#but I should also mention that sometimes an ask just gets pushed so far down into my Notifications that I see it way too late

[layton-heritage-posts]

Asking out of pure curiosity and definitely not because of something that just happened over @pokemonheritageposts, have you ever closed your askbox?

No, if there is ever an ask that I genuinely don't want to answer I just ignore it tbh.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (22) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you and coriolanus adjust.

word count: 1,733

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: fluff, mention of morning sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread

The benefit of being pregnant was that Coryo and Coriolanus have seemed to become the best of friends. The drawback was that they became united in their overprotective tendencies. Coryo would insist that you stay in bed longer, and Coriolanus would sit on your chest to make sure you didn’t try to sneak away. Or Coryo would deny invitations to balls because of your morning sickness, and Coriolanus would attack the skirts of your gown to make sure it was in no occasion to be worn when you tried to convince your husband that you were well enough to be in attendance. It would have been infuriating if it wasn’t also so damned sweet. At least Coryo didn’t become the sort of husband who would keep you from your work. Probably because you were seated beside him and he could ensure that you weren’t doing anything that could potentially harmed yourself or the baby. 

You leaned your head against Coryo’s arms as he shuffled around some papers on the desk. He looked down at you, his brows pinching together. 

“Do you need to rest?” he asked. “Should I get the physician?”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his bicep. “Worry wart.”

“Forgive me if I’m concerned when my wife is entering the most dangerous part of her life—carrying another’s life,” Coryo said. He reached up, his cold hand resting on your warm face. His thumb stroked over the swell of your cheek. “I’m not going to take any chances when it comes to your health.”

There it was again. You knew of Coryo’s anxieties about your eventual pregnancy, but with everything happening so quickly, it was easy to be frustrated with his behaviors. With the exception of his adoration for you, Coryo kept his feelings so close to his chest. Even when it was obvious why he was being so overprotective, you sometimes forgot that part of him was still the broken boy who lost his mother. You took a breath, trying to steady your own overwhelming emotions.

“And I will tell you if I’m over-exerting myself. I may have never been with child before, but I know myself well enough to know when I’m pushing too far.”

A sigh escaped Coryo’s lips. “I just worry. I cannot lose you. In fact, I demand that I be the one to go first.”

You giggled. “I don’t think you get to demand things like that.”

“I am King. The only person who can tell me no is you, so, please, let me be the one to go first.”

You kissed his bicep again. “Very well. But you better live a long, long life with me before you go.”

“I wouldn’t dare sacrifice a single minute of a long life with you.”

“Would you sacrifice a minute to walk in the gardens with me?”

Coryo smiled and nodded. He stood first then held a hand out to you so he could aid you. Once you were standing, your hand slid to the crook of his arm and Coryo led you out of the office. He gave a curt nod to the Peacekeeper who was stationed outside the door and the two of you continued out of the palace and to the gardens.

The moment the sun hit your face, you couldn’t hold back your smile any longer. You had been holed up in the palace for the better part of the week, both because of Coryo and because of the morning sickness. It was nice to finally been the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair. Maybe pregnancy would be easier if you spend the entirety of it outdoors. You looked up at your husband. Even the weight on his shoulders seemed to be lifted once he was out of the palace. 

You took a seat on a bench, and Coryo sat beside you. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s nice to be out here,” you said. 

“It is. We should come out more often,” Coryo agreed. He caressed your face, a soft smile curving across his face. You leaned in, stole a kiss. “I am sorry if I have been overbearing.”

“It’s sweet. I am sure most husbands would only be concerned if the child I had was a boy,” you said. 

“Boy, girl, I don’t care. As long as you and our child is healthy, I will be happy.”

Leaning your head against Coryo’s shoulder, you said, “I probably will take a step back from our public engagements, though. It was exhausting just coming down here, and we haven’t even left the estate.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “Well, if I knew it would be that easy to get my way, I would’ve taken you to the gardens sooner.”

“Oh hush!” But still, you giggled. “One a month, I think, will suffice. Fewer than that when I am further along, of course, and if the physician advises otherwise.”

“Ah, so I could have also been bribing the physician?” Coryo teases. 

You gave his chest a light smack. “Stop it, I’m being serious here.”

“I know, and I greatly appreciate that.”

“Now, what do you say we shirk our duties and spend the rest of the day in bed?”

Coryo grinned. “I thought you would never ask.”

You sat in the library, legs curled up under you, a book on your lap. Coriolanus sat at your feet, blinking curiously at you. You hadn’t intended for Coriolanus to have joined you, but despite you and Coryo coming to an agreement about your health, Coriolanus seemed to be certain that one wrong move would mean your end. 

“Well, this is a very non-traditional royal portrait,” Coryo said, stepping into the library and up to the painter. He watched as the artist. took delicate care in painting you. 

“This isn’t for my royal portrait,” you dismissed as you turned a page in your book. “We had that done weeks ago. Some finishing touches still need to be done before it can be unveiled, of course. But this is a personal portrait I’ve commissioned.”

Coryo looked over at you. His brow raised. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure you out. “Is that so? What do you need a personal portrait for?”

“Well, there will soon come a time when I am too tired and too pregnant to be in the office with you. I thought a portrait hung over the desk would serve as a good reminder of who you must consider in ever decision you make.”

The painter’s brush stilled. You watched as he slowly looked back at the King, undoubtedly waiting for a typical man’s rage—to yell at you for being so audacious, to destroy the painting, and to ensure that the painter never would be able to make art again. But your Coryo only laughed. 

“As if I could ever forget you, petal. I was planning to bring our work into the bedroom—”

“There is nothing less attractive you could say than that.”

The color continued to drain from the painter’s face. Poor fellow. Perhaps you should tell him to take a break while you speak with your husband. 

“Perhaps you are right.”

“No, I am. If you bring work into our bed, you will be swiftly removed to the Queen’s Chambers.”

Coryo smiled still. “Very well. Then I should thank you for being so courteous to not wholly deprive me of your presence.”

You flipped another page in the book. “I’m think of having another painting commissioned in a few months.”

The painter looked to you, his demeanor finally relaxing. “It would be an honor to paint you again, Your Majesty,” he said. 

“Have you done any maternity portraits?” you asked. “I know it is as non-traditional as this portrait, of course, but I thought it would be another nice present for my husband.”

The painter glanced back at the King standing over his shoulder. “I am certain His Majesty will be pleased with anything you present him. Your Majesty.”

“Something in the gardens, I think. Coryo has these beautiful rose bushes. We should incorporate them somehow.”

“I love when you pretend I’m not here, petal,” Coryo said. He patted the painter’s shoulder. “If you continue to capture my wife’s beauty as well as you have been, you will be the official royal portraitists.”

You watched as the painter flushed. “It would be a tremendous honor to be bestowed such a title,” he said. 

Coryo nodded at the painter then stepped around the easel. He walked over to you, bent down, and kissed you softly. “How much longer will this take?”

“Only an hour or so until we lose the sunlight,” you said. “Why? Are you becoming anxious without me by your side?”

Coryo smiled, his pretty blue eyes twinkling. “You know I always want you by my side.” He kissed you again. “I shall return in an hour then.”

“I eagerly await your return.”

He turned to Coriolanus and pointed a finger at the furry baby. “And I expect you to alert me if this ends even a second sooner.”

Coriolanus meowed in return. 

As Coryo left the library, you found the painter staring at you. You expected him to resume painting, but he continued to stare. “Is there something the matter?” you asked. 

“I have painted many couples in my time,” he said, “and I have never seen a husband as devoted as His Majesty. If it would please Your Majesty, I would love to come another day and paint a portrait of the two of you together.”

You smiled. “To add to our gallery of non-traditional portraits?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything that the two of you wish for.”

Oh, you liked that. You grinned ear-to-ear as you asked, “And if I wished for another portrait of myself, done in the style of the goddess of old?”

He flushed. “Anything you wish, Your Majesty.”

“You are going to be quite handsomely paid by the time we are done with you.”

You turned back to your book, still smiling as you considered the various portraits you were going to gift your Coryo. He could give you a library, yes, but you were going to give him a gallery. If he didn’t appreciate art in all its glory before, he would soon enough. 

[moody-alcoholic]

Boundaries

I've had time off work, so I've been pumping these out since my main project is on hold for the time being. It's been a lot of fun.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 2.4k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Alcohol, mentions of sex, language. Back to the fluff... this is supposed to be a slow burn...

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

You sit at the table your leg nervously bouncing up and down. Simon comes to sit next to you pushing a cup of tea over. 

“Thank you,” you say blowing on it, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since Johnny woke Simon up telling him we all needed to talk. Your mind had been going at a million miles an hour. What if you saying you’re falling for them is too far? They are already married, you just kind of barged in.  

“Right!” Johnny says standing up his palms flat on the table. 

“I call this first official family meeting to begin.” He says way to enthusiastically for your energy level.  

“Christ.” You hear Simon sigh next to you, you look at him his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose. You smile sipping on your tea. 

“We’ve all had a nice time but I think we need a debrief.” You chuckle.

“You want a post sex debrief every time?” Simon asks Johnny who taps his knuckles on the table.

“I don’t have a hammer thing.” He says. 

“Is this a court room or a meeting?” Simon asks. They’re winding each other up you can’t help but smile. 

“It’s a meeting, casual, a safe space to air out all your problems.” Johnny says. 

“Now first order of business, boring stuff out the way first.” Johnny puts a key down on the table moving it towards you, you pick it up. 

“You’re welcome over any time,” Johnny says smiling. That’s not boring that’s a massive thing.

“Do you guys want keys to my place?” You ask looking at them, it seems only right, you have access to their home they should have access to yours.  

“Up to you.” Simon says. You make a mental note to look for a key-cutter tomorrow.

“PDA! Now I love a good smooch in public but Simon’s all about that stiff upper lip, sometimes he won’t even hold my hand.” Johnny says pouting.

“Nothing wrong with keeping your private life private.” Simon says defensively.

“What about you?” Johnny asks turning to you.

“I don’t mind I guess, I can get self conscious easy.” You admit, Johnny nods.

“Okay we’ll work on that.” Johnny says. 

“Sex, do you have any limits? No-go’s other then the obvious ones.” Johnny says looking at you. 

“Eh, I don’t know I’ve never really done much other then the normal stuff.” You feel heat rushing to your cheeks.

“That’s fine, we can work it out as we go along, don’t worry we’re not going to do anything crazy. Plain old vanilla sex is also fine, besides Simon’s the kinky one anyway.” Johnny says winking at you.

“Sure I’m the kinky one,” Simon chuckles. Johnny rolls his eyes sitting back down in the chair. 

“Anything you want to add?” Johnny asks Simon who shakes his head, then his eyes fall on you. You don’t know what to say, maybe now would be a good time to ask them to stop being so…nice. 

“You don’t need to be so accommodating, if you guys need some time alone, I can make myself scarce. And I don’t mind paying for things, food and what not, and I don’t mind treating you guys, it’s the least I can do.” Simon’s hand finds your thigh as Johnny smiles at you. 

“Don’t worry about that, you just being here is enough.” Johnny smiles.

“I need to make the most of it, when I get posted I could be gone for up to 6 months.” You say, your last post was 6 months now you only have a month off before you’ll be sent somewhere else. You could be sent abroad, it had been years since you were stationed somewhere outside the UK but it could happen then you would feel even further away from them. Your hand rests on top of Simon’s as he squeezes your thigh.

“S’okay, we’re all over the place too, could get a call right now and we'd have to drop everything and leave.” Johnny says. The thought of them leaving makes you sad, you know Johnny is only trying to help but it just fills you with dread. There’s a pit forming in your stomach, their job is harder then yours more dangerous, they could leave any second then you might never see them again. Johnny defuses bombs, you’re not sure what Simon does but it’s enough that it makes him hide his identity. The most danger you have ever experienced was a field hospital in a run down building in the middle of a war-zone, even then you were surrounded by soldiers who’s sole job was to keep the medical staff safe. You Squeeze Simon's hand, now you can’t imagine being without them. 

“It’s very rare we get called like that.” Simon says as he moves his hand to hold yours. You look up at him, he must be able to see something in your eyes, his face softens and he brings his hand up to stroke your cheek. 

“I never know where you go, how long you’re going to be gone for. If you’ll ever come back.” You say looking in Simon’s eyes. He kisses your forehead pulling you into his chest. 

“I know I’ll come back I have the worlds best marksman watching my back.” Simon says. 

“Yeah and you should see the things Simon can do with a knife, or a sniper, or a pistol.” You hear Johnny say. It makes you feel a little better, that they’re being so blasé about it, that pit is still there though as you pull out of Simon’s arms. 

“How about we go out, get some food just chill? We can try out that new place on the corner you’ve been wanting to go to Johnny.” Simon says, Johnny’s eyes light up and he’s out his chair before he can respond. It makes you smile, you’re not really in the mood to go out but you you could use the fresh air, maybe a nice meal out will be good. 

“You okay?” Simon asks as you stare off towards the bedroom. 

“Yeah, I need to start bringing a change of clothes.” You say, Simon smiles.

—————————— 

The place is nice, not fancy or anything and there’s a cosy looking beer garden in the back Johnny excitedly leads you to. You sit outside under the strung up lights and Johnny leaves to go order. Simon reaches into his jacket pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. 

“Sorry,” he says lighting it. “I’m trying to quit.” He turns his head blowing the smoke away from you. You move to sit next to him on the bench.

“I could get you some nicotine patches.” You say. He shakes his head smiling. Johnny comes out with a tray of beer placing them on the table. You reach out picking one up. 

“It’s 2 in the afternoon.” Simon says chuckling. 

“Stressed?” Johnny asks sipping his beer. Simon sighs, Johnny winks at you. 

“Simon only smokes when he’s stressed.” Johnny says as you take a sip of your beer. 

“Not true, I smoke when I want to.” Simon replies. Johnny laughs, it’s a proper laugh and it makes your heart flutter. You look up at Simon who looks less then impressed, they’ve been teasing each other all day. They start bantering back and forth until Simon finishes his cigarette. Johnny opens a menu and starts reading the options out, well the options he likes the sound off. Simon just says he’ll have whatever Johnny’s having. Johnny seems to see that as a challenge his eyes going back to scan the menu as a cheeky grin appears on his face.

Simon’s hand finds your thigh again, you didn’t think he would be up for touching with the conversation this morning but you don’t mind it’s nice feeling his hands on you. Johnny orders food asking what you want, honestly you haven’t been paying attention but you’re not hungry so you just order a sandwich. Johnny sighs ordering you a side of chips. You sigh but don’t argue. When the food comes out you switch to sit next to Johnny, you’re not sure why, but this whole relationship seems to be about finding what works, at least for now.  

—————————— 

Your leaning your head on Johnny's shoulder his arm wrapped round you picking at the last of you chips which you’re convinced at this point he bought just for himself. 

“Another round?” He asks as Simon finishes his beer off. Simon nods and Johnny peels himself a way from you collecting the glasses and heading inside. You smile at Simon, today has been nice, the food was good the beer warming your belly as the evening breeze is rolling in. You could almost say it was perfect. Then the sound of glasses crashing forces your head to snap looking for the source of the noise. 

“What the fuck man!” There’s a voice shouting now. 

“Sorry but you came out of fecking nowhere mate.” You hear Johnny’s voice, Simon is already on his feet moving to the back door of the restaurant Johnny had disappeared into a few minutes earlier, you gingerly follow after him. 

“I came out the bathroom mate.” The man replies his voice still loud. You can see people turning to look, it feels like there’s a million eyes on you. 

“What’s going on? You alright Johnny?” Simon asks as he reaches them. You look past Simon to see Johnny and a man both covered beer broken glasses on the floor. 

“Yeah, I’m fine ‘e just came outta nowhere slammed the door in my face.” Johnny says . 

“It’s okay, we’ll get you new drinks.” You look over and see a waitress with a mop in her hands waiting for them to move.  

“I came out the bloody bathroom!” The man says as he takes a step closer to Johnny who holds his ground meeting the mans eye line. “I’m supposed to be going on a date, now my suit is ruined.” 

“Shame, you wouldn’t want her to think you’re incompetent.” Johnny says, that cheeky grin on his face. 

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, low and commanding. You feel hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Simon grabs Johnny's arm pulling him out the way as Johnny’s eyes follow the man until he walks past Simon turning to look at you. 

“You okay?” You ask not really knowing what to say, his expression changes almost instantaneously when he sees you a smile appearing on his lips. 

“‘Cause lass, no one’s fault!” Johnny says his arm wrapping round your shoulders leading you back to the table.

“Oi!” You hear the man call, Johnny doesn’t turn or stop walking. 

“Alright, calm down,” is all you hear from Simon as you move out of earshot. 

“Think Simon will be okay?” You ask as Johnny sits you down next to him, his arm never leaving your shoulder.

“Pff Simon, who spends his days ordering soldiers round, he’ll be fine.” Johnny laughs. “Between you and me he could use some practice in conflict de-escalation.” You relax into him not realising how tense your body has become, he kisses the top of your head. 

“You stink.” You chuckle the smell of beer is almost overwhelming making your head spin. A few minutes later a waitress comes over with fresh drinks apologising for the situation, explaining that the builders installed the door wrong and it’s just been an accident waiting to happen ever since. Johnny laughs it off telling her it’s no problem and he’ll pay for the replacement drinks. Simon comes back as she leaves sticking his hand in his jacket looking for another cigarette, he sighs muttering under his breath as he sits down. 

“All good?” Johnny asks Simon who nods sipping his beer. Guess he’s out of cigarettes. 

“Paid for his taxi home so he could change.” Simon says leaning back, his eyes landing on you, you smile at him. He seems tense, Johnny lightens the mood by telling a story that happened when he was a kid and his dad dropped a pint on his head. 

“That explains a lot.” Simon says seeming to relax after a few sips of beer. The sun is setting quickly now and wind chill is picking up. Johnny promises you’ll go home after this drink.   

——————————

As soon as you get in Johnny is rushing into the shower. You fall on the sofa with Simon as he flicks the TV on. You lay up against him stroking his chest. 

“Is it true you get to boss people around all day?” You ask him. 

“What did Johnny tell you that?” He chuckles. You nod.

“Price does all the shouting, I’m just there to make sure they listen.” He says. 

“Is he nice Price, your boss?” You ask, you want to know something about their work maybe it will make you feel better when they inevitably go away. 

“Yeah he’s nice, we go way back. He’s a good boss.” He says as he lands on the football satisfied he puts the remote down. 

“I’ll go home tomorrow, I’ve got some errands to run, I could use a shower, and a change of clothes.” You say, but as you say it you realise how little you want to leave. 

“I can come with you if you want, or Johnny can?” He says his arm stroking your shoulder. 

“It’s fine you should really spend some time together.” You say not wanting to be a bother but at the same time that does sound nice having them just following you around. The more time you can spend with them the better. 

“I doesn't work like that, if we want some time alone we’ll let you know, besides you were right this morning, at some point we’re both going to be back at work and then it could be months before we see each other.” You look up at him the pit reforming in your belly. 

“Oh hey who’s playing?” You hear Johnny ask as he comes down to the sofa. Simon plants a kiss on your lips as Johnny comes to sit next to you. 

“Man city and Sheffield.” Simon says you put your head back on his chest. 

“I forget do we like that one?” Johnny asks. Simon chuckles.

“Yeah we like that one.” He replies, going back to stroking your arm. Johnny scoots closer to you and you lay your legs on him, his arm reaching over to run his fingers through Simon’s hair. Now you just hope and pray the world stays quiet for another few weeks.  

Next part

[skzdust]

Can I request a Han fic where the reader is an idol under JYP who also happens to be Chan's little sister?

I thought I wouldn't have much time to write recently but I LOVED this idea so I worked on it last night and today on my lunch break and I finished it!

This was such a fun one to work on, thanks for the request and I really hope you like it!

-----

Intimate

Summary: You went to your brother Chan's place crying, but you found his roommate Han Jisung instead.

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!idol!reader

Word count: 1k

Taglist: @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345

Includes: fluff, hurt/comfort, pie as a comfort food, cuddles, sharing a bed (sfw)

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

------

You knocked on the door and stepped back, shuffling your feet on the hallway carpet.

You’d been hoping it’d be your brother Chan who opened the door, but you weren’t so lucky. It was Han Jisung, who’d always been mostly nice but teasing to you. You didn’t need teasing right now.

“Y/n! Are you looking for Chan—oh, what’s wrong?” His voice was colored with worry as he saw the tear tracks on your face.

“Yeah.” You mumbled, pushing past him and walking into the living room to flop face-first on the couch.

“I think he’s in the studio right now.”

“It’s four in the morning.” You mumbled. “Why is he in the studio?”

“Dunno.” You heard one of the chairs in the room squeak slightly as Jisung sat down. “He does that sometimes, especially when he can’t sleep. He goes and works on music.”

“Mph.” You groaned. You could understand that, you did the same, writing songs for your group in the dead of night. You’d been hoping to wake Chan up, though, not miss him entirely.

“Is there… do you want to talk about it?” Jisung asked hesitantly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You considered for a moment, worried Jisung might make fun of you if you told him the truth.

If he does tease me, I can just leave and text Chan. You reassured yourself.

You tilt your head sideways so you’re not talking into the pillow. “I totally messed up in practice for this music video last night and I’m worried I’ll be dropped or something. We’re about to debut, and we have to be, like… perfect.”

Jisung hummed thoughtfully. “And that was last night? Your debut is set for… less than a month, right?”

“Three weeks and four days.”

“Been thinking about it?”

You sighed. “Yeah.”

“I get it. It’s terrifying.”

You looked up at him over your shoulder. “Not going to poke fun at me?”

Jisung tilted his head, confused. “No? You’re crying. You know, I only do that when I’m joking around. I never mean it genuinely.”

“It still hurts sometimes.” You sat up, hugging the pillow.

“I’m sorry.” Jisung cleared his throat. “I guess… I go too far sometimes.”

You nodded, new tears forming in your eyes. “I appreciate that.”

“Oh, did I say something wrong?” He leaned towards you.

You sniffed. “No, I’m just… emotional, I guess.”

“Here, I have a solution.” Jisung stood up and walked into the kitchen. You watched him go, curious. You heard the fridge open and close, and he walked back in with a plate of pie and a fork.

“Oh, that’s my favorite kind.” You smiled.

“Yeah. I remembered you mentioning it a little bit ago and I thought I’d give it a try.” Jisung shrugged, holding the plate out to you. “It was pretty good, but I got a lot, and I had some extra.”

You took the pie and took a bite. It was delicious, comforting, and exactly what you needed. “Thank you.” You said, your mouth full.

He laughed, and you were suddenly struck by how cute he was when he was genuinely happy.

Although I’ve always kind of found him attractive…

“I’m glad you’re liking it.” He sat back down and held out his hand. “Here, let me have a bite.”

You held out the plate. “Should you… new fork?”

“I don’t care.” He took it. ��Do you?”

“No.” You said, your face heating up.

“You’re all red!” Jisung grinned. “You do care!”

“Whatever.” You mumbled, unable to hold back your smile.

He took a bite, then gave the plate to you. You broke off a piece of the pie with the fork, hesitated for a moment, then took the bite. You handed it back to him, and he had another bite, too.

It felt intimate.

When the pie was finished, Jisung set the plate down on the coffee table. “Did that help?”

“Yeah.” You leaned back. “Why are you still up, anyway?”

He pointed to the TV, where a show was paused. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Is something up?”

He didn’t look at you. “No.”

“I told you mine.”

He sighed. “I guess I’m in a similar boat to you. I’m really struggling with some choreography, and I think Minho is annoyed with me at this point.”

“Yeah, I definitely understand that.” You nodded. “But if you want to get good at the choreo, you should probably get some sleep, you’re not gonna be able to dance tomorrow if you’re exhausted.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Says you.”

“I don’t want to go back to my place.” You said softly. “One of my roommates was mad at me about… tonight.”

“Sleep here, then.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You shook your head. “I don’t like couches, I’ll be brave and go home and lay in bed or something.”

Jisung thought for a moment. “I have an idea, if you’re up for it.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Shoot.”

“We could both sleep in my bed. Maybe having someone else close would help.”

The part of you that had a crush on Jisung went wild.

“Sure, that sounds nice.” You smiled.

“Nice.” He stood up. “C’mon.”

You followed him down the hall and to his room, which you’d never been in before. It was a little messy, but you could tell he was organized. His bed was mussed up, like he’d been tossing and turning. Given what he’d told you, he probably had been.

He pulled back the covers and motioned for you to get in. “Get comfy.”

You did so, getting into the bed and pulling the comforter over yourself. You were suddenly exhausted, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. The bed dipped when Jisung got in.

You got an idea. “Jisung?”

“Hm?”

“Can we, um, cuddle? I’m just feeling a bit lonely, and I think it’d be nice, and I… I dunno, we don’t have to.” You rambled.

“‘Course we can.” Jisung opened his arms, and you scooted into them.

He was warm, and solid, and comforting, and safe.

Intimate.

You felt content for the first time since your disastrous practice as you cuddled into his chest.

“Chan might kill me.” He muttered, his embrace tightening a bit.

“No, he won’t.” You closed your eyes. “Chan’ll be fine.”

“Even if he did, it would be worth it.” He said with a soft laugh.

That was the last thing you heard before you fell into sleep.

[leviraaaaaa]

Here it is safe. (Levi x reader)

Slight, very slight mentions of anxiety attacks? Idfk. Basically reader often gets overwhelmed and hides, guess who's there to help?

Levi knocked at your door, not surprised when he didn’t get a response. But he waited nevertheless. He tapped against the door a few more times until he reached for the doorknob and twisted it, cautiously pushing it open. Also not to his surprise, your office was empty, not a hair of you in sight. Seemingly. If not for the fact that he’d seen you entering here just two minutes ago and if not for the fact he’s been here way too many times to know better. And so he found himself slowly stepping in, soundlessly shutting the door back. Light on his feet, he approached the desk standing near the back of the room and peered down. “Hello.” You whispered when his silver eyes found yours. It was rather unusual to find most people crouching beneath their desks, was it not? Levi thought so too, the first time he found you here. He remembered being so confused, watching you as you curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth. He remembered being clueless, wondering if you were sick, wondering if he should call Hange or Nanaba, wondering if he should just leave you alone. But time has passed since and he’s learnt a thing or two. That everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes. Levi sighed.

“What are you doing?” He asked softly. “..hiding.” You mumbled, avoiding his gaze and pulling up your knees against your chest. You drummed your fingers anxiously on the floor. “So I’ve figured.” He nodded. “From what exactly?” "I.." You cringed a little. "..don’t know?” “Come out please.” You hesitated, meeting his gaze. It was soft. Warm. Understanding. Safe. But yet, the world was far scarier still. You glanced back at the floor.  “I don’t want to.” “It’s alright. Come out please.” You shook your head. Levi exhaled. “That’s okay,” He said, shifting. “I’ll just come down then.” Before you could even respond to that offer, he was already squatting down, slipping himself into the small space under the desk that could barely even fit you. But he settles in anyways, leaning back opposite of you, your knees touching his. You smiled, letting your hand find his and hooking your cold fingers through. In response, he rubbed circles on your palm with his thumb, squeezing gently. For a moment you just simply sat there, feeling gratitude flood your thundering heart as it quiets, the tension leaving your body and everything wrong in your mind eases away. In that moment, there was only you and him. You could finally breathe again. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” You told him. “What would people say?” He raised a brow questioningly. “Your reputation would be so screwed if people find out you hide under tables like a little child.” You shook your head, trying to explain. “Just because I’m weird, doesn’t mean you have to be too.” “You’re not weird.” “Levi.” “What?” ‘“You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine in a bit.” “I know.” “So why?” You demanded. He looked at you and shrugged. “Because you needed me.” That’s all he says.  “You needed me." He repeated softly, "And I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Her Girl (Melissa Schemmenti x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Sometimes you have to calm Melissa down, and sometimes you get more than you bargained for when you do.

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: anger, gross men, mentioned violence

“And so all I had to say to him was glitter was for special occasions. To which he told me anything could be a special occasion which really made me reevaluate some things,” you said to the camera crew, brushing some of the green glitter off your hands, “an ordinary day could be a special occasion and maybe we should celebrate-”

A teacher rushed past you, throwing a scared glance back over their shoulder. You watched them go before you began to hear the shouting that was coming from down the hall. One voice, in particular, was very familiar.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” you said to the camera crew, before following the sounds of conflict.

Bursting into the staff room you found most of the teachers pushed to the outer edges, looking inwards at the centre of the room. Melissa had the neck of a poor teacher’s shirt clutched in her fist, the other brandishing a plastic knife close enough to his eye to cause concern. The murder in her own eyes was also a concern. He was trying to cower away from her but her grip was strong and her anger unstoppable.

“What’s going on?” you whispered to Janine.

“I think he said something she didn’t like,” she whispered back, “she keeps calling him a pig.”

“Are you going to intervene?” Gregory asked, leaning over to you.

At some point in the last three years you’d been teaching at Abbott you’d become the designated person to calm Melissa down. It had started with small things like noticing when the vein beginning to throb in her temple or the way her gaze turned sharp when Janine began to talk. You would usher from the room or distract her until that anger was forgotten. Now, whenever it looked like she was going to kill someone, you were sought out to stop it on school property.

And no one knew why you were the only one that could calm her down. Yourself included.

“You’re pathetic,” Melissa shouted, “you can’t say shit like that. Not about her.”

“I suppose I have to, don’t I?” you sighed.

You stepped into the no man’s land left from the teachers trying to keep out of the way of Melissa’s rage while still watching the fight. There was a sharp intake of breath from behind. You ignored it, pausing at your friend’s shoulder.

“Hey Mel,” you said, keeping your voice light, letting her know you were there without sneaking up on her, “what’s going on?”

“This piece of shit has been running his mouth,” she replied, the knife coming dangerously close to his eye.

“And you’re planning on stabbing him in the eye?” you asked.

“I’m planning on teaching him he can’t say shit like that,” she said.

You eased your way around her until you were able to see her face. You reached up, curling your fingers around her wrist, the one holding the knife, holding it in case a sudden move took his eye out. His gaze flicked down to you then back to the knife, turning cross eyed as he tried to keep it in sight.

“I’m not sure this is the best way of doing that,” you said to her.

She looked to you, those green eyes flashing with an anger that was far beyond what you were used to. If anyone but Melissa had looked at you like that you would have flinched back, but you knew Melissa. You trusted Melissa. She would never hurt you.

“Tell her what you said,” she demanded of the man.

You looked to him, still held in a death grip. He whimpered at the knife wavering in front of his face.

“I was just voicing my admiration for you-“

“Don’t you dare lie right to my face,” Melissa growled before looking back to you, “he said that he’s fantasised about bending you over your desk and that your mouth looks perfect for blowjobs.”

“Ew,” you said looking back at him, sweeping your eyes over his trembling body, “gross.”

“And so I have to take his tongue so he never says it again” she said.

He whimpered again. You sighed, leaning towards Melissa, lowering your voice.

“There are witnesses. Ava is filming. Think this through, Mel. There’s enough evidence for them to take you down if you do anything right now.”

She huffed, eyes finding your face. She allowed her hand to be lowered by the hold you still had on her wrist. You were soft as you plucked the knife out of her hand. She shoved the man back before releasing him, watching him trip over his own feet to sprawl on the ground. You didn’t even bother sparing him a glance before stepping in front of Melissa properly.

“Come on,” you said, keeping your voice low enough that she was the only one who’d hear, “he’s not worth criminal charges.”

The growl low in her throat shouldn’t have done something to you but an angry Melissa had an appeal that was hard to understand. She was staring at you, clearly thinking it over. Your thumb brushed against her pulse point, feeling it beating hard under your touch. She jerked out of your hold.

“Fine,” she ground out.

“Now let’s leave that creep to…” You glanced over your shoulder at him, nose wrinkling at the spreading wet patch, “find new trousers.”

She strode out of the room, other teachers scattering to give her a clear walkway. You followed in her wake, ignoring the whispers that sprung up behind you. Half running, you trailed her into her classroom, watching her hands clenching into fists.

“Mel…”

“Don’t.” She spun on you, “he was outta line.”

“Sure, but he’s hardly the first guy who’s said something gross about me and he’s not going to be last. At least he didn’t come up to me and say it to my face expecting me to jump into bed with him like it’s some kind of compliment,” you said, “c’mon Mel, you know what guys are like.”

“He has no right to say that stuff about you,” she growled.

A slow smile began to stretch over your face. Her scowl deepened.

“Were you defending my honour?” you asked.

She mumbled something under her breath.

“Melissa Schemmenti, you were totally defending my honour,” you laughed.

“He doesn’t get to talk about you like that,” she said.

“Mel, it’s fine,” you reassured.

“No it’s not,” she snapped.

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because you’re my girl.”

Her outburst wasn’t expected by either of you. She blinked, taking a step back as your mouth fell open, watching her. Your heart thudded against your ribs and for the first time with her uncertainty filled your veins.

“What?” Your voice came out in a whisper.

She sighed, looking less than pleased at the situation she’d found herself in.

“Look, everyone here knows your my girl. They know not to talk about you like that,” she said.

“Okay can we cycle back to the bit about me being your girl,” you said, “what?”

She rolled her eyes before both of her hands cupped your cheeks and pulled you in. Lips pressed together, stealing your breath, making your skin tingle with electricity. Your hands found a home on her hips, pulling her closer as she nipped at your bottom lip. Her fingers slid into your hair as she drew back.

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one who didn’t know you were my girl,” she said, “why do you think I let you talk me out of most of my revenge plans? It’s not because I don’t wanna do them.”

“Have I been your girlfriend this entire time without knowing it?” you asked.

“Course not, hon,” she said, “but you will be.”

“I’m so confused,” you said, “can we got back to the bit where you kiss me again?”

She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your jaw. The anger had been replaced with something softer, the kind of look that you were more used to seeing directed your way from her. You melted under her touch.

“Look, I had a plan that involved inviting you over and cooking. That human skid mark ruined it but he should have known better. I’m the only one who gets to think those things about you,” she said.

“You think those things about me?” you asked.

Her eyes darted to the side.

“Sometimes.”

“What sort of things do you think?” you asked, tugging on her hips until she was flush against you.

“I might have thought about pinning you to my kitchen counter and eating something…” Her gaze swept down your body, making heat bloom within you, “sweet.”

“You better be planning on following through with those thoughts,” you murmured, “otherwise I’ll be very disappointed.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” she whispered, lips pulling up into a smile.

“Then I guess I am your girl.”

You kissed her, deep and longing. Her tongue swept in, sending your thoughts spiralling until there was nothing but her. She seemed to delight in the way you moaned into her mouth, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Alright,” she mumbled against your lips, “tonight. My place. Now get outta here before I do something stupid like bending you over my desk.”

“Now who’s outta line,” you laughed.

She swatted at your ass as you walked out of her classroom. You threw a smile over your shoulder at her, only to find a soft smile already on hers. Your heart fluttered at the sight, your dreams seeming to have come true on a random Thursday.

[dat-town]

mine for the summer

Characters: Leehan & female reader

Setting & genre: coming of age, summer romance, angst and fluff (it has a happy end!)

Summary: Busan is your hideout, your runaway place, your freedom bought on stolen time. Leehan is your first love, your safe place, your everything. At least, for the summer.

Warnings: stage name used, OC is coming out of a burnout in the beginning and she has a relapse, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, past hospitalization, emotionally distant parents, parental pressure on academics

Words: 9.4k

Author’s note: title from One Direction’s Summer Love. here is the Romeo + Juliet movie scene that gets mentioned

turns out i cannot not write an at least bit of an angsty story for your bday but i do sincerely hope you have a very happy one, @restlessmaknae <3 also of course you would start singing this song in july to give me a heart attack right before i accidentally told you i’m writing about Leehan

The humidity of air sticks to you like second skin, sweat glistening on your nape where your hair gets tangled in the summer heat. With closed eyes and the tickling feeling of sand under your bare feet, you listen to the ocean waves washing up the beach and children giggling. You take a deep breath of air filled with salt and fish and oil, something so uniquely Busan that you feel like fourteen again.

It’s been years since you had come to visit. Excuses were easy to find: too busy, too far; reasons were much harder.

But now you’re here and you realize that you missed it. The quiet serenity of being hidden away in the part of town that’s far from the busy skyscraper downtown and the overwhelming tourist traps. You remember spending summers running down these sandy beaches and playing in the water, mouth sticky with fruit and palms scratched with falls and youth. Then you turned older and got bored of the quiet neighborhood, the ocean losing its significance after seeing it too many times, eventually you stopped coming altogether. Now you are even older but still young, barely out of school, the CSAT exams still haunting your dreams. You’re just twenty but sometimes that age feels like it bears the weight of the world. Your world at least.

You open your eyes and squint right away at the brightness of the Sun and feel its burning heat on your bare shoulders only cooled by some nice breeze. The air might smell like salt, fish and oil but it tastes like freedom.

You take one more deep breath, willing yourself not to think of your mother’s disappointed words about your behavior nor her disapproval of you coming here, and push yourself up. You grab your discarded sandals and head back. Your grandparents must be worried already. In their eyes you are still fourteen, forever a child.

And they might be right because not even halfway down the beach, you abruptly halt and hiss, pain shooting into your feet and your carmine blood drips onto the golden sand. Balancing yourself on one leg, you check on the wound, a cut on the softest flesh part of your feet and the culprit, a broken shell in the sand. Clumsily you take your water bottle from your bag to clean the blood off, your skin still sensitive around the fresh wound. You debate whether you should tiptoe the rest of the way or clean your footwear off sand and dirt as much as you can but before you could decide, a stranger approaches you with worriedly furrowed brows.

“Are you okay?” He asks in a deep voice but you don’t pay too much attention to him, too busy to figure out what to do with your injury.

“Yeah, it’s just a small cut,” you brush his worry off, expecting him to walk away or maybe to give you directions to the closest pharmacy but he does neither.

“Here. Hold onto me,” the stranger offers his arm which you reluctantly but take because your balancing skills honestly aren’t the best. Then you can do nothing but stare as the boy around your age suddenly pulls out a plaster from his shorts’ pocket and leans down to inspect your wound. It’s a bit awkward, having a stranger look at your feet, so your fingers curl inside themselves around his arm. The boy is gentle, barely touching your skin as he applies the plaster and once he’s done, he straightens, looking down at you with sparkling, shiny eyes.

The first thing you notice about him other than his height and the low register of voice is actually his eyes, how pretty and expressive they are. The second thing is the way the wind blows his longer, almond colored fringe into his eyes. Your fingers twitch to brush it away just to find out if they are as soft as they look.

Then you realize that you’re staring, so you quickly look away, down at your feet that now has a cute seahorse patterned plaster on it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, a bit dumbfounded but amused at the same time. “Do you just carry around plasters everywhere?” You blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind as you lower your leg, still feeling a bit sensitive but much better.

“I can be a bit clumsy at times. And too curious for my own good or so I have been told,” the boy shrugs with a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m Leehan by the way.”

“I’m…”

“Y/N-ah! There you are,” your grandmother’s voice cuts off your introduction and like a kid caught doing something you shouldn’t have, you take a step backwards, away from the boy, on instinct.

“I have to go,” you look at the stranger, Leehan, one last time apologetically. “Thanks again.”

“Take care,” the boy smiles warmly and waves, the movement cute just like the animal print plaster he had on him.

You limp all the way towards your grandma who stands there with her hands on her hips, ready to scold but you hush her and tell her it’s nothing serious, that you are okay. Still you listen to her tsk-ing and nagging as you walk back inside the house but once she seems to run out of everything she could have said about it, she changes the topic swiftly.

“You barely got here and you are already snatching boys?”

“If by snatching you mean embarrassing myself in front of them, then sure,” you try to softly tone down your grandma’s enthusiasm but she keeps chattering despite the sarcasm in your answer.

“Leehan is a sweet boy, always helping when he sees me with lots of groceries. He lives in the neighborhood with his family and I think he graduated high school last year, so you must be the same age.”

You hate how hopeful she sounds because you didn’t come here to befriend people. When you called asking if you could spend the summer here like you used to, except this time you would help them out, your grandma was happy to take you in but worried too that you would be lonely or bored alone with ‘only them old folks’ but honestly, you craved a little peace and alone time. That’s why you needed to get out of Seoul too, away from its people. From all its memories.

So you just make a noncommittal hum and escape to the kitchen to help your grandpa with the scallion pancakes for dinner.

“What’s your grandmother fussing about?” He asks, pushing the glasses further up his nose.

“Nothing, I just stepped on a broken shell,” you shrug and get three plates from the shelves and kimchi from the fridge.

“Typical. I heard about it for weeks when I accidentally cut my finger one time,” he recited and you smiled, feeling loved and cared for. At home.

The market is stuffy, different smells of sea animals, fried food, fresh fruit and detergent mixing with the sounds of vendors arguing and negotiating over the static sound of music coming from an old radio. It’s busy but different type of busy compared to the crowded metro coaches. It’s lively here and while you had studied your ass off for the promise of a future corporate job, here you are packaging tteokbokki for takeaway, always adding extra because that’s a given for regulars. Not that you think it’s below you, you love the food stall aunties and uncles very much, but you would have never imagined yourself sweating next to a spicy boiling broth in the heat of summer. Maybe it had something to do with the way your mother talked about her parents’ job so derogatorily, always telling you that you’re only somebody if you’re well educated and a career woman. Maybe that’s why she was so against you coming here. Because it was a place she had run  away from.

You’re in the middle of chopping scallions in the back when you hear a cheerful call of Ahjumma! and your grandma perks up more than usual.

“Leehan-ah, are you going down to the beach?” She asks and you feel the back of your neck heat up but you blame it on the Sun. It has been days since the shell incident but the embarrassment still creeps on you. You hope the boy won’t notice you or at least not say anything about it.

“Later. First I have some errands to run,” Leehan says and your granny coos, probably patting his cheek too, calling him a good boy. Then casually while she is stirring the tteok in the pot, she suddenly changes the topic.

“If you have some free time, could you show our Y/N around? She doesn't really go out on her own.”

“Grandma!” You turn around, sulky at the callout. A mistake because you can clearly see the boy failing to hide his amused smile.

“Sure. If she can keep up,” he raises a brow elegantly at you which immediately makes you defensive.

“Are you calling me short?” You straighten up without meaning to because come on, you aren’t that much shorter!

“I’m asking if your foot is alright.” Leehan corrects your assumption with a know-it-all smile plastered on his face but he still manages to pull it off in a genuine way with a hint of worry. It makes you feel flustered for a moment.

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” you clear your throat and clean your hands in a rag cloth nearby.

“I’m just going to the post office, I’m free after that,” the boy says, looking straight at you from under his longer fringe, over your grandma’s shoulder.

“Great. Go have fun!” The old lady exclaims, turning and walking up to you, untying your apron faster than you would expect from somebody her age.

“Grandma, I’m not leaving you alone,” you protest but it’s no use. She tsks and shakes her head as if she couldn’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Please, we were doing fine before too. I can just get your grandpa to stop playing mahjong with the neighbors if more people come,” she brushes off your worries easily and basically pushes you out of the food stall’s kitchen area. You’re just about to complain about your bag when she shoves it towards your chest and all you can do is stare at her, shocked but you can’t really say anything when she smiles so sweetly and wishes that you have a good time.

Eventually, you’re the one to give up. It’s not like you could make her let you work against her wishes and she seems very keen on making sure that you go out and get friends while you’re here. It was difficult to convince her to let you help out at the shop at all to pay back in a way for their hospitality no matter how much they told you that they would be happy just to have you over the summer.

It’s only when you’re a little further as you follow Leehan through the market, when you speak up.

“You know, you don’t have to do what my grandmother asks you. I can be on my own just fine,” you mutter, not wanting him to think you’re some child that needs a babysitter. Just because you like to stay in your room, it doesn’t mean you would get lost if you set a foot outside.

“I’m sure, don’t worry. But it’s no bother. I like to be an advocate for the city,” the boy grins at you and as if on cue, an auntie greets him and insists on giving him a bag of peaches. Leehan asks about her grandchildren and compliments her harvest. He charms everybody effortlessly, a real sweet talker but he doesn’t seem fake about it at all and it’s kind of lovely, just like his fish themed plasters.

With people constantly greeting him, it takes way longer to get to the post office than it should have but at least you can laugh when he loses paper, rock, scissors against a nine year old kid and is bullied into trying something really spicy. You try to hide your smile while the little kid is unabashed about his reaction when Leehan grimaces at the hot spices, finding his disgusted nose scrunch hilarious. In apology, you buy him iced green tea at the next stall you see and he smiles at you brightly like the Sun.

Once Leehan is done at the post office, you expect it to get awkward but it’s him who breaks the silence as you stand in the shade, sweat dripping down your back in the moonsoon season’s humidity.

“So… you’re here for the summer?”

“Hm. I missed the sea,” you hum quietly, keeping your eyes on the bright horizon and the shimmering line of water in the distance.

It isn’t entirely a lie but not the whole truth either. Being so burned out after high school that you got a panic attack at the thought of going to university, so you had to postpone a semester and the disappointment it caused to your parents certainly isn’t something you want to dump on a practically stranger. But even if Leehan has a feeling that you’re not 100% sincere, he doesn’t push, which is something you appreciate.

“Well, then you came to the right place. Not to be biased but Busan has the prettiest beaches.”

“Prettier than Jeju?” You tease just for the sake of it and it makes the boy chuckle.

“Of course! Come on, I will show you my favorite place,” he tilts his head, a clear invitation and you give in because you don’t have anything better to do anyway.

The Sun is still high up on the sky, white clouds clear against the blue of it. You’re fanning yourself but it doesn’t help much. Leehan however doesn’t seem bothered by the heat, so you find yourself asking:

“Did you grow up here?”

“Born and raised,” he nods with a proud smile which isn’t that surprising because he has that more laidback way of talking that locals around here have. At least he’s not talking as fast as the neighbor ahjussi whom you have trouble understanding. “You have a Seoul dialect though.”

“That’s the standard way of speaking, just saying,” you roll your eyes at him calling the way you speak a dialect which makes him laugh. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

It’s silly arguing over something like this but it’s actually fun, you find yourself smiling without meaning to. Something that has come harder lately. So you end up answering the boy’s unasked question about your upbringing. You tell him about growing up among metal skyscrapers, the Han River and Seoul Forest being your escape, only spending your summers in Busan, your mother’s hometown until you were fourteen. Leehan listens and asks random questions like whether you have ever been to the COEX Aquarium or if you ever wanted to be a mermaid as a little girl. It’s surprisingly easy to talk with him, to open up. Maybe it’s because you know he doesn’t know you well enough to judge or even if he did, it doesn’t matter much because you would leave at the end of the summer anyways.

In the meantime you reach the sea and walk along the shore farther from the crowded beach and bay areas. When you come across a bunch of larger rocks, Leehan climbs onto the top easily and holds out a hand for you to help you up too. Tentatively but you take up on his offer and let him pull you up on the slightly slippery rock. He doesn’t let go until you land on stable ground on the other side. There are smaller rocks and pebble stones splattered across the sand there stretching from the clean turquoise blue waters to a cave overshadowed by greenery. It’s beautiful and you can’t believe you’re the only ones here.

“How did you find this place?” You ask in awe, wandering farther ahead. Even the sand is cooler here from the trees’ shade.

“Honestly, I don’t go out a lot either. I just like to go down to the beach and be, you know. So I have been looking for a place where I can chill and well, I had years,” the boy says with a hidden smile in the corner of his mouth as your grandmother’s words about your hermit behavior echoes in your ears.

Of course, you know that she means well and that she’s a social butterfly, so it’s weird for her that you are not that outgoing at your age. Or maybe she has heard from your mother of those weeks where you refused to leave your room let alone the house. Things had been bad then, now you’re getting better. You have come all the way to Busan after all. Was it to run away from your problems? Maybe, but also you hoped that not being in an environment that reminded you of your failures would help.

“Do you always bring girls here?” You ask, more playful than anything as you balance between two rocks, looking back at Leehan over your shoulder. You can hear him snort and catch the way he scratches the back of his neck.

“Not really,” he admits sheepishly. “Just the special ones,” he adds with a mischievous smirk on his face. Tsk, what a flirt, you shake your head in disbelief but amused.

“Aren’t you afraid that I will ruin your chill time here?” You ask as you settle onto a place in the shades, closing your eyes as you enjoy the cool breeze against your sweaty shoulders.

“Not really,” comes the answer closer than you expected as Leehan settles on the ground not far from you. You squint your eyes open to see his expression but he’s only looking at the sea fondly.

You don’t talk much afterwards, just sharing bits and bobs of your lives, little anecdotes. Leehan eventually offers to walk you home when it gets close to dinner time. You could easily find your way with Naver Maps but you let him anyway and try to keep up with his recommendations of Busan places to check out; you probably forget half of them though. You don’t exchange contacts, it somehow doesn’t even occur to you because you’re pretty sure you will run into each other one way or another. It’s all nice and cozy. Something you could get used to.

Even though you expected to meet Leehan, you didn’t think it would be so soon. But trust your grandma to play the matchmaker despite your firm reminder that you didn’t come to stay with them over the summer to get a boyfriend.

Still, you should have known better when you agreed to get cat food at the local pet store in lieu of one of your grandmother’s friends. You feared she would have gone herself and carried it all if you weren’t going and at that point you were just happy if she let you do anything yourself because you felt like a spoiled guest at her house. But of course, she had ulterior motives, you realize when behind the store’s counter, there’s none other than Leehan with his pretty smile and soft-looking hair.

“Are you stalking me?” He grins when he spots you after the jingling sound of the door chime signals your arrival, one side of his mouth curling more upwards then the other, the asymmetry of it making him even more handsome.

“Blame my grandma. She sent me here on an errand.”

You are quick to give him your excuse but it only makes the boy pout slightly and you can’t tell whether he’s faking it or he’s actually disappointed.

“I thought you missed my wonderful company,” he puts a hand over his heart and ah, that’s definitely over exaggerated.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” you deadpan as you walk up to the counter and pull out your phone to get the list of things you should buy.

You show the pet food brands and quantities to the boy and while he’s off to get them from the back, you look around in the shop. There are all sorts of cat and dog supplies but further in the back you see tanks and you swear you see movement in some, so your curiosity brings the worst out of you and you wander closer, smiling upon seeing the blue and golden fish in various prettily decorated glass boxes. You’re so busy looking inside the tanks that you get startled when Leehan speaks up from behind you.

“Do you like fish?”

“Oh… actually, I have wanted a fish tank at home ever since I saw Romeo + Juliet,” you admit as you turn to face the boy. He furrows his brows in confusion and you somehow feel urged to explain it in more detail. “It’s an adaptation from the 90s. In this version, Romeo and Juliet saw each other first through a fish tank at the ball. I just thought it’s… romantic,” you cut yourself off when you realise your’re rambling about embarrassing girly things and clear your throat. “Anyways, my parents obviously didn’t let me have one.”

“That’s cute,” Leehan says, his smile half-teasing, half-sincere and you feel heat coloring your cheeks. How can he just say things like that? “I have one at home.”

He adds casually but you immediately perk up.

“Really? Do you have pictures of it?” You can’t help but inquire and luckily the boy doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he seems pretty excited that he’s able to talk about his fish. He keeps showing you pictures of different states of the fish tank and what kind of fish he had before and what else he wants to get one day. He also tells you that this is his go-to place when it comes to buying fish supplies and it’s pretty cool that the owner lets him work here part-time over the summer. You are so distracted that the next customer has to come to the back looking for the cashier which is a bit awkward but you both laugh about it.

You shuffle around in the back while the customer gets the new leash for his dog and when he leaves, you go to the checkout counter too to pay for the cat food. You already stayed longer than you intended to do, so you do a little ‘hwaiting’ gesture at Leehan as a goodbye but his words stop you before you could leave.

“Would you like to go to the aquarium this weekend?” He asks and you swear you can hear the nervousness in his tone despite the smooth, casual delivery or his confident front.

“Sure, why not?” You try to play it cool too and eventually you agree to meet in front of the place on Saturday, so you leave the pet shop not only with cat food but weekend plans too and a smile on your face.

It’s an understatement to say that your grandma is over the moon when you tell them that you will be out Saturday because you made plans with Leehan. Your grandpa asks though if he needs to talk with ‘this young man about his intentions’ and you protest vehemently. It’s not even a date after all, because it isn’t, right? You’re just hanging out. Your granny waves her hand and chuckles at the interaction.

“Let them be. We were young once too,” she says in that voice she always has when she gets nostalgic. You listen to her stories about her youth even if you have heard them dozens of times before because your grandma had such an eventful life. No wonder she always encourages you to ‘live a little’ and follow your heart. That’s how you don’t regret life looking back, she says.

So that’s what you are doing when Saturday comes and you get ready to go out. The loose-fitting white dress feels light against your skin and with a sudden wave of enthusiasm, you reach for your barely used eyeshadow palette. Today you feel like doing something special, like putting on silver, glittery makeup. You feel good when you look into the mirror but then you start second guessing it. Isn’t it too much for a simple hangout?

Too late, you realize because you’re already short on time to make it to the aquarium by the agreed time, so you brush off your worries. By some miracle you manage to catch the bus, trying not to think about your outfit or makeup being too much, too… date-y.

When you arrive at the entrance, Leehan is already there, his tall figure striking even from a distance, especially in the jeans and tucked-in, light blue shirt combo he wears. He stands by one of the pillars, scrolling through his phone but pockets it right away when he sees you.

“Hey… You look pretty,” he blurts out, faint rosiness coloring his cheeks and it makes you feel shy too. Your previous thoughts about taking this dressing up too far cease to exist.

“Thanks. You look good too,” you say because it’s true, but he always looks nice. Even in the bermuda shorts he wears to the beach or the pet store uniform t-shirt. Maybe it’s because of his slender figure or his prince-like features or just overall the casual confidence he holds himself with.

“Thanks,” Leehan mutters and looks away. It’s quite a different reaction from what he shows when ahjummas on the market pinch his cheeks and call him handsome. “Let’s go in.”

Inside it’s like a hidden Atlantis. You are surrounded by lovey-dovey couples walking hand-in-hand and families with kids running around. The blue hue of water is casted over everything and Leehan’s eyes sparkle in the dim light as he tells you about things he learned from documentaries about the deep sea or at university. It turns out he’s studying oceanology at Korean Maritime and Ocean University there in Busan which is pretty cool, something that suits him. When he asks about your side, unknowing to the turmoil inside you when it comes to your studies, you don’t tell him about the stress you have been under just to get into a SKY university. You don’t tell him about your messed up sleeping and eating schedules, the IV drops at hospitals, the anxiety and panic attacks nor the result of it all. You just shrug and tell him that you got into a good uni with a business management major, but it’s not really what you want to do. He doesn’t ask why you did it then or why you don’t change it. Instead he looks at you with a smile under the penguins’ majestic aquarium and asks:

“If nothing else mattered, what would you want to do then?”

You give it a thought because you didn’t quite have the luxury to think about what you really wanted before. It was always about what your parents wanted you to do. Until you decided to pack your things and come down to this beach town.

“Staying here forever,” you eventually respond and it sounds like an exaggeration, so you chuckle to soften the confession’s rough edges. Even if Leehan doesn’t know you well enough (yet) to understand the longing in those words, your yearning for the taste of freedom and the warmth of a home where you are waited for,che seems to understand. He just smiles wider and proceeds to tell about the crazy lifespan of some turtle species. It’s good, your tensed shoulders relax again as you follow him to the next section.

After you have thoroughly seen everything at the aquarium, you find a place nearby to eat at, then walk down the closeby popular Haeundae beach. It’s not as pretty as the one next to the lagoon Leehan showed you the other day and there are more people here than you would have preferred but it’s okay. You never seem to run out of topics, lighthearted ones, yet even silence is comfortable with Leehan.

“See you tomorrow at the beach?” You ask in lieu of saying goodbye on your way back. Your fingers are intertwined behind your back just to do something with them because they are sweaty and soiled with sand from the impromptu sand castle building you came up with under the last unforgiving rays of the Sun.

“Don’t miss me too much until then,” Leehan says with a corny smile playing on his lips instead of saying yes but you just laugh and let him be.

You ignore your grandma’s knowing glare from the living room as you run up the stairs two at a time, your white dress floating behind you like flower petals in the wind.

On Sunday you meet on the beach and stay out until the Sun disappears behind the horizon. Next week you help Leehan choose a new decoration for his fish tank and spend two hours in the pet store listening to him talk about the difference between algae types and the importance of filters and sub-filters. On Friday your grandparents are at the hospital for their usual check up, so you’re on your own in the food stall. Leehan comes around to keep you entertained but he ends up helping out when a bigger group appears. Sweet of him but you find out the hard way that he has shitty sense when it comes to spice, especially salt, measurements.

The week after, you run into each other in your local Olive Young while you’re getting a new nail polish color and he has a bottle of shampoo in his basket. You end up leaving with a new glittery eyeshadow palette too because the boy drops a comment that it would look pretty on you. You put it on together with the baby pink nail polish you just bought when you go to the outdoor screening of a Korean classic on the beach. Under fairy lights and the fluorescent reflections of the movie in Leehan’s sparkling eyes, you feel a rush of something selfish, a longing so deep it cuts and you have to look away before it becomes obvious.

You don’t talk about it, whether these are dates or not. Because talking about it would make it real. It would make it scary, because then you would have something to lose when the summer ends. It’s fragile but it’s yours and it’s enough, you tell yourself.

One of these days it rains. The kind of sudden summer downpour that feels way too nice on your heated skin in the humid, hot weather. It catches you in the middle of eating ice cream with Leehan and you can’t help but yelp when the first cold raindrops touch your bare shoulder. You both get up quickly and run for cover ice cream long forgotten but the rain just pours and pours and both of you are drenched by the time you reach the nearby cave.

You look up at Leehan from under your wet eyelashes, shivering slightly and burst out laughing at the sight of his hair sticking to his face weirdly like a soaked puppy. You know you don’t look any better because you feel your hair weight over your shoulders like a rag. You try your best to tie it up, out of your eyes but Leehan is still staring.

“What?” You ask, self-conscious and shy under his intense stare. Then you are holding your breath because the boy lifts his right hand and touches your face. His touch burns and leaves goosebumps in its wake as he brushes another lock of hair behind your ear.

The rain is loud around you but it all sounds saturated right there, at the entrance of the small cave just by the beach. You tremble, not from the cold but something akin to anticipation.

Leehan’s gaze meets your eyes. There’s softness and wonder in the depth of his brown orbs. You take a shaky breath as he runs his fingers down the expanse of your bare arm until he finds your hand and then he chuckles and pulls you out into the pouring rain.

“Yah!” You scream at him but you laugh too, a childish feeling bubbling up in your chest.

You chase each other around on the beach. The sand is wet under your feet and the sea is cold when you end up knees deep, splashing water at each other as if you could be even more soaked. Your laughters echo in the cave and you feel the most alive in a while.

You still laugh about it when the next day you wake up with a cold and sore throat.

The push and pull between you is like the waves washing up the shore. There has to be a breaking point when it spills over. It happens in Leehan’s room when he finally shows you his fish family in person after chatting your ears off about them. The tank is bigger than you expected and it’s really nicely decorated, it’s clear that the boy put a lot of effort into it and you appreciate all the details. You’re too busy watching in awe as the tetras and shrimps swim around to notice the boy on the other side of the water wall until you catch his eyes on you. You blink in surprise and think that it’s unfair how handsome he looks even through two layers of glass and filtered water. Bashful, you straighten up at once and Leehan does the same on the other side.

“Was it like this? In the movie?” He asks, curiosity coloring his deep voice and your breath hitches because he remembers! It was something small you mentioned to him the second time you met and yet, he didn’t forget.

“Something like this,” you nod, still bewildered and breathing shallowly as the boy edges closer, leaning over the fish tank.

“What happens after?” Leehan’s voice is barely above a whisper as his gaze searches your face. Your fingers tremble, so you press them against the countertop for balance.

“Why do I have a feeling that you know?” You lower your voice too as if it was a secret and the thought of him looking up the movie just because you told him about it makes you feel mushy inside.

Leehan giggles and it's music to your ears, a beautiful sound. 

Your eyes flutter closed when his lips graze against yours. It’s chaste and clumsy but his kiss tastes sweet like cherry lip balm and summer. You never want to forget this feeling.

What starts with a kiss between four walls ends up spilling all over the pages of your summer. It’s in the way you share looks and secret smiles over your grandmother’s shoulder, the way he holds your hand as you walk down the beach or the way every accidental touch sets your skin on fire. The way you talk on the phone until late on days when you can’t meet or how he notices the faintest burn mark on your fingertip from cooking and presses a kiss on it to ‘help it heal’. It's shared packs of gummies, sea-washed hearts drawn into sand, blush on cheeks and a secret held close to your heart. You still don’t talk about the future, about what it means even though you know you should. You should tell Leehan that it’s bound to end in heartbreak because you will leave eventually but for once you let yourself be selfish and pretend that you have all the time in the world. Or at least pretend that you have him.

It’s been almost two months since you have been in Busan and you have felt better than ever. No pressure on your chest anymore when you wake up, no breaking out in sweat when you see the calendar counting down days, no lack of motivation to go outside. However, one thing is enough to crash it all down. One simple thing.

You stare at your ringing, buzzing phone as if you could will it to stop just by looking at it hard enough. Your mother’s name on the screen is enough to make your stomach twist uncomfortably and you bite into your inside cheek so hard you taste iron as you swipe the call towards the green direction.

“Y/N,” your mother calls your name like a greeting. You hold your breath back, wondering if she will tell you that they missed you since you haven’t talked with them since you have left but you should have known not to get your hopes up.

“Did you decide on the next semester?” She asks, straight to the point as if that’s the only thing they care about. Maybe it is.

“No,” you mumble and you want to make yourself smaller when you hear your mother’s disappointed sigh. It’s bringing back ugly memories. The realization that their love is conditional hits you hard again.

“When are you coming back then? It’s been enough of a vacation already,” she says dismissively and you know too well that she doesn’t ask because she wants you back out of caring but because then she would have more leverage over you.

“I’m staying for the rest of summer,” you force yourself to remind her because no matter how guilty and ungrateful she makes you feel, you remember how hard it was to leave, to go against her in the first place, so you don’t want to go back, not until you are sure she cannot emotionally manipulate you into doing something you don’t want.

“What a waste of time. You should at least sign up for a language course–”

“I have to go. Sorry,” you hang up the call and only when you drop the phone onto the bed’s mattress you realize that you’re trembling. It’s when the tears are starting to sting your eyes. Your phone rings again, your mother’s contact haunting you like a ghost, so you switch the phone off entirely. You refuse to cry but the ugly sobs bubble up nevertheless and it’s all coming back.

It’s day three of shutting yourself in your room and not talking with everybody. You feel useless and stuck, just like the disappointment your mother thinks you are. When there’s a knock on your door, you think it’s your grandmother coming for the breakfast tray, so unsuspecting, you open it. You immediately wish you didn’t because in front of you stands Leehan with worry clear on his face. Or is it pity? In this mindset, it’s hard to tell.

“Your grandmother let me in. I couldn’t reach you,” The boy rushes to speak up, his voice stained with something heavy. “Are you… What’s wrong?” He corrects himself probably realizing that asking if you are okay would be a stupid question when you clearly aren’t.

“You should leave,” you croak out, your voice hoarse from disuse.

“Y/N, don’t,” Leehan pleads with sad eyes that beg to don’t push me away, don’t shut me out but you’re too used to dealing with things alone. “You don’t have to tell me but let me be here for you.”

It’s the gentleness in his request that makes you stall. He doesn’t force you to do anything, he just asks like he wants to be there. Like he doesn’t care that you look shitty and ignored him for days. You don’t deserve his kindness.

“Let me shower first,” you look away before opening your door wider to your curtained and stuffy room.

You open the window and grab some homey clothes from the gardrobe because you don’t want to stay in your pajamas next to the boy. Then you close yourself inside the bathroom, taking a too cold shower but by the end of it you actually feel a bit more like yourself. You walk back to your room in the new, clean clothes and wet hair, not ready to look Leehan in the eye, so you’re relieved when he doesn’t make you do that either. He just gently takes the towel from your hands and sits down behind you on the bed, massaging the soft material into your head. You let out a little choked up sound at the feeling of being cared for. You close your eyes to will yourself not to cry and Leehan doesn’t say anything, he just keeps drying your hair gently.

“My mother called,” you speak up after what feels like forever and yet not long enough. The boy hums quietly, showing that he’s listening but he lets you go on at your own pace. So you tell him about the pressure to do well at the CSAT exams and to get into a SKY uni, about falling out with your best friend because of competitive studying, about starting to hate it and how it ruined your relationship with your parents.

You speak and Leehan listens, then when there are no words and your heart feels like an empty shell, he holds you close. It feels like he holds all your broken, ugly pieces together.

It doesn’t happen from one day to another but things get better. You get better again. It’s the kind of progress that you have to do yourself but having your supportive grandparents and Leehan by your side definitely helps.

The boy comes over often in the beginning because you don’t yet feel like going out and being seen by people. Your grandfather mentions something about keeping your door open at all times but after realizing that all you do is watching documentaries on your laptop, reading books with your head in Leehan’s lap while he is on his phone or braiding each others’ hair, he doesn’t say anything anymore.

It takes a while to gather courage to tell everything to your grandparents too because it’s one thing opening up to Leehan but it’s about their daughter and you’re afraid that despite letting you stay here and not caring much about your education, they would take your mother’s side. Luckily, they understand.

“You could stay, you know. Your grandfather and I would be happy to have you here,” your granny reassures you with a hand on yours, soothing.

“It’s not that simple,” you let out a quiet sob because which ungrateful child doesn’t do what their parents want after the fortune they had spent on her education? It’s just university, you can bear it for a few years, says the little voice in your head, even if you hate it, even if your perfectionist tendencies will ruin the experience for you.

“It can be that simple. I will talk with your mother,” your grandpa exclaims and you know he would do so if you don’t stop him.

“Please don’t. It’s something I have to do myself,” you say because you can’t let others fight your battles for you, because it’s a step you need to take for the freedom you crave.

It’s scary still, preparing to tell your parents something you know they won’t like nor will they hesitate to try and change your mind. 

Leehan squeezes your hand before leaving you alone to make the phone call. He doesn’t go far, you know that the farthest is the kitchen where your grandma will convince him to taste her cooking. You pace around in the room, giving yourself a pep talk, rehearsing your prepared speech a few times before hitting the call button.

It takes three rings for your mother to answer. Her voice is leveled and disinterested when she asks how you are. She doesn’t care, she only cares about what people will say about her if their A+ student daughter won’t go to university. But you won’t take her burdens on your shoulders anymore.

“I decided. I won’t start uni next semester. In fact, I will drop out,” you blurt out as quickly as possible, like ripping off a bandaid. You don’t let your voice waver no matter how nervous you feel. “Maybe one day I will attend a university but if I do, I will study something I would like to, something I'm actually interested in, not business,” you continue before your mother could interrupt you. “Thank you for supporting me through school but I’m old enough now to make my decisions, so I would rather pay you back for all that.”

Your parents are stunned to say the least. There comes a nicely wrapped threat about ‘their house, their rules’ but when that doesn’t work, they try to negotiate. They tell you that you will regret it, to think of all your wasted efforts and how lucky you are, then they want to talk in person. You say it wouldn’t change anything and telling them actually feels like a huge rock being lifted off your chest and you can finally breathe.

It becomes easier after that. The countdown stops and you can sleep properly. Summer ends and you start packing your bag. Going back to Seoul doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

You ask Leehan to meet you at the beach, your usual place, because he deserves to know. He brings fruits and jellies, an entire picnic. Your heart aches because he doesn’t know it’s goodbye. Or maybe he has a feeling since he has always had good intuitions and because this idyll was never meant to last longer than summer.

You eat and you talk while watching the waves and the clouds chase each other. Leehan tells you about the classes he has in the upcoming semester and his fish family updates. You tell him the latest anecdote about your grandparents because the atmosphere is too good to bring up you leaving so soon.

You watch the sunset together with his head on your thigh and your fingers raking through his soft hair, grazing across his reddened ears and the earring he wears. He’s illuminated by the oranges and goldens of the dying Sun and your heart shatters at the sight. He is so beautiful and you want to remember this moment forever.

When darkness settles, you take out sparklers, set them in the sand and cuddle until the last speck of light burns out, until you can see the constellations you cannot name clearly in the night sky.

“I go back to Seoul next week,” you whisper as you lie on the picnic blanket and watch the stars together. Leehan doesn’t say anything immediately and you don’t dare to turn to him. Not before you tell him why. “We will go to family therapy. It was mom’s idea but maybe it will do us good. I owe them at least this. They are trying.”

They might not be the best parents but you know that they mean well in their own way even if it’s not something you want. It’s already a big thing that they also realized that you need help to mend family ties. But that’s not the only reason why you’re leaving.

“I also need to figure out what I want to do for myself and not for others,” you admit in a small voice, barely audible.

You spent your teens working towards a goal your parents set for you and it made you miserable. You’re afraid of it happening again and that’s why you can’t stay in Busan no matter how at home you feel here. Because you know this is what your grandparents would want, because Leehan is here and it scares you that one day you will blame them for staying because you are too weak to make your own choices. So you need to decide on your own. You need to be sure you aren’t just running away from your problems.

Moments pass and the boy’s silence is unnerving. You wonder if he’s angry or if he’s sad. If anybody, you would think he understands but you cannot be sure and it’s killing you. When you turn to him, he moves too and suddenly you’re paper thin distance apart. When he pulls you against his chest, you can feel the rapid rhythm of his heart. When he speaks up, his melodic voice is shaky with unsaid emotions.

“I hope you can find what makes you happy,” he says as he strokes your back gently and it’s an i will miss you, i get it, i wish you the best all in one and tears pool up in your eyes, feeling touched and understood. You nuzzle closer, taking a deep breath full of Leehan’s signature scent of sea salt and sand and something sweet.

“I will miss you,” you whisper under the stars and they witness it as the closest thing you can manage to the confession you can’t say out loud. But it’s in your heartbeat and all your memories.

You and Leehan had all summer and it was golden. It was love even if you never said it out loud.

3 MONTHS LATER

Winter in Busan is kinder. It’s still cutting cold but not unforgiving like in Seoul. It's a roasted sweet potato smell and a stranger helping you with your big suitcase as you get off the train. One of the stores plays Christmas music while you are checking your phone to see if your driver has already arrived.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice calls for you and a smile blooms on your face, whipping your head towards the source of it. There he is in all his beauty, a fluffy scarf around his neck, a beanie on top of his head and his nose red.

You want to rush up to him but your suitcase is heavy and its wheel gets trapped in something, so you manage to trip and lose your balance. Luckily, Leehan is there to catch you and it’s déja vu, a reminder from the summer when you held onto him, another beginning.

“Careful,” the boy warns you with a chuckle as he lets go and looks down at you with a tender smile. You mimic his reaction, your heart getting wild in your chest that you finally see him again. “You are smiling. It’s pretty,” Leehan says in awe and you beam at him wider.

“I’m happy,” you tell him, honestly because he’s part of the reason why.

A lot has happened in the last three months since you left Busan. Family therapy wasn’t a piece of cake because admitting mistakes wasn’t your parents’ forte but it did help to salvage your relationship as a family. They stopped pushing you to choose a higher education and let you make your decisions yourself. First of those was to start tutoring high schoolers who wanted to get into a SKY university like you did. Even though you didn’t actually attend one, the admission letter was proof enough for many people and you realized you liked helping others. You also developed a teaching style that’s more compliment and reward-based than the strict hakwon style. Out of all subjects, you enjoyed teaching English the most, so when you not so accidentally came across an opening position in a language center in Busan, you applied right away.

The truth is you missed Busan. The freedom, the independence, the happiness you found here. And you missed your grandparents and Leehan the most. This time it’s not just a hideout where you come running away from your issues. This time, you come because you want to be here. It’s a home to return to.

Leehan takes your suitcase from you and walks you to the parking lot to his dad’s car. He got his license this fall for which you cheered him on all the way via texts the same way as he supported your teaching journey. You listen to the cheerful songs on the radio as he drives you to your grandparents’ house while talking about the train ride as if you haven’t been texting throughout it. It’s almost like nothing changed and yet, everything did.

“Leehan-ah,” your grandmother coos when you arrive, welcoming the boy with a warm hug.

“Hey,” you pout pseudo-sulky because shouldn’t she greet you first? Her one and only granddaughter? She should take notes from your grandpa.

“Don’t be jealous, sweetheart,” your grandma singsongs before wrapping you in her embrace too, all warm and loving. Immediately after she starts listing down your favorites that she has been cooking since morning but you shush her because you should at least pack your stuff in your room. Leehan offers to help with your luggage and the two of you go up the stairs while you hear your grandparents ‘whisper’ about when to bring out the cake. It makes you chuckle. It makes you happy.

“Actually, I bought you something, too,” Leehan speaks up, his ears as red as his nose but you aren’t sure it’s from the cold outside.

“Oh, what is it?” You ask, surprised but curious and when he nods towards your room’s door. You give him a quizzical look before pushing down the handle.

At first nothing stands out, it’s almost like how you left it months ago but then in a flash of gold you notice one striking difference. There it is, unmistakable, a fish bowl with a single goldfish and some rocks and coral decoration in it on your desk.

“It’s not exactly a fish tank you must have wanted but it’s better to start small,” Leehan explains with a smile in the corner of his mouth and you realize once again just how much he sees and understands you, he always has.

“Thank you! I love it so much!” You exclaim, throwing your arms around the boy, giggling into his chest.

You fussing over your new pet fish is interrupted by your grandma inviting you down for lunch and suddenly it’s like nothing has changed since summer. Leehan is welcomed at your table as if it’s the most natural thing and your grandpa is still teasing your grandma about making way too much food. They keep asking you about your job too as if you knew anything more than what you told them on the phone.

After lunch, you help clean the table while your grandpa keeps Leehan busy by asking him about something he saw on the internet. When your grandma sees you stealing glances, she nudges you in the side and tells you to walk him out with a knowing look which makes you roll your eyes as if you didn’t yearn for more alone time with the boy.

So here you are right at the gate, knowing full well that your grandparents are watching through the window, fidgeting with your scarf, not knowing how to say goodbye even though you will probably see him tomorrow after work. Eventually it’s Leehan who speaks up.

“Y/N,” he calls your name and it sounds so sweet from his mouth, you feel degrees warmer in the cold of winter.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to call your name. I still can’t believe you’re here,” the boy chuckles sheepishly and you realize it’s not only you who’s nervous. But maybe there’s no reason to. Now you know what you want.

“I’m here and I’m staying,” you promise and when Leehan smiles, the mole on his left cheek moves upwards and you tiptoe to peck him right on it. He has a hand on your arm as you descend down flat to your feet and his gaze is stuck on you. You’re mesmerized as you watch all his moles and acne spots and his boyish beauty that makes your heart flutter. You stand so close that you can see the snowflakes melting over his eyelashes and that’s when you notice it.

“Oh, look, it’s snowing!” You squeal with childlike wonder as you look up at the sky and try to catch the floating snowflakes on your palm.

Leehan hums quietly but his voice is playful when he asks:

“Do you know what they say about the first snow?”

You blink at his sudden question, cheeks growing pink and hot as the boy leans closer.

“You’re as smooth as ever,” you mumble, shy, because of course you know the saying about couples’ love being long-lasting if they witness the first snow together.

Your first kiss tasted sweet like cherry jellies but this one tastes like forever locked in a touch. You had the summer together but now you have all the seasons ahead of you and you can’t wait to walk them through together with Leehan.

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 11

Part 10

The tour moved on, sometimes Steve went to shows, sometimes he didn't. They were still figuring out just how much in the public eye he should be. Eddie was more than willing to flaunt the man for all to see. But he also wanted to keep him all for himself. Steve was very easily able to occupy himself, whether it was going out on the town with Eddie's card or spending it in the hotel.

More than once, he thought back to the den Eddie had made during his rut. He felt silly for getting so worked up about it and at the same time it made him hope. Eddie had already announced to the world that they were together. Was it so far fetched that more could be on the horizon?

The tour had landed in Washington DC and one morning Steve woke up to something fluttering against his nose. It scrunched up and he batted it away before they quickly returned. He let out a whine and finally opened his eyes. It was so close to his face it was hard to identify it as anything more than a piece of paper.

Then his eyes focused.

"Is that-?" Steve shot up and Eddie pulled them out of his reach, teasing before handing them over.

"I know you're big on basketball. I don't know if the Wizards are your team, but maybe the other guys are, or maybe not, but I thought you and that kid could have fun today."

Steve's eyes were shining. Since they were in D.C., he had mentioned meeting up with one of the kids he used to babysit. Lucas definitely wasn't a kid anymore, fully in college now, but Steve was still close with them. And he was sitting here with two tickets to a game.

"What's the occasion?", Steve asked, still feeling like he needed to justify being spoiled sometimes.

Eddie kissed his shoulder. “To thank you for helping me out with my rut.”

“You didn’t have to do that”, Steve beamed at the tickets. “I would’ve helped anyway. You weren’t exactly forcing my hand.”

“Still, think of it as annnnnn apertif, to when I help you out with your heat?”

Eddie’s voice had a questioning lilt to it and he tilted his head, as if there was a world where Steve wouldn’t let him do that. Only problem was…

“You won’t really need to worry about that”, Steve said. “My birth control stops those.”

And then Eddie put on the biggest, saddest, wettest eyes and Steve’s heart broke a little but he also found it endearing. “So, no heat?”

Steve set the tickets down and leaned in, cupping Eddie's cheek as he kissed him. "Trust me, it's for the better."

Eddie had a dreamy look in his eyes as he recovered from the kiss. "How so?"

Steve traced one of the tats on his chest. "Because you definitely would have triggered it by now if I wasn't."

"Hmm, not hearing a negative so far."

Steve chuckled and pushed Eddie onto his back as he climbed on top of him. "If you think I'm clingy now..."

"Sweet thing, I was ready to change my address to 123 Stevie's Perfect Pussy Lane. Take a right at Angelic Thighs Avenue."

Steve's cheeks warmed. It was too early in the morning for this. He'd just woken up.

"Yeah? Daddy likes my thighs?" Steve swung one over Eddie so that he was sitting on his hips.

Eddie nodded hurriedly.

Steve hid his smile in Eddie's neck, loving how eager he always was. "And you think my pussy's perfect?", he whispered in his ear.

They weren't done having their previous conversation. And it would have to be more than one talk. Still, the fact that Steve wanted to talk about it at all spoke volumes about Eddie.

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

corrodedcoffinsightings: Steve spotted at a Wizards game

good&grate: no way Eddie is dating a prep AND a jock

lacorbinbleucheese: this means anyone who got into edgy style thanks to cc literally had no chance

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

"I can't go off them before your tour's done", Steve said one afternoon they had free while the others set up. They were sitting in a private restaurant in South Carolina. It was honestly one of the better Thanksgivings Steve ever had. They weren't calling it that, but it was happening this week.

Eddie wasn't expecting that. He hadn't brought it up since the first time they talked about it. But if anyone was going to re-start it, it would have to be Steve. Eddie wasn't going to ask him to mess up his cycle or change his medication just because he wanted to fuck a wanton omega.

"So, you want to do it?", he asked.

"I don't know", Steve answered. "I'm just kind of, talking through it. And the first rule is that you can't have any obligations like a whole tour to get through. I'm not going to keep you from that."

"Understandable", Eddie nodded. "What else?"

Steve thought about the impermanence of the hotels they had been sleeping in. Even if he had to take down his nest right after, he wanted to illusion of having a permanent one. He wanted to feel completely safe and at home.

"It has to be somewhere one of us actually lives. Either my place or yours. I don't want it to be in a hotel or the tour bus or any place like that."

Eddie smiled and grabbed Steve's hand. He kissed each of his fingertips. "My baby wants a good place to nest", he said, reading him like a book. And he would do what any good alpha did and give him that place.

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

They were getting close to the end of the tour. The weather had technically cooled, but as they were traveling down south, Steve hardly noticed a change. Tonight the band was playing in Georgia and the show was supposed to be over but Steve knew the guys were going out for drinks before coming back. It was a bit after midnight when Gareth texted him.

Gareth: If you've got something to fix Eddie's mood, please do it.

Steve had just the thing, but he wondered what happened. He was able to get his answer as he heard Eddie come in, grumbling. Steve was in the bathroom, the door cracked just a bit to help his voice carry.

"Rough night?"

"Some bastard at the bar thought he could chime in on what I do in my private life." Eddie kicked his shoes off and crashed onto the couch, letting his head fall back. "Just so fucking annoying, I wanted to bash his fucking head in."

Steve checked himself over in the bathroom mirror, fluffing his hair a little. He considered makeup but decided against it. "Well, Gareth knew you'd be in a mood and asked me to help fix it."

Eddie lifted his head and realized Steve was taking his time in the bathroom. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah", Steve said, finally coming out and leaning against the doorway, soaking in Eddie's reaction. Right before they'd left for the tour, he'd taken Eddie's card to do a little shopping in a costume shop. What he'd got felt a little daring, as he'd never worn anything like this before, but he got the feeling Eddie would appreciate it.

He had on one of those stereotypical tavern maid dresses. One that had such a low shoulder that everything was pretty much visible until about halfway down his chest.

"I think I might have the right fix for you." Steve sauntered over, relishing Eddie's dropped jaw. "Every knight deserves as good drink, doesn't he?"

Eddie nodded speechlessly.

Emboldened, Steve pulled the skirt up to just above his knee. "Would you like to partake, brave warrior?"

Considered Eddie's mood lifted.

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

Florida was the last leg of the tour, so Steve made sure to actually go to these shows. And true to the band's word, they had breakfast before the first show in New York and afterward had dinner after the last show here.

They settled at a table in a diner that had probably seen better days but it had its own charm. It was late so there weren't many other patrons. And Steve was feeling really touchy after seeing a whole crowd scream for Eddie, reaching out to touch him, some even doing so when the band signed autographs afterwards.

He had started off innocently leaning against him but was sitting completely in Eddie's lap by the time their food came. So Steve fed them both. The other guys didn't look put off at all, having gotten used to their closeness.

It was mid-December now and when the calendar changed, Steve worried over Christmas. He already knew he'd need to return to Indiana for the holiday party with the Sinclairs, which was where everyone else was gathering. But Steve was also thinking about how after that, he might be ready to spend his heat with Eddie.

Steve had already looked into a different brand of birth control, one that would still do the job but allow him to have heats. But he didn't know how to ask Eddie about his plans. For so long the plan was the tour and Eddie had brought them up himself. Steve wasn't so blind to think he'd be invited to meet Eddie's family during the holidays but if he knew anything, he might be able to coordinate-

"So you celebrating with Wayne this year?", Grant asked.

"Yeah", Eddie answered, patting Steve's hip absentmindedly. "Old man's been wantin' to go ice fishing and I think this year I'll finally take him."

"What about New Years?", Steve asked.

Eddie smiled at him. "CC's got an event we're performing. But after that, it's vacation time."

"A well needed one", Jeff sighed.

"What do you normally do on vacation?", Steve asked.

"Sleep, game, sleep, eat, movies, game. Basically become a shut in until Chrissy tells me we need new music", Eddie said.

"Time for hibernation", Gareth yawned. "See ya in spring."

Steve hummed a little, giving Eddie his full attention as he leaned his head in. "Well I was thinking you could spend winter somewhere a little bit...warmer?"

Eddie brushed his thumb against Steve's lips. "How warm?"

"Warm", Steve said. "Warmer", he said as Eddie's hand dragged from his lips down his neck. "Warmer, warmer, warm-", he let out a small gasp once Eddie's hand cupped him through his pants.

"This warm?"

Steve nodded, biting his lip as Eddie gave him slow, short strokes.

"After New Year's, I can be all yours." He was almost fully ready to let Eddie finger him right here in front of his friends in what seemed like the last diner on Earth, but Eddie pulled his hand away.

"Other way around baby, I'll be all yours."

I am getting very close to writing exhibitionist Steve solely for Corroded Coffin and I might be okay with that.

Next part: Crimmas? Heat? Stay tuned!

Part 12

Tag Team CLOSED

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie  @sllooney  @starman-jpg  @oxidantdreamboat  @xxbottlecapx   @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast  @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds  @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord  @beckkthewreck  @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx @lilpomelito @goosesister @libraryofgage @aresthelostboy @royjaimie4eva @silenzioperso @she-collects-smut @lost-wondering-souls @eddielives1986 @marklee-blackmore

[livelaughlovesubs]

Submissive who pretends he isn’t interested and tries to escape but femdom finds him because she knows he’s shy please

I’m not sure if you meant the girl kidnapped him or not. Like it sounds as if she kidnapped the dude, cuz she’s a yandere, and he pretends he doesn’t like her and hides his feelings then escapes, but she finds him and goes, “aww you are just shy, just a thundere.” I’ll try my best to fulfil your request though

Femdom x subbyboy (a little different than what I usually write)

It’s just some fluff

“Aww, I love you~!” You said, spreading your arms and trying to hug your friend. Instead of doing the same, he avoided you and took a step to the side. “Damn, that hurt me.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your words, then he put his hands into his pockets. “You keep saying weird things.” The male said, starting to walk off. Without a moment hesitation you followed him, replying, “It’s true, my babyboy.” And winked at him. “Bro… nu uh.” Your friend shook his head, laughing awkwardly.

The two of you have been friends for a few years now, so those antics were common. But lately, you’ve been wondering if you genuinely had feelings for him. In the end you came to the conclusion you did, and you tried to tell him multiple times. Every time you’d hang out, even over texts you’d keep flirt with him. Despite all that, he won’t listen to you or acknowledge your feelings for him. He wasn’t turned you down though..! So, is he perhaps shy?

Before you started all this, you mentioned to him how you valued your friendship, and if he turns you down you wouldn’t be mad. Sometimes he was a pushover, and thought his feelings aren’t that important so he wouldn’t tell you things, but you made sure he understood what you meant. You really liked him, which was also very obvious by the way you act. Hugging him a lot, complimenting him and making flirty but funny comments. Though if you ever sensed even a hint of discomfort within him, you’d stop at the spot.

You were conflicted. Should you try and keep pursue him, or move on? The later was easier said than done, especially since you two still hung out a lot. There was lot of pull and push, heart races or stings. In the end, you decided to give it up. He was starting to lessen the physical contacts between you two, you really should take a hint shouldn’t you?

Let’s just act like your feelings perished, that’s what you had planned out while walking to his home. Today was a weekend, and he invited you over to cook at his place, something you both did a lot. He was a pretty good cook since he lived alone, and you’d always jokingly call him your housewife. The sound of the doorbell rang through your ears, followed by the click sound of a lock. As expected, your friend opened the door and welcomed you inside. Without wasting too much time, the two of you went to the kitchen and started cooking. To your surprise the food was already chopped, he had prepared it in advance. You immediately turned to face him, then hugged him tightly, “ahh!! Cute! Be my wife alright?!” There goes your plan…

His eyes widened and he grabbed the kitchen counter. Your sudden attack made him back up a little, hips hitting the table. “Get off woman! You are heavy!” He shouted, his hands were kept far away from you. “Alright alright! Sorry.” You answered and released him, then asked, “sooo, what do we have to do first?”

After the cooking session, which consisted of him giving you instructions on how to make the dish, you two decided to watch the movie. The curry was still boiling, and he set a timer for it. Now you were all alone, sitting on the couch next to each other. Some intrusive thoughts plagued your mind. Should you bring up your feelings again? Or confront him about it? With all those things running through your head, you were barely able to focus on the film.

In the end, you sceptically wrapped a hand around his shoulder, while your eyes were glued to the horror movie in front of you. That’s when you thought your heart skipped a beat, when he suddenly inched closer to you, and put his head on your shoulder. This continued for a bit, neither spike a single word. After some time, the position changed and you were basically hugging him from behind, while he rested his head on your chest. You whispered, “why don’t you just sit on my lap at this point?” Since he was getting awfully close, but to your dismay he refused.

Oh well, it’s something at least. But you really thought he didn’t like physical contact with you anymore? You were even worried that it was harassment, what if he didn’t like it after all? Leading to your question, “you don’t mind me being clingy..?” “Not when we aren’t in public.” Your friend replied in the split of a second, his answer shoot out immediately. “Oh.” Honestly, you were really glad to hear that, the last thing you’d want was for him to hate you, or to hurt him.

As the film progressed, you found yourself enjoying his company more and more. He also smelled so good, so fresh and.. just pleasing. At some point you commented on that as well, “you smell nice.” To which he said, “mhm.” If only you were able to take single glance at his face, then you would have noticed the blush on his cheeks. Then you continued, “you are so handsome~ man, why won’t you date me?” Surprising your emotions? Screw that. You were fully back to your usual self again. In response to your compliment he stood up, grabbing his phone and saying, “the timer is up.” Then he went to the kitchen, leaving you alone and dumbfounded.

[azrielgreen]

Prism Deleted Scene: post-Nancy’s house after dinner party

as requested, the missing scene from Jon's POV

Jonathan Byers and Eddie Munson sit in Eddie’s new truck.

They meet around this time some nights, just sitting together smoking, catching up. It’s not business, but it’s never fully social either. Eddie is mostly social with Jon in front of other people.

Jon doesn’t mind.

He’s not social, he doesn’t require friends the way Nancy does. Eddie is perfect for what he needs. He knows Eddie as well as he wants to. He likes him. They see one another to a degree that allows closeness, friendship, loyalty. Jon also doesn’t know Eddie, not really.  

He thinks he knows him better than most. In some ways, better than Steve.

But Eddie’s actions, just sometimes, make no sense even to Jon.

So this night after they’re done talking about this new dealer Jon has helped get set up, Eddie’s gonna run his usual stuff through the guy, Callahan’s poised to look the other way, none of the boys from Last Light have come near Will again, nor have they made waves… shit like that, they fall quiet.

Eddie’s just… got his eyes closed, face forward. It’s like he’s meditating or some shit, like he’s fucking zen, just chilling or maybe thinking a thousand things, Jon knows enough about how his mind works to understand it’s usually a frightening combination of both.

Jon finishes the cigarette, tosses the butt. They’re outside the Harrington house. Steve is presumably asleep inside. Eddie had told Jon to walk here later, have their little catch up.

‘Why’d you do it?’ he asks before he can change his mind.

Silence.

Jon looks at him. It’s like he’s asleep almost, only Jon knows better.

At length Eddie says, ‘Do what?’ without opening his eyes.

‘You told me Steve was a model,’ Jon says, not really choosing his words, but there’s ways to speak to Eddie and he knows most of them. ‘You mentioned it that day when we did the wallpaper. You said he was a powerhouse, a big deal.’

‘He was.’

‘Yeah but, you said it after I told you Nancy was putting together a package to attract investors for the magazine.’ He stares ahead, can’t see whatever Eddie sees behind his lids, doesn’t think he’d want to. ‘You knew I’d tell her, or remind her. Why’d you do it?’

Eddie opens his eyes. ‘When are you going to tell her?’

Jon almost sighs. It’s so like Eddie to shut down a question he doesn’t want to answer with a question aimed at you instead. ‘When I get the offer letter, I guess.’

‘Spring?’

‘Yeah, maybe. I don’t know yet. I’m worried about leaving Will.’

‘You know I’ll take care of him.’

Jon looks at Eddie. ‘Yeah, I know. I might take him with me. Just the three of us, new city. Might be good for him.’

‘Hopper’d flip his shit.’

‘He’s not our real Dad and he can’t handle Will on a good day.’

‘That’s ungenerous.’

‘You knew it’d make Steve upset when she mentioned it,’ Jon pushes, talk of Eddie taking care of Will ruffles him just enough. ‘You knew he’d panic like that at dinner. Why’d you do it?’

Eddie looks at Jon.

It’s like… sometimes it’s like being underwater and looking all around and seeing nothing and then you turn around and there’s this fucking massive shark… just staring, still, inches away.

Jon likes sharks.

He likes Eddie.

But even he’s not stupid enough to think he’s indispensable.

He’d know.

He helped bury Tony Amato, after all.

Not far from where Eddie helped Jon bury a body of his own, many years ago.

Eddie asks, ‘Why haven’t you told Nancy you’re moving to New York?’

‘Because it’s not certain yet.’

‘Liar.’

‘You should talk.’

Eddie snorts, looks away. Jonathan relaxes slightly. ‘I did it because I wanted to see how he’d handle it. I wanted to see what would happen.’

‘Not to put distance between Nancy and Steve?’

‘That’s not what happened.’

No, it’s not. Steve was on the floor of Jon and Nancy’s den playing with Eddie’s ankle and was so drunk he’d probably have said yes to a foursome.

Nancy would tell Jon sometimes how sex addicted Steve was, back when they were together.

Eddie’s eyes are closed again.

‘Don’t worry about Steve.’

‘I’m not. I was just curious.’

‘And don’t ask me shit in front of him again. He’s too smart for that.’

Jon nods slowly. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. You got the radio frequencies for the next few weeks?’

‘Yeah, all here.’ Jon hands over the notebook to Eddie. All the copland frequencies so Eddie can scan and tune in as he likes. Jon gets them every few weeks from Hopper without the older man knowing. ‘You could have Steve get ‘em from now on.’

‘No, he likes what he does there. He’s making good changes. That’s important.’

Jon doesn’t ask. ‘Hargrove wrote to me.’

‘He wants to know about Steve?’

‘And you.’

‘Tell him what he wants to know.’

‘You sure?’

‘I want him to trust you.’

‘I don’t think he trusts anyone.’

‘Nah, he’s too dumb for that. Be his guy for a bit. He always liked you down at the ring.’

Jon remembers.

Munson’s legit, Jon had told Billy when he asked about Eddie. Sells quality stuff, but get what you need and get out. Don’t turn your back on him.

Advice that Billy had not taken.

‘He’ll hear we’re friends eventually.’

‘And you’ll say you hate me and you’re scared of me and he’ll like you even more.’

‘You probably should’a ganked him if he’s this much trouble, though.’

‘I like trouble.’

Jon rolls his eyes. ‘I know.’

‘He’s useful.’

‘For what?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘You just want to go taunt him.’

It’s too far, Jon can tell the moment he’s said it.

Eddie takes a sharp breath in through his nose, smiles too bright.

‘Right as always, Jonny Boy.’ He looks out the window to the topmost room where Steve is asleep, the only source of soft light. ‘Right as always. Except about Nancy. She won’t go with you and when her plan falls apart, she won’t be able to bear you getting that offer in New York. You’ll go alone, and you’ll be happier for it and when you call Will, he’ll talk about me and Steve and you’ll know he’s safe and fine even with you in New York because your little brother,’ Eddie says, clapping his thigh, ‘is always safe with me.’

Jonathan blinks rapidly. ‘Eddie, I didn’t mean—’

‘I know what you meant.’ The older man gets out, doesn’t look back. ‘And I appreciate your honesty. We’ll talk soon.’

He closes the door.

Jon lets out a shaky breath.

‘Fuck.’

[nico-di-genova]

A Lesson in Braking

Chapter 2

Read on Archive of Our Own

A/N: hehehehehehe (my only thoughts while writing this fic).

Warnings: NSFW and a brief mention of anti-harm dorm furniture.

“I fucked an old guy last night,” Lance says to Esteban, when he’s lying on the floor of his dorm room, head resting on the Spider-Man pillow he bought Esteban for his birthday last spring. “Behind the Barnes & Noble. Hand job.”

Esteban hums. He’s  sitting at his desk that he’s moved to slot beneath the single small window of his room, curled over his laptop and working on some complex string of numbers. Three weeks into the semester and Esteban is already drowning in assignments – Lance doesn’t envy him.

“He ate my cum,” he continues, picking at a fraying edge of the pillow. When he pulls at the red string it snags on the fabric and then releases, growing longer in Lance’s grip. He should buy Esteban a new one, maybe a whole bedspread to match. The thought occurs that he could buy a matching set, just to sleep on during the nights when he’s too drunk to get back to his own place and crashes in the living room.

Esteban hums again, pushes his glasses further up his nose, keeps clicking away on his laptop so that the number sequence only grows longer. Lance can only catch pieces of it from where he’s lying on the floor, head angled backward to stare up at Esteban as he works. But even the small bit he can see is enough to give him a headache.  

“When I kissed him I tasted it.”

That gets him.

Esteban sighs, leans back in the chair as far as it will go given its anti-tip design – dorm furniture made to prevent kids from hanging themselves from their light fixtures – rubs at the bridge of his nose and then falls back forward with a groan.

“You’re telling me this, why?”

Lance pouts, tips his head further back on the pillow so he can get a better look at Esteban with one arm on the back of his chair, leaning down to stare at him with mild judgement.

“You don’t want to know about the old man sex I had?”

“I can barely tolerate hearing about the normal sex you have.”

Lance laughs. The spider-man plush, also bought by Lance from the birthday trip to Disneyland last spring, rises and falls on his stomach with the movement. Technically, he has homework for his intro to Marketing class, but it’s more fun to laze around on Esteban’s dirty floor, talking about his sex life, than it is to learn about how to make people buy things. Besides, he’s grown up listening to his dad rant about his successes in the industry, so much so that his first word might as well have been entrepreneurship. It shouldn’t be a hard class to pass.

The dorm room is so tiny he almost runs the whole length of it, one foot nearly to the door, his head at the base of Esteban’s chair, one knee propped in the air. One of his arms is spread wide enough that it’s laying underneath Esteban’s bed, fingers toying with the shoelace of a sneaker that’s been kicked off underneath. It’s a familiar sight by this point, Lance taking up space in Esteban’s room, his life, with ease and spreading out enough that he can be found in nearly every corner of it. Esteban always makes room for him, sometimes will join him on the floor when his course load isn’t too much. But junior year is already different from the two prior, kicking off with a speed that is giving Lance whiplash.

He misses Sovi, the freshman dorms that once made him feel caged, but provided infinitely more freedom in that they weren’t tied to the paths that had led them here.

“My normal sex life just involves Pato, you’d rather hear about me fucking Pato?” He asks, smirks, just barely dodges the pencil Esteban flicks down at him.

“I don’t want to hear about you fucking anyone! Get a journal!”

Lance muses, “I guess there was also that one guy a few weeks ago. From that party in Q,” the building a few doors down from Esteban’s. It sat on the shore of the lake and far enough away from the central hub that university police tended to overlook it. Esteban had called Lance four beers deep a week into school and told him to get there quick, didn’t specify where ‘there’ was, so Lance had to use Find My to even locate him. When he’d pulled up the party had been in full swing on the third floor, and he was welcomed into the cramped apartment by Esteban who reeked of alcohol and weed. Lance ended up fucking one of the guys who lived there, riding him hurriedly and enduring the guy keeping a sweaty palm pressed to his mouth so he didn’t make too much noise in the room they’d locked themselves in.

 Esteban squints at him, “You said that guy was shit.”

“He was.” He came first and then didn’t even bother to get Lance off.

“So why the fuck would you want to talk about it again?”

“Because you don’t want to hear about the good old man sex.”  

Esteban’s nose crinkles in disgust, “Well how old was he?”

“I didn’t ask.”

The mechanical engineering is quickly forgotten, Esteban spinning around fully in his chair and staring at Lance with wide eyes. Lance grins up at him innocently, flutters his eyelashes, scoots over on the pillow as a silent invitation for the man to join him on the ugly blue carpeted floor. Esteban doesn’t take it, yet, Lance is still confident he can convince him.

“How old did he look?”

“I don’t know, forties maybe?”

“Forties?! What the fuck, Lance!?”

“What?”

The deadpan stare Esteban gives him isn’t new, it’s pretty standard actually. “You are insane. And stupid.”

Lance, because he likes testing his luck, pushing at the boundaries of his and Esteban’s friendship, seeing where the line is so he can be prepared for when it snaps, keeps going, “I’m seeing him again tonight.”

He wishes he’d been filming, just so he could preserve the way Esteban’s eyes get impossibly wider. Finally, Esteban gets out of the chair, but he doesn’t join Lance on the floor, instead he paces the length of the room, hands held on his head and mumbles a rapid string of words that Lance doesn’t quite get but he thinks are mainly swears.

“You are joking, yes? Tell me you are joking.” Hands on his hips, towering over Lance, he looks like a giant. Tall and lanky with big eyes behind his wire-rimmed frames.

Lance hadn’t been. He’s been texting Fernando since late last night, ignoring calls from his dad in the process. So far the conversation has consisted of little substance, just enough to establish that Lance is a junior, Fernando is retired, and lives in one of the mansions on the other side of the lake that is right outside Esteban’s prison cell-sized window. Mainly they’d talked about Fernando’s cock, how Lance is upset he didn’t get to see it, taste it – how he’d like to return the favor preferably outside of the backseat of a car and somewhere a bit more comfortable.

He wants to be called beautiful again, reverently, spread out on silk sheets and spread open by Fernando’s fingers. He blames the accelerated horniness on the dry summer he’d just had, the time spent at his father’s house with little else to do and no one to hook up with because Lawrence had insisted on spending as much time as he could with Lance. They’d gone to the track to watch a few races, the office where Lance was meant to be shadowing, galas and banquets, and the golf course most mornings so Lawrence could ensure Lance actually had something to show for the tuition he was fronting. Lance knows it was mainly a last ditch effort on his dad’s behalf to maintain their relationship, before Lance slipped off back to Florida and began predictably sending him to voicemail. Which is why he had even bothered enduring it in the first place, when he just as easily could has gone off to the Mykonos with a group of guys from his frat.

He'd refrained from debauchery all summer, was paying the price for his abstinence now. But, like always, the cost was something to which Lance paid very little, until the bill began to raise eyebrows, as Esteban’s now are.

“Lance. Tell me you are joking!”

“Why would I be joking?”

Esteban glares down at him, while Lance sprawls out further across the thin carpet, concrete flooring beneath digging into his shoulder blades, and smiles. It’s wide, lazy, slow to draw across his face. The sort of shit-eating, self-assured, smirk that Esteban hates.

“It was good sex, Este! He did this thing-“

“Stop! No! Stop! I don’t want to know.”

Lance stops, goes quiet, but continues to smirk. In his pocket, he feels his phone vibrate, probably Fernando again. They’re meant to be meeting in a few hours, once the suns gone down enough that being outside doesn’t make him feel like he’s melting. When Fernando can take him to the bar in the shopping plaza nearby and treat him to a beer before he fucks him senseless, as he’s been promising all day.

He doesn’t tell Esteban this, figures he’s maybe traumatized him enough for the day. Instead, he changes the topic to Esteban’s course load, feigns interest in the math still open on his laptop. Esteban is all too willing to explain it to him, to turn his attention away from the phone Lance pulls from his pocket and grins at with cheeks turning red.

Fernando has sent him a photo of his outfit, button of his slacks undone, zipper pulled low,  hand holding the waistband below his hips. He has a tattoo on the inside of his forearm, close to his wrist, something Lance hadn’t noticed in the dark of his car last night, but that he now can’t draw his eyes away from. It’s a cross of some sort, produces the sort of sacrilegious thoughts that he can’t linger on for too long for fear of losing his religion.

‘Wear something nice,’ Fernando’s text says, when he manages to read it.

Lance doesn’t own much that fits the description, other than a suit he saves for formals, but he figures it maybe doesn’t actually matter that much. Fernando promises to rip whatever it is off of him anyway.

Esteban throws another pencil at him when he tries to show him the photo, holds his hand up to block the view and then lands the writing utensil right on Lance’s nose.

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

His dad calls when he’s fresh out of the shower of his own apartment, steam curling in the air around him and his phone vibrating steadily against the granite countertops of his humid bathroom. He answers before it goes to voicemail, figures he owes his dad this because it’s the third time he’s called since that morning, and he doesn’t want to risk pissing the man off too much.

“Hey,” he says as he’s wrapping a towel around his waist, slicking his wet hair back out of his face with his free hand. He leaves the phone on speaker, lets his dad’s voice fill space as he busies with getting ready.  

“I’m going to assume you’ve been ignoring my calls because you are going to class.”

He only has one class on Tuesday’s, and it’s finished by noon. Advanced golf merchandising, a pointless elective where he’s meant to be learning the management of a retail location. He takes notes, enough to retain the important bits, but he already knows management isn’t where he’s going to end up. His dad would secure him some corporate position within his company before that was even an option. Which, he doesn’t want either, can’t stand the thought of being forced to wear a shirt with a collar every day.

“Yeah, I just got back from campus,” he lies, he’s been hiding out at Esteban’s since class ended, it’s seven now. The lie comes too easy, but the truth would only hurt the both of them – that Lance is avoiding his father because their conversations hurt more than they help these days. That Lance is growing, but it’s in a direction away from Lawrence, from the idea of who his dad thought he would be.

His dad wishes Lance were still small, and Lance wishes that too, but only because when he was a child hurting his dad only resulted in a brief scolding. Now it leads to awkward silences that neither of them know how to fill.

“Class is going well?”

“Um, easy so far, yeah.” They’re only three weeks in. “Other than this financial accounting class, it’s brutal.” He’s already had to ask Esteban for help, already knows he’s going to need to visit the library for tutoring.

He wipes steam from his mirror with the palm of his hand, catches a glimpse of his dripping reflection. Somehow, he needs to assemble himself into something relatively attractive within the next ten minutes, only for it to most likely come undone the second he slides his helmet over his hair. There’s a twisted sort of humor in him wondering how best to style himself for Fernando, while he’s on the phone with his father, pretending to care about classes that had stopped being fun once Lance realized they were actually supposed to lead to something.

“You spent all summer looking at the books,” Lawrence says. Which is true, but it had made more sense when things were hands on. Now it’s just a jumble of words and numbers on a whiteboard, a professor who knows the course is meant for weeding out those who are too weak to continue, and who looks at Lance every time he shows up late with a knowing sort of disappointment.

People didn’t used to look at him like that, it’s a growing sentiment the more Lance stumbles.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just- it’s different. All reading and equations and- I don’t know. I’m not a numbers guy, dad, you know this.”

“You got it pretty well while you were here.”

Only because he’d felt his dad’s eyes on him the whole summer, felt the pressure and the weight and need to prove he could do something. His professor doesn’t bother to look at Lance once he’s sat at a desk, which means Lance zones out, doodles designs in the margins of his notes and then wonders why the numbers don’t add up while he’s doing homework later.

“It’s different,” the exasperation in his voice is audible, he pauses where he’d been drying his hair with a towel pulled from under the sink. Closes his eyes. Breathes. “But I’m trying. I’ll- I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will, Lance. I didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

They’re being careful around each other, the eggshells just beginning to crunch beneath their feet. Neither one of them want a fight and Lance can feel the tension of it through the phone, the tightening of something in his chest that threatens to break every time he speaks to his father now. This is why he lets it go to voicemail.

Fernando texts him, he sees the notification come through as he’s staring at the phone, hands braced on the bathroom sink. Probably asking if he’s on his way. Lance’s hair is still dripping water in cold tendrils down the back of his neck, a puddle forming on the carpet at his feet. He hasn’t even bothered to find an outfit or brush his teeth.

“Look, dad- I- um, I gotta go. I have a, uh, a study thing with Pato-“

“Oh, okay, yeah. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Lance closes his eyes again, bows his head, tries not to care about the hurt that’s audible in his father’s voice and finds that it somehow manages to dig between his ribs anyway. He hangs up before there’s the chance for the line to fracture further, and then he busies himself with texting Fernando back.

‘You are still coming?’ Fernando asks.

Lance says he’ll be there soon, and then he focuses on the toothbrush in his hands, getting himself ready, and ignores everything else.

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

“I need a drink!” Lance yells over the music, leaning further into Fernando, who holds him up with ease. “A shot!”

Fernando’s hand on his waist tightens when Lance rocks on his feet. They’re standing in the press of bodies on the dance floor, people on all sides. The crowd makes it easy for Lance to press against Fernando, the flashing lights adding to the disorientation. No one notices the way Fernando’s got one hand gripping Lance’s hipbone, the other on his ass, tucked into the pocket of his jeans and cupping the curve of him.  

They’re the same jeans he’d worn last night, pulled from the crumpled heap on his floor and slid back on because he couldn’t find anything else. If Fernando has noticed he doesn’t say anything, too distracted by the white linen button-up that Lance wear, only half done-up and exposing nearly the full expanse of his chest in the multicolored lights. Lance knows it puts the chain around his neck on full display, makes his collarbones stand out, shows how broad he is, and produces the impressed reaction Fernando had exhibited upon first seeing him.

He’d bought Lance his first drink, and then the first requested tequila shot, leaning on the bar top and staring at the exposed column of his neck as Lance tipped the liquor back and downed it with practiced ease. Lance had seen the way Fernando’s eyes had darkened as his adams apple bobbed, looking from the corner of his eye just to see the response that would be elicited with the movement.  

“What do you want?” Fernando asks now, hand on his hip coming up to pull Lance down to him so his lips just barely brush over Lance’s ear.

He shudders, breath stuttering when Fernando’s fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and pull just enough that there’s the promise of something better later. He’s been teasing Lance since Lance first arrived, the ghost of a touch, a tongue tracing over the sweaty line of his neck, enough to have him hard in his jeans but never doing anything to solve the problem.

It’s the most public foreplay Lance has ever engaged in, even if everyone is too drunk or too involved in their own games to even notice.

“Vodka?” Lance yells, knowing he probably seems young for only ordering shots, but he’d only just turned twenty-one last October. Most of his experience with alcohol has been bagged wine fountained before entry to a party or the mix of Kool-Aid and whatever liquor could be procured into a giant tub for jungle juice. Shots are simple, uncomplicated, and he knows he can handle them. Plus they hit fast, or at least feel like they do, give him the liquid courage needed to grind against Fernando as Pit Bull blares around them in the crowded bar.

The Keys is a mixed sort of space, half occupied by college kids who were too lazy to drive all the way to Rusty’s and half-filled by the locals who are looking for fun outside of their mansions. It means he and Fernando don’t draw attention, Lance fits in with the group of kids in their backwards caps and low cut shirts, Fernando blends with the guys in their pressed button-ups and black slacks. He just looks hotter than the others, the pants hugging his waist and ass well, clearly tailored. And the peak of a tattoo Lance gets on the back of Fernando’s neck as he follows him back up to the bar, Fernando’s hand around his wrist towing him through the crowd, separates him enough from the older guys smoking cigars outside on the patio. He wants to know what the tattoo is, slide Fernando’s shirt off his shoulders and trace the ink with his tongue.

But that’s for later, for now he lets Fernando guide him, lean him against the bar top, slide a hand back into the pocket of his jeans because the shape of his palm over his ass is becoming familiar. He flags down the bartender, orders two shots of Vodka and then they tip them back together. Lance can feel how flushed his neck is getting, wonders if the red of it is spreading to his chest, his cheeks. His hair that was still slightly damp from the shower is frizzing in the humidity of the packed space, falling over his forehead.

Fernando stares up at him, lips wet with vodka and his own spit when he licks them, Lance follows the movement, starts to lean forward like he intends to taste the lingering alcohol himself. Fernando stops him with a hand on his chest, fingers splayed across bare skin, index finger dipping into the hollow of his clavicle. Lance shudders, Fernando feels it.

“Let’s get out of here, yes?”

“Yes.”

Lance can’t drive his bike, just drunk enough that he knows he couldn’t keep his balance. Instead, he climbs into the passenger seat of Fernando’s Aston Martin, and deposits his own keys in the cupholder, casting a forlorn look back at his gear in the backseat. The same seat he’d come undone in last night, now occupied by his motorcycle helmet with the sticker of a cat waving the Canadian flag – something Pato had found online and ordered because ‘it’s Canada, Lance! You know, you!’. Fernando had asked him about it when he parked earlier, traced the outline of it before Lance had taken his helmet off, lifted Lance’s visor so he could see his eyes more clearly as he did so.

When he looks back at Fernando in the driver’s seat the man is staring at him. Lance knows what it looks like when someone wants him. He knows the way Pato gets all slack jawed and dopey-eyed, eyes flicking to Lance’s lips every two seconds even though he wouldn’t even try to kiss him. But Fernando’s look of want is different, more demanding and all-encompassing. He looks like he’s plotting the best course of stripping Lance out of his clothes before they’ve even reached their destination, like he is thinking of the best way to take him apart.

Maybe it’s because he’s more experienced, or maybe it’s because he’s less. Lance doesn’t know enough about him, anything really, to know if he is the first man Fernando has hooked up with or not. They still haven’t found much time to talk, or maybe just haven’t wanted to make the effort. Lance is okay with that, his idea of foreplay is not long discussions and get-to-know-you’s. He doesn’t have the patience for that, much prefers Fernando’s method of cutting to the quick and easy of it.  Which Fernando does when he leans across the console enough to grab Lance by the chain around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Lance is still not used to the kissing, just opens his mouth and lets Fernando’s tongue slide into it because he’s not practiced enough. He’s okay with letting Fernando take control, likes how he doesn’t have to think about it, just follow. Fernando tastes like vodka, and Lance swallows the familiar taste of it when their spit mixes and he can no longer tell whose is whose.

When Fernando pulls back Lance tries to chase him, is stopped again by a hand on his chest, firm and unyielding.

“You are still okay with coming to my place?” Fernando asks, and something in the way he says it is slightly sobering. It makes Lance remember his bike two spots over, prepared to be abandoned for the night and hopefully still there come morning.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“I will drive you home, instead. If you want. Up to you.”

“No. No I’m good. Trust me.” He’d prepped himself in the shower and everything, knew what he was getting into before a drop of alcohol ever touched his tongue. “I’ve been thinking about this since last night.”

Fernando eyes him, glances down at his chest where his skin is still red and hot and bare against his hand.

“Okay. God, you are beautiful.”  

The praise shoots straight to Lance’s cock, has a quiet moan escaping him, something he only just barely manages to bite back with the press of his teeth into his bottom lip. Fernando catches it anyway, grins like he’s realized the praise wasn’t just a one-off from the hand job last night, but something Lance actually enjoys.

"Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he promises, “Make you feel better soon.”

[fun-k-board]

TMNT 2012 with an AFAB s/o on their period

Note(s): I wrote this with a ftm Reader in mind, but there are no gendered pronouns or gendered titles used.

Characters included: Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michealangelo, April O'Neil, Casey Jones.

Leonardo

Listen, as much of a leader and confident guy you may believe he is, he is still a mutant turtle who does not get periods and only knows because it was mentioned in a show once and he wanted to know more. He will not understand, beside the basics of 'bleeding down there, intense hormones, and sometimes unbearable pain depending on who you ask.'

If you're someone who goes through a lot of physical pain expect an overbearing mother figure now in your life, he will literally be there with all the advice he can find that'll help.

With the limited resources in the lair and the fact he can't exactly go shopping himself, he'll ask April or Casey to buy period products or pain relief tablets for you if you complain. Even if he's awkward and shy about asking, he doesn't want to burden you by making you wait for a reply over text or have to get up, the fact it helps you makes it worth it.

Soup is also good, he knows how to make traditional teas and soups for you, with great difficulty, and help from Splinter, that will lessen your stomach cramps. Though if you get cravings he may be a little less helpful, it's hard to get ingredients when you live in the sewers and are hated by most of the world.

If you like company he would stay off patrols once or twice, but he's fairly strict about his schedule and won't go too far off it, even if he wants to help you.

If you don't get much pain, he's still by you in his free time and asking questions, you're literally bleeding he's never going to stop worrying.

Whenever you talk to him he basically soaks in the words like a sponge and uses it to help you, a one off 'yeah, this food helps.' and he's on his knees begging for April to buy some.

Raphael

Raphael... I love him, but he needs help when it comes to this. I imagine most of the other turtles at least know the basics, Michaelangelo is the worst but he still knows what a period is, but Raph just never really cared enough to learn.

He knows that a period happens... But that's about it. So, if you're in intense or even a small amount of pain and or wake up with blood around you, he's freaking the hell out, he thinks you've been stabbed or something or maybe he accidentally hurt you with his sais as you slept.

If you explain he's sort of like 'yeah whatever, how do we stop it from hurting you?' and then he never leaves your side.

You run out of products? Step out the way Casey and April, he's sneaking in the shop and thieving- I mean, he's putting on a trenchcoat and hat to hide his turtleness, and buying the products like a good mutant ninja turtle should. But seriously, he doesn't trust the two to buy the right ones, he gets the exact brand right somehow, even if you never tell him what one you want.

He pushes the exercise side of it, even if it doesn't help much, exercise is something that helps him so when he hears it can help he doesn't research further. It takes you explaining that it not only depends on the person but the exercise for him to pout and let you lead.

Donatello

He'd probably panic for a while but then tries to look through a science lense, like, oh! You need to level your blood sugars in this week, these excersises will help you but these won't, make sure to keep your stomach warm so you can lessen the contractions and pain.

Gets a bit sad if you're the type to be more distant and want alone time on your period, especially if you don't like loud noises. Donatello usually has you watching him while he works on his science stuff, so when you aren't it's a demotivator.

Ends up completely abandoning his work just to follow you around like a sad puppy, tending to your every need or waiting outside your room for a text from you if you need something.

If you want him around he's a lot more easy going, if you don't mind sitting in the lab with him while he works then he's all for it, of course he's checking on you every once and a while, and will talk when he wants to, but it comes from him wanting to help you.

If you have health issues caused by your period or your period is made worse by your health issues he's helping you a lot, he knows a lot about human anatomy and how to help ease pain, especially since April and Casey started hanging out with the Turtles more often.

He has a whole section of a diary dedicated to you, and that includes your period, when you're due, what food you've told him helps you, what foods you've said make it worse, what pain you usually describe as, etc, etc.

Michealangelo

Michaelangelo is 100% the type of guy who just goes along with what you want because he wants to help, he probably knows that you bleed, you get mood swings, and you're in pain. And that's all he needs to know.

He's watching you for your entire cycle and just PRAYING nothing bad will happen, gives you all the food you want, no matter how unusual. This can sometimes make it worse, because cravings aren't always foods that will help you, and he feels really really bad if that happens.

He tries to hold himself back on just giving you whatever you want, but when you look up he just folds and starts treating you like royalty.

He can't make a lot of normal foods, he can make pizzas and maybe a decent sandwich, but besides that he's a bit useless, so he tends to buy you microwaved dinners. Unless you don't like them. And then he's just lost.

Mikey asks Donatello to help on the more science level, like no, chocolate will not help, that's a dumb myth, it will only make your sugar levels higher and increase pain, plus blood flow, and nobody wants that.

Cue Mikey closing the oven to hide his chocolate pizza he was making for you.

When buying or storing products, he tends to sort of forget how expensive they are, he'll go in with only a couple of dollars and fall to the floor in utter shock upon realising that is not nearly enough.

But he may or may not steal a few, he saves the city, he gets no money from it, this is completely justified in my opinion.

It's not like he tells anybody anyway.

April O'Neil

She understands so much, whatever you need she'll get for you within minutes.

If your cycles match up April and you will have days where you just sit down and cuddle together, usually at her apartment or in the lair.

She's most likely the one who goes shopping for stuff since she's usually shopping for the turtles as well, though you can come along or even do it yourself if hers is painful and yours is bearable enough to go and vice versa.

If you don't get much pain or mood swings, she makes a few jokes on how she wishes she was you, but if you ask her to stop she will.

Understands the pain that might come mentally, if yours is really bad during the month she even ignores the Turtles to help you out. Unless you want to be left alone in which case she can do that as well, but she will text you every few hours, this is probably happening with or without your period given how dangerous being friends with her is.

If you have intense pain, she's extremely worried for you and will try to help in any way she can, especially if you have other issues that impact your period and or your period causes you other issues.

Casey Jones

Once he gets it Casey doesn't care for the exact details, all he needs to know is when he needs to be involved. Then he's actually really helpful

Usually gets too embarrassed to buy pads for you so he asks April to do it for him, if she refuses he awkwardly makes his way over and will be red the entire time he buys them.

He will begrudgingly be mushy if it means you'll feel better, but also reluctantly leaves you alone if you prefer being alone, he's complicated when it comes to you.

Tends to try to make you laugh or smile if you get sad, but fails to realise that the flood gates of hell spill over with unholy blood whenever you do laugh too hard.

If you're someone with less blood and or pain he'll be asking once every few hours if you're okay, every month is the same, he never learns that you're going to be fine, or that you don't experience too much pain, but it shows he cares.

If you have intense pain he's next to you always helping and at your beck and call, he's fine with skipping out on time with April or the turtles because he doesn't want you in pain.

This has been in my drafts for a little over a year, I've only just got the strength to finish it (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

[rindouspuppygirl]

gn!reader x ran : recovering from trauma + dealing with mental illness (hurt/comfort)

was feeling down, so i wrote ran haitani comforting gender neutal mentally ill reader!

TW: mental illness, implied suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse, mentions of therapy, reader masking, gender neutral

ran can tell somethings wrong, when you get home. he always notices. youre the type to mask your feelings, hide the frustration and sadness coiling in your chest... but youve been dating long enough, you cant fool him anymore the cheerful "hello" and tight hug from you dont convince ran. even your little peck to his cheek as you grin and ask about his day... your eyes seem empty. he can see how close to breaking you are

ran knows you try not to do this. its a longterm habit from dealing with toxic and abusive relationships - you cant break it overnight. still, it hurts... less because its a lie, and more because ran knows even you dont realize how much youre hurting.

but he can tell you need to decompress, so he doesnt push... not yet. offers to cook one of the few meals he can make without your help (hes trying to be independent, but hes a lazy spoiled brat) and you accept ... but the sparkle in your eyes is dull

ran does what he can. runs you a bath before he starts dinner, picks out your favorite towel and comfiest pjs. he lights that candle you love but never use, and drops in one of his prized lush bath bombs while hes at it. puts on a relaxing spotify playlist... at this point, youve caught on. still... the hard shell youve donned starts to melt, even as ran leaves to cook ran isnt as surprised as he should be when you glom onto him from behind while hes cooking, freshly bathed and smelling like rose. hes thankful the sauce just needs to simmer.

he also isnt surprised when theres a wetness on his back he knows is tears, not bathwater. he hums softly, turning off the stove burner before picking you up and carrying you into your shared bedroom

ran gently runs his long fingers through your damp hair, murmuring reassurances and praise as you sob incoherently about your stressors. you are so strong. you want to do the best by everyone. its alright if you make mistakes...

clinging tightly to him, warm and safe... it feels like the anchor you could only dream of for so long. youre in therapy, and you do everything you can. but you need support, and ran does everything he can to help

your life is so much better, but maybe that is scary, too. you dreamed so little, didnt believe youd get far. and ran and your friends believing in you is terrifying. you sometimes feel undeserving.

but here, buried in ran's warm embrace... the smell of his home cooking, his cologne and signature smell, the bath bomb he shared with you...

your breathing begins to calm, albeit your chest aches. you smile up at ran with teary eyes. he smiles back.

it will be okay, after all... it really will.

[misterier]

Hi! Can I request enemies to lovers relationship with Jack Marston and tall Male reader? (Or at least taller than him). It doesn't have to be long, head cannons are fine :)

oo yeah ofc!! I went for head cannons in storyish form so it hope it's not too goofy, also my dyslexic ass read john at first so sorry it took a bit

high honor jack marston is my pookie the idea of him with low honor hurts me so high honor it is

also sorry for pushing the charthur agenda but it's burned deep within my soul, I must release it

also spoilers ig for the first & second game but if your requesting jack you prolly already know all that

i grew up lovin' the marstons and they mean the world to me sorry if i get rambly and long with his hcs</3

Jack Marston<3

-With Jack, it's more rivels than actual enemies, and it likely starts when the two of you are teens; maybe you live in some ranch across from his.

-Your mothers or dads are friends, so they're a little concerned. As far as they know, two teenagers forced to hang out should be great friends.

-Jack is 100% a little mama's boy, so when he's not hiding out reading, he's helping her do housework and complaining about you. It's not like he's got a good reason to hate you either; he just doesn't like you.

-Abigail's heard, John's heard, Uncles heard, and even the dog has heard.

-The entire dinner table is tired of his constant whining about hating your 'annoying' ass.

-Hell, even his aunts have heard whenever they ask about his nonexistent social life, Mary-Beth seems to think it's a crush the way he gets so flustered, rambling on about how much he hates you, but he denies it in an instant.

-Equally, you hate him as well, bragging about your height difference. Every time you're forced over to his house to hang out with him in his room (despite his pleading to not leave him alone with you), you'll put his books on the highest shelves.

-His father was once given permission, and assuming some quality time together would fix your relationship, he takes the two of you fishing. (Jack, of course, complains, asking why he was stuck doing the two things he hates most, fishing and spending time with you.)

-During that trip, John warns you to look out for branches so you don't bash your head in. Jack prays you would so you'd shut up and stop looking at him like that.

-Whenever Charles is able to visit them, sometimes Jack will find him and his mother talking outside in the dead of night, speaking of a man he can only just barely remember the silhouette of--Jack sometimes is glad he can't remember those days when he sees how frustrated his father gets about his past—mostly when his mother mentions the man who had apparently been like his father's brother. It's a painful name to speak in their house, and he refuses to even ask anymore now that they hardly mention him anymore.

-The gist of you and Jack's fighting is just petty arguments and insults. His mother warns him about things like that, saying it's not healthy for a boy his age to be so bitter towards another who's done nothing to him, insisting he tries to make friends.

-He tries to listen to his mother; as much as he teases her, just like his father, he respects her greatly and looks up to her, and if she told him to do something, he'd do his very best to listen to her wishes.

-Jack does a bit better at keeping his insults to a minimum. The two of you are nothing near friends, but y'all slowly stop it with actual hurtful comments.

-Just like annoying ol' uncle grew on his father, he was beginning to tolerate your presence until he and his mother were taken by the government while his father hunted down his old 'family'.

-Once they're home, you're not around anymore, and neither are your parents. You moved due to fear of being caught up in all that, and he's bitter about it.

-The day John and Uncle die, your family sends their condolences.

-For as long as his mother is alive, he does his damnedest to keep the ranch alive and working despite her deteriorating health. Tilly visits a bit more when Abigail gets worse, and her husband tries to help—a respectable man even with his high class—though Jack refuses, wanting to take care of it all himself.

-The day his mother dies breaks him--the only blood family he had left.

-He enhatrets all his fathers' things, nobody to stop him from looking through it, he finds journals, and he reads the older one first confused by the handwriting that he was sure wasn't his fathers chicken scratch, but he reads it anyway, admiring each drawing and word, some even speaking about the writers conflicted feelings about still longing for a woman but beginning to feel himself crave a man, willing to let go of her if it means he has the chance to be happy again--queerness had never been something shamed upon or uncommon in his house, he'd heard of it from hangings and his parents speaking about it being wrong that they'd be hung for love--telling Jack that he shouldn't be afraid to love who he wants and to fight for it.

-The fancy writing nearly seems to abruptly stop when things begin to get dark. Switching to his father's writing gives him an appreciation for his father and what he's been through, but even through that, he can't help but crave revenge. He always was an angry young man.

-He wants to put Edgar Ross' death behind him, trying to be a functioning man of society as his mother wanted for him, though his hand still itched for his gun.

-The land was becoming too dry; there wasn't much he could keep alive, and he needed money, so he decided to try and find work. Not many would take him due to his father's name, so he usually hangs around the blackwater bar to sleep in the rooms above it, only visiting his home on weekends to take care of the house and the graves.

-Eventually he finds work, by some old fella speakin' about how desperate this man was for a ranch hand and how it was nearly sad how much they needed it.

-Late at night, he shows up on your doorstep, looking for work after all these years. You would have laughed in his face if it wasn't obvious how much both of you needed this.

-Similar to Bonnie and John's situation He lived on your property for a while, though there was enough room in your house for him, so he worked for you and slept in the guest room.

-There's no room to argue like you did as children. though only nineteen, the two of you are much more grown than you'd like to be with both of your families gone. Now it's only a few quips and jabs.

-There's no women working for your ranch, so you have to trade 'womanly' chores. Jack used to help his mother with hers, so he doesn't mind, but he forces you to help as well.

-You two become friends, despite still bullying each other a little. Him joking about you hitting your head when walking into the barn (you're tall, but not THAT tall), and you telling him his eyes will go bad from staring at those small print books all day.

-The closer friends you two become, the more possible your relationship is to become romantic. Neither of you are sure when you figured out you were in love with each other; it sort of just happened.

-You kissed his cheek goodnight once before you parted ways with him in the living room to return to your bedroom eary and it became tradition. For months, that was how the two of you parted. The next day, before he left to go back to his family's ranch to clean it up, he called you over to his horse—taller than you—for once and kissed your forehead before turning quickly and spurring his horse off.

-As socially awkward as he is, he's very open, flirting with you, not very romantic, but then again, you two aren't exactly romantic; if anything, your relationship is more of a mean friends with benefits kind of situation.

-If you genuinely want to call it a relationship, you'll have to bring it up to him, or he won't really notice or care.

-If you want to be lovers, he'll accept it. You two still have separate rooms, and yet you fall asleep in his most of the time.

-Even if you can read, he likes reading you, with his back against the headboard and your head on his shoulder. he likes feeling taller than you, though he obviously isn't.

-This man tried nailing broken boot heels to his to make him taller and ended up twisting his ankle and falling flat on his face.

-Learns to deal with and accept the fact your taller, though hes unnaturally bitter.

-Everytime he heads home, times becoming less frequent now. He sits at the foot of his mother's grave and talks about you and his life; he brought you once but never did it again, he prefers his visits to his family's graves to be private.

-Even years into your relationship, he won't stop praying you'll bash your head on the doorframe. The day you do, he marks it on his callender and calls it the day he became a happy man, ignoring your unofficial anniversary and calling it a close second.

[bloodiedrogue]

FIGURE YOU OUT (1)

SUMMARY: As Spider-Man's older sister it's your responsibility to make sure he comes home no matter the state. It's also your responsibility to question strangers who claim to be versions of him from other dimensions.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 7,793

WARNINGS: Angst, enemies-to-lovers adjacent (if that makes sense???), minor descriptions of injury, heavy alcohol use, mention of vomiting, inappropriate language.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: OKAY SO this was originally supposed to be a hefty one shot but after much consideration I've decided it's going to read best as a series so you're getting not one but three parts! Hopefully y'all like it 'cause this is my first time writing for Miguel and I'm kind of nervous? :')))

CHAPTER LIST / NEXT CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

-

 “May, for the millionth time I’m not—“

Before you can even finish, Aunt May’s hands are on her face, pushing on the frustrated expression that laces through her features. She’s annoyed, as per usual. Exhausted, just like the pale and veiny hands that rest beneath the dimness of your dining room light, pulling at wrinkled skin. 

“I just think he’d be good for you, you know? Harry’s nice and attractive and—”

“Norman Osborn’s son?”

“Okay, but it’s not like the boy’s anything like his father.”

“That you’re aware of.”

She opens her mouth, a small huff releasing straight from her chest, knowing already you’ll never budge. You’re too stubborn like your father —like her nephew who so effortlessly had a counter for every argument he wound up tangled in. Like you, he’d fight to the death for every little thing and she knows it, causing her to merely frown. 

“Fine, fine but just know you’re missing out. He’s a real catch.”

You scrunch up your face, resisting the urge to gag knowing how much May chastises you for being childish. You’re an adult now, act like it! You practically hear the words echoing through your mind as you reach for the glass of wine in front of you, gripping the stem tightly as you take a huge gulp.

“Okay then, if not Harry, are there any other men?”

You almost cough into your glass, unprepared to answer. Sure there were men. Here and there you’d had some dates and flings and almost, maybe boyfriends. You played the field like any other twenty-something woman in Brooklyn trying for their shot at love by going out to bars or hopping on dating sites. Like everyone else, you scrolled through the endless faces and bios, picking and choosing your fave ones; having moments of is this the one with far too many boys who turned out to be nothing more than just a memory.

So yes and no, you decide, telling May the latter, knowing if you choose the former she’ll get too excited and start asking questions.

“You know you’re not getting any younger, kid.” 

“I know.” 

You also know that you should be offended. You should be pissed off or annoyed —any sort of negative emotion but all you feel is exhaustion, considering you have this conversation at least once a week. Sometimes twice if you have to drop by May’s or the shelter. 

Every time she sees you it’s as if she needs to put this pressure on you. To throw this burden on your shoulders so that she isn’t the only one thinking of it. Because if you’re thinking about it maybe you’ll do something about it, right?

“You should find someone to love —to settle down with.”

You want to. More than she knows. It’s lonely here in New York, living in your busted-up one-bedroom apartment with a brother who’s never around. Day in and day out you’re forced into a space of solitude you never asked for, moving aimlessly from bedroom to subway car to office and back again. 

It’s not ideal, especially when you have to watch Peter and his double life. Sure, it’s stressful —a burden sometimes more often than not, but at least it’s exciting. At least there’s substance.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed soon. The lab needs me early for testing,” you lie, smiling tiredly, hoping that May won’t notice. 

This time she doesn’t. Or at least, she feels worn down enough not to ask questions. A fact you’re thankful for as she nods her head and kisses your face, saying her usual goodbye before scurrying out the front door with a wave. 

When she’s gone you let out a heavy breath, running your fingers through the roots of your hair. You’re not sure how long you can keep living this way. Flowing from place to place like an aimless ghost. It hurts too much knowing all the potentials. All the crazy things waiting for you just outside your door. More than anything you want to experience them —to live them just like Peter. 

Secretly, you think you want to be like Peter. To be looked at —adored or hated, it doesn’t matter. Desperately, you want a pair of eyes to look at you as something other than you: a tired lab assistant just trying to survive. You want someone to see you, to know your worth in a way that doesn’t involve Petri dishes or DNA swabs. 

You want to feel needed, you decide. Not in a life-changing way per se. More needed in the sense of being someone’s first choice like MJ is for Peter. To have that one person you can rely on and vice versa no matter the circumstance. A ride or die. 

The thought makes you groan into the base of your hands as you pull at your roots, the vibrations against your skin making you pull away. It’s only eight and, embarrassingly enough, you’re ready for bed, your body weighing down in the chair you currently reside in. Already your eyes are starting close, their function slowing decreasing by the second as you reach for your glass of wine and down the rest in one gulp.

It’s disgusting but regardless you pour yourself another, already knowing you’ll need it to actually go to bed. 

You don’t sleep well when Peter’s out.

Blinking tiredly you pull your phone out of your pocket and shoot him a quick text. Are you good?

You don’t expect an answer but still worry when you don’t get one, causing your body to twitch as you continue to sit, downing glass after glass until the bottle’s empty and your head starts to feel like it’s swimming through molasses. 

By then it’s nearing nine. The lights of the city shine brightly through your window as you blink and rub your eyes, taking one last dizzy glance at your phone to see that Peter’s replied. 

He’s fine. What’s your address?

Scrunching up your face, you stare at the words in front of you, sounding out each letter so many times that it begins to blur in your mind. He’s fine, you read, knowing for a fact that Peter would never talk about himself in the third person. 

He’s not that weird.

Quickly, you disregard your rule of no phone calls in favour of answers, listening to the dial tone for a good minute before the other end crackles to life and a sigh pushes through. 

“Pete, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

You can feel your older sister instincts kicking in. Every worrying thought pushes itself through your brain right out of your ears to make room for a rage you haven’t felt in forever. Almost instantly it burns you from the inside out, attacking your chest with hot, heavy beats that have you standing from your chair and moving towards the front door in a rush.

As you do, the voice on the other end mumbles something you don’t quite catch, prompting you to yell. 

“Excuse me? Who are you? And why do you have my brother’s phone?”

“My name doesn’t matter.”

It’s a man on the other line. An older one that sounds almost as angry as you.

“Listen here, pal, I swear to god if you don’t tell me—“

“Peter’s fine. He’s a little banged up but we’ve got it under control. Just give us your address and—“

“We? Who’s we? What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Instead of listening to your demands he just groans again and asks for the address, making you groan right back and give it to him, too overwhelmed to care that some stranger and his friends have decided to take Peter into their mysterious hands. 

After that he hangs up the phone without a goodbye, prompting you to respond with an angry growl that has you stomping all over the house in preparation for guests you weren’t prepared for. 

“Stupid fucking piece of shit,” you mumble drunkenly, pacing back and forth through your small living room, unable to sit still knowing that something happened. 

Something happened and you weren’t there to help, like usual. A thought that eats you up inside every time this happens because what can you do? You can’t fight crime like he can —you don’t have powers. You can’t heal his wounds —you’re not medically trained. So really, all you can do is offer him company when MJ isn’t around and rotate his ice packs. Make him food here and there but even that’s difficult when you spend most of your days at the lab.

Essentially you’re just another useless civilian who knows too much, leaving you distraught as you sit on the sidelines, praying to whatever god there is that he arrives home safe.

Thankfully tonight they managed to answer you in some capacity. Instead of dead, he’s just badly injured and as annoyed as you are, you’re still thankful for the outcome. Still thankful for the stranger on the phone despite the angered secrecy. 

You decide when he gets here you’ll apologize for the yelling. It’s the least you can do considering he and his friends probably have to drag poor Peter’s body out of some alleyway across the city. A difficult feat you’ve done a few times over the last decade or so. 

It’s not something you’d ever wish upon anyone. Not even the grumpy stranger over the phone whose gruff voice still rings through your ears as you anxiously move towards the kitchen and open the freezer, checking to see if there are any ice packs readily available. Shuffling through the frozen goods inside, you count four as well as a large bag of frozen vegetables, deciding then that you should probably wait to see the damage before even thinking of running to the pharmacy.

Out of the two of you, you’ve always been the worrier. The one whose mind constantly races at the sign of danger. Peter’s the fight and you’re the flight, and even before he became Spider-Man it had always been that way, which makes the waiting that much harder. The anticipation of what’s to come flooding you in waves of dread that leave you too unsettled to calm down. 

Continually you pace throughout the apartment, moving from kitchen to bedroom to living room in an endless loop that has you swirling around in such a stupor you barely hear the window of your bedroom being tapped on. 

The sound confuses you at first, knowing that it’s most likely just some bird. Peter would never make them take him up the fire escape but then it gets louder —more frantic. The tapping speed doubles as you stand disorientated in the living room, narrowing your eyes as if that’ll help your ears focus.

You realize quickly that it’s a someone tapping and not a something and immediately you spring into action, rushing to your bedroom window to see a trio of bodies all dawned in spider suits of their own. 

It leaves you breathless but still active as you push up the window, breathing out heavy breaths as you watch the smallest of the three —a lithe spider with pink webs stained over white— bound into the room to help pull Peter inside. 

“What took you so long?” 

It’s the voice from the phone, grumbling from the fire escape. He’s taller than the others —thicker. His suit black and red with an emblem that fills his broad chest with bold lines that drape down the front of his arms.

“Give her a break man, she’s probably scared to death.” 

Beside him, another Spider-Man whose suit looks more like Peter’s stands. Both of them grip your brother’s lower half, gently passing them over to the spider in your bedroom, prompting you to rush over to help.

“What the hell happened?”

He’s worse than you’d like to admit. The majority of his mask has been ripped apart. One of his eyes is completely uncovered, blooming with fresh bruises that cause it to swell almost completely shut. On his cheek, he’s got a pretty huge gash along with a few others around his chin and throat.

Immediately, tears begin to form at the corner of your eyes as they all move to lay him on the bed, making sure to be as gentle as possible. 

“It doesn’t matter what happened. What matters is he’s safe. Let’s go.” 

You turn to stare at him —the one who’s already caused you enough grief to last a lifetime. Angrily, you narrow your eyes, fighting the urge to yell as you watch his friends simultaneously shake their heads. 

“Seriously, man?”

“Miguel, you can’t just leave her with this.” 

They speak in unison, both of them matching your unimpressed response as you move in closer, pressing a finger to his chest. “I swear to god if you don’t tell me what happened I’ll kick your ass faster than you can say—“

He pinches the bridge of his nose and gives in, something that feels uncharacteristic even though you’ve just met. “He got a little beat up fighting someone he shouldn’t have, alright?”

“Alright?” you scoff, glancing between the three of them. “No, not alright. Not even a little bit. What do you mean he was fighting someone he shouldn’t have?”

“What do you mean what do you mean? Am I not being clear?”

“Not really, no.” 

He huffs, loudly. A heavy plume of air pushing through his mask. You can feel it fan your face as you take a small step away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the newfound presence of other spider people. 

You were almost certain Peter was the only one. 

“Maybe one of us should take the reins on this?” The blue and red one asks, prompting the other to nod, motioning for him to take over despite Miguel’s silent protests. 

“Look, we uh, we’re… we’re —how do I even start this? What do you guys usually say?” 

Without missing a beat, the shortest one takes off their mask to reveal a young girl with blonde hair. She looks familiar in a way you can’t quite place, her features bold and big and full of life, giving you a weird sense of deja vu. Have you met her before, you wonder, staring at her eyes and cheeks and mouth, picking apart the details until you’ve decided you definitely have. Somewhere.  

“Hi, I’m Gwen. This is also Peter and Miguel.”

She motions them to take their masks off but Miguel doesn’t budge. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest as Peter awkwardly peels his away, revealing a face that looks almost identical to your brother’s. 

Which obviously sends you into panic mode, seeing the somewhat distorted face of your brother on the body of someone else. It’s older —heavier, maybe. Unlike your Peter, this one’s eyes are filled with exhausted age and crow's feet. His lips are thinner and coated in a thick five o’clock shadow that takes up the lower half of his face. His figure is thicker, holding a bit of a gut but not enough to notice unless you’re staring.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Miguel says, but the two of them continue, moving through the conversation slowly to gauge your response. 

“Your brother isn’t the only Spider-Man,” Gwen tells you. “At least in general. In this universe he is but uh, there are lots of others which is where we’re technically from.”

You look at your brother confused, wondering if he’s always known or if this is newfound information for the both of you. If it’s new, you hope he’s okay. That once he’s awake and able to process everything that this doesn’t send him over the edge of sanity. 

He’s already hanging by a thread as it is. With family and friends and both of his jobs waiting in the wings at any given moment, the poor guy's constantly overworked. If he isn’t taking pictures for the Daily Bugle he’s studying at school or going on patrol as Spider-Man or laying on the floor in a heap of pain.

He doesn’t need any more stress.

“Listen, I appreciate you bringing him here but I think it’s probably best you guys go, yeah?” 

You smile as warmly as you can through the fog of alcohol that has you reeling. Simultaneously, you’re angry and confused —dizzy at the amount of so many new faces. You’re overwhelmed, to say the least, and knowing Peter he’ll end up the same when he wakes up. 

“Of course.” 

It’s the first time Miguel speaks with any sort of sincerity, his tone dulling down to a quiet calmness that sends a chill up your spine as you watch him fiddle with a watch-like mechanism on his wrist. 

In unison, both Gwen and Peter look at you with sombre expressions, their lips pushing into thin lines of almost disapproval as they watch you move towards your brother, completely forgetting that they’re even there. 

“Tell him if he sees anything suspicious to reach out,” Miguel adds, looking directly at you as he says it.

Cautiously, you look back and nod your head, trying to imagine the face underneath. You bet it’s old, based on the never-ending rage that it seems to radiate. He’s got the kind of attitude an old man would have, making you imagine bushy brows and forehead lines that have developed through continuous frowns. You imagine deep scars that have sat untreated for far too long. An overlay of bruises constantly decorating his frame due to misuse of the body. 

Standing next to your Peter, you imagine he’s the kind of guy who acts before he thinks. At the sign of danger, he spontaneously leaps to remedy any given situation regardless of details. He’ll do whatever it takes. 

He’s a fighter just like Peter. 

“It was nice to meet you,” Gwen waves before throwing on her mask. Old Peter does the same and even though you want to smile —to thank them for everything they’ve done, all you can do is nod and watch as Miguel presses the face of his watch, prompting an angular, orange portal to appear right in front of your window. 

The sudden presence of it somehow stirs Peter awake, prompting him to groan next to you. 

Immediately you move to his aid, kneeling near his face with concern as you press the back of your hand to his partially exposed forehead, feeling the beads of sweat that collect rubbing against your skin.

“Are you okay?”

He mumbles under his breath and moves to sit upright despite your protests. Slowly, he catches himself on the edge of the bed and swings his legs to the floor, doubling over in pain to watch as the three of them turn to face him one last time.

“You good, kid?” Old Peter asks.

“Never better,” he says back, moving to grip his stomach with his forearm, a bloodstained smile spilling across his face.

Despite the pain that’ll inevitably heal in the days to come, you know he’s being honest. Thanks to them, he’s never been better and upon hearing that you find yourself frowning, already knowing what that means. 

He wants to see them again. You imagine it’s because, in some capacity or another their appearance has made the burden of his existence easier. For once, their arrival has created a light inside him you’ve only seen one other time. It was when he finally told MJ that he was Spider-Man. 

As cliche as it was, he described it as this weight that had been lifted off his shoulders, and as you watch him smile at his new friends, you know that’s exactly how he feels now knowing that he isn’t the only one going through the motions. No longer is he the only one forced to navigate this life full of tangled webs. No, now he has friends. Partners that can aid him in the development of his career as Spider-Man. 

People that can help him better than you can.

Before they leave Miguel repeats the statement he asked you to relay to Peter. “Call if you see anymore anomalies.” It’s phrased differently. Molded in a way you’re not meant to understand, making you all the more angry as you watch them leave through the portal. 

“What does he mean by anomalies?”

Peter, now without his fellow spiders, winces as he takes off what’s left of his mask, ignoring your question in favour of repositioning himself back on the bed. Shakily, he sighs as he readjusts, trying his best not to disturb the injuries that cover his aching skin. 

“Can you at least tell me what happened?”

He’s silent for a moment, his mouth half open, unable to fully close thanks to the shiner located on the lower half of his cheek. Then, he cranes his neck towards you. “Some Doc Ock from another universe showed up,” he tells you, his voice low. “I was in the middle of dealing with a robbery when he showed up out of nowhere and caught me off guard.” 

You swallow hard, watching him lick his lips. They’re dry and cracked and covered in old blood that makes you want to cry because you hate seeing him like this. So tired and broken. 

“He didn’t look like our Doc. He was skinnier —younger. And his tech was completely different. He kept talking about me, or I guess his version of me and I was so confused.”

“Mhm.”

“He got me a couple times. Threw me around but then they showed up and I guess sent him back home. I don’t know, by then I’d blacked out.”

His story is easy enough to follow but still leaves you with questions. How did this Doc Ock jump into your universe? Did he have one of those bracelets? Did Peter have one? And if so, has he too gone to different universes?

The urge to bombard him with every single thought that races through your mind settles as you hear his strained breath, reminding you he’s in pain. Quickly, it resets the order of important tasks in your brain, sending you flying towards the kitchen to grab every ice pack you own and start stacking them along Peter’s wounds. 

Carefully you place one along the huge gash on his face, moving his hand to hold it steady before moving to his chest and placing one on either side of his ribs. 

“Are you okay? Like actually, no lying.” 

“Yeah, are you?”

You’re not. Not in the slightest. In fact, if it weren’t for the state he was in you’d be screaming by now, demanding more answers. Something he knows by the way you curtly nod your head instead of speaking. 

“I’m sorry, Miguel can be a lot.” 

Like always, it’s as if he’s read your mind, making you roll your eyes and scoff. “Are you friends with that guy?”

“Not really. I’m only really friends with Peter and Gwen. Everyone else are kind of like coworkers. They’re nice and we get along but aside from work we don’t keep much contact.”

“Aside from like, anomaly stuff?”

“Yeah.” 

It’s weird to uncover such a big secret from your own brother. He’s never been the type to keep things to himself, at least with you. So why this? Why them? 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, but make it quick I’m about to fall asleep.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

If it weren’t for the pain radiating through his shoulder you’re almost certain Peter would’ve responded with a shrug. A wordless movement of uncertainty that he instead replaces with a soft I don’t know that has you imagining Miguel and his idiotic mask telling him to keep his mouth shut.

“Was it Miguel?” 

It’s an uncomfortable statement to say out loud —an even more uncomfortable one to have confirmed as you watch Peter nod his head, a guilty expression plastered over his face. It makes you feel almost guilty yourself as you try your best not to explode at the thought of some asshole telling your brother what to do. At the thought of him controlling what he can and cannot tell you about his life. 

You wonder if it’s illegal for regular people like you to universe hop. It probably is but that doesn’t stop you from imagining a world where it isn’t anyway. A world where you rush through a portal of your own to find Miguel on the other side.

You’d give him a piece of your mind if you could, scold him for ever thinking he could keep such a broad existence a secret. You’d push that stupidly broad chest with all your force and tell him what’s what. That no matter how important he is amongst the spiders, you’re still Spider-Man’s sister and deserve the right to know what’s going on. 

“He’s not all bad, you know.”

Giving him an unimpressed look, you watch as he smiles, a small laugh pushing through his lips. 

“No, I’m serious. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges but he means well.” 

“How so?” 

You’re unconvinced but still curious. Who wouldn’t be after discovering the existence of other universes? 

“He cares about people in his own way. Kind of like you.”

“Me?” 

Should you be offended? 

“What I mean is, he’s only mean because he cares like you. You guys have that same intensity.”

You scrunch up your face. “I’m not intense.” 

Peter snorts as he rolls onto his side, hugging one of the ice packs as he moves to direct his back towards you, thus signalling the end of the conversation. 

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, sis.”

-

Peter isn’t answering your texts and it’s starting to stress you out. 

Across from you, Harry and Gwen sit chatting amongst themselves, sipping on what’s most likely their fourth or fifth drinks based on the way they’re leaning in and giggling as you call your brother for the ninth time.

It’s been nearly a month since the incident —two weeks since he started patrolling again— and despite knowing he never answers his phone, you’re still worried. He told you he’d be here an hour ago to escort you home. Something he always did when you got dragged out by the rest of the Oscorp staff. Being a woman, wandering the streets of New York at night wasn’t an option and even though you were technically a geneticist for a mega-corporation you weren’t about to cough up at least fifty bucks to get home, so Peter was agreed to be the next best thing. 

Or at least, he was supposed to be. 

By now you’re well past drunk. Your head is heavy and you can’t stop squirming in your chair because of how restless you feel. Your skin is hot under the fluorescents of the bar lights, their weird shade of neon pink beating down on you like a synthetic sun.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” you hear Harry say. 

You must’ve zoned out because both he and Gwen are already standing, grabbing their coats off the back of their chairs with grins too big to be deemed anything other than mischievous. 

You know immediately they’re going back to his place to fuck. It’s what always happens when Gwen drinks too much and decides that, just this once, she’ll indulge the boss's son. Unfortunately, though, this is probably the fifth time in the last year that this has happened, leaving you certain it’s more of a common occurrence than she lets on. 

“Is Pete still coming to get you?” Gwen asks.

You nod your head, unwilling to admit that he probably isn’t. That instead of flying through the air you’ll most likely be forking over way too much money to sit in some dingy car that smells like piss. 

“Okay, text me tomorrow. Let’s go for brunch!”

The two of them leave hand-in-hand, a detail that doesn’t go unnoticed as you continue to stare, trying to decide how the hell all of that started. It’s not like they’re friendly to each other. At work, Gwen is constantly complaining about Harry’s silver-spoon upbringing. Talking about how privileged he is despite her dad being the police commissioner.

A detail you’re always tempted to bring up, knowing that neither of them has ever truly known what it's like to struggle. Having grown up in big houses with paid tuitions and a never-ending family to love, their lives are completely separate from yours.

It’s why you resent them so much, you think, because growing up, you and Peter never had that. When you were young your parents abandoned you with May and Ben, falling off the face of the earth soon after. Back then you always wondered why but now you know it’s because they weren’t ready. They were young and in love and despite thinking they wanted to extend that love into children, it became quickly obvious they’d made a mistake. A mistake May offered to fix.

You liked May but she wasn’t your mom. Same with Ben. As time went on, you let them think they were your real parents, listening to them when they gave you advice; following their rules so long as you lived under their roof. You didn’t call them mom or dad but you respected them as if you did. At least up until Ben died and Peter got powers and everything got sort of complicated after that. 

And since then, it continued to be complicated. Each year that passed, something new and strange always happened, leaving you there to try and pick up the pieces. 

Most of it always involved Peter. Peter becoming Spider-Man; Peter nearly dying to Doc Ock; Peter nearly dying to Vulture; Peter nearly getting infected by Venom. It was like clockwork year after year, tending to the needs of your brother while trying to live a normal life. 

You couldn’t imagine how he felt. Sure, things were hard for you but for him? God, it must be hell.

Which is why you feel so guilty for phoning him. He’s probably busy dealing with some more important shit like stopping murders or break-ins or maybe even more anomalies. 

You really hope he’s not dealing with the last one. Because if he is it means Miguel’s in town. 

God, you hate that guy.

After the incident, Peter updated you on pretty much the whole anomaly thing. Apparently, in another dimension, there was this headquarters where spider people from all over the universe came to report various issues with their home worlds. 

Overall, the details were a bit confusing —you remember Peter saying something about them being a secret society and that Miguel was their leader but not much else stuck because honestly after that you sort of zoned out. At least until he mentioned that he was officially a part of it all, earning himself his own little watch. 

Upon hearing that, a part of you was proud. A much bigger part though, was skeptical, considering your immediate distrust of Miguel. In that one meeting alone he was rude and weird and you didn’t want Peter hanging out with him.

Not that you had any say, because Peter does what Pete does and that’s fine even though he can be a little bit too trusting —the kind of guy that always sees the good in people. Opposite to you, his trust is extended to whoever, whenever which you know is what ultimately makes him a good Spider-Man. People see that and immediately think of safety —of security in a situation that otherwise isn’t.

As a true New Yorker, you trust no one. Not even the guy that steals the seat across from you with a smile. 

“You here alone?” 

Your phone is still pressed to your ear as you stare him down, the line continuously ringing over and over and over again until it goes to voicemail and you lazily repeat the process. As you do, you continue to pay little mind to the man in front of you, merely watching him glance around the building, a glass of beer tucked tightly in his hand. 

“You calling your boyfriend?”

“Nope” 

“Girlfriend?”

You shake your head and he grins in the way that hyenas do when they’ve found fresh meat. Under the bar lights, his teeth look malicious and jagged, taunting you in a way that makes you internally nervous but externally confident. 

On the outside, you do your best impression of someone brave. Someone like Peter or even Miguel. Your forehead scrunches to form unimpressed lines, your eyes narrowing to match the way your lips tightly push together. 

Across from you, the man continues to grin despite this, looking you up and down and up again with a fire so fully lit inside his eyes you can already feel the oncoming burn.

You hang up and decide to call May. It’s a last resort, knowing that once that phone rings even once you’re in for an earful. You shouldn’t be out so late, kid, you know better! 

Even though you’re in your mid-twenties May still chastises you about the dangers of the city. Working with those less fortunate, you assume it’s because she’s seen some shit. The city’s a fucked up place as you know from both her and Peter but it’s not like you’re unprepared to handle it. You always have a plan! A getaway or an escape route. It’s not your fault that tonight’s plan accidentally fell through.

As you go through your contacts to click on May’s number another body takes the seat next to you. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

The voice sounds nicer than you remember, almost pleasant despite who it’s attached to. Awkwardly, you lock your phone and turn to look, noticing the unfamiliar features of a man you’ve grown to hate. 

Damn it, he’s attractive. And not nearly as old as you imagined him. He’s probably mid-thirties tops, you guess, surveying the texture of his tanned skin. It’s nice. Not as aged as Old Peter’s but you can see some of the same lines around his eyes as he glances between you and the man across.

“Can I help you?”

Miguel’s expression says it all. Fuck off. You can see it in the way his dark brows pinch towards the top of his long nose, showcasing his anger. The kind that’s almost impossible to replicate, the man quickly discovers, prompting him to merely sigh and leave the table, admitting defeat.

Once he’s gone you let out a heavy breath and sink in your seat. Never in your life did you think you’d be happy to see Miguel, and yet here you are. 

“Thank you.” 

Without so much as a glance, he stands from his chair and motions to the exit with his chin. Like usual, he’s got an air of arrogance you can’t quite stand, leaving you annoyed again as you roll your eyes and grab your coat off the back of your seat. 

He’s halfway out the door by the time you catch up to him. Your head, still drunk off the many pints of cheap beer you’d downed throughout the night, sloshes through the crowded room until it smacks dab right into Miguel’s back, prompting him to turn with a glare. 

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” he says. 

Despite wanting to, you don’t protest. Instead, you just follow him out of the building and down the street where he cuts into an abandoned alleyway and stops, checking on you with concerned eyes. 

“If I didn’t already know you were also Spider-Man I’d definitely be freaked out right now,” you say, trying your best not to slur as you lean against the wall of one of the buildings. The brick feels cool against your face.

“How much did you drink in there?” 

“At least five but probably more?”

“Five what?”

You shrug. There’s a moment of silence after that. One where you can feel your eyes fluttering in and out of focus, watching the way Miguel places his hands on his hips and stares you down. 

You can tell that he hates you now, officially. What once was merely a single conversation gone bad has turned to two which means you’re now considered a burden. A problem.

His problem. 

“I’m going to assume that travelling by air is a no-go,” he says; sighing because it means he’s probably going to have to walk you home.

Which you’re sure he doesn’t want to do considering he’s in charge of all the spider people. He’s probably got better things to do than to walk home his employee’s sister. 

“Where’s Peter?”

You’re on the move again before you know it, walking at Miguel’s side, watching the way he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“He’s out with the others. Another anomaly showed up when you called. He was busy so he asked me to come get you.” 

“Why’d he ask you?” 

Unfortunately for both of you, your filter is absolutely obliterated. Gone with the drinks you’d downed throughout the night. Every aspect of the embarrassment you’d usually feel right now is gone, your innermost thoughts quickly bubbling to the surface like the head of your last beer. 

Miguel, realizing this, shrugs it off and continues walking. Every so often he has to stop to make sure you’re alright —you are most of the time, but every third or fourth time you begin to slow he watches as you double over knowing that you’re probably going to throw up. 

“You good?”

Slowly you crawl to the ground until you’re on all fours, your hands gripping the edge of the sidewalk despite knowing how dirty it is. Beneath your palms and it’s cold and damp from the rain, prompting you to gag even harder because that means there’s probably mud on your hands. Dirty, gross mud from the bottom of people’s shoes. 

You feel a hand on your back. Carefully, it rubs a line back and forth along your spine, causing you to inhale and exhale and focus on the sudden calmness of his voice. 

“You’ll probably feel better if you just let it out.” 

“Mhm.”

“I know it’s gross but I promise it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

As if he’s blessed you with the promise of no judgement, you vomit on the ground, feeling your throat burn with the familiar acidity. As you recover, he continues to rub your back in long, slow movements, making you thankful that at this moment he doesn’t hate you.

Or at least, he chooses not to show it. 

“Thank you, again,” you mumble. 

This time he at least nods, acknowledging your words as he helps pull you to your feet, giving you one final pat on the back before you continue to walk in silence.

-

Miguel insists on staying until Peter’s back, despite your protests. 

His face, heavy with exhaustion looks at you, unwilling to budge on the matter as he pushes himself through the door. “Peter told me to take care of you,” he tells you. “So I’m gonna do that, okay? End of story.”

Now that you’re somewhat sober from the long walk home, you can feel all the hatred you have for him flowing through your system. Sure, he may have walked you home —comforted you in a difficult time but he’s still a dick. Under that sympathetic Spider-Man act he’s still the man that makes you want to scream every time Peter mentions him.

“Fine, but the second you hear anything from Peter you have to tell me.” You wag your finger at him intensely as you wander to the kitchen, feeling your mouth begin to dry up from the amount of water you’ve managed to avoid all night. 

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

He sits on the couch without another word, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Underneath, his watch emits a warm toned glow, prompting you to look over as he presses the face revealing a small hologram lady. 

“Wow, so nice of you to finally drop by! What’d you do, take her out for more drinks?”

Miguel groans and leans back into the couch, his body practically melding into the cushions. “Is there any news about the anomaly?” 

The woman crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a look —one you can’t quite place as she pulls the pink-heart glasses down the bridge of her nose. “I’ll tell you but only if you tell me how your night went.” 

Her voice is full of mischief, causing Miguel’s head to practically smack into the back of your couch, his eyes finding refuge in the ceiling. He’s embarrassed, you realize then. Probably because instead of being the superhero like everyone else he was demoted to babysitter. 

“The night was fine. She threw up, we walked home, end of story. Update, please.”

“We walked home, huh?” She wiggles her brows and darts around, the light from the watch moving around to get what you assume is a better look at your apartment. “Is she there?”

Even though his head is still hung uncomfortably over the edge of the couch, Miguel still manages to threaten you with his eyes. A warning you reluctantly accept as you move further into the kitchen, making sure you’re out of view.

“She’s sleeping.”

“Ooh, and did you tuck her—“

“Lyla, can I please just get an update?” 

You’ve never heard him so defeated. So tired. It’s like all the fire inside of him has suddenly burnt out and all that’s left is the remnants of ash. His eyes are almost closing without warning, threatening to cut him off from the outside world as Lyla tells him about someone named Hobie and how he’s with your brother. 

Apparently, they’re on Earth-58163. Another universe you know nothing about and probably never will because Peter refuses to talk about it. He always tells you it’s too complicated to explain —too intricate. “If I tried, it’d probably break your brain,” he tells you, brushing off the conversation time and time again. 

It’s annoying in a way that makes you feel like you’re kids again, the child-like jealousy overthrowing your desire to be a good person and just drop it. You need to know more. To understand how this all works so that you’re not just some outsider looking in like usual. 

When you hear Miguel say goodbye to Lyla you practically sprint over to the couch and plop down beside him, deciding that if Peter won’t tell you, you’ll go right to the source. 

“What’s your universe like?” 

There’s still a buzz sitting at the back of your brain, egging you on to set aside your differences in favour of answers. 

“That’s classified.” 

“Classified? Are you serious?”

“Yes, that’s why I said it?”

He doesn’t understand that you’re making fun of him. Or, at least, if he does, he refuses to comment.

“Peter never tells me anything about you guys.” You sink into the couch like Miguel, your arms resting limply on either side of you. “It’s not fair.” 

“Life’s not fair, niña.” 

You scrunch up your face. “I’m not a kid, old man.” 

“Are you under the age of thirty?” He raises his brow. 

“Yes.” 

“Niña.” 

There’s a moment where you think about reaching over and smacking him in the face. Just a small, lightly placed tap, similar to the one you give Peter when he’s being annoying, but immediately you retract such thoughts knowing he’d probably just yell at you. 

“Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m a kid.”

“No but it means other things.”

“Like?”

His head turns to face you, his cheek half pushed into the backing of the couch. “That you’re inexperienced.”

“I’ll have you know I’m actually very experienced.”

“That’s what someone inexperienced would say.” 

“Says the guy who runs a secret society of spider people and still manages to get benched for the night.”

You expect him to yell at you then. To suddenly uproot himself from the couch and give you the kind of lecture May would but instead he just snorts and shakes his head, moving to rest the back of his head on the couch again. 

It confuses you if you’re honest. You don’t know Miguel in the slightest, but based on what you’ve heard you assume he’s the kind of guy who harbours a high temper and an unrealistic demand of respect. A boss in every aspect of his life. Because of this, you assume he can’t take a joke. That he doesn’t understand the concept of teasing or banter because his ego takes it too seriously. 

It throws you a bit, your mind suddenly questioning all your previous opinions. You suppose then it isn’t fair to judge him so harshly. Considering the job title, he’s probably under a lot of stress. With such a high volume of people looking to him for guidance, it’s more than likely Peter’s right. He’s not that bad. 

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell me about your universe because you think I’m inexperienced will you tell me about you?”

He’s silent. Or at least dormant, his breath steadily flowing as he slides further and further into the couch. You can tell then that his body is hanging by a thread of consciousness, subtly stirring in pace with his breathing. Slowly, his chest rises and falls, pushing his elbows in tandem as his mouth begins to fall open, making you yawn. 

It’s probably best you go to bed too, you decide, considering the only reason you’re still awake is to get information. If your informant is out cold there’s no sense in prolonging the inevitable, so instead of delaying you quietly stand and stretch your back. Loudly, it cracks, creaking with an age you’re certain now that Miguel would chastise you for. “You’re too young to be creaking like that,” he’d probably say. 

Another yawn filters through as you wander over to your bedroom and grab an extra blanket, throwing it over your shoulders like a shawl as you walk back to Miguel. 

“What are you doing?”

His voice scares the shit out of you, making you jump and embarrassingly let out a shocked squeal, your heart pounding violently in your chest. 

He’s still frozen in place but this time his eyes are half-opened, looking at you with interest. 

“Getting you a blanket.” 

“I don’t need a blanket.” 

“Okay, well, I didn’t know that? I’m not a mindreader.” 

“Why not?”

He may not be Peter Parker in his universe but he certainly retains the same sarcasm, leaving you annoyed as you tear the blanket off and toss it onto his head. 

“Goodnight, old man.” 

“Goodnight, niña.”

-

TAGGING: @fandxmslxt69 (if you'd like to be added fill out this form)

[so-long-soldier28]

Idk if this makes sense but thoughts on ceo Kai parker with assistant reader???

are you ready for my longest response to an ask yet? because here it is...

so i'm currently working on a bonkai with a workplace AU that i've admittedly forgotten about that was requested in october. but working on that gave me inspo for this... and then i took it in a whole 'nother direction

fluff & smut below!

this could go 2 ways (or it could include both)

we've got the one where he's super sweet on her.

or we have him teasing & being super sexual until she gives in.

we also have possibilities for the reader to be more shy or more confident, and that majorly changes things.

kai will be kai no matter what, but there will be variation in how he reacts to her.

if she's more shy, i think he'd be a lot more teasing with her. gentle, bc he doesn't want to scare her off, but definitely pushes sometimes.

if she's more confident, he would be taken aback (and definitely turned on) from that. he recognizes that she won't take shit from anyone & respects that about her.

with the shy reader, her co-workers sometimes do try to take advantage of her, but he snaps back at them & checks on her after.

shy reader

he instantly has a liking towards you.

you're quiet and respectful, but do your job well.

you do things in a timely manner & treat others appropriately.

going above and beyond to make his job easier.

kai, at first, doesn't want to overstep your boundaries.

he's gentle towards you & thankful for your hard work. is very appreciative.

calls you names like "darling," and "sweetheart," or even "peach," that always make you blush.

he means it as innocently as you receive it.

… at first.

with time, feelings grow.

you both push them down to maintain a professional work environment, and even go as far as to deny they are there at all.

there's talk in the office, but no one is bold enough to mention it. plus, there's no proof of anything between you guys.

hold on, i have a side story for this, since it's december, and this just sounds so cute to me.

okay so kai has a holiday party he has to attend, but no one close enough in his life to bring as a plus one.

his mother demands he brings someone, and if he doesn't, she'll set him up with her best friend's daughter.

kai doesn't want to get stuck in that awkward situation, so right before break, he asks a huge, huge favor of you.

"i'm, uh, not quite sure how to ask this, y/n, but i have a huge favor to ask of you."

"anything you need."

"it's okay to say no, i completely understand if you don't want to, it's totally your choice."

you giggle, closing your eyes, and his heart races. "i'm sure it's fine."

he grimaces, "would you mind accompanying me as my plus one to a holiday party? it's on the 23rd and local, only about thirty minutes away. it's just between friends and family, but if i don't have a plus one, my mother will set me up…. i just… actually, this is, i shouldn't have asked. i'm sorry, y/n."

you're surprised at first, a little confused, but not ready to reject the offer. your boss begins to ramble about how inappropriate it was of him to ask, and while he may be right, you don't want him to be in such a situation with his mother. you know how family can be.

"sure, i'll go with you."

"i'm- wait, what?"

"if the offer still stands, i'll be happy to go."

he stops. "you're positive?"

"just give me the time and place."

kai does more than that. when he tells you the dress code (relatively fancy), he offers to buy you a dress, but you say you already have one. he then picks you up at your apartment and immediately compliments the dress you wear. he notices your eyes, and how well your makeup compliments their color. his eyes linger on your lips, bold with a shade of red. he tries not to look at your body, but sneaks a glance that you totally catch.

he insists on driving you to the event, and gives you a rundown on the attendees on the way. those in his family who are crazy and that you should avoid, those to whom he's closest, those who have a weak understanding of personal space, and those who will not come within six feet of an unknown person. he tells you about his favorite cousin and the questions he may ask. he prepares a speech about you being his assistant, and not a girlfriend. you practice this speech together, bouncing off one another, about when you started, what you do, and how appreciative he is of your help.

you expect his mother to be stern and strict, but when you meet her, she turns out to be a very sweet lady, despite her high expectations for her family.

she's clearly not convinced that you're a work friend / assistant and not his girlfriend, and no one in his family is convinced, either.

he takes you around the house, introducing you to the necessary people, but never lingers in any one group for long. he knows you're shy and this must be difficult.

after you finish introductions, he pulls you into the garage to check on you.

"doing alright, darling? i know my family is huge. just take a moment to breathe."

you're thankful for this, and hold his hands while taking deep breaths.

after you settle, he promises food and brings you to the snack table.

there's no judgement about how much you eat; no one comments about you eating too much or too little.

alcohol is offered, and you grab a drink only to calm your nerves. he drinks one to "tolerate family" but promises it won't affect his driving later that night. promises, right there, to keep you safe. you believe him completely.

after snacking for a while (and being thankful it's not a sit down dinner), you go back to talking with his family.

you sit on the couch with a couple aunts as one plays a piano. to your left, kai talks to one of his nephews, no older than six, and your heart warms at the sight.

one of his aunts enters and comments he's next to have kids, then looks at you.

the two of you erupt into your "coworkers, not dating" spiel, and she scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "could've fooled me."

neither of you look at each other after that for a moment. you turn back to the conversation you were in, but his nephew runs off, leaving him alone.

kai watches you talk to his family. all those buried feelings rise to the surface and his throat dries. he takes a second look at how beautiful you are. your smile, despite however tired you must feel, respectfully never falters. your small fingers grasp your cup, once filled with a festive party drink, now with coffee as the end of the night draws near. your dress fits your frame perfectly, and your heels match the exact shade of your dress.

several members of his family catch him staring. his nephew whispers something about love in his ear. he hushes the child quickly, but his tinted cheeks give him away.

kai isn't the only one caught staring, though. his mother watched you visibly sigh at the sight of him with his nephew, a smile tugging on your lips. his father saw the way you relaxed when he brought you away to the kitchen, checking on you a second time. his cousin heard the stutter when you told him kai was just your boss and that there was nothing going on between you two.

when the party isn't filled with talking and laughter, the silence is filled with lingering stares. bated breaths and twinkling eyes. the urge to cross the line between a boss and his assistant.

you disappear for a couple minutes to help his mother clean up after the party. kai talks with his father about "business" but you wonder if that's really the topic.

his mother is nosy, but polite about it. she asks about work and asks if he treats you well on the clock. you reply that he certainly does, and that you're grateful to have a boss that cares about you like he does.

she then double-checks that you're not really dating, and doesn't miss the cloud of sadness in your eyes when you insist that you are not.

she then tells you he's been single for a while because trust doesn't come easy to him. she mentions the blueness of his eyes. how it's been a bright, baby blue all night; a stark contrast to the gray tinted blue she's grown used to seeing. she doesn't elaborate the reasoning, but you don't need her to to know what she's hinting.

by the time you leave the party, most of his relatives have grown comfortable enough with you to hug. the six-feet apart one gives a wave. his mother's hug is the tightest; his father gives a firm handshake, but then draws you in for his own hug. his nieces and nephews attach to your legs and make you promise to see them again. you agree, not wanting to break their little hearts.

it's dark by the time you begin to drive home, and it has been for a while.

kai wants to hold your hand in the center console. he refrains. you rest your elbow there, hands close, but not touching.

you rehash the night, speaking highly of his family. he checks up on you a third time to make sure you're not overwhelmed, but to your own surprise, you feel okay. happy, even.

he apologizes for anything his aunts or mother might've said, but you promise every conversation was good.

eventually, the mention of the various comments came up. a count of how many times you had to tell people you were just friends, co-workers, and not dating. you share a laugh over it, but the walls are down already. whatever feelings had been buried have now resurfaced. kai internally curses himself, afraid of your reaction.

your mouth opens to say something, and his throat goes dry again. his heart would break if you are uncomfortable by it all.

"thanks for the invite, but i think i should transfer," he fears, "we shouldn't work together any more".

instead, you turn to him. "thank you for the invite. i had a good time."

"thank you for accompanying me."

it's silent for the last couple minutes, then he walks you to the door of your apartment. he stands outside, forcing words out of his throat while you stand in front of him, bathed in the gorgeous warm glow of your porch light.

"thank you again. i'm glad my mother didn't scare you off. it would've been so boring without you. see you at work."

you nod, "see you at work," but then as he turns to leave, you can't bear to let him go. you reach out to grab his coat and he turns. you make up an excuse about his scarf not being straight, though that doesn't really matter, and in the next second, you pull on it gently to bring him closer to you.

his eyes dart down to the grip on the wool between your fingers, and then to your face. you wear an expression equal of shyness and determination. he translates it into the consent he needs to cup your face in his hands and press his lips to yours.

warmth travels throughout both your bodies immediately. the kiss deepens to you pulling his coat closer, his steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. he kicks your door shut and your hands bury into his hair.

kai's hands start to feel your body, but then he breaks it off. he doesn't want you to think he's only wanting you sexually. he wants something real. he's wanted it for ages.

he admits this. you shyly, admit you feel the same.

but while sex is put on pause, kai locks his car and you invite him in. you share a glass of wine and spend the night talking, growing closer.

the next day at work, it's hard to hide your blushing faces and giddy attitudes. all of your co-workers know immediately, but they also saw it coming for a long time. a couple congratulate you, some ignore the lovesickness like it's a disease, but no one makes a fuss.

maybe kai will be the next in his family to have kids after all. you're certain you've found something good with him, and you're determined to keep it.

now, onto a different path where i could take this idea… get ready, because this is a complete 180 degrees from the previous little bit.

ceo kai with a respectful yet confident assistant.

something is definitely brewing between these two. there are feelings to be felt. …even if neither of you recognize them yet.

kai is incredibly protective over you. you are his assistant, and if anyone needs your help, they must ask him first.

he doesn't want you being overworked or taken advantage of.

you also defend him when co-workers talk shit.

"i don't know why boss is making us do this stupid shit," someone complained once, "it's not like it matters, it's extra work."

"it's in your best interest to complete the task assigned to you. it'll make your job ten times easier when quarterlies roll around."

the coworker rolls her eyes, but kai, who could hear from his open-door office, smiles to himself. he's glad you see the tasks he assigns have purpose, and is grateful for you to try and help others to see that.

there are rumors going around that you sleep together, but he shuts them down immediately.

it's not even on your minds to have a relationship outside of work.

until that one night where he asked you to stay late to help him finish something.

you had seemingly hundreds of paper stacks to grow through, and he was on phone call after phone call.

he ordered food at some point for the two of you, wanting to take care of you since he was needing your help.

you're always eager to help, and even though it's a lot of work, promise to help until the job is done.

when it happened, it was an accident. a complete and total accident.

kai had been watching you sort through papers for too long and didn't even notice he was growing hard until he had to shift.

you looked so beautiful from where he was sitting. hair, once neatly tied up in a bun, now messily falling around your face. your shirt sunk further down every time you stretched to grab something on the other side of the table, exposing your chest a little more each time. your heels were kicked off to the side, and one foot was tucked under your lap.

earlier, he had asked you to enter the room whenever his phone went off to come and take notes.

on your way in, you accidentally make eye contact with the bulge that formed underneath the table.

that phone call is a particularly difficult one to focus on.

after it, you try to shuffle out of the room to give him privacy, but he knows you know and asks you to stay so he can apologize.

he accidentally gives tmi and talks about how it's been so long, and being there with you, looking so beautiful, got him worked up.

instead of shying away, you offer to help rid him of the problem.

not a lot of words are spoken, but somehow you find yourself giving him a bj under the desk.

he's so focused on your doe eyes and the shape of your lips and the way your mouth feels on him. your hands grasp his length & squeeze with the perfect amount of pressure. you jerk off what you can't fit. a string of drool connects your lip to his cock when you pull off for just a moment to admire him. his hands dig in your hair and urge you on, but he doesn't push. never pushes.

quiet moans escape his lips between praises, but you ask him to be louder for you, craving to hear the sounds he's holding back.

getting him off earlier than he expected, and you swallow it before it can hit the floor and leave evidence.

he then pulls you up on the desk, welcomes a kiss, and then moves down to taste you.

feelings he held back & feelings you didn't know you had come bursting out of the floodgates, making for an emotional experience combined with pent-up sexual desire.

supports your back as you come down from your orgasmic high, and fucks you on the desk as soon as his refractory period is over.

has impressive sex drive and says he spent most of his early twenties studying to prove himself.

now reaps the rewards with not only a high-up position, but a perfect assistant.

no motivation for work afterwards. enjoy the rest of your takeout and then he makes sure you get home safely.

the next couple days are awkward until he finally requests you to his office to talk about it.

this talk includes feelings that you had time, by now, to mull over. you both share them and find you feel the same thing for each other.

decide to try a hand at a relationship, starting slowly and keeping it on the down low (minus HR).

grow more comfortable with it & it blossoms into something good & healthy for you both.

now, a handful of smutty office scenarios to shuffle through. i can certainly expand on any of these upon request ;) (or i might anyway)

fooling around after hours. him laying you down across the desk or over top of it. having you on his lap while he answers phone calls.

blowing him under the desk when he's trying to focus on an important call.

sending him dirty texts or nudes from the bathroom when you're both supposed to be working.

itching for your lunch break to come already so he can finally have his way with you.

maybe even being so bold to snap the blinds shut, slap a hand over your mouth, and take you during work hours bc you wouldn't stop teasing. your co-workers all know exactly what's happening, but have lost the will to care.

retrieving him coffee but accidentally spilling it in his lap & trying to dry it with a thin paper towel.

wearing short skirts or low tops on purpose for him.

accidentally sending him a nude that was meant for a tinder date & having to talk about it the next day.

brushing past him on your way back to your seat & getting a little too close - on purpose or on accident.

rubbing your foot on him under the desk whenever you sit across from him.

and that's all i have for now! i'm deeply considering making that holiday party a one-shot, maybe, or taking these other scenarios and expanding on them. i also have way more ideas for this topic but made myself stop because i'm pretty sure this response hit 3k words.