#GOD OIL IS SO MUCH FUN...PLEASE...IF YOURE READING THIS TRY IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Bed bugs
Pairing: Idol! Chan x fem! reader
Genre: smut, fluff, maybe crack idk
Warnings: slight choking (just a hand on the neck, nothing more) (f! receiving), dry humping, oral sex (m! receiving), make-out session, cuddles, mention of Chan's room.
Author notes: when I first started writing "Physiotherapy and Coconut Oil" back at the beginning of October, I was convinced to write it as fluff, mainly because I can't write smut; after a couple of weeks, I left it in my drafts, and leave it there till the first two weeks of December, I was under heavy medication bc I had a painful surgery on my foot, and the only thing that helped to go through insomnia caused by the pain was writing that story, I wrote and wrote day and night, and it helped so so much, that's why I was shocked when @ardef38 asked for a pt 2, so here you go love, I hope you like it.
(Kinda proof read, it’s 1:40 am as I’m ’reading’ this so, be patient I’ll correct any mistakes later)
Fun fact: I do really ride motorcycles since I was 17 (and yes I may be reckless).
Word count: +4k (I got carried away I’m sorry)
Thank you so much, I really, really appreciate all the feedback, I love you all.🩷
Sincerely Glo
As always, requests are open!
-✉️
I'm so insecure about my English. As I said, it's not my first language, and I'm always scared to make mistakes or stuff like that. So, if you find mistakes, please let me know. I'll be thankful, and my English will improve!
-✉️
You can read part one here
"Stop moving. I'm trying to sleep."
he mumbles on your back
"I can't, I'm sorry."
You mumble
"Why? What is happening, baby?"
he asks, hugging you tighter
"Uhm, I'm sorry my insomnia is bothering me, I-i don't know why."
"What can I do for you? A cup of tea? cuddles?"
he asks
"I don't know either, honestly, usually I stay in bed and stare at the ceiling."
"It's a common thing?"
he whispers, almost like he doesn't want to be heard by someone
"What? That I can't sleep? Oh yeah, definitely.”
you say, turning yourself towards him
"Mh"
"You should be tired, you know that? after a full day of work and after what we did."
he says
"I know, Channie, but my brain can't shut down."
"I have an idea."
he says, hugging you tighter, your head on his chest with his hand between your hair
"What?"
you ask, looking at him
"Shhhh, just close your eyes and relax, okay?"
"Mh, okay. I doubt that whatever you're about to do, you'll make me fall asleep."
"Shshhh"
close your eyes
go to sleep
know my love is all around
dream in peace
when you wake
you will know I'm still with you
He repeats the verse over and over until you don't hear him anymore.
You know that you fall asleep because of his voice and the lullaby that he was singing, and the way he was stroking your hair gently, but mostly because he's warm; one time, someone said that he's like the feeling of walking in a warm room after spending the whole day out in the cold. It's true he really is like that domestic feeling.
"Good morning, ray of sunshine. How did you sleep?"
he asks you when you walk into your kitchen
"Oh, good morning. I thought you were already gone and good. I don't know which magic you've put in your cuddles and voice, but I haven’t slept like this in months."
you say
"Gone? No, I had to make you breakfast since I've slept over and used your bathroom to shower. I also used your body wash. Now I know why you smell so good."
he says while working on something at the stove
"That's why the bottle is half empty."
you giggle, hugging him from behind
"I'm sorry. I'll rebuy it for you."
he says
"Ya, it's okay, you don't have to. you smell like me now,"
"Yep, and trust me, I love it."
he says
"Yeah?"
"Mhmm"
"Aaah, you're warm, Channie it's freezing today even if it's mid-summer."
you say, hugging him from behind
"It has rained all night, we didn't notice because we were...umh...busy."
he says, turning towards you
"Busy...yeah...Chan, oh my god, it was...did I do these?"
you ask, touching his neck and chest
"No, no, it was a bed bug."
"Ehi -you slap his chest- I-god, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too. we got carried away, didn't we?"
he says, touching your neck and making you shiver
"Definitely, but I'm going to be honest I don't mind it and I don’t regret it.”
you say, smiling and kissing him on his naked chest
"Chan...-you say, sniffing around- something is burning."
"NO THE PANCAKES!"
he quickly turns towards the stove, swearing and mumbling against the burnt cakes
"Fuck, i-i wanted to make you breakfast."
he pouts, looking at the burnt pancakes
"It's okay, Channie -you giggle- thing like this happens when you're distracted."
"So you're saying that is your fault?"
he asks, looking at you, one of his dimples popping out
"Yeah, definitely."
you laugh
"Okay, put something on. I'll buy you breakfast."
"No."
you say
"Yes."
he says
"No."
"Yes."
"I said no."
"And I said yes."
"Channie, you don't have to"
"But I want to"
he says
"But-ugh, what if people see us around."
you say
"You're part of the staff, and we can go to the JYP cafeteria, the one inside the building."
"Mh, okay, but with one condition."
"Which one?"
he asks
a smirk appears on your face
"I don't like that smile."
he says
"I'll take you to the building with my motorcycle."
"You-you can ride?"
he asks
"yeah, I thought you liked it when I did it on your-"
"Shsh, don't-shut up, okay, okay."
he says, covering your mouth with one of his hands
"You're not reckless, aren't you?"
he asks with a worried tone
"Me? Reckless? absolutely not."
you smile
"That smile...I don't trust you."
"Not my business, Channie."
10 minutes later, you are in the elevator, and funny to say, but both of you choose a black hoodie (mostly because you have to cover your hickeys and not to catch a cold since the air is fresher)
"You copied my outfit."
you say, looking at him
"Do it look like I'm wearing Doc Martens and leggings?"
he asks, looking at you
"No, even if you would look good in leggings, but your outfit is total black, just like mine."
"I always dress like this."
“I aLwAyS dReSs LiKe ThIs”
You mock him
“It’s true, my whole wardrobe is black.”
"Yeah, but you still copied my outfit."
you smile, walking outside the elevator, Chan being by your side
"Jagiya.."
he says
"Mh?"
you say, not paying attention to the feeling that you felt in your stomach after that nickname
"I'm scared."
he says, looking at his feet
"About..?"
you say opening your garage door
"I've never been on a motorcycle."
he says shyly
"It's okay, Channie. There is a first time for everything. I'm going to explain everything, okay?"
"You-fuck, you can drive this thing?"
he asks
"Yeah, she's my baby."
"Baby? it's huge, how can you manage to drive this?"
you shrug your shoulders, looking at him
"I just do it, just trust me okay?"
"I do trust you."
he says
"Yeah?"
you ask, looking at him, and he simply nods
"Okay, big boy, put this on."
you say, giving him one of your motorcycle jackets
"I hope it fits; one of my friends gifted it to me, but she took three sizes bigger than mine, and I couldn't return it."
"It's a little bit tight on my shoulders."
he says, closing the zip
"It fits perfectly; you have protections, so it has to be tight."
you say, zipping your protective jacket
"It's weird. I'm not used to tight things."
he says, putting his backpack on his shoulders again
"Now, move, I have to take the motorcycle out of the garage. Can you grab the two helmets there? and when you're out, close the door, please."
you say, pointing at a wood cabinet. You press the clutch and move backward with the motorcycle; when the bike is in the correct position, you press down the stand.
"Okay, give me these."
you say, taking the helmets from his hands
"I'm going to put the helmets on you, okay, and I'll explain everything."
you say, putting the helmet on him. You do the same with yours
"Does it feel loose?"
you ask
"No, it's perfect."
you can see him smiling even if half of his face is covered
"And now -you press the inter-phone button- can you hear me?"
"Oh yeah, it's like you're inside my head."
he giggles
you turn on your bike, leaving her roar
"Damn, it's loud."
he giggles
"Okay, so -you say, straddling the motorcycle pushing the stand up with your foot- use that thing to get on and sit here."
you say, patting on the small sitting place for him
"Are you sure you can-?"
he asks
"Yes, trust me, Chan, I've been riding since I was 17."
you smile at him
he sits behind you, getting more comfortable once the bike is stable
"See? You won't fall; both of my feet are on the ground."
"Keep your feet there when we're on the road, don't put them on the ground at a red light or a stop sign. You have to put your arms around me tight or on the tank, especially when I brake; you'll feel it, so don't worry. When we take a turn, you have to follow me with your body. You're basically my shadow, or even better, my backpack, so follow every movement I make, okay?"
you say
"Yep"
"Now, arms around me."
you say, waiting for his arms
"Hold on tight."
you say before pressing the clutch with your left and putting the first gear with your left foot
"Here we goooo."
you say
"Oh my god, we're moving, ahah wow."
"Hold on tight, Channie."
you say, patting on his hands
"That's-wow, oh my god."
"You want me to go faster?"
you say once you're on the road
"Fuck yes"
he says
and you do as he said. You accelerate and shift gear; the sun has been out for hours, so the road is dry now.
"How does it feel?"
you ask him
"It's like, I don't know how to explain it."
"Freedom?"
you suggest
"Yeah, yes, that's the right word."
he says
"That's why you do it? I mean, that's why you drive?"
you hear his voice through the inter-phone, and you simply nod.
"Can you go faster? I wanna feel free."
he says
"Of course."
you giggle, and you shift once again the gear, the two of you speeding in the streets of Seoul, zig-zagging between the buses, cars, and taxis
"Oh my gooood, too fast, too fast"
he almost screams
"Ahahah, just hold onto me, and you'll be fine, Channie. Trust me."
the grip of his arms around your waist getting tighter
"You're crazy."
he says
"I know"
"And reckless, and oh my god, I want to do this every day."
he says
"I know -you laugh- should I pick you up tomorrow?"
"Oh, I—I'm not that brave. God, you have a big pair of balls to drive a thing like this. I could never."
"Oh, you could, and you would look so hot in one of these, with a compression shirt on-ush what a vision."
you say
"Are you fantasizing about me?"
he asks
"I mean, yeah, you as a biker? damn, Christopher, I would be on my knees."
you say, teasing him
"You were on your knees for me yesterday, and definitely, I'm not a biker."
he says, teasing you back
"I- you- uh- I hate you."
you say
"Yeah, yeah, it was clear with all the 'oh, ah' that you were whimpering against my ear last night."
he says, placing one of his hands on your thighs
"Oh-you-shut up"
you say, glad that he can't see the color of your cheeks
"Here we are person that I absolutely hate, and it's banned from my house."
you say braking and turning off the motorcycle once you're in the proper park
"Oh c'mon, I was joking -he says, taking off his helmet- I'll never mention cute whimpers again."
he pouts
"Shhh, are you crazy talking about this here?"
"Right, 'm sorry, where do I put this?"
he asks, lifting his helmet
"Oh, just bring it with you."
you say
"So...umh, breakfast?"
he asks, breaking the silence between the two of you
"Yeah, breakfast."
you sigh, looking at him, his hair messed up because of the helmet
"Ladies first"
he says, opening the front door of the building for you
"Oh, what a gentleman."
you say, walking toward the elevator, bowing to the person who just stepped out of the elevator
"Yeah, gentleman."
he mumbles, pressing the number three, and once the elevator doors closed, you talk
"What you're mumbling about?"
you look at him
"Nothing"
"Chan, c'mon, you can't do this after what we did."
"I'm -he sighs- I let you go first to look at your ass in those stupid leggings, so I'm not a gentleman."
he crosses his arms
"Oh, well, I'll make sure to put them more often."
you say, shrugging your shoulders
"You're not mad?"
he asks
"that you look at my ass when you can? No. You literally saw me naked, so that's nothing of this -you point at your whole body- that you haven't seen."
"Mh, good to know."
he smirks, and once the lift doors open, he goes
"Ladies first, of course."
he winks at you and you can do nothing but laugh at him.
after a couple of minutes of indecision, his indecision actually, he brings to the table two tall cups of cappuccino and a piece of cake for him
"You sure that you don't want a bite?"
he asks, offering you a piece of pie
"Hundred percent Chan"
you smile at him
"Do you have to work today?"
he asks
"Uhm... no, I don't think so, actually. I'm here just for breakfast—you giggle—why?"
"I have to meet with Han and Binnie for some fixes on a new song and do the usual Sunday live, so...would you mind coming with me?"
"I- you- you want me in your studio?"
"Yes"
"The one where no one is allowed?"
"Mhmm"
he nods, sipping on his cappuccino
"The one where the darker aura Christopher works?"
"Yes, that one."
"Mh, okay, if you... don't mind having me there."
you shrug your shoulders
"I don't mind it. You have a relaxing effect on me."
he says
"Interesting"
you say, sipping on your coffee
"The boys are already there. Should we go?"
"I follow you, mister dark aura."
"Oh, shut up."
he says, looking at you
"Hello everyone"
he says, entering in the studio
"Hi Hyung"
the bandmates say at the same time
"Oh, y/n? Hi, what are you doing here?"
"I-uh, I saw him in the middle of the street, he was like an abandoned puppy."
"Hey"
he says, sitting down in his working chair
"So I offered him a ride on my motorbike, and to pay me back, he offered me breakfast."
you laugh nervously
"You ride a motorcycle?"
changbin asks
"Yes? why does everybody find this weird."
you say
"I don't know, you don't look like someone who rides a motorcycle."
Binnie says
"But I am."
you laugh, sitting on the couch in the studio
The three men start working on the new song. You're not paying too much attention because
1. you're too distracted by the way Chan gets so severe when he's at work, so bossy but at the same time gentle with his members
2. you're working too, on your phone, but you're working, planning all the appointments with the members and the artists of JYP
"Oh, looks like someone had fun last night."
you hear Han's voice, and you're head snaps toward his direction so fast that you hear a crack in your neck
"Yeah, you weren't home last night. Where were you last night, Chan?"
Changbin says
then you notice that Chan took off his hoodie, revealing all the hickeys and bite marks on his neck
"What?"
he asks, looking at them
"Your neck Chan, what the fuck? What did you do?"
Han asks
"Uh, bed bugs."
he says, typing and clicking on his computer, not paying too much attention to them
"Yeah, a big one."
Han says
"One with human teeth"
Changbin laughs
"Oh shut up, the two of you."
Chan says, his cheeks turning pink
"Who is she?"
asks the two gossipy men
"No one, it was a bed bug."
he says once again
"Do you know anything about this?"
Changbin asks, and both of them turn toward you
"Uh, bed bugs are big these days."
you shrug your shoulders
"Mh, yeah."
they look at each other with a smirk
after a couple of minutes, they stopped asking about his marks and focused again on their work, recording some chorus, laughing when someone went out of tune, and listening over and over again at the song till it was perfect
"Aaaaand we're done."
Chan says, stretching up his arms in the air and clapping at the work of 3racha
"Aaaagh, I'm hungry."
Changbin says
"Me too."
Han says
"Hyung, y/n wanna join us for lunch?"
"Oh no, I must go now, maybe next time."
you smile at them
"I have to do the live so."
chan says
"Oh, okay."
they say
"Bye Hyung, Y/N see you on Tuesday."
Han says
"Bye guys, see you."
you smile
"Hyung, see you at the dorm and make sure to eat, or you get nervous, little bed bug…See you on Tuesday."
Binnie says, smiling at you and closing the door behind his back
"HOW THE FUCK DID HE?"
you say, covering your face with your hands
"He's not stupid."
Chan says
"But don't worry, they won't spill anything to anyone, that's for sure."
he gets up from his chair, locks the door of the studio, and walks toward you
"Ugh, are you sure?"
you ask, your voice muffled by your hands
"Yes, I trust them with my whole life. They're nosy, I know, but we have a rule: what happens or what we say in the studio stays in the studio."
He says, sitting next to you.
"Are you sure? I- I loved hat we did, and I love our bond, but I don't want to lose my job, Chan, I've worked so hard to be here, and I don't want to ruin everything because I had sex with you."
you say, looking at him
"Ouch"
he says
"No, no, I don't want you to think that I'm using you because I'm not okay? I loved our friendship way before what happened last night."
"I get what you're saying, y/n, don't worry, it's just that you're...I don't know…after what we did, I don't know what are we? friends? Best friends? friends with benefits?"
he looks at you
"Friends with..."
"Benefits, you know, two friends that have sex occasionally but remain friends."
"Yeah, Chan, I know what friends with benefits are."
"So?"
"What?"
you ask
"Friends with benefits? it will be our dirty little secret."
he says
"Mh, friends with benefits"
you nod
"Let's start this thing from now, yeah?"
he says, pulling your face towards him
"Yes, fuck yes."
you say, breaking the distance between the two of you, kissing his plumped lips again
"The door is locked, and we have about thirty minutes."
he says between the kisses
"Ugh, not enough time."
you say, pulling back from him
"We can go back to my place after the live, yeah?"
he nods, kissing your lips again, more roughly this time. You shift your position, straddling him, your legs on the side of his thighs
"It's not-that simple to- touch you with these stupid- mhpf yoga pants."
he says, kissing your lips
"You said that you loved them."
you say
"Yeah, and now I hate them; I can't touch you properly, which frustrates me."
He says, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his bulge against your clit
"It's okay, we don't need to take our pants off."
you say, smiling at him
"What- why? c'mon, I wanna see that pretty pussy of yours."
he says, frustrated, leaving his head against the headrest of the couch
"Mh, not now."
you say, starting to grind on his hard bulge
"Oh shit, what- do it again, please,"
he says, placing his hands on your hips, guiding you back and forth against him. You kiss gently his neck, trying not to bite him or suck his soft skin because his neck is already a mess.
"You- god"
he tries to say, one of his hands traveling around your body, grabbing one of your breasts under the hoodie
"Uh? you're not wearing a bra?"
he says
"Nope, free the nipples, Christopher."
You laugh while looking at him, poor guy, he looks desperate
"Fuck, full access all this time? Why didn’t you tell me? God, y/n, you're going to drive me crazy."
he says, kissing your lips. You laugh in his lips and keep grinding on his hard cock
"Please take your hoodie off, I want- at least I want to see your boobs."
"Uhm, so needy, aren't you?"
you ask, and he simply nods
you take off your hoodie, shivering, not because you're cold, no it's way too hot in the room, but because of the way that he looks at you; it looks like he wants you to eat you alive, literally. He licks his lips, looking at your boobs at then looking at your face, his eyes jumping between your two twins and your eyes
"What?"
you ask, looking at him, moving a clump of hair from his face
"I want to suck them."
he simply says
"Then do it. Don't be shy, Christopher."
"Oh, don't call me like that."
he says, looking at you, his eyes darkened
"I know that you like it, just admitted."
you whisper to his ear
"Mphf, if you don't stop grinding on me, I'll cum in my pants."
he says
"And? there's no shame in cumming in your pants, I love to see you so desp-shit"
you say, trying to find any other word to say, but your brain is short-circuiting, his tongue is moving around one of your breasts, sucking on the nipple, while with one hand, he pays attention to the other one
"I wanna live here."
he says, sucking and biting your nipple
"Mhpf, in the studio?"
you tease him even if you know what he meant
"Mh -he breaks off the contact between his mouth and your breast- between your boobs, I want to live here, they're-fuck, they're like a warm marshmallows."
you laugh
"I'm dead serious, y/n"
he looks at you so seriously that you have to cover your mouth not to laugh. You kiss his lips, making him smile
"You're going to be late, so let me do something for you, yeah?"
you say, shifting position and getting on your knees in front of him
"Oh fuck"
he says, pulling his pants down, revealing his hard dick
"You're going to drive me crazy, you know that?"
he says, caressing your face
"That's the point, Christopher."
you say, kissing one of his naked thighs
"Please, jagiya, please."
he says in a desperate tone. That nickname again, heavy like a rock on your chest, just friends with benefits, correct?
So you do what a good friend would do, you take his boner with your hands, stroking him up and down a couple of times, licking the tip, focusing on that particular sensitive part, making him whimper.
You take all of him in your mouth, breathing through your nose; you look up at him, his head on the headrest, his eyes closed, enjoying every moment, one of his hands in your hair, scratching your scalp gently.
You keep working with your mouth and tongue, adding once again your dominant hand, just because you can't take all of him in your mouth.
"Jagi...fuck."
"Uh, language, please."
you say, taking him out of your mouth without stopping working with your hand.
"How am I supposed not to say bad words when you're on your knees sucking me off?"
he asks, looking down at you
"You're dramatic."
you say, retaking him in your mouth, you know that he's about to cum because he's throbbing in your mouth
"Baby, i'm-i'm about to."
he can't even finish the sentence that a load of fluid goes into your mouth, you swallow it all the way.
You clean the corner of your mouth with your fingers and stay on your knees, looking up at him with a stupid smile on your face.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He says, pulling his pants up
“I’m not looking at you in any particular way.”
“Yes, you are, come here.”
He says, patting the place next to him
“Thank you”
He says when you sit next to him
“You don’t have to thank me, Channie.”
“I have to, I told you that you have a relaxing effect on me. And I’m talking generally, not when we...do other stuff, you know, even when we do them, but..."
“I get what you’re saying, Channie.”
You giggle
“Aagh, come here.”
He says, placing a hand on your neck and pulling towards him
“No, wait, I’ve just…”
“I don’t care, y/n, just kiss me, please.”
You sigh, and you kiss his lips, it’s a quick kiss, almost as if you did it every day
“You’re going to be late.”
You say, touching his forehead with yours
“I know, but I have to do it, it’s a safe space for me, and stays.”
“I know”
You say, pecking his lips once again
“I’m in my studio, I wait for you there, okay?”
You say, putting your hoodie on
“Mh, okay, thank you y/n, really.”
He says, kissing your cheek
“That’s what a good friend would do.”
You smile at him
“Yeah, good friend.”
He echos you
“Bye, bed bug.”
He says when you unlock the door
“Bye, Channie -you giggle at the nickname- don’t forget to put your hoodie on.”
“I won’t, thank you.”
He says, smiling, dimples on full display
Good friends, right?
A friend that has marked you all over your body
A friend you would go to live with just to have breakfast ready every morning
A friend that makes you feel butterflies,
A friend that fucks you till your brain short-circuit
A friend who makes you fall asleep while singing and cuddling
Maybe he’s more than “A friend”
A/N: me after writing this 🏃🏻♀️💨
Tag list: @paboswriting (because of the mention of biker Chan, we have an obsession about him)
#chansshands thoughts#skz#bang chan#stray kids#skz scenarios#stray kids bang chan#bang chan fanfic#bang chan smut#christopher bang chan smut#bang chan x female reader#bang chan x y/n#bang chan x reader
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Home Safe and Sound
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!reader
A/n: GUYS I THINK IM GONNA MAKE THIS A SERIES!! Please lemme know if you like it because this was fun to write. Long story short, you were in a bar and you go up to Ghost pretending to know him to get him away from a creepy guy. as always asks are open
cw: gn!reader, mentions of alcohol, attempted roofie, implied attempted assault if you look close enough, no use of y/n, and yea i had you call him johnny on purpose, can be read as gender neutral but if this continues on i plan on making the reader fem!
-
The varied sounds of a bar muffled at the back of Simon’s ears. The sun amber glow of lights stretched along tables and chairs. His sharp, steely eyes surveyed the room before he pushed the fabric of his mask up to the bridge of his nose to take a sip from the whiskey class nestled in his grip. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and the low murmur of distant conversations, but Ghost remained in his own world.
As the minutes stretched on, the gentle sounds of chatter and clinking glasses were disrupted by your soft and hurried footsteps. You approached Ghost with an air of urgency, your eyes wild with a mixture of fear and determination. “Excuse me.” She whispered urgently. “Please pretend you know me.”
Ghost's gaze softened as he looked at you recognizing the genuine fear in your eyes. It took him a moment and a half to register what was happening but you wasted to time in creating a character.
“Oh my god Johnny is that you?” You asked excitedly. “Never thought I’d see your balaclava covered mug again!” with an enthusiastic grin you wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Ghost felt his cheeks heat up oil pastel pink and blinked in confusion for a quick second before he snapped out of his daze and hugged you back.
“Yes! Wow it’s lovely to see you!” His gruff voice shocked you ever so slightly. You had picked the biggest guy you could find within 20 feet of you, grateful that he sounded as tough as he looked. You glanced to the side, a slight glimmer of panic flashing through your eyes. He mirrored the path your eyesight took and saw the man you were clearly trying to escape.
The man, clad in tattered leather and exuding an unwelcome persistence, oozed an unsettling aura that made the air around him feel suffocating. He planted himself obviously maybe a few yards away from you, watching closely like a damn private investigator.
Ghost laid a hand on your shoulder to redirect your attention to him. “Are you here for Angelica’s after party?” He asks
“Oh yeah! I didn’t know you and her were still friends.” You respond
“Yeah. Do you need a ride home after?”
“Oh that’d be great! My designated driver had a little too much to drink.” You faked a laugh.
The man shifted in the corner of your eye before stuffing his hands in his pockets and exiting the bar. As soon as the door shuts behind him you exhale and rest against the bar, your head falling heavy in your hands. “Holy fuck. Thank you so much. That guy-“ You came to a sudden halt, every breath you took felt as though it burned your lungs.
“Are you alright?” He asked, offering her a reassuring presence amidst the lingering unease. “Who was that guy?”
You shook your head, still pressed in your hands. “I don’t know he just wouldn’t leave me alone I think he tried to roofie me.”
Magma hot rage boiled up in the back of Ghost’s throat, embarrassed by the level of degeneracy that man reached. He pushed the vile malice back down. “You’re safe now.” He reassured you. “Are you able to get home safely?”
“Yes I just gotta.. call an uber.” Your voice still carrying the edge of residual anxiety. Your DD getting too drunk unfortunately was not part of the bit. You weren’t truly drunk but absolutely not sober enough to drive.
“I’ll wait with you until it arrives.” Ghost slaps a 50 dollar bill on the bar. “I want her tab paid too. Keep the change.”
You quickly shook your head “No no you don’t have to-“
“Don’t worry.” He interjects plainly and you smile in response A mix of gratitude and relief washed over your features as you tapped in your destination to your phone. "Thank you, really. You have no idea how much this means to me." Your gratitude oozed out of you. You gave him your name once the confirmation of your uber had come through.
“I’m Simon.” He responds. The idea of you sitting in an uber with a stranger was definitely disconcerting. “Here, let me give you my number. I want to make sure you get home just fine.” He held his hand out expectantly and you placed your unlocked phone in his hand.
“That’s very kind of you…” A swell of gratitude enveloped you as you looked at him, your eyes filled with a profound appreciation for the stranger who had become your unexpected savior. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your night.”
He shook his head “Do not apologize, it wasn’t your fault. You had the right idea comin’ up to me.”
You looked down at your phone after it pinged then held up up, wiggling it slightly to indicate the arrival of your uber. The two of you stood up and he made a gesture allowing you to go first. He followed you out of the crowded building and you pointed at the car that had come to take you home. The chill in the air pierced through you like a thousand icy needles, causing you to shudder involuntarily as you stepped out into the night. “Thank you again.” You crossed your arms tight to your chest in effort to warm up.
Ghost unslung his jacket, draping it over your shoulders as a shield against the biting cold. A true gentlemanly gesture that had no ulterior motive other than his concern for your well-being. Your cheeks flushed warmly at the gesture and you hoped he would blame the blush on the cold.
“It’s no problem at all. Don’t forget to text me when you’re home safe.” He opens the car door for you and you settle in the back seat.
“It was nice meeting you.” You respond. The two of you exchange a smile and a nod. In that fleeting exchange, an unspoken bond had woven itself between you two, a connection forged in your vulnerability. He shut the door and watched as the car pulled away.
As the Uber drove away from the dimly lit bar, you got settled in the back seat, wrapped in Simon’s jacket. Its familiar warmth a reminder of the stranger who had come to your aid. The events of the evening played out in your mind like a vivid tableau.
The unspoken understanding between the two of you lingered in your thoughts as the Uber drove longer. Your apartment wasn’t too far away from the bar so before you knew it the familiar building came into view. You gripped at the comforting fabric of the jacket, now guilty for leaving him without his own way to combat the chill in the air. As the Uber came to a halt you thanked the driver humbly before hurrying into the apartment complex and up the stairs to your home.
Your mind found itself looping around the thought of Simon and how kind he was to you. Why you felt safe going up to this masked man puzzled you, but regardless you thought you made the right choice. You made sure to lock your door and went around to shut and lock all your windows, still on edge from the previous events. Pulling out your phone, you went to your contacts to find a new one amidst all the others. You pulled up a new text thread titled with his name and you typed up a message:
‘Home safe and sound. Thank you again Simon :)’
-
Masterlist
#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#cod#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#mw2#modern warfare ii#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#cod ghost#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare 2019#modernwarfare
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(both this and previous chaper on AO3 - we're getting into some of Eli's less charming personality traits here, so, yknow. Proceed at own risk.)
Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - internal monologue
It’s T plus twenty one and Robbie never wants to pilot a jaeger again.
He readjusts his (the jaeger’s) grip on the deep gash in the demon’s hide and punches it again, and again. He’s fairly sure his eardrums will never be the same again from the deafening scream it makes when The Charger’s (his) fist connects with it’s ugly snout. Logically, he knows the spray of corruption hitting the outer hull isn’t actually touching him, that it’s being immediately washed away by the ocean waves, but if it was up to him he’d be dropping the beast and backing away as quickly as he’s capable of.
Oh, get over yourself. He pulls his arm back, The Charger following suit less than a thought later, and throws the length of the chain that serves as The Charger’s primary melee weapon over the demon’s head. It wraps around its thick neck and Robbie has to dig The Charger’s feet into the ocean floor not to be dragged along when it bucks. This is the fun part!
He’s not having fun. He was supposed to be taking pot-shots at the beasties swimming ahead of the demon. He wasn’t supposed to even see actual combat. Captain Danvers told him to stay back. What the hell is wrong with him? Can you not just enjoy something for five goddamn minutes? Focus, it’s going for a bite—
Razorback roars and swerves left. It's not a conscious decision to raise his arm and bring the jaeger’s elbow down on its flat head, but the resounding crack feels extremely satisfying. Coyote Tango is right there to take over, grabbing the demon’s tail to fling it deeper into the ocean, the chain going taunt in his hands.
“Charger, stand clear,” he hears. Clear of what? Fuck that, you’ve got it. Reel it back! “Charger, move before you get hit!”
Robbie drops the chain in panic – move where? Before he can even begin figuring out the display screens, he’s already moving, pulled along in a wave of the grey-blue memory. He’s looking at his dad – he knows it’s him in the other console, even with the helmet covering his face – and barks pull left, now! The jaeger trips, its shoulder hitting the water before he manages – just – to right it. He has no idea what’s the protocol for collecting a jaeger from underwater, and by this point LOCCENT might just leave him there.
He did dodge a laser beam from Romeo Blue’s reactor cannon by a hair though. It hits Razorback directly in its open maw, its black blood spilling into the ocean like an oil slick. Show-stealers.
Fuck you, he thinks to himself. You’re not a hero, you don’t know what you’re doing and you shouldn’t. Be. Here.
Hey, the demon came at us! If the heroes were doing their job—
There it is. He can feel something shift in the drift, like a pebble in his boot rolling somewhere he can’t ignore it. It’s so much harder to chalk it up to exhaustion when he’s one hundred percent, absolutely sure that if he turned his head to look, he would see someone else in the empty console on his right.
Now that’s crazy talk. Go on, look. No one’s there.
I know!
“Charger, status report.”
He looks up from the water; Eden Assassin is grappling the demon in its dying throes, Coyote Tango reading to deliver the final blow. “Uh.” His eyes move to the status display of their own volition. If he can read it, can’t they? They’re checking you haven’t fried your brain, dumbass. Haven’t I? “All systems functional. Minor damage to the right hand—” he bites down on ‘from all the damn punching’. His voice is all wrong, like he’s trying to put on an accent.
There’s some crackling on the other end of the comm, as if the hardware itself could tell he was about to make a terrible joke. “Copy that. Try to find that chain before it winds up on a beach somewhere, huh?”
Razorback’s head sinks under the surface of the ocean. Is it dead? Oh God, it’s dead. Please be dead. Coyote Tango grabs it by the spike on the back of its head – it must be dead.
Oh yeah it’s dead. He doesn’t feel the intense satisfaction radiating from that sentence, but when he glances to the second console, it’s still just empty rigging. Give it a rest, would you?
Robbie must be going insane.
Well, what else is new.
It’s T plus twenty four, or rather T minus however long until the next predicted arrival.
Most rangers go up into the helicopters for extraction – with the drift shut down after the fight, nobody wants to spend six hours flying back to Hong Kong when a military aircraft can take you there in two – but Robbie decided to stay put.
“I can come down if you need help detaching,” Cho offers. Robbie didn’t realise until then he came along rather than staying behind on LOCCENT bridge.
“It’s fine,” he says after a moment to make sure it’s him speaking. Really? “Can you, uh, mute me?”
“Ah,” there is a pause. “Look, if you need to freak out—”
“Can you mute me or not?”
“Sure, sure. I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you, though.”
You don’t actually believe he won’t listen.
There’s a soft click in his comm link, then static. Good enough. He reaches to pluck it out of his ear, then turns to look at the second console – empty.
“What,” he asks, feeling faintly ridiculous, “the fuck was that.”
Silence. He’s tempted to pull his helmet back on, to get back into the drift and dig into one of those flash-and-gone memories that can’t possibly be his. There is no way to hide that from mission control, though, and you can’t risk them knowing you’re losing the plot.
There. If he pays attention – and he’s definitely paying attention now, even though every bone in his body feels like it’s on fire – it’s not him. Thorough the fight, he’s been more and more aware of it with every decision he made just before he had any way of knowing it was an option. The chain – he knew about the chain, he saw it’s containment unit on The Charger’s blueprints, he saw it in the old footage from when his dad was piloting – but he didn’t practice with it. Brooks was going to pull out some ropes in training after his first run. There is a perfectly functional extendable staff in the jaeger’s arm he was supposed to have used instead.
Maybe you have superpowers.
What are you?
Does it matter? We saved the day together.
Robbie remembers every questionnaire he’d filled out over the weeks. Do you, or have you in the past, heard someone speak despite being alone in the room? Something cold spills inside his stomach.
You’re jumping to conclusions. You’ve heard the doc, your brain drifts a little, that’s all.
I don’t know how to fight like the rangers do. I don’t know how to account for water currents when charging at a fucking demon. You’ve been training day and night for weeks. Not enough! I shouldn’t know any of these things! I shouldn’t remember what dad looked like when he was drafted!
No response. He concentrates on the sliver of presence he’s been feeling, but it’s like looking at one of those optical illusion pictures – the harder he tries, the less sense it makes.
He needs to– there must be someone he could ask. The head tech, Canelo, he said he was around ten years ago. And Ivanov–
Let me lay this out for you. He can’t help but glance to the empty console. Remember that time you were fifteen, and little Gabriel wouldn’t eat his fucking dinner?
Robbie freezes. It wasn’t about Gabe.
Of course not. Nobody cared how hungry you were, or how hard you worked to pay for it. You lose control, you get put away. Think this time it will be any different? Think the wonks in R&D care what happens to you if you don’t perform to specification?
How do you– I am you. He barely saw Gabe for a year. And here they have a whole place set up for kids like him. They don’t need you to take him off their hands. They barely need you to be doing this. Show one crack, see how long until they find a less… troublesome test subject.
Robbie stares at the status displays for a long moment. Drift inactive, it says. He reaches for his comm link.
“Cho?” It takes a moment before his ping gets an acknowledgement. “I changed my mind. Get me out of here.”
#ghost rider pacific rim au#robbie reyes#eli morrow#also starring: eli's brand of peaceful negotiations#ugh post post post before I spend any longer rewriting the same three sentences
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Turn and Face the Strange
Read on AO3 | Written for the X-Files Flicked Switch Fanfic Exchange
My second ever fic. A million thank yous to @dsmulder4u for the prompt, and to @cecilysass for the incredible beta, feedback and advice 🙏❤️
A late night conversation - some truths are revealed. Missing scenes in the middle of 'Rush'.
“I spy with my little eye, something... chartreuse,” Mulder said, inching the Taurus forward. I-95 was a sea of red taillights.
“Come on, at least make me work for it,” Scully said. “Mountain Dew bumper sticker, Buick Skylark, three cars ahead.”
Mulder sighed. “This game’s no fun with you. I should start playing with Skinner.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll try not to be so aware of my surroundings.”
“Please,” he agreed. “It's the least you could do.”
“I just thought, those details aren’t going to notice themselves. Silly me.”
“Downright absurd of you,” he said. “Stay in your lane, Scully. Leave the details to the details.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the time of David Bowie’s Changes, which was crackling softly on the radio.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was slow going,” he said.
They’d decided to head back to DC after leaving the police station and grabbing a bite to eat, anticipating the same bumper-to-bumper traffic Scully had crawled through that morning to get to the Pittsfield, Virginia morgue. Mulder had wanted to deliver the evidence locker surveillance tape to Chuck Burks ASAP, he’d said, so the man could work his spooky tech magic. Scully knew Mulder hoped Chuck would substantiate his theory – find hard evidence of a force, a specter, a poltergeist – whatever alleged entity was seemingly responsible for the theft of the murder weapon.
Scully didn’t know how the flashlight had vanished. But a terrestrial suspect was far more likely, and if she had to lay odds, one mired in the turmoils of adolescense, as her partner would say.
The case had intrigued Scully. And if she was honest, she was drawn to it simply because it felt lighter than their usual fare. Yes, the Sheriff's deputy had been brutally murdered, flashlight through the skull. Yes, a 16-year-old kid, whom she was inclined to believe was innocent, was terrified, in serious trouble and on the verge of throwing his life away.
But for once, there was no conspiracy. There were no alien forces at work. There were no cigarette smokers slinking in the shadows, no black oil, no toxic green blood, no bad remnants of a sci-fi b-movie, no fraught hospital bedside vigils. They were both clear-headed, whole, healed – as much as possible anyway – and by God, they were constantly smiling at each other.
And she was still remembering his lips, pressed flush and warm against hers at the stroke of midnight, ushering in a new millennium.
Well, she amended, not technically. 2001, etc, etc. But it felt like something new. It felt like the start of a possibility.
“Whatcha thinking?” he asked, crunching a seed he’d grabbed from the bag tucked into the car console and licking salt from his index finger.
From the passenger seat she watched his long, thick digit disappear into his mouth. God.
“Max Harden is bad news,” Scully said.
“Hmm,” Mulder said. “He definitely wants to play the bad boy. I’m not sure if that makes him a murderer, though. Maybe. Or maybe he’s just showing off for his girlfriend.”
Scully thought of Chastity and involuntarily bristled, then chastised herself for the juvenile feeling. She wasn’t sure she wanted to examine it very closely. The girl had shamelessly checked out her partner and Mulder had done a double take. She’d leveled him with a look, and he’d chuckled sheepishly, and that was that. But she worried about her reaction. She knew she had a possessive streak running below the surface, buried deep like a copper vein.
It tended to flare whenever he got appreciative glances from waitresses, rental car agents, flight attendants, or even the more overt come-ons from the Shelia Fontaines who seemed to inhabit every pocket of small town America. Wherever they went, women were undressing him with their eyes. Not that she could really blame them. She had eyes herself.
“You think so?” Scully said. “Just showing off?”
“Well, you know, the rebel persona – cliched as it sounds – when it comes to women, it has a certain appeal,” he said, clearing his throat. “Or so I’m told.”
Scully absorbed that token of information. She thought of what she privately labeled “Covert Ops Mulder” – black leather jacket, black turtleneck, two days worth of scruff and sweat – breaking into top-secret biotech facilities, jumping onto speeding train cars, eyes ablaze with recklessness, vengeance or virtue. She had to admit, it was hot. It was the same Mulder she imagined lying awake in the dark, save the glow of the TV, reclined on his leather couch surrounded by sticky VHS tapes, hand wrapped around his cock.
She flushed.
“Hmm,” she said. “Not speaking from experience, are you?”
He grinned. “Who, me? You know me, Scully, I’m like an altar boy on Sunday.”
She shook her head and smiled. She shouldn’t encourage him.
Mulder glanced her way, eyes playful. After a beat he returned his attention to the road.
“Hopefully Chucky can crack this one open,” he said, switching tack, punctuating it with a crunch of another seed. “Wanna grab dinner tonight? We can go over case notes at my place.”
****
They were slouched shoulder-to-shoulder on Mulder’s couch, papers and Thai takeout containers strewn across the coffee table.
He was chewing his nail, eyes scanning Tony Reed’s police statement for about the fifteenth time.
“Mulder, when Tony said he got to the woods –” Scully started, but got distracted by the pink flesh of his tongue running across the jagged edge of a hangnail.
“Huh?” he said, dropping the finger from his mouth and turning to face her. He was surprisingly close, his mossy green eyes looking into hers, their noses almost touching. She forgot the rest of her sentence. An inch forward and she could give him a bunny kiss. Which was not the kind of kiss she usually thought about when she thought about kissing him. Which was embarrassingly often.
She leaned slightly towards him, drawn like a magnet, feeling his gentle breath across her cheek. He radiated heat, and she could smell the notes of his cologne – woodsmoke and sage and sandalwood. She had the urge to play with his tie again – if he hadn’t flung it off hours ago – to grab it and pull him into her, pressing his perfect full lower lip to hers, slipping her tongue against his.
His cell phone rang. He leaned back, noticibly irritated, searching for the source of the sound, and eyed the device on his desk. He rose to answer it.
“Mulder,” he said.
Scully swallowed back both disappointment and relief. She sat up and started tidying the coffee table, collecting food containers and trash.
“Thanks a million, Chuck,” Mulder said into the phone. “We’ll meet you at the office first thing in the morning.” A pause. “Any hints?”
Scully made her way into his kitchen, depositing the rubbish in the bin under Mulder’s dish-filled sink.
“Right,” she heard him say from the living room. “Yes, that’s no problem. Alright, thanks again.” He clicked off.
“That was Chuck,” he yelled.
Scully walked back into the living room. “So I gathered,” she said. “He find something?”
“I think so, but he wouldn’t divulge much over the phone. He ran the footage through a couple of cool new toys – said the results were surprising. He’ll give us the full rundown tomorrow.”
She felt the weight of the day hit her suddenly, and the familiar urge to retreat after a charged moment. “Okay,” she said with a yawn. “Maybe I should get out of your hair then. We’ve gone over the file so many times I can’t really see straight.”
He shrugged, his gaze straying down her body and then back up to her face. “Stay for a drink.”
Something warm and fluttery settled in her gut. Against her better judgment, she accepted.
****
“What were you like in high school, Mulder?” she asked, sipping her beer.
It was late, and he was invading her personal space, face soft and open.
He took a sip of his own drink, thinking about the question.
“I was... coping,” he said finally.
“Most of the time I put my head down and buried myself in school work. Extra credit, honors curriculum – anything to get myself as far away as possible. I applied to schools all over Europe, schools on the west coast. I couldn’t put Martha’s Vineyard in my rear view mirror fast enough.”
“What about the rest of the time?”
“The rest of the time… I might not have made the best decisions. I was angry. I was trying to keep things together at home, keep my mom functioning. My dad was just silent, drinking, absent. I was furious with them both for making me be the parent. And I blamed myself for what happened.”
She swallowed back a wash of empathy and anger. God, everything he’d gone through – every person who had failed him. She wished she’d known him then. She would have held him to her fiercely, destroyed anyone who hurt him.
“Imagine we’d met in high school,” she said.
“You probably wouldn’t have liked me,” he said.
“I would have.”
He smiled. “That would have been something. Wow, a young Dana Scully.” He elbowed her gently in the ribs. “You definitely were a Betty, by the way. Some things never change. I bet all the boys fought over who got to be your lab partner.”
She snorted. “If they did, it was only because they knew they’d get an A.”
She thought of herself then – introverted, studious, desperate to be taken seriously, aching to make Ahab proud. Sneaking out with Missy to parties, secretly thrilled, feeling guilty about it for weeks afterwards and burying herself in books like an act of contrition. If Mulder had known her then he wouldn’t have given her a second glance.
Mulder shrugged. “I doubt that’s true. And if it is – well – boys are idiots.”
“And what about you?” she said. “You must have done alright yourself. All that angst, all that personal tragedy. Oxford bound, basketball and swim team captain – young Fox Mulder must have been beating them off with a stick.”
He laughed. “I might have been beating something off, but it wasn’t prospective dates,” he said.
She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink.
“Seriously,” she said. “No girlfriends?”
“There may have been one or two,” he said. “Nothing serious. Although when you’re sixteen, everything feels serious.”
“You mean no one seriously fell for that trademark Fox Mulder charm?”
He cocked his head. “I have trademark charm?”
“Come on Mulder,” she said. “You must realize the effect you have on people. On females, in particular.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do tell.”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said. “I’ve seen it a hundred times over. It doesn’t matter where we are – you flash a smile and they… react. They get ideas. Like Chastity today at the police station."
Mulder rolled his eyes. “She’s a kid, Scully. I mean, flattering that I might inspire teen admiration, but a kid’s a kid.”
She waved her hand, conceding the point. “Yes well, that’s just an example,” she said. “I’ve got plenty of others. And you do lay it on especially thick when you want something. Why do I get the feeling that started at a young age?”
He grinned. “Did I just hear, on the record, that Dana Scully thinks I’m charming?”
She shook her head, a parade of women running through her brain, that same possessiveness roiling in her gut. That wolf woman, Bambi, Detective White. Detective White. That damned case, she thought. Mulder had been infuriating and insufferable and unprofessional and she had understood with a clarity she’d never known before how much she truly wanted to fuck him.
“I admit nothing,” she said.
“Does it work on you?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she said. I see it coming a mile away.”
He nodded, scanning her face, a half smile lingering on his lips. “Especially when I want something,” he said.
****
They were both three drinks in and he was kissing her, really kissing her, his hot tongue plunging inside her mouth. Irresponsible, she thought. Thank God.
One of his big hands was cradling the back of her head, the other was holding her at the hip as his body pressed hers into the couch. She could feel him rigid against her belly. She was feverishly hot and out of breath and soaking wet and she should absolutely stop this right this second. She kissed him harder, snaking her hand around the back of his neck to draw him closer. She was out of her mind, blissed out, her nerve endings fried. And they still had all their clothes on.
Mulder pulled back first, coming up for air. He was panting, wild eyed, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ear. She saw questions in his face. But also something that looked like certainty.
“Wow,” he said.
She kissed him again, slow and deep, like taking the first drink of water after years spent wandering through the desert. If you drink too fast you choke.
He pulled back again, pecking her lips, kissing her cheek and her temple, and pressing his forehead to hers.
“Scully...” he started, then fell silent.
The enormity of the moment hit her square in the chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She frowned, pulling away, defenses poised.
“No, I just mean – this wasn’t the right time to start this,” he said. “We’re in the middle of a case, we’re meeting Chuck in seven hours, we’ve been drinking–”
Trust Mulder to choose now to be reasonable for the first time in his life.
“It’s the perfect time,” she said, eyes turning glassy.
“I just want to do it right is all,” he said, cupping her cheek. “It’s you.”
“It didn’t feel right?”
He closed his eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean,” he said. “Of course it felt right. It felt like the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“Me, too,” she said.
“It felt unbelievable,” he said.
“This from the man who’ll believe just about anything.”
He smiled. She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He lifted their hands, brushing his lips across her knuckles.
“You – this – God, Scully, it means everything to me.”
She nodded, overwhelmed.
“I think… with us, Mulder… how can there be a wrong way?” she said. “There’s only forward, there’s only together.”
He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. She rested her face against his neck, breathing him in.
“After the case is finished, let me take you on a date,” he said.
She chuckled. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said.
She had been everywhere with Mulder. He’d been the face across the table at a thousand greasy diners, he’d been asleep on the other side of countless motel room walls, he’d been next to her through endless road trips, hands steady on the wheel as their high beams pierced the dark. They’d played a million games of Rummy and Go Fish, biding their time in airport lounges, McMurdo station, quarantine.
He was there through cancer, through Missy’s death, her pillar through every one of her saddest and most terrifying moments. Beside him, she’d had the space to develop into her professional best. He’d given her agency and contributions the respect and value they deserved, and the work had been better for them.
He’d protected her, he’d saved her, he’d shouted at her, he’d infuriated her, he’d told her bad jokes, he’d told her the truth, he’d held her hand. And vice versa.
He’d shown her ghosts on Christmas Eve and a baseball diamond for her birthday, even though he was months early or months late.
She had absolutely no idea what a date with him would bring.
“Okay,” she said. “I’d love to.”
He dropped a kiss on her head, then pressed his cheek to her hair.
“Good,” he said, “good.”
They held each other for a few moments. She didn’t want to let him go.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” she said. “But Mulder – I’m not waiting another seven years to kiss you.”
He laughed, pulling back to look her in the eyes. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he cupped her face. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers firmly, with reverence and intent. A promise.
“Deal,” he whispered.
#the x files#xfiles fanfic#x files#dana scully#fox mulder#xfiles rush#fanfic exchange#x files fanfic
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Food for the Soul
Prompts: Prompt for ye: Logan with misophonia - anon
Fully adult DLAMPR human qpr au. Like they've got their lives together and they're having a great time! they know what they want and they've got it! They are the most important people in each others' lives and it's not romantic or sexual in the slightest :)))))))
plz and than uuu :)) - anon
sanders sides, food as love language sort of fic? - anon
Read on Ao3
Warnings: misophonia
Pairings: DLAMPR
Word Count: 3463
“Hey, Pat! You coming, or what?”
“In a minute!” Patton dusts the flour off of his hands. “I just want to clean up a bit first!”
“You all good in there? You want help?”
He glances around at the flour-covered surfaces and the bowls scattered a bit haphazardly around. “Um, if someone wouldn’t mind?”
“I got—oh. Logan’s on his way!”
Sure enough, a few moments later, Logan rounds the corner and blinks, smiling a little bewildered as Patton waves sheepishly. “Hello, Patton. Did you…succeed?”
“Yes!” He holds up the pan covered with a damp towel. “All ready and good to go!”
“Ah. Congratulations. What recipe did you say this was for?”
“A focaccia bread. They said it was super beginner friendly and didn’t involve too much kneading, which is good for me because—“
“Pain?”
“Pain and bones, yeah.” Patton shakes his head and moves to the sink to wash the flour and oil off. “But it won’t be ready until tomorrow, so don’t tell the others.”
“We can sort of hear you!”
“Oh my god, Princey, shush.”
“Sorry!”
“You know it really doesn’t work if you yell it.”
Logan chuckles, shaking his head as he fetches the paper towels and cleaning spray. “Don’t worry, Patton, I’m sure they’ll behave.”
“It’s not like this dough is appetizing, it just looks kind of gross.”
Logan peeks under the towel and makes a face. “Well, yes, I’d have to agree, but you know how Remus is.”
Patton giggles. “You mean why we don’t let him in the kitchen while I’m baking anymore?”
“These walls are thin,” comes Remus’s voice, “I can hear it when you say my name.”
“Just talking about your eating habits,” Logan says, raising his voice slightly, “and how you’re not to touch the tray with the towel over it.”
“Aww, that just makes me want to touch it even more!”
“Remus,” Patton calls, “please don’t.”
“I’m only fucking with you, Pat-Pat, I won’t.”
“Now that we’ve got that sorted out,” comes Janus’s drawl, “can we please stop yelling?”
Logan and Patton chuckle as they hear mumbled apologies from the other room. Logan shakes his head and continues cleaning the counter as Patton turns off the sink.
“Thank you for baking,” he says as Patton dries his hands, “I’m sure it will taste wonderful.”
“Oh, no worries, I really wanted to try it. Because bread is so good—“ Logan chuckles again— “but also, I feel like I haven’t made something for everybody recently. Like…we did the cookies for Remus’s thing but Janus couldn’t have those, and then Virgil doesn’t really like cupcakes and you’re not big on brownies. But bread…”
“Bread everyone can eat.” Logan smiles at him. “Very clever.”
“It’s more fun to enjoy it with everyone.”
“Speaking of which,” Logan says, politely shepherding a now-clean Patton back to the living room, “the movie’s about to start.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going, I’m going.”
2.
“Hey, Remus? Did you go to the store already?”
Remus pulls out an earbud and glances up. “Huh? Sorry, auditory processing, what?”
“No, you’re good. Did you go to the store yet?”
“Yeah, went with Ro this morning. Put all the stuff away too.”
“Wait, you did? I didn’t see the breakfast bar box.”
“Oh, that’s in the cupboard.”
“Which…which one?”
Remus frowns, taking out the other earbud. “The—the one where the cereal goes. Is everything okay? Virgil? Wait—Virgil—!”
Virgil’s already jogging to the kitchen, heart in their throat as they rifle through the cabinets. They spot a familiar box and breathe a sigh of relief when they see it’s unopened. They snag it and clutch it to their chest, shutting the cabinet.
“Uh, hey.”
They’re not proud of the way they startle when Remus’s voice sounds from behind them, turning around to see him leaning against the kitchen wall. He waves, a slight furrow to his brows.
“You…good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
Remus levels a stare at them. “Virgil, you just came down to ask me a question and then scampered off like a little squirrel worried about someone raiding their nut storage.”
They shuffle a little. “Yeah, and what about it?”
“Virgil.”
They sigh, shoulders slumping. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”
“Virgil, I’m the last person in this house who’s gonna laugh at you for something, and you know damn well no one else will either. I’ll kick their asses and Pat-Pat would probably help.” Remus steps closer, lowering his voice to keep anyone else from accidentally overhearing. “You can tell me, Emo, ’s okay.”
Virgil shuffles a little more, curling their arms protectively around the cardboard box. “These ‘re my comfort food.”
“Your comfort food?”
“Mhm. When I can’t eat things. Need these. Gotta have them.”
“And you…felt uncomfortable because they were in a common area where anyone could’ve taken them?” Virgil nods. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”
“’S not your fault,” they mumble, “you didn’t know.”
“No, I didn’t, but I know now.” Remus jerks his head toward the kitchen. “Do you wanna have, like a little box that your comfort foods go in? So everyone knows not to touch those? That way when I come back from the store I can just plop ‘em right in there.”
“…I like having it in my room.”
“Okay, that’s cool too. Do you know where you want me to put them when I do come home from the store?”
“Just—just like, let me know when you do?”
Remus frowns. “But you’re not always home.”
Virgil scratches the back of their head. “Then yeah, let’s do—let’s do a box.”
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No, no, that’s a good idea. And it’ll help me remember to come out and see you guys.”
Remus perks up. “You wanna come with me on the next Target run so we can go pick out a good one with all the stickers?”
“…can we go now?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely we can go now, lemme put shoes on.”
Virgil smiles as Remus darts off to the front of the house. They look down at the box in their arms and pat the cardboard.
…they’re pretty sure Remus won’t mind if they hold onto it for a little longer.
3.
Roman can’t stop grinning. This is it! Everyone’s coming home tonight and they’re gonna get to eat dinner together and then watch a movie and everyone’s going to be home.
Logan’s been out of town for a business trip this past week and yes, okay, he’s really proud of Logan because he’s so impressive at being an adult and doing things that are difficult and adult-y but he misses him.
Yes, they text almost every night, what’s your point?
And Patton’s been doing late afternoon shifts at the animal shelter and that means he gets home late and Roman loves him, he really does, but he also needs to eat food and he can’t always wait for Patton to come home.
And then Virgil and Remus have been spending more time together lately just exploring the city and that’s great, really, it is, he’s so thrilled that they get more time to themselves but that means they also go out to eat a lot more and that means it’s normally just Janus and Roman at home.
Which is really great, he and Janus don’t always have time to hang out and they’ve got so many inside jokes now it’s great, it’s so much fun—but Janus sometimes acts like there’s not really a point in sitting down to dinner when it’s just the two of them so he’ll eat on his own and then it’s just Roman.
But tonight, everyone is here and they’re all coming home and Roman hasn’t been able to stop smiling all day.
“You look happy,” Janus’s voice says from behind him and he turns around, seeing the soft smile on his face, “it’s a good look on you.”
“Everything is a good look on me.”
Janus hums, coming up to sling his arms around Roman’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. “What’re you so pleased about, sweetie?”
“Everyone’s coming home tonight,” he says giddily, stirring the massive pot of pasta, “and we get to have dinner again and I’m so happy about it.”
Janus chuckles and he can feel the warmth of it through his back. “Ah, I see.”
“Can you pull the garlic bread out of the oven?”
“You made garlic bread?”
“Yes,” Roman says proudly, “I did.”
“Wow, you really went all out.”
“I’m just really excited that everyone’s gonna be home for dinner, okay?”
Janus chuckles as he slides the tray out. “Oh, this smells amazing.”
“Ah!” Roman slaps his hand lightly as he reaches for a piece. “Wait.”
“Oh, come on, just one?” Janus turns his big pleading gaze on Roman who does his best to glare back. “Don’t you want to check if it’s good before you serve it to everyone?”
“This is the same recipe we’ve all had before, Janus, we all know it’s good.”
“Which is why I want one.”
“Are you trying to steal food?” Virgil materializes behind them and carefully wraps their arms around Janus’s waist. “Come on, J, come sit at the table with me and Patton.”
“But garlic bread,” Janus whines dramatically, letting himself be pulled away regardless.
Roman just shakes his head fondly, quickly plating both the pasta and the garlic bread, grabbing the vegetables too. He’s not a moment too soon; he can hear Remus’s excited pronouncement that their favorite nerd is home and Logan’s subsequent mobbing.
“Let me sit,” he hears too, the fond exasperation leaning far more fond than exasperated, “then I’ll answer all your questions.”
“Hey, Ro, you need help with the food?” Remus’s eyes widen when he sees Roman carrying everything out. “Okay, never mind, wow, that’s scary.”
Janus snorts. “You see all the shit you do and watch all the horror you watch and that’s scary?”
Roman’s far too focused on the way Logan’s eyes soften when he sees Roman’s made his favorite and the little please smile on his face. He sets the food down and presses a quick kiss to Logan’s temple.
“Welcome home,” he says softly, sitting down, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Now, who had dibs on first question?”
“Me!”
“No, you asshole, I did!”
Roman laughs along with Logan as he takes in the full table and still-steaming food. He’s so happy everyone’s home for dinner tonight.
4.
Remus whistles happily as he walks in the front door, his pockets laden with goodies as he kicks his shoes off. “Hey, where are you all?”
Patton pokes his head out from the living room. “Remus? You’re back!”
“Pat-Pat!” Remus digs through his pockets and finds the little blue bag with the happy face sticker on it. “I got you a thing!”
“A thing?” Patton takes it carefully. “Thanks, Remus! What is it?”
“Candy from the market. It’s the chewy sweet toffee you really like, got it from this old lady who looked like the epitome of every single, like, aspirational witch aesthetic mood board.”
Patton gasps, throwing his arms around Remus in a hug. “Thank you! Oh my goodness, I’m going to enjoy this so much.”
Remus chuckles. “I’m glad. You know where the others are?”
“Logan is in his room working, I think, and I know Janus and Roman were in the den.”
He tips a lazy two-fingered salute Patton’s way, stepping around the cane at the end of the couch and heading up the stairs. He gets to Logan’s door and knocks.
“Come in?”
“Hey, Lolo, you busy?”
“I’ve got one moment, why?” Logan looks over and spots the bag dangling from Remus’s hand. “What’s that?”
“Present for you.”
“Mm, a present?” He stands up and holds his hand out. “May I?”
Remus plops it down and he fiddles with the drawstring, opening it up to reveal a bag of toasted and seasoned nuts.
“…are these…?”
“The ones you loved from the festival last year, yeah.” He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Saw the same stall again and knew you needed a bag.”
“Oh, thank you, Remus,” Logan says, smiling at him, “I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, Lolo. You get back to work so you can actually eat dinner with us tonight, okay?”
Logan rolls his eyes fondly and nods, stepping back to let Remus close the door and continue his way to the den. He can hear them laughing before he gets there and opens the door to see both of them rolling on the floor, clutching their stomachs.
“The fuck happened to you two?”
Roman just holds up his phone. Remus squints at it as the video plays and promptly snorts.
“Wait, how many sheep is that?”
“The whole flock,” Janus manages, “they—they got lost and so—so they just fucking followed her—“
“Oh my god, that’s so many sheep. Why is that so many sheep? Where did they come from? Where did they go?” Remus shakes his head as Roman collapses again, still cackling. “Where did they come from, Cotton Eyed Joe?”
Roman swats weakly at his leg as he drags himself up. “I hurt, that hurts, oh, god. Ow.”
“Same,” Janus mumbles, dragging himself upright too, “did you need something, Remus?”
“Presents!”
They both perk up. “Presents?”
“We like presents.”
Remus fishes one bag out of each pocket and tosses one at Roman and the other at Janus. “Haunted ghost pepper chips for you and white cheddar skeleton bones for you.”
“Oh, shit, the graphic design on this is awesome.”
“You actually found white cheddar puffs?”
“Remus, you’re a legend and I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about you.”
Remus’s grin turns feral. “You gonna put that in writing?”
“Let’s not get carried away here.”
It’s his turn to throw his head back and laugh. “You guys know where our favorite nonbinary emo is?”
“Think they’re in their room?”
“Yeah, I saw ‘em in there like an hour ago.”
“Sweet. Thanks. Enjoy your flock of sheep.”
He closes the door behind him as they cackle off again and goes to Virgil’s door, knocking carefully.
“Hey, Emo? You in there?”
“Re? That you?”
“Yep, it’s me. Can I come in?”
“Mhm.”
He eases the door open carefully, smiling when Virgil waves at him from their bed. “Greetings and slut-nations.”
“Sup?” Virgil pulls one side of their headphones off their head. “You good?”
“Got a present for you.”
“An offering, hmm.” They extend a hand. “Present this to me.”
Remus does the full routine, kneeling and extending the little bag as if it’s the most precious jewels in the world, hiding a smile when Virgil snorts and snatches the bag.
“What’d you give me?”
“I went to the festival today and I saw they had these like, little candied spider treat things? Thought you might want to try them. I asked what they were, they said it was mostly sugar with something crunchy, nothing bad or anything.”
“Cool. These look dope.” They set the bag down and ruffle Remus’s hair. “Thanks, dude.”
“Sure thing!”
He bounds off, pockets empty and all presents delivered. He grins. Festival market days are his favorite.
5.
“Jan.”
Janus ignores it.
“Jan-Jan.”
Nope. Ignoring it.
“Jaaannyyyy.”
Roman sighs. “You know you can’t beat Remus’s annoyingness, Janus.”
He can try.
And promptly yelps when Remus pokes the soft part of his sides right where he’s ticklish, almost falling out of his chair.
“Remus!”
Which, of course, just makes Remus smirk victoriously, dragging Janus’s chair around and plopping on his bed with his hands tucked up under his chin. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Janus sighs, glancing at Roman who just shrugs and leans against the doorjamb, “what do you want?”
“You need to come eat.”
“I don’t have to do anything except pay taxes and die.”
“Janus,” Roman says gently and this is why the two of them are not allowed to team up, ever, because Remus will be annoying and persnickety but Roman will be all soft and concerned and it works so much better than any good-cop, bad-cop routine, “come eat, please. I haven’t seen you eat anything all day.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to eat,” Roman presses gently, “please, Janus, you know it’s not good when you don’t eat something all day.”
“You gave us permission to hold you accountable,” Remus sings, reaching out to poke his arm, “so come eat.”
Yes, he did do that, but he didn’t think they’d, like, actually do it.
Or be this persistent about it.
He yelps at another poke and Roman opens his arms, offering safety at the price of actually going to eat something. He gives in when Remus full-on grins at him and reaches out with both hands, quickly fleeing and letting Roman wrap him up with a chuckle.
“C’mon, Snakey,” Remus sings, leading the way, “food time!”
“Thank you,” Roman murmurs in his ear as they go, giving him a squeeze, “I know it’s hard to remember sometimes.”
Janus grumbles good-naturedly, only to let out a yelp of betrayal when Roman’s fingers brush over the spot too.
+1.
Logan takes a deep breath. Alright. He can do this. It’s not going to be an issue. They are all rational and mature adults and they have had similar conversations that have resulted in a discussion that has led to all parties being satisfied. No one has done anything in the the past to indicate that they will not listen to him or that they will be upset that he’s brought an issue to their attention.
This will be fine.
Still, seeing everyone seated in the living room, looking at him…
“I understand what Virgil means when they say that you’re all much more intimidating from this angle.”
Virgil snorts, looking away and resting their head on Patton’s shoulder. “We’re listening, L, promise.”
“Mhm.”
“Sure am.”
“We’re paying attention,” Roman adds, smiling softly, “whenever you’re ready.”
Alright. He takes a deep breath.
“I have misophonia.”
A pause. Then Patton shifts. “Can you explain what that is?”
“Is that the eating thing?”
“Not exactly.” Logan folds his hands behind his back. “It is a disorder of decreased tolerance to specific sounds or their associated stimuli. Hearing certain sounds can trigger intense irritation, disgust, and physical discomfort.”
“Okay, thank you for telling us. Do you feel comfortable explaining what sounds?”
“Remus wasn’t entirely wrong, for me it’s specific sounds that come when people are eating.”
Roman makes a soft noise. “Ah. I apologize if my asking that we eat together more often sets you off.”
“It’s alright, you didn’t know. I didn’t tell anyone.” He takes a deep breath. “And it’s not…all eating, it’s not all the time, and for the most part, it isn’t caused by any of you.”
Roman’s shoulders relax a little bit and he nods. Janus clears his throat.
“Could you—sorry—would you be comfortable telling us what does set it off?”
“Hearing people slurp—like pasta—or licking something off their fingers,” Logan lists, “certain crunching noises similar to biting into apples or pears, and the scraping of cutlery on plates are the main ones.”
They all nod.
“…that’s it,” he finishes, shifting a bit, “um…questions?”
“Do you want to stop joining us for dinner? Or have like, an out-clause?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at Virgil’s use of the phrase ‘out-clause.’ “No, that’s alright, I simply want some assurance that if I ask you to stop making a noise, you’ll understand why.”
“Shit, L, yeah, that’s fine.” Virgil glances up. “I think you were the one who spearheaded the whole rant about how awful society is to picky eaters, we ain’t gonna become hypocrites.”
Tension slides off his shoulders and he can see the idea take place behind Patton’s eyes before he’s holding out his arms.
“You want a cuddle?”
“Yes, please.”
Roman quickly catches Remus around the waist before he can lunge up and tackle Logan, instead letting him come to the couch and fall into their arms. Logan lets out a sigh, tucking his nose into the crook of Virgil’s neck.
“…also can we not have snacks during movie night tonight?”
“Sure thing, Lolo, whatever you want.”
He truly does love the people he lives with.
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#dragonbabbles#sanders sides#fic#roman sanders#remus sanders#sympathetic remus#janus sanders#deceit sanders#sympathetic deceit#logan sanders#virgil sanders#food cw#cw food
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Holy fuckin shit thank you so much! I’m so glad you like it (and caught the hints I threw in there when it came to Ale‘s true form) like i was legit blushing and giggling u can’t imagine
Your approval means a lot to me and I‘m absolutely loving the headcanons you and @instantpartykidrascal came up with! Those are bangers and had me cackling, especially the part about the shadows definitely thinking Graves fucks his car. bc he does
At what point does a crack au turn into a proper au? We should tread carefully O_o
Well, now we come hehe to the fun part. I‘ve never written robot smut before, so like, it could definitely be improved upon, but it exists and you will have to suffer through it lmao this picks up right after the first part, but i plan on posting all of it on ao3 if it’s more comfortable to read in one go fyi
Pls, enjoy this definitely not seriously treated crack!
Alejandro laughed, and Phillip was sure this was Alejandro, with the metallic sound and similar body language and the fire in his gaze that seemed to burn him from the inside out. "Not what you expected?" He didn’t know an answer to that, the other’s voice sounding so much richer like this. Phillip opened and closed his mouth, running his hand through his hair. His skin felt hot- was he blushing?! Why was he blushing? The alien, the car, had his car always been Alejandro? With the quiet whirr of a well-oiled machine, Alejandro moved closer, his face now inches away from the still speechless human. "Are you alright?" He sounded genuinely concerned and Phillip nodded quickly, not wanting him to worry.
"Yea, yeah uh, it’s just a bit… unexpected, y‘know. You being a car robot machine alien and all…" For fuck‘s sake, he sounded pathetic stuttering like that. He crossed his arms, but still couldn’t help the fidgeting once it started, his fingers drumming on his bicep, shifting his weight without actually removing himself from Alejandro’s orbit.
Cold metal touched his arm, effectively stilling his movement as his eyes jumped to look at the alien’s face and his heart skipped a beat. Shit. "I know it’s a lot to adjust to. Your heartbeat is quite irregular. Am I scaring you? Do you want me to leave?" If only he knew why Phillip‘s heart actually started its rampage, he‘d probably find it incredibly amusing.
Now that he thought about it, there wasn’t a reason not to tell him. He knew himself well enough to know this wouldn’t leave his mind anytime soon and being alone would make it way worse. "Please stay, I‘m just trying to not jump your bones right now."
Alejandro blinked a few times before sounding teasing when he responded. "I don’t have bones if that wasn’t obvious." Phillip groaned in annoyance.
"You know what I mean. Stop trying to distract me!" The alien chuckled and he felt his face grow even warmer at that. Watching Alejandro’s gears shift as he raised his hand to gently place it on his shoulder, he had to desperately hold himself back to not lean into it. He didn’t want to make the other uncomfortable, but seeing the restrained power with which he moved made Phillip‘s imagination go into overdrive. Just thinking about the strength with which he could ruin him made him realize a far bigger problem. Was it possible? It was pretty clear Alejandro was closer to a machine than an organism, but then again, he was able to change his appearance, able to change shape. What was stopping from taking a more… favorable shape?
"Phillip? Are you listening?" Oh no, no he wasn’t. Had the other been talking this whole time? What if he‘d said something important and Phillip hadn’t heard any of it because he was too lost in thought contemplating the technicalities of fucking the alien. Oh god, that was humiliating. He buried his face in his hands.
"I‘m sorry, you were saying?" The other‘s grip moved slowly, touching his neck. The metal felt so cool against his heated skin, it was such a relief. No, he should focus! Just then he heard Alejandro speak up again. There was a slight gravel to his voice, a rumbling quality usually only heard when he talked about a topic he had strong opinions on, when he was upset. Had Phillip upset him? Should he apologize a second time?
"You’re doing it again. Calm down, it feels like you are burning up." The human stopped himself from making a raunchy joke about that, but only just. Alejandro must’ve read his thoughts on his face though, as he grinned and winked before growing serious again. "Be honest, do you actually want this?"
Phillip had never nodded so fast in his life. Embarrassed, he slowed down and spoke up. "Yes, I want you. Please?" He wasn’t even sure what 'this' was, but he knew he wanted Alejandro, no matter if he was a handsome guy or giant robot. The thought hit him full speed. He was about to fuck a robot, or better yet, get fucked by one. Maybe he should ask, because in an amusing reversal of roles the alien seemed to have lost his speech. "So, how does this work?"
He really hoped the other knew the answer to that, because he didn’t. He had ideas, sure, but were they possible? Debatable. The whirring noise always present in the background since Alejandro had revealed himself got a bit louder before dying down again. "Hm, that is a good question. Would this work?" While voicing his question, his body seemed to shift. Despite the limited room in the garage, Phillip could watch very clearly as the other’s parts rearranged themselves to resemble something distinctly dick-shaped. Oh he would definitely need a lot of lube for that, but he could take it, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
Noticing his own staring, he quickly looked back into Alejandro’s eyes and grinned at him. He knew he must look a bit feral like this, pupils blown wide and heart rabbiting in his chest, but he couldn’t care less, especially when the fire in the other’s eyes seemed to burn brighter as well. "It‘ll do, I‘ll make sure of it. Just gotta go grab something real quick, yeah?"
He didn’t wait for an answer, eager to go grab lube from a secret stash he had just a few meters away in his hallway- for emergencies- and returned just a minute later back in the garage. As he stepped in, he got hit with the sheer size and mechanical beauty Alejandro was. Alejandro, who’s still slightly crouching, now staring directly at him with a tilt to his head. His gaze swept over Phillip’s body appreciatively. The human could feel himself blush again, as well as a heat start to pool in his stomach. It only took a few quick steps to reach the other again and he triumphantly held up the spoils of his arduous journey for him to inspect.
"Lubricant? Were you expecting this?" Alejandro sounded amused, chuckling when Phillip blushed even harder while shaking his head in denial. He hadn’t expected it, but god, he had hoped.
It was easy work getting rid of his clothing, Alejandro helping as much as he could, but still so very careful as to not hurt the human. He ended up in his lap. The alien slowly ran his hands across the other’s skin, his touch light. Phillip leaned into him, technically knowing he should expect the coolness of the metal, but still flinching lightly. He didn’t let it deter him, though and soon it was slowly warming up. It seemed to actually warm up from inside of the alien and Phillip felt powerful knowing he‘d been the one to cause such a reaction.
The more Alejandro touched Phillip, the more desperate he grew. Deciding he‘d had enough, he leaned away a bit, grabbing the lube and squeezing some of it onto his fingers. He was sure Alejandro could‘ve helped, but he wanted it to go as quickly as possible, so he settled for fingering himself open thoroughly while the other massaged his hips, whispering encouragements into his ear.
Once he deemed himself ready, he raised his gaze up at Alejandro, not having noticed he’d closed his eyes. He positioned himself, holding onto the other’s shoulder for stability, and chanced a glance downwards. Even looking at the large metal dick just inches away from where he wanted it had him biting his lip, trying not to whine. "Are you really sure?" Phillip looked back up at the other again. He knew Alejandro asked because he cared, but he was growing impatient. Leaning his forehead against the alien‘s, he tried to sound less breathless than he actually was.
"If I don’t get you inside me right now, I swear I‘ll loose my mind." He would’ve called what Alejandro did 'choking on his own spit' if he‘d been human, but in this case some of the alien‘s moving parts seemed to stutter before the quiet mechanical whirring that had become part of the background noise picked up in volume. Phillip grinned and slowly lowered himself.
He felt so full, it was ridiculous. The unforgiving metal inside of him wasn’t as cold as most other parts. He took deep breaths, slowly adjusting to the feeling of it filling him in every way possible. It felt like heaven. "Are you good?" He hummed and nodded, still adjusting.
Alejandro moved and Phillip almost screamed in ecstasy as he felt the vibrations of the machinery shoot through him, inside of him. He buried his face in the other’s chest, uncaring of its hardness, just seeking to be as close as possible.
"Move, please please please, move!" The alien answered by following his request. He desperately scrambled to hold onto Alejandro, any part of him, as the force of the thrusts felt like they shook his whole body. Any semblance of thought fled his mind, the only things he was able to concentrate on were Alejandro and the way his dick hit his prostate every single time. He soon came, screaming the other’s name.
It took a moment for him to recover any coherent thought. Distantly, he noted the slightly dried teartracks on his face and his own cum splattered all over the metal plates of Alejandro’s stomach. "Hm, sorry 'bout tha'." His speech was slurred, but luckily Alejandro understood him.
"It’s quite alright, I enjoyed myself. It’s good to know you did, too." Phillip couldn’t help but giggle.
"I very much did, holy fuck." They sat there together for another moment before he grew uncomfortable and stood up with Alejandro‘s help, wincing at how empty he felt. They cleaned up and Phillip threw on his shirt and boxers from before again, too lazy to get something new to wear.
Sitting together, the human on Alejandro’s lap with some of the couch‘s cushions for comfort, Phillip lazily traced the other’s visible circuits with his eyes. They talked a lot and cuddled as much as was possible with one party made of metal, swapping stories. Especially since Phillip now knew what Alejandro actually looked like, a lot of things he‘d told him made way more sense and he almost slapped himself for his obliviousness.
One thought had him pausing mid-sentence. "Wait, you were my car. Does that mean technically I‘ve been inside you before?" Alejandro froze immediately. Phillip would bet his entire life savings if cybertronians could blush, he definitely would be. When he stayed silent, the human started laughing; ignoring the other’s annoyed stare, he gave his cheek a quick peck as an apology, still grinning. Soon they settled for the night together, content as they could be.
uh um um uhh fhjadjakjd ily 👉👈 you're very sweet thank you 🥺
also like i think let's be real here. at this point the crack au already turned into a proper au and we need to embrace that. no turning back
that said,
AGAHDJAHSGAGFSFAFSGSKFJSKJ IM SO FUCKING FERAL FOR THIS LMAO
i love how alejandro is concerned that graves is scared/gonna kick him out/etc and meanwhile graves is literally the one lagging and overheating about to die from how horny he is rn
secret stash for emergencies huh. alejandro has every right to tease him about it. thank you for a healthy dose of alien robot smut this is just what the world needed. healed my heart
and the way they're soft and cuddly afterwards and share stories and stuff im 💙😩
ngl i was thinking about the "ur the car so I've been inside you already" joke before as well so me and graves share the same braincell on this one. i would totally say that too. go off. make your alien boyfriend flustered. i love that he managed to pull it off more than once. alejandro was not prepared for his levels of fucked up
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Please tell us more about the Korean barbecue.
Ask and ye shall receive.
general information:
in this economy, you pay $30 in the Korean-saturated city right next to mine to stroke your unlimited grilled meat craving. It can be a little noisy and dim if you frequent the more industrial-looking places. Someone basically hands you a menu and a few plates of raw meat. You take it from there. have fun!
grill, sides, sauces:
You’ll meet an extremely well-ventilated metal charcoal or gas grill that’s built into your table, accompanied by small side dishes (e.g. pickled radish, fermented cabbage, potato salad, soybean sprouts, kimchi, fish cakes, onions, vague pancakes, etc). these collective side snacks are known as banchan, and they compliment a free bowl of steamed rice and lettuce wraps. They are shared by everyone at the table, and you are not required to try them all. there are also sauces! The three I find the most often are ssamjang (fermented bean/red pepper paste; salty, mildly spicy, savory, and nutty), roasted sesame oil with salt and pepper (flavor profile ranges from neutral salty to toasted-rich-nutty salty), and cho ganjang (“brisket sauce;” sweet, tangy, and savory flavor based on soy-sauce, rice vinegar, sugar, water, garlic, onion, etc etc etc). some places may offer wasabi and soy sauce as a dipping option, they might mess around with tomato sauces, or maybe some lunatic might hand you sriracha aioli (spicy mayo). who knows.
protein:
the grill will be the center of attention. different char-grilled meats are going to go onto the grill. the grill will also be watched closely because it is on fire. pay attention to meat thickness and hot spots on the grill, because it will affect your timing. the order that you eat doesn’t matter, but i don’t recommend overloading yourself with heavier steaks or strong flavors consecutively. A carbonated drink may aid digestion.
Chadol baegi (unmarinated brisket): Thinly-sliced cuts of beef. no seasoning. sometimes rolled into pleasing cylinders. It’s a great first choice for its lightness, and encourages guests to try out their sauces and sides.
Bulgogi (marinated beef/pork): Thinly-sliced and complimented by a sweet and savory marinade (think pear, soy sauce, brown sugar, sesame oil, garlic, ginger, red pepper paste.) It’s a blast to discover this flavor and texture, especially when your palate needs a refresh. If you’re grilling at home (or wish to be thoughtful towards your kitchen staff), save the marinated cuts towards the end of the meal. sweet marinades like bulgogi quickly blacken your grill plate, which requires periodic changing.
Galbi / LA Galbi (marinated beef short rib / Korean-American ver.): A popular choice that my grocery store never supplies enough of. (curses!) Savory, fatty, tender, slightly sweet, and fun to gnaw on. Short ribs cut laterally across multiple rib bones (flank-style) originated in Los Angeles' Korean immigrant community, where home cooks resorted to the cheaper flanken-style ribs readily available at local Mexican markets.
Samgyeopsal (pork belly): A boneless cut of uncured, unsmoked fatty meat sliced into slightly thick pieces during and after grilling. After a bit of additional curing, brining, and extra-thin slicing, it becomes American bacon. Lots of KBBQ restaurants will showcase a variety of marinades using pork belly!
Other types of protein available:
your servers are going to be your attractive homies
Seafood (Shrimp, octopus, squid), Chicken (spicy, non-spicy, marinated), Beef Intestines & Tongue (you can always ask for a very small serving sample to try! do not stress about asking for half-plates if it’s your first time, or if you have a small stomach and wish to explore the variety.)
thank you for reading oh god this is so fucking much here’s a picture of a lovely cozy restaurant bye
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BEETLEJUICE‼BEETLEJUICE‼BEETLEJUICE‼
#art#painting#beetlejuice#barbara maitland#traditional painting#GOD OIL IS SO MUCH FUN...PLEASE...IF YOURE READING THIS TRY IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#its soooo much easier to paint iwth that water color and acrylic is a JOKE next to this do u hear me???????????#one rb = one spot moved up in the undead waiting room#artists on tumblr
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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)
summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.
but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.
or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.
warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex
a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?
--
Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.
He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.
You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.
Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.
You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.
(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)
However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.
“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.
Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.
“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)
“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.
“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”
You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.
Jesus Christ.
“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.
“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”
Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.
You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.
And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.
“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”
The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?
That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)
“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”
The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.
You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)
“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.
You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.
“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.
“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”
That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.
“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”
For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.
Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?
Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?
You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.
(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)
The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’
The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.
… Anyway.
You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.
Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.
“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”
“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”
Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.
“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.
(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)
You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.
“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”
At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.
“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.
The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.
“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.
“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”
“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”
You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”
You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.
You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.
You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”
Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”
Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.
By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.
“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”
You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.
“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.
You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.
Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.
“How’s your shoulder feeling?”
“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.
“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.
The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.
“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”
When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”
--
Your luck doesn’t last.
“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”
You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”
Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.
“What do you think sounds best?”
“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”
“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”
“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”
Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.
Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”
“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.
“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”
Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.
He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.
“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”
Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.
“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”
“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”
“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.
When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”
You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.
“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”
“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”
You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.
“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”
“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”
Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”
“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”
“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”
“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.
There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.
You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.
The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.
The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.
Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.
You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.
Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.
He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.
“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”
He just shakes his head.
“Okay,” you say.
(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)
The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.
“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”
He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”
Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”
“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.
“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”
There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.
He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.
(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)
So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.
“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”
Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”
Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?
You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.
“Taehyung?”
“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”
You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.
“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)
His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”
Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.
But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.
The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.
Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?
(You’re going to die.)
It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.
And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.
It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.
(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)
Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.
… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.
… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.
You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.
“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.
Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.
In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.
(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)
“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”
Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.
You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”
(It’s not cool.)
You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.
At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.
But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.
“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.
It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.
You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.
Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.
“Better?”
Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.
“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”
You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.
Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.
(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)
Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.
Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—
Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.
(What is he doing?)
But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.
They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.
“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.
His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.
“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.
He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”
“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.
Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”
You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—
Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.
“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”
He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”
It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.
“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”
You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.
“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”
(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)
(But.)
(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)
“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”
He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.
“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.
“Yes, love?”
You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.
(You’re not.)
“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.
Before you can think, you nod.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”
You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—
His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.
You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.
“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”
“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.
“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”
“Anything you want,” he murmurs.
Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.
Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.
You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.
“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”
“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.
“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”
You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.
“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”
Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.
You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.
Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.
“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”
“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”
Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.
When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.
“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.
“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.
“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”
Of course you want to.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”
He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.
“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.
(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)
You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.
(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)
You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.
“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”
Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.
“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”
Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.
He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.
“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”
Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.
“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.
Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.
“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.
And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—
—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.
“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.
“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”
He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”
“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.
There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.
“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”
“You got edible massage oil from your course?”
Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”
You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.
“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”
Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.
“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.
“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.
That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”
“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”
“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”
It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.
When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.
“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”
His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.
“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.
“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.
Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.
“You really are perfect,” he says.
“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.
He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.
Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.
There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.
You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.
“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”
“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”
His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.
“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”
A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.
“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”
“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.
Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.
Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.
“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”
“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.
“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”
It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.
(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)
When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.
Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.
“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”
“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”
When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—
The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.
You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.
One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.
“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”
Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”
“Here?”
He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.
(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)
He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.
You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.
“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”
“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”
And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.
And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.
Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.
“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”
And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.
He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.
You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.
When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.
“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”
You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—
“Oh, fuck—”
—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.
When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.
(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)
You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.
“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.
You pause.
“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”
“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”
You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”
“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”
You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”
There’s a pause. “Really?”
When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.
You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”
When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”
“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.
“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”
“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”
You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.
Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”
Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.
(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)
When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.
“Taehyung?”
“Yes, angel?”
You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”
Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.
“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”
“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”
And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.
--
(“Hey, Pickles.”
The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.
“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”
Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.
“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”
Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.
“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.
“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”
Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)
--
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What’s yours is mine 1
Warnings: nonconsent and rape, allusions to abuse, stalking, possessiveness, pregnancy, and more tags to be added.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Pairing: dark!Ransom Drysdale x pregnant!Reader
Summary: After five years, your past is far behind you but just as you think you can live your happily ever after, your ex shows up at the worst moment.
Note: I couldn’t sleep and ended up writing this and it will not be a long ongoing series but it will be a few parts. But Roo you say that all the time. Yes, well, I’m trying and I’m sorry but I’m gonna try to not be the worst.
Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!
Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3
“Oh my god, is that really you?” the voice made you stand stalk straight.
You took a breath and forced a smile before you turned to the indomitable woman. You never expected to see Linda again, not after you broke up with her son almost five years ago. And there she was, as rigid and righteous as ever, her thin lips curved in a mocking grin.
“Linda,” you greeted her in a singsong and looked around the grocery store. You never went to the overpriced organic market but your local shop didn’t have dragonfruit and you had a painful craving, “how are you?”
“Darling, I’m just great,” she held an empty basket on her arm, an odd sight as you never expected her to do her own shopping, “oh, and look at you!” Before you knew it, her hand was on your stomach and you struggled not shy away, “how far are you?”
“Um,” you looked down at the large ring on her finger and resisted the urge to step away as you often did in this situation, “almost five months.”
“And married?” she grabbed your left hand and pretended to admire the small teardrop diamond, “gorgeous.”
“Mhmm,” you waited for you to release you and swayed in place, “you barely look a day older than the last time I saw you.”
“You’re well? You look well,” she primped her short hair at the compliment, “oh, a baby.” She reached out again and you sighed as she rubbed your stomach, “for luck.”
You tried not to frown and ended up laughing at the tension, “well, it was nice running into you.”
“Oh, you know, I barely come down here but we’re headed up to my father’s place, you remember, such a cozy house, and Joni is in charge of food and well, I wouldn’t trust her with a plastic spoon so of course, I have a back up plan.”
You nodded along with her awkwardly, frozen in the spot as the dragon fruit barely seemed worth the torture. Linda was hard to please and alway derisive, but for as long as you were with Ransom, she had taken a keen shine to you. That alone came with an edge but it was rarely used to cut you.
You forced another laugh, “that sounds fun, getting away from the city.”
“Ugh, just another family gathering,” she waved it off with her free hand, “I’ll have to tell Ransom I ran into you, if he even shows up.”
“Well, I don’t think--”
“He’s grown up so much,” she interrupted, “you wouldn’t believe it. He got his own imprint in my father’s company publishing true crime. He’s really making a place for himself now.”
“That’s great,” you tried not to falter at the mention of her son. You hadn’t ended on the greatest terms and your relationship had been tumultuous and regrettable.
“I hope you have a great weekend, Linda,” you said, “but I got to--”
“Oh, not at all, I’m keeping you,” she squeezed your arm, “God, he was such an idiot to let you go.”
You nodded and swallowed through your tight throat, “I’m glad he’s doing better for himself.”
“You too,” she trilled, “oh, before I let you go, darling, is it a boy?”
You blinked and your smile wavered, “how did you know?”
“I could always tell,” she said, “so precious.”
She gave your stomach one last pat and disappeared into the produce section. You blinked as you looked down at the scaled fruit in your right hand. Chocolate, you needed chocolate.
You were rattled as you waited in the express line and put your things on the belt. You hadn’t thought of Ransom in a very long time. Not much. His shadow followed you around in those moments when your heart raced and your head spun, but you had learned to work through those fits. No one else knew what happened behind closed doors, they only knew Ransom, not Hugh.
You paid and shoved your fruit and candy into a paper bag. You headed out into the misty spring air. The rain had finally stopped and left the streets slick and shining. The sun was hazy as it clung to the last of the clouds and you inhaled the wet scent of grass and gravel.
You let your key hang from the ignition as you took a moment to gather yourself. You stared at the modest ring on your finger and held your stomach and you swore you could still feel Linda’s bony hand there.
You had a loving husband, Dez, and a son on the way. Ransom wasn’t a part of any of that and this was just a blip on radar, the aftershock of the storm that ended years before. You sniffed and turned the engine. You wouldn’t go back to that store, it was far too expensive and the clientele were certainly not of your ilk.
🍼
Dez was in the kitchen when you got home, the smell of steak and peppers rose from the frying pan. You kissed his cheek as he kept one hand on the spatula and you dropped your bag on the counter beside the stove. You went to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of water. You turned and leaned against the marble and drank deeply.
“So, hon, how was your day?” he asked as he put the spatula down and peeked in the bag, “hmm, odd pairing but I don’t hate it.”
“I had a craving,” you shrugged, “it was… okay,” you heaved, “what’s for dinner?”
“Steak fajitas,” he said, “I trimmed the fat for you and,” he turned and reached out to you, “and I got you some champagne… non-alcoholic, obviously.”
“You know it doesn’t have the same effects,” you kidded as you put your glass down and settled into his arms, “and well,” you looked down at your stomach, “we already got one drunken night growing.”
He laughed and bent to kiss you on the lips. He rocked you as the pan sizzled behind him. You closed your eyes and tensed as suddenly your head flashed with the memory of Ransom, of the way he’d kiss you, harder than Dez, and the way it always turned to more whether you wanted it or not.
“Hey,” Dez pulled back, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” you lied, “hormones.”
“Aw, hon, well I have the perfect dessert planned,” he purred.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm, strawberry massage oil,” he framed your face with his hand, “a nice long back rub…”
“Perfect,” you giggled, “why are you spoiling me?”
“Don’t I always?” he smirked.
“Hmm, rarely without reason,” you said.
“Well…” he voice trailed off and slowly he dropped his arms. He turned his back to you and grabbed the pan, stirring the contents with a shake, “I didn’t want you to miss me too bad.”
“Miss you?” you came forward and bent your arms over the counter, “where are you going?”
“Chicago, there’s some evidence down there we need to look at and they refuse to transfer it to our office so… bullshit confidentiality clause, but we need it.”
“How long?” your heart dropped.
“Well, I gotta leave in the morning but I told Gary I won’t stay longer than Monday.”
“And what did he say?”
“He laughed,” Dez shook his head, “I promise, I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I can--”
“No, I understand,” you said gloomily, “it’s just…” you cupped your chin and tapped your lips with your fingertips, “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” he said as he turned the burner off, “and this little guy,” he touched your stomach and you shivered as you remembered how Linda had done the same with her cold palm, “so, you choose a name yet?”
“Still not naming him Superman, babe,” you chided, “but no, I can’t make up my mind. God, it’s like my mind is in shambles, I can’t remember why I go in a room or even focus on one thing for more than two minutes before I’m distracted by what colour I want to paint the nursery and I can’t even decide on that because then I’m thinking about what kind of wood the crib should be--”
“It’s fine, you’re fine,” he assured as he opened the bag of tortillas, “you’re still there, you’re just… sharing a brain right now.”
“Wasn’t enough to go around in the first place,” you scoffed.
“Shh,” he arranged the plates carefully, like a five star restaurant, tortillas stacked, steak and veg together, a little dish of cheese, some sour cream, lettuce, salsa, all divvied out in a spectacular salsa you would only make a mess of.
“I thought the pregnancy would give me a chance to finish my book, but--”
“Well, you got maternity leave after that,” he said.
“From what? Sitting at my keyboard and crying? I’ll just be holding a baby and crying,” you sighed, “you said you’d take some time off.”
“I did say that and I will,” he grabbed the plates and nodded you out of the kitchen. He set the plates on the table and you sat as he went to grab two glasses and as many bottles. He poured you your spineless champagne and had a beer for himself, “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“You can’t take forever off,” you muttered, “we both know that. I could go back to copywriting and maybe--”
“Babe, that job made you miserable and you will finish your book,” he handed you a napkin, “I’ve read your stuff, it’s… you said your ex was in publishing?”
“Did I?”
“I thought you did, you never really… talk about the exes, which I love but, I think you said something about it. You don’t think he would--”
“No,” you snapped, “no,” you said softer, “he wouldn’t.”
“Sorry,” he said startled by your reaction, “I didn’t--”
“It’s nothing, I just-- exes, right?”
“It was a stupid suggestion,” he said, “I’m sorry, but… I have a client, he might have some contacts.”
“You don’t have to do that--”
“I don’t have to, I want to because the world deserves to hear your voice,” he insisted, “I hate to share you but I’d be selfish to keep you to myself.”
You smiled and unfolded a tortilla. Still, your heart raced as the second mention of Ransom that day had you on edge. Dez watched you build your fajita and you looked up at him.
“Well, since you’ll be in Chicago, maybe I’ll get a few pages done.”
🍼
The call came on Monday, Dez wouldn’t be home that night. You contented yourself to stay in with your laptop and sugar cookies. Still, you barely got a sentence done before you snapped your computer closed and gave up with a frustrated grunt. You slept, not well, and got up with some trouble as your hips ached.
A good morning text from Dez made you smile but there was still no promise of an impending return. You felt pent up in the apartment and lonely as its emptiness reminded you of your absent husband. Too tense to sit down and type, you opted to go for a walk, hoping it would calm your nerves.
You walked past the shop windows and stopped to peek in at used books and handmade candles. You had no destination in mind, only a restless step. There was a little store at the corner with locally made quilts and knitted sweaters. The smell of potpourri wafted out from beneath the painted door and made your throat tickle. Even so, your curiosity drew you inside.
A small woman greeted you from behind the desk. She held two needles as she crocheted some indistinguishable craft. You smiled and said hello as you headed down the centre aisle. You looked along the racks of quilts, floral, striped, plaid, and polka dot. You stopped at a bright yellow piece with honey bees along the border. You hadn’t thought of yellow for the nursery.
You felt the soft fabric and checked the tag. You lifted the quilt from the bar, content that it was worth it and a great motivator. You stopped before you could turn back, a familiar voice chilled your blood.
“It’s cute,” Ransom said as he stepped up next to you, “kinda girly for a boy though.”
You glanced over at him and folded the blanket over your arm. You backed up but as you turned he did too. He blocked your bath as he stretched his arm across the aisle.
“My mother told me you were expecting,” he said, “and she was right, you look good.”
“What do you want?” you whispered as you clutched the quilt.
“Nothing, just saying hello,” his mouth slanted.
“Hugh, I’m not stupid,” you hissed, “it’s been five years.”
“Hugh,” he repeated dully, “you remember your manners.”
“Leave me alone and let me past,” you tried to duck under his arm but he shifted his body over and backed you up to the end of the aisle.
“And married,” he taunted.
“He’s outside,” you lied, “if I stay too long--”
“I didn’t see him when you walked up,” he intoned, “he must be easy to miss.”
“Have you been following me?” you uttered.
“Only from the cafe,” he shrugged, “short walk.”
“Please, get away from me,” you quivered.
“I’m not doing anything--”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hissed, “now I will scream so move.”
“Mama Bear,” he crooned, “I love it, you’re so protective.”
“Hugh,” you warned.
“Sweetie,” he hummed.
You shoved his shoulder but he didn’t move. You hit him harder and he winced. He chuckled and stood straight. He waved his arm down the aisle and stepped aside.
“Don’t make a scene,” he said, “you always did like to be dramatic.”
“Fuck you,” you snarled, “don’t come near me again.”
“Don’t act like you don’t miss me,” he called after you as you dropped the quilt on the counter, “we were so good together.”
You left without buying, a shrill apology to the lady at the counter as you went as fast as you could out the door. The bell tinkled after you and the door clamored shut. You felt nauseous and dizzy. The last thing you wanted or needed was to ever see that man again.
#ransom drysdale#dark!ransom drysdale#dark ransom drysdale x reader#dark ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x reader#fic#series#knives out#dark fic#dark!fic#what's yours is mine
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Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩
–🎴
I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE
i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk
also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.
faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.
tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.
wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.
leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.
mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk
knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma
werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.
half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.
dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?
executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.
knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.
jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.
pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest
apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.
ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.
adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed
sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle
spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning
doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had
knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing
steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged
steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room
cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing
masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date
masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.
samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.
potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)
gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room
servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.
necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive
vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is
half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.
farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.
jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.
achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀
soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”
victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.
barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter
archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.
ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU
potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.
town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.
shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers baji#tokyo revengers souya#tokyo revengers nahoya#tokyo revengers kokonoi#mitsuya takashi x reader#tokyo revengers pah chin#yuzuha shiba#emma sano#draken x reader#tokyo revengers draken#takemichi hanagaki#tokyo revengers shinichiro#tokyo revengers manjiro sano#tokyo revengers mikey#tokyo manji gang#tokyo revengers hanma#kazutora hanemiya#tokyo revengers kisaki#hinata tachibana#tachibana hinata#sanzu tokyo revengers#izana kurokawa#tokyo revengers kakucho#tokyo revengers chifuyu#tokyo revengers haitani ran#seishu inui#🍬arba’s beloved 🎴🍬#🍬arba’s got mail🍬
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discord - ʜᴀɴ
synopsis : with finals approaching, your prof sets a project for you to submit and luckily for you, you have god awful team mates. so, you study with jisung at the library, grinding to try and finish everything before the deadline.
genre : college student au, established relationship, fluff
pairing : han x gn!reader
warnings : mentions of immense lack of sleep, frustration, shitty team mates
everyone says that when you get to college, it will be a breeze. piece of cake. just partying and having fun. boy, was i wrong to believe them.
to say that college is ‘fun’, more so manageable is the understatement of the damn century. layers upon layers of projects, with a cherry on top that is finals. it all makes some kind of disaster sundae that i hate with a burning passion.
this time for year 2, our lovely lecturer decided that it would be a lovely idea for our finals would be a group project.
how wonderful.
“who knew that i would become the one doing most of the work? totally not predictable at all.” i thought, typing vigorously - working on my group’s powerpoint slide that we had to present by the end of the week.
i was running on barely any sleep, a couple of monster energy drinks, and candy. the classic combination for a normal college student who has to stay up late, burning the midnight oil in an attempt to try and cramp in more studying.
i was extremely irritable, as anyone would be if they were assigned both a thesis paper and a slide-show to present for finals that was due in a week.
“nice, the bullet points don’t make sense either,” i sarcastically mumble under my breath, the tone of voice becoming more exasperated as time went by.
the table jisung and i shared in my apartment dining room was mostly used by me, my notes and worksheets sprawled haphazardly across the table. some even lying on the floor in my failed attempts of picking them up and being systematic.
jisung sat across from me, with big headphones covering his ears from my potential swearing, making him look slightly like princess leia from star wars. though his eyes were fixated on his laptop screen, he had noticed the grimace that has been on my face for the past few hours.
he nudged me with his foot from under the table, breaking my intense eye contact with my laptop screen. lines of worry and concern were evident on his face; he had the ‘are you okay’ look on his face, and a small smile that he put on to show sympathy. i waved a dismissive hand, shaking my head before typing furiously again.
however, my typing session was once again disrupted by my phone, which i forgot to turn off.
ding! one new notification from ‘gremlin 1’
gremlin 1 -
yo dude, i know this is a lot to ask of you, but can you help me do my slide? i have work for the rest of the week TT
you -
wtf, why is this so sudden? i thought you purposely changed your work schedule so that we can do the project tgt since no one else is?
gremlin 1 -
i know, but smt just came up, and my boss is an asshole that way. can you please do a favour and help me? just this once i promise :|
you -
i’m taking the credit.
gremlin 1 -
its only fair that way, thanks again.
read at 3.00pm
“fantastic.” i grumbled, the urge to throw my phone out my apartment window becoming increasingly tempting; my hope left for the project had nearly and completely gone down the drain. i could have easily declined, but i have placed in too much effort for the entire project; not just for the person i had the most faith in to not do their job which bring down our group total.
when i realised that throwing my phone was not the best idea, i huffed and let out a big ol’ sigh, re-reading my group mate’s message before slamming my phone down onto the table out of sheer frustration.
the slam was loud. really loud. loud enough to make jisung flinch though he had music blasting through his headphones. his eyes widened at the extent of my frustration, my previously buzzing phone now dead, lying flat on the table. he eyed it for a moment before setting his headphones on the table and getting up.
his actions had gone unnoticed by me, my irritation making me unaware of my surroundings.
“hey is everything okay, flower?” jisung asks, smoothening his hands over back and shoulders, making me melt into his touch instantly. his lips were pressed onto the back of my neck, his warmth spreading heat all over my body.
“no, sadly.” i say while closing my eyes, his hands now massaging my tense shoulder muscles.
“maybe take a break for a while? also, i’m setting this aside for obvious reasons.” he spoke gently with a heart-warming smile, taking my phone and placing it onto the shelf that was the furthest away from me; before turning around to face me again. his actions did not fail to tug at my heart strings, making me finally break out in a smile after grimacing for hours on end.
“there’s the smile i fell in love with..” the words came out of his mouth without thinking, as he stared at me, gaze full of adoration and love. pink bloomed in my cheeks, a shy grin forming on my lips.
“thank you, baby.” i was extremely grateful to have jisung by my side in tough times like this. if not, i would have definitely thrown out my phone at the next slight inconvenience.
“do you want to talk about it?” worry finding its way back to his voice.
“maybe later, i need to finish this shit first.” i sighed, running my fingers through my hair, pushing back the bits that had fallen onto my face.
he chuckles at the clear dread in my voice, eyes bright and shining, curved into little crescent moons. “alright, love. i’ll wait till youre done,” he says, combing his fingers through my hair before pressing a delicate kiss to the top of my head.
my masterlist !
© northsoulss 2021, all rights reserved
——
lmao i think i was rlly mad at school when i was writing this lol
#han jisung#han#han imagines#han scenarios#han jisung fluff#han jisung oneshots#stray kids han#skz han#skz#stray kids#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#han x reader#northsoulss
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Swimming in Your Taste
The corners of his lips seem to tug upward. “I said,” his breath warm against your ear, “you smell like coconuts.” If your brain wasn’t so fuzzy you would have retorted that of course he knows what you smell like, he’s always sniffing your neck every time he’s fucking you.
º hoseok x female reader
º genre: smut | fwb | roommates | one shot |
º words: 3.1k
º includes: summer sex, unprotected sex, coconut oil as lube, sex on bathroom floor, fingering, , grinding, oral sex (f receiving), cum inside (always practice safe sex ppl), oblivious reader
º note: summer + hormones = this fic. Hope you enjoy reading this!
••••• ••••• •••••
Whoever gave the idea that summer is all fun and fresh vibes is just plain stupid.
The only thing summer is giving you is sweat. Lots and lots of sweat. And you stink now, too.
Therefore even when you wish you didn’t have to move at all you know that it’s time to hit the shower for the second time today. And it’s only noon.
*
Moisturizing after a good shower is actually your favorite part. It’s like the proper ritual of cleansing. You apply some oil onto your palms and caress it all over your body. Every skin is covered. It feels like you’re actually taking care of yourself. It’s nice.
The mirror is just above the shelf containing the essential stuff, and when you stand in front of it, you see your entire body clad in absolutely nothing. It’s not a magazine perfect picture, definitely not the smooth and spotless skin of the people in porn, but it’s okay, you suppose. You have curves but they’re like minimal. Your skin isn’t fair all over, and you have some marks littered over your skin. But honestly, overall, you’re o-kay.
Standing in front of the mirror, you’re seeing the sight of your hairless vagina right in front of you. Honestly, private parts are weird. You really don’t get the hype.
“Are you seriously staring at your pussy right now?”
And suddenly you’re not alone. You whip your head to see Hoseok at the door. “Oh my god, you startled me, Hoseok, what the hell. What are you even doing here?”
“Looking for something of mine. Also this is my bathroom too.”
You shoot him a weird look. “But I’m still here.” He moves his hands in a fuzzy gesture as if to say meh. Fine, then. You fuck once and then some and apparently privacy isn’t a thing anymore. Whatever, Hoseok is still a nice roommate anyway, and also you don’t really care much.
“What are you doing?”
“Moisturizing.”
The shelf is a bit of a mess, but the bottle of coconut oil stands at the bottom. The bottle is huge, and the oil has a lot of uses. It’s very convenient. Trying to moisturize the part down there isn’t very convenient, however, because you have to spread your legs a bit and bend down to really cover the area.
“Can I?” His voice startles you because why is he still there, and also, he’s looking at you in a funny way. He looks at you and you feel stripped beyond mere nakedness. And your chest is starting to do that thing again, that thing it does every time he looks at you like this.
You shrug your shoulders to say it’s okay. It’s actually a weird question, one you’ve heard from him way too many times already. Can I? Yeah, sure, whatever you want. You don’t actually say that, though. You simply stand there, waiting. He’s getting closer, and it’s getting hard to think properly. You watch him move through the mirror. He stands behind you, and reaches for the bottle of oil you always use.
You feel the heat of his body through all the clothes he’s wearing. He’s fully clothed, and he presses against your naked body. It’s also getting a bit harder to breathe.
His movements are slow. His hands glisten as he rubs the oil between his palms and on his fingers. A moment passes where he pause to hold your gaze, and now you just want to curl inward. As if on cue, his other hand grabs hold of your shoulder and one of his feet nudge your legs to spread farther. He leans down and you automatically shut your eyes close.
“Coconuts.” You feel his breath on your neck, his hand lightly crawling up your thigh, and you shiver, barely registering that he said something.
“Huh?” you mumble intelligently.
The corners of his lips seem to tug upward. “I said,” his breath warm against your ear, “you smell like coconuts.” If your brain wasn’t so fuzzy you would have retorted that of course he knows what you smell like, he’s always sniffing your neck every time he’s fucking you.
You would have responded properly. “It’s the-“ It’s the oil, you would have said.
Except Hoseok chose that moment to cup your pussy, and you can feel the warmth of his fingers against your sensitive skin. What you would’ve said turns into a sharp gasp. Apparently your reaction is funny to him because you hear him chuckle behind you.
“The oil, huh. The one I’m using on you right now?” he asks. You say yeah, though it sounds more like a needy whimper.
“Cute. Then, would I taste coconuts if I fuck you with my tongue?”
Your eyes squeeze shut at his voice and his words and your hand fly out to move his. Please start moving because you really need it. Hoseok probably knows this, how you’re starting to slip and become needy. Every time his hands touch you like this, it becomes so easy for you to simply remain under his hold, still and pliant as you melt under his touch.
Then he starts doing two things at once: with his free hand he slaps your hands away, and he rubs his two fingers back and forth your damp pussy. The pleasure makes your knees melt, as you feel the heat from deep within your core. You feel your pussy steadily getting wet with Hoseok’s fingers. Your wetness makes it easier for him to slide between your folds until he finally sinks a finger inside your soft and slick folds.
He thrusts his finger inside and out slowly, hand coming up to press you against his chest. Which was what you really needed because any moment soon as he keeps on touching you like that you’re going to crumble.
“O-oh.” Your breath stutters, and you grip Hoseok’s arm tightly. He’s so good with his hands that when he holds you like that you feel boneless with his touch. He knows just where and how to touch you, knows all you sweet spots from head to toe, kisses you so good it’s like he has a map of you memorized.
His hand goes up to your chest, squeezing your chest lightly. He goes to cup you breast, thumb and forefinger playing around with your taut nipples. You moan from the action, and jerk from the feeling of his finger alternating its motions from thrusting into you and sliding along your folds, occasionally hitting your sensitive clit. You feel his breath on your neck, light kisses treading down from your nape to your shoulder.
“Hoseok,” you whimper. You want more, need more. His fingers languidly explore you from deep inside, touching your walls just right. But you really need more. “Hoseok,” you call out to him again, and he responds with a kiss on your cheek. You turn to meet him and he’s instantly there, lips on you, and it’s both fast and sensual, heated and slow. You can’t help but go crazy from the way he moves with you.
“Baby,” you look at him, and you see the way his pupils are blown from the lust charging between the two of you. Eyes still on you, he brings his fingers that’s soaked with your wetness and nudges your lips open with it. “Suck.” You feel shivers from Hoseok’s commanding voice. You do your best to lick his fingers, suck every part, all without breaking eye contact with him. You can tell he’s just as heavily affected with the way he breathes heavily while looking at you, his fingers snug in your wet and warm mouth.
You let his fingers fall from your mouth, and he turns you around to face him fully. His arms embrace you tightly as you let out a deep exhale. “’Seok?”
He hums as his arms hold you tighter and he moves to kiss your forehead gently. As he nuzzles your neck to drink in more of you, you call his name again. “Hoseok.”
“yeah, baby?”
“Need more. Need you.”
You pepper kisses on his clavicle, kissing the skin that you can access, sucking the skin right below his jawline. You feel the vibrations from his chest as he moans from what you’re doing to him. Your hands move around him, from the small of his back down to his ass, gripping him to meet your core. “Mhm, baby.” Hoseok makes a sound between a moan and a growl, making you more desperate for him.
“Need you, ‘Seok, need now.” You’re practically grinding against him now, doing what you can to feel him, and you know he needs it too, feeling his hardness against you, and you can’t wait to feel it deep inside you.
You feel hands on your shoulders holding you tight. “Hands on the countertop. Hold on to it for me.” His breath is warm on your ear, and you feel him leave a soft kiss on your ear as he lets you go.
You’re quick to follow his instructions. You are impatient for him, after all. So is he, evidently, because not a second later and he’s immediately there behind you, covering your body with his. But this time you noticed that he’s already removed his shirt, his chest now directly touching your back. Skin on heated skin. He’s quick to hold you, a touch of madness in the way he roams his hands around your chest, your waist, all the way to your thighs.
Hoseok seems to have changed his mind as he twirls you around and spreads your legs. Your heart pounds when you see him kneeling, and his eyes concentrated on your pussy. Without a thought, your hands move down to your center, fingers sliding down your folds. “Oh, god, fuck,” he growls when your fingers spread your folds in front of him, opening up your pussy just for him. He removes one of his hands on your thighs in favor of gripping his clothed cock, feeling the need for relief.
You need it just as badly. You put a finger inside, sighing as you feel relief when you stretch your walls. It feels good, but what makes it amazing is the way Hoseok’s eyes are fixed on you with wild lust in his gaze. “’Seok,” you can’t help but whimper his name, and he’s quick to respond.
“Baby. How does it feel, huh? Feels good?”
“So good, mmm. Wish it were your fingers, ‘Seok, you’re so good with your fingers, always make me feel so good, mmhm.”
“Mmm, I can tell how much your pussy loves it. Always soaking wet for me, always so good. Want a taste, baby, gimme a taste.”
Gingerly, you bring your hand to his mouth, and he opens wide for you, and immediately tastes you from your fingers. All the while he keeps on rubbing his cock. He’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. Hoseok loves it though, loves the pain and the pleasure, basks in the feeling of seeing you lost in your own pleasure, goes crazy at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin as you cry out his name. He loves making you feel good, loves your sounds of pleasure. Hoseok feels like a man on a mission when he’s holding your body, that mission being to touch, to kiss, to worship every sweet spot on your skin and inside you. And damn, what a reward it is to see you come into completion over and over again.
He goes back to hold your thighs apart, spreading them just so he can dive into his favorite taste. The reaction is immediate: your moans of pleasure quickly rings in his ears and your hands come to grip his hair, and he loves the burn in his scalp. High for your taste, he digs his tongue deeper, relishing for more. He looks up to see you, and what a sight. Face red, eyes drooping, and mouth open as you pant heavily. He licks every part, every patch of wetness. Fucks you harder with his tongue, going in deeper. He grips your thighs harder and with his thumbs he opens you up so he can have more.
“So good, tastes so good, baby.”
“Hoseok,” you cry out. There are practically tears flowing down your cheeks as you feel his tongue fuck you so good. If he’s this good with his tongue, then he’s a god with his body.
You push him off, dropping down to your knees in front of him. Swiftly, he takes you into his lap, and with a mad rush he holds your cheeks but gently, and he kisses you ferociously once again.
As you grip his shoulders tightly, you move your hips back and forth against his lap, and you both moan. It’s a flurry of sensations: his hand gripping your waist as you grind on his lap, his other hand holding the back of your head as his tongue licks into your mouth, plays with your own tongue, and his mouth claims your own.
You decide you’ve had enough and break away for him, needing to hold his hard cock. Frantically, you grip the waistband of his sweats, and with clumsy coordination, Hoseok moves to bring down his pants only enough to free his cock. It slaps against his stomach, and your eager hands wrap around it, thumb rubbing his slit to spread his precum all over his cock.
Hoseok pulls you closer to him, his hand squeezing your ass and you hover above his cock.
Finally, you sink down on him.
“Mmmmmhm, Hoseok, ‘Seok,” you’re both moaning as his entire length is fully sheathed inside you, deeper and deeper.
“Baby, c’mon, ride for me, baby.”
You can’t respond anymore. As you grind on his cock and start bouncing, only the sounds of your pussy hitting his lap and your whining sounds can be heard. You’re desperately chasing the feeling of your orgasm and the Hoseok’s cum deep in you.
“That’s it, babe, c’mon, keep going,” his hands hold your hips steady, his own thrusting up sharply to meet you.
“’Seok, mmmhmm I want, need—please please,”
With the way you’re bouncing frantically it’s almost as if your life depends on it.
“I know, baby, hold on,” With one hand caressing your hair and the other hugging you tight, Hoseok takes charge of your body and drives his cock hard into you, pistoning up and down, and your mind goes crazy from the motions.
“Aaah!” His change in the angle of his thrusts has you screaming, hands holding on tight to his shoulders. “Yes yes yes hnngg, ‘Seok,”
The sound of your gasp is cut off by his mouth on you. It’s messy, with the two of you frantically moving, but it’s perfect.
Your mind is clouded with haze, and you feel Hoseok consuming you, all over you, and in the depths of you.
You’re close, and he can feel it. He fucks you harder and holds you tighter. He rubs his thumb quickly on your hardened clit, making you squeal.
One forceful thrust from Hoseok in you and you scream from the orgasm that hits you like a freight train, shooting you up into the sky. His hand never leaves your pussy, still rubbing quick circles, until you’re gushing onto his stomach.
You probably blacked out from your orgasm, and you come to just in time to hear Hoseok’s drawn out moan and feel his cum shoot into your deepest parts. The feeling of his cum makes you feel relief. He slumps towards you, his forehead touching yours, eyes still closed.
He smiles when he feels you press butterfly kisses on his cheeks and nose.
“You okay?”
“Mmm.”
“Wanna clean up?”
“Wanna hug.”
Hoseok chuckles, moving his hands across your back and sides, knowing how much you like the contact, before pulling you closer.
But the good feels from the high of the orgasm has already worn down by now, and you’re already sober enough to register just how hot everything is. Not like, sexy hot. It’s actually hot as fuck.
“Oh God,” you move away from the sweet confines that is Hoseok’s arms and lap in favor of standing up because there is sweat everywhere and God, you need another shower!
“What’s wrong?” You look at Hoseok and see the triangle forming on his lips again as he looks up at you with concern?
“It’s your dick, Hoseok.”
“What the fuck? What’s wrong with my dick?”
“Nothing baby, but it made me sweat so hard and it’s the middle of the cursed summer.”
His face immediately morphs into a teasing one, his eyebrows waggling at you.
“That good, huh?”
“Oh, shut up, you. I gotta shower again because of you.”
“Well, if you weren’t staring at your pussy earlier—“
“I wasn’t staring! I was just inspecting.”
“Who the fuck inspects their pussy with that intense look on their face? Do all girls do that?”
“As if boys don’t whip out their dicks and check how long they are. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”
“Mmm, I won’t if you let me shower with you,” his arms try to circle around you, maneuvering you towards the shower.
Whatever you were going to retort gets interrupted by your own giggles when Hoseok tickles your neck with his kisses.
“Hoseok! Hey, I don’t want to slip. Stop kissing me, why are you so obsessed with me?” your voice is full of jest, poking fun at Hoseok, but all of a sudden he stops, and you feel him slowly move away from you.
You’re confused by his silence. It’s kind of disorienting when Hoseok becomes silent like this.
“Hoseok?”
He says nothing, only strips the rest of his clothes off. He looks at you for a moment and reaches the shower knob behind you. The water falls like rain, and the two of you face each other. Hoseok grabs the soap you use. Coconut scent. He rubs it on your skin, and as always, his touch is firm but gentle. The rest of the shower go like that. Quiet, gentle touches of your hands on each other’s skin.
When you’ve finished cleaning up, he takes one of the towels and wraps it around you.
He smiles at you, pinches your cheeks before he dries himself off.
You finally leave to get dressed, but not before looking at him. You’re not sure what happened, why Hoseok went quiet all of a sudden, but you hope it’s just temporary. It’s probably weird but your moods seem to flow with Hoseok’s moods. But anyway, maybe your plan to buy him his favorite takeout from his favorite chicken store will make him feel better.
*
Hoseok is left alone in the showers, where it is rife with the scent of you. He basks in it, almost like he is swimming in you, just for a while longer.
Coconuts. His favorite scent. Every single time.
#hoseok fic#hoseok smut#hoseok x reader#hoseok x oc#hoseok x female reader#hoseok x you#hoseok x yn#smut#bts smut#jhope smut#hobi x reader#hobi smut#bts fic#hoseok one shot#roommate#coconuts
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sorry in advance if i’m spamming your notifications /gen!
i just remembered that denki existed and i’m craving [neurodivergent] headcanons and your blog kinda has a lot of good reblogs n posts of that so-
you’re not spamming at all, in fact i didn’t even see this till now since i don’t normally get any asks ! (thanks for the ask btw <3) i hope you enjoy !!
neurodivergent denki headcannons !
disclaimer: i, myself, am currently in the process of getting diagnosed with adhd/autism/whatever it is (i’m not self diagnosing but i did get 8/10 on an autism assessment given to me by a doctor so that must say something) so this is a wee bit of me projecting. my intentions for this post are not to offend anyone in the nd community nor spread any miss information. please correct me if i make any mistakes ! and apologies for it being so long i’m still trying to figure out the ‘read more’ thing !! now ! onto the head cannons !!
he has MAJOR sensory issues and issues with bad textures
his main ones are foods that are a mix between solid or liquid, like a soup that’s meant to be smooth but isn’t or like very wet bread, anything sticky and that one inside of a hoodie feel, like the one wear it’s like fleece but it feels like plastic and somehow creamy and just BLUGNXJSK y’know?
he has that not right kind of thing(iykyk) where he has to say a word/phrase again till it feels right, or touch the desk again, or hit the back of foot again to make it right
it gets really frustrating sometimes
he surprisingly likes velvet, fun to play with, cool to drag your finger around on
he has very bad memory problems
like really bad
they cause him to breakdown every time he has a test cause everything he tried to study was just,, gone,, no where to be found
he opens up to present mic about it and he’s a big help, gives him extra time for testing, helps him with study techniques, gives him more reminders, etc etc
mic and him are like that student-english teacher duo
(no bc they’re the same person just different sizes please)
he struggles with reading a lot too, he knows there’s words but his brain just won’t recognize what they are
word soup
his main special interests/hyperfixations are old english literature, true crime/psychology/criminal stuff, literally anything to do with art and physics(electricity stuff)
he has other ones like cars and how to annoy bakugo to the brink of tears
his most common stims are happy flappy hands, putting his hand into a thumbs up and squeezing, rocking back and forth and swinging his legs about
his like calm down stim is humming, having some form of pressure(weighted blanket !!) and rocking a little bit
he gets overwhelmed by questions a lot
like if he’s not prepared to answer one and he gets asked TWO he’ll just go ‘nope’
he’s nonverbal sometimes, especially when he gets overwhelmed
he zones out and daydreams for like,,, 70% of the day
his favorite texture for food is something like mash potatoes, like a doughy texture, one that just sits right in the mouth
(potato waffles are his go to food (british thing but they’re so good))
just enough chew but not too much, not too wet not too dry
speaking of dry food,, he hates it. dry biscuits(cookies) are a no go if he doesn’t have a bunch of water/juice with him, he also just doesn’t like hot drinks
he’s god fuckinh amazing at art, like painting, drawing, sketching, everything
he’s so good at it
he ‘doodles’ in all of his school work and books, most of the time it’s of aizawa or present mic (or,, *cough*his crush*cough*) and they’re super accurate
when he goes to sleep he has to have a small tea light candle lit, his over the ear headphones on and playing asmr and a hoodie (comfort hoodie, gifted to him by kiri) with the hood up and pressure on his feet(like just his blanket covering them is fine)
no other set up is allowed
he uses fidget (simple dimple pop) and sensory toys
they got taken away from him in class one time, he almost cried it was so sad
RAGE
so much rage
god
when he was younger he used to scream bloody murder when he had to put on sunscreen (same boo)
refused to wear it until his parents got him a spray on sunscreen (it was just like an oil/water based sunscreen that just,, wasn’t sticky, it was perfect) he still uses it to this day
he loves music, so much
it’s so cool
so many playlists
has like ten different ones that he made just for long car drives
like all the sounds and noises just make his brain so happy
he likes bo burnham cause he has very good lyrics and sounds that make him wanna share them with everyone so they can be happy too (especially ‘sexting’ , ‘oh bo’,’ words words words’, ’rant’, the kanye one, ‘we think we know you’, ‘channel 5 news: the musical’ and ‘bezos’ 1&2)
(omg channel 5 news is so good)
his number is 5
he’s kinda scared to do good in school bc his rank in class will go up and what if it lands on an ugly number??
he’s quite unintentionally restrictive with his food
he just forgets to eat or that he’s hungry
he’s working on it tho dw !
his accents are like typical british/english, australian and southern american
pop out at random times
like he’ll ask present mic to repeat the page number as a southern bell little lady
had a vocal stim that was opra singing “milly rock pick it up”
lil jon vocal stim
(YEAH)
his room is very messy and cluttered from all the failed hobbies and things he just forgot about
expect him to cook but DO NOT expect him to clean up afterwards
like iida will walk into the dorm kitchen in the morning and find this huge mess thinking someone broke in
and kiri is like: oh ig denki was hungry i wonder if he has leftovers
okay i think i’m gonna end this one here lol it’s getting kinda long ! i hope you liked it ! <3
#denki my beloved#bnha#mha#denki kaminari#kaminari denki#chargebolt#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#kaminari#denki#adhd denki#adhd kaminari#denki hcs#kaminari hcs#bnha head cannons#mha headcanons#kaminari headcanons#denki headcanons#boku no hero academia headcannons#my hero academia headcanons#shinkami#serokami#kirikami#kamijirou#bakukami
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attempt #37
This was the 52nd formula that Lena had come up with, the 45th solution that she had to wait several hours to synthesize, but only the 37th time she was injecting her shoulder with the resulting concoction.
It was bright green this time, which only made it seem all the more promising.
There’s a rush and some mild nausea that Lena had come to expect with the experiments, but everything else felt the same. For now. Setting the syringe aside, Lena called out, “Hope, think of a number between one and a million.”
Then, for the 37th time, Lena tried. She cleared her own mind, practiced the meditative mantras, stared intently into Eve’s eyes, bright blue yet blank with Hope’s quiet disinterest, and... nothing. Not a single digit came to mind.
No matter how hard Lena tried, the only thoughts in her head were her own.
With an exasperated sigh, Lena rolled her sleeve back down and directed Hope to log their latest attempt as yet another failure before storming off to start her day.
//
Lena emerged from the laboratory with wrinkled clothes and dark circles sunken around her eyes, which was probably why the first thing she heard as she stepped out of the elevator was her personal assistant’s hushed commentary of, Oh sweet Jesus, she looks tired.
“Oh, I’m well aware, Hector,” Lena said, lofty and without much malice. “Nothing a little coffee can’t fix though.”
Hector stared at her blankly. “I’m sorry, Miss Luthor?”
“Never mind,” Lena said, rolling her eyes. She took the outstretched coffee in question as she walked by the assistant’s desk. “Just hold all my calls until the afternoon, please.”
This time, when Hector grumbled under his breath about wow, she must be grumpy too, Lena ignored it. There were better things for the CEO to tackle, after all; as for example, some fitful sleep on her couch, perhaps?
Hours later, Lena was relatively well-rested, so she pored over her notes again, trying to pinpoint the exact variable she must have overlooked in her carelessness. Because by all accounts, the formula should have worked—Lena had been certain of it. But then again, she’d admittedly thought that of almost every attempt thus far.
When Hector walked into her office at some point in the late afternoon with a handful of contracts to be signed, Lena felt no closer to the solution and a slight headache coming on.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Another coffee would be great,” Lena said, as she sifted through the documents.
“Oh my God, if she takes in any more caffeine, her heart’s going to literally explode...” Hector muttered to himself. “Well, maybe she won’t notice if I get her decaf instead...?”
Lena dropped the papers onto her desk with a scoff. “You know I can hear you, right?”
Hector appeared startled, which seemed rather appropriate until he slowly said, “So... was that a yes on the espresso?”
“What?”
Hector maintained his slow cadence, carefully enunciating every syllable as if he were repeating himself, “Did you want to stick with your usual order... or maybe go with an espresso... because it’s a little stronger?”
But in a normal cadence, also in Hector’s voice and somehow clear as a bell in Lena’s head came, “If this woman doesn’t get another nap in pronto, she is going to drop dead, and everyone’s going to think I poisoned her coffee, because she’s always in—”
Absolutely stunned, Lena continued to stare up at Hector in silence, eyes narrowing as the assistant’s slightly panicked voice droned on and on in her head. Until a louder remark broke through the reverie.
“Whoa, did she just fall asleep with her eyes open?”
Lena blinked quite obviously, and her mild shock was accompanied with a loud and clear, yet unspoken Oh, thank God! from Hector.
But the Hector standing before her hadn’t moved his lips once, only watching the bewilderment play out on Lena’s face with some polite concern.
“The usual’s fine,” Lena interjected before her assistant could press again. “Or the espresso, or whatever. I don’t care, as long as it’s still hot and caffeinated.”
“You got it,” Hector said.
“Definitely getting her decaf,” Hector thought as he turned to leave, but Lena hardly minded. She was too busy restructuring the rest of her day around this most exciting realization.
After some quick bit of arithmetic in her head, Lena set a timer on her watch for five hours, which was presumably the amount of time it would take for her body to break down the serum and render it useless. Then she logged on to her private interface and happily directed Hope to re-record attempt #37 as a success.
//
The ability to read minds was, quite simply, quite the advantage.
Though it wasn’t so much “mind-reading,” as mind-receiving. The serum seemed to have granted Lena access to the loud and active thought processes of everyone around her—their inner monologue, if you will, everything put into words but left unsaid.
Lena had been hoping for more, to be able to break into other people’s minds so as to hack secrets, determine why supposed close friends would ever betray her, and the like. Maybe that would come with time and practice.
But as it turned out, there was rather plenty to be gleaned from the forefront of someone’s mind, as people often thought about the things they weren’t supposed to say before choosing more palatable means of expression. Which made the rest of Lena’s workday somewhat informative, if not a little fun.
For one thing, Lena found out that a lot more of her employees enjoyed working for her than she had thought. All of them respected her, several feared her, and quite a fair few entertained invasive thoughts about her décolletage before swiftly directing their attention elsewhere.
She also found out there was one board member in particular who liked to fudge the numbers during meetings, and that his face took on a very unappealing shade of off-white when Lena could inexplicably confront him with the actual results of his findings.
But most importantly of all, what Lena found out was that... she actually enjoyed this heretofore inaccessible sense of control this ability afforded her. She had taken on the experiments for a very specific purpose, but now, it was difficult to even imagine going back to how things were, even after the fact.
//
Lena walked into the DEO, and for the first time, the outpouring of distrust attached to the Luthor name was all but imagined. The disparaging thoughts followed her, even as the people who had them smiled or averted their eyes as she passed.
Nothing she wasn’t used to though.
Alex’s voice slid into Lena’s head in a whisper—... the hell?—one whole minute before she actually greeted her, “Lena, hey... Well, can’t say that I was expecting you.”
“Yes, that’s what it sounds like,” Lena mused, and Alex gave her a slight frown.
“So, did you need something?”
“Where’s Kara? I want to talk to her.”
Alex’s carefully composed face betrayed no emotion, but her thoughts sighed heavily, “Of course...” before ebbing away into something entirely indistinct and indecipherable.
Lena blinked. She hadn’t encountered anyone whose thoughts weren’t immediately accessible to her before. But here Alex was, giving directions to Kara’s current whereabouts, all the while muttering some underlying commentary in tones so hushed that Lena couldn’t quite make out any of it.
“... Is there something on my face?” Alex swiped her sleeve across her forehead. “What are you looking at?”
“What? No, nothing,” Lena said brusquely. “Thank you for telling me where Kara is. Bye.” She turned on her heel, headed for the hallway that would eventually lead to the training room.
“Well, that was weird...” Alex’s voice drifted after her, a literal afterthought. “But I mean, I guess she has a nice ass, so—”
Lena shot a dirty look over her shoulder, but Alex was already back on her computer, mind rattling off coordinates and running through tactical drills like a well-oiled machine.
//
Kara was wearing short shorts and a sports bra, panting, and absolutely drenched in sweat when Lena stepped foot into the training room. She looked over at Lena, her skin glistening against the dimmed green of the kryptonite-lined walls, and smiled wide.
“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” Kara asked, giving the punching bag one last jab before tugging her gloves off. "Did something happen or...? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.” She flashed Lena another bright grin before pressing a towel to her face and neck and chest.
It was enough to stop Lena in her tracks, and almost enough to put a damper on her plans. Almost.
“I need to talk to you,” Lena said evenly, eyes glued firmly to Kara’s forehead.
“Yeah, sure! Jeez... I’d give you a hug, but I’m like sweating in places I didn’t even know existed. Alex says that this is the only way to learn proper form and all, but wow. I can’t believe there are humans who actually do this for fun—”
“Kara,” Lena cut in, lips pursing in exasperation. “I’m serious. We need to talk right now.”
Kara blinked, then slowly nodded. “Okay, yeah, let’s talk... You wanna sit down?”
“I prefer to be standing.”
“Okay.” Kara remained standing as well, towel now crumpled in her hands. “So, what’s going on?”
Lena took a deep breath, quickly running through the meditative techniques meant to keep her mind clear and open, then asked, “Why did it take you so long to tell me that you’re Supergirl?”
Kara’s shoulders slumped. “Lena, I...”
“No, why did it take three years? Why didn’t you trust me?” Lena continued, her pace steady and firm just like she had practiced. “I trusted you. I trusted you with every part of me, which is extremely difficult for me to do, and you just... didn’t care, I guess.”
“Of course, I care. Lena... I never meant to hurt you,” Kara said insistently. Her voice was loud, emphatic, and at the moment, the only thing Lena could hear.
“Don’t!” Lena snapped when Kara started to approach her. “Don’t come any closer. And stop talking! Just listen.”
Kara exhaled sharply through her nose and raised her hands in tentative surrender in absolute, utter silence. Lena even paused for a beat or two, just to see if any of Kara’s thoughts would breach the surface, but none did.
“Why couldn’t you just trust me, Kara?” Lena asked, and regrettably her voice trembled on the last syllable. “Why did I have to hear it from Lex?”
Kara’s eyes widened. “Lex? Lex told you before I did?”
“Shut up. Do not talk,” Lena hissed out, waiting for Kara to snap her jaw shut before continuing with a bitter laugh, “Do you, do you even trust me now...?” Kara stared, gaze hardening. “And how do you expect me to trust anything you have to say for yourself now?”
Lena’s questions—all of the above and beyond—were met with silence, strained only by the sound of Kara’s heavy breath and Lena’s own thoughts.
Scoffing, Lena threw up her hands. “Do you even care that you hurt me?”
“... Can I talk now?” Kara demanded, seething like she had any right to it. But when Lena shook her head furiously, she held her tongue and apparently everything else as well, because Lena couldn’t hear a single damn thing.
When the alarm on her watch went off, Lena left, slamming the door on her way out. She contacted Hope through their private channel and had her re-log attempt #37 as just another failure.
Back to the fucking drawing board.
(next part here)
#who's ready for attempt 38 n' 39?#and did i honestly start another ficlet series when i already have so many ongoing?#WACK!#also wtf; why is this 2k words...?#my words.
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gave me no compasses, gave me no signs
Read on ao3
Summary: It was the one time her hunch had been wrong.
In which Han Joonhwi is acting suspicious, and Kang Sol A intends to find out why.
Rating: T
Word count: 3,848
Notes: Title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘invisible string’: “Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs; were there clues I didn’t see?”
~
As promised, here is the Solhwi fic that I had hoped to be up before Episode 7 airs. I went straight to work after receiving positive feedback from an interest check post. As I mentioned there, the story isn’t necessarily dwelling on the current timeline, but is, for the most part, still canon-compliant. I totally made up all the legal jargon, so please bear with me. And, like the show, I decided to do ‘cutscenes’ instead of one unilinear fic.
I had a lot of fun with this little project for the past two days, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :) I’d also love to hear your thoughts, please do send me a message or feel free to comment, it would mean the absolute world to me. Thank you and let’s all look forward to Episodes 7 and 8 this week!
The fic is under the cut. As a sidenote, this fic is un-beta’ed. All mistakes are mine.
~
I.
Kang Sol A swears she only drifted off for a second.
She had been burning the midnight oil for the past few days, well into the weekend, so much that the tension was radiating into her atmosphere, so much that the heat was starting to get to her head. Her Civil Code paper may not write itself, but neither could she if it took every ounce of her energy just to even sit up. So she plopped down on her bed, head heavy on her pillow, still fighting the urge to doze off.
She blinked, slowly, and as her eyes fluttered at an alarming rate, they eventually closed — just for a moment, I’ll count to ten and then wake up again — and stilled.
Birds were chirping outside her window when her eyes shot open, and that’s how she knew she messed up big-time. She woke with a start, frantically shaking off the books and papers off her person and frisking for her phone, silently praying that she wasn’t too late for her meeting with her project partner Seo Jiho, who she knows absolutely despises latecomers.
Sol A felt something vibrate from behind her, and an incomprehensible sound escaped her lips as she checked her phone. There were mountains of notifications that prevented her from checking the current time: self-set alarms, e-mails from her professors, reminders about today’s meeting with Jiho, and missed calls from a certain Han Joonhwi.
Clearing all of them at once, she finally reads: 9:07 AM. She was supposed to meet Jiho at 9:15. Sol A breathes a sigh of relief, but her momentary celebration is cut short when her phone starts to ring.
Han Joonhwi was calling again.
She didn’t even get a chance to speak yet when the voice on the other end asked, “Breakfast?”
Sol A put him on speaker phone as she packed up her things. “Can’t,” she replied mindlessly. “I have to meet with Seo Jiho and I’m already late. Eat by yourself.”
A few seconds of silence went unnoticed as Kang Sol A zipped up her knapsack and wore it over her shoulder. She finally picked up her phone and switched back to the handset. “Don’t skip breakfast, you hear me?”
Still nothing. “Joonhwi-ah.”
“Walk fast,” was all he said. And then he hung up.
That caught Sol A off guard, but she heeded the advice anyway.
She made it to the study room at exactly 9:13, only stopping by the entrance to catch her breath and tie her hair back into a ponytail. It was silent, so she half-hoped that no one would be there, but half-expected nothing less from Jiho. So she walks in, footsteps heavy, only skidding to a halt when she sees Jiho staring someone down, someone whose back looked all-too-familiar.
“You like her, don’t you?” she overhears from Jiho. “Kang So-”
Jiho suddenly fell silent at the sight of Sol A, and the man opposite him suddenly turned his head towards her. She was right about who it was — it was none other than the person she spoke with on the phone just a few minutes ago.
If Joonhwi was surprised, he didn’t show it.
But Kang Sol A did. She blinked once, and with a hint of dubiousness, she asked, “Who likes who?”
The men shared a look, and she was met with silence again, which was beginning to irk her. But she bit her tongue, took a seat across Seo Jiho, and grinned cheekily at him. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You aren’t...” Jiho replied, trailing off.
“I am by your standards. I know you,” she said matter-of-factly. “For Seo Jiho, ‘on time’ actually means ‘thirty minutes early’. Which means I’m late.”
Sighing wistfully, Sol A added, “I learned that the hard way.”
She locks eyes with Joonhwi momentarily, but he averts his gaze, expression unreadable. Sol A ignores this and tries her luck once more, eyes flitting from Jiho to Joonhwi and back. “Who were you guys talking about?”
This time, almost with no hesitation, Joonhwi finally spoke up. “No one,” he answered. “My roommate was just practicing his cross-examination skills on me.”
He stood up, giving Seo Jiho a final staredown. “They’re very poor at the moment. Help him out, will you?”
Then, without looking Kang Sol A in the eye, he gave her a soft squeeze on the shoulder, and promptly left.
Sol A’s eyes followed Joonhwi’s back, and stayed there even after he left. His touch lingered on her shoulder like a ghost, but instead of comfort, all she felt was fear. Suspicion. Restlessness. That maybe he was hiding something, and whether it involved her or not, she was keen on finding out just exactly what it was.
II.
“I’m telling you, Yeseul-ah,” Sol A insists. “Something’s up with him.”
They link arms, walking past the school entrance and into the lobby. Jeon Yeseul turns to her, hair falling perfectly into place as she lets out an angelic laugh. God, Sol A thinks. Even her laugh is perfect. But past the admiration for her Aphrodite-like features, Sol A feels like she’s being mocked.
She pouts. “You don’t believe me.”
“I do!” Yeseul defends. “You think he likes Kang Sol B.”
Sol A slides her left hand off Yeseul’s arm and holds her friend’s right one lightly. “So why are you laughing at me, then?”
“Unnie.” Yeseul wraps an arm around Sol A’s shoulder. “Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe Joonhwi-oppa likes you?”
Sol A almost choked on her spit. Of course she’s thought about it — after all, she’s a hundred percent certain that it was the name Kang Sol that slipped from Seo Jiho’s mouth a few days ago. But none of the evidence so far points to it being herself. And anyway, it’s not as if he’s shown any interest in Sol A as a woman. In fact, all he does is tease her. And she’s okay with that. And Sol B already likes Joonhwi. And they seem to be a far better fit than Sol A and Joonhwi. And it’s not like she harbors any romantic feelings for him, either.
She pushes the thought away before it could become bigger.
Sol A denies, deflects, and defends. “That can’t be right.”
“Why not?” her friend challenges.
“Why would he be avoiding me if that were true?” Sol A counters.
“People do that when they feel awkward around their crush,” Yeseul rebuts.
This is starting to feel like a game of chess rather than a conversation between best friends. “I think he’s just scared I’ll tell my roommate or something.” Before Yeseul could say anything else, by some stroke of luck, Sol A spots Joonhwi from her peripheral vision, walking past Lady Justice.
Yeseul smiles kindly at Sol A. She doesn’t doubt its genuineness, but she feels like it’s laced with mischief. “Should we test your theory, then?”
What does that mean?
“Joonhwi-oppa!” Yeseul shouts, waving at him from across the room.
She’s not going to ask him, is she?
Yeseul runs to Joonhwi, a light skip in her step. “I have something to ask you.”
Wait.
“Wait,” escaped from Sol A’s lips, barely a whisper before it started registering on her what Yeseul was about to do. And when it does, she finally sprints. “Jeon Yeseul, wait!”
“Oppa.” Yeseul bats her eyelashes at Joonhwi. Sol A was in tow behind her, feeling small but unsure why.
“Oh, Yeseul-ah,” Joonhwi greets. His eyes lit up at the sight of his friend and classmate.
While it pained Sol A to just sit back and watch, knowing that Joonhwi had been purposefully avoiding her, she let the scene unfold, trusting that Yeseul knew what she was doing.
“You haven’t been going to the study group sessions lately,” Yeseul starts.
Sol A hoped it would get a rise out of him, seeing as he was the one who started the group to begin with, but was barely showing up these days. Instead, all he said was, “The pair project in Civil Code has been holding me up.”
Yeah, right, she thinks. A second-round judicial exam passer and a former police academy student having a hard time in Civil Code? Why do I find that hard to believe?
Sol A scoffs, and Yeseul pinches her side. “Sol-unnie and I are meeting the others for lunch. You should come join us.”
“Ah,” Joonhwi drawled out slowly, as if coming up with an excuse to say no. Sol A expects it to be his next move. “I wish I could, but-”
Knew it.
“Kang Sol B will be there,” Sol A blurts out, fully aware that it’s a total lie. Still, she had to try.
Something in Joonhwi’s mood changed, and his face hardened. Still not making eye contact with Sol A, he excuses himself from Yeseul. “I’ll take a rain check today, okay?”
And without another word, he left again, leaving Sol A with the same emptiness that she had felt in the study room the other day.
Yeseul finally turns to Sol A, crossing her arms. “You’re right. He’s being weird.”
III.
A few more days without Joonhwi’s company, and Sol A was starting to feel its ill effects on her. She hadn’t realized just how much she took him for granted until he was no longer around to challenge her ideas, to annoy her over the littlest of things, to calm her down when she’s freaking out, to be her drinking buddy, to be someone she could tell any and every stupid story to, with the utmost confidence that he’ll keep it to himself or that he wouldn’t belittle her for it.
They’d been through too much together now, and even their fateful first meeting all those years ago didn’t faze him from her. In fact, her little scheme, no matter how deceitful at the time, brought him closer not just to her, but to Byeol, her mom, and to an extent, even Dan.
So what changed? What on earth did Seo Jiho say to him, and what on earth did she walk into, that made him close himself off from her? Proximity may not breed familiarity, but right now she wishes nothing more than to be in his orbit again.
Arguably the worst consequence of the lack of Joonhwi in Sol A’s life right now is having no one to eat with.
During one of her all-nighters at the dorm, she found herself with an intense craving for some ramyeon. She removed her earphones, partly to pull herself back to reality, but mostly to ask her roommate to have a meal with her. As if Sol B would say yes, but it was worth a shot.
“I’m going downstairs for a bite. You wanna come?”
No response, as expected from Kang Sol B. Sol A inwardly rolled her eyes, spinning in her chair to tease her roommate, only to find the desk empty.
She scratched her head while walking, wondering where Sol B could be at this time of night. And without a heads up, too… She was getting worried.
But it seems like her concern was all for naught, because Sol B was right where Sol A was headed.
And she was there with Han Joonhwi.
She was laughing. It was the first time that she saw Sol B laugh, maybe ever, and to see that Joonhwi could be someone who could do that for her, made Sol A feel proud. Like knowing Han Joonhwi was a privilege, not only because of the way he could make people comfortable around him, but also because Sol A had once been on the receiving end of it herself.
She should be relieved. In fact, she should be happy. Because it means that her guess was right, which means she doesn’t have to keep digging anymore. She could just tell Joonhwi that his secret’s safe with her, and they could finally go back to the way they were before... Right?
And yet something about witnessing the pair interact as a mere bystander didn’t sit right with Sol A. There’s a pang in her chest that she can’t quite comprehend — maybe she just misses him, or maybe it’s something else completely. Because if Han Joonhwi has feelings for Kang Sol B, and they’re together right now, then that leaves only one explanation: he must be avoiding her, and for a completely different reason.
It was the first time her hunch had been wrong.
Needless to say, Sol A lost her appetite and trudged back upstairs lifelessly, a bitter taste in her mouth and an ache in her stomach that she couldn’t quite place where it even came from.
IV.
Come Friday, Sol A was too exhausted to even think about Han Joonhwi. Between the endless deadlines and papers to write, her job in the copy room, and the Seo Byungju case, her energy had been too depleted and her social battery too worn out to even care that her relationships could be falling apart.
The only thing she has going for her now is the Legal Clinic, the one place where she could bury her nose deep in case digests and law readings and she would absolutely never get tired of it, because it’s the one place where she feels like she’s making a real difference, especially when people’s lives are at stake. It was the remaining part of her life where Sol A felt like she was in control, so these days, all her emotionally-charged passion was focused on this one thing.
But of course that had to fall apart too, when Professor Yang asked for her to stay after class.
He cut right to the chase. “I’ll be meeting with my defense lawyer today so I need you to consult with the client in my stead.”
Count on Yangcrates to always give Sol A a heart attack in under two seconds.
“M-me?” she stuttered.
The professor’s face twitched, ever-so-slightly, which Sol A took as a sign to backtrack and confidently proclaim that she’s up to the task. She knows there’s nothing Yang Jonghoon hates more than a quitter.
“Ah, yes, of course,” she accedes, with a little more verve.
He nods once in her direction. “And take Han Joonhwi with you,” he commanded.
She’s doomed. Not that she wasn’t doomed before, but now that Professor Yang had to drag her personal life into this, she was really in shambles.
Sol A clears her throat. “With all due respect, Sir,” she laughs nervously, “don’t you trust me?”
Professor Yang takes a moment to think about it. Sol A wonders if today’s the day she finally gets a definitive answer. But Yangcrates is as sly as ever. “This is your chance to get back at him for the Bad FaMa case. Make him your assistant this time.”
He walks away, leaving Sol A dumbfounded once again, but not before he adds, “Under my orders, of course.”
Sol A’s knees buckled at the thought. Normally, she would find this predicament to be absolutely funny, a chance to bicker with Joonhwi and learn something from him at the same time. But he’s angry at her, and she doesn’t even know why, and even merely approaching him has turned into a problem.
Everything in Sol A’s life right now is a problem. She wonders if it's getting Joonhwi back that would fix everything.
Upon leaving the classroom, she spots him getting a drink from the vending machine. She has to slap herself twice, just to mentally prepare herself, to muster up the courage to approach him again.
“Come on, Sol,” she whispers to herself. “This isn’t hard.”
Shaking off the nerves, she takes a step forward, but in a momentary state of weakness, takes another step back. “So what if he’s mad? That’s his problem. I’ve never given him a reason to be angry. He should suck it up. Not me. Come on. Just do it.”
A step forward.
“Just do it.”
A step back.
“Goddamn it.”
One final step back to boost herself forward, and she’s running towards him, pretending to be as casual as possible. “Han Joonhwi!” she calls out to him.
His eyes widen at the sight of her, knowing he has nowhere to escape.
“Did you get my text? Professor Yang needs our help at the Legal Clinic.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”
Joonhwi scratched the back of his head, and Sol A just knows it’s about to be another lame excuse. “I can’t. I’m meeting Sol B for our Civil Code term paper.”
He can’t even look at her, and Sol A wonders just how bad she had hurt Joonhwi for him to feel like this towards her. But that only lasted for a second, when she realized just exactly what he said. Then, her pity turned into irritation, as she accused, “Liar.”
Sol A crossed her arms, and glared at Joonhwi. “Did you forget that I’m her roommate? She went home today.”
V.
Sol A sat across Joonhwi inside the Legal Clinic, her eyes narrowed to slits. A profound silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by a sharp inhale from her.
“You like Kang Sol B, don’t you?”
The only response she got was Han Joonhwi’s signature smirk, playful and taunting, one that said, ‘You don’t know me, and you never will’.
She hated that.
She slammed a hand on the table, and pointed at him accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have kept your secret if you just asked. Is that why you were avoiding me? Because you think I’d tell her or something?”
The same smile painted on his face, Joonhwi exhaled defeatedly. “Kang Sol A, I thought I taught you to never make any claims with unfounded bases.”
An eyebrow perched up on Sol A’s end. “It’s not unfounded,” she argues.
“Where’s your evidence, then?” he dared her.
Sol A had been waiting for this. She listed everything he had ever done — or refused to do, which was spend time with her, speak to her, or even look at her, which was absolutely the bare minimum — since the incident with Seo Jiho up to this very moment.
He waves his hand dismissingly. “That’s all speculative.”
If his goal was to rile her up, then it’s definitely working. “Then what about what I heard Seo Jiho tell you that one time? And most importantly, you straight up lied to my face.”
“Circumstantial,” he quips. “That would never hold up in court, especially not when the only witness is yourself. How are you going to be both the defense lawyer and the sole witness?”
Han Joonhwi should be at the edge of the precipice here, and yet he has managed to flip the situation over and turn it into an interrogation for Kang Sol A.
Nothing can hide her frustration anymore. “I would never be the lawyer in my own case. Look, it’s still evidence. You asked, and I gave it. Seriously, Han Joonhwi, what’s with you?”
Instead of a direct answer, he points out, “You rely on your emotions too much.”
Almost immediately, she shoots back, “And you rely on the law too much. This isn’t a courtroom. This is a human conversation.”
He purses his lips, unable to say anything, and Kang Sol A continues. “You’re too stubborn.”
“And you’re too nosy.”
“You’ve benefited from it more than once.” Sol A’s patience is getting thinner by the second. “Can’t you just tell me what I did so that I can either apologize for it or call you out for being wrong?”
“You and Sol B are hardly friends. What reason would I have to be afraid?” Amusement gleamed in Joonhwi’s eyes; Sol A was astounded by how he could stay so nonchalant about this. “Think.”
She glared at him, but still ceded. Damn his tenacity. “Fine, I’ll play along.”
She rolled her eyes, and in a blasé manner, started to think out loud. “I overheard Jiho ask you if you liked Kang Sol, and then you started avoiding me. Yeseul asked you to join us for lunch, and when I said Sol B would be there, even though she really wasn’t, you declined. So I thought it was her that you liked. But it doesn’t make sense, because I saw you two hanging out at the cafeteria that one night-”
His arrogant expression changed to one of shock. “You did?”
“-and then you straight up lied to me about your plans. Unless you two are already dating-”
“We’re not,” he interrupts once more. Sol A eyes him with suspicion. “We’re not,” he repeats indignantly.
“-it could only mean that you do like Kang Sol…”
Joonhwi starts slowly nodding, face a little flushed, but somehow urging her on to continue.
“...just not B. You like-”
“Kang Sol A.” Professor Yang enters the room, calling out her name.
She’s sure her professor asked her to do something, but she was unmoved. At this point, she doesn’t think anything could pull her out of her reverie for the rest of the day.
A veil that covered her eyes was lifted, and she had never been so pitiful of the blindfold that Lady Justice wore. The scales Kang Sol A carried, as heavy as the burdens she was facing, balanced with Han Joonhwi holding them up with her. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand right at that moment, to feel the heaviness in its entirety, and thank him for staying anyway.
They don't talk for the rest of the day, but Kang Sol A is unbothered.
Her questioning attitude may have always gotten her in trouble in school, but this was the one time she was glad to be wrong.
Epilogue
Han Joonhwi fell asleep on his desk again.
He normally finishes up all his revisions early, but because of his agitation, the cold table seemed to be more inviting than the bed, where he simply ends up tossing and turning.
Despite the stiff neck it was bound to cause, he’s been doing it for days, only being woken up by his constant 8:30 alarms. This time, however, it was his gracious roommate Seo Jiho who finally interrupted him from his slumber.
Jiho slammed a sealed instant ramyeon pack on Joonhwi’s desk. He groggily looked up at his friend, whose hair was still disheveled, and asked, “What’s this?”
“It’s from Kang Sol A.” Before walking away, he deadpanned, “Do your own bidding next time. I’m not your messenger.”
Joonhwi took the cup ramyeon, spotting the bright yellow sticky note on it, not unlike the ones he’d put on Sol A’s notebook, or occasionally, her forehead. He smiled to himself as he read the message, walking out to heat up some water for breakfast, but not before carefully displaying the note on his bulletin board for the whole world to see.
Han Joonhwi,
For a second-round judicial exam passer, you can be so dense.
I like you back, you idiot.
Now stop sulking and have breakfast with me.
Idiot.
~
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#jtbc law school#law school#kang sol a#han joon hwi#solhwi#kim bum#ryu hye young#kang sol a x han joon hwi#fics#kang sol b#lee soo kyung#seo jiho#david lee#ko yoon jung#jeon ye seul#yang jong hoon#kim myung min#jtbc#kdrama#korean drama#mine
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