzing right beside his dick.

“T-That kind of…tickles too,” His arms were wrapped around you, holding you steady with a tight grip and when his mouth returned to you nip at your neck just below your ear you buried your face into his. The smooth skin of his jawline below your lips and the temptation of his earlobe begging for your mouth to bite down and you nearly did too–

“Does it just tickle? Perhaps I should turn it up.” There was a jostle. An interruption in his grip on you and all of a sudden there was a fire. And it was in your pants. He pulled you hard against his thigh and the gasp from your lungs was frantic as that vibration that sat just above his thigh, in between where you ended and he began nestled directly below your core. All at once, breathing became harder and you had to close your eyes to the overwhelming flood of sensations. It hit you fast and it hit you hard and he pushed his thigh higher, strong arms pulling your legs further apart you felt the strong vibrations land directly against your clit and the climax that had barely any time at all to build was washing over you.

You felt powerless to fight it. A shout, a curse, and a whimper left your lips as your legs trembled hard around his thigh. His strong arms that held you up were the only link to reality as the wave crested and flooded your body and you were pretty sure he would be able to feel the heat from the wetness between your legs. Your thin leggings weren’t much of a barrier and you were confident that your panties would be soaked through.

The room was spinning and he dropped his leg from in between yours, quick to wrap those arms around you before you could sag too far down on wobbly legs and you felt the tips of his fingers down near your ass where he gripped you tight enough to claim it was only for support. You didn’t have the mental capacity to protest in any way, not that you would. He’d just given you one hell of a ten-second orgasm by basically turning himself into a vibrator and giving you a ride.

“What the hell was that?” You finally managed through a breathless whisper and the motion of his shaking inhale had on its fringes an appreciative moan. When sounded out in that low voice of his that in and of itself might just drive you off another cliff if he kept doing it in your ear like this.

“That was full power,” he said, “and if I knew how fucking sexy you look when you cum, I would have found an excuse to come over days ago.”

You were beginning to think clearly again as he fished through his pocket to turn off the vibrator, struggling against the significant bulge you could clearly make out in his pants.

“Sehun.” Christ, did his name taste sweet on your lips. His eyes took their time looking up into your face and the way tip of his tongue darted out between his parted lips, left behind just enough wetness to glisten under your harsh kitchen lights. He didn’t respond to you calling his name with words, but there was some movement on his face as his eyebrow twitched upward a half a centimeter.

“Do you want to come see if we can find that movie in my bedroom?” That feeling of satisfaction was fleeting the longer you looked at him standing in front of you. His sweater was too soft and too much and you reached forward with your fingertips to push the fabric out of the way. His stomach tensed below your touch and muscles flexed. Of course, you saw abs below the fabric, but in the space below, right where the waistband of his jeans strained against the pressure behind his zipper, you hooked an index finger, meeting the smooth head of his dick that stood at attention against his belly. The slight brush you gave it with your fingertip made him hiss under his breath.

“How sure are you that it’s in there? I’m very thorough…we’ll have to check the room very well. Every bit of it. Particularly the bed…since that’s where you last saw it.” His mouth was running but you had released him. You moved and were already making your way out of the kitchen as you walked backward. You watched him closely as he played along with your silly little game.

“We could be searching all night long,” you added with a mischievous grin and his eyes widened and his lips hung open in an O. Something in your promise made him pause as he turned back into the kitchen to grab that paper sack with what you remembered was still filled with plenty of condoms.

THE END

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botmilf · 6 years

Note

I redact my Previous ask about Lombax ears, ... Instead, How do you go about choosing the colour pallets that you do, as in shade, highlights abd accents? They look absolutely amazing

Alrighty! So I usually like the shade my stuff during the line art stage (BEFORE painting it). It’s hard to see right now because of the grey paint. ANYWAY –

So, the reason why I have the paint so dark is because darkness amplifies light. Remesis is of House Blackspire–a family of space witches and wargs. Their famous family trait is their bright red eyes. So, I take the lightest red (sort of in the middle of red-red and pink) and GENTLY dab in the irises at first. Notice that the brightest part of the iris is near the bottom. This is where the light fills in the most.

So I got this next idea from @kookychicken where you fill in the sclera with a sort of greenish color. This amplifies the color of the sclera when you fill it in with a brighter shade.

SO next, I choose the shade of fur I want for Remesis, which is your typical sandy Lombax one. However, I don’t START with this color. Instead I’ll begin coloring with the darkest UNDERTONE to this lovely sandy color–which would be a reddish brown. After filling in the line art with the reddish brown, I then begin to gently color with the main tone. I usually press my pen a bit harder in the areas where there would be more light hitting–such as his brow.

AH YES! Now onward march to my favorite part of painting in photoshop heh! THE OVERLAYS! There are several different ones you can choose from. This one just so happens to be my favorite! ;D

(for your referencing pleasure heh!)

I’ll go way more in-depth in the livestream on Sunday! I’ll show as many different ways as I can think of on how to paint Lombuttses!

{finished product}

#anon #art tutorials #Lombax #Ratchet and Clank #Remesis Blackspire #vulpine-the-fox

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g-w-3-d-damn · 6 years

Text

Tricky Treats and Torture Candy (Loki’s Naughty Candy Shop) Part 8

(Click here for Part 1) (Click here for Part 2) (Click here for Part 3) (Click here for Part 4) (Click here for Part 5) (Click here for Part 6) (Click here for Part 7)

Loki combed his fingers through the silver hair at his temples and wrung the water from his dripping locks. He took a few steps and collapsed nude on the clubhouse sofa. A trio of lipstick-marked mannequins hurried inside, each waving an item of importance. The first mannequin shimmied a new pair of stretchy, wide-hipped black leggings in front of Miss. The second had a candy-striped drawstring apron for her. The third held two items. She egg-ecked excitedly as she waved the extra large t-shirt friendly bralette in front of miss. The first mannequin ran away, brought back a black belt. The second ran away, brought back a soft cotton tee. The third ran away and brought back an empty bodybag, to the horror of the other two.

The trio left Miss to dress herself, bounced excitedly around Loki's sleep-deprived naked body.

"What do you mean we're out of cherries? I swear I brought enough to fill the entire order? Argh, fine, I'll get us a refill," he said.

Loki and Miss descended the stairs with the flock of mannequins at their heels. The mannequins pressed Loki toward the door. He pushed back at the mannequins with a warning grunt and a wag of his fingers.

"Weigh yourself," Loki instructed Miss, "We can't open that door until we get your weight measured and recorded."

"But I'm dressed already," she protested.

"And you'll be wearing the same outfit most of the day, yes? Record your weight. Feel free to record that you were wearing clothes as well, but record your weight every two hours," he demanded.

She recorded her weight in the mirrored fitting room. Loki peeked through the purple curtains, past the candy striped pillars of the shop, hopeful that Highness had not yet darkened the storefront with her shade. Miss came from the fitting room. Disappointment and apathy drenched her voice as she told Loki she'd weighed herself. Loki darted from the storefront with the empty body bag folded under his arm before she could tell him the scale's findings. She sighed. The mannequins hugged her, brought her a Josta cola, and disappeared up the stairs. The lights lit, the curtains rose, the store opened, and in walked Highness in bright cherry frills.

"You seem to have put on a few pounds since I last saw you," Highness intoned.

Miss shrugged. Miss jerked her thumb towards the pallet of pink heart boxes. Highness smiled, yet no crinkle formed at the corner of her eye. Her cheeks did not rise. Her iris did not twinkle. Her white fake enamel teeth bared in insincerity. She skewered her prize and left. The door shut. The bell remained as silent as Miss herself. Miss sighed and sipped her soda.

"I wonder what this would taste like with a few shots of Fireball," Miss said.

The gumball machine rattled, twisted out an Atomic Fireball for her.

"Um, thank you," she said.

She sucked on the red ball and sipped the glass Josta bottle in relative silence, in a vain attempt to process all the changes in her body. Two hours passed. She felt heavier. Her apron grew tighter. She slipped off to weigh herself and discovered an extra 35 pounds from the previous hour. She untied her apron, tied it again loosely. She wondered if Loki had fallen asleep on his cherry run. The bell above the door jingled in unfamiliar but urgent alarm. Miss returned to her place behind the register, locked the filing cabinet, and set her keys in her front apron pocket with the pepperspray canister dangling out for quick access. The door opened, and in walked the two thugs that accosted Miss in the dark grocery parking lot the night before.

"Oh fuck no," Miss said beneath her breath. She looked up to the loft. She saw the shadows of the mannequins stir to hostile life.

"Dude, they do look just alike, but that can't be her," the one in the red hat said.

"Must be her fat sister," the other said, "hey lady, do you have a skinny sister?"

She held the pepperspray canister firmly in her fist.

"I do not," Miss said.

"I thought you said this was a sex shop," said Red.

"It is a sex shop," said Other, "I've been here, they sell those dongs."

"Oh yeah? Let's ask the fat lady. Hey, fat lady, do you guys sell these?" Red asked.

Miss made a disgusted face as he plopped the dark cherry red U shaped double dong on the counter.

"No," Miss said, "We absolutely do not sell that product here, and you two need to leave."

"Aww, you a little squeamish?" Other said, "we're just trying to find out where this thing came from, and we'll leave you alone!"

"It's not ours. Get lost." Miss growled.

The U shape dong vibrated at a pitch that matched Miss' growl. She peeked down at it and immediately back up to the eyes of the thugs. "And get that off my counter," she demanded.

"I don't have to listen to you," Other said.

"Hey, look at this!" Red said, "it's our dear president! You guys makin' money off my president?"

"Well, it's a pinata, so..." she said.

"What's that funny Mexican word you just said?"

"I don't owe you an explanation," Miss said, "but, for your own good, get out of my store. I won't tell you again."

"No I think you said that this is a pin- yacht- tee. One of those things you beat, and candy comes out of it," Other said.

Red ripped open the presidential pinata, shook both halves, and threw them to the ground. Miss sighed. She raised her pepperspray, and the bell jingled. The door flew open with a crash. The idiots turned to see Loki. The afterglow had faded from his pale face. The sleepless dark spots beneath his eyes circled up to his faded eyeliner. He strode toward them. His sinister visage left no room to believe him capable of any tolerance for further nonsense. The two thugs stared at the bodybag in his arms. Thick red goo dripped from the bag and splattered against the carpet. Loki bared his teeth in a malevolent, feral grin.

"Would you believe it's strawberry milkshake?" Loki hissed.

Red grabbed the other by the sleeve and pulled him away from Loki and out the door at a run. The bell jingled happily as the door shut and bolted itself for the evening closing ceremony. Miss put her pepperspray away.

Miss said, "Those were the guys from last night that Thor-"

"I know," Loki said, “Where is Thor and a shovel when you really need him?”

He laid the bodybag on the counter. Miss' face twitched.

"I should have told you that they put a used dong on the counter before you sat that down," she said.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Loki said.

He started for the stairs so he could finally get some sleep.

"But, where did it go?" Miss asked, "can you check the security footage to see if they took it with them?"

"Not if I don't have to," Loki said.

A vibration from inside the bodybag caused Loki to clench his fists.

"Oh no," Miss said, "you know it's the one that Highness wanted in cherry red, right?"

Loki huffed. He turned heel to toe and marched back to the cherries, intent on grabbing the U shaped dong and tossing it straight out the door. He lifted the bodybag only to discover the buzz coming from inside the bag. He unzipped the bag to discover a dark cherry red, plastic tail, waggling from the pile of cherries. Loki and Miss exchanged glances.

"Uh, it didn't look like that before," said Miss.

Loki took hold of the flipping tail and pulled it. A basset-hound-sized plastic dog in the same dark cherry-red plastic as the U shaped dong emerged from the cherry pit and woofed at Loki.

"Rocket? Rocket!" Loki squealed, "Oh what did that mean ol' witch do to you, huh boy?"

Loki hugged the buzzing plastic dog-mannequin and smooched it as it licked his face. Miss held her hands out in shock and disgust.

"Ugh no no no don't do that you don't know where it's been! Ugh, gross!" Miss cried. "Miss, this is Rocket! He's been missing for so long! Oh poor thing, he's probably been trapped in that packaging for a long time. No wonder we never could sell that dong. Oh goodness! And I kicked it! Oh I'm so sorry, boy!" Loki stammered.

"Okay now seriously," Miss said, "we have to throw out these cherries. Nobody can eat these."

"Oh relax, let Highness eat the butt-cherries, who the fuck cares," Loki said.

"Well... Okay, Highness can eat all the butt-cherries, but if you dip even one of those in the chocolate fountain or feed one to Thor I swear so help me..." Miss said.

"Did... Wait, pardon me for being sleepy, but you still call him Thor? Even after you've slept with him?" Loki asked.

"Well, uh, um, yes? Isn't that how we're supposed to talk to and about each other in here?" She said.

"Oh, yes, nobody uses their real names in here, but... Do you know his real name?" Loki inquired politely.

Miss stared at Loki without a response. Loki laughed.

"Oh, you little slut, you don't, oh well," he said.

"Hey now, we just had sex in your hot tub and you don't know my real name," Miss said.

"Oh I do, it was on your application," Loki said.

Loki smiled.

"You don't know my real name, either," Loki said.

Miss took a deep breath. She opened another Josta, settled into her stool.

"I'm not losing sleep over it," she said.

Loki rubbed his eyes. Red cracks reached from each corner of each eye all the way to the iris in their sleep-deprived state.

"Rub it in why don't you," Loki complained.

"You started it," Miss said. "Fair enough. C'mon boy, let's get you a bath!" Loki said.

"Yes, please for the love of fuck sterilize that mutt," Miss said, "and brush your teeth and gargle with bleach!"

"Oh whatever he got on him while he was out rutting about will come off when the cherry does," Loki said.

He took Rocket upstairs for a wash. Miss heard the familiar sounds of dental care and of gargled mouthwash. She was grateful that he took her suggestion, but also slightly concerned that Loki had potentially gargled actual bleach. Miss sighed to herself, took the new, larger, candyapple red Tricky Treats polo to the fitting room. She stripped out of her clothes and weighed herself, wrote down the number. She looked at herself in the mirror and wept at the change. She took a deep breath, told herself the candy shop was worth the changes, dressed herself, and stepped out to find Loki. Rocket shook soap suds from his floppy plastic ears. Rocket was now candyapple red, and Loki, though tired, looked very pleased with himself, until he saw the tears on Miss' face.

"What happened?" he asked, "I'm sorry, I know I should probably already know what's wrong, but I'm very sleepy."

"Oh, just, the guys, they scared me, and they called me fat," Miss said, "they didn't even recognize me as the same girl they were gonna violate. Not that I wanted to be recognized, just..."

She wept. Loki hugged her. His minty breath smelled lovely, and not at all like misplaced red rocket thug cooties.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with them again," Loki said, "I can have them taken care of if that would make you feel safe."

"I don't feel like I deserve to feel safe," she said.

Loki drew his face away from her, but held his embrace.

"Why not?" he asked.

She shrugged. She spoke between sobs.

"I've gained 70 pounds in two days, I lived in a homeless shelter, nobody cared, I'm getting so much sex and it's so confusing, I can't tell what I've done to deserve my good luck, or my bad luck, and nobody's ever truly safe, and I think they think I deserve to be vulnerable, and, I don't know why, but I think maybe they're right," she said.

Loki rolled his eyes, closed them, and sighed.

"That's a lot to unpack, but don't," he said, "whatever this fearful, despairing feeling is, it'll pass. It can't live long in a place like this. I'm going to track down the reason you're gaining weight and put a stop to it. I'm going to make sure you stay safe and healthy. I'm going to make sure you have everything you need, and I intend to make sure you have everything that a brave, ballsy woman like you deserves. I'm going to deal with those hooligans so you do not have to worry about them ever again."

Loki's face dropped when his words did not cure Miss' broken sobs. He felt suddenly off-balance, insecure, and wondered, in fear, why these promises were not enough to heal the situation. He hugged her tightly.

"I'm going to need you to step inside the fitting room with me again, and weigh yourself," he said.

He pulled Miss to her feet with a gentle tug. He led her toward the fitting room. His long fingers snatched into the candy-condom bowl as they brushed past. He opened the door to the fitting room and stepped inside with her. She got on the scale and discovered she had not gained any further weight. Loki rubbed her shoulders.

"Will you take off your clothes?" Loki asked.

She hesitated, then shrugged and undressed without ceremony. She stood on the scale again and did not notice much change. She stepped off and reached for her pile of clothing. Loki took her hand.

"I meant, would you take off your clothes for me, not for your weight," he said.

She didn't look at him. She could still see their reflection repeated to infinity no matter where she looked.

"I'm not going to pressure you," he said, "I want to see you feel good about yourself."

"Thanks, I guess," she said.

Loki closed his eyes in thought.

"What did I do that made you go from the winner of the best hot-tub sex ever award to this shy thing that won't look me in the eye?" he asked.

She snorted.

"It was mostly them," she said.

"Then I must kill them," he said.

"It was only mostly them," she said.

"Can you tell me what I did?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, "you called me a slut."

His jaw tensed. His brain buzzed with lines for self-defense. He shook them from his sleep-deprived mind.

"Yes, I did that," he admitted, "and I intend to flog myself for it later."

"Why bother?" she asked.

"Because it made you feel like... how do you feel?" he asked.

She shrugged again. She knew it made her feel disappointed, but she did not want to articulate it. He motioned to her shrugging action.

"Like that. It made you feel like that and I didn't want you to feel like that. Truly, I am impressed with you, I do not care who you sleep with or how fast you each came onto each other. If anything this just makes you sexier to me," he said.

He held her chin and turned it to face herself in the mirror.

"But I need you to be sexy to you," Loki said, "not to me."

She shook her face out of his grasp.

"What for?" she asked.

"Selfish reasons like forgiving myself, making more money with you behind the register, and because I love to see you glow. And you only glow when you're confident. And you're only confident when you're sexy to yourself. And whatever I've done to undermine your self-vision, is unforgivable. Especially after all you've done for me," he said.

"So are you trying to tell me that you don't think I'm a slut?" Miss asked.

"I'm very in-eloquent when I haven't slept. I probably meant to say minx," he crooned, "because you are. You're very sexual, sensual, and attractive. And sassy. But that's not what I said, and what I said has injured you. Perhaps I thought you could handle more sass, and I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Well, I did say you looked like a Hot Topic hooker," Miss said.

"Yes, you did, but you said it to me on a good day, and I did this bullshit today, while you were still processing trauma from those assholes that tore up my shop," he said.

"Yeah, sorry I haven't cleaned that up," she said.

"The mannequins can get it. Honestly, seeing that pinata smashed up on the floor is not hurting my feelings any. I think it rather adds to the decor," he said.

Miss smirked and giggled. She covered her jiggling nipples with one arm and her mouth with the other. Loki swooned suddenly. He groaned, shook his head, and stood back up.

"I'm sorry," he said, "it's a little past time for my transition."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I understand," Miss said.

He guided her hands to the top button of his black dress shirt. He pressed close to her. He looked into her eyes. "I'm not done here, yet. You won't see her for a while. Until this is done, I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"What is it? What needs done?" Miss stammered.

He pressed his face close to hers and offered his lips to her to kiss.

"Let's not even act like I wouldn't let that man fuck my brains out without even so much as a made-up name," Loki said.

"Do you want me to bring you to Thor?" Miss said.

Her voice wavered in her excitement.

"Sometime, yes," he whispered, "but right now I want you, to see you, how I see you, when I'm inside you."

"I'd rather look at you," she said.

"So do it," he said.

He brushed his fingertips over her knuckles to encourage her to unbutton his shirt and disrobe him. She slipped one button at a time through the black buttonholes to reveal the pale skin beneath. She took her time and enjoyed running her fingers over his flesh beneath the silky fabric. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and admired his skinny back in the mirror. She caught a look at herself, overweight, her peachy skin visible on both sides of his skinny hips. She hesitated with her fingers on his belt buckle.

"Really?" he said, "you're really not sure you deserve it?"

"I," she said, "I don't like how fat I look."

"Are you really going to deny yourself the pleasure of watching us fuck just to avoid your own self-scrutiny?" Loki asked.

"When you put it that way it does seem pretty stupid," she said.

"You deserve to feel good," he said, "look at me if that's what makes you feel good."

She undid the belt, let his tall dark pants slip down his long pale legs. She stared at his ass, almost as high and almost as tight as his younger counterparts' ass. His cock stood out in infinitum in the mirror. His hip jutted as he knelt to pick the condom from his pocket that now laid in the floor. The infinity of reflections of his jutting hip disappeared over an arbitrary horizon. His breath blasted against the mirror as he slipped the condom onto himself. His breaths left wisps of evaporating condensation that grew bigger with every muted, shuddering sigh. No matter where Miss looked, she saw herself getting fucked by this man she met days ago. Since that day, she wanted him with all her swelling cunt, and now she had him. She saw him manipulate her plump body, and she blushed at how sensual her body truly looked. The heat from her skin left a sheen on the mirror as he nipped at her neck.

"You will always deserve an afterglow," he moaned in her ear.

She felt his cock churn within her. She watched his ass swish in circles between her legs while he knocked swirls of pleasure into her. Her outcries echoed in the small fitting room and poured back on her. Her voice grew as her pleasures grew, ad nauseum infinitum, in feedback loops of sound and mirrored sex. And all the while he crooned at her that she deserves the world. The mist grew on the mirrors as the pair panted and broke into a sweat. The mist softened their visage, coalesced until all that was left of the infinite reflections was a blurred mess of diffused writhing flesh.

"I love the way you look naked. I'm so glad that you let me see you this way. I tried, that first day, when you let me toy you through your pants, I tried to learn what your body wants. Where your favorite spot is. I remember you swirling your hips in the air when I toyed you, and I'm not surprise that you're screaming now every time I swirl my cock over that spot. But I am surprise at one thing," he said.

"What," she panted.

"The inside of you has changed, just like the outside. You're tighter, now. The walls are closing in from the layer of fat inside. You're tighter, harder, yet softer, all at the same time. And it's surprising, and it feels amazing, and I don't think I'm going to last much longer," he whimpered.

He looked at her with striking but bloodshot eyes. She nodded. She wrapped her legs around him with a firm pressure and did all she could to squeeze her insides around him.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he called.

He roared and prayed to her. He howled and groaned. Every taboo noise he'd held back since he met her gushed from between his clenched, bared teeth. He bounced on his heels and fucked into her in short quick thrusts. She held her grasp on him as strong as she could until he swooned and fell to his ass with her in his lap. She held him against her and rolled her hips, worked herself down him. He lost his face in her breasts, certain he'd die this time.

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willelbyers · 7 years

Text

As The Seasons Change (we do, too)

Summary: Spring turns to summer and Mike falls out of love. Summer turns to autumn and he falls right back in—but it’s with the wrong person. Three years later, autumn turns to winter and he knows that everything is different. Pairings: Will/Mike, past Mike/El Notes: It’s post-season 2, about 4,300 words, with a healthy dose of Will & Max and Mike & El friendship on the side

So this is dedicated to Mishi @biwheelers because she’s amazing and a byeler shipper and so many of my ideas are from conversations with her and I couldn’t be more grateful! (Read her writing, too, because it’s awesome!)

This is posted on Ao3 here as well as written out below the cut. Enjoy!

It’s April. They’re almost in high school now, the two months left of school leading into the summer before freshmen year looming over them, thirteen turning fourteen years old and counting, and Mike knows that everything is different, or at least is going to be different—and not just because of the monsters.

Even now, four months after the Snowball, he remembers the feeling of his stomach flipping and his eyes going wide as El walked through the school’s doors in her new dress. He remembers how electric she made him feel when they kissed. He knows that he loved her, because she’s dazzling and bright and so, so beautiful. It almost burns. And he knows that they’re barely teenagers, and he knows that it’s a little early to experience love, but that doesn’t change that it is what it is.

He visits her in the (new) Hopper family’s hidden cabin once a week, usually accompanied by the others. They hold hands, sometimes, and on the rare occasion they’re left alone, Mike will indulge himself in more of that electricity he finds himself chasing after all the time. Her hair curls as her vocabulary expands, and her wardrobe slowly evolves with the help of their friends into something that’s a mix of what the Chief had been giving her, more of Nancy’s old clothes, and whatever she’d been wearing when she showed up at Will’s doorstep.

El is the wind and smoke and lightning, shifting and changing as she feels like it, and Mike loves her for it. They all do.

But then spring turns to summer and Mike falls out of love.

It happens all at once and he doesn’t understand: he sees Eleven now and he still loves her—because how could he not?—but the burning feeling is gone. There are no more butterflies, no more eyes-wide-open moments. The memory of electricity has dulled—he hasn’t kissed her in a while, and he thinks with a thrill of fear that she must have noticed.

So one day in June, he grabs his bike and pedals into the woods even though it’s four in the afternoon on a Tuesday and not a visiting day. He moves as though he isn’t in control of his own body anymore, and as he knocks on the door he feels another tingle of fear because though the pain isn’t comparable, this is what Will must have felt like when He was here.

El lets him in, confused because she knows no one scheduled this. Mike looks at her, with her hair curling around her ears and one of Max’s sweatshirts layered on top of Nancy’s old pale yellow T-shirt paired with some of Will’s jeans and black combat boots he doesn’t recognize, and he doesn’t know how to tell her that he doesn’t think he can kiss her anymore and he doesn’t know why.

So he tries, instead. He leans forward with every intent to meet her mouth, but he just… can’t. He can’t. He turns his head at the last minute and kisses her cheek instead before hugging her. A surge of guilt wells up in his chest and he can’t quite pinpoint why, because it’s not like he’s hurting her by not kissing her.

“I love you,” he says instead, and it doesn’t feel like a lie at all.

Her arms come up to wind around his shoulders, and he feels her mouth turn up into a small smile—the only kind she knows how to make. “Thank you, Mike. I love you, too.”

There’s something in her voice that should give Mike pause, but he ignores it because maybe reality won’t exist if he pretends it isn’t there.

Spring turns to summer, and Mike pretends that he’s still in love.

Summer break rolls right on by, and the high school building looms in the mind of every incoming freshman—including Mike.

So he does what every sane kid would do: he ignores it. He fills the dull spaces between waking and sleeping with friends (and less with family), with day trips to a nearby lake, with visits to the Hopper House, with absolutely anything. It goes by in a flash, his basement blurring in with Will’s room and then the park, every time they watch Max as she skates mixing up with playing with Dustin’s new cat and chasing Lucas’ sister down for stealing their stuff. Mike thinks that maybe next year, he should try to slow down, because summer is gone far too quickly for his liking and it feels like he’s done nothing at all.

That feeling comes to a complete stop, however, one day in September. School has been in session for a few weeks already, and the leaves are turning red and yellow. Mike walks through the forest with Will (and only him) at his side, taking careful steps that crunch on every brown leaf and coordinate with Will’s smaller strides.

They walk in circles for a while before Will takes an abrupt turn. Mike follows him because he’s too trusting, because even though this is the same forest where everything has gone wrong in the past and Will tried to kill him a year ago, Mike would die for him.

And it wasn’t even Will, then, he reminds himself. It’s hard to shake the memory of Will’s shattered eyes and broken screams, the emptiness of a slate wiped clean and the horrendous thrashing and the pure hatred in his face, but Mike knows it wasn’t Will at all.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but as Castle Byers comes into view and they fall back into step with each other, Mike grabs Will’s hand. He’s only fourteen years old, but he knows what love is. He knows that electricity El used to give him, and he knows that Will’s hand gives him that, too.

They settle down inside the fort, Mike so tall that his head brushes the ceiling as they sit. He realizes that Will hasn’t let go of his hand, and he still doesn’t as his right one picks up a sketchbook. He flips it open and Mike watches as each page presents a face—some in deft strokes of black marker on white, some loose sketches in pencil, but most in strange monochromatic color pencil pallets that are almost ethereally beautiful. He sees exactly one self-portrait of Will, in indigo. His lips are tilted down into a frown, but he doesn’t look sad—maybe just focused. Mike notices Max in orange, her face taking up the whole page with hair seemingly spilling off the edges—Will really does seem to be making the effort to help her integrate into the party. Even if Mike still isn’t thrilled about it, he recognizes that she helps Will, and that Lucas likes her, and they all deserve it. Lucas himself is in a pale red, looking challengingly out at the figurative audience with his bandana on. Dustin is in a bright, sunshine yellow, grinning at someone out of the metaphorical frame. There’s El in green, one page with her face just as he knows Will first remembers seeing her—shaved head, Nancy’s dress with the neat collar, determined stare. The page directly opposite has more of El in the same color, but smaller, different angles and hairstyles and outfits, one sketch of her wrist with the tattoo, some full-body silhouettes. Mike supposes that Will probably gets El to model for him a lot—they’ve been spending a lot more time with each other since Jim and Joyce started dating.

There’s one of Mrs. Byers herself in some dark shade of pink, with a bright smile Mike can’t really ever remember seeing on her—and he’s known the woman for ten years, so that says a lot. There’s Jonathan in turquoise, camera raised just up to his shoulder. There’s one of Steve in purple, bat over his shoulder. Nancy makes the cut as well, a gray-blue color tracing her as she looks over her shoulder. Even Chief gets a sketch, though it’s not done—Mike can only make out the vague shape of his hat and face in a mustard yellow before the page turns.

He spots himself, too, on more than one occasion. His face takes up several pages in light shades of blue, soft smile on his face as his hair falls into his eyes no matter the angle or pose, and his stomach swoops because in that moment he understands how Will sees him.

When summer arrived he knew he wasn’t in love anymore, but as autumn storms past he knows that he’s fallen right back in.

Senior year is crazy even within the first month. El is working overtime already, managing the lighting booth for the theater club and taking a job at the local diner as a waitress during the evenings. Lucas is on the football team and Dustin joins band. Max works the afternoon shifts at the skate shop across the street from the diner—she hasn’t lived with her mom or stepdad or stepbrother in over a year, hopping between her friends’ houses; she needs the money.

Will joins in with El, volunteering on weekends to paint the backdrop for the school plays and working as a waiter at the same diner. Will and El do everything together, now, because Joyce Byers is now Joyce Hopper, El has a family after a lifetime without one, and Will finally has the sister he needs and has a mutual understanding with. They finally have all the things they deserve.

Mike, on the other hand, doesn’t even have a job because his parents insist he doesn’t need one.

“You need to focus on your studies, Michael,” his mother tells him when he hesitantly proposes the idea of him finding a job—at the grocer, maybe, or the music store that opened right next door to the skate shop. “College is coming up fast, and you don’t have time to be away from your schoolwork.”

“Besides,” his father says through a mouthful of roast beef. “We have all the money you need. Once you have a degree and a real job, you can support yourself, but until then, just let us handle it.”

And it makes Mike feel bad, because his dad talks like he doesn’t know that Will and El and Max need the money from their apparently “not real jobs”. It makes him feel bad because he sees their name tags, the tiny silver pins that read Will and Jane, the lanyard with the card that said Maxine M. until Max took a sharpie to it, the uniform with Sinclair and the feathered hat with Henderson, and Mike wants to do something. It makes him feel bad because he feels useless all the time, because he might not need to support himself but he wants to. He wants to know that he can do it.

He sulks in his room a lot, alone, turning the pages in his textbooks without reading anything at all, and it just so happens that one Wednesday in November the temperature plummets. That day at half past four, he hears his supercom buzz on his bedside table, and he turns to frown at it. None of them really use it to communicate anymore. But he sets aside his homework to pick it up and listens as Will’s voice floods through, staticky, telling him to come downstairs.

Mike instantly flies out into the hallway, pulling on his jacket over his thick sweater. He thunders past Nancy’s empty room, which is slowly accumulating new layers of dust once again—even just in the two months since she’d gone back to college.

“I’m going out, Mom,” he says, slowing down in the kitchen just enough to get the words out coherently. She says something after him, but he’s already out the door.

“Mike,” Will sighs as the front door closes behind him. He’s wearing a puffy coat that has a distinct “this used to be Jonathan's” look, and there’s a hat pulled over his hair. He has a small bag slung over his shoulder. Mike notices the goosebumps on the back of Will’s exposed neck—the result of cool air interacting with a haircut from junior year that Will has maintained. Before Mike can reply, Will’s arms are wrapped tightly around him. “I’m so glad you were home.”

“Like I would be anywhere else,” he replies, somewhat bitterly. Then he frowns. “I thought you were supposed to be working at the diner with El tonight. It’s Wednesday.”

“Called in sick,” Will mumbles. “Technically not lying.”

The alarms go off in Mike’s head. “Anniversary effect?” he asks, and Will just nods, burying his face into Mike’s shoulder. Static crackles in Mike’s ear, and he suddenly realizes how Will called him on his radio when Will’s own comm is nowhere in sight.

The anniversary effect, Mike knows, is a very real thing. Will really does have PTSD, it’s just that the inter-dimensional visions thrown in make it hard to differentiate what’s what. But it’s November, and it’s finally getting—

“Cold,” Will says, finishing Mike’s thought. “Yeah. That’s what set it off. It’s cold.”

Mike blinks for a moment—he’ll never get used to Will cluing into his thoughts. But the cold has never had the same connotations for any of them since the Mind Flayer, and Mike knows it’s the worst for Will. “Okay. Well… what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?”

“Quarry,” Will answers immediately. “The quarry.” Mike tenses up, because Will’s suggested it before but they've never actually gone through with it, and now he really sounds certain and Mike’s not sure he can do it. “If that’s okay with you,” Will adds, tugging the strap of his bag so Mike can feel it. “I… I can’t draw, not right now, but I brought Jonath—my camera.”

Mike feels Will breathe against him for a moment and eyelashes flutter by his neck, making him shiver. He can’t draw, it always turns into maps and vines and dark versions of what he starts out with. It’s November.

Will deserves this—to make his art, to get a grip on his fears, and if Mike can help then he will. “Yeah. It’s fine. Let’s go.” Then he pauses, because Will and El’s shared car (a gift from Dr. Owens they hadn’t wanted until they realized how practical it was) is nowhere in sight. “Wait. How did you get here? How are we getting there? My parents would never let me take the car.”

Will pulls away, smiling slightly. He picks up a skateboard leaning against the side of Mike’s house—right, of course. Will and Max are really close, now, due to shared trauma and shared interests, and she’s been teaching him to skate. Honestly, he’s not bad. “We both know you’re terrible, though,” Will teases halfheartedly. “And there’s no way we’re skating all the way out there anyway. El needs our car at six, Lucas is at practice and Dustin is in rehearsal so we can’t take theirs, but Max is working late tonight and when I called she said we could borrow hers until half past eleven.”

Mike groans dramatically, and Will laughs softly (and that’s why Mike does it). Max’s car is a really old secondhand one, fixed up with parts cobbled together from the junkyard with help from Dustin, Lucas, and Steve, and it always smells like burnt onion rings. Mike hates it, and everyone knows it—but it drives (even if it doesn’t go much over twenty-five miles per hour). And, anyway, if it’s to help Will, then Mike will do anything.

Will tucks the board under his arm, a silent signal that tells Mike that they’re walking. Mike watches Will carefully, sees how the small smile on his face falls almost instantly after their laughter is done. Without thinking, Mike takes Will’s free hand, ungloved, tangling their fingers. Will’s breath catches for a moment, and Mike pretends not to notice. They walk like that until they get within the vicinity of the shops, and then Will reluctantly drops Mike’s hand and shoves his own into his pocket. Mike pretends that his heart doesn’t also fall.

His watch beeps the hour—five o’clock—as they wave at Max through the window, keeping their heads low so Will’s supervisors at the diner across the street don’t see him skipping out. She grins at them, quickly scurrying to the door and tossing Will her car keys.

“Have fun, boys,” their Zoomer—Rogue, during campaigns, but in their hearts she’ll always be a Zoomer—grins. Mike can’t believe he ever hated her—she’s fiery and funny and she cares, and even if she’s still annoying, well, Mike has been putting up with Dustin for five years and arguing with Lucas for ten (and Holly, jeez, as soon as she started talking she just didn’t stop). Max really is a force of nature, and Mike knows he’s always going to care about her no matter what the end of high school brings.

“Thanks again, Max,” Will says as he twirls the keyring around his finger. His smile is weak, as it always tends to be, but the redhead’s presence seems to loosen him up at least a little bit.

“No problem,” Max waves it off. “Just be back by—”

“Eleven-thirty,” Mike interrupts, grinning smugly. She knows he’s not really being mean. “We got it, MadMax.”

“Whatever, Bike Wheels,” she retorts, nickname sparking a wicked glint in her eyes before it fades. “Just… you know, come back safe. We all know how this town gets.”

Will makes a little noise of agreement in the back of his throat, and Mike knows it’s because Will really does know how Hawkins gets. He knows because Will has told him that he can sense the town itself, as it lives and breathes.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Yeah. Sure. See you later.” He grabs Will’s elbow as they walk around the corner to the staff parking lot. Will makes a beeline for the driver’s seat, and Mike doesn’t protest like he usually would because it seems like Will could benefit from focused driving. Instead, he just clambers up into the passenger’s seat and rolls down the window before the burnt onion ring smell can get to him. Will turns the key and the car splutters to life, hacking in a way that makes Mike grimace nervously. He takes Will’s hand again and Will doesn’t startle—which is good, since he’s driving. They drive the rest of the way in silence, Will’s left hand on the wheel and Mike’s on his right.

Will slows to a stop as the quarry comes into view just as Mike’s watch beeps the hour once again—six o’clock. Mike lets his thumb brush over Will’s knuckles before he lets go and jumps out. Will does the same, bringing out his camera bag but leaving his skateboard in the backseat.

Mike watches Will for a moment as he looks around, hefting the camera contemplatively as if considering taking a picture. After a moment he lowers it frowning slightly. Mike wants to walk over, to ask what’s wrong, but at this point everything feels wrong so he looks away. He wanders down to the cliff’s edge, staring down into the water for a moment before he sits, legs dangling over the side. He finally hears the sound of the camera clicking before Will walks over to join him.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks as he sits, setting the camera down behind them, warmth pressing into Mike’s side. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong? and Mike loves him for it.

Mike shrugs, eyes fixed on the horizon, light rapidly fading. “You know what happened here.” He remembers, so vividly, the feeling of plummeting past rock toward deadly hard water. He remembers how he hadn’t screamed until he stopped falling. He remembers thinking, this is it. This is how I die. We’ll never find Will. I’ll never see him again.

He remembers watching the firemen pulling Will’s body out of the water, too, the plummeting of his heart and hope. He remembers how hard he had cried that night—only rivaled by the night El disappeared. He remembers how awful this place feels.

Will’s hand presses between his shoulder blades, over his coat, firm and grounding in a way that Mike finds so ironic for the boy who never goes a month without slipping into another dimension. “Yeah. I know.” He’s silent for a moment. Then the hand comes away from Mike’s back and he takes his hand. “That’s why I wanted to come here.”

And Mike already knows. He knows that this is the place that he thought he’d lost Will forever, that this is the place he thought he’d die in. He knows that the stories give Will nightmares—normal ones, not visions, but they’re just as bad. He already knows why Will brought him here, because Will always knows how to take something ugly and turn it into something beautiful.

So Mike squeezes Will’s hand. It’s comfortable, familiar, and something shifts in his chest because everyone around them seems to think that it shouldn’t be. They’ve been like this for at least three years, probably much longer. But there isn’t a clear “like this”, they just… are. It doesn’t make any sense, and the question pops into his head, unbidden: What are we?

He’s not going to ask it; he doesn’t want to burden Will with anything else. It’s not the same as him and El were—it can’t be. And Mike knows that he loves Will, thinks he loves him like that, but Will’s the one who can read minds, not the other way around. And the way Will acts around him, Mike sometimes thinks he feels the same, though he can’t be sure. But Will hears him.

“I don’t know,” he says out loud. His grip tightens on Mike’s hand. “I don’t know what we are.” He looks at Mike, and Mike can see the fear shining in his green eyes. “Do you?”

Mike thinks about lying—but Will would know, anyway, and Mike doesn’t need to lie to him anymore. “No. But we can figure it out.”

“Figure it out,” Will repeats, and suddenly Mike sees it: he recognizes the feeling of his stomach flipping and his eyes going wide when Will grabs his hand. He recognizes how electric Will makes him feel when he just walks nearby. He recognizes that he loves Will, because he’s dazzling and bright and so brilliant. He’s brilliant, and it burns. It burns and burns until the darkness is forced out and the heat settles until it’s a comfortable warmth. And he recognizes that they’re teenagers, that it’s still a little early to experience love, especially for the second time around, but that doesn’t change that it is what it is. This is El all over again but different, because this is a boy, this is Will, and it’s beautiful—he’s beautiful.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “But if it changes anything, I think I love you.”

Will’s eyes still look afraid, but he smiles. I’m not in your head all the time, he tells Mike. I don’t like it. It reminds me of Him. So I wasn’t sure. “It changes a lot of things,” he says out loud. “Because I know I love you.”

Mike’s not sure who initiates it, but then they kiss, legs dangling off the cliff—and isn’t that a great metaphor? Just a little past crazy, but they’re crazy together—as their fingers clutch onto collars and sleeves. Mike’s hands come up to the back of Will’s neck, sliding into his hair, pulling him even closer. Something about this kiss feels different from electric, almost more like pure ozone has settled over his skin, and he’s buzzing with it. He’s warmed to the bone, and he hopes, in a part of his brain not lost in a fog, that Will feels it too. He doesn’t deserve to be cold. Will fumbles with something behind him for a moment before lifting the camera, somehow managing to take a picture without dropping it or pulling away from Mike. And, hell, if Mike doesn’t love him.

I still don’t know what we are, Mike thinks, opening the doors and letting Will into his head. He doesn’t know because he doesn’t know what they can be, what they’re allowed to be. But then Will pulls back an infinitesimal amount, his heavy breath tickling Mike’s lips.

“We can be whatever we want,” he says, barely a whisper. “We don’t need permission. We can do anything we want.”

Mike kisses him again, short and sweet. “Anything,” he echoes, smiling, hand still on Will’s neck and pulling him in again. “I like that.”

They keep on like that for so long that they end up only having two pictures from that night— one of Mike, from behind, sitting on the cliff’s edge as the light fades, and one of them kissing as the stars come out, angle tilted—but it’s enough to know that Mike doesn’t hate the quarry as much as he used to. Like he said, Will has always turned terrible things beautiful.

It’s November, autumn is turning to winter, Mike’s in love, and he knows that everything is different.

I hope everyone enjoyed! Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Find me on Ao3 here (and again, go read Mishi's stuff because it's awesome!)

Thanks for reading, everyone!

~Logan

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 #byeler #byler #mileven #mike wheeler #will byers #eleven #max mayfield #jane hopper #el hopper #jane ives #fanfic #fanfiction #long post #biwheelers #logan writes stranger things stuff

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