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cliffolly · 2 years

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Just One Day

AO3 Link

Oneshot | 6.4K Words

Taegi | Established Relationship, Mild Smut, Fluff

I wrote this very much with love, hope, and nostalgia in my heart. Though he'll never see this (God, I hope he never sees this), for my lovely husband, without whom I would have never thought of writing again.

Yoongi doesn't dream tonight. He sleeps heavily, anxiety almost forgotten as it sits in the pit of his stomach. In the back of his head, he hears "Don't be late. Don't be late. Don't be late." His eyes snap open at the sounding of his alarm, and so his day begins.

Sometimes, it’s easy for Yoongi to forget that he hasn’t known Taehyung for all his life.

Yoongi always wakes up first. It used to be Taehyung, but after losing his factory job almost 6 months ago, Taehyung hasn’t had to wake up before five in the morning since then, save for when he has to travel far for roofing projects.

At 4:30AM, everything is quiet and still aside from the fan that sits at the foot of their bed. Taehyung left it on again, as well as the LED lights that perimeters the ceiling. The room glows a low yellow, and Yoongi can only stare idly at the ceiling for a few minutes before a pang of nausea ruins the calm of his morning.

It’s been this way for a couple months now. Every morning, a moment of peace before sudden nausea. Seldom does anything actually come up, but yesterday morning, Yoongi had been revisited by dinner from the previous night, so he’d much rather be safe than sorry this morning.

Yoongi reaches out for the boxers he’d thrown to the side last night and pulls them over his legs before wiggling down the length of the bed until his feet hit the cold, tiled floor. He finds his sandals with ease and pulls up his boxers as he stands, shivering a bit from the cold. Swiftly, he reaches out to shut off the fan while grabbing his glasses from the vanity with his other hand. As soon as he can see, he makes his way to the bathroom, out the bedroom, down the short hallway, all the while battling the urge to gag with a shudder that runs through his body.

Yoongi had always been of a soft nature growing up. He couldn’t eat breakfast for the longest because eating that early would make him sick. If it was too cold, he’d gag with little control, not to mention the way his body reacted to any unfavorable smells he had the misfortune of coming across. He’d been nauseous for every first day of school up until high school, and he’d been doing a lot better since then.

Ever since graduating college, however, it’s gotten so much worse, especially in the mornings. Yoongi did a stint of therapy months ago, and his therapist suggested it may be anxiety, but that sounded too expensive, and that terrified him. What if something else was wrong with him, but he couldn’t afford to fix or control it? He hadn’t been to an appointment since then.

Yoongi washes his hands at the sink before looking up and staring at his reflection in the rusty mirror.

It hurts to admit it, but this isn’t the life Yoongi had imagined for himself growing up.

Call him crazy, but Yoongi’s imagined future was always a nice house, a nice car, a nice job. Impeccable bathroom. Free access to his kitchen. Not having to hide his things in fear of people stealing them. Not working from before sun-up to sundown. Not this. Certainly, heartbreakingly, not this.

Yoongi contemplates his choices as he wanders back to his and Taehyung’s bedroom, making sure to find his trashcan before he dares to start getting ready, just in case.

It’s not his fault, and it’s not Taehyung’s either. Yoongi has to remember that to keep his anger from getting the best of him. It’s easy to blame Taehyung; he’s the one who got them this space while Yoongi was still studying away at college. But Yoongi knows it isn’t fair when he knows he was just doing his best.

Yoongi is a recent college physics graduate, and he isn’t without his prospects. There are numerous job opportunities pertaining to his field of study, and he could make good money with it, but Yoongi can’t fight this feeling of fear 𑁋 fear of change, fear of responsibility, fear of adulthood.

Just one year before he starts his big kid job, he had said after graduating. Just one year is all he needs. Eighteen consecutive years of education can break a person, and Yoongi felt he deserved a break, so just one year will do. Six months later, that one year turned into two. No, Yoongi wasn’t putting off going to work-work, at least he didn’t think so. But what if he was, subconsciously?

Yoongi’s gaze falls on Taehyung, still asleep. His overgrown, thick hair sticks out in every direction. He’s got this look of concentration on his face, his mouth slightly open, and his snoring isn’t as loud as it usually is. Yoongi knows he’s mostly naked, wearing one of Yoongi’s boxers, and he’s most likely spread eagle under the thick duvet that he wears up to his chin. He sleeps deeply, beautifully. Bless him.

Taehyung had dropped out of high school when he was sixteen. Abusive father. Violent family. Taehyung needed out. Yoongi knows the story. Yoongi knows the story too well. Taehyung moved out young, had worked odd jobs, manual labor, a dangerous factory job where he almost lost life and limb too many times to count 𑁋 that’s the one Yoongi hated most. He couldn’t stand to be alone. He couldn’t bear the thought of being without Taehyung.

After checking the time, Yoongi is close to running late, so he packs his toothbrush and toothpaste into his backpack and grabs a stick of gum from the shelves of snacks that he and Taehyung had started keeping recently. He shoves the gum in his pocket and slings on his backpack before carefully moving towards Taehyung’s side of the bed, whispering softly, “I’m leaving now.”

That’s all it takes to wake up Taehyung, but just barely. His dark eyes peek out from thick lashes to watch as Yoongi takes a seat at the edge of the bed. His voice is thick with sleep when he mutters in a low, raspy manner, “Already?”

Yoongi leans down to plant a kiss on Taehyung’s lips, two kisses, three, a fourth just for good luck. Taehyung has his arms, heavy, around Yoongi, gently pulling him into his neck and humming softly, his skin warm to the touch and Yoongi wants so desperately to stay like this. Taehyung smells like deodorant, fabric softener, and sleep. It takes Yoongi all the force he can muster to pull himself away from Taehyung’s warm embrace, and he’s only half-aware of the smile that sits on his lips.

“I’m running late.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgement, lids so low that Yoongi only knows they’re open from the soft reflection of the LED lights. “Be safe.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi is up now, grabbing his keys and water bottle before heading to the door. “I love you.”

“Text me when you get there.”

“I will. Be good.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Drive safely.”

“Uh-huh. Bye, baby.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye, baby, go carefully. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Yoongi repeats before he shuts the door.

It’s his favorite part of the morning. As much as he hates leaving, he loves this little ritual. Taehyung is almost deaf in the morning, and he’s much too sleepy to hold an actual conversation, but Yoongi loves the way he sends him off, the way his voice claws its way from Taehyung’s throat. Yoongi longs for his next day off so they can sleep in together, but with the way work has been, it’s only wishful thinking at best.

Yoongi’s in his car and he has a thirty-minute drive ahead of him. If he steps on it, he’ll only be a minute late. As soon as Yoongi gets on the highway, he does just that. And as he drives, he thinks.

These drives, though tedious and life-threatening (people drive stupid before 6AM), are important to Yoongi, in their own way. He thinks of many things during these drives 𑁋 his future, his plans, his life with Taehyung, his past, his beliefs, his desires. Just yesterday, he used the law of the conservation of matter and energy to justify the belief of reincarnation. Taehyung loved that conversation once Yoongi got home.

Today, Yoongi’s head is foggy on the drive to work. He weaves carefully through traffic, much more mindful now than he used to be.

Huh, life’s funny like that. Four years ago, Yoongi would be driving much more recklessly 𑁋 he had a sports car four years ago, so that may be part of the reason. He also didn’t have Taehyung back then.

Yoongi met Taehyung during the winter break of his freshman year of college. Yoongi had been eighteen, working over every school break to help scrape together money for his tuition. He’d caught wind of a manual labor job from a friend, and it paid decently enough; that’s how Yoongi found himself working as part of a clean-up crew for a team of roof repairmen.

At the time, Taehyung was tittering on seventeen, but an experienced roofer. He spent his time on the roofs, ripping apart shingles, hammering down ridges, and installing whirlybirds. Yoongi only knew him in passing as the gross guy who kept spitting on the roofs. The most their interactions ever accumulated to was Taehyung shouting down if Yoongi could throw him a couple of waters.

It wasn’t until a couple months after they had started dating that Taehyung told him the full story while they laid in bed.

“I saw you, and that was it. I was curious, and I asked around, ‘Who is that? What is he doing here?’ They said, ‘Oh, that’s Yoongi, he’s going to be helping out.’”

“Why didn’t you talk to me yourself? I didn’t even know your name.” “No, I was too shy to talk to you myself. Do you know how hard it was for me to ask you to throw me waters? I was too scared to talk to you. I’d always watch you. You were lovely. I still remember seeing you drive away in your little car and I’d think, no, he’s too cool.”

“You thought I was cute? In the shitty sweatpants and hoodies I wore?”

“I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. I wanted to talk to you, I really did, to ask if you wanted to hang out, if you had a boyfriend, but there was no way you were single, and I didn’t want to bother you. You were there to work, not find a boyfriend. That’s why I always went to Jin’s place, hoping you’d be there. Maybe there I could talk to you.”

In the end, that’s how it happened, but it took a whole year.

Yoongi was visiting from college during Thanksgiving break of his sophomore year and couldn’t head to his brother’s place due to a chemical plant blowing up nearby, so Jin offered his couch to Yoongi for the week. While everyone else sat outside drinking, Yoongi and Hoseok had sat inside, watching movies while they chatted, and Taehyung, who hadn’t seen Yoongi in that whole year, came inside, “pretending” (Taehyung insisted he had, Yoongi knows it was all lies) that he needed to use the restroom only to find it occupied. Taehyung had sat on another couch nearby to wait his turn before asking timid questions to Yoongi, how he was, what he was doing, how school was going, until Taehyung finally asked in that 2019 fashion, “Can I have your snapchat?”

Hoseok, ever the interloper, egged on Yoongi to say yes and watched with big eyes as the two exchanged contact information. Taehyung brought Yoongi and Hoseok drinks afterwards before disappearing outside (without even using the restroom, but whatever).

Taehyung messaged Yoongi almost immediately 𑁋 you’re beautiful.

Yoongi was unbathed, sleepy, and wearing old, mismatched pajamas, but he wasn’t one to deny himself compliments.

They went back and forth for a couple days, even after Yoongi went back to classes. The messages were constant, and Taehyung got into the habit of calling him every night before bed, sometimes sending him pictures in the middle of the day from work, shirtless, usually. They spoke about their beliefs, their days, their wishes for their individual futures.

Despite his own feelings,Yoongi did his best to stave off Taehyung, telling him maybe they should just be friends. After all, Yoongi had just gotten out of a relationship the summer before, and he’d just gotten over it. Aside from that, Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had it in him to balance a relationship on top of his course load and his jobs. Taehyung agreed, but he couldn’t help himself, really. Just as Yoongi was realizing just how serious Taehyung’s feelings for him were, Taehyung was already falling in love with Yoongi; it was no longer a matter of if they dated, but when they would.

Yoongi felt his stomach turn just at the memory of their first date. God, he had been so nervous.

On the first day of winter break, a couple weeks after meeting, Yoongi had only stopped by his brother’s place to shower and change before heading out to see Taehyung, almost losing himself on the way. He still remembered the polo shirt Taehyung wore as he walked out of his front door, silhouetted by the light inside. His hair was gelled back, his face clean-shaven, and his skin wore the most wonderful cologne. Yoongi waited idly inside his car and stepped out at the sight of Taehyung, waving timidly as the younger boy approached him, Taehyung’s smile bold, Yoongi’s nervous.

It happened so quickly.

They shared a hug and, all these years later, Yoongi still isn’t sure how or why it happened. Maybe it was the pent up frustration. Maybe it was from all the sweet messages exchanged. Maybe it was Taehyung remembering the almost teasing messages Yoongi had sent after agreeing to meet up that day, that he just might kiss Taehyung when they saw each other, but he wasn’t sure yet.

Regardless, they shared a kiss, innocent at first, before Taehyung managed to back Yoongi against his car. Never, in his life, had Yoongi received such a ravenous kiss, and never had he enjoyed such a thing. Taehyung kissed passionately, a hand on Yoongi's nape and another on his bum. Yoongi could only weave his fingers into Taehyung’s hair, rest another hand at the small of his back, feeling something hot in the pits of his stomach as Taehyung bit his lower lip.

Yoongi blinked languidly, finding himself at a red light. He hadn’t realized he was this close to his job already.

He needed to stop daydreaming while driving.

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot of his job at six on the dot. He gets the shop open and set up within ten minutes, and manages to brush his teeth before the first customer arrives.

The work is easy, and the customers are pleasant enough. Yoongi doesn’t mind making coffees, and the food prep is easy in the sense that he finds a certain peace when he chops fruit, decorates shakes.

Though Yoongi enjoys the job, he can’t help but feel a bit of guilt. Business is slow, and he spends most of his free time writing music when he isn’t tending to the shop. His uncle says he trusts Yoongi, that he doesn’t even check the cameras ever since Yoongi started helping his uncle run his secondary shop. Yoongi likes the job, knows most of the customers by name and greets them so, but, as of late, he feels worry coming in. There’s only one other employee here, and they’re as dependable as a skittish dog. Yoongi carries the brunt of the responsibilities, managing employees (when they had more than one), conducting interviews (so many off-putting people Yoongi never wanted to meet again), and still running the shop on his own. He gets paid for it well, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the job weighing on him.

“We can always shut down that location,” his uncle offered a couple days ago when Yoongi had visited him at the primary shop. “If you like, you can just come work with me here. We’ll have fun like in the old days.”

Yoongi’s heart hurts. Shutting down, to him, is akin to quitting, and he feels to blame if his uncle’s shop doesn’t perform well. He can’t help the feeling that he might miss working here, seeing the same customers, meeting their friends, learning about their lives. But he also misses the sense of peace he had lost somewhere along the way.

“We can close weekends, but we should definitely close earlier, at least until the summer.” Yoongi’s uncle was too kind. “You need some days off. I’ll keep trying to find new employees before you leave for your job, should you still want to do that.”

Yoongi orders lunch to arrive around eleven; it’s the routine he’s settled into. Lunch at eleven, snack at three, clean and restock at four, mop at five, shut down at six sharp to head home. Closing earlier now, Yoongi will need to adjust his routine, and it makes his stomach turn.

There are intermittent spam calls throughout the day, sparse customers as the morning rush passes. Yoongi sits for lunch at eleven-fifteen, pulling out his laptop to watch trash reality TV shows while he eats, but as soon as he’s done, he exits the show. It doesn’t really hold his attention anymore.

It’s something Yoongi has noticed since junior year of college. Something in him isn’t okay. The things he used to enjoy, reading, writing, watching shitty people on shitty shows, doesn’t make him happy like it used to. He’d begun to feel ‘low,’ as his old therapist said. Often, especially alone at the shop, Yoongi finds himself in waves of sadness and complacency.

He had originally thought that the stress of college had induced this inside of him. Endless assignments, three jobs, a demanding degree 𑁋 he had felt so trapped to the point that, as much Yoongi hated to admit it, he had considered simply ending it all.

He remembers when he confessed to Taehyung, through tears, in a phone call, that sometimes Yoongi felt that he wanted to die. It was a desperate feeling that had been weighing on him for semesters, and Yoongi felt embarrassed to admit that having three late assignments honestly made him wish he wasn’t alive anymore. He expected Taehyung to wave it away; Yoongi wasn’t sure why, he knew Taehyung wasn’t like that. He remembers how Taehyung cried on his side of the call, apologized, told Yoongi he loved him, and then made the five-hour drive to Yoongi’s college apartment to spend the night with him, despite the fact that they both had work the next morning. Instead, they both stayed in and spent the day together.

It wasn’t the first time Yoongi called Taehyung in hysterics, and it wasn’t the last time that Taehyung dropped everything to support Yoongi in his times of great need. Then, and even now, Taehyung had been one of the only escapes for Yoongi, and it had been one of the first arguments they had after they started dating.

Taehyung insisted that he wanted to be everything for Yoongi, his joy, his motivation, his best friend, but Yoongi was too familiar with the signs of domestic abuse, and he knew he needed a life apart from Taehyung. He knew he couldn’t depend on Taehyung as his only source of happiness, and doing so would be unfair to Taehyung, but the younger boy didn’t seem to care. He said it was what he was here for.

Yoongi, too afraid to end up in his parents’ position, spent the first year of his relationship with Taehyung running away from him. He would run from arguments, ignore problems, and the distance between them while Yoongi was in college had been damaging to their relationship. Yoongi felt that the distance brought the worst out of them: jealousy, possessiveness, mistrust. Together, they were perfect, but any time spent with each other loomed under the knowledge that Yoongi would need to leave again. Yoongi longed for the day that wouldn’t be the case.

Taehyung had held Yoongi close in his arms, still warm and sweaty after sex, when he asked bravely, “Will you marry me?”

Yoongi laughed. It had only been three months since they started dating 𑁋 the question felt silly. “No.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Ask me again later.”

So, a month later, Taehyung did and, again, Yoongi said no.

Nine months after they started dating, Taehyung asked again, and, this time, Yoongi thought before responding.

“Not yet. Maybe later.”

A year later, it was Yoongi who asked, “When are we going to get married?”

Taehyung was incredulous. “We’re not getting married!”

“Why not?”

“You told me ‘no,’ remember?”

Yoongi did remember. “But I think I’m ready to seriously consider it now. So, when are we getting married?”

It happened in the span of two weeks.

It was just a couple months ago, Spring Break of Yoongi’s final spring semester in college before graduation. They decided suddenly. Yoongi found a judge willing to do it a couple days after they went to the city hall to pick up a marriage license. After going back to school for the week, Yoongi left early on Friday morning for the five-hour drive home. He picked up Taehyung before they left for a thrift store, picking out the nicest clothes they could find. The next day, they dressed giddily before noon, hurriedly, because they were running late. Yoongi had nagged Taehyung playfully not to forget their marriage license before leaving. Taehyung had made fun of Yoongi’s too-big shoes on the drive to the city hall. They had rushed through security, almost lost their way to the courtroom where an elderly man waved them down.

It was only Yoongi, Taehyung, the judge, and the elderly man in the courtroom. Taehyung and Yoongi stood in front of the judge, facing each other, holding hands. They tried to act cool, but they were both fighting tears. They knew they were tears of joy 𑁋 so happy to be here, so excited to be doing this 𑁋 but also of heartbreak. No mothers, no fathers, no friends there to witness the wedding. It was as joyful as it was painful, and it still hurt Yoongi when he thought back on the memory, but there were good moments, too.

Yoongi still laughs at the memory of Taehyung, stoic-faced and watery-eyed, saying with a crack in his voice, “I do.”

He remembers the sear in his own throat when tears spilled over onto his cheeks. “I do.”

When they kissed, he clung onto Taehyung, weak-kneed and tearful.

Oh, the embarrassment when the elderly man asked for Yoongi’s phone to take a picture of them!

They looked back at the photo only an hour later when they celebrated with a small dinner for two at a steakhouse, laughing at the sight of themselves. Yoongi, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, smiling through his red, puffy face, and Taehyung, glassy-eyed with an expression that read as though he had rather have been anywhere else in the world, holding up their marriage license like small children showing off an award.

Yoongi cried again, but from laughter, “Why do you look so mad?”

Taehyung doubled over in their booth, cackling, “I thought I was smiling!”

It’s a memory Yoongi cherishes almost ten months later, and he fears the day he may forget it.

Yoongi swipes to the next picture on his phone idly, fighting through tears and wiping needlessly at his nose. He doesn’t know why he does this to himself. He knows he’ll cry about it if he thinks about it too long, it’s always been that way, he should know better by now than to think of such things at work.

It’s four hours until closing, and Yoongi puts away his phone to open his laptop, the last customer having come in more than an hour ago.

He moves to open a music program and inserts an earbud as he works, starting new compositions, opening compositions he had started and never finished. As time crawls on, he resigns from the attempt an hour later, deciding maybe today simply isn’t a day for composing.

As Yoongi continues his routine, he finds himself thinking of his life again, and he can’t help but feel a bitterness at recognizing where he is.

At twenty-three, Yoongi had hoped he would have much more. He wanted his own home. He wanted a different job. His values then had been more materialistic, surely, and Yoongi could recognize that the things he wanted and needed were different, but he felt a disappointment in his current place.

Yoongi and Taehyung had no place of their own 𑁋 renting from friends was just the next best thing they could afford right now. Yoongi, who loved cooking and baking, had only been eating takeout food, and the weight was starting to show. Taehyung had gotten injured at a job a couple weeks ago and the infection on his leg still hadn’t cleared up entirely. The majority of Yoongi’s belongings that he’d brought from college were still in boxes, and that was just the remainder of what their old roommate hadn’t nicked from him. Yoongi, much to his own frustration, had learned these past few months that, as much as he loved Taehyung, Yoongi needed his own space, and he now lived every day with great hopes of an office of his own to work and create in.

Yoongi felt that so much of his desires were out of reach. Maybe he was selfish, wanting so much from life, expecting to live beyond his current means. Yoongi feels angry, frustrated, and he hates that Taehyung, too empathetic for his own good, knows.

A couple of months back, after their marriage, after Yoongi’s graduation, after a fight in which Yoongi had opened up about his frustrations, Taehyung held Yoongi close, as he often did after their fights, and he apologized to Yoongi. “I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

Yoongi was confused, mouth agape as he laid on Taehyung’s chest, cheeks streaked with tears. “What do you mean? This isn’t your fault, this is just how things are.”

“It is my fault,” Taehyung stated. “I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I wasn’t ready to offer you the lifestyle that should come with a married life. I don’t have a secure job. I don’t have any kind of degree. I can’t provide the way you can. I’m sorry to burden you with the financial responsibilities of our relationship. I should try harder.”

Yoongi couldn’t speak.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not mad, too. You think I want to keep you here? I know you’re not happy. I know you miss doing things on your own and having your own space. I’m tired of living with other people, too.”

They were both quiet for the longest time. Yoongi wanted to apologize, but he knew that Taehyung would only tell him there was no need, he wasn’t at fault.

Since then, Yoongi had started to take to a new motto: it’s only temporary.

Taehyung laughed at first, but Yoongi’s new mantra worked wonders for him.

Pissed on toilet seat? It’s only temporary.

Noisy roommates? It’s only temporary.

Shitty customer? It’s only temporary.

Though it worked most of the time, Yoongi’s motto could only do so much.

For Yoongi’s twenty-first birthday, Taehyung, underaged, somehow managed to buy Yoongi an expensive bottle of liquor. Yoongi wasn’t really one for drinking hard liquor, but he was overly sentimental. For two years, Yoongi treasured the bottle, kept it safe in its box along with the sticky note Taehyung left for Yoongi:

Happy birthday, Yoongi.

I love you, always.

After moving in together, Taehyung was no stranger to taking a couple shots every now and then, and Yoongi didn’t mind it; if he was going to have anyone else drink from it, it would be Taehyung.

Taehyung had texted Yoongi one evening while he was at work, asking if Yoongi had moved his bottle of liquor.

Yoongi

No, I didn’t move it. I left it in the storage room in my box of textbooks.

Taehyung

It’s not there anymore.

Yoongi

Did you move it the last time you drank from it?

Taehyung

I know what happened.

Their roommate had always had a habit of taking what wasn’t his.

The part that pissed Yoongi off the most, to this day, was that that man had to open the box, stare at the sticky note that Yoongi had stuck on the inside of the lid, and then pull out the bottle to drink. Yoongi couldn’t give a fuck if all the liquor was gone, he didn’t even care if the box and bottle were gone, but to know that the sticky note Taehyung had written for him, for his twenty-first birthday, was forever gone and that he would never get it back absolutely tore Yoongi’s heart into a million pieces.

Though Yoongi couldn’t control other people’s actions, he did his best to control his own emotions.

It’s only temporary.

Six o’clock comes and goes, and Yoongi is locking up shop, bundled up with his backpack slung over his shoulder. His feet hurt. His back hurts. His head is hurting something awful, and the only thing Yoongi wants is to go home and lay down with Taehyung, assuming he’s come back from work already.

The drive back home is faster than coming to work, and Yoongi debates whether he should pick up food on his way home. He shoots Taehyung a text, only to receive nothing in return, and he decides on picking up fried chicken for tonight.

The sky is dark by the time Yoongi gets home, lugged down by bags. He opens the door with a great balancing act, not wanting to bother Taehyung in case he’s asleep or showering 𑁋 his car is out front, but who knows how long he’s been home.

Yoongi enters the house, hearing soft music coming from the right side of the house, where their bedroom resides. There’s light peeking from their bedroom door, and Yoongi decides to try to open the door without unlocking it.

Inside, he finds Taehyung sitting on the edge of their bed, hair still wet from his shower, as he changes the towel off their Swiffer. There’s two new baskets of freshly washed clothes, the bed is perfectly made, and Yoongi’s heart sings, knowing that they make the perfect team.

Taehyung looks up with his big brown eyes, and Yoongi can’t help the smile that paints itself on his lips.

“Welcome home,” Taehyung says, abandoning the Swiffer to help Yoongi with his bags.

Yoongi forces himself not to ask Taehyung about ignoring his texts just yet; he’s been getting better at that. “Hi, baby.”

Taehyung drops Yoongi’s bags at the foot of the bed and turns to pull Yoongi into a hug, wrapping an arm around Yoongi’s lower back. “Hi,” and then a little peck (Yoongi forgets about the texts), two (he feels tension release from the middle of his back), three (Yoongi’s headache subsides just a bit), a fourth for good luck, “do you want to lie down for a bit?” (He loves this man so much).

Yoongi stinks in comparison to Taehyung, but his feet are screaming and the warmth of Taehyung’s body is calling his name. “Only for a little bit.”

Yoongi kicks off his shoes while Taehyung builds a little nest of pillows, just the way Yoongi likes, and a great wave of relief comes over Yoongi as he crawls into bed next to Taehyung. He’s been wanting to do this so badly all day, he could cry 𑁋 and he does.

Taehyung is quick in kissing Yoongi’s cheeks, stroking his hair, asking in a soft voice, “What’s wrong, love?” He wipes away the few tears left, pulling him closer after.

Yoongi can only shake his head and take in a deep breath, lightly tightening Taehyung in his embrace. “I don’t know, I’m just tired I guess. I missed you a lot today.”

“Did you have a good day?” His voice is soft, so forgiving. How could Yoongi ever blame him for anything?

“It was okay, but how was yours?”

“Tiring. We worked almost an hour away today, and my leg swelled up more.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

Taehyung laughs. “It’s better now, don’t worry about it.”

Yoongi sighs, closes his eyes as he presses his face to Taehyung’s chest. It’s his favorite place to be, and Taehyung laughs warmly at the soft kisses Yoongi peppers on his ochre skin.

“What did you bring to eat?”

Yoongi sits up, but Taehyung pulls him back down. “Fried chicken,” Yoongi responds, burying himself in Taehyung’s neck.

“Do you want to eat or shower first?”

Yoongi chuckles. “No, a secret third thing,” he responds, reaching a hand down to cup Taehyung’s soft dick through his sweatpants.

Taehyung laughs, pushing him away playfully. “Oh, no, you’re horrible! Here I am dying of hunger, and you do this to me. I can’t wear sweatpants comfortably in this house anymore.”

Yoongi can’t help but laugh as he sits up on his knees, looking down at Taehyung.

He’s shirtless, always, and his face is only slightly sunburnt 𑁋 Taehyung looks just the way he did the day they met nearly four years ago.

The pit of Yoongi’s stomach burns a bit, and his eyes flash to the soft expanse of belly just above Taehyung’s hips.

“Don’t be so stingy,” Yoongi says, reaching down to pull away the band of Taehyung’s sweatpants and underwear in one go. He crouches down, glancing up at Taehyung briefly before he smirks to himself. “Just a little kiss.”

Taehyung lets Yoongi do as he pleases, watching with hungry eyes as Yoongi delicately takes Taehyung’s softened cock into his mouth. Yoongi tightens his lips lightly around it, pulling away slowly as he drags his tongue across the underside, relishing in the soft hum that Taehyung emits.

Yoongi pulls away, bringing back up the band of his husband’s sweatpants and underwear, and taps the slowly growing bulge as a farewell. “Okay, let’s eat.”

Taehyung groans, throwing an arm over his eyes because he is nothing if not dramatic. “No, you can’t do that to me.”

Yoongi laughs, sitting back on his heels. He watches Taehyung sigh and pull his dick from his sweats and boxers, almost mesmerized by how quickly it’s hardened. It’s almost like a hunger that he feels, taking in how Taehyung’s cock has deepened in color, a dark, beautiful purple-brown that makes Yoongi lick his lips. It’s torture, watching Taehyung wrap a hand around it and look almost pleading up at Yoongi.

“Just a kiss,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi has to laugh at hearing his words repeated to him.

“No,” he says, though he isn’t sure if he’s speaking moreso to himself or to his husband.

“Come on.” He pulls back more of the foreskin, and the head of Taehyung’s cock glistens. “Just a little one.”

Yoongi shakes his head, laughing.

“I won’t touch your head while you do it!” Taehyung puts his hands in the air.

He can’t say no to him, can he?

Yoongi crouches down again, smiling all the while, and takes Taehyung’s cock deeply into his mouth, relishing the velvety feel, running his tongue across the bottom. He gets satisfaction from the groan that leaves Taehyung’s lips, and Yoongi would be lying if he said it didn’t make him horny as well.

Yoongi pulls away, but, feeling generous, dips back down, letting the tip of Taehyung’s cock hit the back of his throat. He tightens his right hand into a fist, trying his best not to gag, and bobbing his head slowly once, twice, thrice, a fourth time for good luck before pulling away completely.

Taehyung’s voice is low, almost growling, when he says, “Fuck.”

Yoongi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before sitting back on his heels. “Let’s eat.”

He smiles at the sound of Taehyung’s groaning, loving that he’s left him wanting more.

They eat beautifully, until their bellies are full and Taehyung does that sigh he only does when he’s full and can’t fit any more food inside his mouth. Yoongi showers later, and they lay in bed together, watching some movie they won’t think about ever again. Taehyung asks Yoongi to suck his dick, but Yoongi says no, not when he’s eaten recently, and Taehyung only smiles as he pulls Yoongi closer to his chest, kissing his forehead sweetly.

“Have they told you?” Yoongi asks, peering up at his husband.

Taehyung looks down through his thick eyelashes, knowingly, and rubs a hand up and down Yoongi’s arm, smiling all the while. “Told me what?”

Yoongi hums softly, letting his eyes close with the gentle pull of sleep after a long day. “That I love you.”

“No, they haven’t.” Taehyung answers, “But I love you, too.”

Warmth blooms in Yoongi’s chest, and he knows he’s safe here. He knows he’s loved here. The rest doesn’t matter, not his fears, his anger, his anxiety, their home, their money, their jobs 𑁋 nothing else matters when he can come home to Taehyung.

Yoongi knows he isn’t perfect, and he knows that the ideas of love that he held growing up aren’t correct or healthy, but ever since meeting Taehyung, ever since falling in love with him, he’s felt himself change for the better, the same way that Taehyung has. He knows that there may be a long time before they’re where they want to be in life. They want a ranch, a car, a truck, a ranch, four children, a big kitchen, horses because that’s Taehyung’s dream, a little pond of ducks for Yoongi, and two dogs (a shih-tzu and a doberman). It’s not the life teenage Yoongi had envisioned, but, because of Taehyung, Yoongi has so much more love to give than he had anticipated in his bitter youth.

“You’re falling asleep?” Taehyung asks.

“I think so.”

Yoongi feels the blanket be pulled up higher, feels Taehyung’s skin grow warmer. How many nights did he fall asleep on video calls with Taehyung while he was in college, wishing only to be here?

“Goodnight, my love.”

Far too many, Yoongi thinks.

“Goodnight, baby.”

I love you more than I did yesterday.

#Taegi #bts ff #kim taehyung fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #taegi fanfic

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sugars-fluffy-escapes · 2 years

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Stress Relief and Reassurance (In the Form of Two Tickle Monsters)

Harry Osborn x Reader (featuring Peter)

SFW; Initially angst, but turns to fluff, fluff, and a shit ton more fluff, loving friendship (very much needed for this cinnamon roll)

Words: 3953

Summary: Harry's stressed out about being the CEO of his late father's company, and feeling uncertain about deserving the friendships of Y/N and Peter, who are adamant that he does. They dedicate as much time as possible to combatting the negative feelings Harry has toward himself as a result of Norman and Donald Menken's treatment of him.

Warnings: Self doubt, talks of the Goblin disease, mentions of death, impostor syndrome, Peter being a little shit with his web shooters (mild restraints but completely SFW), Peter and reader being tickle monsters

DISCLAIMER: For the sake of this fic, Harry was cured, never became the Green Goblin, and Donald Menken got fired because he's an asshole. (<- You'll see that a lot in the disclaimers for my Harry fics. I can't stand Menken, bruh) Oh! Smythe got fired too. Harry's full name in this is 'Harrison Xavier Osborn' and he'll be referred to as that in all of my Harry fics from here on out. Suits the character

Harry slumped back in his office chair with an exasperated huff, slightly sinking down in the cushioned seat, arms lying limp on the armrests. He wasn't sure exhaustion was intense enough a word for the burnout he was feeling. That day had marked the end of his first week back as the CEO of Oscorp after Donald Menken's shady dealings had been exposed, leading to his termination, and his first week of life after being cured of his retroviral hyperplasia. Everything had happened so fast, and he'd had no time to process any of it.

His head jolted up when he heard the echo of Felicia's footsteps out in the hallway, and when she walked in, he noticed she was holding a coffee. She'd been a strong support system for Harry since he'd first taken up the role of CEO, and was on his side during the point in time where Menken framed him for Max Dillon's accident. After he was cured, after he returned to the company, Felicia had been there to warmly welcome him back.

"I figured you could use a little caffeine to get through the rest of the work day," she stated, walking over and carefully setting it on his desk. "I've also scheduled your three meetings for this coming week and sent the information to your calendar."

Harry graciously accepted the coffee, and despite his fatigue, he gave a smile. "Felicia, you are an absolute Godsend. Thank you."

"I'm just doing my job, Harry." Felicia was a modest soul when it came to her work, though it was hard to miss her smile at Harry's words.

"No, I mean it. Your support since the start has been insurmountable, and I can't thank you enough."

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, Felicia bid him farewell before making the trek back to her own office space. Harry propped himself up on his elbow, carefully gripping the coffee cup in his hand, finding that the scent alone had him feeling the slightest bit more awake. When he took a sip, the hot drink drowned his tastebuds in the comforting bittersweet flavor.

The sudden buzz of his phone's text notification startled him, and resulted in him nearly spilling his coffee all over his desk. After composing himself, he cautiously set down the cup and glanced at the screen. When he read the names, he felt a pit in his stomach. Both Peter, and Y/N, had texted him. It wasn't the first time they'd attempted to contact their estranged friend. They'd tried calling, but each time they did, they could only get Harry's voicemail.

Harry could still remember waking up on the floor of the Special Projects wing, with Peter and Y/N looking down at him, both of them worried out of their minds.

Gwen stood a few feet away, holding a vial of blue liquid, with a syringe in her other hand. The syringe gun, that Harry had intended to use for the venom injection lay on the floor, broken, its contents spilled on the linoleum along with shattered pieces of glass. It took several minutes for his mind to register what Peter was trying to tell him.

"We figured out a cure, Harry. You're gonna be okay. I promise. You're not dying anymore. It's gone... I promise you, it's gone..."

Felicia had leaked Donald Menken and Alexander Smythe's illegal antics, clearing Harry's name and restoring him as Oscorp's CEO. Harry's actions of breaking out Electro had been seen as a misguided attempt to correct Donald and Alexander's wrongs, as they'd been experimenting on Max Dillon at Ravencroft, after all, so he faced no consequences.

He spent every day of the past week trying to understand it, trying to get his mind to register it, but all of his attempts were in vain. There was a growing feeling of guilt forming in his stomach and chest with each passing day... Everything continued to replay in his head...

In the midst of everything that happened the very day he was cured, he found out that Peter was Spider-Man. Harry wanted to be angry. He felt that he should have been angry. But, Gwen sat down with the initially enraged Harry, and explained what would have happened to him, had he been given the blood transfusion, or had he been successful in his attempt to be injected with the spider venom, at his request, in horrifying, and sickening detail. He watched the holographic simulations in absolute horror, his entire body washing over with goosebumps as he realized what he would have become. At a certain point, Harry had begun to cry, and had to turn away, pleading for the simulation to be shut off.

After they'd helped Harry calm down, Peter apologized with sincerity, for not explaining or elaborating more on why he couldn't give Harry his blood, as not even he knew exactly what it could have done at that point in time. Y/N also apologized, for growing distant, and for having to keep Peter's secret from Harry for so long. What they weren't expecting, was for Harry to apologize to all of them. Y/N didn't understand why he had any reason to be sorry. He was backed into a corner, with no options, and all he wanted was to live. They didn't, nor would they ever, hold something like that against him.

In spite of Peter and Y/N's attempts to assure their friend that they held no ill will toward him, their words didn't hold a candle to Harry's own remorse. Felicia had tried encouraging Harry to respond, to invite them to the tower for the day, but Harry was quick to politely shoot down the suggestions in any way he could. As much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, the vile words of his late father, and of Donald Menken, were etched into his brain, and would not leave him alone.

"You have such potential, Harry. Such fierce intelligence, and you're throwing it all away..."

It was still hard for Harry to believe he could make something of himself... It was still hard for him to believe he could restore some form of glory and good reputation to Oscorp again... It was still hard for him to believe that he wouldn't die in his sleep one night...

"You're going to die a horrible death. Like your father. The difference is, no one is going to miss you..."

No one is going to miss you... Seven words that Harry was beginning to believe after all...

The following week seemed to fly by in a disorienting blur. Harry was moving like a robot with no conscience, his body on autopilot. His eyes were dull, and tired, his voice was quiet, and almost strained... Felicia could see that the more time passed, the worse Harry was becoming. It was seeing Harry, asleep at his desk with tear-stained eyes, hair disheveled and office a mess, that solidified her next course of action. Although she knew Harry might be upset by it, she reached out to Peter and Y/N, pleading with them to visit despite Harry's prior protests.

***

Peter stood outside of the entrance to the Oscorp Tower, waiting for Y/N to arrive so the two could make their way inside. It was cold, and he could see his breath enter the air from his lips. His jacket and beanie did little to stave off the frigid, end-of-winter weather. Y/N walked at a rapid pace, body tense as they maneuvered through the crowds of people walking in the opposite direction. They weaved through them in a non-linear path, picking up the speed at which they walked when they saw Peter's eyes meet their own gaze.

"You got the call from Felicia too?"

Peter nodded, his nose growing red from waiting outside. "Yeah... I get the feeling she didn't tell Harry that we're here..."

"Considering he hasn't been answering our texts or calls, I'm certain she didn't tell him..." Y/N felt their heart sinking as they thought about their friend. "I'm... I'm really worried, about Harry, Peter... He's been so distant..."

"I-It's... it's definitely not easy to... uh... see what he saw... to... to learn what might have happened to him had we not thought out a proper cure..."

The two lifted their heads when the doors opened, Felicia waving them inside and leading them toward the elevator. "I didn't tell him I called you two here. But, I... I didn't know what else to do. He's been crying himself to sleep at his desk, and I-I can tell he's getting nightmares... I..."

"We appreciate you reaching out to us, Felicia." Peter looked at her with gratefulness, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. He knew she was fond of Harry, and Harry was also fond of her. Outside of work, the two had become close friends. "Especially since we couldn't reach Harry when we tried contacting him."

"H-Has... has he said anything? About... you know..." Y/N saw Felicia's eyes water briefly before she cleared her throat.

"That... he doesn't deserve your friendships. He hasn't been able to get those simulation images out of his mind. Menken's words have really been messing with him... He doesn't believe in himself anymore..."

The rest of the elevator ride was hauntingly quiet. Harry's home was a penthouse at the very top floor. Felicia had managed to convince him to go up and change out of his work clothes. Unbeknownst to anyone, he'd cried the entire time he was showering and changing into his pajamas, fearful he'd see the symptoms of retroviral hyperplasia reappearing on his skin. He stared blankly at television, eyelids feeling heavy, not bothering to wipe his fresh tear stains. His body jumped at the sound of someone knocking, and, assuming it was only Felicia, he slowly pushed himself off of the couch, and walked over to the door.

Harry shakily turned the handle, and when he was suddenly greeted by not only Felicia, but Peter and Y/N as well, he couldn't stop his lip from quivering. "Harry... Please. We really need to see you..." Y/N's voice was soft, and genuine. The CEO had no energy to argue, and stumbled aside so they could make their way in.

"I'll give you three some time to talk." Felicia stated. "Harry, I'll be back first thing in the morning, alright?"

"Y-Yeah..." Harry nodded quickly, his voice quiet and tired. "Thank you, Felicia. For everything."

His assistant gave a small smile, before nodding to Peter and Y/N. She closed the door behind her, leaving the three friends in awkward silence. Peter was the first to speak. "Haz, we've... we've been worried sick about you..."

"Why?"

"Because, you're our friend. How can we not be worried about you?"

"Y-You... you really shouldn't be. I-I thought I was clear enough when I wasn't responding back..." Harry trudged over to the couch, slumping back with a huff. Peter and Y/N followed, sitting down on either side of him.

"Harry-"

"It eats away at me, you know? How close I was to hurting you guys... how close I was... to... to taking lives... Every time I look in the mirror, I see that monster... that creature from the holograph simulation... That would have been me if you went along with my idea... and I pushed for it... I-I... I pressured you for it, Peter... I accused Y/N of abandoning me... of betraying me..."

"Harry, you were dying... We weren't helpful or as supportive as you needed us to be... as we needed to be... You were backed into a corner and running out of options-"

"I called you a fraud, Peter... I wanted to kill you! Dohon't make the argument that I didn't know you were Spider-Man. It doesn't justify wanting to hurt you... Why are you here? Why do you keep calling to check in on me? Why are... why are you still worried about me...? You cured me... right? So why don't you forget about me...?"

Harry's voice was breaking, body trembling with held back sobs, but he couldn't suppress his pain any longer. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, and he lowered his head to his hands. "I-I'm... I'm so. tired. All the shit my dad said to me, all the shit Menken said to me, it's all trapped up here!" He pointed to his head before hiding in his hands again.

"H-Harry... honey..."

"They were right..."

"Stop it. Stop that right now, Har-"

"Wasted potential... no one will miss me... The life story of Harrison Xavier Osborn-"

"Harry!" Y/N scolded, their face softening when Harry looked up at them, his eyes glassy and watering.

He didn't say a word when Peter and Y/N moved closer, instead, he broke down even more, initially trying to shrug off his friends' attempts at consoling him; but the closer they got to him, the more he wanted their comfort... the more he needed their comfort... His arms slowly lifted to accept their embrace, and without hesitation, Peter and Y/N held their crying friend.

None of them were sure how long they spent in each others' arms, but eventually, Peter grabbed a large blanket, and the three huddled close together beneath it. The warmth and safety Harry felt, with two people he loved to the moon and back, right by his side, was indescribable. It was quiet, save for the faint noise on the eye-straining, too-bright television screen, when Harry spoke again.

"I... I really don't know... how I'm the least bit deserving, of you two being my friends..."

Both Y/N's and Peter's eyes moved to glance at their friend in utter disbelief, and Y/N used their sleeve to gently wipe away the stray tears that were still traversing down Harry's pale skin. "Harry. Not another negative word about yourself. You hear me? We're not about to let you continue believing that anything Norman or Menken said is truthful. Both of them, are full of shit."

"Y/N-"

"Har. Your dad was the one who wasted his potential. Not you. Y/N and I, Felicia, Gwen too... all of us, would miss you. All of us would be fucking devastated if something happened to you."

Harry shook his head, feeling the guilt in his stomach. "No... Stop that..."

"Harry." Peter's tone of voice sounded all too familiar to Harry, and automatically, his body stiffened. He hadn't heard that voice in years. "Keep up that self deprecation and see what happens."

"What does happen?"

"You don't know what happens- Ohohhh~! Did you go all this time without knowing that Harry's-"

Harry covered his friend's mouth with a frantic hiss. "Peter! S-Stop. talking!" Peter moved away from Harry's hand with ease.

"That sass is gonna earn you a one way ticket to tickleville in a minute, Har."

"PETE!"

Y/N's jaw had dropped, and they stared at the two for a few moments, witnessing as Harry's torso was pulled into Peter's arms, his arms crossed over his chest and wrists in the brunette's grasp. He'd tried to stand up from the couch, the blanket falling onto the floor, but Peter was not about to let him get away. "G-Get off!"

"Cat's outta the bag now! Harrison Xavier Osborn, is astronomically ticklish. I'm talking, 'poke his side lightly and he'll shriek' ticklish."

"Sh-Shut up!"

Butterflies began fluttering in Harry's stomach and chest, heart beating faster, which he could begin to feel in his ears.

"Harry! How could you! I've known you for ten years and you never tell me that you're ticklish!?" Y/N questioned with feigned offense, placing a hand over their heart. "You wound me!"

"H-How could I t-tell you!? Peter! L-Let me go!"

Peter had adjusted himself so that Harry was laying with his back pressed to his friend's chest, still holding taut to his arms. "Haz didn't even know what tickling was until I tickled him."

"WHAT!?"

Harry could feel his face growing hot, and he knew his blush would soon be very visible. He squirmed, half-heartedly attempting to free himself from Peter's grasp. A sudden fwip! made him jump, a small yelp leaving his lips. His icy blue eyes glanced down, and he realized that Peter had released his hold on his arms, having webbed them to stay crossed over his chest.

"P-Peter..."

"Someone is long overdue for some laughs, isn't he~?" Y/N's teasing tone had Harry biting back a giggle, though they could very much see how hard he was trying not to react.

"Looooooong overdue~ Aren't you, Haz~?"

"Th-Thihis isn't fair!"

"Was that a little giggle I just heard~?" Y/N cooed, feeling their heart melt over Harry's blush. Harry's legs stiffened when Y/N moved them across their lap. "Wohoah! We haven't even done anything yet~!"

"B-But... buhut y-you're... you're gonna..." Harry stammered, another giggle slipping out.

Peter chuckled, as Harry's reaction was all too familiar to him. "You're damn right we're gonna~ Ohoh! There's the full on nervous giggles~!

"Sh-Shuhuhuhut uhuhup!" Harry squeaked, eyes widening when Y/N placed their hands on the couch space on either side of his hips.

"Alright, Y/N! I hope you're ready for 'Tickling Harry Osborn 101.' Lesson one, take note of how little he hesitates to sass or insult you." Peter smirked over Harry's expression. "Lesson two..."

Y/N was a bit startled by the sudden sound of Harry squealing loudly and kicking his legs, which they quickly wrapped their arms around to keep from kicking them in the face. Peter hadn't even actually tickled the squirming CEO. He'd simply wiggled his fingers close to his side, but Harry had felt it.

"Lehesson two isss...?"

"That Har is air ticklish as fuck."

"Stahahap teheheheaching thehemmm!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you not want to be tickled to bits by your best friends~?" Peter challenged with a raised eyebrow. Harry's timid silence made him smirk triumphantly. "That's what I thought~ Well? Care to join me, Y/N?"

Harry let out a giggly whimper upon seeing Y/N nod eagerly, and shrieked when they teasingly wiggled their fingers. "Which spot do I get first~?"

"Any. Lehesson three? He's ticklish everywhere!"

"P-Peter! Youhou absolutely suHUHUHUCK- HEHEHEY! HEYYYEHEHEHEEE!" Harry's insult was swiftly interrupted when Peter's hand slipped under Harry's shirt and two of his fingers fluttered over his bare side. "PEHEHEHETE!"

Harry's laughter was melodic, and pure giggles that spiked in volume and pitch depending on where he was being tickled. Y/N let out a giggle of their own, before they hovered their wiggling fingers over Harry's belly. "We're gonna make sure you believe us when we say you deserve our friendship, honey~"

"B-By t-t... ti... ugh! Whyhyhyhyhyy?"

"You can't say the word!? Harry! Oh my God! You're so fucking cute!"

"S-Stahahap! IhIhI'm nahat cuhUHUHUHUTE! Y/NNNNN! EHEEE- PEHEHEHETERRRR! *hic* Stahahay ahahahawahahay frohohom myhyhy eheheheARSAHAHAHAA!" Not only had Y/N begun gently and rapidly clawing at the ticklish skin on Harry's belly, but Peter, who'd not shaved his stubble, was leaning down by Harry's ear, which tickled unbearably badly.

Y/N grinned, immediately noticing that Harry had not even tried to free his arms. "Aww~ Are your ears too ticklish, honey~?" Harry could only let out a giggly whine and squirm.

"Shuhuhuuuush! Lehehehehet mehehe gohohohoooo!"

"You know damn well that you're stuck like this until you tell us you deserve our friendships, that you're always good enough, and that your potential is not wasted." Peter listed off the demands and poked Harry's sides while doing so.

"Gehehehet behehehent, Pehehehete!"

"Oh you're getting it now, Haz." Harry's breath hitched loudly when Y/N's hands immediately moved to rest on his hips. "Y/N! Y-Y/N! D-Dohohohon't! Dohohon't youhou dahAHAHAREHEHEEE!"

His nose scrunched up, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth and stomach swarming with butterflies. He could feel the sensations travel from his hips, up the lengths of his sides, and the sensations made him giggle even harder, hiccuping each time he inhaled for air.

"Aww~ Does it tickle too much~? You know how to make this stop, Har~" Peter's voice was soft and cute, the teasing tone of voice making Harry squeak repeatedly.

"IhIs someone weak to cutesy talk~?" Y/N cooed, fingers trailing along the ticklish skin across Harry's waistline. Harry's eyes briefly met theirs, before he closed them tight and squealed. His ears, cheeks, and nose were bright red, blatantly giving away just how flustered he'd become.

Peter began spidering his fingers over Harry's sides, and Harry screeched loudly, before dissolving into higher pitched giggling. His legs kicked out wildly, but the moment Y/N caught them, he froze. "Y-Y/N... nohohoho... Nohoho noho NOHOHOHOHO! STAHAHAAAAP!"

"Peheter! You weren't kidding! He's ticklish everywhere!" They'd meticulously squeezed and prodded at both of his knees, laughing loudly when he shrieked and tried to bend his knees out of sheer reflex.

After another minute, Peter held up his hand for both of them to pause the tickling, allowing Harry to properly catch his breath. He grew even more flustered when Peter leaned close to him, faces upside-down in each other's vision. "Had enough~?"

"F-Fuhuck off."

"Clearly he hasn't. You know how to make this stop, honeybun~"

"H-HOHONEYBUN!? WAHAHAHAIT! Nonono, Pehehete, PEHETE! Nohohot myhyhy neheheheck, noho- NOHOHOOOO! PLEHEHEHEHEAAASEEHEEEEE!"

"Say it, Harry~"

"FUHUHUHUCK YOUHOU GUHUHUYYYS!"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, and glanced up at Peter, who pointed at Harry's legs. They were quick to get the message, and with quick succession, they wrapped their arm around his ankles. "W-Woah, woah... H-Hehey... n-nohoho. Noho! Y/N! DOHOHON'T DOHOHO IHIHIHIT!"

"Last chance, Harry~ Tell us what we want to hear~"

Harry looked up at Peter, and then at Y/N, and timidly shook his head. "I-I can't..."

Without hesitation, Peter leaned down and began blowing raspberries right on Harry's neck, fingers fluttering over and squeezing his sides. Y/N's fingers were spidering over his socks, and the combined sensations made Harry scream, his giggles growing almost silent, save for the occasional gasp and hiccup. The tears of mirth were quick to stream down his cheeks, replacing the tears of pain and shame from earlier.

"PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEAAAASEEHEHEEEEE! *hic* IHIHIHI CAHAHAHAN'T TAHAHAKE AHAHAHANYMOHOHORRRRE!" He cried, body too weak to try and squirm away.

"Are you gonna say what we want to hear?"

"YEHEHESSS! YEHEHES! *hic* IHIHI WIHIHIHILL! PROHOHOMIHIHISEEHEHEHE!"

Peter and Y/N relented, their impatient expressions enough to make Harry squeak again. "IhI... I... deheheheseherve... youhour... youhour friendshihihips..."

"Aaaaannnnd~?"

"IhI'm... ahalways... gohood enough..."

"What else, honey~?"

"Myhy... my pohotential... ihihis not... ihis nohot wahasted..."

Peter discarded the webs with ease, and Y/N released Harry's ankles, but the two didn't let go of him, instead, they moved closer, and embraced him, tightly, comfortably, protectively. "Please don't shut us out anymore, Harry..."

Harry was still catching his breath, but after a few seconds, he clung to his friends, and closed his eyes, more tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. Peter and Y/N stayed with him that night, the three of them curled up underneath the blanket. That was the first night of peaceful sleep Harry had gotten in years. It was going to take time for him to be able to shut down the horrid opinions he had of himself thanks to his father, thanks to Menken, but he wouldn't ever shut his friends out again. He made that a promise to himself...

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

FIRST HARRY OSBORN ONESHOT POSTED TO THE BLOG!!!! WOOOOO!!! 🥳🥳🥳 I love him so much 🥺 Stay tuned for even more Harry content on this blog 👉🏾👈🏾 /gen /p

Until next time~!

- Ushu 💖

#ler!reader #ler!peter 3 #ler!p3 #lee!harry #lee!harry osborn #ticklish!harry #sfw tickle fic #sfw tickles #tickle fluff #tickle fic #harry osborn x reader

122 notes · View notes

bakudekushimasimp · 3 years

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Pairings: katsuki bagukouxy/nxkirishima

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, threesome, vaginal sex, anal, DP, mild degradation, unprotected sex (wrap it, before you tap it), oral

Summary: you walk into their dorm while they’re comparing sizes 👀

*A/N: yes they are in a dorm but they are also aged up, however old reader thinks is appropriate for people to have sex at, I don’t see grown men comparing sizes so of course they’re still younger. (I’m thinking around 18) can be older! It’s all up to the reader!

Mina and you are walking down the hallway about to turn in for the night, discussing improving your quirks and how your internships have been going. Everyone was either already in their dorms, washing up, or chatting it up in the lounge area. You both pass by the boys restroom as Todoroki steps out in only a towel hanging on his hips. Mina, being the overly confident one, praises him for his fit figure and tells him she might need his ice quirk with how hot he’s made it in the hallway and it wasn’t because his fire quirk. Shouto’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he slips past you two and crosses the hall to his dorm. You both continue walking as you both giggle at his cute reaction. Mina then decides to bring up the topic of who the cutest boy was in your class. You roll your eyes and look at Mina,

“Mina, we are not 13 anymore.” She only nudges you and laughs. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t thought of any of the guys being insanely attractive, or their quirk just interest you more than others..” You think about it as you watch your feet, and slow down your pace. Now that you thought about it you have been paying more attention to someone than usually. Not being able to take your eyes off them while training. Or in class. A blush creeps across your face and Mina shouts, “See! I knew you had a little crush on SOMEONE!” You jump and quickly tell her to quiet down. You did not want to draw attention to yourself. Before you can say anything Mina turns to you abruptly, “Y/n I totally forgot. Kirishima has my *insert subject* book from class he needed to borrow it to finish up some of his homework do you think you could grab it for me! I need it before tomorrow!” An image of Red Riot smiling flashes across your mind and you start to stutter, “I s-suppose.” She jumps a little and claps her hands. “Thank you y/n” she quickly gives you a hug, your now standing in front of her dorm room door. “I’m going to bed, but you can leave it outside my door I’ll grab it in the morning when I wake up!” You hesitantly smile, hoping that the boys weren’t busy or asleep so you didn’t disturb them over a silly book. Mina retreats into her room, as you turn around to head back towards the boys dorm.

You stand in front of there door hearing muffled voices on the other side. You figure it’s better to get it over with, and since they both seem more than awake you’d just grab the book and go. You take a breath and twist the door knob open.

Your breath catches in your throat and your mouth hangs slightly ajar. Your face turns a fiery red. Both Katsuki and Kirishima stand their with their manhood in their hands. It looked as if they were trying to compare sizes, you only heard a brief “mine is definitely bigger,” before they turnt to the side snapping their heads towards you. You never knew someone could be that big. Kirishima’s cheeks flush and he quickly pulls his shorts up and over his cock only leaving his perfect v line and a red trail to view. Katsuki still holds his and isn’t so quick to move but eventually tucks himself back into his sweatpants. “What are you staring at idiot!” He practically barks at you. “Never seen a dick before?” Your throat is so dry your eyes quickly shift to the floor and you simply croak out, “M-m-Mina sent me to get her book from Kiri.” You see Kirishima tense at your cute nickname you’ve always called him. Katsuki rolls his eyes and grunts plopping onto his bed. “Well.” You look up from your feet and make eye contact with Kiri. He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, “I guess I did forget to give that back to her,” he then turns walking to his desk and grabs the book. But before he could make it to you, to hand it to you, Bakugou stops him. “Wait,” you both turn and shift your attention to him. “so you obviously just saw us both just now when you walked in so..” you look down quickly twirling your thumbs around each other. Kirishima shifts back and forth on his feet feeling embarrassed by the whole situation. “Who looks bigger to you.” You stop twirling your thumbs at the same time Kiri stops shifting on his feet. You look up at Katsuki who is now leaned back smirking with both hands behind his head. You can’t help but look at his muscular arms twitch, and your eyes trail to his shirt that is lifted revealing a peek of his toned abs and blonde patch of hair that leads to the monster he was hiding in his sweatpants. You hurry and snap your eyes back up to his face where his smirk has now widened he knows what he’s doing, he licks his bottom lip and brings it under his teeth. His look sends a rush of heat straight to your core, dampening your panties. You then look to Kirishima who’s print is revealing itself in his shorts. He licks his lips, “You don’t have to answer that we all know the answer.” Katsuki sits up breaking his seducing pose and shouts “Oi!” You giggle and they both can’t help but let out a groan at the cute sound leaving your mouth, thinking of how nice your moan must sound. Katsuki’s cock twitches underneath his sweatpants and he stands and walked towards you like a lion prowling on its meal.

“We’ll see about that, Y/n can decide who genuinely has the bigger cock here.”

Kirishima tosses his book to the side and slowly approaches you never breaking eye contact as Katsuki makes sure the door is secured shut. Kiri comes up and gently cups your face and your legs start to tremble. Katsuki comes up behind you pulling his shirt off on the way, and soon enough you are pressed between both guys. Bakugou runs his hands down your arms and over your hips as Kirshima leans in only an inch or so away from your parted lips. Bakugou leans into your ear after places a few sloppy kisses up your neck, “tell us you want this..” your eyes are fixed on Kirishima’s and you can’t believe this is happening. “Y-y-yes.” Bakugou nibbles and your ear and then bites your shoulder leaving a love bite. “Yes what?” Kirishima is searching your eyes waiting for the words his erection raging underneath his shorts, he gently pressed it into your stomach as he is taller than you. “I want this, I want you, both.” You finally manage to get out. Katsuki hums into your skin as he grabs your ass and slides his hands around your thighs feeling all your curves. Kirishima takes the opportunity of your little moan to kiss you letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You both start kissing wildly and passionately as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment. Bakugou’s hand slips into your pants as he continues to leave his marks over your neck and shoulders, he feels just how wet him and his roommate have made you. “Already s’wet for us, you came here wanting to get fucked didn’t you, you little slut.” He pulls his fingers out of your pants covered in your slick and brings it up to where you and Kiri are lustfully exploring one another’s mouths. He pushes his finger in the mix of both of your tongues letting you both have a taste. You let out a whimper as Kirishima groans into your mouth. Katsuki pulls his finger back and takes it into his own mouth sucking in the mix of saliva and juices. “S’good” he groans as he pushes his erection into your ass.

Kirishima pulls away from you a string of saliva drawn between both of your lips. You look at him dazed with hooded eyes. He pulls your shirt over your head as Katsuki unhooks your bra from behind you and they let both pieces of clothing fall to the floor. Katsuki grabs your breast and squeezes tightly, “who knew you were hiding such a sexy body underneath that hero suit of yours, you’re always so shy and bashful but look at you turning into our little whore.” Katsuki slaps one of your breasts causing you to let out a whimper. Kirishima slips his shorts off along with his boxers and pumps himself with his fist watching as Katsuki plays with your hardened peaks. You rub your thighs together trying to give some type of relief to your aching sex. Bakugou makes eye contact with kirishima and it’s like they exchanged words because next thing you know Kiri was sweeping you up and bringing you to the bed. Kirishima lays you on the bed and helps you out of your remaining clothes, while Katsuki is removing his sweatpants and boxers from his godlike body. Kiri crawls between your legs letting your thighs rest on his as he spreads you out in front of him. You bring your hands over your eyes to hide your face and Kiri leans down next to your ear. “I’ve only dreamt of this happening, I can’t believe I can really enjoy you like this y/n. Don’t worry I’ll be gentle.” You remember the length and girth of his member from early and all you can think is of how no matter how gentle he was he’d still tear you open. Your pussy clenches around air, your stomach in a knot.

Katsuki makes his way over to you and stands next to where your head lays on the bed. He strokes himself and reaches out removing one of your hands from your face. “Don’t be shy now.” Kiri takes your other hand and lets it run from his chest to his rock hard abs. You shutter at the feeling sending goosebumps up your body. You look at Bakugou’s stuff erection and watch the precum drips from his tip down his shaft. He lets go of your arm and grabs a fist full of your hair pulling you to the perfect angle. He slaps his member on your cheek, “open.” You look at him through your lashes and open letting your tongue roll out. He wastes no time shoving his cock into your mouth letting his head fall back at the sudden warmth. Kirishima kisses his way down your body to your core, but before ravishing you he doesn’t hesitate to leave some love marks/bites all over the insides of your thighs. You try to refrain from squeezing his head between your legs as he then licks straight up your slit and starts to suck on your swollen clit. You moan letting your eyes roll back, the vibrations around Katsuki’s cock driving him wild. He thrust in and out of your mouth matching your head bobs. Kirishima uses one of his hands to slip a finger into you to prep you for what was to come as his other hand went to work twisting your nipple and palming your soft tit. You were drenching his face as you reached your high, it seemed Bakugou was coming close to his as well. Kirishima added another digit to your cunt and curled his fingers pressing against your sweet spot. Your back arched off the bed and not much longer you were coming unraveled. As your throat opened and you hummed against Katsuki’s cock he took the opportunity to shove his entire length down your throat, thrusting into your face until he exploded forcing you to swallow every drop he gave you. He pulled out of your mouth and tapped you on the face wiping saliva and cum across your cheek. “You liked me fucking your pretty little face didn’t you slut.” You nodded your head yes licking your lips, kirishima came up from devouring you to bring you into another hot steamy kiss both of you tasting you and Katsuki on each others tongues.

Kirishima then rolled you both over pulling you on top of him. Your breast hovering over his face and his cock at your entrance. “Are you ready, y/n?” He then took a nipple into his mouth and sucked gently. You brought a hand up to tangle in his hair, and you stammered out “y-y-yes Kiri, I’m ready” he nipped at your nipple at released it from his mouth. He looked at you to check if there was any doubt in your eyes but all there was was the reflection of lust and desire. He slowly started to push himself into you and you could already feel the stretch. He placed his hands on your hips easing you down gently. There was pain mixed with pleasure. All your wetness from the orgasm made it a little easier. Katsuki was on the bed and had positioned himself behind you. He reached around and cupped one of your breast while the other hand rubbed circles over your clit creating more slick for kirishima to push himself into you. You eased yourself all the way down, letting Kiri bottom out in you. You moaned his name digging your nails into his chest. His quirk activating at the sensation making you moshing even louder as you felt him harden and pulse inside you. He pulled you down into a sloppy kiss. Katsuki took the opportunity to massage your bottom as Kiri started his movements thrusting into you. Suki spit letting it drip down onto your lower back he rubbed his thumb in it dragging it down to your puckered hole. He eased his thumb inside you stretching you. You gasped at the feeling of something penetrating you there. “You like that dirty slut?” He slapped your ass cheek with his other hand. You grinded yourself against Kiri moaning into his mouth. “I’ll show you who’s dick you like more, princess.” With that Kirishima broke the kiss and moved to your neck finding your sweet spot and not moving. Katsuki removed his thumb and ran his length up and down your ass. He eased himself into you giving you time to adjust. He groaned as you sucked him in to your tightness. Kirishima was panting as you had your mouth agape tongue hanging out. Kiri took two fingers and hooked them into your mouth as Bakugou reacted up and grabbed your throat bout of them penetrating you at the same time. The tension in your stomach built as you felt another release coming. Kiri’s thrusts we’re turning sloppy as he starting mumbling to himself. “Fuck…s’tight..you like taking both of us…our little slut..all ours.” Katsuki smirks and slams himself into you causing your back to arch higher. “Look at you bringing Red Riot to his knees.” You tighten around both of their cocks as you reach your release. Kiri squeezes your thighs hard as you clench down on him. You see spots of white as you squirt all over his cock and Katsuki’s balls.

Katsuki pulls out of your ass looking at the gaping mess he’s left you, grabbing your hair and pulling you up to his chest. He grabs your thighs and pulls your body off Kiri holding you as Kirishima gets up on his knees. Bakugou puts you back down on the bed, your knees and arms wobbling as you are on all four. “We’re not done with you yet, princess.” He grabs your hair and slips himself inside your drenched sex. “Fuck.” He moans bottoming himself out. You can feel your stomach bulge as he fills you up. Kiri swipes your hair out of your face and caresses your chin pulling your face up he gives you a lazy smile before licking his bottom lip and pushing himself to your mouth. As Katsuki starts to relentlessly pound into your walls he uses the grip on your hair to help you suck all your wet juices off his friends dick. You gag slightly as he forces your head completely down his length. Tears brim your eyes at the complete euphoria your body is going through. Katsuki shoves your head down several more times before kirishima throws his head back loudly moaning your name. He pulls out and paints his seed across your beautiful face. The sight pushes Bakugou over the edge and he releases his vice grip on your hair to dig his fingertips into your hips, he was sure to leave bruises. He sloppily pumped into you until he pulled out and fisted himself until he released all over your back.

You collapsed onto their bed making sure not to lay your face directly onto anything. Katsuki chest is heaving as he climbs off the bed, kirishima holding you somewhat in his lap. Bakugo grabs a towel and hands it to Kiri for you both to clean up while he cleans himself up. After you all are wiped clean you all lay on the bed. Your whole body is tingling and your mind is spinning. You lay between Dynamight and Red Riot amazed that you of all people just got to experience them both at the same time. You lay on Kiri’s chest as Bakugou rubs circles where he had just spread his seed on you only moments ago. Didn’t take him long to break the after care silence when he clears his throat, “So who do you think was bigger?”I

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seiyasabi · 3 years

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Yamaguchi’s Awakening

(Here’s a Yandere Yamaguchi Tadashi x Female Reader story :PP I know you only mentioned a Mommy fic, but I kinda added a lil more ‘spice’ to that lol, so I hope that’s okay! If not, feel free to message me! Also, he’s known the stutter, so I made it a bit prevalent in the story. Sorry if that’s annoying.

TW: !Noncon/dubcon!, Mommy kink!, !You are p mean lol, Painslut Yama!, Masochist Yama!, You physically fight him but he loves it, practically wrestles you to the floor!, thigh fucking, creampie!, Calls himself baby boy but alternates that w ‘pig slut!’, etc..

Please proceed with caution!)

You woke up to Tadashi’s moans, eyes practically popping open in both terror and confusion. You’d taken a nap whilst waiting for him to come home from work, but you hadn’t expected to wake up to such a lewd sound.

Pushing yourself up with shaky arms, your slip’s thin straps slide off of your moisturised shoulders, causing more of your cleavage to show in the skimpy garment. Tired eyes land on the green haired man’s slumped form, his long, lean body practically falling off of a plush chair on the other side of the room. His large hand is fisting his cock at an alarming pace, while his hips stutter upwards to meet his ministrations.

“What the hell are you doing?” You frown in mild annoyance, scoffing in disgust. Is he really getting off to your sleeping form?

“Mu-Mommy!” His face is pulled into the perfect Ahegao expression, tongue lolling out stupidly, as drool drips down his chin. Beads of sweat intermix with his perfectly scattered freckles, and if it weren’t for the fact that Tsukishima helped him kidnap you, you most likely would have found it arousing, “Puh-Please pu-punish me! I-I’m such a-a bad boy!”

Screwing your face up in disgust, you practically spit venom at him, “Oh my God, you’re fucking disgusting. How dare you-”

With a loud whine, he cums. His liquidy release coats his chest in large streaks, partially splashing himself in the face with his own spunk. The liquid creates a large puddle on the floor, demonstrating just how much semen he’s stored in his purple tinged balls. The sight before you has left you absolutely speechless, as Tadashi keens and whines for you to punish him.

“Please, please, Mommy! I-I need you to-”

“What the actual fuck did I just witness?” Your eyes never leave the puddle on your room’s wood look tile, “Oh my God, you’re such a disgusting pervert.”

At your words, the freckled man practically throws his naked body onto your lap, “Yu-you chose me! That means that you love me, right? A-and if Mommy loves me, she should punish me for being bad! Please hit me!” His previously softened cock is now standing back at attention, humping at your exposed legs.

One of your perfectly manicured hands (thanks to Yamaguchi’s hard work) shoves his head off of your stomach, “Get the fuck off of me! Clearly, I chose wrong, because you’re just a slobbering pig!” Tears bead his large eyes, but the tall man doesn’t back down. He continues to try to rut against you, causing your shoves to become more violent, until you effectively shove him off of your bed. He lands on the hard ground with a ‘smack,’ as he moans on impact.

“Ye-yes! Hi-hit me mu-more! I de-deserve it, your baby bu-boy deserves it!” He tries once more to crawl his way onto you, but you react far quicker than him. You use the ball of your foot to push him away by the forehead, dropping him back onto the cold floor.

“Stay the fuck away from me! I knew I should’ve liked your asshole for a best friend, at least he wouldn’t be such a fucking weirdo!” You push yourself off of your bed, trying to escape to the bathroom, but it’s to no avail. Tadashi, in some sort of lucidity, drags you to the ground with him. His lean form tries to trap you to the floor, but your thrashing limbs and harsh elbows keep him from getting too close, “Stop it! Let go of me-”

“Du-don’t say you want someone else! Your precious piggy will do anything you want! Let your baby boy make his Mommy feel good!” You end up on your back, allowing your hands to worm their way between the two of you, and create a small distance. Taking full advantage of that, you get a single hand up by your face, which gives you the perfect opportunity to slap the dogshit out of the feral man.

He moans breathily, as if he’s savouring the feeling of your harsh touches, “You’re fucking pathetic, Yamaguchi. No one would willingly choose you, which is why you lied and manipulated me!” You smack him multiple more times, his freckled, drooly cheeks quickly becoming bright red. You force your knees against his toned stomach, kneeing him uncomfortably in the ribs, which he just pushed more of his weight on.

“Yes! Yes! Tell me more of the things you hate about me! Your harsh words are almost enough to make me cum!” Screwing up your face in absolute fury, you punch him in the throat, whilst simultaneously kicking him in the cock, causing him to cum immediately with a small scream, “Mu-Mommy, your piggy is cumming!” His hot, watery cum lands on your slip clad body, making you want to vomit. So, in a last ditch effort, you shove him off whilst he’s still recovering from a second intense orgasm.

Scrambling to your feet, you make a break for the bathroom door, only to be dragged down to the floor by a firm grip on your ankle. Tadashi’s hot, wet body slots itself on top of yours, effectively pinning you down. Although he may be quite slim, his sheer size is enough to weigh you down.

“Get off of me! You’re fucking sick!” He pants next to your ear, practically trying to mount you like a dog. His chest is firmly against your back, pushing down your lower half. His knees spread yours apart, allowing him to slot himself between your legs.

You try to hit him, but because he’s behind you, your hits don’t land very hard. Both of his hands fumble whilst he tries to push your panties down, causing you to thrash even more than before. Growing tired of your ministrations, he rips the garment from your pussy.

“Stop it! Yamaguchi, get off of me! Don’t do this to me!” Tears drip down your face in thick rivulets, as you sob in pure fury, “I-I’ll never forgive you! I’ll never forgive a pathetic fuck like you! I should have never become your friend- you don’t deserve any!” He lightly moans at your words, not quite listening to what you have to say, but enjoying your harsh tone.

“Ye-yes, Mommy! Threaten me! I love how you belittle me so well!” He then tries to force his long cock inside of you, but is unsuccessful. You’d just barely moved your thighs together in time, blocking him from breaching your unprepared walls. But, that doesn’t seem to faze him, as he starts to hump your sweat slickened thighs, “Oh-oh my God, your thighs feel so good, Mommy! Your piggy slut loves them!” His eyes are practically rolling to the back of his head, as multiple squirts of precum escape his cock, slicking your pussy opening inadvertently.

You throw your elbows at his head again, but he just lets them hit him, relishing your harsh blows. If anything, your attempted hits trigger him to hump you even faster. Which, in turn, unfortunately, causes him to accidentally hook his cockhead on your cunny opening, and force his prick inside of you. Your mouth gapes in both shock and pain, as you let out a shrill scream. He slams a sweaty hand over your mouth, fortunately minding your nose, letting you breathe through it. His entire body is convulsing, as he sits inside of you, relishing your twitching walls around his cock.

“Mu-Mommy’s piggy lu-loves Mommy’s pu-pussy!” In quick, sudden movements, he bucks his hips into yours, his breeder balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. Your pants and light moans are muffled behind his hand, as you continue to cry and try to get free. Your thrashing does nothing but seat you further on his long cock, allowing him to hit your g-spot with every movement. Your pussy gushes at his ministrations, as you fall limp, “Fu-fuck, Mommy! Mommy, I-I’m gunna cum!”

Your slack mouth tries to deny him, but your eyes practically roll up into your skull as you cum suddenly, spraying girl cum on his cock and on the floor below your chest, practically covering your entire torso. Feeling your orgasm milking his cock, Yamaguchi cums quickly after you, filling you to the brim with his watery, overabundant cum. It was like he was trying to fill every crevice inside of you with his milk, relishing how well you take him. You practically collapse to the ground, no longer having the strength to hold yourself off of the now slick wood look tile. This, in turn, causes his still cumming cock to fall out of you, spraying your ass and thighs with his seed.

Yamaguchi strokes himself, trying to wring out as much cum as possibly on your crumpled, fucked out form. He looks down at you with an innocent grin, before smooching you kindly on the face, “Thank you, Mommy, your baby boy feels sooo much better, now that I’ve filled your pretty cunny! Do you want a bath?”

You say nothing, seemingly still in shock at what just transpired. Yams coos at you, trying to gain your attention, but when you don’t respond, he takes it upon himself to clean you up.

“It’s okay, sometimes when Tsukki would experiment with me, I’d be too sore to move, too! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re all pretty and clean after a long, hot bath.”

With wobbly legs, the tall man stalks off to the bathroom, not batting an eye at your weird silence.

#yandere yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #tadashi x reader #yandere haikyuu imagines #hq yamaguchi #haikyuu yamaguchi

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amoristt · 3 years

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Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

__________________________

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him.

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this.

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red.

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you.

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.”

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it.

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?”

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.”

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy.

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip.

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy. As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.”

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be.

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke.

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind.

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find.

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.”

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse.

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable.

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look.

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began.

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan.

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

You lowered your head.

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot.

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled.

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?”

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod.

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again.

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly.

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust.

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that?

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person?

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once.

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew.

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under.

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed. How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you.

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions.

No wonder he was so angry.

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call.

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.”

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing.

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.”

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.”

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again.

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy. He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right?

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger.

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying.

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos.

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh.

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up.

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?”

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot.

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.”

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.”

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm.

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

#nathan prescott #nathan prescott x reader #life is strange #grazing the fire #scenario #fanfic #fluff

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omg-imatotalmess · 3 years

Text

Sanctuary

Hey guys! So, this might be a little rushed because I'm sleepy, but I had to get it out of my brain because I literally could not sleep with it banging around in there. Hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Requested: No

Warnings: Mild angst (it's mostly fluffy, but there's a lot of crying)

---

It wasn't uncommon for you to get knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night. Your friends didn't sleep well anymore. They came to your door riddled with dark, twisting nightmares that dragged them from their beds. And you always welcomed them in. Sometimes all they wanted was someone who would listen to them without comment, but, mostly, they just wanted someone to make it all go away. Your room was a sanctuary for people who were tired of putting on a brave face. So, the knocking was a very familiar way to wake up.

Sitting up, you glanced out the window. The moon hung high in the sky, bathing your room in silvery light. It had to be well after midnight. It was about the right time for nightmares to be pulling at Harry or Ron's fear of inadequacy to be poking at him. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you padded across the cold floor and pulled the door open.

Oh.

"I-I wasn't sure where else to go."

Draco Malfoy was about the last person you ever expected to come to you in the middle of the night. Despite loving each other for as long as you could remember, he'd pushed you away and turned his back. Kept you at arm's length. He always denied your compassion no matter how much he desperately wanted it. Yet there he was.

He looked more disheveled than you'd ever seen him. Pajamas wrinkled beyond help, robe hanging pathetically off one shoulder, shaking less from the cool night air than years worth of trapped fear, finally nipping at his heels. His hair flopped limply into his bloodshot eyes, shining with unshed tears. A pang of sorrow ricocheted through your chest. All you wanted to do was gather him up in your arms and protect him from whatever he was running from. Looking up at you, he dragged in a shaking breath but said nothing.

"Well, I'm glad you came to me. You know you're always welcome," you said, ushering him inside to sit on the edge of your bed. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at his own clasped hands.

"Are you hurt?" you asked, kneeling next to him. He shook his head. "That's good. You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong," he said miserably.

"You wanna talk about it?" You kept your tone as gentle as possible.

"I can't," he said. The weight of those two words was crushing. They always were, no matter who said them. Somehow they seemed worse coming from him.

"I understand," you said.

"No, you don't! No one does!" he snapped. You didn't flinch away from his anger. It was benign. Nothing that could hurt you. Though, you could tell from his grimace that it was tearing him apart.

"Maybe you're right, but I'm here anway," you said.

"You and I both know I don't desrve it." Draco's eyes cut away from his hands, glaring blurrily at your rumpled sheets.

"Everyone deserves to have someone that cares, Draco. Including you," you said, placing a hand over both of his. They were uncomfortably cold under your own, and the knuckles had turned white from the force of his grip. Gently, you began to pry them apart.

"Stop that," he hissed.

"Sorry, I don't want you to hurt yourself," you said, rolling your thumb over the back of his hand.

"Fine."

"I just want to make you feel better however I can. I'm here to help you," you said softly, offering him a tentative smile.

At your answer, he made a sound almost like he'd been kicked in the stomach. A deep, wheezing breath that you knew was usually followed by an overdue crying jag. When you glanced up at him, you were fully prepared to be met with reddened cheeks and snot but instead were met with a scowl. Tears threatened over his lashline but seemed to be going nowhere. Another ache settled in your chest for him. He needed this. Whatever release he'd get from giving up that last bit of control, he needed it. Softly, you stroked your knuckles over his cheek.

"Hey, I'm not gonna think any less of you for crying. You're safe with me," you promised. He nodded but stayed silent, shaking lightly.

Frowning, you hauled yourself up next to him on your bed. Even though you knew the shaking was more from holding back inevitable tears, you still dragged your comforter over his shoulders. The movement made him look at you. And you saw how tired he was, the misery and the outright fear he carried with him finally converging all at once. At that moment, you found yourself as close to tears as you'd been in a while.

"What do you need, Draco? If you want me to hold you, distract you, or just sit here in silence, I will—anything you need. Whatever it is, all you have to do is tell me," you said, pushing your own tears aside. The silence was deafening for a beat. Two. Then he reached over and laid his hand against your wrist.

"Tell me you love me. Please, just this once," Draco pleaded, eyes dropping back to his lap. His hand curled into your sleeve. So lightly that you probably could have pulled away had you wanted to, but you worried it would break him. He seemed so fragile—a delicate porcelain doll with hairline cracks all over it. Almost like the slightest movement would crumble him. One wrong move and it would be gone. He would be gone.

"Oh, Draco..." The sudden lump in your throat blocked the rest of your words. Your heart thudded uncomfortably against your ribs as you watched tears finally spill over his lashline.

"Just once," he rasped, "Please, (Y/N), only once."

"I love you," you whispered.

"Thank yo--"

"I love you," you said again, pulling his face into your hands. "I love you. I love you."

"Enough," he said in a low, wavering voice.

"No. I love you. I love you. I love you."

"Stop. Don't say it anymore. I don't deser--" he whimpered.

"Hush, I need to say it as much as you need to hear it," you said between your three-word chants.

Hot tears dripped between your fingers as he tried to twist his face away from you so you couldn't see them. You kept him there. Face cradled in your hands for the first time in years, forcing him to hear over and over again that you loved him. That you always had and always would. That he'd always have a place next to you should he want it. You said it until your voice became raspy and your words too muddied to decipher clearly. By the time your voice gave out, Draco was sagging against you, holding your hands to his cheeks with his own, and crying in earnest. So were you.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I'll say it as many times as you'll let me," you said. It was uncomfortable to speak anymore, but you couldn't quite seem to stop.

"You will?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yeah," you replied.

"Can I--Do you-- Am I allowed to say it back?" he asked. Smiling, you bumped your forehead against his fondly.

"Only if you want to," you said.

"I love you. Oh God, I love you." The relief in his tone was palpable like that one last weight was lifted off of him. Then, he crushed you to him in a hug you'd remember as the beginning of your life together. Really together. No more skirting around one another. No more holding each other at arm's length. Finally, just being in love. Though, in that moment, you simply laid down next to him and told him you loved him one more time.

#finally i can rest #draco malfoy x reader #draco mafloy x reader angst #draco mafloy x reader fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco fluff #draco angst #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp

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karasuno-chaos · 3 years

Note

Hello!! Could you do a headcannon/scenario for kurro, where reader is sick and he freaks out but reader calms him down but he still freaks out and ends up fainting lol. Can I be ☁️Anon

Hello ☁️Anon! It's lovely to meet you. 🤗 Sorry it took me a while to get to your request. This was a really fun idea, and I wanted to do it justice. I hope you like it!

Sick Days (Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader)

When you wake up with a headache and a foggy feeling to your senses, you expect an aspirin will clear it up before your first class is over.

What you don’t expect is to wind up in the nurse’s office with a fever and waves of dizziness.

The nurse calls your guardian to take you home because you are in no state to be at school. Your head is throbbing, you feel warm all over, and every time you sit or stand, you get dizzy, so you settle in on the couch at home to try and wait out whatever sickness this is.

Your guardian makes sure you have snacks and plenty of water before heading back to work, leaving you alone in the house with the lights off.

Bright lights make your headache almost unbearable right now, so you’re not watching TV or scrolling through social media. You’re just dozing and letting your mind wander.

Which is why the sudden knock on the door and shout of “I’m coming in!” startles you.

You jerk upright, which makes the nausea hit you like a brick, and now you’re flailing for a grip on the couch to steady yourself while the world spins.

“Y/N what the- Are you okay?”

Strong hands steady you and help you lie back down. You take a moment to cover your eyes and wait for the dizziness to before peeking at your unexpected guest.

“Tetsurou, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”

“Because you’re not at school! Your classmates said you went to the nurse and never came back. You didn’t return any of my texts or calls. I thought you were rushed to the hospital or something! I couldn’t just sit in class when I didn’t know what happened to you.”

Your boyfriend looks nearly out of his mind. His hair’s messier than usual, he’s loosened his tie, and there’s a damp sweat on his exposed skin. He looks like he ran here. Kuroo isn’t typically one to overreact, so he must have been really worried to skip school to come find you.

“I’m fine,” you say, even though your head is throbbing and the world is vaguely unsteady.

“Obviously not,” he disagreed. “You can’t even sit up by yourself.”

“I just moved too fast. I’ll be fine after some rest.”

“And if you don’t get better just resting all day?”

“Then I’ll go to the doctor and we’ll figure it out. Tetsurou, I am fine,” you repeat, doing your best to smile reassuringly.

Kuroo studies you while he kneels next to the couch. You can tell by the wrinkles lingering on his brow that he’s not fully convinced, but he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles in something like relief.

“I’m just glad you’re safe and not dying at a bus stop or in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry I made you worry. I didn’t even think to check my phone.” You sigh, covering your eyes again as your headache twinges.

“It’s okay. You have other things to worry about right now, like getting better.” He rubs your arms comfortingly. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I have snacks and plenty of water.” You gesture to your setup. “You should get back to school, though. Your teachers won’t be happy you’re skipping.”

“They can wait. You’re more important right now.”

“I want to argue with you for your own good, but it’s hard when I’m feeling crummy and I really just want to cuddle with you right now.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow and a familiar smirk.

“I have a fever. I could be contagious.”

“Fevers are just your body trying to burn away the sickness within you. It doesn’t mean you’re contagious. Plus, I’m willing to risk it for cuddles.”

You concede and he carefully crawls onto the couch, holding you gently.

After a bit of blissful cuddling, you announce that you have to use the bathroom and sit up slowly.

“Want me to walk you to the bathroom?” Kuroo asks, watching you carefully as you narrow your eyes against the mild dizziness.

“I think I can make it.”

You do make it...to the living room doorway where the vertigo hits you hard. With a groan, you sink to the floor.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Hang on, I- uhhgh.”

You hear a thud, and when you turn, you see your boyfriend collapsed on the carpet.

“Tetsurou!”

He doesn’t answer, which scares you enough to push through your spinning senses to crawl to him, calling his name.

He jerks awake when you reach him, eyes wide, and you rest your burning forehead against his stomach in relief.

“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Your voice is muffled a little by his shirt, as are the relieved giggles you're trying to hide. “You fainted.”

“What? Oh.” Kuroo sighs, but he's grinning as he stares at the ceiling. “I guess I got up too fast? But you collapsed first.”

“I’m sick. I have an excuse.”

“Sorry Y/N,” he says, gently pushing your hair back from your face. “I’m a bit of a mess when you’re not okay.”

You turn your head to look at him and smile wryly.

“I guess we’re both a bit of a mess today.”

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bestiesenpai · 3 years

Text

Idolatry - Getou Suguru

I love aliens and someday I will fuck one

Content warnings: manipulation/blackmail

“Mayday, mayday! Mission control, please come in, this is astronaut Getou Suguru!” The red emergency lights were on, multiple different sirens were going off in the background and Getou had just lost the rest of his crew.

“Mission control, can you hear me?!” He slammed on the control panel, desperately flipping switches and trying to regain control of his failing aircraft. All his training back on Earth hadn’t prepared him for the possibility of a black hole opening up and sucking in half his ship, ripping it apart and taking it somewhere unknown.

“Please, please, please!” There were frantic tears and sweat dripping down Getous face as he tried to get the thrusters back online. His ship was in shambles, slipping further and further into the blackhole.

Looking up through the windshield, his view of space before him was slowly fading away and he felt an intense pull from behind him, almost as if he was being ripped apart himself as he and his ship were pulled into the blackhole.

Getou didn’t think he’d wake up after that. The world had gone completely black, all the oxygen yanked from his body and the cold vacuum of space compressed around him. Getou hadn’t expected to wake up on firm, solid ground. And much less surrounded by otherworldly creatures.

“Is it really him?” He wasn’t sure how he understood the things before him, their voices warbled and distorted, but he could. Getou could only watch with fuzzy edged vision as the creatures crowded around him and their features became clearer.

“It must be! Just look at his face!”

“He’s got the hair as well, and his skin is milky white like in the stories!”

“Our God has returned to us, what a joyous day this is!” Someone cried and Getou was lifted up from the ground and removed from the rubble that was his spaceship. Struggling to breathe, he was sure there were a few cracked ribs under his skin.

“Be gentle now, the journey from the heavens wasn’t kind on him.”

“To the temple, at once!”

Placed on a long gurney, Getou was transported to the temple in question. With his vision going in and out, he could just barely make out the bright blue trees and foreign animal sounds passing him by. The creatures that had lifted him up were now closer to be viewed and Getou could tell they weren’t of human origin.

“Oh, how we’ve waited for this day!” The heat of whatever jungle Getou was in had a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin, but the warm air helped lull him into a more relaxed state, almost falling asleep despite the situation.

Carried up the steps of the temple, Getou barely came to when he was stripped and submerged into a pool of light green water, nearly scalding him and scented with what appeared to be rose petals floating around him.

“Call the shamans, we need to make sure everything is correct!” There was rustling around him, figures darting in and out of his half lidded gaze. Someone was lifting one of his arms to wash him, immediately letting go when he let out a pained groan.

“He needs medicine, quick!” In an instant something was being poured down Getous throat, an ice cold liquid that spread across his body and made a shiver go through him. There was a heavy silence in the air for a moment as he was observed, and all of a sudden, he felt better.

Sitting up a little straighter in the solid gold tub he could now see, Getou stayed silent as his body was washed. The creatures around him avoided eye contact, bowing their heads when he turned to look at them.

They were gentle, washing the dried blood off Getous face and combing through his hair with their long pointed nails. He’d never received such lavish treatment before, and as he relaxed further into the tub, a man dressed in robes not unlike the ones Getou owned back home came to the side of the tub with a heavy tome, reciting something in an unknown language over Getou.

He was lifted out of the tub and dried gently, dressed in a soft green robe like the man that had prayed over him, and escorted to another room. He could tell this was at the heart of the giant gray stone temple, a skylight and large windows high on the vaulted ceilings letting in plenty of natural light and illuminating the lavish scene in the middle of the room.

In the middle of the room atop a short flight of stairs, sat a golden, red tufted stool only a few feet up from the ground and surrounded by a multitude of pillows and ornate gold decorations. Several oriental rugs were draped across the floor, covering the cool limestone underfoot.

A thick mattress lay just behind the stool with semi-sheer curtains curtains concealing it and the many pillows and blankets atop it. Hundreds of candles were lit around the room as well, lighting up dark corners or simply for decoration around and atop the rugs and stool.

Able to walk on his own now, Getou slowly went up the steps with only a mild drag in his sore legs. Skimming his fingers across the seat of the stool, he walked past it and to the bed, pushing the curtains aside and melting into the squishy mattress.

Even though he couldn’t really keep track of the time, Getou was sure a week had passed since he’d crash landed on this mysterious planet. In that time, he filled in the blanks of what was going on around him.

He was being worshipped as a God, an altruistic being that had fallen from the heavens as foretold in the legends of the people that lived here. Apparently, he was one of many gods and goddesses that the planet believed in, and it just so happened that his sudden appearance aligned with a prophecy that he would arrive.

Not one to live in a lie, Getou had originally wanted to tell the truth once he was able to speak more properly. It wouldn’t be right for them to place such strong faith into him when he truly wasn’t what they wanted, but he found it harder and harder as time went on.

And that was because of the treatment he received. He was bathed everyday, fed delicious meals whenever he wanted and was showered in praise and admiration at every second. To say Getou was soaking up all the attention was an understatement; he was absolutely drowning in it.

“My Lord, may I approach?” It was midday, the sun beaming down through the ceiling directly onto Getou, warming him up and making him radiate with light. A temple worker he’s never seen before enters the room, head bowed and with a familiar set of objects in their hand.

“You may.” Getou quickly noticed the basin, towel and pitcher of water and sat up a little straighter in his stool. It was time for his midday foot bath. You made quick work of the steps and knelt down before him in a moment.

Getou watched as you silently poured the water, keeping your head bowed per usual. Craning his head up to the sky, Getou lazily studied the windows above him. There were no clouds in the sky on this planet, but it didn’t stop the sky from looking beautiful.

“You’re quite handsome, my Lord.” That comment had Getou’s head snapping back down and coming eye to eye with you. No one else had ever made eye contact with him, not even the shamans that spoke with him about sacred texts. The sudden change unnerved him, making him blush.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to look upon me in such a way.” Getou said, dipping his feet into the bath and relaxing his legs. “I am a God, after all. Wouldn’t a comment like that be considered blasphemous?” Regaining control over his suddenly rapid heartbeat, Getou still felt a light veil of heat across his face.

“It would be, if you really were a God in the first place.” Getou nearly choked on his spit as he heard the words come out of your mouth.

“E-excuse me?! I am a God!” His face erupted in a dark blush. This was bad, really bad. The smirk on your face told him all he needed to know; the jig was up, you saw right through him. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try and keep up the ruse.

“An arrival from the sky may have been foretold in the legends, but you are not what was promised to us.” Your words were quick and concise, an almost harsh tone underlying them. “It was my job to go through the rubble of the craft you arrived in, and I found quite a few things labeled from a planet called ‘Earth’.”

He and Gojo just had to have too much fun with the label maker, didn’t they?

“Earth is what us God's call the place we reside.” Clearing his throat, Getou tried to soothe his burning cheeks.

“Then why did I find this?” Digging into a hidden pocket within your robes, you pulled out a thick manuscript, personally typed and signed by Getou outlining his position within the team and the duties he’d fulfill while on the mission that ultimately brought him here.

The edges of the paper were all burnt and crispy, but most of the pages were still intact. Flipping through them, you showed him all the polaroid pictures that were stuffed inside of Getou in his space suit and at the control panels of the ship, and with Gojo and other crew members.

“I didn’t think a God would carry around so many papers about his job. I thought you just knew.” Tossing the manuscript to the floor, you sprinkled smelling salts into the water and grabbed onto one of Getou’s feet, raising it only slightly as you let him mull over the new information before him.

“So, I assume you’ll have me killed for lying, then?” There was a heavy pit sitting in his stomach, but Getou knew this day would come, it was only a matter of when.

“Kill you? Never!” Your sudden laugh gave him pause.

“Then what? What will happen to me now?”

“I intend to use this information to my advantage.”

“You want to use me to climb the ranks at the temple, don’t you?” Narrowing his eyes, Getou could already see the plan formulating behind your eyes.

“Precisely, my Lord. Over the course of a few months, I will become your most trusted advisor.” Letting go of his foot, your hand slid up Getou’s leg, your pointed nails scraping against his skin. “And before the anniversary of the sun’s return, I will be the highest shaman in the temple. Your right hand, if you may.”

As you spoke, your hand went higher and higher, skimming the edges of his long silken robe and going under it, cupping his knee for a moment before stopping midthigh. If anyone walked in right now, what would they say to the scene in front of them?

“What’s in it for me?” Getou shuddered as your nails dragged lightly along his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake that had his senses tingling. You flashed him a smile, one full of rows of shiny black teeth.

“Why, you get to remain the all powerful God of this land, bestowing wisdom upon the subjects that worship you.” Sidling up to Getous legs, you fully pushed apart his robes to reveal his soft cock. “And…”

“And?” Getou pressed as you trailed off, subtly opening his legs as much as he could with his feet still in the basin. You chuckled at him, hand grabbing gently onto the base of his cock. Getou had come to learn that the creatures on this planet were often colder than he was, and your lukewarm hand was a testament to that.

“And I’ll keep you nice and happy.” Brazenly leaning over his lap, you sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth, your long tongue lapping out and wrapping around him, the tip going all the way down to his balls.

“Ah!” The unexpected pleasure shooting up his spine made Getou curl inward, knocking over the basin and spilling water onto the rugs. His hand shot out to grasp the back of your head, urgently trying to ground himself as his mind turned to mush.

“Don’t worry about the mess, my Lord. I’ll clean it up.” Pulling off his cock, you licked your lips and looked over your shoulders.

“You- what’s your name?” Getou panted, his legs already starting to tremble.

“(Y/N), my Lord.” You grinned, beginning to slowly jerk off his cock.

“(Y/N).” He tested the name on his tongue but he couldn’t speak any further as you thumbed the tip of his cock.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself about that now.” Now that his feet were free, you could slide in between Getou’s legs and get to his cock easier. “Right now, it’s all about you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

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inb4belphienaps · 3 years

Text

crying over spilt milk

warnings: none word count: 2285

“Truth be told, I’ve been having these dreams. Dreams almost of another life, a past life perhaps. One that I’d lived and seen and breathed through at some distant point in time.”

I read over my words, holding the letter in my hands.

“They are, by far, the most intricate and detailed dreams I’ve ever had. Usually, I don’t remember them. But these…these feel too real, too specific, too thought out to be anything except something akin to memories of a bygone era.”

I recall a few of them with some difficulty. That was always how dreams worked, like trying to grab mist with your bare hands and having nothing tangible left as evidence.

“Shall I confess?

They have now become a source of entertainment for me, having increasingly rooted themselves in my mind, to the extent that I find myself looking forward to (for lack of better phrasing) the ‘next installment’.

It’s bizarre, I’ll admit. How eager I am to get to sleep as soon as the clock shifts from afternoon to evening, when the hour hand turns to six and I wonder if I’ll see him again…”

as you slowly float back up to the surface, the first sound that hits you is the singing of birds. their bright and cheerful chirps filter in with a hint of irony. though they're pleasant, quietened by the curtains hanging over the windows, it means that it's still rather early.

there's a chill in the air and you turn over under your duvet, tucking your feet in further towards your knees, eager to keep the warmth on your skin. and yet, you open your eyes, not needing to blink any sleep from them. oddly enough, you're more awake than you'd thought. whatever dream you'd been having is far from your mind as you bask in the scattered sunlight dancing on your walls.

such serenity ignites a type of mild excitement in you. and with that in mind, you will yourself to get out of bed.

you draw back the curtains and glance outside, looking out at the landscape, where the sun is shyly peeking over the hill. dawn is only just breaking and as you open a window, a gust of wind greets you, sending a rush of floral scents your way.

you can place notes of rose and lavender, and maybe honeysuckle too. the scenery is beautiful, and you lean against the ledge to admire it. clear skies and waves of green, dotted here and there with reds and pinks and yellows. there's a calmness to the color and vibrancy. something you hadn't stopped to feel in a long time.

it stays in the background. while you pour yourself some tea and sit down for breakfast, and when you turn on the radio to the crooning of some ballad you can't quite place. and even as you set about doing the laundry, humming every now and then to a tune only you seem to know.

the basket you use is one you've weaved yourself (in an attempt to be impassioned by a new hobby). it's small and sturdy and it does the job. you wonder whether it'll last you, hoping that if it breaks, it'll at least do you the favor of waiting until it's empty.

though it doesn't take long, you're startled to see the sun in the sky as you step onto the gravel path, basket in hand. it seems to stare down at you and wink as clouds roll overhead, creating capering shadows on the field as you start hanging the wet quilts one by one.

a couple of bees follow you around as you go about your business. and when you stand still to breathe in the smell of freshly washed linen and admire the warm glow cast on those sheets by the light, a butterfly flutters past.

it brings with it the distant ring of a bicycle bell. you look to the east where a man in uniform comes riding up the hill and the smile on your face could bring shame to the flowers lying near your feet.

"good morning", he says, slowing and stopping a foot or two away from you. he tilts his cap and you note the way in which his fringe barely covers his right eye.

"good morning", you reply. "it must be exhausting having to make that trip every day."

he laughs. it's sweet.

"i don't really mind."

in his hand he carries a metal basket and neatly arranged inside are six glass bottles full of milk.

"how many would you like today?", he asks, and you have the urge to tell him you'll take everything he has to offer. but of course, you don't say this aloud.

"just the one, please."

as he picks up one of the bottles to give to you, you swallow your spit and gesture towards your house. the shadows continue to dance above it, making it seem fluid despite its usual rigidity.

"can i get you something to drink? a coffee, perhaps?"

he appears taken aback, eyes widening a fraction before he smiles, and you feel your heart leap into your throat.

"i'd like that very much. a coffee sounds great."

you momentarily freeze, having expected him to refuse your offer. and then you're taking the bottle of milk and your basket back inside as he follows after you. you turn back to him as he enters and the sheets you'd hung flail slightly behind him, almost like a set of wings.

"cream and sugar?"

"um, no. but could i trouble you for some ice?"

an iced americano, you think. placing your basket on the floor and leaving your bottle on the kitchen counter, you busy yourself with preparing his beverage.

"my name is belphegor, by the way. i think you should at least know who it is that's been delivering you your milk."

you pause, having taken a mug out of the cupboard, and meet his gaze. his tone sounds a little indignant. were you simply being sensitive?

"it's a pleasure to officially meet you, belphegor."

the both of you exchange a shared laugh (the sudden bit of formality is embarrassing). he's the first to look away, breaking the eye contact that has goosebumps erupt on your skin. hm, perhaps you were overthinking things. only, the problem is that you're not sure you have any ice in the fridge.

"were you listening to music?"

"yes- oh", you say, confused at the static that greets you. "the program must've finished."

he glances at the radio and then at you. in your bid to locate the instant coffee you have, you don't notice.

through a strange coincidence, you find it sitting pretty on the top-most shelf of the pantry. you frown, wondering if you'd placed it there by mistake.

belphegor is about to open his mouth to speak again when he sees you reach upwards, fingers brushing across the jar mere centimeters out of your grasp. you're on your toes, leaning forward, barely balancing as you try your hardest to take it.

the man remains silent, watching you with a detached type of curiosity.

darn shelves, you think, as you stretch as far as you're physically able. still, the glass slips from between your fingers and you resort to stepping on a sack of flour. right as you grab it, the corner of the sack slides out from underneath your foot and you gasp, knowing all too well how this was going to end.

but there's a hand on your shoulder and a solid chest against your back, and a pleasant voice in your ear that suggests otherwise.

"so much trouble for a coffee."

his breath tickles the nape of your neck and you twist around to thank him, unprepared for the amused expression painting his face. from here, you can see every freckle, every eyelash, and every stray hair left untamed by his cap.

"you okay?", he asks, too close and quiet. too intimate that you forget yourself for a second.

"i'm...i'm fine."

those furrowed brows of his make you think twice and you place a hand to his chest, marveling in its warmth. you can feel his heart beat. it's steady, unfazed by whatever silly accident had happened just now.

"thanks", you mutter, swiftly removing yourself from his arms (firm and inviting). "i'll uhh...i'll make your iced americano, shall i?"

he doesn't say anything as you take a spoon and measure out the ground powder. and the silence lingers as you bring a pot of water to the boil. your thoughts, however, are that much louder, that much more pronounced. you were never one to invite strangers into your home. why was he such an exception?

"you can stop staring."

belphegor chuckles and you hate the fact that you can't ignore it. his laughter, it twinkles, and it has you looking at him all over again.

"i was keeping an eye out for you. in case you decide to make a habit of falling while i'm here."

you scoff, opening the fridge door to remove the ice tray. six cubes blink up at you and you ease three out, popping them into his mug in rapid succession. it's a tad violent and some of the coffee sloshes out onto the counter.

"thank you for your concern. but it's really not necessary."

he walks towards you, and you remain fixed on his bowtie, hoping to avoid being trapped by his alluring purple irises.

"if you say so."

and he takes a sip. and you find a cloth to wipe the spilt coffee with.

"it tastes good", he says. "maybe i should ask you to make me one every morning."

"tough luck", you reply, glancing at him as you clean. "i'm afraid this is the last of my hospitality."

besides, you didn't have it in you to continue acting an utter fool around him. something about his self-assuredness serves as the antithesis to your nervous energy, fueling it further to the point that you're doubtful about whether he'll return tomorrow.

"is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?"

oh. nevermind. that question makes you want to slap the handsome smirk off his face.

you give one last swipe of the counter, as if to stand your ground, and straighten up. yet it only leads to disaster.

the lonesome bottle of milk that you'd put atop it, comes crashing down onto the tiles, spraying its contents along every surface and scattering glass shards in its wake. the knot in your stomach tightens and you refuse to acknowledge the man who hasn't budged an inch.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"what am i going to do with you?"

as you stoop down to gather the glass, he mirrors you.

"i can-"

"it'll be faster with the two of us."

apparently, it's your turn to watch him. you slow your movements as you focus on his hands, how meticulously they pick up each broken shard and how conflicted you feel about him doing as such. in your daze, the edge of a particularly sharp fragment digs into your thumb and you flinch.

"fuck-"

he reacts before you do, tossing the glass he's holding into the bin and taking your hand in his to help you remove the fragment.

"this might sting", he mutters. that was the last thing on your mind. did this man have no sense of personal space?

the fragment is tossed out with the rest of what used to be the bottle and you're about to reluctantly thank him for a second time until he's bringing your thumb up to his mouth.

"wh- what are you doing?"

he suckles gently on the cut, putting a stop to the bleeding, and you're rendered speechless. when he speaks, all you can think about is his lips.

"can't you be more careful?"

"not with you here, no", you say, finally admitting to the reality that was beginning to suffocate you. you can't pay attention to anything other than him.

"figured it out, have you?"

"figured what out...?", you ask, leaning in as his voice drops to a whisper.

"you have a crush on me."

you stare, perplexed, and you tear your eyes away from his mouth to look at him. there's a secret lingering in his facade. of words unspoken and confessions kept hidden. what does he know?

"prove it", you mumble, perfectly aware of how ridiculous a demand that was.

except he obliges, closing the gap between the both of you and meeting your lips with his own. they're soft and as you snake your hands around his neck, his cap comes loose, falling to join the mess on the floor.

neither of you care to address it and he pulls you back up, hugging you to his front and wrapping his arms around you. it's intoxicating. bitterness lingers on his tongue and there's the faint taste of cigarettes. but you're kissing him like someone starved. or perhaps someone parched.

sparks fly beneath your eyelids and rouge caresses your cheeks. (or was it the ghost of his palm against them?)

there's a need, an intensity to the way he grips you and the way clenches his jaw when you tug at his hair. you match him blow for blow, digging your nails into his shoulder and moaning softly into the kiss.

when you part and rest your forehead against his, you're not the only one who's out of breath.

"belphie", you whisper and the look on his face is a mystery in itself – surprise and longing, haphazardly hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"thank god i brought another five bottles with me, huh?"

#yeah move along it's another belphie piece shut up #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me fluff #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #belphegor x reader #belphegor x gn reader #my writing 🐇

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kim-monsterlings · 4 years

Text

Lars - M Dullahan x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; descriptions of being ill (like having a mild cough, blocked nose, headache, etc.), dullahan caring for reader, sexual teasing, handjob in the bath, kissing and throat kisses

Wordcount: 1855

“Tropemas” Summary: unable to hide the sudden cold from the dullahan, your boyfriend came home to take care of you

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

In the furthest corner of the room, cushioned in a dark chest, rested your boyfriend’s head. Blanketed and warmed in darkness, the home you shared when he was away became more than that; a haven for him – better than a chest buried under damp earth, and a comfort to you. No matter where Lars went, no matter how far, he was here with you. Albeit without his body, but better this than wait for brief letters scrawled on horseback, with conversations passed over weeks.

Only a fortnight ago, leather gloves tipped your face to dark flames, the faint touch of lips meeting yours. This time, Lars left for a month, though a month was nothing out of the time he was so often gone. Days would pass without a word or the smallest letter would arrive but when you missed him, really missed him, you could open that chest.

The unusual thing about this past fortnight was how little you had spoken.

Some afternoons were spent with his head on your lap, your fingers running through thick curls missing on the headless flames. Bright eyes mimicked the faefolk fire – glowing, soft as he looked up at you. Tales of his travels riding from town to town passed time, careful kisses a remedy to the ache in your chest.

But if he saw the state you were in now, he would rush home on his dark fae horse without finishing his job.

Really, you were fine. The colouring to your cheeks wasn’t too much, nothing more than the flush rising when Lars would kiss down your chest, beneath your trousers. The tickling cough wasn’t any worse than the unfamiliar itch in your throat after tasting fae food, foreign gifts returned from his travels. Exhaustion now deep in your bones could hardly amount to the lethargy Lars’ return would bring, from nights on tousled bedsheets, his touch everywhere for hours.

So really, beyond your pallor and hair slick with sweat, throat tight, you were fine.

Doubting the fatigue was your undoing. White light of the moon roused you. Curtains left open from falling onto the bed for the promise of a nap, one intended to be short, the dim light led you to a small letter posted that afternoon from Lars. The hardly veiled threat of his return if you ignored him further found its weight in your empty stomach.

Returning to the sleep so deep you hadn’t his calls happened not even a minute later. The dullahan would already be on his way home to you.

Heavy thudding dragging along the wooden floor woke you. Familiar swishes neared your bedroom and through the fog clouding your thoughts, the memory of a vertebrae whip always at your boyfriend’s side forced you to sit the rest of the way. The whip swinging and crashing low preceded a figure of bright flames, glowing in the late afternoon – had you slept all day? – before the flames flared higher, and a broken whisper of your name followed.

Bone clattered as it fell to the floor before Lars was at your side. One firm hand pressed hard on your chest until you fell back to the pillows, the other, glove removed, brushing back your damp hair. Always so cold, the touch felt like a blessing now, running down your hot cheeks to angle your face up.

“I thought something happened to you. Look at me,” Lars whispered, but the softness in his tone fell away when you struggled to look at the flaming tendrils rising from his collar as he leaned over you. “You should have told me you were sick.”

Nothing came to mind for excusing your isolation. Even had you tried to apologise, your lips were too dry, throat too hoarse for a sound to pass. With the tension fought from his words, it was no surprise that a small growl came from the dullahan’s chest. In the silence, a silence at your hand, you leaned into the cool palm on your hot cheek.

“When did you last eat? Have you…” Lars sighed and before your eyes closed, he kissed your forehead.

Different bedsheets – clean, fresh ones, were tucked around you when you woke to an empty room. The dullahan hardly needed sleep but this early, sunlight creeping through the drawn curtains, there ought to have been a dip beside you, a wrinkle in blankets thrown back from your fevering body.

The smell of hot food caught your attention, which must have woken you. Lars had changed you into clean clothes, too, your chest bare and hot. The instant your toes touched the floor, a throat cleared in warning. The sight of him would never fail to send your pulse racing, soaring at the press of his skin to your bare chest. Lars pressed you back against the headboard, sitting between your legs when you kept one out of the sheets. Though you were near feverish, the warmth of having him close eased you, and he leaned close to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You're worrying me."

"It's nothing," you whispered, forcing a smile to cover the roughness of your voice. "Won't you-"

"I cannot get sick. Not like this. Open your mouth."

Spoon feeding was difficult – for him, when you protested. Beneath the vice tight at your ribs, the laboured breaths, you really were fine. Bed rest would only worsen your predicament but he wouldn’t give. When you couldn’t stomach anymore broth, Lars lifted the glass of water to your lips until you drank it all. As much as you hated tearing him from his work, leaning close enough to touch him properly made it worth it. Lars stroked down your back and sighed, shifting closer.

Quiet stories whispered against your temple lulled you. He scowled when he told you of his plans to return early in a week and a half with gifts for you – as he always did, but when the letter was unanswered, calls shouted into an responding room, he rode back without delay.

Finding any sympathy was a chore when his touch fell to stroke your thigh. Lars tucking close filled the ache wide in your chest, the very same you attempted to appease by cradling the head in the dark corner when he was away; it never did much, so his knuckles dragging over the thin shorts awoke a different heat in your stomach, one too long gone without.

“Somebody missed me,” he chuckled, fingers tightening against the restricting shorts, laughing softer at your sharp gasp. “Best not to push yourself, handsome.”

Clutching his hand did little to stop the will of a dullahan. Lars only sighed, long fingers rubbing slowly against your worsening erection. Even in taunting you, the resolve he held against you never crumbled.

Not even when you bucked up, desperately seeking some friction, whispering, "please. Please."

“No. Sleep it off,” he said, a kiss deliberately hot tearing another plea from you, but Lars only laughed and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Waking without daylight left you in the dark as to how long you slept again, and how long now that you found yourself in the full bathtub. Warm water washed the remnants of fever away, guided by a gentle hand cupping water and tangling through your hair. Always careful with his strength, the care when he unwound tangles fluttered in your pulse, but he taunted you like he had hours ago. One hand tentative and caring washed your hair, the other gliding down your inner thigh where your legs fell open against his, drawn back against his chest in the large bathtub.

"Lars," you managed to whisper, and the touch on your thigh fell lower, until you grunted and tensed.

His palm cupped your sac. The dullahan brought your head back and through bleary eyes, you found his pale face, and a shudder ran through you at meeting his still flaming eyes. A kiss from his lips - from his head now attached, and you groaned into him, reaching to hold his knee when he rolled your sac in his fingers, kissing your jaw.

"Look who's finally up," he murmured. "How are you feeling, handsome?"

Every thought was foggy, but that wasn't your cold. The tightness in your throat came from his lips hot on your jaw and his fingers running the underside of your cock, thumbing the vein beginning to throb as you stiffened. This fever making you squirm was all him, but he knew that.

And Lars only smiled, a thin scar on his lips twisting them. "Tell me."

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Better, if you wouldn’t tease me.”

“Me, tease?”

Warmed by hot water, his hand finally came around your length. Lars’ smile nudged against your temple with each steady stroke, up and tightening, running against your thin slit and pumping harder, before loosening. Torn between crying and growling, you covered his hand with yours and let out a rough moan when he let you control the pace, hips bucking into the fist.

“Maybe you aren’t as ill as I thought,” he hummed. The frailty of your voice and bags of your eyes weren't all that convincing, but you tipped your head back and guided his hand tighter. Lars needed no coaxing to run his lips down to your collarbones and stroke his touch down your chest, pausing to run around your nipple. “Promise you will rest after this.”

"Lars," you croaked, and his palm stroked lower, taking your heavy sac in his fingers. Your eyelids fell with the pleasure overcoming you. He was well-versed in how you liked to be touched, and he was doing everything possible to torture you. "I promise."

"I can hear your heart racing."

You didn't care. Maybe it was in part because of the flu still dizzying you, but with Lars running his fingers back through your hair and tugging your head back, bowing to press searing, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, you were losing yourself.

Thickening against your back, Lars rasped as his cock ran up against you. All you wanted was him and you were close, every second losing yourself to the hastening strokes, the blunt nails scraping down your scalp. Wide thighs tightened around yours as he ground himself against you, following each thrust of your hips.

Closer now, close to coming undone in his palm, and you groaned, dragging him up from your throat to meet his lips. Lars chuckled and pressed himself flush, his hips grinding lower and when he dragged himself against you, you stiffened and cried into his kiss.

Still, Lars dragged it out. His thumb slicked against your swollen head as you came, thick and trembling, your stomach clenched at the haze dizzying you. You were met with a softer glow of flames when you blinked into focus. The water remained hot but far from your thoughts, preoccupied with his cock thick and heavy to your back. Before you could turn, the dullahan groaned into your throat, littered with dark marks.

Lars grunted your name and his fingertips brushed against your cock again, still sensitive. "Maybe sleep can wait."

298 notes · View notes

breakyeol · 4 years

Text

Midnight Train

one shot

┗ pairing : kyungsoo x reader

word count : 7.5k (ohmygod this was supposed to be a drabble)

warnings : language, explicit sex

a/n; I saw a picture of soo on a train and was suddenly inspired. also, don’t go with a stranger to a hotel. not a good idea in real life. be safe kids. I have zero self restraint when it comes to soo, please forgive me.

You don’t know what time it is, and honestly you don’t really care. But it’s late, you can tell that much. Clusters of tiny stars are shining brightly against the inky blackness of the cloudless night sky, the full moon bathing the city in its soft milky glow.

Any other night, perhaps you’d stare up at it in awe, bustling mind eased and taken by its natural beauty. It’s not often you see a night sky like that, so vast and endless and whole, unobscured by clouds or light pollution.

But tonight, it hurts. It hurts to look at something so beautiful.

Because tonight, you lost something beautiful. Or at least, something you once believed was beautiful. Maybe that’s why it hurts so terribly, sitting like heavy stones in your chest, a lingering reminder refusing to let you be. Because something you’d once thought was beautiful turned out to be something so horrifically gnarled and ugly, something so twisted and mangled that you’d managed to fool yourself into believing it was magnificent.

It’s the feeling of betrayal that has salty tears dripping down your cheeks, slipping down over your shuddering lips and clinging to the slope of your chin.

You feel tricked.

You feel lied to.

You feel deeply wronged.

So you stand on that metal platform surrounded by the cool night air, crying silently and so terribly alone, and you refuse to look up at the beautiful starry sky, only staring blankly ahead at the dull metal wall on the opposite side of the rusting tracks.

The platform trembles beneath your sneaker clad feet as the train pulls into the station. A low screech shatters the heavy silence that previously encased you and you blink in mild surprise, abruptly broken from your inner turmoil. Your hand lifts, roughly swiping away any lingering wetness from your face before you’re pressing forward. It takes more concentration than it should have to push through the weakness in your knees, but you manage, stepping carefully over the small gap in the floor and through the door.

A middle aged man dressed in navy blue greets you with a vaguely forced smile, eyes tired and underlined by dark bags. It must’ve been a long day for him as well. Sympathy draws the corners of your lips upward, though you’re certain it looks unstable and awkward on your downcast face.

Moving past him, you take in the state of the train. A soft breathe of relief escapes your lips, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. Empty. Completely empty. As much could be expected at this hour of the night. Most people were already home, tucked safely beneath the comforting warmth of their duvets.

If only…

Swallowing back the thought, you make your way through the rows of seats, not stopping until you reach the very back of the vacant train car. Your exhausted body is more than happy to slump against the plush red fabric, limbs going slack the moment your butt makes contact. It’s pure relief for your sore feet and unsteady legs.

But the relief is short lived.

Only a handful of seconds pass before there’s a familiar tug in your chest, and you’re thrown right back into the abyss of your own memories, regrets, and sorrows. A slow ache consumes your head and you have to close your eyes. Too much is going on in your mind. You wish there was an off button for your thoughts. Better yet, your emotions– your pain. Life would be far more convenient that way.

A muffled voice suddenly crackles over the intercom, announcing the train’s departure from the station. Your eyes flutter open and, by chance, they flick over, only to widen in surprise.

There, in the seat on the opposite side of the aisle, is a man.

For a moment, you’re confused as to how you could’ve missed him. Then you note how he’s hunched over, body curled in on itself, head resting up against the window. The glass has fogged beneath his nose, where a pair of thick rimmed glasses rest low on his bridge. The corner of your lip twitches at the sight of his hands tucked comfortably between his thighs. It’s cool for a summer night, and you find yourself wondering if he’s cold. The answer is a clear yes if the goosebumps decorating his arms are anything to go by. Your fingers subconsciously twitch towards the coat resting across your shoulders, the one thing you’d gone out of your way to grab on your way out.

Would it be too strange for you to offer it to him?

Something aches inside of you though at the sight of his downward arched brows and pouted lips. He looks so terribly alone and so awfully small. You couldn’t just leave him like that. Stranger or otherwise, the thought of doing nothing made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

Silently, you tug at the sleeves of the coat until it falls off your shoulders, pooling behind you uselessly. Sliding carefully to the edge of your seat, you tap your fingers gently against the plastic lining of his. If he hears it, he ignores it. Or, perhaps he’s sleeping. But, with how tightly his jaw is clenched, you doubt that.

“Excuse me?” The words are a whispered breath on your lips. Nonetheless, they were effective in finally drawing his attention. Slowly, his eyes flicker open and drift over to meet yours. For a moment, the ability to speak is stolen from you.

Those eyes— they were big and round and deep. Deeper and darker than the entire ocean, or rather, the night sky. Because within their depths, were stars. Bright, twinkling flecks of soft light. It was like he’d stolen them right out of the night sky.

They were iridescent. And they were beautiful.

So beautiful that it hurt.

It hurt to look at him.

But it was a different kind of hurt. It was the delicious kind that reaches beneath your skin and deep into your very being. That ripples through you in slow, heavy waves, igniting blistering flames in their wake. They pull you in and swallow you whole all at once. Looking away wasn’t an option. Even if you could, you’re not so sure you’d want to.

He raises a confused brow. The motion, however slight, enough to bring you out of your thoughts and back to the real world. Clearing your throat, you stutter back into motion, holding out the coat in suddenly warm palms. His features twist, a light frown pulling at the corners of his full lips as his gaze flicks between your face and the clothing item extended towards him.

Dryness invades your mouth and you force yourself to swallow down the sudden buzz of nerves, tipping your chin forward in feigned confidence.

“You look cold.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he presses his lips together and you know simply from the look on his face that he’s about to refuse.

“Take it,” you insist with a soft chuckle before he gets the chance to shoot you down, “it seems like you need it more than I do.”

He glances down, briefly taking in the position he’s currently curled in. A soft shade of pink tints his cheeks and he clears his throat, straightening himself out. But it’s only when you nudge it persistently in his direction one last time that he finally accepts it, dipping his head in silent gratitude. You watch in quiet satisfaction as he slips it on, fitting him almost perfectly, albeit a pinch on the larger side.

The corner of your lips tip upward, then you turn away. The clicking and low hum of the train as it bustles along the tracks fills the silence that fell over you. Though it doesn’t last too tremendously long.

“Ah– I think this is yours.”

You almost flinch at the low, smooth voice that breaks through the quiet. Head spinning back around, you meet his large, beautiful eyes. Large, beautiful, red eyes.

Crying. He had been crying. It was obvious now. You could see it in his swollen eyelids, flushed cheeks and reddened nose. You wondered if he was looking back at you and seeing the same telltale signs of heartache in your features.

But you bite your tongue, and drop your gaze to the small, silver band cradled in his palm. A ring. Your ring. The same ring with those damn initials engraved on them. The same ring that carried too many memories.

Memories of cheesy pickup lines and secret glances. Memories of late night talks losing sleep. Memories of clammy hand and shy caresses. Memories of movie dates and hot blushes. Memories of petty arguments paved over by gentle kisses and murmured apologies. Memories of love. Memories of loss. Memories of lies and pain and betrayal. Memories you no longer wanted.

You sigh softly, a bittersweet smile touching your lips.

“Keep it.”

His eyebrows jump, gaze bouncing between the ring and your face. “It… looks important.”

“It was,” you admit softly, interlacing your fingers, “but not anymore.”

The expression that crosses his features catches you off guard. It’s not of confusion or of judgment or disbelief, but of understanding. Understanding. How rare.

“Are you sure?” He asks quietly.

For a moment, you fix your gaze on the small, silver item that not long ago made your heart soar with nothing but pure delight every time you looked at you, but that now roused only painful heartache and unwanted memories. There was no going back to how things were, no chance of recovery for your once steadfast love. You’d been proven wrong one too many times, and refuse to be made a fool of again.

Sometimes, holding on did more damage than letting go.

“I’m sure.”

He stares at you, a conflicted look glinting in his dark eyes. You couldn’t quite read him, couldn’t quite make sense of the swirling emotions in his heavy gaze. But then he moved, fingertips reaching for something on the back of his neck. You tilted your head in confusion, briefly distracted by the endearing way his face twisted into an expression of concentration. Then, you catch a glimpse of something metallic— a necklace. He made quick work of the clasp, the item slipping easily off of his neck and into his awaiting palm.

“Then you…” he let out a soft breath as he extended his hand to you, fingers enclosed around the necklace, “you should take this.”

It was a simple piece of jewelry, a thin silver chain with what appeared to be a small, circular locket with two sets of initials engraved into it. The metal was surprisingly warm and you found yourself toying with the locket, tracing the pair of initials with your index finger.

“Which is yours?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“DKS. Doh Kyungsoo.”

“Doh Kyungsoo.” You repeat softly, testing his name on your tongue. There’s something melodic about the way it flows off your lips, and you like the way it tastes. Doh Kyungsoo. It was a name befitting his face.

“Pretty.”

It’s the lateness of the night that prevents your usual filter from functioning properly, the word escaping you before you can second guess it. Faint warmth touches your face, and you fix your eyes on the locket, not wanting to look up and gauge his reaction just yet.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft, and you find you can no longer fight the upward lift of your gaze. But the warm pink cheeks and shy smile you’re met with soothe the nervous buzz in your stomach. “And- and yours?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching as he slides a gentle thumb over the engravings. Everything about this man is gentle, soft, like the moonlight that falls across the sides of his face, making him appear to have a silver halo. His eyes, his skin, his voice, his lips; he’s soft all over, and you’re willing to bet that that same nature reaches into the very core of his being.

You wonder if he’d be soft under your fingertips, against your lips, caressing your skin.

The thought invades your mind so quickly that it momentarily stuns you, and you draw back, blinking hard and with a sudden warmth in your face. Your feelings always have the strangest timing.

He asked you a question, you remind yourself, forcing yourself out of the dangerous grip of your own thoughts.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n.” Your throat strains around the words and you have to swallow against the unexpected dryness.

His lips twirl. “Pretty.”

The cool air in the train car is suddenly suffocating.

Oh god.

“Do you have a place to stay for the night?”

What did you just say?

His eyes widen and you hold your breath, wishing you could pull the words right back out from the air that they now hung in, heavy and demanding, unable to be ignored.

“I don’t.”

The softness of his reply contrasts heavily with the expression that flashes across his face, the glint in his eye as his fingers tighten around your ring. You sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek, the warm metal of his locket pressing against your fingers.

“Me either.” You take a breath. “I know a hotel.”

Silence. Soft, warm, intoxicating silence.

Then his tongue drags over the full, pink flesh of his bottom lip, and you know you’re done for.

“Take me there.”

It’s a nice hotel.

The interior is pretty. Simple, but pretty. Flecks of gold complimenting soft, warm tones of brown. The woman behind the counter even manages to muster up a somewhat friendly smile as she passes you a room key despite the late hour; though, you’re certain she’d much rather be anywhere else in the world. You also don’t miss the soothing hum of orchestral melodies that pump through hidden speakers as you step into the mirrored walls of the elevator.

It’s a nice hotel.

But you can’t seem to appreciate it. Not fully, anyways. The mere knowledge of Doh Kyungsoo’s presence ruptures your sanity, and deems you wholly incapable of thinking rationally. The promise of midnight’s caress lingers in the air around you, invading your every sense like a poisonous gas. It’s something you can’t see, can’t smell, can’t touch. But you feel it. You feel it pulsing in your veins, dizzying your mind, eating away at your self control. It’s like there’s a string being pulled taut between you, the tension growing greater and greater with every passing second. Your gut churns in anticipation, skin prickling. You can barely keep your feet from shuffling and your hands from fidgeting as a foreign impatience gnaws at you.

But then the door of room 107 clicks shut, and the string snaps.

You have him pressed up against the door before your brain can condone it, mouth feasting on his. He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, hands sliding around your waist and pressing into the small of your back, holding you tightly against him.

You pour yourself into his kiss, pour out your pain and heartache, pour out your hopes and dreams that will never be, pour out your longing and desperation. You pour until he’s overflowing. But even then, you don’t stop, and he doesn’t want you to. Because just as you’re pouring yourself into him, he’s pouring himself into you, filling you up in ways you never imagined possible, filling the void that another created. He’s chasing away the emptiness with his eager tongue, fending off the icy chill of betrayal with his warm caress.

Greedy fingers find the collar of your borrowed coat, hurriedly pushing it off his shoulders. There’s a soft thud when the thick material hits the floor. A low groan vibrates in his throat, one hand raising to cup the back of your head while your own slip beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It’s over his head and discarded onto the floor in a matter of moments, and then there’s only skin. Warm, smooth skin. He’s hot to the touch, almost searing, but you can’t find it within yourself to mind the burn.

Distracted and disoriented by his feverish kiss, you don’t realize you’re moving backwards until the back of your knees hit the end of a mattress and suddenly you’re sprawled flat on your back. Kyungsoo hovers above you, panting and red in the face. His lips are swollen and a delicious shade of pink, just begging to be bitten. But it looks like he wants to say something, so you refrain.

“I— I don’t usually do things like this.” He admits, voice unstable and breathy. “Actually, I never do things like this.”

His confession has a light smile curling onto your lips. “Me either.” You murmur, admiring the way the silver moonlight spills across his sun kissed skin. He shudders faintly as your fingers trace over his bare waist, up over the small of his back, following the length of his spine until they reach their final destination, threading themselves through his thick black locks. His midnight eyes flutter behind the rims of his glasses when you offer a gentle tug. He makes no objection as you carefully remove the spectacles from his face, reaching over to set them gentle on the nightstand before returning your attention to his handsome face.

“But there’s a first for everything.”

He professes his agreement with the press of his hot mouth against yours. The kiss is softer this time, probably because you allow him to lead. It’s slow, deep, tender— tender in such a way that it’s somewhat surprising, especially between two strangers. But you don’t question it, instead relishing in the slow drags of his tongue and gentle nips of his teeth.

His lips are sweet, tasting of mint and honey. But there’s a bitterness, a distinctive saltiness that clings to the plush flesh. You don’t have to question if his tears slipped over them, tears he probably hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Briefly, you wonder if he can taste the lingering residue of your own heartache. Then you feel an unmistakable hardness against your hip, and stop thinking all together.

He groans, the sound soft and low. “Can I touch you?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

At your concession, warm fingers rouse goosebumps across your skin as he feathers delicate touches over your exposed stomach. Chills roll down your spine, body arching up, seeking out more— and he happily delivers. You jolt as he presses his face into your neck, hot tongue licking from the curve of your jaw down to the slope of your shoulder. All the while, his hands slip higher up your body, sliding beneath the thin fabric of your blouse, not stopping until they find the swells of your bra clad chest. You hiss as his thumb drifts underneath of it, slowly circling your rapidly hardening nipple.

He hums against your collarbone, pleased with your reaction. “Sensitive?” He asks, though you can just make out the slightest of mocking pitches clinging to the word. You don’t bother denying it. Instead, you push your hips up, rolling them slowly, deeply into his, drawing out a low groan from his lips, forehead falling against yours.

A smirk traces your lips. “Sensitive?”

He chuckles, hooded eyes fluttering open. The look within them, the lust, the hunger, the desire, ignites every last fiber of your being. You can’t seem to remember the last time anyone has looked at you with such intense want. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel incredible. To be wanted. To be craved. Even if it was by a complete stranger.

You tip your chin up, easily finding his pillowy mouth and smothering it against your own. His kiss was addictive. You just could not seem to get enough of it.

All too soon, he was pulling away and you have to bite your tongue to stifle a sound of protest. His hands find the bottom of your top, toying with it for a short moment before he asks, “can I take this off?”

Abruptly, you sit up, forcing him to fall back onto his heels. “Don’t ask. Just do.” He can only watch with lust blown eyes as you peel your shirt off of your body in one swift motion, exposing your bare skin to his ravenous gaze. A deep moan rises from the depths of his chest, the sound rousing an inexplicable heat in the pit of your stomach that quickly seeps into your bloodstream and spreads through the rest of your body like an erotic poison. Teeth biting sinking into your lip, you trace a finger over the strap of your bra.

“This, too?”

“Don’t ask,” he takes in a breath so deep that you can almost feel the hot rush of oxygen filling your lungs as well, “just do.”

You intend to laugh, finding enjoyment in this little game of yours, but the sounds breaks off halfway up your throat when his hands circle around your body and you feel his fingers making quick work of the clip, the tension giving way in a matter of seconds.

“I think that’s the fastest a mans ever been able to take off my bra.” You muse with a playful quirk of your brow, allowing him to nudge the grey material down the length of your arms, before tossing it uncaringly onto the floor. “I’m impressed.”

He smiles, and you’re, once again, immediately floored by its beauty. “I’m glad I could leave an impression.”

Please, feel free to leave me with more than just an impression.

Somehow, you manage to bite your tongue and keep the words locked in your mind, quickly deciding that undoing his belt is a task far more deserving of your attention. It’s impossible to miss the bulge straining against the tight confines of his jeans, but you get the sense that he’s unashamed. You don’t mind. Besides, what’s shame between a couple of heartbroken strangers?

“Fuck.” He huffs out the curse, mouth falling open as your curious fingers caress over his arousal through the tight, black fabric of his boxers. You can feel the heat of him, the impressive hardness giving away his unspoken need. “No, no… let me take of you first.” He murmurs, gently brushing your wandering hands away from his clothed length. “Lay back for me?”

Christ. You happily fall back into the plush white pillows, legs spreading around the shape of his body. Desire coils in your belly in tight, hot tendrils as his hands slide up the length of your legging clad thighs, skin burning fiercely in their wake. His lips press slow kisses to the skin of your hip while his fingers gently peel the article off of your body, leaving you almost completely bare aside from a pair of thin black underwear. It’s a sight he eagerly drinks in.

“Please.” You plead pathetically, a need unlike anything you’d ever experienced pulsing like liquid ecstasy through your veins. His gaze pierces you, pupils blown as his lips graze over your clothed heat. There’s no need to elaborate, he knows what you want, knows like he can read the desire on your face. It’s static shock when he slips a finger beneath the undergarment, grazing your slick lips in the process of shifting it to the side. It’s pure electricity when he dips down and slips his tongue over your core, all the way up to circle your sensative clit. Your hips jerk up, but he presses them back down into the mattress with steady hands.

“You taste so sweet…” he breathes, hot, praising words caressing your burning skin and igniting an angry flame in the pit of your stomach. A low whine rumbles in the back of your throat, eyes fluttering in bliss as he teases your slick opening with warm, pillowy lips. Fingers slipping through his thick black locks, you weakly tug him closer, a familiar ache swelling in the pit of your stomach.

“Tell me what feels good.” You can only nod dumbly at his muffled request, the vibration of his voice directly against your wet core having a mildly dizzying effect. Pleasure spills into your veins at the same time he takes you by surprise, a single finger pressing inside of you. An airy ‘oh god’ flutters off your lips, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him, so he presses, “good?”

“Yes. Yes, so good. So good.” You manage to choke out as he tugs at one of your legs, positioning it over his shoulder. He’s looking up at you now, starry eyes taking on a dangerous, lustful glow beneath the silver moonlight. It’s the kind of look that makes your stomach twist and your pussy throb.

Oh god. Who is this man? To make you feel this kind of pleasure… it’s the kind of pleasure no one has ever managed to make you feel before. It’s the kind of pleasure that licks at every cell of your being, rippling through you in slow, heavy waves. Your toes curl, your back bows. Your muscles shudder. It’s hot and it’s everywhere, invading every inch of you like a slow poison seeping through your bloodstream, infecting you down to your very core.

Doh Kyungsoo. You don’t know much about him. Only his name and that his heart is in a similar state as your own. But it doesn’t seem to matter.

Or, rather— that’s all that seems to matter.

Perhaps you sensed it, sensed his pain, his broken heart. And when you looked into those beautiful starry eyes, you had seen suffering that mirrored your own. It drew you to him, and him to you. You’d come to a mutual agreement in that moment. What was the use in suffering alone? Might as well share your pain with another. Maybe it would ease the hurt, or maybe it would just make it all the worse. Whichever came to be, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Not right now, at least. Not with the way that his lethal tongue was lapping at your heat in slow, deep strokes. Not with the way he was thrusting his fingers inside of you, curling, caressing, exploring.

It was too good to be concerned with anything else, future and past alike. Even your broken heart had become an afterthought under his bliss inducing ministrations.

“Oh god—” a shuttering curse flew from your chest, heel pressing into his shoulder blade. He had wrapped his lips around your clit, flicking his tongue over it expertly and at the same time, his fingers had found that perfect little spot inside of you that sent white hot electricity crackling through your veins.

Then, the coil snapped. Specks of white invade your vision, and for a moment you believe you are seeing stars. Or perhaps it’s his eyes, but you can’t really tell which direction you’re looking in, the incredible pleasure of the high he had just thrust you into entirely too dizzying and disorienting to decipher up from down or left from right. A choked moan followed by a broken whine escapes your gaping lips. Your hips jump off the mattress, refusing to be restrained any longer as they grind themselves desperately against his heavenly mouth. He doesn’t object, only moaning deeply as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

“Holy fuck…” you pant, chest heaving. He chuckles, climbing up and attaching his lips to yours. You taste yourself, the bitter sweetness hitting your tastebuds with a delicate swipe of his tongue against yours.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he hums into the kiss, gentle thumb drawing slow circles against the skin of your hip, “got me so hard...”

“Yeah?” You ask, voice airy. He nods, sinking his teeth into your lower lip. “Let me feel.”

You feel him smile into the kiss. Then his hand finds your wrist, guiding it slowly down the length of his body, until your fingertips are feathering over the strained fabric of his boxers. He’s hard. So hard. You can almost feel him throbbing. Any haziness lingering from your previous orgasm is immediately vanquished by the thought, wicked desire flooding your senses. He’s breathing hard against your throat, gripping tightly at the flesh of your thighs. He shudders violently when you find his tip, tracing it experimentally. The sound he produces in response is enough to have you clenching around nothing.

“Do you have a condom?”

His head snaps up, wide eyes meeting your hooded ones. He has to swallow a groan once he sees the expression on your face, the lust burning in your gaze. Nodding, he slips a hand into the pocket of his half off jeans and tugs out a small, square foil. You can’t help the mild amusement that curls the corners of your lips, the irony not lost on you. He huffs at you, “I like to be prepared.”

“I bet.” You croon, voice pitching playfully.

He grinds his hips into yours in retaliation. Still sensitive, you jolt beneath him with a quiet moan, a reaction that coaxed a mildly taunting smirk onto his glistening lips. Fixing him a glare lacking any genuine malice, you hook your fingers into the loops of his jeans and tug.

“Shut up and get naked.”

Laughter bubbles at his lips, and you can’t help the way your heart trembles in your chest at the sight of his scrunched nose. The sound of it warms you up from the inside out, and you smile. He’s beautiful when he laughs.

“Yes, ma’am,” he giggles, sitting up to kick his jeans onto the floor, followed suit by his boxers. Somehow, he’s even more beautiful completely bare, his honeyed skin and lean muscle on full display for your feasting eyes. Your tongue licks at the inside of your teeth, longing to steal a taste of him. But you refrain, barely, and only in favor of pressing the heels of your palms into his shoulders and flipping him onto his back. The swift change in position draws a surprised gasp from his lips, but he makes no complaint as you swing a leg over his hip and settle yourself on top of his thighs.

Plucking the condom from his hold, you shoot him a light smirk. “Let me help you with that.” His brows raise, pink tongue peeking out to drag over the corner of his mouth.

“Yes ma’am.” His voice, having dropped an entire octave, makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, arousal swirling to life in your stomach. Carefully, you tear open the wrapping and slip the rubber over his length. He visibly shudders at the contact, eyes fluttering when you not so accidentally allow your fingers to feather over his hot skin on the way down. Shifting forward, you position yourself above him, one had falling onto the mattress beside his head while the other teases your entrance with his tip. You want him inside of you, want to feel him stretch you out, want to feel him throbbing and hear those gorgeous sounds that you’ve already found yourself addicted to. And you don’t deny yourself of that desire, sinking down onto him in one swift motion.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and you’re not completely certain if it was you or him or both. But you know it’s him that lets out the first real sound, a groan, low and smooth in your ears. The sound is trailed by a shaky curse, a breath of your name, and the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your hips, though, he makes no attempt to get you to move. After all, you have, what feels like, all the time in the world. There’s no need to rush things. He knows that.

For a handful of moments, you remain still, adjusting to him, to the blissful stretch. You can’t remember the last time anyone has filled you so well, so wholly.

Inhaling deeply, you push yourself into an upright position, palms flattening over the gentle swells of his chest to balance yourself on. When you finally move, it’s at a slow, deliberate pace. Controlled downward thrusts of your hips that have him filling you to that perfect depth over and over again. Heat consumes you, your skin trembling and perspiring within its grasp.

He’s holding you so tight, looking up at you with those starry eyes. Those beautiful starry eyes that have somehow both completely undone you, and made you complete again. In the span of only a few hours nonetheless. It’s baffling. He’s baffling. How can a man like him exist? How could anyone have let him go? Then again… he’s still a stranger. But he’s a beautiful stranger with the kind of gaze that reaches past your skin and bone and straight onto your core. It feels like he sees you, knows you, understands you. And oh god, after so long— it feels good to be seen.

You moan breathlessly, head tipping back as your hips roll hungrily over his. Below you, Kyungsoo is fighting to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single moment. But the pleasure is overwhelming, hot in his veins, boiling in his blood. He was losing himself, but in the best way imaginable. In you, to you, for you. Slowly, yet all at once. It’s like drowning: filling his lungs, pouring into every empty crevice of his body. It was consuming him— and he was loving it.

Searing fingertips dance over your body, up your stomach, over your breasts, across your collarbone. Your skin burns and shudders in their wake, the sensation so distracting you don’t notice one of his hands coiling around the back of your neck until you’re being tugged downward, swollen lips colliding with his. You moan in surprise before melting into him, gentle hands raising to cup his burning cheeks.

“You feel—” he gasps against your mouth, “so good.”

His hips snap up, causing your back to arch deeply, chest pressing tightly to his. You can feel the racing of his heart, the astonishing heat of his skin. You swear he’s going to burn right through you.

Not that you’d really mind.

“Kyungsoo.” You pant, hands dragging down the length of his neck to grip at his steady shoulders.

He tips his head forward, bleary, hooded eyes fixing on yours. “Yeah?”

“Fuck me.”

There’s a pause. And then you’re on your back, splayed out beneath his body, and he’s fucking himself into you like his life depends on it. An uncontrollable cry is wretched from your throat, arms flinging themselves around his neck as he lifts your hips off the mattress. Like this, he can go even deeper, fuck you even better, make you come even faster. He knows what you need, and he knows exactly how to give it to you.

Ecstasy rips through you when his fingers reach between your bodies, finding your swollen clit with astonishing ease. Your legs raise, ankles locking around his back, urging him closer, urging him deeper. A strained groan tears free from his fluttering lips, his eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him. In response, he rolls the heel of his palm over your clit, while simultaneously hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you that has been neglected for far too long.

It’s so much— too much. It feels like you’re on fire, and he’s pouring the gasoline. If he keeps going like this, you know you won’t last.

Then his eyes, those goddamn starry eyes, meet yours, and you feel yourself come undone.

If there was any lingering hurt, sadness, or regret— it is completely obliterated by the mind numbing intensity of your second orgasm. It hits you hard and fast; ten times more powerful than the first. Your muscles shudder, your skin burns, your mind empties. All you feel is pure, euphoric pleasure. Every cell of your being is consumed by it.

Kyungsoo doesn’t last a moment longer than you do, the second the first wave hits you, he’s spilling himself into the condom, moaning and trembling above you. You are just conscious enough to force your eyes to stay open, not wanting to miss a second of the beautiful contortions of his handsome features as he reaches what looks to be the epitome of pleasure. There’s little doubt in your mind that the image of him unraveling will haunt your dreams in nights to come. Not that you’d mind. A face like his is a pretty good face to be haunted by.

By the time his high finally recedes, his muscles are so exhausted that they quiver beneath the weight of his body. He just barely manages to hold himself up long enough to roll safely off of you, before collapsing onto the mattress at your side.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Catching your breath alone is proving difficult enough without being hindered by any pathetic attempt at formulating a coherent sentence in the aftermath of one of the most mind blowing orgasms you’ve ever had.

Your cells are still trembling in the aftershock when Kyungsoo finally speaks— or, attempts to, at the very least.

“That was— you were— wow.”

Breathless laughter bubbles at your lips and your turn just in time to see a bashful smile creep onto his.

“You were pretty wow yourself, Doh Kyungsoo.”

Doh Kyungsoo in the wake of an amazing fuck is something to behold. His bare skin glistening with sweat, cheeks and chest flushed a deep red, his thick black hair is unruly and sticking out in strange directions. He is an absolute mess, and he is beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that your breath catches in your throat at the mere sight of him, though you try your best not to make it too obvious.

With a huff, you roll onto your side and toss an arm over his stomach while the other slips beneath the small of his back, fingers interlocking on the opposite side of his body.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you hum tiredly, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m an avid believer in cuddling after sex.”

He chuckles, and you feel the warm press of his palm between your shoulder blades as he tugs you closer.

“I don’t mind,” soft, starry eyes flit over your blissed out features, “I don’t mind at all.”

In the distance, a train horn blares.

“Why’d she leave you?”

The question doesn’t seem to catch him off guard. But his hand pauses where it had begun to trace abstract designs in your skin. He blinks, purses his lips, then exhales softly from his nose and stares blankly across the room.

“She… fell in love with someone else.”

This surprises you.

“That doesn’t make sense.” You mutter, brows furrowing.

He glances down at you. “What do you mean?”

You meet his eyes. “You’re one of the good ones.”

He falters. It’s only for a moment, in which his eyes widen, lips part, cheeks flush, but you can see something flash across his face. An emotion he gives you no time to decipher before he wipes the expression away and raises a brow, one corner of his mouth turning upwards in a lazy smirk.

“And how exactly, after knowing me for all of three hours, did you come to that conclusion?” Curiosity and amusement swim in his gaze.

“Call it a sixth sense,” you grin, peering up at him, “I’m good at reading people,” you contemplate that for a moment, “sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

Your shoulders raise and you watch your fingers trace invisible words across his chest. “I thought he was the kind of man that would never betray me, never lie to me, never break my heart. I thought I knew him. But look where we are now.”

A comforting hand caresses your waist.

“What happened?”

That could be a loaded question. What happened? Everything. Nothing. Something. But you opted to give him a more straightforward answer. “I’m not sure. The only part I really saw was him railing his secretary in our bed. But it’s not so hard to make up the rest of the story in my head.”

“His… secretary?”

You chuckle. “Cliché, isn’t it?”

“Yes but…” he cuts himself off and shakes his head, but you can practically see the gears beginning to turn in his head.

“What is it?”

He hesitates, then speaks slowly, carefully, as if contemplating each work before it could come out of his mouth. “It’s just, my g— ex-girlfriend worked as a secretary for this big shot new tech company. Crazy coincidence… right?”

A shock goes through you. Big shot new tech company? You’d definitely heard those words before. But there was just no way. The chances of it were one in a million. There had to be hundreds of big shot new tech companies in your city, and thousands of secretaries that worked for them. There was no way…

“W–What’s the name of the company?” You ask, even though you’re not entirely confident that you want to know the answer.

He swallows. “Strato Tech.”

You blink once, twice, then ask,

“I don’t suppose your girlfriend has a bird tattoo on her left shoulder?”

He offers a nod. “That would be her.”

There’s another pause. And then you’re laughing. You’re laughing so hard your stomach aches and tears spring to the corners of your eyes. Kyungsoo is in a similar state, bellowing belly laughter exploding from his chest, loud and uncontrollable.

For what feels like hours (but was probably only minutes) the two of you laugh. You laugh because what are the chances? What are the chances that your fiancé and his girlfriend work at the same big shot new tech company? What are the chances that they feel a mutual attraction and begin a secret affair? What are the chances that you stumble onto the same train as her heartbroken boyfriend and fall into bed with him? What are the chances?

“This is unbelievable.” Kyungsoo pants, tossing an arm over his eyes, a cheek achingly wide smile plastered across his face.

“When’d our lives turn into a poorly written soap opera?” You scoff in disbelief.

“You tell me.” He chuckles.

Then, an idea strikes you. Mischievous excitement sparks in your eyes.

“I feel like this is an opportunity we can’t miss, Doh Kyungsoo.”

He raises a brow, intrigue curling at the corners of his lips. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

Smirking, you sit up on your knees and reach for something on the nightstand. “All you have to do… is sit back and look pretty.”

Chanyeol sighs softly, hands sliding over his face.

He fucked up. Bad.

It’s been hours. Hours since he made the mistake of bringing the new secretary back to your shared home. Hours since he watched helplessly as you stormed out. Hours since he kicked his accomplice to the curb and desperately scrambled to right his wrong. Hours since he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

It’s been hours, and he can’t stop worrying.

He tried calling and texting, but you must have turned off your phone because none of them went through. He even reached out to your friends and family. None of them knew what he’d done yet, but none of them knew where you were either.

He never meant for this to happen, really. He had been stressed out and drinking, and she’d been there. Apparently, in his tipsy mind, that was enough. Enough to throw years of his wonderful relationship out the window in a matter of moments.

It was a mistake.

But it was a mistake you wouldn’t easily forgive. Not like the (many) times when he accidentally knocked glassware off the counter and it shattered. Not like the time he showed up so late to one of your dates that you’d eaten both the main course and dessert all on your own. Not like the time he kept you up late and you’d been so tired the next morning you slept through a meeting. Not like the time he got upset because you beat him at his favorite video game and ignored you for two days.

This was a mistake that no amount of desperate apologies or late night kisses could fix.

He cheated.

Groaning in frustration, he presses the heels of his palms against his swollen eyes. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Then his phone dings.

He all but lunges for it, and feels his heart leap into his throat at the sight of your name plastered across the top of the screen. His hands are shaking so terribly that he mistyped his password three times before finally managing to unlock it.

But the message that greets him makes any semblance of hope for your future together drop like a dead bird in his chest.

from : love of my life 💕

tell your little secretary friend that her sexy boyfriend says hi ;)

delivered 3:04 am

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leelysian · 4 years

Text

Unwell

genre: slight angst with fluff ending, implied crush au, one shot

pairing: female reader x best friend!Minho

word count: 1.4k

context: you're terribly sick, you haven't told anyone but your best friend somehow knew something was wrong when you wouldn't reply to his numerous texts.

A/N: this may or may not have turned into a rant because I was sick for the past few days akskakdksks

Seasonal flus were the worst. Slightly chilly from hot or slightly warm from cold and suddenly your body decides, “You know what? I don’t vibe with this weather. I’ma just break down.” You had a mild fever and a cold. While the fever was mild, it was annoying because you weren’t sick enough to just pass out for hours and having a cold meant your nose either:

Dried up like the Sahara which ended up burning your sinuses and it felt like your skull was on fire.

Got blocked like the path between the North and South Korea; nothing got in or out which meant breathing through your mouth which also dried up.

Runny like the Amazon river, there’s crumples of tissue paper all over your floor. Your nose was red, rough and raw from blowing so much, the delicate skin was irritated.

Here you were, slumped on your bed with the covers on top of you but a leg and an arm sticking out because it got too hot to be fully under the covers and too cold to be fully without. Sleep eluded you the previous night, you just couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t gonna happen. Somehow you’d fall asleep only to wake up a little while later, and end up tossing and turning in your bed. Because you were unsuccessful in your attempts to get a good night’s rest, you woke up with a pounding headache from your eyelids to the back of your head. Your whole body ached.

Leftovers in your fridge were finished so you forced yourself to get up and heat some instant noodles to eat with your meds. Water tasted bitter. Your appetite vanished. Eating was agonising because afterwards you felt suffocated, an invisible pressure on your torso prevented you from breathing fully, your lungs not taking in air fully so your breaths were short. Hell, peeing was a chore. At least you weren’t on your period, maybe if that happened, you’d actually die. Imagine having to frequently change pads/tampons and underwear while feeling like you got ran over by a truck. Were you overreacting? Maybe. But it was allowed at this point.

So in short, you were suffering since the past two days. You were absolutely miserable. You wanted to cry but crying meant your nose getting runny then eventually blocked and then a headache so you sucked it up. You brought a hand to your head to massage your head because it hurt, grimacing by the tangles and the grease. You reached for your phone, unlocked to see various social media notifications which you cleared and messages from your friends which you also elected to ignore and reply to later. Playing a playlist with slow music with medium volume and dropped it back on the bed, you closed your eyes and let the soft melodies flow into your ears in hopes of helping you forget about your headache once again. This is how you held on to your last shred of sanity but you failed to hold on to your consciousness and fell into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up to a cold compress on your forehead, your room clutter and mess free, the windows open and something nice smelling. You thought you were dreaming when a face you know all too well walked into your bedroom with a bowl. “Minho? what are you doing here? Get out. I’m sick, you’ll get sick too.” you rasped. “Well, about time you acknowledged my existence, even if it’s to tell me to get out. I should’ve been here earlier, maybe it would’ve been helpful if you told me you were dying in your pigsty of a room.” he snapped. He put the bowl on your nightstand, you realised it was water, he was probably going to replace the cold compress.

“You look terrible.” he said. “Gee, thanks.” you retorted. “You need a shower.” he advised. “Nooooo.” you whined and snuggled further into the covers. “Come on, y/n, there’s no way you’ll get better if you feel disgusting. I’ll help.” He said and snatched the blankets. “Minho, stop. You’ll get my germs.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry about it now come on.” he said and helped you sit up then suddenly with strength you didn’t know he had he carried you princess style to the bathroom and you yelped. “Jeez y/n you’ve lost so much weight.” he tsked. “Do you think you can wash your hair on your own?” he asked as he sat you down on the counter. “I’ll be okay.” you replied tiredly. “If you need help, just ask.” he said and adjusted the water temperature in the shower then left.

You took your time showering, the first five minutes just standing under the warm water which opened up your sinuses, having the steady stream of water beat down over your back and easing your sore muscles. You washed your hair slowly, so as not to tire your arms out. Stepping out of the shower, you felt immensely better, finally able to breathe a bit easier. Drying off, you wore your fluffy bathrobe and walked out to see a big shirt (one you ‘borrowed’ from Minho) and pajama shorts laid out on the bed. Thankfully, he didn’t lay out underwear for you. You dressed up and got settled back in bed, already tired again.

You unlocked your phone and saw the concerned texts from Minho because you weren’t answering them or his calls and felt guilty. A knock resounded from your door, “come in.” you said and Minho walked in with a tray. “Well well, finally I see y/n and not a corpse.” he teased. Whatever was on that tray smelled heavenly and your stomach rumbled. He put the tray down on your lap and he brought the back of his hand to your neck to check your temperature. “Hm, your fever has probably gone down but I think it’ll be back.” he notes. The whole time you stared at him. “Hey. I’m sorry I ignored your texts.” you said and twiddled with your thumbs, the guilt unbearable. He took your hands in his own, “It’s fine. I’m sorry for snapping. I was just worried and scared. I thought you actually died at first glance and I panicked.”

He turned to the tray and lifted the lid from the bowl, “It’s chicken rice porridge. Eat up and take your meds.” Your eyes were still downcast, “I can’t I feel horrible afterwards.” and you explained in detail. “It’s probably acidity, clearly you’ve been eating junk and it’s not sitting well in your stomach. This won’t cause you discomfort. At least eat a little bit. Please? For me? I made this for you.” he said and used the signature kitty eyes. You looked up and he’s already holding a spoonful of the warm concoction. You hated when he pulled the look on you, you could never say no to those eyes but then again you didn’t want to because that porridge looked pretty darn appetising. You opened your mouth and Minho fed you the gloopy goodness.

You could’ve just eaten yourself but you quite liked being pampered so you said nothing. Minho carefully spoon fed you the whole bowl, blowing delicately on the first couple of spoonfuls until the rest became tepid. Halfway through the bowl you felt full so you told him you didn’t want to eat anymore but he pulled the kitty eyes again, and now you’re stuffed. He handed you the glass of water and meds which you gulped down and went to clean up. He came back and stood awkwardly in your doorway. “You’re leaving already?” you asked sadly. “Do you want me to?” he asked back. “No grab my laptop and come watch Spirited Away with me.” you pouted. He smiled, got the laptop from your desk, grabbed one of the sweatpants he left from previous times he’s been to your place to change into, and then settled in bed next to you under the covers.

You took one of your many pillows and settled your laptop on it and settled back. “Hey, Minho?” you called. “Hm?” he enquired. “Thanks for taking care of me.” you smiled softly. He was going to say something snarky but decided against it and said, “It's alright.” About half an hour into the movie he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and he looked bewildered to see you’ve fallen asleep on him, breathing softly. He turned off the laptop and placed it on the ground before wrapping his arms around you, placing your head over his chest and reclining back. He looked at your sleeping face with soft, adoring eyes and a gentle smile. He gently rubbed your back with one hand when suddenly you stirred and threw your arm over his stomach. Slowly, he too, drifted off to sleep with dreams of you and him together.

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waatermelon-sugaar · 3 years

Text

Drunk Calling

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 1.7k

Summary = A drunk call to Santi ends the night less than ideal

Warnings = drinking, angsty ending? quite open

A/N = Prompt no.37 requested by @writefightandflightclub as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “You are too drunk to be speaking right now” w/santi and bolded in text. Also this is not that great, but writers block sucks and I hope you like it Luna!

Masterlist

***

“Santiiiagoooo.” You stretch out his name as you hold onto the bar with one hand, speaking into your phone.

You can’t hear his voice so you pull the phone down, frowning in concentration as the black screen swims in front of you. You definitely called him, that’s his name on your phone.

You put the phone back to your ear, listening carefully, trying to block out the music playing in one corner. It’s still ringing, that’s good.

You can see your friends, a couple of them still dancing, the others smoking, visible through the window as they pretend that they’re not cold in the dark air.

And then you hear him. “Sweetheart?” His voice sounds slow, and muffled, like he’s underwater. “Are you alright?”

You grin. “Santi!” You wish he was here with you. “I wish you were here.”

There’s a mirror behind the bar, and you catch sight of your reflection, hair looser than when you left your house, a slight sheen of sweat on your skin from dancing.

You can’t hear him for a second, and you panic. “Santi?”

There’s a small grunt, and you can hear him moving. You sigh in response, waiting, and propping yourself up on the bar a little better. “Where are you?”

“I-,” you start, making a face at yourself in the mirror, “- am having fun. Where are you?”

You can hear him laugh, and you adjust the phone. “I’m in bed.”

“In bed?” You frown. “In boring land more like.”

“It’s 2am,” He reminds you, laughing. It’s scratchier than his normal laugh, deeper.

“Why do you sound different?”

There’s another pause, and it suddenly occurs to you that maybe 2am is a bad time to call, except you wish Santi were here and this is the next best thing, because really all you want is to give him a hug.

“This is what I sound like when I wake up sweetheart.” He clears his throat, and then his voice comes through, louder and clearer. “I’m in bed, remember?”

“I wish I was with you.”

You can practically hear his raised eyebrow. “Yeah? I thought I was in boring land?”

“Ahh, but it wouldn’t be boring if I was there.”

You register that the top of the bar is sticky so you try and stand a bit more independently.

“Careful, you’re starting to sound a bit like the fun police.” Santi’s voice is dry, and you suddenly can’t tell if he’s joking.

“I’m not the fun police,” you pout at your reflection. “I just… I bring the fun.”

Santi chuckles again, and your heart jumps. “I know-” the rest of his sentence is cut off when two of your friends suddenly appear at your side, whooping and laughing.

“Who are you on the phone too?” Silvia shouts as they wait for the bartender. She’s pulled her hair away from her face, curls now struggling to pull free from a ponytail, as she pulls the skirt of her dress further down her legs.

You twist the phone away so she can’t see, pushing into her side slightly. “Two, no sorry! Three jagerbombs please?” She hands her card over, even as you shake your head.

“I’m not drinking anymore.”

“No!” Silvia whines your name. Pulling on Mikki’s arm, she brings her into the debate. “Tell her she has to drink the jagerbomb, and then tell us who she’s on the phone too!”

Mikki nods, solemn. “You gotta do it.”

You sigh, even as the bartender returns with the three drinks, Silvia’s card, and a receipt.

“Come on, come on, come on.” Silvia’s handing you the shot, and you're holding the drink in your free hand, as the two of them start chanting. “Drink.”

“Drink.”

You roll your eyes, already knowing you’re going to do it. And then, with a fluid movement and a couple of swallows, the three of you are holding empty glasses.

You turn back to your phone, assuming they’re going to dance. “Santi?”

Unfortunately, that means you miss the knowing look they share between them.

“Silvia?” That’s Mikki’s voice.

“Yes Mikki?”

You turn back in mild horror, the phone now halfway to your face.

“How do you call your loverboy?”

“Come ‘ere, lover...boy!” The effect is ruined somewhat by Silvia’s attempt to control her laughter, hand covering her mouth.

“And if he doesn’t answer?” Mikki leans over as she talks, grasping the phone from you and pointing at the screen as she mouths the Santiago? eyes wide in excitement. You suddenly regret telling them about him.

Santi hasn’t hung up, the number under his name increasing steadily.

“Ohh loverboy!” Silvia’s talking dangerously close to your phone now, even as you try and take your phone back.

“And if he still doesn’t answer?”

There’s a glint in Mikki’s eye that you recognise and usually love, although you’re not normally on the receiving end.

“Santiago?” Mikki’s lifted the phone to her ear, and then she’s nodding. “Uh huh.” She looks at you. “Yeah she is.”

Oh no.

You grab Mikki’s wrist, trying to pull the phone away. “Yeah she is, what?” You hiss. “Mikki, yeah she is, what?”

Mikki ignores you, pushing your grabbing hands away. “You’re too drunk to be speaking right now.” She tells you happily, phone still to her ear and you groan, stomping your foot a little in frustration.

“She’s having fun, yeah.”

“Mikki!” You hiss again, unaware that Silvia’s phone is out and she’s recording the two of you.

“Kuckoo, do you know it?”

“Mikki!” You wail, collapsing dramatically onto the bar, grimacing when a coaster sticks to your cheek.

Mikki is still talking to him. “- and then you turn left, and it’s the one with the red light. You should come one day, they’ve got good music.”

You can only watch on in horror as she wraps up the call. “Bye Santiago!”

That’s her flirty voice, why is she using her flirty voice when she knows you li-

No.

She thinks you like him.

“Or should I say, bye Pope?” She asks, twirling a curl around her finger as though she’s stood in front of him.

She hangs up before you have a chance to tell her that he doesn’t like that nickname as a civi, that it’s only for the army, that he prefers Santi, he told you he likes Santi. Instead, you can only take your phone back with a huff.

“Ok, what?” Mikki’s arms are crossed now.

“Don't flirt with him,” you snap, irrationally annoyed. “He’s my friend and I don’t need you two…” you don’t find the words so you make a crude gesture.

“Jealous, much?” Mikki bites back. “If you fancy him, you just let me know, and I’ll step back. If you don’t, then as far as I’m concerned, I can flirt with him.”

You suddenly don’t know what’s happening to your stomach, something ugly roiling inside you. “But I wasn’t flirting,” Mikki continues, annoyed. “Look all he wanted to talk about was you and he’ll be here in a bit to take you home, ok?”

You don’t say anything, stunned. “Call me tomorrow when you’re sober, let’s have brunch or something?”

You nod, confused, but glad Mikki doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge, as she and Silvia make their way back to the dance floor.

10 minutes later, you’re waiting outside, shivering in the cold, admiring the stars, when Santi pulls up in his truck, window down, hat on.

When you climb in, he rolls the window up. The heater is on and you give another shiver, this time in delight.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you’re taking his hat, jamming it onto your head and admiring yourself in the mirror. Santi’s smiling, but he’s not looking at you. Good. You don’t think you could handle it if he smiled at you right now.

Neither of you talk, not even when you start fiddling with the radio, clumsy fingers pressing buttons until you find a song you like, humming under your breath as you twist the hat in your hands, suddenly nervous.

You don’t like Santi.

Do you?

No. You’re drunk, and gullible, and Mikki’s in your head.

Except he smells so good.

All the time. And he gives such good hugs. And he’s your best friend, your go to for… nearly everything.

You know you love him. That doesn’t mean you’re in love with him.

Does it?

You don’t realise at first when he’s parked outside your building, your swirling thoughts taking up your concentration until Santi turns the engine off. The sudden silence makes you stop, when Santi touches your leg.

“We’re here.”

It’s the first words he’s spoken to you in person, and suddenly, you’re tongue tied.

But he helps you in, pouring you a glass of water while you change, placing some paracetamol on your bedside table as you wipe your makeup off.

All in all, you manage, uttering small sentences as Santi tucks you into bed. And then he’s about to go when-

“I’m sorry for when my friends were on the phone.”

Santi turns to you, his figure shrouded in darkness, hat back on his head. He doesn’t say anything, and so you continue. “They, just… they think you’re good-looking or, I dunno, that I have a crush on you, and I just, I’m sorry, if that made you uncomfortable, or-“

Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes and you can’t be bothered to stop them, a deep sadness welling up in you, except you don’t know why. “-you’re just a really good friend to me Santi, and they know that and I do like you, but how can I tell you that-“

You sniff, and Santi moves towards you as your words slur together slightly. “-it’s not something you can tell your friend is it, I like what we have, I do, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

The bed dips and Santi’s there, pulling you into a hug as you sob into his shoulder. “You’re so nice Santiago.”

His arms are around your back. “You’ve always got me, and you make me laugh.” He just squeezes you tighter and you feel safe.

“Santi I think I-“

“You’re drunk.” He’s pulled back, and he’s not looking at you anymore. “You need to go to sleep.”

Weren’t you just crying into his shoulder? That man’s suddenly gone, and instead Santi’s twisting his hat in one hand, reaching up the other to mess with his curls as he stands.

“I don’t want you to say something you’re gonna regret.” You only dimly register the words, lying back onto your pillow, turning away from him.

Your sleep is fractured and teary, and when you wake, you can’t remember your dreams.

***

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