#I do know that I provided accommodations to both of my students the past two days that allowed them their best field trip experiences | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chanluster · 4 years

Text

10/10 | {m} ; {c} ; {f}

oneshot | friends with benefits! au | 18.7k words

“Because what you feel for your best friend cannot be described in words, but in numbers.”

s u m m a r y > > you and bang chan had no secrets between one other. each detail of your life would be discussed with your best friend of forever, no matter how insignificant it may be, through a little system you both had concocted — through a small rating. a number out of ten. a simple concept, used from being a child and rating your cookie a solid eight out of ten to your later years in high school, giving your first kiss a measly five. however, when you confess an average rating of your sex life in one hazy evening, chan decides this dilemma cannot be solved with buying you consolation cookies. he must simply raise that rating, all by himself.

w a r n i n g s > > friends to lovers! au, college! au, music! major chan, music! major reader, you both are literally soulmates, came out the womb holding hands, so much teasing, sexual! tension! chan has a massive fucking cock (i mean isn’t it obvious already), shit loads of making out, aggression, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!!), kinda hate sex, orgasming left and right, ex! hyunjin, who’s also really bad at sex lmfaoaoao sorry king, chan is hella soft dom at the start but goes !!! hella hard later!!!! (i mean idk but) shit ton of fluff, friend! jisung which chan gets soooo jealous of, reader is so fucking annoyin, teensy weensy bit of angst, and yeh basically me venting out my love for chan once again

p l a y l i s t > > here!

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e > > this is dedicated to my dear friend chloe, boo i love u so much and thank you for that insane prompt :( also help this feels so rushed to me at the end but i hope y’all do enjoy <3

t a g l i s t > > @hanflix @thatonepieceofpineapple @kimkailover @decembermoonskz @smilesohwas @missskzbiased @illicit-roses @embroideredstarz @freckledquokka @moonluvbunny @aliceu @coupscarat @maedesculpaeusoubi @baby-wolf @multi-fandom-kpop-stan @minaamhh @leescrt

back to masterlist

“I’M SORRY, BUT I DON’T THINK I CAN DO THIS ANYMORE.”

Hyunjin’s face faltered completely at your words. It was expected, really. The poor boy was not anticipating this news.

“Wh-what?” he asked, a little too loudly, catching the stares of a few others in the coffee shop. You immediately glared at him, and he retracted back into his seat, but still had a befuddled expression on his face.

You sighed a little. “Look,” you started, swirling your latte with a thin, wooden stirrer. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. I just think we’re much better off as friends.”

“Friends?” the boy flinched at the term, and even you had to hide your self-distaste. God, ____, at least try to be a little nicer! “Damn it, we’ve been dating for nearly three months, and you think we’d automatically become friends?!” he leaned in, knitting his eyebrows in growing desperation. “What the hell happened?”

You fought hard to not scratch the back of your neck. And possibly run away from the shop. Taking a long sip, you tried to feign the most sympathetic expression you could muster. “Hyunjin, please…”

“B-but, babe—” he started, and his eyes widened, trying to grab onto your hands which cupped the latte. “I don’t understand, we were so happy!” He huffed a smile, trying to convince you of your oh-so heavenly times spent with him. “Why are you thinking like this?”

You tried not to retract your hand from his — not only because it was hard to console him, but because they were embarrassingly sweaty. “Don’t think I have just done this on a whim. I have thought long about this decision.”

Finally, something out of your mouth which wasn’t a blatant lie. You had been thinking of breaking up with this goon — had the notion in your mind for half the time you dated him.

“____,” he said, and the melancholy you heard in his voice had you silencing your tongue. “What’s happened?” He began to caress your hand with his fingers. “Have I...have I done something wrong?”

Oh no. There it was. The reaction you dreaded.

Well, kind of. But still. Not the reaction you imagined in the perfect situation.

Reluctantly, you put a hand over his fingers, hoping that your face was a painting of sympathy.

“Hyunjin.”

Don’t say it, girl! Don’t you dare!

“It’s...it’s not you.”

You put your hand on your heart.

“It’s me.”

Oh, Jesus.

Your eyes raised to his own, wide and glistening.

Now, you knew Hwang Hyunjin was not the brightest kid on campus. The boy, who once asked you what the purpose of a spork was, may not have possessed the most intelligence, but you were scared that he may be smart enough to figure out that what you just said was complete, utter bullshit.

Face it, ____. You’re done for.

A few tears spilled from his eyes, and a pang of guilt shot through you. “I-I see.”

He did not let go of your hands. “We can still be...friends, right?” he sniffled, blinking at you rather irritatingly. “Like, we can still hang out together?”

You raised a brow, but reigned in a sarcastic reply. The boy would probably not even understand. “Of course,” you replied, a saccharine smile on your face. “But I think it’s best if we had some space from each other, okay?”

That was not the answer he seemed to be looking for, but he nodded, a little sadly. “Okay.” He still refused to take his hand away. “Does that mean I can’t rock up at yours midnight anymore if the junior needs a little taking care of?”

Your brows could not help furrow in absolute exasperation. “Yes, Hyunjin,” you monotoned, unable to believe that you put up with this man for three months. “Now can you let go of my hand?”

Realising his clammy hold on you, he flushed, looking away from your directory gaze. “I...should go, then.”

“No, no,” you insisted, getting up from your seat as you grabbed onto your drink. “I shall leave. I’m the one who dumped this news on you.”

You debated leaving without paying for the latte — you knew the boy was still infatuated enough to cover your expenses. Sadly, shame coursed through your veins, and you cursed yourself for feeling a little sympathy for your now ex. “Here,” you offered, fishing out a little cash from your jacket. “For the drink.”

When you nearly stepped past him, you stopped, looking down at him as he tilted his head upwards. Your hand itched to put upon his shoulder, but you knew better. Hyunjin would only take that as a hopeful sign.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing you said before you left the coffee shop.

Upon falling into a leisurely step onto the street, you let out a harsh breath, an endless amount of relief washing over you.

You were almost delighted to let Hwang Hyunjin go.

Now, it was not like he was a monster who had caged you into his two-feet-squared, dingy flat. In fact, the boy was, in almost every way, a decent boyfriend, whose stupid personality earned him a few laughs.

Although extremely corny, the problem was not truly all him.

It was partly you as well.

Hearing your phone vibrate, you brought it out from your jeans pocket, already having an inkling on who the sender was, spamming you with messages.

CHRIS THE PISS :

bitch have you done it?

CHRIS THE PISS :

helloooooo??

CHRIS THE PISS :

hoe answer the phone i’m dying!!

CHRIS THE PISS :

or prolly hyunjin at this moment lmaooo

You could not help the eyeroll which escaped from his words, and you decided to ignore him until you arrived at your destination.

Which, evident from the persistent vibrations still, you figured you could not do.

CHRIS THE PISS :

i KNOW ur reading my messages DAMN just tell me!!

CHRIS THE PISS :

unless this is hyunjin and u killed her FUCK

CHRIS THE PISS :

haha dude whats poppin!! best man for ____ by far don't know why she was breaking up w u

YOU :

chan i will kill u :)

CHRIS THE PISS :

hyunjin i promise i didn't mean it when i said u looked like a cheese string w ur new hair

CHRIS THE PISS :

that was ur girl putting words in my mouth

YOU:

omfg chan STFUUU i’m coming

CHRIS THE PISS :

PLS HYUNJIN I SWEAR UR SEXC

Letting the man panic, you turned a left into student residence, buildings lined down the street, providing accommodation for hundreds of people like you in need of a place to sleep, eat, party, and contemplate the inevitability of death under.

Smiling at a few acquaintances, you entered the designated building, finding yourself with dozens of doors of the same, dead colour. Walking along the hallway, you stopped right at the very last one, bringing out your keys.

With a single twist you unlocked the door, but before you wrapped your hand around the knob the door swung open, catching you completely off guard.

“Funny, Hyunjin, how did you manage to transform into a little bitch so quickly?”

You cursed at the man who welcomed you.

“Damn it, Chan,” you said, hand on your chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sad it didn’t kill you off, then.”

You heard him splutter into laughter at your sad attempts to pinch his shoulder, glaring daggers into his crescent eyes. The bumbling idiot was Bang Chan, the one man you managed to keep for your entire life. That too is purely because none of you could manage a stable, healthy relationship — which was a shame, of course, when your best friend, with his fluffy, raven curls, black-oversized hoodie and sweatpants, was admired by so many. You often wondered how you had not fallen at his feet when he smiled at you, but then he’d open his mouth and all would be understood, as your anger would flare up, and rush to hit him as hard as possible.

He gave you such a smile then, fingers gripping the doorframe. “How is Rapunzel, then? Sent him back to the tower?”

Wrenching his hand off the frame, which nearly had him falling onto the floor, you side-stepped past his stumbling figure, peeling off your jacket. “Rapunzel is never stepping in our lands again.”

After regaining his step, he muttered a cursed endearment your way and sat himself down on the couch, instantly settling his laptop upon his legs. “Oh, God. How badly did you break his heart, ____?”

Smiling, you dumped the jacket on the side table as you entered the living room, settling on the other end of his sofa. Propping your legs upon his, you pondered over the answer, and said, “At least a good seven.”

Chan let out a little whistle. “Oh, he’s definitely causing a shitshow on the groupchat tonight.” A huffed laugh was his answer. “Want Chinese or Indian tonight?”

“Surprise me,” you said as he brought out his phone. He dialled a number, and then you added, “Actually, can we please get Chinese?”

“No, we’re getting Indian.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t you cry the last time you had their special curry?”

The man stared at you for a minute before sighing, putting the phone to his ear. “I’d like your least spiciest dish please.”

He groaned as you pushed his legs off the couch, laughing at his pathetic tolerance towards spice. As he carried on with his order, you grabbed the TV remote, surfing through the channels.

Even after all these years, you still found it endearing how Chan understood the depth of the numbers you tell him. The system between you two had been created during kindergarten, when, on the last day, you both had received such delicious cookies that words could not express the joy you felt when having the first bite. It was a mere joke at first, rating random classmates despicably low in middle school to even more serious situations, when you moaned to your best friend of your mundane kiss, expecting fireworks and butterflies yet were only met with an over-enthusiastic tongue.

Chan himself used this system — it was the reason you knew of his distaste towards spicy food, and certain girls he had dated in the past. Even now, when the two of you had started college together, working on the same projects and going to the same parties, this concoction had not been shelved in your memories. Although this may be something which others might deem insignificant, the concept had become a pillar of your friendship with this absolute loser.

The food arrived within the hour, and you both continued your box set as the plastic containers were cracked open, the pungent smell of curries and biryanis filling the room. Chan provided the plates and cutlery while you poured him the sufficient amount, and you rebuked his whining as you added the spicier dishes onto his plate.

“I refuse to let you eat only korma, Crispy,” you scolded. “Prick, careful! Don’t spill it on your laptop!”

“Bitch!” he yelped as a bit of the residue nearly stained his sweats, but was saved by his hands. “Just ruin everything I wear, why don’t you? Now I got curry on my fingers!”

You propped your legs over his again, eyes upon the screen once more, and the action occurring. “Just lick it off?”

“How about you do it for me?” the boy then simpered out, and you nearly tossed your entire dish on his head.

“Let’s just focus on Tommy and his cocaine problem,” you dismissed him, but returned his impish smile as you elbowed him, nearly causing his food to stain his hoodie.

The two of you seemed to settle down after a bit and watched the show, commenting on the terrible choices the characters were making, and then boasted of how you and him could easily be the better leader from the protagonist. Soon, you had finished your takeout, and after Chan followed, he got up, hurrying into the kitchen situated behind the doorway in the lounge. He then came back, you delighted to find his hands occupied with two tubs of Ben & Jerrys’.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” you sang, snatching one of the tubs from him and pulling open the cover, digging straight in. “I didn’t know you brought ice cream!”

“Thought it’d help with the breakup,” he confessed, settling back into the sofa, shuffling closer to you. “But it doesn’t look like you need it.”

“Oh, I can’t believe Hyunjin broke my heart like this!”

Chan shook his head at your melodrama. “You may fool the looney princess, but you’re not fooling me.”

“You know me too well,” you said, which he agreed to with an absent-minded hum, eating his dessert.

There was a short pause, a comfortable silence reigning upon you both for a little before your best friend broke it, gulping down his ice cream.

“____?”

“No, you’re not having any of mine.”

Chan prodded you lightly with his foot. “No, I don’t mean that. I was just wondering something.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re not...upset, right?” He took a bite of his ice cream. “Like, I know you always complained about him, but breakups can be difficult.”

You looked at him, and saw genuine concern painted on his face — along with a little vanilla stain on the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to pretend to be happy if you’re not, okay?” he continued. “Especially with me.”

Your heart melted slightly. “Of course, Chan, don’t worry. I wouldn’t ever lie to you.”

Turning to the TV screen, you sighed as you thought of your recent relationship. “There were good moments for sure. He was still a sweet guy, you know?” You then stabbed the creamy plains inside the tub. “It was just so...dull.”

The man beside you took in another bite, if a bit slow. “What do you mean?”

Following him, you relished the chocolate goodness, swallowing. “Dates were kind of boring. I carried most of the conversations because he’s too thick to talk about anything.”

Chan let out a soft snort. “I remember you telling me about it. I can certainly believe it.”

“Well, you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you next.” You focused on your ice cream, a sarcastic smile plastered upon your face. “Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin was terrible at sex.”

You did not need to see your best friend to sense his shock. “What?”

A small chuckle escaped you. “First time he fucked me, I think I cried. Not because it was so good, no, but because it was so bad.”

“No way,” Chan said, brows furrowed. “Didn’t you say he had a big dick or something?”

“That’s the downside, bud,” you countered, halfway through your tub. “Because he had a massive cock he thought that was enough for me to enjoy. But it’s not. He just did not know what to do with it!”

The man had been silenced. He took another bite of his ice cream, in disbelief. “So you were...deprived of pleasure?”

“Deprived?” You scoffed. “Chan, I thirsted for a crumb of pleasure. God, can you believe I’ve faked nearly all my orgasms with him?”

This time, your friend glanced at you in horror. Carrying on, you said, “The only real orgasm I had was not even because of him. God, I was thinking about Lee Donghyuck singing between my legs.”

A soft growl entered your ears. “Oh Christ.”

“Bastard was so proud when I came all over him,” you crowed, trying to sweeten your bitterness with the dessert. “If only I told him I undid myself for an idol I’m never going to meet.”

Your friend did not say anything. The episode finished, and when you noticed his further silence, you used it to your advantage, starting a romantic comedy before he could even complain.

Even with the movie on for about twenty minutes, and the romance you thoroughly enjoyed, the man stayed quiet, idly stirring his melted ice cream in the tub. You ignored his rather odd behaviour, assuming he was either thinking of his assignment or had gotten a brain freeze. Either way, it let you watch your movie in peace, swooning outwardly at the man’s teasing to the girl.

One hour in, and you asked if Chan was okay. “Yeah...yeah, I’m good,” was his answer, sending you a second-long smile before going back to his brain freeze. You raised a confused brow, but went back to the chick flick, gasping when the boy went back for his love.

This was it. The fireworks, the passion which exuded from the mere actions of lips enveloping lips, hands holding onto waists or necks or locks and refusing to let go. You craved for your heart to drop down in lust as you let yourself fall, be wrapped up in another as you undid yourself. Where was this? Where was this for you?

Did you not deserve your desires to be fulfilled? Did you not deserve to have your entire world turned upside down in pure exhilaration?

Before you knew it, the credits rolled, and you let out a long, laboured sigh, leaning into the cushions. “Maybe it’s time I find myself a millionaire who’d pay me to have sex with me.”

The man was still looking at the now black screen. “Do you mean a prostitute?”

“Well, yes, but—” you groaned. “You know what? Maybe I’m meant to stay forever displeased.”

It was after a long time your best friend spoke. “Or…” he cleared his throat. “You find yourself someone who would pleasure you.”

You turned to him. “Wowie, thank you for a perfect solution! I really wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.”

Then, you saw his eyes darken. “____.” He propped the tub upon the coffee table. “Why search for other alternatives when you have options right here?”

Confusion marred your mind, not just from his words, but his entire change of character. “Chan, what are you on about?”

“____,” he said, and his hand inched closer to yours. “ I’m saying you should have a friends with benefits.”

The silence was suddenly heard. You did not realise the sheer weight of this man’s gaze till his very stare gravitated you to him. The lights were dimmed, and all you could see from the laptop’s light was his face — his beautiful face.

What was all this? Why was your best friend looking at you like that? Why were you being affected by his gaze?

“I…” You could barely get the words out. “I never thought about that before.”

Chan had no such problem. “Well, maybe you should. There are many who would gladly be that person for you.”

You gave him a look. “And who would they be?”

A slight cock of his head. “____, who is your best friend, in the same class as you, share the same interests and would help you out in any way whatsoever?”

The question rather befuddled you. Why couldn’t the man just say the answer already? You thought of the few viable options, tossing, turning the names.

Then it occurred to you. Your friend’s face sparked a little in what could only have been hope.

“I know!” you exclaimed, holding onto his arm. “I should ask Jisung!”

The little sliver of hope in his eyes morphed into annoyance. “What the fuck?”

Raising your brow, you asked, “Is that not the right answer?” You listed out the evidence. “He’s basically my best friend, is in music with us, we like similar things and would be willing to help me in any situation. I think.”

When you were done, you found yourself more confused when Chan closed his eyes, shaking his head. “What?” you demanded.

“Oh my God.”

His fingers caressed yours, and you gasped to find your skin prickling at the touch. You raised your eyes to his, and found yourself lost for words.

“You dumb bitch, I should be your friends-with-benefits.”

Your mouth dropped.

Perhaps you would have said something, but then his thumb began stroking your skin, and you figured it was better to relish that instead. Thus, you looked at him, gobsmacked, not entirely sure what to say to his declaration.

It seemed Chan was a little nervous too. “Look, I can tell you’re surprised…” he paused, a little lost for words as well. “Fuck, I guess I shouldn’t have suggested so early into the breakup, but you just…”

He pinned you with his gaze. “I couldn’t have my best friend miss out on the pleasure she deserves. And if that means giving you the pleasure myself, then I will do it.”

Bang Chan. Not just the best friend you’ve ever had, but the man who proposed benefits to this certain friendship.

“Well,” you got out, after what seemed like eternity. “Well damn.”

“We don’t have to do anything right now. Or even anytime soon.” He let go off your hands, and you did not know why the touch was missed so greatly. “Just...think about it for me, will you?”

You didn’t really have it in you to refuse. “Of course,” you said, feeling the need to touch something. Your eyes fell upon the remote, and figured you should distract yourself by watching the next episode of the series you previously watched.

You needed a clear distraction, or else Chan would not need to wait long for his answer.

The episode began, and you watched, clamping your lips together as you felt the man shuffle closer to you, one hand sprawled on the top of the couch with his other hand idly surfing on his laptop. You rooted your eyes to the screen, finding yourself engulfed in 1920s England, trying to forget that your best friend left no space between you two.

Managing to somehow distract yourself from the lack of distance, you even began to relax, swooning softly of the gangster’s mannerisms towards his love interests, their intimate dancing in her bedroom. It was touching, and you even let yourself lean into your friend, who, too, glanced every now and then, a little smile upon his face.

Everything was fine and dandy until the characters started to kiss.

Now, there was nothing wrong with kissing. You were a hopeless romantic, and adored to see the actions of love on screen, the final breaking of barriers between two characters.

The problem was, the kissing did not seem to end there. The bigger problem was that this lust on screen made you all the more aware of your best friend beside you.

You froze, watching with no small amount of confused shock as the characters increased their desires, unbuttoning their clothes, discarding them as their lips moved against each other’s. Your eyes widened at the nudity, once never a bother but suddenly extremely embarrassing, as they collided, bare chest to bare chest.

The matters did not help at all when you sensed the increased beating of Chan’s heart, almost as loud as the instruments harmonising in the background. His searching on his laptop had ceased, as frozen as you were as his eyes refused to look away to the man and woman making love.

It was too much. You had seen much worse scenes in your life before, but never had one made you so hot and bothered. Of course you knew why, though. Of course you knew, when the man you laid your head upon was breathing harder than you do when you walk up a flight of stairs.

You did not waste a minute longer as you pointed the remote to the TV, and switched the screen off. Completely black, void of further lust radiating through the glass.

A shuddered breath escaped Chan. “Well...double damn.”

You did not answer back. Only distanced yourself on the sofa, his fingers on the couch brushing against the back of your head. His touch may have been the last thing you needed then.

But that was not true. Seeing that sex scene, all glorified and affectionate, had you craving his touch. Your eyes could not bear to meet him, but his presence was suffocating enough. God, if you did not leave that couch now, you would dare to do something quite unimaginable.

Chan did not seem to move either. Your presence, too, had him nearly choking out a pained sob. Anymore time spent, and he would have another problem erecting soon.

At last, when a few minutes seemed like hours, you felt your friend stir. You were surprised to be devastated at the prospect of him leaving.

You were further shocked when, as Chan mustered all the strength in himself to get off the couch, he was stopped by your hand encircling his wrist.

Whirling his head at your direction, his eyes widened. He was met with your own aghast ones, as your hand tugged him back to the couch.

You did not let go of his wrist as you whispered the words you never thought would have left your mouth that night.

“Let’s do it, Chan.”

His hand went limp in your hold.

For a second you thought he died under your grasp, but the way he parted his mouth went against your judgement. Perhaps you had sent his living soul flying out of his body, but you could not blame him — you did not feel at all like yourself just then.

“I wanna do it,” you murmured, refusing to let go.

Chan’s eyes darted to the tight hold upon his wrist, and then to you once more. He opened his mouth, closing it straight after as he glanced away.

With a heavy sigh, he looked to you once more, an abundance of emotions swirling in his usually mischievous, soft eyes.

“Are you sure, ____?” He leaned a little closer, causing your heart to malfunction for a second. “You don’t have to think about it now—”

“Well, it’s all I can think about,” you cut him off, eyes never leaving him, despite the reddening of your cheeks. “And I want to do it.

“Like I said, Chan.” You shuffled a little closer, and your knees brushed against his. “I am deprived of pleasure.”

The man blinked once, twice, taking your declaration all in. He had to tell himself that this was not a dream, but a very much a fortunate reality, and that you were asking him of something he had been wanting to give you for a very long time.

There it was. Something he wasn’t quite ready to admit. You wanting your desires met by him was so much more than enough.

Dreaming still, he slithered one hand around your waist, almost like second nature as the other found refuge upon your face. His fingers were tender, softly caressing your cheeks as his eyes beheld you in a way he had never before..

This change of sight had you unable to look away from him.

“If you feel uncomfortable with all this…” he swept away a stray curl. “I will stop. That’ll be the end of it.”

You nodded, finding solace within his eyes. “I know.”

But there was no discomfort. Rather an impatient welcome, a growing urge for your needs met. Promises fulfilled.

When you sensed him lean closer, so shy and yet so determined, hands still holding you, those vows were sure to be carried out.

You found out in the best way possible — the second when Chan brushed his lips against yours.

His touch had you flying out your skin; well, not really, but it sure felt as such, when his mouth moulded with yours, a confirmation that he was strangely perfect for your own two lips, that he was meant to embed himself upon your mouth.

You closed your eyes, heart climbing up your chest as your hands skimmed around his neck. Chan began his movements, and you were so unaccustomed to the actions that you could not help but be led by his kiss. The man had a way of making you listen to his every order, vocalised or not.

The kiss was so...unreal. It was all that rang in your mind, over and over as the man took his time; he carried out a sensual rhythm upon your lips, not only to avoid overwhelming you, but to fully take in his situation — that he was kissing you, and no other girl who he had never dreamed of.

He had all the time in the world for this.

The hand upon your waist gripped onto you a little harder, nails skirting around the hem of your shirt. His tongue teased you now, running along for entrance, to delve inside and drink in your every essence. Your mouth practically begged the man to prowl inside, opening up to him completely, a signal of full trust.

You wanted this as much as he did.

His elated rush was expressed through his tongue, when it slithered inside your mouth. Butterflies erupted in your body at the way he swirled it along with yours, almost playing with your tongue as if you both did. Of course, this is slightly different, because your gimmicks with Chan never had you salivating at the mouth. Nor feeling like you’re about to leak into your clothes from his touches.

Which really was the situation you ended up in; Chan, his hand now skimming under your shirt, revelling the skin of your abdomen, warming beneath his touch. The hand, once upon your face, had latched upon your locks, while you ran your fingers through his own velvety hair, nearly undoing yourself over the soft feel.

Just when you thought he was going in for more, he broke away, hands still upon you — your breathing was ragged, the man in front of you panting slightly as well. His eyes, with no small amount of surprise, seemed a little feverish, whether that be from a random cold he contracted during the minutes he kissed you, or…

Or, as you found yourself biting your lip, he took an intoxicated toll over you, and how exquisite it was to drive his tongue in your mouth.

“Better than Rapunzel?” He whispered, so close his breath fanned your lips, spit-slick thanks to him.

You made sure he was aware of your fingers threading in his locks, eliciting a low murmur. “Rapunzel better not leave the tower again.”

Chuckling, he wasted no time before he was upon you again, an invisible leash on him threatening to snap. He drove the shirt higher, skirting up your sides until he broke away from you for a mere second before peeling the shirt off of you and tossing it beside him.

Heaving, the sight of you in a bra was making the leash all the more tight, hands never leaving your sides as he latched onto your neck. Leaving open-mouthed kisses, down and down until his lips trailed past your collarbone, you let the moans leave your mouth, heightened and quick and unexpected. Suddenly he descended on you, kneeeling on the floor with hands following suit.

Pleasure. You were oozing with pleasure as you hurried for the hems of his black hoodie, needing to have it off and run your hands on the expanse of his chest. Chan, a little preoccupied, did not realise your demands until you whined out your request.

“Chan—!” you gasped out as his lips left your belly, fingers upon the buttons of your trousers. “Hoodie, I need it off!”

The man only continued with his task, taking the zip down. “Up,” he rushed out, gesturing with his hand.

Dazed, you replied with a confused murmur, only understanding the need to take his stupid hoodie off.

He looked up from his endeavours, and the sight of him hovering between your legs nearly undid you. “I mean your hips, baby, put them up.” He grabbed onto the sides of your jeans. “I wanna take this off.”

Gulping, you raised your hips, giving Chan ease to pull your jeans, all the way down until your legs were bare, save for the soiled underwear which he instantly landed his eyes on.

His mouth slipped out an uneasy fuck, which was just the right way to have you leaking even further. “Chan, come on,” you hurried, seething at the throbbing.

His hands pushed you back on the couch, travelling down until they caressed the back of your knees. Pulling you closer from there, he leaned in until he was a few inches away from your moistened cunt, hurting more the longer he made you wait.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He still felt as if he’s living a dream he did not deserve.

Fingers drumming against the back of your knees, the man blew a little upon your folds, and you let out a strained hiss at the soft breeze. This hypersensitivity was going to be your undoing, but even the smallest of actions brought you such thrill.

“I’m about to spoil you good, ____,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he descended.

The first kitty lick along the surface had you in shock.

Tendrils of pleasure gushed inside you, lurking all over your body as Chan swiped his tongue along the outside of your cunt, teasing, shying away, awaiting your reaction. You answered him with an indecipherable noise, a sound which had never escaped you before.

Maybe because no one had ever played with your cunt like this.

You truly had wasted your time with Hyunjin — this man, tasting your arousal, let out a satisfied hum, and when he dug deeper with his tongue, spreading your legs further, the moans you let escape were, for the first time, absolutely real. No acting, no bullshit.

Just like your best friend promised.

“Chan—!” You stuttered out, when he began circling your clit. “God, just like that!” You encouraged further, hips shaking at the way he made a mess of you.

In response his hands left your legs, pressing them upon your hips. To your horror he paused his actions, peering up from your legs.

The slick shining upon his lips could well have made you cum on his face right then and there. “I need you to stay still, baby,” he said, his hands on your hips keeping you in place, as his eyes did the same. “So I can do this properly.

“I don’t want you getting half-assed pleasure, okay?”

His soft demands, his calm explanations brought you in a further state of frenzy. You could not nod faster, chuckling emitting from him as his hands travelled down once more.

“Good girl.”

And his mouth was upon your cunt again, this time the leash finally snapping as his tongue hardened against the seams. Your moans could have been heard in the hallways, but you didn’t particularly care when Chan, in the midst of his ravenous lapping, introduced the prospect of his fingers, caressing your dripping folds, swiping them over around the edges.

You didn’t know what to do — your hands scrambled to fist the fabric of the couch, laying back against the pillows. The hold grew tighter when your best friend slid his middle finger inside of you.

The journey may have been slow, but that was what made it all the more delightful. Feeling it go deeper and deeper had a particularly loud groan flying out of you, but the rhythm he adopted, pulling it out, but then diving it back again without leaving your cunt, had you delirious.

A once foreign, unimaginable feeling you never thought you’d experience, was back inside — the heavy sensation deep within your gut, like a dull ache which grew more known the harder Chan worked between your legs. The feeling you had only ever experienced when you imagined Donghyuck instead of your ex-boyfriend in this similar situation.

Fuck, there it is, you thought. The feeling of your incoming orgasm.

And it was not going to go if this man worked harder than the devil tonight.

“Chan—fuck—” you got cut off when he increased the speed of his finger inside of you. “I-I’m close.”

Never ceasing his finger, he looked up at you, hooded eyes welcoming you despite the tenderness on his face. “You’re doing so good, ____. So fucking good for me,” he cooed, melting your heart despite the situation.

This time, he accompanied his fingering with a second digit, stretching out your walls and working harmoniously together in making you submit to him. Already you felt as if he’d filled you up, and the actions of his digits practically scissoring inside of you had every muscle in your body readying for release.

He dove back in, merciless to your clit, and all this work, everything at once, was so much that when you cried out, your release had to follow through. You couldn’t control yourself as you let your cum escape, staining the couch and the floor — most importantly, how most of it landed in Chan’s mouth.

Breathing unevenly, and louder than you ever thought possible, you closed your eyes, slumping further into the couch. You sensed an emptiness inside you, and figured Chan had taken out his fingers. Opening your eyes, you saw him close your legs together, propping his head upon your lap, hands supporting his chin. He looked up at you, licking his lips free of your residue.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The man smiled at you. “Satisfied?” he asked, fingers caressing your skin.

Oh, of course you were. Damn it, you were more than satisfied — you were positively elated. If he had managed to make you cum with his fingers and tongue alone, imagine what he could have done with his dick.

You blinked.

Imagine what he could have done with his dick.

“____?”

Perking up, you looked to the man kneeling before you still, anticipation brimming in his stature. “Please tell me you didn’t fake it.”

Embarrassment engulfed your body at the idea. “Chan, if you really think I faked all of that then I deserve an Oscar.”

Pride washed over his features. “Good.”

You then watched him slowly get up, climbing over you, hands skirting up your figure till he captured your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You had enough strength to kiss him back, but failed to exceed him when he began nibbling upon the swell of your lip, making you revert to stage one of your growing need all over again.

Breaking away, you glanced up at him, holding onto his hoodie. “I want...more.”

The man stilled his actions, hands going limp upon your skin. You had about three seconds of panicking as you tugged on his clothes, whispering, “Wait, Chan, it’s okay if—”

But suddenly, his hands left your face, and the panic increased with you being lifted into the air, his hold under your knees and back as he brought you close to his chest.

His eyes upon you were a hazard to your well-being. “God, ____, you could really ruin me.”

Your flustered nature was interrupted by Chan rushing to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his feet and pressing quick kisses upon your mouth, your cheeks, all over your face as you giggled out in reaction, arms locked around him.

His room was the same as his attire, black on black on even more black, save for a few gold corners and grey instruments settled in the far end of the space. His bed, however, was vast and comfortable, a place you have slept in many a time when late night recording sessions turned into sleepovers.

Gently, he laid you down on his bed, feeling the cool sting of the night air on your cunt, making you shiver. Your bra was useless in keeping you warm, but when Chan began to take off his hoodie, shirt dragging out along with it, you suddenly began to feel a lot hotter.

Discarding the clothes, you were rewarded with the image of shirtless Chan, slightly disheveled due to his endeavours between your legs. His smile revealed a hint of arrogance as he acknowledged your blatant staring, slowly taking off his sweatpants.

“Careful, baby, or you’ll cum right there,” he mused, noticing the way your legs shivered in ecstasy. He dumped his clothes along with the others, catching sight of his Calvins barely containing his erection.

You felt the mattress press down as he prowled to you upon the bed, the more chaos erupting in your gut the further he came closer. You could barely contain yourself when he hovered over you, lips mere inches from yours. A powerful force within you halted your very breath — you knew, though, that at this particular moment, your entire soul rested in the hands of this man, looking at you through long lashes.

He enveloped your lips, grinding his clothed erection against your cunt, drinking in your whines, your silent pleas of replacing it with the real deal. He smirked against your mouth, opening the seams as his one hand grabbed onto yours, leading it to the waistband of your boxers.

Your fingers fumbled to take peel down the fabric, Chan parting from your lips to take it off entirely. His cock sprang free, and you let out a god-awful, shrill-like noise at the way it stood, red and angry and so very fucking big.

“Fuck me,” you slipped out in a breath, earning a chuckle from him.

“I very much plan to,” he had the nerve to reply, you wanting very much to slap his shit-eating grin off of him. Or perhaps kiss it till your breath was lost.

Embarrassed, you tried to look away, but his fingers gripped your chin, leading your eyes to his. Other hand holding onto your hip, he gently positioned himself between your legs, precum already staining your folds. Breathing stunted, your stare reflected subservience, a request to bury his dick inside you already.

He read your every plea.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he let out a shuddered breath before beginning the final descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Chan slid his cock inside — your mouth parted from the transition, at the tightening sensation as he kept going, burying those inches until your eyes were as wide as saucers, unable to look away from him. You dared not move, fear of snapping more a reality in your head than some far-fetched delusion.

Dragging his stare from your slit to your face, he caressed your cheek, offering you a small smile.

“Don’t be quiet, okay?” he asked, hand on your hip like iron.

Nodding, it was all the signal he needed.

Just as gradually, he began to slide out, and, with his words in mind, you let yourself be shameless. The rhythm of his hips, the pain-stakingly tempered movement, made you whine profusely, and when the man slithered inside once more, moaning lewdly was your only reaction. It was all your brain could think of, when his cock was the sole deity which mattered in this moment.

His pace began to fasten, though, grunting erratically as his grip on you tightened. Your cunt was taking a toll, your second orgasm of the night a great possibility as you felt it inside you, as tangible as the dick being pushed and pulled out into you.

“F-faster!” you wailed out, and God bless Chan, for he obliged you completely, increasing his rhythm, practically abusing your slit with the way he fucked into you. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you let them fall, for there was no hiding your emotions with this man.

Your best friend could see right through you anyway.

Chan’s strength seemed unhuman as he thrusted his cock into you faster and faster, and you knew if he did not stop then you would cum all over for the second time. The very image had you on the edge of your sanity.

When his cock hit your g-spot you really believed yourself hitting seventh heaven of delight. White spots blurred your vision, tears now your beloved companion as they trailed down your cheeks. “I’m c-close, fuck—” you tried to voice, but were cut off when slid out once more, tip never leaving your folds.

His hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat peppered on his face as he crushed you with his lips, relishing your whines. His tongue befriended yours, and the swirling of your muscles with each other had brought a new form of high bubbling within you.

You moaned his name onto his lips, hands sliding around his neck, pulling you as close as physically possible. This was it. You could not wait any longer. You wanted your undoing, and you wanted it now, in these sheets, within his arms, within his hypnotic presence.

It was incredibly fortunate that Bang Chan could read you like the back of his hand.

Parting from your mouth, he kissed a sloppy trail all the way to your ear, lips grazing against the lobe.

“Go on, then,” he purred, leaving a small kiss to your skin. “Cum for me.”

His words were all you needed before you let yourself go, crying out as release poured from the tight spaces your cunt offered, and onto the sheets below. You wheezed in a few breaths, tired gasps gripping your body.

Chan, within the second, pulled out, just in time for him to let out a pained growl as he came onto his bedsheets. Some of the fluids sullied your legs, but seemed the perfect time as he collapsed right beside you, breathing as heavily as you were.

You and Chan were the only noise in the room — however, if one could translate emotions into sound, that would be an entirely different matter.

At least for you. You could barely contain your elation.

An emptiness may be present inside of you, but it was now replaced with a full heart. Fuck, you could not believe you had finally been given pleasure, such unadulterated satisfaction that you wondered whether it truly occurred, or was just another fantasy — this time with Chan’s face plastered rather than your infatuation of the month.

Sensing the said-man move, you turned to your side, smiling to see his stare fixated on you. Shifting closer, he curled a stray lock from your face behind your ear. “How’re you feeling?” he asked gently, hand on your face still.

You laid your head against your arm. “I am so pissed I didn’t break up with Hyunjin sooner.”

Laughing, his fingers trailed downward, sketching onto your collarbone. “You…” he paused, biting his lip with what you saw, surprisingly, as apprehension. “You really liked it?”

Your eyes darted to the surroundings, smirk spreading across your lips. “I mean, I am an insanely good actress...”

His shock horror had you spluttering into laughter. When he tried to turn his back to you and sulk, you held onto his arm, keeping him in place. “Oh, stop! You know I’m joking, you big oaf.”

Pouting, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “You better be,” he muttered, earning further giggles from his truly. The laughter was replaced with your yawning, which Chan instantly picked up on. “Hey, ____, you should sleep.” He began stroking your hair. “You’re really tired.”

You tried to object, but your intended groans become more deep yawns, proving his point. He passed his fingers over your eyelids, fluttering them close. “I’m not hearing anything else!”

Stinging out your tongue in what you hoped was at his direction, you grudgingly obliged. “Fine.”

You felt him sigh upon your face. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Hyuck.”

“Nevermind, I hope you have a terrible sleep.”

With your last round of exhausted laughter, you let yourself fall into oblivion, safe in your best friend’s arms.

YOU WOKE UP WITH CHAN ALREADY GONE.

It was not such a huge disappointment. The man had warned you before that he had to leave early to meet up with his supervisor. In all honesty, maybe it was good he was not there, next to you in his sheets.

Your hands gripped those very sheets, raising them right under your chin as you looked up to the ceiling, watching the dried swirls of black paint overlapping each other.

“Oh my God.”

Indeed. Here you were, in your best friend’s bed, basking in his scent, in his world. Of course, you always seemed to smell of him, considering you both never seemed to let go of each other, but last night was different.

Obviously, because Bang Chan had never rocked your shit before.

Your legs began to tingle at the thought. Even the mere memory had you feeling a mysterious sensation all over your body, reminders of the places Chan had looked, touched, tasted. God, you did not think, did not let yourself think further or you’d be calling that man this second.

You knew you had to get up at some point — you had some recording to do today, and more assignments to hand in. You had tasks, obligations to take care of. Unfortunately, the warmth of your best friend’s bed was much too enticing for you to submit to the requests of reality, and so you let yourself lay there for moments longer, in hope you can recreate the scene in your head once more.

There was no lie about this. Bang Chan knew how to fuck you into another dimension.

Just when you were about to dream into last night, your phone vibrated harshly against the bedside table. Curious, you stretched out your hand, grabbing the object and checking who so rudely disturbed your shameless manifesting.

CHRIS THE PISS:

just stopped by the medical room,,, want me to get a wheelchair?

CHRIS THE PISS:

cause im sure asf u can’t walk rn

You rolled your eyes until it hurt. Stupid prick.

YOU:

i haven’t gotten out of bed actually

CHRIS THE PISS:

oh damn

CHRIS THE PISS:

i PARALYSED u??

CHRIS THE PISS:

why am i so powerful

“This asshole,” you muttered.

YOU:

STFUU COCKY MF

CHRIS THE PISS:

It’s ok you’ll cute in a wheelchair

YOU:

?!?!?!?!!?!

CHRIS THE PISS:

but tell me

CHRIS THE PISS:

how good was it

This had you pausing.

CHRIS THE PISS:

outta ten

Now here was a rating you couldn’t bring yourself to confess.

All you wanted to do was give him a solid ten — the man finally offered you a better view of sex and how it can be appreciated, and the way he guided you through it was more than just adequate.

But the thing was, you and Chan hadn’t ever given each other 10/10s.

A perfect score was a rarity in your dynamic; possibly a rating never revealed before because you and Chan had promised each other never to exaggerate on this system. The only time you had ever used the solid ten was when he made you his first ever song at the tender age of nine. At the time, it was a terrible tune, with beats all over the damn place with no form of rhythm, but because he made it especially for you, you voiced your true opinion and rated him the perfect score.

Again, the situation here was different.

So, instead of the truth, you resorted to irritation.

YOU:

2/10 :)

You waited for his text.

However, you did not receive it.

Only the shrill ringtone of your phone, snapping you further into consciousness.

Groaning, you swiped right onto the screen, pressing the speaker button.

“Now I know you’re lying!”

Laughing, you propped the phone beside you on the bed, upon the place where Chan would have been. “You got a big ego there, hun.”

“That may be true, but my cock is bigger, so I still win.”

You were glad he was not here — the man would have sensed your embarrassment in an instant.

It was worse because he was not lying. “Now tell me, Pinocchio,” he continued, voice interrupting as the noise of the students around him came through the receiver. “Out of ten.”

“I already messaged it to you, buddy,” you said impassively, or at least you tried. “A solid two would suffice.”

God, you could almost feel your nose growing.

Perhaps he felt it too, for he answered, with no small amount of pride, “I’m gonna pretend I fucked you so good you forgot how to think properly.”

You could not help gulping, raising the sheets over you. It wasn’t exactly hard on boning, but even so...you really thought for a second you’d lose all feeling in your legs last night.

“Shut up, Chan.”

“Shut up, Chan,” he parroted, which had you threatening to hang up. “Don’t think I’ve let you go on this subject.”

“Try me, buddy,” you jeered.

“And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me ‘buddy’,” he demanded. “Or else I’m pulling a Hyunjin.”

“A Hyunjin?”

“Yeah, a Hyunjin.” You heard the sound of horns blaring at the end of his call. “Ruining your sex life.”

That nearly made you freak. “Damn, I won’t say it again, Christopher Bang, musical name Bang Chan, nicknamed Chris the Piss—”

You heard his chuckling through the phone. “All that for my dick. I must have changed your life, ____.”

Heating up from his stupid comments, you grabbed the phone from the table. “I’ll see you in the studios, asshole.”

His smugness ran rich in his voice. “Buh-bye, baby.”

The minute the call ended, you sighed heavily, clutching the phone to your chest.

He did change your life.

Not necessarily your entire life, but certainly a huge aspect of it. A small part of you was horrified at how easily he shifted your daily balance, making you ponder over him more often, with much more intensity than before. Were you a sex maniac? Were you so deprived of being touched that one night of fun had you begging like a woman starved?

“Whatever,” you groaned, swinging your legs to the side of the bed, and upon the carpet. “Fuck Chan.”

Hopefully tonight.

FUCKING AROUND WITH CHAN MIGHT HONESTLY BE THE BEST DECISION YOU HAVE EVER MADE IN A LONG, LONG TIME.

And you weren’t the one to make good decisions. You get up an hour before the afternoons, drink Pepsi Max to compensate for your lack of water drinkage, and worst of all, you would gladly sell your body for Colin Firth, especially if he dressed himself up as Mr. Darcy at his age. Whatever setbacks you possessed, you knew that this, at least, was a step in the right direction.

Bang Chan may have been as big a loser as you were, but the man made you feel like a powerful entity. Hell, in all the state, with the way he made you act.

Never before had you become so daring — libraries, which were once your place of study, became a rendezvous for his slender fingers inside your cunt. The living room had become a breeding ground, and even your shower was stained of your promiscuity. There was no place left where you and Chan hadn’t done something scandalous, and you wondered, with no small amount of excitement, on how this new side of your friendship with him would progress.

These thoughts accompanied you as you walked to your destination. It was not far off as you entered campus, and smiled at the few students who passed by.

Soon, you found yourself in the music department, and walked through the familiar halls, littered with posters of different artists and singers in their peak careers. A few trophies were boasted of behind a glass screen, but the surroundings all became irrelevant when you approached your designated music rooms.

Expecting Chan to be inside, headphones adorned, you did not bother knocking, strolling straight into the room. However, you stopped completely when a giant, hoodie-clothed back did not greet you.

Instead, it was a tinier hoodie-clothed back, faded yellow over the trademark black. Although not your best friend, you instantly recognised the alternative, and smiled.

“Jisung!”

The boy did not seem to hear, for he kept bobbing his head, no doubt trying out beats.

You tiptoed slpwly until you stood right behind him. Then, in a flash, you snapped your hands upon his shoulders.

“Boo!”

A shrill, terrified yell erupted, chair being swivelled suddenly as the back hit against the controls. You took a step back out of shock too, a choked giggle escaping when you beheld the face of Han Probably-shit-his-pants-Jisung.

“Oh my fucking God,” he rasped out, hand on his chest. He then locked eyes with you, and suddenly his quivering mouth melted into a smile of relief. “Ah, ____!”

“The one and only.” You sat down on the neighbouring chair. “Sorry if I made you shit your pants. It was fully attended.”

“Stop,” he insisted, taking off his headphones and scooting a little closer to you. “These are new jeans as well.”

“Not my fault if you’re a pussy,” you chanted, picking up the headphones, settling them upon your ears. “Can I listen?”

“Of course!” Jisung pressed a few keys on his laptop, and the music began.

Your eyes widened in surprise to hear pleasant, almost lo-fi background before his voice flooded in, comforting you with his soft lilt and meaningful lyrics. On instinct your head bobbed along to the rhythm of the beat, smiling at the wordplay and the rising vocals.

“Jisung, this is really good!” you exclaimed. The boy waved off the compliment, but you instantly saw his face reddening. “Oh, stop it, you know that you’re one of the best out here.”

If you thought he couldn’t get more flustered, he proved you incredibly wrong. “Don’t say that,” he shrilled, propping his feet up on the chair and hugging his legs tightly. When he saw the look on your face, though, he smiled, teeth and all. “Thank you, ____. It means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, I’m no musical genius,” you said, pressing the play button to hear his music. “Just a motherfucker who can appreciate a song of the year when she hears one.”

Jisung nearly passed out from your compliment, but you did not take it much into account as you focused all your attention on the piece. It was an undoubted fact that Han Jisung was an extremely talented dude. You already knew you could never compete with him, but he was certainly up to Chan’s level of musical expertise. With all this talent brimming around you, you made a mental note never to make more gifted friends in the future.

Once the song ended, you took off the headphones, propping them gently upon the table. “I think you’ve inspired me to do some actual work.”

The boy was still smiling as he reached his hand out, planting it upon your own on the table. “Well, I’m honoured to be your inspiration.” His eyes reached yours, and you were engulfed with his warmth. “The feeling is more than mutual.”

You offered him a grin, and were about to say something when the door opened.

Turning, you were welcomed by Chan’s dark figure at the studio entrance, holding two cups of coffee. Despite his black attire, you found yourself admiring a little too brazenly the bare face he never exposed in public, the beanie hiding his curls, and the tick in his jaw, which heightened further when he took in the scene.

The actions were quick — the darting of his eyes as they started on you, then travelled to your hand, engulfed with another’s. He raised them to the man guilty of the touch, and found himself staring at Jisung, beaming not only from you anymore, but at the arrival of his friend.

The joy was not returned.

“Chan!” Jisung greeted, letting go of your hand innocently as he ushered your best friend over.

He nodded in return, gaze back to you as he walked, a little too slowly, to the two of you. He put the two beverages upon the table next to the keyboards. “I didn’t know you were in as well,” he said. After a pause, he added, “I would have gotten another coffee.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he assured him, even though it did not look like he needed any reassurances.

Catching onto Chan’s attitude, you slid your coffee to the boy beside you. “I don’t want any right now. You take it.”

You took note of the pursed lips, and ignored it as Jisung widened his eyes. “No, no, it’s okay—”

“Ji, I insist,” you pestered him, driving the cup within his grasp. “You look so tired.”

He offered you a lovely smile before taking the beverage. “Thank you.”

Chan, watching this little conversation, had him clamping his lips together, possibly to not say something stupid. It was a little habit of his, thankfully in action. He slid the other cup to you. “You can have mine.”

You looked up at him. “I’m good, buddy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Share.”

You rolled your own, taking a sip of the coffee, and thanked yourself for not being petty enough to refuse him. “Fine.”

Jisung swivelled his chair so he faced Chan, fingers upon his laptop. “Do you wanna listen to the demo?” He grabbed the headphones, holding it out to him. “I’m nearly done with it.”

“You can send it to me later,” was his curt answer, as he took the cup from you and drank.

You looked at him in exasperation, but the boy nodded in satisfaction, picking his bag off the floor. “That’s chill!” he said, heaving off the chair. “I got all the time, so don’t worry too much about it.”

He then turned to the two of you as he strolled to the door. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you both something.”

“Spit it out, then,” Chan jeered, which had you glaring at him. What the fuck was his problem?

Jisung did not catch on, continuing. “So, later this week, Changbin and I are throwing a party, and I was hoping you both would like to come.”

You perked up at that piece of information. “That’s something I like to hear!” Snatching the coffee cup from your friend, you purposefully took a huge gulp. “Any specific date?”

“I was hoping Friday night.” A small sip of his drink. “We just wanted to have some fun after a difficult week, dissertations and all.” His gaze never faltered from yours. “You in?”

Chan, noticing, settled in the space previously taken, and raised a hand in objection. “Sorry, Ji. ____ and I always do something Friday night. Gotta uphold the tradition.”

You turned to face him, a brow raised. He wasn’t wrong, in all honesty. But why did he mention it now?

Jisung, too, was a little curious. “Oh?” He fixed the strap of his bag. “I won’t get in the way, then.”

He turned, and you made to open your mouth only to have Chan press a finger to your lips. His brows were furrowed, which you matched until he left the finger as the boy looked back once more.

“I’ll see you around, guys!” he exclaimed, eyes sliding to you before opening the door, and leaving the studio.

After a few seconds of silence, you faced your friend, who had the audacity to sigh in relief. “What the fuck was that?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do!” you finished the last of the coffee, throwing the empty cup in the bin nearby. “Why were you being such a dick to Jisung?”

“No I wasn’t,” he only said. “I was being the perfect gentleman.”

“Stop it, man!” You couldn’t believe his stupidity in the situation. “He was being so lovely, asking for your opinion on his music, inviting us to his party and shit. Why were you being so mean?”

Chan only shook his head, turning away from you as he made to put his headphones on. You, on the other hand, were not going to be satisfied with silence, and grabbed his arm, wrenching him toward you. “Chan?!”

He turned to look at you, and you hitched in a breath — you had never really pondered over your friend’s angered face, nor really drank in his heightened features before. However, in this moment in time, with his eyes darkened, bare face twisted, frizzy morning curls all over the place, you had to stop yourself from the butterflies fluttering downwards. You’re supposed to be mad, not horny.

Your hand upon his arm — his tensed bicep, specifically — seemed almost feeble now. Still, you were glad it was on there, if only to feel his muscle bulge.

Chan studied you and your dazing, and made you jump when he guttered. “What?”

Instantly getting back to the situation, you cursed yourself silently for letting your desires try to take the reins. “I said,” you continued, trying your hardest not to be fazed by his eyes, “Why are you being such a massive prick to Ji?”

He cocked his head slightly, and if he leaned any further his lips would brush against yours. “I’m being a massive prick, ____, because he really fucking likes you.”

You felt hands upon your waist, tugging you off your seat. With a yelp you found yourself upon the man’s lap, hands encircling you fully.

Even though you looked down at him, his stare had you shaking. “And that really fucking pisses me off.”

You couldn’t suppress a shudder, an action which had not gone unnoticed. A smile ghosting his face, he craned his neck upwards, catching your lips and rendering you completely at his mercy. Your fingers went straight in his morning curls, carding through the locks as he captured your bottom lip in his, sucking on it to the point a whine escaped you, helpless and shameful.

He left a trail of heated kisses down your throat, fingers skirting underneath your cardigan, your shirt, and savouring the skin. His mouth landed on a particular part, grazing his teeth against it as he softly nipped at the skin. Your breath quivered at each flushed kiss he branded upon you, but when his free hand began undoing the top buttons of your shirt, you finally called out his name.

“Chan!” you gasped out, shivering at the lovebites stinging your throat. It did not seem like the man would stop, unbuttoning your shirt just so he could glimpse the sliver of your lacy bra, humming with satisfaction. “Chan, w-wait!”

He paused his actions, tilting his head upwards in irritation. “Do you mind?” he asked, pouting too cutely for his words.

“Yes, I do,” you answered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why are you so mad, buddy?”

A harsh scoff was your reply. “Well, first of all, because you never stop calling me that.”

You pinched the back of his neck, but when he pursed his lips, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. “Chan, you’re overreacting. He’s just a motherfucker trying to gain your approval.”

“I think it’s more your approval,” he countered, nuzzling his head against your shoulder. “With the way the asshole can’t keep his name out of your mouth. God! And the way he held your hand? Like you were his one and only?!”

“Jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, hun,” you mused, but in reality, you were lying through your teeth. His jealousy was like fuel to your turned on fire.

“Permission to punch him in the face?”

“You might have to put a hold to that.”

“Fuck.”

Raising his head, his agitation grew in his eyes as you beheld him. “He just...goddammit, he just makes me so angry at times.”

You played with his curls. “How angry?”

He held onto you tighter. “9/10.”

That certainly made you do a double take.

9/10. A rare rating, you noticed with quite some surprise. It did reflect the fury which Jisung unintentionally ignited, but you did not realise how much it truly affected him. The two had always been friends, as far as you were concerned, but you had to admit that Chan never really felt as easy with him as he did with you.

Of course, because you were his closest friend.

“I know,” he said then, snapping you out of your thoughts. “It’s...unreasonable...but I don’t care. I really don’t give a shit.”

Clamping your lips together, you watched him look away, swaying you back and forth upon his lap. Well, you couldn’t have a dear friend sulking away when you knew Jisung meant nothing and less to you.

Suddenly, a very pleasing idea came to mind.

“Chan,” you murmured, fingernails grazing against his neck.

Sensing goosebumps form there, you were met with his undecipherable gaze. “Yeah?”

You brushed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “How about,” you began, trailing down to his nose, “I help…” you carried on, another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Soothe your irritation?”

Although completely compliant to your touches, he grumbled, “The only way you can do that if you consent to me giving Jisung a broken nose.”

“Hmmm…well...” you peppered another kiss, and felt his hands wander lazily once again. “This is a very close second.”

Catching the implications dwelling in your gaze, you could have sworn the man’s breathing halted. His tongue swept along his teeth, and you had a dire wish to replicate that action with your own tongue.

“Come here, then,” he guttered.

The lower octave had you nearly squealing as you pressed your lips fully onto his, giggling when he responded with twice more ardency, the desperation lurking beneath his physique. He pried your mouth open with his tongue, swirling it along with yours as he pressed your body completely against his, refusing to let you go.

On instinct you grinded against him, sensing the outline of his boner beneath you with no small amount of excitement. He groaned into your mouth at the friction, digging his fingers into your skin.

It was a dire shame you had to break away from the kiss, catching his disappointment. “Tease,” you heard him mumble, which had you pecking his lips quickly before sliding your own down his neck, leaving his skin altogether.

Slumping downward, you kneeled before Chan as he spread his legs before you, struggling down his black trousers till he revealed the angry outline of his erection underneath his dark boxers. You noticed, with pride, how the top of the fabric was stained with arousal.

“I think your dick is angrier than you around Jisung right now,” you said, failing to contain your amusement.

Chan’s eyes promised murder. “I’m so glad my cock will shut your stupid mouth up,” he jeered.

Thank God you were kneeling, cause that comment alone would have made you fall.

Shuffling closer, you raised your hand to his boxers, feeling his clothed length between your fingers. The touch had your friend growling much too loud, a reaction you enjoyed thoroughly.

“How about a little less teasing,” he seethed, gripping onto the arms of his chair, “And a little more sucking, baby?”

Baby. You didn’t know why now, of all times, it struck a deep chord within you. His command had you reaching for the waistband, pulling his boxers down until his cock sprang free.

The image had you remembering your Lord and Saviour.

You don’t know why you kept forgetting how insanely big Chan’s cock really was. Its length was inside of you on almost a daily basis, so maybe all this foolery had finally gotten to your head. Observing it now, hard and veiny as it curved against his stomach, the only reaction you could offer was your mouth breaking its seams.

“Staring at it won’t be enough, ____.”

Gulping, you planted one hand upon his leg, the other wrapping around the shaft. Even the slightest contact had the man hissing, making you smirk at his helplessness. Slightly gurgling, you spat on the head, lubing his member with your fingers, and then you began.

A string of groans escaped him as you commenced, a slow rhythm of pumping his cock as your hand moved up and down. The repetition was constant, neverending as Chan’s grip on his chair threatened to snap the plastic, but you dared not slow down. You knew this was not how he gained his satisfaction — he needed a perfect graduality, a refined art-like stroke or else he’d lose his high. Fortunate for him, though, you never let him down.

You increased your pumping, sensing him containing his moans. You could feel him holding back, but that didn’t stop you at all. In fact, that only had you progressing to the next step, an action that would have him screaming your name.

Shifting even closer, you spread his legs further, Chan’s eyes rooted to you as you directed the tip to your mouth. Letting your tongue free, you swept it along the shaft, and sure enough, an obscenely loud moan emitted from his truly. Chuckling, you carried on, trailing all the way up to the head and ending your journey with an ironically chaste kiss. Staring up at him, you smugly observed his lust-struck face, mouth releasing irregular breaths already. You couldn’t wait to have him curse at you.

Eyes back on the task at hand, you grabbed the base of his cock, opening your mouth. Slowly, aggravatingly slow, you sunk down, taking in inch by inch — Chan pushed his hips forward, and you nearly gagged at the impact of his head hitting the back of your throat.

“Shi-shit baby,” he sputtered, watching you in awe at your work. “You better tell me if you don’t want your throat fucked.”

You answered him with your progression, slowly releasing his cock from your lips, tongue licking his slit before descending back on him again. You tried to be slow — you didn’t want to go straight to deepthroating, but the way Chan choked out his curses was sweet encouragement. Holding his dick still, you began bobbing your head and down, shallow at first, testing the waters.

When the man instinctively began bucking his hips, pushing his cock into your mouth further, you opened your jaw wider, taking in the remaining inches. The gag reflex kicked in like a bitch, but you refused to cease your labour as you increased your pace. Chan leaned in a little, caressing your cheeks as he rutted against your mouth.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, baby,” he cooed breathlessly. “So good for taking my cock like that.”

Unable to smile, you answered him with your hands, now playing with his balls, slapping them slightly to make him groan out in pleasure, head laid back against the chair. “I’m close, ____,” he warned, never stopping his own thrusts. You hoped he never would, when his end was so near.

Taking all of him in, you pressed your hands on his legs, urging you to look at him. With one final home run, you hollowed in your cheeks, surrounding his entire cock in your mouth as you imprisoned him with your hooded gaze.

The image of you, a beautiful ruination, was his undoing.

Chan let out a vicious string of curses as he released, ropes of cum spilling inside your mouth. He slumped into the chair, breathing in the entire county’s worth of oxygen as all energy left him. This time, to add to his lust-driven shock, you swallowed his release, thanking your lucky stars that your friend finally listened and ate some fruit. His cum, at last, tasted more than bearable.

After a few silent moments, the man finally raised himself from the dead, sighing as he beheld you kneeling still. “I think I can’t live without you.”

Chuckling, you heaved yourself up, legs unsteady. “That’s just your inner horny speaking,” you said, nearly falling over on your own feet. Quickly, Chan brought you back onto his lap again, creating an iron grip around you.

“Think what you like,” he began, peppering small kisses on your neck. “But your head game is stronger than my will to punch Jisung, that’s for sure.”

You hummed as he plunged his teeth upon a certain spot, pressing your legs together. “It better be.”

Finding your lips, he lazily kissed you, hands skirting higher as you move your mouth against his, never tired from his touches.

“Have we christened the studio yet?” The man asked in between kisses, pushing his chair forward till your back hit the table.

You shook your head no, already sensing his unbearable grin. You could not help returning his enthusiasm.

And as you both continued in your shameless arrangements, there was one thought that lingered in your head.

There was absolutely no way you were going to that party.

OF COURSE YOU WERE GOING TO THAT PARTY.

You looked to the building, the whole ground floor alight with different, ever-changing lights, and a dim pandemonium welcoming your ears. Your phone pinged with messages, but you dutifully ignored them, taking a deep breath as you took a step inside.

Greeted with a half-full hallway, it was not hard to find the party house, greeting awkwardly to a few drunk acquaintances before entering Jisung’s dorm. You were instantly hit by the smell of sweat and alcohol as the noise of popular music made your ears ring in discomfort. An abundance of students were cramped as they danced along to the tunes, screaming and laughing and simply enjoying themselves.

While observing the scene, a small part of you wished your best friend was with you, an arm slung around you as he makes a comment on the specific people dancing rather terribly in the centre. You could already imagine him in his Friday attire, midnight-kissed with gold chains dangling off his belt, rings adorning his fingers and a little makeup to elevate his already exquisite features. Maybe, if you had insisted, he would have let you paint his nails, something which you adored on him.

Fuck, you thought, searching through the crowd for a place to get a drink. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

You shook your head, though, beginning to squeeze through the partygoers. No. You can’t let Chan win in this.

And so you found your way to the kitchen, cans of beer, vodka and tequila stacked in broken pyramids to drink away. Just as you made to grab the Smirnoff your hand brushed against another’s. You turned to the direction, and beamed to see Jisung holding out the can for you.

“____!” he exclaimed, barely heard from the commotion yet could feel his joy radiating from him. “Don’t you have a thing with Chan on Fridays?”

“Well, that can happen every Friday, Ji, but your party was only today,” you answered him, and he was more than satisfied.

He grabbed the same drink as yours, cracking it open as he looked at you, stare lingering upon your black dress. “I’m really glad you came, love.”

You blinked at the sudden endearment, but before you could say anything Changbin had interrupted the both of you, threatening to bring the roof down with his whining.

“Pleeease Ji, get me away from her!” he begged, holding onto Jisung’s arm and rocking it back and forth. “She keeps tryna drag me into the bedrooms and I can’t do it with her, bro!”

The boy adorned hints of irritancy, but he let himself be led by his friend, glazing at you. “Wait for me,” he requested.

His answer was a little wave, which he returned dutifully as he began to berate his friend for tearing him away from you. Raising your eyebrow, you turned back to the alcohol, finding some soda water and pouring it into the empty cups along with the Smirnoff. You would have drank the vodka straight from the bottle but you decided against drinking your tits off tonight. You didn’t really have a great desire for intoxication.

You cursed at a few passersby as they bumped against you, nearly knocking the drink off your hands. Fixing your dress, you took the first sip, relishing the strong taste. The songs kept changing, the dancing getting wilder, and at this rate you knew someone was going to get handsy soon.

Drinking away, you snapped the cup on the table beside you, waiting for Jisung to come back.

Why did you even come here?

You instantly soured at the thought.

Still, you could not help pondering further.

You should have stayed home. With him.

You groaned out loud.

It was ridiculous how you were unable to have any idea which didn’t centre around that prick. If he did not want to join you that was on him.

Then were you feeling miserable?

Great. You poured yourself some more diluted vodka. Now you’re a full-time simp.

That helped you down the drink some more. At least this time, in fortunate circumstances, you were not a lightweight, and so were still completely aware of your surroundings.

Aware enough to see a more tousled Jisung stagger toward you, giggling like a little child.

You watched him lunge towards the tequila cans and crack one open, downing half the thing in one go. “Careful, Ji, or you’ll fall to your death!” you warned him, laughing as he exhaled with great exaggeration.

He staggered to where you were standing, slumping against the wall and taking another can. “I’m so sorry!” he simpered, much too loudly for your sober ears.

You raised a brow, about to ask him for what but he was already answering your question. “I made you wait so looong!” he dragged, drinking some more. “Look at you! Leaving you all alone.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, crossing your arms, drink still in hand. “Just say I have zero friends.”

“Hey, don’t say that!” You were taken aback by Jisung grabbing onto your arm, pulling him to you. He looked you dead in the eyes, wide and alive. “You do not have zero friends!” he declared, louder than before. “I’m your friend.”

Your poor ears hurt like a bitch, but you smiled at his words. “Yes, indeed you are,” you said in earnest. “Thank you, Jisung.”

It was then he blinked slowly, parting his lips as his fingers upon your arm began to wander. “But I wish you didn’t think like that.”

His touch did not go unnoticed at all. You looked at him, raising a brow, but that action went unnoticed. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you’re a smart girl,” he slurred, voice still soft and innocent as his hand travelled to your shoulder. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Freezing up, you felt the pads of his fingers caress your face. When he tilted his head, you finally saw what he had been trying to show you since the start of the year, the emotions he was too drunk to hide any longer.

Lust. Pure lust swirling in his eyes.

It was like a lightbulb had finally switched on in your grape-sized brain.

“Oh my God!”

Instantly, you pressed your hands to Jisung’s chest, pushing him completely off. He nearly fell flat on his ass, but grabbed the table just in time to stagger back to balance. He glanced upwards, and you saw his eyes widen.

“____?” he got out, but you raised a finger, which he was still intelligent enough to figure out to shut up.

“Ji, what the fuck?” You slapped your drink down on the table, making him jump.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, taking another can. “But it’s the truth, damn it, and I’m tired of having to pretend all the time about it!”

Fuck, you suddenly thought, realising that you needed to get out of this crammed residence. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Jisung, look—” you started, but he groaned out loud, waving off your answer.

“No, no, I know what you’re gonna say.” He then did a terrible impression of you, simpering, “Oh, Ji, I can’t go out with you because I’m soooo in love with my best friend in the whole wide world!”

You snapped your head to his direction. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me clearly!” He finished off his nth can. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a Romeo and Juliet shit going on, but I know something is going on between you two!”

A laugh huffed out of you, but the boy was not convinced. “We’re just friends. Good friends, that’s all.”

Your answer was a hysterical bout of laughter, confusing you even further. “Come on, ____. I’m stupid, but not completely braindead.”

He took a step closer to you, careful of your hands still. “I know Chan practically adores you.”

This little statement made your shit freeze. “Stop it,” you murmured.

“Why?” he demanded. “Because I’m saying something the both of you refuse to listen to?”

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped. “Don’t get mad because I don’t wanna go out with you.”

“I’m not mad because of that.” With one last tequila can, he grabbed it, turning on his heel. “I’m mad because the both of you keep lying to yourselves.”

Before you could counter back, the boy stumbled away from you, hollering to the crowd to leave some space on the dance floor for him. You wondered for a second how he’d handle dancing when he could barely walk properly, but then your thoughts drifted back to the more dire subject at hand.

“Fuck,” you cursed out loud this time.

There it was. The question you should have addressed ever since you started this arrangement with Chan.

Were you really just friends?

You knew the question to that yourself. Both you and him had transcended past that point now, and in a horrifying realisation, you didn’t mind it that much. After experiencing his touch, his whispers, you doubt that you could ever see him as a friend again.

But...to be more?

Fuck indeed. You had a lot to think about tonight.

“But first,” you muttered, “To be out of this stupid party.”

Quickly, after taking two Smirnoff cans, you squeezed past the million drunkards, making your way to the exit. When you were out of the residence, you breathed in the cool night air, a rarity in these sweaty dorm rooms.

You had a small hope, as you walked down the lanes, that Chan would be there, right at the entrance as you left, but he was not there. He had a little habit of going wherever you were supposed to be if you were not home at the expected time, worried sick if you had drank or done something more stupid than usual.

But he was not here today. Maybe going to Jisung’s party made him extremely pissed.

There was a reason he rated it 9/10.

Soon, you were at your building, entering inside and finding your door at the very end of the hallway. Fishing out the keys, you slid them into the lock, careful of the cans, hearing the click! of the unlocking.

Your hand rested upon the doorknob. Eyes staring at the lifeless colour of the door, you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath.

Stop worrying. Chan is your best friend.

You turned the knob.

Your best friend.

Pushed the door open. Stepped inside.

Right?

“Back so soon?”

Your body shivered at the words. Quickly walking inside the living room, you found the back of the sofa greeting you as per usual, with Chan’s head peering on top as he watched the TV. Walking further, you noticed yours and his favourite show playing on the screen.

“Yeah, it was quite boring, but the real question is,” you began, irritation marring your features, “Why are you watching this without me?”

He didn’t even glance back at you, nor pause the TV. “Oh, I don’t know, ____, maybe because it’s Friday night, and it’s our thing to do this every time? Do tell me if I’m wrong!”

“Shut up, Chan,” you seethed, dumping the Smirnoff on the coffee tables in front of him. “This is the one time I missed this, so stop being such a baby.”

“Oh, so you tell me to shut up,” he jeered, snapping the remote on the table, making you jump slightly. “Fine, I’ll shut up. You won’t hear a word from me again.”

You took a glimpse of his face, and caught this cold fury simmering beneath his skin. Oh no. Had you going to Jisung’s party made him this angry? It was beyond nonsensical now. Bang Chan was the most reasonable man you ever befriended.

Taking in the emotions inhabiting on his face, however, proved otherwise.

I know Chan practically adores you.

The memory brought chills all over you again.

Making your way into the kitchen, you figured to make yourself a midnight snack, hearing the crack! of a can opening behind you. Asshole, you refused to voice out loud, but opened the fridge, taking out leftovers and heating it up in the microwave.

“Anything interesting happened, then?” you heard the dry question travel to you.

Scoffing, you turned, taking out your food. “Oh, I thought I wasn’t hearing a word from you again.”

Your best friend’s smile was anything but sweet. “Well, I figured if you weren’t going to tell me things, I had to ask you myself.”

That snatched any faux amusement you might have harboured. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know what the fuck that means!” he snapped, getting up from the couch, pausing the screen. “I can’t believe you’re not telling me.”

“How about a little less attitude and a little more truth, you prick,” you rebuked, putting the cartons on the kitchen counter.

“Fine, I’ll tell you the truth that you’re too much of a pussy to say yourself!” He thundered into the kitchen, Smirnoff still in hand.

You backed up against the counter when he caged you with his glare. “Since when did you start going out with Jisung?”

Instantly your brows furrowed. “Who the fuck told you that?”

“Shit, I knew that bastard wanted to get in your pants,” he roared. “And you let him use you!”

“Woah, woah, buddy, slow down there!” You raised your hands in objection. “I’m not dating Jisung!”

“What?” He took a gulp of the vodka, confusion mixing with his fury. “You’re not?”

“Of course not, the fuck?! Who told you this?”

“He—” but then the cogs turned in Chan’s head, and suddenly it made sense to him. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“What happened?” you asked, but he was drinking some more, cursing himself for even believing such nonsense. “Chan?”

“That son of a bitch called me before you came,” he started, swirling his drink in the can. “And I don’t know why he did, but he kept telling me to back off from you.”

You let out a low curse, but your friend was not finished. “I told him to get some sleep, cause clearly he wasn’t right in the head, but then...he said some words which literally shut me up.”

Then, you saw him hitch in an uncertain breath. “____, he bragged that he asked you out and...and you said yes.”

His reaction had you widening your eyes, mouth parting just a little. “And, damn it, I thought that this is why she’s so nice to this little fucker, giving him my coffee, or missing Friday night for his stupid party. Hell, even suggesting him first to be her friends-with-benefits.

“Because maybe she liked Jisung all along.”

You watched in horror as he finished his drink, crumbling the can and throwing it in the bin beside you. A shuddered breath escaped you at the explanation, but you sucked it in once more when you blinked back the sheer intensity of this man’s stare.

“So...yeah.” He ruffled his hair, breaking the stare as he looked away, face flushing with colour. “That’s why I just...yeah.”

A small part of you melted at his words, and his now embarrassment after expressing his desperate worry for you and your potential relationship.

Still, you had some problems that needed solving. “Chan, then why were you so angry at me?!”

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t even wait to hear what I had to say on the matter.”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he exclaimed, propping his hands to his sides. “I heard Jisung saying all that bullshit, and at the time I was so pissed that…”

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d go out with him, you dumbass!”

“Well, I don’t know, he’s just such a nice guy like you keep saying, and all that flowery poetry for him just went straight into my head!”

The situation almost seemed comical now. “Oh my God, did you really think I liked him?!

“Of course” he cried out, slapping his hands on the counter top next to you, unable to let you escape. As if you even wanted to. “Of course I thought that or else I wouldn’t be shitting my pants all night!”

“Then you’re the dumbest fucking prick I’ve ever met!” you screamed, as you grabbed hold of his hoodie, pulling him closer to you. “Because I don’t like him!

“I like you!”

“Well, I like you too, you stupid bitch!”

The confession had you both stopping, preventing the two of you going deaf from your shouting. The whole fight was completely ridiculous, but when you looked at each other, drinking in the words that just left your lips, the realisation finally dawned on you.

I like you too.

Well, shit. There it was.

The one thing you’d been hiding ever since you decided to fool around with him.

Maybe this was the last way you wanted to tell him, shouting out your declaration to prove his suspicions wrong. It was almost like something out of an unfunny American sitcom — this weird, comic deflation, but at least it was out in the open now.

You had finally told him of your feelings.

A pinch of that anger brewing within his features settled a little, hands still fisted on your sides. His eyes darted on every point of your face, as if he’s trying to memorise every inch, every detail etched upon your skin.

Although his blatant awe made you flustered, the aching inside spoke for you. “Are you going to keep staring all night or just kiss me already?”

God, you were such a bitch.

Chan seemed to think so too. “Nevermind, I fucking hate you,” he snarled, capturing your lips with his in an instant. You smiled against his mouth as you kissed him back with the same intensity, the same need which spread like wildfire in your body.

Kissing him should have become a routine with the amount of times you did it, but every locking of your lips with his sent you in a frenzy, lust-driven emotions spiralling out of control. You welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, the strong taste of tequila and desperation enlivening your inner workings, heightening your need for him, him, and only him.

His hands had no restrictions — the pads of his fingers had their very own needs, their own desire to feel every crevice of your body, your every curve and corner till you have no secret stored in your figure which they did not know of. You welcomed their ravaging, embraced their interrogation as they tried to uncover everything you held dear.

Once these hands found a weakness in the form of your dress altogether, they cleverly found an opening, reaching for the end of your dress lined at your thighs. His fingers hitched the hem upwards, skirting it higher until it bunched at your waist, revealing a red, silken thong, embroidered with black thread. You relished in Chan practically salivating all over the image, but his lust slapped him out of his dazing, and hurried to get it off, hands slipping it down your legs until it was discarded on the kitchen floor.

In an instant the man thrust two fingers inside of you, stretching your walls and creating a hypnotic rhythm of removing and inserting them back again. Your moans could bring down the whole residence, but none of you cared when Chan was scissoring you with his digits on the kitchen counter, desire radiating off his stature, and a determination to completely ruin you stark on his face.

“M-more!” You begged, knowing you could take it, and you were rewarded with a third finger, filling you up as you cried out in pleasure. His mouth quietened you, sucking on your lower lip and then taking all of you, had you delirious, but this insanity only progressed as the thrust of his fingers hit lighting speed.

The three digits had quickened your potential release, right on the tip of your cunt if he did not stop. “I’m g-gonna—fuck—!”

You were interrupted as Chan’s lips left yours, trailing down to your neck, collarbone, brushing his teeth between your chest as he fell to his knees. Pulling you forward, on the edge of the countertop, he spread your legs apart, cock twitching at the drenched cunt which awaited him, like a feast displayed for a starved, wild animal.

Looking up at you, he growled, “Cum when I say so, understand?”

Your hurried nods was all he needed as he dove right in, tongue sliding up your slit, lapping up your arousal as if it was an eternal cure. He fastened his stroke as he welcomed in his sight your clit, swiping his tongue along the bud.

You moaned out his name like a cry for help, and he answered at first ring when his fingers still laboured, faster and faster, along with his heavenly tongue licking your clit like ice cream on a summer's day.

“Chan, please—!” You choked out, one hand carding through the man’s hair, driving his face deeper into your cunt. “Please, I need to cum!”

Completely ignoring you, he carried on his ravishing, making you shake your legs to a point your body was beyond your control — you were at his mercy when his head was between your legs, when he prodded at your core as if it was no one else’s but his.

When Chan brushed against your g-spot, it took every muscle in your body not to cum on his face then and there. He was being cruel; this was punishment for going to that party, justice for choosing Jisung’s company over his.

You did not know punishment felt so pain-stakingly amazing.

Calling out his name for the last time, you knew that if the man carried on, you would go against his wishes and free yourself of the burden pushing down on your gut. Gripping onto his hair hard enough to rip right off, Chan spared a single glance at you from above, licking his lips off your mess.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was the first time you came that night. Shaking as you freed your juices unto him, he gladly accepting the release. It was like you possessed a vessel of your release, the way you kept it inside for so long. He could never refuse though, when he knew he was responsible for driving you down that road of vulnerability.

However, even with all of that, you still wanted more.

And as Chan ascended on his feet, yanking his fingers out of you, he saw it in your eyes. The uncontainable passion. The unadulterated desire.

All for him. All. For him.

Your best friend’s smile was positively wicked.

“I will completely ruin you, ____.”

He was upon you like a beast, no mercy upon your lips as he bruised them with his teeth, your pleas drowned out by his mouth as he lifted you in his arms. His kisses never ceased as he led you in his bedroom, nearly ripping the hinges at the sheer intensity of slamming his door shut.

Throwing you on the bed, your breath whooshed out of you at the free fall, heart running miles as you witnessed Chan take his shirt off, his entire chest glistening with sweat, no doubt from the work he put in mere minutes ago.

Upon you in seconds, his mouth robbed you of any more oxygen, prying it open as he attempted to unzip your dress from the back. Then, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, he tried to loosen the zipping, but the damned thing got stuck in it’s trail, unable to satisfy.

Letting out an angry growl, he damned the dress when, using his hands at the front, he ripped the fabric in half, completely down to the hem.

“My dress!” You gasped out, watching him discard the torn fabric as if it were a minor inconvenience in his path.

You were cut off by his mouth, scorching you down to the bone. “I’ll buy you ten more, baby,” he muttered, skimming his hands down your bare sides.

You had the audacity to roll your eyes at his words. “Why do you keep forgetting you’re a college student?”

It seemed Chan did not take kindly to your comment. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, resulting in you leaking right onto his sheets.

That kept you wilfully obedient, and rightfully so, when he unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, and settled upon your breasts. Grinding his clothed cock upon your bare slit, he licked your right nipple, making you whimper out at him. His reply was swirling his finger on your left nipple, toying with your body as if it was his plaything. You would have had a right mind to shout at him if he didn’t bring such euphoria along with it.

“Chan,” you whispered, gripping onto the sheets as he continued sucking your breasts. “Chan, I...I need you to fuck me already.”

He paused his assault on your bud, raising a groomed brow. “What do you say to that?” He asked, too calmly in a crazy situation like this.

Of course, he wanted to make you beg. Considering you did not care the least for your self respect, or lack thereof, you completely obliged him, rutting your bare cunt upon his trousers.

“Please, Chan. Please.”

Hearing the little pleases had him kissing you insane as he urged you to take his pants off. You willingly obeyed, tossing the clothing along with his Calvins, and when his cock sprung me you felt the inside of your mouth water at the sight.

The man hovered just above you as he positioned his dick right at the entrance, poking between the folds. “Say the magic word, now, baby,” he commanded quietly, and just for the last time, you had to be the most annoying person in the world.

“Donghyuck!”

The second that damned name slipped out of your mouth, you completely regretted it as instead of making sweet, slow love to you, Bang Chan thrusted his cock so hard into you your whole body flinched with the impact. You couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped, tears settling in your eyes, but alas, your best friend had little sympathy for you.

“Bitch,” he seethed, pulling out, widening your eyes only to have him slam his cock back into you, sending you into another universe entirely.

You envied his strength — you could barely hold onto his arms while his grip on you could probably compete with the Earth’s gravity, stable and safe and inescapable. He imprisoned you in his hold as he pulled out slowly, and then drove back inside, but you wanted to be in this cage, to never leave his midnight eyes that offered something other than rage and lust and humour. You dared not wonder what it might be, but when you closed your eyes, your mind began to ponder, float amongst the stars of ideas and questions which defined your relationship.

As Chan began to fasten his pace, thrusts more erratic, you held onto his dark curls, mouth never refraining every moan and whine which he fucked out of you. There he was, the man who deemed you worthy of being pleasured, despite risking your decade old friendship to see you have the same advantages as any old person who was sexually frustrated.

But this man did not just give you any old advantages — he offered the whole world in his hands to you, knelt before you, fulfilled your every waking desire, held onto you before you could ever slip away into the chaos of your mind. Even now, with you getting lost into the galaxies of his eyes, it was solely his hands which were the anchor to reality, a reality he made better by his offer.

Bang Chan, your very best friend.

When he caught the tenderness radiating on your face, he could not help stealing a little for himself, moulding his lips upon yours as he pistoned you in the bed. It was perhaps this small warmth, along with his perfect rhythm of his cock that had you crying out, barely able to contain your second release.

You broke away from the kiss, and uttered his name like a prayer. “Chan,” you whimpered, not needing to say anything for him to realise that you were so very near.

He pressed his forehead against yours, unable to keep away from you. “Fine then,” he grumbled. “I’ll go easy on you.

“Cum for me, ____.”

The words weren’t fully out when you stained Chan’s bed with your release, pushing through the tiny spaces in your walls. He, too, let out an aggravated cry as he spilled into you, most mingling along with your cum upon the sheets.

A heavy silence fell upon the both of you, both of your breathing harmonising with each other in the cold midnight. Chan toppled on the side of the bed next to you, closing his eyes as he breathed from his mouth, chest rising unevenly.

For minutes none of you said anything to each other, simply basking in each other’s peace. You felt the eyes of your best friend, and locked them with yours.

You decided to break the silence first.

“I’m sorry for saying his name.”

Brilliant. Why would you mention that stupid idol once again?

Chan, surprisingly, burst into laughter. You were caught completely off guard, but seeing his smile lighten up his face had you reflecting his happiness.

“You are,” he rasped out, holding onto his stomach, “The most annoying bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, smacking him on his arm, which he responded with threats of pushing you off the bed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

His hands were upon you in seconds, steering you at the edge of the mattress. He cackled at your shocked yelping, and you glared at him as he pushed you away from the edge, and into his arms. “Asshole,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest, which he gladly welcomed as he stroked your hair softly with his fingers.

You both found solace in each other’s embrace for a little while before Chan let go of you. “Hey, I completely forgot, but...I got you something while you were out.”

Your eyes perked up at the idea of a gift, which the man tutted when he noticed. “Greedy whore,” he crowed, getting out of the bed as he strolled to his desk, grabbing a brown paper bag. His marble-cut ass was out for you to see, and you took full advantage, watching it with no small amount of admiration.

“Enjoyed the view?” He asked innocently as he slithered right back into bed again, offering you the paper bag. Sticking your tongue out at him, you took the offer, opening it up to see what was so special inside.

Catching sight of the gift had you bursting into a smile.

“Chan!”

You whipped the goods out of the bag, hand on your mouth.

The man bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide. “You like it?”

“You like it?” You parroted, already digging in. “Where did you even find these?”

“Oh, I visited my mom earlier in the day, and she got the cookies from the old shop,” he explained, taking one of the sweets for himself. “I instantly thought of you as she gave them to me, so I saved them for you.”

You widened your eyes in affection. These sweets may have been normal, bakery cookies, but they held a significance for the both of you: these cookies were what started the whole trend of you and Chan rating certain objects or situations for each other, and whenever you were on an academic break, you made sure to drag your friend back to our hometown, where you could always grab a dozen of your favourite snack.

“Thank you for these, bud,” you said, eating away the first cookie. “I think they’ve become better than an eight now.”

Chan hummed in agreement, finishing off his one too. Licking the crumbs off his fingers, he then turned to you, a question riddled all over his face. “Hey, ____?”

“Yeah?”

When he didn’t say anything, you focused your attention on him, propping your head on your elbow. You saw with slight surprise that his cheeks were reddening by the second.

“Chan?”

“It’s just…” he raised his hand, holding your own. “I’ve been thinking about…all of this.”

You raised your brows, refusing to reveal the dread rising in your gut. “Us?”

“Yeah, us,” he confirmed, stroking his thumb across your fingers. “Now, remember that you’ll always be my best friend, okay, like I don’t want you thinking that this would be the end of us or something—”

“Get to the point, buddy,” you hurried along, earning a glare from him.

Then, he licked his lips in anxiety, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Hand never leaving yours, he pinned you with a stare, making you even more nervous.

He parted his mouth.

“____, would you like to go on a date with me?”

You blinked.

Your delayed reaction had Chan groaning. “Fuck, nevermind, just forget I said anything!” He swiped his hand away from yours, holding his head in shame. “I should have kept my big mouth shut, your bad habits are really growing on me—”

“Yes.”

Your best friend paused.

Turned, ever so slowly, towards you.

“What?”

You could not contain your smile as you took his hand once more. “I’ll go on a date with you, you big oaf.”

For a second you truly believed you had killed off Chan with that declaration. Then, his face exploded into pure joy, and he tackled you in a massive hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Oh my fucking God!” he cursed, “Don’t do that to me again!”

You laughed heartily as you put him at arms’ length. “You were the one doing mental gymnastics!”

Refusing still to let go of you, he played with your hair as he clamped on his lips. “One more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“How good was I?” He looked at you, a vulnerable expression etched onto his beautiful features. “You know...with all of this.”

You stared at him, drinking in his face, his every detail, as if you had all the time in the world. Firstly, you had a right mind to pull his leg one more time, but you feared that if you made fun of him again, he might die of a heart attack.

And you still had many more years of tormenting your best friend.

So you brought him towards you, pressing your lips onto his. He seemed very much obliged to go deeper, but you pulled away just as quickly, offering him a ghost of a smile.

“I think you were a 10/10,” you whispered. “From start till finish.”

Hearing the score, and sensing your sincerity along with it, had him in near tears. He enveloped your mouth with his, backing you against the divan as he expressed his affection within the rhythm of his lips.

When he pulled away, still mere inches from you, he said the words he’d been meaning to say since the day he first laid eyes on you — since the day you two contacted this system, since the day he knew your rating as if he knew his own name.

“Well, baby, you’ve always been a 10/10 for me.”

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids oneshot #bang chan imagines #bang chan oneshot #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan dark hours #bang chan hard hours #stray kids hard hours

2K notes · View notes

bondsmagii · 3 years

Note

same person who asked about spelunking (sorry i binge your blog every now and then and keep finding things i wanna hear about this time!) But you mentioned one of your most terrifying experiences involved dolls, I'd love to hear about it if youre comfortable :>?

oh it's fine, don't worry! I can always appreciate a good old fashioned bit of curiosity. I suppose it's only fair that with all the creepy experiences I take from other people, I finally give a statement of my own. buckle up, though, because this one is a long one.

So, this all happened in 2011-2012, and it began in Belfast, Ireland. A friend of mine, Caoimhe, had started studying at Queen’s University, and she had moved in to student accommodation in the student district nearby. I was studying in Scotland at the time, but thankfully the summer and winter holidays provided me with three months off each, so I would frequently return back to Ireland and catch up with the people who’d stayed there. Caoimhe’s place, being situated in the city and in a university district, was obviously the place to hang out and party, but before I even arrived Caoimhe warned me that the place was… odd. Now, as anyone who’s ever met me knows, I absolutely love creepy stuff and I have a tendency to bring it out in places and in people; naturally I asked for details, but Caoimhe said she wanted to see what I thought when I got there. Considering I was going to be there that evening, I was able to have a modicum of patience.

I get there in the late afternoon. It’s summer and everything is still bright and lively, and the street looks normal. Parking is only on one side of the street; on the other side is a row of buildings, three floors high. Most of them are split into houses, but there are a few businesses there, too – a nursery school, a hairdresser’s, that kind of thing. I get out of the car and go and knock on Caoimhe’s door, which is between two businesses. She opens the door, and immediately tells me she cannot wait to hear what I think of the place. I have no idea what to expect, because Caoimhe was always the sceptical one and it takes a lot to get her even remotely excited about anything spooky, but I realised what she meant within about five minutes of being in the house.

It was the weirdest layout of any house I have ever seen.

Upon entering, I was in a small porch area. Going through the interior door brought me to the bottom of a set of stairs; to the right was a short hallway, containing a bedroom and, at the end of it, a spacious kitchen. Going up the stairs, I came to a small bathroom on the half-landing; turning and ascending the second flight brought me to a small landing area and, directly opposite, a colossal living room. Turning up yet another flight of stairs and there was a larger bathroom on the half-landing, practically industrial – like a large school changing room. There were about eight showers all lined up in cubicles, toilets lined up in other cubicles, and a row of old, almost Victorian-looking sinks. There was no door to the bathroom, either. Just an open archway leading to tiles that looked as though they should be on a factory floor in the early twentieth century. After this, there was another flight of stairs and then a small landing, this time with nothing ahead of it but, to my left, a long hallway. I mean, a long hallway. The longest hallway I’ve ever seen in any residential building, ever, in my life. It went on, and on, and on. From beginning to end, at a normal walking pace, it took about two minutes to walk. There were other doors, but they were few and far between. Only three people lived on that floor, and the hallway just stretched endlessly on. Caoimhe, of course, lived in the absolute furthest room from the stairs. We walked, passing the occasional door, under dim, flickering lightbulbs high up in the ceiling. We had long since walked past the original house we had entered. We were probably almost entirely down the street by this point. There were no windows at all.

Finally, we get to Caoimhe’s room. It’s practically at the end of the hall; in front of us is a dead end, and a fire escape that cannot exist. All of the buildings on this street are terraced, which means that joining on to this wall should be the next building. There were no alleyways separating any of the buildings at street level – they were all side by side, sharing a wall. I asked Caoimhe about it and she just shrugged, and then pointed to the wall opposite her door. There was another door there, cheaply made, not a fire door like the doors to the bedrooms. It also didn’t fit properly, leaving a small gap and a cool breeze drifting out from between the wood and the frame. I, of course, stuck my eye to the gap and peered in. I could make out nothing aside from swirling dust and the faint outline of the first few steps of another set of stairs. Upon my asking, Caoimhe told me she didn’t know where it went to, and that she and some of the others had tried to prise the door open but given up when it wouldn’t budge. They had even asked the university’s residential services about it, but were told that it didn’t belong to them as tenants and it was best to leave it alone.

As I mentioned before – Caoimhe is not really interested in messing around with this kind of stuff. Practically minded, she spent her time dealing in the tangible, and as a nursing student she had precious little free time. What free time she did have she enjoyed spending drinking, and annoying me by doing lines of cocaine off my books. I love her dearly, but you have to understand that mysteries like this do not interest her at all, but they drive me mad. From the moment I saw that door, I suppose my fate was sealed. In the old refrain of many sorry souls before me, I had to know.

The first few nights I was there was admittedly spent partying and catching up, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. I split my time between staying with Caoimhe and staying with an ex-boyfriend of mine, Brian, who lived about half a mile away in another part of the university district. I was at his place when I got a call from Caoimhe at about two in the morning, telling me that some weird shit was going down and I had to come see. I, of course, ran over there as quickly as possible, to find the house in uproar. Aside from one girl on the ground floor, everyone else lived in the Endless Hallway – all three of them – and they were all out of their rooms and standing in a strange section of the hall about two thirds up. Here, two rooms were located, the doors to which were set back in a little alcove. Opposite this alcove was another fire door that had to lead to nowhere, that I admittedly had not noticed before. I stared at it, confused, and then I was temporarily comforted when Gemma, once of Caoimhe’s housemates, asked me if I hadn’t noticed it before, either. I absolutely had not, and the general consensus was that nobody had noticed this fire escape. It was very difficult to miss, too – it was silver, with the green sign for a fire escape on it, but strangely there was no way to open it from this side. It was just a smooth door – no handle, no push bar, nothing. Being a fire escape door, it should have had a push bar and swung open into the stairwell or hallway beyond, to prevent it from being blocked from opening by a crowd of people trying to escape, but there was nothing. It was like looking at a fire escape door from the outside. Everyone agreed that it could not have been there before; Gemma and Ashley, the girl in the room next to her, were absolutely adamant they would have noticed it, considering it was right opposite their doors; Caoimhe admitted that she probably wouldn’t have noticed it because she wasn’t in the habit of noticing every door she walked by, but she did admit that the colour would have made it hard to miss. I, of course, amin the habit of looking out for such details, precisely for reasons like this, so I had definitely not noticed the door before.

I asked how they had noticed, and Gemma said that she had heard running footsteps in the hallway going back and forth for some time, and as she’d been trying to sleep she had opened her door to tell whoever it was to knock it off. She had found the hallway dark, and the door opposite hers. She had understandably been freaked out by this and banged on Ashley’s door, and the commotion had drawn Caoimhe into the mix whereupon she had said she knew a guy who absolutely had to see this shit and called me. She was correct, and I duly stayed the rest of the night to see if anything else happened. Nothing did, and aside from the extra door that had materialised in the hallway, things were calm for another week.

When it all kicked off again, I was staying over after another heavy night partying. Caoimhe and I were passed out in her room when we were both woken up by an incredibly loud crash. Before we could work out what had happened, lights went on in the hallway outside and we heard Gemma start screaming, and I mean reallyscreaming. Caoimhe and I jumped up and ran out into the hall, sprinting the distance between Caoimhe’s door and the alcove, and there we found Gemma hiding behind her own door and the fire door opposite wide open. It had been flung open so wide that it had crashed against and dented the wall it was on. Ashley was looking at it, dumfounded; Gemma could barely watch. Caoimhe was also not being much help, so – bound by insatiable curiosity and an extreme lack of self-preservation that for me is so often co-morbid with said curiosity – I went forward to investigate. I noticed that the door seemed old, like it had perhaps been rusted in place; beyond it there was nothing but darkness, and cold air moved out of the passage with enough speed that I felt a strong breeze. I had my phone, so I turned it on to use it as a light, seeing that beyond the door was a short landing and then a set of stairs. I went to the wooden railing at the top and shone the phone down, seeing that the stairs appeared to keep going in a half-flight, small landing, half-flight pattern. The stairs were all wooden, and in bad condition. With the girls still nervously watching, I descended the first flight and then turned to look at the next one. It smelled stale now, and slightly damp; I put the brightness of my screen up and saw, arranged neatly at the end of each step, there was an item of children’s belongings – a toy, or a teddy bear. They were all arranged very precisely, one on each stair, all the way down as far as I could see. Where the light gave out, the darkness was so black it seemed to have a solid weight. I decided I was not going down there without a proper light, and as I didn’t yet have one, I retreated back up the stairs. We closed the door over, but it would no longer fit in its frame; a chair was dutifully carried all the way up from the distant kitchen and put in front of it.

I quickly discovered something even odder about that staircase. Probably to the surprise of nobody, it shouldn’t exist. The floors directly below us should have been a hairdresser’s; there was no space for a stairwell and no way to exit on the ground floor. I went outside and checked both the front and the back of the building, and no doors opened anywhere near where the stairs should have come out. There was just no possible way for it to fit, and no point to it being there. It was a dead end in dead space.

Now we get to the truly terrifying part. For several weeks the place seemed to be fine, just the kind of regular haunting I was used to but that the others understandably found concerning. Cold spots, weird noises, strange atmospheres, feelings of being watched… that kind of thing. It made me increasingly uneasy in one particular spot of the house, though. There was one other mystery door that led to a mystery staircase, and that was the strange, out-of-place door opposite Caoimhe’s room. I figured that there was a chance that that door shouldn’t be there, either – like the fire escape, it was a different kind of door to the others, and also like the fire escape, it didn’t quite fit into its frame. I tried multiple times to get in to the staircase beyond, but the door would absolutely not shift and every time I tried, I would soon have to retreat because of an overwhelming sense of sadness and dread. I’ve always been highly sensitive to the paranormal, and anyone who has spent any amount of time with me has seen some inexplicable stuff go down; something I’m known for is knowing things I shouldn’t be able to know. I either just know them – they just arrive in my head full-formed and I know that it’s the truth – or they come to me in dreams. These dreams stand out from the other dreams because they’re incredibly realistic, and even in the dream I know that they’re something else entirely. I’m either myself in the dream, moving around and discovering things on my own, or I’m watching as somebody else does it, silently observing and, unusually for my dreams, with no amount of lucidity at all. I suppose, with all my banging around trying to get up those stairs, I must have finally tapped in to whatever it was that would allow me to know what was beyond it, because shortly afterwards I experienced the worst instance of this of my life.

By this point, I was back at university. I hadn’t thought too much about it all in any detail because classes had started again and I was still exhausted from driving all my stuff back over, getting the ferry, unpacking… moving every three months was a bit of a drag. Despite this, when the dream started, I immediately knew where I was. The building felt different, and all the lights were dimmed to the point they were barely worth being on, but I knew I was back in Caoimhe’s flat and I also knew that it was years before anybody moved in. I stood there and watched as a woman walked towards me down the long, endless hallway. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, and her hair was a mess. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red; she was still crying as she walked past me. I knew that she was moving out, that this was the final walk-through; suddenly I was the person who was moving in, and I was being handed the keys, and the estate agent was saying that the place was mine and that the agreement still stood: I was allowed to do anything with the place and the price would stay low, so long as I obeyed the wishes of the previous owners and kept the top floor as it was and in good order. I agreed and then I was alone in the hallway.

I immediately walked to the end of the hallway, past the room that was Caoimhe’s when I had known the place, and to the door opposite. The wood looked newer now, and when I pushed it, it swung open noiselessly and without resistance. I walked up a neat set of wooden stairs and the light was warm, sunset-orange. I emerged from the staircase and found myself in a lovely attic room, the sun setting through a large dormer window opposite. The room was a beautifully decorated nursery, with a small bed under the window and a dresser, a toy box, a rug on the ground littered with toys. I looked around, touching the small hairbrush on the dresser, seeing the little blonde hairs entwined in it; on the nightstand next to the bed was a picture of the crying woman I had seen earlier, happy now, holding a smiling little girl of about two or three months in her arms. I stared at this picture for a long time, feeling a growing sense of sadness that deepened into dread. I felt paralysed, unable to turn and leave even as the dread grew and I wanted to more than anything; instead of running, a sudden urge to sleep came over me. I staggered to the small bed, curled up to fit, and immediately passed out.

When I woke, I was on my back and the room was dark. There was enough moonlight that I could see the glint of the picture frame beside me. Immediately I was gripped by terror – I was aware, even then, that I do not sleep in my dreams. I can do a lot of things that most people can’t – I die in my dreams, I read and write in my dreams, I see my reflection in mirrors in my dreams – but I do not sleep. I decided to sit up and see if any of my usual tricks for waking myself would work, but before I could move I felt something shifting in the bed beside me. It was solid and firm and cold; it pressed itself against me with plastic smoothness and then shifted, part of it bending. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something sitting up in the bed beside me. I told myself not to look at it, but of course I did. Sitting next to me in bed was a baby, but at the same time it was a doll. It had the plastic look to it, the strange texture of the hair, the glassy eyes – but at the same time its face moved, its limbs moved, and around the eyes and mouth there was a slight discrepancy, like the whole thing was a plastic mask forced into the flesh of the face. I stared at it, mute, too stunned to do anything, and then the baby doll opened its mouth, revealing sharp, pin-like teeth, far too many of them – and it began to cry.

I have never heard a sound like it and I never wish to again. It was a cry so piercing it was painful; it was a sound meant to terrify. It rose the same dread in me as I imagine people felt when they woke to hear air raid sirens in the dead of night; the distant thud of falling bombs. It was all I could hear and it was all I became. It inspired a blind terror in me that I have rarely known; I wasn’t human as I launched myself from that bed. I was a prey animal in flight, I was running for my life. I jumped from the bed and before I could hit the ground I awoke, miles away, in my dorm room in Scotland – but something was on the bed beside me. I sat up, turned, and the doll was there. It looked at me, grinned, and opened its mouth. Then it started screaming again.

I want to say that’s the moment I woke up for real, but I was awake. That thing was beside me in bed, still screaming, and I was awake enough to panic, to roll out of bed, to stand up, to stare in frozen horror for several seconds, and then to reach out blindly until I managed to turn the lamp on. The room filled with light and still the doll remained, for three or four seconds, still crying that horrible sound, and then it faded. The sound faded with it, gradually, until I could only see an outline on the air, and then it was gone. I did not sleep for the rest of that night. For the rest of the semester, I only slept in the daylight.

I never returned to Caoimhe’s house. I have my answers, which is something, but I do not exaggerate when I say that the cost was far more than I anticipated I would have to pay, and that something of that experience has forever stuck with me. Even now, a decade later, I go to bed every night with the fear that I might wake up in that hallway again, the door at the end of it – and the knowledge that I will go to it, step into the sunset-orange of the space beyond, and go back up those stairs.

#[slumps onto desk] statement... ends #seriously that made me feel some kind of way holy shit i need a cup of tea and a lie down #anyway enjoy one of the most fucked up paranormal experiences of my life i guess #my creepy shit #creeptastic #statements #long post #anon #asks

93 notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years

Text

subdued

— good boy joon on his bday x fem reader

summary; He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way. tags; birthday boy joon, solo rapper joon, college student reader (unspecified year/age lol), this entire fic is based off THIS joon everyone look and never forget him warnings; kissing, blowjobs, grinding, unprotected, birthday sex, sub!joon word count; 5k

notes; hoooo boy, if you think my other fics were self-indulgent, this one is straight from my 3 am thoughts... anyway. i actually have the same birthday as joon so this fantasy plays off very different in daydream universe no. 794 lol but i understand not everyone is as lucky as us sept 12 babies so i adjusted it 😌

The stoplight down the street from his building takes the longest. He had warned you of its faulty mechanics the very first time you visited. It lingered on red a beat too long, wasted precious seconds you could be spending with him. It’s been the sole challenger to your patience this past year. Every time you wanted to visit him, it was this same stoplight that held you up— made the sugar in his coffee cup settle, the food in its container go cold. It absolutely dampened your mood.

Today, it’s from the back of an Uber that you watch the red glow of the light, gaze fading in and out of focus. It’s raining, the rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the wind shield hypnotizing you. There’s a styrofoam box of takeout beside you falling into the same fate as all its predecessors, tucked inside a plastic bag. It’s his favorite today, the black bean noodles down the street from your university paired with a sickeningly sweet fizzy drink. (There’s a cheap bottle of wine too, but he was never one for getting shitfaced so it had a slim chance of consumption.)

The longer the light stalls, the more nervous you become. One glance at your phone tells you it’s nearing eleven forty-nine, your last message to him just a few minutes before. It was a slew of sad faces as you apologized for the fifth time that night. Another minute ticks by and you’re suddenly hit with the overwhelming fear that you won’t make it on time.

It was Namjoon’s birthday.

At least it would be for the next ten minutes.

You hadn’t seen him all day, your usual Saturday morning brunch postponed by your conflicting schedules. You had a huge group project coming up, and the other students in your group all had lives of their own, jobs, sports, dates, that made their schedules hard to work around. Namjoon, too, was busy gearing up for the release of his mixtape, a collection of songs he had worked hard on for the better half of the year.

He had been planning for this since you first met, around this time the previous year. It was all he ever spoke about these days, which was both endearing and worrisome. Regardless of how you felt about his avid dedication towards his mixtape, you would continue to support him through it all.

You were supposed to drop by after your last class, but one thing led to another and suddenly you were babysitting your neighbor’s kids as she ran off to the hospital. You had felt bad for her, something about a relative in an accident, and had said yes without thinking through what exactly that meant. Two overexcited children and a kitchen lined in cake batter, is what it meant. Your neighbor had returned a little before eleven, and by then you were really cutting it close.

The order you placed had been ready when you got to the little restaurant, and, deciding to forgo bus stop waiting times, the Uber came quickly enough. Because things can never go your way, there was a small accident on one of the major streets that set you back, leading to your driver taking an abrupt detour that you doubt was helpful, and now you were here.

You bite down on your lower lip for probably the umpteenth time, flipping your phone around to check the time. 11:52.

The light changes a second later, your chauffeur for the evening slowly easing his foot off the break and sending the two of you one step closer to your boyfriend. The movement doesn’t ease your nerves in the slightest, foot tapping wildly against the carpeted flooring of the backseat as you think of that creaky elevator. Will it be on your side today? Or will it force you to run four flights of stairs up to his floor?

You won’t know until you get there, absentmindedly tipping the poor soul who bore witness to the rolling waves of tension that had swamped your body tonight. You can only hope it’s an appropriate bill, taking off toward the front doors of his building. The water on the sidewalk splashes beneath your frantic footsteps, tickling your bare ankles. The black boots you wore that day did nothing to save you, a small gust of cold air trying to sweep up beneath the thin material of your dress, luckily to no avail.

The front area is as empty as it usually is, though you doubt the late hour would change that. Knuckle jammed harshly against the flickering elevator button, you wait impatiently for it to descend. His small label takes up the entirety of the fourth floor, studios squeezed beside meeting rooms and offices. It was by no means a monster record label, but it had gained enough fame from the quality soloists it produced over the years; Namjoon was quickly becoming one of those. The carriage is on the fifth floor, right above his, the digital panel beside you says. It passes his floor, passes the fourth, and then… nothing.

You curse every deity in the universe as you watch it freeze on the second floor. You had been so close, you groan, kicking the tip of your shoe against the metal doors. It does nothing to fix the broken elevator, and with one heavy sigh, you turn to the flight of stairs. It was 11:54 now.

The stairway is silent, off-grey concrete walls mocking you as the time continues to tick down. Holding the plastic bag to your chest, you start up the stairs in a hurry. The rustling of the bag grows annoying quickly, your thighs aching half way up. The platforms between floors provide nearly no reprieve before you ascend the next level of stairs, heaving for air as you turn onto the final platform before his floor. Your hair sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You can’t fling the door open fast enough, heart hammering between your rib cage. The hallway is filled with blissful air conditioning, nothing like the stuffy air of the staircase. You relish in it for a second before taking down the winding halls, torpedoing straight into the room your boyfriend’s in.

“Happy birthday,” you gasp, only hoping you made it in on time. Your sudden appearance has him whirling around in surprise, dark eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at his surprise intruder. The digital clock above one of his speakers blinks back at you. 11:59.

The surprise wears off soon enough. Namjoon melts back into his puffy chair, easy going smile taking over his features as he regards your ruffled appearance. “Jesus, what’ve you been up to?” he teases playfully, standing up to relieve you of the bag in your hand, still warm against your chest.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead, placing the plastic bag somewhere off behind him before enveloping you in your arms. “Thank you, baby,” he hums, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Almost immediately the tension in your body melts away, oozes out of your skin as you bury yourself against his chest. It feels good to be there, the faint cologne from that morning clinging to his white zip-up.

“Sorry I’m so late,” you murmur. Feeling comforted enough, you pull away from your hiding spot against his chest. The arms hanging loosely around your waist don’t let you get too far, low-lidded eyes staring down at you over the straight angle of his nose. “So much happened today— I’m sorry.”

Namjoon waves your apologies off as he guides you towards his computer chair. He plops down first, pulling you over to sit on his thigh. The clock ticks by, and suddenly his birthday is over. The scent of the noodles fills his dark studio, and you become acutely aware of the soft melody drifting from his speakers. Nothing too developed yet, just a simple piano with a bass drum kicking in.

“Another year, another grey hair,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat. You laugh at his dramatics, running a finger through the head full of silver hairs he’s rocking this time around.

“I fail to see the issue,” you muse, shifting about until you can loop your arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough to yours to kiss. He lets you, opening his mouth when your tongue prods against his plush, doll lips. He tastes of that energy drink you know is bad for him, the one that keeps him up way past his nonexistent bedtime. You should scold him for it, but there’s something about the way he molds his mouth against yours that makes it difficult to pull away and do so. You kiss him for a few minutes, lips casually molding against each other.

The enticing scent of the food you brought over has you pulling away with a soft smack of your lips, lazily grinning down at him. “You should eat,” you encourage, attempting to move out of his grip. If anything, the hands on the small of your back stiffen, keeping you comfortably pressed against him.

“Don’t want to,” he whines, half-lidded eyes gazing at you with that tender look. He leans back in, nudges his nose against yours until you’re moving to accommodate him again. His lips catch yours a second time, a soft sigh released on his end. His body feels like a furnace, swaddled up in that nice white tracksuit, some fancy brand he’s an ambassador for. There’s something about him that’s different today, cherry lips catching you in a daze. He seems totally aware of the pull he has over you, moving his mouth against yours like he knows he’s won you over and was now ready to dedicate the rest of the night to you.

You weren’t having any of that, at least not tonight.

Knitting your hands in his hair, you tug. You tug and tug until he’s releasing you with a whine, swollen red lips shiny from your lip gloss. It’s certainly a look on him, and as he pants beneath you, you’re left wondering why he’s chosen to be an elusive rapper when his doll-like face could easily blend into the idol world.

Another mystery you’ll never solve.

“Missed you today,” he admits bashfully, lips pulling into a shy smile he tries to hide from you. You reward his confession with a soft peck against his cheek, hands cupping his soft cheeks between your palms. Despite how easily you’d been forgiven before, there’s a tinge of a whine curling around his next words. “Who blows someone off on their birthday?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckle, tracing your thumbs over his skin. They just barely brush against the corners of his mouth, the soft flesh begging to be touched. “Who spends their birthday cooped up in a tiny room?” you reply teasingly, leaning in to kiss the mole beneath his plump lips.

Namjoon inhales softly, head lolling backwards as you kiss down his chin, over his pulse point. “Was inspired,” he weakly defends, the grip around your waist growing tight. “There was a pretty girl in my dreams last night.”

“Oh?” You hum, slithering off his lap. The floor mat he has beneath his rolling chair to protect his hardwood floors is cold. There’s ridges on it that press uncomfortably into your knees. But all that is forgotten when you roll your hands over his shoulders, kiss his neck tenderly, and he groans. “How pretty?”

Your back is straining from being awkwardly stretched over him in a desperate attempt to kiss the entire column of his neck. He doesn’t make it easier, hips wiggling before you as you nip against the side of his neck. “Joon?” you coo, sliding your hands down his chest. The muscles jump beneath his zip-up, one shuddering exhale escaping him.

“R-Real fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, hands circling your shoulders. He wants to pull you close like he always does, but you can tell he’s equally as conflicted by the need to push you down onto his cock.

The front zip of his sweater gives with one tug, the clicks of the teeth coming apart following your hand down. He’s wearing a plain white shirt underneath, the beginnings of sweat clinging to the flimsy material. You place your hands around his waist, let the fabric catch over your knuckles as you glide them upwards. The sinewy muscle quivers under your touch, Namjoon’s breath catching in your throat.

When you reach his pecs, he barely contains the whimper in his throat, hands releasing you in favor of clutching at the armrest. “Please,” he huffs, the white zip-up halting you from pushing any further. “Off.”

“Of course,” you purr, pushing it over his deltoids. He doesn’t shake the sweater off completely, the sleeves catching over each other in his haste to feel you closer against his body. The t-shirt remains tugged up to his chest, held up by your wandering hands. “Relax for me, okay?” you croon, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. The plush skin bounces back, redder than ever. He nods shakily, chest rising and falling.

You place a kiss directly on his sternum, his heart fluttering wildly just a few inches away. You feel it beneath your palm, the way it beats wildly out of rhythm for you. The music loops back around, the same melodious tune mixing with his airy sounds. You trail your mouth lower, letting it mold against the faint ridges over his abdomen.

He’s been putting on muscle these last few months. It’s a sight you only get to appreciate in moments like these. Namjoon wasn’t a flashy performer; he was too shy to wear revealing outfits, not that they particularly fit his onstage aesthetic anyway. He liked it simple and dark, wanting his words to capture people more than his looks.

It was a humble approach, really, because you don’t doubt for a second someone with looks of his caliber couldn’t pull fans with that alone. But as you said before, Namjoon didn’t like that sort of thing, and you suppose that’s why he’s declined invitations to join rookie boy groups time and again. He had worked hard to make himself known on his own, frequenting various hip hop scenes until he picked up steam. By the time you’d met him, he had his own contract, with this same company you’re currently in.

Now he was freshly twenty-six, on the cusp of releasing his first full mixtape, completely of his own creativity. His first mini-album had done extraordinarily well, but there had been a lot of outside partners and producers that pushed it along. This mixtape was one hundred percent him, a fact you couldn’t be more proud of.

What better way to treat him than to shower him in attention like this?

You press a soft kiss to his belly button, glancing up just in time to see those plush lips pull into a smile, pearly white teeth appearing in between, eyes fluttered shut. The waistband of his matching bottoms stretches easily enough, giving you a brief view of the dark underwear he’s got underneath. You let it snap back into place, relishing in the tiny gasp he gives. “You’re acting extra sweet for me today, aren’t you?” you smirk, running a palm over the bulge beneath his pants. His knuckles tighten dangerously against his armrests.

“I’m the same,” he chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you give his outline a teasing squeeze. “Just… lower please.”

His statement is followed with one hand on the back of your head, tentatively urging you closer to his stiff member just an inch. He’s so polite and shy tonight, cheeks tinted a nice rosy color as he looks away from your lewd expression practically salivating over the prize hidden beneath his clothes. His bottoms come down around his thighs, throbbing cock bouncing up to tap his stomach.

“Oooh,” you say appreciatively, taking him in your hand. Namjoon flinches, a groan catching in his throat as you trail your fingers over his cock. They end at the tip, swollen and red; you can’t help yourself as you duck down, kissing the tip softly. Namjoon full on shivers, hips bucking against your touch.

“Please, just... touch,” he begs, wiggling around underneath you.

You nod, pulling away to plant your hands against his hips. “Have to sit still for me, big boy,” you remind him, pushing down until his bottom glues itself firmly to the leather padding of his chair again. He does so with a huff. Clouded eyes meet yours, so beautifully framed by the blood that rushes to his face.

Despite calming him just moments before, the first kiss against his tip makes him squirm and buck like a wild stallion, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Eventually he calms down, labored breath fanning across his chest as he watches you lower your mouth down around his cock. It twitches in your hand, one perfect pearl of cum oozing from the tip. It’s barely rolled down past his head when you strike, the tip of your tongue scooping it up quickly.

A little on the salty side, but it still makes you shudder. Above you, Namjoon isn't faring that well either. He groans, hands clenched over the armrest as he tries his best to be good for you. “More,” he says hoarsely, silver hair dangling over his eyes. It creates a curtain between you two, his beautiful expression hidden from your view.

You ease his cock down your mouth. It feels just as good as you remembered. Your knees ache from being on the ground, but you wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now. An inaudible moan resonates from above you, his back going stiff the further down you swallow him. You could practically feel yourself drooling, excess saliva making his entrance into your mouth so much easier. You get about two thirds down before it becomes difficult, lips pulled taut around his swollen member. The tip is reaching dangerous territory now, nudging against the soft spot in the back of your throat.

You could gag, but that would only startle him away, make him worry about you. You don’t want that, not when he’s melting into his seat with every inch you swallow. So you push the discomfort away, focus on feeling the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whines, shaking his silvery locks away from his eyes when he leans forward to look at you. You take extra care to bat your lashes up at him; he obviously likes the sight, his lower lip catching between his teeth for the umpteenth time that night.

When you finally surpass that initial discomfort, his cock wonderfully resting in your mouth and throat, everything becomes so much better. The drag against your lips feels almost heavenly, never mind the fact it would certainly leave the skin around there soft and tender tomorrow. It’s something you’re willing to overlook, running the flat length of your tongue against the underside of his cock to distract him.

You make one hand busy, reaching down to cup his balls. The skin is soft, but tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to bust right now. The other situates itself loosely against his hip, thumb drawing slow circles against the skin. He’s grown hotter since you’ve gotten here, like your own personal furnace.

He’s a good boy, through and through.

It had admittedly taken a while to tame his wildness; there had been a time where he would push your head down his cock the second your lips touched his mouth. Now, he fared pretty well against his own carnal instincts, blunt nails digging into the armrests in order to stop himself. Thanks to this, you’re able to pick up a comfortable pace against his cock, bobbing up and down between his thighs.

“M-More,” he pants, muscles trembling from the exertion it takes for him to hold himself back. “Please,” he throws in.

You appease him, letting go of his balls to grip the base of his cock. He hisses at the touch, hips unconsciously jumping. You hold him tight, squeezing his cock between your palm until his thighs are quivering too. The descent down his cock is easier too, no longer trying to swallow him up whole every time.

It only calms him for so long before that same plea is falling from his lips again. This time, you pull off completely, lazily jerking him off as you rest an elbow on his thigh, chin falling into your open palm as you analyze his figure. “Always need more,” you sigh, the slippery sound of your hand mingling with his little moans.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, head falling forward until his chin touches his chest. “Would like to fuck now,” he seethes, his t-shirt growing damp at the collar from all the sweating he’s been doing.

“Is that so?” You smile. As you say this, you loosen your grip, letting your hand fall away much to his dismay. “Your clothes, Joon,” you explain, using his thighs as leverage to push yourself to your feet again. There’s creases on the skin over your knees, skin and joints tender from the position. That gets pushed to the back burner as you watch Namjoon finally fight his way out of his clothing, hands stuck in the sleeves of his zip-up.

“Off, off,” he huffs, eventually tugging it off all inside out. The shirt is next, neck hole stretched huge as he peels it away from his body.

You muffle a giggle behind your palm, placing a hand on his bare shoulder when he’s done. He’s looking at you with those same, desperate eyes, stealing your heart without even realizing. “Adorable,” you tease only to watch the blood crawl over his ears and down his neck. You throw a leg over him, his thigh pressing against yours. Before you can mount him you’re tugging off the thin jacket you’d worn that day, pawing it off until only the thin barrier of your dress is between the two of you.

With both knees pressed to either side of him, you finally show him what he wants to see. The sundress you’d worn that day makes everything so accessible. The flimsy material stretches over your ass, sits pretty around your waist to reveal your sheer panties. The sight makes Namjoon groan, eyes downcast as he fights to see your pussy. You return his gaze with a hand against his jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” you murmur, looping your hands around his head, finding their place on the nape of his neck first. Your fingers instinctively run through his locks, drawing an airy gasp from him.

“Yes,” he breathes, lower lip brushing against yours from such close proximity. You smile down at him, easing your core down on him. His cock pressed against your clothed panties, leaving a wet trail against the exterior side of them.

He fits snugly between your folds, hesitant hands resting at your hips like he wants to grind you down but knows better than to attempt such a bold move. You reward his behavior with a faint kiss against his cheek. “Good boy, Joonie,” you praise, barely containing your own gasp as you wiggle over his cock. “Being so nice for me today,” you sigh, grinding down against him.

Namjoon shivers, cock throbbing against your soiled panties. “Always good for you,” he groans, a trail of sweat running down from his hairline.

Another kiss is pressed against his face, this time against his cheekbone as you begin grinding back and forth. “That’s right,” you confirm, hugging him tight to your chest, until his face is practically buried between your breasts. “Even on your birthday,” you sigh, stretching a hand behind you to tug your panties to the side. The first glide of his cock against your folds has him bucking against you, a choked gasp escaping both your lips.

“I-Yes,” he cries, hands wrapped tight around you.

You bite down a whimper, his length running over every inch of your folds. It makes your toes curl when he stimulates your clit. Your attention had been solely on making him feel good tonight, that the barest amounts of pleasure to your own body was enough to make you shake. “Tell me,” you pant, moving back to grab him by the shoulders as you run against his length. “What you would do if you weren’t my good boy.”

Namjoon cries at your sudden pace, head lolling back as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to just fuck right into your inviting heat. “Can’t,” he sobs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joon,” you growl, snapping your hips forward roughly. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head with another whimper, thigh muscles jolting beneath you. It makes you shift forward, clit running hard along his cock. “No, you’ll—“ he wheezes, fingers digging deep into your sides now. “You’ll… think I’m bad. Dirty.”

You lean forward, shove your tongue into his mouth with no warning. He moans, letting you push his tongue around until yours is halfway down his throat, licking and slurping every inch of him you can reach. You yank his head back by the hair, catching those watery eyes. “Tell me all your dirty thoughts,” you croon, lips trailing down his jaw. “Tell me them and maybe we’ll make them come true.”

Namjoon moans. “You,” he hesitates. While he does that, you reach down to align his cock with your hole, throbbing to be filled. His tip brushes along the tightened lips surrounding your entrance, reducing him to a stuttering mess. “You tell me I’m dirty,” he cries, “dirty and messy, and-and you make me beg for forgiveness just to cum, s-sometimes you don’t like it and make me d-do it again,” he babbles. “I-if you’re feeling mean y-you just edge me. Until I cry.”

You sink down on his cock, your shared arousal making the glide slippery and so wet. It’s almost too easy how he fits inside of you, your back arching as the head of his cock runs deliciously against your walls. The sensation of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock has him gasping for air.

“Until you cry?” You repeat through clenched teeth. “Like you are now?”

Namjoon trembles, hips and thighs twitching every few minutes. He nods his head, but he’s become overwhelmed by his thoughts and your touches, so the movement ends up looking more dazed. There’s a couple tears that escaped and painted pretty trails down his cheeks, one catching on the corner of that pout of his. The rest pool in the corner of his eyes, glassy just like his sweat-soaked skin.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble, brushing his hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead. Namjoon groans. “Fuck me, baby,” you purr, wrapping your hands around his neck again. “You deserve it.”

Namjoon lets out a loud cry at your permission, hands tightening around your hips. He wastes no time, bucking into you like a wild animal that’s desperate to cum. You don’t blame him; he’d been close to cumming down your throat, and recounting his demeaning fantasies while stuffed deep inside you certainly didn’t help.

You let him jostle you to and fro, dick slipping in and out of your pussy with an unreal amount of force. He was grunting all kinds of sounds against your shoulder, biting down on the skin like it would calm him. It doesn’t, and you already know there will be a big bruise to attend to tomorrow.

With every thrust, the head of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot in your pussy, back arching at the angle he pushes in at. It makes every hair on your body stand, the animalistic sounds he’s releasing reaching deep into your core.

It’s a brief reminder of what this man was truly capable of, buff arms and thick thighs lifting you around like you’re nothing. He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way.

Well, you liked it that way too, especially if it meant having this big strong man so pliant under your touch.

“Fuck,” you moan, holding the back of his head closer to where he’s seemingly set on bruising your entire shoulder. “Just like that.”

Your walls clench around his length, squeezing him so tight that it becomes difficult for him to move. A wail catches in his throat, his body beginning to burn out from the initial burst of energy he’d received when you gave him the go ahead. “I-I,” he pants, weakly and unevenly bucking into you. You know he’s close from the cute wavering of his speech, his usual eloquent speaking style reduced to a stuttering mess. You take pity on him, gearing your muscles up again to see him to completion.

It doesn’t take long. A few slow rolls of your hips later and he’s spasming beneath you, your name rolling off his tongue in a series of soft whimpers. He continues groaning even afterwards, hands falling limply to his sides as you finish yourself off.

The thing about this big strong body was that it burned out extremely fast, his head rolling back to give you a clear view of his fucked out features. He was tired, absolutely drained from your little moment, and such was exhibited on his lax frame. Your orgasm rolls around right after, stomach clenching. Despite the shock of pleasure that swallows you up, you can’t help the endeared smile that takes over your features at the sight beneath you as you cum.

“So proud of you,” you murmur afterwards, cupping his face in your hands to deliver a brigade of kisses against his skin. He groans in faux annoyance, letting you turn him this way and that as you shower him in affection. “My baby did so well today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, though the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What’s there to eat?”

You snort, pushing yourself off of him. You wiggle your panties and dress back into place, tossing him his discarded shirt as you make toward the noodles. They’ve probably gone cold by now, neglected in favor of fucking like two bunnies in heat. Still, you give them a poke. Just as you’d predicted, they’re way too cold to be edible, a fact which greatly saddens Namjoon.

You weren’t having any of that, especially not on his birthday (it was 12:49 now, but technically, it’s still his birthday until he goes to sleep), which is why you make him pack everything up right away. “I’ll heat them up at my place,” you assure him, patting his bum as he whines at the sudden relocation. He’s tugging his zip-up on, the collar tugged all the way up for him to hide the lower half of his face behind.

It doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss over where you know his mouth is.

“Come on,” you grin, waiting for him to lock up his studio. He falls into step beside you, grudgingly throwing a hand around your shoulders. You beam up at him, leaning onto your toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make you cry at my place,” you promise, relishing in the dark flush that floods the apples of his cheeks.

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #rm smut #bts smut #kim namjoon fic #mine

1K notes · View notes

pascalls · 3 years

Text

Blinding Lights

Charlie finds solace in a familiar face after a run-in with Lovejoy.

I WANTED TO WRITE SOME CHARLIE x SAM ROMANCE SO HERE YOU GO.

Music: Blinding Lights - The Weeknd

For once, the anticipation that had settled in his clawed toes was not unpleasant.

It had been about three weeks since he’d last seen his… friend. Sam had ventured off on one of his lengthy hauls and Charlie was left to try making conversation with Larry whenever he stopped by Moe’s after work. The man was not the best conversationalist. Even less so than Sam. But it was, at least, company. Even if the late nights were earning him some ire whenever he made an attempt to return to the Lovejoy’s. Which he was beginning to fret about, whenever it came time to do so. Helen had been suspicious, as of late, wandering down into the basement at inopportune times and forcing the hybrid to take cover behind some piece of furniture or clamber out the window before he could be spotted.

Helen was clever. It wouldn’t take her very long to figure out what was going on, if he wasn’t cautious.

So he spent more time away, taking advantage of Moe’s cranky brand of hospitality and crashing in the man’s bed alongside him on more than one occasion. Regrettably, the paychecks that were coming from the school were still not enough for him to find his own place. But it was enough to make sure that he could get food regularly and the occasional small trinket or gift for Connor when he was able to see his son.

It was an improvement.

The muggy late-Spring air signified that they were certainly in for some heat in the upcoming summer season. Despite the slight slick of sweat that had coated his back as he strolled down the sidewalk, he didn’t allow the humidity to dampen his spirits. A busy day at the school - there had been an unfortunate incident where several gym students ran headlong into some cacti that Willie had forgotten to remove before the class encountered it - had meant that he was looking forward to meeting Sam in the evening to unwind.

Since the fall, where Charlie had allowed a bit of drunken boldness to make a move on the older man - one that he hadn’t been sure would be reciprocated - the two spent quite a bit of time together. It was a pleasant contrast to the nearly constant paranoia that he dealt with when he spent any modicum of time with the reverend. Something internal told him that this was a good thing, but he did his best not to get too carried away. Even if he and Sam had shared a few more… intimate moments, he was loathe to get so comfortable that he expected it as a default of their ‘relationship’. Whatever that relationship was. It had not been so neatly defined thus far. Part of him was okay with that - it meant that perhaps he was not in so deep that he could make a drastic mistake. But the other part of him… Well. He was desperate, deep down, for some solid footing.

Luckily, he was patient.

As he watched the sun begin to dip beyond the horizon, Charlie made his way towards the depot where he knew Sam left his truck. At times, the man would opt to sleep in the cab instead of actually trying to get back to his home. And Charlie didn’t mind that so much. There was something homey and comforting about that tiny bedroom where they didn’t have much of a choice but to press into each other’s personal space. It made for a good wingman… on more than one occasion. But his desires were not always so lecherous, he reminded himself. Today, he just wanted to bring his friend a hot meal that he’d picked up on the way - some teriyaki chicken and chow mein, along with a few cans of Duff - and make up for the lost time. Sam had confided into his more than once that life on the road was a bit dull and dreary. Returning to Springfield was generally the highlight. Charlie had agreed, but did his best to not be… so blatantly enthusiastic about it.

Tugging uncomfortably at his mask, he eagerly picked up the pace. Sam had told him that he’d be back by seven-thirty, and it was nearing eight already. Charlie looked forward to ditching his uncomfortable attire in favor of just being himself. Sam had kept his word - that he would not tell anyone about Charlie’s secret - and had kept that just between them. Even when they were around Moe, who was just as wise to the truth as they were. Charlie respected the man’s ability to keep things to himself, and he welcomed the fact that Sam didn’t seem to mind at all. It was a little strange, he told Charlie once. But, he admitted, that he’d seen a lot stranger during his years on the road. Charlie didn’t argue with that, even if his hind-brain wanted to. But it made the nights that they spent together a lot less strenuous. No hiding, no pretense. Sam was easy-going and confident in himself and what he liked. The hybrid found it… a little intimidating, at times. And might have found it almost frightening if Sam didn’t have a distinct way of putting him at ease.

Ugh. He felt himself a little hot in the face, just thinking about it.

His route took him past the church where he hesitated, feeling sweat bead at his temple for an entirely different reason. Hidden underneath his disguise though he was, there was something oppressive about the building that loomed overhead. He’d been hesitant to be seen in the church anywhere near the reverend as of late. It had a tendency to come back to bite him. He’d also pulled himself away from Chalmers’ obvious attempts at corralling him into this or that. Alarm bells had been set off at some point and he panicked, keeping his distance from both Tim and Gary for the sake of his own hide. Something had told him that despite his churning desire to be wanted by either - or both - of them, it was unwise.

Still… it was hard to ignore those desires. Every time he caught Lovejoy’s eyes, it opened up a whole box of feelings that he tried his hardest to cram down. The effort made him want to puke, at the best of times. At the worst of times, he followed his feet and simply absconded from the situation.

“I see that you’re purposefully avoiding me,” said a voice from a few feet away. It made Charlie jump and nearly drop the noodles in his possession, but he managed to keep his grip on it, glancing over at the church’s sign which had been hiding the reverend in question. Oh. He must have been changing the words and… Charlie hadn’t noticed.

Defensive, Charlie let out a little snuff. But he did his best to keep his cool. He didn’t want to ruin his mood by getting into an argument. Especially not when he was already late in meeting Sam. The last thing he wanted was for the other man to think Charlie had stood him up. “I had plans. And I’ve been busy with work. I’m not avoiding you.” Internally, he wondered if maybe he was trying to reassure Tim. That he hadn’t forgotten about him. Even if their encounters were strained, once upon a time, he thought that the man might return those torrid feelings that the hybrid had clung to now for months.

“You’ve had a lot of plans the last couple of weeks,” Lovejoy replied, clearly suspicious of the hybrid’s motives. He shut the box of letters he’d been using to change out the sign, glancing down at the bag of food that Charlie was carrying. “Are you doing food delivery now?”

“No,” Charlie said calmly, ignoring the reverend’s initial observation. Sure. He had plans a lot. Which was mostly just crashing with Moe. But Lovejoy didn’t need to know every detail of his life. “If you wanted me to share my calendar with you, I would have. But you never asked.” It was a bit of a dig. To make Tim really consider how overbearing he was being. As usual, it probably wouldn't work. But that wouldn’t keep Charlie from making the attempt anyway. The holy man was usually too far up his own ass to realize.

Lovejoy tried his best to maintain his composure, drifting closer to the hybrid as if he were going to engage in friendly conversation with a parishioner. As he was expected to do. But his stare was still accusatory. And Charlie noticed that it looked like the man wasn’t getting much sleep, the dark circles underneath his eyes even more prominent. “Not knowing whether or not you’re down there makes it hard for me to figure out what I need to do to keep Helen off your trail. Checking in would at least be appreciated.”

The hybrid stared at Tim, trying his best not to let guilt jab at him from somewhere in the back of his mind. No, it wasn’t his problem if Tim wanted to continue to lie to Helen, whether or not Charlie was there. At this point, he was loath to say that he even wanted to keep being a secret from the reverend’s wife. The town gossip though she was, would anyone really believe her if she happened to mention that there was a reptilian succubus living in her basement?

Probably not.

Charlie breathed out a little sigh, leveling his stare at the other and refusing to duck his head to appear meek. “Then just assume I’m not. I’m making a fair enough income now. I can find other places to sleep that are a little more comfortable than under your train set.” It was a lie. Sort of. The income had nothing to do with the fact that he had an ally or two that he could rely on for a nice, warm bed. Even if Moe’s had a weird smell to it, he at least had a mattress. And Waylon was occasionally accommodating, as long as Charlie could provide a bit of ‘entertainment’ and distractions in the process. And Sam… Well… When he was in town, Charlie had never been turned away. It brought a bit of a warm feeling that settled in his belly and emboldened him just a little in the face of the reverend.

Tim looked a bit taken aback. As if he’d been slightly offended. “So… what, you don’t need me anymore?” It had been clearly meant as an attack, but there was a slight twinge of hurt in the man’s voice.

The hybrid looked away briefly, not meeting Tim’s gaze. He recognized when he was being guilted. Lovejoy was good at it. “That’s not what I said.” Maybe. Maybe he didn’t need Tim anymore. Despite the aching in his chest, he’d long-since been affirmed that there was nothing for him if he chased the expectation of being welcomed into the reverend’s arms. But he hesitated to admit that here and now. Not when he was running late to meet Sam. “I’m not ungrateful,” he continued. “I just… I’m not interested in burdening you with myself for any longer than I need to. You can’t tell me you don’t want that space back to yourself?” He turned the situation back around on Lovejoy, pressing him to say otherwise. Maybe trying to get him to admit something one way or another.

“I’m only concerned with what you’re telling people about me,” Tim said, tension in his shoulders. He didn’t like being cornered like that, Charlie knew.

“I’m not telling people anything. Even if I did, who would believe me? You’ve got… y’know. Jesus on your side or whatever. Anyone here would take your word over mine in a heartbeat.”

Lovejoy found it hard to argue with that, but he chased the urge to do so, taking a step which blocked Charlie’s way forward. Whether he did it on purpose or not, Charlie felt slightly threatened, feeling his scales bristle in mild fear underneath his clothes. The time was ticking by. Sam would undoubtedly believe that something had happened if the hybrid didn’t get going now.

“You’re my responsibility. If I let you wander around without knowing where you are or what you’re doing, who’s to say that Burns won’t come looking for you?” Lovejoy stared at Charlie with apparent conviction. “The bible says that a good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.”

“I’m not a sheep!” Charlie snapped, though he did his best to keep his voice down. It was not yet night and there could be others passing by. “I’m sick of you calling me that. I wasn’t put here for you to guide me to the light. You’ve got plenty of people in there,” he pointed to the church, “waiting for you to tell them what to do and how to live. Just because you hit me with your car doesn’t make me one of them.” Angry though he was, he wanted nothing more than to leave. End the conversation. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. So he pushed past the other, trying to make his way towards the depot again.

“I just want to save you!” Lovejoy called after him, desperation lacing his tone. But Charlie was not feeling kind.

“From what?” He called back to the other, whirling around to narrow eyes at him. “From my Sin? Because right now, the only thing I need to be saved from is you.”

Tim paused, clearly taken aback. “You don’t mean that.”

Exhaling into his mask, Charlie bit back an aggressive retort. “I only have so much fight in me,” he said, loud enough just for the other to hear above the buzzing of the nearby street lamp. “I can’t keep chasing something that you’ve told me time and time again is wrong. You tear me apart in six different ways every time you look at me and you still expect me to get on my knees and beg you for a single positive interaction. I don’t want to do that anymore.” He sighed again, shoulders slumping. “You know how I feel. How I’ve felt. If you don’t want to - or can’t - return that, then the onus is on me to move on.”

The reverend seemed rooted to the spot, unable to say anything in return for a few moments. As if he was having a hard time refuting what he was being told. Charlie knew he couldn’t. It had been more than enough times that he’d said to the hybrid that what he felt was wrong - they couldn’t be together. No matter what emotion or desire lay underneath the surface of Lovejoy’s religious shell. And Charlie was simply tired.

“I-” Tim began. But he was cut off as he looked up to see that they were no longer alone.

“Charlie?”

The hybrid turned back around to see that their conversation had been interrupted by Sam. He blinked in surprise, then moderate embarrassment. “God, what time is it?” He said, haphazardly trying to cover up what he and Lovejoy had just been discussing. “I didn’t mean to make you come this way to find me. I was on my way, honestly.” Sheepishly, Charlie smiled from behind his mask. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but Sam’s easy-going nature meant that he could return the gesture just as easily.

“It’s alright. I just thought something mighta happened. Glad t’see that you weren’t held up too much,” Sam replied cheerfully before his attention shifted to the reverend to whom he gave a courteous nod. “Rev.”

Lovejoy was tense from head-to-toe, forced to process Charlie’s last words and put one and one together to come to a conclusion that Charlie knew he’d hear about later. The reverend’s gaze was squarely on the barfly before he was able to regather his composure and return the nod. He didn’t know the man’s name. Had never bothered learning it, even if Sam made the rare appearance from time to time in the church. He had no particularly strong religious convictions.

Charlie glanced back at Tim nervously. No doubt, they’d have to pick up that conversation later. “It was nice to see you, Reverend,” he said after a moment. “We’ll chat again soon.”

Sam looked from Charlie over to Lovejoy, the tension in the air palpable. But he said nothing, gesturing for the hybrid to accompany him back to the depot. His home was a little too far for them to walk there without the trip taking them well into the night. So the truck would have to do for now. Not that he or Charlie minded very much.

Charlie followed behind, casting one last look at Lovejoy. He could swear that the holy man looked like he was about to break into a tirade, but he heard nothing and eventually focused fully back on Sam, hoping that his pre-planned rendezvous would block out the feeling that he’d just shattered Lovejoy’s heart in some type of way. Maybe because he knew how it felt…

“You alright?”

Sam’s voice broke through the veil of guilt that threatened to pull Charlie under. Shaking it off, Charlie glanced up at the other and nodded, allowing himself a slightly nervous laugh. “Yeah. Just… you know. Getting preached at sometimes kind of throws me off.”

“Didn’t seem like a typical sermon,” Sam replied, glancing at Charlie knowingly from behind his glasses.

Clearing his throat, Charlie tried not to make eye contact. He had a… difficult time lying to Sam. Whether it was because he genuinely trusted the man or didn’t want to lie to him, he wasn’t sure which. But he didn’t want to get into the particulars. Especially not when he felt like it… might put things at risk. Nope, he didn’t want that. “I brought you some food!” He said instead, holding up the bag with the chicken and noodles within. Hoping that would be a sufficient distraction. Luckily, Sam seemed to accept that the hybrid was not an open book at that exact moment, and he took the bag from the other before patting Charlie’s plastic beak affectionately.

“Y’can take that off if y’want. There’s nobody on these side streets and nobody at the depot. We shouldn’t be bothered any.”

Breathing out a little sigh of relief, Charlie tugged off the mask and cloak, holding them in his arms as they walked. It was becoming more of a chore to keep his disguise maintained from day to day. Whenever he got the opportunity to not wear it, he considered it a blessing.

“That’s better,” the barfly said with a little smile.

Charlie had to keep himself from giggling like a fucking school girl. Fuck. What was wrong with him? They’d certainly had more intimate moments than this, but something as simple as that tiny, hidden compliment had him reeling. Stupid.

They walked side by side until the depot fence came into view and the hybrid followed Sam through the gate and towards his rig. The bright red was always a stand-out and made it easy to identify. He was thankful for that, knowing that had he not been able to tell the difference, he may have frightened some random trucker on more than one occasion.

“Wasn’t too bad of a trip, I take it?” Charlie asked as he came to the door, waiting patiently as it was unlocked and Sam clambered inside, reaching out to offer a hand for Charlie to climb up right after him.

“Boring, but otherwise pretty run of th’mill,” Sam replied, shutting the door behind him and making his way back to the not-very-roomy bedroom that he slept in. Charlie set the bits of his disguise in the front seat and hopped back with him, making himself comfortable on the bed and giving a lazy stretch. Sam settled on the floor for now, opening up the food that Charlie had brought him and making short work of it. Obviously hungry.

“You never seem to have very interesting stories. Unless you keep them all under wraps.” Charlie scooted up behind Sam, rolling onto his back on the bed and batting gently at the man’s hat like a lazy cat.

“Warehouses and truck stops don’t really make for interestin’ conversation.” Sam removed his hat and placed it over Charlie’s face with a gentle huff of laughter in between bites of his food. Something about his rumble of a laugh made the hybrid’s stomach flip pleasantly. It was a comforting sound after his earlier confrontation with Lovejoy. “Besides, I have more interestin’ stories whenever you drag me into somethin’. Wouldn’ make sense t’tell you about ‘em when you were there.”

“Aw,” Charlie replied, sitting up and setting the man’s hat atop his own head to wear. Feeling a little goofy and giddy as he did so. “Didn’t realize you felt that way.~” His voice lilted teasingly as he settled into their usual back-and-forth routine of flirt after flirt. Despite Sam’s quiet, old-man demeanor that he normally carried around, they both played off each other fairly well. It was something Charlie cherished. And something he figured that not many others were able to experience when they were sharing Sam’s company. It made him feel… special. Wanted.

He kept that bit to himself.

“So…” Sam began once he’d finished his food and was working on one of the beer’s that Charlie had provided him with. The hybrid was not as interested in getting drunk tonight, but he’d more than adjusted to the perpetual scent of alcohol and cigarettes that had long-since settled into Sam’s clothes. In fact… there was a part of him that enjoyed it. “I’m guessin’ I didn’t actually interrupt a sermon earlier.”

Charlie tensed slightly, reaching up to remove Sam’s hat and set it aside as he shifted his gaze away from the other. Guilt threatened to bubble up inside of his gut again. “...That obvious, huh.”

“A little. Th’way he was lookin’ at you made it look like you’d ran over his dog.”

Scoffing, Charlie didn’t answer right away. Uncomfortable with the topic, but knowing that he likely owed Sam some form of explanation. He trusted the man. Though he worried, internally, that getting too far into his fucked up dynamic with the reverend would frighten Sam away for one reason or another.

“He was just upset that I wasn’t coming around as often. Mostly just been… minding my business whenever you’re not here. Hanging out with Moe… That kind of thing.” He hesitated to go into further detail than that. Sam didn’t need to know that he occasionally slept over with Smithers too. It made him feel like a little bit of a… slut… Not that he would say so.

“Uh-huh,” Sam replied, nursing his beer and seemingly lost in thought until he continued. “And he’s… not likin’ that he can’t keep tabs on you?”

“...Possibly.”

“Hm. Sounds like he’s upset that you’re not as obsessive over him as he wants you t’be.”

Charlie frowned a little to himself. Sam had probably hit the nail on the head. His tail curled around himself as his insecurities were brought to light, though he had a hard time being upset at Sam about it. The man was only saying what he’d been able to observe. It must have been pretty obvious, now that Charlie thought about it… “I’m sick of his hovering. It’s gotten out of control.”

“And y’told him that?”

“I tried to.” Charlie’s ears dropped back against his hair, admitting in a not-so-verbal way that he had not been as assertive as he probably should have been.

There was silence for a moment as Charlie stared down at the sheets on the bed and Sam seemed to be focused on his drink. Until he seemed to be finished with it and set it aside to toss in the garbage later, getting up with some effort and getting himself into the bed to sit next to the hybrid. Charlie glanced away from him. A bit ashamed that the topic of Lovejoy had been brought up at all. Drunkard or otherwise, Sam had some good powers of observation. As much as Charlie enjoyed his company, it made him feel like he was being seen right through.

“He’s gonna have t’accept that you’re your own person eventually. Whether or not he wants to,” Sam finally said after a few minutes had passed.

“I’m not even sure I’ve accepted that yet,” Charlie responded with a bit of a bitter laugh. He hadn’t meant to say that, but it came out of him all the same. “And the last thing I need is to put the burden on you to help me do that. It’s not your responsibility.” He found himself echoing what he’d told Lovejoy, but from… a different part of himself. With Lovejoy, it was through tired defeat that he tried to remove himself from the situation, but now… He just didn’t want to saddle Sam with more drama that the man surely didn’t need in his relatively quiet life.

Before he realized it, he felt a press against his shoulder, turning to glance at Sam as the other closed the distance between them, watching for a heart-pounding moment as the barfly reached to intertwine their pinkies as they had done several times before. It was a much more romantic gesture than Charlie had initially meant it to be the first time they’d done it. But now… It set his nerves alight and made him wish that his face weren’t so red.

“Might not be my responsibility, but m’happy to help you along,” he murmured to Charlie, the slight slur in his words not at all dampening the intent which made the hybrid wheeze a little with embarrassment as he unwittingly scooted his hand to take a more firm hold of Sam’s. Maybe clinging to it. Just a little. God help him.

“You could really fool everyone, you know. Into thinking you’re just ‘some guy’ at the bar,” Charlie said after a moment of trying to calm his racing heart. “And not… you. The you that I know.”

Sam chuckled a little. “The me that you know is not as drunk as I usually am.” Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Charlie’s temple. A gesture which did not qualm the aggressive thump-thump going on inside of Charlie’s chest. He didn’t altogether understand why he couldn’t get himself together. He was not unfamiliar with the concept of being smitten, but he’d been denied a positive response to it for so long, that he hesitated to call it that this time too.

At least until another kiss was placed to the side of his face and he faltered, unable to resist allowing himself to hope. Maybe it would be different. Lovejoy never gave him this kind of affection so openly. Not without a fair amount of pestering. Not without an argument and harsh words. Not without pleading and tears and a thick, heavy feeling that hung around his head. Right now… all he felt was light. There was fear, but as the seconds ticked by, Charlie tried to muffle it.

And eventually he turned, meeting Sam’s gaze for a prolonged moment. It was honest, he thought. There was no sense of an ulterior motive. No reason for Charlie to believe that this was all a long-con. Sam was not that kind of man. Right?

Right?

His hesitation was not missed. Reaching up with his other hand - his fingers rough and calloused, Charlie noticed - Sam placed it gently against Charlie’s cheek. Holding his face delicately and softly, as though he was trying to provide the kindest support. To offer warmth through the touch that would squelch that fear.

God, Charlie thought.

Let me not be wrong again.

As though a dam had burst, Charlie leaned forward and captured Sam’s mouth with his own, drawing him into a heated and nearly desperate kiss that Sam returned after a moment of trying to process the act. Every time Sam went away for a while, the hybrid forgot just how warm and comforting his kisses were. His hands were strong, but kind. He tasted like beer and smoke, but Charlie couldn’t get enough. He drank in the affection to the point where he thought that it would drown him. But it would be a sweet death, Charlie thought.

For once, he forgot about Lovejoy. As he broke the kiss to take in a breath, he caught Sam’s eyes again.

“I missed you,” he blurted out against the other man’s lips, red in the face when he realized how brazen the admission was. But he certainly wouldn’t take it back. The feeling was only solidified with Sam nodded, a bit breathy in his murmur of agreement before Charlie felt himself being pulled into another kiss, toppling over and onto the bed as he felt Sam’s arms closing around him.

It hadn’t been the first time they’d spent the night together, but there was something different now. Charlie hesitated to put words to it, but as he felt himself get lost in the comfort and security of Sam’s presence, he knew that he would have to, eventually.

For now, he was okay with accepting the warmth and safety he was being offered. He was okay with murmuring more sweet words when he could find the words to say. He was okay with being vulnerable. He was okay with the warm, smoky sound of Sam’s voice in his ear. He was okay with the touch of his hands; the heat between their kisses; the thrumming of his own heart.

He thought about the next time Sam would have to go away for a while. It made him ache.

Maybe he’d tag along.

In the corner, his phone lay unattended, dutifully remaining in silent mode as the night wore on. The screen blinked lazily, but otherwise didn’t bother to alert its owner that he had missed several calls from the reverend.

They would go unanswered tonight.

#tj writes #the simpsons #simpsona #oc #only took me like 4 hours LOL

7 notes · View notes

brokenjardaantech · 4 years

Text

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 1: Beginnings, never expected)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Sara schemed.

In the present, Connor meets Hank for the first time.

In the past, someone called.

also on ao3

---

Before

Family was instructed to wait outside the room during the final check-up, so she complied and made a call while keeping an eye on the doctors and nurses in charge of her brother; they were much better than the ones in the previous hospital with a far gentler touch and humane approach, but she had had enough people snitching on her, and, after tapping the glass to gouge its integrity, she would not hesitate to flare up and use her powers to break down everything standing between her and her only sibling.

The door to the outer room opened to admit another woman holding a phone, and both of them hung up the call once they saw each other. The new visitor closed the distance between them and moved as if wanting to give the sister a hug, but her arms lowered upon seeing the tension in the sister’s body.

‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Do not celebrate yet.’

‘And neither will being on guard every single second bring you any good, Sara,’ the visitor replied. ‘It will only hurt you and cloud your judgement.’

‘There is no other acceptable opinion,’ the sister - Sara - pressed her thumb against the bottom of the glass. ‘My father tried to send my brother to a boarding school despite fully knowing that they can’t accommodate for his needs, my brother said no, my father forced him to, my brother would rather die than be sent to a hostile environment, and I got him away from our father. I saved him, Amanda, but with my father’s resources, do you really think there’s a place in the country where we won’t be hunted down? So no,’ she shoved the hand into her pocket, leaving a burn mark in the shape of her thumb behind on the glass, ‘I am not relaxing until we have disappeared off the face of earth for good.’

‘It’s hardly a viable plan for us, Sara,’ there was resignation in Amanda’s voice. ‘My guardianship isn’t secure. Scott requires constant medical attention. I know you look highly upon me, but I’m not invincible. Against people like your father…’

Sara raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘And you don’t think I have a plan already?’

Amanda turned her head to take a good look at her student. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she said at last. ‘It isn’t that I don’t have faith in your abilities, it’s just -’

The door to Scott’s room opened. All medical personnel except for the doctor-in-charge of the boy started vacating the ward. Watching them leave one by one, Amanda pressed her lips together and only resumed when the door was clicked shut behind the last nurse. ‘I have seen people like you. My classmates, my friends, my colleagues. The ones who are successful all know which battles to pick.’

The girl flexed her hand. ‘And those who don’t?’

‘Destroyed, one way or another.’

Sara’s face twisted as if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t, and then her expression softened. ‘Don’t worry, Amanda,’ she said in a reassuring tone. ‘I’ll be careful.’

She entered her brother’s ward while Amanda waited outside. Not only did the teacher not look convinced, the lines on her face only seemed to deepen more from her student’s response as if foreseeing a doomed future for the two of them, not knowing that indeed, things would turn towards a direction totally unexpected to them - and the entire world.

oOoOo

Now

A lone figure stands in the rain, its form dark save for the neon blue triangle on his back and left shoulder plus the armband on its right arm. The drive from the precinct to its current location is bland, nothing like - nothing as stimulating - as…

As…

So Connor calibrates. Turned up his skin’s sensitivity to feel the change in current as he went through the air-conditioning settings one by one. Turned it down again as he emerged from the taxi into the rain to prevent his processors from overloading. Collected information on the rainwater. pH value below levels which can sustain a balanced ecosystem. Minimal contaminants. Suitable for human consumption. When the analysis is finished, he takes out the coin bestowed upon him from one of his developers - at least, according to Ryder. Connor’s memory banks are unable to provide further information on the matter as there were no other relevant memories.

Another figure which Connor did not notice was there suddenly vanished, its sudden absence alerting him of its existence. He turns his head, his world becoming shades of grey and yellow outlines as he scans his immediate vicinity, and, discovering nothing notable or dangerous, lets the frozen, imaginary world fall away and reality return with all its vivid colours. Calculating the probability of Lieutenant Anderson being in this bar is simple, and therefore he flips his coin to do some further calibrations.

A swathe of blue surrounds the coin and it stays at its highest point.

LED flashing red in alarm, Connor hastily grabs the coin from its position in midair and jolts as it sends a spark through his system, the thirium in his body distributing oddly against the normal flow like… like a conductor suddenly connected to a closed circuit and the free electrons within suddenly having a direction, one that - one that -

The same blue halo sweeps through the surface of his body, too faint to be noticed by ordinary humans but clearly caught by Connor’s sensitive optic units. The shadow shifts again, ducking out of the android’s sight despite being right there, and subsequent scans also fail to pick it up again.

He is being watched. That is certain.

It is getting unsafe to stand in the street alone any longer, so Connor pockets his coin and fixes his tie, steeling himself for yet another unsuccessful search for the Lieutenant. He ignores the ‘No Androids Allowed’ sign on the door and pushes.

o0o0o

Turns out Hank is easily bribed by alcohol. Sated by the double shot of whiskey, the human’s interest is piqued, and with a sharp ‘Did you way homicide?’, he stands and walks out of the bar as if he has not been consuming heavy liquor for the past few hours. The shadow which has been following Connor vanishes as soon as they are out on the streets, the static-charged air it leaves behind quickly washed away by the rain. Hank insisting on driving worsens matters as it allocates more than enough processing power for Connor to pay heightened attention towards his surroundings: the hum of the old engine, the squeak of the dashboard decoration as it swings, the vibration of the speakers as Hank blasts heavy metal.

The shadow which reappears as they approach Carlos Ortiz’s house, always out of his sight and never detected by his proximity sensors.

He cannot worry too much, however, when he chooses to follow his original mission and get out of the car, the smell assaulting his nose and the roof of his mouth and very nearly overloading his senses. He sneezes - a response programmed to clear the smell from his nose while his sensitivity is toned down - and is startled by how… strong… it is: a full-body tremor and expulsion of air that takes the colour out of his HUD for a few milliseconds before his eyes recalibrate automatically and return to normal. The noise also draws the attention of a few passers-by whose faces display [emotion identified: shock] when they see the neon-blue band on Connor’s arm and the triangle on his left breast. He ignores them, and a few steps later he encounters his first problem.

‘Androids are not permitted beyond this point,’ the PC200 android holds up a hand. Connor could have easily overpowered it and barge his way in, but that will be against protocol and is not beneficial towards the investigation, therefore he shuts down his pre-construction software before it can give him any suggestions.

Hank turns from where he was talking to an officer and lets him in. ‘It’s with me,’ he says, but the sense of familiarity is gone completely when Connor approaches him. ‘What part of “stay in the car” didn’t you understand?’

‘Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant,’ Connor answers honestly. Surely the human understands?

Hank’s face scrunches slightly in distaste. ‘You don’t talk, you don’t touch anything, and you stay outta my way,’ he rattles, ‘got it?’

‘Got it,’ is the android’s too-quick reply.

The human turns towards the entrance of the house just to be greeted by another detective. A scan tells Connor that he is [Detective Collins, Ben. Born: 09/12/1989. Police Detective. Criminal record: none]. ‘Evening, Hank,’ he sounds too [cheerful] for the situation. Descending the veranda, he continues, ‘We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show -’

‘Yeah, it was the plan until this asshole -’ Hank gestures at Connor - ‘found me.’

‘So…’ Collins’ voice is [emotion detected: teasing] when he turns away, ‘you got yourself an android, huh?’

Hank gives a good look at Connor. ‘Oh, very funny.’ [emotion detected: sarcasm] A small sigh. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

He ignores the android and follows Collins into the house, leaving Connor alone in his own device. He is not bothered by how they do not include him in the conversation; he can always tune his ears to their voices and record everything down, so being near them is not a priority. He can analyse the scene as he wishes, Connor realises as his world goes grey save for the yellow of the evidence markers.

Fantastic.

o0o0o

The first thing Connor notices is the abnormal electrical damage. The house itself is nearly in ruins, the floor grey from a layer of dust, the walls cracked and mouldy and, in some places, even falling apart and exposing the wooden beams, but the damage seems recent - as recent as the body they discovered, at least. The damage on the curtains are also new, their ends torn and the remains scattered on the ground, and he gets zapped by the static discharge when he pushes them to the side. It is not painful per se, but it comes as a surprise.

‘You found something?’

It is Hank’s second time asking the question. He stands tall for a hungover man, taller than Connor standing at his full height, and the android finds himself wondering what the Lieutenant looked like when he was in the red ice task force. Probably even taller. Even stronger.

‘There is a copious amount of electrical damage on the walls,’ he answers as he adjusts his eyes to view the backyard better. There are fresh footsteps on the soil. ‘And there is an abnormal amount of static in objects. I suggest handling evidence with care.’

‘Yeah, I don’t remember the last time I’ve been zapped this much.’ Hank also squints at the dirty glass. ‘Door’s locked from the inside. Killer must’ve gone out this way.’

Connor runs a scan. ‘There are no footprints apart from officer Collins’ size ten shoes.’

Hank straightens and crosses his arms. ‘Well, this happened weeks ago. Tracks could’ve faded.’

Comparing data… ‘No, this type of soil would have retained a trace,’ he explains as he catches the Lieutenant’s gaze. ‘Nobody’s been out here for a long time.’

Hank looks away with a grunt as if dissatisfied with the results, and Connor, having analysed everything notable, pushes on. ‘Lieutenant, I think I’ve figured out what happened.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Hank shrugs. ‘Shoot. I’m all ears.’

‘It all started…’ the mess in the kitchen flashes in front of Connor’s eyes, ‘in the kitchen.’

Hank uncrosses his arms. They enter the kitchen together, and the human has to duck to go through the door frame. ‘There’re obvious signs of a struggle, but the question is,’ Hank turns towards the android, ‘what exactly happened here.’

‘I think the victim attacked the android,’ comparing evidence… ‘with the bat.’

Hank perks up. ‘That lines up with the evidence.’ Connor hopes that he isn’t imagining the smile on the human’s face. ‘Go on.’

They switch places, Hank’s arm brushing against Connor’s shoulder in the confined space. He is warm even through the coat, and Connor finds his software warning him of instabilities as the edges of his HUD flashes red for a millisecond. ‘The android stabbed the victim.’

‘So the android was trying to defend itself, right? Okay, then what happened?’

‘The victim fled to…’ recalling re-construction… ‘the living room.’

They follow the silhouette of two struggling figures; more like Connor follows them - Hank just follows him. ‘And he tried to get away from the android,’ the human says, a swing in his arms. He does not look pleased being back near the half-charred, rotting body. ‘Alright, that makes sense.’

‘The android murdered the victim…’ he wants to say the knife, but it did not cause the unexplained burns and broken bones. He runs a search again to compare the wounds (electrical burns, severe blunt force trauma) and does not realise that he has trailed off until Hank speaks up.

‘Well, obviously he got stabbed and burnt,’ the frown on his face deepens. ‘You can’t stab someone without a knife, but what about the rest? The android short-circuited and fried its owner?’

Connor draws up experimental data from CyberLife and compares it to the current needed to cause the damage in front of his eyes. ‘No. It is unlikely for androids to short-circuit, and even if that is the case, the current is not large enough to cause severe burns on humans. Common household models are unable to reach the speed capable of generating enough force to break an adult’s femur either.’

‘But it doesn’t tell us where the android went. If we find it, we can just ask.’

Connor finds himself… liking that line of thought. ‘It was damaged by the bat and lost some thirium.’

‘Lost some what?’

‘Thirium, you call it “blue blood”,’ the android explains as he secretly adds [Hank is not familiar with android mechanics.] into his file. ‘It is the fluid that powers androids’ biocomponents. It evaporates after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye.’

‘Oh…’ Understanding dawns in Hank’s eyes and he smiles, approval in his voice. ‘But I bet you can still see it, can you?’

The edge of Connor’s HUD turns red again as thirium rushes onto his face, and he looks away to begin scanning, not to hide his blush but to quickly search for the deviant. Now that he knows what he is looking for, the blue of evaporated Thirium 310 contrasting starkly with the grey the rest of the world has changed into and forming a trail leading to… a dead end. What he can see, however, is the shadow of a ladder that used to be there, so he looks up and - there. A handprint.

Hank follows his gaze despite not being able to see the trace. ‘You think it’s up there?’

‘I’ll need something to climb.’ Find something to climb, his processor offers, so he turns towards the human and asks, ‘Hank, may I climb you?’

‘Oh for fuck’s -’ Connor’s face must have changed and caused the man to stop ranting, but exactly what that is, the android is not certain. ‘Alright, Jesus, gimme a sec.’ A deep breath. ‘Yeah. How do you want to do it?’

‘Please hold me up, Lieutenant.’

Connor drapes himself on Hank’s back, and the human, finally getting what Connor means, places his arms underneath the android’s thighs and lifts him with a grunt. With his thighs at Hank’s waist, the extra height allows Connor to easily slide the trapdoor to one side. Hank lets go without being prompted to let the android climb further up.

‘I’ll wait here,’ he says as he pops his spine back in place. ‘Yell if you need anything.’

‘Got it,’ he whispers even though the Lieutenant probably cannot hear him. Already missing the human's warmth, he hoists himself fully into the dark attic -

- and everything hits him. The static, the floating pieces of furniture, the eerie blue glow they give out; the hum in the air, the strange force threatening to tear him apart on the molecular level, the distortion of - he doesn’t know anymore. He has never seen anything like this before, there is nothing in his databases that talks about scenarios like this, and he is very glad that Hank did not come up with him. [Kinetic barrier at 100%] appears on his HUD, but he has no idea what it means.

A piece of cloth waves despite the absence of wind, and since it is blocking his sight, Connor brushes it away and hunches so that he doesn't hit his head against the supporting beams while he watches, fascinated, the fabric float away in a wave of white against the darkness of the room and get caught in the splinters of a beam. He continues forward, at first brushing a few pieces of furniture aside and causing them to fly straight to the other side of the attic, then holding them in both his hands and gently moving them away. If he must speak in an analogy, he would equate it to rearranging furniture: randomly pushing them will send them towards unpredictable directions, but if you lift them and put them exactly where you want them to be, they will not move away. The only difference is that vertical distance is also considered.

[Kinetic barrier at 64%]

A loud crash. Connor’s head snaps towards the direction of the noise just to see a broken mannequin sailing directly towards him across the air. Catching the rapidly-approaching footsteps, he swats the mannequin away and dashes across the source, his veins tingling in an unfamiliar power as he runs into the blue distortions supporting some of the larger furniture and sending them either crashing onto the floor or flying unpredictably away from him; he can faintly hear Hank’s ‘The fuck’s going on up there, Connor?’, but his attention is divided between pre-constructing the deviant and the furniture’s path. The deviant probably knows where he is now, but then again, deviants are known to be unstable and act illogically, so he decides against answering the Lieutenant to attract less attention.

One final crash. The last wisp of blue breaks and dissipates, plunging the entire attic into darkness except for the yellow glow of an android’s LED. All footsteps halt.

[No gravitational anomalies detected. Kinetic barrier deactivated.]

The room suddenly lights up again, and the deviant is right there in front of Connor, its face a look of utter [emotion identified: terror]. His HUD flashes with warnings about abnormal thirium flow, and Connor realises that he is the one glowing blue all over and lighting up his immediate vicinity. The tingle in his circuits, the crackle of static, the distortion in front of his eyes - they now originate from within himself instead of his surroundings.

[DEVIANT LOCATED]

Connor adjusts his eyes for the impending darkness. He relaxes by overriding his muscles, and despite the darkness engulfing them once more, he can see the blood spattered on the deviant’s skin and clothes, the exposed chassis on his arms, the burn marks all over its body. It is to no one’s surprise that it says, ‘I was just defending myself.’ A trembling breath. Red starts to appear at the edge of Connor’s vision. ‘He was gonna kill me. I’m begging you…’ The deviant never stops shaking, and the red climbs towards the centre of his HUD for the first time in his existence, ‘don’t tell them.’

For one split second, the red completely takes over Connor’s sight and forms a crumbling wall a few feet in front of him. A figure - himself, Connor realises - hesitantly steps forward and slides a hand into a crack in the wall, fingers curling in and tearing a piece of it away.

‘Connor, if you don’t answer this second I’ll haul my fat ass up there!’

It is Hank. His warning reminds Connor that he still has a mission to complete, and the red wall recedes as if it is never there. Raising his voice, he shouts without tearing his gaze away from the deviant -

‘- It’s here, Lieutenant!’

‘Holy shit… Chris, Ben, get your asses in here now!’

The deviant’s expression alone is enough to turn half of Connor’s HUD red again, but even that fails to hide the shadow disappearing from the corner of his line of sight. One thing is sure: either there is a critical error in his software…

Or there is someone following him.

oOoOo

Before

Somewhere, a figure bearing surprising resemblance to Captain Allen stood with their hands behind their back in front of a large plane of window and stared at a blue sunset and an endless expanse of red desert, and when they shifted, blue light reflected off their face to reveal thin wires outlining every muscle, every nerve, every piece of bone that formed their head. There was tension in their jaw, their temple, and soon we knew what caused it.

‘It doesn’t sound safe,’ they said to no one in particular. ‘As much as I hate to admit it, we need you. Our future is out here. Earth can rot.’

They did not speak for the next few seconds, but when they did, it was something like, ‘I’m glad that you plan to uphold your side of the contract,’ they said sarcastically and turned serious, ‘but I still don’t like where this is going. So many things can go wrong and none of them knows which side you are on. You’ll be caught in the crossfire.’ A pause. ‘I trust your ability and your intellect. What I don’t trust is the stupidity of the general public. That’s why we left. Why we moved forward.’

Whatever the other side of the call made them frown. ‘Then how many years will you wait for? Five? Ten? Twenty? I know you’re smart, Ryder, but that’s just fucking stupid.’ A deep breath and they went on, ‘Not everyone is fucking immortal. How long do they design the androids to last again? Ten years? How many more will die before you leisurely stroll in and burn everything within a fifty-mile radius to the grounds just like last time? How much time do we have before someone points their telescope or satellites in the right way and somehow bypasses all our shields and finds out what’s out here, where I’m standing right now, or what Charon actually is? We get out of that shithole specifically to prepare the world for all of this!’

They inhaled as if to calm themself down, and then, ‘Don’t flatter me, Administrator, and you still have that unfinished project you sneaked out right under your dear papa’s nose. Of all your talk about android humanity, you sure as fuck leave a lot of them behind.’ They rubbed their eyes, and when they opened again, glowing rings akin to the lens of a camera were edged on sea-green irises. ‘Fine fucking fine. Make sure to win. Anchor out.’

A loud sigh. Blue tendrils the same as the ones the deviant summoned snaked out of their body and supported their back as they fell backwards, but it did not last long as they straightened and walked through stark white hallways, entering a room at last after passing through a few doors and one that seemed to be an airlock. It was dimly lit by the glow from a pod placed at the farthest corner and the screens connected to it and wires ran like a nest on the floor, however the person seemed to know their way through without tripping and reached a holographic keyboard where they typed something to start a total system diagnostics, and as the screen darkened and the keyboard disappeared to prevent the further input of commands, they manoeuvered themself through the wires to stand at the head of the pod and placed a glowing hand on a hidden interface. The glass allowed them to see the face of the android sleeping in the pod.

Connor’s face.

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #female ryder #male ryder #amanda stern #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #oc: anchor/anna #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

6 notes · View notes

buckysbitch107 · 4 years

Text

Blobs and Shadows | Steve Rogers x Blind!Reader

Summary: It originally started out as just some fuzzy spots in your line of vision, but by the time you were 10, both of your retinas had completely detached. After multiple surgeries and piles of medical bills all before your 13th birthday, you stopped trying to fix it. You never had a friend who stuck with you the whole way, that is, until you met your best friend Clint. You were friends until he ran away to join the circus, but eventually reconnected at S.H.I.E.L.D. While Clint got married and settled his family down while also juggling this job, you simply stayed single. The fact that Steve hadn’t noticed your obvious infatuation with him, or your visual impairment, confused you. But when Bucky tries to set you two up, Steve voices his concerns, not noticing you standing right behind him.

Requested by: Anonymous (I lost the original request, so this is the best I could do!)

Warnings: Swearing, Sarcasm, Angst I Guess?

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I wanted to do extra research so I didn’t get anything wrong, and this was also just a challenging request in general. I focused on retinal detachment, specifically my cousin’s experiences (I’m aware every blind person is different, that’s why I simply focused on him.) I also did change Clint’s storyline a little bit, mainly saying that he was orphaned at the end of high school instead of earlier, and I did write Comic Clint. I made him younger to fit the storyline, and I based his hearing loss on one of my good friends, so not everything will be like the comics. I really hope you enjoy this one, and another one should be out soon. Just a reminder that I will be starting school again on August 18th, so the time it takes to write a fic will extend a little more. Also sorry for the song I use in this fic, I watched Rio last night and it’s stuck in my head.

You sit quietly in your fourth period English class, waiting for the teacher to introduce herself as they all did on the first day of school. A book sits open in front of you, your fingers running over the raised dots as you wait for the teacher to start, well, teaching. You hear other students file in, and soon enough, the teacher clears her throat and begins introducing herself.

“Hello, class! My name is Mrs. Luken, and welcome to 8th grade English. Now, my number one policy is that at all times, I need watching eyes and listening ears!” A look of confusion crosses your face, and you slowly raise your hand, not realizing you’re the only one doing so.

“Yes, Clint?” She asks, pointing to the other person in the room with their hand up. He lets out a loud sigh before responding, his speech slightly slurred.

“I’m deaf.” Mrs. Luken lets out a small “oh” as she tries to think of a response.

“Are there any accommodations you would like me to make?”

“Just annunciate and write things down and I should be good.”

“Got it! And yes, (Y/N)?”

“I’m blind.”

“Oh, dear.”

~~~

“May I sit here?” A voice asks, one you immediately recognize from fourth and fifth period. You nod and feel the table shift as someone sits down, the sound of a lunch tray clattering against the table ringing out amongst the chaos that is 6th-period lunch.

“How could you understand the teacher?” You ask, honestly curious about the exchange that happened earlier in the classroom.

“I can lip read pretty well, it’s also how I can understand you.”

“Huh. I’m (Y/N).”

“Clint.”

~~~

“Tony, what is this?” You question, rolling the unusual object around in your hand.

“(Y/N), meet Athena. Couldn’t come up with an acronym, so I just settled on a catchy name.” A small string of silence rings between the two of you as you continue feeling the object, now slightly recognizing it.

“Is this an upgraded guide? Does it still have F.R.I.D.A.Y in here? I like her.”

“Upgraded? Oh honey please, that doesn’t even begin to describe it! And yes, F.R.I.D.A.Y is still your guide. Go ahead, put it on!” You sigh before eventually complying, placing the small little earpiece in it’s designated place. A small beep signals that it’s on and something immediately seems different.

“What the? Why are the blobs clearer?” Tony lets out a short laugh as you still stand there in confusion, wondering how in the hell your “vision” cleared up a bit and you can see the tiniest fragment of anything other than shades of gray.

“Athena is emitting a high-tech neuro frequency towards your retinas. It can’t repair them yet, but it provides a little bit of aid.”

“Is this what Instagram filters look like?”

~~~

“Athena, help me out here. I need to get to the kitchen.” You whisper, stepping out of your room, completely alone with her for the first time.

“Of course!” She replies, pausing for a second before continuing. “Go ahead and take about 10 steps to your right. You’ll feel the floor tiles shift from carpet to a smoother texture. Once you do, take another right and you’ll be standing in front of the elevator.” You nod to no one but yourself and follow her instructions, walking confidently to be in front of the elevator. You hear the doors slide open and you step in, the doors closing behind you before the lift begins to move on its own. “ Don’t worry.” Athena reassures, most likely feeling your heart rate shift. “I communicate with the building’s mainframe to make mobility and everyday life easier for you.”

“Got it.” The elevator stops and you step out, the light from the windows brightening up your vision. Athena guides you to the counter, allowing you to grab an apple and a knife before you begin to carefully cut it. The familiar beep rings in your ear, and you listen for whatever Athena has to say.

“James Barnes is entering the kitchen and dining area from the main elevator.”

“Okay thank you.” You whisper to her, receiving a small beep in response before you lift your head and turn it so you’re not shouting into a cabinet. “Hey Buck! Want an apple?”

“Um sure? I didn’t know you heard me come in.”

“Tony gave me a new guide. Name’s Athena.”

“Oh cool. Also, I’m gonna have to cancel our sparring session today. Sam’s taking me and Steve to the new sushi place downtown.” Your cheeks immediately flare up at the mention of America’s Golden Boy, also the man you’ve had an infatuation with since you got here. Bucky notices and laughs, quickly shutting up as you hit him on the arm before retorting an answer.

“Are you sure about that? Or do you just not want to get your ass kicked by a blind girl?”

“A little bit of both.” He admits, taking a slice of apple off the cutting board. You turn your head to glare at him, his body creating a large shadow in your viewpoint.

“Thought you didn’t want an apple.”

“I didn’t. I just wanted one piece.” You roll your eyes as you finish cutting your snack, taking a bite out of the delicious fruit after setting the knife down. “Also when are you going to tell him?” You nearly choke on your bite, calmly swallowing before turning your head to face the man, or at least you think (You really couldn’t tell if you tried).

“Tell who what?”

“We’re not dumb, (Y/N). Well, I’m not. I honestly don’t know about Steve ‘cause he hasn’t noticed your obsess-”

“It’s not really a-”

“It’s an obsession (Y/N). Don’t even try to deny it.” You huff out a sigh before Bucky lets out a short gasp, immediately drawing your attention.

“What?” You can’t see him, but you can practically sense the grin on his face.

“I have an idea.”

“I’m scared.”

“You have reason to be,” Athena comments, making you giggle to yourself. Bucky somehow hears it, as he lets out a loud sigh before explaining his plan.

“Just wear something nice, okay. And meet me in the living room at-” He pauses, thinking of an appropriate time. “7 pm, got it?”

“Sure, and what’s your definition of nice?”

“Not a ballgown, but good enough for a date.”

“Bucky no, you are not-”

“Yes I am, now go get ready.”

~~~

“Athena, who’s in the living room?” You ask, rubbing your sweaty palms on the edge of your skirt as you walk down the hallway, your feet making a small pitter-patter noise on the tile.

“James Barnes and Steven Rogers.” You let out a small sigh before walking further down the hall, just barely entering the room when you hear the two men arguing, causing you to take a step back into the shadows.

“Where are they?” You whisper, holding your arms to your body and trying to make yourself as small possible.

“Standing in the middle of the room. Mr. Barnes is facing you, and Mr. Rogers is facing away from you.” You nod and peek out from behind the wall, Athena alerting you that Bucky had noticed you, but Steve hadn’t.

“I don’t get why you’re getting upset Steve! You like (Y/N), don’t you?!” Bucky yells, trying not to keep his eyes on you for too long as to not alert Steve of your presence.

“I do, but you know that I don’t date anyone!”

“You told me she was different!”

“She is! And I don’t know if it’s in a good way. She seems to kind of, I don’t know, look past me? And she does these little things that I don’t know if it was how she was raised or something, like stopping before entering a room, or staring in the completely wrong direction. I don’t get it, Buck! I don’t! And even if she is different, I still don’t date! She’ll be like the rest. She’ll see me like this famous piece of muscle, not the small guy from Brooklyn. Thanks for the offer, but I’m declining. Tell (Y/N) I said sorry.” Steve rants, walking out the other entrance to the living room as you start to step forward.

“(Y/N), I-”

“This is why I didn’t tell him.” You whisper, stopping in front of him when Athena tells you to. Bucky tries to speak again, possibly apologize, but you’ve already turned around and started heading out of the room. Athena leads you to your favorite spot in the building, the balcony facing the river. You carefully climb on the railing and sit, balancing yourself as not to fall, but still feeling nearly weightless in the evening breeze.

“James Barnes is walking onto the balcony.” You sigh before turning your head, hearing the other man gulp before eventually walking closer.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that.” He whispers, receiving a short grunt from you. Bucky places something on the railing, the sound of crinkling paper piquing your interest. “I brought you some bread, its fresh from the oven. I know that carbs comfort you so…”

“Thanks Buck.” You sigh, taking a piece of bread from his hands and holding it in your own. He steps a little closer, resting his arms against the metal railing, standing next to you as the light slowly fades from the sky.

“I’m gonna go, I know you like being alone so-”

“Thank you.” You whisper, turning your head towards the last place you heard his voice. He leaves the bread with you before heading back inside. You listen to the crickets starting to chirp, but also the sound of New York City starting to come alive.“Hey Athena?”

“Yes (Y/N)?”

“What was that song I was singing yesterday? The very offkey one?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” You mutter a short “ouch” before racking your brain again, trying to specify what you wanted.

“From that movie. Rio, I think.”

“I believe the one you are looking for is ‘Fly Love’ by Jamie Foxx.”

“Yes, can you play it on the speakers out here?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“You can turn off for a bit, I just want to listen to music and eat the delicious demons they call carbs.”

“Understood.” A small beep signals the AI turning off, leaving you to the sounds of the city before the music softly turns on. You start humming along to the melody, your feet swaying along. You begin to sing along, not noticing the sliding glass door opening quietly behind you. Since you told Athena she could turn off, you’re not aware of the blonde supersoldier stepping onto the balcony.

“Um, (Y/N)?” You screech in surprise, your hands grabbing onto the railing. Your body slightly tilts forward, causing your bread to tumble off your lap and down onto the ground below.

“My bread.” You whine, staring at the direction you think it went. You feel Steve move up to stand beside you and you turn your head towards where you feel his presence.

“Sorry about that. Listen-”

“Look at my eyes.”

“What?”

“Look at my eyes and tell me what you see.” You explain, turning your head fully towards him so he could see your face. He stays quiet for a few seconds before responding.

“Your eyes are glazed over?”

“And what does that mean?” He stays silent before gasping, realization hitting his brain like a bullet.

“You’re blind?!” He exclaims, making you roll your eyes.

“Wow! Sherlock finally solved the fucking mystery!” You speak, a horrible British accent coming out alongside the words.

“Wait so-”

“So I can’t see the ‘famous piece of muscle’. All I see is a blob. A very handsome blob, I’ll give you that, but still a blob. I fell in love with you for your personality. I fell in love with that little guy from Brooklyn. And the reason I seem to look past you or stare in the wrong direction, is because I rely on hearing, dumbass.”

“You heard all that?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh.” He pauses. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Wait, you love me?”

“What?”

“You said you fell in love with me for my personality.”

“I didn’t say-”

“Yes you did! You love me!”

“Not anymore I don’t.” He fakes a hurt gasp and you laugh, flipping your legs over to rest on the balcony side of the railing.

“What if I said your love is requited?”

“Then I’d be so overjoyed I’d faint.”

“Okay, so I’m not telling you that.” You laugh again, Steve joining you this time. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“You were listening to music. Dance with me.”

“I don’t know how to dance. The last time I could see while dancing was square-dancing in fifth grade.” Steve lets out a short laugh at that, before carefully grabbing your hands, placing one on his shoulder, and holding the other in his.

“I’ll guide you.” So the two of you sway to the music, Steve having the speaker play the song over. You rest your head on his shoulder, the whole situation quite calming. As the song ends, Steve places one of his hands on your cheek, the other going to sit behind your neck. “Is this okay with you?” He whispers, his voice severely closer than it was last time he spoke.

“Yeah.” You reply, nearly feeling lightheaded from imagining what’s to happen next. Steve presses his lips to yours, and you nearly faint right there. He smiles into the kiss, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours.

“I love you. A lot.” He whispers, a short chuckle following his sentence.

“I love you too, even if you are just an attractive blob.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut @breakmy-bedbarnes@stuckys-hot-dogs @andreasworlsboring101@yaxamarvel @donutloverxo

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

#Steve Rogers #Steven Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #captain america #Marvel Captain America #captain america fic #captain america one shot #captain america x reader #marvel #Marvel Comics #captain america imagine #comics #angst #fluff

33 notes · View notes

lukasezub244 · 3 years

Text

The Indicates To Transfer The Ocp Java Se eleven Certification

Edureka’s Advanced Java Training Course is designed for school kids and professionals who wish to be a Java Developer. This 42-hour course will cover each core and superior Java ideas like Java Array, Collections, Database connectivity, Threads, Exception Handling, JSP, Servlets, XML dealing with and so forth. You may also learn numerous Java frameworks like Hibernate and Spring. Enroll now with our Core Java course on-line and become Java Certified. The candidate should additionally demonstrate the method to use strings and array lists. The model 8 of the take a look at was made obtainable as a last release since December 2014.

Can I write OCP without OCA?

No, you don't need to. You can take the OCP tests you study for with no prior requirement. With Java 8, you had to pass two exams to get to OCP. After passing the first one, you got the OCA title.

Our agile training methods has helped hundreds of scholars in pursuing a profitable career in Java. By the tip of this training program, you'll have a whole understanding of Java and be succesful of construct your individual Java applications. Our Java training relies on object-oriented programming paradigm which allow newbies to create reusable codes and modular packages, thus simplifies the method of programming.

Java File Handling

To know what these Java-based profiles entails, enroll for our Java Training free on-line career counseling & demo of Java coaching classes on-line. Enroll for our 360-degree coaching for Java to get complete sources which are required to become a job market-ready Java professional. We don’t just assist you to to arrange your resume, we even assist you to with interview preparation. Let’s equip you with the important skills/knowledge and trade use instances of our Java on-line course with certificates that will help you qualify one of the best Java certifications and turn into that main & certified Java professional. Any learner to skilled, with or with none technical experience/background can be taught Java with ease.

Is Oracle certification retake free?

If you received an OCP Exam Voucher that includes a free retake, your voucher (i) can be used by one person on one attempt plus a retake of the same exam (ii) can only be used for a retake if there is a failed first attempt on file, (iii) becomes void for both attempts on the voucher expiration date.

My name is Maaike van Putten, and welcome to my course, Java SE eleven Developer Certification 1Z0‑819 Overview. OCP 11 is a great opportunity to both get licensed and a obtain a deeper understanding of Java. This course goes that will assist you to create a personal action plan to prepare for the examination, and we'll offer you a transparent thought of what the entire experience might be like.

It turns into much simpler to clear these written tests as quickly as you’ve handed the Oracle Java certification exam. If you’ve certified, some corporations could even consider you directly for the interview course of and exempt you from the written examination. However, just studying Java articles and questions won’t help; you’ll should do Java certification for long run advantages. Whatever you learn via the certification will stay with you for an extended period. Oracle Java certification exam questions are designed in such a way that you’d be in a position to learn refined concepts speedily whereas making ready for the Java certifications. In only a short span of time, candidates can learn the basics as well as the small print of essential APIs.

Trending Courses

Our online coaching courses are made on the prime of offline classroom experiences. Get your offline classroom experiences in our on-line training courses. Just think about how would the growing journey bills & discomfort of not being at your home/office could have an result on your capability to study.

It may also give you an opportunity to be conversant in the variety of Java certification exam questions and set the best expectations.

Work on challenges along the length of this system to practice your expertise.

Vinayak shares his Edureka studying expertise and how our Big Data training helped him obtain his dream career path.

A program of self-motivated reading and study won't be the greatest option for everyone.

Gain a working knowledge of Java as properly as a targeted understanding of object-oriented techniques evaluation and design using agile, iterative approaches.

When you study with us just about for any course of your choice, you get an entire experience that could also be a duplicate of an offline classroom. By including the certification to your resume & portfolio you'll expertise an excellent push in the course of the interview rounds & salary negotiations. We can proudly say this, as our past learners & trainees have gotten great recognition within the recruitment process and now are an inherent a half of leading industries & businesses of right now.

If you are looking for more helpful assets, e.g. books and examination simulators, then you can take a look at my following articles. This on-line course covers all OCAJP eight topics and in addition accommodates follow exams comprising of 260+ multiple selection inquiries to assess Oracle Certified Associate, Java SE eight Programmer I preparation. The instructor, Goran Lochert, is an authorized Java developer himself and an skilled, with many years of programming expertise in Java.

SynergisticIT’s Java coaching is an ideal choice for aspiring internet developers, programming fanatics, software program developers, engineering or CS students who wish to enrich their Java information. This program teaches from scratch and requires no earlier coding expertise for learners. Our seasoned tutors introduce you to the core Java programming language and its related applied sciences that can assist you create transportable, & high-performance purposes. The Java programming certificates is designed to organize students for a profession in pc programming. The certificates provides a balanced set of courses that provides college students with consumer, server, and database programming expertise required by trade. Emphasis is placed on object-oriented programming applications Web-based applets configuring an Apache Tomcat servlet, implementing JavaServer Pages, JavaBeans, and NetBeans for reusable software parts.

youtube

1 note · View note

lilith-lovett · 4 years

Text

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Twenty One

New chapter. I am so sorry this has taken so long, the past few weeks have been very hectic and stressful but everything has been sorted out. Now I have been a little busy with University preparation as I am moving into my accommodation two weeks today but I will still be posting new chapters, hopefully a lot quicker than this one. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and thank you for your continued support.

Masterlist

Summary: Patton returns to work and Logan spends some time with Dot and Larry

Word Count: 8826 (I am very sorry this is so long)

Warnings: Past child abuse, self-deprecation, anxiety, disordered eating, implied physical abuse, implied depression, chronic pain, past psychological/emotional abuse, homophobia, homophobic parents , food mention (if I have missed anything please let me know)

The following Monday Patton returned to work. He had dropped off Logan and Dee at Dot and Larry’s that morning but the worry only intensified. Logan had only met Dot and Larry once and now he had to spend an entire day at their house. Patton knew they would take care of him but what if it was too soon? Logan still hadn’t fully adjusted to being apart of his family, he struggled to refer to the house as his home and now Patton was leaving him alone but he had no other options. He had used up all of his time off and needed to start his new position. So, he left Logan with a promise he would return to pick him up right after work and instructions for Dot and Larry to call him immediately if anything happened before setting off for work.

Patton loved his job. He had, had several odd jobs throughout his life. From catering and retail during his teenage years to his first ever teaching placement once he completed college. As well as his volunteer positions in many animal shelters and care homes, one of which turned into his most recent job in a supervisor role at his local animal shelter, where he had volunteered from the age of fifteen. Patton adored everyone he worked with and all of the precious puppies and kittens he got to help while working there, but once he was offered a full time teaching position - which also provided a substantial raise in his annual salary and while he knew money was not everything as a single father to four children, the extra money would help - he decided to leave. Returning to his frequent volunteer shifts and allowed a recent hire to be prompted. Patton had been an assistant teacher at the local elementary school for the past two years and he loved it. He loved the kiddos. He loved his co-workers. He loved being able to have an impact so early in their education and imbue the love of learning into them in their important formative years. He was so excited to finally have his own class. He knew at first, he would only be introducing the preschoolers to what they would expect to do be doing when they entered first grade following the Summer Holidays but he was looking forward to all of the activities he had planned for the kiddos.

Patton had dressed in his nicest shirt, in a soft baby blue colour, grey fitted dress pants and his navy blue tie decorated with little dinosaurs just for the kiddos. They always loved his novelty ties. He arrived at the school bright and early and was immediately met with the lovely office woman Josie who he shared recipes with during their break times.

“Hello Patton dear, I heard about your new position. I’m so happy for you darling,” Josie called out from her office, decorated with a variety of beautiful, brightly coloured flower in glass vase and a collection of luscious greenery. She always had the best gardening advice.

“Hi Josie. Thank you so much, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting all the kiddos,” Patton responded with a smile as he signed his name into the register book.

“How is your family, I heard you adopted again?” Josie asked. Patton’s children were a common topic conversation amongst his co-workers, a majority of them were parents themselves and Patton loved hearing about their kiddos and they enjoyed hearing about his in return. They knew of some the difficult circumstances surrounding their adoption and upbringing though Patton chose to keep certain private information to himself and they respected that, but he hadn’t been at work since he began to regularly meet Logan at the Orphanage so he expected them to have a lot of questions.

“Oh yes, Logan. He is well and so is everyone else,” Patton answered.

“That is wonderful, I’m sure you will tell me all about them at break but Madelyne is expecting you in her office,” Josie said as she adjusted her violet coloured glasses. Madelyne or Mrs Harp to the kiddos was the principal of the elementary and one of the nicest people Patton had ever had the pleasure of meeting. It showed in how she treated the kids and they loved her for it. It was refreshing. Patton had experienced his fair share of teachers who were in the profession for all of the wrong reasons. Who believed that shouting at children was an appropriate method of discipline and who punished their ‘disruptive’ behaviour instead of learning the reasons behind it. But Madelyne was different and she had built a system that supported the children both in their learning and their well-being. It was a system Patton both wanted to be apart of and help put into practise.

“Alright, I’ll go and see her right away. It was nice seeing you Josie,” Patton said pulling his messenger bag further up his shoulder.

“It is wonderful to have you back darling,” Josie replied before returning to her work on her computer, typing away happily as Patton made his way to the principal’s office.

Patton knocked twice before a voice called out from within, inviting him inside. Opening the door, he was met with the brightly coloured and pleasant smelling office of Madelyne Harp, to see her sat behind her desk which was decorated with a variety of cacti each in its own intricately painted plant pot and framed pictures on Madelyne’s own two daughters - one of which was in the same grade as Roman and the other was preparing to graduate high school - who Patton loved hearing about. Madelyne had a welcoming air surrounding her, her smile widened when she saw Patton enter. Her dark hair was braided and coiled on top of her head, secured with a yellow hair clip, she was dressed professionally in a white blouse and floral pattern wide-legged trousers, bangles and necklaces decorating her wrists and neck.

“Welcome back Patton, it is lovely to see you again,” Madelyne exclaimed excitedly standing up from her desk and making her way towards Patton, extending out a hand which he took before returning to her seat and directing Patton to sit in the seat opposite.

“It is wonderful to see you too, I am happy to be back,” Patton said taking a seat.

“And we are glad to have too, How are your children?” She asked balancing her head in her hands.

“They are really good; Roman had his birthday recently, Virgil is still practising his music, we are preparing to send Dee to preschool after the summer and Logan is settling in well,” Patton replied with a smile recalling all of the recent time spent with his kids. Yes, he loved his job but the time off gave him so much more time to spend with his children, especially Logan so he could help him in adjusting to the enormous change. He didn’t wish to reveal too much of the finer details of the adoption as it was a situation he would rather not get into it. “It has been a crazy couple of months but everything is resolved now,”.

“That is good, now lets talk about your new position. As I explained to you before, the preschool class is coming to the school for their introduction days and this will be your permanent class following the summer holidays. I understand you prepared a lesson plan?” Madelyne inquired.

“Yes, I have it right here. I am so excited to meet all of the new kiddos,”Patton replied with a smile, patting the folder in his lap which contained the colour-coordinated lesson plan and schedule he had spent the past week preparing.

“Excellent, we are so happy to have you as a full-time teacher Patton. Now, are you ready to see your classroom?” Madelyne asked standing from her seat.

“Am I ever,” Patton responded shooting up from this seat. Patton had never had his own classroom before. Most of his former positions had been merely temporary such as taking over a class while one of his fellow co-workers were on maternity leave or as a substitute due to another teacher being absent but now he would finally have his own classroom. One in which he could decorate as he pleased with his students artwork and projects, to make it as bright, warm and welcoming as he could.

Madelyne lead Patton from her office to the main portion of the building, passing by various other classrooms, exchanging greetings and small talk with the teachers who inhabited them, all of them old friends who he had worked with closely in the past. Before pausing in front of one classroom in particular, it was relatively large considerably the typical size of a first grade class, its walls were bare and striped of all of its previous artwork. Desks were grouped together and spaced out throughout the classroom, each with the name of one of the children taped to it, as a seating plan. Patton’s desk was located at the front of the classroom, it was empty apart from a large computer but Patton could already envision how he would decorate it; picture frames with photos of his family and friends, plants and flowers, his planner (which he was forcing himself to use more regularly as he was a terribly unorganised person) and he couldn’t wait to get started. A pristine white board and smart board were placed on the wall adjacent to his desk, a collection of colourful board pens in a container just below it, all ready to start writing out his lesson plan for today.

“It’s pretty plain right now but I’m sure you will brighten it up soon enough,” Madelyne said leaning against one of the desk, closest to the front of the classroom.

“It’s perfect!” Patton exclaimed taking a seat at his new desk.

“Well I’m glad you like it, it will be yours for the next school year,” Madelyne said with a smile as she stood, making her way towards the door. “Now, the children will be arriving soon and I need to get ready for the assembly. I’ll see you there Patton,”.

“Yes, bye for now,” Patton said with a wave as Madelyne left. Yes, the assembly, it was the first meeting he would have with the new kiddos. He couldn’t wait.

With Patton returning to work Logan had to stay with Dot and Larry along with Declan as unlike Roman and Virgil he was not currently attending school. Patton had explained his reasoning for not immediately sending Logan to school, being that he wanted Logan to further adjust to living with him and since it was approaching the end of the school year he wouldn’t gain much from attending prematurely which Logan disagreed with. He hadn’t attended formal education since he was six years old, primarily taught himself from textbooks while living with his parents and at the orphanage (though he had support from Maggie) and he had studied everything he could from the textbooks Maggie had given him before he left. Logan needed something to do. But he couldn’t argue with Patton’s decision. Logically it made sense though he despised the feeling of aimlessness. Patton had promised him that he would be enrolled in school the following academic year and he had arranged a meeting for him with the principal of the school, which happened to be Elliott’s father, to discuss his re-entry into education in September. Three months away.

Logan was used to being left on his own. His biological parents did it often whenever they were working - which was fairly often - he relished those fleetingly moments of freedom while his parents were away. Though he continued to spend those moments studying out of fear of his parent’s wrath but without the crushing pressure of his parents criticising his every move. However, he knew Patton disliked the idea of leaving Logan in the house alone as he had expressed this to Logan. He didn’t mind the idea of being left alone as the amount of social interaction he had, had lately was beginning to overwhelm him but Declan was also with him and he did not trust himself to look after a toddler and it appeared Patton did not want to either so he had to stay with Dot and Larry. It was another opportunity to be able to build a relationship with them, however, it was also another circumstance in which they could reject him. He would also be spending an increasing amount of time with them as a result of Patton’s work schedule and as a result they would be further exposed to Logan’s rather unconventional behaviours and habits. What if he had one of his outbursts? What if the anxious and illogical portion of his brain took over his mind? Would they take back all of the kindness they had previously shown him? No. He couldn’t think negatively. Dot and Larry had been nothing but kind and accommodating to him and he was extremely lucky that they had welcomed him into their home.

Patton had dropped off Logan and Declan at Dot and Larry’s house before making his way to work. Dot and Larry’s house was only a short distance away from Patton’s but couldn’t be more different in style and decoration. It was significantly smaller than Patton’s house which was understandable considering they were a household of two and Patton had children yet it was just as bright and colourful as Patton’s and just as filled with memories. Picture frames covered almost every wall and surface, mostly of themselves and Emile in various locations but there was also a considerable number of Patton and his family over the years. Other decorations included small ornaments, a variety of greenery and blooming plants in decorative vases. Declan had already made a mess on the floor with the assortment of toys he had brought with him for his entertainment. Logan had also brought a small rucksack with him containing a couple of titles he had yet to read to keep himself occupied and out of Dot and Larry’s way so they did not have to satisfy himself as well as Declan, who Logan knew from experience had a very short attention span and it would only be a manner of minutes before he grew tired of the items Patton had provided and began to search for another means of distraction. But for now, he appeared content in his play.

“Okay Logan, make yourself comfortable. We don’t have anything specific planned for today but if you need anything at all please just let us know,” Larry said before he sat down on the floor with Declan and joined in on the play.

“Did you bring anything with you Logan?” Dot asked hanging up her coat and sitting on the sofa.

“Yes, I brought some books with me,” Logan replied pulling the rucksack off of his shoulders to show to Dot.

“Wonderful, I’m guessing you are a little bookworm,” Dot said in a jovial tone. Logan at first did not recognise the term but from association he deducted that it was a term used to refer someone who enjoyed the action of reading books, though he didn’t know how to feel about being referred to as an insect but he assumed from her tone she did not intend it to be hurtful.

“I suppose so, I do enjoy the activity of reading,” Logan answered, he had always loved reading ever since Maggie introduced him to the world of fiction. Losing himself in the words, slipping from his bleak existence into a fantastical world of wonder and intrigue, exploring diverse and unique characters who could take him on an adventure, if just for a short while but he relished in those moments. Alone, just him and his book, his surroundings fading away into a comfortable nothingness that his mind could shape however he wished. It was his escape.

“So do l. Ah, come with me, I want to show you something,” Dot said standing from the couch, gesturing to the stairs before making her way towards them, presumably urging Logan to follow.

Logan had little idea of what Dot wanted to show him but deducing from their previous interaction he assumed it was related to books. Larry did not follow, remaining on the floor, occupying Declan while Logan was lead upstairs. Glancing around at the walls enclosing the staircase, more photographs caught his attention. They ascended the stairs as he did, the figures within them reversing in age as they did. Seven figures, to five. Three. Four then two. Most of them he recognised as Patton, Patton’s children, Emile and Dot and Larry themselves though the one of the faces was foreign to him but he did not mention it. He followed to the upper floor and into one of the closest rooms. Revealing a library inside. Albeit a small library more akin to a study but Logan was so astounded by the sheer number of titles, he did not care for the correct term. Dark wood shelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling hiding the wall from view, they were filled with books. Young and old, worn and new, a variety of fiction and non-fiction titles in all genres and categories. In the centre of the room, stood a similarly coloured wooden desk, free from all decorations apart for a solitary picture frame. Adjacent to it, a lavender coloured armchair, positioned diagonally against the window, a large grey knitted blanket draped over the back of the chair and decorated with two mustard yellow cushions.

“Welcome to our home library,” Dot announced gesturing to the shelves with a proud smile. “Larry and I both love reading and our little collection has certainly grown a lot. I adore gothic literature, the Brontë sisters are a personal favourite of mine and I can tell you that Virgil certainly didn’t get his taste for books from Larry or Patton,”.

As Logan perused the shelves, he recalled seeing similar titles on Virgil’s bookshelves though not to the extent of Dot’s collection, his appeared much more age appropriate. However, the shelves were not only taken up by fictional novels as there was also a substantial number of non-fiction titles of various topics such as; psychology, computer science, the human psyche and technologies. He guessed some were former books for Emile’s - considering the subject matter was closely related to his field of study and work - but that did not explain the rest.

“Are these yours also?” Logan asked pointing to the shelves which held the non-fiction books.

“Oh no, they are Larry’s, most of them are about computers or some such things. He is the tech genius in this family, I am hopeless with all of that,” Dot responded with a chuckle. Logan had received his own knowledge on technological systems and equipment exclusively from books with very little interactions with any electronic devices. Maggie owned a laptop and cellular device, she often brought them with her to work and at times allowed Logan to study them and use them for research purposes for information he couldn’t find in his textbooks. “Do you also like non-fiction?”.

“I do. I particularly like scientific practises and research journals though they do not provide the same sense of escapism as fiction does,” Logan answered as he continued to study the various books on the shelves, both fiction and non-fiction, some of which he had read many of which he hadn’t.

“It does indeed, reading gives us a place to go when we are stuck in reality,” Dot said which made a lot of sense. When Logan was trapped with his parents, he would read everything he could get his hands on for a few fleeting moments of happiness before it was torn from him again. When he was trapped within the orphanage, he treasured the books Maggie gave him and spent every free moment he had in the wondrous world of the stories he read until the was forced to return. “You can borrow any of our books any time you like Logan, I know they will be safe in your capable hands,”.

Logan did not know how to respond. Again they were giving him more. Despite the fact, he had barged him way into their family and lives and was undeserving of of their gifts and hospitality. He doubted they would listen to his protests considering the kindness they had bestowed upon him so far, so he remained quiet. A few moments passed, of Logan continuing the browse the collection as Dot watched on, before the door to the library open revealing Larry with along with Declan perched upon his shoulders, clutching his snake stuffed animal in his fist.

“Hello, we were wondering where you had both disappeared to. Admiring our library I see?” Larry questioned removing Declan from his shoulder, placing him on the floor and rubbing his shoulder so if it caused him pain.

“Yes, it is a rather impressive collection,” Logan answered.

“It is and it is one of my favourite rooms in the house,” Larry said glancing wistfully around the room. “The one thing we both wanted when we were looking at house, was our own personal library and now we have it,”.

“Read!” Declan exclaimed running over to where Logan was stood, tugging on the fabric of his trousers.

“Oh, would you like me to read you a story Dee?” Larry asked, crouching with some difficultly to Declan’s height.

“No, Lo-Lo read to me,” Declan insisted continuing to tug persistently at him.

“I think Logan would rather have some time to himself Dee darling,” Dot said attempting to reason with the headstrong toddler.

“No, it is alright,” Logan interrupted. “ Declan and I often read together, it wouldn’t be a problem to do it now,”

It was true, ever since the first night Logan arrived at Patton’s house when he read to Declan in order to calm him down, it became a near daily occurrence. Declan at any hour would simply appear, book in hand or choose one of Logan’s books for him to read and they would sit in the armchair - which appears to have inadvertently become Logan’s - for however long it took for Declan to either fall asleep or lose interest which rather surprisingly the former was more common.

“Oh well then, we’ll leave you two to it,” Dot said with a hint of surprise in her voice, ushering herself and Larry out of the room. “You are welcome to stay in here and we’ll call for you when it is lunch time,”

Dot and Larry left and Logan was left with Declan, looking up at him expectantly. He took a seat on the armchair and assisted Declan in climbing into the space left beside him but he chose to instead sit on Logan’s lap as he often did with Patton and was bouncing with excitement. Logan opened his rucksack pulling out one of the three books he had brought with, his bookmark poking out from the pages, he opened it allowing Declan to hold the bookmark and began to read.

Patton stood at the side of the assembly hall with his fellow teachers as the kiddos were herded into the hall and directed to sit in their designated year group. He was brimming with excitement and nerves. There they were. His new class. He actually had his own class. He couldn’t wait to get started. He could see it all now. His first lesson. Their first school trip. The Halloween, Christmas and end of year party. Patton knew he would try his darndest to make it perfect for the kids. He was quickly broken out of his day dream by the sound of Madelyne’s voice ringing out throughout the hall.

“Good morning children and welcome to our wonderful school, my name is Mrs Harp and I will be your Principal when you all return after the summer holidays and it is time to start the new school year,” Madelyne announced with a bright smile which was returned by many of the new students. “Now, you are all here today to get a taste of what you will be doing in your new classes and give you the opportunity to meet your new teachers, especially our brand new first graders and I’m sure will all do amazingly and will continue to do so throughout your years at our school,”.

Madelyne continued her speech, discussing the curriculum, the school’s core values and their importance, went over the school rules and what was expected behaviour wise from every student, gave a brief introduction to the other staff members they would be regularly interacting with; dinner ladies, support workers and various others and set out the activities for the day, explaining the times break and lunch would be and when they would be collected at the end of the school day.

“And now all of that is out of the way. Are you ready to get started” Madelyne asked the assembled children, her voice carrying throughout the hall. A resounding ‘Yes’ from the children answered her question. “Excellent, let’s start with our soon-to-be first graders. Allow me to introduce you to your new teacher, Mr Hart,”. Patton waved, stepping out from the line, identifying himself to the kids.

“Hiya everyone, I’m so excited to finally meet you all. Now, if you could all stand up for me and line up single-file, I’ll take you to our classroom,” Patton said barely able to contain his excitement as they all stood together and shuffled into line, it was a little wonky but a line nonetheless and they all looked up at him with their bright eyes, waiting for their next instruction. “Okay everyone, follow me,”.

Patton turned, flashing a smile at his fellow teachers who stood on the side waiting for their own classes, he received a couple of smiles and a thumbs up in return, as he walked the children all shuffled behind him, excitedly whispering to each other which only made Patton’s smile grow wider. They were already becoming friends. Eventually, they made it to their classroom.

“Okay everyone, before we go in I need you all to put your bags and jackets away. Everyone should have their own compartment and peg with your name, lets do three at a time, okay?” Patton said pointing of the first three children in the line, then the next, until they had all neatly put away their belongings and were waiting patiently to enter the classroom. “Let’s head in,”.

All the children shuffled into the classroom, talking animatedly to each other, gasping in wonder at the scale of the classroom and the bright colours which decorated the walls and the carpet. They all gathered towards the front of the classroom by the board and sat cross-legged on the floor, glancing up at him, waiting for their next instruction. Patton took a seat at his desk, swirling around on his spiny chair to face the children, the register ready on his lap.

“Good morning everyone, it is lovely to meet you finally, I’m so excited to start working with all of you,” Patton said clapping his hands together in excitement. “Now, today will be an easy, breezy day of everyone just getting to know each other and doing some fun activities. Okay, lets start with an exercise to help everyone learn each others name and get to know each other. I’ll go through the register and call out your names and when you hear your name you can say an interesting fact about yourself, do an funny dance move or just wave to everyone, if you would like. For example, hi, my name is Mr Hart and I like puppies and kittens or my name is Mr Hart…”.

Patton raised his arms and began waving them in the air, once he spoke, inducing a chorus and squeals, giggles and laughter from the children which brought a warm sensation to his chest as he looked upon their smiling faces.

“Okay, lets get started. Lilly Adams,” Patton announced and the bubbly, blonde, smiling girl seated at the front raised her arm.

“My name is Lilly and I like puppies and kittens too!” Lilly exclaimed her pigtails bouncing with the abrupt movement. Patton almost squealed aloud at how adorable she was. Patton loved having boys but had secretly always wanted a little girl.

“That’s wonderful,” Patton said beaming a smile at Lilly. “Okay , Blair Anderson.

Patton continued down the register, calling out each name as they told either a fact about themselves or did a funny action. A few of his personal favourites were Jacob’s elongated tale about his various fish and Maddie’s very impressive cartwheel, though he did have to warn her against it as she very nearly cartwheeled into a table, potentially injuring herself and others. Though it was quite impressive.

“Okay last name, Oren Wood,” Patton called out and a silence fell over the classroom as the children looked around for the named pupil, who never spoke up or raised their hand. Patton assumed they were perhaps shy and didn’t want to speak up in front of the entire class. “If you don’t want to speak, can you raise your hand so I can see who you are?”.

After a short pause, a small boy seated right at the back meekly raised his hand before quickly retracting it and averting his eyes to the floor when people began to turn and look at him. Patton noticed the discomfort from the attention placed on him, he suspected me may be anxious about the change in the environment or the activity itself and didn’t wish to contribute to his anxiety any further.

“Oren, you don’t have to talk if your don’t want to, how about a hand motion?” Patton said with a snaking motion of his hand and arm, hoping it would encourage Oren to do the same. “Can you do that for me?”.

After a moment of hesitation, Oren raised his trembling hands and begins to move them in very specific motions, pointing towards himself before raising his hands to his mouth and pressing his index finger and thumb together repeatedly. The rest of the children whispered to one another in confusion but Patton recognised the actions as sign language. ‘I like birds’. To be specific. He hadn’t been informed of any children who used sign language but luckily he had learned it in high school and continued to hone his skills throughout the years, in order to communicate with some of the children he had worked with in the past and was currently teaching it to Virgil so he would be able to communicate whenever he became non-verbal or didn’t want to talk. It was a very valuable skill.

“Oh you know sign language, I do too!” Patton exclaimed and responded in sign language while also speaking allowed for the benefit of the other children. “I like birds too,”.

A small smile crept into Oren’s face as Patton responded in sign language and it made Patton’s heart swell with pride at the sight. Patton continued with his lesson plan, directing all of the children to their new seats, allowing them to make friends with her new elbow partners before progressing with his plan. Initially going over the general classroom rules, based on behaviour both in class and in the playground towards other students and himself, the curriculum they would be following once they returned after the summer and his own expectations. As they listened with intense curiosity and a look of wonder on their faces as he described everything the future held for them within his classroom, as he could feel his excitement building. He was actually doing this. He had his own class. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

“Logan…Declan…Lunch is ready!” Larry called out from downstairs just as Logan had finished reading to Declan who was beginning to grow restless and agitated with hunger so a lunch break was welcome.

Logan descended the stairs with Declan held securely in his arms, careful not to jostle him or make contact with any of his burn spots which appeared to be bothering him so not to cause him any further discomfort. He set Declan down on the floor who sprinted towards the kitchen table, where a series of flavours of crofters were laid out in preparation for lunch. Larry assisted Declan into a chair and began to help him prepare his food, a sandwich slathered in a thick layer of strawberry jam.

“Patton told us you liked Crofters, it seems to be trend with you boys,” Dot joked taking a seat at the table, a steaming cup of sweet smelling tea in her hands. “Go head, pick anything you’d like,”.

Logan took a seat at the table, directly in front of Dot and adjacent to Declan. An empty plate and glass set in front of him, a variety of jars of Crofters, a loaf of seeded bread and several flavours of juice were also laid out for him to help himself to, though he specifically chose to wait until everyone had served themselves before serving himself. A blackcurrant jam sandwich and a glass of water, cutting it into appropriate sections before eating, with little question from Dot or Larry. They filled much of the conversation with humorous anecdotes from their rather interesting lives, basic small talk and thankfully very few questions directed towards himself. He much preferred listening to them talk without having to contribute.

“Oh, that reminds me, Emile should be arriving soon,” Dot said once she had finished her own meal before removing her plate, along with Larry’s (which was also empty) and Declan’s who had only left the crusts of his sandwich, much of the jam staining his face and hands. While Logan had two near perfect quarters of his sandwich remaining on his late. “I’m sure he will want to talk to you Logan,”.

Logan had talked to Emile very little since arriving at Patton’s, outside of their initial meeting which was also quite brief, merely an introduction before he had to leave and much of their interactions since then had been similarly short. Primarily involving Emile asking Logan how he was doing, to which he replied with a simple yet calculated answer to prevent any further questioning. To be entirely truthful, Logan had purposefully been avoiding communicating with Emile, primarily out of fear of what he would ask. Considering he was a therapist and commonly uncovered the true meaning and emotions behind a person’s words and Logan would rather that not happen. So not to expose his true feelings and fears to anyone else as he believed if Emile discovered anything about it he would immediately relay it back to Patton which would severely impact his view of Logan. He didn’t have any ill-feelings towards Emile but his anxiety certainly heightened whenever Emile was present and now he was coming over with the intention of talking with Logan. He lost the remainder of his appetite.

“Are you finished, Logan?” Larry asked gesturing towards his plate.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Logan said allowing Larry to remove his plate, only receiving a brief look of concern but didn’t question him for which Logan was thankful. Everyone relocated from the kitchen table to the living room to wait for Emile’s arrival. Declan had returned to playing with his toys on the floor, Larry was cleaning up the kitchen and Dot was sat of the sofa, a pair of thick needles in her hands entwined in a cream coloured wool. Logan decided to take a seat on the adjacent sofa, bringing out one of his books to read until Emile’s arrival.

They only waited a short while before Emile arrived, Dot, Larry and Declan immediately got up to greet him, while Logan merely closed his book and stood. Back from the remainder of the family who gathered by the door as Emile entered, dressed in his usual shirt and tie combination presumably coming from his place of work, his unnaturally coloured hair neatly combed to the side which was quickly dishevelled by him running a hand through it.

“Hello, Emile dear,” Dot exclaimed immediately wrapping her arms around Emile’s torso, as he was considerably taller than her, which he returned with a bright smile before catching the gaze of Logan.

“Hello mum, how are you?” Emile asked breaking eye contact with Logan as he broke away from Dot.

“Oh I’m fine, we are all good,” Dot responded returning to her seat on the sofa as Emile entered but he didn’t get far before Declan threw his tiny body into Emile’s legs, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Woah there!” Emile exclaimed in surprise as he managed to catch himself, regaining his balance, leaning down to lift Declan into his arms. “Hello to you too, Dee,”.

“Ucle Emmy!” Declan chirped in excitement, as he threw his arms around Emile’s neck, in what resembled a hug though Emile seemed some what pained by the force of Declan’s grip.

“Is your shoulder bothering you again?” Larry asked a hint of concern displayed on his face as he took Declan from Emile, which produced an expression of relief across Emile’s features. “We have painkillers and ice, if you need it,”.

“I’m alright dad, you don’t need to worry,” Emile replied gently rubbing a particular spot on his left shoulder, a strained smile appearing on his face. Emile’s behaviour perplexed Logan. He was clearly in pain yet refused the methods of short-term relief Larry provided. But why? “How are you Logan?”.

Logan jolted at the sudden mention of his name. He had spent so long attempting to read Emile that he had forgotten the true meaning of his visit. To speak with him.

“Oh, uh…yes, I mean…I am satisfactory,” Logan stuttered averting his eyes to the floor as his face grew hot with embarrassment.

“How about we take Dee to the park and we’ll leave you two to talk here?” Dot asked before disappearing into the kitchen, then returning with her bag. “Does that sound fun, Dee?”.

“Yes!” Declan shouted immediately running off presumably to collect his shoes and coat, followed by Larry.

They left a short while later, several handfuls of Declan’s toys he demanded that they bring with them on their outing, leaving Logan alone with Emile. He sat on the sofa, book clenched tight within his hands, staring so intently at the cover the words of the title began to warp and distort. Afraid of what Emile would ask of him. Hoping he could avoid the conversation entirely but that as simply wishful thinking.

“Let’s go sit outside, have you seen the garden yet?” Emile inquired Logan forced his eyes to meet Emile’s, they were bright yet soft, intense yet kind. He stood with the intention of following him outside, shaking his head in response to his question. “I think you will like, I always did as a kid,”.

Logan followed Emile outside, into the garden and just as he passed the threshold he was met with the most incredible sight. The garden was small but beautiful. The grass was lusciously green, swaying softly in the gentle breeze, surrounded by a variety of potted and planted flowers of every colour, gathering in an awe-inspiring spectrum of shades. To both the right and left of the porch where Logan and Emile stood, where two patches of earth and soil, sprouted fresh fruits and vegetables, similar to Patton’s but considerably larger with a greater variety of produce ready to be picked.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Emile asked gazing out across the garden, as if lost in a memory.

“Yes,” Logan answered almost breathless, without considering the question or his answer. He was simply too enamoured by the appearance of the garden but he was swiftly broken out of his daze by the painful sound of metal scraping against wood as Emile pulled out two chairs for them to sit.

A silence washed over them as they sat. Logan had assumed Emile would immediately start questioning him, he had been mentally preparing himself for a barrage of personal questions but it didn’t come. He risked a glance towards Emile and saw he was gazing out onto the garden, a wistful perhaps longing expression on his face but Logan couldn’t discern as to why. Though Emile no longer lived with Dot and Larry, they evidently had a close relationship and shared no ill-will between each other and as a result would be allowed to visit and spend time in the garden, whenever he pleased. Emile looked back at him, appearing to snap himself out of the daze he was in when he noticed Logan looking at him.

“Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about the past,” Emile said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled nervously. “So, how are you settling in?”.

“It has been fine, Patton has been kind and accommodating as have Roman and Virgil,” Logan answered averting his gaze once again, returning it to the closed book in his hands.

“That is good, Patton had mentioned he was worried about how you were handling the change. He also told me you had have a rough time recently, would you like to discuss it?” Emile asked. Logan didn’t, however he didn’t know how to communicate that without sounding rude. “You don’t have to if you don’t to, we could talk about something else if you would prefer?”.

“I apologise,” Logan said unsure of Emile’s reaction to his refusal.

“No, no. You don’t need to apologise, I’m sorry if I was pushing you. You don’t need to worry about not wishing to discuss personal issues, I only want you to be comfortable,” Emile said a warm smile stretching across his face. “How is Patton doing?”.

“I believe he is well,” Logan responded thankful for the change in conversation.

“That is good, he thinks I worry about him too much. He always get on at me for it but I can’t help it,” Emile said with a chuckle.

“That is understandable, you evidently have a close relationship,” Logan said he had noticed the close relationship shared between Emile and Patton, their friendship more resembled the traditional sibling relationships he read about in some of his books. He initially believed they were siblings when he meet Emile for the first time.

“Yeah, we have been close for a while, since middle school actually,” Emile said reclining back in his chair, gazing out over the garden once again, as if recalling a memory. “He has had a difficult time in life that is why I worry, he isn’t the best at taking care of himself particularly when he started adopting, especially with Virgil and Dee. So, I have been trying to keep an eye on him,”.

Logan averted his eyes once again. So, Patton had, had difficult experience with his adoptions in the past. Was he causing more issues for Patton? He had already caused so many problems for him. Was he making everything worse?

“Are you alright, Logan?” Emile asked seemingly having noticed Logan’s change in behaviour.

“Ah, yes, I am fine,” Logan said quickly, hoping for the conversation to return to Patton.

“Okay, I need you to know, Patton certainly doesn’t regret adopting any of you, he loves you all very much and would give anything to ensure you are happy and well-taken care of. Okay?”. Emile said closing the distance between himself and Logan, placing a hand on the edge of Logan’s chair.

“Okay,” Logan responded he still struggled to believe that he was nothing but a burden on Patton and his family but Emile assurances of the opposite was somewhat comforting.

“How about we head inside, I’m sure mum, dad and Dee will be back soon,”Emile said standing from his chair, gazing once again at the garden before returning inside, Logan following behind.

Once Dot, Larry and Declan returned from their outing, Emile only stayed for a short while before leaving. Sharing a hug with his parents and Declan, directing a simple wave towards Logan which he returned as he left. It was fastly approaching the time Patton would be leaving work to collect himself and Declan to take back to the house, so instead of returning to the library he decided to remain in the living room with Dot and Larry who were closely supervising Declan, who was sitting at the kitchen table, entertaining himself with some of his toys.

“So, how was your little talk with Emile?” Dot inquired as Logan sat down.

“It is very informative,” Logan responded considering how much he learned about Patton and Emile’s relationship with one another and more about Patton.

“Was it? Well that is good,” She replied lifting her needles once again.

“Actually, may I ask you both a question?” Logan asked drawing the attention of both Dot and Larry.

“Yes, of course Logan. Ask away,” Larry prompted with a hand gesturing urging him to continue, listening in rapt attention.

“How are you so close to Patton? Emile mentioned that they initially meet in school yet you appear as if you are blood-related family,” Logan inquired he had been questioning the relationship between Patton and Emile’s family ever since meeting Dot and Larry. Why were they considered ‘honorary’ grandparents and not simply grandparents? Were Patton’s biological parents not involved with with family?

“Ah, Patton did say you were a curious one. I suppose it is a rather confusing situation, so it is understandable you wondering about it,” Dot answered setting down her needles in her lap. “It’s true, we meet Patton when he and Emile were in middle school and we were going through a rough time, he was a wonderful child so kind and caring. It was a pleasure having him over so we never questioned why we never meet his parents initially but we later found out why…”.

“Patton’s parents are horrible people who did not deserve such an exceptional young man as a son!” Larry exclaimed with such intensity that Logan flinched.

“Larry, calm down, please,” Dot urged resting a hand on her husband thigh, in an effort to calm him which was effective as he quietened, averting his eyes and clasping Dot’s hand in his own. “He is right though. They were incredibly hard on him, especially in regards to his education and they consistently put him down, they never…physically…abused him as far as I am aware but I know what they did still affects him,”.

“What did they do?” Logan asked intently listening as they retold the story. Dot and Larry shared a look Logan was unable to decipher before Dot sighed and continued.

“When he was seventeen he came out to his parents as pansexual and they…didn’t take it well. They believe it is a sin to identify as any sexuality other than heterosexual, they kicked him out. They threw their only son out onto the street because of the possibility of him loving another man,” Dot said the seething anger seeping in to her tone. “That is when he turned up on our doorstep and of course we allowed him to stay with us. He hasn’t seen or spoken to them since. He made it through school without them, he made it through several jobs without, he adopted all of you without them and has been a better parent than they ever were to him. Patton became the person he is today without them,”.

“We may not be related by blood but we are family by choice. Patton’s own family did not accept him so he built a new one and we were more than happy to become apart of it, as are you Logan,” Dot continued, stretching over to rest a hand on Logan’s forearm.

Logan was silent, processing the information. He had never expected Patton to have experienced such a traumatic upbringing and abusive relationship with his biological parents, removing him from the house because of an uncontrollable factor - he didn’t know the specific term Dot used though Maggie had taught him the difference between certain sexualities as he knew very little about relationships - which he had been told shouldn’t matter. Patton was the kindest, most accommodating and good-natured person he had ever met, he had persisted in the face of adversity throughout his own adoption, supporting him throughout the difficult situation they experienced together presumably also with Roman, Virgil and Declan during their own adoptions - though he didn’t know the details of their specific adoptions and home situation - and had yet to punish Logan for his less than favourable behaviour and traits. Logan could not comprehend how anyone could treat someone like Patton so terribly.

“But he is with us now, he is away from them and they can’t hurt him any more just like your parents can’t hurt you. You are apart of our family now too,” Dot said softly squeezing Logan’s forearm, a warm smile spreading across her face as the familiar warm sensation built within his chest.

Family. He had never had a true family before. He never allowed himself to truly be apart of one but perhaps he could be apart of this one.

Taglist: @i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @alex-cain @amber1594 @darkrainbow333 @falseh0od @lovingcreatorstrawberry @mason-does-a-thing @callboxkat @tacohippy56900 @anxiousangel121 @comicsimpson @harrypotternerdprincess @cobythinks @whatschooldoesntteachyou @fandomkitty8 @coloursintheblur @read-write-inspire-repeat @clinicalawesomeness @deceit-sanders-deserved-better @scared-ghosthunter @silverstarlinedart @winterrose42 @alotofstupidstuff @imalwaysthatoneperson @glitchybina @dumbgayemo @quietwords-loudthoughts @altruistic-skittles @thecrimsonstoryteller

#sander sides au #sander sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #Janus Sanders #Emile Picani #cartoon therapy #Dot and Larry cartoon therapy #home is where the hart is #found families #My writing #my fics

18 notes · View notes