#live every day like pretzel

[bukowsky-art]

(со страницы "Live Every Day Like It's Pretzel Day" Backpack for Sale by BukovskyART)

[neopuppy]

Pretzel (M)

pairing. alpha jeno x female omega reader

genre. non-traditional a/b/o AU, and they were roommates, pw-barely any-p, M/F, one shot

warnings. profanity, gamer Jeno, mild e2l, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

wc. 8k+

now playing. pretzel//nct dream

smut warnings. unprotected sex, heat sex, masturbation, oral, possessiveness, choking, biting, degradation/praise, knotting, wet messy slicked up filth

———————————————————

Today is going to be a good day, because today you woke up with renewed motivation despite another restless night.

Your apartment is the perfect walking distance from work. Utilities are included in the rent, there’s an adorable bakery across the street that serves the best almond croissants, and the balcony has an amazing view of the mountains.

Not to mention rent was more than within your budget.

Nothing can ever actually be perfect though, your roommate reminds you as he steps out of his bedroom reeking of pungent Alpha scent, shooting you a wink on the way to the bathroom.

“Morning, Omega.”

Your apartment is perfect, other than one insufferable factor.

Jeno Lee moved in last week after your landlord had promised you ‘no issue’ of housing you with another Omega. No issue until it became an issue, that is.

‘You said Alphas aren’t permitted on this floor!’

Mr. Huang shrugs, blaming his son's lack of diligence. ‘Ah, I give him one task! You kids never listen.’

‘I don’t care! I can’t live with an Alpha!’

‘It will be temporary, okay? Technically he paid the first month’s rent in full along with the entire deposit before you. So unless you want to be out on the street by the end of the day, I suggest you learn to live with it. Besides, it’s not the 1900s anymore, what Omega doesn’t use heat suppressants these days?’

You, of course.

Not that you had reason to divulge your medical history to nothing more than a stranger.

‘How soon can you relocate me?’

‘As soon as another tenant moves out, it’s all yours! I’ll make a note of it right now!’

Mr. Huang, of course, failed to mention the fact that none of his current leases had less than 6 months left to go.

‘Us Alphas get a bad reputation for no reason! Anywho! Jeno seems like a really nice young man!”

“Temporary my ass.” You mutter, picking burnt bits off your breakfast. A really nice young man, or the bane of your existence.

Jeno, your new roommate who makes zero effort to shut the bathroom door before dropping his towel, leaving every inch of skin visible for your puffy half-awake eyes to take in.

Jeno, your new roommate who smirks without breaking his gaze while shutting the door enough for the latch to somehow never lock.

Jeno, your new roommate who has no qualms about how loud his moans bounce off the tile shower walls.

Jeno, your new roommate who strolls through the living room still dripping wet, scrubbing his hair dry aimlessly on his way to the kitchen to sit across from you and take a bite of your uneaten toast while scrolling through his phone, occasionally nudging into your shoulder to point out something he finds hilarious.

Jeno, your new roommate who manages to disrupt your peaceful perfection any chance he gets.

———————————————————

“You don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get? You live with a sexy Alpha, and you’re terminally single. Of course I get it!” Your best friend says, clicking her tongue snarkily. 

“Me being single has nothing to do with this!” You snap back, pacing back and forth through your living room. Occasionally bending to pick up the various scattered belongings your roommate never seems to put away, from different remotes for his numerous consoles to empty snack wrappers. 

“Wait, these are my chips!” You snicker, turning on your heel to storm into the kitchen. “This guy has no respect for me, he thinks I’m an idiot!”

“Oh come on, don’t be ridiculous! He seemed really nice the other day when I dropped you off.”

“You met him for 2 seconds and asked me if he has a girlfriend, you have no right to an opinion.” Shifting your phone between your shoulder and ear, you begin to inspect your cabinet, noticing different items missing.

“I knew it!” You exclaim, glaring before quickly explaining that you need to hang up.

“Jeno! did you eat my ramen again?!?”

Another day of living with an Alpha, and another day full of frustration.

From your toothpaste spilling out because someone continues to lie about using it and never properly closing the tube, to your roommate carrying the faint scent of your favorite body wash combined with his overbearing zesty bergamot Alpha musk. Not to mention the amount of times you’ve noticed your groceries diminishing before you could even touch them.

Jeno has more than just an affinity for your belongings, he either had to be doing this on purpose, to annoy you, or he truly did not comprehend the meaning of ‘invasion of privacy’.

“Jeno!” 

It’s Sunday, the day you both coincidentally always end up staying home. Not that you do go out for much other than for work and to complete errands— something your roommate never fails to mention when taunting you for being a stay-at-home ‘hermit’.

The beginning of your tantrum goes unnoticed, of course, because while every little thing he does manages to itch through your limbs in the most irritating of ways, Jeno could care less. Your presence never fazed him, if anything you only brought amusement to his day the more you’d stomp and reprimand him over minuscule happenings.

“Jeno!” Another shout of his name is the only warning you give before breaking into his bedroom. The crinkled empty packet of ramen gripped tightly in your hold; because why bother throwing out the evidence after eating the last pack? That would mean he gave a shit.

“Jeno! what the fuck is your prob—“

The scent of crushed up lemon hits you first before the familiar bergamot; dripping sticky bitter fruity juice between, staining everything surrounding along the way with acid. It’s more than overwhelming, locking your knees together, melting your feet to the floor, ferociously curling through your gut. 

It’s not Jeno’s usual scent, it’s arousal. His usually annoying scent that clings to every inch of this apartment clouded by raw, depraved, hungry, unmated feral Alpha arousal.

The headphones attached to his head block out the sound of your shrill annoyance, computer screen in front of him displaying a video of a desperate Omega clawing at bed sheets; hurled closer to the camera filming them. Rough thrusts and a fist secured in her hair rip her neck into a painful arch, making the shot of her breasts clapping together much too clear. Tear stained cheeks glow ahead, lifted up by a smile and what you can only assume from reading her lips is ‘More! PLEASE more!’

Jeno grunts from his chest, a loud thwack of skin meeting skin blends with the thick buzz of pleasure filling the four walls you stand awestruck in the middle of, unable to convince yourself to leave and pretend this never happened.

The empty package of ramen drops from your fingers, clutching at your stomach to calm the heat that’s begun to spring, pushing lower the more seconds pass stuck in place; lost to the humid scent of your roommate’s sweat trickling down the side of his face.

Too engulfed with his need to get off, the Alpha has yet to notice you; his profile illuminated by the screen radiating the most light in his dimly lit bedroom. Hems focused, gnawing on his bottom lip with skin folded between his eyebrows, releasing short staggered breaths the faster his forearm jerks. Floppy strands of dark blue hair bounce above his sharp eyebrows, muscular arm rippling beautifully under the shadowed light the more power he exerts.

The deafening obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh draws your gaze lower, choking on a dry inhale at the sight of the tip of his glistening length.  

‘This is an invasion of privacy’ you think, convincing yourself to step back without caution. 

“Ughh, fuck!” Jeno’s voice rings out deep, gravelly and strained as if he’s been edging himself for hours, and maybe he has..

The realization that you’d last seen him this morning on his way to the kitchen flashes across the back of your mind. 

Jeno had paused in his tracks upon spotting you stretched in a split on a yoga mat. Skin tight shorts riding up your bottom, bunched up between your cheeks catching him off guard with his foot stuck mid-air.

‘Uhh..’

Peering over your shoulder, you see his jaws half hung open, his pink lips parted with a lost gaze. ‘What?’

He didn’t respond, continuing to eye from the curve in your stretched foot up to your waist dipping in, unable to neglect a throbbing sensation starting to form inside of his sweats.

‘Jeno!’ You called out annoyed, twisting into another stretch that only arches your back deeper. ‘Do you need something?’

The Alpha straightened up, clearing his throat with a shake of his head before continuing to the kitchen, his hands mindlessly reaching for your half of the cabinet in search of something to munch on; he hadn’t had time to go to the store this week yet, and maybe your food just tastes better than his.

Fuck.

Jeno couldn’t stop himself from sneaking looks over his shoulder, struck by the way you’d gently blot your face free of sweat. The rise and fall of your chest only spurting more thoughts he knows better than to allow himself to have.

It’s been almost a month of this now, of struggling to keep himself collected each time he leaves his room to find you either glaring at him from the kitchen table over a steaming cup of coffee or bent over in some suggestive position. Whether it be with your head buried in a cabinet searching for your favorite ramen bowl that he may or may not have purposely hidden, or your stupid pilates stretches. Those stupid stupid positions you put yourself in, some he had no idea one could even contort themself into.

It wasn’t much at first, Jeno thought sure, yeah, you’re cute. Maybe you’re really cute, especially when you huff and puff around your shared living quarters complaining about your toothpaste again.

It really was a mistake the first time he used it, but the way you bursted into his room screaming about how you pay extra to maintain a pearly white smile tickled him more than it should have. 

Creamy wash dangled from the dispenser of your favorite body wash, the one that blended beautifully with your natural scent and clung to the shower walls even hours after you’d already finished washing up. He swiped it off, dragging the sugary sweet white soap down the center of his chest. A spark of excitement heightened the lower he dragged, easy to imagine you there, taking your time to scrub and rub the bubbly foam over your skin until it felt silky smooth; as silky smooth as your bare arm felt against his bumping into each other in the hallway. Soft enough for an apology to get lost on his lips..

‘Sor—‘ Jeno drifted off, the area you grazed prickling on his arm. A tingle shot up his limb from the slight contact, curling his sock covered toes into the carpet while you glared and cursed him under your breath back on your way inside of your bedroom as if you felt nothing at all.

He tried to stay subtle about it, knowing you threw a fit about getting paired with an Alpha to live with, but it became more difficult with each passing day.

Maybe snatching a pair of your underwear had been a mistake, but as he saw them fall from your freshly dried hamper of laundry he couldn’t deny this must be fate. Not with how soft the cotton material felt against his nose, not with the fresh and airy scent of your wash sticking to his palms. 

Maybe jerking off with a handful of your body wash hadn’t been the best idea, but he couldn’t deny how much easier picturing you on your knees under the showerhead had become, even after cumming on the wall with his face smashed against the foggy tile; sadly watching his need for you swirl it’s way down the drain.

That’s how Jeno found himself once again searching up Omega’s submitting for their Alpha on the heat hub.

Maybe he returned to the search page for roommates fucking during heats and ruts more than once, maybe he never clicked out. Especially from one particular video featuring an Omega with similar features as yours, an added bonus that she too hated her roommate much like you.

“UGH!” Another whined groan snaps you back to reality, stumbling back as Jeno’s hips jump forward, fucking into his fist faster to climax in time with the video playing.

The bend in his neck accompanied with a string of moans shatters your resilience, stepping on your own foot with the other too distracted as you step back. The small shelf near his door meets your elbow and crashes down, pouring out a pile of video games and DVDs noisily; cursing under your breath at your failed attempt to sneak away without notice.

“Shitshitshit!”

“What the fuck?!” Jeno twists fast, too fast, lunging his head back with the headphones still plugged into his computer. He scatters, speedily shoving his length back inside of his sweats with one hand as his other works to shut off the screen. “What the fuck are you doing in here!”

“I—I—“ dropping to your knees, you try to speak. Tongue heavy in your mouth causing you to stutter, aimlessly patting for the door frame to get out. A familiar pang of heat quickly surfaces, screaming for an Alpha to take advantage of you any way they please.

Jeno fumbles to stand, stopping dead in his tracks when it hits him. Stronger than his own scent, the undeniable waft of Omega slick punches through his chest, choking on a deep inhale of your body's release practically begging to be claimed.

“Heat?” He says quietly to himself, jaw slowly falling open watching you try to move away. Crawling backward with your palms on the floor into the hallway. With the little bit of strength you still have, you turn to run on your knees through the hall, coughing against the urge to stay put and let the Alpha in your presence strip you down to nothing. 

Your bedroom door clicks shut just in time to catch sight of Jeno rushing out of his, stampeding over to crash against the door slamming shut in his face.

“You’re in heat??” He asks, sounding it utter awe. Licking across his lips to remoisten them, he’s still too shocked to process everything, groaning with his groin shoved flat to the door to stave off his hunger. The idea that you fell into heat because of him doing more than enough to get him off.

“Aw come on,” Jeno presses closer to the outside of your bedroom door. A smirk evident in his voice as his warm cheek drags against the chilled wood to speak near the small crevice between the frame. “All of this arguing about lack of privacy for weeks and here you are, triggered your heat because you were being a pervert? Naughty naughty.”

“Go away!” You clamber to barricade yourself in even though the doors locked, stuffing a pillow over your face to minimize the pained shriek you let out.

Jeno sighs, softly knocking his forehead against the door. “Promise I’ll be nice if you let me in, it must hurt..” 

“Not in heat.” You croak in anguish, dropping your head back to suppress a cramp spiking between your thighs. 

“Sure baby..” Jeno’s lips tighten, wondering how long it’s been since you last went into heat with an Alpha around; your scent’s dizzying, churning his already aroused brain to nothing but a pile of mush. “Bet it’s been so long since anyone touched you, hmm? you know you can’t get through this alone.”

“I said go away Jeno!” 

The mix of your scents tastes like a drug poured onto your tongue with each struggled breath you take, burying your nose into your pillow harder to keep the Alpha’s more powerful one subdued. It’s impossible with him so close, practically seeping through your walls with each taunting word and delighted laugh he lets out.

“Liked what you saw that much, Omega?” He’s brazen now, fully digesting what this means after weeks of pining for you in secret. Jeno can barely contain a smile, momentarily grateful for the door keeping you divided. “How much did you see, baby?”

He sighs through the door, dragging his knuckles up and down, the sound of it looming above where you crouch and listen. “Did you know I was thinking about you? I always do now. Always think about your soft pretty scent, your tight ass bent over on my bed, teasing me until I stop gaming and fuck the life out of you.”

A gasp collects in your pillow, tightening your legs closer together to stop yourself from squealing as another dollop of slick pours out. The shorts you still had on after finishing your morning workout completely wrecked now. “I know you saw it, you saw everything, didn’t you? Is that what did it for you, baby? Watching me jerk off to another Omega? Did you know I had you on my mind?”

Jeno waits, chewing his bottom lip while picturing your stunned face again; silently absorbing the heavy aroma of slick you left between the hallway walls. “Come on baby, did you know I was thinking about you? Pretending my pretty roommate cried and begged me to go harder, fuck you faster and deeper like some needy Omega bitch in heat..”

Breath lodges in your throat upon his admission, caring less whether it be true or false, he knew exactly what to say to turn your insides upside down. 

“Come on, open the door for Alpha.” 

A minute of silence passes, and you think about it. 

Jeno could help you through your heat, this living situation is temporary anyway. It’s too late to find a clinic to suffer it out at, and your heat wasn’t supposed to hit until next month. You had no time left to prepare, and if your memory serves you right— you need new batteries too.

As much as you try to deny an attraction to your roommate after daily complaints, it’s not as if you have been able to ignore how nervous his presence alone makes you.

Jeno annoys you because you like him, and that’s upset you ever since the day you met.

The tips of your fingers brush around your doorknob, pushing onto your knees with a sniffle into your pillowcase. 

“Go away Jeno,” you say finally, shoving back to curl into a ball as your Omega screams to let him in.

“Fine, suit yourself and suffer in there alone all you want.” He chuckles, tapping up and down your door to create a drum that accompanies his sweet vocals. “I’ll be in my room where you found me, waiting for when you’re ready. Come out, come out whenever you want, Omega.”

Footsteps rain heavily through the corridor, beating against your ear. You sigh defeatedly, returning to press up and listen for the familiar sound of his bedroom door shutting. It takes more than a minute, the Alpha lingering down the hall in wait, expecting you to succumb and claw your way out with your hands positioned ready for prayer and beg for his help.

He sighs quietly, but loud enough to your alert senses, shuffling back to his bedroom with the door shutting but not clicking to lock.

You know he means it, it’s an invitation, precisely as he said to recreate what you caught him watching.

The better part of your conscience commends your ability to stay put and control your natural instinct that craves every inch of the Alphas skin under your tongue, but the devil you ignore clawing at your shoulder chants otherwise.

“Fuck me.” You hiss between grinding teeth, pushing your underwear down for a pinch of relief. The first touch of air-conditioned breeze rustling between your hips aches more than usual. In fact, everything aches more than usual, never once had any heat hit you this hard and left you this aroused before.

This had to be Jeno’s fault. Stupid Alpha leaving his enticing scent everywhere. Stupid Alpha pushing your buttons for weeks until you ended up here on your knees contemplating how much more of this you can take.

Delirium takes over your brain before you can even sweep your fingers between your thighs. Slick aggressively pours down the inside of your legs, sticky and wet down to the pits of your knees making everything all the more uncomfortable. 

Heats had been bearable for the most part, mostly able to handle it yourself, even still showing up to work on your last couple of days with how well you managed to control your Omegas desires and stayed on top of using suppressants.

Jeno just had to show up and fuck up everything for you, with his stupid dark shiny eyes, his stupid attractive smile, and his extra stupid ripped stature that ignited a hint of fear in your gut every time he stood near you, every time his solid flesh so much as rubbed against yours.

As if your Omega could predict your next move, the devil on your shoulder cheered, encouraging you to hurry before ‘our Alpha’ grows more agitated with us.

“Useless.” Banging your head against the wall, you smear a slick painted on your hand across your shirt, shuddering as another pained moan slips out of you.

Silently pleading for forgiveness to no one other than yourself, your last shred of self-restraint evaporates, twisting the knob to collapse out onto the hallway floor. Jeno’s room seems further than ever now as your knees burn to carry you across the expanse of space separating the two of you. The journey down the hall pricks through your bones, cracking and hurting until you finally barge into his bedroom.

The Alphas exactly as you’d found him earlier seated at his computer chair, another video playing on the screen, headphones back on. 

“Alpha..”

A smirk creeps onto his face before looking over to watch you miserably trudge through his room, pathetic with drool already dripping from the corners of your lips.

“Jeno..” Your knees burn and bruise against the floor, slowly crawling deeper in without strength to open the door properly. He fully expected for you to lose control of yourself and find your way back to him, on your knees again as you’d left earlier.

Shifting with his feet paddling against the floor, he swivels side to side waiting until you near close enough to clutch onto his calves, burying your digits along his sweats to hoist yourself higher. “Alpha..”

“You think you deserve anything from me? After I offered you my help so nicely?” Jeno tsks, maintaining an icy expression. Eyes narrowed and jaw locked tight to keep up his cold unforgiving composure even as you pull harder on his sweats to lift yourself between his thighs; even while you drag your face against his upper thigh panting like a thirsty pup. 

“I think you owe me..” he says, sucking in a breath between his teeth, leaning his neck to one side. “How can you expect Alpha to willingly help you after treating me like this?” 

Jeno continues on, pouting when you scratch at his chest. The collar of his shirt dragged down by your grip on the material to pull yourself closer to him. 

“Please, please Alpha, n—need.” You whisper, pressing a wet kiss to his navel that sets a chill of heat down to his groin. The combination of your fierce grip on him and the heat radiating from your fingertips has him fighting to keep calm, slowly allowing his eyelashes to flutter shut as the scent of your prominent thick slick crashes like high-tide waves against his skull.

“What do you need?” Jeno says, lowering his gaze to pan over the distress that’s taken over your beautiful features. 

“Alpha please, please don’t make me..”

The dark glints lining his iris flicker with shards of gold and reds from listening to your groveling, but not enough to break his defiance. “Why should I still be nice? Have you been very nice to me, baby?”

With a clear head you’d probably snicker, bite back and mock him in return, but with heat completely engulfing your body you couldn’t find a care to argue. A coughed wail runs from your throat, stradling the small space left on his lap to wrap around the Alphas broad shoulders and soothe your raging heart with his usual bitter scent that’s ripened, sweet as a bowl of freshly cut fruit; staining your tongue with traces of acidity on a hot summer day. 

Gripping your waist, suckinghe sucks in a breath as he admires the amount of space his large hands are able to cover. Squeezing you tight as the idea of bruises and marks created by his hands showing up on your hips and thighs manifests beyond fantasy. “There there, you know Alpha will take care of you.”

Jeno pinches your chin, having to bite back his lower lip at the way your mouth wobbles; glossy gaze staring back at him pleading to be ruined. “Good Omegas know how to ask for what they need.”

“Jeno!” You whine, sniffling before a tear slips feeling more desperate and humiliated as he grasps your hip with one firm hand to stop you from grinding. “Please! I need you!”

The magic words pour from your lips, returning the Alphas hold to wrap around your waist to drag you closer; rolling his hips up simultaneously to press your bare core against his sweats forming a darkened puddle of slick upon his groin. “Smell so good for me baby, that’s all for me, right?” 

There’s something akin to desperation in the way Jeno’s stares at you while saying your name, pressing the pads of his fingers in your cheeks as he waits for you to speak, to reaffirm that you need him, not just any Alpha but him.

Pawing at his chest, you slowly nod, dipping closer to inhale every bit of him. For a small sliver of his taste to meet your lips. The scent you’ve begun to grow accustomed to feels even more overpowering now, aromatic and lucid inducing; hypnotizing your hips to roll faster for any type of friction against your center. 

Jeno forces your lips into a pout, allowing three breaths to pass between you before closing the small distance with his soft pink pout swallowing yours.

He kisses with equal hunger, nestled between your lips to suck and rub. The end of his tongue finding space inside of your mouth as you let out a gasp of surprise. Jeno’s big hands run down your back, kneading your ass over your shirt on the way to grip your thighs. 

The Alpha effortlessly moves to stand, lifting you with a secured hold around your thighs to set you on an empty space on his desk. Warm hands roam over your body, pushing beneath your shirt to clutch onto your waist again, this time with his digits sinking directly into your flesh. 

“You feel so good, so soft.” Jeno says between breaths, mesmerized by how smooth you feel. His hips rut up between yours, further smearing around the mess of slick coating his sweats. 

Bending lower, Jeno lays you back on his desk, licking the spit that's ended on your chin, rubbing his nose against yours before returning to your parted lips to plunge deep inside of your mouth; tongue gliding along yours. 

“Al-alpha..” moans continuously spew between strokes of his tongue, losing comprehension with another piston of his hips. The Alphas growing bulge presses stiff against your center, rubbing impatiently on your clit. “please, need you, n—need you now”

Jeno grunts, chewing your lips with his hands exploring, from squeezing your thighs and ass to tracing your shape up to your chest. He’s everywhere, mauling your mouth as he grinds harder, massaging your breasts with a strong hold, fingers tweaking your hardened buds. If not for his unrelenting will to not immediately fuck into you, you’d be sure he’s in rut.

“Need you too.” Jeno whimpers, winding the fabric of your t-shirt around your waist as a handle to grip and jam against you harder. “Need to taste you, feel every part of you.”

“Please, y-yes, Alpha please.”

Jeno nods rapidly, breaking into a sweat still fully clothed above you, large and powerful with his demanding empty thrusts that spiral up your chest, craving for more, more of the Alpha to consume you, more more more.

“Can you cum like this?” He asks breathlessly, a hint of whine singing from his throat as he bends to lick up your jaw, trailing up your ear to suck on. “Cum for me baby, wanna taste you.”

“Alpha, n-no—” his pace is unforgiving now, pushing your shirt up to stuff into your mouth muffling your moans. Jeno grunts listening to the nasty wetness between you, slick dripping down between his thighs leaving his sweats soaked. The table under you a complete mess of arousal smearing its way up to your lower back.

“Oh fuck!” With gritted teeth he pulls away to watch your chest heave, hips lifting up in desperate need. A stream of slick pulses out, squirting onto his shirt and the space under you, landing with a loud obscene splash. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

He can’t wait any longer, dropping to his knees quickly, his mouth attaches to your entrance before you can finish. Swallowing and sucking the last spurts of slick, the shock of his tongue dipping in shooting your spine rigid; bowing up into an arch with your feet scrambling to settle on the desk. “Alpha!”

Jeno groans from deep within his chest, his tongue working in and out of your convulsing heat instantly unable to get enough of the slick pouring down his throat. “Do you even know how good you taste?” 

The Alpha growls between slurping slick and licking between your folds, his nose covered with a layer of wetness from dragging up and down your exposed center. The tip of it rolling your clit into a mind-numbing circle as he takes a deep breath, slick filling his nostrils leaving him with hardly any space to breathe.

“Fuckfuck.” Jeno feels out of his mind, days of jerking off to the thought of you all leading to this moment. Ravenous with hunger to swallow you whole, he sucks on your labia folds, alternating the velvety flesh with light nips and pointed licks. Fat stripes of his tongue drag from your rim to your clit, lips pursed around the bundle of nerves to make you shriek.

A repeated chant of ‘so fucking good’ between deep intakes of wet breath sounds between your moans, heated palms squeeze your hips pushing onto the backs of your thighs to lift your lower back from the desk. Jeno stays bent over driving in deeper at this new angle, his tongue pushing in and out stretching your walls purposefully. 

Heat licks through your stomach when the Alpha pushes two digits in alongside his tongue, the stretch torturous as he falls into a fast-paced pump. Long thin fingers scissor way inside of you against the strain his tongue works up to, wiggling in deeper until his jaw hinges and locks. The tension in his muscle eliciting a grunt that fills your insides with toe curling vibrations.

Jeno imagines he could die with his face buried between your thighs, wondering how he went this long without your slick lathered on his tongue. His nose rubs back and forth against your clit the more he attempts to push in, slipping another finger into you. 

“Jeno! I’m—fuck!” You keen, wrinkling between your eyebrows as a shout and another wave of pleasure crashes over you. White heat filled with lust blacks out your senses as climax fully hits, having to reach for chunks of the Alphas hair to yank at between wailing for him to stop.

The Alphas ears feel foggy, clouded with fuzzy cotton and the screams of your pleased moans. He works past your orgasm, tongue gliding out to only focus on your clit, striking it in repeated motion with lick after lick; long fingers gaining momentum as he buries a fourth in and jackhammers another orgasm out of you. 

Your next release hits faster, his arm stiffening to push the tips of his digits against a spongy spot deep inside of you, splaying his other hand under your bellybutton with a harsh suck around your bundle of nerves. 

“Jeno!” 

Screams sound around the room, eyes rolling to the back of your skull with the assault from the Alphas merciless fingers and mouth. Slick rushes out viscously bursting past the digits lodged deep inside of you, coming to a still as he enjoys the stream smacking him across the face. 

“Holy fuck.” Jeno sighs, licking the mess off his lips before dragging out and kissing from over your slit to your entrance, hips twitching up with a whine from the oversensitivity.

“So perfect..” the Alpha mumbles quietly, not loud enough for you to hear over your euphoric daze; still lost in heat and addictive gratification.

He’s quick to strip himself, kicking off the sweats you’ve ruined and coming to stand up straight above you, looming large and broad.

“Never seen a prettier Omega.” He flatters, holding onto your knees to keep you spread open. Another embarrassing wad of slick leaks at the visual of the Alphas built frame hovering above you, his chest defined and abdomen etched in solid muscle, inching closer to your core. “With the prettiest pussy too.”

“Alpha, fuck me already, please!” You preen, squirming in his hold. His praise only does more to heighten your impatience and despair, squirming against the desk impatiently.

“Want me that much hmm? You going to cum that hard on my cock for me too?” Jeno clicks his tongue, sucking a breath between his teeth to lessen his Alphas rage to take you right now. The thought of fucking you for the first time anywhere other than his bed not sitting right with him. Leaning over, he kisses you softly, savoring the pilant moans you share between licks across the seam of your lips. Trailing his tongue inside to twist against yours and pull, drawing your neck and waist to arch up and allow his arms belt around you. 

Surprising you with his strength, he squats to haul you off the table, his bed not far off to lay you flat even with his legs shaking after staying hard for this long. Jeno can feel his last semblance of power disappear as he helps you out of your shirt, fully exposed beneath him with your face hidden and ducked against your shoulder as you flush. Suddenly shy with the Alphas dark glossy gaze taking his sweet time to scan your figure and caress your delicate curves.

“So pretty for your Alpha..” Jeno whispers, completely enraptured. Sleek eyes glazed over as they pass across every inch of skin, tickling down your sides to grab onto your hips again. The hiss you let out lets him know it hurts, bruises surely forming in the shapes of his fingers, an image to revel in until he can properly claim you.

“Alpha, fuck me.. please fuck me.” You whine more feverishly now, reaching to scratch and pinch his waist and meld your bodies closer, his thighs forming more space between your hips to settle his length against your core.

“Do you even understand what you’re begging me to do baby?” Jeno questions, lapping his mouth clean as his palm flattening around your throat. “Begging for Alpha to ruin you.”

“Wa—want you, want you to ruin me.” His grip tightens, snaking your throat with a chokehold when you plead for him to make it hurt, make it hurt good enough to remember. “Pl—please..”

“What if I need everything, what if I need every part of you?” He breathes harshly, hips rolling forward to drag his size between your gushing folds. “Will you give me that? Give me everything.”

“Everything,” tears spring free as your hands reach to wrap around his forearm, trembling head to toe with each pass of the Alphas cock from your navel to your clit, the stimulation pushing your mind deeper into an abyss of heat and desire. “I’m yours.”

Jeno’s throat jumps, cursing under his breath as he litters a path of kisses down your jaw, nipping your chin on his way to your chest. Perfectly straight pearly teeth bury into the pert mound of your breast with a growl, shaking his head to sink deeper into the fleshy meat and leave a mark. “So good, so fucking good.”

Loosening his hold on your neck, he traces upward, nestling the end of his nose along the column of your throat in search of your scent gland. His lungs lock dry and tight as he takes a deep long inhale of the sweet fragrance he’s become infatuated with; nipping at your warm skin, teasing you with the threat of marking you to be his. Threat of taking a chance to easily claim you as his mate. Sharp canines dig in enough to break the skin and leave indentations, staying still for seconds to let your scent flow down and fill his lungs.

Thrill races through your spine, having the Alpha this close to your scent gland. Arching for more movement between your bodies, your nails dig into his sculpted sides scratching down leaving viscous red lines in their wake, encouraging him to leave a mark.

Jeno sucks using more strength, raising blood to the surface on your neck in the pattern of a necklace, one for his hand to latch onto and deepen later.  

“Jeno, c—can’t—” ragged breath lodges between your lungs with his palm returning to constrict your throat, fingers digging into the sides congesting your next inhale. He growls roughly, like shards of glass have ruined his vocal chords. 

“You like that baby?” 

Barely able to nod, your body speaks for you as another glob of slick runs down the Alphas length leaving his balls dripping wet onto the bedding. “Get so wet for me, you get wet like this for anyone else?” 

“You, you Alpha.” You cry, desperately horny enough to say anything he wants at this point. Brought down to nothing but a pile of putty in his ruthless rough hands, willing to hand over your world for him to destroy.

He hums pleased, licking at the sweat blanketing his upper lip and using your throat to push his shoulders up, gawking in awe at the area you’ve drenched between your lower halves. Slick coats his thighs, abdomen shining under soft light reflecting off of him, the bed topper beneath you ruined. “You like me that much?”

He kisses at the backs of his teeth, rutting between your folds without control, losing his breath as he watches the tip of his size reach past your twitching navel with each swipe up. “Fuck, you gonna be good for me? Be a good Omega for Alpha and take it all?”

“Yesyesyes! Be so good, anything—” you blubber, coughing with your thighs clenched around his hips to lure him in. Hands scrabble on his wrist and forearm to loosen his hold on your neck, wheezing for air. “So good for you Alpha, a—anything.”

Jeno grabs a hold of his length, gripping snuggly around the base to calm himself, leisurely dragging his tip between your folds. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

The thick aroused scent emitting off of you only grows heavier with his murmured flattery, a fresh dollop of slick bubbling out and drenching Jeno’s heavy sack. Tears cling to your eyelashes, a watery plead to be fucked echoes out, blurring past the Alphas ears when another waft of your scent spins his head into an alternate universe; mindlessly dipping the tip of his cock past your tight entrance.

“W—want you inside,” you say, fluttering your eyes shut nervously. “Want all of you inside Alpha, wanna be full of your pups.”

Jeno’s chest tightens, grinding his teeth as he inches deeper into your heat. The wet warmth makes the room spin, compressing his lungs in a way that brings him closer to what can only be described as death, and he knows he’s fucked. He’ll never be able to get enough of you after this.

“Feel you s—so deep,” you stammer, sliding a palm down to your navel to rest against the skin that’s begun to distend as the Alpha stills, head drooping between his shoulders to lower his uncontrollable moans. “Wanna feel your cum.. drip out of me.”

Jeno can’t stop himself from shouting, cursing under his breath while throwing back his head. Wet walls clamp around his size, the pressure shooting through his balls to fuck you with a renewed feral urgency. 

Shifting back, the Alpha gazes down between your bodies where you connect, jaw hung loose mesmerized by your cunt refusing to release him. Your walls squeezing, milking his length to your content until he finally sees the tip only to ram forward and fall into a brutal pace.

Hunching forward he bounces you deeper against the bed, exactly where he’d always planned to have his way with you. Fuck you until you cry and beg exactly as you are now. The nonsense and pleasured sounds dripping off your tongue playing like a tune to the rapid volume of flesh meeting flesh. Sharp hips barrel against your thighs, meeting fierce enough to leave bruises in their aftermath. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Jeno whimpers, pushing his mouth against yours, melting into a messy kiss that’s more drool than lips meeting. Teeth clink together, swallowing shared breaths between failed attempts of locking lips. “How are you this perfect for me?”

The Alphas hands cup under your ass, groping to lift your bottom up and meet his furious speed. Tingles explode throughout your limbs from his praises, searching for refuge in his shoulder to hide the undeniable burn racing across your cheeks.

“Don’t hide from me, baby.” Jeno commands, pressing his nose against your cheek. “My pretty Omega.”

Raspy sweet vocals sing everything you need to hear right now, the constant mine mine mine twisting up your gut. The Alphas thick length works fast, thrusting into you at a spine-breaking pace, lifting your waist up to arch.

“Pl—please, please,” you croak, biting down on Jeno’s shoulder as a blood curdling scream tears through your chest. His cock catches on your entrance with each pull out, wrapping your legs tighter to lock your ankles around his lower back.

“What are you begging for?” the Alpha mouths at your jaw, nipping and licking sweat off your cheek. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” 

Jeno can’t believe what a slut his roommate is, already fucked stupid and still demanding more. Moving to slide his arms under your back, he sets a violent pace. The scream you let out scratching your vocal chords up, urging him to fuck you faster. Fuck you until your heat breaks.

“Yesyesyes! Alpha!”

“God,” he gasps, disoriented. Disbelief of how well you take it rocking his brain side to side. Taking it like you belong to him already. “Made for me, aren’t you baby?” 

He’s fucking into you even faster, harder, every inch meticulously dragging inside of you. The room humid and hot with a combined heat building off your bodies, skin beating against yours all sweaty, sticky, covered in slick.

“Fuck baby, how are you still so f-fucking tight.” Jeno preens, his voice cracking the more you clench around. “Feel too good, feel too damn good..”

Planting you with another sloppy kiss, he straightens back to push your thighs against to chest. Weighing more on your air passage as his hips drop faster, knees bracketed around your distraught face adding to how delirious and lost you feel.

“Al—alpha.. br—..” with a lifeless sigh, you crumble. Angled perfectly to watch his length bury in and out of you. The thick size of his girth spreading your cunt open more than you’ve ever seen, breaking you to never need anyone else. No one would ever come close. “Breed me.”

Jeno’s eyes snap open, his hands squeezing roughly along the backs of your legs. He can’t stop now, not with how you gaze up at him like he’s a God. The hazy stare you focus on him, admiring the man above you so full of list, sending him toppling over the edge. 

Tears, drool, and sweat spill past your lips, huffing empty breathless cries. The Alphas cock burying into you to the brim protruding your stomach out again. His massive size rearranging your insides, erasing the last shred of sanity you had with another roll of his hips.

Incoherent noises break from your parched throat, the most painful and satisfying orgasm ripping through your body, strong enough to leave you feeling brainless. Eyes rolled back as your lower half jerks, squirting aggressively enough for Jeno to nearly break into tears as he stays rooted inside of you against the pressure trying to rip past his length and push him out of the way.

“God damn..”

He fucks you through it, dragging your limp body higher up the bed as he races to completion. A gutted growl slices through the thick air around you, his knot expanding as hot white ropes painting your insides. Teeth gritted as he leans down and lays a pathway of kisses up your chest, licking over your scent gland again, more desperate to bite and have you as his mate.

The Alphas knot continues to stretch you open and grown, instinctively lulling another weak orgasm out of you the more your tight muscle pulls around him. Locked together with half-lidded eyes lazily taking in the afterglow painted over your expressions, the heat subdues enough to at least feel half-awake and process reality for the moment.

“Thank you..”

Jeno smiles, adjusting his arms to loop around your waist and position you both more comfortably on your sides until his knot deflates. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because..” you mumble, tucking in your chin to hide as warmth rushes to your cheeks. “..I wanna be good for you..”

His cock pulsates watching your expression shift to a demure innocent one, stifling a groan by biting on his lip. He nudges your forehead with his nose, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“You are the best for me.”

Jeno’s affirmations reach deep with your heat feeding off the Alphas energy, the ache between your thighs stinging again, punching through your gut. Tightening around his length as he slims down to a normal size.

“Alpha..”

“My baby needs more already?” He smiles softly, pecking away the pout you give him as he maneuvers to slowly pull out of you.

“Come on, present yourself, show me how much you want it. Show me how good you can be for your Alpha.” Jeno says with a hint of cockiness laced through his tone. Slapping your hip enough to sting and have you lazily turning over, hissing as your knees drag on the wet bedding; lowering your chest to shove your ass out with a defined arch in your spine. 

He can’t believe how wrecked your cunt looks already, swollen and coated in his seed. His fingers smear the mess of your mixture up to push more inside of your hole, drawing sad little whines out. “Perfect Omega for me. Mine.”

Sniffling, you nod, swaying your hips for more even if you feel ready to pass out. “Yours.”

The Alpha sits up on his knees, slapping the underside of his length against your rim and slit creating filthy sounds of wetness around you. His cock coats in the remnants of his release and slick that won’t stop flowing out of you. “Fill you up with my pups, like my good Omega deserves.” 

Sheathing back in, he lets out a guttural groan, eyes rolling back as blunt nails dig into your sides. His cock throbs against your swelled walls, wasting no time to fuck and breed you full of cum again and again. The reminder that you belong to him now never failing to sing from his lips release after release with his hands tangled in yours. 

“Mine, meant to be mine.”

The Alphas aroma shifts the air around you before he can settle back into bed, humming as he plops back onto the space next to you.

“You’re not going to believe this but..” Jeno laughs bitterly, nuzzled against your side with his phone in hand. “Mr. Huang emailed about an eviction on the Alpha floor..”

“Hmm? Eviction?” You question lazily. Still drowsy with your nose buried in Jeno’s pillow to quell your heat for a moment.

“Yeah.. looks like I can move out by next week..” he trails off mournfully, clearing his throat as he locks his phone.

“Move out?? What?” those words are enough to have you shooting up to sit, hissing from the way your entire body stings. “Wht?!”

“Uhm, because you want me to move out?” Sitting up on his elbows, he cocks an eyebrow, the one he recently put a slit in that you absolutely hate(love). “Weren’t you just ranting to your friend about how insufferable and disrespectful I am?”

“See, eavesdropping is disrespectful,” rolling your eyes, you lightly smack his tight stomach, returning to cuddle into the Alphas pillow. An instant blanket of calm wraps around your limbs with one inhale as his trademark scent consumes your senses. “Do you want to move?”

“Not really..” Jeno admits, laying back down to meet you at eve-level. “I doubt a new roommate would buy the same great snacks and ramen you always manage to find.”

“Do you see how you’re insufferable?” You tut, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“As long as you’re willing to live with me.. I’d like to stay.” He smiles genuinely, draping an arm around your waist to press closer. “..and maybe see where this goes..”

“This?”

“Us.”

“..when’s your next rut?” 

Jeno cracks into a wide smile at that, tickling up your back to make you curl into yourself and expose your throat for him to kiss and lick.

He may or may not have made all of that up, who knows really. It’s not as if he doesn’t proudly carry the title of being your insufferable Alpha roommate without good reason.

[luveline]

If we're still doing dad thoughts- I'm always thinking about kbd!Steve and how wonderful he is. The whole family sitting cosy in the living room and Steve just giving his family heart eyes because he loves them all so much 🥹🥹

thank you for requesting <3 kisses before dinner au, mom!reader

Steve lets out a sigh of content. He feels like a kitten falling asleep over a bowl of cream, or a little boy the night after Christmas. He feels content, in every sense of the word. He had no idea he could feel this happy doing nothing. 

You’re on your stomach. Finally home from work and with no chores left to do, you’ve stretched out the big green puzzle rug and unboxed Avery’s newest one thousand piece jigsaw. The edges are coming together slowly, the constant plink of pieces as you sort through them colour by colour lulling rather than grating. Avery lies opposite you in the same position. She might be Steve’s physical replicant, but she’s your copy now. She’s even perched her hand in her chin the same way you have, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips in concentration. 

Wren is awake yet perfectly happy in Steve’s lap. She’s had enough cooing for this evening, babbling as the cartoon mermaids on the TV begin to sing a big musical number. Dove sings along, nestled under Steve’s arm. Many of the words are foreign to her. She swaps them out for nonsense sounds. 

Bethie sits on one of Steve’s socked feet eating pretzels and clapping when the cartoon sea creatures clap, her hair tickling Steve’s knees whenever she moves. It’s the calmest night you’ve had for a while. What’s better is that, besides you and Avery, everybody’s had a bath, and so all that’s left to do tonight is have dinner and go to bed.

You’ll wait until the morning to shower, decked out in your pyjamas, Avery’s hair swept into a protective style to prevent any tangles or knots. 

He can’t really put his finger on why he feels so happy. Perhaps it’s because, at the end of the day, this is everything he’s ever wanted. He doesn’t need the finer things or even the moderately good things, but he has them. He has a nice, clean home (though it’s fit to bursting now with the newest arrival). He has a wife who he loves, and who loves him. He has his four daughters, their pet fish, and a best friend four streets away who he can see whenever. It’s more than he ever thought he’d get, once. 

“Dad,” Bethie whispers. 

“Yeah?” he whispers back, voice filled with a mischievousness that makes Bethie smile. 

“Why are you smiling?” 

You turn to look at him. “You are smiling. What’s funny?” 

“Nothing,” he insists. 

Dove turns under his arm. Her toddler face is pretty much identical to her baby face, the only difference being her mouth full of baby teeth that she hasn’t quite mastered talking around yet. “You are smiling,” she says, like this is a problem to be solved. 

“What’s so bad about that?” he asks. “It’s a good thing, smiling. You guys should try it sometimes.”

Predictably, every girl looking at him is immediately glaring at him. Well, for a moment, but then Bethie cracks and smiles shyly. “I smile all the time,” she argues. 

“You do. Not my cranky pants,” he says, giving Dove a gentle shake. “We don’t like smiling, do we?” 

Dove, despite herself, grins at her dad’s affection. Maybe she’s forgotten you’re home, but she wraps her arm around Steve, careful of Wren’s face, and smiles into his shirt. “No,” she says. “We don’t.”

He kisses her head, sharing a private look with you from over it. 

Avery doesn’t glance away from her puzzle. “I love smiling.” 

“You’re so good at it, that’s why,” you say. Steve hums his agreement. 

“Yeah, you’re beautiful!” Bethie says. 

Avery pulls her head up, then. “Thank you,” she says, sounding surprised and delighted at once. “You’re beautiful too, Beth!” 

“I’m pretty like mom.” 

“And I’m like dad,” Avery says, nodding. She smiles exactly like Steve would as she says it, driving her point home efficiently. Her lips curve up and her almond eyes thin, sparkling with love as she looks between Bethie and Steve. 

“We’re handsome,” Steve says. 

“Handsomely beautiful,” you say. “Ave, did you know handsome used to be a word only said about girls?” 

Avery shakes her head as you delve into an explanation. Bethie crawls to the jigsaw circle to listen. 

“You’re handsome,” Steve says into Dove’s forehead. 

“I am beautiful.” 

“Yes, you are. You’re all so pretty, ‘cos you get your good looks from me.” He laughs. “And a little bit from your mommy, too. Mostly from me.” 

Dove hears the laughter and it catches like a yawn, her giggles peeling as she falls backwards away from him and into her nest of pillows and blankets. “You’re happy,” she says with a big smile. 

“I’m so happy I could cry,” he says. He grabs one of feet to squeeze her toes. “But I’m getting sick of the mermaids, honey. Can we watch something else after this? Maybe something with real people?” 

“Maybe.” With Dove, maybe tends to mean no. 

He shrugs, adjusting the arm that secures Wren to his stomach carefully. She’s peering up at him curiously. “I can’t win them all, can I?” he asks her softly. 

She smiles and gurgles something unintelligible.

“No, you’re right. It’s just mermaids. We’ll live.”

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i am so proud of the boys and what they accomplished after everyone counted them out 💙🧡 can’t wait for next year when they’ve had a full training camp with patrick and they come back better than ever 🤍

tw: child goes “missing” for a brief moment, mild innuendo

word count: 2.9k

summary: the msg broadcast gets double the barzal men for a little bit

Offering to take the girls to the arena for a game seems like it’s a great idea until you’ve got Talia, both Martin girls, and Tulsa Horvat begging for pretzels mid-way through the second. Normally you’d have at least one of Syd or Holly with you, but since the outing is for Talia’s birthday, you’d thought it would be fine to just take the girls yourself. That you’d be a good friend, letting Syd and Holly have their Thursday night free, since all of your husbands are retired now and they don’t have to come to the arena if they don’t want to.

But Max is getting antsy and Talia is yapping your ear off - much like her father - begging for snacks.

“Mom, please, I’m starving,” she pokes her lip out at you in a pout and widens her hazel eyes. She looks unfairly like Mat when she makes that expression even though her general looks had shifted to favor yours as she got older. You’ve never really been able to say no to either kid anyway.

“Can you at least watch your brother while I go get snacks?” You ask, lifting your eyebrow and twisting your hair back into a slightly sloppy ponytail. Max swings his legs in his seat next to you, grinning at his big sister. His hat dips over his eyes and you make a mental note to adjust the strap.

Talia looks at you as if you just asked her to swallow a cup of live spiders. “Mom, please no! I don’t even know why we brought him, today was supposed to be for my birthday,” she whines a little, those pre-teen hormones working overtime. Two weeks from turning eleven, and you find yourself missing your baby girl more and more each day. She’s usually a pretty polite and delightful kid, but something about that upcoming eleventh birthday is creating that familiar teenage whine you’d been so good at back in the day. You should really call and apologize to your mother.

Max pipes up without taking his eyes off the action on the ice, “your birthday’s not even today!”

“Thank you, Max,” you hold a hand out in front of his face, covering his mouth, as Talia shoots him a glare. Max wiggles away from your hand, his head bobbing in every direction as he tries to see the players. “I should’ve known this would happen.” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your free hand.

The only reason Talia had picked this game for her birthday is because of Jack Cizikas’s last minute call up from the AHL. Her puppy crush on him is something you and Kristy like to joke about, but right now you’re not laughing. Casey, Kristy, Reese, and Cole are up in a suite with the grandparents for the moment and you should’ve just sent Max up there to join them, but your five-year-old is still a little clingy. He loves the Cizikas family, hero-worships ten-year-old Cole, but when you’d suggested it, his face had crumpled and he’d said, “I wanna stay with you, Mama!”

Who were you to argue with that?

“Okay, I’ll take Max with me, but Win,” you raise your voice and look down a few seats at Winnie Martin, the oldest of your babysitting charges at fifteen, “do not leave these seats until I get back, okay?”

Winnie grins at you, Matt’s smile copy and pasted onto her face. She gives you a little salute and nods, “you got it.”

Talia turns back to the girls, completely ignoring you, and you roll your eyes a little before holding out your hand to Max. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go get some snacks,” you say, savoring the feeling of his little hand in yours. You never know when he’ll start thinking he’s too cool for his mom, so you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

“Can I get ice cream?” He asks, skipping along next to you. He gives Sparky a high five when you pass the mascot at the top of the stairs.

You laugh a little and point Sparky and his handler in the direction of the girls. “I’m sure Winnie will love to see you,” you say, nostalgia washing over you as you think about the early years of your relationship with Mat and Winnie’s love for the dragon. Sparky nods and gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up, before bounding down the stairs. It’s a different person in the costume now, obviously, but you all had made sure to keep Winnie humbled by making sure each iteration of the Sparky knew to stop and see her at a game. The teen plays along gamely, her mother’s daughter.

Max tugs on your hand, drawing your attention. “Mama! Can I get ice cream?” He repeats his request and you shake your head.

“Nope, sorry, kid. It’s past your sugar cutoff,” you shake his arm when he pouts and kicks his Nike against the floor, nearly tripping himself as he tries to keep walking. “I’ll split a pretzel with you though.”

“I don’t wanna pretzel,” he whines, dragging his feet as he traipses behind you. You dodge a few people, tugging Max along. He keeps whining a little, complaining under his breath, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose before squatting down so you’re at his eye level.

Max goes quiet, but his whole face scrunches up in annoyance and you smile softly. “If you have ice cream now, you’re not going to be able to sleep. And remember that Daddy’s coming on your field trip tomorrow so don’t you want to be well rested for that?” You raise an eyebrow at him while Max considers your explanation.

The line shifts forward while Max is considering and you smile awkwardly up at the family in line behind you, silently apologizing for not moving. The mother waves you off with a polite smile too. Solidarity.

“Can I have ice cream tomorrow then?” Max finally asks and negotiating with the tiny terrorist wasn’t on your to do list today, but you nod anyway, knowing it’ll bite you in the ass tomorrow.

“Yes, after your field trip you can have a little ice cream,” you stand up, knees creaking a bit, and move forward on the line. Matter settled, you hook your fingers in the back collar of Max’s Horvat jersey, worn because ‘Uncle Bo is the coolest!’ much to Mat’s annoyance and your amusement. At the self-serve counter, you grab five pretzels - even if Max doesn’t want to share, you still want a snack - and a Diet Coke, hoping for a quick burst of energy. You let go of Max’s jersey to fish your phone out of your back pocket and tap it against the reader.

“Okay, Max, back to -“ you cut yourself off, looking down at your side and not seeing Max. “Max? Oh, fuck. Where did he go?”

Your heart hammers in your chest, slight panic rising when you scan the concourse and don’t spot your kindergartener. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, the only thing keeping your panic at a reasonable level is the fact that Max was quite literally almost born in the arena and knows it better than anyone. Of course that also means he could be hiding literally anywhere and never be found.

“I…okay, think like Max,” you step off to the side, against the wall, so you can figure out what to do. “Where the hell is he going to go?”

The muffled cheers of the crowd filter through the arena, signifying that the Islanders have added to their lead late in the second. You smile faintly and, like a lightning bolt to the head, realize where Max wandered off to. Or where you hope he wandered off to.

You book it towards the Lab and the MSG broadcast set up, trying to see around the crowds of people that are leaving their seats now that the second period is over. Obviously, you can’t see anything around all the people and the closer you get to the main stairs, the more panic you’re starting to feel, thinking about the girls back at the seats and what you’ll do if Max isn’t with Mat.

Once the cameras and desk come into view, your entire body unclenches, Max is happily perched on Mat’s hip, chattering away with Shannon while Mat and Thomas discuss the second period’s play. The cameras are on and your son is broadcasting live on MSG. You wiggle your way through the little crowd of people around the set and get to the front, by the retractable belt barriers, and try to catch Mat’s eye.

The second he spots you, his entire expression changes, a delighted smile stretching across his face and his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He looks like a twenty-something again, not the nearly forty-year-old he actually is.

“Max!” You hiss, trying not to be heard. “Send him over here!” You wave your free hand at the duo, Diet Coke wedged under your arm and pretzels getting squished in your hand.

Mat shakes his head at you and Thomas and Shannon look over too, all three of them laughing. Mat turns back to the camera, Max smiling like the cat that got the canary. “My wife’s trying to get our broadcast sidekick back,” he says, laughing. Mat bounces Max in his arms. “But I think we’ll keep him around for his color commentary.”

“No, oh my god,” you shake your head and gesture for Max to come back to you. “Mat, stop it.”

“Max,” Mat turns to look at your son, totally ignoring you, “what did you think of the game so far?”

Embracing the fact that Mat’s going to let Max join them for a while at least, you sigh and relax into the moment, watching Max perk up as he gets to discuss his favorite thing.

“I missed Matt’s goal,” he complains, Matt Maggio must’ve been the one to score when you noticed Max was missing. “But I like Jack the best ‘cause he’s funny and plays mini sticks. And also he gave me a piggy-back all day at Easter.”

Shannon laughs and chimes in, “we like Jack around here too. But hey, Max, I can show you Matt’s goal while your dad and Thomas discuss some of the finer points of the game.”

Max wiggles out of Mat’s arms and darts around Thomas’s back so he can stand with Shannon and watch the goal he missed. You snap a picture of Max’s head poking over the desk, heart melting at the sheer excitement on his face. You also notice the dozen texts littering your phone’s screen - a multitude of laughing emojis sent from the girls while they watch at home.

The fans around you are clearly eating up Max’s presence and you feel a little spike of anxiety thinking about how exposed he is to the public now, after keeping his and Talia’s faces mostly hidden on your social media pages. It’s always a little inevitable that the kids are seen with Mat out in public, but you almost wish you could snatch up all the phones recording video and taking pictures of Max as he points something out to Shannon on the iPad.

You take a nervous bite out of your pretzel and try to just enjoy the moment until they go to commercial when you can duck under the belt barrier. Mat grins boyishly at you, grabbing your waist to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Well, this is fun,” he says, pulling back from the kiss. “Family broadcast.”

“He is so stupid sneaky,” you shake your head, offering Mat the pretzel that you’d taken a bite out of. He accepts it and tears off a piece of his own. “And fast.”

Thomas laughs, leaning his forearms on the desk. “That’ll be helpful when he’s zipping around defensemen and scoring goals,” he teases before going to say hi to the fans and take selfies.

“Mom, look!” Max pops up at your side, holding a puck. Where did he get that?

“Pretty cool,” you smile down at him and let Mat lift him back up onto his hip. Max’s long legs kick at Mat’s thighs. “Where’d you get that, bud?”

“From Dad when I got here,” Max chirps. “Can I stay? Cause I don’t wanna be with the girls.”

He cuddles up against Mat’s shoulder, the father-son duo wearing matching hangdog, pleading expressions on their faces. The day Mat taught both kids the look was the worst day of your life, weakening your already minimal willpower. This time you have to say no, interrupting Mat while he’s working is only cute for so long.

“Sorry, Maxy,” you reply sympathetically. “We have to get back to the girls, but we’ll see Dad right after the game.”

Max whines loudly, reminding you that he’s still only five, and you chew on the inside of your lip. Mat pats Max on the back and whispers something in his ear, the extra lighting catching on the few greys that are starting to form in Mat’s dark hair. You wait while Mat talks quietly to your son, trying not to worry about coming back from commercial while you’re all standing in the middle of everything. Eventually, Max huffs an exasperated sigh and wiggles out of Mat’s grip again, slumping his way over to your side.

You smirk a little, “gee, don’t look so thrilled to come hang with your mom.”

Mat laughs and you roll your eyes at him.

“I wanted to stay with Dad,” Max pouts, little fingers gripping tightly onto the puck. “But he said that he’d take me to the locker room if I go with you.”

“Bribery,” Mat winks at you. “A dad’s best weapon.”

The ten second warning that the commercial is ending blinks and you grab Max’s hand, “okay, time to go back to the girls. We’ll see Dad later, okay?”

Max waves at Mat as you guide him away from the set. “Bye, Dad! Don’t forget I wanna see Jack and the locker room,” he shouts and you can hear Mat’s laughter boom over the noise of the crowd.

“I won’t forget Max, be good for Mom,” Mat calls out.

You hurry back to your seats, Max hopping along and waving to people as you go. He gives big, cheerful greetings to the ushers and security guards he recognizes, forcing you to stop when Sparky passes by so he can give the mascot a high-five and a hug around the legs.

“Max, baby, please. We can see Sparky later,” you sigh, a little worried about leaving the girls alone for so long. You know they’ll listen and not leave the seats, but you feel vaguely like a terribly mother/babysitter since they’ve been sitting by themselves for nearly twenty minutes.

Max pouts, but takes a hold of the hand you’re holding out for him and dutifully follows you back to the seats. He clambers over the couple at the end of the row and you apologize quickly for him, making another mental note to work on the kid’s manners.

“Where did you go?” Talia pops up in her seat like a meerkat, wrinkling her face at you in confusion. “We thought you, like, got kidnapped!”

“We didn’t get kidnapped,” you huff, passing around the pretzels. The girls thank you and turn back to the on-ice intermission action. Max reaches for your half eaten one too and you’re glad you at least got a bite in earlier. “Max ran off to see Dad.”

Max grins at his sister, mouth full of chewed pretzel. “Dad gave me a puck and I got to be on TV with him,” he manages to sound smug and excited all at the same time, waving the gifted puck in one hand.

Talia pouts a little, still childish despite how she tries to mimic the older girls.

“Eat your pretzel,” you twirl your finger to get her to look back at the ice. “There are a thousand pucks at home. Oh,” you add, “we’re going to head down to the locker room after the game. Dad promised Max.”

That gets the girls going, chattering about how they get to see Jack and the rest of the players, giggling like crazy while huddled together. You lean back in your seat, smiling softly at how cute they all are. Max is on his feet, dancing along to the arena music, waving both hands in the air - your little party animal. You send Mat a video of him dancing, teasing that father and son have the same moves.

He shoots back a gif of himself dancing at the Martins’ wedding more than fifteen years ago, making you laugh out loud, drawing the attention of all five kids. “Ignore me,” you laugh, waving a hand at them.

Another message from Mat vibrates your phone: leave the kids with marts and syd when you drop the girls off after the game, i wanna show you more of my moves 👀

Giggling like a high schooler with a crush, you take a minute to appreciate that Mat still makes you feel floaty and dizzy with love. Over ten years together and he still makes your heart skip a beat.

“Mom,” Talia’s voice slices through your thoughts, “what’s Dad saying? Because you look so weird.”

Schooling your features into a more neutral expression, you lean forward over the seat and ask, “how do you guys feel about a sleepover at Aunt Syd and Uncle Matt’s?”

[janitorhutcherson]

Groceries, Taxes, & Laundry (MSchmidt Fluff)

hey guys, it's me. i'm finally back. did y'all miss me? the writing of this is a lil diff, sooooo please enjoy and lmk what you think!

content: pure fluff yall.

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

Grocery shopping with Mike Schmidt is… special, to say the least. He absolutely despises it. The dreaded time comes around at the end of every week, your vegetables in the fridge starting to wilt, the meat from the previous trip used up, and all of your snacks have been devoured from late night munchie runs to the pantry (xoxo i love gardening!!!). He knows it has to happen. He knows you’ll wake him up early on Sunday morning like always, because apparently it’s “better to get it out of the way,” which he thinks is, well, to put it lightly, utter bullcrap.

You’ll drag him and Abby out to your local grocery store, her drowsy and jittery all at the same time with the promise of pancakes from a local diner after. Once you arrive, you’ll pull out all of the far-too-expensive reusable bags out of the trunk of Mike’s dingy car, ready to fill them with the necessities. Why get those for 3 bucks when you can get the plastic ones for free? He’ll never understand your logic, something about saving the environment, but it’s okay, he loves you enough not to complain, at least out loud.

The fluorescent lights of the room filled with half asleep employees hits Mike’s eyes like he’s looking directly into the sun. He lets out a small grumbled sigh as he takes in the scent of sterile cleaning supplies and produce mixed in one, with the strange almost play doh like smell of the bakery. Your eyes cut over to him, eyebrows raised, Abby’s hand in yours as she rubs her droopy eyes. Mike can’t help but to crack a small smirk, his lips pursed together. “What?” he’ll question innocently, letting out a small snicker as you go deeper into the dreary establishment. 

At the produce aisle, Mike shivers a little as the water from the misting sprinkler on the shelves hits his bare skin. He should’ve worn his jacket today, he usually does, and he’s regretting the one time he hasn’t. Your eyes are glancing over carrots, broccoli, cucumbers, and squash, all that are somehow both too ripe and too.. What's the word... unripe? Sure, he’ll go with that. His hand reaches out to grip yours in a gentle grasp as Abby points to a particularly fluffy bushel of broccoli. “I want that one! It looks like pretty trees,” she giggles out, finally starting to wake with the day. You let out a giggle of your own and Mike smiles because of how pretty your laugh is.

Next, you’re in the snack aisle, filling the cart with doritos, barbeque chips, pringles, salt and vinegar chips (mike gags when you eat them too close to him), peanut butter filled pretzels, whatever can go in Abby’s lunch box and whatever is tastiest. Mike insists on buying the cheap queso, his nose scrunching up at the price of the name brand one. He knows it doesn’t taste any different.

Now you’re looking at meats, finding chicken breasts and filets, steaks, pork, whatever was on your list from meal prepping. Yes, meal prepping, Mike did that now. Apparently stable people with stable lives who had stable relationships did that. He’d grown fond of sitting over a recipe book with you on Saturday nights, really, shoulder to shoulder, pressed up on the couch well after Abby had gone to bed. Something about it felt safe, a kind of domestic feeling he wasn’t used to.

You’re basically done now, and he couldn’t be more relieved as you make your way towards the dairy section. He grabs a few things, string cheese, yogurt, cream cheese, cheese slices for sandwiches for work. Oh, did he mention he works in construction now? It’s stable, makes good money, and he’s home on time to see you, to be a husband-not-yet-husband (he plans to propose soon, but that’s another story), a brother-more-like-a-father, a person with a regular schedule. He looks over at you, watching as you and Abby skim over the different selections of chocolate and strawberry milk, finally settling on a carton of strawberry. He once again scrunches his nose, smiling all at once. “Nasty,” he mumbles out. Abby playfully hits his arm and you lean in for a kiss.

Finally, thank god, you push the cart towards the bakery section, grabbing bread and a sweet treat or two for the week. Cookies, a birthday cake for no particular reason, cheese danishes, whatever his little family was feeling for the week, that’s what it’d be. This week, it was a huge box of chocolate chip cookies and some kind of cherry pastry he’d never had before. You three finally head to checkout, where everything is stuck in those stupid reusable bags and the price of everything you got feels obscenely huge for what’s in your cart, but he pays it anyway. Walking to the car, in the trunk the groceries go as you all climb in one by one, ready to head for pancakes.

As he reverses the car out of his good (only because it was so goddamn early) parking spot, he can’t help but sigh, this time with contentment as Abby rambles on about a new imaginary (hopefully) friend, your own grin wide as you ask questions, making sure she feels heard. “I love you guys, love doing things with you guys,” Mike mumbles out, reaching his hand over to your thigh as he glances back at Abby too. And it was true, he’d do anything with you two. Hell, if all his life consisted of grocery shopping, taxes, and laundry? Yeah, he’d be ok with that too.

[rustedhearts]

dazed and confused (70s!childhood best friend!steve x fem!reader)

summary: steve's been your best friend all your life. but friends aren't supposed to think about friends the way you think about steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ main masterlist

tags: 70s!steve, childhood bestie!steve, fluff, pining! we're pining!, tid-bit of jealousy from us, this is short but sweet. not edited as usual.

recommended listening: you're lost, little girl —the doors; sweet leaf —black sabbath

buy me a ko-fi! ♡

somewhere in indiana. october, 1977.

The slow riff of The Doors’ You’re Lost, Little Girl trickled through the cinderblock basement. The Strange Days album spun on Steve’s turntable, the right door left open to reveal his cautiously-crafted selection. An array of colors and bands, all organized into what Steve considered his “most prized possession.” A music man above all else, you sort of admired how much he cared for the craft of careful listening.

You wriggled your fingers through the gaps of one of the Harrington Afghan blankets, where an orange stripe turned to brown. Steve hummed along to the start of the lyrics—a low, rumbling sound. You peeked over the edge of the sofa, ratty and old and shoved down here when Mrs. Harrington bought something sturdier at the start of the decade. You remembered the day she instructed Steve’s father to bring the old one down here; it was the first time you wandered into a room alone with Steve. Just the two of you, other neighborhood kids neglected on the lawn down the street.

He asked if you wanted to stay over and play a game, and Mrs. Harrington brought a bowl of pretzels to share while you hunched over Monopoly. Now, the basement was your place—yours and Steve’s. Four walls of cinderblock and concrete floor, softened with a shaggy brown rug once found in the living room, and posters purchased at the record stores and concert merchandise stands, and seasonal decorations Mrs. Harrington rotated every few months.

When it didn’t smell like the linen and laundry beating against the pea green dryer, the stench of Steve’s Winston cigarettes took over. It was always cold, and always home. You often found yourself here instead of at your own.

“You’re lost, little girl,” Steve cooed lyrically, cigarette withering and smoking between his two fingers.

He was lying on the hard ground, one palm pressed over his sweater-clad stomach and the other held open against the air where his cigarette waited. The maroon red of his shirt made his hair look dark and luscious, and the paleness of his Midwestern-cold-season skin warm again. If he opened his eyes, now pinched shut to marinate in the song like he so often did, you knew they’d be soft and puppy-like. He only ever looked at you with a smile.

So how was it that you never kissed?

You found yourself asking that a lot lately. When he picked you up for class at the community college with a thermos full of hot coffee on bitter cold days. When he slung his jacket around your shoulders when you shivered at football games. When he popped a kiss against your cheek out of pure excitement and whirled away like he hadn’t just burned your skin in the most delightful way.

And that tingling delight only appeared this year. When he started to fill out his brown leather jacket until it creaked. When his voice started growling through you like a firework. When his hands grew rough from work on the Pontiac in the driveway, inherited from his father for his eighteenth birthday. He spent the summer fixing it up, and that first scorching day you came up the driveway and saw him slicked with grease…you were done for.

Now, you only ever thought about kissing Steve.

“Penny for your thoughts, little girl?” Steve mused from the floor. His eyes were open now, head tipped to catch you staring.

You jerked away, blushing into your knees. “Sorry. Just zoning out.”

You continued your poking ministrations in the blanket before tossing Steve a bewildered look. “And don’t call me that.”

Steve chuckled around his cigarette, growing smaller by the minute between his lips, puffing smoke with every sharp ejection of amused breath. His socked feet scuffed against the floor as he pressed up, sauntering toward the rear of the couch in his brown corduroy pants.

“Jeez.” He yanked the cigarette from his mouth and slung one leg over the back of the couch beside you. “Who pissed in your Cheerios today?”

You shifted away from him when he settled on the top edge of the couch, huffing as you went. Crowded against the padded and pillowed arm, you frowned into your fist propped under your chin and glared at the poster of Led Zeppelin ahead of you.

You hated your own body for betraying you this way—for making you ache for your best friend. It was wrong. Everyone knew that dating a friend never ended well. You knew too much about each other, had seen too much of the bad for the food to feel unadulterated and sweet the way it did with someone you’d known for far less. But you’d known Steve nearly all your life. Introduced as two curious and adventurous six year olds, you saw each other through elementary, middle, high school, and now college. You’d comforted all the bad dates and heard the rundown of every parental fight. You knew about the rash he had from a new laundry detergent last winter, and you knew he liked to jerk off with his left hand even though he was a righty because it “feels like it’s not even his.”

You knew too much.

So why did he look so handsome sitting next to you like that?

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was soft now, murmured just under the stereo. “Are you—you’re not mad at me or something, are you?”

"No," you murmured, eyes turned down toward your lap.

Steve watched you a moment, elbows on his knees, waiting for more to utter from your mouth. It was so unlike you to grow quiet in his presence. Your mouth was always running, spilling some secret you promised to keep with "the exception of Steve," or retelling some story with adamant vibrancy. If you were ever quiet, it was only so you could bathe in the peacefulness of your alone time together.

You had never been quiet like this. Well...not since that time in high school when your boyfriend dumped you.

"Well, hey, did I show you the Masters of Reality I found at the record store? It's sick, I've never seen this version of the cover before."

Steve hopped off the couch, stubbing his cigarette out in an old mug on the end of the coffee table as he went. He disappeared up the stairs with a rushed be right back, and you listened to his footsteps thump above your head. When he was gone, you dropped your head into your hands and sighed.

✶ ✶

You parted ways for the day a few hours later, the span of uncomfortable time in which you sat shoulder-to-shoulder silently watching The Price Is Right. You couldn't think of a thing to say to him, and he didn't know how to take your quiet.

On the trudge home, you scolded yourself for having such romantic thoughts about him. For wondering what his lips would feel like on your own, and how his hands might feel beneath your clothes. It was wrong. And you were certain that if Steve knew how you were thinking these days, he'd be appalled. You'd lose your best friend forever.

There's no coming back from unrequited love.

You spent the night tossing and turning and glaring at your Donna Summer poster in the dark, wondering why your brain wouldn't just shut up about Steve. Steve's hair and Steve's eyes and Steve's ass in those Levis. You slumped from bed the next morning (thankfully a Sunday) with scratchy eyes and a head full of Steve.

So pardon your irritation when you dressed and dolled yourself pretty for the few short paces down the street to his house, only to find the rear of a long head of auburn hair looking up at Steve. You skirted to a stop at the end of the driveway, nose already turning cold from the nip of autumn air, new brown boots scuffing on the pavement. The gurgle of Steve's radio could be heard even from there, winding up an eight track. The Pontiac windows were rolled down to stream out the sounds.

And there Steve was, propped against the hood, grease-stained rag thrown over his puffy-sweatered shoulder, gazing down at this short little thing like some new kitten. He had his arms crossed the way he does when he wants to be handsome—and Christ did it work. But they were on her.

Over her shoulder, Steve caught the edge of your coat. He swiftly shifted gears, pushing off the car to wave a hand at you. You watched his mouth move in a murmur toward the girl, who rubbed her hand along his arm as she sidestepped toward a goodbye. You still lingered, hands tucked and balled tight in your fuzzy pockets, waiting for some sort of instruction.

Steve always had girls around, but suddenly, while watching this tiny little inkling of a girl sashay her way away from your best friend, you felt like screaming. You wanted the girls to stop coming around.

"Hey, c'mere," Steve called through the distance, and with a start, you realized the girl was fading down the street, and you were just standing there.

You shuffled your way over, inhaling deeply as you went. As the gap diminished and you approached, you caught a whiff of sharp autumn leaves, and the smoke of a Winston recently put out. Somewhere underneath, the amber musk of his cologne. You'd drool if you bothered to open your mouth.

"Hey." Steve grinned, hands rubbing around the greased cloth. His familiar, heather grey sweatshirt looked soft, hood a bit rumpled at the nape of his neck.

Once, you fell asleep on a three hour road trip, and woke up on the edge of Ohio with your head in his lap. He was playing with your hair, and when you blinked up fuzzily and furrowed your brows, he soothed you awake like some sort of child. You could still feel the warmth of that sweatshirt.

"Hey," you returned, a little too sharp. "Who was that?"

Steve's sneakers whooshed over the pavement, kicking up gravel and crunching fallen leaves as he headed toward the tool box. He was polishing up, checking fluids and odds and ends. Sometimes, you thought he just liked standing next to his hot ride.

Steve glanced toward the end of the drive where the mystery girl disappeared to a few moments ago. "Who?"

You rolled your eyes, huffing. "The girl, Hair."

Steve scoffed at your ill-intended nickname, heading toward the driver side door. He hung halfway in, reaching for the knob on the stereo.

"Somebody, nobody. I don't know yet."

You kicked at a rock near your foot, frowning. "What does that even mean?"

Steve continued to fiddle inside the car. "It means, she could be somebody. I'm seeing where it goes, takin' my time."

You pushed your head back toward the sky, head shaking. Steve took the moment to look at you through the windshield, memorizing the colors and shapes of your outfit. Camel brown coat, chocolate brown boots, black turtleneck, purple corduroy jeans. You had lipgloss on today, and the color made your eyes beam.

Steve pulled out of the car and headed back toward the tools before he could look any more. You tipped your head back into place just as he slid under the car, the soles of his sneakers bared to you. His socks didn't match. Something about that made you smile.

"Why are you so cranky anyway?" he called from under the hunk of blue metal. "Yesterday, today—you havin' your monthly—"

Kicking his foot hard with the toe of your boot, you glared down at the portioned part of Steve Harrington you could see. "Don't finish that sentence, Harrington."

Steve jolted. "Ow! Alright, alright, Jes-us."

You pulled away, pacing the patch of grey ground in front of the car. You tight-roped the crack for a while, watching your feet overtake the severed cement, glancing occasionally toward Steve when things clattered.

"How'd you meet her?" you found yourself calling out.

Steve paused a moment. You continued to pace. He sniffled and rolled up his sleeves, shifting under the car. "Uh...record store. She asked my opinion."

Oh, you inwardly groaned. She was a cool girl. Trying to swallow down your frustrations, you sniffled away a cold drip snot and hummed.

"What's she listen to, ABBA?"

Steve shook his head, chuckling. "Yeah, actually. But I can't be a music snob, honey, that's not how I roll. Chicks can play whatever they want when we're doin' it, I don't mind."

Scowling, you thought about going over and kicking him again for good measure. But the poor kid just didn't have a clue, did he? He was handsome, lived in a two-parent home, his father still had a job, and he had a job waiting for him when he was done fooling around. It wasn't his fault he had everything.

You just wanted him to have you, too.

"Hey, grab my smokes for me? On the front seat."

Tapping your foot, arms firmly crossed over your chest, you spent a moment boring a hole into Steve's foot. Another kick? No. Your mind wandered to that Tuesday evening, straight after school your senior year, when Nancy Wheeler dumped Steve behind the gym during fifth period, and Steve came running home and did everything he could to stop crying—but you held him in your arms and told him he could cry all he wanted.

Steve didn't think "chicks" could "play whatever they wanted when they were doin' it." Steve didn't think women were playthings. Steve wanted to be loved.

You could love him well.

Huffing, you stomped toward the car, coat sleeves swinging with every bound. You snatched the crumpled back of half-empty Winstons from the leather of the front seat and rounded the square-nosed hood of the Pontiac. When you came into view, Steve slid out from under the car and sat up.

"Thanks—whoa!"

But you threw the pack at his head, heard the small clatter of cardboard against skin as it pinged off his brow and into his lap. His brows creased as you spun sharply on your heel and crossed your arms again, heading for the end of the drive. Steve scrambled to catch up, tripping over his feet as he went.

"Wait, wait—stop!" Steve rushed you, snatching you by the elbow to pull you to a sharp stop.

When you turned—or he made you, rather—you looked anywhere but his pretty face. Glaring at the collar of his sweatshirt, doing all you could to hold your breath and bring down the simmer in your cheeks. Suddenly, you couldn't speak. Suddenly, all those feelings were coming to a boil, flowing over and spilling out.

But you couldn't put into words just what you were feeling. You couldn't find it in you to open your mouth and speak.

"What's goin' on?" Steve chuckled, but his tone lacked the humor. "What did I do, what's wrong?"

Balling your fingers into fists again, frozen numb and trembling with a hungry ache, you tossed your eyes his way. Steve could see the anguish on your face, pinched in the center sourly. But what was wrong? Steve couldn't put his finger on it.

Stomping your booted foot, you gave a soft, petulant whine into the brisk air. And before Steve could laugh or shake his head at your childish antics, ones he's seen plenty of before when you haven't gotten your way—you smashed your mouth on his.

Leaning up on your boots, creasing the leather toes, creaking with your weight; planting your hands on his firm, bulging arms growing bigger by the day; squeezing muscle mass with an eager grasp. You pressed your mouth right to his and breathed him in. The stereo in the Pontiac gave a whir and a click, and then the hoarse cough of Ozzie Osbourne cut through the quiet of the street. Sweet Leaf slipped from the car and fueled Steve with a fire like no other.

So, when you pulled back with a sharp smack of spit and swollen cheeks, Steve didn't let you get far. A step back and to the side, a slow and incomplete rotation toward the front of the house—until Steve snatched you by the belt loop just above your ass and tugged you back.

"Hey."

You crumpled into him, arms caged against his chest—and yes, the sweater was just as soft as you remembered. His hands slid through the groove of your waist and down the round globes of your ass, squeezing with firm pressure and eager palms. Big biceps pressing you into him by the shoulders: pulling you in, holding you close. He tasted like Coca Cola, glass bottle now rolling into the grass, blown away by the wind.

If he asked, you were searching for more of in his mouth, parched from the cold.

Against your mouth, you felt the lines of Steve's lips widen. When he pulled away, it was just far enough to still feel his breath against your chin, close enough to see the flecks of jade in his eyes.

And he was grinning a half-cocked, handsome grin.

"About damn time."

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) captain price sfw alphabet, 𝒶⸺𝓏

𝒜 = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?) : with you, being affectionate comes easy to him; wanting to hold you and kiss you, cook for you, and many other things, just to see you happy, comes easily for john. price's love for you knows no bounds; he makes sure to go above and beyond in making sure you feel cherished and appreciated. from surprise date nights to heartfelt letters while he's deployed, to random bouquets when he comes home from work. price never misses an opportunity to show you how much you mean to him.

john's affectionate acts are not only a manifestation of his love, but also a reflection of his deep commitment to your happiness and overall well-being even though he can't be with you all the time. on another note, price's love language would be a mix between acts of service and gift-giving. he tends to send you a lot of things when he's away from home for long periods of time but also builds things for you to make day-to-day life easier for you when he is home. since he's an early riser, he loves to wake you up with breakfast and coffee; truly he just loves to see you happy.

𝐵 = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?) : hm, john is the type of best friend that would stay up through the night to give you advice, no matter what time you'd call him, he'd pick up and would listen to you wholeheartedly. he's also the 'parent' best friend, he's always looking out for you, no matter what. heading to a club? send him the address just in case. going out on a date? send a picture of the person you're with and their license plate. it's just who he is, the man can't help but be worried, especially with the job that he has and because you're not part of his 'world', you see most things through rose-tinted lenses. ( most definitely the two of you met at a bar, hit it off, and exchanged numbers. )

𝒞 = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?) : you guys are probably tired of me saying this, but john is a touchy man, and it's not inherently sexual at all. i like to think it's because he wants to make sure you're real, that you're not something he's conjured up in his head, and that you won't just disappear. now that he has you, the thought of being without you is almost unbearable- in fact, he's not sure how he lived without you in the first place. long story short, john loves cuddling with you and he almost always initiates it first. e.g., resting your legs over his thighs and pulling as much of your body over his lap as possible, and wrapping his arms around you while the two of you watch a movie on the couch. however, when the two of you head for bed, you guys usually find yourselves in the 'pretzel' position more often than not.

𝒟 = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?) : read me!

𝐸 = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) : john would do it face to face and it'd probably appertain to your safety. with the job that price does, being with him is like having a big, red target on your back at all times. but everything about john is sincere, and you can see how much it's tearing him up inside, because this man loves you with every ounce of his being, and the thought of not being able to come home to you, is like a bullet to his heart. however, the choice is solely up to you.

𝐹 = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quickly would they want to get married?) : price is hesitant at first, not because he doesn't love you or anything like that, but because he doesn't want you to be alone. he's gone for weeks at a time and intermittently months as well. it can be lonely and if it's something that bothers you, he would prefer to wait for the two of you to get married.

𝒢 = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) : treats you as if you'll break, like you'll vanish from his hands as soon as he takes his eyes off of you; it annoys you at times but eventually you realize that john just can't bear the thought of losing you. tf-141 literally gets whiplash when price is on the phone with you compared to how he is with them, soap complains about it often.

𝐻 = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?) : john loves hugging you and he does it as often as you'll allow him to. when he hasn't been home in a while, his first hug consists of wrapping you up tightly in his arms and twirling you around before setting you down and planting a kiss to your lips, and murmuring how much he's missed you. but on a daily occurrence, his hugs are soft and usually done from behind, where he places kisses on your jawline and collarbone. when you're feeling sad, or when you're annoyed and need time to cool off, he'll press you to his chest and cup the back of your head with his hand, the other wrapped around your waist as he gently totters side to side.

𝐼 = i love you (how fast do they say the L-word?) : john, deep down, knew he liked you the moment he saw you standing in the rain looking like a drenched cat. john knew he would spend the rest of his life with you the moment you cursed at him and asked him, "what the hell he was lookin' at." actually, he's waiting on you, giving you time to grow feelings for him. and while you said it first, nearing a year into your relationship, and shyly as well-- john had always known. [ connected with this post! ]

𝒥 = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?) : price is a grown man, he feels too secure in his relationship for all of that. he loves you and you love him, there's not a doubt in his mind for you. you're both equally obsessed with each other. there are times when the two of you go out and some men or women might hit on you, but either you resolve it or he does, it's never that serious for him.

𝒦 = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?) : price kisses you deep and slow, and you swear you feel the love in every single one of john's kisses, like he's pouring it down your throat in hopes of coating your entire being. john prefers your mouth, loves to kiss you until you giggle against his lips; kiss you until your lips are puffy and cute; kiss you until the anger from working later than you usually do is no longer on your mind. but john also kisses you in passing. e.g, while reaching for something in the cabinet above you, he'll press a kiss to your temple. you're brushing your teeth in the morning as he's getting out of the shower? boom, a kiss to your hairline. cooking dinner while he's on his way out to pick up a few items from the grocery store? a kiss to your neck. he loves kissing you and does it any chance he can get. now, john loves it when you kiss the underside of his chin, or the side of his mouth--- turns him into putty, i swear it does.

𝐿 = little ones (how are they around children?) : john is the type to play football with the kids at family gatherings or neighborhood cookouts, rather than drinking beers with the other adults. the type to toss a baseball back and forth with the troubled teenager and listen to his problems while the cooking is still happening. and also let the girls paint his nails (albeit sloppily) when he's having a conversation with someone. (the team won't let him live it down) he's good with kids and teenagers alike.

𝑀 = morning (how are mornings spent with them?) : as lazy and slow as possible. mornings are usually spent, with john waking up before you and preparing breakfast, soft music playing; along with the sound of the early birds news channel. the front door is opened with the screen locked in place to get some fresh morning air, the neighborhood is silent since it's only six in the morning and john sits out on the porch with sam, an english mastiff dog that the two of you had gotten weeks ago. then you wake up like clockwork, thirty minutes after john has left the bed, dragging your feet and finding him on the porch. with bleary eyes and mumbles of a 'good morning' you'll place a kiss to the side of his mouth and take a sip of his coffee before going back inside with sam trailing loyally on your heels. mornings with john are soft and intimate.

𝒩 = night (how are nights spent with them?) : nights with john are spent with a glass of wine shared while the two of you cook dinner. nights with john are filled with laughter and sweet, bitter kisses. nights with john are spent twirling and shimmying to the music playing on the radio. nights with john are spent with the two of you perched on the island, feeding each other and discussing the future. nights with john are spent with him reading to you as you're sat on his lap, curled into his chest. nights with john are spent with calls to the tf-141 team to see if they're still available for tomorrow's cookout with just the five of you. nights with john are spent with him carrying you to bed after you've fallen asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. nights with john are your absolute favorite.

𝒪 = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) : john waits, gives you bits and pieces here and there, lets that sit on you before feeding you more and more; until he's bared himself to you completely.

𝒫 = patience (how easily angered are they?) : john does not anger easily and when he is angry it's never directed at you, always at someone else. john doesn't yell when the two of you argue either, he's calm and collected, and listens to your point before explaining his own. he's not condescending though and he never talks down to you or dismisses your argument, he's mature and the two of you always work whatever it is out before closing it with a kiss.

𝒬 = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) : you guys, john remembers the clothing you were wearing when the two of you first met, even if you were obscured slightly by the rain. even the things you say in passing while you're rambling, he remembers. john focuses immediately when you start talking, partially because he loves the sound of your voice and the other part because he wants you to know that he's listening to you.

𝑅 = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?) : read me!

𝒮 = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?) : oh, very protective. he's always so hesitant about leaving you alone and usually asks if you can stay with a friend or family. while everyone knows everyone in the neighborhood the two of you have settled in, he's still untrusting--- besides price is a different man outside of his domestic life, he had enemies, and people looking to kill him; and they could easily do that by finding you. which is why, just a couple of weeks ago the two of you went out to adopt a dog, an english mastiff the two of you had named sam. he feels a bit more comfortable leaving you home alone now.

𝒯 = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) : most days that are big, john is on a mission somewhere halfway across the world. but he makes sure to call and talk to you as long as he can until he can come home and celebrate with you. thankfully, the two of you are mostly homebodies so anniversaries and things of that nature are spent at home with each other, baking a cake to decorate and eat, cooking each other's favorite meal, and giving gifts. price prides himself on remembering the small details in your relationship and always gives you the best gifts, he usually makes you cry with how thoughtful they are.

𝒰 = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?) : john smokes cigars. it's his bad habit and you're actively trying to get him to stop. the man tries to sneak off sometimes to enjoy one but you always end up finding him and tossing it out. you scold him often and he always gets out of it by kissing you silly. you guys, don't forget to keep an eye on him.

𝒱 = Vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?) : maybe just a bit concerned. he is older than you, after all, there are plenty of men younger than him out there with bodies more fit than his. the man strongly believes you can do better than him, which you always shut down with glares or kisses. you love john as he is and tell him that all the time. everything about him is so manly and he makes you feel so well taken care of. besides, you love the little pudge of his tummy, he got it after getting into a relationship with you after all. you love to feed him and he loves your cooking, the two of you go hand in hand.

𝒲 = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?) : read me!

𝒳 = xtra (a random headcanon for them.) : john crumbles to his knees, his mesmerizing blue eyes welling up with tears, and the air leaving his lungs. his thick eyebrows drawing together, and his trembling hands tenderly find solace against your belly, while his lips form a delicate line. the sound of your gentle laughter instantly captures his attention, causing his eyes to lock onto yours, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips as he blinks away his tears. "you're pregnant?" { excerpt }

𝒴 = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) : being lied to, he'd rather you come clean in anything you do.

𝒵 = zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?) : lmaoo the man snores, it's not too loud and it never wakes you up out of your sleep. but whenever you wake up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, you catch the wheezing snore he makes.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 25: Love is… Asking, “Do you want a blanket?” (Prompt by @thefreakandthehair)

wc: 952 | Rated: T | cw: Hospital setting, mild descriptions of injuries and general hospital stuff, physical pain, one mention of blood

Tags: Post-s4, Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Hospital

'Hospital Blankets'

“Steve? Hey, Steve?”

Steve is pulled out of a restless slumber by Eddie’s stage whispering. A twinge in his back fully rouses him as he remembers exactly where he is – in Hawkins General, bent up like a pretzel on what is quite possibly the world’s hardest chair, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and his underwear. He blinks harshly, his vision blurry as he looks in the direction of the chattering, dark-headed form lying in the bed in front of him.

“Huh?” he grunts, his voice thick with sleep as he becomes very much aware of the overall pain radiating over his whole body.

His throat burns too, even from a single word. He instinctively reaches a hand up to the reddened scar there – already a formed habit – only to scratch himself with his patient wristband.

“Do you want a blanket?” Eddie continues, his weakened voice indicating he is barely conscious, let alone aware of Steve’s discomfort.

Steve arches his back this time but it causes his chewed-up sides to ache, the bandages stiffening and contorting. Their tacky borders pinching at the already tight skin and scar tissue.

He gives up and slumps back in the chair, clutching the armrests for dear life as a twang shoots directly up his spine to his head. He runs a hand through his hair, impossible to keep from flopping in his face considering all he can do is give himself a goddamn sponge bath these days.

He should have just listened to Robin (and more than a few disgruntled nurses) when they begged him to stay in his own room.

But his room feels empty. Big and dark, just like his family home but a little more white and clinical smelling. It gives him nightmares. If he manages to settle enough to sleep that is…

It’s kinda hard when your friends are scattered throughout the bowels of the local hospital, all in varying states of distress meanwhile, outside the world has half caved in.

“Steeeve,” Eddie whines this time as he repeats, “Do you want a blanket?”

He half dry-sobs his query and Steve has no choice but to shimmy upright – thankfully, the slippery cover of his stupid seat helps him up this time.

Blanket… he finally considers and finds himself stifling a shiver.

He didn’t think to bring a blanket with him as he was much too focused on getting out of bed and down the hall to Eddie’s room. A room that is much colder than his own, which the occupant clearly knows.

Eddie’s fist is balled up in his blankets, offering them up as he raises his shaky arm.

“No,” Steve says softly, shaking his head and waving him away.

Eddie needs it more.

With a herculean effort, Steve moves the chair a few inches closer to the bed, hoping it isn’t scraping the floor or tangling up any of the wires and tubes hooked up to beeping machines – god knows where they each begin and end. His sides all but seize up as he sits back down and forces himself to correct his posture.

“But you’re cold,” Eddie frowns, his voice impossibly small.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests.

Eddie’s weak hand punches at his banket in a haphazard swish motion.

“Get into bed with me…” he mumbles, closing his eyes, “Rest with me, sweetheart.”

His head lolls to the side and Steve huffs out a laugh. Eddie is certainly on one hell of a cocktail of meds, mixed with the overall exhaustion that must come from almost dying. Steve can barely keep his own eyes open and he wasn’t anywhere near as close to it.

His heart thuds in his chest as thoughts of Eddie’s almost lifeless body rush back to his sleepy brain.

Dustin’s sobs… Robin scrambling to tear up clothes and sheets from the Upside Down version of the Munson’s trailer to make bandages… Nancy forcing everyone to focus as she devised a game plan, stopping every few moments to shoot down undead bats…

Steve screws his eyes shut and stands, bracing his arms on the sides of the chair before swiftly moving them to the bed for purchase.

At least Eddie’s right side is a little less banged up – but only just enough, Steve thinks as he hikes back the three warm layers of blankets enough to sit himself down on the bed. He swings his legs up next, clenching his jaw as every muscle in his body aches and pains from what transpired however many days ago.

The bed is a tight fit, but Steve doesn’t mind. The mattress is perhaps a fraction more comfortable than the chair, but he soon warms as he settles down and rights the blankets, smoothing them out for good measure and double-checking he hasn’t disturbed Eddie too much.

His body warms almost instantly as he rests his head beside Eddie’s on his pillow, positioned close enough that he can feel frizzed dark curls tickling his cheek. Eddie’s wispier than he expected and smells of the generic hospital soap – but at least the dried and caked-up blood is gone.

“That’s good…” Eddie coos, turning his head to face Steve, those tickling tendrils now replaced with a soft woosh of his breathing.

He can see the scar on Eddie’s cheek now. The bandage patch has been removed, exposing raw stitches today. Steve sighs, relieved by the smallest of steps forward.

Eddie can’t do much more than reach his hand out. And Steve takes it, interlacing their fingers despite the heart monitor clipped onto Eddie’s right index finger.

“Blanket’s... warm…” he mutters, nodding as he feels slumber tugging at him once again.

Eddie hums in agreeance and lightly squeezes his hand.

[mysteriesmuse]

Third Year Katsuki is definetly “too hot to handle.”

And you’re not just saying that in the joking way. Over the years combined with his fiery temper, fierce compassion, and firey explosions he’s also matured incredibly well. Not just his temper and his social skills — which are significantly better than when he started at UA — but also his looks. Katsuki Bakugou the resident badboy (good guy, really) heartthrob of Class 3-A; and let me tell you it’s both a pleasure and a significant amount of confusion to be on the receiving end of his affections. —————

And it happens most often, and most obviously in passings . . . The way he chins at you when you walk into the living room area on your way out to jog. Always those red eyes flickering up from his spot sprawled out on the couch, an arm thrown across the back as he twists and angles his body to look at you, “not bad. g’morning sleeping beauty.” He says, and you know he’s joking and poking fun at you because he’s already been up for a half-hour or so. And him commenting about your appearance is normal bc you used to come down with bed head back in your first year until he started commenting on it. So now you done your hair up in fun little ponytails and boxer braids by your vanity every morning. And the comments always makes you roll your eyes and smile, but your toes are involuntarily curling as you wave and head out the door — he means nothing by it. he wouldn’t. He couldn’t he’s Katsuki and you’re just you. —— It’s the days when you and the girls like to play outside in the grass by the dorm — playful sparing and floating around. Right under his nose because his dorm room balcony is right above the green space. And it’s as the shouts get louder that he peaks his head out (ready to yell at y’all to quiet down) that he sees you sparing again Pink Cheeks. And Katsuki will find his way to the railing and lean down to look at you. “Oi, you’re in trouble now.” And you can hear him. Glancing up and that angelic smirk graces your face as you huff and pin her down. Katsuki always barking out a “HA” or a “Atta’ girl. Better luck next time” depending on how it goes. —— The commentary this man must give from the balcony like it’s his job to help the girls under his balcony train, not just because he came out and got distracting by you being there. Noooooo never. —— It’s how touchy his is when you’re in the room or in the library, especially the library. He knows exactly where to find you. You never see it, but everyone else can watch the way he beelines it straight over to your table after he’s finished collecting the books he needs. Any other table in the place? Not even a glance. No chance because Katsuki is trying to sit next to his favorite girl. And you’re always just a little surprised and manage a startled hello when he silently pulls out a chair and plops down right next to you. Somehow Katsuki — for his size and quality combat boots — manages to tread the tile floors silently when he’s trying to find you. And after he’s plopped himself down it’s always his knee pressed against your leg. Or his elbow bumping into yours, or his fingers brushing against yours when he picks up the pen you’ve dropped or sneaks a snack of yours. And you’d have half the mind to think of taking two bc he seems to be addicted to your chocolate covered pretzels. And he always seems to have an extra of the exact kind of pen you like.

And he always offers to refill your water bottle when you stretch your arms above your head after an hour to go fill it back up. Big hand grabbing his own and swirling around the last inch of water saying he needs to go fill his up too — and instead your water bottle break turns into the two of you walking and chitchatting about your assignments as you take turns in the hall with the one good water bottle dispenser. The rest of the library rap with attention as they watch “the Katsuki” walk around with a girl.

—— OR how friendly he seems to get in the hall. Always stomping or mysteriously gliding through silently as you and the girls gossip. And instead of asking y’all to move like a normal person Katsuki just always bulldozes straight through you. Grumbling something under his breath which tickles the skin on the side of your cheek as he slides right past you. A warm palm on the small of your back and an audible “ ‘cuse me.” Or a fast and furious set of hands around your torso as he picks you up and goes past, setting you back down on your feet. And you’ve started customarily yelling, “ do I even weight anything to you?”

Your hands up and exasperated. You always look perfectly cute and flustered. And Katsuki has the audacity to turn over his shoulder and smirk down at you. Licking his lips before he does so, “nah, it’s like a couple of grapes.” Before the hot headed blonde speeds off to where he was going leaving you with a Katsuki induced butterfly indigestion and Mina just gaping at the interaction.

——

And all the flirting he’s been doing, that you’ve been high-key trying to convince yourself that youre over-analyzing and thinking too much into it. Because COME ON it’s Katsuki freaking Bakugou and he���s literally sooo attractive it’s horrible, like seriously. Now Katsuki’s always saying off-handed comments to you about nearly everything you do. Except this time it’s a cut-and-dry compliment bc he’s moving around the gym behind you as you’re doing some sets with the barbell.

And you’ve only got one earbud in and that’s when you hear him say it. “sexy back.” and you blink bc you don’t think that’s what he said, but Katsuki’s path curls and circles in front of you as you lower the barbell back to your chest. — and oh my god he’s totally checking you out. Ruby red eyes delving straight along your midline and lingering at the sweat dripping between your cleavage from the power sets you’ve been working on.

And it’s your owlish blink that’s got him flickering his eyes back up towards your face. A sheepish look flickering across his usually sharp features. He coughs into his fist, “What? You’ve never heard that compliment before?” And suddenly he’s stepping even closer as he reaches a hand right under your chin to grab the barbell — his natural musk of burnt carmel flinging itself into your senses. “Uh no,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, “can’t say I have.” Katsuki flashes a bright white smile at you. “Can’t believe I’m the first person to tell ya’” he chuckles, breathy. Which is partially a lie. Your knuckles tighten white against the bar; except he’s really the one holding most of the weight now anyways. You voice in your throat supplies you with a choked sound. “ ‘M serious,” he confides, looking into your eyes, “been thinking it everyday since day one.” And he’s been saying it under his breath every time he walks past you because damn the way the muscles of your back perfectly cushion your spine and slim down to that waist of yours has his head spinning and he seriously can’t believe this is the first time you’re hearing it. “Keep up the good work.” he adds. The weight of the bar transferring back into your hands as he saunters off to his next station. The little skip in his step accentuating his small back and tight booty as he walks away from you. And it’s only every waking second for the next few days that your mind is gripping onto the sound of his gravely voice saying “sexy back” and you’d be damned if you let a man get you that worked up over such a silly little compliment, but come on!! It’s the senior king of sexy himself who called you that? What else is a girl supposed to do? and it’s then that you start or consider Katsuki’s really flirting a little more seriously, maybe you should look into what he’s doing just a little more.

[skzhua]

a price i'm willing to pay | part 20 - doughnuts.

MASTERLIST

pairing: ceo!bang chan x entrepreneur!reader

genre: social media!au, arranged marriage, fake relationship, fluff, angst.

warnings: swearing, might have suggestive bits.

summary: following a scandal threatening the survival of your business, you have no choice but to associate yourself with a competitive company.

What happened last night? The events could be told in a short summary or in a thirty pages story.

It started after you had texted Chan to come and when you had just arrived at Wonhee's apartment. You still weren't sure why you asked him in such a desperate way for him to come but something in you wanted him around. Maybe it was because of the way he managed to get your mind off things in those silly dates every week. A part of it might also be how calm you had become to each other with time. As much as you hated to admit it, you were quite grateful to have him in your life. Especially considering the circumstances.

To no surprise, you were the first one to be greeted by the messy living room that had clothes and junk scattered around. Your sister was never one to clean a lot. As long as she found what she needed, it was not a necessity. That always came in contrast with Minho's tidiness of things.

"Long day?" you asked when she yawned loudly.

"Tell me about it... I like my job but my boss is always giving me these documents to send off when he can do it himself. I'm not his assistant, I shouldn't be doing this technically."

The job was temporary supposedly. Nonetheless, she was starting her fourth year as an assistant manager in a quaint clothing store.

"I've been telling you to work for me instead."

"I love you, sweetie, but you can barely provide for yourself if you don't marry Chris Bang."

"Alright, I'll take that," you laughed out.

Nearly twenty minutes passed until Jeongin and Minho arrived. Wonhee being Wonhee, she had already passed out on the couch in the comfort of her warm blankets. You let the men get settled and stayed by your sister's side for a while before Jeongin extended a white plastic bag to you. The two men had brought snacks of all sort to eat for the night. There were ramen bowls, candies, chips, soda bottles, even fruits that Minho had kindly cut beforehand. As you and him began to clear the coffee table to make space for the food, Jeongin looked around the room with a puzzled face.

"Do you really think Changbin went to his childhood home?" he questioned, obviously doubting what his friend said about his whereabouts.

The room became silent as you stared at one another. This was the fourth time Changbin didn't come to one of your hangouts. As much as you didn't want to doubt him, he had been behaving oddly since you announced you were marrying Chan. You knew this had nothing to do with jealousy as there was no way you were remotely interested in him. However, the more time passed, the more you began to believe it.

"His loss," Minho shrugged and then continued with placing the food items in front of him.

"Did he tell you anything, Y/N?"

You shook your head much to his disappointment. Before the ambiance could get any sadder than this, you began to look for a film to put on the screen. A historical drama was Jeongin's choice and he settled comfortably as he opened a bag of pretzel chips. Quite frankly, you paid little to no attention to what was going on between the two characters in the film. Instead, you kept looking at your cellphone every passing second. You swore Chan confirmed he would be there already. Thoughts began to flood your mind and you spiraled into thinking the absolute worse. While Minho was too immersed in the proximity he was sharing with Wonhee, Jeongin noticed immediately your shaking figure.

"Are you cold or something?"

You stared at him, uncertain if you should answer truthfully. You were about to speak when the buzzing sound of the doorbell interrupted you. You put the blanket that laid on your legs aside and were quick to answer.

"Yes?" you spoke in the speaker.

"Y/N?" Chan said.

You didn't need any more information and you pushed the button to let him in. As much as it felt like an action you did on the regular basis, it resulted to a frantic Jeongin rushing to your sides.

"Don't tell me you invited Bang here?"

"What?" Minho whispered to not wake Wonhee up. "Why would you do that? Voluntarily?"

"Yes," you answered sheepishly.

"Since when?" Jeongin asked, his voice much louder to which Minho answered with a glare.

"I don't know, we get along now. Is it that much of a surprise?"

Minho smirked. "No. He's welcomed here anytime."

"Who are you to say this? You don't live here."

"I might soon if Wonhee finally lets me be your brother-in-law."

Just when Jeongin was starting to run to Minho with an annoyed grunt, a soft knock was heard throughout the whole flat. Your two friends looked at you with encouraging smiles while you stood there, frozen. The knock came again. Finally, you opened the door slowly, only peeking your head out at first. When you saw Chan in sweats and a hoodie that was clearly too large for him, you felt your face heat up the slightest. He has never looked so casual in front of you and you honestly loved it.

"Am I late to the party?" his voice broke you away from your staring.

"Not at all, the film only began."

When you let him inside, a frown appeared on his face. "Your sister is sleeping already?"

"Don't question it," Minho said as he rubbed her arm. "She had a long day."

Chan chuckled — which somehow sounded like the most beautiful thing you had heard in your entire life — and went on to put what he brought on the counter. "I didn't think you'd have so many snacks already but I have pastries."

"What kind?"

"Mochi doughnuts."

You quirked an eyebrow. "What the hell is that?'

His eyes widened. "I knew you had no cultural knowledge but to that extent?"

"Alright, I'm sorry I don't know my doughnuts," you huffed.

"You have to give it a go."

"Maybe later. Come, join us."

Jeongin gladly scooched over the edge of the sofa to leave you two enough space. As much as he tried, it was still not enough to let you have room for yourself without having half of your body on top of Chan's. Upon noticing your poor attempt at finding a comfortable position, he sighed heavily in discouragement.

"Just come here," he motioned to himself, opening his arms out as to invite you to cuddle up.

"In your dreams," you scoffed.

"I swear I'm comfortable."

You glanced over at Jeongin and he was no help when he answered with a shrug. He was visibly more focused on the gummy bears he was consuming. With a shy nod, you allowed yourself to fall onto his body as you got wrapped around by his strong but somewhat soft arms. You moved around for a while to find the right way to sit but he sighed again.

"You're stiff, just relax."

"I am relaxed."

"Y/N."

His hands moved from the side of your arm to your cheek. Gently, he made you look at him and you swore you felt your stomach flip upside down. In an instant, your limbs relaxed and you fell perfectly into Chan's embrace. He detached his hand from your face — much to both your relief and your dismay — and laid the blanket on both of your bodies.

"What did I miss?" he asked to Jeongin as if nothing.

You were baffled at how at ease he was conversing with your friend while you couldn't help but wonder if he could feel your heart pound like crazy.

Almost two hours later, you were still as flustered and still in Chan's arms. You didn't dare to move, afraid the slightest movement would bother him. The two other men were deep asleep and, at that point, neither of you were interested in the movie.

"Doughnuts?" he suddenly said as he paused the film.

The credits stayed still on the television but you kept your eyes on it. His face was dangerously close to yours, you were well aware of it. Before you could make a wrong move, you got off him carefully to not bother your sleepy friends. As for him, he stared at you expectedly for an answer. You finally nodded and he cracked a smile before walking up to the white box laying still on the counter. Your gaze followed his actions and accidentally moved down to his forearms and he had just rolled his sleeves up. Again, you had to snap yourself out of it and focus back on the pastries he was now taking out of their package.

"Macha?" he offered and you gladly took the doughnut from him.

"What's yours?" you asked, pointing to the blue-coloured one he had in hands.

"Blueberry."

You said nothing. But your eyes remained on the food. A little too intensely. And Chan saw it.

"We can switch, here."

You grinned successfully and lost no time in biting into the soft baked good. It was sweet and soft, melting perfectly into your mouth. You barely could restrain yourself from letting out a surprised gasp from the taste.

"I really can't believe you never ate one of these," Chan commented while chewing.

"Well, you've created a monster now — this is delicious!"

He chuckled lightly at the sight of you taking more bites, messily wiping the corner of your mouth in the process. The remainder of the box was eaten in silence other than a few more gasps from your part. You offered yourself to get rid of the trash as part of the "thank you" you indirectly wanted to tell him. In the meantime, he pulled more boxes from the plastic bag he had brought originally which made you widen your eyes.

"More doughnuts?"

"Sadly, no," he responded in a disappointed tone. "Do you want bagels, though? I have this sudden craving."

Because of having been over at Wonhee's place so often, it was easy for you to locate the toaster while Chan cut the bagels in two. It was strange how cozy this was. It was almost like it was just one of those days where you'd stay late at night with your partner, doing silly things to get yourselves to sleep. As much as it made you grin, there was an inevitable voice in your mind telling you to not fall for this. Your relationship is based on business. Your upcoming marriage is based on business. There would be a day where Chris would come up to you with the news he has found someone to share his life with.

These thoughts were dangerous.

"How many do you want?"

You hadn't realized you had been spacing out while standing in front of the toaster, looking at nothing in particular. Chan still looked at you expectedly for an answer after a few seconds passed with your body staying still.

"One, I guess," you managed to speak.

Chan nodded lightly but a doubtful frown made its way on his face. He set the bagels in place, turned the toaster on, and then grabbed you gently by the arms.

"There's something bugging you."

Duh, you wanted to say. "No," was what you answered instead.

He exhaled as he gave you a look telling you he wasn't believing you. "I know we are not so close to each other in terms of talking about our problems and all but, believe me, you can trust me."

You scoffed. "I hated you for nearly 10 years."

"Fair point," he hummed. "I am a good listener if you need one, though."

You bit the inside of your cheek. Until then, you still hadn't looked at him in the eye. When your gaze met his, the was a glint in his pupils — one so comforting that it told you he was being sincere. You had missed on noticing how kind his eyes were when he smiled. You had also never quite checked how much taller than you he stood besides the fact you had been close to his body on many instances. And it was the first time you felt somehow aware of your looks in front of him.

"You don't have to say a thing, obviously," he reiterated in fear you might have interpreted it as too insistent.

He let go of your arms but you quickly grabbed his yourself to keep him near you. "Our marriage."

This took him by surprise and he opened his mouth slightly, unsure on what to say at first. He hadn't even thought you would open up to him, even less about whatever you had going in your mind towards your marriage.

"Yes?" he encouraged you to continue.

"Don't sleep around while we're married."

You wouldn't be able to explain why you felt this way or why you had the need to request this from him. It was a miracle you even gathered the strength to let it out — though not a lot of strength was required as it had mostly slipped out of your mouth.

"I wasn't planning on it either," he assured with a small chuckle. "It would be stupid to put ourselves in a situation where cheating allegations can-"

"Not for that," you stopped him which confused him. "I just don't want you to."

His breath hitched. "I won't."

Your body moved on its own and you pulled him closer. His eyes stayed on your lips for a few seconds before he gulped. Both of your breaths suddenly quickened from how close your faces were to one another.

"Can I request the same?" he said lowly.

"Yes."

"If you're my wife, you should know it means you are mine, no?" he almost said in a growl.

Your brain short-circuited for a moment. In all of the things he could have said, this was not on the list. It was almost offending you how he said it, but it also made him all the more attractive. Especially when he spoke with like this.

"You want me to be yours?" you whispered.

"Do you really think I've actually hated you all these years?"

What he insinuated with this was painfully obvious. So much, you denied to believe it. In no existing world was Christopher Bang Chan ever interested in you. If he didn't hate you, it was no liking for sure.

And you were right, he did dislike you as much as you. Maybe not hate, but there was no interest of getting along with you. What changed was the hours on end you spent with each other either working or on fake dates. Hours of watching you in your natural element being the most authentic person he knew. And how you began to let your guards down and let him catch a glimpse of your actual person — not the one who hated his guts — made you seem so much more attractive. For that, he did hate you.

He hated how accustomed he grew of your presence. He hated how your smile became the thing he looked forward to see every Tuesdays. He absolutely despised how jealous of Changbin he was for getting to take care of you as if you were the purest soul on Earth. He hated it so much, he had to call the fake relationship off. And without thinking, the moment he knew he could come to your rescue, he lost no time in doing so. Hence the marriage. Hence why it was taking everything in him to not attack your lips with his.

"Chan," was all you could find to say.

"Believe whatever, I don't care, but I really want to kiss you right now."

The need in his voice was desperate. You found yourself enchanted by the way he had smoothly moved his hands to your hips — suddenly aware of his touch — and mesmerized by how pretty he was besides the fact it was almost pitch black in the apartment. Without answering his request, you grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into what was intended to be a gentle kiss. However, this was not enough on his part and he hungrily kissed back, so roughly that you could barely keep up with his pace.

His lips were moving so naturally, you could tell he had experience. It made the whole thing more thrilling which made you yearn for him a lot more. Your grasp around the back of his neck grew firmer while his hands were roaming all over your body. They moved down from your hips to your ass and began to massage them in a way that both hurt and made you gasp. Naturally, you jumped to wrap your legs around him and he held onto your thighs for support. He carefully put you on top of the counter where you heights met.

"I still hate you," you said breathlessly between kisses. "So fucking much."

You bit his lips when you felt the grin form on his mouth. He gasped in his turn and clutched onto your waist so hard, you squirm under his touch.

You would have done something as a payback if it wasn't for the horrid smell of burnt reaching your nostrils. All of the sudden, you remembered of putting bagels in the toaster for far too long.

"Shit," you mumbled, pushing Chan aside to get to the black burnt pieces of food.

You rushed to get one of your sister's perfumed candles and lit it up for them to get rid of the scent. You were lucky it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Y/N," Chan finally said once you were done with taking care of the problem.

The realization hit you hard upon noticing the red-ish marks you had left on his neck. The swell on his lips was another proof of the makeout session that occurred only minutes ago. Who knows what would have happened if the bagels didn't burn...

"It's getting late, you can take the last spot on the couch."

Visibly disappointed by your dismissal of the situation, he still nodded in agreement. "Where will you sleep?"

"Wonhee has a guest room."

You stayed in the kitchen for a couple more minutes, not saying a word. Chan was the first to leave while muttering a short "good night".

But you did not have a good night.

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!

Word Count: 7.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”

Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”

You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”

“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”

You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”

“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”

It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”

Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”

“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”

“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”

“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”

Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.

“Grasshopper pie?!”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”

“Okay. Want me to go with you?”

“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.

“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”

“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”

“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.

“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”

You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.

The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.

I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.

Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.

Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?

Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.

We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.

He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.

And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.

The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.

“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”

“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”

Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”

A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.

“Aemond, what’s going on?”

“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”

“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”

“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”

“Out where?”

“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”

Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”

No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.

Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.

Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”

Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”

“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”

Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”

“So you ain’t single?”

“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”

Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”

“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”

From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”

“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”

There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.

When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.

Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”

“Sure,��� Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.

The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”

You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.

“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”

But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.

In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.

Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”

There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“But…how…?”

“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”

Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”

“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.

Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”

“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”

“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”

“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”

And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.

Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”

“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.

Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”

“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”

“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”

“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”

“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.

“Aegon?” Aemond calls.

“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”

Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”

“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”

And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.

“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”

“Hi, Aegon.”

Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”

“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”

Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”

Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”

Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”

“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.

“Usually?!”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”

“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”

“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”

“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”

Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”

“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”

“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.

“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”

“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”

Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.

“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”

“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”

You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.

“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.

Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.

“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.

“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”

“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.

“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”

“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”

“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.

You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.

“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”

The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.

The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.

The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!

But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.

When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.

You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”

With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.

“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”

He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”

You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??

Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.

He saved me. He jumped in after me.

You crawl to him. “Aemond—”

“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.

“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.

He saved me.

Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I’m just so—”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m like this.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.

Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”

“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.

“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.

“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.

“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”

Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.

You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”

“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.

Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.

Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.

Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he’s in love with you, sugar.”

Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”

Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”

“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”

“How ya gonna get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.

In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.

“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.

“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”

Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.

“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”

Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”

Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.

Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.

Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”

“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.

Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.

Do I?

[yoongiseesawmp3]

made for this - wooyoung (m)

part of the church boy series. 

summary: you’re volunteering for this year’s vacation bible school, and wooyoung’s little brother just so happens to be in your group. is it wrong of him to use kyungmin as his wing man? eh, who cares. wooyoung is just determined to get you to fall for him before the week is over, and he’ll do whatever it takes.

word count: 10.5k 

warnings: light smut!!! afab reader. wooyoung is whipped.

“kyungmin, come here!” you shout, shortly followed by a sigh. he’s not a problem child, per se, but whenever he sees his older brother he goes running.

wooyoung, said older brother, is a vbs volunteer, like yourself. except he’s with the older kids, and you’re stuck with the younger group. you’re still dealing with some criers, some biters, and some brats, while wooyoung’s biggest issue is keeping his one fourth grader off her phone. 

his brother, kyungmin, is one of your youngins. he’s sweet, and funny, and smart. all things he shares with his brother, but you’d pick kyungmin over wooyoung any day. wooyoung makes your blood boil only slightly, so you sigh again as you head his way so you can peel kyungmin off his leg.

“come on, bud, we gotta go outside for games,” you say politely, patting kyungmin on his back. you don’t make eye contact with wooyoung, trying to keep this interaction short. 

“listen to your leader, kid,” wooyoung encourages, shaking his leg and jostling his brother. “y/n.”

“wooyoung,” you smile curtly. “kyungmin, seriously. i’m not even gonna count i’m just gonna leave you here.”

“no please, take him,” wooyoung begs, and you have to laugh. kyungmin looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes and you tickle him under his chin. his giggle makes you and wooyoung smile, which warms wooyoung’s heart. you have a soft spot for the little one, even if you didn’t want to admit it. it made him happy seeing someone else dote on his brother the same way he does. 

“ok,” you sigh. “guess i’ll have to eat your snack if you don’t come with me.”

“no!” kyungmin yelps, detaching himself from wooyoung’s leg finally. “i’ll come with you.”

“great choice,” you smile. “say goodbye to your brother.”

“bye,” kyungmin waves sadly, and you take his free hand and give it a squeeze.

“bye smelly,” wooyoung replies, and kyungmin shouts “hey!” to which wooyoung says, “i wasn’t talking to you, that was for y/n.”

“yeah, y/n stinks!” kyungmin laughs, and you groan. you shoot a glare at wooyoung and he waves sweetly.

“thanks,” you tell him. “that’s gonna be fun to deal with all day.”

“have fun!” wooyoung sing songs, finally following his class to their next station as you usher yours outside. 

you really don’t like wooyoung, you think to yourself.

too bad though, because wooyoung really likes you. 

-

your relationship with wooyoung is complicated. well, let’s not call it a relationship, because if he knew you even used that word in relation to him it would make him levitate. no, your, uh, friendship? with wooyoung is kinda weird. you grew up together at the church, but went to different schools and therefore had different friends and different lives. but you saw each other a few times every week for the past 20 or so years, and that constitutes some kind of situation based friendship at least. when you were kids, he’d swap snacks with you when he got animal crackers and you got pretzels. he’d save a seat for you at choir practice, and you’d make sure to find him during worship on youth nights. a couple times you even did joint costumes for the pg halloween parties the youth ministry held, so yeah, you were friends with wooyoung. but had you ever seen him outside of church? no, absolutely not. 

that hasn’t stopped wooyoung from utterly falling in love with you, though. he was in denial for a few years, initially thinking his prepubescent feelings for you were just side effects of his changing body. but as he went through high school and now into college and adulthood, he’s realized there’s always been a part of him that hoped you’d be into him too. so far you’ve given him no reason to think you are, especially as of late. when you were younger your friendship was lazy, sure, mostly by proximity than anything else, but now you barely talk to him. it took an act of god for you to end up as kyungmin’s group leader for vbs (not really, wooyoung just learned you could request a certain leader and the kid would pretty much end up there). but it still made his heart leap when he got the email about volunteer assignments and he saw your name paired with his brother’s. 

so why does wooyoung get the vibe that you don’t like him anymore? well, earlier this year he broke your best friend’s heart. she went off to another university while you stayed close to home, and she kept telling you about “the most amazing guy” who “might just be the one” and come to find out, it was wooyoung all along. he wasn’t aware that your friend even liked him, he thought they were just really good friends, and wooyoung just happens to be super touchy with the people he’s comfortable around. so what your friend construed as wooyoung being into her was just wooyoung being wooyoung. that went on for about a semester before wooyoung finally broke it to your friend that he had feelings for someone else, and it took you a while to help your friend repair that damage. that’s left a bad taste in your mouth toward wooyoung since, plus he just seems to be more annoying lately, too. you were thrilled to have kyungmin in your group for the week, but it irked you that you’d be around wooyoung so much against your will. everyone outgrows their childhood friends at some point, right? maybe this was your chance to leave mr. elmo laugh behind. 

-

even though this is just the second day of vbs, you’re exhausted when your final kid is picked up at dismissal. well, technically your final kid. kyungmin is still in your care, and he’s excitedly kicking his feet trying to stay still while he waits for his brother to finish up with his group and take him home. your other volunteer already left, so you take a seat next to kyungmin and ask him about the day and what he liked most. he said he liked snack the best, because you traded with him so he could get pretzels and you’d get his animal crackers, just like you used to do with wooyoung. he hears this as he’s walking up, and his heart warms at the sight of you and his lil bro sharing stories and giggling over the day. wooyoung would stop and admire the scene in front of him longer, but you turn just slightly to settle in the chair and see wooyoung from the corner of your eye.

“oh, hey kyungmin, your ride’s here,” you say, nudging your little buddy, and instantly he’s out of his chair and in wooyoung’s arms. 

“hi,” kyungmin smiles and wooyoung just laughs. 

“where’s your stuff, kid? don’t leave anything behind,” wooyoung warns, and his brother hops down and gathers his goods from the day. wooyoung catches your eye and asks, “how was he?”

“i wanna say he was perfect, but that would just give him a big head,” you joke.

“yeah, and it’s massive already,” wooyoung joins in. 

“just like his big bro,” you counter, and wooyoung feigns insult as kyungmin reappears at his side. 

“ready!” he shouts, then looks up at his brother. “can we get mcdonald’s on the way home?” 

“no, we have food at the house.”

“you sound just like mom,” kyungmin whines, and then he turns to you. “i bet y/n would let me go to mcdonald’s. y/n is more fun than you.”

“that’s true, i am more fun,” you agree, “and i would totally take him to mcdonald’s. you know they have adult happy meals right now?” 

“then let’s go,” wooyoung says, catching you off guard.

“what?”

“let’s go to mcdonald’s,” wooyoung says again with a shrug. “my treat. consider it my thanks for holding min’s sticky hands all week.”

you try to protest but kyungmin is so excited you don’t think you can turn the offer down. you quickly grab your things (and one more thing kyungmin almost forgot) and follow wooyoung to his car. he’s got kyungmin on his back, so when you see wooyoung’s beat up hand-me-down car, you walk ahead so you can open the door and help get the little one into his car seat. wooyoung’s heart warms again, and you share a sweet smile as he slides kyungmin into the seat and you get him buckled. 

“thanks for coming with us,” wooyoung says as he opens the passenger door for you. 

“you said you were paying, so how could i turn it down?” you tease.

“oh, so you only want to spend time with me because i’m buying your lunch? low blow, y/n,” he whistles. “i thought our 20 plus years of friendship meant more to you than this.”

“but how much of that time were we actually friends?” you ask once wooyoung has made it to the driver’s side of the car. “we only ever hung out at church.”

“and you didn’t cherish every moment?” wooyoung asks, shocked. 

“you guys are talking too much,” kyungmin pipes up from the backseat. “i want music.”

“hum to yourself, kid, the adults are talking,” wooyoung tells him. 

“we can put some music on,” you offer. 

“do you keep taking his side because he’s your favorite or is this payback for you still being mad at me?” wooyoung whines. 

“both, actually. i’m a multitasker,” you tell him. “you want me to take the aux, or?”

“nothing with cuss words,” he sighs, handing you the cord. 

“nothing with cuss words,” you mock as you plug your phone in, frantically turning the volume down just in case. you pick your babysitting playlist, which has plenty of kid-friendly songs from your favorite artists, and wooyoung chuckles when the first song plays.

“you still listen to them?” he asks, noticing the paramore song playing softly through the car.

“uh, yeah,” you reply. “they’re my favorite band, why wouldn’t i still listen to them?”

“they haven’t made an album in years!” 

“they have one coming out next year-”

“y/n, turn it up!” that was kyungmin.

“not too loud or i can’t see,” wooyoung says.

“that makes no sense,” you respond, blasting the music only for wooyoung to turn it back down.

“no, seriously, there’s a weird turn to get into the parking lot so i need to focus,” wooyoung says as he checks his mirrors. “mom would kill me twice if i got in an accident with you and kyungmin in the car.”

“wooyoung is no fun, right little man?” you ask, craning your neck back to kyungmin. he nods in agreement and you start to say something else, but wooyoung flooring it to make the turn yoinks you back into your seat, and wooyoung can’t help but laugh at the pathetic sound you let out at the seatbelt holding you in place.

“you good?” he asks calmly, parking quickly so he can get out and help his brother before you have time to hit him for inadvertently choking you. 

“you’re lucky your brother is here,” you grumble as you get out. 

-

you all get your food, and kyungmin inhales it faster than you can even open the toy from your big kid meal. once he’s done, you both agree that he can play in the playplace if he washes his hands really good after, and then you’re alone with wooyoung. you pick at your fries for a minute, not realizing how awkward it would be without kyungmin as a buffer. you’re trying to still be mad at wooyoung, just a little bit, but he’s making it really hard. being away from him because of school made you forget how warm he made you feel, and how easy it is to be around him. he makes you want to be his friend, but you have to remind yourself that your actual best friend had her heart broken by the man sitting across from you. the man who’s currently putting fries into his mouth to make him look like a walrus. he gets your attention, hoping to make you laugh, and when you just stare back at him he sighs. 

“tough crowd,” he mumbles, eating the fries quickly like that will make you forget that he just made a fool of himself. “so you are still mad at me.”

“just a little.”

“i’ll tell you the same thing i told her: i didn’t know she liked me. if i had, i wouldn’t have acted like that. i didn’t mean to lead her on, i swear,” he explains. 

“yeah, but you still really hurt her,” you say. “i guess that’s what i’m still mad at. you’re not really recognizing that she got hurt because of what you did even if you didn’t mean to do it.” 

“i really messed up, yeah,” he says. “i really liked being her friend, so i just got comfortable and didn’t think about how that would look. i just like being touchy with my friends.”

“yeah, but she told me you would like, hold her hand and walk her to class? kiss her forehead? like i know you’re a touchy but damn. and the whole time you were interested in someone else?”

“yeah, wonder who that could be,” wooyoung mumbles quietly, sipping his sprite as you go on. he notices that you’re using your hands a lot while you speak, and your elbow is dangerously close to the ketchup on your tray. he carefully pulls it to the middle of the table, and you stop midsentence.

“what are you doing?”

“you were about to dunk your arm in ketchup,” he explains, sneakily taking a fry as he speaks. “nothing else.”

“so not fair,” you reply, stealing a fry from his tray. this leads to a childish fight where one of you might have, maybe, thrown french fries across the table (it wasn’t wooyoung) but the mess was interrupted by a woman walking up to your table.

“um, excuse me,” she starts politely. “are you his parents?” she points toward the playplace, where you see kyungmin on the ground with his lip quivering. you don’t wait to hear what’s wrong from the woman before you’re springing up to help kyungmin, and wooyoung just watches on. he listens intently as the woman tells him kyungmin and her son were playing and min just lost his footing and fell, but it must have knocked the wind out of him because wooyoung sees you helping kyungmin breathe. he politely thanks the woman and joins you in the playplace, kneeling down to be at eye level with his brother.

“are you good, man? you fell pretty hard?” wooyoung asks, and kyungmin nods. “do you wanna go home?”

“yeah,” kyungmin nods, voice still shaky. 

“ok, let’s go,” wooyoung says, picking min up easily while you grab his shoes. wooyoung takes him to wash his hands as you go back to the table and eat in silence. they come back as you finish your food, and you watch kyungmin not only eye your last chicken nugget but he seems very interested in the toy from your happy meal as well. you slide them both over to him, assuring him that he can have them, and then you start to clear the trays. 

“i’ll go pull the car around,” wooyoung says as you help kyungmin throw away his things. you nod and grab kyungmin’s hand, trailing behind wooyoung. while you wait outside, you try to make kyungmin smile but the best you can get is a little giggle here and there. 

“you need to eat lunch with us more,” kyungmin says. “you’re my favorite leader, and wooyoung really likes you too. so i think he had fun just like me.”

“you think so kid?” you ask as you ruffle his hair, and wooyoung pulls the car around. he smiles at you from the front seat as you help kyungmin into the car, his little words bouncing around your head. wooyoung really likes you too.

-

the next day at vbs is a rough one. you’ve got two kids that keep crying throughout the day (one periodically remembers her mom isn’t right next to her and the other keeps getting scared by his own hiccups) so you’re doing just about as well as you’d expect for this many kids of this age. but it’s a tough day for everyone, it seems. this morning wooyoung was made aware that one of his kids was bullying another older kids, and they made plans to go fight in the bathroom. at church! so on top of wooyoung needing to watch that one kid like a hawk, the rest of the group is afraid of this kid, and they also want to know every minute detail and therefore won’t shut the hell up. wooyoung looks frazzled, to say the least, and he doesn’t even pick on you when you pass by each other in the hallway. he gives a simple nod and waves to kyungmin before yoinking his line into the correct classroom. so you and kyungmin devise a plan.

you’re currently taking your kids to snack time, and that means you get to head to the volunteer snack room, which is perhaps what heaven actually looks like. people from the church donate all kinds of delicious food throughout the week, and it’s some of the best food you’ll eat all year. wooyoung’s group had snack first, which is decidedly the worst time to have snack because all that they set out for the volunteers is granola bars and maybe some fruit. you know that he needs a little pick me up, so you tell kyungmin that you’re going to make an extra plate and sneak it to wooyoung (food can’t leave the room because kids have allergies, lame) but you need kyungmin to fake a stomach ache so you have an excuse to go get wooyoung in the middle of a session. 

“so you understand the plan?” you confirm with your mini-conspirator as you walk into the snack room. 

“yep,” he says with a nod. “i’ll wait a few minutes-”

“how many exactly?”

“i’ll count to 300,” he informs you, and you do the math quickly.

“five minutes?”

“sure,” he shrugs. “i’ll count to that many and then tell one of the snack leaders i have a tummy ache. and then they’ll take me to you, and we can get my big brother.”

“perfect, kid,” you tell him, a smile on your face at how proud he looks. you lean down so you can whisper in his ear, “i’ll try to sneak a brownie just for you.”

“please!” he shouts out of excitement, and you have to shush him quickly. one of the snack room leaders looks at you funny and you assure her it’s nothing as you ruffle kyungmin’s hair before heading to snack paradise. 

they’ve got a good spread today: sandwiches, cheese dip, those meatballs people only make for baby showers, and so many desserts. you try to quickly gather your plate without drawing attention, and just as you sit down there’s a knock at the door. everyone looks in that direction, and you see kyungmin hiding behind one of the snack volunteers. he’s putting on the show of his life, lip quivering, hand on his stomach, everything.

“y/n? sorry to bother you, but your friend here says his stomach hurts and he won’t let any of us help him,” she says sweetly. 

“oh buddy,” you coo, heading toward the door then squatting in front of kyungmin. “what’s wrong sweet boy?”

“it’s my tummy,” he says in a shaky voice. “it hurts really bad.”

“like bathroom hurts or hurt hurts?” you ask, hoping kyungmin can continue playing along. 

“i don’t know,” he says, and you nod before standing back up. you put your free hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze. 

“is it alright if i head out and find his brother? he may need to go home,” you tell one of the snack room volunteers. he immediately eyes the plate of food in your hands, and kyungmin chooses that exact moment to whine. somebody give this kid an oscar!

“just don’t bring the food around the other kids and you should be fine,” he says, and you thank him quickly. you usher kyungmin down the hall, stopping at the cooler to grab a sprite which you pass to kyungmin, and a coke for yourself. 

“maybe this will help settle your stomach, bud,” you say as you walk off, and when you’re far enough down the hall you let out a laugh. kyungmin looks up at you proudly, and you smile back. “dude! you did great! where’d you learn to act like that?”

“wooyoung and i pretend like that sometimes so we don’t have to do things with mom and dad,” kyungmin says easily, and you laugh at the idea of wooyoung using his little brother to get him out of unwanted situations. as you near the big kid’s hallway, you find a quiet spot to deposit your little sidekick and place the food on an abandoned nursery chair. 

“i’ll go get wooyoung really quick, you stay right here, ok?” you tell kyungmin, and he nods solemnly, playing his part through till the end. you head around the corner and slow down, peeking past doorways to see if you can spot your target. you finally find him, and lightly knock on the open door. wooyoung immediately catches your eye and you motion for him to come with you, and he’s on his feet in seconds. 

“what’s wrong?” he asks, worry evident in his voice. “did he get hurt? is he sick? oh i hope he’s not throwing up, i couldn’t handle that right now-”

his rambling is cut short by the sight in front of him, his brother happily swinging his legs and sipping a sprite with brownie crumbs around his mouth. wooyoung looks at him and back to you, mouth unsure what to ask first.

“we thought you could use a break,” you say with a shrug. “plus today was meatball day and i remember those are your favorite.” 

“i could kiss you right now,” wooyoung says, and kyungmin’s little “do it!” in the background makes you both laugh. you make a gagging noise and ignore the way wooyoung is looking at you to continue explaining what snacks you brought, mostly so you can tell him explicitly which are his and which are just for you. kyungmin also fills him in on the whole plan, and wooyoung looks on with a smile as his brother gets excited to let him in on the secret. 

“yeah how’s that tummy doing now, min?” you ask once he’s done explaining everything. “we might need to head back.”

“no,” he whines. “a few more minutes?” 

“just a couple,” you sigh, and wooyoung laughs. “what was that for?”

“he’s got you wrapped around his finger, you know,” he says matter of factly. 

“no,” you scoff. “he’s a kid, i have the power here.”

“oh so you’re telling me you didn’t just cave at him whining once? and he didn’t convince you to come do this for me?”

“no he didn’t, actually.”

“what?”

“it was my idea,” you tell him. “you looked miserable last time i saw you so i wanted to do something nice. y’know, since you bought my lunch yesterday.”

“hm, sure, sure,” wooyoung nods. “kyungmin still has you in his pocket. he could ask you to bring him the moon and you’d do it.”

“wouldn’t you?” you say with a laugh.

“depends on who’s asking.” 

“ok, we can go back now,” kyungmin says with finality, like he’s the one that makes decisions around here. which apparently he does, because you stand as soon as he says that. wooyoung catches your eye and he quirks an eyebrow, but you shut him up quickly.

“i was about to say the same thing!” you explain. “he and i are just on the same wavelength. we get each other. he’s my partner in crime.”

“crime is bad, y/n,” kyungmin pipes in.

“yeah, crime is bad, y/n,” wooyoung parrots, and you stick your tongue out at him. “but thanks for breaking the rules for me. i really needed this break.”

“anytime friend,” you tell him, grabbing your trash and beckoning kyungmin to follow you. 

-

later that same day, you and wooyoung find yourselves being volun-told to stay longer and help prepare one of the big group activities for tomorrow, and this is another one of those rare moments nowadays where kyungmin isn’t there to wingman himself into the situation or act as a distraction if things get awkward. he’s spending the night with the oldest jung brother, and he seemed so excited about it that you could tell wooyoung was a little jealous. dare you say it was...cute? no, snap out of it. back to work. 

you and wooyoung aren’t the only volunteers staying longer today, but you’re probably the only ones under the age of thirty so you’re sticking close together. because of your young, spry state, they’ve given the two of you the job of laying tape down on the gym floor because you can “get up and down faster than us” so currently you’re secluded in the corner with wooyoung as he opens a new roll of neon colored duct tape. 

“so did your day get any easier?” you ask while wooyoung focuses on finding the start of the new roll.

“yeah,” he says, tongue between his teeth and concentration clear on his face. “gimme a second though. no distractions.”

“didn’t know i distracted you.”

he wants to say that you do more than distract him, but he literally bites his tongue to stop himself. instead he lets out an “aha!” and pulls the tape out before handing it to you. you bend down and add it to the mess on the floor, hoping you’re doing this the way the children’s minister explained. 

“so my day. yeah, it got better,” wooyoung starts again as he watches you work. “i don’t know what happened while i was with you guys, but it’s like everyone’s attitude in my group just...disappeared.”

“weird,” you say, and wooyoung hums in agreement. “maybe they just needed a break from you as much as you needed a break from them.”

“hey, i’m a lotta fun, y/n,” wooyoung says sternly, finger pointed at you accusingly. “those kids love me.”

“not as much as mine love me though,” you say with a fake pout. “did you see my bestie started crying when her mom said they had to go? she didn’t want to leave her favorite leader.”

“since when is this a competition?” wooyoung laughs. “i’m sure your kids like you enough.”

“oh come on, you used to make everything a competition when we were kids,” you remind him. “we couldn’t even walk down the hallway without you asking me if i wanted to race.”

“that’s because i wanted to show off how fast i was.”

“too bad i never caved and saw it then.”

“we could race tomorrow with our kids,” wooyoung offers, and you laugh.

“yeah, and then neither of us would have an easy day. encouraging these kids to race each other indoors would be asking for trouble.”

“i think it’d be fun,” wooyoung says with a mischievous smile. “i say we just have one day where the kids need to figure it out on their own, lord of the rings style.”

“you mean lord of the flies, you dork?” 

“whatever. i didn’t read either of them.”

“of course not.” 

“hey, you messed that one up,” wooyoung points out, and you sigh. you move from a crouch to sit completely on the floor, and you start picking away at the strip of tape that doesn’t want to come off the floor. 

“can you help me?” you whine, and wooyoung is down at your level in a heartbeat. he joins you in picking at the sides, hoping that you can get enough up to get a grip and yank it all in one go. there’s an unusual moment of silence as you work, but wooyoung has to break it.

“so,” he begins. “i think you being nice to me today proves that you don’t hate me anymore.”

“it may seem that way, yes,” you agree with a nod. “but i’m not all the way there yet.”

“and what’s stopping you?”

“i don’t know,” you sigh. “i guess i just have one more question about the whole thing, and then i’ll be okay.”

“shoot.”

“who was the other girl?”

what?

“huh?” wooyoung asks, so shocked by the question that he pulls the tape up on accident.

“hey, nice,” you grin, pulling at the last couple pieces. “didn’t expect that to shock you so much.”

“why? what do you mean?” he asks incredulously. “the other girl when?”

“the other girl you told my friend you liked all along,” you say. “the one you wouldn’t date her because of?”

“oh, that, right, um. well, i don’t know,” he rambles. “it was just-”

“if you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine,” you shrug. “i can just keep not liking you until you tell me.”

“hey, at least you’re not saying hate anymore,” he points out.

“baby steps,” you tell him. “who knows, maybe one day i’ll get back to saying the big one.”

“that you like me? how very elementary of you, y/n.”

“no, the real big one. the love word. we loved each other when we were kids, right? we were close enough that we would say that to each other.”

“oh, haha, right,” wooyoung laughs. “probably didn’t know what it meant but yeah, i bet we did.”

little do you know, but wooyoung could still say it now and mean it more than he ever did before. 

-

you kept talking to wooyoung as you worked, and after a while you finished taping up the gym floor. you started warming back up to wooyoung the more time you spent with him, and you forgot how bright his personality is. spending time with him is like sitting outside in the sun, you could do it all day and you definitely feel a difference when you’re done. 

making small talk, wooyoung asked what you had planned for when you got home, and you told him all about the exciting world of online grad school. he didn’t even know you were taking classes. so he’s shocked to hear that you’re doing that on top of volunteering and work. 

that being said, wooyoung knows you had a late night yesterday. and he knows you’re probably going to be super tired today, and since his older brother is dropping kyungmin off this morning, that means wooyoung has a little extra time to himself. he decides to use it wisely, and sets out early enough to get himself a little treat while he’s at it. 

when you come into the church that day, you are exhausted. staying later yesterday meant you had less time to decompress after being around the kids, so you really had to jump right into coursework and it kept you up for a while. you’re mid yawn when you notice wooyoung standing with your other leader and the one kid that always seems to get there super early. it’s not out of the ordinary to see wooyoung mingling, but it’s what’s in his hands that has you confused. 

“hey,” you call out, and he turns around with a sunny smile. “whatcha got?”

“breakfast,” he says proudly. “for me, you, and kyungmin.”

“none for your older brother?”

“nah, he’s a big boy, he can get it himself,” wooyoung scoffs. “here, sit.”

you do as he says and sit down, noticing wooyoung doesn’t just have a tray of drinks but there’s a bag of food, too. he hands you a drink that you hesitate to sip, still waking up honestly, and unsure of whether or not you can accept this kindness so early and so unwarranted.

“i couldn’t remember what kind of donuts you like, or if you even like donuts at all, so there’s a couple different ones plus a bagel and cream cheese in there,” wooyoung says, opening the bag and peeking in. “you can take what you want and me and min will have the rest, we can eat anything.”

“thank you,” you say meekly as he goes on.

“and then i got you coffee because you said you had an assignment due last night,” he begins, handing you the warm cardboard cup. “but i only got one because i remembered what you like.”

“latte with oatmilk?” you ask with a smile, and wooyoung nods.

“made them add some cinnamon too, you like that right?”

“love it,” you confirm before taking your first sip, and you sigh at the warmth it brings you. you glance over at wooyoung and he’s just smiling back at you. “thank you, really. this was too nice.”

“thought we could all use a little treat,” wooyoung says, brushing it off like he didn’t just make your entire day better with this gesture. “besides, you need your energy for our race later.”

“very funny.”

“i mean it, my kids are ready-”

“wooyoung! y/n!” a little voice shouts, and you share a look because you know who it belongs to. you wait while wooyoung grabs his little brother up and brings him over to you, waving goodbye to the oldest as he stands by the door to make sure kyungmin found the right people. 

“welcome back best buddy,” you tell him, patting the seat next to you. “big bro got you a present.”

“a new car?”

“what? no, you don’t need a car,” wooyoung says sternly. “i got you breakfast.”

as wooyoung explains what he got for kyungmin, you take a moment to appreciate the man in front of you. you’ve always known wooyoung was caring and thoughtful, but you let a little scuffle take away all the good things you used to feel for him, and that’s not fair. you find yourself admiring him for too long, actually, noticing not just how sweet he is with his little brother, but also noticing how handsome his side profile is. wooyoung catches you off guard with a question, and when you ask him to repeat it there’s a blush on his cheeks. he knew what you were doing, but you don’t know that you just got caught.

“i asked how the donut was,” wooyoung repeats himself, and you assure him it was delicious. you watch as he splits one with his brother before heading over to his group area, but not without a final look in your direction and maybe a wink too, just to keep things fun. 

you don’t know where this change has come from exactly, but you find yourself daydreaming about wooyoung all morning. your mind might just be clouded by the bribery in the form of the perfect coffee, but you’ve had plenty of time to think back on how sweet wooyoung has been to you all these years. you’re in the middle of the bible story session when it hits you: wooyoung has liked you all along. like, the big one liked you. like, you were probably the girl he rejected your friend for liked you. how could you not know this? he was so obvious. sure he was shy about it, but that doesn’t mean he was slick. the signs were there, you just didn’t notice them until now. 

you’re also noticing just how..thrilled? excited? the thought of wooyoung liking you is making you feel. it might have taken all this time for you to admit, but you had a crush on him when you were kids, you just tried to make it go away once you both started getting involved with your friends at school. those childlike feelings are back now, butterflies flapping around in your guts as you make eye contact with wooyoung during a transition. he smiles at you like always, but you panic and look away. that’s not un-normal for you, but it does have wooyoung thinking for a minute that you may not be as warmed up to him as he thought. and you simply can’t have that.

during the next session, you find some time to slip away to the restroom and set up a game plan for yourself. how could you tell wooyoung you know he likes you? how do you tell him you think you might like him too?

all of this is swirling around your head when you crash straight on into a strong chest that steadies you immediately. wooyoung’s signature giggle lets you know your target is closer than you thought, and you look up at him innocently as he looks down with a smile in return. 

“hi,” he says simply.

“hi,” you respond, and there’s a beat of silence while you process how close you are and the fact that wooyoung hasn’t let go of you yet. you look up at him and glance down at his lips, deciding in the moment this is what you need to do. you peck him quickly, just to see if you could, and when he looks at you with those big, surprised eyes of his, you lean back in and do it again, but this time you mean it. when you pull away the second time you detangle yourself from wooyoung as he’s left blabbering about what just happened. you give him a quick “bye!” in response, and then you’re gone. 

-

after you kissed wooyoung, you half expected him to tell kyungmin since he’s been so involved in your friendship lately. but the little guy doesn’t say anything or act differently the last two days of vbs, so that’s good. wooyoung does, however. suddenly he’s not bothering you as much. in fact, he’s not bothering you at all, and that’s incredibly out of character. you realize the last two days are going by so slowly because you don’t have wooyoung breaking up the day by asking you a stupid question or blatantly flirting with you, and you miss it. the first day post kiss he was almost business like dropping kyungmin off and picking him up, and that was really weird. the last day was a little better, he at least joked with you this morning, but nothing since. you’re wondering how you can get a chance to talk to him before the day is over, but then you remember you have snack at the same time today. so that means you’ can ambush him on your way to the snack room in hopes that he’ll at least acknowledge you exist again. 

when it nears the end of the day and you’re dropping your kids off at their snack area, you step to the side and wait in the hallway so you can see wooyoung coming. when you hear his boisterous voice coming closer, you act like you’re looking for something in the bag they give to each leader, and when wooyoung rounds the corner you look up and stop him.

“hey! do you have any extra bandaids?” you ask him. “i’ve got a kid with a paper cut and i’m fresh out.”

“uh, lemme check,” he says, patting his pockets quickly.

“you don’t have the bag?”

“if we were paired together, would you trust me to keep track of the bag all week?”

“valid point,” you reply. “so i’m guessing you don’t have one?”

“nope, i do,” he says, pulling the ziploc of bandages out of his back pocket. “just one?”

“yeah, i just need it to shut the kid up until his dad comes to get him,” you explain.

“he’s a whiner?” wooyoung asks, and you nod. he hands you the bag and you dip back into the snack room to find the kid (you really did need a bandaid) and you’re back outside in seconds. wooyoung is waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a sheepish smile on his face.

“thanks,” you say, handing him the bag as you start the walk to the volunteer snack room. 

“sure,” he says, and you fall into an awkward silence. it’s not a long walk to the snack room, and you want to get something out of him before there’s a bunch of people around so you stop abruptly and wooyoung follows suit.

“sorry, but i have to ask,” you start. “did i kiss you wrong? i mean, wait, sorry. was me kissing you wrong? should i not have done that? because now you’re acting all weird.”

“so you noticed something was up?” wooyoung asks shyly. “sorry about that.”

“it’s ok,” you tell him. “just give me a clue as to whether or not i just messed up by doing that.”

“no, it was good,” he assures you. “very good. nice. it was nice. i liked it.”

“ok, good.”

“i’d like to do it again.”

“right now?” you ask. “the kids could see us, and you know we’d never live that down.”

“no, not now,” he laughs. “but later. eventually. if you want to.”

“definitely,” you nod. “but not at church?”

“not at church,” he confirms. “the lord is watching.”

“that’s pervy of him,” you say, making wooyoung let out an elmo pitched laugh. the sound lights you up, like the sun is shining just on you for that moment. you want to make him laugh a million more times just like that. 

“remind me why i like you again?”

-

at the end of the day, kyungmin begs you to get lunch with him and wooyoung again. he’s sad that after today he’ll go back to not seeing you every day, but you assure him you’ll be around, sending a wink up to wooyoung as you say so. 

“actually, i think i’m supposed to babysit you one day this weekend,” you tell kyungmin, and his face lights up.

“really?!”

“yeah, really. your mom asked me about it last night,” you say, and wooyoung looks confused but you don’t notice because kyungmin is literally jumping with glee.

“i can show you all my TOYS and we can watch my favorite MOVIE and can we get pizza? mom lets me get pizza when there’s a babysitter, i swear!” 

“calm down, buckoo, we’ll see what happens,” you laugh. “but i’ll see you soon, i promise.”

“ok!” kyungmin shouts happily, and he runs off to say goodbye to his friends, leaving you with wooyoung. 

“who knew my little brother would take you from me the weekend i wanted to ask you out,” he says with a smirk, pulling you in for a proper church side hug. he places his lips to your forehead ever so lightly as he whispers, “guess i’ll have to tell you about my undying love for you another time.”

and then he pulls away, waving over his shoulder as he walks off to find his brother. you’re left sputtering, much like wooyoung was the other day after you kissed him, and you have to reset before you remember how to act like a human again. 

-

it doesn’t feel like long before saturday night comes around and you find yourself heading to the jung residence. vbs wore you out so bad that you cancelled plans with friends last night so you could just sleep the week off, and you barely feel rested enough to be around kyungmin for a few hours now, even if he is one of your favorite people. 

it’s been ages since you’ve been to their house, too, so it feels a little weird walking up the path to their front door. it seems oddly quiet, but you pay no mind as you reach for the doorbell and...wooyoung? answers the door. 

“what?” you ask, surprised. “sorry, where’s your mom? she said you were all going to a wedding tonight and...” you trail off, thinking back to what ms. jung really said. “the wedding is next weekend, isn’t it?”

“no, really?” wooyoung asks in fake shock. “that would explain why my family went to the beach for the weekend.”

“really?” you ask, and wooyoung nods. “why didn’t you go?”

“i wanted to see your face when you realized you had the weekends wrong.”

“no, seriously,” you laugh as you push his arm, and he shrugs.

“i needed to rest, honestly,” he says. “and spending most of the weekend in the car with my family is not my idea of rest. laying in my bed for 12 hours straight is, however.”

“that sounds nice,” you say wistfully, thinking about how warm your bed was before you had to leave to come here. 

“it is,” wooyoung agrees. “wanna try it for yourself?”

“are you inviting me up to your room, jung wooyoung?” you ask in disbelief, and wooyoung simply quirks an eyebrow before disappearing into the house, giving you no choice but to follow him and close the door behind you.

the last time you were here, kyungmin was much younger, and wooyoung was still off at school, so his room was converted into min’s vacation home. seeing it in wooyoung’s style was a stark difference, but it made you smile to see this detail of his life. you note the movie posters plastered on the wall, laughing at the childish posters they’re obviously covering up.

“was that your toy story poster or kyungmin’s?” you tease.

“hey, that was a great franchise,” he scolds, finger pointing at you and hand on hip accordingly. “stop standing there so awkward, come inside.”

“sorry,” you laugh nervously. “what should we do?”

“wanna watch a movie?”

“how bout toy story?”

“okay, never mind, you can leave,” wooyoung says as he pushes you toward the door, and you push back. you both lose your footing, and you tumble into his chest, but thankfully wooyoung catches you. you brace yourself on his chest and look up at him with a smile.

“hi.”

“hi,” he smiles back. “deja vu.”

“yeah,” you laugh, holding his gaze for a moment before glancing down to his mouth. this time though, wooyoung makes the first move, cupping your cheek and bringing your lips to his. it’s tentative at first, but the more you lean into it the more you enjoy it. you catch wooyoung smiling into the kiss before you pull back to take a breath. you share a look with wooyoung before you both dive back in, this kiss different from the others. this one is hungry, wooyoung’s gripping your face with both hands, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t keep you right here in his grasp. he licks at your lip, and you let him in, moaning softly when his tongue explores your mouth. you pull back briefly and ask, “still wanna watch that movie?”

“hell no,” he growls into your mouth, and then he separates from you for a moment, staring deep into your eyes. “let me make love to you.”

“wooyoung, i-”

“please,” he begs. “i’ve loved you for so long i don’t think i could put it into words. let me show you how i feel. please.”

“ok,” you nod, pecking his lips sweetly before connecting your forehead to his. “but when you’re ready i’d really like to hear about this whole you loving me thing. i’ll do my best to explain me loving you, too.”

“it’s a date,” he says with a smile that reaches his eyes, and it’s like the warmth radiating from that smile transfers to you through every spot where your bodies are connected. wooyoung is your little piece of sunshine here on earth, and he’s about to show you why you should never let him go.

he starts with a tender kiss, cupping the back of your head to angle you just right so he can pick up where he left off. his other hand slides down your arm and settles on your waist, giving it a squeeze before backing you up to his bed. the back of your knees hit the mattress and he helps you lay down gently, asking you to crawl up the bed while he takes off his shirt. when he settles above you, your hands graze his abdomen and he giggles as he leans in for another kiss.

“tickles,” he whispers, and you pull your hands from his waist to wrap around his neck as you deepen the kiss. wooyoung’s hands slide under your shirt, tracing lines over your hips and you gasp when they travel further and trace lines over your stomach. wooyoung pulls back to tug at your shirt and you nod, helping him slide it off your arms. he helps you out of your bra next, gluing his eyes to your chest and how delicate you look beneath him. 

“i’m up here,” you tease, and wooyoung tears his eyes from your tits for a second to roll his eyes at you.

“yeah, but i’ve seen your face like a million times,” he scoffs. “let me look at your boobs a little bit more.”

“how romantic.”

“shut up,” he mumbles into your chest, kissing from your collarbone and further down. he stops to place a kiss around each breast, sucking on your nipples to get them hard before he continues down. he’s kissing across your stomach and you hope he can’t feel the butterflies in there threatening to break out. he keeps going, and you know where he’s going to end up. after placing a final kiss under your belly button, he looks up at you and you tell him to keep going. he’s barely done anything and you’re already breathless. he kisses along the waistband of your panties, and instead of taking them off like you expected, he continues down to place kisses over your covered core, drawing out whimpers from you the more he focuses on your pussy without making actual contact.

“wooyoung don’t tease,” you whine, and he shakes his head.

“nope, gotta take it slow or it won’t be right,” he tells you. he places one more kiss on your clothed clit before pulling your panties to the side. he ghosts his finger over your folds before rubbing lightly at your clit, and you gasp at the contact. he lets his hand go further, finding your entrance where he collects some of your arousal before finding your clit again. he looks up as you let out another breathless gasp and asks, “you doin okay up there?”

“mhm,” you squeak out. “want more though.”

“greedy baby,” he smirks, replacing his hand with his lips as he kisses at your nub. his hand trails back down and strokes into you softly, and your hips keen at the feeling. he pumps his finger a few times before adding another, mumbling against your pussy that you’re doing so well. he starts curling his fingers inside you, tearing a moan from deep within your chest. you realize you’re closer than you’d like to admit, because you don’t want him to stop. at the same time, you think you might die if wooyoung doesn’t make you come soon.

“faster please,” you whine, bucking your hips again to get a little more friction. wooyoung takes the hint and picks up the pace, pumping into you faster and lapping at your clit in a way that has your legs shaking. he keeps going, and just when you’re about to warn him of your release he adds a third finger, stretching you so well that you come with a silent scream, his name squeaking out at the end as he watches in awe. 

“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you come down. 

“come up here and say that to my face,” you challenge him, and he wastes no time climbing back up the bed and trapping your lips in another kiss. you moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, his tongue venturing past your lips in a heated kiss. he pulls away for a moment to whisper again.

“you’re beautiful,” he says, holding eye contact with you long enough for you to get shy from the attention. it’s like he’s looking straight into your soul and you’re a little afraid of what he might find in there. 

“what happened to you making love to me?” you ask, breaking him out of his concentrated gaze. you watch as he snaps out of it in real time, and he gets up quickly to rid himself of his pants and his boxers. you didn’t notice how hard he was before now, but it must have been painful. his tip is so red, and the veins are so prominent that you catch yourself staring only to be interrupted by wooyoung’s own hand pumping himself a few times for relief. “hey, let me do that.”

“no, need to find a condom,” he says through gritted teeth. “need to be inside you like right now.”

“we don’t need one,” you tell him, and he stands completely still. his eyes find yours and he quirks an eyebrow.

“we don’t need one?”

“no,” you almost whine. “i’m clean. i trust you. i’ve got protection. please just have sex with me.”

“i love you so much,” wooyoung says in one breath, basically pouncing back on top of you to reconnect your lips. he mumbles in between rushed kisses “i’m clean too, by the way,” and you just nod and urge him to get to it.

you both watch as wooyoung pulls back and guides his tip to your core, rubbing against your clit so deliciously it has you moaning pathetically, begging him to fuck you already. he slides between your lips a few times before guiding himself to your dripping entrance, and he slides in with ease. he bottoms out completely before letting out a moan of his own, and he stills for a moment so you can adjust. you take a moment and nod, reaching down to squeeze his hip to let him know he can continue. he pulls back with a shaky breath and bottoms out once again, trying his best to hit your innermost wall with each thrust, it seems. he’s so deep, and he settles so that he’s holding himself above you in the perfect position to connect with your g-spot every time he pumps in. he spends plenty of time thrusting all the way in and pulling out as much as he can, but you’re clenching around him so well there’s no way he’s going to last. he pumps in one more time before he stills, making sure to take deep breaths to calm himself down. 

“are you okay?” you ask, worried at his sudden change. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong baby,” he assures you. “you’re just so warm. and tight. don’t think i can take it much longer.”

“come whenever you’re ready,” you tell him. “i wanna feel you.”

“you’re literally perfect, did you know that?” he asks before ducking down to bury his head in your neck. he lazily kisses at your skin as he fucks back into you, his thrusts a little shorter and sloppier but still perfect. you wrap a leg around his waist to keep him from going too far, and you grab for one of his hands to reconnect with your clit as you warn him that you’re close. 

“i’m almost there,” you gasp, hips rising to chase every touch. “wanna come with you.”

“okay, shit. warn me before you do, i’ll pull out-”

“no.”

“no?”

“i said i wanna feel you,” you say sternly, pulling his chin up to look in his eyes. “give me everything you’ve got baby.”

“really?” he asks, hips picking up speed again until he’s fucking you so fast that you’re practically bouncing on his cock. “that’s so hot, y/n. gonna give you everything. gonna start a family with you one day, gonna come, fuck-”

“wooyoung, i’m coming,” you whine as he picks up speed rubbing your clit and his hips give you one final thrust that sends you over the edge. it feels like every ounce of you is on fire, and the warmth radiating off wooyoung and shooting into your core heightens your senses so you feel everything ten times more. wooyoung pumps into you slowly, riding out the end of his release. he’s pushing his come back into you as it falls out, and he groans at the sight, getting turned on again. 

“how soon can you do that again?” he asks sheepishly, and you shake your head. he falls to your side as he waits for your response.

“gimme a few,” you reply. “you took my breath away.”

“okay,” he says, propping his head up on your shoulder. “i’ll be here.”

you lay still for a moment, eyes closed and focused on regulating your breathing. it’s in this silence that something wooyoung says passes through your mind again, and you decide you should address it now.

“wooyoung?”

“yeah?”

“did you say you wanna make a family with me?”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“i didn’t think you’d remember that,” he says shyly, and you laugh at the blush gracing his cheeks.

“it just happened!” you shriek. “what, you thought your dick was so good i’d completely block out what you were saying?”

“a little?”

“so obviously you’ve thought about this a lot,” you say, getting back on topic. “about us?”

“yep.”

“and what will our kids be named?”

“i dunno.”

“yes you do,” you insist, rolling onto your side to look at him directly. “tell me.”

“later,” he says, pecking your lips sweetly. “i think there was mention of a round two?”

-

due to no fault of your own, you ended up spending the night at wooyoung’s house. you were honestly so tired you didn’t want to leave anyway, so when he offered to make you breakfast in the morning you couldn’t pass it up. 

spending the night also gave you a chance to be intimate with wooyoung in another way. after the promised second round (and maybe a third in the shower) he helped you get ready for bed, offering up his comfiest clothes and insisting on helping you get dressed and into bed. he wrapped you up in the covers just to mess them up as he wormed his way under the blankets right next to you, immediately wrapping himself around you and burying his head in your chest. you absentmindedly played with his hair as you talked quietly, and the topic of feelings came up again. 

you already knew how wooyoung felt, so it was really your turn to grab the mic, but wooyoung being ever the gentleman assured you he didn’t need a love confession just because you had slept together. he was okay with waiting for you to process as long as you’d agree to be with him while that happened. 

you easily fell asleep, tired and at peace in wooyoung’s arms, but when you woke up the next day to an empty bed you panicked. almost as if he knew you were awake, wooyoung poked his head into the room a few minutes later and reminded you of the meal he promised you, asking how you wanted your coffee. he scoffed when you didn’t say cold and straight black (like him) but he still took extra care to make it just right for you. it takes you another minute to get the will to get out of bed, but when you make it downstairs to the kitchen you’re left speechless. 

“you did all this for me?” you ask quietly, noticing the pancakes, eggs, sausage and the assortment of cereal boxes wooyoung laid out in case you wanted something really sweet. there was a bowl of fresh strawberries, your carefully crafted coffee, and a beautiful vase of flowers too. 

“i was hungry too,” wooyoung shrugs. “so i thought i’d do it right.”

“you’re so concerned with doing things right around me,” you start, “you know you don’t need to do all of this to impress me.”

“but i want to,” he pouts. “i’m tinkerbell, i live off of attention.”

“that explains so much.”

“just shut up and eat.”

you do just that, forgetting that wooyoung is probably one of the best cooks you know. maybe he is tinkerbell because he did something magic to those pancakes.

“what did you put in these to make them so good?” you ask, pointing to your plate.

“love,” he replies with a dreamy sigh and you laugh, but wooyoung was being serious.

“oh come on, tell me,” you whine. “cinnamon? vanilla?”

“not everyone knows this but love is in fact cinnamon flavored,” wooyoung says matter of factly. 

“you’re annoying.”

“you like it though, admit it!” he says, pushing your shoulder. “you wouldn’t have been my friend for so long if i annoyed you that bad, and you definitely wouldn’t be dating me if i annoyed you so much.”

“wait, so are we dating?” you ask, and he nods in confirmation. “we haven’t had a real date though.”

“um? i took you to mcdonald’s.”

“yeah, with your little brother,” you laugh. “that’s not a real date. that’s like a trial run.”

“for when we have kids.”

“sure, but that’s not a real date,” you say again. “you need to plan something.”

“why do i need to plan it?!”

“because i kissed you first, so it’s your move, jung.”

“that doesn’t make sense.”

“too bad,” you say as you pop a strawberry in your mouth. “think of something good, my little chef.”

wooyoung falls silent as he thinks about what he could plan, and this gives you a chance to look at the clock.

“oh shit, i need to go home,” you say quickly. “i have to meet my friends for lunch.”

“and leave me here all alone?” wooyoung pouts, and you kiss him to make it go away.

“yep, sorry sweets. it’ll give you more time to plan the perfect date,” you say with a wink as you head to the stairs to grab your things from wooyoung’s room.

“hey!” wooyoung calls out as you’re collecting your clothes (but conveniently keeping the hoodie he let you borrow). wooyoung appears at the door and leans against the frame as he continues. “you know what i just thought about?”

“hm?”

“kyungmin is gonna be so thrilled we’re finally together,” he says, and you smile. 

“he sure put in work to get us here, didn’t he?”

“yeah, that little rascal,” wooyoung shakes his head. you stop, making sure you have everything before you walk to the door and put your hand on wooyoung’s cheek. he leans into your touch and you smile, giving him one last kiss.

“i’ll see you later?” you ask, and he nods.

“can we do what we did here but at your place?” wooyoung asks hopefully, and you pretend to think about it.

“if you tell me what you put in the pancakes, then yes.” 

“it was brown sugar,” he says quickly, pulling you closer to him by your hips. “so i’ll see you tonight?”

“sure,” you laugh, kissing him one last time. “see you later, love.”

[lovebugism]

watchching scary movies with steve with "I don't like scary movies" "ill keep you safe" dialogue?

ty for requesting!! this can be read as a part of the punchy x steve universe — steve attends punchy and eddie's horror movie night and tries very hard to be metal about it (established relationship, fluff, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You and Eddie were a package deal. Steve knew this before he started dating you. Hell, before he even knew he liked you. As far as he’s concerned, it’s been Punchy and Eddie since the beginning of time. 

So it isn’t all that surprising when he started going out with you that he was essentially going out with Eddie as well. And strictly by association, he was basically Eddie’s best friend just the same. It was like having shared custody — which you’ve always joked that the two of them seemed to have of Dustin.

Except shared custody with you looks more like toned-down PDA and crashed movie nights. Sorta like this one.

Steve enters Eddie’s trailer like it’s his own and doesn’t bother to knock.

“You’re late, Harrington,” the wild-haired boy monotones from the couch, arms crossed and pouting. He’s not even mad that the douchebag barged in, but that he barged in forty minutes late. “Movie nights start at seven o’clock, alright? Sharp. You should learn that if you’re gonna keep crashing them.”

“Good to know,” Steve snorts as he kicks the door shut behind him. “I had to make a pitstop on the way over. Sorry for getting everyone beer.”

The brunette holds up a six-pack, and Eddie lights up like a Christmas tree in the middle of October. He rises from the cushions with a beaming grin. “And just like that, you are forgiven, Stevie,” he singsongs with a whimsical sort of accent.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t scold him for the nickname. He complained about it once, and Eddie called him that and nothing else for days. He figures it’s just better to count his losses.

His face loses every hint of annoyance when his eyes find you — standing in the kitchen wearing one of his sweatshirts, Eddie’s baggy pajama pants, and yesterday’s makeup. You shake a pan of jiffy pop over the stove and beam at the sight of your boy.

“Hi, babe!” you greet, a little louder than you mean to. It’s hard to gauge how quiet you should be over the sounds of popping popcorn, bickering boys, and a television slowly losing signal.

“Hey,” Steve grins in response. His voice and his smile are much quieter than yours had been. It’s lopsided and rosy and totally unkissed. You figure you’ll have to steal a peck or two when Eddie's not looking.

“You’re late,” you tell him — not scolding, just observant and worried with it. “You had me nervous for a minute there… Forty of ‘em, actually.”

“Sorry. Work got busy outta nowhere, and I didn’t wanna leave Rob by herself.”

You flash a smile at the boy leaning against the counter beside you. “You’re so sweet, Stevie. Did you know that?”

The nickname sounds much sweeter spilling from your mouth than from Eddie’s. It has him smiling all shy at his sneakers while his stomach flutters like a kid with a crush. He busies his fidgeting fingers with the glass bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels you and Eddie have already made a sizeable dent in.

“Thanks, but she probably would’ve killed me if I tried to leave, so… I think I might’ve just been sweet by force.”

He bites into the snack between his fingers with an audible crunch. 

You’re grinning at him just the same, even after his confession — so full of love your cheeks threaten to burst with it. “That’s fair, I guess,” you concede with a small shrug and a crooked smile.

“What movies do you nerds have me watching tonight, then, huh?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Eds! What movies are we watching tonight?” you shout into the living room.

Steve plugs his ringing ears with his pointer finger in time for Eddie to yell back, “The Shining for the appetizer and The Exorcist for the main course!”

Steve’s brows pinch as his chiseled features twist in confusion. His honey eyes dance between you and where Eddie bangs on the side of the staticky television in the living room. “Wait— Aren’t those, like, crazy terrifying?”

“Yep,” you answer with an enthusiastic nod and a sparkling gaze. Your grin somehow widens at the promise of something menacing. “It’s gonna be metal— can you hand me a bowl?”

Steve huffs with a pouted face but complies anyway. He grabs a plastic container from the drying rack beside the sink and hands it to you. You pour the freshly popped popcorn into it, and he whines like a child.

“We’re watching scary movies?” 

“Well, yeah, Harrington,” Eddie scoffs over the sound of an old black-and-white show when he finally gets the TV to work again. He walks to the kitchen with an amused gaze and leans his elbows over the countertop. “It’s Halloween. What’d you expect?”

“It’s the middle of October,” Steve deadpans.

“Yeah. Halloween. What’d you think we were gonna watch— Pretty in Pink?”

“I love that movie…” the brunette mumbles beneath Eddie’s cackling.

You flash him a sweet smile and wide, attentive eyes. “Do you wanna watch something else?”

Feeling like he’s been caught, Steve tries his best to play it cool. He’s past the point of feeling the need to impress you, but he still wants to enjoy all the things you do. Even if they are scary and bloody and downright horrifying at times.

“No. I mean, I don’t really care, honestly,” the boy stammers with a nonchalant shrug. “I just… I don’t know— I’ve never really been into horror movies, you know?”

Eddie chuckles knowingly. “Why? Are you scared?”

“No,” Steve scoffs with narrowed eyes, then waves his hand in a wild gesture. “They’re just gory… And gross.”

“Yeah. That’s the fun part.”

Steve’s face screws up at the boy’s sadistic grin. 

The wild-haired boy giggles quietly to himself and turns on his heel to head back into the living room. The old couch squeaks under his weight when he plops down onto it.

“Do you really not wanna watch them?” you wonder, more quietly now that your best friend is gone. Your gaze is glittering, stern in its softness. Your chin tilts to your chest as you look at the boy from beneath your lashes. “‘Cause I get it if they’re too graphic, you know? We can always watch something else—”

“No. I lied. I am scared.” Steve blurts in one breath.

A laugh sputters from your mouth before you can stop it.

Steve gapes, feigning offense, though his own rosy smirk begins to tug at his mouth. 

“Don’t laugh! You’re supposed to be comforting me!”

“I know,” you hum sweetly, tilting your head to the side and shaking your head. “You’re just cute.”

“Yeah. I’m adorable,” he monotones with a flat, unamused face.

Your hand rises to his chin, ringed fingers cupping his stubbly jaw. His cheeks squish together, and his lips jut softly out — adorable, indeed.

“I’ll keep you safe, ‘kay?” you promise quietly.

Steve nods, all but melting into your touch.

You smile at him for a fleeting moment, then press a kiss to his gently pouted mouth a second later. The quiet smacking sound fills the small kitchen. You part from him too quickly for his liking, gathering bowls of popcorn and miscellaneous snacks and trying to balance them in your arms on your way to the living room.

Steve tries to ignore the butterflies fluttering against his ribcage when you part from him. He couldn’t love you more if he tried.

“Well, what about Eddie?” he calls to you and, very pointedly, to the Munson boy. “I don’t trust him not to do some freaky shit to try and scare the piss out of me.”

You turn back around with wide eyes, attempting to be mindful of everything you hold in your hands. Picking popcorn kernels out of the carpet would be a total bitch.

“Well— I mean— that’s basically his love language, so…” 

So at least that would mean he sort of likes you, you want to say

Eddie beats you to the punch. He finishes your sentence for you, as he so often does, with a cynical shout from the living room. “—So you have exactly nothing to worry about, Harrington!”

Steve isn’t so sure.

He’s growing on Munson. Even if neither of them want to admit it.

[hennyjwrites]

Kinktober Day 6 w/ Rio: Crying

“What’s the tears for ma?”

Rio showed down his hard thrusts inside you, bringing his hand to your cheek and wiped away some of the tears falling down your cheek.

Y’all had been fucking for around an hour with only 1 break and you only got that because your leg had a cramp. As soon as he massaged that cramp out, he flipped you back over and pushed your legs over your head in pretzel position.

You didn’t answer as you kept moaning in pleasure “You hear me talking to you? Why you crying?” His voice was soft as he made sure you were actually alright.

“Feels so good daddy.” You moaned out so quiet he could barely hear you. Hearing that made Rio chuckle to himself. Rio kissed the tears on your cheek before lacing one of your hand with his. A little sign of comfort before he got you right.

Rio took no time before he went back to his hard and fast pace. Your moans gradually got even louder as you unlaced your fingers from his and threw your arm over your eyes. You could feel every inch, vein, and thickness of Rios dick as he fucked you as hard as he wanted.

Your legs quivered as your stomach knotted in pleasure. Your orgasm hit you like a train, making your back arch from the bed. Rio watched you, biting his lip as you cummed again. This orgasm lasted a while and more tears poured down your face.

This is what he lived for. Seeing your pretty face, sexy body underneath him. When your orgasm finally subsided, Rio brought his face down to yours and kissed you passionately on the lips.

“Pretty ass.” He whispered before preparing himself to make you cry some more on his dick.

[bloodhoundluke]

for the love of strange medicine ✧ luke hemmings

pairing: luke hemmings x friend! reader

description: luke loves y/n in secret and his flirty comments make y/n's head spin. after calum's party, y/n finally gets an answer to luke's strange behavior.

warnings: alcohol consumption, cursing. please let me know if there’s anything else.

word count: 2,7k. a/n: hi there! this won the poll, the title was supposed to be 'it's impossible to ignore you' but i like for the love of strange medicine more :) i'm a bit rusty so please forgive me <33 and because i loved writing this so much, i think i'll do a pt. 2 to this!

The Californian sky was covered in haze that one Thursday. Luke stared at the cafe arguably named after a Steve Perry song: For the Love of Strange Medicine. It was fitting since Luke basically considered coffee to be his medicine, not to mention the delicious pretzels he had bought from the very same cafe a few days ago.

Luke rubbed his eyes and yawned, taking in the last smokes of the cigarette he had been inhaling on for the last three minutes. He swore to himself that it would be the last day he'd smoke. It wasn't. He pulled his phone out: 6:58am. He hated early mornings, and he hated how the cafe still wasn't open. Two more minutes, he told himself. He was growing impatient. Maybe it was the stress of recording a new album, maybe it was the fight he had with the manager last night.

When the clock hit 7am, you opened up the cafe. You gave Luke a soft yet tiresome smile which screamed It’s too damn early for this and he returned the favor. Luke saw the name tag on your black t-shirt: Y/N.

As time went by, Luke visited the cafe several times in an attempt to see your face again. To his misfortune, you weren’t working during any of those shifts. You had cut down your hours because of the intense lecture schedule. Luckily for Luke, you bumped into each other at a local festival while you both were watching Green Day play.

Your and Luke's friend groups emerged that night and you enjoyed his company too much for your own liking. You didn’t do men. You didn’t hang around them. Not even as friends. They all caused trouble for you. But with him, everything was different somehow. The night ended with you and Luke in your hotel room. There was nothing sexual about that night if not counting your lingering gazes at each other. You and Luke stayed up until seven in the morning, sharing your love of Green Day and Stranger Things, and talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Luke and you started to grow closer since spending time together. It had been nearly 3 months since you had met and you felt as if you've known him for your whole life. Then Luke went on tour and he didn't want to believe he couldn't see your face as frequently anymore. You made him feel seen and most importantly, safe.

One time Ashton, Calum and Michael caught Luke looking at your Instagram pictures before a show. The boys couldn’t let it go and stop teasing about the way he was biting his lip nervously while scrolling through your Instagram page. Luke convinced them there was nothing to tease about. You were just friends, and that’s the way it would always be. Your lives were so different from each other; you, a part-time barista and a university student and Luke, a touring rockstar. It could never work.

You tried to forget your feelings for your friend, you really did. But you couldn't. Every corner of your flat and everyone you met reminded you of Luke. Even if it was someone’s blonde hair or a tiny detail in their jacket. Everyday activities such as going grocery shopping which you normally enjoyed couldn’t get him off your mind. You’d see the Australian-grown coffee beans. Boom, Luke. Lavender-scented laundry detergent he used. Luke again. And the fact that Luke texted you every day didn't help in the process of trying to forget the feelings you had for him.

—❦

You were attending a party tonight. But not just any party, Calum's party. His parties were known for a good time and endless bottles of free booze.

You wiggled on your black leather dress, which you had just bought. It barely covered your knees and you loved how it hugged you from all the right places. The combo of the leather dress, red lipstick and curly hair gave you all the confidence you needed to go out tonight and see Luke. Yes, he was your friend but you still felt nervous around him. And you blamed him for that. His James Dean glossy eyes and irresistibly long curly hair. His charm and his stupid dad jokes. You were whipped for him and it was a wonder no one around you noticed that. Or that’s what you thought anyway. 

You recall the last time you had seen Luke. He had called you and asked to pick him up from his apartment a week ago. You knocked on his door and saw him with someone. A tall, gorgeous woman. Seeing the model-looking brunette beside Luke made your stomach flip. He seemed so happy with his arms around her waist. Maybe he had met her when he was on tour. You greeted them both and bit the insides of your cheek. That memory reminded you of the time you were helping him to pick out an outfit for him for his date a few weeks ago. Maybe it was for her. He had just returned back home from the tour and the poor man was all over the place. Maybe it was nerves, maybe he was just tired from touring. You imagined how Luke would get ready for your date and ask for assistance from Ashton, Michael and Calum. But that would never happen, so you snapped out of the thought. You were only hurting yourself by having these thoughts. You were such a fool for him, and you didn't know how to make it stop.

You sat down on top of your bed and decided to check Instagram on your phone. “He’s so pretty I think I’m gonna faint”, you whispered mainly just to yourself. 

“Who are you talking about?”, your friend heard your little comment and frowned their eyebrows.

“Uh….maybe I’ll keep it a secret”, you winked.

“C’mon Y/N!”.

“Okay, I was talking about Timothée Chalamet. He looks so pretty”, was the lie you came up with. You couldn’t tell them you were talking about Luke. You had just seen his new Instagram photo and can’t get over his pretty blue eyes. And his curly locks. And that god-damn jawline. And his….well, everything.

“I know right! Maybe we should go watch the new movie so we’ll have some eye candy”, your friend winked.

“It’s a date”, you laughed.

You were still waiting for Luke to pick you and your two friends up. But he was late, like he always was. You had lectured him about his tendency to be late countless times. But he could never learn, could he? It was needless to say that you were pissed off. 

Twenty minutes rolled by and Luke finally showed up. He offered his apologies to you and your friends. Your friends had already gone out and got themselves seated in the car, while you and Luke were still inside of your flat. Luke needed hairspray to lock his hair in place. Then Luke made his way to the hallway while you were checking that you had everything necessary with you. That one time you forgot your keys back home still haunted you, hence you had to double-check everything now.

“You got everything?”, Luke held the door open for you and the button of his already opened black and white star-patterned collar shirt popped off. “Oops”, he chuckled to himself. He didn’t bother to fix it. Not when he noticed you basically drooling over him. 

“Yeah”, you answered nonchalantly and avoided eye contact with him. You had been on the edge the whole day and Luke being late didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

“I hate that you’re mad at me, but you look so hot right now”, he smirked at you. Luke was always like this with you. He flirted with you and you flirted back when it felt natural. But since he started to hang around the brunette woman - whose name you didn’t even know - you started to think that maybe you should stop flirting back. But you didn’t know if they were exclusive or not. Luke didn’t exactly bother to open up about the romance department in his life. Not to you anyway. 

“Thanks. I like your hair”, you commented. You noted how he saw you fiddling with your bracelet. It was the one Luke won from Push A Prize that one Saturday night in July. Its pearls were your favorite color, blue.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too long?”.

“I think it’s good”.

“Just good? Don’t you mean gorgeous? Perfect?”, the blonde rockstar snarked.

“Shut up”, you slapped his hand gently and giggled.

"You okay?", he asked quietly as you were still fiddling with the bracelet.

"Yep, let's go", you gave Luke a small smile and received a nod in return. You took the passenger seat and he sat next to you and fired the engine.

“Took long enough”, one of your friends commented. “Blame Luke and his Prince Charming hair”, you rolled your eyes and looked at your friends in the backseat, and then at the man beside you.

"Geez, thanks for throwing me under the bus", Luke answered sarcastically, tapped the steering wheel with his fingers and turned the music up. Nickelback, of course.

You arrived at Calum’s house. You were walking side to side with the blondie, hand in hand. It was natural. You gravitated towards each other all the time, but you took it as a sign that you felt comfortable with him. Not just anyone could make you feel this way. 

“We’re in public, you know that right?”, you asked him as he was still holding your hand. You couldn't even count the times people mistook you for a couple, and doing these kinds of things that could be seen as couple-y felt a bit odd for you sometimes.

“Yup”, he popped the p and offered you a cheeky grin.

“So why are you still holding my hand?”, you genuinely asked Luke whose eyes were fixated on the crowd of people mingling.

“Don’t want you to get lost. I know you’re bad at taking directions”, he smirked and saw you looking at him with a questionable look. Those words sounded like honey and you hated yourself for it. Oh, only if he wasn’t as charming as he was. It would make everything so much easier for you.

“Right”, you laughed it off and rolled your eyes. It’s not like you haven’t been to Calum’s house a million times before…

“You should wear that dress more often”, he cooed confidently into your ear and let go of your hand. 

“Okay, Mr. Leather Pants”, you laughed and avoided his eye contact. You disappeared into the sea of people and fixed yourself a drink. You didn't really know what to think about Luke's behavior. He was flirtier than usual and you couldn't pinpoint why. The next few hours were spent by dancing with your friends and having conversations with drunken strangers.

—❦

Later, you noticed Luke navigating through the crowd to get to you. He spent a few minutes explaining how his leather boots got stuck in the mud in Europe while touring and how you would have laughed your ass off if you had seen that. Then, the unimaginable happened and he started spinning you around the dance floor. He had always been a fun drunk, that's for sure. He dropped you down carefully from the air and his hands laid comfortably on your waist. But not for long as the upbeat song shifted into a slow one, a shortened version of Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran. Shit.

You wrapped your hands around his neck almost intuitively. “Fuck it, let’s show them how to dance”, you lifted your left eyebrow and thought of how your hands will be sweaty in under a minute. Or twenty seconds, if you were being completely honest.

Luke placed his ring-covered hands, noticeably bigger than yours, back to your waist. “We’re so much better at this than these amateurs”, he looked deeply into your eyes and it felt like he scanned every little feature in your face. It felt intimidating. Being that close to Luke. Being that close with Luke.

“You should definitely consider Dancing with the Stars”, you commented and smiled as you intertwined your fingers behind his neck.

“You reckon?”, his eyes lit up and it's like you could almost see a blush creeping upon his cheeks.

“I see the UK accent has made a mark on you. Has a nice ring to it”, you confessed as you slow danced with your best friend.

“Thanks to you, ms. English Love Affair", Luke gave you a dirty look and chuckled semi-nervously afterwards.

"Oh, you wish", you replied with a nervous giggle and you two continued dancing in silence.

—❦

At 3am the party seems to die out and as usual, Luke walks you to your apartment. About half of the 15 minute walk you have talked about utter nonsense, like how many squirrels Luke saw during the tour and how many latte macchiatos you did during the time he was away.

“Can I ask you a question?", you asked as your heels clacked along the concrete.

“Sure”, Luke answers almost instantly, coughing afterwards.

“You were flirting with me the whole night and…”, you started your monologue which you had planned during the party.

“That’s not a question”, he interrupted and gave you a wink.

“Let me finish, you dumbass”, you answered, your tone being a mixture of playful and irritated.

He zipped his mouth and smiled back at you. You were standing in the front of your apartment, feeling a little cold in the chilly autumn air.

“I just wonder…why?”.

“Don’t we do that, like, all the time?”, he chuckled and stared down at his hands, then scanning your face for a while.

“I guess so, yeah. But it’s innocent. It wasn’t like that today. Or am I crazy? Am I imagining this? Please tell me it was just my imagination, I can- ”, you explained and could already feel how humiliated you'd feel soon.

“I don’t really like to tell you to shut up, but just for once, shhh Y/N. It wasn’t just you”, he took a step closer to you and placed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I like you. Definitely have for a while. Maybe the whole time I’ve known you. I like spending time with you. You are the funniest person I know. And you give the best fashion advice. And beneath that sarcastic exterior is such a soft and empathetic soul. You don’t brag about your kindness, which makes it real. And I could talk to you for hours and never get bored. And for you, I would do the dishes happily. Believe it or not, no one has ever managed to bring out that side of me”, he chuckled as you remain speechless. His sudden declaration of love - well maybe not love, interest perhaps - made you grin like a child who just got a new toy.

“And shit, Y/N, I just adore you. And the way your laugh reminds me of home. I lo-, like how you play with your earrings when you are nervous. It’s adorable. And I-”,

“I don’t need to hear a novel of how much you like me, Luke”, you interrupted him.

“I know, but you deserve it”, he spoke softly and his lips turned into the classic Luke smile, which you found incredibly sweet.

“Save it for later”, you took a long look at those eyes that reminded you of the ocean and down to his pink and plump lips which you had dreamt of kissing for so long. 

And then it happened. His lips were pressed against yours, making the time stop for a while. And his hands in your hair, tugging them slightly, not enough to hurt. Your fingers held the waistband of his pants. The way he moved his lips against yours was hungry, desperate, full of emotion he had never been able to release. It was electric, enough to make you release a little moan into his mouth.

“What the fuck is happening here?”, you heard all of the sudden and both of you turned to see none other than the Michael Clifford pressed against the door.

“And what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”.

© 2023 bloodhoundluke.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

jj maybank p links

admittedly, I’m not really a jj girlie, but he somehow did manage to seduce me during my recent rewatch…. 

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thinking about this boy taking you out into the middle of nowhere on the island just to fuck you, just because you two are keeping your relationship a secret, so you can't risk anyone seeing you together

and one day he takes you camping

because as much fun as the sneaking around is, he would fucking love more than the usual 2 seconds he gets with you before you both have to scram

and out there on that small trip

surrounded by Mother Nature herself

you can't help but discover that your summer fling is not as casual as you'd both convinced yourself it was

looks like you're screwed. you're in love with your best friend and he's apparently in love with you too.

thinking about fooling around with bff!jj

about him caring way too much about the no pogue on pogue rule to fuck you right away

but you're both still so horny

and want each other so much

that it doesn't take too long before desperate mutual masturbation

turns into needy pussyjobs

and eventually you just can't resist slipping him inside right after he spills his load all over you, leaving him hissing at both the overstimulation but also blowing his mind completely because you feel so much better then he imagined

it's been hard just being your friend up till now. poor him has to live with the weather being so hot and watching you run around in your tiny shorts.

good thing now he can just tug them to the side and have his way with you as you sneak around the others, trying to manage your insane sex drive without them catching on

which is getting difficult because this boy can not keep his hands to himself...

speaking of sneaking around...

you two slipping into every bathroom imaginable just because you can't keep your hands off each other

and if his hand's not locked over your mouth to keep your beautiful noises at bay, you're keeping it busy with his dick, having you giggle against his girth as he tickles your oral fixation

"fuck, keep quiet baby. I know it feels good, feels so good, just keep quiet and you can have as much of me as you want."

...that is until the day when you're both too wrapped up in it all and accidentally gets a bit too loud and let the other pogues hear you.... guess that was one way for them to find out! had to happen one day, just wish it hadn't been a way that the guys would mock you eternally for.

thinking about jj stealing the van just to fuck you in it

and like it isn't a secret why he's grabbing it for a few hours

this dude is incapable of not kissing and immediately telling

his friends know way too much about his sex life

he just has such a big mouth

just as he can't help himself but to pry in their personal lives

he also can't help himself but gushing to them about how amazing you felt when he had you bend like a pretzel in the twinkie

but also him being a perv and asking you to text him little videos whenever he's not there

because you've told him about before

back when you had a massive crush on him and you just pathetically tried to get off at the vivid fantasies of him

that was until you two got together and he, the no shame individual he is, got you a toy just for when you felt needy

but that little gift came with a price... you had to send him stuff whenever you used it...

"oops, couldn't sleep, I just kept thinking about you and then this happened... you think you can come over? sneak in through the window?"

which he of course can not resist

I mean, how could he?

and especially if you're a pretty little kook

dressing up for him in your expensive lingerie

just daring him to rip it to pieces

taking the shreds back with him as souvenirs

but also you taunting him in the texts being like "why don't you come over here and show me how to use it? show me how to use the pretty toys you picked out for me."

you are a fucking dream come true to him

and lastly, joining him on the beach on those days when the waves are just crazy?

although, your bikini ends up being too distracting for him, so you sneak off somewhere just to get it out of your systems and let you return to the water