#knee four times just by falling down in my house (thrice) and at work (once)

[fingertipsmp3]

Like okay. I’m glad I’m my father’s daughter but also do I have to, on every level, be my father’s daughter

[bnhamixjuice-sfw]

ANON REQUEST: Hawks, Dabi and Aizawa: spot an ex he had a bad break up with, he sees her walking around struggling to hold on to a bag of groceries while pushing a stroller with a toddler in it that looks awful lot like them, and the he awkwardly confronts them when the bag falls out of her hands.

Tags: Manga Spoiler, Mention of cheating, Angst to Fluff.

Hawks

“I’m so sorry Dove, I didn’t mean to–”

“Didn’t mean what? to deny that I’m your girlfriend in front of the media ‘cause you had a job agreement with the commission not to reveal me! okay Keigo you’re doing this for what reason exactly? Hero Reputation? More women you can use to cheat behind my back again and expect me to forgive you? I–I don’t want this kind of life anymore!”, you wailed in pure anguish roughly wriggling your wrist away from his firm clutch.

He felt suffocated when he needed to let you go for all the things that he did to hurt you, holding back the urge to chase you outside when you frantically closed the door, not looking back anymore on him. Leaving the top pro hero falling on his knees, lonely between these four walls of his house.

After all this time he can’t forget you, longing to see your face everywhere he goes even on pro hero awarding events or his usual patrol work with Endeavor looking for you through the crowds, praying to see your smile again that he misses the most.

His life was crumbling apart without you, but luck was on his side today when he spotted you not too far from where he was signing autographs for his fans while stealing some glances. As always, you’re still beautiful standing there.

Trying to fix your grocery bags while clasping the baby-carriage’s handle. He hesitated at first to approach you thinking you’re probably waiting for your husband to pick you up and your child. And that’s when a tuft of yellow hair popped out.

“Mommy look it’s Hawks, Awtoglaph pweasee awtoglapph”, his excited pleas reached Hawks’ ears. pointing his fingers towards your ex-boyfriend who waved a hand on both of you.

Soon red feathers clumped together on the ground, preventing your bag to fall.

“Wow what do we have here, a kid full of energy today, so where do you want me to sign your autograph?”, stooping down beaming a smile with his eyes crinkling behind his yellow visor making your child gasp in awe.

He knew instantly that his suspicion was right seemingly looking at his own reflection with those golden honey orbs and black lines on those eyelids and small bump protruding behind the kid’s shirt, red feathers similar to his, messily cramped inside.

“Ke–Hawks here… ”, almost calling out his first name when you handed him a notebook and a pen.

Slightly feeling his gloved hand against your palm.

“Hawks look I hab wings too–”

“Honey we need to go home now or else you’ll miss your favorite show again, now say bye bye to Mr. Hawks”, you interrupted, sneaking a warning glare on him not to tell him anything before gently freeing your child’s wings out from his shirt’s makeshift holes.

“Little fledgling I guess your wings were moulting, so did your Daddy tell you about it”

“Hab no Dawdy but Oh you see… Mommy Lov’ Dawdy so much that she booboo cries” you were shock-stricken softly hushing your child out of embarassment.

“Well kid make sure to tell your Mommy not to cry okay cause Daddy loves her so much, yes don’t forget to tell that to her every day I–”, he stammered with his voice started cracking, overwhelming him with emotions too easily, swallowing the lump forming on his throat.

“Your father loves you too kid trust me, and surely there’s not a single day he’s not thinking of your Mommy, his only Dove–Ah I think I’m taking too much of your time Miss I-I’m so sorry”, halting it immediately, muffling a few sniffles before finally signing his signature.

Your heart began thumping so loud, not expecting him shamelessly grabbing your hand, burying you into a warm embrace in public.

“Wait Keigo stop this, everyone’s taking so many pictures of you”

“No I don’t care anymore, listen Dove I’m so sorry and I still love you, come back to me please I promise I won’t hurt you again, I’ll do better this time just let me make up for it, and for our son”

You can’t blame yourself for giving in, accepting him wholeheartedly knowing this is what you promised to him once.

To never let your future child experience the same heartache he suffered from his past.

Dabi

He regret those cruel words that came out from his mouth the first time he was too fed up of your constant admonishment of putting a rest on his revenge against his family forever since you cannot bear to see him exhausting his body anymore, starting this heated discourse again between you.

“You always bring this up y/n every single day and it’s too annoying already, why are you siding on Enji too much Babydoll… come on just say it you really want us to have a perfect family, so cool to have a child with this debilitating quirk too right?”

Sucking your inner lips anxiously avoiding to tell him something about that last one, you felt his grip on your sholders constricting furiously waiting for you to answer him back, but your tears spilling from those precious eyes made his stomach churn in guilt realizing what he had done when you began screaming on his face that everything’s over, shoving him away and locking the door of your house shut.

He knew how much of a dick he was, the worst break up that’s been haunting him everyday with your terrified face forever etched on his mind

It’s been a long time since the last time he saw you after you moved from your old house and he cannot find you everywhere until today.

He saw you pushing a stroller on the side of the road and having a hard time balancing the bag of groceries on your other hand.

Perhaps you found someone better than him and additionally having a child; a normal child considering he’s not the father. that’s what he thought until something caught his attention.

Squinting his eyes, he was slack-jawed to find a familiar cerulean orbs and red hair on that young boy giddily calling you Mommy.

He took this rare chance of talking to you again by catching your bag of groceries that you clumsily dropped, your eyes met recognizing your ex-boyfriend instantly when he removed his mask. piercing eyes gazing down below observing your child’s similar features.

“Babydoll why didn’t you tell me about him, our son?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Dabi and refrain from calling me that nickname anymore, also stay away from MY son before I call the police”

You breathed heavily snatching back your grocery bag from his grasp, clutching the stroller’s handle in pure anger.

“Daddy you meanie, go home”, tugging his pants with those tiny hands.

It hurts you to see your own child begging for his father to go home, when you can’t even tell him how you often show his own picture to your child that’s why he recognized his own father easily, keeping him close to his heart and memory forever.

You can’t hate your only child’s father.

He was expecting him to cry on his intimidating face when he bent his knees down to look at his child closely, ignoring your earlier threat by patting his son’s head seemingly accepting this foreign fatherly instinct.

“Kid look I’m obviously a bad guy, I don’t want you to get in trouble so maybe next time when your Mommy allows me, don’t worry I’ll probably see you again next time pepperoni haired kid”, chuckling when he saw his son’s childish pout, letting him pinch his stapled cheeks annoyed at his nickname.

“Y/n this is goodbye then”, flashing you that thin smile noticing his lips quivering a bit as he stood.

Shoving both of his hands inside his pockets before turning around to walk slowly away from both of you ignoring your child’s tantrum cries calling for him to go back.

“Ssh… sweetie don’t cry okay–Wait Touya!”

He stopped on his tracks when you yelled his real name again, like how you used to call him that before out of endearment.

“We’re going to stay here from now on so same address, the usual okay knock thrice and use our anniversary day on pressing the doorbell and don’t forget our password, listen I’m doing this for our child only so you better show up tonight or I won’t ever give you a chance”

He disappeared quickly after that, and tonight he never failed to show up incessantly ringing the doorbell many times even greeting you that typical password; a kiss.

A yearning kiss, hands intertwining the moment you opened your heart once again.

Aizawa

“Shouta you keep missing my calls these past few weeks when I needed you the most, you barely have enough time to visit me when I was sick the whole week and now you’re late, fine I don’t wanna hear your excuses anymore”

Those bitter words pierced him like thorns, seeing you slip out that engagement ring from your finger and placing it on a table whispering those bitter words he doesn’t want to hear from you.

“It’s better if we end this relationship now before we regret something, I–I can’t imagine my future being married with you or even having a child with you who pathetically seek for time and attention from his workaholic father, sorry Shouta”, you covered your mouth trying to bite back your tongue from spilling about your unborn child.

Running outside the restaurant leaving him heartbroken that he can’t further speak out his words anymore because everything that you just told him was painfully true.

He doesn’t deserve you, blaming himself for not appreciating you enough despite of your effort of enduring the hardships of having a pro hero fiance who often risk his life for his students. A man who can’t even spend a time to take care of you.

Nevertheless, he wanted to mend back those strings that binds you to his heart, always pouring out his loneliness on visiting that Cat Cafe on his day off every week reminding him of memories you two share.

You often take him there to spend a date knowing he’s fond of cats and snapping lots of photos of him every time he ends up sleeping on the corner with cats huddling close to his face nearly suffocating him.

Keeping your engagement ring to him all the time was the only thing that calms him down whenever he’s in dire situation on his job, thinking how much he wish to meet you here again.

Unbelievably seeing you again one time, rubbing his weary eyes once and twice to know if it’s truly you. Indeed, he can’t forget that familiar caring smile of his beloved, finding you outside the cat cafe currently having a problem of organizing your bag of groceries.

“Mawmmy, neko pweasee I wanna touch it!”, your daughter began whinning clapping his hands to get your attention.

He can’t believe his own eyes when your child resembles him too much with that obsidian dull eyes and sleek black hair minus for that pigtail hairstyle but that scowl seems a carbon copy of his own.

“Wait Baby I–”

“I think you need help Y/n”

You were flabbergasted to find your ex-fiance taking a hold of your bag of groceries with his whip that was about to hit the ground and voluntarily offering his Neko tote bag for you which you persuaded him not to.

“Mawmmy pwease I want that too, Neko”, her tiny hands reaching out determined to get it no matter what.

“Baby no–”

“Well your daughter love cats so much, you can give this to her, please just a friendly gift”, taking out something from his pocket leaning down a bit to his side to rummage on that keychain, letting you see his necklace around his neck with that old engagement ring of yours dangling.

“Found it, here kid I’m not sure if you’ll like this”

“Aww Mawmmy have that too um…right Mawmmy, so no thanks Mister”

There’s no way you were married that’s what Shouta suspected when he saw you not wearing any ring, and obviously that cat keychain was closely similar to his anniversary keychain that you two bought for each other.

“Y/n I can drive you two back to your house if its okay–”

“Mawmmy please say yes”

You sighed in defeat not having a choice in the first place and also giving freedom to your child to spend time with her father who doesn’t know about this.

His car was still the same, sitting beside him and your child now sleeping behind after getting so tired ogling on his car’s cat accesories.

You chuckled upon seeing your daughter’s face on the mirror messily drooling, leaning slightly on your side to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“Darling is she our daughter”

“Eyes on the road Shouta, and yes so what will you do about it. Do you expect me to ask for any financial support from you oh maybe spending your precious time for our daughter that I can’t even get from you years ago”, you sarcastically uttered, stabbing him rudely with those truthful words he was unprepared to hear from you.

“I understand if you’re still mad at me y/n, but I just want you to let you know that I want to set things right first before asking you to forgive me. Because I don’t want to miss this opportunity again to tell you how much I wanted to talk to you or maybe to see you in your white wedding dress”

You can’t resist how determined he was to get close to you again, feeling his hand slowly making its way on you.

Giving back that engagement ring to whom it truly belongs, and that was you, a dream he wanted to come true despite it being too impossible.

Turning your head away to wipe your own tears, proposing for the second time that you have been waiting to hear from him all along.

“She’s your daughter Shouta and don’t you dare make her cry of I’ll scratch your face harder than what your cat does”

“That’s too kind of you, I mean my cat misses your deadly belly rub too, you named him Mr. Pickles right, well I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see his Mom again and his new sibling soon”,

You both exchanged soft giggling catching up on one another by starting the conversation about your lives and so on and so forth, and apparently your child was eavesdropping on both of you.

Your daughter muffled a “Pro hero mission success” after accomplishing her goal, peeking a bit to see you wearing that shiny ring.

She knew it the first time she saw that stranger recognizing him from one of the picture you often place under your pillow, her daddy.

Well she did inherit Shouta’s intellectual skills after all.

Do not repost this fic/headcanon.

Disclaimer: I don't own My hero academia nor its characters and plot.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [epilogue]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, ptsd, swearing

Word count: 4k

A/N: annnnd we’re done :)) thank you to my resident bully @midnightsunfae for really getting this fic off the ground and helping with the planning. ily upo and thank you to everyone who’s read this series over the 5 months it’s been going on. it’s meant the absolute world to me :’)

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, an indicator of the nervousness that was building to a crescendo in your chest.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, hand placed gently on your forearm.

You nodded, eyes downcast. If you looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to find it in yourself to follow through with it.

“I am,” you said quietly, swallowing to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“Okay,” he confirmed, letting his arm drop gently.

Ten minutes to go. You took a sip of water nervously. The glass had already found itself shifting back and forth on the table in search of the perfect place. It was a fruitless quest anyway.

The door was painted a dark green, steps leading up to it from the pavement.

“Are you sure he won’t mind?” you asked quietly, standing a stair below him in apprehension. Neither of you had contacted him or sent a message, just showed up at his place exhausted and covered in a thin layer of dirt.

“I know he won’t.” Sam raised his fist to knock thrice, a pause before knocking two more times.

A code.

He turned around slightly, checking to see if you were fine. The longer you stood out there, the more afraid you were of someone spotting the both of you, putting an end to your life before it even began. You had a feeling that paranoia would continue for a long time.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man with blonde hair leaning against the doorway with one arm. There was a nick above his eyebrow, an old scar that hadn’t faded over time. Even though his other hand was concealed behind the door, you could tell that he was holding something by the way his muscles were clenched. Years of training wouldn’t disappear overnight.

"Sam." Surprise overtook his face in a second. "You're alive."

"Don't sound so happy, I can't handle it." Sam rolled his eyes, an affectionate smile on his face. "This is Y/N, we need a place to stay."

“It’s just been a while since I heard from you, man. Coming from a hit?” Riley didn’t think twice about moving aside, scrutinising dried blood on your person as you walk past. “Nice to meet you, I’m Riley.”

It was a cane in his hand. Sam’s mention of his limp flashed in your mind.

You gave him a small wave and a quiet re-introduction of yourself, following Sam into the house.

“You could say that.” Sam paused, a hand on Riley’s shoulder as he says something out of your ear shot to him.

Riley’s face turned stoic immediately, a nod of his head and a deep exhale soon following. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” You pressed your lips together in a straight line with a corner quirked upwards, a half smile of sorts.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, to the right.” He pointed out the direction. “I’m getting you some food. Gumbo still your thing, Wilson?”

“Anything other than peanut butter.”

Riley was a blessing you could have never prepared for; knowing exactly what you both would need and anticipating emotions you had no idea you’d be feeling. For someone who had guests show up completely uninvited to crash on his couch, he was ready as ever, given that he had been through the same thing a while ago.

It was difficult. Fuck that, it was one of the hardest things to go; not pretending like everything around you would fall into soon and that you would be fine because you had to. You had worked too damn hard for you not to be.

But you knew things weren’t going to be fine right off the bat and it would be foolish to think it was.

“Sam, look at me,” you commanded gently, but there was an edge of firmness to your tone. You were sitting on the bench near the entrance of the park.

“I’m sorry, things were going good and I thought-” He shook his face that was hiding in his palm, elbows resting on his knees.

His attacks didn’t come nearly as frequently as yours. It was easy to think that he had no trauma just because he learnt how to deal with it better.

“Look at me, Sammy.” It was just a walk in the park, a stroll that should have lasted twenty minutes tops. You had been on that trail before for the same purpose but something triggered him today, someone’s gaze who lingered too long on the both of you.

He clenched his fists, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Breathe with me.” You exaggerated the movements to have him follow, a system the both of you had come up with when anxiety attacks used to hit at random. A temporary solution to an aftermath that would go on for hours, days even.

It took him a few staggered breaths to get there, finally falling into routine with you. He could feel his heartbeat slow to what it was but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t subside for a while.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” you reassured, still making sure he was breathing with you. You were nervous too and your eyes were still darting about to survey your surroundings, but he needed you at that moment. “We’re safe. We’re okay.”

“No one’s here,” he mumbles, interlacing your fingers and bringing it to his forehead to lean against your hand.

“We’re okay,” you repeated, giving him the space he needed. “We’re okay.”

“Will someone be joining you?” The waiter prodded softly. If it wasn’t your incessant tapping at the table, the clammy palms and constant checking of your watch was a clear giveaway that you could use a bit of kindness that day.

“Yeah, any minute now.” You smiled at her. She simply nodded, refilling your glass of water before leaving you alone.

You looked at your watch and sighed.

Seven minutes.

Things were fine. Things were good.

Sam and you were… undefined. Labels almost seemed too constrictive for now and it wasn’t like the both of you didn’t know what the other felt. It was kind. It was soft. Sometimes you kissed his cheek when the sunlight bounced off his face while he watered the succulents and the smile he gave you was addictive. Other times he snaked an arm around your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder while you watched the street from the kitchen window.

It made you happy, and so you tried to force away the stem of doubt that creeped into your heart.

Riley had introduced the concept of movie nights and the occasional mob movie would make it in there just to poke fun at. He showed you around the city, inviting you to go grocery shopping with him at the farmers market, the best places to get a glimpse of the music scene or to subtly point out potential date night spots.

He was a genuinely nice guy, and if you thought Sam was fun to hang out with, you were not prepared for the both of them together. You could tell why Sam adored him.

“Y/N, I don’t know how you stayed with him for all that time and didn’t murder him in his sleep.” Riley glared at Sam who had once again left his collection of music CDs strewn around on a couch. It was all in jest; it was well known that Sam found an anchor in music that kept him up late at night for a sense of calm.

“It was a close call sometimes,” you added playfully, giving Sam a grin.

“You weren’t exactly easy to survive with either.” He scoffed. “How many times did we watch Megamind in a row? Eight?”

“You wouldn’t stop watching Die Hard,” you accused, arms crossed over your chest. “It was payback.”

“You made the rule saying we couldn’t watch things more than twice in a row and you broke it first.”

“I’m gonna go,” Riley interjected. “But y’all keep at this. I heard it’s good for your soul.”

“Stay there,” Sam demanded, pointing to where he was standing a second ago. “You’re gonna be play judge since you started this shit.”

“I really don’t want to.” He shook his head, staying put nonetheless, amusement clear as day on his face.

“The laundry.”

“The dishes.”

You both narrowed your eyes at each other. His argument didn’t hold a match to yours.

“You know what, I was wrong,” Riley announced to no one in particular. “I’m pretty sure you guys would kill each other under any other circumstance.”

The smile on your face faltered but you straightened it back out with a clearing of your throat before firing a comeback.

It was barely a second, almost unnoticeable. But Sam caught it.

Four minutes.

Almost time.

The tapping became more intense, and the rate at which you pulled out your phone to check the time increased.

Fuck, this was a bad idea. How were you supposed to behave with him after all this time?

Something was wrong. Something was off.

Sam wasn’t blind to it. He could see it under the smile you eased into at game night, the complaining when too much food was ordered for three people to eat, the good natured teasing when he rolled over to your side of the bed at night to steal your blanket.

Something was eating at you, gnawing at you from the inside.

His suspicion was confirmed when you whispered at 2am one night to what you thought was an asleep partner that you wanted to move out. Find a place of your own.

His stomach dropped instantly but he didn’t so much as move a muscle.

“I need to get out. I need to have a life,” you sniffed, doing your best not to wake him up as you traced circles into his skin lightly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be independent. I won’t know unless I figure it out myself.”

The air had a chill to it and it was one of the times you had asked him to sleep in the guest bedroom with you instead of on his own, knowing that it was one of those nights where you could use a little extra warmth.

“Even when we were in there I couldn’t stop thinking about whether this thing between us was just because we were forced to stay together. You said it wasn’t, and I know that but I can’t help but think-” Your voice cracked. “Would you come back to me if things were different?”

He didn’t answer, even though he knew what he wanted to say with all the certainty in the world. Your fingers continued to draw on his skin. He continued to let you.

Sam didn’t even bring up the conversation that morning, or that week. Instead, he held you a bit closer whenever he could and gave you the space to hopefully open up to him on your own time, letting you know that he’d be there to listen.

It took a while. You both were in the middle of watching a movie that wasn’t Die Hard when you told him that you needed to talk to him about something. The hesitancy in your voice and the fixation your fingers had with the hem of your sweater was painful to witness.

He understood, of course. He always did. That you needed to experience what it was like to live, not survive. That decades of living with other kids, living under an abuser, living in a safehouse for months, was restrictive and suffocating and you needed to find what made you happy.

And so did he. It was something both of you had to do eventually, exit the bubble you had been staying in under such ardent protection for those two months.

Riley was wonderfully supportive of it, vowing to find you the best apartment that New Orleans had to offer. You didn’t doubt it.

His place had been colourful and bright and everything you could have asked for after the monotone walls you were used to. But it wasn’t yours.

A few weeks later you had moved out. Sam left a lingering kiss on your forehead, a sign to say that he’d be here whenever, whatever.

You made a Shakira joke. He laughed.

A completely fresh new start. If you failed now, it was all on you.

And what a terrifying thought that was.

It had been four months since you had left Riley’s apartment behind.

Four months since you had seen either of them.

The cafe was starting to feel too small for this event. Too intimate, too-

When the bell above the cafe chimes, something at the back of your mind instantly wakes up, sending you on high alert.

“Y/N?” he called out from behind you.

You knew he’d be early.

“Sam.” You breathed out, standing up to face him.

Video calls didn’t do him any justice. He had a particular glow to him, an aura of confidence that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. His beard was neatly trimmed and the smile that tugged at his lips the minute you caught his eye was beautiful.

You didn’t realise how different he looked until the time apart. Months of makeshift workouts and peanut butter as your only source of protein had done a number on him. You remembered him being leaner, and what you now realised was the constant burden of fatigue on his face.

“You look good.” An understatement escaped you, but he did.

He had a deep blue shirt on that hugged him in all the right places. Months of seeing him only black and grey had you damn near drooling when he wore other colours after you got out.

Not that you were staring, but his biceps had definitely made a wonderful return.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Sam sent you a smile that instantly put you at ease. “Independence looks good on you, sweetheart.”

You gave a small laugh, gesturing for him to take a seat. Should you have hugged him? Shook his hand? Kissed hi-

“It’s been a while,” he politely interrupted your overthinking. “How are things going?”

You let out a small breath. It was a big question, one that you had answered over text and call a few times but it was different now. He was in front of you now and you couldn’t bullshit the way you used to on call occasionally.

“Weird,” you admitted. “I don’t know what to do with myself now that I have all this time.”

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” He nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair.

A lot of your time went into trying new hobbies. Knitting, pottery, drawing- anything that you could get your hands on. Things didn’t always catch on, some discarded just after the first week. Others stuck, bringing you bits of triumph every time you moved forward with your newfound skill.

“You still seein’ your therapist?” He flashed a smile at the waitress who filled his glass of water.

Ah, yes. Dr. Bishop had been one of the first people you sought out.

“Yeah.” You took a sip of water. “See her weekly.”

You still had money left over from all the hit jobs that you had done. As much as you wanted to leave every inkling of that life behind, you needed the cash to live. You had enough for the time being, but you knew that eventually you had to start working; if not for the money then for the peace of mind.

“How’s that goin’?”

“She thinks I talk in elaborate metaphors. The gang’s what I call my toxic family, he was my abusive father, stuff like that.”

There were moments where you thought you saw someone you knew standing at a corner, vendors giving you icy looks from across the street, footsteps outside your door that seemed too damn loud. But nothing ever came of it.

“Thanks for the tip, by the way.” You extended a smile to him in appreciation for the idea.

“Worked with my therapist, figured it would be the same with yours.” He shrugged casually. It wasn’t like you wanted to lie to her, and you weren’t. But some things were better left in the dark.

“But I think it’s helping.” You exhaled deeply, eyes downcast. “The nightmares are reducing.”

“That’s a lot of progress.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward in pride.

Several feelings erupted from that look, some that you’d spend the whole day revelling in if you didn’t force yourself to move on.

“How about you?” you diverted the subject back to him. “How’s Riley?”

“He says he misses ya.” Sam laughed. “Says he can’t handle me alone, that he needs you back to save him.”

“What have you been doing to that poor man?” you teased, easing back into your seat. “He was fine when I left him.”

“He’s got a fancy new job now and it’s been going to his head. Needed a little humbling.”

“You’re not going too hard on him, are you?” Even though you knew he wasn’t, it was fun to make sure.

“Nah, I’d say it’s just about the right amount.” Sam grinned and you felt the familiar flutter return to your stomach. “I’ve been doing good. Working on getting my license.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?” You were thrilled when he said he was going to look into becoming a youth counselor, knowing that it was something he had been genuinely wanting to do for ages.

“With my background, or lack of it, it’s a little trickier than I thought it would be,” he divulges a bit more seriously. “Riley’s been pulling a few strings and I got a few contacts but it’s gonna take some more time.”

You bit your lip, worry rising for him. He deserved it, he earned it. It fucking sucked that it wasn’t going to be an easy, direct path.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said quietly, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his in reassurance.

The contact brings with it a small spark. You wondered if he still felt it.

“Yeah. We will.” He sent you a soft smile at your action, not making any effort to move it. “You been on any dates lately?”

You let out a snort at that. “Loads. Have fellas lining up at every corner for me.”

“I bet.” He’s more bold, a bit more open than he was in the first month when you both got out. “How many of them do I have to fight off?”

“I’d say six as a rough estimate.” Your expression mimicked one of consideration. “I hope you’ve been getting your hours in at the gym.”

“I’ll kick it up a notch,” he promised, hands raised in surrender.

“You better. We’re supposed to go for laser-tag.” A dumb callback to a joke he made on one of your last days there.

“Or paintball.” He remembered. It made you unnecessarily giddy. “I added an escape room to the list too.”

“Hilarious,” you fired at him, rolling your eyes slightly but the happiness on your face proved otherwise.

His laughter died down eventually, paving the way for the comfortable silence that lingered between you both. Your eyes fell down to where your hand still held his, biting your lip to conceal a smile.

“Y/N,” he called out, pulling your gaze back to his. “Jokes aside… how are you?”

You let out a breath at his question. You knew it was coming.

“Riley found me an apartment,” you murmured.

Sam looked up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“It’s a nice place. Lots of sunlight. Quiet too.” You toyed with your fingers. “But it’s about an hour away. More if you consider traffic.”

Sam set his phone down gently on the bedside table, indicating that you had his full attention.

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you, because I’m not. I wouldn’t, I just-”

“Hey,” he interrupted calmly, twisting his body to face you. “I don’t think you’re abandoning me. If this is what you need, then you should do it.”

“I don’t know if this is what I need. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never been-” the frustration in your voice only increased as you went on. “-I don’t even know if this is going to work. What if I hate it?”

“Finding out what you hate is just as important as what you like, I think.” He watched you toy with the fidget square he had gotten you. “And you know that if you don’t feel like it, then you can come back here at any moment.”

“I know.” It was a comforting thought. A safety net.

“But would this make you happy?” That caught you by surprise.

It wasn’t something you had thought of. You thought of the negative consequences, the devastating effects it could have on you, how it could be the worst possible decision you’d ever make.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, a new anxiety setting in. “I guess we’ll see.”

You liked the neighbours who played the piano way too loud at 2am, the really terrible coffee at the therapist’s office and the feeling the paper plane on your dresser gave you when you occasionally looked at it.

You didn’t like how hot the apartment could get, especially during the afternoon, or the guy who sold magazines down the street who cursed at everyone for no reason, or the gentrified Indian food they served at the mall.

But Sam was right. Figuring out what you didn’t like was just as beautiful a journey as figuring out what you did.

“I’m happy.” You breathed out. “Or I'm working towards being happy. But it’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Simply slipped his palm under yours to lift your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m proud of you.”

If anyone could feel the heat that rose to your face they would probably think you had a fever.

The fear that you had, the one of what things would be like if you weren’t forced to survive in a confined space together, had begun to fade the minute he called out your name that day.

It was Sam. Your Sam.

You shake yourself out of your train of thought with a small smile, making a move to gather up your belongings without letting go of his hand for a second.

“Well, c’mon then. Those paintballs aren’t going to shoot themselves.”

“Are you saying this is a date?” There was a smirk on his face that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Would you still consider it one once I annihilate you?” You tilted your head in a challenge.

“That would never happen, first of all.” He scoffed. “Second… I was thinking that maybe we could do something normal for a change.”

That had you more interested than the prospect of adventure sports. You had enough of it for a lifetime, frankly speaking.

“Lead the way, Cinnamon.” He only rolled his eyes at the nickname, sending you a vaguely threatening look. You just laughed.

“This place got good coffee?” He looked around at the establishment and its patrons.

“One of the best.”

“Then I don’t see why we have to go anywhere else,” he offered and you nodded, relaxing back into your place with the same sense of warmth in your heart that only intensified with his proposal.

He raised his hand up to flag the server, the same girl who had been helping you out since you got there, asking for two menus.

The smile he sent her was infectious. It was good.

“Sam,” you began quietly. “I missed you.”

His eyes softened, the sunlight reflecting in it making it shine like dravite. “I missed you, too.”

“Ready to order?” The waitress stands beside you with a notepad.

He looked at you and you nodded with a smile.

Things were different. You were different.

And he still came back to you.

--fin--

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

thank you so much for reading!

[gohyuck]

pairing: fratboy!lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader

genre: angst/fluff/suggestive (explicit allusions to/mentions of sex)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fwb relationship, general asshattery on hyuck’s part, explicit mentions of and allusions to sex, slight dom!hyuck

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 no shame - eric nam

☀️ sex isn’t sex for you without donghyuck

“you’re late.” 

donghyuck’s tone is curt, clipped in a way that has no business within the four walls of a frat house, especially not during a thriving party. he has you cornered, one hand out on the wall beside you while his eyes run over your face. the other has a cup of some concoction dangling between his fingers, idle at his side. there’s a potted money plant on your left and a couple of boozed up party-goers mid-conversation to your right. 

“and you’re evidently very observant.” you respond, tone dripping sarcasm. you’ve been at the Nu Kappa Theta house for less than five minutes and donghyuck - haechan to the campus, hyuck to those who know and love him - already has his lips inches from your own. you can smell the jungle juice on his breath, and it mixes sweetly with the cedar and orange blossom of his cologne. 

it usually takes him at least ten minutes to get here. you consider yourself impressed.  

“no bullshit today.” he murmurs, inching closer. donghyuck moves his hand from the wall, instead choosing to trace along the side of your face before placing his fingertips under your chin. he grabs your face lightly, forcing you gently to look him directly in his eyes. you can’t help but shiver under his gaze. the corner of his mouth quirks up at seeing this, and you realize that donghyuck - a stereotypical class clown if you’ve ever met one - is dead serious. he doesn’t want to play, not tonight. 

you let your cockiness, your proud facade drop as you nod against his hand.

“okay,” you whisper, feeling small for the moment. “yeah, okay.”

donghyuck wastes no time in stepping back from you, his hand dropping to grasp one of yours. as he pulls you through the throng of partiers, he nimbly places his red solo cup on top of a counter, nodding to a nearby brother - jaemin, if you remember correctly - as he does so. you watch the blue-haired boy throw you and donghyuck a wolfish grin, and you can’t help the blush that rises to your face. you wonder what jaemin’s grinning about.

donghyuck doesn’t give you much time to ponder this as he drags you up the house’s main staircase quite swiftly, pulling you into his bedroom before caging you up against his wall. you lean forward, eager to meet his mouth with your own, but he pulls back before you can. the smirk he gives you infuriates you even more. 

“you’re the worst-” you start, only for donghyuck to place his hand against the bottom of your throat, not pressing just yet. he pushes you back, flush against the door, before leaning in, reveling in how your breath audibly hitches once his face is right against yours, dark eyes roving your features. 

“if you were good you wouldn’t say shit like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. he gives you no time to respond, surging forward and taking your lips for himself as he makes quick work of unbuttoning your jeans. you do the same with his shirt - silk, and far too expensive for a college party that’s likely to end in his clothes getting unidentifiable stains - though you’re far more careful with his clothes than he is with yours. he looks even cockier than before when he removes his mouth from your neck for air, and you’re sure it’s because you already look fucked out for him. he lets out a dry chuckle at how swollen your lips are and how unfocused your gaze is for the moment. 

“i want you to be good for me, and i thought we agreed on no bullshit tonight, hm?”

“yes,” you say, words coming out in a whisper from the depths of your dry, now-scratchy throat. your swallow is audible. 

“yes?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. your heartbeat stutters as you realize what you’ve forgotten, rushing as you hurry to rectify your mistake.

“yes, donghyuck.” you correct yourself, happy to receive a pleased nod from the man in front of you in response. you aren’t allowed to call him haechan, and you most certainly aren’t allowed to call him hyuck. he offers you no reasoning, and even though it stings you, cuts open your heart just slightly, you never ask.

“on your knees, darling. i’m not drunk enough to deny myself a blowjob, and i promise i’ll get on my knees for you too, but i don’t think you’d enjoy fucking me tonight.”

you blink at him in surprise, and he moves his hand from your neck to cup your face. if you hesitate any longer, you know he’ll yank you onto the floor, forcing you to your knees. you know your safe words, after all, and he’s never pushed or pulled you wrongly. 

still, you need to make sure.

“donghyuck,” you start, and he softens slightly at your tone. you seem genuinely inquisitive, like you’re about to ask him something important instead of questioning him like a brat.

“hmm?”

“you’ve still had some things to drink and i barely had, like, a few sips of soju before you found me. are you- are you sure you want me to suck you off? i don’t want to... i don’t want to take advantage of you. that, and-” you interrupt yourself to glance down, only to glance but up at his eyes. “-you aren’t even hard yet. you said no bullshit, but i don’t think you meant it about sex. what’s wrong?”

“wh-” donghyuck looks almost affronted at your genuine line of questioning, his jaw clenching heavily as he looks at you. “when the fuck do we ever talk? if we aren’t going to do anything, we might as well go back out.” he emphasizes this by dropping his hand from your face, instead reaching to grab the doorknob of the door behind you. on impulse, you grab his wrist.

“we don’t,” you say, swallowing after you admit it. “we don’t ever talk and i- it’s obviously bothering you, whatever it is, and i think we need to talk it out. i’m not sucking your dick until we do.”

the pause after your words is... stifling, to say the least. you stare at him, searching his eyes for something, anything. he remains unreadable.

donghyuck’s shoulders stiffen for an imperceptible moment before relaxing entirely, and when he gently pushes you aside, you allow him to. you watch as he pulls the door open regardless, only letting his eyes find yours after.

“get out,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. “get out of my room, and it might be best if you just get out of the house.”

“donghyuck-”

“i’m serious.” he grits out, not meeting your eyes. the difference between the sultry, flirty donghyuck you’d had moments ago and the angry one in front of you now does not escape you. still, for the sake of the tears that are budding along your waterline, you clench you’re teeth together, not willing to let him have the last word.

“you have no fucking shame,” you manage to get out, glaring directly at him as you do. “you can fuck me but you can’t talk to me, huh? i’m just some whore for you to use and throw as you like? you don’t even let me call you fucking nicknames, and you think you have the right to be pissed at me for not doing you while you’re drunk? for caring about you? you make me fucking sick.” you spit out and storm out, not giving him the chance to react nor giving him a second glance, no matter how badly you want to hand him both.

as you rush down the stairs, not bothering to interact with anyone despite the ‘hey, (name)!’s and the ‘woah, slow down’s that you get, you can’t help but tell yourself that you’re done for good, this time. you’re doing sleeping around with donghyuck in the way you should’ve been done months ago. no amount of dick is good enough to keep around when the person attached to it keeps hurting you over, and over, and over. you’ve been mad at him before, but you usually let him fuck you roughly against a wall, bent over his desk, to get both yours and his frustrations out. 

still, even then and during all those times, you’ve known it. you’ve known that you’re falling for him, and you’ve known that it isn’t reciprocated. tonight’s made it glaringly obvious that he only sees you as holes to fill, and you absolutely refuse to be an object, no matter how much it hurts to leave. 

it’s only once you’re out of the NKT house that you realize your pants are still unbuttoned. the rage and embarrassment that engulf you as you tuck your shirt in properly and zip your jeans back up both have you pulling your phone out, typing, and hitting send before you even know what you’re doing.

the walk back to your place feels awful, but you hold your shoulders high. it isn’t a walk of shame, it’s a walk of relief.

at least, that’s what you tell your roommate, who inevitably questions you after seeing you walk in, slam the door shut, collapse on the couch, and whine for a bottle of straight vodka.

across campus, donghyuck is sitting on his bed, head in his hands, as he tries to tune out his thoughts by focusing on the pounding music he can still hear through his shut door. his phone lies face up and unlocked beside him, though the text that’s lighting up the screen is the very thing he’s doing is damnedest not to look at.

from (name) 😉: it’s over.

♕ ♕ ♕

you manage to go a full week without thinking about him.

it’s genuinely easier than you expect - he isn’t in any of your classes, and you don’t have any truly close friends in common, so you find that you don’t have any reason to see him. sure, you aren’t too thrilled about going from getting laid thrice a week to getting laid exactly 0 times in 7 days, but you'll be damned if you let good dick distract from how poorly you’d been treated by donghyuck. 

and god, is it some insanely good dick. 

still, you’re determined not to let it get to you, and for a short while, things work out in your favor. you’re busy with organization meetings, volunteering projects, classwork, and spending time with your friends. 

disaster strikes for the first time during an organic chemistry study group meeting on day 8. 

“(name)? (name)- earth to (name)? hello?”

“huh? wh- yes,” you blink rapidly, pulling yourself back into reality. something’s in your mouth - you realize belatedly that you’re chewing on the already-crushed end of your pen. the daydream you’d been having floods back to you, forcing heat to rise into your cheeks as your friends stare on, mild concern and confusion scrawled across all of their faces. 

it’s always been his hands. his fingers, his palms, the way he cups your cheek and the way he kneads at your thighs while they shake around his head. in the world inside your head, you’d practically been able to feel his fingers tracing your skin, hovering over where you needed him the most, giving you exactly what you’d needed. 

you might not see his face in your daydreams, but donghyuck’s hands will never be disembodied for you. they carry the weight of his words, the curve of his signature smirk, the sharp edges of his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. you shake your head, forcing yourself out of your reverie. 

your friends are still staring at you. at seeing just how flushed and disoriented you are, you practically see realization dawn simultaneously on each of them.

pity joins concern and confusion.

“(name), if it’s hyuck you can talk to us-”

the sound of his name - no, his nickname, the one you’ve always been forbidden from calling him - is what truly forces you back into the truth of the situations both in your heart and between your legs. your friends’ stares start to suffocate you, and you suddenly want nothing more than to be at home. 

“i have to go,” you interrupt soobin, standing up as you speak. they all watch, speechless, as you shovel your things into your backpack. “i just- i have to leave. i’ll see you guys later.” 

you rush back to your apartment, tossing your bag onto the couch before you lock the front door. you’re thankful to find that your roommate is still in class, or at a club meeting, or wherever. you aren’t quite sure. it doesn’t matter to you - you’re only really looking for one thing, the one thing that you hope will draw your mind off of your aches and your hurt. 

you almost cry when you find that your vibrator has no charge on it, and you really do cry when you find that your own fingers, your own hands aren’t enough anymore. it takes a long, long while of imagining that it’s donghyuck touching you, donghyuck who’s giving you the pleasure you deserve, before you can finally properly come after two whole weeks.

after that, it just keeps getting worse. 

♕ ♕ ♕

it’s day 11 when you catch sight of him across the dining hall. 

he doesn’t see you - you make sure of that when you walk back out immediately after having walked in. it isn’t a big loss - you’ll just go ahead and pay at a nearby foodtruck for once. you’ve been meaning to taste test from the new shawarma truck for a while anyways. 

still, the glimpse of him sitting, laughing at something one of his friends has said right before taking a bite of what you believe is a burrito haunts you. more specifically, the image of him nonchalantly licking sauce off his tan skin, swirling his tongue around his thumb and index fingers to make sure it’s all off, is immediately burned into the space behind your eyelids. 

even as you sit on a park bench, taking bites of your pita bread while intermittently scrolling through your phone, you can’t shove donghyuck out of your mind. his tongue terrorizes you, flashes of your past trysts with him running through your mind even as you’re determined to focus on your bread and your bread only. 

it doesn’t work. 

he might be godly with his fingers, but it isn’t as if his tongue isn’t skilled, either. donghyuck has stamina for days, and you attribute it to both youth and the fact that he’s in a frat. you assume sex is some kind of competition for the brothers, although you hope donghyuck doesn’t just see you - hadn’t just seen you - as a conquest, another tally mark. you don’t know if you’d put it past him, though.

after all, if there’s anything donghyuck hates, it’s losing. 

and he’d never lost with you. no matter how much you tried to gain control, tried to keep yourself from reacting in the ways he wanted just for the sake of being a brat, donghyuck always won. you can’t even count the number of times he’d eaten you out quickly, sloppily, smirking against your skin in a way that has your nerves on fire. he’d kissed you with everything he’d had, bruised your collarbone and laved his tongue over it like you were his lifeline. his mouth is just as heaven-sent as the rest of him. 

you find yourself squirming on the park bench, annoyingly familiar with the tightening in your stomach. donghyuck has a hold on your heart, yes, but you think you hate the hold he has on your underwear even more. 

that night, while you dream, you dream of his lips, his tongue. you dream of his smiles and his smirks, the way his mouth looks falling open as you run your own tongue over the head of his cock. you can’t get enough of him, even when you’re asleep. 

you wake up sweating. 

♕ ♕ ♕

your roommate wakes you up at 2 am on day 14 by loudly and angrily knocking on your bedroom door. before you can even open it, a shout of ‘don’t fuck too loudly’ hits your ears, and you hear the door of the other bedroom in your apartment slam shut. you’re barely out of bed when there’s even more knocking, though, this time, it’s far softer. 

“can i come in? can we talk?”

your breath hitches, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’re only wearing skimpy underwear and an oversized t-shirt. still, against the ongoing war inside your head, you find yourself turning your door handle and pulling it open. 

donghyuck, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a neon yellow shirt that’s definitely from some volunteering organization or the other, looks positively forlorn. even worse than than, he looks completely hopeful. you doubt he’s aware of this dichotomy as you step aside, letting him walk in before closing the door behind him. 

“before you - fuck, if you were even going to say anything, honestly - let me explain myself. let me explain myself, and then i’ll fuck off again, and we don’t - we don’t ever have to even see each other again, yeah?”

you’re still groggy, but just seeing him both saddens and enrages you. luckily for donghyuck, you’re far too tired to kick him out, so all you do is nod before gesturing for him to sit down on your bed. for your part, you settle down at your desk chair, pulling it so it’s near the foot of your bed. 

“i never had a problem with emotionless sex before i met you,” he starts out, and your mind is working at a mile a minute trying to process what he’s saying. donghyuck, lost in his own thoughts, doesn’t notice this, only forging ahead. 

“at first, i just thought you were a good fuck, i- i just figured we were having some fun, you know? but then i started... i started letting you stay nights, and you woke me up with breakfast that one time, and... and it just felt right, you know? i didn’t let you call me haechan because it felt too formal, and hyuck just doesn’t carry the weight your words have for me. that, and i was worried that if i let you call me the same thing everyone who loves me calls me, then it would be true, and it would be real.” he finally pauses in his ramblings, taking a deep breath at the end as if it’s the first one he’s taken in a while. donghyuck looks at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to talk or ask or do anything, but he finds that your mouth is just slightly open, your eyes wide as you try and puzzle together what he means. 

you’re lucky he’s feeling patient. his eyes light up slightly once you finally respond after what feels like eons. 

“... what would be real?”

donghyuck’s budding smile disappears as quickly as it had grown, and he suddenly can’t look at you. he busies himself in roving his eyes around your bedroom, swallowing before he can reply to your question. 

“the fact that i was falling for you. it wasn’t just sex, anymore. i- i wanted to... i want to cuddle with you, watch godawful movies with you, go iceskating and drink hot chocolate with you. i don’t just want to fuck you, i... as goddamn cheesy and sappy and awful as it sounds, i want to make love. the thing i was so worked up about that day was that i’d seen you laughing and talking with some other guy when you’d first gotten to the party, and it made me ache on the inside in ways i didn’t know i could. i might just be in love with you, and it freaked me out, so i hurt you. i’m sorry for it, but nothing’s changed other than the fact that i’m not afraid of my own feelings anymore.”

his declaration - his spiel - hits you in the heart, and you’re so stricken in the moment that it must show across your face. donghyuck’s eyes flit to yours, and whatever he sees in them must hurt him immensely, because he allows himself the saddest smile you’ve ever seen on anyone before he pushes himself off your bed. 

“i, uh, i know you don’t feel the same way. i just figured i should tell you,” he says, words coming out softer than he means for them to. the smile he gives you is gentle and kind, and you can feel your eyes start to well as he turns around to open your door. he doesn’t look back at you as he speaks again while pulling it open. 

“it was nice knowing you, (name). maybe we can be just friends one day.”

you can’t sit by anymore - your thoughts are done forming. without thinking, you lunge out of your chair, grasping onto donghyuck’s shirt. 

“i might be in love with you too, you absolute fucking idiot,” you gasp out once you’ve forced him to turn around and face you. “and i asked if you wanted to talk that night because i might love you. i asked because i care, and because i wanted to be more than just a fuckbuddy. god, we’re both stupid as hell.”

“you...” donghyuck manages to get out, his hands finding your waist automatically after he gently kicks your door closed. “you want to be more than what we are too?”

“yes!” you cry out, reaching up to cup his face. “yes. i mean, i miss getting laid, too, and i’ve been dreaming of you, i won’t lie, but yes, i want to hold your hand and go on coffee runs and make you my phone wallpaper and do other gross, couple-y shit with you. i have for a while. i’m still a little mad at how you handled that last night, but i- yes, i want you to be my boyfriend.”

“seriously? really? like really, seriously?” donghyuck asks, the situation at hand finally dawning on him. his eyes are alight with new fire, and as you nod vivaciously he can’t help but laugh and pull you into his chest. 

“then it’s settled,” he says, once you both finally pull apart. “we’ll go out and watch a movie or something tomorrow - or, i guess today - night. yeah?”

“yeah.” you agree, smiling genuinely at him. as you look into his eyes, you see them shift slowly from their soft gaze to having a slightly darker, harder edge. his fingers tighten against the cloth of your shirt, and you swallow under his hot stare. you’re guessing that he missed being inside of you just as much as you missed having him inside of you. 

“you also mentioned dreaming of me,” he mutters, leaning close to speak directly into your ear. you can’t help the shiver the runs through your body, and donghyuck doesn’t try to hide the low laugh he has at your expense. you don’t trust yourself to speak, not at 2 am while cornered by the one you love, so you just nod, your hair tickling the side of his face. 

“no bullshit tonight?” he asks, one hand already coming up to trace what’s showing of your collarbone. you whimper out a ‘yes’, and he walks you backwards until you’re forced to sit down on your bed, forced to stare up at him. 

he smiles down at you, and to your surprise, it isn’t hardened or full of command. it’s soft, and real, and you can tell that it’s meant just for you. you smile sweetly back up at him, and he runs a thumb over your cheekbone.

“show me what i did in your dream,” he finally says, sinking to the floor on his knees in front of you. you must look both incredulous and inquisitive, because he takes both of your hands in his, intertwining his fingers with yours before looking up at you. when he finally speaks again, your heart flutters, and you know that maybe, just maybe, the two of you will be alright. 

“show me what i did in your dream. tonight, it’s all about you.”

[nerd2614]

April’s Fall - Part 3

Ruffled Feathers

@write-it-motherfuckers​ Original prompt

Part One // Part Two // Part Four

The thoughts were swirling through your mind in time with the thudding of your quick footsteps along the dirt path. Even as you found it hard to breathe, you forced yourself to keep going. Fire coursed beneath your skin. Your breathing was laboured. The trees blurred past as you forced yourself forward. A metallic taste became apparent in your mouth. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears. The emotions you pushed down were threatening to spill over.

You didn’t stop running until the town started to disappear beyond the horizon. After that, you kept your pace quick as you could to escape the town and leave behind the confusion. You had too many questions. Why didn’t you remember getting to the inn? Why did you feel like you had left behind something important? Wh-

Your foot caught on a stray rock and you crashed to the ground. Your thoughts, like the breath in your lungs, were forcefully ejected from you. The trauma you couldn’t consciously remember from the night before finally caught up to you. That and the shock of falling made you burst into tears.

Angrily, you swiped at the tears and gently lifted up your skirts to survey the damage. 

“Not even a graze.” You whispered aloud to yourself, breaking into hysterical laughter. The tears resumed as you hugged your knees to your chest and started rocking gently. Back and forth, back and forth. Since you had met that stranger on the path your life had been turned upside down. You didn’t know who to trust. You didn’t know what to believe.

I’m okay. I’m fine. This is all just a nightmare. I’m fine.

A raven landed silently just out of arm’s reach and observed, its head cocked to the side. The handsome black bird made a soft noise to catch your attention. When it didn’t work, the regal creature hopped closer and made the noise again.

“Oh. Hi there, little one.” Your smile was as watery and thin as your voice. 

The raven obviously took that as an invitation. He fluttered over to stand next to you. Still making soft noises, he nudged you gently with his head. He allowed you to pet him but moved back as you went to pick him up.

He glided close to the treeline and looked back at you. Then came back and repeated the process thrice more.

“What’s in there? Do you want me to follow you?” You asked as you forced yourself to stand.

The raven responded with an urgent noise. He hopped closer to the edge of the path.

“I’m not meant to stray from the path.” You gently scolded him.You looked around for your satchel and noticed the contents had spilled. A sigh escaped your lips as you bent over to pack it.

The raven squawked a warning and you felt a wind woosh passed your head.You whirled around to see a large vulture-like creature attacking him. The raven valiantly tried to fight back but the larger bird was too strong.

“Leave him alone!” You shouted frantically. You looked for a stick or something to shoo off the bird but couldn’t see any. That’s when you saw the rock you had tripped over earlier. You pried it from the ground and lobbed it at the large bird, catching its leg.

The horrible vulture-like creature squawked and turned to eyeball you. With no regard for your own safety, you grabbed a handful dirt and dust from the trail and threw it in the bird’s eyes. You taunted and chased the bird until it flew over the tree tops and disappeared.

You dusted yourself off and made your way back to where your satchel and the raven should be. When you got there, the injured raven had disappeared. The only proof that he was there at all were the stray black feathers littered on the trail. You looked around but could see no other traces of the raven.

The bizarre thing was that when you went to finish packing your satchel, it was already done. You swung the pack onto your back and continued down the trail at a much slower pace. Everything was trying to work itself out in your mind. 

Nothing made sense anymore. 

You were still reeling from the lost memories last night and the mysterious marks on your wrists. Now with this latest incident with the birds, you were struggling to find the significance behind it. Why had the raven come up to you? Why had both of the birds seemed familiar?

The trail was much more quiet the closer you got to home. It was about mid-morning when you noticed a figure bustling down the path. As the figure drew closer, you recognised it as your grandmother. She stopped when she saw you and gestured for you to come to her.

“Where have you been?” Grandmother demanded shrilly.

“I - to town.” You frowned. Did she not remember?

She nodded, turned slowly and started back down the trail towards the house.

“Did you get my herbs?”

“I think so.” You had no memory of going to the little shop. You checked your satchel and saw the herbs so you must have gone in. “Yes, here they are.”

Your grandmother snatched them from you to put them in one of her cloak’s pockets. That drew your attention to her slight limp. Before you could ask about it, she questioned you about the library.

“Yes, I-” A crystal clear picture surfaced in your mind of you going into the library, meeting the new librarian who was kind enough to show you the books on sewing and leaving with a promise to come back soon. “I like the new librarian.”

It sounded more like a question than a statement. Your grandmother grinned knowingly.

“Of course you do, pumpkin. He’s quite the charmer.”

“Indeed.” You agreed absentmindedly. Your gut churned at thinking of the librarian; it made you sick. Something about the memory was wrong.

Grandmother kept muttering under her breath on the way to the house. You were able to make out a couple of words, but they sounded like they were from a different language. 

A light breeze rushed through the trail. It disturbed a bloodied raven’s feather from your Grandmother’s hair.

You froze.

“What is it?” Grandmother demanded roughly, not slowing her pace.

“N-nothing.” You shook your head and caught up to her. It must have been a coincidence.

The walk to the house took longer than usual with your grandmother’s slow, limping gait. The sky was painted with dark pinks and navy when the house came into view.

Your grandmother bustled off into her room. The sound of the door closing seemed to echo around the house. 

After what happened over the course of the day you didn’t have much of an appetite. Though you knew if you didn’t have something you would wake up hungry later. So you wandered into the kitchen and took a measly hunk of bread from the counter. You trudged up to your room feeling exhausted from the day’s events.The bread was soft to nibble on as you unpacked your satchel. As you pulled out the books to stack on the stand beside your bed, you couldn’t help but feel as though something were missing. You shrugged off the feeling and sunk down onto the end of the bed. 

With the bread now gone, you twirled the no-longer-white rose between your fingertips. Hues of orange and yellow blended with the crimson that leached through the petals. Now just the tips were the brilliant white it was originally. Though it had been many weeks since the stranger had first given you the rose, the stem was still a vibrant, healthy green. One of the thorns was stained brown by the residue of the prick it gave you this morning. 

It was still beautiful despite its sharp thorns though.

You raised the colourful flower to your nose, savouring the scent it still retained. It was not the smell of a normal rose, but of the whole forest. It was very soothing. It slowed down your thoughts until you felt a tugging at the back of your mind. The tugging grew stronger until you could feel it on your wrist as well.

I didn’t like that the new librarian had been so bold as to take me by the wrist to lead me down the stairs. He obviously thought I couldn’t do so myself. I tried pulling back but he was insistent. 

“I could have waited upstairs whilst you brought them up.”

“But there’s just too many books on history, April.” I didn’t recall telling him my name… but it is a small town.

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs. He unlocked it and only let go of my wrist once we were both inside a dim room. He closed the door with a click that sounded like a lock shutting. I shrugged it off and walked a few paces back. I landed gracelessly on the hard stone floor after tripping on something. 

The librarian switched on a blinding light. His footsteps echoed closer and I scooted backwards.

“Tutt, tutt, helpless one. I know she made you forget, so why are you scared of me?” He laughed. My back hit the wall. He grasped both my wrists and yanked me up to eye level. Whatever he whispered, I couldn’t hear as my world went dark.

My arms were cramping and incredibly sore. I felt chilled to the bone except for the flaming red heat coming from my wrists. I turned my hazy gaze upwards to see my arms wrapped in rope. The death-like chill was oozing in from where I was seated against the stone ground. As my sight cleared, so did my hearing. 

“- tion or elixir?” I swept my gaze around to see the young librarian hunched over a small mirror holding the vial I was given.

“Bring that to me.” That voice sounded familiar.

“Of course.” He bowed mockingly and tucked the vial out of sight. I noticed that my satchel was on the counter with my lock picking tools beside it.

“I believe your suspicions were true. After I fed her the serum and she kept questioning what’s behind the door.”

“Make her forget. I’ve had enough trouble trying to keep on top of the doses here. She keeps refusing my food and drink.” My heart nearly stopped. I didn’t realise I could become colder still. That was grandmother’s voice.

“Yes.She is awake now. I suggest coming to collect her tomorrow.” The brunet slowly walked over then crouched. “You’ve always been my little trouble maker, haven’t you? Here. Drink up before your prince undoubtedly comes to save you.”

I tried to resist swallowing the murky green liquid, but he anticipated my resistance. He held my nose until I opened my mouth then quickly covered it and gently stroked my throat.

“Until, next time, helpless one.” A cluttering noise came from the stairs as consciousness tried to elude me.

Before you collapsed with exhaustion, you noticed that black had started to seep through the rose’s petals.

***

You woke with a burning need to find out what’s behind that door.

After many failed attempts to fall back into slumber, you decided to go to your window. Perhaps gazing into the night sky would calm you as it did when you were a child. The sounds of the night animals in the forest were familiar. They brought a sense of serenity over you. As you stared at the peaceful heavens, you reflected on what those dreams, the visions that kept coming, could truly mean.

Were they just tricks played on you by your mind, trying to figure out what happened in the blank spaces? Or were they real? You shivered at the thought and clutched your arms together to bring yourself comfort.

The night sounds ceased as a voice whispered your name.

“April. Come out… April… speak to you… please. My love...”

The only rule of your grandmother’s you had not broken was the one you thought was the most reasonable. Rule #5 was to never answer the door, or any calls from outside at night. Guilt churned inside you as you walked silently through the house and to the front door but you just had to find out more.

“Where are you?” You whispered into the night, standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Come to the treeline.” The voice whispered back, “She mustn’t see you.” 

You made your way over as the voice commanded. The earth was cold and slightly damp beneath your feet. Just before you reached the treeline an invisible force stopped you.

“Wha-?”

“Don’t try to force it, my darling. She is too strong. Even I can not come much closer to you.” His voice came from a tree to your left. You peered at it and he slowly came into view. He was still as striking as the day you tended to his wound on the trail. You wanted to ask how well it healed but you couldn’t form the words.

His bright eyes drank you in and stopped your thoughts in their tracks. His smile was soft and loving as he gazed at you. You couldn’t help but stare in return. A dark cloak adorned his shoulders which concealed most of his body. Black feathers were woven into his hair along with the golden circlet you saw the first time.

“Do you remember yet?” The stranger from the path asked gently, hopefully. Though he didn’t seem surprised when you shook your head in response.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted, folding in on yourself. Your subconscious recognised him, you felt safe in his presence, but you had no memories of him besides your meeting at the path. And those visions his rose had shown you.

“No, it’s not -” He tried to move forward to reassure you, but the invisible wall forced him back. He took a deep breath and shifted his weight to his back leg. “It’s not your fault.”

“Mm.” You hummed, looking at the ground. 

“April. Look at me.” He commanded softly. You did. “You are not to blame. The witch has you under a powerful spell that is difficult to break. It took us many years to find you. Too many and-”

He shifted again and minutely winced.

“You’re hurt.” You accused, changing the conversation. //Witch?//

He looked briefly surprised then laughed softly, “I could never hide anything from you, my darling.”

You felt warm when he called you that. However you didn’t let that distract you. “Where?” At his quirked eyebrow, you elaborated. “Where are you injured? And who did it?”

His eyes burned, you could have sworn they were literally glowing, with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“I am wounded in many places, for the talons of beasts are sharp. It was the witch who did the worst of it. You chased her away from me this very afternoon.” He moved his hair back and tilted his neck so you could see the gruesome marks. You gasped at the sight and what he had said.

“She…” You remembered your grandmother’s limp and the bloodied feather you dismissed earlier. “The vulture. That was her?” He nodded gravely.

“But witches don’t exist.” You tried to reason. “Just like Gods, dragons or elves. They’re made up. Just stories. Grandmother said -”

“Am I just made up then? Can you not see my tapered ears? My eyes that glow?” He interrupted softly.

“I-” thought I was seeing things, you finished in your head. “Who-?”

“Again, love, I can not tell you for I doubt you will believe me. Though I now see she has brainwashed you more than we thought. You are part of the elves too. She stole you.”

You searched his eyes, hoping to find a lie in what he was saying. He didn’t need to say anything else for you to find the answer you were looking for. Dread filled your bones.

“Take me away from here. Please.” You tried to break the force that was keeping you separated.  

“I want to. Believe me, I do.” He looked stricken. “But I can’t. She enforced the wards after last time - I was emotional and came too close.”

“Why can’t you break through?”

“As I said, her hold is too strong. I can not get any closer just like you can not come home to me.” His voice was full of longing and his body language screamed despair. Your heart ached in response.

“Use these to get into the door.” He tossed a small pouch. It arked gently through the air and you caught it effortlessly. The pouch was woven from long grass but it seemed deceptively sturdy. Inside were tools.

You hesitated. “These are the ones I bought?”

The handsome not-stranger laughed softly, “No, dear one. These were made by our people, imbued with magic that will unlock any door. I assure you they are much better than the ones that blacksmith made.”

You decided firmly that you would find out what was behind that door. Whatever was being kept secret from you, you would discover tomorrow night with the help of these new magical tools.

His ear twitched and his face hardened. “You must go now. She is stirring.”

Something inside you wanted to reassure him that it would be alright. All you could do was raise a hand to the invisible wall.

“I miss you. Come back to me soon, April.”

As you ran inside and stashed the tools beneath your mattress, you had a feeling he was talking about your memories too.

Next

Tags: @scuzmunkie @wordsaremylife @inuhuffclaw

[andaleduardo]

How to Break Your Heart and Make Sure It Stays Broken

2. Send them your favorite songs through Bluetooth    

- Read on ao3

Summary:  12:28 a.m.

Spaghetti: It’s not gonna be weird today

Richie: absolutely

Spaghetti: We’re not gonna make it awkward

Richie: definitely not

Spaghetti: Yeah we got this

Everything is just fucking fine.

7th January 2011, Friday

10:30 a.m.

“Congratulations, you just called the best family in town. What can I help you with?”

“Hu-hey Richie.”

“Billy boy! Happy birthday, man!”

The sound of Bill’s chuckles turn into wind over the phone. “Thanks.”

“So, what’s up?”

“I wanted to check if you’re s-ss-still coming today?”

“Course I am, what time do you want me there?”

“Come around 3. It’s t-too cold to go out so we’re just guh-gonna stay in the attic.”

“Well alright, chap. I’ll be there.”

“And don’t forget my dad’s driving everyone home.”

Richie did, in fact, forget about that.

“Oh yeah, right.”

There’s a second of silence before Bill speaks again. “Are you okay? You huh-haven’t been online lately.”

“Just peachy. You know how it gets, holiday season, kinda busy ‘round here.”

Although Bill knows Richie usually spends the holidays with just his parents (small family’s downside) he doesn’t say anything.

“We’ll have s-some fun today, don’t worry.”

“Indeed we will. See you at 3, birthday boy.”

“See you, Rich.”

And he hangs up.

  12:28 a.m.

Spaghetti: It’s not gonna be weird today

Richie: absolutely

Spaghetti: We’re not gonna make it awkward

Richie: definitely not

Spaghetti: Yeah we got this

  Richie is absolutely exhausted.

The entire week was a failed attempt at learning how to deal with the situation.

Sleep is an utter joke with a mind that runs as if it’s training for a marathon. Looking at food makes him nauseous, not eating food makes him nauseous, but eating it makes it worse.

Perhaps it would help if he could untie the knot in his throat, but then again he can’t cry properly when his parents are always around and poking a head through his bedroom door.

He wants school to start, he doesn’t want school to start. He wants them to go back to work, he doesn’t want to be left alone with his feelings.

And on top of it all he knows he’s overreacting. Absolutely over-the-top reacting. He’s fifteen. It’s not like he knows love.

But doesn’t he?

It hurts and it’s love. It burns as it makes its way up his throat and it’s love. It was amazing while he kept his mouth shut and now everything seems to be falling on him and his chest is heavy and caving and hungrier than his stomach and he caused it and it’s love.

Unrequited love, if you will. A fancy word for a fucked up thing.

To top it off, Eddie doesn’t stop.

 January 1st, 3:45 p.m.

Spaghetti: I hate you

Spaghetti: No wait I don’t hate hate you

Spaghetti: But

Spaghetti: Ugh

Spaghetti: I’m gonna be thinking about this now!

Spaghetti: And I don’t want us to change

Spaghetti: Like, I said “I hate you” and I would never second guess that before but now I feel like I need to tell you “I don’t actually hate you” because

Spaghetti: Well

Spaghetti: I don’t know why

Richie: sorry

Spaghetti: !

Spaghetti: Stop apologizing

Richie: … i really wanna say sorry again

Spaghetti: I don’t blame you

Spaghetti: It’s not like we control our feelings

 Damn right, they don’t. Richie isn’t sure how to answer that, so he doesn’t. But Eddie brings it up again one day later.

 January 2nd, 9:10 p.m.

Spaghetti: I think I kinda knew

Richie: ??? are u serious

Spaghetti: Well yeah

Richie: am I that predictable?

Spaghetti: You’re the least predictable person in the whole world Richie

Spaghetti: Except with the mom jokes

Spaghetti: I can always see those coming

Richie: yet you walk right onto them every time

Spaghetti: Fuck you.

Spaghetti: It’s just that the others aren’t that subtle

Richie: the losers?

Spaghetti: Yeah they try too hard

Spaghetti: Tease us a lot for being close and saying things and leaving us alone everywhere

Spaghetti: Guess I kinda wondered why they did that if they didn’t know something I didn’t

Richie: uh, they kinda don’t tho

Richie: at least I never told them

Spaghetti: Wait really?

Richie: maybe they’re just bored?

Spaghetti: Oh

Spaghetti: Maybe

 It’s only been a week so far (the longest week of Richie’s life) and Eddie texts him every day with the same topic. This, as predicted, isn’t helping the situation much.

It’s Tuesday. There’s Richie, staring at his cereal while Maggie studies him from the other side of the table and surprise, a brand new text from Eddie.

It’s Wednesday. There’s Richie, staring at the news channel because he forgot to press the button on the tv remote when he sat down on the couch 6 minutes ago. And then there’s his dad, looking at him from his vintage recliner and coming up with ten different ways to start a conversation without actually starting one. The phone’s screen lights up with against his leg with a new notification. Yes, from Eddie.

Finally, it’s Friday. Out of habit, Richie leaves the phone on the bathroom countertop as he showers. It takes a lot of self-control not to pull all his hair out while washing it when the phone vibrates against the counter. Once, then twice, then thrice. And so on to make up the total of 9 new messages.

Thank God he doesn’t walk out of the shower right then to check them out of curiosity, because 10 minutes later he’s sitting on the toilet seat and staring at “I hate you” for so long his mom actually knocks on the door and asks if he died in there.

He didn’t die in there, he’s just crying. Buy hey, mom, that’s the dream!

All the messages fall in the same lines. Eddie doesn’t want this to be awkward. He doesn’t want this to be weird. He doesn’t want anything to change.

Logically, Richie draws conclusions. He fucked up big, ruined them forever and now everything is inconvenient for Eddie. It’s not that hard to get it after six variations of:

 ‘You’re not gonna be different around me now right?’

 How can he not be different around Eddie now?

What if their knees touch and Eddie thinks it’s on purpose? What if Richie smiles in his direction and Eddie takes it as flirting? Christ. Richie doesn’t even know how to flirt! Should he sit far away from him now? Should he sit by his side like always and have Eddie think he’s doing it out of interest?

Richie didn’t just make everything inconvenient for Eddie, he made everything inconvenient for himself, too.

However, it’s Bill’s birthday, and that’s more important than a broken heart.

  5:48 p.m.

 “You’re cheating!” Everyone jumps on their seats when Stan shouts and slams his hand on the coffee table. It sends all the plastic houses on the monopoly board in different directions.

“What? No I’m not!” Bev defends herself.

“Nah.” Mike crosses his arms. “I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t believe she’s cheating?” Stan angrily inquires.

“I don’t believe she’s not cheating.” Says Mike.

“I am not fucking cheating, you guys are just awful at managing money.”

Stan’s chin drops in her direction. “You- I manage money wonderfully, thank you very much-”

While the arguing continues, Ben takes his time putting all the houses back on their places. Bill tries to make them stop fighting while Mike destroys all those attempts by teaming up with Bev and Stan alternately. Eddie furiously counts and recounts his money, being the one closest to bankrupt. And Richie silently organizes the contents of the bank. He doesn’t like monopoly that much.

“Maybe our bank over there has something to do with this?” Richie feels everyone’s eyes on him so he looks up at Mike from above his glasses.

“How could you ever think such things about me, Mikey?” He dramatically puts down the stack of property cards he had been sorting. “I do nothing but humble work for this community and this is how I’m treated. Unbelievable.”

“Richie, I swear.” Stan glares at him. “You won’t make me lose, even if you cheat.”

“How can I be cheating? I’m not even playing.”

“You’re passing Bev extra money!”

“Geez.” Eddie moans in annoyance. “We forgot Stan gets off on Monopoly.”

At that, Richie barks out a laugh, unable to keep it in but still trying to by slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Okay, fine.” Stan crosses his arms. “I wasn’t even the one suggesting this game, I voted for scrabble.”

“Oh, so the only other game you get off on?” Surprisingly, it slips from Richie’s mouth. He wasn’t at all expecting jokes to be coming from him today.

It’s just wonderfully entertaining to piss off Stan. At this point, the boy’s gotten himself so worked up that his whole face is pink.

“I’m going to shove birthday cake up your a-”

“-Wow! Okay let’s all chill.” Ben kindly tries to stop them.

Richie lifts up a hand full of fake-cash and makes a jerking off motion with the other, which finally triggers Stan into motion. He manages to jump away from the table on the exact moment Stan reaches over to try and jam his hand on his weakest spot, the armpits. But in the process, his knees collide with the bottom of the coffee table and all the board pieces end up flying everywhere. Again.

Ben throws his hands up. “Thank you so very much for that.”

“We will never f-ffinish a monopoly game…”

  6:23 p.m.

“How about Uno?” Ben suggests. “You can’t cheat at Uno, right?”

After being chased by Stan around the attic everyone ended up scattered around, staring at the ceiling and discussing which game to play next. So far it’s been twenty minutes of quiet chatting.

“You can grab three cards when you get a plus four.” Richie offers. “You can also slide in a six while playing some nines, might get lucky.”

There’s a brief second of silence and contemplation.

“How you can turn Uno into a sex joke still amazes me.” Eddie frowns at the ceiling.

Richie shrugs. “I’m pretty amazing overall.” Sweat pools up on the back of his neck with the effort of trying to sound so nonchalant. Richie wants to scream at the normality of his afternoon. Why does life keep going when you’re dealing with heartache? Isn’t the world supposed to stop spinning after you get friendzoned? Show a little compassion, earth.

“I still can’t believe your mom let you keep the phone.”

At Mike’s words, Eddie flops around on his bean bag, looking like a hanged potato sack. “Right? Didn’t see that coming, either.”

“Does she really go through it, though?”

Recently, Eddie’s contact list was updated to include everyone. His mom complained that he didn’t need to be in contact with “those friends” of his any more than he already does. She’s obviously wrong.

Eddie groans in agreement. “She keeps finding the lamest excuses until I give it to her. Then she checks whatever it is she wants and gives it back.”

A wave of fear passes through Richie. Almost on cue, Eddie steals a glance at him and adds. “But I archive the stuff she doesn’t need to read. And I keep Facebook as a hidden app.” Proud of his schemes, he smirks to himself.

Richie sinks back on his bean bag, slightly relieved. The past week of awful sleep is weighting him down, tying him to his worst and holding him back from pretending to be okay a little better. With time, he hopes to learn how to put this behind his back, but right now, Eddie is right in front of him.

“Hey, by the way. Can any of you tell me how to download songs?” The boy at matter asks.

“You know thu-that’s illegal, r-right?”

“Oh.” For a moment, he stares at Bill with a conflicted expression. “Well, I still want my music.”

“Richie, don’t you have a fuck ton of songs downloaded?”

“Yup. Illegal downloads are my number one occupation, Marsh.” Then, he gets it. “Oh, you’re right. Eds, turn Bluetooth on.”

He regrets saying ‘Eds’ oh so quickly, overly nervous that he isn’t allowed to say it anymore. Not that he was ever allowed to say it before, if the way Eddie complains about it 90% of the time means anything. Quickly, Richie spirals into thoughts of their bickering coming to an end, or even worse, becoming one sided and sad if one of them doesn’t feed into it. That would leave the other one hanging, and Richie was already left hanging, Richie is still hanging and he will be hanging on these feelings, on this rejection, for life. That’s what he has to accept, that he loves the only person in the world he could ever love and they don’t love him back. That his future seems sad from the present. That Eddie might drift away when he realizes they can’t mess around like best friends anymore, even if he had said he wouldn’t do that and it wouldn’t happen. But what if he does? What if it happens? Where does that leave him? What is he supposed to-

“Don’t call me that, asshole. And how the fuck do I do that?”

Oh.

The way Eddie speaks drips of familiarity. Just the way it always was with them, just the way it will always be. Richie can’t decide if that’s good or bad, but it pulls him together enough to talk.

“See that weird looking B icon up there?” He waits for Eddie’s answer but the other boy is looking at his phone as if he could catch it on fire with just his eyes.

Richie bites the inside of his cheek, breathes in some bravery and pushes himself up from the bean bag.

“Here,” he walks over and crouches down at Eddie’s side, quickly opening the Bluetooth settings and pairing up their phones while paying too much attention to the space between their hands. Just to make sure they don’t touch. “Do you wanna pick out the songs you want?” He starts giving his phone to Eddie but gets a headshake in return.

“Uh no, that’s fine.” Eddie says, turning his head and therefore putting their faces incredibly close. Richie barely catches himself from falling on his butt right there, and Eddie leans away quickly, obviously not meaning to cause any of this. “I- uh, just chose the ones you think I’d like.”

Richie nods stupidly and rushes back to his seat. While he goes through his music library and picks off songs, all he can think about is ‘This is so hard, too hard, way more difficult than I could possibly imagine and I don’t know if I can go about my life pretending everything is fine when it all feels anything but that.’

“How about Ludo? There’s no way you can cheat at that…”

Simply as if a switch was flipped, Richie multitasks and answers Ben by listing off all the possible ways to cheat at Ludo.

And to the outsider eyes, everything is just fine.

Everything is fine as they order pizza and Richie and Eddie have to ask each other if they can still share their regular favorite, olive and pepperoni. Everything is fine while conversation flows at dinner, except Richie puts his half of the pizza on a plate instead of sharing the box between their laps, and Eddie doesn’t question it. Everything is fine as everyone watches a movie after, and there’s no one to lean his head on Richie’s shoulder, or jab an elbow in his arm when they itch to comment certain scenes.

Then Bill’s dad comes upstairs to remind them it’s time to drive everyone home. And for the first time in his life, Richie is thrilled to hear those words.

On their way home, Eddie sits in the back, earphones plugging his ears deaf to his surroundings. Richie wonders if he should have left out all the love songs, now it’s too late for that. But it’s fine, right?

Everything is just fucking fine.

 perma taglist: @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie  @reddieforlove @madi-personal  @cheekaspbrak

[yugyology]

A Crown of Fool’s Gold -1- | kim yugyeom (m)

Summary: You’re a commoner, he’s a prince. Two things that are never supposed to mingle. Modern Royalty/Soulmate AU

Pairing: Yugyeom x Reader

Genre: angst, smut, fluff(if you squint)

Length: 3.2k words

Special thanks to @kim-taetongue for beta-reading! <3

From a young age, you knew your way around a needle and thread. Whether it be embroidery or seaming and creating clothing, whether by hand or by machine, you knew how to do it. So much that, when your parents had died, you were kept in the Kim family’s household as a seamstress. It was a privilege that they trusted your hand over the multitude of mechanical replacements that were available currently. It was an ok deal, you got free food, housing, and a moderate pay in exchange for your talents.

The intercom on the other side of your room jingles, turning you away from your embroidery project. Picking up your phone, which was right next to you, you answer.

“Hello?”

“The Queen is requesting your presence.” Another maid says through the phone.

“Where?”

“The prince’s room.” Your heart drops through your chest at her words.

The Prince.

Yugyeom.

A voice in the back of your head tells to just ignore the orders and turn back to your project, but you would be out of your mind to disobey the Queen.

Your chair screeches as you push it back, arising from your desk. You can’t help but wring your hands nervously as you think about seeing Yugyeom again. His birthday had been a few weeks ago, and since then you were doing your best to avoid direct contact, ducking into closets and hallways when you saw him strolling around the mansion, sending other maids to help him with his tasks citing business with other affairs.

The sound of your shoes tapping against the floor echo the hallways as you make your way across the mansion to Yugyeom’s room. Your maids’ quarters are so far away from the royal rooms, but you’re thankful as the trek gives you time in your own head.

You had been friends with Yugyeom since childhood, back when he was just a boy who would rather play with his action figures than learn princely duties. When you had lost both your parents to a freak accident, you two had come even closer, practically attached at the hip. Even the awkwardness that was puberty could not push you two apart. It was around that time that you realized that what you felt for him was more than familial.

You’re the only girl he’s close to, you two were each other’s blank slates. You had first kissed each other at 12, lost your virginities at 16. How no one could see what was built and what was still building between you two was beyond you.

You care for him, deeply -hell, you love him- but you knew you two could never be together. He was the prince, and you were nothing but a lowly seamstress.

You’re standing in front of the entrance to his room before you know it. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm your galloping heart, before raising your hand and knocking thrice firmly on the door, the sound echoing the halls.

“You have to look handsome, the Park family is coming all the way from the east with their daughters to try and see if one is fit to be your wife!” You hear the Queen exclaim as the door is opened by a servant.

Your galloping heart seems to come to a stop.

Wife??

Yugyeom’s getting married?

You tell yourself that you should have seen it coming, but the news of his impending marriage still rattles you to your core. Had he seen other princesses in these past weeks when you had been keeping away from him? The thought of him giving his affection to anyone else, especially all these years, is enough to send your head spinning.

“You know Jinyoung doesn’t even like me, mom, the last thing he wants is to become my brother in law,” Yugyeom replies, glancing at you when he sees you walk to the room and bow politely.

“You requested me, your honor?” You ask, trying your best to keep your voice from trembling.

“Yes!” The Queen says. “Please, dear, take Yugyeom’s measurements for me. You know the poor boy just keeps on growing!” She giggles, and you smile back, doing your best to be polite even though you could feel Yugyeom’s gaze burning into your skull. “Now if you will excuse me, I must make sure everything is impeccable for the Park’s arrival soon, so I must leave. Come, DoHun_”

She struts out with the servant, leaving only you and Yugyeom in his room.

You do your best to remain professional, turning around and setting your clipboard and tape measure on his dresser. Turning back, you nearly leap out of your skin. Yugyeom had moved from his seat on his four-poster bed, now looming over you with his chest nearly pressed to yours.

“Y-Your highness!...” At the mention of his royal title, he scowls, turning around to sit back on his bed.

“Didn’t you promise to not call me that?” He scolds. The discontent on his face quickly fades when he sees the sorry look at your face.

“I…I’m sorry…” Is all you say, shutting down any other chance of conversation. “Shall we get started the measuring?”

A silence that walks the line between comfortable and awkward encompasses the both of you. You try your best to focus solely on your work, trying not to pay attention to the beauty marks on his face that are visible due to your proximity, or how beautiful is, or how oh no he smells so good­_

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“So, you’re getting married?” You both speak at the same time, and you shut your mouth, waiting for him to speak.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” He repeats. “…Is it because of my mark?”

You freeze, thinking back to a few weeks ago.

           You’re jolted out of your peaceful sleep when Yugyeom clambers out his bed, falling to his knees to the floor, cringing in pain as he presses his hand to his waist.

           “My skin….it feels like it’s burning…” He grits out. You sink down onto the floor, forgoing your nudeness as well as his own to peel his hand from his skin. You’re not surprised as you see lines beginning to run across his skin, it was the early morning of his 21st birthday after all.

           His soulmate mark. You don’t know if you should be glad or disappointed. You do your best to feel indifferent, but you can’t help the flicks of anxiety and sadness that begin to stir in your soul.

Not everyone in the world had a soulmate, the population of those with soulmate marks and those without approximately equal. In all honesty, you didn’t know if you wanted to be his soulmate or not. If you are his soulmate, you ran the risk of being killed; the royal families were notorious for killing commoners that bore soulmate marks to heirs, as not to mess with political alliances. If you aren’t his soulmate, your life is spared, but at what cost? Perhaps at the cost of another life and the cost of whatever this was between you and Yugyeom being dismantled. Or maybe he would just never find his soulmate (which is sometimes the case) and would marry a princess like he’s supposed to.

 Either way, you lose the only person who matters to you and who cares about you. This is a lose-lose situation.

Of course, it’s because of your mark.

Yugyeom sighs, dropping the conversation as he shakes his head.

“I am preparing to marry, to answer your question. I’m getting to that age.” He doesn’t say anything else. A silence fills the room again, this time filled with nothing but awkwardness and unresolved tension.

You finish your work quickly, measuring and recording as fast as you can. Your hands tremble and your heart thrums in your chest as you do your best to collect your materials, ready to be out the door and away from the situation. Yugyeom does nothing but silently watch you measure, his gaze hard as stone.

“Well, that’s about it! I’ll go to the Queen with some ideas, and then I’ll have garments to you! Congratulations on your marriage!” You do your best to speak enthusiastically, but the happiness in your voice is stale and fake.

Turning on your heel, you head for the door quickly. Your hand brushes against the doorknob when Yugyeom calls out your name, and it hurts even more to hear the pleading in his voice.

But you can’t stay. Not like this.

Shutting his voice out, you fling the door open, not looking back as you let it close behind you.  As soon as the door clicks shut you book it, distancing yourself from him lest you act rashly.

The bright of your phone screen is the only light in your room, the text messages that had woken you up at 3 AM staring back at you.

[Yuggie] 3:04 AM

Please come to my room, we need to talk.

[Yuggie] 3:10 AM

Please…

You’re staring at Yugyeom’s door for the second time in 12 hours, your heart pumping like it was trying to escape from your chest. Flicking your head to either side, you confirm once again that the halls are empty, pulling out your phone to let him know you were here. You try to will your thumbs to move over the keyboard, but you’re frozen like marble, staring at screen typing nothing.

It was normal to anxious whenever you two had a late-night escapade, but your anxiousness never felt like this. Your heart was racing all the same, but instead of feeling light on your feet and sugar in your veins, all you could feel was your wax wings beginning to melt and being prepared to plummet.

The door creaks open, and all you can see on the other side is darkness before a hand latches onto your arm, pulling you in and shutting the door.

Before you can open your mouth to speak, lips are pressed to yours, and it doesn’t take even a second to decipher them as Yugyeom’s. He shifts, hands moving to cup your jaw as he kisses you harder. You reach up to grasp his wrists, getting drunk on his scent and letting the feel of him overwhelm you completely.

A whimper leaves your mouth when he pulls away, gazing at you, saying nothing as he catches his breath. Your mind is hazy, any attempts to sort your thoughts thrown out the window as he presses kisses down your jawline, suckling softly when he reaches your neck.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Yugyeom pants against your skin. “Was just about ready to come get you myself…come on,” Yugyeom says as he takes your hands in his, guiding you to his bed. The silk of the sheets is cold against the skin of your exposed thighs as you sit, letting him kiss you again.

He settles on top of you, his hands pressing into the pillows under your head as he presses his lips to yours. His teeth sink softly into your bottom lip, and when you gasp he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, massaging his tongue with yours.

You’re lightheaded by the time he pulls away, kissing your neck again. A gasp slips past your lips, his hands cupping your breasts over your tank top. Yugyeom moans himself when he feels your nipples perk through the fabric, and he pinches them softly, his eyes drinking in the sight of you writhing under him.

“So sensitive,” Yugyeom mutters more to himself, but you hear him through your shortness of breath. He sits up so he’s kneeling over you, crossing his arms over his abdomen before peeling his shirt off. You feel your heart beat a little faster at the sight of his bare torso, his pajama pants slung low on his hips. His dandelion mark almost stares at you sneeringly, reminding you of everything you want but can’t have.

You pinch your eyes shut, not only to keep from looking at his mark but also because his hands are grasping your waist, pushing your undershirt up your body. Lifting your arms, he peels it off you, throwing it behind him without a care for where it will land.

“Oh!” Yugyeom presses his fingers into your core through the material of our shorts, rubbing softly. You spread your legs wider, digging your head into his neck as you feel your wetness soak through your underwear.

“God, you’re so…” He grits out, dipping his hand under your waistband, your wetness immediately coating his fingers. You feel your face heat up –hotter than it currently was-, he hadn’t even done much and yet he had this effect on you.

You swore there was no one else who could make you feel this way.

Only him.

The two of you stay like that for a while, Yugyeom running his fingers through your folds, occasionally rubbing soft circles into your clit or tracing your entrance; you breathing in his scent wholly, tonguing at his neck.

“Yugyeom, please…” you whimper, feeling like you were about to burst from all his teasing. How was he still so composed? “You’re killing me here.” He bites his lips at your words, pushing your shorts down your legs. You almost whine when he moves away, his heat no longer radiating from his body to yours, but you do nothing but watch as he also strips himself of his pants, positioning himself over you once again.

You feel him rub himself against you, and you bite your lips at the tendrils of flame that begin to flick in your abdomen.

“Don’t worry,” He whispers, kissing you softly. “I won’t keep you waiting any longer.”

“Y’know,” Yugyeom breathes, slowing down his thrusts into a slow grind, hitching your leg over his waist to be closer to you. You force your eyes open a fraction, taking in the sight of him over you. His hair, messy, whether from sleep or from sex, you didn’t know. His lips are bitten red and his eyes are on you again, this time his gaze soft and full of emotion. You hum, letting him know you’re listening. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who cares about me like actually cares about me.” He groans when you clench around him at his words. “What, does that turn you on? Naughty girl.” He teases, smirking as he watches you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment. Licking his lips, he takes a few deep breathes, trying to compose himself.  “My father, I barely even know him, and my mother, well, all she cares about is me getting married. Even with my mark…I almost think_” He stops himself short, pressing his lips together, almost as if the words would come whether or not he actually wanted to say them.

  “Almost think what?” You ask, breath hitching when Yugyeom’s hand that was behind your knee now cups your breast instead, and you find yourself lost in pleasure once again as he thumbs your nipple, sending bolts of electricity flickering throughout your body. He was obviously doing this to avoid finishing his sentence, but you can’t seem to care too much, especially when picks up the pace of his hips again. One of your hands reaches out for something, anything, to keep you grounded to Earth even as Yugyeom sends you up into the atmosphere. The skin of his waist is steaming hot against your hand, and you glance up to see that under your hand is pressing against the dandelion mark that is etched into his skin.

  The mark of his soulmate.

  You clench your eyes shut, not only because you don’t want to think about Yugyeom’s soulmate - whoever they are, the likelihood that it’s not you - but also because Yugyeom’s hand had left your chest, trailed down your abdomen, and begun to rub hard circles into your clit.

  “Mmph_ oh god!” Before you have the chance to open your mouth and moan again, he kisses you, silencing you effectively.

  “Shhh…” He whispers in your ear. “We don’t want to wake up everyone in the house, do we?” He presses his lips to the sensitive spot behind your ear. “The last thing we need is to be caught.” He laughs breathlessly “We’ve almost have been a few times, remember?” Even with the jumbled state of your mind, you don’t need to think hard to remember the late nights pressed together in passion against the walls of the less trodden passageways of the mansion.

  The combination of his fingers on your clit and the memories brought on by his words are enough to throw you over the edge, feeling lightning start from your core and traverse your body. You bite your lip, not letting go even when you taste blood, doing your best to be quiet.

  “Yes! Oh fuck, I…I_” Yugyeom hisses out, tensing up as he feels you come around him. You do nothing but watch through half-lidded eyes as he pulls out, not even a second to spare as he loses himself, his cum hot against your inner thigh.

  The silk of his shirt is smooth and cold against your skin as he wipes you off. You do your best not to look at him because you knew if you looked at him you would say something rash and both of your futures would be at stake.

  Yugyeom flops down onto his bed, obviously exhausted. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t hesitate to cuddle, pressing his firm chest to your back and nuzzling his face into your neck.

  “Mmm…thank you.” He whispers, sounding fully depleted of energy. “Thank you for making me feel better. I love you.”

  Your eyes that were beginning to close snap open, unease beginning to flood through your vines. Had he really just said that? Judging by his stillness and his breathing, he had fallen asleep directly after saying that, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

  The burning sensation on your chest is painful enough to make jolt out of your rough sleep. It’s like there are hot pokers being pressed into your skin, and it only gets worse when you fully awake. What was happening to you? Glancing over at Yugyeom, you see that he had luckily rolled over in his sleep, his back now facing you, not perturbed by your sudden movements. You get out of his bed as quietly as you can, scrambling for your clothes and for your phone. Turning it on, you wince as the brightness of the screen burns your eyes. It was 4:45 AM, not long after your rendezvous with Yugyeom. Although the skin of your chest is still burning, you feel a chill run down your spine as you notice the date.

  Your 21st birthday has come. How had it crept up on you with you noticing?

  The burning sensation is your soulmate mark forming.

  Turning on the lights in Yugyeom’s bathroom and shutting the door, all you do is watch as the stark lines crawl along your skin, just under your breasts in the center in your chest.

  A five-point star is formed first, then a pentagon as the points of the star connect with each other more lines connecting the points of the star with each other. Then, another star, a mandala pattern forming slowly but surely. All you can do is watch on in horror.

  The mark is the same as Yugyeom’s.

  You are Yugyeom’s soulmate.

[exolstice-blog]

Fall | Chanyeol

Genre: someFluff ; Angst

Description: “Chanyeol had this utmost capability for burning your throat like spiked oxygen, and setting you off into a frenzied symphony that made you want to dance to no music and laugh to no joke and burn to no fire—"

Featuring: Kim Jongin, I'm Yoon-ah

Warning: Age gap (7 yrs), sexual themes, angsty overall; please do not read if you feel uncomfortable with any of these.

Word Count: 5000

Author’s Note: FINALLY. I DID IT. Very angsty, very emo, I cri, I hope u like 💕 and e n j o y. 

“I do,” overgrown weeds tickled at your feet, so itchy your toes curled up like cashew nuts. The lace trim of the dress was annoyingly excessive–and orange, yuck–giving you a sour face.

“I do,” Chanyeol kept tugging at his tie, and there was only so much you could do to keep yourself from jumping up and swatting away his hand. 

“Great, now,”–a deep inhale– “KISS. THE. BRIDE.”

“HEY. That wasn’t part of the deal,” Chanyeol dropped both hands, making the white strings that held his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle tie snap back against his neck violently, making him choke down to his knees.

“Yoo,” you narrowed your eyes at her face, cheeks smushed between her hands expectantly. You let your head fall backwards in a groan, your neck almost snapping, with the slip of the few flowers you had gotten into a fake bouquet. You weren’t going to just go about the procedure for the third time in a row because Chanyeol couldn’t get his lines right, or because Yoona couldn’t stop her squeaks, and now because he had to give you a freaking kiss (which—gross). You had people to see, and places to be, and a very furious Mr. Jun to meet for cake and tea.

“But it’s your wedding,” she made a terrible sound that made you cover your ears. You wanted to throw mud at her face. 

“Yes, then, we’re over. Chanyeol and I are married, can we go inside now?” You pointed exasperated at your haven, where the party continued, where Mr. Jun should be waiting, and where you knew the location of the jam jars–the Park’s house. She screamed, trashing around in the pretty ribbons of her sleeves. You screamed too, “This is my wedding. This is my wedding. If you want a kiss then be the bride.”

Yoona’s screams worsened, “I can’t kiss him–HE’S MY BROTHER.”

You covered your ears with your hands, shaking your head fervently, “Me too–HE’S A BOY.”

The both of you screamed, because, God forbid, Chanyeol was a boy.  “AYAAAAAAHHHH."

“SHUSH UP!” Chanyeol stood tall, plugging his fingers in his big, big, big ears. Yoona and you started, grabbed each other by the arm, and fell backwards. “Can we finish this, please? My friends have to be looking for me, oh God, I hope they didn’t hear you.”

Yoona huffed, and you stood up, shaking leaves and dirt and flowers off your lap, “My friends are waiting too, Mr. Jun–”

“He’s coming?” Yoona was starry-eyed, puffing her cheeks up in a smile. 

“Father’s bringing him,” you showed her all your teeth, taking her hand.

“Talk about the rabbit later, let’s finish getting married,” Chanyeol took your hands from Yoona’s, almost lifting them up because he was so tall.

“This is stupid,” you muttered, and both their eyes widened, because if Ma’am caught you cursing they knew she would tell your mother, and you’d be done for. “Why do we have to get married just because Yoona says so?”

Chanyeol picked up one of the dirtiest flowers from the ground, placing it behind your ear, and you made a face. “Because that would keep her quiet.” He whispered it, so that she wouldn’t hear. But there wasn’t a need because he was too close to you and too far from her. He kissed your forehead, grinning, “Happy Birthday.” 

You gave him a funny smile in between Yoona’s screams, “Happy Birthday.”

Chanyeol and you didn’t share a birthday, not really. In fact, you two weren’t even as close to sharing a birth-date. He was sometimes eight years older than you and other times seven. Funny, wasn’t it? 

Chanyeol’s parents worked for yours in a big company back then you couldn’t even pronounce the name of. All you did understand was that they were a very important part of it–an asset, you’d heard Ma’am calling them. ‘Ma’am’ was Chanyeol’s and Yoona’s mother, and ‘Sir’ was their father, that’s the first thing you’d learned. You would have liked to call them something else, something like Aunt and Uncle, although they were nothing but. But your parents insisted otherwise, fervently. 

Anyway, the name stuck. You called them by that still, if not by their full names. It ought’ve to be something scandalous for any other teenager, to address people older than them without due respect–and by their name, even! It wasn’t the case for the heir of a company, the girl—the student—that would become absolute top dog once she turned the right age. 

That didn’t stop them from being actual sweethearts with you from the moment they met you, up until the moment you realized you’d be their future boss, and beyond. The Park’s relationship with your parents began long before you were born, and that’s why you spent more of your childhood at their household than at yours. Exactly the reason why Chanyeol and you celebrated both your birthdays on the same day. 

Your birthdays did share something in common, in truth. That one-month gap that made him seven or eight years older than you. It was at your four years old when both of your parents decided to celebrate your birthday together, on a separate date, and at your fives when Chanyeol accepted it. Maybe because he’d taken pity on yours and Yoona’s crying faces when you wished to become older too–when you dreaded the month in which he was eight years older and bossed you around (and Yoona, of course) to do his chores for him.

You had always wanted to be older, grow taller; perhaps because since so much was expected from you since birth you now realized you could’ve only had it in your veins to want to be over with it. Or perhaps it was just a mere thing of yours, a personal goal. And so, Chanyeol let you be just seven years younger than him that day you turned six and he thirteen, and a bunch more years to come. 

Just a bunch. Not all. It stopped–your little fun and tease filled parties–when he left for college and found his own apartment; started on his life. And when you did the same. 

Business became tighter for you when you truly began taking on your parents’ steps. Age: thirteen. Your own tiny tea gatherings (more like afternoons padded with quirky questionable music and terrible dancing) with Mr. Jun and Yoona at the Park’s becoming promptly replaced by business meetings with people thrice your age that, if you got lucky and well behaved, would offer you a peppermint. 

You grew up faster, matured quickly, just how your parents and their business partners—and now your business partners—had wished. Just how you'd wished. Of course, there was still always that month. That dreaded month that made you feel like a locked-up thing, a manacled creature that was still eight years younger, eight years more ignorant.

It never really bothered you, not as long as Chanyeol kept his mouth shut and didn't tell you to do things that Yoona would normally do when he visited. To get him a beer, to fetch the remote, to purposely lose to him on games. Like you were his tiny pet.

But there was a day when you felt bothered. You felt itchy and hot and truly bothered. You two didn't share your birthdays anymore, no, but that wouldn't stop him from coming over for yours, alright.

You found it sweet. And annoying. He was Park Chanyeol, your best friend's big brother, your big best friend—if that meant anything at all—he wouldn't wait a tenth of a bloody second to poke at you about your age. Most particularly: at him being eight years older still.

So, it surprised you, of course, when he didn't mock you on the day of your fifteenth birthday. Well, what could’ve been done when he was clearly well accompanied.

It was what brought that kid-ish memory first to your mind. Because when he took her hand and helped her with that heavy bowling ball, all you could think about was your sham marriage with Chanyeol—he's mine, mine, mine! —and him saying "let's finish getting married" in that stupid fake tie.

Yes, you were bothered, especially when Jongin asked you if you were alright because you had to lie and bite down a barf that threatened to slip down your throat. Yoona was an angel, bringing you to the ladies' room towards the back of the bowling alley that was her brother’s favorite.

You stared at the mirror and saw a child that had been made to grow up way too fast, and was disgusted. You had to remind yourself that you were really but turning fifteen—and that you just didn't know how to feel after not seeing him for too long. Right, and the lights were far too dim and were the ones giving you that headache.

You ran a hand through your hair, furious because it wasn't the first time. Not the first time you'd imagined tripping one of his lady friends and generously helping them up by the hair with sharp nails. Stupid. But you laughed. And what you saw in the mirror was a fifteen-year-old truly laughing. Maybe you could stop your little fucking pretense about being any more tough—any more mature than you were. Maybe you could be the hormonal stupid kid that you were supposed to be instead.

Yes. Chanyeol was hot. There. And he was eight years older than you. There. Nothing wrong about that, really. It was, like, yes, G-Dragon. The man was fucking older than Chanyeol and you still found him incredibly yummy. But not ever more than that. Just like Chanyeol! He was sweet, he was gentle, he was devastatingly handsome—but that's just all there was to him. To him and to what you felt. Right?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you slapped your face with water, pressing at your shut eyes until you saw weird things, until it stung enough you could almost only feel that.

This sucked. This was gross. This was childish. And you weren't a child—at least, you weren't supposed to be one.

Static-like particles cleared from your vision and you saw a child. A stupid, stupid child. Maybe it wasn't so wrong. Maybe, for a day, you could be a child, grow up the right way, learn from heartbreak, from your big best friend that was fucking older than you and that made you feel disgustingly maniacal. Maybe you could allow yourself to fuck up for a day.

Maybe one only ever truly majorly fucked up when one was fifteen.

At least that must be the reason why you chose to bring him into your bed that night.

"Ah," you jumped a little now, when the door suddenly opened and a gigantic shadow entirely covered your form. Dim light illuminated what bit you could see of the house. You stepped inside, almost shooing him away. "Yoona's supposed to meet me at eight, but she told me to come over—is she here?"

Chanyeol closed the door, worrying at his lip—annoyed, you guessed, "Good night to you too."

You hummed, "I thought you'd leave by Tuesday."

He made a chuckling noise, "Wanted me gone too soon?"

You sat on the edge of the couch, picking up an almost empty can of a drink, possibly alcoholic, "You've made yourself at home, I see."

He chuckled again, "It is my home."

You looked at him, and smiled. You smelled the contents of the can and, ah, yes, beer. "You're not finishing this, are you?"

He gave you a look but did not approach you, the chuckles all gone, but he mocked you still. "Aren't you like sixteen?"

You gave him your thinnest smile in dark velvet lips, "Going onto eighteen, actually."

"Technically, you can't drink yet."

"Technically, we're going clubbing—so might as well give it a head start," you tilted your head, downing the last small sip of the drink in one go and heaving out a deep sigh. You licked a rebellious drop off your mouth and quirked a brow when Chanyeol abruptly groaned and turned around.

"I sure hope Yoona's not drinking," he didn't look at you when he pulled a new beer from the fridge and cracked it open. You bit your lip, surely blushing, just realizing he'd probably been drinking those last gulps of a can.

"Can't promise anything," Chanyeol looked at you in a way that made you shiver—with cold brown eyes almost hidden behind his disheveled black bangs—in the way that left you breathless and could make you fall. Shit. You smiled, deciding to challenge him, "Come on, she's old enough to have fun. Make mistakes. Fall in love," you shook your head, grinning, "Screw some guys."

His face made you grin, "She's only seventeen, and so are you—"

"Eighteen," you hissed. You were almost there, alright, God. You swallowed the blasphemies you could've spat at him, crossing your legs in a ladylike manner with a smile, "And, besides, weren't you seventeen the day you came crying because you thought you'd left your girlfriend pregnant?"

Again, his face managed to make you laugh—and you almost hated it. You shook your head, "You can quit being this 'responsible' big brother for a day, Chan. Let her live her life. Didn't you tell me that too?" And he did. He told you to live if just a piece of your life. Back almost two years ago, when you were sixteen and probably had been to more business appointments than high school parties.

But he denied it now, "I don't want you making the same mistakes I did. Neither Yoona or you."

Well. "What makes you think I haven't already?"

He gave you this look—this pity-look that made you want to smack his face because you were sure all he saw was a stupid child in you. A kid that believed a mistake was kissing the wrong guy under a mistletoe, buying the wrong color for nail polish... But it made you smile in a sickening way knowing that he didn't know—he couldn't even grasp your worst mistake.

"You two are not fighting, are you?" Yoona's steps came too sudden, bringing you back by the neck and forcing you up. "Gosh, you look stunning!"

You let Yoona tackle you in a hug that was all giddy from side to side, making you laugh. "Haven't washed my hair in the past three days, and this is literally just a button up, so that's a compliment," you pulled away, squishing her cheeks until her mouth was a pout and a few of her glittery freckles stained your fingers. You swiped her head from right to left, "So pretty, so pretty."

"Yes, yes, very pretty, both of you," Chanyeol gave you two a look. "Just keep that prettiness away from guys."

Yoona scrunched up her nose, through a pout, "But Jongin—"

"Specially Jongin." You grinned, knowing how very infatuated Yoona was with Jongin and how very truly against it her brother was. Chanyeol did know Jongin better than anyone, after all.

"Oh, come on!" Yoona flailed her arms around like a tiny octopus in a frenzy.

You clicked your tongue, "Then what's the point if we don't get to get laid."

Yoona laughed out loud, clapping her hands in a manner quite similar to Chanyeol. She knew how you rolled, your admittedly distasteful jokes, so she just went along, the pretty doll, "Right. You're not going to let that go to waste."

Yoona checked you out with a wink and you grinned. But only until you felt Chanyeol scan your shape, as if he could touch you with his eyes—then you could scarcely take a breath. You felt very conscious. And that wasn't entirely bad.

You were a bit flustered about wearing your white button up—your “meeting-to-go”—but you were happy that you'd paired it up with a black see-through-fishnet-like top and a leather skirt. A fit for you, somehow. The blend between classy and foxy and 'I own the goddamn world'. You were proud, alright, and maybe that's what made you feel like you were bigger than yourself. Sometimes even bigger than anyone else.

So, you were happy that Chanyeol was looking at you, at least, because you could sense that feeling of being massive and absolute and beautiful—even as you dreaded the hitch of your breath when he did so.

You felt yourself grow bolder, "Precisely." You offered Chanyeol a wink when he finally decided to stop staring at your legs and grinned as he heaved a breath, "I’m on the pill too, so worry not about my sexual encounters, dear," you tilted your head so innocent, letting your hair all drop to the side, exposing your neck, "Unless you're up for lending me some condoms, then be my damn guest."

Yoona was laughing all along. She'd always found your antics amusing and that couldn't make you any happier. She inhaled a sharp breath, however, once she caught Chanyeol's look towards you both. Particularly when he pointed at you and gestured you to follow him as he took off towards the hallway without further notice.

"Oh, you're in trouble," you shrugged, walking past Yoona with a grin. You heard her yell, "Don't take too long, he must be waiting for us!"

You giggled at her evident eagerness and total adorableness. Until a hand caught your arm. You faced Chanyeol with that same grin, relishing in the way his eyebrows were virtually glued together in a funny frown. You giggled, standing almost on your tip toes to poke at his forehead, "You're angry." It couldn't be helped, Yoona made a child out of you sometimes.

Chanyeol grabbed your wrist, forcefully, "What the hell was that?"

You watched as the pad of his fingers dug into your skin, angry but delicate enough to not hurt you, "It was a joke, Chanyeol, a joke. Ever heard of them?" You pulled your hand back with a hiss, and he seemed astonished, as if he'd just realize what he was doing.

"I'm sorry." Then, "But what the hell. Don't joke like that, not in front of my sister."

Oh my God. "Are you being serious? We're not six anymore, we're not kids that get scared about getting caught saying the word 'stupid' or 'bull crap'. I think I can joke about my morals, or rather, my lack of thereof, any bloody weekday if I want."

Chanyeol was shaking his head, "It's not only that. It's the drinking, the partying, the seeing boys," his jaw was set and you needed to stop thinking about how handsome he looked while doing that, shit. "It's not something... appropriate."

"Then tell her that, holy shit," you waved your arms around, as if he were the child and you were the adult. "Look, honestly, I'm not listening to this. Mostly because I think I'd have the right to do whatever the heck I want. These parties, these jokes, these 'seeing boys'," you actually laughed, "Chan, I'm just doing what you told me. I'm living life."

He knew what you meant by that, he knew almost more than anyone. He was the one who told you—that night in his room, you remembered, when his hand covered yours over the strings of his guitar, teaching you how to play—no, he ordered you to be happy. To do, for once, what you wanted, not what you were meant to do. Although, if you'd done what you honestly wanted to do, up to this point, you would've truly, undoubtedly, terribly fucked up.

You would've let yourself give in to the arresting and absolute starlight that was Park Chanyeol—let yourself fall before he could even catch you. Before you could even catch yourself.

He dismissed the latter, "I know Yoona, I know she wouldn't do anything—"

"I would do?"

"No, no, I wasn't going to... What I mean is," he was frowning now, worrying at his lip, biting the insides of his cheek and shifting his weight from one foot to another—things he would normally do when he was flustered, confused. You hated that you knew every little thing that made Chanyeol Chanyeol. "I—I'm worried. About you, I mean. I don't want to be responsible for—"

"Anything I do?" So that was it? He wanted nothing to do with your childish fuckery? You laughed, holding in so much, "Why, you could've just said that! I won't hold anything against you if I'd were to, say, majorly fuck up."

That wasn't exactly true. Your "fucking up", you felt, was also partly his fault. While your devastatingly big slip up at fifteen wasn't exactly because of Chanyeol—it just was. You wanted to blame him, make him all accountable. But simply because you were tired sick of having to bear its entirety, and because you were selfish and scared. And it disgusted you, exceedingly, because you felt like a coward and because you were one. A girl playing pretense on high heels and button ups that couldn't own up to her mistakes and blamed it all on others.

Now you were enraged, "Chanyeol, I'm not a kid, okay?" See me as a woman. You shook your head, almost convulsively. "You have to understand that."

He laughed, dryly and even sinister, "But you are! Look at the way you're acting—the way you behave, the way you deal with things—"

"You don't know how I 'deal with things'," you quoted in the air, making a face that possibly looked like a grimace. "And, certainly, you wouldn't know how I behave, you've barely been around the past two years."

"Oh, well, pardon me for getting my life straight, Miss 'I've changed in the last two years'."

You despised it. Despised that he made fun of you, that he pulled it all off with a grin, and that he looked very attractive while doing so. You breathed, "Chanyeol." That seemed to shut him up—either your voice, or your look. At least he was quiet while you had the courage to tell him more than you had the past year or so.

And the courage to let him know you weren't having any more of his bullshit, "I basically manage a company now with my parents. I am in a place men twice my age virtually crawl to get to, and I got here when I was thirteen." You laughed, though obviously forced, "I think I'd know more about 'getting my life straight' than you ever would."

You were sure that stung him. And while you were usually pretty good with words, often you felt you couldn't hide anything from him at all. Not even if it hurt. Of course, there was this one thing, this one exception, but still.

He wasn't used to keep any harsh words from you either, anyway, "I think it shows just how childish you are that you have to rub off your position in my nose to prove that you've matured somehow."

Alright, if there was ever any time you'd wanted to smack Chanyeol more than now you'd had to be delusional. He was right and you knew it. And he knew it too.

He grinned, "I'm right, aren't I?"

You almost reached a hand back to slap him—he closed his eyes, too—but opted against it. Instead, you softened, you were delirious. Because, shit, Chanyeol had that effect on people. 

You brought your fingers down against his black hair, brushing wild strands back from his eyes. These snapped open, and you guessed he asked 'what are you doing?', but there was only this sharp intake of breath against the skin of your wrist.

Your breaths were shallow and in the back of your throat and you wondered how was it that you had the courage to do it—to touch his hair, to stand this close to him without tripping and falling in an attempt at bringing yourself back to reality because this wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

You let your hand drop, almost as if his hair had stung you, and allowed yourself to fall forward. He didn't exactly catch you, he didn't need to, he was just there. You stood with your forehead against his chest and mused at how wonderful it felt to hear his heartbeat this close to your ear. Quick and pounding.

You chuckled. Because even if Chanyeol had this utmost capability for burning your throat like spiked oxygen, and setting you off into a frenzied symphony that made you want to dance to no music and laugh to no joke and burn to no fire—even if you were completely out of your fucking mind and driven to a scape of oddness and hellish fever, he was there with you still, all tangible, and hot, and living, and there, there, there.

He didn't say a word when his hand came to rest on your head and then follow the trail of your hair. Chanyeol was trying to make you feel better, he was trying to comfort you. He meant better, you knew, but you couldn't help feeling more weak and small and vulnerable. And you despised and loved every second of it.

"(Y/N)," your name felt so intimate when he said it, like a secret you'd told him and no other. It made you raise your hands to his sides, to ball the fabric of his sweatshirt in your palms so as to prevent you from doing something any more stupid. "Everything I said—maybe I could've said it differently, maybe..." he chuckled, God, so close, "Maybe I was the one behaving like a child. I knew it annoyed you, so I kept pressing, I'm sorry. But."

You thought he would stop then, but he swallowed, and hooked a strand of hair between his fingers and behind your ear, "But I'm scared, and it feels really shitty. I—Yoona is my sister, so I can tell her what to do—what not to do. But you. You are...someone different. Someone that grew up too soon. Someone that had to be told to be happy because you wouldn't do it on your own. I..."

You felt like he expected you to look at him in the eyes while he said so, but you couldn't bring yourself to let him draw you more. You wouldn't, and he continued, "I can't find a way to take care of you, and it's scary, hell. I... I know you don't need me for that now, you never needed me for that, anyway, and yet there I was, like a nuisance." He laughed a little, and it made you close your eyes, the way you could feel it. "What I mean is, I want you to be careful, alright? To take care of yourself. And what I mean by that—shit, how do I even... There are some things you can never get back, so—"

Was he—was he giving you some kind of sex talk? You laughed, truly astonished. "You really think I haven't had sex before?" He stiffened.

You couldn't believe it—couldn't believe he still saw this little girl-friend he felt entitled to take care of, like he had any right to treat you like something of his property. You were bloody livid.

His 'what?' of incomprehension made it all far worse.

"You truly are dense."

And he was, because he didn't notice you changing ever since you turned fifteen. He didn't see your smile faltering with things that before would've made you laugh. He overlooked the details that were there to anyone but him—your sudden haircut, your change in wardrobe, your slimming body; the toll of a job that had come far too early for you and would have for any other.

He dismissed your appearing less at his home. And while he did have the chance to question it, it didn't go beyond a rushed guitar lesson in which he felt the greatest shit of all, giving those bull crap suggestions about "following your dreams" and "finding true happiness".

But most importantly, he missed you looking at him like his eyes held the stars and everything luminous. He missed you blushing savagely whenever he brushed your hair behind your ear. He missed you giving this looks to the girls that visited him, this looks to their hands while they were held by his. He missed you remembering your wedding in that bowling alley and letting your eyes chant mine, mine, mine when even Jongin noticed and he didn't.

He missed you falling in love with him, and he missed catching you.

He also missed the way you caught yourself before sinking in too deep.

You pulled back, not quite expecting to feel relieved but being rewarded when you did. But there couldn't possibly be any bigger reward than fixing Chanyeol with a look of grandeur and absolutism as you said the words you'd meant to spew every time you tripped and almost fell.

"Fuck you, Park Chanyeol."

You turned to leave, not smiling, making sure he didn’t miss it. Let Chanyeol see the way he made the sole bloody thought of breathing a complete impossibility. How he made breaking away from him a deeper cut that was infectious and that stung and that when sealed only but brought him deeper. Allow him to take a look at what a good fucking liar you were for making your stumbles go unnoticed. For making a hoax out of yourself, making believe you were grander than what you actually were. A girl that flipped him off because she was too scared to say ‘I like you’ and then immediately ‘get out’ because everything was ever so entirely full of him. Because she could only hope he didn’t miss the way her eyes said that she’d fallen and couldn’t feel her breath.