#I’m not trying to whine and stuff I just like waxing poetic about things it makes them feel better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoongiseesawmp3 · 3 years

Text

just about perfect - seonghwa

howdy folks, back with another fic but i’m switching it up on ya! i might start writing regularly for ateez as well so y’all are cool with that right? right.

summary: this is NOT inspired by seonghwa saying he watches nevertheless. why would you even think that.

warnings: not the kind of warning u were expecting but there’s no smut (i know its based off a show abt friends with benefits so that’s why i’m warning u. do not get ur hopes up) a little cussing, a lotta me waxing poetic abt the perfect man park seonghwa. also slight tomfoolery from the teezers

word count: 10.6k

the bookstore just off campus is your current go-to study spot, mostly because the cafe inside has a drink special where you buy one coffee and get a voucher for the new bakery next door. so, let’s just say the past few days you’ve been well caffeinated and well fed. you’re on the way there now, already planning out what your treats are going to be.

today you were supposed to meet your “study group” after your last class of the day, but it looks like you’re the only one here so far. and you say “study group” loosely, the professor for your music theory elective encouraged everyone to make a study group for the upcoming final and your group of friends chose to work together. there’s been no studying going on, though.

especially not when hongjoong’s new friend seonghwa has been flirting with you literally nonstop. he’s apparently friends with everyone else in your group too. san knows him from an art class they took together last semester, meanwhile wooyoung and yeosang claim they lived on seonghwa’s floor freshman year and he always bought them booze. seonghwa denies it, only because hongjoong would slap him if he admitted to buying alcohol for underage kids.

tasteful delinquency aside, seonghwa is a fine person. you mean personality fine, not like, fine fine even though san would beg to differ. he knows you’ve developed a thing for seonghwa despite trying not to, and he’s secretly trying to get you two together.

which is why san suddenly texts you and says he can’t make it, and neither can yeosang or wooyoung. they decided to ditch studying to practice for the final in their dance class instead, so it’ll be just you, seonghwa and hongjoong. and little did you know, hongjoong was trying to do the same thing as san. so we’ll see how this goes.

“y/n, you can’t do that,” hongjoong warns you, referring to the scale you were trying to fill out.

“why not?” you ask, looking down at your work and wondering what’s wrong.

“because it’ll sound like shit,” seonghwa replies before sipping his coffee.

“what he said,” hongjoong agrees, grabbing your paper and erasing some of the notes you had scribbled out. “it should look more like this.”

you glance over at what he’s done on top of your old work and sigh. you took this class because you like music, and you thought learning about how it works would be interesting, but it’s hard.

“can’t you just do all my work for me?” you plead. at this rate, you don’t think you’ll be able to pass the final.

“no, i don’t want you dragging me down in this class,” hongjoong replies. “my grades are great.”

“i hate you.”

“what are you struggling with, y/n?” seonghwa asks as he finally looks up from his laptop. he had been working on an assignment for another class this whole time because he, like hongjoong, is great with music theory. so maybe this study group was a good thing.

“here, you can switch seats with me,” hongjoong says as he clears the spot next to you on the weathered loveseat. “i’m going to look for a book i should’ve started reading two weeks ago.”

before you can protest, seonghwa is sliding his laptop across the coffeetable and slides himself into the spot next to you. when he sits you notice your thighs are touching, which is weird because there was plenty of space when hongjoong was here. you don’t know that seonghwa is doing this on purpose, that hongjoon really left so he could flirt with the cute cashier in the cafe to give you and seonghwa some alone time.

“so,” seonghwa starts once he’s settled. “what are you struggling with?”

“hmm, all of it?” you reply. your answer makes seonghwa smile, and you like the way his eyes sparkle when he does.

“then i guess we’ll be here a while.”

about an hour later, seonghwa has walked you through all the major and minor scales you need to know for the test and you’re starting to understand a little more. you’re still having problems with the back of the study guide where you have to come up with note combinations that can apply to those scales, but you have time to work on that since the final is two weeks out. right now, your brain is fried and you need a break.

“do you mind if i go get a coffee?” you ask seonghwa, who was in the middle of sending you the minor scale cheat sheet he made. he looks up from his laptop and shakes his head before he speaks.

“i would only mind if i can’t come with you.”

“it’s literally right over there, why do you need to come with me?” you question.

“i think i would just miss you too much,” he pouts, and you roll your eyes. seonghwa shuts his laptop and stands up. “what if i need coffee too?”

“you already had one,” you remind him as you stand.

“yeah,” he nods. “but teaching you is exhausting, so i need another. c’mon.”

he walks ahead of you to the counter, and you’re too busy searching for your wallet to notice he took his jacket off, revealing a sneaky tattoo on the back of his neck. it isn’t until you’re behind him in line that you get a look at the hand drawn star right on the nape of his neck, and you have to refrain from reaching out to trace the lines.

“i didn’t know you had a tattoo,” you decide to say. he turns around and instinctively rubs his hand across the tattoo, smiling at you with those sparkly eyes again.

“yeah, i have a couple,” he replies. “but this one is my favorite.”

“why?”

“because my name means ‘to become a star’, so i like knowing that i have a reminder with me all the time,” he explains.

“nice. it’s really pretty.”

“thanks, so are you.”

“sir?” the barista calls, pulling seonghwa’s attention from you. he steps up to give his order as you stare at the tattoo again, noticing alongside it a couple of freckles that almost make it look like a constellation.

“y/n?” seonghwa’s voice draws you out of your thoughts and you realize he’s finished ordering. “what do you want?”

“oh, i can get it,” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“no, my treat,” he insists, and you sheepishly walk up to the counter to give your order. seonghwa makes a mental note of what you get, and he also snatches the bakery voucher from you before you can put it in your pocket. you make a confused sound and seonghwa laughs.

“why’d you do that?” you whine.

“you only get to use it if you come with me to the bakery later,” he teases. “say yes or i’m drinking your coffee and getting myself an extra cupcake.”

“fine,” you huff. “but i have an assignment due at midnight, so i can’t stay long.”

“it’s 4pm, that’s not enough time for you to finish it?” he asks while you step out of the way for the next customers.

“i haven’t started yet,” you admit.

“you like saving things until the last minute, don’t you?”

“what makes you say that?”

“well, it looks like you haven’t been studying music theory at all, and now this,” he shrugs.

“not everybody can be perfect like you, park seonghwa,” you grumble as the barista places two coffee cups on the bar. you hear seonghwa giggle shortly, and you give him a questioning look.

“so you think i’m perfect?” he smirks.

it’s the next day, almost midnight, and you really need spray paint.

why? well, you’re stressed because you have so much to study for your finals and you don’t know where to start. yes, seonghwa helped yesterday, but he’s not in all your other classes, so you’ve decided you need a break from tearing your hair out over the material you can’t comprehend. the best way to distract yourself from that is to finally paint that dresser you got from a garage sale a few months ago, hence the spray paint.

thankfully, san is still awake, and he has a car, so you ask him to pick you up for a quick run to the art supply store that’s surprisingly still open. a bonus of going to college in the city, you can get anything almost whenever you need it.

“thanks for coming to get me,” you tell san as you hop into his car.

“no problem,” he replies. “i was bored and hongjoong said he needed paint pens so this is a win-win situation. plus, i get to hear about your date with seonghwa yesterday.”

“it was not a date,” you groan, choosing to ignore the suggestive way san is looking at you right now.

“but you spent the whole afternoon together,” san starts. “he bought you coffee and you went to the bakery together and talked about, like, your favorite colors and stuff. sounds like a date to me.”

“how do you know all that?”

“seonghwa told hongjoong and then hongjoong told me,” he explains as he turns onto the street that’ll take you to the art store.

“well tell hongjoong that i’m still mad at him for ditching us,” you reply. “and i’m still kinda mad at you and the other two for bailing in the first place.”

“hey, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had your first date with seonghwa,” san points out.

“it was not a date!” you cry. “we studied most of the time we were together, then he bought my coffee and bullied me into going to the bakery. i couldn’t stay long because i had a paper to write, so we talked about stupid shit until i had to leave.”

“it sounds like the beginning of true love to me,” san sing-songs.

“stop the car, i’ve decided to walk.”

when you get to the store, san separates from you quickly because he sees his friend mingi behind the counter. they’re busy talking while you search the store for the paints, and you’re so busy looking up at the aisle names that you don’t notice you’re about to run into someone.

“hey-” you start to complain, but you recognize the man you almost bumped into. “oh, seonghwa.”

“y/n,” he smiles at you. “what are you doing out so late?”

“uh, distracting myself from how small my brain is,” you explain. “what are you doing here?”

“hongjoong needed paint pens,” he says, and you’re about two seconds away from finding san and slapping him. did they really plan this too?

“why didn’t he come get them?” you ask as you remember what you’re here to find. your eyes scan the aisle behind seonghwa and you spot the paint cans at the end, but he’s in your way.

“i offered,” he says with a shrug.

“you must be a really good friend, then.”

“well you did call me perfect yesterday, so...” he trails off, smirking. you roll your eyes at him but can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. he interrupts his new favorite activity of staring deeply into your eyes (just to fluster you, of course) and he sees that you’re looking past him at the shelves of paint. “you need something down here?”

“um, yeah, the spray paint,” you reply, awkwardly trying to skirt around him to get into the aisle. he steps aside to let you through, but still follows you as you search for the color you want.

“what are you making?”

“i’m painting a scuffed up dresser i’ve had for a while, so i want something simple that’ll go with the rest of the things in my room,” you explain as you stop walking and crane your neck to scan the bottles on the top shelf. seonghwa stops behind you and places his hand on the small of your back as he reaches for a can just out of your reach.

“what about this one?” he offers, handing you a can of light blue paint. it’s really pretty, and it’ll stand out with the white furniture you already have, but you really like it.

“oh, that’s perfect!” you say as you take the can from his hands.

“there you go again,” seonghwa teases, and you shoot him a questioning look. he smiles as he responds. “calling me perfect?”

“i said the paint was perfect, weirdo,” you snap. “but thank you for finding this.”

“anytime,” he tells you. “you said your favorite color was blue right?”

“right...” you mumble, thinking back to the conversation you had at the bakery yesterday. “how’d you remember?”

“ugh, i’m hurt!” he exclaims, hand flying to his chest in mock surprise. “i can’t believe you already forgot that it’s my favorite color too.”

“hm, guess i was too distracted by how perfect you are,” you joke. seonghwa laughs at that, a sharp sound that seemed to catch him off guard. he covers his mouth to stifle the sound, but you’re close enough to the cash register now that it draws attention from san and mingi.

“find what you need?” san asks with a shit eating grin.

“hm, just about,” you say as you place the paint on the counter. “couldn’t find a hammer big enough to drop on your head, though.”

“wow, harsh,” san scoffs. “and to think i brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

you’re too busy half-bickering with san to notice that seonghwa has paid for your paint and the pens he promised hongjoong. he mumbles something to mingi, who then hands him a piece of paper. he scribbles his number down for you before handing you the can and his number.

“i gotta go, but i’ll see you later for study group, right?” he confirms. you’re still processing the fact that he keeps buying things for you and you can’t respond in time, so san steps in.

“yeah, y/n will be there,” san assures seonghwa. he nods and shoots you one last smile before he excuses himself and leaves. you’re stuck with san and that stupid grin again. he looks at you and then checks the paper with seonghwa’s number on it. “yep, i think you got what you needed.”

even though seonghwa very willingly gave you his number, you’re still afraid to text him. it’s kind of hard to believe that he’s into you the way you’re into him, so you’re fine with just seeing him for study dates. or, uh, not study dates. study gatherings. with just the two of you. because the other guys have bailed, again.

this time, though, you’re not working on music theory. you have an assignemnt due for your ethics class, and you need family and friends to read about your results from this morals test. you wanted san to do it, but he’s currently “chasing a sweet piece of ass,” whatever that means. he’s probably bothering his lab partner that he claims descended from greek gods. you would usually tease him for saying something like that, but it’s a thought you’ve had about seonghwa, so you kept your mouth shut.

anyway, you know you need someone to answer these questions for you, but you can’t bring yourself to ask seonghwa. he kept up his “perfect” demeanor again today, showing up at the bookstore before you so he could get you the coffee you like. you would ask why he keeps doing things like this for you, remembering your favorite color and your coffee order, but you’re afraid he’ll stop if you bring it up. little do you know, every time he learns something new about you, he writes it down in his notes app, keeping a running tab of the things you like.

“y/n?” you hear him ask. his voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring at him this whole time. the smirk you’ve become so familiar with makes another appearance as he gets ready to tease you. “something on your mind?”

“no, i...no,” you stutter. “i’m just thinking.”

“about what?” he questions as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips. you watch the way he slightly pouts them before taking a sip and you have to stop yourself from staring again.

“just this ethics assignment i want to finish,” you explain. “sorry, i didn’t realize i was staring at you.”

“must be an important assignment,” he nods, leaning forward to put his cup back on the table in front of you. you get another glimpse at the star tattoo on his neck as he does. “because i was definitely staring at you too, and you didn’t even notice.”

“oh?”

“yep,” he confirms. “i was giving you my best puppy dog eyes and everything.”

“puppy dog eyes?” you ask, unsure of what’s coming. “do you need something?”

“eh, not really,” he shrugs. “i’m just worried.”

“why?”

“you never texted me the other night.”

“after the art store?” you ask incredulously.

“isn’t that when i gave you my number?” he smirks.

“i didn’t think you wanted me to text you immediately...”

“well, it’s been three days and i still don’t have your number,” he pouts.

“hold on a second,” you mumble, reaching for your bag. you fumble around in there, searching for the piece of paper with seonghwa’s number on it as he watches you fondly.

“what are you doing?”

“looking for your number,” you reply like it’s obvious. seonghwa laughs a little and places his hand on your arm to stop you.

“you do know i’m right next to you, and i could just put my number in myself?” he asks, eyes sparkling as he half-smiles at you. you blush, because no, you weren’t thinking about that. you sheepishly hand him your phone and watch as he adds his number and then texts himself. he gives your phone back and replaces it with his own before asking, “what’s your favorite emoji?”

“um, the smiling cowboy?” you offer, not sure why he’s asking. he laughs again, like he did in the art store, but this time it’s harder for him to quiet the breathy giggles coming from his chest.

“why that one?” he asks, typing something quickly.

“it’s funny,” you shrug. “why?”

“needed something cute to put next to your name, but you’re a weirdo, so it’s not as cute as i was imagining,” he explains, showing you the contact card in his phone. your number is saved as “y/n 🥰🤠” and you can’t help but laugh. you look up at seonghwa, warmth in your eyes, and he starts laughing too.

“see?” you giggle. “it is funny.”

“whatever, at least now i have your number.”

after exchanging numbers with seonghwa, you’re starting to let yourself believe little by little that he might feel the same way you do. it’s not anything serious, but there’s definitely something there. the texts he sends are always flirtatious, and it has your heart beating faster every time you get a notification, hoping that it’s him. you’re in the middle of studying for your spanish final when you feel your phone vibrate on the bed next to you, and you smile when you see who it’s from.

seonghwa 🥺💫, 6:28pm: are you busy rn?

you, 6:28pm: not really, just studying

seonghwa 🥺💫: can’t be studying too much if you replied that quickly 🥸

you: what do u want

seonghwa 🥺💫: be nice :-(

you: sorry

you: hi seonghwa, how are you? what do you want.

seonghwa 🥺💫: come get dinner with me?

you: right now?

seonghwa 🥺💫: no, in 30 years. yes right now

you: but i’m studying ://

seonghwa 🥺💫: liar!

you: fine, when and where?

seonghwa 🥺💫: i’ll pick you up in ten 🤠

“you sure like staying close to campus, huh?” you ask seonghwa as he walks you about a block from your usual hangout and to a little hole in the wall restaurant that looks like it could seat maybe 20 people, uncomfortably.

“i know what i like,” he responds with a shrug. “speaking of things i like, you look nice.”

“oh, thank you,” you semi-laugh. you’d been close to panic trying to figure out what to wear (because you’re not sure if this is a date) so you went with something simple, but you’re glad seonghwa likes it. not that you wanted to impress him. but you did, a little. anyway, he looks...well, perfect, wearing black ripped jeans and a velvet-y navy shirt. you continually have to stop yourself from reaching out and stroking his arm just to feel the soft fabric (and maybe his muscles).

“so i take it you’ve never been here before?” he asks as he hands you a menu. you shake your head no in response. you can’t tell if he’s doing it intentionally, but seonghwa leans closer into your side as he explains. “you pick a main entree, but each dish comes with these sides. they say no substitutes, but i know the guy behind the counter so you can ask for more of something else if you don’t like one of them.”

“i might do that,” you say. “i don’t really want dumplings, so could i get extra sweet potatoes?”

“of course,” he nods, noting the way you smile slightly. it makes your eyes light up, and his heart does a little backflip knowing that he’s the reason for it. well, the sweet potatoes probably are, but he’s the one getting the sweet potatoes, so he’s taking that win for himself. once you both confirm what you want, he places his hand on your back and guides you to the counter.

“hey seonghwa!” the tall guy with a lopsided smile behind the register greets. “long time no see. who’s your friend?”

“hey yunho,” seonghwa smiles back. “this is y/n, a vip, so make sure you give us the good stuff.”

“extra sweet potatoes?” yunho laughs. you and seonghwa both nod as yunho continues taking your order, and you find yourself comfortably leaning into seonghwa as you wait for yunho to calculate the price. before seonghwa can even think about taking his wallet out, you’re handing yunho cash for the food, which makes seonghwa sputter.

“what? y/n, i was going to pay,” he whines, and you simply shake your head.

“nope, my turn,” you tell him. “you’ve bought me coffee too many times.”

“but i asked you out! i don’t want you to pay on our first date if i’m the one who brought you here,” he continues to complain.

“so this is a date?” you confirm, right as yunho asks suggestively “oh, this is a date?”

“yunho, give y/n’s money back,” seonghwa says, ignoring the two of you. “i’m paying.”

“yunho, if you give me that money i’ll be forced to leave and stand seonghwa up for our date,” you say, emphasizing the last word. now you’re glad you wore clean pants.

“seonghwa, why don’t you let y/n pay for this, and then you can get the next one?” yunho suggests, sending you a wink before he turns to the kitchen to share your order with the chef. you’re left with a flustered seonghwa, which is a sight you’re not used to, and it makes you laugh.

“c’mon,” you say as you pull on his arm. “let’s go find a table.”

you’re the only ones in the restaurant, so the food comes out pretty quick, and you have to stifle a laugh when you see that someone has arranged the sweet potatoes on a separate plate in the shape of a heart. seonghwa blushes at this, and you’re taken aback by how shy he’s suddenly become.

for some reason, seonghwa showing signs of nervousness puts you at ease, and you lead the conversation to something stupid san told you about the boys and their shenanigans at their dorm. the story has seonghwa laughing, and he confirms that yes, yeosang does have a sword by the tv, and yes, hongjoong did threaten to use it on him after he lost an intense match of fifa.

“in hongjoong’s defense,” seonghwa begins, “i do think yeosang cheated. wooyoung was definitely helping him.”

“it still sounds ridiculous,” you tell him. “why does anybody need a sword?”

“yeosang is just...yeosang,” seonghwa replies. “he’s weird but he won’t admit that to anyone.”

“i’m just saying, if i went to someone’s house and there was a katana by the tv, i’d haul my ass outta there.” seonghwa giggles at how serious you look, but this conversation reminds him...

“you never showed me your room,” he says bluntly. you pause for a moment, spoon halfway to your mouth, and seonghwa realizes how that must sound. “i mean, the paint, your dresser. you never showed me a picture once you fixed it up.”

“oh,” you breathe out. “let me grab my phone, i can show you.”

“show him what?” a familiar voice suddenly asks from the seat next to you. when you notice that san, and some of your other friends, have snuck their way into the restaurant, you have to keep yourself from groaning.

“why are you here.”

“i’m hungry,” san replies, then turns to seonghwa. “you didn’t tell us you were getting dinner.”

“i didn’t want to,” seonghwa deadpans. “ i wanted it to be just me and y/n.”

“too late for that, pal,” honjoong says as he slides into the seat across from you. “hi y/n.”

“hey hongjoong,” you grumble. “please tell me you’re getting your food to go.”

“we were, but then we saw our good friends eating all by themselves and thought we should join them,” hongjoong teases. by now, the rest of the boys have sat down around you, some at other tables, and one of them you don’t recognize. that must be jongho, their younger “roommate” who technically lives in first year housing but doesn’t get along with the other guy in his room. you’ve heard seonghwa complain that jongho eats all of his snacks.

“well, i hope you enjoy your food, but seonghwa and i were just about to leave,” you lie, looking at seonghwa with a stare that pleads ‘please go along with this.’

“where are you going?” wooyoung asks, one table over.

“my apartment,” you respond quickly, standing up as seonghwa follows your cue with a stupidly adorable look on his face.

“oh, perfect!” san chirps. “we’ll come with you!”

so much for your date with seonghwa. it was hard to stop the boys from insisting they all join you at your apartment, especially after yunho said his shift was over and he could really use some destressing. and by destressing he meant booze, so you currently have 8 tipsy boys scattered across your living room. if you thought they were loud before...it’s amazing that your neighbors haven’t complained yet.

it started off innocent enough, you were just playing card games at first and the loser of each round had to drink. then it turned into never have i ever, and each time you put a finger down you had to drink. then yeosang suggested shots, and it really went downhill from there. san tried convincing everyone to play a round of spin the bottle just for the chance of making you and seonghwa kiss, but mingi and wooyoung were the only ones down, so majority ruled there.

“san, stop pouting,” you laugh, noticing that he’s upset over his evil plan not working out.

“it’s fine,” he lies, duck lips on full display.

“spin the bottle is such a tween-y game too,” jongho pipes in. “and we’re adults, so it would be kinda stupid to play it anyway.”

“says the baby of the group,” yeosang scoffs.

“what about truth or dare?” hongjoong suggests. “still immature, but we can make it fun.”

“yes!” san shouts, suddenly back in a positive mood.

“i’ll start,” mingi volunteers. he takes a deep breath as he looks around the room, eyes narrowing when he looks at you and seonghwa. you’re currently smushed into your armchair together, not really by choice, because the couch is completely full and neither of you wanted to sit on the floor (you know how dirty it is, and seonghwa has a bad hip). thankfully, mingi has mercy on you and directs his gaze to his best friend. “yunho, truth or dare?”

“truth,” yunho slurs out. you’d say he’s the opposite of stressed by now.

“did you sleep with that girl you met at the party last week?”

“no,” yunho replies quickly, cheeks turning a knowing shade of red. “i just walked her home.”

“and went missing until the next morning?” yeosang asks. he gets a few snickers, and you laugh a little too because you remember san and wooyoung talking about their friend who disappeared for a few hours last weekend.

“whatever,” yunho groans. “yeosang. truth or dare.”

“dare,” yeosang chooses confidently.

“kiss wooyoung on the cheek.”

“no,” he replies, just as confidently.

“then take another shot,” yunho concedes, waving his hand at the stubborn boy. wooyoung mumbles something about how kissable he is as yeosang downs what looks like more than just a regular shot.

“this is boring,” jongho whines, which makes him the next target. he chooses dare, and you have to detach yourself from seonghwa so you can go into your kitchen and find the lemon juice in your fridge so jongho can chug what’s left. he’s sputtering after a few sips and gives up, grumbling up to you, “ i hate you for that.”

“hey, it wasn’t my dare,” you defend yourself. “you owe me lemon juice.”

“i’ll give it to you if you choose dare,” jongho challenges. you roll your eyes and take the bait, earning a round of ooo’s from the boys around you.

“make her kiss seonghwa,” someone hisses.

“or me!” wooyoung chirps. jongho looks over at him with a death glare, and wooyoung shrugs. “i just want someone to want to kiss me.”

“i think you’re cut off,” hongjoong says as he leans across your coffee table to move the bottle away from wooyoung.

“everyone be quiet!” san shouts. “jongho has to give y/n a dare.”

“hmmm,” jongho starts, tapping his finger on his chin. “what should i do?”

“for someone who said this was boring, you’re really milking this,” seonghwa says under his breath. you’re perched on the arm of the chair, close enough to hear him, but thankfully no one else does.

“what’s that other childish game called?” jongho wonders aloud. “seven minutes in heaven? i think you should do that with seonghwa.”

“do i have to?” you pout, and your reluctance makes seonghwa stiffen. he thinks you said that because you’re uncomfortable, and not because you don’t want the boys pressing their ear up to the door while the two of you make out.

“rules are rules,” hongjoong concludes, nodding his head toward your room. “go have fun. i’ll keep the kids from bothering you.”

you look to seonghwa, who isn’t looking directly at you. you tentatively take his hand, giving it a squeeze before you stand up and lead him to your room. there are so many catcalls, whistles and cheers coming from your friends that you barely hear san say “take your time! it doesn’t have to be just seven minutes!”

once you get to your room, you let seonghwa go in first and then you lock the door behind you. he quirks an eyebrow at that, and you shrug shyly.

“don’t want one of them bursting in,” you explain. seonghwa nods, and you both fall silent. it’s not necessarily awkward, just tense. you both want to do what seven minutes in heaven is meant for, but you’re not gonna make the first move and seonghwa still isn’t sure you even want to be in this situation. so he takes this time to turn around and take your room in, pointing to your dresser.

“is this it?” he asks. you hum out a yes in response, and he runs his hand over the freshly painted wood. “it looks nice. whoever picked out the color sure knows what he’s doing.”

“eh, he’s just lucky,” you joke, and you both laugh. you move to stand next to him and place your hand on top of his. “sorry we couldn’t finish our date.”

“sorry my friends are so annoying,” seonghwa adds.

“sorry san pushed me into your lap earlier,” you continue, and seonghwa smirks.

“well, i didn’t mind that,” he says. “i wanted you to sit with me, but i didn’t want to draw attention.”

“oh,” you squeak, feeling a blush on its way to your cheeks. a heavy silence falls over you, and seonghwa is the first to break it.

“listen, if you don’t want to kiss me, that’s cool,” he begins. “i kinda got the vibe earlier that you didn’t want to do this, and that’s cool. if you don’t want to do this we’re still cool.”

“you don’t sound very cool about it,” you chuckle, and seonghwa’s face flushes. “but i was only nervous because i didn’t know if you wanted to kiss me.”

“oh i want to kiss you,” he says firmly. “have for a while.”

“why don’t you do it then?” you challenge. seonghwa takes a step closer to you, and before you know it he’s pinned you against your dresser. you balance your hands on it and the cool wood helps you ground yourself as your body heats up from having seonghwa so close.

“are you sure?” he asks, only a few inches from your face. you nod and whisper out “i’m sure” and seonghwa quickly cups your face and smothers you in a kiss. it starts off slow, and your face warms at his touch. once you relax into it you move your lips against his, nipping at his bottom lip slightly and earning a groan from the man before you. you take the chance to slip your tongue past his lips as you bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, slowly brushing through his soft hair. his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly but not too hard, and he leans in to get as close to you as possible. you keep kissing for a few moments, but eventually you need to breathe so you lightly tap on his neck. he pulls back, breathing heavy, and his smile shines like the most beautiful stars in the sky. “so?”

“so?” you repeat, equally out of breath.

“that was nice.”

“it was.”

“the boys are gonna know we made out.”

“of course they are,” you laugh. “your lips look swollen.”

“so do yours,” he counters.

“but wasn’t that the whole point of us coming in here?” you ask. your hands have fallen to his chest, and you finally get a chance to smooth out the soft velvet of his shirt. and you notice his chest is very, uh, firm, too.

“we didn’t have to kiss,” he says with a shrug. “we could’ve just talked.”

“about what?” you ask with a smile.

“my keen eye for interior design,” he replies. “how sexy you look in low lighting.”

“so you think i’m sexy?” you tease, and seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“i just had my tongue in your mouth, does that answer your question?”

another silence comes over you both, but this one is lighter than before. you’re subconsciously rubbing your hands over his shirt, and seonghwa brings a hand up to cover yours, stopping it right over his heart.

“we don’t have to tell them,” you offer. “i mean, they kept it a secret from us that they were trying to get us together this whole time.”

“oh no, i was fully aware of that,” seonghwa tells you, and you scoff. “do you think i really wanted to get out past midnight just to buy hongjoong some expensive markers? he never even paid me for them.”

“well now i really don’t want to tell them we kissed,” you whine. “how could everyone be in on this except me?”

“it was more fun that way,” seonghwa teases before pecking your lips. “but we can keep this between us, for now.”

“i think we should,” you say with a nod of finality. “it’s more fun that way.”

“c’mon, let’s go back out there before they send a search party.”

you return to the living room before seonghwa (so he can sneak into the bathroom and fix his hair) and you find most of the boys asleep on the floor. you sigh as your eyes meet hongjoong’s, and he shrugs.

“at least they didn’t bother you,” he says.

“can you help me find pillows and blankets for them, please?” you ask, and he nods before jumping into action. he throws one of the couch pillows down to yeosang, who takes it and hugs it to his chest. you have a couple extras in your hall closet and you pass them to yunho, who’s sitting up when you come back. he places one under mingi and another under jongho and keeps the last one for himself. san and wooyoung are on the couch, and hongjoong tells you he’s fine with the armchair. seonghwa is out of the bathroom by now, and, like the perfect man he is, he’s carrying blankets in his arms. the three of you work on getting all the boys covered before you realize that seonghwa doesn’t have a place to sleep.

“i can take another spot on the floor,” he assures you. “do you have another pillow i can use?”

“let him sleep in your room, y/n,” san mumbles from underneath wooyoung. you pause and look at seonghwa, who’s looking back at you with something you can’t read in his eyes.

“it’s not a bad idea,” hongjoong pipes in from somewhere within the blanket cocoon he made for himself. “he was just there. you can put him on the floor.”

“y/n?” seonghwa asks, pulling your attention back to him. “i don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

you would try to fight it, so you could hopefully ignore taunts from the boys in the morning, but you’re suddenly really tired and you just want to lay down.

“i’m ok with it if you are,” you yawn. “take the rest of those blankets, we can use those for your bed.”

“make good choices,” honjoong mumbles as seonghwa leads you back to your room, and you hear san going “oooooo” as you close your door a second time tonight. this time you don’t lock it though, and when you turn around you see the blankets on the floor and seonghwa sprawled out on your usual side of the bed, so you tell him.

“well why don’t you come join me then?” he teases with a grin. you blush and shake your head.

“scoot over.”

he does, but only by an inch. he still looks at you with that flirty glint in his eyes, and you can only shake your head again as you crawl into the tiny space next to him. he immediately wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a tight hug, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“thank you,” he whispers into your back.

“for what?” you reply.

“for not putting me on the floor. and for liking me.”

you just woke up from maybe the best night of sleep you’ve ever had. seonghwa’s arms and legs are draped over yours, so you can’t get up without waking him, but having him so close is a welcome source of warmth. your apartment is quiet, and the sun is peacefully filtering into your room through your curtain. it’s the perfect moment, with your perfect boy, until-

“i think they’re still asleep,” you hear someone whisper from the hallway.

“wooyoung, leave them alone!” another voice hisses. there’s silence for a moment, and then a smack, followed by someone jiggling the doorknob to your room. you quickly untangle yourself from seonghwa before you watch as the door cracks open a bit, revealing wooyoung in all his bed-headed glory. you close your eyes as much as you can while still peeking at who’s sneaking into your room, and you see jongho close behind him. he must’ve been the one who got smacked. or did the smacking. either way, they’re both staring at you and seonghwa in your bed, but you notice wooyoung smile and pause.

“i knew it! they definitely got together last night.”

“how do you know?” jongho asks. “maybe y/n let seonghwa sleep on the bed because of his old man hips.”

“whatever. they’re in the same bed, so that’s at least something,” wooyoung replies. “lame, but still something.”

“what did you expect?” jongho asks incredulously. “you thought we would catch them doing it?”

“i mean, not exactly, but couldn’t i get a little cuddling maybe?”

“you want me to cuddle you hyung?” jongho deadpans.

“yes, actually-”

“hey!” a third voice whisper shouts. you hear footsteps and then you see hongjoong pulling wooyoung out of your room by the neck of his shirt. “leave them alone. and you, jongho, i’m surprised you’re playing along with this.”

“well...” jongho mumbles.

“well what?” hongjoong asks, sounding like the mom-est mom to ever mom.

“they’re the only ones that know how to make breakfast.”

“both of you, out! now!” hongjoong semi-shouts, and you feel seonghwa stirring behind you. hongjoong doesn’t realize you’re both awake and closes the door as he leaves.

“what time is it?” seonghwa grumbles out, and your heart skips a beat hearing how deep his voice is when he wakes up.

“early,” you reply, turning around to be face to face with him. his arms slowly snake around you as you look up at him and share a sleepy smile. “how can you look this good when you first wake up?”

“weird, i wanted to ask you the same thing,” seonghwa replies, leaning in to kiss you but you touch your fingers to his lips and stop him, so he pouts.

“uh uh, not until i brush my teeth,” you say as you try to get up, but seonghwa’s grip on your waist keeps you down.

“please,” he pouts again, sparkly eyes on full display as he pleads with you. it takes about half a second for you to cave and kiss him quickly, catching him off guard. he shifts to pull you on top of him and deepen the kiss, but he loses his grip on you and you’re able to slip out of bed before he can stop you. a noise comes from deep in his chest that almost sounds like a growl, and you shoot him a glare.

“hey, you got your kiss,” you warn. “now i’m going to make breakfast for the gremlins. do you want to help me?”

after the intrusion into your bedroom, wooyoung obviously told the boys what he saw. but, like jongho said, most of them thought it was just because of seonghwa’s hips that made you share a bed with him. there wasn’t enough evidence otherwise, and none of them really expected either of you to make a move despite their efforts. but they’re starting to get suspicious.

little do they know, after the set up fell into place, seonghwa wanted to take you on a real date. the only way to do that without your friends knowing was to sneak around without them, which was kind of fun. it was nice having this bubble with seonghwa, just the two of you, but it was getting harder to avoid your friends. seonghwa lived with them after all, so they pestered him about how often he was out and who he might be out with.

“san keeps asking if you’re a good kisser. i told him i didn’t know, and then he asked if he could find out for me. should i be concerned about that?”

“we need to be more careful, yeosang said he saw us at the taco place yesterday, and he said we hold hands weird.”

“hongjoong has been saving seats for us at the bookstore, and each time we don’t show up i think he steals something from me.”

you have been ditching study group lately, but that’s more because you need to do some deep studying for your other finals and your friends are too much of a distraction. seonghwa can be distracting too, but at least he can take a hint and back down when you really need to focus. it’s been nice actually, just spending time in his presence. you were so nervous around him just a few weeks ago, and now you feel like you could trust him with just about anything.

today, you don’t get any personal study time, though. your music theory final is coming up and seonghwa wants you to get all the terms memorized before the review session in class tomorrow. he’s motivating you with a kiss for each right answer and the promise of him making dinner once you’re done. you’re currently cruising on five wrong in a row, and you’re getting frustrated.

“c’mon y/n, you know this,” seonghwa encourages you, but you just whine in response. “we did this like four minutes ago, and i told you the answer so you could remember it.”

“yeah, well i obviously didn’t,” you snap, and seonghwa fakes being hurt. “sorry. can we skip this and come back to it?”

“sure,” he agrees quickly. “but first you need to write down the circle of fifths for me.”

“i hate you.”

“hm, wrong answer,” he hums. “but kiss anyway. maybe that’ll keep you from getting so grumpy.”

“i am not grumpy,” you defend after kissing him gently. “i’m stressed.”

“you know what you need?”

“hm?”

“you need to go on another date,” he begins. “with me, obviously.”

“damn, i wanted to know if yunho was free,” you tease, and seonghwa doesn’t think it’s funny. “now who’s grumpy?”

“ignoring that,” he scoffs, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile.

“when would we go? i’m really busy the next few days.”

“what about after class? we could both clean up and do something nice before we get some dinner?” seonghwa suggests. “why don’t we go to that art exhibit you told me about?”

“ugh,” you groan as you learn your head on his shoulder. “that sounds amazing, but we both said we’d be at study group tomorrow, remember? hongjoong practically begged me to be there, and i said i would ask you to come.”

“what about not letting them know we’re a thing?” he pouts. you don’t tell him about the youngest two that saw you all cuddled up, but instead you assure him that you inviting him to study group wouldn’t look unusual to the boys.

“plus, if we both cancel last minute, they’d know for sure we were up to something together,” you continue. “so yes, we need to go on another date, but just not tomorrow.”

“fine,” he mumbles. “now i am grumpy.”

“would something from the cafe make it better, my little boba ball?” you ask in a baby voice.

“ooh, actually, boba sounds good,” seonghwa smiles. “let’s go.”

the next day you get to the bookstore late because your professor gave a pop quiz at the end of class and you’ve been so busy studying music theory you forgot to study for anything else, so you needed all the time you could get. when you finally arrive, all of the boys are there, surprisingly. since you’ve never seen yunho, mingi and jongho here before you’re a little confused, but happy to see them nonetheless.

as you walk up to the usual spot, you notice a coffee cup sitting in front of an empty chair, and you point to it as the boys greet you.

“is this for me?” you ask, placing your bag on the ground before grabbing the warm mug. “thank you, coffee angel.”

“you’re welcome, actual angel,” seonghwa replies, and you almost choke on your first sip. what is he doing?? you’re supposed to be sneaky sneaks and keep your relationship quiet, but here he is flirting with you in front of everyone!

except, that’s what he did before you started dating too, so it’s not out of the ordinary. in fact, no one pays any mind to it, so you’re left with a burnt tongue and blushy cheeks while seonghwa looks at you with a stare that only you would understand. you quickly shoot him a wink before you put your mug down and reach for your notes.

“um, hello? what are you guys doing?” you ask yeosang next to you, who’s rabidly tapping at his phone, just like everyone else. if they weren’t distracted they might have picked up on the vibes between you and seonghwa, but thankfully they’re the oblivious ones now.

“playing a game,” half of them respond, just as hongjoong says “writing lyrics” and jongho mumbles “texting my mom.”

“aren’t we supposed to study?” you ask. “or did you already learn everything in the world while i was gone?”

“well you’ve missed a lot of study sessions, y/n,” san begins. “so yes, we have learned everything. now we just come here to hang out.”

“so then why did you insist on me being here, joong?” you ask newly orange-haired hongjoong. it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, he must’ve dyed it recently.

“we missed hanging out with you,” he says simply, eyes peeking up from his phone. your heart constricts at this, and you catch seonghwa’s eyes again. you might have to rethink the whole sneaking around thing if they really do miss you.

“yeah, we missed you AND we had to make sure you and seonghwa are still spending time together,” wooyoung adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

“where have you been anyway?” yeosang asks. “you don’t have other friends.”

“yes i do,” you scoff.”

“give me names and numbers.”

“ignore him,” yunho tells you, and you nod.

“i always do. but i’ve been really stressed about finals, so i had to do some soul searching on my own to decide if i need to graduate or not.”

“seems fair,” mingi agrees. “i almost had to drop a class.”

“because he forgot he was even enrolled in it,” jongho clarifies, and you laugh.

“but seonghwa has been missing a lot lately too,” san starts. “i wonder what he’s been doing.”

“or who,” wooyoung snickers, and hongjoong reaches over mingi to slap him.

“i haven’t been feeling well,” seonghwa says with a shrug. “i’ve mostly been in my room, or at the pharmacy to get medicine.”

“oh, so you could’ve bought new paper towels for the dorm then, huh?” hongjoong asks, and as the two of them start to bicker, yeosang nudges your arm.

“i saw you two,” he says quietly. “at the mexican restaurant.”

“i know,” you whisper back.

“so i know you’re dating.”

“are you gonna say anything?”

“hmmm, no,” he thinks. “but you have to buy my silence.”

“with coffee?” you offer, and yeosang smiles. he stands up and puts his phone away before speaking, looking directly at seonghwa.

“my best friend y/n is gonna buy me coffee, we’ll be back,” he says as he loops his arm around your shoulders. seonghwa watches as you walk away (and stares at your ass) but he’s mostly thinking about how he’s a little jealous right now. like, he knows you wouldn’t do anything, he trusts you, but he doesn’t want his friends thinking you have a thing for anyone but him. so while you’re gone, he talks.

“i haven’t been sick,” he admits. “i’ve been seeing y/n.”

“we all knew, dude,” hongjoong says casually, and everyone agrees.

“then why didn’t you say anything?!”

“because YOU weren’t saying anything,” jongho replies.

“yeah, we figured that we did enough trying to get the two of you together, so if you didn’t end up dating then that was your fault. we were just waiting on you to make a move,” san explains.

“then why did you let us lie to you like that?”

“it was fun,” wooyoung shrugs. “by the way, did y/n let you sleep in the bed because of your hips, or because you wanted to cuddle?”

the red tint on seonghwa’s cheeks gives him away, and the boys start laughing and ooo’ing so loud he’s afraid you’ll hear it over by the coffee counter.

“ok, ok, just. keep this quiet for now,” he says. “y/n may still want this to be private.”

“but you just told us about it,” yunho says. “why would you do that if you knew y/n wouldn’t want you to?”

“well,” seonghwa begins. “i need your help with a date.”

seemingly by an act of god, you have time this weekend to go on a date with seonghwa. little did you know, he’s the reason your plans suddenly freed up. san said you could critique him and wooyoung for their dance final another day, hongjoong said he would send you his music theory notes from the review and save you hours of studying and then yeosang found the exact spanish book you needed to finish your performance final ahead of time. it was the perfect circumstances, orchestrated by your perfect boy and his perfect-adjacent friends, who all agreed to help him with this (hopefully) perfect date.

it starts with seonghwa picking you up from your apartment, coffee in hand.

“you’re the man of my dreams, you know that?” you say in passing as you grab the warm to-go cup. even if you were only saying it lightly, it made seonghwa’s heart soar. you notice he hasn’t said anything to you, so you meet his eyes to find them full of stars like always, but this time there’s something scheme-y in there. he’s up to something.

“are you ready for the best date of your life?” he asks with a smile that puts the stars in his eyes to shame.

“yes, i think,” you respond, grabbing your keys and locking your door. “but i don’t know what we’re doing.”

“and it will stay that way until we get there,” seonghwa says firmly as he laces his hand into yours. you squeeze his hand and sigh.

“i guess i just have to trust you then.”

“but that won’t be hard right?”

“wait, didn’t you say something earlier about going to that art exhibit? is that it?” you question, even though you know he won’t budge. seonghwa just shakes his head no and punches the button for the elevator. a moment of silence passes before you guess again. “a movie? you rented out a movie theater, like you said you wanted to?”

“i tried, but it was expensive,” he admits and you have to laugh. “funds are tight right now.”

“i watched you buy a couple hundred dollars worth of legos the other day babe. maybe that’s why the date fund is lacking.”

“you’re not coming between me and my collectables, y/n,” seonghwa scolds. the elevator pings to open to the parking garage under your building, and you’re confused for a moment before he explains. “i want this to be a nice date, so yunho let me borrow his car. it would be no fun if we show up all sweaty because we were walking.”

yunho’s car, which is actually pretty nice thanks to all the tips he gets from flirting with clientele, is parked by the elevator. seonghwa leads you to your door and opens it for you, revealing a basket of flowers and candies in the seat. you coo as you pick it up, and seonghwa looks on proudly. you lean over to give him a kiss, and you whisper your thanks as you pull away.

“that was mingi’s idea,” seonghwa tells you, smiling brightly “i got all your favorites.”

“i see that.”

“but look around the flowers,” he guides you. “there’s something else.”

you hold the basket up to eye level, noticing the silver sparkle around the stems of the flowers. is it glitter? you tug at a flower and realize it’s a chain, and attached is a hand drawn star charm to match the tattoo on the back of seonghwa’s neck.

“seonghwa, this is beautiful,” you say breathlessly. “we’re gonna match! that’s so cute. who’s idea was this?”

“would you believe me if i said it was mine?”

“no.”

“that’s what jongho said too,” seonghwa laughs. “it was his idea.”

“tell him thank you,” you say as you play with the charm. “mingi and yunho too. it’s a good date so far.”

“oh baby, it hasn’t officially started yet.”

in the car, seonghwa plays a mix of songs that he really likes, and he’s mixed in some of your favorites too. he has to keep convincing you that the songs aren’t clues, because you ask every time a new song plays.

“so are the songs just distractions?” you ask, finally giving up on getting any information out of him.

“why do you ask that?” he smirks as he turns down a familiar road.

“because i can tell you just took the long way to the record store,” you explain. “are you stalling?”

“me, what? why?” his response does nothing to manage your suspicions, and suddenly you remember how your friends have helped with the date so far. are they all in on this? you need answers.

“seonghwa, i swear to god, if san or wooyoung jumps out to surprise me wherever we’re going-”

“that won’t happen,” seonghwa laughs while he parks the car. “we’re here anyway, and i promise this is the last surprise of the night.”

“the record store?” you question, looking up at the shop you’ve been to countless times to shop and to bother hongjoong while he works.

“yeah, you said there was a new album out you wanted to get, right?”

“yeah,” you blush. “but i just said that in passing, i didn’t expect you to remember.”

“y/n, i want to know everything about you,” seonghwa says seriously. “so of course i remembered. wait, don’t get out yet. i’ll open the door for you.”

as seonghwa helps you out of the car, you quiz him on the other things you’ve said around him that you didn’t think he remembered. sadly, he does remember you saying your favorite disney movie is ratatouille and you’ve always wanted to try the mushroom/cheese concoction remy makes in the first scene.

“that’s a little embarrassing,” you sigh as you reach for the door. you’re going to complain some more about how seonghwa doesn’t need to remember everything about you, but the sight in front of you makes you stop mid-breath.

the record store has been decorated from floor to ceiling in fairy lights, and there’s more flowers all over the place. as you look around, you notice the flowers are tucked in the shelves next to your favorite artists. next to the door is the album you were talking about, and a little further down you see your favorite album of all time with a few extra flowers next to it. you’re still taking everything in when you notice hongjoong behind the counter.

“did you help him with this?” you ask breathlessly, and hongjoong nods.

“yeah, but the flowers next to the albums was my idea,” hongjoong explains. “we’re running a new special called “y’n’s favorites” so everything that’s marked with a flower is yours, if you want it. everything is on the house.”

“i...i don’t know what to say,” you start. you turn to seonghwa and there are those starry eyes that you love to see. you reach out to cup his face and smile. “thank you. this is...perfect.”

“it’s even more perfect now that i’m here!” wooyoung shouts from the front door of the shop, followed by san and yeosang. you look at seonghwa and all he does is laugh.

“what? at least he didn’t jump out and scare you,” seonghwa teases.

“oh, i would never,” wooyoung nods with a half-serious look on his face. “but i definitely wouldn’t do that when i have your dinner in my hands, i can’t let all this hard work spill.”

“especially not on my clean floor,” hongjoong warns.

“you made dinner for us?” you ask wooyoung, but you’re looking at seonghwa, who simply shrugs.

“yep, i made one of your favorites and then threw in a couple recipes i thought you’d both like,” wooyoung says as he and the two other boys place food down on the counter by the register.

“and what did you two help with?” you ask san and yeosang.

“who do you think made this place so beautiful?” yeosang asks incredulously.

“yeosang did the lights and i bought all the flowers,” san explains with a smile that makes his eyes turn into happy half moons. “you’d be surprised how many places i had to go to get all your favorites.”

“i really don’t know what to say,” you whisper in disbelief. “i can’t believe you all did this for me.”

“it was all seonghwa’s idea,” san tells you. “we did it for both of you.”

“yeah, we’re just his little minions,” yeosang jokes, and wooyoung giggles.

“you tell me how that food tastes, got it?” he asks as he backs out of the store. “don’t say anything mean though. i only accept compliments.”

“wooyoung,” seonghwa smiles tightly. “please leave.”

wooyoung holds the door open for san and yeosang as he gives seonghwa a thumbs up. san waves goodbye sweetly and yeosang gives you a knowing smile before the door closes behind them.

“well, i think that’s my cue to go,” hongjoong says, handing the keys to seonghwa. “don’t make a mess. if i get fired, i’m selling all the stuff i stole from you when you were sneaking around with y/n and not telling us about it.”

“i’ll keep him under control,” you assure hongjoong, who nods as heads to the door. you don’t see him leave because seonghwa has stepped in front of you, and he places his hands on your waist to pull you closer.

“so,” he begins.

“so.”

“what do you want to listen to while we eat?” he asks, pulling you by the waist over to a row of records. you stand there quietly, looking over the albums hongjoong pulled to the front for you, and you just can’t believe how much work went into this date. you can’t believe how sweet it is that each of your friends helped, and you put your hand on seonghwa’s and give it a squeeze.

“hwa,” you whisper. he hums in response, but you place your hand on his cheek and guide his gaze to yours.

“thank you,” you tell him. “thank you for this.”

he smiles at you with a look in his eyes that can’t be anything else but love, and you smile back with that much love, if not more, in your own face. you use the hand on seonghwa’s chin to guide his lips to yours, and you lose yourself in the kiss, in seonghwa, for who knows how long.

“mm, y/n,” he mumbles against your lips before detaching. “the food will get cold.”

“you’re right,” you sigh. “but we didn’t pick any music.”

“how about this?” he asks, pulling an album out from the top shelf. you smile at the cover, knowing exactly what song seonghwa wants you to hear.

“perfect,” you agree. “i’ll put it on while you get the food?”

and that’s how you end up eating the perfect meal, on your perfect date, with all of your favorite things around you, sitting right next to your perfect boy.

#seonghwa #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa imagine #seonghwa one shot #ateez one shot #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #seonghwa imagines #ateez fluff #park seonghwa #park seonghwa fluff #park seonghwa imagine #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa one shot

337 notes · View notes

pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Drunk Words (Frankie Catfish Morales x f!Reader)

Drunk Words / Sober Thoughts part one of two

Summary: Frankie’s drunk off his ass and needs a ride home. PART ONE of a two part Frankie fic

W/C: 2.7k+

Warnings: language, copious amounts of alcohol, Frankie is absolutely shitfaced

A/N: THANK U TO MY BABE @sanchosammy for this idea!!! I love it so much I fuckin LOVE my baby frankie

As you roll over in bed, you groan. You’ve been up for about 20 minutes now, unable to return to the blissful sleep that had been enveloping you before. The time on your watch now reads 3:07. You frown and grab your phone, lying on your side. The light is bright enough to make you squint, and you smile at the text thread you’ve received from Frankie tonight.

The man brings nothing but happiness to your life. You really do love Frankie, not just platonically. You want to hold his big and strong hands, want to lift up his ball cap and kiss him on the forehead, want to fluff the hat hair he always gets from that Standard Oil cap. More than anything, you want to softly kiss that little patch in his beard. It’s just existing there, perfectly clean even when he’s almost at a full beard. His tough fingers scratch it and you giggle, looking away when he asks what’s so funny. Nothing, Fish, you immediately reply. Fishie, if you’re feeling a little more flirtatious.

Frankie might be feeling the same, you’ve noticed lately. He’s a little more touchy with you. He hugs you longer than the other men, makes you dance with him when a good song comes on. He lets it happen when you steal his ball cap and wear it, where he’d scold and smack any of the other men for it. He lends you his flannel when you’re cold, wrapping it gingerly around your shoulders.

It’s been a long time that you’ve been friends now. Just recently, you’ve come to appreciate him differently. The way he hugs you warms your heart still, but it makes your heart race and your hands sweat. It makes you want to lift your face from where it rests in his neck and kiss him softly, your fingers working into that little bald patch on his jaw.

Even now, as he’s clearly drunk, you adore him. How can you not?

Frankie 🚁: attachment: one image

You open the photo and laugh. It’s a blurry selfie of Frankie, an arm draped over Santiago’s shoulders. The two men make faces like they’re going to bite the other, and it makes you chuckle aloud. You can see his fluffy curls peeking out from beneath the cap, and you desperately want to play with them. The image is blurry, showing that it must’ve been moving while he took it.

Frankie 🚁: missing u tonight, Santiago says he doesn’t like me when you’re not around

Frankie 🚁: holy fuck their new beer is really good, you gotta try it soon

Frankie 🚁: lol I fuckin love the nachos here

Frankie 🚁: snati is so annoying, pls get him away from me

Frankie 🚁: u r probably sleep sorry :((((

Frankie 🚁: can we got o a zoo soon?? I wanna see animals 🦫🐈🐕‍🦺🦡

You laugh out loud at the words, at Frankie’s terrible typing. He must be shitfaced. He’s hilarious when he’s drunk.

The last text was only four minutes ago.

Me: Alright, Fishie. Stop drinking and eat something. No more beer.

Frankie 🚁: ha I’m drinking that Coffey shit… Kalua?? isk but it’s so gooood

Your phone rings, filling the screen with your profile picture of Frankie. It’s a photo of him smiling, his dimple evident. Your cheek is pressed to his, grinning just as wide. God, he’s so fucking cute. You love him so much.

You take a second and stare at the photo before pressing the answer button and putting it on speaker. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hey,” he laughs, dragging the word out long and slow. “S’a shame you weren’t here, Will’s been buying all night.” His words are slurred and woozy. You can hear the roar of the bar behind him.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re shitfaced,” you laugh into the phone.

“Precisely,” he slurs, a smile clear in his voice. “I can’t drive.”

“I’m glad you realize that. What do you want me to do about that? I can have an Uber coming your way in ten minutes.”

“Will you pick me up?” He asks, his voice like a child’s. “Fuckin’ Ubers cost money, ‘n I just wanna see your pretty face.”

“Frankie,” you warn but feel your body warm at the notion.

“You got a cute little nose,” he laughs. “Just wanna boop it. Can I boop it? Just go… boop, boop boop. Right on the nose.”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. You’re so fucking lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Thank you,” he practically sings. “See you then. Mwah.”

You throw on a hoodie and walk to your car, not caring to cover up your patterned flannel shorts that you sleep in. Your hair is messy, you don’t have makeup on, you don’t really give a shit. It’s Frankie.

Once you reach the bar, you shoot him a text, and the four men stumble outside. “Yo!” Benny calls and rushes over to you. It’s clear his normal balance has left his body for the night, his body a little wobbly. He’s an excited drunk. He slams on your window until you lower it. “Hey, you missed out on a good time,” he grins. His words blur together too.

Frankie follows behind him, an arm thrown across him. He’s still got a little balance. “Missed you so much, cariño. Santi’s being an ass.”

You look up at Will. “These fuckers need a ride too?” He’s the responsible one of the men, even when intoxicated.

He shakes his head. “Got an Uber coming. They’re staying at my place tonight.”

Frankie puts a hand on the car to steady himself. “Knew you’d come. Pretty girl always comes through for me, even at 3 A.M., thank you,” he slurs happily, his eyes half open.

Santiago leans against your car. “Hey gorgeous. We missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Get the grizzly bear in the car.”

Frankie laughs at the words. “Ooh, I like that. Big and fluffy but murderous.”

“I’m about to get murderous if you don’t get in the car right now, Francisco Morales.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Shit, man.”

Benny gives a whistle. The men all make noises in commentary and laugh, Will opening the door. Frankie flops down inside. Benny ensures that all of his limbs have made it in and shuts the door. “Don’t party too hard with him tonight,” Santiago calls and you roll your eyes.

The two of you drive off and out of the bar parking lot.

“Hey, Fish,” you say, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Buckle up. I’m not getting in trouble for your dumb ass.”

“You always do, though,” he mumbles and tilts his head to look at you. “You’re so good to me.”

“I’m a fucking saint,” you sigh sarcastically. “Seriously, buckle up. If you can’t do it yourself, we’re going to the ER for alcohol poisoning.”

“No,” he whines and pouts at you. “Just wanna be close to you. Wanna just…” he trails off and rests his head against your shoulder. “Mm. There. Your skin is so soft.”

“That’s my hoodie, Frankie.”

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, the scent clicking in his addled brain. “No, that’s my hoodie.”

He’s right, you realize. You grabbed a random sweatshirt and pulled it on before leaving. You’re the one who’s always cold at gatherings, leaving Frankie to share one of his many layers with you. You smile a bit. “It’s comfy.”

“I like it better on you. I really like you in my clothes, you know that? Wear them way better than I can. You just look so cute and so little.”

“Frankie, I’m 5’9,” you refute and glare down at him, where he looks up at you with puppy-dog mocha-colored eyes.

“Just look so small in ‘em. I’m like 6’0, you know that.”

“I do know that, Francisco. You remind us all the time,” you laugh, removing his ball cap and tossing it into his lap. “Still shorter than Benny. Get that hat off and I think you’re shorter than Santi.”

“I’m taller than him,” Frankie whines at the reminder. “How come Benny’s the baby and he’s so tall? He’s like a fuckin’ giraffe up there, can never see his stupid face,” he pouts.

“He’s too tall for comfortable hugs,” you nod in agreement. “And Santi is too short. And Will is too fucking awkward,” you laugh. You purposely leave out the bit about how perfect hugs from Frankie are, how much you dream about them and crave them.

His dark brows furrow as he looks up at you with glazed eyes. “Wha’bout me?”

The car stops for a moment as a light in front of you turns red. You smile down at him and push his messy curls from his forehead. “I like hugging you. You’re comfy.”

“Ha, grizzly bear hugs,” he slurs. “Y’should call me that more often. I like it when you call me things the boys don’t. Makes me feel tingly,” he laughs, lovestruck as he looks up at you.

“Tingly?”

“Yeah, like when they put the meds in before they steal your teeth.”

“Steal your teeth?” You laugh loudly, toying with one of the curls. “Do you mean get a tooth removed?”

“Same thing. I don’t like it when they do it then. I like it when you call me stuff though. Fishie makes me laugh and feel happy.”

“Oh yeah?” God, he’s so fucking precious. He looks at you like a puppy stares at their owner, pure and unadulterated love radiating from them. “I’ll need to call you Fishie more often then.”

It’s quiet for a while. Frankie’s head still rests against your shoulder. He can feel all of the tiny muscles move as you steer and navigate the car. He likes the way they move, making his drunken head even more floaty. After a few moments, he shifts to lean against the car door, just watching you.

The music drifting from the radio is soft and quiet. You almost think Frankie’s fallen asleep, since he’s so quiet, but you look over and see him gazing over at you. “Penny for your thoughts, Fish.”

You’re expecting something stupid. Frankie is quite the philosopher when he’s drunk, always asking odd rhetorical questions. ‘Is a muffin an unfrosted cupcake?’ has always been a favorite of his. He’s never quite made up his mind about it, waxing poetic about the difference in the two baked goods.

He always says something stupid, but this time, his sober thoughts become his drunken words. “You’re the most absolute prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he smiles at you, those pink lips curled into a soft smile. It shows off his dimple, and you want to scream from how cute he looks. One of his big hands reaches over and cups your face.

“You’re drunk,” you shake your head, looking back at the road. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, I mean yeah. Kinda drunk and really stupid, ha, but I mean it. You’re so fuckin’ pretty, cariño.” The backs of his fingers trace across the side of your face, resting on the side of your neck now.

You look down at yourself, still skeptical. “No, I know what you’re gonna say,” he pouts, beating you to the punch. “You’re in your pajamas and your hair is all messy ‘n whatever, but you’re so pretty. Your face is so cute. I love your nose. Just wanna…” he leans over and makes good on his promise for earlier. “Boop,” he coos as he pokes the tip of your nose, smiling wide. “You’re so cute. The guys make fun’a me because I never shut up about it.”

“Oh really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and laughing.

“Yeah. Santi says I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, sitting back against the car window.

You gulp as you force yourself to grip the steering wheel harder, staring at the white dashes separating the two-lane road. “Yeah? What do you have to say on the matter?”

“I’m kinda thinkin’ he might be right.” His voice is small and quiet.

You shake your head again, eyes watering from the honesty. There’s no way he can think that. He’s shitfaced. He doesn’t mean it, there’s no way. He’s never been more than a friend, done anything to indicate romance.

Or… maybe he has, you reflect. He pays for your drinks most nights. He’ll order something you want and share it with you. He’s always a little touchier than he is with the boys. “You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, swallowing hard.

Whatever common sense he has left tells him to be quiet, so he does. He sits there silently for the rest of the drive, the tension palpable between the two of you. When you finally reach his house and park, you hold your breath. You don’t know what to do, what to say, but you can’t just let him go inside without saying anything. He sits up a little straighter as he realizes he’s come to a stop.

You bite your lip and look over at him. “I should help you inside.”

He nods and you turn off the car, putting the key in the pocket of your hoodie. You get out and walk to Frankie’s side, opening his door. He reaches his arms out to you and you chuckle a little. He looks like a helpless little child.

“Alright, grizzly bear,” you grunt as he swings his feet out and you help lift him to his feet. His arms cling to you tight until he’s standing up.

“Thanks,” he murmurs and wraps an arm around your shoulder when he’s upright.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you chuckle.

Using you as a crutch, he walks alongside you and into his house. He fumbles with the key until you open it for him, then lock it behind you. He leads the way to his room, opening the door and sighing as he sees his bed.

“Not yet,” you say as he tries to get to the bed. “Come on.” You pull his flannel off, leaving him in the t-shirt underneath. “Okay, go on.” He flops down onto his bed with a happy noise. Once he’s down, you unlace his boots and pull them off, then his socks.

Standing at his side, you undo his belt. “Woah,” he laughs. “‘M way too drunk for that, pretty girl. Kinda wanna though.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fish,” you laugh and thread it through the loops, tossing it aside. “I’m getting your clothes off so you can sleep.”

“Oh,” he sighs, giggling drunkenly as you pull his pants off. “Kinda feels like we’re gonna fuck.”

“Maybe another time,” you tease and pull the covers over him. Pushing his curls from his face, you softly kiss his cheek. “Call me when you’re sober, okay?”

He frowns and grabs the hand on his face with both of his rough palms. “Don’t leave me,” he pouts.

“Frankie,” you sigh and look at your watch. “It’s 3:35 in the goddamn morning.”

“Then stay the night,” he begs. “You said you like hugging me. I want you to hug me all night long,” he sighs, kissing your fingertips. You smile softly. It’s a good offer, you have to admit. He makes it even harder to say no. “I won’t be able to sleep if you’re not here when I wake up.”

“Lots of things can happen while you’re asleep, Fishie. I can-”

“Mm, Fishie,” he says with a smile, his eyes fluttering closed. “Come snuggle with me, pretty girl.”

You sigh as you look at the man. It’s not like you haven’t spent time pressed into his side, watching a sports game or a movie. You and Frankie are affectionate friends. He looks so warm and inviting, his body radiating heat. “Fine,” you give in. “Only because I’m cold.”

“Not ‘cause you like me too?” he asks and rolls over, leaving room for you.

“We can discuss that when you’re sober.” The spot he laid is warm and cozy, his body heat making it perfect for you. You slide under the covers next to him and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

Frankie presses a sloppy kiss to your head, smiling. You can hear his slow and steady heartbeat. “G’night cariño,” he mumbles, lips still buried in your hair.

“Goodnight, Frankie,” you whisper.

He falls asleep almost instantly, and you’re close behind him. You’ve never been more at peace than when you fall asleep in Frankie Morales’s arms.

read part two: SOBER THOUGHTS

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales headcanons #frankie morales headcanons #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

622 notes · View notes

arrowflier · 3 years

Note

Lovely Arrow, a random plot bunny appeared and I just know you could do it justice: what if Franny has some friends over at Mickey and Ian's place when she's older and one of them is new to the group and wants to learn a little more about her uncles? And Franny starts waxing poetic about how they're made for each other and complement each other so well and both Ian and Mickey overhear and it makes them tear up a little. Just a thought 😋🥰

Evie, thank you! I've decided that Franny's friends love her uncles almost as much as she does, so that's kind of where this went.

---

“Why are we here again?” Tiffany asks as they crowd onto the stoop of the little southside worker’s cottage. Franny doesn’t bother to answer as she knocks on the door, but one of the other girls takes pity.

“It’s her Uncle’s house,” Susan says. “Jesus, Tiff, pay attention.”

Well, not too much pity. There was a reason she’d never been invited before, after all.

“Yikes, Suze,” Tiffany mutters with a frown. “I just meant why weren’t we at her actual house.”

“Because my actual house is loud as shit,” Franny finally chimes in, not even looking back. “My mom gets lonely so we live with like three other families, it’s a nightmare for schoolwork.”

“You’d have known that if you paid any attention,” Susan adds, and they all ignore Tiffany’s pout.

It doesn’t last long anyway, because the door creaks open not a moment later.

“Hey Fran,” Ian says from the other side. His hair is longer than usual right now, and looks windswept—or like someone had been carding hands through it all morning. His shirt was tight-fitting and a little too short, like it didn’t belong to him, and the socks on his feet didn’t match.

“Hey Uncle Ian,” Franny greets, then gestures to her friends. “It still cool if we take over the living room for a bit? This group paper is a beast.”

“Of course,” Ian agrees with a wide smile. “Anything to help my favorite niece.” He opens the door wider to let them in.

“Nice to see you all again,” he says as they start to file inside. “John, Rachel,” he greets them individually. “Susan, that new haircut is fantastic, I told you it would be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Gallagher,” Susan says with a grin, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

Ian grimaces at her, playfully.

"Ian, please," he begs. "I've never met a Mr. Gallagher I didn't want to punch."

Susan giggles, and moves inside.

“I don’t think I’ve met you,” Ian says with a thoughtful frown when it's Tiffany's turn, and Franny jumps in with an introduction.

“Uncle Ian, this is Tiff,” she says. “She got put with us for the project.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian says, and holds out a hand.

Tiffany takes it, and when Ian lets go, her hand just hovers there.

“Make yourselves at home,” Ian says as he closes the door behind them. “I’ll be in the other room if you need anything, but—

“Try not to need anything,” they all chorus, with the exception of Tiffany.

“Good kids,” Ian laughs, and then he’s gone, disappearing through the archway that leads through to the rest of the house.

They settle quickly. John and Rachel take the love seat, as they’re always wont to do, sitting just a little too close. Rachel giggles as their knees brush, and Franny rolls her eyes at John’s blush.

She takes her own usual spot next to Susan on the floor, notebooks spread out across the ottoman, and startles when Tiffany suddenly appears on her other side.

“Dude,” Tiffany hisses, poking Franny in the shoulder. “Your uncle is so hot.”

Franny frowns, staring down at the wrinkle Tiffany left on her sleeve.

“Yeah,” she says idly as she smooths it. “So I’ve heard.”

“I mean I mean I always thought red hair looked weird--no offence," she tacks on hastily, "but it really works for him."

Franny focuses on arranging her things to avoid smacking Tiffany in the face.

"Does he have a girlfriend?” Tiffany asks, biting her lip. She toys with the ends of her over-crimped hair, bright nail polish flashing between blonde strands.

“No,” Franny answers, and doesn’t give Tiffany any time to think about that before adding, “he has a husband.”

Tiffany pouts, shimmery pink lips sticking out comically. Franny exchanges a look with Susan, who mimics the expression in a way that has Franny trying to swallow her laughter.

“So not fair,” Tiffany whines beside them, crossing her arms. “Why are all the cute ones taken?”

“Hey!” John protests from across the room, but they all ignore him except for Rachel, who hits him with her three-ring binder.

“Mickey would probably kill you for looking at him,” Susan chimes in, “so you should probably keep your eyes to yourself anyway.”

“Yeah,” Rachel agrees, even as she rubs John’s arm in apology. “He’s been to jail, you know.”

“Ew,” Tiffany says, wrinkling her nose. “There’s no way he deserves someone like Ian, then.”

Franny grips her pencil too tightly. Susan sends her a warning look, but she ignores it.

“Actually,” she says casually, hiding her irritation, “they’re perfect for each other.”

Tiffany‘s brow wrinkles.

“No way,” she disagrees. “You Uncle seems so sweet, he deserves someone nice at least.”

Franny’s pencil snaps.

“Shit, she’s done it now,” John mutters.

“Uncle Mickey is nice,” Franny grits out between clenched teeth. “He’s a hell of a lot nicer than you, actually.”

“Franny—” Rachel tries to interrupt, but Susan cuts in over her.

“She’s not wrong,” Susan says. “You’re in the man’s home, Tiff, have a little tact.”

“Besides,” John speaks up, “Mickey is great. He helped me with my math homework last week.”

“Come on!” Tiffany cries. “There’s no way some ex-con should be married to that hunk out there.”

“Ian’s an ex-con too, though,” Susan says. “Right, Fran?”

Franny smiles.

“That’s right,” she confirms gleefully. “They were in jail together, actually.”

Tiffany pales.

“No way,” she mumbles, but they aren’t done.

“Yeah, it’s the most romantic story!” Rachel all but squeals. “Mickey wasn’t even in the country, but he heard Ian needed him and he came right back!”

“They’d been together for like, years already,” John contributes. “High school sweethearts or something like that.”

Rachel latches onto him at that, and he flushes again.

“And they take such good care of each other,” Susan adds. “Last time I was here Ian wasn’t feeling too good, and Mickey made us all be quiet so he could sleep. Then I helped him make some soup, ‘cause he isn’t good at that stuff.”

Tiffany is biting her lip again, staring at them each in turn.

“But Ian seems so—”

“In love with his husband?” Franny cuts her off dryly. “Sounds right to me.”

The others all agree, but Franny isn’t done.

“My Uncles have the best relationship I’ve ever seen,” Franny continues, “and I was a little kid for most of it. So if you think they’re gonna care what some random kid their niece hangs out with thinks about their marriage…” she trails off.

Tiffany’s eyes are downcast.

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” she mutters, then looks up through her eyelashes. “Sorry.”

Silence, broken by Franny’s tired sigh.

“It’s okay, I guess,” she says. Then she hands Tiffany her notebook. “Here, you can write the introduction.”

——-

Behind a half-closed door down the hall, Mickey stands quietly, eyes wide. He startles when the door creaks open an extra inch, Ian slipping inside.

Ian’s eyes are soft when they fall on his face, and Mickey blinks hurriedly to hide the wetness in his own.

“You heard all that, I take it?” Ian whispers, and Mickey nods.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Kind of hard not to, those kids are fucking banshees.”

Ian laughs, soft and quiet.

“Banshees that love you,” he says, stepping closer. “As they should,” he adds when Mickey lets him wrap strong arms around him.

“Sounds like one of ‘em loves you more,” Mickey mumbles into Ian’s chest, and it shakes as Ian huffs.

“She’ll learn,” he says, holding Mickey tighter. “They all do eventually.”

“That I’m the better husband?” Mickey jokes, even as he rubs his face into the fabric of his own shirt over Ian’s broad chest.

“That we’re best together,” Ian corrects, and Mickey smiles.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, pressing a kiss to Ian’s sternum.

“Yeah, we really are.”

#hope this counts!#I couldn't let go of the idea that teenage girls everywhere would find their story ridiculously romantic #and defend it to the death lol #daily speedwrite #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #franny gallagher #fanfic

143 notes · View notes

curlynerd · 3 years

Text

You're Bacon Me Crazy Word Count: 2K Rating: T Summary: "I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!" Or, Dean comes out through complicated burger metaphors. Notes: humor, canon-adjacent, coming out, established Destiel, #pray4Sam

Also read on AO3!

"You're really having two burgers, Dean?" Sam asks in his most smug, most obnoxious "I’m eating kale for lunch" voice. Dean really hates that voice.

Dean straightens his back and spreads his hands out, like the two wrapped burgers, the extra large fries, and the soda with two straws are a majestic bounty. “I’m a growing boy, Sammy."

“Uh-huh,” Sam deadpans. He lifts the takeout lid of his salad and starts carefully drizzling the vinaigrette cup over his bed of leafy greens and grilled chicken. “And you’re definitely not going to bully Cas into splitting them with you? You know he doesn’t need to eat.”

Something tight and anxious curls in Dean’s chest. “No!” he blurts out, realizing a second too late that it’s normal for him to share his food with Cas. Just because he’s been doing it more now that he and Cas are finally together does not mean that it’s weird now.

In response to Dean’s defensiveness, Sam raises a self-righteous eyebrow in sync with his salad-laden fork. “Can he even really taste them? I thought he didn’t like food in angel mode.”

Dean swallows down a multitude of answers. He likes sharing the experience with Cas anyway. He thinks the way his face scrunches up at the molecules is cute. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that an angel -- his angel -- is willing to put up with something so silly and mundane and human as taste-testing different burgers.

He really, really needs to tell Sam the truth about him and Cas. Hell, he’s been trying to for months! But every time the perfect opportunity presents itself, he turns into a fuckin’ coward.

And today definitely is another perfect moment. The conversation has naturally turned to Cas. They’re sitting at a picnic table at the park, with nobody around to overhear Dean spill his guts in the most agonizing and uncomfortable way possible. They’re working a case, so immediately after the conversation Dean can bury himself in research and hunting and not have to deal with Sam’s big, obnoxious “let’s make a huge deal out of this!” puppy dog eyes. And Cas isn’t even here right now to make things more awkward. He’s still checking out the victim at the coroner's office across the street.

Dean tries not to think about what a big baby he’s being by ignoring this golden opportunity. “He just tastes stuff different as an angel. He’s learning how to pick out the nuance.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because there’s so much nuance to ‘extra cheese’ or ‘hold the tomato.’”

“Oh like you’d know, Mr. Tofu Burger.”

“You’d eat a burger off the floor. Are you really trying to convince me you care about what kind of burger it is?”

Dean huffs and levels an indignant glare at his brother. “I absolutely have a favorite burger.”

“Then why’d you get two different kinds?”

"I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!"

Sam snorts. "That's just an excuse to eat more burgers." He spears a forkful of tomato and spinach with a smug little twinkle in his eye.

"It's so not," Dean insists. He gestures at the two wrapped foil rounds in front of him. “These are two unique burgers that both have their own delicious qualities.”

“Really?” Sam’s expression is so pompous Dean kind of wants to throw a french fry at it. Except that would be a waste of a perfectly good fry.

“Yes ‘really.’ Look--” Dean carefully unwraps his first burger. “This is a pickle burger. And not just any ol’ pickle burger. The best, most amazing, and -- dare I say it? -- sexiest pickle burger in the entire continental US.” He smirks as Sam rolls his eyes. “Now I can tell by that condescending look in your eye, you’re wondering, ‘What the hell is so special about a pickle burger? It’s just pickles!’ But that’s where you’re wrong.” Dean lifts the top bun and points down to the burger, looking almost gleeful at all its toppings. “Fried pickles, pickled red onions, relish…Sour and sweet and crunchy, the perfect compliment to a juicy, meaty burger. And one this big? You’ve gotta have a little something special to handle all this meat.” Sam tilts his head, his mouth twitching like Dean said something embarrassing. Was it waxing poetic about vegetables? Probably. Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Ya know,” he continues, “for the longest time I didn’t think I’d like a pickle burger. For years I’d be at diners and think, ‘...maybe? I dunno. Probably not for me.’” Dean pulls his mouth down into a thoughtful frown and bobs his head to mimic his past thoughts. “And then...I’m not sure, I just figured, why not at least try it? All those burgers I’ve had all over the country; I could at least give it a whirl. And it. Was. Awesome!” Dean gently places the bun back on his burger and gives it a little affectionate pat. “Now I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Sam's expression does a complicated dance that Dean can't even begin to follow. But it suddenly clears into a look of dawning realization, followed quickly by horrified guilt, before it clamps down entirely.

Weird.

"Well...I can't fault someone for enjoying a good pickle burger," Sam says slowly. He doesn't meet Dean's eye, keeping his gaze down as he delicately stabs at his salad with his fork. He frowns at the cucumber slice he spears and carefully dislodges it from the prongs. "Especially if they really like, uh, pickles?" Sam cringes a little down at his greens. Dean can't blame him. It's a sad looking salad.

"Exactly!" Dean gestures down at the burger. "I'm a meat man and a pickle guy." Sam looks up toward the sky and then down toward the ground below with a sort of pleading desperation. "This is a great burger for me. And don't even get me started on the sauce--"

"Okay!" Sam's voice pitches up several octaves. Dean frowns at him, but before he can ask, Sam takes a deep breath and plasters a warm, understanding smile across his face. "You know what? You're right, Dean. After all this time. All those, uh...burgers. I'm glad you've figured out which one you like best."

"Well, not quite. I mean, this one…" Dean carefully unwraps the second burger. "Is there anything sexier than a breakfast burger?" He practically beams down at the golden-brown bun, the fringes of fried egg drooping over the side, crisp bacon peeking out from under the patty.

"I...I don't know?" Sam has the same terrified expression as when Dean drags him onto ramshackle roller coasters at crappy county fairs. God, he's such a baby about cholesterol.

“Yeah. C’mon, you know they’re great!” Dean says cavalierly, because he’s not going to miss a chance to gloat about the awesome food Sam misses out on with all his salads. “Bacon is, you know, bacon! It’s the best tasting thing in the world! Salty, greasy, crunchy…”

Sam’s brow furrows so deeply it’s like it’s mining for coal, his unfocused eyes searching the empty space between them like he’s trying to figure out the deep, dark mystery of bacon.

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand. The dude eats low sodium turkey bacon. "I know you haven't had good, real bacon in ages--" Sam looks offended. Then confused. Then offended again. "--but trust me, man. It's awesome. When ya got bacon in your burger, it automatically makes the burger a hundred times better. Can’t get enough of it!” Sam groans like he's in pain.

Dean grins and keeps going. “And you’ve gotta admit, a fried egg is a thing of beauty. Give me a good silky, drippy egg all over my burger and I’m a happy guy.” Sam’s nose scrunches up into abject horror. “You get that gorgeous, soft yolk oozing everywhere...It’s creamy and delicious and unctuous and--”

“Dean!” Sam shrieks. He lets his fork fall into his bowl and covers his face with both his hands. His voice is muffled, but it’s definitely a tormented whine. “I know this is a tough topic for you, but can you please just say you’re bi and never use words like ‘unctuous’ again? I’m begging you!”

Dean freezes. “Wh-What?” Did Sam really--? He--? How does he know?!

Sam pops up from his elbows, dragging both hands through his hair as he frees his face from hiding. “I get it, dude. Okay? I get it. I mean...I don’t get it.” He glances down at the two burgers with a perturbed look and holds up his hands in surrender. “But I get it.”

Dean stares at him. “Get what?” he demands. His heart is pounding fast. Bi. Sam knows he’s bi. When did he figure it out?! Why’s he bringing it up now?!

Sam fixes him with a flat look. “The burgers? The...God...bacon sex metaphor? The pickle guy thing? I get it. Please. Please stop talking about eggs like that. I’ll never eat an omelette again!”

Sex metaphors? Pickle guy?! Dean takes a moment to think and...yeah. Yup. He really did say “I’m a pickle guy,” out loud. Wow.

Maybe he should just...roll with it?

Because otherwise Sam is definitely going to mock him for that for the rest of his life, and honestly, coming out is the much better option.

“You got me,” Dean says with a small laugh. He spreads his arms out with a bit of a flourish, and it’s a relief to say it. It feels good. “What can I say? I like all kinds of burgers. And hotdogs. Tacos. Kielbasa...”

“Please stop,” Sam groans, rubbing at his eyes with his hand.

Oh yeah, this is definitely the better option. Dean fell ass-backwards into a conversation he’s been dreading for months, and the only person feeling awkward and miserable here is Sam!

Really it’s a win-win.

Dean grins from ear to ear as he relishes Sam’s mortification. “Hey now, I thought you were supportive! What happened to ‘I’m happy for you and your burgers?’”

“I am happy for you, I just wish this wasn’t happening over lunch…” Sam whines as he drops his hands on the table.

“What’s Sam happy about?” Cas asks, startling the both of them by approaching their picnic table. His eyes are earnest and sincerely curious, which only causes Sam to send a miserable, pleading look his way while shaking his head.

“Sam thinks pickles are gay,” Dean says to Cas with the same sort of smug glee of the teacher’s pet tattling about note passing in class.

Cas scrunches his face in confusion as he sits down beside Dean. “Sam, that’s...nonsensical.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean lies, because the way Sam’s eyebrow is twitching right now is too damn funny. “Wait til you hear what he thinks about bacon.”

Sam drops his face into his hands again. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groans as he massages his temples with his fingers.

Cas furrows his brow at him. “You’ve been to Hell.”

“And I’m still there, apparently!” Sam flings his hand up in exasperation. Cas quietly takes a sip of Dean’s drink, which for some reason just pisses Sam off more.

“You know, you could have just been normal about this. No weird, gross food metaphors. Just--” Sam drops his voice several octaves and bobs his head in a deliberately annoying parody of Dean. “--‘Hey Sam, by the way, I’m bi and totally in love with Cas, no big deal,’ or whatever.”

Dean goes still while Cas tilts his head at the two of them.. “Who says I’m in love with Cas?” Wait. Is that obvious too? Shit, well, looks like he gets to rip two bandaids off today. Thank God for the hilarious panic on Sam's face, because otherwise Dean would be the one freaking out here.

Sam’s eyes go huge, all color draining out of his face. “Oh shit. I didn’t-- I’m sorry, I--”

Dean can only manage to maintain the ruse for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Where have you been, man? Cas and I have been together for ages. I thought you were the smart one!”

Sam looks like he wants to leap across the picnic table and strangle Dean.

With a glare so sour it could peel paint, Sam snatches Dean’s extra large order of french fries and storms off toward the car to sulk. About three paces away, he stops, turns around, and levels a stern finger at Dean alongside his scowl. “For the record. I’m proud of you. And I’m honored you chose to trust me with this information,” he hisses in a frustrated huff before he spins on his heel and marches away.

Dean wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling under his breath. Cas stares after Sam in concern.

“Why is he so mad?”

Dean shrugs off the question as he slides the pickle burger in front of Cas and nudges him with his elbow to try it. “Hell if I know. If you ask me, dude needs to have a burger every once in awhile.”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #katie writes things #this is either the best thing I've written or the worst thing I've ever written. possibly both #I'm very sorry for making you read the bit about the fried egg

66 notes · View notes

aceofshitposts · 3 years

Text

I started writing this a few days ago but I don't know if I'll actually finish it lmao but here have a bunch of tim pining and stephanie laughing at him

Love stories are a dime a dozen. Hundreds of books filled with beautiful poetry describing the shape of their love, songs that flow like water whether it's the gentle bubbling brooks of new love or the storming sea of heartbreak. There's a thousand ways, a million guidebooks to help along the way.

It's not that Tim can't appreciate a good romance movie or belt out a good break up song with Stephanie or Cassie, it's just that it was never really his thing. Romantic gestures are often lost on him, paraphrasing from Stephanie herself, and he just… hasn't always seen the point.

It's like every single cliché came and ganged up on Tim in the back of an alley, leaving him concussed and without his wallet. If the Tim from six months ago heard about this yadda, yadda, yadda. Everyone knows the drill. The fact still remains that Tim sees Jason helping a single mother and her twin toddlers with their groceries, smiling at the kids and making them laugh, and Tim feels like his heart just got punched.

It keeps happening.

In what may be a display of stalking behaviour Tim hasn't done since he was twelve, Tim keeps watching Jason… do things, Normal Things! And every time it's like the lights just got a little brighter; Tim swears at one point the clouds part literally just to spotlight Jason as he flips through a book in the park. It's a disgusting slap in the face by the universe practically screaming, "look! The object of your affection is right there!"

It's horrible, really, having feelings. Bruce might have the emotive range of a root vegetable but sometimes Tim thinks he's on to something.

The real problem here is that he's not just attracted to Jason. Tim is familiar with that feeling, he's only human after all, fuck you Kon and Bart and all the computer brain jokes; attraction is easy. It's familiar and messy in a way that is totally uncomplicated, like ticking items off a list.

Love is everything all at once. It's easy to be in love with Jason and the way he laughs, easy to love the way he dances and sings in his kitchen the odd time Tim has stayed over after patrol. It's easy to love Jason when he kneels down in front of a scared six year old girl and tells her everything is going to be all right because he's gonna keep her safe.

It's hard to be in love with Jason when he's reckless, when he runs into gun fights without so much as a thought of his own safety. It's hard to love him when he's bleeding out in front of Tim's eyes, when Tim is screaming himself hoarse that Jason hasn’t even said goodbye. It's hard when they're fighting, it's hard when Jason fights with Bruce, it's hard and it hurts when everything in Tim wants to fix it, fix it, but the world doesn't quite work that way no matter how much he's tried.

It's hard but it's easy. It's easy but it's frustrating but it's wonderful but it's…

It's Jason.

And nobody else has ever made Tim feel a wider range of emotions than him.

This has gotten off topic.

The point is, Jason is into all that sappy, romantic stuff. He doesn't look it, except in the way he totally does once you get to know him, and considering the lives he and Jason live Tim feels like he owes Jason this one bit of normalcy compared to the majority of their interactions.

"Hasn't he tried to kill you, like, multiple times?" Bart asks when Tim tries to confide these things with his best friends. He's looking for support, dammit.

"Yeah," Tim says, dragging out the word in a way that probably isn't comforting to any of them. "But I also beat him up with a crowbar once, so, there's that."

There’s a loud moment of silence after which Kon throws his arms in the air, loudly declaring, "Bats!" and stomps right out of the room. It’s such a succinct reaction that Tim can’t help laughing because, yeah, bats. The problem is that Tim’s still one of them and this is honestly one of the tamer things that has happened in their lives.

Regardless, Tim isn’t interested in scarring his friends with what is normal in Gotham so he goes a little closer to home.

Stephanie, naturally, laughs directly in Tim's face.

"Please, Steph, I need help," Tim pleads, whines really, as she clutches her stomach, "I don't wanna mess this up."

"Oh, you passed 'messed up' approximately fifty miles ago," Stephanie wheezes in response. Tim socks her in the shoulder.

"Come on, he's better now!"

Abruptly Stephanie stops laughing. She levels him with a serious look and says, "and what about you?"

Ah.

Well if there's one person you can't hide your emotional inadequacies from, it would be your ex.

"I really like him, Steph, that's why I'm here. I'm trying."

Stephanie studies him for a moment more before pulling Tim into a tight hug.

"I just wanted to make sure," she says into his hair. "Anyway, great, you finally want to make a move! I've had enough of you waxing poetic about Jason."

Tim pulls away, making a face at Stephanie. "I do not wax poetic."

"You're right, you are definitely no poet. You will need to wax though, I know a guy if you want-"

Tim punches her again in the shoulder, face feeling like the surface of the sun. Stephanie dissolves into a fit of cackling laughter.

They spend the evening like that, Stephanie laughing at all of Tim’s pain and Tim trying to come up with a plan.

"I don't understand why you're so hung up on this whole 'normal' thing," she says while doing actual air quotes with her fingers and poking him in the ribs with her foot. "We all dress up in skin tight kevlar at night and kick ass."

"That's exactly it though! I just want this to be… ugh. Like I'm serious. It's not just post patrol adrenaline, or whatever."

Stephanie crows with delight, narrowly missing kicking Tim in the head as she sing songs, "oooh, you've really got it bad! I cannot wait to talk to Babs and Cass about this."

"What? Don't tell Babs!"

"Bold of you to assume she doesn't already know," Stephanie chirps cheerfully.

It's then, of course, that Tim's cell phone dings with a message from the one and only. A single, ominous :) and nothing else.

Tim suddenly understands Kon, feeling the desire to throw his arms in the air while loudly declaring, "Bats!" and stomp out of this obviously bugged room (and right into another, if he's being honest.)

#jaytim #jaytim fanfiction #astrix writes #tim: you can't all be on the whole killing me thing when i beat him up with a crowbar oncer remember #the batfam: oh yea that makes sense. trade off #the titans: twO WRONGS DONT MAKE A RIGHT????#gothamites smh

96 notes · View notes

bestiesenpai · 3 years

Text

there's a special feeling, at least for me, when it rains during the summer...so idk I just have some headcanons about rain in the summer that won't leave my head until I write them lol I wax poetic in this, so don't feel like you have to read it, it's kinda dopey

When it rains in the summer, Itadori is never prepared. There could be dark storm clouds rolling in, the humidity making his skin damp, but he never has the right clothes on. Always in a tank top and shorts, no shoes on and you always catch him running in just as the first wave of rain hits. Just barely escaped getting soaked but with water dripping down his hair and a pout on his lips, who said it could rain during summer?

Getou doesn't like when it rains in the summer, it's already humid enough! His hair is frizzy, it's cold enough to wear sweats but he still needs a fan on or else he'll sweat to death. Why can't it be winter, his hair and the weather are a lot more predictable! He'll pout on the couch, his hair in disarray and arms angrily crossed. It's up to you to smooth out the strands, put it in a bun for him or maybe some plaits, and let him whine all day, I fucking hate weather like this!

Like the old man he is, Toji swears he can smell the rain. He'll say it all day that rain is coming, even if the sky is completely clear. Sooner or later though, he ends up being right and there's a gentle rumble of thunder off in the distance. He sits out on the porch, a warm drink in hand, you on his lap as you both watch the weather change before your very eyes, see? I'm never wrong about this stuff

He wanted to get grocery shopping done before the rain came and he swore up and down you two could get in and out before then. And while Nanami wasn't a fan of being wrong, he could admit when he was. Going into the grocery store there was a trickle of rain down his back, and coming out it was misting. But on the way home, it was like a curtain falling before you two. Grabbing as many groceries as he could before getting out, he still makes room to grab your hand and run to the front door, run ahead of me, I've got all the bags.

Fushiguro doesn't have the stamina to deal with summer time heat, even less so when it rains. He only musters up enough to do his missions, so when the rain catches him on the way home, he's a zombie by the time he walks through the door. Silently follow him as he peels off wet clothes, picking them up as he frustratedly throws them to the ground with the angry promise of picking it up later. When he makes it to the bed, stripped down to his underwear and shivering, slide up behind him, engulf him in a hug and ask if he wants some tea, maybe later...just keep hugging me for now

The one and only menace to society, Gojo Satoru, adores the rain. He can use his infinity to keep it off him, never needing an umbrella or anything. But the same can't be said for you. It should be fine when he drags you out into the rain for a quick walk to the convenience store, right? But you won't leave the threshold of your home, complaining that you need to grab an umbrella first. Begrudgingly, he lets you get one, the one he bought you of course. Walking down the street with you, he wants to make a show of stepping out into the rain, spread his arms wide and declare himself a god among men. As you take steps down the road however, he doesn't find it in him to do anything but slide his arm around your shoulder, c'mere, watch out for that puddle babe

And finally, dear Okkotsu adores the rain! What's not to like, it's so calming and it has a nice sound! And there's one thing he's always wanted to try with you, but he's been too shy to ever bring it up. He devises a plan, tells you to come outside and help him bring in some groceries. When you step outside to meet him, hood drawn tight over your face, you don't see any bags in his hands. There's no chance to question it though as he grabs you by the upper arms and yanks you closer, kissing you with a fervor as rain begins to pelt the both of you. It's only when you're utterly soaked after getting your breath stolen that he pulls away with a sheepish grin and red cheeks, I've always wanted to do that.

#jujutsu kaisen headcanons #okkotsu yuta #gojo satoru #geto suguru #itadori yuji #nanami kento #toji fushiguro #fushiguro megumi

89 notes · View notes

ahsbitch · 4 years

Text

The Grey-Outpost!Michael Langdon x Reader

Word Count: 5143

Summary: So I got this message for my prompts and it was supposed to just be a blurb like the others but it was already getting way too long and then I realized it would fit really well with a oneshot idea I had a month or two ago sooo here we are

Warnings: so many, nsfw, smut, virginity loss, first time, first orgasm, actually first three lmao, fingering, choking, Mean!Michael, slapping, overstimulation, emotional manipulation, brief blowjob, unprotected sex, breeding kink, a little bit of corset kink, some cockwarming bc it’s me, very Sub!Reader, also overly nice reader which probably doesn’t need a warning but I’m putting it anyway, , mentions of violence, some waxing poetic bc again that’s just me, floor licking, some?underwear stuff? Idk man, did I mention swearing bc that’s here too, idk, that’s all I can think of but my brain is not entirely focused so if I missed something I’m sorry

A/N: I’m sorry I’m like this but I hope it’s okay. Comments are always appreciated! Even just in the tags of a reblog! Or a message! Or anything! Hearing your reactions makes me feel so good!

Mini Tag List: @wroteclassicaly @michaellangdonstanaccount @guiltyfiend

@angelicmichael

(i actually don’t remember if all of you asked to be tagged in stuff or not so if you didn’t i’m really sorry i just thought i’d put a few people, if you want me to...Not tag you in stuff that’s totally cool and i totally get it just let me know, if you do want me to tag you in stuff also let me know on that front)

You confused Michael Langdon.

It wasn’t intentional, he was sure, but he was not used to being confused by the behavior of humans.

You also annoyed him, although that was less surprising.

Most people annoyed him.

But you annoyed him for the same reason that you confused him, and that just made him all the more confused and annoyed and annoyed and confused.

How the hell were you so nice?

You treated everyone who crossed your path with such kindness, even though most of them treated you like you were dog shit on the bottom of their shoe. And you simply...smiled? Nodded? Did as they said, if they gave an order, or ignored them if it was just words.

He had never even seen you complain about your servant status, never seen you look at the drab grey of your dress with even an ounce of disdain.

He’d taken to reading your thoughts, even more than he did with the others, trying to find the cruelty hidden inside you.

Once, one of the Purples whose name Michael hadn’t bothered to learn had walked into a ladder that you were standing on for some job or another, and you had fallen to the ground, landing hard on your back. The Purple had cursed at you for getting in his way, and you apologized instantly.

What an asshole, You had thought, and Michael had started to get excited, but a moment later you had shaken your head at yourself, and your thoughts continued, No, Y/N, don’t be unfair. They live a different type of life here. It’s not his fault that he sees me like this at this point, he’s practically been indoctrinated.

What utter bullshit that was, and yet you’d seemed completely contented with that thought, climbing back onto the ladder to finish your task.

Another time he had walked in on you being beaten while Venable watching, smirking. He had simply stared for a while, watching the way you took your blows.

“What’s going on?” Michael had asked, blood boiling at Venable’s smug expression.

“A reminder. She’s been a bit slow in her work lately. Distracted, I think, with your proposal of paradise. She needed to remember her place.”

He had nodded, turning back to observe you, listening for your reaction to those words.

I haven’t been slower, though. She’s just been angrier. Poor Ms. Venable, she must be scared. I wish she wouldn’t take it out on me, Your stream of thought had paused as you let out a cry of pain, But I hope that she’ll find some type of peace.

In interviews, Michael had started to ask about you.

“She’s nice,” Gallant had said rather dismissively, “That’s about it. Not memorable. I don’t think anyone would miss her.”

“She helps everyone finish their work, even though she has her own,” Another Grey had said, tilting his head to the side in thought, “I saw her take a beating in Mallory’s place once for a broken lamp. I don’t think that’s the only time she’s done that, either. She’s a little too sweet, almost. It can’t be real, can it?”

That was Michael’s thought too, but you were that sweet, or so it seemed.

He’d begun instructing everyone during their interviews to either completely ignore you or be cruel to you, to treat you with extra disdain, to not bother with respect. He’d told Purples and Greys alike, had watched out to see them following his orders. They were doing it, and you were slowly becoming more and more alone,and yet you never so much as thought anything cruel in return. From time to time, a nasty thought would pop into your head, but you always brushed it away almost instantly, scolding yourself into something overly forgiving of their behavior. Still, you were lonelier than ever, and that meant that it would be all the easier to draw you to him.

Your interview was the last one that was scheduled, and with every moment that led up to it he found himself getting more and more ready to break you down, and every time he thought of that he found his cock getting harder and harder.

He was going to ruin you, in more ways than one.

And then the interview had started, you sitting in your chair with your hands folded neatly in your lap, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with him, a polite smile on your face, and something had snapped deep inside him.

He wasn’t sure what did it. Maybe it was your answer to why you should be taken to the Sanctuary.

“I don’t know that I should,” You’d said simply, your damned respectful smile never wavering, “I mean, it would be nice. But I’m not particularly special, right? And if the Sanctuary is meant to be people carrying on the human race, shouldn’t it be the people who are going to make the biggest difference? I know you said that what I thought i was weakness could be my saving, and I get that, I just don’t know if I have any particular weaknesses or any particular saving graces. If you need someone to wash floors or cook in the Sanctuary, then yeah, I’m pretty good at those things. You might want me. But I don’t know that I have any particular talents or powers that would make me more useful than anyone else.”

Maybe it was what you had said when he’d asked about your anger, about whether or not you would get revenge on any of the others for the way they’d treated you, if you got the chance.

You shrugged, taking a few moments to think about your answer before you spoke, “No. I don’t blame them for it, not really. The world ended. The fact that any of us are alive is strange enough as it is. Them being cruel is probably more of a defense mechanism than anything else. I wish they wouldn’t use me for their anger, or their disdain, or their sadness, I kinda wish they’d just leave me alone sometimes, but I wouldn’t want to get revenge even if I got the chance. I don’t think they deserve to be treated badly, even if they’ve treated me badly.”

But most likely, it had been your answer when he’d asked what exactly you were thinking about right in that moment.

“The end of the world, Mr. Langdon, sir,” Your smile finally dropped for just a moment, your embarrassment evident, “And your eyes. They’re very beautiful. I was thinking that heaven probably isn’t real, but if it is, it probably looks something like your eyes. But of course it’s much more likely that hell is real, based on recent events, in which case it probably looks something like the world we live in right now.”

Michael had stood, instructing you to do the same, and within moments his lips were on yours.

Yes, he was going to ruin you in every way possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was so totally not how you had planned for your interview to go.

Was it how Langdon had planned for it to go? Maybe. You wondered vacantly if this had happened with all of his other interviews, if all of them had found themselves lying on the floor, pinned underneath him, feeling him hungrily devouring their mouths in perhaps the best kiss that anyone had ever experienced.

He trailed kisses down to your throat, hot, open mouthed, that you felt even though they were over the high collar of your dress, and he bit down hard, sucking harshly through the fabric.

“Fuck!” You groaned out, feeling your skin go hot with embarrassment over the noises you were making.

“Don’t hold back, pet,” He moved his mouth to your ear, kissing the spot just behind your earlobe as he murmured, “You make the most delightful little noises.”

This served only to embarrass you more, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek to try and hide the moans that threatened to spill from you.

Langdon’s hand made its way to your neck, squeezing at it as he pulled your head up closer to his, and you let out a pained whine at the pressure his palm put onto the sore spot he had just left on your throat, “Did you not hear me? Don’t hold back. I expect you to follow my orders. I’d think you’d be used to that by now.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” You let out a strangled cry, and with a sharp smile he finally released you, letting your head drop back against the floor.

“Next time you don’t listen to me, you will be,” He chuckled at your terrified expression, but after a moment he froze, raising a curious eyebrow at you, “What are you thinking about right now?”

You weren’t naive enough to think that he actually cared about how you were feeling, but you answered anyway, scared of what may happen if you didn’t, “Honestly? I’m trying to decide if I’m more likely to be murdered by you or by Ms. Venable.”

Langdon laughed again, moving off of you and leaning against the wall. He looked oddly comfortable like that, although you wouldn’t be surprised if his outfit cost more than the entire Outpost, and with a wolfish grin he patted his lap gently.

You frowned, unsure of what that meant, but Langdon simply rolled his eyes and wrapped a hand around your wrist, tugging you into his lap.

This was… odd.

After a moment, he gripped both of your wrists, raising your arms up and placing them on his shoulders, and you locked your fingers around the back of his neck, staring dumbly at him as you did so.

His legs extended straight out, but he held you steady in his lap, arm wrapped your hips, your own legs perpendicular to his.

This was very odd.

“Now tell me,” It was interesting, the way Langdon’s words sounded more like a purr, “Why do you think that I would kill you?”

Shyly you dropped your gaze, but then his hand was under your chin, lifting until you looked him in the eye, and you shrugged, “I mean… you said you would. It was like the first thing you told me when I came in. That if I lied or hedged or anything like that you’d...y’know...obliterate me.”

“And have you lied to me?” His voice was sharp now, his eyes dangerous, although something playful still danced around the edges of his lips.

“No!” You flinched, prepared for him to hit you even though he made no movement to do so, and after a minute, after you’d realized that no strike was coming, you blinked at him, “I, uh, no, sir. But you’re, well, forgive me for saying so, Mr. Langdon, but you’re very intimidating.”

He was frowning now, just a little, and you probably wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been so fascinated by his mouth, “I’m glad you find me intimidating. I’d be a bit concerned for your sanity if you didn’t. But I have no plans at the moment to kill you, and as long as you keep telling me the truth like this, I doubt it’ll arise. Now, why would Venable kill you?”

“She’s strict about her rules,” You felt your face heating up again, “No sexual contact of any kind. And we, y’know, we kissed. If she finds out, well, she’d even kill a Purple for breaking the rules so explicitly like that. She’d kill a Grey for a lot less.”

“And we’ll be doing a lot more,” Langdon’s smooth voice echoed in your ears, and you shivered slightly at the insinuation, “Venable will not touch you.”

“Why not?” Your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked before you could think about the fact that it was probably a bad idea.

Luckily, Langdon did nothing more than chuckle at you again, shifting slightly underneath you, “Because if anyone here is going to harm you, pet, it’s going to be me.”

For some reason, his words made you clench your thighs, and you swallowed to avoid letting out a whine.

“Yes sir,” You said softly, and then, when he’d started pressing kisses along your jaw, “There’s one more thing.”

“And what would that be?”

Clearing your throat, you fought to keep holding eye contact with him, “I don’t, I mean, I don’t want to be one of those people who fucks someone to get something. I don’t want to sleep with you just in hopes of going to the Sanctuary, especially because you could easily say you’re going to take me until after we’re done and then tell me you’ve changed your mind or something. I don’t want that. I’d rather you just... tell me the truth now.”

“Alright,” Sighing, Langdon straightened up a little, shifting beneath you again so that you suddenly became aware of his erection pressing into you, “You’re not going to the Sanctuary, Y/N. Not even if we fuck. And we are going to fuck, you understand that, right?”

“Yes sir,” You felt your gaze drop to his lips once more, “I understand. The Sanctuary thing and the fucking thing. May I please kiss you again?”

“Not only may you do so, but I insist that you do,” His voice was cold now, but one look into his eyes showed you that he was pleased about this, and you frantically brought your mouth to his.

Langdon slammed you back to the ground, and your head cracked loudly against the marble floor, making you feel a bit dizzy, and then his fingers found their way between the buttons of your dress and he pulled sharply, ripping it in half, and that made you feel even dizzier.

Holy fuck, how strong was he?

“Lovely,” He murmured, his mouth running over your collarbones and up the curves of your neck, sucking dark bruises onto your skin as he went, “Don’t forget what I told you. I want to hear every single one of your sounds, understood?”

“Yes sir,” Your hands made their way to his hair almost of their own accord as he continued on, mouth drifting down to swirl over your covered nipples.

“Turn around,” Langdon commanded, and he hummed his approval when you followed his instructions in merely a moment, kneeling before him but facing the wall.

His long fingers made their way to the ties of your corset, beginning to work on the knot, and he frowned, “This is tied very tightly, pet. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I had Mallory tie it extra tightly for me, so I would have something to focus on other than my nerves for the interview,” You let out a hiss of relief as the corset came untied, “It wouldn’t hurt much, but you’re supposed to wear something under a corset, and Ms. Venable doesn’t give the Greys anything to wear under our corsets because she says our comfort isn’t a priority. So it kinda digs into my-ow, fuck, my skin.”

Your cry of distress had come when Langdon’s hands had pressed hard into the red marks that marred your back from your corset.

“It really has done a number on you,” He helped you unclasp the front of your corset and slip it off, before bringing his hands to your hips, “Get on all fours.”

You did as he said, unsure of why exactly he was asking you to do so, but you understood a moment later when the wet warmth of his tongue began to stroke along your spine. He licked along each mark that had been left behind, leaving a trail of coolness to follow, and although it stung with each moment of contact, it left some relief as he went. You mewled at the feeling, back arching towards him, desperate for more.

“Feel better?” He purred, now drawing his nose around your spine.

“Yes,” You sighed pleasantly, “Thank-fuck!”

Langdon had shifted his arms so that one ran under your stomach, holding you in place, and with the other he brought his palm down on your back with all his strength.

Tears were starting to spill from your eyes, leaving a puddle on the floor as he struck you four more times in quick, painful succession.

“Aw, does it hurt, pet?” He was cooing at you, voice light and mocking, “Look at you. You’ve made a mess on my floor. Clean that up for me, yes?”

Unsure of what that meant, you tried to look back at him to ask, but Langdon wrapped his hand around your neck and forced your head to the floor, his entire body pressed against yours, “Clean it up.”

Hesitantly, you reached your tongue out to the floor, scooping the salty moisture up carefully. The pressure on your throat lightened up so that you could breathe more easily, but he didn’t remove his hand, and you frantically licked the rest of your tears off of the floor.

Letting you sit up, he smirked at your shy smile, examining the floor carefully before praising you, “Wonderful job, pet. But it appears that the mess on the floor isn’t your only one. You seem to have made quite a mess down here as well.”

With that his hand cupped your pussy over your panties, which had become thoroughly soaked through. He pulled them down slowly, a rumble rolling past his lips at the sound the fabric made as it tried to cling to your damp flesh. He gave a tug and ripped them off of your thighs, bringing the shredded remains up to his face to examine it closely. Staring into your eyes, he poked his tongue out of his mouth and brought it to the fabric, laving slowly over the wetness that coated it. You moaned loudly at the sight, squeezing your thighs together.

When Langdon was satisfied that he had gotten every drop of your essence off of the scraps of your underwear he tossed them carelessly in the direction of his desk, and then his tongue was on you once again, this time drawing painfully slow stripes from your knee up your inner thigh, ending just at your hip bone.

“Did you like watching me?” There was amusement in his voice, a kind of mirth that could almost be mistaken for warmth, as he licked closer and closer to where you wanted him most, never deigning to touch you there, “Did it make you even more wet for me? Do you want me to eat your pretty little pussy until you can’t walk? Want me to let you drench my face?”

“Please, yes, please!” You keened towards him and Langdon clamped his hands onto your thighs to hold you in place, bringing his thumbs down to spread your pussy lips open. There was something so intimately dirty about it that you let out another long moan, his breath fanning hot air against your folds, “Langdon, please, I’ll do anything you ask.”

He scoffed, nuzzling his nose over your entrance, “You’d do anything I asked anyway. But I will say, you have just about the sweetest pussy I’ve ever seen. And you smell divine, pet.”

Whimpering, you tried to rut up to his mouth, wanting so badly to feel him against you, “Please, sir, Langdon, please, what do I have to do for you to touch me?”

At those words, Langdon moved away from you completely, now not even letting his fingers drift over your skin, “Was I not touching you before? You’re incredibly ungrateful for someone who I could kill with less than the blink of an eye.”

“I’m sorry,” You scrabbled to your knees, legs shaking, “I’m sorry, Mr. Langdon, I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. I’m so grateful to you, I am, I’m sorry.”

“As you should be,” He sneered, but the bulge in his pants looked even larger than it had before, and the corners of his lips twitched up, “You do look very good on your knees for me. I think this is the position you’re meant to be in, the reason you were put on this earth. Why else would you look so lovely like this, look like such a pretty little slut? Open your mouth for me, pet.”

This is happening. This is actually happening.

Eagerly, you complied, wrenching your mouth as wide open as you could, desperate to please him. Langdon unzipped his dress pants, reaching into his boxers and stroking himself, letting out a deep and rumbly groan as he finally pulled himself out.

His cock was... beautiful? You hadn’t expected to find it so beautiful. The few dicks you had seen you had mostly found odd, fine enough but not particularly nice to look at, but Langdon’s looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo himself.

It was also huge, as thick as your wrist and at least as long as your forearm, the tip a throbbing angry crimson. It was veiny, and you would’ve expected that to be strange but it just made it even prettier, an extra long and thick vein running up the side that oddly made your mouth water.

A fresh wave of desire pulsed through you, but that didn’t stop your worry as he approached you, speaking your anxiety out loud, “Is that... I mean, is that going to fit?”

Chuckling, Langdon pushed himself into your mouth with no warning, holding the back of your head with one hand as he began an intense, bruising pace, “What’s the matter, little whore? Never been with someone this big?”

That’s one way to put it.

He froze suddenly, buried down your throat, his pelvic bone pressed against your nose, and slowly he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, “Wait, you’re a virgin?”

You nodded slowly, and Langdon hissed at the movement, slowly pulling himself away from you, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask,” You shrugged, bringing a hand up to massage your jaw, “I didn’t think it would matter, I’m sorry. Does it change things?”

Langdon gripped your hair, and he pulled you to your feet and into a bruising kiss all in one swift movement. Then his hands were all over you, stroking your skin fervently as he led you to his chair, sitting down and pulling you into his lap once more. The feeling of his dress pants against your bare skin was sinfully lovely, and you were suddenly aware of how exposed you were, when you could see almost nothing of him.

After what felt like hours, he pulled away from you, his eyes dancing with something deeply dangerous, a brilliant smile on his face, “Of course it matters, pet I wouldn’t have even considered wasting any of my cum in your mouth if I knew your perfect cunt was untouched, waiting for me.”

You let out a cry as he grabbed onto your hips tightly, beginning to draw you up and down over his length. His cock pressed into your folds, rubbing your clit, and every time he approached your entrance you gasped, “Holy, oh my, fuck, that feels good, Langdon I-”

“Michael,” He interrupted, moving you faster.

“What?” You blinked up at him in confusion, and he felt his cock twitch at the sight.

“My name is Michael Langdon,” He pressed a kiss to your neck, beginning to suck a new line of hickeys, “You can call me Michael.”

“Michael,” You sighed, clenching around nothing as a strange sensation started to boil in your stomach, something so pleasureful that you didn’t know what was happening, “Oh, fuck, Michael, you feel so good, please, can’t you just fuck me?”

“Oh believe me, I’m going to,” His cock was twitching even more now, your name so perfect from his mouth, “But you have to be ready for it first. Come on, pet, come for me, just like this.”

You mewled, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the boiling in your stomach became more, became overwhelming, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you let out a desperate shriek.

“I didn’t, oh fuck, oh god, I didn’t know it would feel that good,” You panted, and Michael raised an eyebrow at you yet again as you buried your face in his shoulder.

“Have you... have you never had an orgasm before?”

You shook your head against him, letting out another gasp as one of his fingers started to toy around your entrance, “No, I haven’t. I mean, I thought I might have once, but it was nothing like that.”

“Have you ever had any fingers inside you?” He asked, even as he was already easing a finger into you, giving your walls a single stroke before he pushed two more in.

“No!” You shrieked, the foreign sensation making you buck your hips wildly, “I, I mean, no, I haven’t.”

Cock throbbing harder than ever before, Michael began to scissor his fingers around, stretching you out, “Fascinating. My little whore is so inexperienced.”

Moaning at his words, you lurched when his middle finger hit a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, “M-m-Michael, please!”

“M-m-Michael! M-m-Michael!” He mocked you, scooping the hand that wasn’t busy working you open under your ass, shifting out of the seat and lowering you to the ground, his mouth finding its way to your tits, “Wait, pet. Be a patient slut for me and you’ll be rewarded.”

You nodded as he bit your nipple, toying with it roughly before kissing over to the other side, “Sorry, sorry, oh holy fuck that feels good.”

Another orgasm was forming deep within you, more mewls leaving your throat as you desperately started to claw at his back, “Michael, fuck, Michael, I’m going to-”

“Good girl,” He purred, pulling his fingers out of you just as you started to cum, and then he slammed his cock into you with no warning, delighting in the bloodcurdling scream that you let out, letting out a guttural moan, “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Desperate little slut, you were so ready for me to stretch you out, huh?”

“Wait, Michael,” You let out a sob, your cunt pulsing with overstimulation, “Michael, it’s too much, it hurts, please.”

He was completely bottomed out in you, not moving yet, but he brought both hands up to wrap around your throat, cutting off all of your air, “Now now, pet, that’s no way to thank me for being so kind to you. You’ve cum twice now, haven’t you? And have I gotten to cum even once? No. Now, are you going to be good for me?”

You nodded fervently, and he released you, leaving you gasping, “Sorry, sorry, Michael. I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Michael started to pull out of you ever so slowly, moving at a glacial pace until just his tip was inside of you before thrusting in again, filling you up once more, “Oh, you feel good. Your pussy is fluttering all around me. But I should tell you, Y/N, I lied to you.”

You let out another shaky sob as he hooked his hands under your knees and stretched your legs up, throwing them over his shoulders, continuing his pace of slow drags out followed by impossibly fast thrusts in, your hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth silk that covered his back, “Wh-what? What do you mean?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to take you to the Sanctuary,” He grunted, his pace getting somehow even slower, in and out both, your slapping skin making loud, lewd noises, “I lied. I am. I’m going to pump you full of my cum, pet, until you’re overflowing with me. I’m going to breed you like the whore you are, and then we’re going to rule over the new world, together.”

“I don’t understand,” Shrieking again, a whine bubbling out of your throat, you gasped as his hands moved to your tits once more, “Please, Michael, please can you go faster?”

It still hurt, but it was getting better, the pain being overrun with the pleasure.

Michael complied, slamming into you, setting such a brutal, bruising pace that you were sure you could feel him all the way up in your stomach, “That’s my good little pet. Look at this, your pussy is devouring me. I’m going to wreck you, gonna mold your pussy around my dick so that you know that no one else will ever be able to make you feel good. Your perfect little pussy was made for me, and me alone. You were made for me. Your pussy, your ass, your mouth, these perfect tits,” He gave your breasts a harsh squeeze, running his thumbs over your nipples as you let out another scream, “They’re gonna be full of milk before you know it, filled up for our baby. Do you want to have my baby, pet? Do you want me to breed you? Fill you up? Ruin you for anyone else with my cock?”

“Yes!” You sobbed, although you were barely conscious of what you were saying, barely even conscious of what he was saying, another orgasm fast approaching, “Michael, please! Fill me up! I need you!”

“Then cum for me,” Growling, he brought his nose down to touch yours, “Squeeze my cock with that tight pussy of yours, finish for me, and accept my seed knowing that you belong to me now, understood?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Michael, I’m yours, I belong to you, yes!” Your screams were echoing around the room now, but you couldn’t hold back, not when he felt so good, and this time rather than a boiling in your stomach your orgasm felt like an awakening, like you were being reborn.

You came harder than you knew was possible and Michael quickly followed suit, pumping you full of his thick, hot ropes of cum, more than he had ever cum before, filling you all the way up.

Whimpering, you sat up, and rather than letting you move away Michael pulled you to his lap and dragged himself to the wall to lean against once again, hushing your mewls with a kiss, “Good girl. That’s my good little pet. I’m gonna stay inside you, okay? Gotta make sure you don’t lose a single drop.”

Nodding, you felt your eyelids start to flutter, your head dropping to his chest, “Yes, Michael. I’m...I’m so tired.”

“I know you are, little one, I know you are. Get some rest now. No one will interrupt us. Rest, my sweet, and have dreams of the future we will build together,” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest, and letting out a happy hum as he felt you already drifting off, and before he did the same he whispered in your ear, “I’m proud of you.”

#Michael Langdon smut #outpost!michael Langdon smut #outpost!michael #outpost!michael Langdon #outpost!michael smut #outpost!michael Langdon x reader #outpost!michael Langdon x reader smut #Michael Langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x reader smut #ahs fic #ahs fics #ahs smut #oof #yeah

482 notes · View notes

readyplayerhobi · 4 years

Text

Flower | 37

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 5k

; Warnings: Discussions of IVF, sperm donation

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Thank you for the reception to the last chapter! :D I think that was the most comments/feedback in a long time for Flower haha. It means a lot to me to have your comments like that <3333 I hope you enjoy this one, perhaps it’s not really what you were expecting. I changed the last few around and the characters had decided this was the way they wanted to go! (it might sound silly but honestly, characters have a life of their own!)

; Flower Masterpost

“Meeps!” Hoseok’s calls from the hallway, catching your attention from where you’d lined up all your baking ingredients on the counter. “I’m heading out.”

Placing the glass bowl down carefully, you wipe your hands clean before heading out and smiling at him brightly. He’s got a dark denim jacket on alongside his new favourite black leather biker style boots, looking suitably rocker and even more sexy. Maybe you had a thing for those boots.

You don’t let him know this though, just watching as he pats his pockets to check he has his phone and wallet before a concerned expression takes over his face. Chuckling, you reach out to tap his hand, revealing the car keys he’s panicking over and causing his cheeks to fluff a pretty rose.

“Thanks. Do you want me to bring you anything back later? I can swing by the store on my way back home once we’re done?” Shaking your head at him, you squeeze at the hand you’re still touching and give him a thankful smile.

“No, I’m good. We’re going to order in later. Maybe that Japanese place that we ordered from the other week or something. Thank you, though. Enjoy yourself, okay? Text me when you’re going to set off.” Hoseok nods before leaning forward, giving you a quick kiss before he’s out of the door.

Standing for a moment, you overhear the sound of his car starting up before turning around and heading back into the kitchen. Grabbing your phone, your fingers tap at the screen as you let the girl’s know that the door is open for them to just walk in. Almost as soon as you’ve sent the message into your group chat, you’re distracted away by the bark from Ciri at your feet.

She’s still pretty small, only a little bigger than she’d been three months ago when Hoseok had proposed, but you think that just makes her look cuter. Thankfully, she’s been very easy to train so far and she’s currently sat so prettily as she looks up at you, big eyes staring intently at your hands.

Another short, sharp bark makes you laugh as you glance at the stuff you’d gotten out to bake with. Crouching down, you stroke her fur and make baby noises to her until her tail is sweeping the floor rapidly.

“Ciri-billy, I haven’t even started yet! You can’t eat them as they are now. Have some patience my darling.” You don’t know why you call your pets the nicknames that you do, or even where the names come. They just tend to pop out of your mouth when you’re talking to them and you just roll with it.

It’s caused Hoseok to laugh more than once to hear you call Kasumi your chicken or Ciri your little pudding. Particularly given you don’t call him by many pet names, instead just using his name or Hobi. Occasionally he’ll get a ‘babe’ or a ‘sweetheart’ but it’s not too often.

“Soon my bub.” Giggling, you give her a final stroke before standing back up and facing the counter. Quickly opening Spotify and beginning the playlist of your favourite songs, you keep your phone within easy reaching distance while looking over the recipe you’d printed out earlier in the day.

It takes only minutes for you to become entranced in what you’re doing; careful measuring of ingredients and the delicate balance of mixing them to create a wonderful treat. Only what you’re making today isn’t for yourself, or even your best friends.

No, they’re for Ciri. You’d found a recipe for grain-free dog treats and you’d decided to try making them. Part of you couldn’t quite believe what you were doing, particularly for a dog, but you would enjoy seeing Ciri enjoy them all. It wouldn’t surprise you if Hoseok decided to try and eat one himself.

You’re so involved with baking and singing along to the music that plays through the Bluetooth connected speakers in the kitchen, obviously something that Hoseok had bought because you’d considered it pointless, that you don’t hear the front door opening. It’s only when you turn to put some of the finished treats onto the wire trays that you’ve lined up that you realise when Chungha is suddenly standing in front of you.

Shrieking, you jump and have to battle to not drop all the freshly baked goods onto the floor while cursing up a storm. Almost immediately she moves to help you, apologising profusely as she yelps when grabbing a falling dog treat, her face twisting as it burns her fingers.

“Oh fuck! Chungha, shit. Are you okay? Oh my god, come over here.” Tugging her to the sink, you turn on the cold water and shove her hand under it, ignoring her whine of pain as the cold water interacts with her burn. The two of you focus on making sure it’s okay, even resulting in you going to grab the first aid kit Hoseok had bought a year ago when a sudden voice interrupts.

“What is going on here?” Two sides of wide eyes turn to Soyeon, letting her see the medical stuff you’ve haphazardly thrown on the side as you’ve looked for the burn ointment you could have sworn was in here. A glance at the treats causes a small ‘o’ to form on her pretty lips before she leans against the counter, elbows on the top.

“Ooh, baking mishap?” Teasing you with a grin and a wiggle of her brows, you nod before handing Chungha the tube you’d finally found. She gives you a smile of gratitude and applies some to her hand, her lips pursed into an adorable pout as she concentrates. You’re so busy concentrating on watching her that you almost miss Soyeon’s hand as it reaches out to the wire trays.

“No!” Shouting, the word causes her to jerk in surprise as she snaps her hand back with almost obscenely wide eyes. Cringing, you realised that you’d perhaps been a little bit too loud and give her an apologetic wince.

“Sorry. I just...they’re not for us. They’re for Ciri! I found a recipe to make some treats for her so I thought I’d give it a go. Think I made enough for her?” Brow raising, you chuckle while gesturing to the ridiculous amount. Perhaps you’d bought a little too many ingredients and gotten just a little excited in it.

There’s no way you could feed Ciri all this before they went off. She’d end up getting sick, and you hated having to clean that up. Which meant you couldn’t because then Hoseok would have to clean it up and you know he’d whine and pout the whole time.

“I can take some back for Mandu?” Soyeon offers, referring to the cute golden labrador that Jungkook and her had adopted two months ago. They’d gotten her from a shelter as a puppy and Jungkook had been the one to pick her name, unsurprisingly choosing something food-related given mandu was Korean-style dumplings.

“Sure, I’ll make sure you can take some back for Eevee too,” Glancing to Chungha, you gesture over to the box on the other counter. “For us though, I did make us some triple chocolate cookies! Not entirely sure how many are left because Hoseok was being a locust.”

That gets a snort from them all as you separate the dog treats so that all three dogs will get an equal amount before washing your hands. Chungha puts the kit away and takes out two glasses from a cupboard before handing one over to Soyeon. The two take a glance inside the fridge before filling them up with fizzy lemonade.

As far as you knew, that was just what Hoseok liked to drink with one of his alcohols. It made it more like a soft drink or something.

Grabbing the box of cookies, you head into the living room and sit on the couch with a leg curled up beneath you. Your best friends follow and sit as well, looking over at the television where Netflix has been paused in the show you’d been watching. One of what was considered to be your worst traits was that you took far too long to watch the ‘popular’ shows, which is why you’d finally started watching Breaking Bad way too late.

Hoseok had been bugging you to try and watch it for years now but you’d just never been interested.

“Ooh, you’re getting to a good bit.” Chungha comments, reaching forward to grab one of the cookies out of the box and munching on it. A soft noise of happiness leaves her as she chews, her butt wiggling as the flavours melt on her tongue.

“Shh, I already have to put up with Hoseok doing that. I don’t need you doing it too,” Pursing your lip into a pout, you cross your legs and grab the sleeping Pikachu cushion from your side before hugging it. “I’m going, to be honest with you as well, I don’t really like this. I don’t get the hype.”

As expected, both of them look at you with shocked faces that make you want to laugh. You don’t know what it is about going against the grain but the reactions you got never ceased to amaze you.

“Are you kidding? Breaking Bad is like...television perfection! The character arcs are just...urgh, exquisite.” Brow raising, you watch as Chungha continues to wax poetic about the show while Soyeon nods along and interjects now and again in support.

“Well, I think it’s pretty boring. And I don’t like Walter. He’s an asshole.” More shocked looks cause you to reach out and take the PS4 controller, exiting the show and moving on to look through the large list of shows and films Netflix had on offer. Without any input from either of them, you settle on The Umbrella Academy.

You’d already watched both seasons but it was something easy to have on in the background while you all probably talked instead.

“How’s wedding planning?” The question comes from Soyeon, who lets her head drop onto the back of the couch. Kasumi is laid out next to her, probably purring contentedly as her soft fur is stroked and she gets all the scratches and love. Ciri is currently curled up between Chungha and you, her tail hitting your thigh gently.

“Good, good. We’ve chosen a date and booked the venue so...we’re going to get the invites done as soon as we can. Before we get onto picking stuff for the actual ceremony and all that, we’re going to book the honeymoon. Priorities, you know. I think we’re leaning towards Argentina for two weeks at the minute but that might change.” You were adamant on exploring the world with Hoseok and Argentina would be your first foray into South America.

Which wasn’t much really considering you’d only ever visited Italy and Thailand so far. But still, when the opportunity arose then you would grasp it firmly.

Chungha finishes off her cookie before brushing at her mouth delicately, “Have you bought one of those wedding planner’s? Where it lists out all the stuff for you to plan and add in ideas and stuff?”

Nodding, you smile at her before gesturing over to the bookcase to the right. Alongside the books, video games, figurines and plushies that had accumulated over time was the binder that you’d purchased only days after getting engaged. Part of you was still trying to get your head around the fact that you no longer had a boyfriend but a fiancé.

And in a couple of months then you’d have a husband. It was odd to think about.

“Ah, it’s all exciting to think about.”

“It is, but I don’t have much more to tell you at the minute, to be honest. We haven’t decided much more apart from that and I haven’t looked into anything else. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself, you know? Go slow.” That gets them both nodding in acknowledgement before they look around.

“Where’s Hoseok gone today?”

“Oh, he’s gone to a concert with Taehyung and Yoongi. Some...weird prog-rock band or something. He’s been playing some of the songs lately and they sound odd but he’s into it so,” You shrug with a wry twist to your lips, causing them to snort. “I doubt he’ll be home before midnight, to be honest, so...we have the house to ourselves, ladies!”

“I mean...I’m pretty sure the most exciting thing we’re going to do is just eat food or something. Which is probably all we ever do when we’re together. You guys are not good for my waistline.” Soyeon groans, patting her flat stomach and you give her a droll stare.

“Really?”

“Yeah?” Chungha backs you up and you can’t help but laugh in amusement, giving her an equally amused stare. She’s just as skinny as Soyeon is but you can’t bring yourself to argue with either of them. Everyone has their issues going on after all.

That thought makes you frown and you reach out to Soyeon, clasping her hand tightly as you watch her with concern. Your sudden change in demeanour causes her brow to lower, gaze skittering away from yours given how intense it was.

“You’re okay, right? There’s nothing wrong or anything you’d wanna talk about?” The sincerity in your voice makes her smile softly, her free hand coming to rest against your own and squeezing it gently.

“I’m okay, I promise. It was just a joke, honestly.” Twisting your lips slightly, you stare deeply into her eyes before nodding slowly in acceptance. After spending so long hating yourself, you didn’t want to let your friends feel even an iota of the self-hatred you had. Especially when they were so pretty anyway.

“So err...while we’re still talking about moderately serious stuff, I have something to ask both of you. I mean...well it’s kinda weird that I’m asking you both but I figure I should ask you to get your permission before asking them.” Chungha is babbling and you tilt your head in question, brow creasing as you wonder what on earth she’s trying to get at. She seems nervous given the way her fingers play with themselves and her eyes skitter away from your direction.

“Dahyun was supposed to be here, you know that, but she’s ended up having to go see her grandparents as her grandma is sick right now. Otherwise, she’d be here too. So...we’ve decided that we want a kid. And we’re looking to adopt, we’ve put our names down and everything but it takes a while to even get approved for that. But we also would like to have a baby as well. Like...one of ours. I know Dahyun, in particular, is quite eager to get to experience pregnancy because she’d always dreamed of having a baby but as you can guess, being lesbians we don’t have the option of getting pregnant so easily.” Now your eyebrows have lifted high, probably almost to your hairline as you listen to Chungha’s nervous words.

It doesn’t surprise you that they’re wanting to have kids now. They’ve been together for a while as well, and you know that they’ve been considering whether or not to get married. For the moment though, they’d just registered themselves in a civil partnership, unsure whether they wanted to go through the whole wedding thing just yet. Though you did not doubt that they would eventually go for it.

Kids were the next logical choice for them, and you felt excitement bubbling in your stomach at the thought of Chungha being a mommy. Even if you didn’t like kids, it didn’t mean that you weren’t excited for your friends when they wanted to have them.

You could imagine that it was a bit more stressful for Chungha and Dahyun as a lesbian couple, as compared to a heterosexual couple. The more you thought about that actually, the more unfair it seemed. People were getting pregnant all the time by accident, but your best friend had to go through so much effort to get the same result.

“So, we’ve looked into IVF and all that stuff. There’s not just IVF, there are other methods too. But if we’re spending money on it then we’d rather have the best chance of success, you know? I’m not explaining it very well but I’m not a scientist either, we’ve researched it a lot and had a preliminary appointment either way. I just...have something potentially awkward to ask.” She pauses at that, her face twisting into a picture of nerves and hesitation.

A glance at Soyeon has you catching eye contact, but neither of you says anything and decide to let Chungha go at her own pace. You have an idea as to where she’s going with this, but you feel that she should at least be allowed to get there on her own.

“So, we can use sperm from a sperm bank, right? It’s all checked over and vetted, but it’s really expensive. And I know that sounds rich considering we’re wanting to have a baby and the last thing they are is cheap, but we’re trying to look at all our options for the moment. What I’m trying to ask in a long-winded way is would either of you be okay if we asked Hoseok or Jungkook to maybe donate? I know it sounds awkward given we know them and you’re both dating them but they can get everything tested and I’d feel a little easier if we knew the sperm donor, you know?” A grimace takes over her mouth, causing you to frown as you reach out and squeeze her leg in reassurance.

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. I think we’ve all been friends for long enough that something like this can be discussed without ridicule or negative emotions, right?” Looking to Soyeon, you feel relief as she smiles and nods in agreement. “I’m excited for you to start a family! You know I’m not one for kids so I can’t say I understand the whole process you’re going through but I can assure you that I’ll support you and Dahyun the whole way. In terms of a donation...well it’s up to you, Soyeon, and Jungkook. Hoseok literally can’t.”

Glancing between them both, you make a scissors gesture and watch in amusement as both their eyebrows rise in realisation. It wasn’t something you’d discussed with them before, even if Hoseok had been fine about it, mainly because you’d felt Hoseok’s health and your sex life weren’t things to casually talk about. But you felt it important at this moment to make sure Chungha knew that you weren’t being callous.

“Oh? That makes sense though, you’ve never wanted kids and it doesn’t surprise me that Hoseok doesn’t want them either then. So that leaves Jungkook, huh?” Soyeon chuckles, leaning back against the couch and stroking at Kasumi’s ears gently. You wonder what she’ll say, given it’d mean her best friend having Jungkook’s baby before she does.

Some women wouldn’t be on board with that, and you suppose it’s a sign of how much Chungha loves and trusts you both that she’s querying you both with this. On the other hand, you have complete confidence that if you both turned her down then she wouldn’t be offended and they would instead use a sperm bank as she’d said.

Chungha turns more to Soyeon, playing with her hands as her nerves ramp up. It must be affecting Ciri because the dog sits up, tilting her head and staring almost in concern at your friend. Smiling, you scoop Ciri into your lap and scratch behind her ears until her back leg is going.

“You can say no, I won’t be offended. Nor would Dahyun, if she could be here. We don’t expect anything. I just wanted to ask you both first because I felt it’d be rude of me to just go to him instead of querying with you two. You’re my best friends and they are your boyfriends after all. Also, Jungkook can definitely say no too. Once again, we don’t expect him to agree if he’s not comfortable with it. I just...wanted to ask, you know? We kinda considered all of Hoseok’s friends because neither of us has many male friends and we’d love to be able to have a better idea of the donor’s personality, a more detailed medical history and everything. Plus, with us having to do everything medically then it helps to make it a little more ‘normal’ for us. He doesn’t have to be involved in the baby’s life if he doesn’t want to be, otherwise, I’d just like for him to be known as an uncle. In the future, we’d tell them who their sperm donor was if Jungkook was okay with it and they wanted to know.” You find yourself nodding, appreciating the fact that Chungha and Dahyun have thought this through.

While Soyeon might agree to let them ask Jungkook, there was every chance that Jungkook might not want to agree anyway. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of another woman having his baby, even if he won’t have any rights to it. Some people didn’t like things like that. Or maybe he just didn’t want to, for whatever reason.

The fact that she was making it clear that Jungkook and Soyeon were both allowed, even encouraged, to say no if they felt uncomfortable at any moment settled you. You didn’t want to think that your friends were being forced or coerced into something just because they felt that they had to do it.

“Would it be cheaper though? I mean, I’m assuming they’d have to do tests and stuff to make sure he’s not got any diseases or genetic things that they ideally don’t want to pass on? Doesn’t that cost a lot?” Chungha sighs and nods, her lips turning down slightly.

“We would, but the difference is that I doubt we’d have to do those tests often. So if he agreed then we’d have the tests done but then after that, we don’t pay anything else. The sperm bank that was recommended to us is $1000 for just one vial of sperm. So if that doesn’t work then we have to pay out again. And I’m not saying we wouldn’t pay Jungkook, we’re both willing to offer but the idea of being stung for that much for a tiny vial is painful.” The price makes your eyes bulge while Soyeon’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit! A thousand dollars for something he just washes away? Fucking hell, he’s wasting thousands every time he jacks off. Oh my god, that must be the most expensive thing I’ve ever had in my mouth then.” Snorting, you bite your lip in amusement as you consider how many times Hoseok had ejaculated with you. Though you doubted the man was getting anywhere near a thousand dollars, it was still mind-boggling to know that the price tag on a cumshot.

“It’s ridiculous, right? I mean, okay it’s not really because obviously, they have to do all those tests and stuff. But still! You can understand why we were shocked. Either way, if you or Jungkook says no then we’re going to go that way. I want you to know that we’re not laying all our eggs in one basket. No pun intended there.” That makes all of you chuckle, the mood lightening up as you do so.

Reaching forward to the box you’d placed on the coffee table, you grab another cookie before handing more out to the two of them. Each takes one with a grateful smile before biting into it.

“I’m okay with it. I’m not sure whether I want kids or not and I think we’re just taking it as an ‘if it happens then it happens’ approach. So, to me, I’m not bothered if Jungkook says yes. Plus, you’re my best friend and I’d much rather you have a baby where you know the dad and can get more information from him. And oh my god, Jungkook would make such good babies. They’d be adorable and he has the sweetest personality!” Soyeon squeals, shaking the cookie around in excitement as she imagines his metaphorical children.

For a moment, you imagine it as well and can’t help but smile. You certainly hoped that his babies would all get his big, emotive eyes alongside his endearing personality. Before you can comment on it though, Soyeon continues.

“I will make it clear though, that he doesn’t have to say yes. He might not be comfortable with the idea of having someone he knows having his kid. Or he might not like the idea of not being involved in their lives in a father kind of way. On the other hand, he might turn around and say that he isn’t bothered at all and will give you as much as you want. But I want it to be up to him. Thankfully, I’m not a hugely possessive person so I’m not bothered by the idea of his kids with someone else.”

Watching Chungha’s face carefully, you can’t help but smile at the palpable relief that spreads over it upon Soyeon’s words. That smile vanishes though when you see her eyes glisten, the unshed tears forming fast and causing you to gently put Ciri onto the floor before you’re scooting over to her. Wrapping your arms around her, you make reassuring noises.

You’re not one to get emotional, nor can you handle other people’s emotions, but your best friends are different. They’ve been in your life for long enough by now that you feel the urge to care for them, to listen to their worries and soothe their fears. Seeing Chungha, who is normally so strong, starting to cry at Soyeon’s words makes your stomach hurt.

“Hey, hey!” Soyeon gushes, rushing over to the other side of Chungha until you’re all in some kind of weird cuddle fest. It just makes Chungha let out a laughing sob, the sound thick as the tears slowly start to fall.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if I was doing the right thing asking you both this. I know it’s something so big and important. You might have told me to fuck off and got angry with me at even thinking of it and I was so scared that you’d be annoyed by it. I mean, how many other people are going to ask their friends if they can have some of their boyfriends’ sperm to knock up their partner?” Wiping at her tears, you tut softly as you try to erase the eyeliner and mascara that’s begun to smear as well.

“I mean, it is a slightly odd ask. I think we can both agree with that,” Soyeon nods in agreement, running her fingers through Chungha’s hair. “But we’re your best friends. You didn’t demand this from us, you gave us a choice and made it clear we can deny it. I’ll be honest, if Hoseok hadn’t got the snip then I would’ve said no. I’m not personally comfortable with the idea of someone else having his baby. But I know that you would have accepted that choice and not tried to push me. Same as you’ll accept whatever decision Jungkook makes.”

“Yeah, she’s right. We love you, and we know you love us which is why you felt you could ask this of us. I’m more than happy to help my best friend start her family and I know that Dahyun has made you happier than anyone else has over the years. If everything works out then I’m going to be the coolest aunt ever.” Grinning brightly, Soyeon manages to succeed in making Chungha laugh softly.

Getting up, you rush off to the bathroom before coming back and handing her some tissue and make-up remover wipes to clean up her face. A brief smile of gratitude is given to you before she proceeds to scrub at her face.

“You’ll both be great auntie’s. Even if you’re not going to be hugely into the whole thing.” She’s looking at you then, wry amusement in her eyes as her lips twist slightly. Feeling heat spread in embarrassment at her words, you shrug and murmur an apology.

“Don’t worry, we won’t push anything on you. That is, even if it manages to happen. Who knows, maybe we’ll get approved for adoption super quick and we go through that first instead? I have no idea what’s going to happen.” At that moment, Ciri decides to make her presence annoy with a shrill yap.

Looking down at the floor, you chuckle at the sight of her annoyed face that she got pushed off the couch. Reaching out, she jumps up and wiggles herself so that she’s half on Chungha and half on you.

“Okay, I think we’ve had enough emotional and in-depth talks for today. Or at least, for this hour. How about we put on YouTube and just start watching animals being funny? Cheer us all up.” Reaching out for the controller, you exit Netflix as Soyeon nods.

The conversation isn’t quite over, you can tell that much, but you know that for now it’s just being put onto the back burner. You don’t have much more participation you can give the whole thing given you’re not being involved in it, but you’re sure that Chungha and Soyeon will talk everything out much more in-depth before Soyeon asks Jungkook.

It’s an important topic but given Chungha’s emotional nature right now, you don’t want to push it any further just yet. Instead, you figure it’s time to lighten the mood a little before any more serious talk can be had.

“Find one of those TikTok compilations, they’re so funny.” This comes from Soyeon as she points at the screen.

“What? No way, you have to watch like 20 TikTok’s to find one funny one. Vine was so much better.”

“Those are fighting words.”

231 notes · View notes

rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Moonlit Masquerade: Moonlit Forever After Pt 1

Finale and Part 15 of the Moonlit Masquerade Series

Luz woke slowly, bright sunlight shining on her face from the opened, stained glass window. She grumbled to herself, scrunching her face before turning over to snuggle into Amity. She frowned to herself when she found no warm fiancée and reached out, hand sliding across the sheets, searching, but found them empty and cold, she frowned before peeling an eye open to find the other side of the bed empty, devoid of Amity.

“Oh, right…,” she mumbled groggily and frowning. Amity had stayed with Willow last night so they wouldn’t see each other till tonight at the wedding. She grumbled and let her eye slide back closed, almost falling back asleep.

Her eyes popped open, grogginess falling away as she sat up in bed.

The Wedding!

Today is her wedding day!

She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. Once she’s finished she stops and looks around at what has been her bedroom for the last three years, then her and Amity’s for three more. The room is barren save for the bed, her things for the ceremony, and some boxes sitting on the floor, they have already packed up all their things over the last week and moved most of it into the new house sitting just a short walk away. They decided to wait until after the wedding to move in, even though the house has been finished for over a month. Neither could bear to leave the owl house yet, knowing the time would come soon enough, and now it was here. She looks around at the bare walls a little sadly. It feels so final, even though she knows she will be back in this house many, many times from this day forward, even if it won’t be her house anymore, the Owl House will always be home. She carefully makes the bed for the last time before taking a deep breath and smiles as she walks out, passing the clothes hung up on the closet door in their garment bag, she wouldn’t get dressed in those till the last minute before leaving the house. She took the stairs two at a time before sliding into the kitchen.

“Buenos dia, mi familia!” Luz grinned brightly at Eda, Lilith, and King, sitting at the kitchen table. “Today is the day!” she declared as the Clawthorne sisters smiled back at her.

“Excited?” Lilith asked with a grin.

“Terrified actually, but also excited, yes.” she grinned, grabbing some apple blood out of the fridge before sitting down with them.

“Last chance to back out and run away to the knee and start life as a hermit,” Eda said with a grin that spoke of her teasing.

“Not on your life.” Luz grinned making Eda chuckle.

“Just checking.” Eda smiled at her fondly from across the table and Luz smiled back, looking around at them and knowing that there will be many more days like this again, but they will never be quite the same as this one. It’s sad even as it’s exciting, starting a whole new chapter of her life, with Amity as her wife.

“I’m kinda nervous just thinking about it, this time tomorrow I’ll be Luz… well, still Luz Noceda, but you know,” Luz chuckled.

“You’ll be Mrs. Luz Noceda, married to Mrs. Amity Noceda,” Lilith supplied, nodding and Luz’s stomach erupted in butterflies at that, the same way it did every time someone said it.

Amity Noceda

She grins stupidly to herself at the thought and Lilith and Eda share an amused look.

King sniffles, looking up at her from his breakfast.

“Do you have to go?” he blinks up at her with wide eyes and Luz smiled at him, picking him up and squeezing him gently, he lets her, squeezing back, burying his face in her chest.

“Yes, King, I do, but it’s okay. You can always come over to our house, and I’ll still be here all the time, me and Amity,” she assured the little demon, squeezing.

“It’s quite sad in a way.” Lilith smiled at her forlornly. “The end of an era, it won’t be us sitting here having meals as a family anymore.”

“It won’t be exactly the same,” Luz agrees. “But Amity and I will come over often, you can bet on it.” She set the demon down in his chair and he sniffles but nods. “You’re still gonna be my ring bearer tonight, right, boo-boo buddy?” Luz asks him and he jumps back up, nodding.

“No one will bear those rings better than the King of Demons!” he declares, clawed fist raised in the air, and luz smiles at him.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You and Amity might be the Noceda’s after tonight, but you’ll both always be Clawthorne’s” Eda declared and Lilith nodded in agreement. Luz smiled at them, truly touched by that.

“I could probably convince Amity to let us be the Noceda-Clawthorne’s.” She grinned.

“Aw, that’s too much of a mouthful, Kid, but I appreciate it.” Eda smiled at her.

They eat breakfast in comfortable silence, pancakes, and enjoy this last breakfast that is not the last, but it’s the last one that will ever be like this again.

Luz pulls out her scroll and taps Amity’s contact and types out a quick message.

‘Good morning, my soon to be wife! Can’t wait to see you, mi amor. <3’

She slipped it back into her pocket and looked up at everyone.

“Welp, the caterers, and stuff are in charge of getting everything set up tonight for the reception at the school, and the rest of the wedding party promised to get the chairs and stuff put up at the tree, so I guess I have a while to kill before I have to go pick up Mami. You guys wanna do something? One last unmarried, family hoorah?” she looked around the table.

Eda and Lilith looked at each other curiously before a grin broke out across both their faces.

Luz blinked.

~ ~ Amity yawned as she slowly rolled over in bed, immediately reaching for the warm body she’s so used to and is disappointed when she finds only cold sheets. Her eyes slide open and she’s met with an unfamiliar room and remembers she’s at Willow’s place, while Luz had stayed at home to spend a final day as a resident of the owl house with the others before tonight. She frowns, sitting up, it was strange, sleeping alone after almost never doing so for the last three years. Even during the war when they were out in the field they would curl up together in a tent or even on the ground to rest. Not waking up with Luz’s gentle breath in her ear or her arm wrapped around her; she doesn’t like it. Though she knows that after today it won’t happen again.

She slid out of bed and got dressed, passing her dress bag hanging on the wall as she walked out into the living room, checking her scroll, and seeing Luz's message. She smiled to herself and tapped out one back.

'I can't wait to see you either, querida. Xoxo'

Willow, Viney, and her sister were standing around the kitchen when she walked in.

"There's one of the brides to be!" Emira grinned.

“Hey!” Willow looked up from the stove, smiling.

“Mornin’.” Viney nodded with a smile.

“Good morning.” She smiled at them as she sat at the table.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Viney asked.

“Yes ...and no,” she sighed, running her hands through her loose auburn hair. “I’m nervous, but excited too…,” she mumbled and Viney chuckled as Willow and Emira set plates on the table and they all sat to eat.

“Nervous? You're marrying the biggest dork in the Boiling Isles,” Emira snorted. “Granted, an incredibly brave, sweet, and powerful dork, but a dork nonetheless.”

“Maybe, but I love that, sweet, brave dork.” Amity smiled to herself as the others grinned. “I want tonight to be… and I hate this word; perfect,” Amity hummed, playing with her eggs.

“I’m sure that no matter what happens it will be perfect.” Willow smiled at her.

“Even if something blows up, it’ll still be perfect for you two, cause at the end of the night, come hell or high water, you’re gonna be married,” Viney agreed.

“And let’s be real, it’s Luz, so the chances of an explosion are not as low as we might hope,” Emira laughed.

“Don’t say that…,” Amity moaned as they laughed.

“Did you ever finish writing your vows?” Willow asks as they eat.

“Ah, yes!” She jumped up and hurried into Willow’s guest room before coming back with a stack of paper. She set it and her pen on the table and the other three looked at it questioningly. Emira set her fork down and reached over to pick up the hefty stack of papers and flipped through it, eyebrows drawn between her eyes as she read some, flipping through the many pages covered in her sisters neat, sloping penmanship before she finally looked up at Amity, who was flushed. She knows what’s coming. She went overboard, she knows.

“These are your vows?” Emira blinked holding up the literal sheath of paper.

“Yes…” her cheeks darkened.

Emira, Viney, and Willow share a look.

“It’s an essay…” Viney cocks a brow.

“This is a book…,” Willow says, failing to hide her amusement.

“Mittens… you’ve written a manifesto of your love for Luz…,” she says, flipping through the pages with a laugh.

“I got going and then found I had a lot to say…,” Amity mumbled, face hot.

“Obviously,” Viney barked a laugh.

“I’m sure everything in here is super sweet and cute, sis, but we don’t have all night for you to harangue about why Luz is the most thoughtful and wonderful person who ever lived in any realm.” Emira grinned knowingly at her making Viney laugh harder and Willow coughed, unconvincingly into her hand.

“I know…,” Amity whined, resting her head in her hands. “I can’t figure out how to cut it down…,” she mumbled.

“Let’s try this…” Emira took a blank piece of paper from the bottom and ripped it in half and slid it across to Amity. “Only what you can fit on this,” she said.

“That’s not nearly enough space…” Amity frowned looking down at the half sheet of paper.

“It is, only the really important things, the things you really want to tell her tonight. It should fit on this slip of paper perfectly,” Willow agrees.

“Yeah, you have the rest of your life to wax poetic to her about why she’s the best thing since sliced bramble wheat bread.” Emira nodded. “And if you actually want to be married before tomorrow morning, you need to cut it down.” she smirked as Amity scowled at her.

“I have thirty snails that say Luz forgot to write vows,” Viney piped up over her toast.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Willow smirked, if there’s anyone who knows Luz nearly as well as Amity, it’s Willow.

“I will, my dear sister-in-law can be just as sappy as Mittens.” Emira grinned and Amity frowned at the couple as they shook hands.

Luz would never..., that's what she wants to say, but Amity knows Luz, knows she can be as unpredictable as the ocean. Whether or not she remembered to write her vows is a toss-up, yet Amity can't find it in herself to be annoyed by this, it was all part of Luz's charm. She wrote as much on page five of her own vows.

"So!" Emira starts, pushing the slip of paper and pen toward her. "What do you really, really want to tell Luz tonight when you promise to be her partner in love, insanity, and anarchy for the rest of your lives?" Her sister asks with a grin and Amity chewed her bottom lip and picks up the pen, but she doesn't hesitate, the words come easy, and before she knows it the paper is filled. She reads it over a few times before sliding it back across the table to the other three.

Emira picks it up and the other two look over her shoulders as they read. Emira bites her lip as her eyes glaze over. Viney's mouth hangs open and Willow just smiles and they all look up at her.

"Well damn…," Emira says thickly at last.

~ ~

“Faster, faster!” King squealed from Luz’s shoulders as they sped through the air on her staff.

“Whoo!” Luz whooped as she dived past Eda and Lilith on their own staves. “I know you two are faster than that or are you that old now?” she goads as she and King fly past the sisters. “So much for the ‘Mighty Clawthorne sisters’,” she laughed and King cackled.

“Oh, those are fightin’ words!” Eda shook a fist as she took off with a wicked grin, gaining on Luz. Lilith hot on her heels, scowling as they zipped between the bones of the Isles.

Luz laughed as she flew through the air, barrel rowling and flipping as Eda and Lilith chased her, their laughter echoing through the air as they chased each other through the sky.

Eda and Lilith pulled to a stop next to each other, hanging in the air and laughing as they watched Luz shoot straight up into the sky.

“There she goes.” Eda grinned, pulling out her scroll and tapping the record button, as she held it up.

“What are you doing?” Lilith cocked a brow at her sister.

“Nothing…,” Eda said far too innocently.

Luz pulled her staff straight up, rising higher and higher and higher into the sky, wind whipping at her face and hair., the Isles growing smaller and smaller as she climbed into the open blue sky.

“Ready, Buddy?” Luz grinned as the air thinned around them.

“I’m the King of Demons, I was born ready!” King screeched, hunkering his body against her back, claws dug into her shirt.

Luz allowed the magic of her staff to fade and she slowed as gravity’s grip took hold and pulled her back toward the ground. She let herself go limp, save her grip on her staff, and started to fall, she let it drag her for a second before flinging herself into a few spins and flips

King’s exhilarated scream is swallowed up by the howling winds as she righted herself and held her arms out, whizzing toward the ground nose first and closed her eyes, feeling the cold wind whip at her face and clothes.

At this moment, as she plummeted back toward the earth, she can only think about how incredibly lucky she is that she chased Owlbert through the portal door six years ago.

There were moments that weren't so magical, naturally.

Sometimes she and Amity fought, argued over stupid things and frustrated each other, or she’d have bitter disagreements with members of the covens about the politics of the Isles and how things should be under the new order, and sometimes, even though she tried to avoid it, and though not often, she would still get anti-human rhetoric from some witches and demons.

There had also been the truly dark days of course.

She’d hurt her mother, she knows and feels guilty about it, because as much as she wishes she hadn’t, and that she wanted to take that pain away, she knows that she wouldn’t change the past, and that eats at her some nights, the whispering of selfishness in the back of her mind, but she’s seen and lived through enough things to know that there's no point living a life of regret; it changes nothing.

Lilith had kidnapped her, tried to kill her, and captured Eda, making her lose her magic and she’d destroyed the portal trying to right her wrong and save her mentor.

Eda and Lilith lost their magic, which took them a long time to come to grips with. Sometimes they had been bitter and angry about it, and Luz tried her best to help them adjust in those first few years, showing them how to do things the non-magic way, or the human way as she called it, to make it seem a little less dreary; having their staffs helped.

Then the war had come and they had killed and struggled to survive for two years, feeling like the fighting would never end. Blood and fire had drowned the Isles in so much red Luz still saw it in her nightmares. At times she could still feel the dried, flaking liquid under her fingernails and smell the metallic tinge in the air mixed with smoke and ash that choked her on the days her PTSD reared its ugly head.

As dark as those days had been, they are shadows in her memories, drowned out by the bright light of the last six years spent on the Isles and they are the farthest thing from her mind today.

She met Eda and King, started learning magic, then she met two incredible, lifelong friends, she knew would always be by her side in the form of Willow and Gus, among the others she knew she could call on anytime, day or night and they would come running.

She’d fought a war and changed The Boiling Isles forever, for better or for worse.

She’d met her best friend and fallen head over heels in love with her. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for Amity, and she knows she is loved back just as fiercely, even when they argue, they always make up quickly, they learned long ago to just talk it out.

After fourteen years of feeling like she was an outsider looking in, a character in the wrong play, trying desperately to blend into the scenery; she had finally found the place where she belonged.

She feels weightless.

“Luz!” King shrieks in her ear.

She smiled, opening her eyes as the ground was rushing up to meet them.

She twirled her staff beneath her, feet planted on it and with one hand she jerked upward, pulling them out of their free fall, arcing out of the dive a scant fifteen feet from the ground and Mochuelo’s wings flap as they soar back into the sky toward Eda and Lilith with loud whoops of joy.

“I’ve never felt so alive!” King is squeaking, breathless.

“Nice, Luz,” Eda laughed, tapping a few buttons on her scroll before slipping it back into her hair.

“Quite the graceful maneuvering.” Lilith smiled and Luz only grinned, planting herself back down on the staff.

They hang around, drifting lazily through the air and enjoying the scene of the Isles sprawled out beneath them in all its glory. The bones of the Titan laying still and quiet in eternal slumber, belying the constant hustle and bustle far below. The sun has moved to the western side of the sky and Luz knows that she needs to go pick up her mother. More than half the day has slipped through their fingers, having felt more like only a couple of hours then the closer to six or seven it’s been.

“I need to get Mami,” she finally announces and they know it’s time to go home.

“Right, we gotta get ready too, especially Lily since she officiating the whole shebang.”

Lilith nods and they fly back toward the owl house.

Amity and the other girls spend the day primping to the extreme at Emira's insistence.

She would be fine just sitting at Willow's house and hanging out as they prepped but she gives in quickly when Emira offers to pay for all of them, her wedding gift to her sister, who can’t refuse her gift.

The Boiling Isles version of a spa is very similar to the ones in the human world according to Luz, though she admits she’d only ever seen them in shows, she’d only been fourteen when she’d come to the Isles so she’d never actually been to one, but she said the ones in the Isles were pretty similar to what she’d seen, with a few key differences. Such as massages being given by multi-tentacled demons, which was where Emira and Viney had gone, but she digressed.

“This was really nice of your sister,” Willow hummed, sinking further down into the warmth of the hot tub.

“It really was, even if it was unnecessary…,” she agreed.

“Speak for yourself.” Willow looked at her and Amity laughed.

“Has helping with the wedding been that taxing?” Amity cocked her head and grinning.

“No, not that, recently I’ve been getting a visitor to my shop…,” Willow mumbled.

Amity looked at her questioningly.

“Boscha,” Willow grumbled out a name that had caused her nothing but dread during their Hexside years.

"Boscha!?” Amity jerked up. “I haven’t thought about her in a long time… she’s been to your shop?” Willow nodded. “She hasn't been bothering you or anything has she?” Amity frowned and Willow barks a laugh.

“As if she could,” Willow smirked and it’s well deserved. Amity had watched her childhood friend take out scores of loyalists over the two years the war had raged. Last she had heard Boscha’s family had sequestered her away from all the fighting, choosing neutrality. Cowardice, Amity called it, but the result was the same, Boscha was a gnat on the wall compared to Willow.

“So what does she want?”

Willow sighed.

“She comes in twice a week, tries to make small talk with me, buys some flowers or plants and leaves,” she said. “… she apologized, for all the things she did to me when we were kids, and wants to make amends for our school years.”

Amity doesn't know what to say to that.

“She seems different… but I don’t know, after all the things she did to all of us, it’s hard to brush that aside even if she really is different. Hell, she almost destroyed you and Luz.”

“It did end up working out for the best in the end, Luz and I would never have had the courage to be public with our relationship if we hadn’t been forced into the light like that; we were too afraid.”

“You’re condoning what she did?” Willow asks incredulously.

“Absolutely not, I’m just saying that it happened and it ended up working out in our favor, nothing more.” Amity shook her head.

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” Willow hummed.

“How’s the water, girls?” they looked up as Emira and Viney walked over.

“Great, how was your massage?” Amity asked.

“Great, I don't know what Luz is talking about, you just can’t give a good massage if you only have two arms.” Emira shook her head as they slipped in beside the other two.

They sat chatting a while before Willow’s scroll dinged and she sat up out of the water and drew a spell circle, the device popping into existence.

“Oh, Eda sent me something…” she tapped the video and watched, the only sound coming from the scroll was the sound of static and wind but a grin was breaking out across Willow’s face.

“What, what did she send you?” Amity asked.

“I don’t know if I can show you, you’re not supposed to see Luz until tonight.” Willow hummed, her grin was teasing, and to say Amity’s interest was piqued was an understatement.

“I think that only counts for in person, I mean, her scroll background is a picture of the two of them together after all,” Emira hummed.

“Checks out,” Viney nodded in agreement.

Willow turned the scroll around to show them the video from Eda of Luz on her staff, climbing higher and higher into the sky, King on her back.

“Oh, we’ve done this before!” Viney said.

“What is she doing?” Emira asks.

“It’s called free falling, watch.”

Finally, Luz reaches the apex of her climb, and then she’s falling and Amity’s chest lurches automatically but relaxes as she watches her fiancee's bright grin as she spins and flips through the air before just letting herself bolt rapidly toward the ground, past the camera, looking serene and at peace.

‘Is she going to splatter?’ Eda’s voice comes out over the speaker and they hear Lilith grumble in reply.

‘Amity would kill us both…’

That makes them laugh.

Finally, just before she meets the ground, Luz pulls her feet atop the staff and pulls up in a graceful arch, flying back toward Eda as she and King whoop with excitement, and then the video ends.

“She is a riot…” Emira smirked.

“Luz in a nutshell,” Willow laughs and Viney nods.

Amity just smiles to herself.

Titan, does she love that crazy woman.

When they get back to Willow’s they start getting dressed

Amity tried hard to follow Luz’s advice and not be so controlling about the things that didn’t matter and let her three bridesmaids pick their own outfits for the evening, though she is secretly glad that the three seem to have at least coordinated with each other and are wearing the same burgundy colored dress, much darker than her own, but in the same family, so she’s happy. She wonders, not for the first time that day, what Luz and the boys picked out.

“Have any of you seen what Luz and the boys are wearing? I don’t want to know what, I'm just curious.” They all looked at each other and shook their heads.

“I doubt they coordinated with each other.” Willow planted a hand on her hip and sighed.

“Well, this could be interesting…” Viney grinned, combing out her hair.

“So long as my future wife is not dressed as a werewolf, it’s fine,” Amity hummed to herself as she curled her hair into loose ringlets, making the others laugh.

“I’m surprised you got Bump to let you have the reception at Hexside,” Emira says.

“Really?” Willow looks at the older woman amused. “Amity and Luz were both top of their tracks, and became the two most famous witches of the war, especially after they killed Belos, they’re legendary Hexside Alumni, it’s great press for the school, being able to say they got married there.”

“We're not getting married there, we’re just having the after-party there,” Amity reminded. “And he offered it to us when we invited him.”

“Wha- really?” Emira laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised really, you were always a teacher’s pet,” Emira teased and Amity huffed.

“I’d also remind you that Hieronymus Bump was a member of the rebellion and Luz and I fought side by side with him on many occasions, he even saved Luz’s life once. We wanted to invite him, he was our headmaster as kids, but he’s our friend now.”

“Sometimes forgot how powerful old Bump really is,” Viney added her two cents. “Still, nice of him to let you use the school courtyard, especially since it’s so close to the grom tree.”

They chatted about their old headmaster and school as they went about getting ready.

#lumity #Luz Noceda #Amity Blight #Eda Clawthorne #Lilith Clawthorne #Camila Noceda #willow park #Gus Porter #Edric Blight #Emira Blight #Viney #King #gay #fic #toh #the owl house #Wedding #Finale #Moonlit Masquerade

62 notes · View notes

not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

The Thing About You (Winteriron)

So this is for @ceealaina who lets me text me random horny-for-bucky things at all hours of the night and is also nice enough to not only answer, but also not to judge (which she should, cos after my after midnight texts are FUNKY) I love you muchly and I’m glad we fangirl together.

THERE’S MORE WINTERIRON ON MY MASTERLIST

***************

“Okay so here’s the thing about Bucky.” Tony dragged a chair up to the kitchen table and turned it around so he could sit backwards, arms crossed on the back rest and chin propped comfortably. “The thing about Bucky is-- Steve, are you listening?”

“No, I’m not listening.” Steve snapped the newspaper open pointedly. “Because I’m catching up on current events and political happenings, as well as perusing coupons and having a chuckle at the funny pages. I am not listening to you wax weird about my best friend.”

“First of all, I’m waxing poetic about Bucky.” Tony huffed. “And second of all, my god you are an old man. You’re gonna have a ‘chuckle’ at the funny pages? Nobody talks like that.”

“Bucky talks like that, because he’s every bit as old as I am.” the Captain replied calmly. “In fact, he’s older than I am. So there’s a thing about Bucky, Tony. He’s ancient and its weird that you’re interested in someone sixty years older than you.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, his jaw setting in irritation. “You know... for someone who wears spandex and glitter while running around with a frisbee, you are the least fun ever.”

“Well at least my spandex and frisbee proves I’m not trying to over compensate for anything.” Steve turned a page and raised a knowing eyebrow. “Unlike the one person on the team who armors up in a flying suit that is at least eight inches taller than him. Hows that compensating going, Tony?”

“I....” Tony huffed again. “Well I-- I’m six feet tall! I am!”

“You’re maybe five and a half feet tall, Tony. Natasha calls you pocket sized when you’re not around.” Steve turned another page. “And by the way, I don’t wear glitter. It’s just the natural sparkle of my eyes and the healthy glow of my rosy cheeks.”

“Should’ve left you as a Capsicle.” Tony threw his hands up in the air and stalked away. “I’ll talk to someone else about Bucky!”

“Oh thank God.”

***************

“So here’s the thing about Bucky.” Tony leaned against the side of the ring and watched Natasha obliterate a training dummy. “I can’t tell if I like his hands or if I just have a robot kink. Because that’s weird right? I build robots and sorta fly around in one, so having that sorta kink would be weird but also understandable, and since Bucky’s left hand is--”

“Okay.” Tasha pushed her hair out of her eyes and blew out a breath. “Tony, if you’re gonna sit here and talk about all the nasty stuff you want to do to Bucky’s hand, you’re gonna have to let me hit you. I can’t listen to this without punching something.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” He ducked under the ropes and picked up a set of gloves, motioning for her to start. “So I mean, not all that weird I’m into robotic things? Have you heard the noise his arm makes when he flexes? I wish I could make my armor make that noise but then again I feel like I’d have a boner all the time so-- OOOPH!”

Stunned and wheezing, Tony blinked up at Natasha from the ground. “Did you just knee me in the back of the head? How is that even possible?”

“Sorry.” she reached down to help him back up. “Men talk about boners and the knees start flying. Can’t help it.”

“Okay but seriously, how is that possible?” Tony smoothed down the back of his severely damaged hairstyle. “No B-words, I get it. Anyway, the thing about Bucky is that sometimes I think he’s purposefully doing things left handed so I will stare. Is that crazy? How would I even know that?”

“Well.” Natasha’s foot kicked out and damn near decimated Tony’s tummy. “You could use your words like a grown ass man and talk to him instead of letting me beat the crap outta you mid conversation.”

“I feel like you could also not try to disembowel me.” Tony pointed out. “Just-- just a thought. Disemboweling isn’t real conducive for conversation.”

“Creeping on Bucky around corners isn’t real conducive for conversation either.” she retorted. “I’m going to choke you out between my thighs now, okay?”

“Huh.” Tony looked down at himself in interest. “Look at that. Both robotic appendages and threats of death by thigh pop the proverbial B-word. Who knew?”

“I love you very much.” Natasha took him down with embarrassingly little effort, then smacked a loud kiss onto Tony’s lips as he tried to recover from his head bouncing off the mat. “Please go talk to Bucky. Stop talking to us about him, okay? Be an adult about this. You’re forty years old.”

“And pocket sized, apparently?” Tony challenged, and Tasha muttered something vaguely threatening about Steve in response. “Okay. I’ll see you later. And I love you too.”

***************

“So here’s the thing about Bucky.” Tony pushed that weird perpetual motion thing off Pepper’s desk and lay out on the surface, legs dangling off the edge and feet kicking in the air. “He has amazing thighs. Like amazing. And I’ll fully admit I didn’t know I had a thing for thighs before meeting him? But Tasha just threatened to strangle me with hers and that was way hotter than it should have been so maybe I’ve always been in to them? When we were together, was I into your thighs?”

“Tony.” Pepper did one of those sighs that sounded like it came from the very depths of her soul. “I’m waiting for a all from an international client. Could we maybe talk about how you’re in love with quite possibly the most dangerous person in the world later?”

“We could, but I’m already laying on your desk and I think Tasha cracked one of my ribs so I’ll probably be laying here all day. It’s a little hard to breathe.”

“Get off my desk, Tony.”

“Not until you tell me if you like Bucky’s thighs too.” Tony maintained. “Is it just a me thing? Or is it like, a universal Bucky thing where everyone likes watching him squat?”

“Okay.” Another one of those sighs. “If I tell you how I feel about Bucky squatting, will you leave me in peace so we don’t lose this very important client?”

“...yes?”

“I like to watch Bucky squat because his butt is frankly, ridiculous.” the redhead admitted. “The thigh thing is a you thing though, I don’t know if it’s cos you’re short and are just jealous of long legs--”

“I AM SIX FEET TALL!”

“Aw sweetie, we slept together remember? You’re actually a few inches shorter than me.” Pepper wrinkled up her nose teasingly. “And since we agreed you’d leave once I talked about Bucky’s butt, would you please get out of here so I can work?”

“Fine.” Tony grumbled and groaned and whined a little as he rolled off the desk. “I’ll find someone else to talk to.”

**************

“Brucie bear.” Tony pillowed his chin on Bruce’s shoulder, cuddling close to his favorite genius. “Listen. The thing about Bucky is--”

“I’m holding a laser and I’ll use it to cut your nose off if you breathe down my neck about Bucky’s hair.” Bruce said flatly. “Don’t test me, Tony. I sat through your ‘thing about Bucky’ speech last week when you waxed weird about how his scowl turns you on and whether or not that is some reflection on your issues with authority and really just a plea from your inner self for some structure and discipline.”

“You got all that from my ‘Bucky’s frown makes me feel like a subby bottom’ spiel?” Tony’s eyebrows all but flew off his forehead. “I was going more for, ‘maybe he’ll turn me over those Thighs of Destruction of spank me’ but now I’m worried my inner self is pleading for structure and discipline.”

“Tony, I’m warning you. Laser. Nose. Stop talking.”

“Okay but the thing about Bucky is that he’d make an excellent Dom, right?” he decided. “Firm and you know... huge.. and I’m pretty sure he could-- EEK!”

The laser swept through the air close enough to singe Tony’s curls and he backpedaled into another table shrieking, “BRUCE!”

“I warned you.” Bruce went back to his work. “And for the record, you do need structure and discipline. No one would ever argue that point.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

**************

“Here’s the thing about Bucky.” Tony stole a big handful of popcorn from Clint’s bowl and shoved it all into his mouth. “He calls me all these nicknames, right? And it shouldn’t be half as cute as it is because I don’t like nicknames. Sam called Steve honey the other day and I actually threw a book at him. But Bucky called me sweet thing last night and I think I melted a little bit.”

“Yeah?” Clint had mastered the art of playing Mario Kart one handed while cramming snacks into his mouth with the other and somehow carrying on a conversation all at the same time. “Had to go upstairs and change your panties, huh?”

"WHAT?!”

“Oh please.” Clint emptied a pack of Skittles into his mouth and kept right on going. “It’s not like you two are subtle. Bucky called you sweet thing and you squeaked and sorta crossed your legs and then disappeared upstairs. We all assumed you had to change ye olde tighty whiteys.”

“Okay well.” Tony cleared his throat. “What I did upstairs isn’t important. The thing about Bucky is he’s the first person that could do you know... that... to me without even trying. I feel like a teenager with a crush. Like if I was fifteen again I’d probably do something embarrassing in my pants if he looked at me for two long.”

“Yeah, I totally get it.” Another pack of Skittles disappeared into the bottomless pit called Clint Barton. “Sometimes he gets to lookin’ all intense and sorta soft all at the same time and you don’t know whether you should stare back or blow right up cos it’s too much, right?”

“Yes!” Tony shouted. “Yes! Finally someone gets it!”

“Or like sometimes he puts all that dumb hair up in a bun and gives himself those ‘accidental on purpose’ bangs that are somehow super sexy hanging down into his eyes?”

“YES!” Tony could have cried in relief. “Yes, holy crap. He does that! It’s crazy hot!”

“And then how he folds him arms and smolders at you? Is he pissed off? Is he massively turned on? Who knows!”

“Oh my god.” Tony grabbed at more popcorn and nearly shouted around it, “Everyone acts like I’m crazy talking about him like this but you see it too!”

“Totally see it, Tony baby.”

“Yeah, cos the thing about Bucky is he’s insanely and sort of unfairly burly and fierce! I shouldn’t want to hear him growl! What even is that?! Where did that thought come from? Who growls and why would I find that sexy? And also, the other thing about Bucky is--”

“-- that he’s standing behind you and has been for at least ten minutes.” Clint turned off the game and smecked a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Good luck, man. Bucky, I’ll give you two the room cos I feel like things are about to get gross.”

“Ummmm.....” it was the worlds longest minute of silence as Tony sat stock still on the couch, eyes wide enough to hurt, his lungs definitely not working partly from Natasha’s workout early and partly because he was trying to just die right there so he wouldn’t have to face Bucky after saying all of... all of that.

“You gonna turn around and look at me? Or make me have th’conversation with the back of your head?” Bucky sounded like he was wearing his most lethal smolder and Tony felt a blush start somewhere around his toe nails and turn him scarlet clear to his scalp.

“Uh, listen.” He rotated very slowly on the couch, bracing himself for what was sure to be Captain America levels of disapproval. Bucky was from the forties, after all, and no one did disapproval like members of the greatest generation.

“Listen, I don’t know how much of that you heard. But I wasn’t trying to be weird or anything.” Tony flinched away from the knowing in those blue eyes, fully wanting to fold in on himself and just disappear. “Probably shouldn’t have been shouting about wanting to hear you growl or whatever but it doesn’t have to be--”

“I heard you’ve been talking about me.” Bucky interrupted and Tony flinched again. “Been chattin’ everyone up about all the different things about me?”

“Fuck my life, this is the worst conversation I’ve ever had.” Tony muttered. “Seriously Bucky just listen. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t really have a filter? And I say whatever I want to say to whoever happens to be around but that doesn’t mean that I really want to--”

He thought about he’d blurted out to Rhodey during their phone call at lunch. “-- climb you like a tree. Or hear you growl. That’s not a real thing. That’s not-- it doesn’t have to be a thing, I was just talking and--”

“You know the thing about you, baby doll?” Bucky came around the couch and pulled Tony up to standing, the glint in his gaze sharpening in anticipation when the brunette shuddered as their bodies brushed together. “The thing about you is that you talk a whole lot when you’re nervous and tryna cover it up, but you don’t got a reason to be nervous right now, alright?”

“Well I--”

“The thing about you, Tony is that a fella would be real dumb to pass up the chance to get you alone.” Silver fingers brushed over Tony’s cheek then slid into his hair and Tony had to work really really hard not to make the sort of noise that meant his underwear needed changed when all the plates in Bucky’s arm shifted and realigned so the big soldier could tug lightly at the loose curls.

“The thing about you, sugar.” Bucky stepped closer and lowered his voice to what was damn near a growl and whoops there Tony went trying not to melt into a vaguely billionaire shaped puddle. “Is you got the sorta lips that keep a man up at night wonderin’ just how they taste and how good they’d look stretched around my uh--”

Bucky wet his lips and grinned when Tony eep!ed a little in shock.

“Thing about you, Tony.” Their mouths brushed just barely, not even a real kiss but damn it if Tony didn’t grab onto those stupidly big shoulders for dear life anyway. “Thing about you is I’ve been hearing all the things you like about me and it seems like we should have a talk.”

“A talk.” Tony repeated hopefully. “A talk about-- about more things that involve kissing?”

“Think we should have a talk about how the things you like about me fit into the things I like about you.” Bucky decided. “And yeah, sweet thing, I think that should involve a whole lotta kissin’. That alright with you?”

“Uh yeah, here’s the thing about me, Buck.” Tony cleared his throat and stood on his toes-- the only time in the world he’d admit he was fucking short, thank you very much-- “I will always be just fine with anything involving your mouth, okay?”

“Well that’s real good, then.” Bucky’s smile had no business being so filthy. “Cos the thing about me is that I got all sorts of ideas on exactly how to use my tongue.”

***************

“OW!” Steve shouted when a book came flying through the living room and ricocheted off his head. “What the hell!”

“Snitches get stitches!” Natasha hissed, popping up from behind the couch and scaring the Captain half to death. “Why’d you tell Tony I call him pocket sized!”

“He kept saying he was six feet tall and accusing me of wearing glitter!” Steve rubbed at the back of his head and scowled at the tiny spy. “I had to say something!”

“You could have not told him my code name for him though!” Natasha vaulted neatly over the couch and burrowed into Steve’s side. “And by the way, you do definitely wear glitter. I’ve seen Sam dust it onto your cheeks before an interview. Don’t pretend he doesn’t, I’ll break out the video footage.”

“It’s only glitter every once in a while.” Steve’s scowl deepened, then deepened again when Clint came along and asked, “Are we talking about Cap wearing glitter and Sam like, tenderly brushing it on his face? Cos that’s about the cutest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“IT’S NOT--” Steve stopped talking abruptly, his jaw just about dislocating when Bucky came walking backwards into the room, holding onto Tony with both hands and smiling down at the little brunette as Tony murmured--

“The thing about you Bucky is that your dick game is amazing.”

“Yeah well the thing about you doll, is that your ass is made for takin’ it.” Bucky murmured back, and Clint made a horrified sort of noise when Tony only made smoochy noises and returned, “Well the thing about you baby is that you have incredible thighs and I think you should put me right over them and spank me.”

“Thing ‘bout you kitten is--”

“GOD DAMN IT YOU TWO!” Another book, this one courtesy of Bruce who lobbed what was basically a dictionary at Bucky’s back. “I already kicked you out of the lab, don’t make me ban you from the Tower, JARVIS already listens to me, I swear I’ll do it!”

“Bruce is mad.” Tony giggled, and Bucky clutched him up tighter. “We should do this somewhere else where we can get naked again.”

“The thing about you, Tony.” Bucky drawled and palmed low over that ridiculous butt. “Is that you always got the best ideas. Lead the way.”

Tony flashed a triumphant smile at the room over his shoulder and Bruce grumbled, “The thing about me? Is that I will Hulk out and smash them if they don’t get less gross soon.”

“Yeah, I second that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Nah, I think it’s cute.” Clint disagreed. “They kiss and tell each other everything they like about each other? It’s adorable. Bucky gets to be soft and sweet, Tony gets to be spoiled and everything. Adorable.”

“Uh huh.” Nat sounded unimpressed. “What’s the real reason you’re pro- that mess?”

Clint pursed his lips stubbornly and only when Steve gave his most disapproving throat-clear did he admit, “I texted Sam about it and we’ve got a bet for how long it takes Tony to propose to Bucky. I said ten days tops, He thinks it will be a week.”

“Six.” Natasha disagreed, and pulled a fifty from her pocket. “Tony’s never gone more than a week without doing something absolutely bonkers. It will be six days.”

“Damn it.” Steve rummaged around for some cash too. “It will be four days, because Bucky’s been stupid about Tony for at least a year and he’s on this weird kick about seizing the day and never letting an opportunity slip by.”

“Tomorrow.” Bruce said from his chair. “Bucky’s going to slip up and say something about how he likes that Tony is spontaneous and Tony’s going to say ‘hey you know what would be really spontaneous’? and the jet will take off and they’ll go to Vegas.”

“...what?”

“... what?!”

“Fifty bucks says I’m right.” he shrugged. “Just wait and see.”

************

Later that night, Bucky rolled to his side and ran his left hand down Tony’s back, along the bump of his spine and up and over the curve of his rear. “You know one’a my favorite things about you, Tony?”

“Wazzat?” Tony was fucked out and drooling, barely coherent against the pillows. “Gonna say somethin’ bout my butt again?”

“Always.” Bucky grinned and so did Tony. “But I was gonna say the best thing about you is how spontaneous you are. You always got good ideas and then your eyes light up all pretty and you get this gorgeous smile and then you’re off runnin’ to do whatever th’hell you thought of. Maybe now I’ll get to be a part of it all, huh?”

“Whatever you want, babe.” Tony scooched over and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips, then his eyes lit up and his mouth curved up in a smile-- “Hey you know what would be really spontaneous....?”

*******************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

*******************

@ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb@1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @ships-galore

#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes

409 notes · View notes

clumsyclifford · 4 years

Text

kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor

Calum hums. "I could stay with you."

Again Michael's heart gives a lurch. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?"

HELLO!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY @jbhmalum this is for you i got cute in the ao3 notes and im worried about repeating myself but anyway i really just love and treasure you je t’adore i really wish i could compliment you better in french but i simply do not have the words so suffice it to say that i am so so happy to know you i love reading your fics you are so unbelievably talented not to mention just mad cute and just overall an absolute delight i hope your birthday is super amazing and yeah i love you lots

so here’s a really fluffy domestic malum quarantine getting together fic per the birthday girl’s request i know you’re all thinking fluff???? from bella??? but joke’s on you because i wrote this several weeks ago don’t worry i am still emo inside

title from sunflower vol. 6 by harry styles <3 king shit

read it here on ao3

At risk of sounding overdramatic, Michael is going to die unless he sees Calum in the next week. Possibly less. He's experiencing severe Calum withdrawal, and it shows. Sleeping alone sucks more than Michael can put into words. There's no warm, steady weight against his back anymore, just the flimsy brush of his own duvet. He tucks it as tightly around himself as possible, but it's just not the same as Calum's embrace.

"I miss you," he whines over FaceTime one evening.

"You better," Calum replies. Then, immediately, "Sorry, I mean, I miss you too, obviously."

"You're on thin ice here," Michael grumbles.

"You already know I miss you," Calum tells him.

"I hate being in quarantine. This sucks so bad, Cal."

Calum nods, sighs. "You know…I've been in, like, proper quarantine for two weeks. More than that. Haven't seen anyone or done anything."

Michael makes a face. "Really? No one? Nothing?"

"Yeah, but I mean." Calum tilts his head on the screen. "I could probably come to yours."

For a moment Michael's heart leaps into his throat, and then, just as quickly, it plummets. "You can't," he says. "The travel, and plus then you'd be going back, and I'm pretty sure I've been in some suspicious places recently. I mean I'm being careful, but you know. I don't want you to get it or bring it back with you."

Calum hums. "I could stay with you."

Again Michael's heart gives a lurch. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"That'd be so amazing," Michael breathes. "Beyond awesome. Oh my God. Can — would you? Seriously?"

"Are you kidding me?" Calum gives Michael a look, like, do you even know me? "Michael. Like, I don't want to overstate things here, but I miss you more than I think I've ever missed anyone, excepting possibly Duke."

"Not as much as I miss you," Michael returns. "I've never missed anyone more. At all. Dogs included." Instantly that feels wrong. "Okay. That's a lie. But —"

"Ha!" Calum crows. "I miss you more. Get destroyed, Cliffo."

"You know what," Michael says petulantly, "maybe you shouldn't come visit."

"Funny," Calum says. "I'll sort my shit out here and then I can probably leave in a few days, is that alright?"

It's more than alright. It's actually the most brilliant thing Michael's ever heard. The prospect of seeing Calum lifts his mood way up into the stratosphere, and he grins, bubbly.

"Yeah, yeah, perfect," he says. "Can't wait."

The look on Calum's face says he can't wait, either.

It's been too many weeks to count since Michael's been hugged, but the moment Calum is in his arms, the time melts away. "Oh my God, I missed you so fucking much," he murmurs into Calum's shoulder. Calum chuckles.

"Yeah," he says, all fond. "Missed you too, Mikey."

"Let's never stop hugging," Michael suggests. "Ever."

Calum pats his back. "I think life would get pretty difficult pretty quickly."

"I don't really see how."

"The bathroom, for starters."

"We'd figure it out. I've seen you naked."

"That's not. Really." Calum laughs. "Fuck. I really missed you. Come on. Invite me in."

"No," Michael says, as Calum pulls reluctantly out of his hold. Calum frowns. "You might have corona."

"Oh, fuck off."

Laughing loudly, Michael leads Calum in. Immediately, Southy and Moose are at his heels, yapping excitedly. Calum kneels, grinning. "Hey, guys! Miss me much?"

"They can just smell Duke on you," Michael says in mock-contempt. It's generally accepted that Moose and Southy favor Calum over, well, basically anyone, but Michael refuses to cave. They're his fucking dogs.

"Oh, fuck," Calum remembers, straightening up, to Moose's displeasure. "Duke."

"Go get him," Michael says. "I'll put your shit in your room."

Calum smiles at Michael, the big, bright one, eyes crinkling in the corners so they almost disappear. Michael thinks if he had to pick one thing to wax poetic about forever, it would be this smile, and how it makes him feel gooey and melty inside whenever Calum turns it on him.

"What?" Michael finally demands, when Calum doesn't say anything.

Calum shakes his head. "Does it have to be something, man? I'm just fuckin' happy."

Michael breathes out, feeling lighter than he has in ages. "Me too."

And with that, Calum turns and goes to get Duke from the car. Michael carries Calum's stuff to Calum's room, which is actually a guest room that's been broken in by Calum enough times that they started calling it his. Not that he stays there that often. Borne of habit from both childhood and hotel rooms, Michael and Calum always elect to share the bed. This, among millions of things, has made Michael's life hard in quarantine. Sleeping alone sucks.

Michael gives the room a once-over as he deposits Calum's bags down. It has minimal decorations but the few that are here are very much Calum. A photograph of the sunset off the beach near their childhood homes hangs above the dresser, and there's a comically large poster of Alex Gaskarth above the bed, which, Michael is somewhat sure, had been the result of a lost bet.

Arms wrap around his middle. "Hey."

"You get Duke set up?" Michael asks, resting his hands against Calum's and tilting his head back.

"On a trial basis, yeah. He's gotten really territorial about his food, though, so if either of your kids tries anything…"

"My kids?"

"Your dogs," Calum says dismissively. "I'm just saying, Duke could kick their asses."

"Um, excuse me?" Michael twists around, prying himself out of Calum's grip. "First of all, it would be two on one, and there's no way your weak-ass mutt could —"

"Weak-ass mutt?"

" — also, Southy can and will scratch, and I know for a fact Moose has never read the Geneva Convention."

"Yeah, but they like me more," Calum says cheekily. Michael makes an offended face, and Calum swoops in and kisses his cheek.

"Hey, don't try that shit. They do not like you more."

“Okay,” Calum says, in a very unconvincing voice. “So. What’s for dinner?”

“Nothing for you if you keep this up,” Michael grumbles, scowling.

Calum chuckles. “I can look through your pantry and make something?”

“I just said I’m not feeding you.”

“Right, that’s why I’m going to be feeding you. ”

Michael huffs. “Don’t cook, we can order something.”

“No, I’m gonna cook. I’ve missed cooking for you.”

“Really? For me? ”

“Yes,” Calum says, looking strangely at Michael. “For you. I’ve missed spending time with you. Doing things for you. Why do you think I sent you the care package?”

“Because you love me?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, which is a little unfair, because Michael had been teasing and had expected Calum to tease in return. But Calum just looks matter-of-fact. “Exactly. So let me cook for you.”

Michael squirms, torn between the desire to make another joke or to let Calum’s love settle over his shoulders like a second skin. “Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll be supervising so I know you won’t poison me, though.”

Calum’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Oh, no. Hanging out with me in the kitchen while I cook? I can’t think of anything worse.”

“Stop being so fucking sappy,” Michael whines. “You’re making me feel bad for being bitchy.”

“No, by all means,” Calum says airily. “Keep mocking me, your best friend, while I remind you over and over again how much I’ve missed you. I don’t mind at all.”

“You’re a shit,” Michael says, swatting at Calum’s shoulder. “Go make me dinner, peasant.”

“Bossy.”

“You asked to make dinner!”

Calum laughs, and turns to go start dinner. Michael trails after, because whatever he says, however he mocks Calum, he’s missed him far too much to let him out of Michael’s sight for too long.

(And also, Michael likes to try and distract Calum while he cooks. It’s in his top five favorite sports.)

Having Calum here feels so natural it makes Michael wonder if they’d ever actually spent any time apart or if it had been a hallucination. They fall back into routine so easily, routine established from every part of their lives spent together; traditions created back in school, behaviors formed and reinforced through years of sharing hotel rooms, habits only known to the other. Calum slots back into the Calum-shaped gap he’d left when quarantine started, and it’s as if he’d never been gone.

Michael likes the bubble they’re existing in now, where they speak to no one but each other, go nowhere but the store to replenish depleted groceries, and pretend that time isn’t passing in the outside world. They make a dent in their long list of movies to watch together, and occasionally make fun of. Calum runs in the morning while Michael sleeps, and every morning wakes him for breakfast while Michael bitches. They walk their dogs together.

(Michael gapes when Calum lets Duke off his leash.

“Since fucking when?” he accuses.

“He’s a grown dog,” Calum says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Michael, he’s like a foot long with attachment issues. He won’t go anywhere.”

Michael stares reproachfully at Moose and South. They stare innocently back. Calum chuckles and pats Michael on the back. “You can let ‘em off as long as I’m here. You know they won’t run away from me.”

“Fuck you,” Michael retorts, looping the leash once more around his wrist. Dream on, he thinks, eyeing his dogs.)

And it’s easy, for a week or two, to think that this is just how people are, or if not, that this is just how they are, how Michael and Calum exist in the world. They’ve been best friends since forever, and there’s no one else in Michael’s life who fills the shoes that Calum does — and why should there be, when he has Calum? It’s not like Michael’s ever needed anyone else, or anything else. Homeless or starving or broke or on a deserted island or stranded in outer space or drowning in an ocean or on death row, Michael’s only wish would be Calum.

Of course it would, though. Calum is everything. Michael’s known that for ages.

They don’t even start under the pretense that Calum will be staying in “his” room; from his very first night at Michael’s he doesn’t even open that door, just follows after Michael when Michael declares he’s going to retire for the night and slips under the blanket with him, wordlessly, a silent agreement that there’s no reason to torture themselves sleeping alone when they don’t need to. This quarantine has given them both a new perspective on solitude; namely, avoid at all costs. So Michael snuggles up to Calum, content even to be the little spoon if it means Calum’s the one whose front is all lined up with Michael’s back, whose arm is slung tightly over Michael’s middle, an unspoken promise that Michael’s not getting away from Calum if Calum has any say. It’s comforting to be held, but not necessary; Michael wouldn’t leave Calum’s arms if the house were on fire.

(Okay, maybe if the house were on fire. But he’d definitely wake Calum for that.)

They do the bare minimum promoting CALM — mostly Michael likes leaving that stuff to Luke anyway, who, as lead singer, gets the bulk of the attention for it. Sometimes Michael decides to be resentful about that, but now it’s nice to know that the world doesn’t expect much from him, from either of them. They FaceTime with Luke and Ashton, who express openly and loudly how envious they are of Calum and Michael spending time together. The world spins on, with Michael purposefully ignoring it. Life is wonderful.

“Right, what’s next on the list?” Calum asks, handing Michael a glass of water and collapsing onto the couch. He kicks his legs up and stretches them across Michael’s lap. Michael gives him a look, and Calum just gives Michael a cheeky grin as he takes a sip of his own water.

“The Umbrella Academy, ” Michael says.

“Isn’t that a show?”

“Yeah, well, it’s next on the list.”

Calum frowns. “Why haven’t we got a separate list for TV shows?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Because we’re idiots? Or because we probably never anticipated having this much time to actually get through the list. Do you want to watch it or not?”

“Oh, definitely,” Calum says. “Isn’t that, fuckin’…Mikey Way’s, or something? One of the MCR guys?”

“Gerard. Yeah.”

“Dope,” Calum says. Michael reaches for the remote while Calum pulls his legs off of Michael, shuffling around on the couch until his head is on Michael’s lap, legs thrown up over the armrest. Michael settles his free hand onto Calum’s crown, running his fingers along the short hair over his scalp. It’s not that he prefers Calum with more hair — generally speaking, Michael’s favorite version of Calum is always whichever one exists at the moment — but he does miss having more hair to play with. He suspects Calum misses that, too. Calum always liked Michael playing with his hair.

“You might have trouble drinking if you’re laying down like this,” Michael observes wryly, although he hopes Calum doesn’t sit up. It may be stupidly domestic, to be like this with Calum, but that’s always been them, and Michael likes it that way. Prefers it. Friends are stupidly domestic sometimes. Aren’t they?

“Whatever,” Calum says, setting his glass blindly onto the floor in front of the couch. “Don’t, like, kick to the right, and we’ll be fine.”

Michael shakes his head fondly and hits play on the first episode of the show. It’s a good show, and for the first episode he and Calum are both equally taken by it. When it ends, Duke shuffles into the room in search of company, and Calum pats the couch to invite him up. “My son,” he whispers as Duke precariously attempts to climb the couch. “Come here, my son. I can lift you up. I can show you what you want to see and take you where you want to be.”

“Are you,” Michael says, briefly distracted from starting the next episode. “Are you singing Capital Cities to Duke?”

“Shut up,” Calum says, making grabby hands towards Duke until Duke gets the message and comes close enough for Calum to grab. “You’re just jealous ‘cause neither of your dogs want to hang out with you.”

“Because they’re normal dogs who sleep at this hour.” Duke settles himself onto Calum’s chest, collapsing with an adorable whoomph, nose brushing up against Calum’s chin. It’s too cute for words, the pair of them. Michael feels his heart clench inexplicably, and looks away.

“Jealous,” Calum sing-songs. “Go on, start the episode, what’re you waiting for?”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to watch with Duke sitting on top of you.”

Calum makes a dismissive noise. “I’ll be fine.”

And he is fine, right up until he falls asleep about fifteen minutes in. Michael notices straightaway, and wonders when exactly he got so attuned to Calum that he can tell in an instant if he’s awake or asleep. Sure enough, glancing down, Calum is exhaling gently, steadily enough that he’s obviously dropped off. Duke is dozing on Calum’s chest. Once again, Michael’s heart does that squeezing thing that leaves Michael vaguely confused. It’s just Calum. It’s always just Calum; what’s happening now that never used to happen before?

For a moment, Michael entertains the idea of just sitting here forever. It’s a tempting option. Michael’s hand has stalled in Calum’s hair but it still rests there, fingertips grazing the nape of his neck, and Calum’s chest is rising and falling rhythmically, raising and lowering Duke with it. The scene is endearing, charming beyond explanation, the kind of thing that makes Michael wish you could frame moving pictures like they do in Harry Potter, just to watch this moment for the rest of his life. He’d put it up in his bedroom, and look at it whenever he was in need of some sense of peace.

If Calum is asleep, though, it must mean he’s tired, and they should probably go to bed if that’s the case. Michael gives himself another long moment to just watch his best friend sleep, face restful and all creases smoothed. He clicks off the TV.

“Cal,” he whispers.

There’s no response.

“Calum,” Michael repeats softly, scratching his fingernails over Calum’s scalp. “Calum, babe.”

Calum hums and his eyes open groggily. He lifts an arm to rub a hand over his face, and Duke jerks awake. “Hmm,” Calum manages, staring up into Michael’s face with a vaguely blank look. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Michael says. “Bedtime, though. I’m kind of tired anyway.”

Calum grabs Duke in his hands and then, with an almighty groan, heaves himself into a sitting position, gently lowering Duke to the ground. Duke leaves the room, possibly to go and harass Moose and South into letting him sleep with them. Michael sees a lot of Calum in Duke.

For a second Calum just sits, elbows braced against his knees, face in his hands. Michael furrows his brow. “You feeling okay?”

Calum breathes out. “Yeah, yeah. Just — more tired than usual, I guess.”

“Sleep in tomorrow,” Michael offers. “Lazy day. I love lazy days.”

“Mike, all your days are lazy days.”

“Fuck you, firstly, and secondly, none of my days are lazy days with you.” Michael pokes at Calum’s shoulder. “Which is obviously completely different, because it means we can cuddle all day, or do whatever. And get takeout! Come on, Cal, lazy day, lazy day, pajama day, lazy day —”

“Okay, okay,” Calum relents. “Yes, fine. Fine.” Michael grins and wraps Calum in a hug from the side, and Calum shakes his head, although Michael knows him well enough to know it’s fond exasperation at worst.

“Lazy day,” Michael sings lightly. Calum huffs a laugh. “Let’s go to bed.”

They go, and Michael’s heart does that squeezing-clenching thing again when Calum burrows into Michael’s chest once they’ve gotten under the duvet. He seems to be tipsy off tiredness, but it’s not anything Michael hasn’t seen before, and he doesn’t know why he’s reacting differently all of a sudden.

Must be the tiredness getting to me too, he thinks dismissively, pretending not to think about the fact that he’s no more tired than usual and he’s been tired before, without weird thoughts about Calum cramming their way into his mind. Best to sleep it off.

(Part of him doesn’t want to sleep it off, though. It’s a lovely fantasy, thinking he and Calum might be something more — not that he wants that, necessarily, but if he were going to want it, he doesn’t think it would be so bad. In the safety of his own mind, in fleeting thoughts, it’s nice to think about. Calum’s Calum, after all. It makes sense that eventually even Michael would start to think things. Just as long as he knows they’re all far-fetched things that are far too delusional to ever be anything but silly, sleepy, inexplicable ideas.)

“G’night,” Calum murmurs, sending a buzz from his words across Michael’s skin. Michael shivers, and hopes Calum doesn’t pick up on it.

“Sleep well,” Michael says quietly, lips brushing Calum’s hair. “And if you get up before ten, I’ll spread rumours about you on Twitter.”

Calum barely breathes out a giggle before he sighs and falls asleep. Michael doesn’t see the point in being awake without Calum, and without ceremony falls asleep as well, warm from Calum’s body lined up against his own.

Despite Michael’s threat, he still wakes up to an empty bed, covers thrown back where Calum must have gotten out. Of course he has. Michael starts brainstorming vaguely irritating rumour ideas to put on Twitter.

It’s eleven, though, which means that technically Calum could have woken up after ten but before Michael. Either way, Michael’s waking up alone again, and that’s annoying.

He shuffles out of bed, pulling on Calum’s Youngblood hoodie as he pads into the kitchen, where, predictably, Calum is making breakfast. Michael wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and hooks his chin over Calum’s shoulder. Calum jerks at the touch before apparently realizing who it is, and settling backwards into it.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Calum greets him, turning his head to give Michael a kiss on his temple. It strikes Michael as a strangely romantic thing to do, which isn’t a thought he needs to be having. “I promise I wasn’t up before ten.”

“Hmph,” Michael grumbles, which is morning-Michael-speak for come back to bed, but Calum either doesn’t understand or chooses to ignore it. Eyeing the griddle on the stove, he adds, “Pancakes?”

Calum nods. “See, when you wake up early, this is the kind of thing you have time for.”

“Worst lazy day partner ever,” Michael sniffs. “I want to cuddle.”

“What if we eat breakfast and then cuddle?”

“What if you come back to bed and then we eat pancakes when we wake up?”

Calum chuckles. “I don’t know how you’re tired right now. It’s eleven.”

“I don’t know how you’re not,” Michael says, horrified. “It’s eleven.”

Calum just laughs. “I love you,” he says, apropos of nothing, and Michael’s heart does a triple backflip.

“I know,” he says. “If this is a ploy to get me to forgive you for getting me out of bed at eleven in the morning, it’s not working.”

“It’s not a ploy,” Calum says. “But it is working.”

It is working. Just for saying that, though, Michael stubbornly wishes it weren’t, but it’s too late; Calum’s already softened his defenses, thawed his prickly morning mood. “Fuck you,” he mumbles. Calum makes another half-laugh noise and even though Michael’s not looking at his face, he can tell — he can almost feel — the way Calum’s eyes crinkle with his smile.

“You can grab the syrup from the fridge,” he tells Michael. Michael hugs Calum tighter and buries his face in Calum’s neck.

“No,” he says, voice muffled in Calum’s skin. “Shut up.”

“You can’t cuddle me while I’m making pancakes, Mikey.”

“Fucking watch me.”

“Mike.”

“Shh, napping,” Michael mumbles, closing his eyes. He can feel Calum’s racing heartbeat pulsing in his neck, against Michael’s cheek, and distantly wonders why it’s racing. Calum relents, thankfully, and for a moment they just stand there, in the peaceful quiet of the kitchen, Michael’s hands loosely curled into Calum’s shirt. They fit so well it’s almost criminal. “This is perfect,” he sighs, breath hot against his own face where it bounces off Calum’s skin.

Calum settles a hand on Michael’s. “What is?”

Michael hums. “This,” he says again, although he knows that’s mostly meaningless, and it could mean anything. “You. You being here. Just this.”

It’s still kind of nonsensical, but Calum seems to understand anyway. It’s what they do best, understanding each other when nobody else can, when nobody else would bother trying. “I missed you more than I think it’s normal to miss someone,” Calum says quietly. To an outsider listening in, it would sound like a change of subject, but Michael knows it isn’t. It’s perfect to me, too, Calum is saying. It wasn’t any good before. The words hover before them, almost like giving Michael the option to ignore them.

Michael had known that, of course. Michael had also missed Calum more than it’s normal to miss someone. He’d kind of just figured that was how they operated. Calum is saying it like it should be news, like it should mean something monumental, but it’s all the same to Michael. He missed Calum more than a normal person ought to, but not more than Calum deserves. It’s Calum.

“Your heartbeat’s really fast,” Michael murmurs, also a surface change of subject, trying to say so many things, like I missed you too, an insane amount, and is this new for you, too, or just for me? and have I never noticed that your heart pounds when I hug you, or has it just never before? and it’s okay with me, whatever the answer is. He’s almost afraid to pick his head up, scared that he’s going to see the look on Calum’s face and not like it, scared that it’s going to be what he wants it to be. Scared that something is going to change, but almost more afraid that nothing will.

Calum breathes a laugh. “Of course you would notice that.”

“My face is on your neck,” Michael says. “How could I not notice.”

“I meant it,” Calum says, which Michael had also known, and he knows what Calum means, too; not just that he’d meant what he said, but also what he hadn’t, the unspoken this that Michael had been talking about in the first place.

“So did I,” Michael says, meaning that he meant everything he didn’t say, and he wonders if Calum had understood it, but it’s Calum, and they’re them, so of course Calum has understood it. He picks his head up off Calum’s shoulder and Calum twists himself around in Michael’s arms, hands fluttering over Michael’s shoulders before landing. Michael is tempted to point out that he probably shouldn’t turn his back on an open flame, and he probably would if he didn’t think it would ruin the moment. They’re definitely in a moment right now, which should probably be weird, but it isn’t. This should feel weird, but it doesn’t, because it’s Calum.

Michael wonders how many exceptions he’s made in his life for Calum, and how many more he’ll make at the drop of a hat. There’s the world, and then there’s Calum, and the rules stop applying somewhere in transit.

Calum rests his forehead against Michael’s. “I thought that maybe it was just me.”

“How could it be just you?” Michael says softly. His own heartbeat is thudding in his chest. “If it’s you, then it’s me. That’s always been true.”

“This is different,” Calum says, except it’s not. “You changed your mind. Recently.”

Michael blinks. “How do you know that?”

“I just,” Calum shrugs, helplessly. “I don’t know. I could just tell. I can tell.”

“I didn’t change my mind,” Michael says, because he doesn’t know what to say to everything else Calum’s just revealed. Like that Calum must have known before Michael knew. And that Calum must have been waiting for Michael to screw his fucking head on right. And that Calum had noticed, the moment it happened. “I just realized, you idiot. You should have fucking told me.”

“This is my fault? ”

“You knew!”

“I thought it was just me,” Calum repeats.

“Well that was a stupid fucking assumption to make,” Michael tells him. “You were waiting for me to realize.”

“I wasn’t waiting, I was just…” Calum frowns. “Hoping.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m here now,” he says. “I’m all caught up.” They’re dancing around it, he notices, because Michael is just finding his footing and Calum is probably waiting for Michael to say psych!, and neither of them wants to say it. Once they say it, it’s a fact.

It’s a fact already, though. It’s been a part of the MichaelandCalum history since they met, and they’ve both just been idiots about it, basically.

Calum’s eyes crinkle as the ghost of a smile starts to lift at the corners of his lips, and before Michael can even begin to wax poetic about it, they’re kissing. It makes so much sense to be kissing that Michael doesn’t even think, for a moment, that it’s strange. It just feels nice, and feels right, and Calum’s mouth is warm and tastes like chocolate, inexplicably.

Calum exhales sharply when they part. “Fucking finally,” he says, breath hot on Michael’s lips.

“You could have told me we’re in love,” Michael says. “I wish I’d fucking known.”

“Don’t blame this on me. You could have opened your fucking eyes.”

“Pancakes,” Michael remembers. “You’re making pancakes. You should make them.”

“I think, maybe,” Calum says, and then nothing else, just catches Michael in another kiss, sweet like the last, familiar like everything to do with Calum, one of Calum’s hands curling steadily around the back of Michael’s neck. Michael doubts if he’s ever felt more at home than he does right now.

“Okay,” Michael says hoarsely against Calum’s mouth. “More of that. Pancakes later.”

Calum grins. The pancakes sit on the island until they’re cold, vapor dissolving into the cool kitchen air. The world spins on. Life is wonderful.

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #actual fluff..........i cannot Believe #how organized am i that this was done and written a couple WEEKS ago #and drafted on thursday bc sunday is HECITC for me #but em i wish you the happiest of birthdays #i hope this fic makes you smile #stuff #i always forget to put my talk tag on these lmao

43 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 5 years

Text

Snippet of Deleantur (pt2)

(continuation from later on in this one-shot that continues to spiral out of control. Friendly summary is that Deleantur is a time-traveling Noctis who went back way further than he intended, but that’s okay since it just meant he saved the world in time to save Ardyn too. Of course, he’s the only one who knows about that time-travel bit, so other people are Very Confused at times)

Somnus was genuinely overjoyed when Deleantur finally expressed interest in fishing at a large pool they stumbled across. Because as boring as it was to wait around while Deleantur tirelessly hunted down fish with his rod and line, it was a sign of the young man he, Ardyn, and Aera had been coming to know —a sign of the brother Somnus and Ardyn were coming to love as fiercely as they ever had each other—.

Somnus even made an effort to demonstrate as much by sitting next to Deleantur on his chosen rock, watching the ripples in the water as Deleantur patiently reeled in his line again and recast in hopes of a bite, “You have a lot of patience for this.”

Deleantur hummed, “I like it.”

Somnus huffed, “Yes, but-. You aren’t this patient with other activities. It’s …” unusual, strange, interesting, “different.”

“That’s because it doesn’t hurt.”

Somnus stilled and behind him, Ardyn and Aera did too, “…Hurt?”

Deleantur gave a low noise as he adjusted his grip on his fishing pole, “Yeah.” Deleantur paused, like he was considering something, then continued, “When I was a kid, about … eight years old. I … couldn’t do a lot of stuff. It hurt too much and I was already constantly tired from the medication and the physical therapy. I didn’t want to go outside, even though they said sunshine and fresh air would help me. I didn’t want to … play or run or jump, but books were boring and heavy. So Dad took me out one day and … taught me to fish. He showed me his fishing rod and his line and his lures, taught me how to hold the rod and throw a line, then we sat there together and waited for a fish.”

Deleantur’s tone was nostalgic and Somnus didn’t dare speak, because this was the first time Deleantur had ever truly talked about his father or his childhood. Deleantur fidgeted with his reel, “I think if I’d been any other kid, it would have been boring. But it was outdoors, and I had a perfect excuse to sit still in the sunshine for hours, and … and Dad was there. Dad was teaching me. So I practiced, and I begged to go fishing whenever I could because I knew he’d come with me to show me how it was done and eventually I … loved it. It reminds me of those days. Before…” Deleantur’s voice trailed off, and breath hitched with sadness.

Ardyn, who had settled silently on Deleantur’s other side at some point in the story, asked, “Why was it so painful for you to move? Did your father not know the recipes for your powerful healing draughts?” Because potions and elixirs did not require the magic of the Crystal they’d learned, just careful selection of ingredients and even more careful preparation.

Deleantur did that gesture with his shoulders that he used so often, “Potions and elixirs only work so well. Especially when it’s … serious. If I’d gotten one as soon as it happened, maybe it would have worked, but I didn’t, so I had to recover the slow way.”

“Recover from what?”

Deleantur looked up from his fishing, considered the two of them, then reached back with one hand to tug his tunic hem up just enough to show the small of his back and a bit of his spine. Ardyn sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the old scars stretching along the small of Noctis’s back, each at least as wide as two of Somnus’s fingers. The scars disappeared under his clothes in both directions, hinting at a size and damage larger than they could see and Somnus winced, because even he could tell that whatever had left those was … bad. They also looked distinctly like blade scars. Or possibly claws.

Ardyn reached out with a shaking hand and it was a testament to how far they’d come in earning his trust that Deleantur didn’t flinch away from the gentle touch, just went back to his fishing with a quiet, “A daemon attack. Ripped open the car. Killed the bodyguards, then took out the woman trying to get me to safety. I’m not sure if it was aiming for me that time, or if my getting caught in it was just an … accident. It was going to finish me off when my dad and his guards showed up and drove it off, but by that point the damage was done.”

Ardyn was still tracing the scars with a reverent touch, “It’s a miracle you survived this. It’s a miracle you can walk. I can only imagine-.” Ardyn stopped and went very quiet. So quiet Deleantur lowered his rod and twisted around to look at Ardyn in concern. Ardyn looked over his shoulder at Aera who was watching from a polite distance with a vaguely horrified expression, then looked back, “You are in pain, aren’t you? All the time. That’s why you limp, why you sleep so often and yet you-. All of this travel, and battle, and hard labor. Why?” Why would you do that to yourself?

Deleantur sighed and slipped his fishing rod back into armiger with a flick of his wrist, shifted to face them, “It’s my duty.”

Aera finally joined the conversation, settling down on the grass just behind their rock as she whispered, “You’ve mentioned duty before. What duty drives you to such lengths? No one knew you were of royal blood until a few months ago. Have you not already done enough?”

Deleantur shook his head, “No. No it’s-. It’s not over,” his expression folded briefly, weary and old again before it smoothed out, “it’s never going to be over. I made a promise. I’m going to fulfill it.” He shook his head again, like a man trying to clear away an inner fog, “Besides, it’s not so bad. I’m … used to it. And it’s better now,” blue eyes glanced at them through thick lashes, “I’m not alone anymore.”

Aera didn’t smile like she usually would have, just reached out her hands like Ardyn was already doing, “Can we-? May we try? To ease your pain?”

Deleantur waved their hands away, “Don’t waste your time. The scars are … old, and I’m used to them.” He blinked at their expressions and insisted, “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m used to it, and if Sy- if the healers couldn’t fix it when it was fresh, you aren’t going to be able to fix it now.”

Somnus watched the two healers of the group fuss and pout, Ardyn going so far as to wax on in a poetic way that was supposed to make Deleantur guilty enough to let him have his way, and tried to fit the newest puzzle pieces of Deleantur into place. Deleantur’s … father —not sire, because that would be Ardyn’s and Somnus’s father— must have been nobility. Deleantur had mentioned servants and guards and what must be one of his strange words for a carriage —Car? Car sounded like it was short for carriage, and Deleantur had a lot of strange words and even stranger ways of using existing words to mean things Somnus would never have associated with them—. Probably the noble of another kingdom, one of the neutral or far away ones, which would explain why Somnus’s father had never caught wind of Deleantur before now.

But that didn’t explain some of the other things he’d said previously. Or how Deleantur’s mother had met Somnus’s father if her native kingdom did not interact much with Somnus’s. That wouldn’t explain why Deleantur was traveling around here instead of his home country —and Somnus would have heard if an entire kingdom fell in the months leading up to the Wave wouldn’t he?— or who Noctis was, the mysterious King of the Crystal Deleantur had only ever mentioned once. Ardyn had brought up the possibility of Noctis being Deleantur’s elder twin brother, which might explain that part, but that still didn’t explain how they’d learned to purify the starscourge or why Deleantur hadn’t returned to his home kingdom to help out the peasants there rather than the ones here.

Not that Somnus wanted Deleantur to leave. He’d gotten attached to his mad, unexpected sibling.

Somnus’s thoughts were interrupted by a startled yelp from Ardyn and a sudden splash of water rippling up onto the rock. Somnus looked up in mild alarm. Ardyn was missing from the rock, Aera was smothering laughter into her hands and Deleantur was grinning, honest to Astrals grinning, like a child who had successfully stolen something from under the cooks’ noses, and Ardyn was-.

Resurfacing from the pond water, sputtering and sulking, violet red hair hanging in front of his face like a soaking curtain and his precious embroidered white tunic —the only royal garb Ardyn had refused to part with— already turning see-through from all the liquid it was absorbing. Somnus took several long seconds to process that Deleantur, mad, broken, usually too-serious Deleantur had just pushed Ardyn into the pond just to make him be quiet.

If it had been Somnus that had suffered such a fate, Ardyn would have immediately moved to help him out like a dutiful older brother should, checking for injuries and fussing about possible illnesses brought about by the cold water and the diseases of the pond weeds or some such nonsense. Ardyn would have smiled like a lunatic, but politely refrained from outright laughter until after Somnus was safely ensconced on dry land and dressed in fresh, dry clothes with a possibly a cup of comforting wine in hand.

Somnus, being the shamelessly cruel little brother that he was, sat there for a good two minutes pointing at Ardyn’s misery and laughing until his sides hurt.

Ardyn, who could have swum to the sloping, pebbled section of the bank and climbed out on his own at any time, chose instead to tread water and pout at them the entire time, whining melodramatically about cruel siblings and horrible fates and all the things he could fall ill of here in the water —the silly grin on his face gave it all away for the show it was—.

Ardyn eventually splashed water at the rock and Deleantur scooted to his feet to escape the assault. Somnus just snickered and leaned away from the stray droplets before finally crouching at the edge of the rock and holding out a hand for his brother, “Come on then, Brother, can’t have you suffering a watery demise just yet.” Ardyn reached out a hand and took Somnus’s and then-.

Water.

Somnus resurfaced with a spluttering squawk, flailing against Ardyn’s chest as his brother tried not to be shoved under by Somnus’s sudden submersion, “De- Deleantur!” Somnus had done nothing —much— to deserve being pushed in like that-.

There was a watery, coughing laugh just to his side and Somnus blinked past the wet hair in his eyes at … Deleantur. Treading water next to them and looking just as surprised as they were.

All three Lucis Caelums looked up to the rock … at Aera, who stood on the rock with a serene smile worthy of temple statues on her face as she fluttered her eyelashes and asked if the three of them were alright. A picture of holy innocence and decorum and kindness the filthy little liar. As if her shoulders weren’t shaking with suppressed laughter and her hands weren’t still outstretched from pushing Deleantur into Somnus in such a way as to make them both topple into the pond at the same time.

Deleantur broke the brothers’ stunned silence first, laughing so hard Ardyn and Somnus had to hold him up for fear he’d stop treading water and sink right to the bottom. They dragged each other out of the water, Deleantur still giggling helplessly like a child, and though Somnus scowled and swore revenge against Aera for her treachery, they all knew there was no real bite to his words, not when Deleantur was laughing louder and freer than they’d thought possible.

#Melodies and Manuscripts #ffxv #ffxv au fic #ardyn #somnus #noctis #aera #good guy ardyn #good guy somnus #brother feels #background ardyn x aera #these are my lovable morons now #and they will have a happy ending so help me #ffxv noctis

24 notes · View notes

myaekingheart · 6 years

Note

All of them for the writing asks 😁😁😁

HOLY CRAP HONESTLY THANK YOU xD

Writer Asks

Was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? Or did it spring up when your older? Or is it just a hobby? I’ve always been a writer, regardless of whether I necessarily knew it at the time. I’ve shuffled through some other career ideas– when I was little, I wanted to be a veterinarian, and then in middle school I liked the idea of modeling– but at the end of the day, writing is what I always came back to. I used to come up with elaborate storylines when I played with my Barbies and hog the computer on Microsoft Word making shitty stories that I’d print out and staple together and draw covers for. I don’t think I really considered it a viable career at the time, but now I know that writing is what I’m meant to with my life above all else and that if I lose every other opportunity that comes my way, I’ll be fine so long as I can still write.

Overall, would you say you are more driven by plot or characters in writing? (What makes you more excited about an idea?) I think, truthfully, a little of both. I love thinking of cool ideas and ways that my characters will fit into them. It’s exciting to think of their lives and the things that can happen to them that will make or break them. I love seeing my characters happy and getting what they want, but I also love when things don’t go their way and when something completely breaks them. The torture is fun to see. I am sadistic.

Give an overview/description of some of your past stories. (Only if you are willing, of course!) Oh god, okay, so I have a couple. There was this one story when I was a little kid that I came up with, I forget the name of it, but the basic premise was that there was this disease and you turned every color of the rainbow ROYGBIV style and then when you reached violet, you died. I had another one I was working on fifth grade called “The War of Sacawragi” that I cannot for the life of me remember what it was about, but I remember rambling about it to my friends one day at lunch and being all hyped about it. Maybe it had to do with a refugee woman fleeing a war-torn country with her baby, or to protect her unborn baby, or something like that? I never finished it, and I lost what I did write when my computer at the time broke, but I don’t know. I don’t think I totally care that it’s gone? Maybe one day I’ll revisit the idea, but for now I don’t really care.

INSPIRATION. What inspires you the most?Images, music, movies. Sometimes history and mythology. A plethora of things.

Do you have an idea for a story you don’t feel you can write at this current time? (Whether it be because life is busy right now, you need to do more research, etc.) I have a couple ideas for stuff I want to write, but I just don’t feel the motivation to quite yet. It’s tough, because I’m deep into writing From Upon the Golden Thrones (my Narnia fanfic) and focusing so much on the following sequels of that that I feel like I don’t want to start anything original until I finish that. Which sucks because I know original work is what’s going to bring home the bacon and shit but I just care so much about this goddamn fucking fanfiction that I cannot get it out of my head. Plus, I feel like I’m at a spot in my life right now where pouring more energy into writing fanfiction is acceptable because I’m in college rather than out in the working world depending on churning out original stories to earn a living. Once I graduate college, I’m terrified I won’t be finished with these Narnia stories and will have to give them up for the sake of focusing on my career, which makes me incredibly sad because as stupid as it may sound, I have never cared about any of the other stories I’ve written (original or otherwise) as much as I care about this fucking fanfic.

Favorite POV to write in? (As in First, Third, or maybe a specific character?)I really like third person omniscient. I used to write almost exclusively in first person but I felt like that was really restrictive to me. I like the way third person omniscient feels like playing God– you know exactly what everyone is doing, where they are, how they are feeling, but the characters don’t know shit and it’s kind of fun to fuck them up like that. It’s fun to know stuff they don’t. Plus, I really like paying attention to everyone’s take on a situation. I like delving into their internal monologues when something happens, good or bad, and how they interpret those situations. I like my readers to know what’s going on in my character’s heads and how they view the world compared to one another.

Favorite writers? Have they influenced you at all? Obviously CS Lewis is a fave. I just love the way he was able to interpolate scripture into fantasy. I’m not a wildly religious person but Narnia is the closest thing I’ve felt I’ve come to religion in my adult life, like Narnia makes me feel a particular way that nothing has ever made me feel before. I think that is also in part to my Irish heritage, and knowing much of Lewis’s inspiration for the landscapes of his book was inspired by his homeland. I actually wrote an entire essay about this for one of my classes last semester. I’ve never really been as big a fanatic of any other writers as I am with CS Lewis, much in the same way as I approach my music tastes-- I more often than not like particular songs rather than whole bands. Much like Nirvana and Beartooth is to my music taste, CS Lewis is the one artist whose work I am a wild fan of (even if the only other work of his that I’ve read outside of Narnia is Out of the Silent Planet).

If one cliche could be eradicated from writing, which one would you pick?The idea that everything has to be romance, and that every romance has to be a certain way. I like the stereotypical chick flicks as much as the next woman but I like complicated love that waxes and wanes. I like love that has a purpose, that at it’s core is hopeful but that rips your insides apart and makes you realize things about your life you never knew before. I like love that is based on more than just the superficial things. Situational love, childish love, war-torn love, all of that good shit. I prefer love that is real and raw and it hurts because it pays no mind to caution in the literary sense. I’m tired of the love we always see in YA lit where everything is meant to be poetic and flowery. Give me blood and sweat and tears. Give me something that’s real. That’s the kind of love I enjoy reading.

Favorite cliche or trope? I like the comedic stuff a lot, like funny misunderstandings. I wrote one into the last posted chapter on my fanfic that I was pretty disgustingly pleased with. I’m really bad at writing comedy but I try. I don’t know if this is necessarily a cliche or a trope, either, but I adore bildungsromans. I live for character development.

Do you have to force yourself to write, or is it something you want to do? Half and half. I feel like my will to write exists on a spectrum. On one end, there is the idealistic mix of motivation and inspiration where I sit down and the words just flow out of my fingertips and when I look back at these chapters, I typically have to do very little editing because I was so deep in the zone and so focused on what I wanted to write and I did that. On the opposite end is the numbness of feeling zero motivation and zero inspiration. It’s like sex-- I’m just not turned on and not thinking about sex whatsoever. And that’s fine. You don’t need to write 24/7. The worst is when I fall somewhere in the middle, which is where I am most often. I either have all the inspiration and no motivation or all the motivation and no inspiration. Most frequently it’s the former. I think about my current story constantly and yet more often than not, I never have the strength to open up the word document and actually work on it. This has been especially true this past month, when I went on a three day writing binge and wrote eight chapters only to find on day four that the file got corrupted and I lost all of my work.

Share a passage from one of your works and tell us why you liked it so much. Oh god, this is dangerous. One of my favorites is a scene in Chapter 12 of From Upon the Golden Thrones, but it’s too long to copy and paste here so instead I’m going to use a passage from Chapter 9 instead: As night swept across Narnia, the bad dreams took hold once again. Eilonwy’s breath hitched, tossing and turning as fearful visions paraded through her head. Peter snapped awake the moment he heard so much as a whimper, climbing onto the edge of her bed to try and soothe her awake. Her eyes fluttered open, brimming with tears, hands trembling wildly. “It’s okay, Ellie, everything’s alright. It was just a bad dream” he whispered, petting her hair. She shook her head and burst into tears. “It never ends…” she whined, burying her face beneath a mountain of pillows. “I want to go home!” “Ellie, shh, you are home” Peter replied but the huntress shook her head in great protest. “This isn’t home, this is hell!” she screamed. With a sudden jolt, she sat upright and began throwing pillows left and right. “Eilonwy, stop! Please!” Peter begged but she refused. She launched pillow after pillow into the wall, toward the window, knocking things off her vanity and even cracking it’s glass. She kept going until the entire room was drenched in a blizzard of feathers. It wasn’t until the window creaked open and a soft breeze blew through that Eilonwy finally began to calm down. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the mattress and wept softly, tears staining her cheeks. Peter swatted at the downy rain, climbing into her bed and wrapping his arms around her tightly. She sighed and fell into him, far too tired to fight him off, and deeply inhaled the sweet smell of his skin. “It’s alright now…everything’s alright” he whispered, gently rocking her back and forth like an infant. “It never ends…” she repeated softly, her hot breath grazing Peter’s collarbone. Not knowing what else to say, he sat there in silence continuing to rock her and hug her tight in hopes that perhaps he could glue all of her broken pieces back together. As she slowly drifted back to sleep, however, a quiet murmur caught his attention and sent his heart soaring. In the softest tone imaginable, she breathed a quiet “I love you…” And finally, Peter received the confirmation he had been searching for. She officially loved him back just like he knew she did. I love this scene so much because it’s finally this breakthrough with the relationship between these two characters. In the entire first installment, they’re getting to know one another and learning about each other and experiencing these scary, foreign feelings and they’ve come so far since then at this point, and Peter wants nothing more than for her to reciprocate his feelings for her, and this is the scene where he finally gets it and he’s over the moon. As for Eilonwy, she really struggles with the whole concept of attachment and affection and so this is a really pivotal scene for her, as well, and one that affects both of them heavily long after it’s happened, both for better and for worse.

What is the worst writing advice in your opinion? I’m not sure this is even really advice but the worst, in my opinion, is the pressure to write literary fiction rather than genre fiction. Stick literary fiction up your ass and smoke it. I don’t give a shit. I’ve noticed more than anything that in my college writing classes thus far, there’s this desperation to drill literary fiction into our heads, to convince us that it is the only fiction of quality and that genre fiction is trash. I completely disagree. Genre fiction is so much more liberating. Shit actually happens in genre fiction. Yeah, some of it is cheesy and commercialized but to say genre fiction, especially genre fiction of today, is worthless is to completely disregard the amazing, accessible commentary it’s providing to people of all ages, socioeconomic statuses, races, genders, etc. Genre fiction is giving us characters we can relate to, characters that we see ourselves in whether they’re transgender or of color or struggle with the same mental illnesses we do. It can give us both an escape from reality and a comfort within it by showing us that we are not alone and that we can fight our demons just like the characters in these books do. So I say fuck your literary fiction. Genre fiction has given me far more than literary ever has.

What is the best writing advice? The best writing advice I can think of is to write what you feel. I’m a firm believer in the idea that our best writing comes from our emotions. We kind of have to keep them reigned in to a certain degree, I think, in order to keep control over the language and the emotion but if your words aren’t fueled with some sort of feeling, then to me it’s like staring at a plain piece of cardboard. There’s no meat in the message.

Character names. How do you come up with them? It depends. Sometimes I see a name or even a word somewhere and a character shows up in my head. Sometimes I just pin random names to people. Sometimes I go onto those baby name websites and look up something meaningful that fits the character both in sound and in definition. And sometimes things just come together, like with my original character in my Narnia fanfiction. Her name is Eilonwy like the character in The Chronicles of Prydain. I’ve never actually read the books, but I like the long-forgotten Disney movie inspired by them. The name was just really interesting and pretty to me, and I really wanted to use it. At first, that was all it was: just a superficial reason. I was fourteen when I first came up with the initial idea for the story, so of course I didn’t have any deeper reasoning behind “It sounds pretty!” Now that I’m older and more thoughtful about my writing and shit, though, I’ve come to find that the name holds much deeper meaning to the story than I ever could’ve imagined which feels great. I love when things just randomly work out like that.

Do you tell friends/family about your writing, or do you keep it a secret?They know I write and some know what I write about but I don’t make too big a fuss about it. If I’m deep in a writing binge, I’ll post my pride on facebook like “I’ve written such-and-such word count so far!” or whatever. For the most part, though, I keep pretty quiet. I’ll share when I have to, like in writing workshops, but in regards to my fanfiction, the only person I really ramble to about it is my best friend. She’s heard all the spoilers and given me feedback on paragraphs I was either proud or unsure of. I’m really grateful for her feedback, and that she lets me fangirl over my own work when I need to!

What are some of your favorite words to use in writing? I don’t know if I have any favorite words. I have overused words, but I don’t know if I have any favorites.

Opinions on smut? Good if done right. I’ve tried my hand at my fair share of smut and when I look back at the stuff I tried to write for my last finished fanfiction, a Jack Frost x Violet Parr American Horror Story AU, I cannot help but cringe. I had the hot and heavy shit down pat but situational appropriateness was not entirely grasped. But then again, I was sixteen and a virgin when I wrote that so of course I didn’t have any realistic handle on it. Looking back, I’m just proud of myself for even writing something of that length because as problematic and cringey as it is to me now, that was the story that really confirmed I had the stamina to write novels. Up until that point, I had never written a full-fleshed, novel-length work. Now I’ve written two more and am working on a fourth. But anyways, about smut, my approach has shifted since then. Nowadays, my guidelines are to do it only when it’s appropriate to and to do it tastefully. Less is more. I care more about the emotion in it now than I do the physical act.

Is there anything you have found that you cannot, under any circumstance, write about?I’m not sure. I can’t think of anything right now off the top of my head, because refusing to write about something and finding difficulty in writing about something are two completely different things. There’s lots of things that are difficult for me to write whether it’s because they’re not my strong points (like humor) or because I feel inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to do as much research as I can to write them. If I care about a situation or idea enough, I will go that distance. I don’t know if there’s anything I would shy away from writing, including triggering material. I’ve already done stuff regarding rape. I write a lot about anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, even some PTSD. I don’t think there’s anything I’d shy away from writing.

Creative nonfiction. Have you dabbled with it? Do you like writing about your own life?I honestly love writing about my own life. That makes me sound really narcissistic but I mean, I’m telling the truth. There’s this one quote from a movie called Stuck in Love that I absolutely adore, it says “A writer is the sum of their experiences.” So much of my writing is inspired by my own experiences, and while I certainly don’t think you have to have experience in something to successfully write about it, having that extra layer of knowledge on a subject really adds realism and meaning to something. I can fake it, sure. I did that a lot in stories I wrote for my community college creative writing class. I wrote one story called Princess about a girl auditioning to be a face character at Disney World. I’ve never done that, though I’ve done a lot of research because I desperately want to. People thought I had actually experienced it. I wrote another about a young woman in the hospital for an eating disorder who desperately wanted a baby. While I’ve never been hospitalized for an eating disorder, I do struggle with one and my greatest fear is losing the ability to have a baby because of it so even though it wasn’t something I directly experienced, I channeled my fears and feelings into it. At the end of the day, I think so long as you’re passionate about something, you can successfully write about it and make it believable. But back to the question, one of the experiences I look to for inspiration most often is my love life and what I’ve been through with that. I’ve never been abused or cheated on or any of that bullshit, but I’ve had a very interesting history with my boyfriend that hinges on not only romance and compatibility like in all relationships but also in self esteem, grief, family, and the past. I’ve written quite a handful of short stories based around it, and some of the not-so-lovely feelings that have come from it. (Disclaimer: This is not to say my boyfriend and I are unhappy or in an unhealthy relationship. We just haven’t always had it easy and early on, I had a really tough time coming to terms with some things that I’m not going to go into detail with right now).

Allusions and references to other works. Thoughts? Do you like to use them?As a fanfiction writer, I feel like I’m obligated to say yes since that writing mainly takes place in other people’s works. At it’s foundation, though, I love allusion. I’m a big fan of fairytales and I have some interest in Greek mythology, as well, so I like taking inspiration from those and alluding to them in my stories. It’s easy to do in my Narnia fanfiction, especially, because it already alludes mythology and also religion which can tie into fairytales. Eilonwy, my OC, is a very heavy reference to the story of Snow White, as well as to Adam and Eve and Joan of Arc. I think it’s fun to tie certain things into shit like that, and I love when everything connects and makes sense.

What do you think characterizes your writing?My style and approach. I command the language a certain way where I try to sound cohesive and intelligent but also pump those big words with emotion and meaning. I don’t really know how else to describe it; my best writing comes when I’m in that zone and the words are just flowing out of me. I like trying to express abstract concepts in ways that feel tangible, too. I think tangibility is a big aspect, too. As an adjective here it probably doesn’t make much sense, but there’s something about my writing that I feel gives it this kind of tangible quality, almost. I like being able to feel the emotions and words in the air around me like oxygen. I also think the fact that I don’t like to shy away from anything helps to characterize my writing, too. I like to pull out all the stops. I don’t like censoring myself for the sake of comfort or digestibility. Maybe that makes my work kind of hard to get through but still. I feel like you have to have a stronger stomach for my work because I will not resist uncomfortable topics or scenes. Rape, gore, anxiety, whatever. I don’t shy away from any of it.

Do you control your characters, or do they control you? For the most part, I have pretty decent control over my characters but sometimes they like to go their own way and screw up the plan. Sometimes it’s for the best, but I’m the kind of person who likes to strictly stay to the path I’ve mapped out so more often than not it’s a nuisance. That resistance can be a real struggle, too, because sometimes where my characters take me flows nicely but it would mean reworking everything so I have to go back and try and channel that flow into the right direction.

Are there any misconceptions people have about your writing? I don’t really know. I try to be as clear as possible about what is happening and what I mean when I say certain things. If anything, they’d probably mistake me for a psychopath.

Best compliment someone has given you about your writing.I think the best compliments are honestly the ones where people are just straight-up fangirling. I love reading people’s reactions to my works, especially when they love it and want more of it and are screaming at their computer screens because of choices the characters have made. I had one person even send me a message telling me that they love my story so much, it’s all they can think about and gives them motivation to live (in a non-suicidal manner) and implored me to keep writing. That’s the kind of feedback that really motivates me to keep doing what I do.

Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer? In five years, I hope to be a published author with at least a small repertoire of original work under my belt and out in the open. I know it might take longer than five years to get there but I’ve come so far already and I think if I have the passion and the will to do it, I can get there. The end goal is to just get my stories out there and accessible to the public in hopes that someone may find something in them that they relate to, that helps them feel less alone, or that they just enjoy reading. The day I find my name on a bookstore shelf is the day I will feel as if I’ve truly made it (which brings me to another point about my opinions on paper versus digital publishing but I think that’s a rant for another post-- I’ve already made this one long enough!)

#ugh honestly thank you so much for this hahaha #writing stuff #ask memes #answered asks #magnificent-north #ramblings

1 note · View note

winetae · 7 years

Text

⇾ through the flames (and into the lava)

⇁ female reader x jungkook

⇁ smut, fluff, slight humor, crack || dragon!jk, fantasy!au i guess

⇁ public indecency, dry humping, fingering, non-penetrative sex, cumplay, i’m sorry

⇁ 7.9k

. . .

Your boyfriend is a dragon.

Or so he claims.

↳ or; the perks (and unexpected complications) of dating a fucking dragon

a/n; this is what happens when drunk ave gets an idea and rolls with it. ty to my friends for providing dragon porn and for entertaining my weird ideas !! and to mj who cheered me through the last 4k

You boyfriend is a dragon.

Or so he claims

(something about being the 62nd descendant of Gaivripheonth, Champion of the Eastern Skies and— yeah).

It’s not the best kept secret, either.

Jungkook is all but five when he stands at the summit of the playground slide and roars out, “I AM A DRAGOOOOON!” before Jimin pushes him down impatiently, tired of waiting for his turn. While most kids run away from Jungkook, the self-proclaimed neighborhood dragon, or accuse him of fabricating lies, you are the only one who stands by his side.

But although Jungkook is your friend, that doesn’t mean you’re convinced he’s a dragon. You’re still waiting for proof on that one. (”What do you mean you can’t fly? What kind of useless dragon can’t fly?”)

One would think by now he would have grown out of his childhood phase, but his identity crisis goes on for longer than anyone expects it to. Years later and he’s still adamant about being a dragon’s offspring. He’s less vocal about it than before, but the mania for dragons has yet to die down. It’s cute, though. You don’t mind listening to him talk about his reptilian lineage from time to time. Some people like to talk about their favorite football player for hours on end. Jungkook? He would rather talk about his granddaddy dragon. It honestly doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

You watch Jungkook swing himself back and forth, propelling himself high up into the air with powerful kicks. As the swing frame creaks and wobbles ominously, you can’t help but worry for his safety. One wrong move and the chains could snap, Jungkook hurtling into the air, arms outstretched in a poor imitation of dragon wings. You don’t have the heart to chide him for his recklessness, suddenly recalling all the times he had scraped his knees and hands while trying to reach the skies.

Up until now, Jungkook has always been heedless of the danger of his actions. It’s something you both love and hate about him—his impulsiveness, his passion, the way his emotions are never suppressed or filtered. These traits land him into trouble more often than not, sometimes even dragging you along for the ride, but at least you can say life with Jungkook is never boring. So it’s not that you don’t care about him, but you’ve long since learnt Jungkook is made of tougher stuff than his baby face lets on.

”Did you see that? I almost touched it!” Jungkook babbles, gesturing wildly to illustrate his point, showing off the grass stains and streaks of dirt he wears like battle scars. “I got real close I could almost taste it on my tongue.”

He sticks out his tongue at you but you dodge quickly, cringing when you see him wag the dark purple-stained muscle. You can smell the artificial sweetness from where you’re standing; you know he knows you hate grapes and he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“You almost killed yourself, that’s what!” you huff back, poking him on the forehead. He bats your hand away, pouting. He’s about to say something annoying again, you can tell by the way his face scrunches up, but before any of that happens your eyes land on the growing burnt-red blotch on his knee. Tiny pieces of gravel stick to his skin and the sight makes your stomach twist unpleasantly. “Kookie, you’re bleeding! Oh God, you’re dying! You’re so stupid, Kookie, you killed yourself!”

“It’s just blood. I’m not dying.” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your hysterics. You then spot a long, thin gash by his elbow and nearly faint. Your eyes well up with tears, the sight of blood and ripped up skin making you nauseous. “You think this would kill me? I’m a dragon! I am eternal.”

You fear he’s finally lost it.

“If you’re going to die, do it quietly!” you cry harder, rubbing your runny nose with your sleeve. “I’m trying to grieve.”

You’ve long since outgrown the playground he used to chase you around in, frame too large to squeeze down the slide, but the familiar setting makes you feel nostalgic in the best of ways.

Jungkook slowly skids to a stop, black dust swirling into the air. He looks winded, a bit out of breath, like he’s just run a marathon and a half, when he turns to you and grins like he’s just gone and devoured the sun.

Even after all these years, it’s difficult to take Jungkook seriously when he waxes poetics for his scaly mythological ancestors. You hide an amused smile behind a curled fist while he puffs his chest out, recounting the gripping tale of the defeat of Armand the Dragon Slayer. He paints pictures of snow-capped mountains, too steep and dangerous to climb by foot, and one cave, whose contents were coveted by every neighboring kingdom.

“Once you enter—it’s as if time stands still. There are no sun and stars to indicate that time has slipped away,” he explains, drawing circles into the dust with his feet. “Only cold, impenetrable darkness. Perpetual night. But if you tread carefully enough, you’ll find it—the gold.”

The sun is setting, bathing the playground in an orange glow. For a fleeting moment, Jungkook’s eyes shine amber and you can see the countless piles of gold and rubies reflected in his pupils.

You blink and amber fades back into brown.

Jungkook weaves his fingers between yours and pulls, the sudden movement sending you into straight into his lap. Immediately you feel the seat sink down, the additional weight making the chains groan loudly. Distantly, you worry you’ll be to blame if the entire thing falls apart but the unease soon ebbs away when Jungkook cants your head so he can stare at you levelly.

Your heart stutters in your chest when you meet his gaze that’s two thirds endearment and one third mischief. You’re so unaccustomed to the smirk that settles on his lips and the look he gives you, laden with hunger, that you almost coil back in shock.

The dating thing is still relatively new and everytime he toes into non-platonic territory you never know how to react. After being previously stuck in the friend zone for so long, there are times you find yourself at a loss, not knowing how to behave around him. Despite the official change in your relationship status, things aren’t any different from the way they used to be before. For the most part, Jungkook still treats you like his best friend—which in many ways is a relief, albeit a tad frustrating, because you want him to also treat you like his girlfriend.

It’s sweet that he’s willing to take things slowly. But how much slower can they get? You’ve known each other since you were able to waddle around in the sandbox… You’ve been experiencing the slow burn romance for nearly your entire life. So, yeah, sometimes it can get a bit frustrating, but as much as you want to shift gears and head into the fast lane, you know deep down you prefer the unhurried tempo he’s set.

“You know how this story ends, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Armand probably got roasted. Literally.” You answer back in a daze, distracted by the way the tip of his tongue prods out to wet his lips. “I’ve seen The Hobbit.”

Jungkook adjusts your body so that you’re comfortably splayed on his lap. You’re acutely aware of how the thin material of your skirt makes it easy to feel his rough denim jeans and the thighs of steel they cover. You swallow thickly, trying to appear unaffected but his smirk mocks your unsuccessful attempt at composure.

“The Hobbit isn’t the most accurate depiction of us,” he clucks his tongue, strong arm circling your waist to hold you tighter against his chest, the faint scent of fabric softener engulfing you.

Remembering how to breathe proves to be a difficult task when he leans in to whisper, “but they were right about one thing. Dragons don’t like when others touch their prized possessions.”

“Are you saying you own me, Jeon Jungkook?” You pinch his cheek, jiggling the skin back and forth until he attempts to twist away from your grip with a wince. “If anything, I own you.”

“Why do you always have to make things about you? I didn’t even mention your name,” he whines, rubbing the blooming red mark on his face. “You’re so self-centered.”

“Sure,” you hum in agreement. “But you’re mine, right?”

You freeze when you realize what you’ve said but it’s too late to take it back now. Uncertainty seizes you, and you’re scared you’ve said something too brazen, too quickly. You try to pass it off as a joke but it’s been well over a decade since Jungkook’s known you, so he sees right through whatever front you put up.

“Yours,” he agrees easily, and then leans in to slant his lips against your own.

Jungkook is a far cry from the numerous fables and myths you’ve read and heard about. Dragons are reptiles (you assume, because you’ve never met one—save for Jungkook, but he doesn’t count). Dragons are supposed to be cold-blooded, and covered in an armor of scales, ice cold to the touch.

But with every press of his lips, you feel yourself melting, fire fueling through your veins and making your blood run hot with desire. Jungkook is warm, so warm you want to properly melt into him, mold yourself against his body to feel every line and ridge. The thoughts that cross your mind make you flush with arousal but instead of pulling back and blushing profusely like you would have normally done, you boldly swipe your tongue across his bottom lip.

Jungkook’s large hands squeeze your hip in response, fabric bunching up between his fingers. The drag of the cotton against your skin makes a shiver run down your spine, and you rock forward into his embrace driven entirely by instinct.

In the back of your mind, you can only imagine how scandalous the pair of you must look defiling the childrens’ swings set like a couple of hormonal teenagers. It’s indecent, you repeat to yourself, trying to get a hold of your senses that are being shrouded with lust.

Everything requires careful maneuvering and restrained movements; you have to be mindful not to undulate your hips too forcefully into his, lest you push him off balance and you both fall off the swing. Even with that in mind, rationality flies out the metaphorical window when his teeth graze your lower lip.

The grating squeaks of the chains do little to deter you, too preoccupied with Jungkook’s warm hands caressing your back, your shoulders, and neck to take heed of your surroundings. Nothing can interrupt you now, not when things are finally heading in the direction you want.

Jungkook nips at your bottom lip, peppering hot kisses across the underside of your jaw, the tingling sensation aroused by his mouth robbing you of coherent thought. Jungkook grows more confident, emboldened by your reactions, and a hand sneaks it way to your breast. The heat emanating from his palm, obscured only by the material of your shirt and undergarment, sends a rush of arousal through your body. You’re nothing short of overwhelmed as his teeth dig into a sensitive spot on your neck and his thumb finds your hardened nipple that pebbles through the layers of fabric. Without warning, he presses down on your sensitive flesh with a flick of his thumb.

Your reaction is immediate, back arching shamelessly into his hand, silently seeking more friction, while your hips roll into his with thinly veiled desperation. You bite down a moan, fingers tugging the hairs at the nape of his neck, unsure whether to push him away or pull him impossibly closer. Jungkook gives a tentative thrust of his own, seat creaking under him, and you let out an embarrassing loud moan that has Jungkook groaning in turn against the damp skin of your neck.

Suddenly, you pull back with a gasp and if it wasn’t for Jungkook’s secure grip on your waist, you would have flailed off his lap and onto the ground. For a moment you wonder if you’re hallucinating, too drunk on arousal to think straight, but Jungkook shares your bewildered expression.

“I’m—”

“Jungkook, what was that?”

He blinks.

“Jungkook…” You tilt his chin up and examine his face from all possible angles. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, but you’re certain the rings of smoke drifting up into the air are not a product of your imagination. “Jungkook, I think steam came out of your nostrils.”

He gulps audibly and regards you with a guarded look, “that’s never happened before…” He opens his mouth as if to add something but then shuts it, cheeks tainted pink.

“What is it, Kookie?” you ask worriedly, hand palming the side of his face so he couldn’t escape your inquisitive stare.

“I heard that… I heard that could happen,” he says slowly, like he’s chewing his words out. “Steam can come out of my ears or nose if I’m angry. It happens to my dad, sometimes, but I didn’t know it was a thing that could happen to me.”

“Ah…” is all you can muster.

“Are you scared?”

“Uh, no, scared isn’t my word of choice. I’m just— I don’t really know… It’s just weird, I guess.“ You’re still trying to process this new development, mind whirring with thousands of questions.

“A bad weird?”

“No, not a bad weird,” you reply truthfully, fingers twiddling with the strings of his hoodie. “I’m just confused… I have a lot of questions.”

“Go ahead,” he nudges.

“It’s a lot to take in at once, but…“ You trail off, too hesitant to ask anything.

There is so much you want to know but you’re uncertain where you should even start. Some questions seem too silly to utter out loud so you remain silent (even though you are dying to know how the heck dragons reproduce and end up making human-looking babies). The more you think about it, the less everything makes sense to you. But then again, dragons in general are a concept you’ve never taken seriously. Until today, that is.

You decide to play it safe, reluctant to start off with the serious questions right away. “Why were you angry?”

“Wasn’t angry.” Jungkook bows his head, fringe falling in front of his eyes to avoid your scrutiny. “Can happen when I feel intense emotions.”

You mull over his words, taking in his embarrassed stance. It’s a rare sight to behold and makes you wonder why he’s acting this way, especially when he’s never been ashamed of his lineage. On the contrary, he’s always been proud of his dragon heritage which is why you’re confused as to why he’s suddenly acting bashful.

“Kookie, did the steam come out because you were horny?” You try your best to keep the snicker out of your voice but that evidently fails when he pinches your side in playful retaliation.

“You’re okay with it, though?” He bites his lip, thumb rubbing the exposed skin near the waistband of your skirt. Goosebumps prickle where he touches you, but you wisely choose to ignore the way he’s affecting you for now, too busy trying to wrap your head around the fact your boyfriend is an actual fucking dragon.

“M’yeah, it’s—” you cut yourself off, unsure. So much has happened in the past ten minutes that it’s hard to formulate coherent sentences. “I mean, it’s definitely not normal, but it’s not, like, it’s not a deal breaker. I just…” There’s a short pause as you try to gather your thoughts. “You’re a dragon?”

“I am,” he rolls his eyes, but you can tell he looks less tense by the way the muscles on his face relax. “Why are you so surprised? I’ve been telling you I’m a dragon for ages.”

“Yeah, but it’s different now,” you argue, arms crossed defensively. “Is there anything else I should know about? Like, I dunno, scales? Claws? Perhaps a dragon soulmate that will tear me to shreds for allowing you to touch my left boob?”

“You’ve seen me shirtless.” His nose crinkles and it tells you he’s trying hard not to roll his eyes at your expense. “I don’t have scales. Or an angry dragon soulmate.”

”Why are you acting like I’m being ridiculous? I’m not the one who blew smoke out of my nose because I got a little too excited…” You raise yourself off his lap, readjusting your skirt.

The red sun hangs low in the sky and the last traces of sunlight are not nearly enough to keep you warm after untangling your legs from Jungkook’s. You wrap your arms around yourself, lost in thought.

Admittedly, you don’t know how else to react to the situation other than to joke around, “I just want to know what I should be expecting next… What if you breathe out fire when you cum? Do you, by the way? I deserve to know. Don’t want you burning my hair off when you bust a nut.”

“You are ridiculous,” he snorts, stretching out his long limbs before getting to his feet, autumn leaves crackling under his weight. “Spitting fire when… Ha.”

“Well, do you?”

“I don’t!” he groans, running his fingers through his locks in exasperation.

“Okay, if you say so,” you acquiesce, placing your hand in his outstretched one.

You glance down at your intertwined hands, silently relishing the way the warmth of his skin cocoons your small fist. That’s when you realize the revelation holds no sway over your emotions because dragon or not, Jungkook is still the love of your life and the best friend you occasionally want to punch in the face. It’s been a gradual process, the shift from friends to lovers, so at times your heart does still oscillate between the two.

It’s strange, to say the least. For the longest time, you’ve separated your romantic feelings from your platonic ones. The line had been clearly drawn: Jungkook was either your friend or your lover—never both. So it’s difficult to adhere to the notion that the terms are not mutually exclusive. It’s something you both struggle with if the pace of your relationship is anything to go by.

Jungkook squeezes your hand in his and gives you a smile so genuinely sweet your heart swells with affection.

You don’t want to admit it verbally, especially knowing how much your friends would tease you, but you’re quite certain your feelings would stay unchanging. He could sprout a tail the next day and you would still love his scaly ass.

I’m so fucking whipped, you inwardly groan right before you squeeze his hand back.

.Before you know it, winter quickly sets in, snowflakes frosting the ground, the playground now covered in a thick blanket of white. You’ve never been more thankful your boyfriend is a dragon (or a long lost descendant of one). His body is a furnace, insides made of molten lava that chase away any cold-induced numbness.

After that tryst on the children’s swing, you expect your relationship to keep on progressing in that direction. Yet over the next few weeks, things go back to the snail’s pace you’re used to. Everything is perfectly fine the way things are, you convince yourself. You’re content with cuddles on the couch by the fireplace and soft kisses under the dim porch light.

Still, you can’t help but feel like a big pervert at times, especially when you catch yourself studying his fingers when he chops up vegetables on the cutting board or the way his shoulders flex under his shirt when he changes the light bulb that hangs overhead the buffet. You reluctantly learn to dial back the attraction you feel in his presence, resigning yourself to chaste hugs and pg-13 caresses.

That’s why you’re surprised when you find yourself catching your breath, pulse racing with urgent need, bra strap sliding off your shoulder blades and goosebumps littering your skin. You’re so accustomed to the unofficial “no touching” rule, that the abrupt development throws you completely off-guard.

It takes a few dizzying seconds for you to float back down to earth but once you do your eyes blow open when you take in Jungkook’s bare form. When had his clothes come off? You can’t remember anything but the strong scent of juniper and black cedarwood and the burn of his hands as they stroked your body into overdrive.

Your eyes trail down his well-defined chest, admiring the way the sheen of sweat makes his skin glisten like an oiled painting, when suddenly your gaze lands on his crotch. A shriek spills from your lips before you have time to subdue your visceral reaction.

Jungkook is tall, taller than the other guys your age, and you’ve always loved his larger, broader frame. It comes in handy sometimes, like when you need to reach something on the top shelf or when the ceiling needs to be repainted. He’s always been taller and bigger in every possible aspect, one of his hands easily covering your own, so it really shouldn’t surprise you that Jungkook is particularly well endowed down there, too.

You just don’t expect it to be that huge.

“What is that?”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows at your slightly horrified expression, visibly taken aback by your reaction.

His clothes are thrown haphazardly on the floor, your sweater hanging off the corner of the bed—all proof of your pent up passion. But as much as you would like to continue on with no interruptions, your discovery puts a halt to your original intentions.

“What does it look like?” he asks dryly, unimpressed by your theatrics.

“Uh, it looks like it’s going to tear my vag in two, that’s what it looks like.” You sit up straight, not bothering to hide the panic that suddenly wracks your small frame.

You know size is something people usually like to brag about but Jungkook’s impressive length and girth only intimidate you. Sweat trickles down the side of your neck the more you try to picture his dick penetrating you. Frankly speaking, you doubt it’ll ever fit inside you, let alone for it to be a pleasurable experience…

At a glance, the feat seems impossible. Jungkook isn’t even fully hard and his member already looks like some kind of weapon ready to destroy you. You’re desperately hoping he’s a shower and not a grower because otherwise you’ll be saying goodbye to your vagina.

“Kookie, it’s the size of my fucking forearm!”

“Why are you always so dramatic? It’s not, oh my— you are ridiculous.” He swats your arm away from his genitals, an offended look marring his features.

“Okay, it’s not,” you relent, before mumbling under your breath, “barely.”

“Fucking chill,” he sighs, rubbing his temple. “I’m not going to shove it in, okay? We’ll take it slow. Don’t worry, babe.”

His words of reassurance only have the opposite desired effect. You trust Jungkook not to shove it in, but regardless of his intentions, you can only see this ending badly.

You wriggle around on the sheets, trying to find the most comfortable position. “Of course I’m worried,” you shoot back, gulping audibly, eyes still fixated on his dick. “Is that… Is that a dragon thing, too?”

“Maybe?” He looks down at his dick with a look of deep contemplation. “Want me to ask my dad?”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re killing the mood.”

“Screaming as soon as you saw my dick didn’t exactly help either,” Jungkook points out as he flops down next to you on the bed, mattress squeaking loudly in protest.

You roll over on your side so you can face him properly. Jungkook shifts in response and throws a heavy arm over your shoulders, pulling you close so that the space separating your bodies vanishes. You automatically sink into his familiar embrace, accustomed to the way your soft curves fit against his torso.

A comfortable silence envelops the pair of you. As much as the constant bickering and back-and-forth banter entertains you, the lulls in conversations are a welcome reprieve. You take the time to map out the beauty marks near his collarbones, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath the pads of your fingertips. His body is strong and sturdy, muscles flexing under the light drag of your nails.

“Hey.” A slow grin curves at his lips when you turn to look up at him.

You decide you like these quiet moments the most. There’s really nowhere else you would rather be than in his arms, one hand petting the crown of your head in a calming gesture while the other one holds you close to his chest. It feels kind of domestic, somehow, and has you thinking about the infinite possibilities a future with Jungkook holds.

It’s during times like these you let yourself entertain the thought of waking up every day in Jungkook’s arms, legs tangled together, his face nuzzled in your hair or the crook of your neck, chest rising steadily under the palm of your hand. You think about this often, actually. More often than you’ll ever admit.

“Hi,” you smile back.

“We don’t have to, you know.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The sincerity that drips off his words has your stomach fluttering.

“Don’t have to what?”

“We don’t have to have sex. Don’t want to pressure you into anything. I’m good with whatever you want, babe,” he admits, eyes bright with endearment.

Something flares in your chest. You recognize the feeling right away; the surge of competitiveness that shoots up your spine whenever he insinuates you’re too chicken has gotten you into trouble time and time again. And although you know that’s not what he’s implying this time, you stubbornly hold on to the urge to prove him wrong.

So, as much as you appreciate the sentiment—

“I want to!” Your statement comes out more forceful than intended but you refuse to back down now. “I want to have sex with you, it’s just, well… Slow, right?”

“We can go slow,” Jungkook agrees at once, corners of his mouth upturned into a reassuring smile. “We’ll go as slow as we need to… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, okay.” You worry your lower lip which he notices immediately. He traces the seam of your mouth with his thumb, forcing you to stop rolling the flesh between your teeth.

“Hey— We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can always change your mind; it’s okay, babe.”

“I know,” you stress. “I’m just a little nervous. Your schlong is longer than a fucking parsnip so I’m worried you’re going to spear me open.”

“Shut up,” grumbles Jungkook, embarrassed.

“You have three legs,” you press on, unaware of his anxious fidgeting. “Do they even make condoms in your size?”

He laughs in response but you’ve known him for so long now that you can tell right away that something is wrong. Maybe it’s the way his eyes refuse to meet your own or the way the sound cuts off in his throat. The forced expression on his face is like a physical punch to the gut.

You did that.

Something ugly twists in your stomach and you feel sick. You’re hit with the alarming realization that you’ve been horribly insensitive, completely disregarding Jungkook’s feelings and his own apprehension. Guilt weighs down on you and you want to kick yourself for being such an asshole.

You have the tendency to cover up your anxiety by joking around. But you’re old enough to know that it doesn’t give you a pass for being an asshat—especially when Jungkook has been nothing but kind and patient with you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you apologize, taking his hand in yours. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t.” He squeezes your hand in his, wordlessly forgiving you. “It’s just— It sucks, you know? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish my cock was smaller.”

“No, it’s— “

“I want to have sex normally, without having to worry about whether my partner’s vagina will still be functioning once we’re done,” he continues, visibly worked up. “People always go on about wanting a pornstar dick but once they see mine they want to run to the fucking Himalayas. Yeah, sorry, I just… Yeah.”

You swallow, feeling like absolute shit for reacting the way you did. It’s not like Jungkook chose to have a giant dick… The last thing you want is for him to feel ashamed or guilty for his body which is something he has no control over in any case.

“Jungkook, I’m honestly really sorry. I was being a bitch. Your dick size doesn’t actually matter to me—you know that right? I’d still love you regardless. You could have horns and a scaly back. I really don’t care about that.”

“Yeah?”

“’Course not.” You smile up at him, rose dusting your cheeks. “I was in love with you before I even knew those limp noodles were called dicks.”

He snorts, the sound escaping before he can bite it down. The sound makes your lips quirk up in response. The tight ball of nerves in your chest unfurls and the muscles in your shoulders go lax. You still regret being that insensitive over an issue that clearly bothers him but you’re glad he’s accepted your apology, even if you don’t deserve it.

“Sex isn’t a necessary step. I didn’t fall for you because of your dragon dick.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Jungkook feigns disappointment. “And here I thought my monstrous size was what won you over…”

“We’ll work up to it,” he adds once your giggles die down. “We’ll go as slow as we need to. I have all the time in the world to get you ready for my cock.”

“You know we can have sex without penetration, right?”

“You want to give it a go now?” he hums jokingly, nudging your nose with his own.

“I’m pretty dry right now.”

“Yeah? It’s nothing I can’t work with.” A sly smirk pulls at his lips causing you to huff at his cockiness.

“We’ll see about that. Get to it, babe,” you mock, goading him on.

“Are you doubting me right now?” He chuckles lowly and the sound shoots straight to your core. He leans in, close enough for the warmth of his breath to tickle your ear, “I’ll make you take me seriously.”

And with that he bites down on your lobe. Your body jerks forward at the unexpected sting, chest crashing into his. Jungkook traces the sides of your flank before grabbing your ass, skin soft and pliant under his palms. He squeezes, smirking when you shudder in his hold, before his hands come crashing down with an audible slapping sound that echoes in the quiet of his room.

“Wha—” You’re cut off as his mouth presses against yours, chapped lips melding against your own.

You can’t help but rut forward, thighs rubbing together, seeking any form of relief you can find.

“Fuck, okay,” you whimper as he pulls away to catch his breath. “Here, like this.”

He digs the pads of his fingertips into your cheeks while rolling onto his back. Instinctively you tighten your hold around him, body sinking into his like mush. You find yourself splayed out on top of him, his strong hands keeping your pelvis attached to his own, his hardening dick poking your thigh.

You sit up, adjusting yourself so that you’re now perched comfortably atop his growing erection. The sight of him sprawled out underneath you is so tempting that only your last remaining traces of sanity prevent you from jumping his bones right then and there. Instead of ravishing him like a woman gone mad, you roll your hips, keenly aware that the last barrier separating your bodies makes it easy to feel his hardness drag against your soaked center.

“That’s right, ride my cock,” he smirks, hands still groping your ass.

Any witty retort dies in your throat the moment he rocks into you, meeting one of your tentative hip thrusts. Wetness soaks through your ruined lace and coats his member in a sheen layer of slick. You can barely feel the sodden material, too lost in pleasure, but a well-timed thrust has the fabric rubbing against your clit, rendering you speechless. Only heavy pants fall from your lips, face flushed with exertion, the muscles in your thighs trembling with effort.

“So good for me,” he bites his lip in an effort to muffle his groans. “You’re always so good for me. My good girl.”

His words go straight to your bundle of nerves, fueling your rampant desire, and you roll down your hips more forcefully, doing your best to alleviate the pressing ache. Your core burns with the need for attention and it soon becomes apparent that your inexperienced undulations are not nearly enough friction.

Jungkook pulls you down and kisses you, teeth clashing into yours as he rolls you over once more, looking like a man starved and on a mission.

With nimble fingers, he quickly peels off the useless undergarment and lets it fall to the ground without a second glance, knees nudging your legs apart.

At once, his jaw goes slack, black orbs feasting on the way you glisten for him, and takes his index and middle finger and pulls your lips apart for a better view. The direct contact with your sensitive skin makes you jolt, moan stuck in your throat.

Jungkook mutters your name reverently, in awe, watching you intently with evident arousal marred onto his features.

“Look at you.” His lips are swollen, bitten red. “You’re getting my sheets dirty.”

You try to squirm away from his hold but his grip on your thighs is firm, keeping you pinned where he wants you. An embarrassed whine escapes you, skin heating up under his intense scrutiny, and your core clenches subconsciously.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he swallows, eyes darkening with lust. “All for me.”

His long fingers stroke you teasingly, coaxing the longing within you to a firestorm. But the light touches only agitate you further, riling you up until it’s too much.

“C’mon,” you whine, hips canting in a futile attempt at gratification. “Please, come on.”

“What do you want, hm?”

What you want is to kick the smug look off his face but you know that resorting to violence won’t get you what you desire. Knowing your boyfriend, he would probably use your show of intemperance to tease you even further. Fucker, you pout in annoyance.

The easiest method to obtain what you need is to give in to his whims. As much as it pains you to stroke his already huge ego, you know it’s the only solution. He’s worked you up too much for you to put up much of a fight; you can spot a lost battle when you see one.

“Want you,” you mumble, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“What was that?” he mocks, smirk ever present. “What do you want?”

When you don’t answer right away he growls your name in warning, the gruff noise making you shudder. Your head swims with arousal and you barely have time to think of a coherent answer when he suddenly pinches your clit between his slippery fingers.

“Speak up,” he orders, ignoring the sharp cry that echoes in the room.

Your mind is reeling; it feels like you are stuck in an alternate reality. You’re having a hard time believing your relationship is taking such a sudden turn, but you don’t have much time to think it through before Jungkook delivers a swat on the inside of your thigh to keep you focused. Distantly, you wonder how he was ever able to hold himself back in the past because the man before you looks like he wants to devour you whole.

“Want you,” you repeat, a little louder this time, sweat dampening your neck. “I want your fingers, please, I— I want you to touch me properly.”

Pink colors your cheeks as humiliation courses through you. You don’t like being reduced to an unintelligible mess, especially since it’ll only go to Jungkook’s head. You can already tell your reaction pleases him if the smug curve of his smile is anything to go by. He leans forward to catch your lips with his just as he eases a finger into your warmth. All previous irritation melts away as your mind zeroes in on the licks of pleasure that curl around your spine.

The foreign feeling has you seizing up, insides clamping down on the intruding digit. Jungkook swallows down your moans, lips working feverishly against your own while his finger rubs your slick walls. When you finally start to relax around him, he carefully draws it back out before thrusting again, a loud squelch audible even over the thrumming of your heart and your eager cries.

“Okay, Christ,” he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, finger still slowly working you open. “You’re so small.”

“Let me get the lube, I don’t want to hurt you,” he leans down to brush his lips against yours, softer this time, before pulling away completely.

You shiver as the cold air kisses your body. It’s not even been a full ten seconds but you already miss the warmth that Jungkook provides. Now that he’s gone, you feel like your nipples are going to fall off from the cold at any given moment.

Jungkook uncaps the lube and spreads a generous amount on his fingers. The sight makes your every nerve seize up with anticipation.

He works in two fingers slowly—so slowly you’re overcome with the urge to kick him again, only because the expectation keeps building in your chest like a mounting wave right before it crashes. You can feel the stretch but his languid strokes do little to bring you pleasure and you huff impatiently.

Jungkook must sense your agitation because he halts his ministrations in warning, “we’re doing this slowly or not at all.”

The surprising sternness in his tone calms you down at once, and you go limp and pliant under his attentive care. The fire takes awhile to spread from your core to the extremities of your body, but with every methodical prod and brush of his fingers, longing burns in your veins.

“Can you take another one? Want to stretch you out a bit more,” Jungkook pants, fingers still working their way into your heat. You nod, lip caught between your teeth, and he takes his slicked digits out, coating on more lube to ease you through it.

“Fuck, babe.” His voice sounds strained, and you don’t need to open your eyes to see he’s wincing. “Babe, stop clenching.”

“J-Jungkook, I,” you stutter out, moving your head to bury your face in the pillow. You want to be good for him so you feel bad for letting him down, but you refuse to just troop through the pain silently. “Jungkook, please, it hurts.”

Instantly, he stops thrusting his hand, his fingers still buried in your wet heat. Instead of resuming his thrusts, he settles for moving his fingers back and forth inside of you, the pads of his fingers rubbing against your walls. You can still feel the pressure but the pain is now mostly gone.

Your mind is so focused on the stretch of your walls around him that you hardly notice him scooting forward until his tongue flicks over your dripping wetness. Before you can stop yourself, you clamp down on his three fingers; you can’t help but let out a gasp at how full you feel, eyes blinking back the white spots that fleck your vision.

“You’re so good for me,” he praises between the kisses he leaves on the insides of your thigh. “Such a good girl. Feel so tight and fuuckk—”

The delirious notes make you glance down and your stomach tightens as you take in his mussed up hair, matted with sweat, and the wild look in his eyes; the sight alone has you clenching down on his fingers once more. You feel the mattress move beneath you and from your vantage point, propped up against the pillows, you can see Jungkook grinding his pelvis into the sheets, searching for his own friction. Knowing how much this is affecting him gets your blood boiling, and you let out a pained whimper.

“Cock—” you gasp, grabbing his hair and forcing his mouth away from your heat. “Want it, please.”

“Can’t say that shit to me, Christ.” He spreads his fingers inside of you and you keen at the sudden stretch. “Can’t even take my fingers, look.”

He repeats the action and you try your best to swallow down your whine but he sees right through you. “You’re not ready for my cock.”

“Please,” you beg, even though logically you know it’s a bad idea. Even now, through the haze of lust, it registers that it isn’t the best suggestion you’ve ever had. But you want to feel him, you want to be closer in any way you can. You can’t explain your irrational need for him, for his dick.

“Okay, I’ll let you have it,” he relents after a moment of hesitation. “Open your legs for me.”

You’re too far gone to care about propriety and you widen your legs easily, greedily drinking in his expression of raw hunger that darkens his face. Grappling around the bed blindly, he finds the discarded bottle of lube and squeezes an abnormal amount onto his shaft, hand quickly working to spread it out over his impressive size.

Panic grips you then, and you’re suddenly reminded as to why sex with Jungkook isn’t something that should be happening after you had struggled to take in his fingers. You’re about to open your mouth to warn him you’ve changed your mind, when he slides his hardened member between your legs. You wince, expecting pain to pierce through your core but none comes. Instead of sheathing himself inside you, he’s rubbing himself against you in a slow, controlled rhythm.

Jungkook rocks forward, letting his throbbing length slide through your slick lips, the lube making the glide all the easier. He maneuvers your legs so that they’re now squeezing his dick, giving you both more friction.

“Nghh, fuck,” he grunts over you, watching your heat hug him snugly. He glances back up at you to gauge your reaction, fingers digging into the sensitive skin on your thighs when he takes note of your fucked out state.

“Shit— why is this still on?” You look down at your bra in confusion, but before you can move to take it off, Jungkook pulls the cups down, leaving the material bunched awkwardly below your breasts. He doesn’t move to take it off further, hands already occupied with squeezing the soft flesh.

He gives an experimental hard thrust, memorizing the way your breasts bounce with the movement. The drag of his length hits your clit, eliciting an unrestrained cry. You’re way too fucked out to care about anything but appeasing the ache between your legs; your hands scramble for purchase on his broad shoulders, fingernails leaving pink lines that will stay marked on his skin for days.

“You’re doing so good,” he pants, muscles straining with effort, hips grinding into yours to give you more gratification.

You’ve been so pent up in only takes one well placed swivel of his hip for your breath to catch in your throat, head tipping back to bare the column of your neck. Your orgasm explodes—every nerve is electrified as if your body was a live wire. You’re left bereft of speech, hips rutting up against his on their own accord, mouth open in a silent scream.

Jungkook coaxes you through it with words of encouragement and soft rolls of his hips, hands caressing your arms with much more tenderness than you would have expected. It takes a moment for the roaring in your ears to quiet down, but once you manage to even out your breathing, you smile up at Jungkook, thoroughly sated.

You go to wrap your hand around his length, intent on making him feel good too, but he grasps your wrist, effectively halting your movements, “it’s fine.” He shakes your hand off with an easy smile. “I’m good.”

“I’m not going to break your dick off, y’know.” You pout, “I know I’m clumsy and I break things easily but I’m not that incompetent.”

Jungkook’s chest rumbles with laughter and you bite your lip, trying to hold back your own amusement, before he pushes you down on the bed and scrambles to his knees. His figure looms over you while his hand pumps his shaft in furious strokes, eager to reach his end. The mere sight of him losing his composure sends warm tingles down your spine that come to pool in your lower stomach. He groans out your name like he’s being physically pulled apart by the seams, body cloaked in sweat, and you mouth goes dry with renewed desire.

Finally, it irrupts—white coating your body like snow. The warm liquid paints the apex of your thighs, spurting over your stomach in thick ropes, hitting the underside of your breast and spilling onto the sheets. There’s so much of it your hand comes up in defense, fingers now thoroughly coated in his seed.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. No one makes a move to go clean up.

“When was the last time you jerked off?” you ask conversationally, globs of cum trickling down your side and onto the bed spread. It feels… You squirm a little. It feels weird but surprisingly the sensation is not as unpleasant as you imagined it would be. “Is it always like this?”

He shrugs, shoulders hunching into a predatory stance. His eyes are glassy, chest flushed with exertion, and you expect him to collapse by your side, worn out from the strenuous activity. Instead, he crouches closer to observe his work with poorly concealed fascination. He drags his index finger through fields of white, uncovering a sliver of skin.

Swallowing thickly, he goes to finger you again, rubbing his seed against your walls. He repeats this process several times, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, attention focused entirely on his task.

“I’m not saying no, but,” you interrupt, brow arching. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not sure either, “ he blinks up at you, equally puzzled. “Just had this sudden urge to make sure my cum was in you.”

“Is that a dragon thing or a Jungkook thing?”

“Both? Possibly?” He looks unsure, fingers still lodged in your heat.

He looks back up at you, suddenly looking much too smug for your liking. “So, how was it? Sex with a dragon live up to your expectations?”

“It was fine,” you shrug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep a straight face. “You were okay, but…”

“But?” Jungkook raises an inquisitive eyebrow, looking offended.

“I think we should do it again, just to make sure.”

“Can’t get enough of the dragon dick,” he hums, satisfaction settling onto his features.

He dodges the pillow you throw at him, cackling.

a/n: okay fun fact time,, apparently “the female lays eggs and male fertilizes them” so. yeah. idk how accurate this is, bc… you know�� dragons

i was going through writer’s block and this got me back into writing lmao so ty for reading this mess, hopefully i will be writing normal things again :’’)

#can u believe this was supposed to be drabble?#... it evolved #bangtanwriters-net #kkreationsnet #kwriterskollection #jungkook scenario #bts scenarios #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook #bts fluff #kpop scenarios #also disregarding the fact that jk is supposed to be a dRagon #this is probably the closest thing i've written to fluff

4K notes · View notes