#sipping it very casually while its still very hot

[sethsclearwater]

hey i have a request!

so in sm fics the reader is always cuddled in between the boys and i love it its so cute but i cant help but imagine how unbearably hot it would be being in between both of them so could i request a silly fluffy blurb of the reader cuddling with paul and seth and she’s sweating because its so hot so she tries to get away from them and they are so offended and she’s giggling and they like playfully attack her and force her to lay with them

so cutie lol!

...

"fuck me," you whined, quickly sitting up when you realized just how hot you were getting from laying inbetween not one, but two boys who ran temperatures of a steady 108 degrees on a good day. today though, it felt like they were literally furnaces and you absolutely despised feeling hot and sticky.

you reached over seth to grab your hydroflask, taking multiple rather large gulps of water before deciding you had cooled off enough, "you're so dramatic, you know that?" paul asked, still sprawled out on the bed with your other imprinter on the other side of you, both looking rather disgruntled by the fact that you'd sat up while they were trying to cuddle with you.

you took one final sip before turning to glare at paul, "i literally feel like i'm in a sauna. it's way too hot down there," you admitted, shuddering at the thought of having to be that hot again the second you laid back down in between the two boys.

seth cracked a smile at your dramatic shudder, taking your hydroflask from you so he could set it back down on the table next to the bed while you and paul continued your theatrical bickering.

"you weren't whining about that last night when i was-" paul began but you were quick to cut him off with a loud gasp, playfully smacking his sweatpant clad thigh to show your disapproval of the lewd comment you guessed was about to come out of his mouth.

"paul lahote!" you laughed, "that was different and you know it!" you exclaimed, all three of you laughing at your miserable attempt to defend yourself against paul's (very sexual but albeit true) allegations.

paul rolled his eyes, a casual smirk on his face and one arm bent to rest a hand behind his head as he watched the way your cheeks turned a bright pink over your embarrassment, "seth tell him-" you attempted to get your other boyfriend to jump in to aid in your defense before paul could make another comment about you ogling his shirtless body.

seth just let out a breathy laugh, "pretty girl," the pet name rolled off his tongue so easily and you couldn't seem to contain the way your stomach erupted into butterflies over it, both seth and paul knowing all too well just how flustered they could easily make you, "why don't you lay back down and i'll turn the fan on, yea?" he suggested and paul didn't seem to take too kindly to seth's gentle tone, instead just grabbing you by your hips and manhandling you back down into the bed.

you were laughing, playfully pushing paul's hands off your hips which had him just wrapping his beefy arms around you to hold you tight against his chest. before the two of you could get too into it, you felt some much needed reprieve as the cool air from the fan hit your skin, "better?" seth asked as he got back into bed with you and paul, rolling over so he could spoon you and press a gentle kiss to your neck.

you hummed and nodded, peeking over your shoulder to smile at him, "much better," you reassured, pecking his lips before turning back to paul to do the same for him.

[kittyball23]

Hot Tubbing (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: After babysitting his 13 nieces and nephews, Branch unwinds in one of Vacay Island’s jacuzzi-like hot springs… and is soon joined by Poppy

A/N: November 17th is finally here!! Welcome to the first story of my new oneshot collection "Grown-Up Stuff," (also found on AO3, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad under the same name in addition to being posted here on Tumblr) which will mostly be centered around Broppy, but may feature some Cliva and other couples in the future :)

FYI this fic has been Rated M, as it will have adult themes present, though nothing explicitly written. You do not have to read if these topics are something you are not comfortable with. If you do decide to go forth, all I can say is enjoy! 💕

__________________________________________

"Ahhh…"

Now that felt good. While the water had stung a bit upon entering, it didn't take very long at all for it to work its magic and ease the soreness in Branch’s muscles. Pretty soon, he was leaning back, his arms on either side of him and a sigh of satisfaction escaping his lips. His brother Bruce wasn't kidding. The hot springs really were a great place to unwind, especially after being tossed and wrestled by kids who were far taller than Trolls. Most of the time, this type of experience befell Bruce, but, given that he and Brandy had taken the night off to have some alone time, babysitting duty had fallen upon Branch.

For the first half of the night at least.

He rotated positions with John Dory for the second half, and could now take a moment to relax properly. And on Vacay Island, everything was top-notch in that department. The potent warmth was soon working to bring a sense of sleepiness to him, and he allowed his eyes to shut. Aimless thoughts wandered throughout his mind: of Pop Village, of his brothers, but, mostly of Poppy. He could feel a smile forming on his lips even in his twilight state. Poppy... She looked good in his head, whether it was a memory or whether it was just fantasies of what their future together could bring. One of those, admittedly, was marriage and a family. Maybe not a family as big as Bruce's, but still, a few Troll kiddos wouldn't be so bad. Not bad at all. And neither would the way to go about making that happen... Branch felt as though the water got even hotter when he thought of that.

The Troll didn't think he was too far gone in his exhaustion, but somewhere he figured he must've fallen asleep to the hum of the bubbling water and wind in the foliage, because it was a soft, feminine voice that he registered next.

"You look pretty relaxed."

Branch stirred, blinking drowsy eyes up at the newcomer.

"Huh, wha?" he mumbled, rubbing an eye and registering that it was Poppy who'd spoken. She peered down amusedly at him, her lips sipping at the straw of a fruity drink and her legs slightly submerged into the water from her spot at the edge of the pool. But if the sheer presence of his beloved wasn't enough to stir him awake, then it sure was the attire she had on. The swimsuit was a powder-yellow two-piece, hugging her body snugly and extenuating her slim figure in ways that made his mind race with desire.

He sat straight up, flustered. "Oh! H-hey, Poppy," he stammered, trying to sound casual. Branch cleared his throat, and managed to speak a little more controlled the second time around. "So, um, what are you doing here? I thought you and Viva were hitting the waves."

Poppy nodded. "Yeah, we did for a little bit. But then we called it early. Veevs had other plans… with your brother."

Branch cooked his head. "Clay?"

"Yeah," Poppy confirmed with a smirk. "She wanted to spend some time with him… and I wanted to spend some time with you." She glanced down at him with a half-lidded gaze, giving a flirtatious little growl.

Branch’s eyes bugged.

"So whaddya say, Branch? Got room for one more?"

"Well, I, um, I mean… you can, um, i-if you wanna…"

Poppy smiled. "Great!"

Setting her drink down, she scooted herself over the edge of the pool and plopped inside. The water sloshed a bit, and she hissed at the temperature that befell her skin.

"Ooo, you all right?" Branch asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good!" Poppy assured. "Feels really, really nice."

"Yeah," Branch agreed, smirking. "It sure does…" He surprised himself with the husky quality his voice had taken, and realized that it didn't go over Poppy’s head, either. There was a look on her face that could only be described as pleased bewilderment, and he could see a blush forming on her cheeks.

Affected so, she bore into his blue eyes with her deep fuchsia and batted her lashes. "Why don't you come a little closer," she purred, adding her own little suggestive twinge to her words.

Now it was Branch’s turn to blush. A tingle went down his spine - and in other places he wouldn't dare tell her about - but he liked it. And while he wanted to obey, he didn't see the harm in dragging out the tease, even if it was by a minute or two.

"Ehh, I don't know," he said, as though he were indecisive.

Poppy pretended to pout, sticking her bottom lip out. "Aww, come on, I won't bite!" But then she paused, giggled, and added, "Much."

Branch raised an eyebrow. "Much?" he questioned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Get over here and find out," she urged, rolling her eyes playfully.

Branch shrugged. "Fine."

Slowly, purposefully slow, he moved towards her, taking his time inching himself towards her space.

Poppy tapped her fingers impatiently against the edge of the pool. "Can you move any slower?" she whined.

"Can you be any cuter?" he quipped back, finally in enough proximity to be able to wrap an arm around her. Poppy’s arms slinked around his neck, firmly holding him to her as he brought a damp hand up to her cheek, cupping it gently. He waited a heartbeat, letting the sensual tension escalate between them, before allowing himself to lean forward and close the gap.

Poppy sighed deeply as their lips met, melting into the kiss, and Branch felt a surge of affection run through his veins. He tilted his head almost instantly, deepening the connection right away, and she moaned quietly in approval. She was extra sweet, he noted, her taste a hint of pineapple from the fruity concoction she'd been sipping, as well as her usual, strawberry flavor that seemed to permeate every part of her being. It made him feel warm and fuzzy all throughout, making it far too easy to lose himself in the experience. He made a noise of appreciation at the feeling as he pulled away just long enough to gasp in another breath and dive back in, twice as eager this time.

Turned out he wasn’t the only one eager. As he’d learned, Poppy had been the one in their relationship to test the metaphorical waters. First with the peck to the cheek he’d received on the day of the Trolls Kingdom Holiday Gift Swap, and then with the first real kiss they’d shared at Mount Rageous, after he’d successfully opened up to her about his feelings. And now, she was testing herself again.

He hadn’t known what she was up to, until she actually did it. He gasped when he felt a nip, Poppy’s teeth having caught his bottom lip upon one of their breaks for air and tugging lightly for a second before she released. The sensation sent an unexpected bolt of excitement coursing through him, the feeling stronger when he noted Poppy's dark, dilated pupils gazing hungrily at him, her breath coming quicker now. Flirty growls, or no flirty growls, Branch knew one thing - his girlfriend was turned on.

And so was he.

Their next kiss that followed was deeper, and more passionate as a result. Poppy nipped once again, at the corner of his mouth this time, and allowed her next few smooches to trail across his jawline, making a path down the crook of his neck. Branch hummed, his thoughts battling each other. One part of him enjoyed the attention profusely, while the other had him wishing his lips could claim hers again. Both evaporated, however, when he felt her reach a sensitive spot just below his earlobe and take another little nibble. He wouldn't know how to describe the sound that came out of him in response. It might have been a whimper, or it might have been a groan, but either way, it caused Poppy to giggle, the vibration of her laugh tickling Branch's skin.

It wasn't hard to admit that she had a guilty pleasure in prompting reactions out of Branch. Which is why her next idea was getting her excited.

She leaned back, ensuring that her fuchsia gaze was unwaveringly locked to his blue as her hands wandered down, below the water, reaching the hem of his swimming trunks.

Blushing heavily and bracing himself for the onslaught of sensory stimulation that was sure to come, Branch knew he wasn't going to be truly prepared for what was coming next…

… Though, not in the intimate way that he anticipated.

So focused on expecting the next feeling to be under the confines of his swim attire, Branch nearly jumped when an enormous, unforeseen SPPLLAAASH! erupted from the pool in a wave of jacuzzi water that drenched him and Poppy completely!

Poppy shrieked in surprise, ripping herself away from Branch, while her boyfriend sputtered, eyes wide.

"What the - who - ??"

“WOO! Ten outta ten on that cannonball, ay, bro?”

“Oh, nooo,” Branch groaned, already knowing that voice before he even finished rubbing the water out of his eyes completely. “John Dory, you’re not supposed to jump into a jacuzzi! And aren’t you supposed to be watching the kids?!”

His eldest brother adjusted his goggles and blew a raspberry. “Yo, chill, dude, Floyd’s got it covered. He offered to step in and help!”

Branch facepalmed. Oh, Floyd. He knew his favorite brother was big-hearted and always looking out for the rest of their crew… but taking over John Dory’s babysitting duty when not even five minutes had passed by was a little absurd! Branch could probably guess that JD hammed up his struggle just to get out of it.

John Dory then noticed Poppy. “Hey, Poppy Seed! How’s it shakin’ since the last time I saw ya?”

Poppy giggled, meeting him halfway for a fistbump, and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know. Guess you could say I’ve been ‘shaking things up’ with Branch.” She gave her boyfriend a sly look, to which he became bashful, remembering what she had been about to do.

“Oh,” John Dory said, then putting it together and realizing what he’d done. “OHHH, shoot, did I interrupt something here?”

Branch’s deadpanned look told him what he needed to know.

He tittered with embarrassment. “Hehe, my bad! I could totally scoot if ya want. I’m sure there’s gotta be some other jacuzzi here on the isle!”

“No, it’s okay, we were just heading out,” Poppy said, lifting herself over the edge of the pool and reaching for the towel she'd brought with her. “But we’ll see you later, okay?”

JD looked disappointed to see them go, but understood. “It’s all right. Catch y’all later!”

As Branch and Poppy walked off hand in hand, the Pop Queen giggled. Branch glanced at her with curiosity.

“Probably should’ve told him there’d be no guarantee we’d see him later,” she said suggestively.

Branch raised an eyebrow, the heat returning to his cheeks. “Poppy… what do you have in mind?”

She glanced at him mischievously. “Wanna go look for another hot spring? I’m sure John Dory’s right, there’s gotta be more than one on the island. That way we can finish what we started…” She peers down at her place of interest for just a flit of a moment, but even then it causes Branch to blush, stammering his reply.

“S-sure!”

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 11 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

I've ran out of pre-written stuff and need to write some more to connect things I already have, also it's Serpent's Coil's turn to occupy my time so I'll be taking a brief break from Waiting for Connection.

Previous chapter | AO3

Soap leaves the window open, the gushes of fresh air soothe him. But it’s November and this is Manchester. It’s cold as hell that freezed over. Soap takes a lungful while enjoying the warmth of the blanket. The smell of rain and cold mixes with something else. Earthy musk that makes him think of home. Not Glasgow; his childhood home. John buries his head in the blanket. The smell gets stronger.

Soap’s eyes close and he falls asleep soon after.

Simon stays awake till the early hours of the morning. The quilt is not very warm, luckily, Ghost had always run hot. And there’s also Stripey, curled up on Simon’s chest and providing extra warmth. The reason Simon is awake and staring at the ceiling is the man in his living room. Shortly after Simon’s discharge, he found living with such a degree of privacy hard. Sleep was difficult for a few months before his brain switched. It’s the exact opposite now. Falling asleep while someone else is in the flat makes him a little antsy.

Simon tries to calm down. Soap has been invited, and he is welcome to stay. Ghost is safe. He turns on his side, facing the half-open window. The cool breeze plays with the curtains. He watches the fabric dance long enough to feel his eyelids grow heavy and slowly close.

The morning comes with its blue-grey bleakness. Ghost slept only a few hours, and since the state of perpetual sleep deprivation, too, is long behind him, he feels like shit.

“Christ it’s freezing in here,” Simon exclaims the moment he sets foot outside the bedroom. Soap is still tucked in, the man pretty much created a den out of Ghost’s blanket. Simon can’t honestly tell head or tail.

He crosses the room, closing the window and turning back to Soap. “Rise and shine, soldier!” Ghost raises his voice to its old commanding tone and level.

The reaction is instant, just as he expected. Soap’s head emerges from the warm cocoon he’s made for himself. He’s all sleepy, mohawk sticking in all directions. He looks like a damn puppy. “Ah... guid mornin'... or... jist mornin', really. Whit's the time?”

Simon frowns as he tries to decipher John’s accent. “It’s oh-six-fifteen,” Ghost says as he goes to the kitchenette, putting the kettle on.

“Too early,” Soap moans, but he does get up. John yelps as his feet touch the freezing-cold floor.

“Should’ve closed the window,” Simon notes, not even concealing his amusement.

John’s gaze lingers on Simon’s face for a second too long, yet he doesn’t ask why the other man looks so haggard. Simon appreciates the sentiment. He takes out a box of cereals, two bowls, milk and spoons and places everything on the table.

“Thank you,” John smiles, still half asleep.

“Not a morning person, John?” he asks casually as he brews the tea and brings both cups to the table.

Soap sighs, running a hand through his messy mohawk. Styled, it looks good, but Ghost quickly decides he likes it more all dishevelled. “Not exactly.”

“You sure the military was the right choice for you?” Ghost smirks.

“I have my doubts,” Soap nods, digging into his cereals. “They keep telling me I’ll get used to it, but at this point, I don’t think it’s happening.”

“Some get used to it, some don’t, not that anyone really cares either way,” Simon shrugs.

“Aye,” John agrees, sipping on his tea and grimacing as he shakes his head. “Tea? Never could understand the British obsession with tea.”

“A good cuppa makes everything better,” Simon says like a memorised mantra.

“Now that is a load of crap,” John snorts, “don’t tell me ye actually believe it.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Either way, you don’t have much of a choice, unless you’d like to criticise my hospitality, that is.”

“British bastard,” Soap mutters quietly.

Simon raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“I said I’m very grateful,” John smiles in an exceptionally sweet manner.

“Of course you are,” Simon regards him with a knowing smile before checking the time. “We should get going.”

As soon as he says it, John’s smile falters. Simon’s itching to ask, but reins it in. If Soap wanted to tell him, he would.

They get to the station in time, of course, Ghost wouldn’t let John miss his train, even if man himself doesn’t seem to care much about it.

“It was real nice seeing you in person, Simon; maybe we could do this again sometime?” John says, looking up hopefully.

“I’d like that,” Ghost nods. It was nice. Real nice. Talking to someone like that, and in person. He feels slightly sorry that John has to go so soon.

John turns around to check the departures as something in the broadcast catches his attention. “Well, that’s my ride.”

“Safe travels, Johnny,” Ghost says and freezes. Soap pauses as well, looking at Ghost with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Ghost has no idea where the nickname came from. “Sorry.”

“No… no, it’s fine,” John smiles, even though he has no idea why it’s fine. He never liked that nickname; it always felt a tad too childish. Well, it doesn’t from Simon. “See you around, Si,” Soap smiles, waves and trots to his train before Simon even realises he’s just been given a nickname of his own. It’s only fair he supposes as he turns around and leaves the train station.

[meg-gumigumi]

✧˚ · .✧˚ Darling 

summary: you pose as Loid’s fake wife once more, without realising the dangers it comes with it, whether it’s loid himself, or another third party. 

word count: 3,655

warning: gun violence! 

tags: Loid x female reader! (can be seen as gn) Loid fluff?? Definitely angst..more or less.

a/n: I saw this idea on the character.ai chat…this became so much longer than I intended to. I was just going with the flow and also its very cringe as well...yeah..the plot of the story kinda just went south when I was writing oh well...(not proof read, so good luck I guess) 

The night seemed all too normal, while music wafted through the air at the event. You weren’t entirely sure why Loid had asked you along, once more asking you to pose as his wife, but you didn’t press for information.

As he was off busying himself with making conversation, you stood alone, absentmindedly sipping your champagne.

If you were asked to play as the wife, the least he could do is play his part right. You sighed, clicking your tongue once you noticed your champagne glass was empty.

The classical music buzzed quietly in the air as you manoeuvred your way to the open bar, slipping your gloves off and placing them to the counter.

"I’ll have another glass please" you sighed once more, taking a seat.

The bartender turned to you, an overly cheerful smile spreading across his face as he asked the typical bartender line of "Can I get you anything else, miss?"

The smile didn't falter, even as he poured the rest of the champagne into your glass. In your mind you silently wondered what would happen if you ordered, say, a shot of whiskey instead, simply out of pure curiosity.

“A shot of whiskey if you will.” You shrugged, giving in. The bartender's smile briefly flickered, clearly taken aback by your unexpected request, but he obliged you. He went through the necessary motions, his grin once more plastered to his face as he presented you with the shot of whiskey.

Without a word of thanks, you gulped it down...and immediately had to fight back a reaction as you felt the alcohol kick in.

As your eyes drifted around the room, you couldn't help but feel someone nearby watching you. Or at least, that's what it felt like.

You kept a note of the feeling as you silently sipped your third glass of champagne this evening -- well drinks were your only company at the moment. Eyes still locked on Loid, irritated. Your black velvet dress hugged your body so perfectly, highlighting every curve. You had purposely chose to wear this dress but not a single compliment from his side....no.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw the faintest hint of Loid's gaze sliding in your direction but as you turned to face him, any thought was instantly dispelled by his smile. A warm smile, mind you, the kind that would melt the hearts of lesser men. It didn't melt yours however and you found yourself scowling as you stared down at the glass.

"Something wrong, darling?" Loid's voice was a deep purr, with all of his previous formality replaced by casual confidence as he approached you. He was looking at you this time, you realized.

"Its darling now is it?" you muttered under your breath while taking another sip.

Oh he caught onto that alright. A corner of Loid's lip curved into a smile as he stepped right up in front of you, his breath hot on the side of your face as his arm snaked around your hips.

"Always has been, darling." He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his hands caressing you in ways you never would have expected... in public no less.

The grasp on your drink almost slipping from your hands as you try to gain composure. You softly exhale, placing your hands on his shoulder. While on the outside you seemed calm, internally you were freaking out.

A shiver went down your spine as Loid pressed his lips against your skin, his hand snaking their way up to your back to pull you in closer. He held you like a lover, with absolutely no regard for the eyes that were watching you from the side-lines. If he cared, he didn't show it.

"You're a bit tense, darling." Loid whispered, the low rumble of his voice filling your skull.

You placed the drink to the side, a delicate gasp escaping your lips as your hands draped around his neck, drawing him closer to whisper in his ear. "What are you doing."

"Showing my wife some affection." Loid's words were a breathy whisper that felt like it was just for you, that is until you heard the tittering among the rich folks, their eyes glued to your every move. "Is that such a bad thing?"

The sudden attention that fell upon the two of you made you feel overwhelmed. This is not what you meant by playing the part. Your breath fanned against his ear as you shuddered by his touch.

Loid continued the playful act, the attention of the elites be damned, he was going to show you off at any cost. He continued to hold you close and trail his kisses from your ear to your mouth before pulling away and gently kissing you on the cheek. As he pulled back a warm smile spread over his face.

"You really are beautiful." he whispered, clearly only talking to you. "I don't give these sorts of compliments often either." He added as an afterthought.

You would have scoffed at his comment if it weren't for the lingering touches of his fingers on your back. This was the first time he had complimented you this evening. You would have questioned his sudden change of behaviour before you noticed the grip of the fingers on your waist had tightened, in a way that implied danger. Your mouth almost felt dry with the way he gazed at you. You weren't sure where or who the danger was but you decided to trust Loid's instincts.

Your fingers gradually ran through his hair as your lips grazed his. The pleading look you gave him nearly sent him over the edge.

Loid took a sharp breath in through his nose. He had to steady himself so he wouldn't act on his... impulses but by God if you didn't see the pure lust in his eyes he may have just lost control.

From the corner of your eye, you detected the hurried movement within the crowd. You were right, someone was watching you and they were getting closer. The uneasiness heaving of you chest didn't calm you down, instead you glanced at Loid, as if waiting for his response.

The smile on his face disappearing as he took one final look at the crowd. He had long before observed the movements in hopes that his little charade would distract them.

He spoke in a hushed whisper. "Darling, we have to go." His voice was calm, reassuring even, but the steely glint in his eyes left no doubt about the danger that was approaching. With you in tow, he took your hand and started weaving his way through the crowd, clearly headed for an exit.

The three people, armed heavily, emerged from the crowd as the rich people scattered in terror, screams and shouts echoed within the hall. With that cue, Loid's hold on your hand now steady as his legs carried him forwards. Your body being forced to be pulled along with him. A couple of staggers and stumbles from your side had slowed him down. He stopped abruptly, head twisting to you.

"Its my dress, I can't run in it." you replied to his silent question. With a nod, he swept you up and continued to run. He picked up the pace, taking twists and turns until he managed to lose the pursuers, only stopping once you were out of sight.

"Jesus Christ..." He hissed, his breathing ragged as he lowered you to the ground before getting down beside you. "You could have told me about the dress."

"Really?! You could have told me about the pursuers!?" you yelled, clearly you were kept in the dark here. Your fingers nit-picked at the fabric of your dress as it clung to your skin.

"That's a fair point I suppose." He got to his feet and held a hand down to help you up. "Come on, there's an exit right here and it's close enough to a safe house where we can lay low while I figure out what their next move is." He spoke as if he was reciting a script, as if all of this was a regular thing to him.

Your brows furrowed heavily, taking a couple of steps backwards. "Who are you?" you asked. This person almost seemed like a stranger to you now. For all you know, his name might not even be real.

"Huh?" Loid paused briefly, but then his expression hardened, upon hearing the pursuers getting closer.

"I can't tell you that." Loid's patience was running scarce, as if he was in a rush to be out of here.

"The less you know about me right now, the better." He added, sounding almost... apologetic?

You could see it now, the truth behind his fake smile. The carefully crafted persona that he showed to the world, the one that hid his real self so perfectly. The grasp of his arms around your waist and alarmed sounds of gun shots brought you back to reality.

"Hold tight." was all he said for you to understand. His breath staggered with every twist he took, to lure them away. The car coming in sight with his line of vision. He turned to you, warm breath fanning at your temple.

"The car keys." he nicked his head to his pockets, gesturing for you to pick them out. You glanced up at him in surprise, face clearly etched with confusion. Yet you didn't waste any time, directing your hands into his pockets. You rummaged through, not being able feel the keys but however grabbing onto something else.

Loid let out a grunt, catching you by surprise. "The...other pocket..." he breathed as your ears blushed red. You hurriedly searched the other side, in hopes to feel the cold metal so that you could excuse yourself from this moment immediately. Without a word, you unlocked the car.

He carefully set you down into the passenger seat before he himself slipped into the drivers seat, pressing onto the gas immediately. You braced yourself forwards, catching yourself in time.

Loid glanced over to you before his eyes were back on the road.  "Seatbelt, darling."

You growled silently, shifting to click the seatbelt in place as his foot hit the gas, the sudden acceleration causing you to gasp and your heart to skip a beat. The screeching of the tyres and the roaring of the engine were both muffled as Loid slammed it into the first open road, his attention glued to the road.

"Loid!" You shouted, the shock in your voice barely covering the terror. In an instant, the car was hurtling down the street, swerving around cars as it continued to speed away.

"You have some explaining to do, Loid." You huffed, grasping onto the side as you struggled to calm your nerves.

You questions were drowned out by the sounds of the engine and the squealing of the tires but he didn't seem to care as he kept his eyes on the road, pushing the car to his absolute limits.

After what felt like an eternity, the car finally reached a safe house on the outskirts of town, only to stop with a sudden screech of the brakes as Loid stopped the car. Before you could complain any further he killed the engine.

"Let's calm down and talk, okay?" Loid said in a soothing voice, his head turned to the side to meet your eyes.

Your eyes were closed for a moment, and you took a deep breath before nodding.

"Okay, first things first, are you hurt anywhere?" He asked, a hint of anxiety clearly present in his voice. "Anything that needs immediate attention?" he was already reaching toward glove box, getting ready to get his first aid-kit even without an answer.

"I'm fine." You replied after taking the time to make sure no injuries escaped your notice. When he reached for the first-aid kit, a raised eyebrow was all you showed, a silent question of why he was so worried. "I'm not the one who just pulled a James Bond." You quipped, leaning back against the seat.

When you received silence, you glanced at him in concern. You glanced over to his arm, which had seemed to be bleeding. "You're hurt."

"It's just a scratch." Loid said, but his words were unconvincing. There was no denying that there was a fair bit of blood leaking from the wound but he made no move to treat it.

You frowned, feeling that there was more here than he was leading on and once again voiced your concern.

"Loid, we need to look at that."

You grabbed the kit from his lap, hushing him from any refusal. His breath became more ragged as you rolled up his sleeves. Your eyes widened in surprise and all the air that had been filling your lungs escaped through your open mouth in a gasp as you reveal a bullet wound in his shoulder.

The reality of the situation hit you like a truck. People are trying to kill this man.

Loid's expression was unreadable, his face as neutral as always despite the bullet wound in his shoulder. Without a word, he allowed you to treat his wound. His eyes were focused on you the entire time, analysing every movement you made. You weren't sure if it was out of concern or if it was something else, but either way it made you feel just a little bit uncomfortable under his watch.

He flinched slightly once you began treating the wound, clearly the pain was agonizing but he said nothing more. Your brows furrowed as you finished, frustration and worry displayed on your features. 

“You need to calm down.” his hand reached over to yours, stopping it from shaking. 

You huffed, unlocking the door of the car as you walked out barefoot.

Loid seemed caught off guard by the sudden turn of events. You could see a faint flash of confusion before he quickly collected himself and got out of the car, standing tall with his feet shoulder's length apart. His one undamaged arm folded across his front as he stared with narrow eyes, watching you walk away.

Your brow furrowed with determination at the sheer nerve of the man. His silence, his cool demeanour, it made your heart pound in your chest even now. With no further words, you began the walk into the house, completely forgetting about your heels.

You could feel the his eyes on you the entire time, his gaze burning a hole in your back.

As you reached the front entrance of the house, you began to twist the door knob in hopes for it to open. When the door didn't budge, it just added to your frustration. The calming footsteps from behind you made you freeze in place.

The sound of the keys dangling from his hands made you move to the side without sparing him a glance.

When you turned, you found Loid right behind you, the key already inserted into the door with an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes seemed to be watching you like an eagle from the side.

he turned the keys in the lock and pushed the door open before taking your hand and gently steering you inside.

The door shut quietly behind you. As you stepped inside the house you saw that it was small but cosy, it was the perfect place to lay low for a few days

Just as he was about to lock it, you ripped your hand away from his grasp and stood before him, your hand on your hip as you spoke, your head not quite at eye level with his.

"Explain." You demanded.

You fell onto the chair and watched him walk up to you, a frown deep on your face as you were unsure what kind of tactic he was trying to employ now.

Once again, his movements managed to catch you off guard as he slowly kneeled and faced you, staring into your eyes as they shifted between his for an answer.

"What do you want to know?" He asked, his voice soft, almost as if he cared.

"Everything..." the anger and frustration in your voice vanished, just tired of being kept in the dark. You just wanted answers. He let out a soft sigh, taking a hold of your hands and creasing his thumb along.

"If you must know, I'm a spy..for WISE."

The eye contact you two shared, unwavering. "To be completely honest, I only approached you because of my mission."

You retracted your hand from his, the words he spoke sounded like they pained him greatly, but he knew it had to be done. 

"I see” Your eyes were focused on your fists that were curled up on your lap, betrayal evident in your voice though you tried to hide it. You could feel a lump growing in your throat as the reality of the situation settled into your brain but you did not break eye contact, desperately trying to see if there was more to this lie.

"What was the reason for seducing me? What is it that you want?" You demanded, a slight crack in your voice giving away just how hurt you were at the moment.

Loid held your gaze, his eyes filled with pity as you fought back tears. He could tell what this revelation had done to you, he cared! If he didn't, he would have walked away the moment he got the chance, but he wasn't like that. No, he cared too damn much, maybe even more than you thought he did.

"The mission..." He sighed as if having to fight his own emotions, "Was to gain access to your father's company." He let out another sigh, the guilt still apparent in his tone. "...That's it."

"You have to understand that it was nothing personal. You were- you're just a target. A means to an end." His words grew more and more stern as he spoke, his face growing colder as he went. "I had no choice." 

The tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you listened to him. A lowly chuckle from your end as he finished. You got up from your seat without saying any words and slowly made your way to the bedroom.

"(Y/n) wait." his voice echoed within the room. You stopped, pressing your lips into a thin line.

This was the first time he actually used your name. Something you never noticed before until now. You turned on your heels, tears staining your face.

"What?!" you yelled, "So that you can remind me that it was all a lie? What you said you felt for me? What you made me feel?" Your lips trembled, before you exhaled a shaking breath, chuckling. "I mean, of course it was. Who am I kidding?"

Loid stepped closer, his hands slowly reaching for your chin, his eyes meeting yours. The gaze was unbearable to you so you looked away.

"(Y/n)," a pause, "look at me, darling" he spoke, desperation in his voice.

"I felt something for you."

You froze once more upon hearing him use your name, the word seemed to have more meaning to it now than it ever had before. You let out a shaky breath as you took a moment to process what you just heard.

Your confusion was palpable as you paused for a moment before you asked. "Wh-what?" You fumbled, your voice small and quiet as you looked at him once again. He was being honest with you.

He sighed and looked away. "Things are complicated." He explained in a hushed voice. "I'm a spy, my life is not my own, I don't get to choose who I love."

"I can't change what I've done, but I can try and make up for it." And like an involuntary reflex, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip in a gentle stroke that made your heart flutter. "I know my words mean nothing to you now, but I can prove it... I want to make this up to you..."

Loid moved his face closer, "I want to... love you for real."

"How do I know you're not only saying this for the mission? How can I trust you?" you wanted to, truly, especially with the way he was looking at you right now. The way his touch made you feel.

"You can't." Loid answered, a solemn look in his eyes as the reality of your predicament finally hit you. "That's the curse of falling for a spy, isn't it?" He chuckled dryly, trying to sound optimistic but in truth he knew there was no way he could do that right now.

"But... I want to make you trust me." He continued, his eyes piercing into yours. "Can you give me that chance?" He questioned, his lips just an inch from your face right now.

Your hot breath fanned against his lips, as you neared him. You knew you shouldn't, you knew it could have been another one of his lies, tricks, ways to manipulate you. But, even it was just this one time, you wanted to give in. Just this once.

Your hands resting on his chest when your lips connected. Everything that had led up to this moment, the lies and the deception, was thrown out the window as Loid brought you in closer. It was soft....and warm...and felt so right.... You let yourself indulge in the kiss as the rest of the world seemed to melt away between you two.

Loid finally broke the kiss, his breath heavy as he gasped for air.

When he did, he stared deeply into your eyes for a few moments before he finally spoke.

"That's proof." He whispered as his voice trembled, his thumb still resting against you face as though savouring the moment. "That's proof it's all real."

A/n: also I guess you could tell by the end I kinda gave up… I might write a smut continuation on this so hang on tight or smth. Or not if this doesn’t get enough likes..haha…

[mggsv]

Vintage Polaroids

gn!reader x spencer reid (angst)(18+)

summary: they met at a bar. they were singing while he sipped his whiskey slowly. he watched the smoke flow from their lips. they were stumbling and giggling, yet they sounded perfect for the microphone in front of them. the crowd loved it, he found himself doing the same. they locked eyes, and he snapped his camera..

Warnings: smoking, drug use, mentions of prostitution, being under the influence, mentions of sex, Character death

( if you find any of these to be triggering please do not proceed! )

“Can’t you see that?” he murmured the question in a soft whisper, nudging against your ear as he kissed his way down your cheek gently. “How beautiful you look?” His breath fanned against your neck as you moaned. He was gentle, treating you like the most precious stone. He loved you. Spencer…you didn’t know his last name. You’ve only just met an hour prior. You remember him sitting there sipping on his drink while watching you on stage. The affects of whatever pill your boss had given you to last the night was wearing off. You were reliant on them, your boss knew this and yet he only gave you one. Alas, you felt thankful because of this moment…

Being sober. To feel Spencer’s loving hands treat your body like gold. To stare down at this picture clearly of you, beautiful as ever, yet so broken singing on stage. No matter how much it hurt you were smiling in the photo. Must be the pill, you wondered.

He treated your body with care. Something you haven’t felt in a very long time. Suddenly, tears welled up in your eyes. One blink and he was on top of you, cradling your body as he thrusted slowly, taking in the time to admire just how beautiful he saw you. Now, and then at the bar. He was completely lost in you. “Spencer..” you breathed, the tears falling on the pillow beneath you. He kissed them away lovingly, or so your mind told you.

You were in love with him, you told yourself, you wanted Spencer more than anything in that moment.

The tears didn’t stop. He kissed you and loved you tenderly. That was the night you fell in love with Spencer Reid.

-

The next time you saw him was a week later to your meeting. He was in town for a reason- an agent, FBI agent at that. You had no business knowing, until someone you knew from work turned up dead. It didn’t affect you much, you barely spoke. Being someone who lived off of sex work was a very tough job to be in, but no one really wanted to teach people about the horrors of it.

Spencer and his teammates were interviewing everyone who worked that night, which included you. When he laid eyes on you your heart skipped a beat. You still held on to the polaroid picture of yourself. Hell- you carried it with you for luck. Even writing his name on the back and the date.

When he interviewed you it was casual- in fact he hardly looked at you. That’s okay though, because he brushed hands with you on your way in, and out. He blushed and smiled when it was all over, and for a moment you were sure he fell for you too. It made you feel hot, but you knew it was your high wearing off.

After you were cleared you excused yourself to the bathroom they had, taking out the little white powdered bag from your pocket.

The bathroom was empty and quiet. You liked that. Despite the line of business you were in, you kept to yourself. They say to make friends when doing things like this, for protection, but you had yourself like you’ve always done. And now..you had something to look forward to.

You took a deep breath after clearing the short line, rubbing your nose afterwards. A knock on the door awakes you from your trance, and that fuzzy feeling returned to your body. “It’s me, Spencer. I um- I saw you come in here. Is everything okay?”

Your heart fluttered. you blew your nose and hid the bag back to its spot before opening the door. Spencer’s wide eyes caught you first, they made you smile…. “Hello sweetheart.” you spoke. The nickname made him blush.

“Hi there..” he chuckles a little. even his hair came to dan around his face. He was so cute..

“Come back for seconds?” You get close enough to wrap your arms around his waist (since he was quite tall). You could feel his heart beating against your head that you laid on his chest. It was a fever dream and god you wanted to chase after it.

“I didn’t actually- well not exactly seconds seconds if that’s what you’re referring to.” he chuckles, “I..wanted to see if you’d be free later?”

“Later? Are you sure this isn’t about sex-

“I want to take you out, if that’s alright. To get something to eat maybe?” He sat there, fingers nervously tapping on the notepad he held in his arms. Smiling softly you lean back into his chest. “yes.”

It was weird. You’ve only just met. It felt like a love story from the movies or the books you’d read when you were younger. It didn’t matter the setting or what day it was- they fell in love still. You felt like that with Spencer. or perhaps it was the feeling deep in you who wanted a way out of the life you lived. Spencer made time for you outside of his job, which still required him to be in your area. Another body had turned up.

Your boss insisted you still work, so you did. That didn’t take away your joy of seeing that head full of fluffy hair when you’re done carrying takeout alongside you to your motel room. He made you happy. Spencer was the best part of your day.

You started treating your motel room as a permanent. And pinned on your wall was a collection of vintage polaroids, all taken my Spencer. Most of them were you, but others were of the two of you- together, smiling….loving.

“I love you” you had said one day. the room was clouded with the smoke you puffed out. you lay in the bed with Spencer while the sheets were pools at your waists. He had his face buried in your neck, planting small kisses, but you could feel the smile dancing on his lips. “I..I love you too.” he whispered.

That was the last time you really saw Spencer. That night would be your last night working, the night you wanted to quit everything. Spencer had to leave shortly afterwards due to an emergency- they’d gotten a lead on the unsub- so you began to get your things together. You wanted to quit everything, for Spencer. You didn’t have much. Two bags would do enough.

You’ve cleared everything but your polaroids. one by one you unpinned them from the walls, placing them gently into a shoe box you had. With a pen you’d written on them neatly ‘True Happiness’.

It was a box filled of what made you see the world clearly. Or perhaps..it was being sober.

That night you’d taken in the last of your clients. People you’d never see again. The last- the last before you could see Spencer again, was different.

Everything was going well, until his hands wrapped around you in ways you hadn’t expected. There are things in that life you weren’t prepared for. Many, many things. But most of all, it was dying. If someone had asked you long ago if you were ready to die, you would’ve said yes. But now..You wanted you live, you had a reason, and that reason all the more wanted the same.

There wasn’t much time to process much…. The door bursting open, the gunshots ringing out, or Spencer’s voice calling out to you as your body fell.

[tetralea]

What about #76: “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.”

😉😘

Hiii!!! Omg, I couldn’t resist, thank you for sending this.

It might connect to my last blurb, but stands on its own too. 🥰

Deciding to live in a shared accommodation was great, really. It was amazing. They all had their separate rooms, their little spare spaces but shared a kitchen with a little dining area, thank fuck two bathrooms and a living room.

Max liked it very much, living with Lando, Daniel, Mick and Charles was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Right now it was the later. He just wanted some cereals, really. And milk. Maybe a glass of water, not a massive erection. He wasn’t sure about the how’s and why’s of the change in their living arrangements with Charles. The monegasque was admittedly beautiful and too hot for his own good, so their first time could have been on a whim. Charles offered and Max was mad not to take it. It was casual, it was fun, it felt fucking amazing.

Actually kissing and touching Charles, not mentioning anything else he did to the brunette might have been addicting. That was the only viable explanation, Max decided. It was all his fault, of those pretty hips, that broad back, round shoulders, strong abs and pretty smile, which was all on display right in front of him. In the kitchen.

There should have been house rules to prevent this. Charles should have been banned from running around in shorts only in the common areas. But no, he was standing right there, leaning to the counter, sipping his smoothie, that green disgust he insisted was good and healthy for him. Right next to the fridge, where the milk was.

Max took a deep breath, stepping next to him, grabbing the metal handle and pulling. Cool air poured out. “Why are you not wearing clothes?” He asked while grabbing the milk and let the door close with a loud thud.

“I am home.” Charles shrugged, his green eyes carefully following Max’s every move, a glint in his eyes which really shouldn’t have been there so early.

“It’s our shared kitchen.” Max argued, pouring the milk, his hand shaking for a second. He tried to keep his head down and not stare at the way Charles licked his pink lips, hollowing his cheeks around the straw as he finished the green monster.

“Part of the house, non?” He pushed himself off of the wooden counter, his hands sliding in his pockets. Max didn’t think much about it. Not until he looked up just a little. Charles was now standing next to him, his flat stomach just filling Max’s vision, and he couldn’t not remember the way he kissed all the moles on the smooth skin a few nights ago.

He spilled the milk, fucking hell.

“Wow, careful there, milk is expensive.” Charles cried, like it was not entirely his fault, yet he didn’t move to help Max out or try to clean up the while liquid.

“You know-“ Max started, wanting to reach to the cloth to soak the milk up, wanting to clean it, for real, before his brain short circuited. Like it wasn’t enough that Charles stood unreasonably close, like he didn’t feel the body heat radiating from him, like he didn’t wish to reach out and grab his hips, to push him to the counter, to kiss him like he wanted to fuck the life out of him. But no, apparently to Charles it wasn’t. The little shit. He waited, until Max’s full attention was on him, until nothing else filled the blonde’s vision but his impossible not the desire body, he pushed his hands down a bit. The hands which were still in his pocket, effectively pushing his pants just by a little, just enough to reveal the end of that little happy trail, making some trimmed black hair appear, leaving his pants hanging too low.

“Holly fuck.” The murmur was mixed with a choked back moan. This fucking man was a menace. “Are you for real?” Max raised an eyebrow, his cheeks heating up rapidly, lips dry, his brain desperately trying to process what he was seeing.

Charles was looking at him, like he was expecting this, like he planned this, like he wanted even more than that and it was now entirely up to Max. And he was dammed.

With one swift motion Charles was pressed back against the counter, one hand steadying themselves, the other circling around Max’s back, to pull him closer, while the blonde kissed him with fever. Biting and sucking on those pretty lips, opening them up with his tongue, licking into Charles mouth like he was only Max’s to claim.

A knee landed between Charles’ legs pinning him to the hard surface of their counter, giving his starting hard on a twitch.

After he was sure they won’t fall Charles let go, his hands snaking under the soft sleep shirt Max was wearing, to explore the soft skin underneath, to feel Max more, better, closer.

“You planned this.” There came the realisation, between two heated kiss, between two bites, between sanity and madness.

There was a soft humm. “I did.” Charles was so pleased, maybe with himself, maybe with how his plan worked, maybe with the way Max’s mouth kissed and sucked his neck, shivers running down his spine. He sounded smug and Max got just a little annoyed with his not so long, pretty unhinged fuck partner. The little shit.

He wasn’t sure what made him madder the fact that Charles played him so easily, that he fell for it this easily or because he really was in trouble if he got so rilled so quickly by so little teasing.

“You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.” Max warned, leaving a hickey next to the pretty mole on Charles neck, low enough to hide it, high enough to make it visible sometimes. His thigh moved, rubbing against the sheer material of the short, making Charles hiss and whimper, his head falling onto Max’s shoulder. A beautiful mix of sounds.

“Don’t hold back.” Max had to stop and lift his head to look into the stormy, blown green eyes. “Everyone is at class, it’s only us for at least two hours.” Charles reasoned, eyes rolling back, lips parting, as he rolled his hips, his needy cock against Max’s thigh, pleading. “Max.”

The blonde could only stare. He really planned this. It calmed Max somehow, knowing he wasn’t the only one desperate and so easy in this relationship, if it was any.

For a second he tried to think, but how could he when Charles was right there, offering him what he yearned for since their last time together, sweet and hot and easy, like the devil himself. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He couldn’t think, he didn’t want to.

His lips found their way back and Charles opened his easily, eagerly, whimpering to the touch. His hand slid into the soft brown hair, and the other into those slutty shorts, grabbing that pretty ass, pushing themselves closer.

“But you’ll clean up all the mess.” He bit the sensitive neck, now both hands in Charles’ pants, grabbing and massaging the soft flesh. “The one I made, and the one you’ll make soon.”

[mayullla]

Title: Cecilia Tea

[ - Cottage (fem!reader) + Roses (yandere) + Albedo + Peanut butter cookies (love potion au) - ] - Anon's Ask

Summary: You visited Albedo's workshop to have tea with him. Unknowns to you when you talked about flowers he placed a love potion inside your tea.

Other warnings/tags: Alternate universe, fairytale au, drugging, don't think too much about the ingredients and poisons.

[ - Fairytale Picnic Event - closed ]

You often wondered what was inside those vials and glasses. Some are filled with power or some sort of creature or parts of it. Some were filled with some sort of flowers, twigs and leaves. Some looked normal you thought you recognized some while others you were clueless of and didn't know what they were.

But what particularly drew you in were the vials of liquid all of different colors and vibrant.

“Find anything interesting?” Albedo asked you, tilting his head. You looked at him who was in his casual clothes and a leather apron that held a few plants and herbs in the pockets along with a belt bag strapped on his waist that you knew contained more potions and ingredients he need for whatever he was doing. “You have many interesting things here.”

“Well most of them are ingredients for alchemy and potions after all.” Albedo shrugged, there was a soft smile on his face when you turned to look at the shelves again, “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes thank you.” You looked at the shelves, one in particular, had multiple plant-based ingredients in it some looked like flowers that you somewhat recognize maybe? Herbs of sort and dried flowers and petals. “You have many flower ingredients here.” You mumbled yet big enough for Albedo to hear.

You didn't see Albedo freeze at what you said still looking at the herbs, quietly he placed an empty vail down as he steered the tea cup with a small spoon. He didn't look up to you but instead focused on the cup watching its color. “I find myself using them in potions often.”

You didn't see the liquid slightly glow before returning to its original color. 

“Care to tell me a few?” You asked.

“Hmmm… well of ladies would come looking for those more what they call romantic potions that require flowers in them.” Albedo explained, “One of them is to remember, as years past people would sometimes forget their memories with their lover's whether they like it or not sometimes. So to prevent that they would drink a potion that would help them remember the person in front of them till their dying breath.” Taking the teacups he moved to the table in the middle of the room, where there were many books on top roughly shoved aside so that there was space for the both of you to talk.

“Here is your cup.” You sat on one side of the table while he sat on the other side, the tea was hot as you waited for it cool down lightly blowing the cup. Albedo watched you, also holding the cup near his lips.

The two of you continued to talk about potions, the ingredients that he used some you recognized while others you didn't have a clue what they were, “An ingredient for that particular potion is forget-me-nots.”

“Huh didn't know that flower lives up to their name like that.” You tiled your head at the fact, it was rather funny if not a little cute. Touching your tea again you noticed that it cooled down a bit and took a sip uncaring of the stare that Albedo gave you.

“How do you like the taste? It is a new tea that I made and I am hoping to get your opinion on it.” He asked suddenly, placing his cup down his already half-finished.

“It’s... sweet.” You said looking at your tea “It is a little bitter yet very sweet with a floral taste?” It was a new flavor something you never really tried before. You looked at the liquid in your tea wondering what it was that was giving the rather unique taste that you could not describe.

“Yes. You are correct, I tried making a white lily tea. The flower is actually quite poisonous but with some experimenting, I was able to neutralize the poison for consumption.” You looked at Albedo, surprised at what he said. You wanted to look at your tea again, yet you were unable to do so as you continued to stare at Albedo. why?

“Many ladies had asked me if I could make something called a love potion, while I would not sell such a thing I did try to make one because I became rather curious after some incidents,” Albedo told you standing up he walked over to you sitting on another stool that was right beside you softly taking your hands that held the teacup.

It was strange really that you could never take your eyes off Albedo, how he walked over to you naturally sitting right beside you so near that you could feel his warmth. You did not say anything, you didn't realize how flushed you were as you continued to stare at him, feeling butterflies flutter in your stomach when he smiled at you.

“What I found out was that using roses could make a love potion. I also found out that another flower certainly leaves better results maybe because of their poison that I am not sure yet.” He gently guided your hands and teapot to your lips, slowly tilting the put on your lips.

“Love potions made out of roses are results to something more akin to crushes, light and easily dispelled with time. They work for those who wish to have at least a running start while the rest of progress happiness becomes more... organic.”

It wasn't odd how everything slowly started to become hazy or maybe it was yet you were unable to recognize so when your eyes were trained on Albedo, while the world slowly turned hazier Albedo did not change.

“On the other hand white lilies or their other name ‘Cecilia’ are more… potent.” Albedo smiled a little more at your foggy eyes, unable to listen to what he was saying yet the hands that were holding the cup that was now on his hand empty, you were now holding his wrist tightly unable to let go, clinging.

“They last for a long time and if consumed every day their effects are irreversible. Rather than something soft like roses their effects are more... obsessive.” Moving slowly his hand, the touch was soft almost like feather when he touched your lips and cheeks. The butterflies felt almost erratic in your stomach as he slowly removed the little leftover tea that spilled from the teacup.

“I would like to test its effects... if that is okay with you?” Albedo asks slowly pulling closer. He is quite happy with the results.

Note: Hope you guys liked this. I really had fun writing this one in particular! Reblog if you like it, I would really appreciate it~!!

[liaromancewriter]

The Best Present

Premise: It’s his first Christmas as a married man, and Ethan reflects on how he got here.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,315

A/N: This is set today (Christmas 2022). Submission for @choicesficwriterscreations Holiday event; @choicesdecember2022 prompt Day 4 “snow on the beach”; @choicesflashfics Holiday prompt 17 in bold; @choicesholidays​ week 5 “Meet me at midnight”

The frigid wind coming off the Atlantic was howling outside, swirling snow on the beach like tiny crystals in the air. Inside the Newport mansion facing away from the sea, the rooms were decked out for the holidays in festive reds, greens and golds.

The family room was warm from the central heating and a roaring fire; the drapes across the French doors pulled aside to let in the sunshine but keep out the cold.

The beautiful tree in the corner with its matching ornaments and gold star topper no longer sheltered colorful presents. Those had long since been opened by their recipients over hot cocoa and eggnog. Exclamations of surprise, gratitude and laughter filled the air as each gift was unwrapped.

Ethan Ramsey sipped coffee from a holiday-themed mug chockful of sarcasm, a present from his wife. The fire popped and crackled in the large fireplace, but his mind wasn’t in the here and now. It was in the past and the events that led him to this moment.

When he was a little boy, Ethan still believed in the magic of Christmas and Santa Claus. He remembered trying to stay awake one Christmas Eve, hoping to catch Santa in the act. Maybe give him the card he had drawn just for him. But he’d fallen asleep curled up next to the upstairs banister.

The last thing he remembered was watching his parents kissing under the mistletoe while Christmas music played on the radio. His dad must have found him because he woke up on Christmas morning tucked inside his bed, clutching his favorite teddy bear. He never did get to meet Santa.

Over the years, he’d stopped believing in Christmas and all it entailed. The season had been a good way to make extra money in high school and college. He’d been too busy with his studies in med school to give it much thought, except when Tobias dragged him out to celebrate.

During residency and after, he preferred working. He’d often rang in the season with any of the revolving door of women in his life that happened to be free. He didn’t want permanency. But something about the holidays made others wish for it. So, he’d been careful to keep things casual.

Fast forward almost ten years later, Ethan still had difficulty believing he was in the most permanent relationship of his life. Marriage. And with someone for whom family was as essential as breathing.

He glanced over his shoulder, searching and then he saw her. Cassie Valentine. His first and only love. His wife. His partner in everything.

She was laughing with her brother and cousins on the other side of the room. And he wondered again how he’d gotten so lucky.

He had finally met his match. Someone who was his equal professionally, challenged him personally and made him laugh and feel lighthearted even on the darkest days. And was happy with who he was and not who she wished he could be.

“I fell in love with the real Ethan Ramsey, not a figment of my imagination,” she told him the night before their wedding when his nerves had gotten the better of him.

He’d found himself standing outside her bedroom door, a speech prepared, convinced that it was only fair to offer her an out. No hard feelings. He wasn’t sure he could ever give her what she deserved. But he should have known she’d see right through him.

“I don’t want an out, Ethan,” she said quietly. “But if you do….”

She stood in the open doorway looking beautiful in a simple green gown, her hair in a messy bun, and her face shiny from the night cream she liked to slather before going to bed.

And he realized what an idiot he was at that very moment.

“I don’t,” he said vehemently. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am about marrying you.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow at the altar.”

She started to close the door, but he wasn’t satisfied with leaving things like this. He yanked her into his arms; his mouth descended on hers, swallowing her sighs, imprinting himself on her. Reaffirming the promise of what was to come and thank her for giving him endless chances.

Six months later, his nerves were still there, and so was his fear of messing up. But he also knew that he was a product of his DNA. Not the half that was restless and had chosen to walk away but the one that had stayed, devoted to the last.

He looked over at the armchairs near the fireplace where Alan was enjoying mulled wine with Olivia, their conversation too low for his ears. His father was the symbol of constancy in his life. A man who loved his family and had endless patience and forgiveness in his heart.

Once upon a time, Ethan had worried about the differences in his and Cassie’s family backgrounds. But his father and in-laws had gotten along exceptionally well from the first meeting. And he realized that at the core, where it mattered, they were similar people.

When his phone pinged, he fished it out of his pocket; his thumb automatically clicking on the notification when he saw Cassie’s name on the screen.

He was still grinning like a fool at the screen when he felt the air shift around him, and he quickly locked the phone. They were surrounded by Cassie’s family, and the last thing he wanted was someone to see the risqué text.

Ethan let out a sigh of relief when he realized it was Cassie. She joined him on the couch, draping his arm over her shoulder as she nestled into his side. She kissed the underside of his jaw and grinned.

“Excited for your present?” she asked wickedly.

“Are you sure we have to wait until midnight?”

He cupped the side of her face, the pad of his thumb moving against her lower lip as he stared into her eyes. She was already wearing the earrings he’d given her, the sparkle of diamonds no match against the emerald green of her eyes.

“Yes! I want you panting in anticipation.”

“You do that just by breathing. I can prove it. Right now, in fact,” Ethan smirked.

“Nice try, Dr. Ramsey,” she said, throwing him a mock steely-eyed gaze, a teasing smile hovering on her lips. “I plan to drive you crazy today, and you will play along.”

Before he could convince her otherwise, she shot her arm up in the air, held it still above their heads and looked up. “Look, there’s mistletoe. We have to kiss, it’s the law.”

Ethan followed her gaze and saw she clutched a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. He smiled when she gently shook it, a not-so-subtle hint. She straddled his lap, uncaring about who might be watching.

“Well, if it’s the law, who am I to break it?” he drawled, taking her face between his hands.

They both closed the distance between their lips, neither certain who kissed who first. Not that it mattered. Mistletoe was forgotten, and her arms circled the back of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close

Lost in each other, they didn’t notice the secret smiles on their parents’ faces or the hollering and teasing laughter from her cousins.

Later that night, after he’d unwrapped and enjoyed his final Christmas present, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with eyes struggling to stay awake. He tightened his arm around Cassie, already asleep beside him.

His last thought before sleep took him was that today had been the best Christmas ever. He wouldn’t change a thing because everything in his life had led him to this moment. This woman.

And that was the best present of all.

Bonus

All Fics & Edits: @a-crepusculo​ @annfg8​ @bex-la-get​ @bluebelle08​ @cariantha​ @choicesaddict5​ @coffeeheartaddict2​ @crazy-loca-blog​ @doriopenheart​ @genevievemd​ @headoverheelsforramsey​ @lucy-268​ @jamespotterthefirst​ @jerzwriter​ @mysticalgalaxysstuff​ @openheartforeverinmyheart​ @peonierose​ @takemyopenheart​ @potionsprefect​ @queencarb​ @quixoticdreamer16​ @rookiemartin​ @trappedinfanfiction​ @vi-writes-stuff​ @zahrachoices​

Submissions: @openheartfanfics​

Ethan & Cassie only: @custaroonie​ @lady-calypso​ @hopelessromantic1352​

[minhoskofi]

chapter 8: switch it up

warnings: smut; edging; unprotected!sex; kitchen!sex;

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

As the first rays of morning light tiptoed into the room, you found yourself waking up in the comforting embrace of Byounggon's arms. Gazing at him, although still half-sleep, you couldn't help but feel a warmth in your chest. You planted a soft kiss on his cheek, the gentle peck stirring Byounggon awake, his eyes squinting at the intrusion of morning light. However, as they met yours, a sleepy smile played on his lips. Leaning in, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of grogginess.

"Morning, handsome", you giggled as you snuggled in his warmth some more.

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow on the surfaces. Byounggon sat on a chair, nursing his coffee, while you leaned casually against the counter, both lost in the quiet ritual of morning caffeine intake. Words could wait until after the coffee had done its magic.

As you took a sip from your cup, you sensed Byounggon's eyes on you, his gaze lingering with an intensity that caught your attention. Lowering your cup, you met his gaze, a silent question in your eyes.

"You just look… very hot in my shirt," he remarked, a playful lift to his eyebrow as he unabashedly admired your appearance.

"Oh, yeah?" you retorted equally teasing, playing along with a mischievous grin. Without hesitation, you lifted the shirt ever so slightly, revealing what lay beneath - nothing but underwear.

Byounggon's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected reveal, his gaze lingering on the sight and his breath hitched. A playful complaint escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, "Why are you doing this to me…" he groaned.

Leaving your coffee cup at the counter, you decided to take it a step further. Slowly, you approached Byounggon, a teasing spark in your eyes.

"I don’t know, Gon… Seems to me you're enjoying it," you teased, standing in between his legs. Without further hesitation, you playfully sat on his lap, straddling him.

Your hands started feeling your man up beginning at his stomach to his chest to the back of his neck where your fingers intertwined in the soft strands of his hair as you pulled him in gently, drawing him in closer and crashing your lips onto his. You could feel him squeezing your thighs slightly while your lips kept moving in sync with his.

Groaning, he pulled away to leave wet kisses along your jawline and down your neck. You were lost in the feeling of his lips on your skin when he suddenly nipped at your collarbone, making you gasp and cling to him.

He pulled back to look at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I suppose we’re switching it up today."

Before you could fully process his words, he captured your lips again, pressing you closer to him. The kiss deepened, and a low moan escaped your lips as you felt Byounggon’s tongue intertwining with yours. The heat between you intensified, and you could feel him hardening beneath you. Unconsciously, you started rolling your hips, grinding against him, a silent plea for more.

Feeling the growing need for release, you reached down and undid his pants, freeing his hardened dick. You guided him to your entrance, slowly impaling yourself onto him. A gasp escaped your lips as he filled you completely, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Byounggon's grip on your hips tightened as you began to move, riding him with an intoxicating rhythm. The sound of your moans and the wet sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, heightening the intensity of the moment.

As the pleasure intensified Byounggon gripped your hips even tighter, guiding your movements with an increased urgency. The sound of your moans filled the room, 'God, you feel amazing,' Byounggon groaned, his voice thick with desire, His eyes were dark with lust, his hair disheveled from your hands running through it.

Byounggon's hands roamed over your body, his touch setting your skin on fire. You could feel his muscles tensing beneath you as you continued to ride him, your bodies moving in perfect synchronization.

'Harder, baby,' he moaned against your lips, his hands digging into your hips as he urged you on. You complied, picking up the pace and grinding against him with more force.

As you marked him, leaving love bites on his neck and collarbone, a mixture of pleasure and pain washed over Byounggon. He threw his head back, exposing his neck to you, and you took the opportunity to nip and suck on his sensitive skin.

'Fuck, yes,' he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening even further. His movements became faster and more relentless, and you could feel the familiar pull of your release building inside you. 

You looked up at Byounggon with pleading eyes, silently begging him to let you reach your climax. But he only smirked and shook his head, determined to tease you a little longer.

Without a warning, Byounggon stood up with you still around him, and placed you on the counter where you had left your coffee cup. As he gently lay you on you back he reconnected your lips, quickly deepening the kiss again, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

He pulled out of you and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he continued to thrust into you at a slow and deliberate pace. Your body trembled with need, your hips involuntarily bucking against his in an attempt to get more friction.

Byounggon's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites along the way. His hot breath fanned over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. 'You're so beautiful when you're desperate,' he whispered, his voice dripping with lust. 

You could feel the edge of your orgasm approaching, but Byounggon kept pulling back every time you were close. It was both frustrating and exhilarating, the anticipation building with each passing second.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Byounggon's lips found yours in a hungry kiss and he picked up the pace, slamming into you with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of you. He released your wrists, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

You could feel your body reaching its peak, the tight coil in your stomach ready to unravel. Byounggon must have sensed it too because he suddenly picked up his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher. 

You cried out his name as you reached your climax, your body trembling and your vision blurring. Byounggon followed soon after, spilling himself inside of you with a low groan. 

As you both rode out your orgasms, he collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the cold counter top. You could feel his heart racing against your chest and you couldn't help but smile at how intimate the moment was. 

“That was… wow.” you whispered, running your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. Byounggon lifted his head to look at you, a soft smile on his lips. 

“You drive me completely insane, you know that?.” he mumbled. You both lay there for a while, panting and trying to catch your breath.

You chuckled, feeling completely fucked out and satisfied, 'You're not so innocent yourself,' you teased, earning a playful swat on your butt from Byounggon as he helped you off the counter. 

Byounggon tenderly lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the sofa in the next room. The soft cushions cradled you both as he carefully settled you down, his arms wrapping around you. With a gentle touch, he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his eyes holding a completely different glimmer from minutes ago. "You okay?" he whispered. “Sorry if I was too rough.”

You shook your head, knowing that you had both been equally rough with each other. “No, it was amazing. I loved it.”

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “Good. But next time, I promise to be more gentle.” 

You laughed, knowing that Byounggon was always a little rougher in bed and it was just one of the things you loved about him. “I’ll hold you to that then.”

prev. next:

[hellcatinnc]

Fluffruary Day 28 - Chance Encounter

(Happily Ever After)

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Warning This includes: SFW (Read Tags Before Continuing)

Tags: sfw, fluff, romance, romantic, proposal, love, love at first sight, chance encounter, happy ever after, fluffy fluff, heart warming, lift kiss, falling tropes, arm catch romance, clutsy love

Word Count: 1,547

Feature: Hayato Ozaki x Fem! Reader

Theme: Happily Ever After

@fluffruaryprompts

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You sat in the corner at a cute little local café enjoying your favorite espresso with the perfect amount of whipped milk topping it. You had the perfect set up, your coffee, your phone but of course it was on mute since you didn't want to be bothered. You also had a book with you about a lover and chance meeting and you were captivated into this happy ending love story. You had a beautiful window showing as people walk by in your quiet corner and everyone is bustling on the other side of the room. You settled down and started reading where you left off, about half way through the book. After sometime you reached down pulling the hot espresso to your lips and taking a good sip letting out a soft satisfied sigh.

You then are startled when you hear a very gentle sounding voice. "That is a pretty good book, I like it too." Your book tumbles from your hand hitting the coffee spilling it down the front of you. Caught you off as the heat from the coffee hit your leg you jumped up and caught your foot on the chair and you felt yourself falling back until you felt warm strong arms wrapping around you saving you from the last of your fumble. As you look up your met with this very attractive man with chestnut brown hair and beautiful shining eyes back at you that you could easily drown in. He chuckled as he helped you to your feet. "T-Thank you. Um... I'm Y/N and you are?" You were trying to direct to try to avoid all the awkwardness that just happened. He smiled and leaned in wiping the milk mustache off my lip, the thoughts of more embarrassment had you blushing in seconds feeling his finger touch you like that. "My name is Hayato Ozaki. I'm head of Fukurou its a pleasure."

You sigh mumbling under the breath, "Great I'm I look like an idiot coffee down my dress, falling all over you and milk all over my face in front of an attractive man, oh what you must think of me now." You were sure you messed this encounter up royally until he lifted your chin up after you had already looked down. He pulled your chin up towards him and shook his head inches away from your lips. "When I see something I like, well I want it. I'm just sorry I startled you this is my fault. I will buy you the book again and your dress as well. Let me treat you maybe to a date to make up for this?" You are taken back by his words however you couldn't help but smile and blush a bit, he was so handsome who wouldn't want to date him. You nodded and agreed, he gave you the information of where to meet him at later. You rushed home waving to him with a smile to get ready.

You walked in the door even though your dress was stained with coffee that would probably never come out you had such a big smile on your face. Your cat Tiny wondered over rubbing against you, as you bent down to rub him you told him all about the encounter meeting and that maybe you and Hayato was like the book chance meeting that could be the beginning of a epic happily ever after book. You jumped in the shower to get cleaned up with throwing the dress away, wasn't a favorite anyways. You dug through your closet trying on one thing after another while Tiny sat on the bed washing his fluffy white fur, you were modeling for him. After a hour you ended up deciding with a dress that could be casual but was still a little dressy if he wanted to go somewhere a little pricier.

You show up at the restaurant and he was standing in front of it looking dashing in his casual clothes which made you feel more comfortable since you weren't some noble or fancy girl so a high class restaurant probably would be more awkward moments. As you walk up to him he pulls out a gift and hands it to you with a warm smile. "This is to make up for earlier, I wanted you to get to the end....." he whispers "Its my favorite part." You meet his smile with your own, your heart fluttering as you open it and realize its not only the same book but a first edition. With a shocked loop across your face you look up to him. "Oh, I can't take this it is a first edition this must have been expensive. I mean thank you though." You tried to hand him back but he wouldn't let you, he refused to take something he gifted to you.

He put his hand out for you to take and as you did he slid his fingers into your grasp, his hand was nice with warmth radiating off it but this made you happy. Without thinking you blurted out, "Be careful you keep doing this kind of stuff and you might have me falling for you." Catching yourself at the very end surprised you decided to be so bold it really was something you wanted to say in your head and only in your head yet now he heard it too. He gave you a small wink, "Who said I hadn't already fell for you and was waiting for you to fall to so I could catch you like I did at the coffee shop." You stood there in a daze you couldn't fathom someone saying that especially to you, in your mind you were nobody special yet here he is making you feel like your the heroine in your book being swept off your feet by a chance encounter.

Your cheeks were rosy red after that statement you bit your bottom lip not sure how to respond, he understood completely and like a gentleman walked you in to the restaurant still holding your hand. He was so outspoken with his thoughts you had never met anyone like him, and the intense way he looks at you its not hard to see yourself falling hard for this man. He was already tugging at your heart more than you imagined. He pulled out your seat even though it wasn't a fancy place he still was a gentleman enough to do this and make you feel respected, cared for and a lady. Dinner was nice, the conversation smoothly flowed and he understood things about you that most never do. Your heart felt so full with being with him, this was a fairytale of your own unfolding in front of you and Hayato was your prince.

When the meal was done and paid for he took your hand walking you out to the back garden of this restaurant and it as lit up with lights on each side. He walked you to a gazebo and helped you step up without falling. The night breeze was a bit chilly and as you sat down next to him he could tell you were trembling so he wrapped his jacket around you and pulled you close for his body heat to keep you warm. The starry sky was beautiful and could be seen so well from in his arms you found yourself nuzzling into him and he held you tighter. This chance encounter brought you the most amazing man and you knew now that you were falling hard for him and were excited where every day after this would take you. After the soft quietness and him holding you in the night under the lit gazebo, he broke the quiet sound with a different tone to his voice.

"I need to tell you something, I am part of the Yashiro family, I was put in an arranged marriage however my father said if I found love before the day I am to marry he will release me and let me marry who I choose. I know its sudden but I have a good feeling about you." He got down on one knee right there in the gazebo. His words ringing loud and clear as he looked up at you holding your hand. "Will you do me the honor of being my wife? Let me shower you with my love everyday we are together." Although you were still shocked he was noble blood but not only that but he wanted you. He was proposing and everything in your mind screamed no, somehow your heart made it to your mouth first. "Although, I'm not sure what our future will bring, I barely know you yet my heart tells me I should trust you. So my answer is YES, I want to marry you, I want to be yours and maybe have our own happily ever after." No sooner than you said what you wanted he lifted you up in his arms lifting you over his head. He slowly lowered you until your lips met, your eyes closed taking in the moment and the rest was history...you two were made for each other all because of a chance encounter you met the love of your life.

THE END!

[the-king-and-the-druidess]

Morgana × Mordred, Modern AU, for @themerlinlibrary , theme: together

Surrey Constabulary. Profile:

Uther Pendragon, 59, the conservative party's chairman, philanthropist, found dead in his house

Morgana Pendragon, 28, daughter of the murdered, designer, no permanent job

Arthur Pendragon, 31, son of the murdered, sports manager

Mordred Aglaine, 20, student, friend of the family, attended school patronized by the murdered

The soothing rhythmic wheel clatter of the train; cold green hills whizzed past the windows blending into a watercolour-moist blur. Inside the coach, it was light and cool, grey and green industrial-public indifferent colours everywhere.

No one looked at them, no one watched as the woman and the young man in black came in and took their seats by the window. Other passengers were staring out the window or at their phones' screens.

They were alike and unlike. Both pale and black-haired with bright eyes. But the young man's appearance was filled with a cold, grim calm, his gestures careless and confident; the woman seemed nervous and irritated, her hair a dark mess, her face constantly changing expression: from frowningly angry as she stared out the window, where the place from which they had come was getting farther and farther away, to delicately fond when she reached to adjust the collar of the young man's leather jacket, her fingers brushing a glimpse of his neck's skin.

She carelessly tossed her expensive little purse onto the seat next to her, all the while aware of the phone inside. But for now it was switched off.

He lowered the table top between them and set down on its light beige board the two paper cups of black coffee he'd managed to buy on the platform despite all the tension and hurry they were in.

"Drink." he moved the large dark green cup closer to the woman.

She only wrapped herself more tightly in her long wide coat, hugging herself; the fur of the collar was tickling her cheeks.

"Black? I already don't sleep very much. Have you forgotten that I like coffee with cream?"

He never knew.

"Do you still hope to sleep ever after tonight, Morgana?" his quiet voice rooted her to the spot.

Tonight.

"Of course I do. And much better than ever before." her voice sounded high-light-confident, her lips smirked but her eyes said otherwise.

And Mordred knew it; he could see right through her. Moving the cup even closer to her he grinned crookedly.

Morgana sighed and took it. Taking a hot sip, she grimaced at its bitterness mixed with the metallic tang of fear in her but continued to drink.

Mordred drank his coffee quietly, looking out the window at the lakes and villages, and when he had finished he looked away from the window and stared at Morgana.

The way they could look into each other's eyes without looking away, reading each other's face. It was as if they could communicate mentally.

Morgana blinked first. A dark hooded shadow of what they had done loomed behind his shoulder She blinked again and the shadow disappeared.

Something was happening with her.

It was strange that Mordred had done it technically, had done it for her, even though she had first desired it, she had prepared everything; but he had behaved far more casually than she had. Morgana would never forget that innocent smile of his with which he looked down at the floor. It was morbid. And funny, she laughed at the scene.

No, they did it together.

Feeling her slipping away again, Mordred pushed aside their empty cups and reached for her hands. Finger by finger he pulled off her sticky thin leather gloves, exposing her hands.

Morgana reached for him, he intertwined his fingers with hers, knowing their touch would give her strength, ground her. She squeezed him tighter, stroking his knuckles, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, his skin still smelling of the pine soap he'd carefully washed his hands with after—.

"Calm down. I'll take care of you, Morgana."

She widened her eyes and smiled wickedly.

"I'm calm."

But she wasn't. The only thing she wanted right now was to get off the train as soon as possible, get a room at the hotel and have Mordred fuck her senseless.

It was a good thing that of the two of them, he could keep his composure. She never would have done it without him.

Never would have seen her weeping brother clutch their father's dead, murdered body in his arms, sprawled out on the carpet. Or was it the other way round? She hated and loved them both, they became one being in her obsessed mind.

Who did this? they would question.

Mordred's hands covered hers, so big compared to hers. When had he managed to get so big and tall, for she remembered him as a middle-grader, when he, a difficult badly schooled boy followed her older brother everywhere.

Mordred looked at Morgana and knew that one day she would calm down. Maybe when they undress and send all their clothes, from coats to underwear (but his jacket might have to be thrown in the rubbish or given in a charity box in some remote neighbourhood) into the washing machine and he would put his arms around her and lie between her thighs, covering her face and neck with kisses.

Neither of them wanted to celebrate, what had happened was so ordinary and anti-climactic. When Morgana told him about it, he knew at once what she wanted, what she dared not do alone; and he gave it to her, for it coincided with his desire as well. He set them free.

The train carried them on under an overcast sky, and they sat still and quiet. The king is dead, long live the queen, so they used to say in the olden days.

"I haven't told you this yet, Morgana," Mordred began, smiling at her as his face disappeared into the shadows as the train entered the tunnel; only the touch on her shivering cold hands remained, "I heard a story when I was a child. About caves in the mountains near where I was born. Finding the place is not easy, the caves are hidden in the woods, but I know the way. They say that the walls and floor there are covered with amazing colourful crystals. They say these crystals are magical, you can see the future in them if you ask. I've always wanted to go back to that place. And I'd like to show you it. There's a hovel deep in the thicket..."

He had found this hovel years ago but never dared to go farther alone.

For a moment he thought it was childish and silly, all those old legends, runaways to the mountains — he had often run away from home as a child — even though they were dear to him. Why did he suddenly remember this? The memories of the caves were even earlier than the wispy memories of his foster families, than the memories of Morgana.

Maybe he wanted to hide.

"Sounds amazing." Morgana echoed in the dark, "I'd like to see them."

They pulled back into the light and she leaned over the table, reaching up to kiss him.

Mordred hesitated for a moment, staring at her lips and half-closed eyes, at the shadows beneath them, and then he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She was so sweet, so mad, so his.

When they got off at the railway station, they did not go out into the city but bought tickets for the other direction, to the mountains.

Meanwhile Arthur, her brother and former best friend, was frantically pressing her contact icon on his phone again and again.

[catboys-need-milk]

Lactation Kink Headcannons for Daddy Lucifer ~ ♡

☆TW: brief daddy kink, voyeuristic vibes?? uh, this old DILF watching you breastfeed his adult brothers—if that aint a warning idk what is.

God, I cant believe y'all actually encouraged me to write these. Are you sure you wanted them? I guess I'll find out soon if this was a mistake 😅

(Might be helpful to read these first)

♡ Lucifer isn't the type to want to suckle from you, but some of his brothers are (Beel, Belphie, Levi, Satan, and occasionally Mammon—if he's just lost a lot of money)

♡ Honestly? .........He likes watching you feed them. A lot actually. For a variety of reasons.

♡ He's always had to head the household with an iron fist, his brothers all living in fear of him to some extent. But this—its like you're comforting and caring for them in a way he'll never be able to. He's enamored, seeing that they can feel completely safe with you

♡ Lucifer has very strong paternal instincts, and watching you feed them like that is probably resonating with those instincts on some weird, deep, subconscious level

♡ And yeah, maybe its a little odd that he likes to watch. But there's just something very satisfying to him about this raw show of your complete acceptance, love, and devotion to his brothers

♡ And for the most part his brothers don't mind him watching either. Beel and/or Belphie could care less who's watching. Mammon doesn't give a damn either, too busy trying to forget about how much money he just lost. Satan is a different story however.

♡ Lucifer's only caught Satan doing it once, and since then makes a point to stay away when he knows you two are together. Satan still doesn't know he ever saw him, but there's no fucking way he'd react well to learning that the first-born caught him suckling your milk like a needy little kitten.

♡ He'll never forget though, just how peaceful and almost innocent Satan looked for once as he was latched onto your breast. The way you held him close and softly told him how much you loved him. No, Lucifer will never say anything to him about it. He doesn't want to take any of this away from his brother-son.

♡ He almost seems to view you feeding them as some type of therapy for his brothers, which it kinda is to some extent.

♡ Usually when he watches its not like he's just sitting there staring at you. No, its more like him occasionally looking over at you, or maybe glancing over while he takes a sip of his coffee. He's casual about it. Usually.

♡ Ohhhhh but when he's had a few glasses of Demonus.....its not so casual anymore. His arousal becomes blatant, turning into him openly pleasuring himself in front of you

♡ You can tell when hes getting turned on because he'll uncross his legs, making room for his growing erection as he rubs over it, hips slowly rutting up into his mature, weathered hand

♡ Maybe he'll sit next to you, gently taking one of your hands and placing it on his bulge as he whispers into your ear, hot breath laced with the smell of hard alcohol "Feel that.....feel what watching you is doing to Daddy....."

♡ He pumps his cock so slowly, not seeking an orgasm. Savoring the sight before him, the way you sound so sweet as you coo to the suckling brother "....you're such a good boy..." Oh yes, please tell him that, he thinks to himself

♡ And he loves how vulnerable you look, sitting there so innocently with your breasts exposed and dripping, your body begging for a mouth to feed

♡ It also appeals to his sadistic side, seeing such a sweet little human's milk being fed to hungry demons

♡ Oh god, especially with Beel. It makes Lucifer's cock ache whenever you wince or have to remind Beel to be gentle, hearing and thinking about your n*pples being tormented inside the gluttonous demon's mouth

♡ He secretly loves seeing how stretched and abused they look when Beel's done with them, thinking about how sore your poor little human teats must feel. Ohh, It really makes him want to pinch them just to hear you yelp and squirm

*:･ﾟ✧(=✪ ᆺ ✪=)*:･ﾟ✧

[marlena-immortale]

New Experiences: Part 1

Summary: Damiano wants to explore a new kink and is nervous to bring it up with you, but you ease his nerves. 

CW: SMUT, masturbation, anal play, choking, d/s dynamic (dom reader), dirty talk, discussion of pegging 

Word Count: 2.3k

Damiano David is a confident man. Anyone that’s met him can see it. He knows he’s hot and he doesn’t care what other people think of him, except for you. He holds your opinion very highly and definitely cares what you think about him. So when he discovers something new about himself that he wants to try out, he is very hesitant to bring it up to you. He knows that you’d never judge him and you’d probably even be into it, but his nervousness seems to still be weighing on him. 

A few weeks ago, Damiano was scrolling through Instagram when he found a post of a man dressed in panties, arching his back and bent over, with a woman’s hand on his back pushing him down. He could feel his cheeks heat up and couldn’t help but screenshot the picture (for research purposes only of course). He didn’t know why it had such an effect on him but he decided to file that away to deal with at another time. 

-------

Days later, you were out with your friends and Damiano had the whole house to himself. He lays down on your shared bed, cuddled up in the freshly-washed sheets. He opens his phone and finds the picture his mind just won’t let go of. Without realizing it, his other hand drifts down his own body, pretending it’s the girl’s in the picture, or better yet, your hand. He imagines your breath in his ear as you push him down into the mattress. His hand tucks inside his underwear and starts playing with his half-hard dick. 

He lets out a frustrated moan as he imagines your hips pressing into his ass. He puts his phone down, his imagination more than enough now, and brings his other hand down the back of his underwear, reaching in as he shifts to lean more on his side. His finger makes its way down further and he presses it lightly to his hole. He gasps at the new sensation but it turns into a moan once he decides that he really likes the feeling. He lets himself experiment a bit and starts rubbing little circles against his rim. His mind clouds with thoughts of you telling him what a good boy he’s being, moaning so loud and making such pretty noises while he explores himself. He can feel this new sensation all over his body and instantly knows that this will be a staple in his self-pleasure routine from now on. 

His other hand quickens its pace on his cock as he reaches his climax much quicker than expected. He can feel his hole contract on the very tip of his finger as he cums all over himself, his body shaking with pleasure. He sits there for a moment, processing what he just did and how good it felt, realizing that he definitely has to work up the courage to bring it up with you now. 

-------

The next day, he wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee and carries himself to the kitchen to find you making espresso. You turn around to see your lovely boyfriend clad only in his snug underwear and open oversized flannel falling off his toned shoulders. A smile spreads across your face at the sight, pouring two cups of coffee. You can tell that he seems a little nervous for some reason by his hesitancy to walk closer to you like he normally would. He stays rooted by the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, to the doorframe, and back. 

“Everything ok baby?” you ask while setting cups down on the table in front of him and pulling out the two chairs and sitting down. Damiano follows your lead and sits across from you, taking a sip from his coffee. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine…. I just have something I wanna talk to you about,” he confesses, his eyes casting down at his cup held tightly in his hands. 

You try not to get nervous yourself at his hesitancy to tell you. “Okay, what is it? You can tell me anything,” you respond, reaching to take one of his hands in your own, stroking his thumb. The gesture calms him down a bit and he takes a deep breath before replying.

“There’s something new I want to try…. like, in the bedroom,” he says, attempting to maintain eye contact the whole time. You instantly relax, a small smile now on your face, knowing it’s not anything serious and that you’d be happy to try anything he’s interested in.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe we could try…. pegging?” he says, surprised at his own hesitancy to admit his secret to you. You’re not sure why he was so nervous, it’s not like you haven’t casually brought it up before or joked around about it. In fact, you’re more than willing to try it out with him and already have some fun ideas swirling around in your head about how this could go. 

“Is that all? I’d love to fuck you darling,” you offer with a smile, threading your fingers through his own now sweaty ones. His face fills with relief and he lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders. “How about we go to my favorite sex shop and pick something out together?” you offer. 

“That sounds good. You’re really into this right? You’re not just doing this for me?” 

“Oh trust me, I am most definitely into this,” you say as you stand up and stalk over to his side of the table, climbing onto his lap, running your hands over his chest. “I can’t wait to have you trembling beneath me, my cock deep inside of you,” you whisper into his ear. You hear a soft whimper come from his mouth.  

Your words ease his worries, and also makes his heart beat a little faster and breath get a little heavier. You take his jaw into your hand and guide him to look up at you as you continue, “I’ll take it slow though baby, don’t worry. I’ll have you all stretched out and ready for me. You’ll be making such pretty noises for me, I promise it’ll feel so good”. You can see his eyes dilate and feel him getting a little excited when you shift your hips in his lap. Your hand travels lower to wrap lightly around his neck and his head tilts up, allowing you more access to feel his blood pumping under his skin. “How’s that sound baby boy? Do you like the sound of that?” 

He nods dumbly and you let him try again. “Words sweetheart,” you urge. 

“Yes, yes that sounds… really nice”.

“Yeah? Good. Why don’t you use that pretty voice to tell me exactly what you want” you whisper. It’s so easy for you to have him blushing and whimpering like putty in your hands. You just barely tighten your fingers around his throat and listen to his breath hitch and a pathetic noise leave his mouth, surprising even him. 

“I want you…” he trails off. 

“Aww, did my baby get all shy?” you coo at him. 

“I um, I want you to… I want you to shove your fingers inside me and thrust so deep I can feel you everywhere. I bet you’d just love to see me all helpless and fucked out,” he says, his bratty energy coming out in full force. His eyes are dark and lidded as he looks at you with a smirk. You raise an eyebrow, a smirk appears on your own face, seeing how he wants to play this game now. 

“You’re right baby, I would love that, to have you writhing and desperate, grinding your hips down onto me,” you say with a tight grip on his throat and the other hand slipping down to his inner thigh for emphasis. A broken whine escapes his pretty lips and you feel his erection growing against your ass. 

“But I guess you’ll just have to wait for now,” you say with a cocky smile, and swiftly lift yourself off of him with a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him turned on and missing the feeling of you on his lap. 

-------

   The next day, you’re on your way to the sex shop, Damiano practically hanging off of you as you walk to the entrance, a lazy smile plastered across both of your faces. When you get to the shop, you immediately guide him to the section in the front where you know the strap-on harnesses are. His cheeks heat up, imagining you wearing it, and his head instantly goes to burrow into the space between your neck and shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp soothingly and when you see that it’s just an embarrassed smile on his face and not anything bad, you pick out a nice leather harness and lead him to the dildo section. 

You can tell that he’s getting all shy and a little subby so you decide to play with him a bit. “Why don’t you pick out one you like, sweetheart?” you ask him, your fingers tilting his chin up and to the wall of dildos in front of you. He looks around, flustered and slightly overwhelmed by all the decisions. He’s still attached to your side, acting less bratty than usual, being too out of his element to attempt to annoy you. This sweeter side of him is just about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and you plan to see just how sweet you can make him. 

“I want you to pick it out for me,” he whispers, still a little ashamed even though there’s no one nearby. 

“Are you sure baby?” you ask, honored that he trusts you to make the best decision for him. 

“Yes,” he says, nodding while pawing at your waist like a little puppy wanting all of your attention. You melt seeing him be so cute and submissive for you. 

You look to the wall of dildos and find the perfect one; a pretty pastel pink one that’s as close as you can find to Damiano’s actual size, “so you can get a taste of your own medicine,” you say with a wink, placing it in your basket. 

His blush deepens pinker than the dildo realizing that he’s intimidated by his own length. You guide him further into the store, the both of you still with stupid smiles across your face, so enamored and in love with each other. You find the lingerie section and pick out a pretty white lacy set for him, knowing he loves the feeling of lace against his skin and knowing just how sexy  he’ll look in it.

You pick up a few more supplies you’ll need for the big night and check out at the counter before walking back to the car. As soon as you put the bag in the backseat and get situated in your seat, you look over at your beautiful boyfriend and sub to find him looking more embarrassed than he has been all day which was strange considering you’re alone now and not staring at a wall of dildos. 

You look down to see the cause of Damiano’s embarrassment; the growing bulge in his pants. You smile, knowing how shy he gets about getting hard so easily. 

“Aw, my poor sensitive puppy, always so easily turned on,” you say, leaning in close, your breath on his neck and your fingers brushing gently across his clothed erection, teasing him. As soon as he whimpers and starts to buck up into your hand, you sit back up and start the car. 

“Nooo, please touch me,” he whines when you start pulling out of the parking lot. 

You laugh and respond, “Well if you behave like a good boy, I’ll give you a nice reward when we get home”. He pouts but doesn’t say anything else. “Are you gonna be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, I promise,” Damiano desperately responds, needing some sort of release. 

“Okay then, I want you to unzip your pants, pull your cock out, and make yourself cum,” you instruct him, keeping your eyes on the road ahead of you. His hands immediately fumble at his zipper, trying to get it down as quickly as possible. He pulls his pants and underwear down just far enough to pull himself out of them and immediately begins softly stroking. You can feel yourself getting turned on hearing his noises beside you as you navigate your car along the highway. He gasps as his thumb rubs across his tip, his head thrown back and hips moving of their own accord.    

“C’mon baby, I know you can do better than that,” you encourage him condescendingly. 

“Please, I need your hand,” Damiano begs you as he desperately strokes himself, staring at your hands clutching the steering wheel. 

“Aw honey, I know you can do it yourself. You’re being such a good boy for me,” you say. Your words bring him closer to his climax as his hand speeds up on his cock. The car fills with the beautiful sounds of Damiano’s moans and gasps and quiet whimpers of your name that barely are able to make it past his lips. He only needs a few more strokes until he’s loudly moaning and spilling all over his own hand and shirt. 

“This is gonna be fun,” you say, a big smile on your face as Damiano catches his breath, recovering from his orgasm.

[thefanficmonster]

Casual

Ranboo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None, unless talking about the future counts

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following the arrival of the dreadful invitation to his cousin’s wedding Ranboo turns to the only cover-up he can think of to keep his still-single status hidden from his family.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I’m so glad you sent your idea to me and I’m so glad you were my first official Ranboo request. I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to write it but I still hope you’ll come across it and read it! Love, Vy ❤

“Heyyy, so Y/N, I have a favor to ask you...um yeah, call me back, it’s awkward sending it via voicemail. Bye“

Huh - that’s the first thought that goes through my head when I listen to the voicemail left after a missed call from my best friend Ranboo. The favors he usually asks for consist of requesting assistance for his videos in which I also appear with a mask and sunglasses to keep the brand running. I genuinely have nothing against my face being shown but when I think about it, I’m honestly a bit glad people can’t identify me.

Anyways, back to the favors, Ranboo is no stranger to asking me for them but they’ve never been considered too awkward for a voicemail which is why I’m no slightly concerned. I’ve been swamped with work for school and studies for the graduation finals for the past two weeks and it seems like I’ll never get on top of it and I know Ranboo’s been in a similar situation too, so maybe he needs help with that? He’s not used to asking help for school stuff, he sometimes even has a hard time accepting it when I openly offer it to him.

I eventually sigh, decide that playing this guessing game will not get me anywhere and settle on giving him a call as I make my way home from the gym with my legs barely putting up with the task of carrying me around.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey! Wh-...“

“Would you pretend to be my girlfriend for my cousin’s wedding next weekend?!“

My legs take that opportunity to stop moving in the middle of the sidewalk which is luckily void of any people at the moment. It’s not my fault my body’s first reaction was to freeze up at the question that came flying at me like an out-of-control jet, almost as though he’s been dying to say it and get it over with.

“Um...run that by me again please, I think I misunderstood.“ I say, blinking blankly as though awoken from a fever dream. No, actually as though I’m IN a fever dream right now.

“Ok, now that the cat’s out of the bag, wanna grab some coffee and talk about it face-to-face. I need to see your facial expressions to gauge what response to expect.“ He says, the previous nervousness gone and his voice calm as regularly once again.

I’m this close to face-palming but I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and bring myself to utter a reply, “Our usual spot. Be there in ten minutes.”

                                                             *  *  *

“No freaking way.“ I shake my head, folding my arms over my chest as I lean back in my seat in the booth we picked when we arrived. Good thing I got an iced coffee cause even a hot one would’ve gone cold by now considering I haven’t yet taken the time to have even a sip of it. I’ve been too busy listening to the long and short of the explanation and begging speech Ranboo probably made last night to try and convince me to agree to this nonsense. “Dude, we’ve been friends since middle school-...“

“Exactly! Who else was I gonna ask?“ He cuts me off, pleading gaze meeting my unimpressed one.

I huff before continuing my previous statement, “We’ve been friends since middle school so you know my opinion on weddings.” I put extra emphasis on the word ‘opinion’, giving him the clear hint at the distaste I’ve expressed on the topic multiple times before.

“And you know we’re on the same page there but there’s no way I can avoid going unless someone kidnaps me.“ He too now gets in the same stance as me, his coffee forgotten too.

I can’t help but snort out a little laugh, “I’d be more than happy to kidnap you considering the other option is far less appealing to me.“

He, of course, rolls his eyes at me as though he didn’t offer to do the same thing so I could avoid an exam but anyways. “So you’re gonna choose to fake a kidnapping that has the potential of landing you in jail over coming to eat some great food and maybe even have some fun at a wedding with your best friend? I’m hurt.“ He says, frowning to cover up the smile that’s fighting its way onto his face.

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, “I’d be kidnapping you, dummy...” I cut myself off to let out a long sigh and calm down before I go off at him. His smirk isn’t helping me much with the task either. I’ve known Ranboo long enough to know he’ll eventually convince me and he’s known me long enough to know how to do that exactly. With that in mind, there’s really no point in getting so worked up and wasting my energy. And so, despite my own rationality, I cave. “Fine, but I’m not staying the whole wedding.“

His eyes immediately light up and almost makes me feel the compromise was worth it. Almost. I mean, when you’ve been best friends with someone for so long, seeing them happy is worth more to you than your own comfort sometimes.

And he knows it too. Which is exactly why he outstretches his hand for me to shake and says: “Just one dance and you’re free to go. Deal?”

I take his hand without hesitations. That’s a better offer than I could’ve ever imagined. “Damn straight it’s a deal.“

                                                            *  *  *

“How long until you kick the heels off?“ Ranboo asks, bringing me a non-alcoholic cocktail and sitting down next to me.

I take a sip and giggle, “You kidding? I already kicked them off and replaced them with flats. I need mobility if we dance. They also lower the risk of me severing off a toe of yours if I step on you on accident.”

He laughs, clinking his glass against mine before he gets a bit more serious, “By the way, thanks for handling my family’s attack so well. I know it might’ve been a bit much but you handled it like a pro. Still, I’m sorry on their behalf.”

I shake my head and wave my hand dismissively, “Don’t mention it. I’d probably react the same way if my brother or cousin brought a date to an important family event like this.” I instinctively turn to look in the direction of where the majority of his family has gathered around, chatting with guests, smiling brightly. It’s hard not to immediately take a liking towards these people. They’ve been a second family to me ever since Ranboo and I started hanging out so I completely understand why they were so shocked to see me in the role of his ‘girlfriend’.

“I’ll tell my parents the truth later, our extended family is the ones I wanted to fool to be perfectly honest.“ He looks around as do I and we catch more than a few pairs of eyes fixated on us that turn away when they realize they’ve been spotted, “Mission accomplished by the looks of it.“

I chuckle. I’ve never felt so comfortable at a wedding before. I don’t feel stressed nor anxious despite knowing that there’s quite the number of eyes on me and there are whispers going around about my ‘relationship’ with Ranboo. It’s oddly calming and relaxing to be surrounded by some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. This cocktail is pretty great too.

Speaking of which, if it had any alcohol in it I’d blame it for the decision I’m about to make but this one’s entirely on me: I tap Ranboo with one hand while taking out my phone with the other. “If we’re already the talk of the wedding, let’s give them something to talk about.“ I say as I put up my phone, pretending to be taking a selfie leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

When I pull away I can clearly see that he’s still processing what just happened. I can’t help but burst out in a fit of laughter as I reach out to wipe the lipstick stain I left on his cheek. He looks like a lost, clueless puppy with the question: ‘what on Earth just happened???’ replaying in his head and it’s so freaking cute!

Wait....what was that? Since when do I use the adjective cute to describe Ranboo? Didn’t I think he looks handsome in a suit earlier too? The hell is with me today?

Then it hits me - the feeling isn’t foreign. Like, I know I’ve felt it before but I never analyzed it or even bothered to acknowledge it. But now that I do, I’m afraid of what it might be.

“There!“ I say, desperately trying to push the thoughts away along with this little firework show in my stomach, “Now you have pinker cheeks. Well, cheek, singular.“

As if snapping out of his state of confusion, he returns to Earth with a smirk, “Kiss the other to even it?”

Alright, his blush might not be even but mine now is and it’s ten times as intense and very much apparent but I don’t let the feeling shine through anything else as I proceed to actually kiss his other cheek too, wiping the lipstick stain.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” And just like that, as though it’s no big deal, he kisses my forehead.

See, that’s the thing, it shouldn’t be a big deal! It’s never been! This is far from the first time I’ve kissed him on the cheek or the first time he’s given me a forehead kiss. These are regular occurrences after years of this lovely friendship we have. Why do they feel so different now?

Then, much to my relief, the music starts and the lights turn off leaving only one spotlight for the groom and bride to have their first dance. They look absolutely astonishing and I can certainly say I’ve never before stopped to think that about any newly weds of the weddings I’ve preciously been to. I don’t know if it has something to do with the company I have for this particular wedding or it’s maybe the fact that my mindset’s changed over the years without me realizing.

Then I automatically look at Ranboo who just so happens to be looking at me too and all I can say is: my mindset hasn’t changed.

A loud applause takes over when the couple finish their dance, officially opening the dancefloor for any other pairs who’d like to occupy it and I’m happy to see how many people are eager to rush up with their partner.

 Ranboo gets up, putting the glass down and offers me his hand, “So, wanna dance? Don’t take this as a sign to leave though, we said one dance and you CAN leave, not SHOULD.” He says, giving me a warning look.

I roll my eyes and am about to give him some sass right back but he takes my hand and picks me up from my seat, leading me to the dancefloor.  And I gotta admit maybe it’s a good thing he did. If he left it to me I would’ve probably said no to the dance and ran the hell away. Why? - Cause I’m freaking terrified of this new mindset and point of view and these intense emotions I never used to pay any mind to before in regards to my best friend.

Friends don’t feel that way about friends. Friends don’t look at friends that way. What’s happening to me?

When I gotta look him in the eyes like this, not for the first time might I add, I can finally understand how the friends-to-lovers trope works: it’s all meaningless until it starts to mean so much to you. It’s all platonic until it reminds you of a romantic movie moment. It ‘best friends’ until it’s ‘I wish we were more than that’. It’s all casual, until it’s not.

And, unfortunately, it’s irreversible.

Damn do I wish I ran away now...

[goldpomegranates]

Writing's On the Wall

007!Male!Reader x Bond Boy!Tom

Rated M for language, alcohol, innuendo, unresolved sexual tension & brief mention of blood. WORD COUNT: 1.5K also on A03.

The floor beneath your feet sways a hitch stronger than it has over the last couple of hours, having gotten used to the yacht’s movements since first coming aboard. It is enough to make the glass tumbler atop the desk slide an inch to the left with the aid of condensation, stopped by the magazine clip you had unloaded from the beretta.

You pause your pacing, ear angled to the closed door of your private quarters, and the absence of sound aside from that of casual conversation keeps you from reaching for the gun.

The room is too big for your liking, but you appreciate the access to the private balcony that faces Shanghai’s neon glow. Its lights reflect dizzily over the calm water, swallowing up the moonlight that doesn’t splash over the wooden surface of the balcony floor. There is a single table and two chairs—the quarters being a couple’s suite—but at least that means the hot tub is big enough for you to sprawl in. Gods know you need the soak.

There is still blood on your collar, and even if it is not your own, you can feel every bruise from the infiltration gone awry.

You didn’t want the title of 007 once James had retired. MI6 wasn’t even your homebase. But apparently, intelligence agencies swap agents with more frequency than the Football Federation swaps players regardless of nationality. You had been dubbed a liability early on in the game, not one for rules or stuffy afternoon tea with higher-ups in the name of Queen and Country, but your Quartermaster insisted that’s what made you the perfect successor. Your Quartermaster, who placed you on site with bad information that nearly cost you and your informant’s lives.

Plucking the decanter out of the bucket of ice you had placed it in, you pull off the stopper for a whiff of the bourbon. Spicy and smoky—as good as it can possibly get across the pond. You pour yourself a finger and hold the glass to the stitched-up cut above your left eyebrow, wincing at the cold.

A knock on the door brings a headache to your attention. “Fuck off,” you say, unceremoniously dropping yourself into the chair at the desk. The door opens anyway.

The insult at the tip of your tongue fizzles out to nothingness at the sight of the man who walks into the room, donning a bespoke suit a tad too cinched at the waist. You take a sip from your bourbon while giving him a healthy onceover, taking in the long legs and the sharp features of his face, thin lips and straight nose making him look younger than he likely is.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he says, walking over to the desk and setting down a suitcase in front of you as if he owns the place. He pauses, appraising you with raised eyebrows before glancing around the room, more than a little confused. “I’m so sorry, I must have gotten the wrong quarters.”

You gesture at the suitcase with your chin. “That from M?”

The man stares with no shortage of suspicion. “007?”

“The one and only. Currently, that is. And you are?”

“You’re not what I was expecting,” he says.

“Kind of rude for an Englishman,” you counter, raising your glass to him. “If that’s what I think it is, leave it and get out.”

The Englishman doesn’t move. He stands there, locked in a frankly childish staring contest. “Codeword.”

“Come again?”

“The codeword. Assuming you know how this works, I can’t leave behind sensitive material without confirming your identity. Given you are not James Bond, obviously, I need some form of identification or proof that you are who you say you are.”

You blink at him, shifting forward in your seat until your elbows rest on the desk. The beretta now within easy range, you put down the glass. “You’re not a field agent,” you say. “Double-0s don’t carry IDs. Defeats the purpose. You’d know that if you were MI6.”

He sighs. “Hence why I am asking for a codeword.”

“You’re not very patient.”

“I’m meant to be on holiday,” says the Englishman, and the thinly veiled annoyance comes as a refreshing surprise. “But M is reluctant to send any more women your way given how much of a distraction they tend to be.”

“Ah. So, he sent me a call boy instead.”

“I beg your pardon, but I’m a secretary,” the man says with a haughtiness that looks all too good on him. Up close, he is not as willowy thin as he looked when he first walked in. Underneath the lamplight, his eyes shine a brilliant blue. “I’m not here to service you, I’m here to deliver equipment that will keep you and your colleagues alive until you’ve completed your mission.” Riled up, the man opens the suitcase. Inside it is a collection of weapons, a watch, a radio, and what appears to be a lighter. “There. Any complaint you may have you may take up with your Quartermaster.”

The man turns to leave and you watch him go, appreciating how the cut of his jacket rests just above his ass. “Wait, wait, hold on a minute. You came all this way for me, let me at least get you something to drink.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why’d you stop before you got to the door, then?” Getting out of your chair, you swing over to the mini bar to grab a second tumbler. You listen for the sound of him leaving, but it never comes. Instead, you smile to yourself. Bond’s infamy follows you like the stench of cigar smoke, but if not shoes, there is at least something else you can attempt to fill. Maybe the title does have an unshakable sense of sex appeal. “Give me a name.”

“You won’t give me yours.”

“You haven’t asked for mine.”

“You wouldn’t give it to me if I were on my knees.”

And there it goes, you think, returning to the desk to fetch him a drink. “I’m a gentleman,” you say, pouring him a finger, “I’d give you more than just my name.”

You hand him the glass and he’s careful not to touch your fingers, aware of the game. He came because he was curious, that much you can glean from his presence alone. Your ability to read people is what got your foot in the door, and you hardly need to flex the skill when the man is such an open book his spine is practically frayed.

“Thomas,” he says, following with a swig.

You take another good look at him, studying the stunning structure of his face. He’s breathtakingly beautiful for a man, and you wonder what possessed M into thinking you would pass on such a pretty thing.

“Well, Tom,” you say, clinking your glass to his before turning away from him, “a pleasure to meet you. But I’ve got work to do.”

A beat, followed by an offended: “You right bastard.”

“Should’ve gotten on your knees. Send M my regards and tell him to keep his nose out of my fucking business.” You glance at a corner of the quarters, adequately convinced that HQ has the place bugged to hell. Maybe you should take the unintentional offering, bend the Englishman over the railing and make him see stars in clear view of the cameras. Something tells you he sounds devastatingly attractive when he begs. “Off you go.”

Tom polishes off his drink and gently places the glass on the desk, and to your surprise, he reaches over to rub a thumb over the splatter of blood on the collar of your once white shirt. “Hydrogen peroxide works wonders if you wish to save it. Give it a good cold water soak then let it air dry.”

“I’m already chipped,” you say, seeing through the gesture for the sleight it actually is. He smiles, and you commend yourself for not sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. “Nanobots in my blood, or, whatever. Q took care of it before he sent me off.”

“I mean it,” Tom says, and the earnest arch of his eyebrows is a little too much to directly take in. “Something tells me this won’t be the last time we meet, 007.”

“Least you could do is bring something edible next time,” you say.

Hands deep in his pants pockets, Tom opens the door with the tip of his oxfords. “I did bring myself, after all,” he says with a wink, letting the door shut in his wake.

You sit back against the edge of the desk, impressed and intrigued by the dashing man. You have half a thought to shoot M a message about him, demand he assign the secretary as your personal assistant or something of the sort, but ultimately decide against it. The next time you meet, you are certain it will be no act of fate, but you have every intention to make the most of it.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it��s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That���s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.