#and I WILL be deemed worthy of miss managers kisses.

[merlucide]

it’s almost time @riririnnnn …. Almost time 😠

#you WILL lose #and I WILL be deemed worthy of miss managers kisses. #HAHAHAHA #gfc #gf fc #gf cult #bllk

[princejiu]

𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | alessia russo x mma!fighter

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Alessia encounters an unwanted attention and tries her best to hide it from you, knowing that you would absolutely do anything to keep her safe.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 | blood, assault, violence, ptsd, cursing, maybe attempt of murder

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 | ik its been two months almost thre-anyways. this is 9 thousand something words and it took a lot of brain capacity.

The night was young, streetlights lit the city as rowdy adults filled London with joyous laughter. It was like any other Saturday night to most but not to Alessia.

She was leaving you home alone to attend Kyra's birthday party along with the other gunners. Usually, you'd be by her side through it all, but you were still healing from your previous fight.

Patched-up cuts and bruises here and there. None that you deemed bed-rest worthy, yet remained home to steer clear of the scolding you would get from your coaches.

So, here you were sitting with a large bucket of popcorn and the latest season of Love Island. It took a great deal to convince Alessia to leave your side for the night, refusing to go firsthand as the urge to smother you with love and care surged as time went on.

After countless reassurances and kisses, Alessia reluctantly switched out joggers for jeans and a pullover for a top. She stood in front of you, twirling to give you the 360. Deep down, you started to regret inducing her to go. While Alessia had a full blowout, you lounged on the loveseat with shorts and a sports bra. "And to think you didn't want to leave."

Alessia grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it, pointing a non-threatening finger at you. "Do not start teasing me. You were the one who was so adamant about me going. It's your fault I'm in this vest instead of my jumper."

"Love, if it makes you feel any better. I prefer you in nothing at all."

Alessia rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in annoyance. You grinned, beckoning her over, even when you managed to annoy her Alessia could never resist you. She trudged to you, pursing her lip when you patted your lap.

You grunted as she plopped down on you, the unexpected force taking you by surprise. It was Alessia's turn to grin, hooking her arms around your neck, yours to her hips. "I take it you didn't like my joke."

You were unfazed by Alessia's evil eye, more than used to it. "You do not get to make jokes like that. You're forcing me to go to a party I don't want to go to and you're watching Love Island without me. You're being mean." You snorted, and with a click, the game show switched to one of your old fights.

Alessia turned her head away, your fights always made her a bit queasy hence why she never watched them. "Yes, how can I be so cruel to my lovely girlfriend? I should be punished for my crimes." Alessia slapped your chest, not a fan of your mockery.

"Quit the sarcasm. Save that for someone else other than the love of your life."

You pecked her cheek, a quick apology. "You're right. The love of my life only deserves respect and devotion." She nodded her head in agreement, her pride growing as she had the big bad fighter everyone knew lay down the treatment she deserves.

"That is correct but don't think this sucking up made me forget what you've done to me."

You groaned, throwing your head back. "Love, you haven't left my side since my fight, normally I wouldn't mind but you've been cooped up all week. And it's Kyra's birthday, imagine the headaches she'll give you for missing it."

Alessia could already see it, Kyra having a kick at her for not showing up. The Australian was known for her little sister energy that never ran out, much to the unlikes of her teammates. Alessia recalled Kyra's recent mischievous act.

A week ago, Steph forgot to grab Kyra's favorite candy when making a store run and a childlike Kyra took it to offense. She hadn't stopped yapping the entire day, Steph departed training with ringing ears that lasted the next day.

Alessia didn't want to have a similar outcome.

"That rascal hid my boots last time because I refused to prank Katie. A nuisance she is." You smiled, Alessia's annoyance that wasn't targeted towards you was amusing to watch. You slipped a hand under her top, rubbing the warm bare skin a contrast to your cold hands.

"So, what I'm hearing is that I'm right."

Alessia gave you no acknowledgment, gasping when she felt your thumb dip below her waistline. You leaned in for a kiss, though you were met with a flat palm to the face. You pulled back, scrunching your nose. Alessia smiled widely, "No messing up my lip gloss, darling."

For the very first, you scowled at Alessia's bright pink lips. The desire to botch Alessia's perfectly applied lipstick grew by the second. You exhaled sharply, leaning back to put some distance between you and her restricted lips. "That's unfair. You look ravishing and you're saying I can't kiss you? Must you tease me?"

Alessia giggled under her breath; she kissed your neck, unapologetic about her teasing. "Oh, my big baby. Have the consequences of your actions come to play?" You frowned at Alessia's mocking pout, the way she spoke as if she were speaking to a child stirred something within you.

You roughly tugged her closer, inches away from her lips. You removed one hand from her hips, gripping her jaw in a tight-loose hold. Your thumb swiped her bottom lip to the corner. Her once-perfect gloss now smudged and not in the way she would have liked.

You brought your thumb to your lips, putting on a little show, humming at the taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Alessia froze, she didn't expect you to turn the tables on her so fast. You grabbed Alessia's phone out of her back pocket, hearing a ping. You opened her phone, purposely ignoring her. "Vic's here. You should get going if you don't want to be late."

Alessia remained unmoved, stuck in a trance you led her into. You chuckled, no emotion behind it, standing up causing Alessia no choice but to do so as well. You took her chin in between your two fingers, "A little quiet, aren't we? What's the matter, Alessia? Have the consequences of your actions come to play?"

Alessia gulped at the bite in your tone, she shouldn't have baited you. It always ended with her pinned to the bed, a position she loved yet a lesson she never intend to learn. Alessia's phone pinged once again, she paid it no mind too focus on your little stare-down. "Better get going before Vic comes up and knocks down our door."

Alessia hesitantly took her phone, squinting as if she was trying to figure out your plan. "Just like that?" You raised a brow, ignoring the pinch of pain as your stitches stretched.

"I can do worse than a smeared gloss, you of all people should know that. I suggest you leave now before you don't at all." Alessia's finger hovered over her lips, she could feel the slight stickiness at the corners of her lips. You hadn't done much to taint them, but Alessia wished you did.

Your eyes began to soften at Alessia's timid stature, tipping her head up with a finger. Wiping away the small mess you created. "Have fun tonight, okay? I love you."

A smile grew on Alessia, puckering her lips for a kiss. "I thought you didn't want to ruin your makeup" She rolled her eyes at your cockiness, pulling you down to finally bring you into a kiss you both craved.

Alessia was the first to separate, "I love you too. Don't wait up." She gave you one last peck, grabbing her purse on her way out. Swaying her hips side to side, mindful of your wandering eyes.

"Not having the time of your life are you, Less?"

Lia winced as Alessia's head snapped to her, "I am. Why do you ask?" Lia didn't believe the young girl and it showed, Alessia stuck herself at their rented-out booth, doing nothing else other than sipping on her club soda.

"You haven't moved since we got here. What? Are you not used to having your little bloodhound with you?"

That got a laugh out of Alessia, Lia grinned cheekily. You were always a topic used to tease Alessia, two total opposites that fit together like a puzzle. She pushed the national captain as she poked fun at her. You were deemed 'The Bloodhound' early in your career by the media after endless fights where you left the cage a bloodbath.

"You can say that. She's still heal-" The boisterous of their teammates cut Alessia off, stumbling and cackling at whatever their drunk minds thought was funny. Leah threw herself next to Lia, pointing to Katie, her finger unsteadied as a result of her tipsiness. "I got it last time, McCard. It's your turn."

The Irish childishly shook her head, throwing up the bird, "No." Leah huffed, her infamous frown appearing.  She turned to the person next to Katie. "Fine. Caitlin, you go."

"She's not going."

The blonde threw her arms up in frustration, so much for being capitan. "Someone had to go, Katie! You've been weaseling your way out of rounds for the last two months!" The said weasel denied it, though the smirk on her lips said otherwise.

Leah's glare intensified, she wasn't a quitter, far from it. Even as a drunk, giving up was never in her dictionary. She stood up, ready to drag the queen of reds to do her go.

Lia, being the only sensible one there, quickly sat the Williamson down, giving her a warning not to start a fight.

"What about our depressed lover over there? She hasn't done anything. No dancing, no drinking. A little mood killer if you ask me." Katie winced as she received slaps from all around, unable to pinpoint who exactly hit her. Alessia cleared her throat, dumbfounded by how she got dragged in.

Lia held out a hand, stopping Katie from going off her rockers and possibly digging her own grave if you were to find out about how she spoke to your fiancé. "Hey, now. Alessia isn't in the mood, we should respect that and be happy she's even here." Alessia squeezed Lia's hand, thanking her for coming to her defense.

However, the people-pleaser side of Alessia won. She moved to stand, but Lia's hand halted her from doing any further. Her concerns made Alessia glad that she had someone in her corner for the wild night. "It's fine. She's sorta right, I've been a killjoy. Maybe this will loosen me up."

"Are you sure?"

Alessia gave Lia the okay, slipping out of her hold, and down to the crowd. Internally gagging at the stench of body odor hitting her unexpectedly. Fresh air welcomed her as she exited the crowd, breathing deeply, the cool air traveled through and around her body.

She rested her arms on the bar, calling the bartender for the round she volunteered to collect. Alessia daydreamed as she waited, snuggling up against you after tonight sounded like the perfect dream to make into a reality.

"Hi."

Alessia didn't flinch at the new voice, too caught up with herself to realize that she was being spoken to. She jumped slightly at the tap on her shoulder, surprised by the close proximity. "Oh, hi." It was small and brief, a simple acknowledgment of him. That's all. At least Alessia thought it was.

"Are you here alone?"

Alessia shook her head uninterested, looking back at the bartender to see if he was preparing her order. He wasn't.

"Who are you here with?"

She sighed, annoyed that he couldn't get the hint. Unbothered to look at him, Alessia answered, hoping the mentioned presence of her team would scare him off. "I'm here with my mates."

"Brilliant. Would your mates mind if I tag along?"

Alessia isn't the type to be easily angered, she grew up with two brothers by force she learned how to have more patience than the average person when it came to men and their small minds.

But something about this stranger irked her. So, she bit her tongue of what she really wanted to say, 'fuck off' and instead said, "They would actually. It's a girl's night and they'll be really upset if it was intruded."

Her saving grave, the bartender came back and he wasn't alone. Alessia quickly picked up the platter, leaving without so much of a goodbye.

There were no cheers or clicking of the shots, as everyone threw their head back to down the hard liquid. Kyra emerged from the crowd, eyes blown and a big smile that stretched cheek to cheek.

She latched onto Alessia's arm, "You're being boring tonight! It's my birthday!" Kyra tugged her to the middle of the room, an area Alessia tried to avoid.

Alessia grabbed onto the nearest person, drawing them along, soon enough a chain of gunners were trailing behind her. Alessia took shot after shot, shortly after, her body relaxed into the rhythmic beats.

She neglected to notice the unexpected hands on her waist as the hands closed around her, squeezing tightly, Alessia instantly knew that these hands weren't a friend of hers.

She roughly pulled away, spinning to see the stranger from the bar. He wore a smirk, smug that he got as close as he did with her. "What the hell are you doing?" He threw his arms to the side, showcasing a little dance of his.

"Dancing, dear. Come back, we were just having some fun."

Alessia shook her head, disgust seeped under her skin. She felt repulsed at some stranger touching her. "No, leave me alone. I am not interested."

"It looked like you were pretty interested. What was that move you did? The one where you were moving your hips side to side. Do you mind doing that again?"

Alessia turned away, thinking it would be best to take her leave rather than speak to him any further. Alas, the stranger couldn't care less. He followed Alessia, shoving bystanders out of his way. "Wait! Do not run off!" She ignored him, scurrying to the booth of gunners.

Just as Alessia was about to reach the table, she was pulled back. She gasped as a huge body engulfed her, Alessia mustered up the strength to push away but the attempt was too futile. "Get off!"

Alessia curled up as much as she could in his hold, his efforts to land a kiss on her neck was challenged by her strong resistance. "I'm a nice lad! Don't be so difficult!" He laughed in disbelief as Alessia struggled, the scene began to gather the attention of nearby clubbers.

"Let me go! Fuckin prick!"

Everything happened in a flash, Alessia was yanked away, bodies meddled between him and her. Mixture of brunettes and blondes filled Alessia's sight.

"You're okay. They're handling it."

Alessia could hardly register Viv's soft voice, the tall Dutch led her out the club, withdrawing from the chaos as the fight got bigger. Viv rubbed circles on her back, trying to calm the shaken girl.

She ignored the security guards that rushed into the building, faint sounds of glass breaking reached her ears. "I'll take you home as soon as Beth is done."

Panic swept through Alessia, red eyes going wide at the thought of returning home. "No! If I go home, she'll know something happened. I can't- I can't-" Viv hushed Alessia, hugging the younger as she spiraled.

Alessia didn't have to specify who she was talking about, only one person was waiting at home for Alessia. That person is you.

"Less, are you scared of yn?"

It was a question Viv didn't want to ask but did. Alessia's reaction to going home wasn't normal especially if it held the person who loved you and you, her. It's a red flag that Viv wasn't so quick to brush off.

Alessia flinched, staring at Viv as if she said the most absurd thing known to man. "What? No! No! Never! I'm scared for her! If she finds out what happened tonight-" Alessia suddenly stopped, she didn't want to believe what happened, happened.

How close he was, how his hands were all around her, how she felt his front pressed up against her. It physically and mentally sickened Alessia to the core.

She collected herself the best she could, staring straight into Viv's eyes. "She'll kill him. Viv, those beatings she does in the cages are nothing. That's her having fun. But this will set her off. You have to promise me that yn wouldn't hear a word about this. Viv promise me."

You couldn't find out, not when Alessia knew the lengths you'd go to protect her. Not when she knew how ill-tempered you were and how easily you got lost in your fit of anger. Alessia was your weakness, she knew that you knew that. Which is why you couldn't know, Alessia had no doubt you'd go on a manhunt to track down whoever harmed her.

Viv gazed into the abyss, unable to comprehend the fear Alessia had for you. You were someone with physical power, that Viv knew, you had the skills and scars to prove it. It was what you trained for, nearly two decades you've been building up your skills to hurt people for a living.

The active terror Alessia showed let Viv know that you were lawless by your own rules. "Okay, okay. I promise. And the others will too." That calmed Alessia down a bit, she leaned into Viv's side watching the passing cars as they waited for the rest.

"Fuck off!"

Katie came out first, followed by the rest of the players and security guards. Yelling and cursing lingered in the air, Viv ignored it, guiding Alessia to the car. "Let's wait in the car. It'll be a while before they quiet down."

The unfortunate events replayed in her mind like a broken record, it kept playing and playing. If she was lucky, sometimes it'd short-circuit. Then, all she could see was you, it felt like a dream. Like you weren't real, and that she was simply imagining someone to protect her to the very end.

But you were real.

You were real and Alessia had a tough time believing that. Believing that you her knight in shining armor. Whispers of promises in her ear at night, how you engraved that into her. But, you were nowhere to be seen when Alessia needed you the most. Instead, you were at home resting.

Part of Alessia wanted to blame you, yet she couldn't, she wouldn't. Not when you were her person, especially not when Alessia understood very well that if you were with her, you'd be in a jail cell by the time the sun rose.

You lost the ability of control when it came to Alessia, if someone were to so much as trip her, you'd return the favor tenfold. The more Alessia thought about you, the more she desired to go home.

"Hungry? We can go to Greggs."

Beth peered over at Alessia, the young striker hadn't made a peep since arriving at the couple's flat and that was hours ago. Beth and Viv stayed up the entire night nurturing Alessia to a certain extent, she allowed. Which wasn't much.

She inhabited the couch corner, not even a slight inch off. She hadn't spoken, eaten, or moved, her brain going haywire, and they couldn't do anything about it.

Beth kneeled, placing a comforting hand on Alessia's knee, gaining her attention without spooking her. "Why don't you take a shower? I imagine sticky sweat isn't the best feeling on the body."

Ease rippled through the couple as Alessia finally moved in the last eight hours, though it was short as Alessia's movements were slow and calculated. Beth patiently waited for her, directing Alessia to the awaiting shower that called her.

The shower did more than just cleanse Alessia of sweat, the overwhelming emotions of the night washed down the drain never to be seen or felt again. Alessia preferred it that way, it was better to believe that it was gone rather than it be stuck on her.

She'd rather be numb than feel what she felt in that dreadful encounter.

Alessia avoided looking into the mirror, squeezing the towel around her tight as she exited the warm steam. The coldness of the early morning greeted her, she walked over to the bed, holding up the Arsenal pull-over Beth set out for her.

She quickly put it on, brushing it down only for her eyes to catch the coloring on her hips. Her fingers lightly grazed the finger-print bruises, her breath hitches as flashbacks of his firm grip on her were physically felt in that second.

Alessia wanted to cry, she didn't want to feel as if someone was standing behind her, she didn't want to feel as if she was being touched like some sort of pet.

Alessia pushed down her tears along with anything else rising to the surface. She walked out the room, the conversation hushed as she came into view, and Alessia didn't care to bring it up knowing fully well it was about her. She sat next to Viv barely returning a smile, "Feel better?" Alessia ignored her, that was the better option.

The truth would raise more questions than she could handle right now. "I'm going home. Yn probably stayed up for me and I don't want to keep her waiting any longer." Understatement of the century. Alessia couldn't grasp the fact that time passed, only assuming, too stuck in her void to feel time's existence.

"Don't fret. I called her and told her you were too tired to make it home. She knows you're here."

Stunned, Alessia sent Beth a nod. "Thanks, but I should really get going." Viv and Beth got the obvious hint that Alessia didn't want to be there anymore, she quickly shoved her phone in her pocket, zipping past them.

The couple hastily followed behind, catching Alessia right at the door. "Let us drive you. We can get Greggs on the way." They didn't give Alessia too much room to argue, Viv grabbed her keys as Beth pushed her out the flat.

"You can ride front seat."

Alessia carefully closed the door, releasing a breath now that she was alone. Beth and Viv had been absolutely sweethearts to Alessia during her stay, but she needed time to herself, time away from eyes that were waiting for her to break.

Slowly and quietly, she shuffled to the kitchen, not a single object out of place since she left. Alessia grabbed a water bottle, the first source of intake she allowed her body to have. The Greggs paper bag perched on the counter, dismissing what Viv had gotten her.

In the safety of her own home, Alessia felt her body ease into itself, the familiarity of these four walls secured her protection and well-being. Something Alessia never thought she'd crave so much.

She went in search of the only person wanted, needed. Weights were lifted off of Alessia's chest when she caught you sleeping in bed, looking ever the most peaceful. A state that she wasn't going to ruin with the truth.

Alessia brushed loose strands out your face, laying on her side, snuggling up in your arms absent from the scary world. Her breath hitches as you pull her closer, "You're back." Your voice husky, eyes still shut half-asleep. Alessia's fingers found your dog tag, turning it over to see the engravement of her name and jersey number. A chain you wore proudly. "I'm back."

"Did you have fun?"

Her fiddling stopped, a small shutter of breath escaped her as the haunting hours came back, this is where Alessia was supposed to spew a little white lie. But she couldn't. Never has Alessia lied to you, never thinking she would need to. This would be a lot harder than she thought.

"Less, is everything okay?"

Your eyes barely opened, the bright light peaked through the curtain nerved your sensitivity. Alessia used her finger to soothe your wrinkles, humming as she tried to lull you back to sleep. "Can't remember much of it. I had too much to drink."

Two lies in one.

Alessia remembered everything and frankly, she didn't drink enough to forget.

You patted her back, comforting, "That's alright. You're home now." Your words brought her more comfort than you can imagine. Alessia was home now; she was home with you, within these four walls. She couldn't be more safer than she is right now.

In your upcoming years as a fighter, you were taught to control your emotions going as far as to eliminate them. The human instinct to feel sympathy for beating another wasn't an option when it came down to winning titles.

By default, you suppressed them to the alternatives outside the cage. Thus, you didn't experience the depths of anxiety or stress like many others did.

But, in recent times it seems as if you're experiencing life in a new manner. You've never been more uneased as you have in the past week. Even minutes before your matches were you never this stressed.

And the main reason for it all is Alessia. The only person in the world to cause you to feel things you normally wouldn't. A blessing and a curse.

Alessia wasn't acting like herself lately, a bit distant something she never was before. Alessia, by nature, was clingy. She clung onto you like a koala does a tree, cuddles, hugs, anything to make your bodies become one, she did. Which is why, her being so distant with you was concerning.

It's been a couple of days since her behavior shifted, at first you thought it was due to the rough start of the week, you were back in camp for your next fight thus your time with Alessia was shorten, she as well was dealing with some tension at work, none she was willing to elaborate.

You figured she needed some alone time to get through.

You tried to be there when she seeked you, yet she hardly did. And you didn't want to push her during a tender time, so you let her be until she was ready. Though, that didn't stop you from actively caring about her, little things such as making her breakfast, washing her uniform, nothing excessive in your mind. Still, Alessia appreciated it all.

Curiosity spiked when she began to wear long sleeves as if it were a second skin, typically you'd brush it off, thinking she hopped on some sort of fashion trend, but the summer heat had her drenched in sweat.

Your attempts to get her into your shirts-which she loved to steal and wear-was useless. Refusing constantly, Alessia stuck to her long-sleeves. You didn't push further, despite your worry each time she went out.

The electricity bill was off the charts that month in turn to keep her cool.

Your agitation heightened when Alessia started to spend more time in the guestroom, it was odd at first considering she rarely stepped foot in the room, in the two years you've lived there.

Guests sleeping over wasn't common therefore your guestroom remained unoccupied most of the time. Not anymore now that Alessia had taken the room for herself.

Aside from the guestroom, it appeared as if you were living alone. You were the only one occupying the common spaces, Alessia nowhere to be seen unless you looked for her. Eventually, your small time together doubled down to nil.

It pained you to see Alessia isolate herself, the last time she acted in such a way was when she was coping with body issues. An unpretty chapter in Alessia's life that none of you spoke about. To prevent a defense lock if confronted, you did whatever you could to build Alessia's self-love without addressing the matter upfront.

It was a bit difficult at first since Alessia's determination to avoid you persisted. You were limited to passing compliments, soft touches, and love letters that you laid in the middle of the bed for her to read when she got home.

Your brief time didn't stop you from showering your girl with the love that she needed and deserved.

The rough week passed and Alessia semi-returned to her normal state. She went back to stealing- your shirts, a more fitting attire for the summer- and her time in the guestroom lessened. She still retreated to the room here and there for an hour or two, nothing you were too worried about now that she seemed better.

Everything was going back to place that is up until, the festival incident.

It happened on a Wednesday afternoon, you and Alessia had gotten caught in the middle of a London festival. One you were aware of too late and thanks to your ignorance, Alessia faced the consequences.

You pushed through the busy festive, pulling Alessia by hand. Bodies pressed up against each other tight spaced, trumpets and cheers blaring in your ears. Rising temper balancing on the cliff's edge as you kept trying to find an escape route, the provoking factors placed you and Alessia on the brink of disaster.

You stood at a whopping six feet using the height advantage to look for an outlet, naive to the shifts in Alessia's breathing. Behind you, Alessia felt her mind and body going haywire.

She could feel her heart beating against her chest, head whipping side to side anxiously seeking for an out. Her throat closed up at the multiple touches on her, she shut her eyes to block out her surroundings but that only made it worse as she instinctively focused on her senses.

Alessia's eyes snapped open, feeling you tug on her. She instantly found your figure, taking her all to concentrate on you. Alessia internally struggled to not think about the prying flashbacks at the back of her mind.

It fought so hard to come forward, to torture her in broad daylight, but Alessia fought harder. She tried to pinpoint the difference between then and now.

The sun was the first she identified, the sun gave her clear view of everyone and everything around her, unlike the colored lights in the dark club. Then there was you. You were the major detail that differed to Alessia, you were there to protect and love her, that's all Alessia needed.

Yet, it didn't stop the strength draining from her body, replaced by what Alessia could distinguish as emptiness. It was in her best efforts to push down the vile feelings, but it was all in vain.

You stumbled back as you felt a cease in Alessia's step. You looked over your shoulder to see her head down, her form shaking like a madman. Without thinking, you closed the distance, calling out to her, but she made no sign that she heard you.

You lifted her head, eyes gaping when Alessia's red teary eyes made contact with yours. Less than a second, you wrapped Alessia in your arms, forcibly pulling her through the crowd, recklessly pushing people out of your way.

You sighed in relief as you and Alessia finally broke free of the bustling street ducking into a small alley. You leaned up against the building, Alessia sobbed into your neck as you settled her. Tears flowed nonstop, you ran your fingers through her hair, humming to tune out the festival's band.

"Can we go home please?"

Alessia looked up at you with her big blue puffy eyes, your heart broke. Your thumb wiped away the lone tear, pecking her forehead. The answer was a no-brainer, you pulled down your hood on Alessia's head, guiding her out the alley and to a taxi, keeping her as close as possible through it all.

For the next few days, you and Alessia isolated yourselves from the world. Alessia didn't want to speak further about it and as much you wanted to, you knew better than to push. You were just glad she wasn't shutting herself in the other room like before.

And Alessia hated it, she hated that you were walking on eggshells with her. She didn't want you to treat her as if she's fragile. Alessia's strong, she knew that she believed it, so why didn't she feel like it?

Instead, she felt suffocated. Alessia began to loathe herself because of it. The constant looks over her shoulder, checking her body as if bruises will appear, it's been two weeks and she can't move on.

A concern started to brew in Alessia's mind, she feared that your relationship may be the cost of her erratic paranoia.

In attempts to salvage or drag out the inevitable, Alessia spent more time with you, she no longer went on your daily walks, but rather to sit on the balcony for her daily fresh air. You didn't mind, she knew that you only went on those walks because Alessia suggested it first, couples' cardio she said.

In all her years, Alessia didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to save herself.

Too stuck in her head to feel Kyra poking her, the Australian entertained herself jabbing the mindless blonde. Giggling when Alessia didn't flinch at the dirty towel thrown at her face.

The younger picked up her water bottle spraying at Alessia, bursting out laughing when she screeched. "Kyra! Go away!" The mischievous player dodged the towel thrown back at her, running away before Alessia could do worse.

Alessia wiped the wetness with her shirt, thankful for Kyra unintentionally pulling her out of her prisoned thoughts. Leah patted the striker's shoulder, pitiful that Alessia had been chosen to be on the end of Kyra's pranks. "So, is the hound coming next week?" Alessia's lip twitched at your alias.

"What's next week?"

"You forgot? The sporting event remember, Jona told us two months ago."

Alessia racked her brain, trying to remember the said event. Then, it hit her, it was a small thing some organization was having to spread the word of football, gain some investors, nothing Alessia wanted to do with. She shook her head, tying up her laces. "I'll skip out. Not in the mood for socializing."

Leah gave her a look, "Mate, it's mandatory. You can't get out of it." Alessia groaned, her plans to laze around with you was a bust. Alessia liked the small bubble, you and her built in your time together, and she wasn't planning on leaving it so soon. But, it looks like she didn't have a choice.

"I'll ask her."

"Is there really a point to? We all know what she's going to say."

Alessia pushed Leah, the captain grinning cheekily at her, a teasing underlining in her words. Everyone who knew you and Alessia's relationship personally knew that you'd do anything she asked.

If Alessia wanted food from a place a town a way, best be known that you're driving all the way there. If she wanted a new car, you're taking her to the dealership within the next hour. In this case, you'd be attending before you were even made aware of it.

"Okay, I'll stop with the teasing...for now. We'll see you there, oh, and it's a white-themed dress code. So, tell the missus, no black. It's not a funeral." Alessia snorted, waving to Leah as she left the locker room. The drive home was about as peaceful as one can be after a long day at work.

Alessia pulled into the lot, funny enough, catching you as you stepped out of your car with a takeaway bag. She kissed you, your favorite way to be greeted by the love of your life.

You swung her gym bag over your shoulder. "What did you get?"

"A protein bowl from that Japanese restaurant down the street and your usual."

Alessia grinned, pecking you on the cheek. "You're the best." You hummed tiredly, holding the door open for her. "I have to speak to you about something." You perked, thinking that she would finally be open about what's happening these few weeks.

"There's this thing, me and the girls are attending. It's obligated that we go but on the bright side, we can bring a plus one. So, darling will you be my plus one?"

You deflated, disappointed but smiled nonetheless. Setting the bag aside, wrapping an arm around her waist, "I would love nothing more. Now, let's eat up. I'm starving."

"It also has an all-white attire. So, no digging deep in your closet for your black suits, darling."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Damn, mami!"

Alessia fought back a smile as you exclaimed loudly, she placed her hand in your reaching one, unable to fight a growing grin any further. She squealed as you spun her, her dress flowing in the air. "You look so good. Are you trying to put me to shame?"

Alessia rolled her eyes, slapping your chest, passing over to the mirror to put on the finishing touches to her outfit. "You flatter me too much." You looked at your girlfriend through the mirror, clearly offended by her words.

"If this is too much, then I'm not doing a good job. Because my girl deserves all the compliments in the world."

You rested on her shoulder, Alessia applied her red lipstick, in your mind she did it too slowly. "You do an excellent job, my love. I can promise you that." Alessia handed you her necklace, beaming at the sight. It wasn't just any necklace, but a 23-karat diamond necklace. One of its kind, personally designed for her.

You gifted to her on your first anniversary, a token that she belonged to you, an object of your love for her.

You clipped it, staring intently as she stroked the diamonds around her neck. Alessia's eyes flickered up to you, blushing, instantly recognizing the emotion swirling in your eyes. You bowed down to kiss upon it, your gloss sticking to her neck painting it with the outline of your lips.

Alessia tilted her head to the side, eyes closing in bliss. You pulled her closer by the waist, your fingertips resting on the zipper. Alessia pulled away when she felt the dress loosen around her, "We can't." You huffed at her breathless words, drooping your forehead on her uncovered back.

"Why? No one will notice us missing."

"Kim will. She'll have me running laps next practice."

You rezip up Alessia's dress, creating some needed distance. "We can't have that now, can we? Let's get going before I rip that dress off." You led her out of the flat, focusing on the numbers as the elevator went.

Internally fighting the urge to drag Alessia back to bed and have your way with her.

You grunted, feeling the hovers of Alessia's fingers dancing across your chest as she played with the buttons on your shirt. You wore a white pantsuit, two out of five unbuttoned, revealing your cleavage and dog-tag.

You looked too good, the longer Alessia studied you, the more regret bubbled in her stomach. She jumped at the elevator chime, you chuckled removing her hand from your chest, intertwining them. 

You opened the car door for her, bending down to match her height as she sat in the passenger seat. The proclaimed passenger princess. "You gone a little quiet, Less." She ignored you, texting whoever was on the other end of the line.

You mockingly pouted, "Don't be bratty with me, love. You're the one who didn't want to take one for the team and run laps." You chuckled at Alessia's silence, walking to the driver side.

You cleared your throat, sipping on a glass of bourbon. Classical music played while businesswomen and men spoke as if they'd do any actual work outside this meaningless gathering. You scanned the room; blinded by the bright white all around. Not an interesting thing in sight.

You concluded that white parties sucked, and parties hosted by old men sucked even more. Them and their greedy ass money, you grimaced as the cheap liquor coated your throat, their inability to buy a good brand irked you.

You hid away in the corner with Alessia and her team, hanging off Alessia's shoulder like a piece of meat. You had no business being there, other than being her eye candy.

Usually, you'd be talking to Katie about her newly collection of red cards that never seemed to stay consistent, but she was too busy sucking up to her girlfriend and there was no way you'll get in the middle of that.

You prepared yourself as your eyes caught Kyra walking over after being shooed off by Leah, the mischievous smirk on her lips let you know that she found her next target, you.

Kyra plopped beside you, instantly ambushing you. You smacked Kyra's prying hands, "Kyra down! Down Kyra!" The little tussle wasn't fair, you refused to remove your arm from Alessia, but even with one hand, you were stronger than Kyra.

The younger girl ignored your demands, continuing her attempts to wrangle your drink out of your possession and into her mouth. "Kyra! I'll buy you a fucking drink! For fuck sakes!" Immediately, like an obedient puppy, Kyra unlatched herself from you, hands intertwined in her lap as she smiled innocently at you.

You whispered your departure to Alessia, well aware that you were doing everyone a favor by taking Kya away. "Follow me, you brat." She trailed behind you, sticking her tongue out at Steph when the older Australian caught her shadowing you to the bar.

As you left with the little troublemaker, the atmosphere in the Arsenal corner became a little calmer. Alessia giggled At Vic's story, the Dutch dodging the slap Alessia delivered, poking fun when she missed.

Vic's laughter died down as her eyes caught on something or someone. Alessia of her own subsided, curiosity knocked on her chest as Vic's body language changed into something Alessia couldn't identify.

"Less, is that the guy from the pub a few weeks back? The one who-"

Vic couldn't bring herself to finish, the effect still remained with Alessia, it was evident to all the girls. Alessia slowly and surely began to act like herself again, but the Arsenal girls knew better. They knew better than what Alessia was leading on.

She squinted as if it would help her see better through the vast crowd, a few bodies shuffled to the side revealing the reason for her all her recent troubles.

London was a big city, the percentage of running into the same people is less than one. The world had to be playing some sick joke on Alessia, as though it wanted blood to be spilled tonight. Something Alessia's been terribly trying to avoid.

Warmth drained out her system, suddenly everything felt chilly yet sweat lingered near her hairline. Alessia struggled to allow oxygen into her lungs, head snapping left and right,desperate to find you.

Vic tried to calm her, speaking in hush tones to get Alessia's attention. But it was useless, Vic called Leah over. Despite yelling for Leah, the entire team heard the urgency in her voice.

They rushed over, huddling over Alessia's shaking figure. Leah kneeled, cupping Alessia's face in her hands, coaching her through her panic. "Less! Alessia! Breath! Mate, breath!"

You shoved Kyra when she blew in your ear, rubbing the ticklish feeling away, never have you met someone so fearless of you. Granted everyone knew you wouldn't hurt Kyra despite her annoying antics. "You little shit, I swear-"

"Are you that MMA fighter? The Bloodhound, right?"

Kyra snickered, you pursed your lips giving her a look, one that meant that you're little fued wasn't over. You turned to the man in suit, he looked like every man in the room...dull. Can no man dress to save their life?

"Yeah, what's up?"

Kyra peeked over your shoulder, wanting a look at who took your attention away from her. Dread, that's all Kyra felt at the sight of him. She couldn't forget him, the bastard that hurt her best friend, someone you didn't know existed until now.

Kyra was aware of Alessia's severe desire to keep what had happened at her birthday celebration a secret.

Steph and Caitlin practically drilled it in her mind, not to slip up when you were around. Kyra didn't expect to see him again, no one did. But, to have him up front and center talking to you freely after what he had done to Alessia, sickened Kyra.

The Aussie searched for her teammates, hoping to catch someone's eye to tell them of the presence of their number one hit list. And Kyra did, however, it wasn't as she had hoped. Laura frenetically waved her over, pointing to you urgently.

"Do you mind if we took a picture?"

Before you could answer, Kyra wasted no time, pulling you away in the direction of her team. You let Kyra do as she pleased, taking in her hurried steps and anxious expression to mind. "Kyra, what-"

"Yn!"

You rushed past those in your way, cupping Alessia's face in your hands. Deja vu hit you like a truck, red teary eyes staring deep into your soul. You placed her on your lap, coaxing her to take deeper breaths. "I'm here, baby. I'm here."

You looked at the Arsenal women for answers, their troubled aura triggered the heap of anger lying underneath your skin. "What the hell happened?"

Some stared at you and Alessia with sorrow, others avoided your eyes, looking at literally anything else.

Out of everyone, the only person who had the galls to look you in the eyes was the captain herself. "Mate, it's not for us to say." Leah glanced over to Alessia, silently telling you that if you wanted answers it would have to come for her.

Leah loved Alessia like her own sister and she couldn't watch her be destroyed by what happened and as your friend, she couldn't allow you to suffer in the dark, clueless.

"Less?"

Alessia's refusal to meet your eyes remained, your jaw clenched. You loved her with all your being, but the anger brewing was too hot to handle. Everyone knew something you didn't, something regarding Alessia, and it didn't take a genius to know that it was serious.

"Alessia." Your voice stern, you were no longer allowing Alessia's excuses to fly over your head. Alessia shook her head, "Please. Please don't make me." Your heart clenched at her pleading, deep down you didn't want to pressure her, but she left you no choice.

"Alessia, what am I missing? What are they hiding? What are you hiding?"

Alessia looked at her friends for help, at the back of her mind, she knew they couldn't. But it was worth a try. Lia nods in encouragement, something so small but so powerful for Alessia.

She cradled your jaw, leaning in your ear, unwilling to see your murderous anger spiral to what she knows will end in crime scene.

The gunners observed as your face hardened, concern switched to rage in seconds. Your brows deepened, jaw and lip tight, what caught their attention was your clenched fists. Veins popped out from your arms to the back of your hand, knuckles ready to take some action.

Alessia pulled back, caressing your pale knuckles. Her lips moved but nothing was coming out of them. You couldn't hear her begging you to not do anything, you couldn't hear her tell you she loved you. You couldn't hear anything but your blood pumping in your ears.

You abruptly stood up, bringing Alessia up with you. You passed your fiance to the nearest person, Beth. "Get her out of here." You pecked Alessia's forehead, ignoring her calls for you to come back. You head to Katie, the sole person on the team who supported violence. "Where is he?"

Wordlessly, Katie pointed him out and what do you know? It's the same dude that asked you for a photo, you scoffed at the sheer audacity of men. You pushed past Katie, sidestepping Leah's hand.

You expertly navigated through the crowd, stalking up to him. Even at a distance, you could make out his figure, he was lean and scrawny, nowhere near your built physique.

You sized him up as you approached, just in time, he turned to notice you, overlooking the smoke coming out of your ears. "Hey! Back for that pic-" His words cut with a right hook to the cheek, and in no time, he dropped to the floor.

You climbed on top of him, balling his collar in your fist, the other delivering strike after strike.

The feeling of your knuckles connecting with his jaw was exhilarating, with every punch you imagine his bones cracking. You grunted as he fought against you, but he was weak.

The first blow was enough to knock him on his back, the countless you landed after offered multiple hospitalization conditions.

You yelled as you felt hands pulling you off. You shoved the random men off you, glaring them down as they took in your physical state. "Touch me again! I'll fuck all of you up!" You momentarily forgot that this was a sports event, the people surrounding you most likely knew who you were.

You watched recognition hit them now that you were in your true form. They heed your words standing back to let you do what you were trained to do. They couldn't save a man getting beaten, but they can definitely save themselves from you.

Huffing, you quickly grabbed the bleeding man by the throat, slamming him onto the bar. The sound of glass pierced everyone's ears, but you paid it no mind. Holding his upper body against the bar, smashing his face in.

You were aware that even your worst opponents didn't get this type of treatment, he was different. He touched your girl, he hurt her, and he was going to pay for it with his life. "Why did you touch her?! Huh?!" An answerless question, you didn't want an answer.

And it wasn't like you were going to get one, the amount of blood flooding his mouth limited him aside from his faint pleas for you to stop.

That only angered you further. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" You let him fall to the floor once again, neglecting the slippery coat on your hands.

Alessia watched from afar as you mounted the stagnant body, repeatedly bashing his face. Beth tried to drag her out of the venue, but Alessia's too stubborn.

You did so much critical damage in a short span period, even from where she stood Alessia could see the blood streaks on the bar and floor. Leah took off first, Katie, Stina, and Steph following behind.

They all knew that you weren't going to let up any time soon and if you weren't stopped now. You were actually going to commit homicide.

Leah and Katie hook their arm around you, yanking you off. "That's enough! He's down!" It was a struggle for the two, you were too strong for them. Steph eventually aided in holding you back, and Stina helped push you four towards the exit.

Alessia quickly ran after you, the rest of the gooners chasing behind, unable to fight the curiosity to check the result of your wrath. When they got outside, they were met with you kicking a poor trash can into the road.

The four that dragged you out stood a safe distance away. The street bustling with dim lights and occasionally passing cars.

Alessia joined the four girls, knowing better than to interfere in your fit of rage when it was at its peak. Alessia studied your new appearance, growing breathless.

Hair ruffled; shirt wrinkled...stained with red patched. It was what Alessia was afraid of, you covered in red. You had blood splattered across your face; blood handprints swiped across your neck, your fists being the most coated.

You rubbed your hands together as if you were moisturizing, the blood quickly drying due to the cold night air. You sighed, a bit calmer now, muttering nonsense to yourself as you paced up and down the sidewalk.

Alessia took it as her cue to walk over, none of the gunners tried to stop Alessia. Wise enough to know that you would never hurt Alessia even in a foot of rage. "Baby. Baby." Her voice was soft, not to startle you.

Your wide eyes darted to her, unexpected by her presence. You were too lost in your fury to be conscious of your surroundings.

She tried to reach for you, but you retreated, shaking your head. "I'm okay, darling. You won't hurt me." You swallowed the lump in your throat, Alessia tried once more, pleased when you didn't move away.

She grabbed your hands, inspecting the cuts on your knuckles, it was hard to see but Alessia managed to pick out the open wounds.

She ignored the blood on her hands, roughly pulling you into a hug. The weighing of all these weeks came crashing down on Alessia, relief flooded her. However that relief was cut short by the sound of sirens, "We have to go! Now!"

Alessia balled the bloodied clothes, throwing them in the trash, it consisted of your entire outfit along with her dress. Its beauty gone as soon as another color tainted it.

Alessia didn't want a reminder of what happened tonight, even though it represented the degree you'd go for her. You nearly beat a man to death for her, guilt tormented Alessia.

The last thing she wanted was for you to run into problems because of her, Alessia roused from her mind upon hearing the water ceasing. Alessia walked into the bathroom, leaning against the doorway.

You sat in the tub, steam rising from the water. You held out your hand, silently offering her to join.

Alessia didn't think twice before she began stripping from her undergarments. She hissed at the heat, lowering herself deeper into the water until it reached her collarbones. Alessia rested back into you, your arms wrapped around her nude waist, burying your face in her neck.

You two sat in silence, embraced by the steam and contents of the hot water. There were no words to explain tonight, Alessia wasn't going to scold you and you weren't going to apologize. You both knew that tonight was needed for both your sanity.

When you passed Alessia over to Beth, the separation that you placed between you and her signified that you were going to do something she wouldn't like. Your attempts to get her out were for her sake, not yours. You weren't keen on her seeing the monster you become.

"I love you, you know that?"

Alessia rested her head back as you peppered kisses on her skin, her eyes fluttered open staring right in yours. Eyes that held love, more than she's ever seen in her life. "I know."

Alessia didn't need to say those three magic words back, you knew, you always knew. What you need to know is that if she knew. If she knew that you loved her more than the world could imagine. 

#alessia russo x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #woso fanfics #alessia russo #thehound

[twstowo]

Hello! I absolutely love your work it's always such a joy to read them! So, when I saw your asks were open, I had to ask fast! Can I request for a fluffy work where Jade, Rook, and Vil are painting their S/O? You can add on more if you need to.

I hope you have a nice day! ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: They paint/sketch you.

♡︎I almost exploded on Vil’s part.

♡︎Includes: Jade, Rook and Vil

♡︎Warning: Jade smirking

⋆⋅☆Jade

I can't picture him painting you, but I see him having some sketches of you in a notebook, probably filled with information about mushrooms.

After classes ended, you had a habit of lingering at Monstro Lounge. You'd order a drink, often covered by Jade's generosity. There, you would study, awaiting Jade's arrival whenever he was free. On one particular day, he observed you from a distance, engrossed in reading potionology books for an upcoming test. Although you were engaged in a mundane activity, he felt an unusual urge to capture you in his notebook, akin to documenting a rare mushroom.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

"Jade, is that me?" you questioned as you spotted a peculiar doodle of yourself in his mushroom-filled notebook. The two of you had gone on a hike, and to assist him in identifying mushrooms, he handed you his notebook. To your surprise, amidst the detailed fungi descriptions, you discovered a drawing of your face stuffed inside a book. Much to your dismay, Jade responded with a smirk rather than a straightforward answer.

⋆⋅☆Rook

Now Rook would be the type to paint you and have those paintings of you on the walls of his room, no shame at all. If someone entered his room, he would spend hours talking about the artworks, explaining how divine you looked to the point that he had to capture it for eternity.

He would find you in the botanical garden, staring at some flowers, and out of nowhere, you'd see him with a canvas and an easel running towards you. You have no idea how he managed to get those so fast, as you were just talking seconds ago.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“Is this really necessary?” You were already embarrassed by the fact that he wanted to paint you, but the constant remarks about your beauty made you almost pass out.

“Oh, mon Trickster, I only wish to capture forever what I deem worthy of being seen by millions, as your beauty is undoubtedly impossible to-” And he kept on talking about how much he loved you, how amazing you were, how breathtaking you looked, and how his actions were undoubtedly more than worth it. With each word, you felt your legs growing weaker.

⋆⋅☆Vil

This might start with Rook wanting to paint the two of you together as a cute couple since he was your ultimate shipper. However, Vil never seemed pleased with the paintings, stating that something was missing. You thought he was talking about him not looking as good as he wanted, but after some days, he asks you to come over, and to your surprise, he tells you that he wants to paint you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“Potato, stay still!” By the Seven, you only wanted to scratch your nose. It had been almost an hour, and you were starting to feel really hungry. You'd have to curse Grim for wasting money on his cans of tuna, leaving you with only sandwiches until the smell made you feel sick. You stared around his room, waiting for the work to be done. After all, it surely couldn’t take that much more. “Come see it.” You saw him lower the brush as he looked at you with a smile, and as you approached, you had to grab your jaw or it would drop to the floor. The way he had drawn you had nothing on Rook’s style. You looked so beautiful, it almost didn’t feel like that was you. So, that was how Vil saw you? And he was just mad that Rook couldn’t see the same thing he did.

“Oh, Vil!” You sounded so lovesick as you gave him a hug and a kiss.

#twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #twst x reader #x reader #disney twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #twst jade #jade leech #rook hunt #twst rook #rook hunt x reader #vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #twst vil

[cher-rei]

can you pls write something where reader says i love you first and trent is surprised but super happy and he says it back

the 'L' word [ T.A.A ]

pairing: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: in a rush , you leave trent in slight shock with more than just the usual goodbye.

genre(s): established relationship, fluffff !!!

[wc: 1.6k] masterlist

notes: this is such a cute request I'm dyinggg. if there's one thing that I love more than the one-bed trope, then it's casual and unexpected love confessions.

eight letters. eight letters, yet it held so much meaning.

you never liked throwing the saying out so casually, especially to people. it never really managed to roll off your tongue as easily as it did for others- heck you still called it the 'L-word'.

there were a handful of people you have said it to of course, your parents, your siblings, and every other fictional character you felt yourself falling hopelessly for but there was never any other reason to hand it out.

you often had your friends say it to you, so casually as if it meant nothing- and that was the issue. to you, it meant everything. it wasn't just a phrase or an affectionate affirmation. to love someone, you believed that the weight of it had to be felt in your core.

that you'd find yourself at your utmost vulnerability to the point where you were certain that you'd never regret saying it, or even feeling it. and that was all thanks to your grandmother when you were at the ripe age of 7

"don't you go throwing that around now just because barney said you could. love is not just a word. it's a declaration and--"

"mum, she's 7. you cannot be putting this in her head when she barely knows the difference between left and right," your mother complained but you continued to look up at your grandmother with intrigue.

your grandmother scoffed and lazily gestured to the t.v. "tell that to that damn dinosaur."

a declaration. now you're not saying that you didn't deem anyone worthy of your love, you'd show it in many ways— but saying it was something else.

so when you left your boyfriend's house that afternoon to see to an emergency (your friend mia had just been broken up with) and you saw how trent's expression dropped knowing that you weren't able to come to his match, your heart strings were tugged like never before.

you'd been together for a year and a bit but it felt like you've been together since the beginning of time and it could confidently be said that this was the first match of his at home, that you were going to miss. of course, it saddened you, and there was the slight reconsideration but this was one of those times where you knew where you had to be.

you looked at trent with a softened gaze as you stood in the hallway, ready to leave. "I'm sorry baby, you know that I wouldn't miss any of your matches for the world."

there was a slight pout on his lips and you couldn't help but melt at how adorable he looked at that moment. "you're killing me here," you said with a smile and pulled him into a hug— huge mistake seeing as you were already struggling to leave.

a feeling of warmth spread through your chest when he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head in the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss there every so often. "no I understand," he muttered, but the slight disappointment was evident in his voice and that hit you like a truck.

it was subtle moments like this that you cherished the most. moments where trent didn't hide his feelings and made it obvious that he didn't want you to leave. when you two first started dating he was rather lacklustre and preferred to keep his thoughts to himself.

it would leave you wondering if he actually liked you, or if you were being too much by expecting him to say "I miss you" or be openly affectionate and make it known that he wanted you around. but after three confusing months, he started to ease in and let his feelings be and show you that he cared.

for instance when he gets home from practice and doesn't say anything and immediately comes to hug you, or join you on the couch just to relax. or when he sits on your bed while you're working just to be near you, because your presence genuinely matters to him.

the moment of silence was interrupted by your phone ringing, which was an immediate sign that you had to hurry.

"I told you that her boyfriend was a piece of shit but mia didnt listen. his name is literally kyle babe," trent stated with a raised eyebrow and reluctantly pulled away from you so that you could finally leave.

you hummed in response and gave him a small smile, "love makes people irrational and stupid."

somehow that brought a smile to trent's face, a look of adoration in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss you. "no wonder I'm such an idiot."

oh, dear god.

he caught your lips before you could even manage to think of a response. your cheeks flushed immediately accompanied by a swarm of butterflies and the thought of nothing else but him. your brain practically short circuited the second you felt his lips meet yours with so much tenderness.

the feeling was incomparable- his hand cupping your cheek while the other pulled you closer to him in hopes that you wouldn't ever leave him, the way your heart skipped a beat when you felt his lips tug up into a smile and especially the way he looked at you when he pulled away.

the moment you took to catch your breath you lost your train of thought just by looking into his his eyes that held so much adoration and affection for you. just one look and you were ready to give him every bit of you for the rest of your life.

you were happily drowning in absolute bliss.

you bit back a smile to stop yourself from looking like an idiot and gave him one last peck on the cheek and opened the front door, turning to look at him one last time. "you're going to be amazing today and make me proud okay?"

oh how much trent loved it when you said things like that. it had him weak in the knees and smiling from ear to ear. "yes ma'am."

you rolled your eyes at the comment with a scoff and finally walked out, absolutely out of your mind and lost in the feeling of utter bliss. "shut up, I love you so much bye."

you immediately shut the door and trent's heart dropped to his stomach.

he didn't get to say it back.

during the full 90 minutes that's the only thing he managed to think about. the fact that he didn't get to say "I love you" back.

not because he didn't— it was blatantly obvious to everyone who knew him that he was head over heels in love with you. everyone but you knew. and he hated that you didn't know, or are least he though so.

just like you, he'd show it in the things he does for you, the gestures, the constant reassurance and reminders that he's proud of you no matter what you do. but he's never said it for the mere reason that he was scared.

he knew how much it meant to you, and the thought of scaring you away was the last thing he wanted. if it weren't for that, then he would've shouted it from the rooftop the minute you said yes to being his girlfriend.

but he didn't have a rooftop right now, and you weren't here. what he did have however was a live broadcast with over 40 000 people at the stadium and confirmation that you were watching the match from mia's house because like you said, you wouldn't miss it for the world.

he was barely listening to what the interviewer was asking him, just nodding along with nothing but the thought of kissing you until you were both out of breath when he got home.

he tapped his fingers at his side and tried to form a response to the question about their win, seeing as his mind was elsewhere but played it safe and gave the interviewer an answer that wasn't too vague. but then again wasn't "I'm proud of everyone, we played extremely well despite the few injuries and I'm glad we were able to take tonight's win." enough??

"and how about your goal? that corner was amazing and had everyone's jaws on the floor."

he completely forgot about that to be honest. the goal slipped his mind entirely, but he did remember what he thought about at that moment, with a smile beaming from the pitch. you.

he gave a tight-lipped smile. "I was just as surprised, to be honest, but I'm glad that it stirred some excitement," he chuckled and continued to listen to the interviewer who managed to bring you up.

"this is the first time in over a year that your girlfriend wasn't able to make it to a home match, that must've made you feel a bit upset?"

"uh," he trailed off trying to find the words. "she had an emergency but I know she's watching from home so that brought me some comfort, so she wasn't gone entirely."

the interviewer smiled at him and he knew what question was next. the one he'd been waiting for all evening. "is there anything you want to say to her then?"

hell yeah there was.

"first of all, I was right about kyle and you should listen to me more, second, that goal was entirely for you. something to brag to your friends about, and last but not least--" trent took a deep breath, unable to stop himself from smiling from ear to ear with a heart full of warmth, "--i love you more."

#footballer imagine #trent alexander arnold fluff #liverpool fc #trent alexander arnold x reader #footballer x reader #liverpool x reader #fanfic #footballer x you #football imagine #trent alexander arnold fanfic #cherrei writes

[the-pale-goddess]

Take Me Home Tonight - Ethan Ramsey x MC

Tiffany doesn’t go on a bender often. But when she does, it’s always a wild ride—especially for a certain grumpy doctor.

Warnings: language, mentions of mature themes (excessive alcohol consumption and its consequences, adult situations)

Rating/category: Teen+ / fluff

A/N: ​Ethan’s reaction to Tiffany saying ‘I have a boyfriend’ when he tries to hug/kiss her because she’s wayyy too hammered @mvalentine ‘s genius ask inspired me to respond with this little thing—thank you, sis, ILY ❤️

My girl is an unpredictable drunk when she goes overboard, so that scenario is right up her alley ksbksbksb I had so much fun while plotting this, and it was really fulfilling to actually write something after a very long drought 🫶 

___

Midnight cloak enshrouds Boston, its thick, smoky darkness is pierced by vibrant lights playing hide-and-seek in the shadows. 

The blurred mass of colors gleaming outside the window steals Ethan’s focus for one split second, then loses miserably against the enchanting figure sleeping on his shoulder in the backseat of a spacious sedan.

A small, loving smile illuminates his face when he peeks at Tiffany curled up to his side. Her make-up remains impeccable, slightly parted lips tease him with his favorite rosy shade, a few strands of shiny onyx locks tickle her cheek as though by design—moderately messy for aesthetic purposes, naturally. 

The only detail betraying her current state is the unmistakable whiff of vodka she must’ve spilled on her black bodycon dress back in the fancy watering hole Lahela has deemed worthy of his approval tonight. 

Still, to him she’s always the most dazzling rose in a vast garden of peculiarity. The river of alcohol coursing through her veins, clouding her perfectly sound judgement and (quite possibly) inspiring madness, could never change that. 

His heart tightens distinctly, clearly pleased that its owner is back where she belongs—in his arms. 

He was helping his dad with a minor house renovation for only three days, certain that the short separation wouldn’t affect him. Those three unbearably exhausting days have proven how wrong he was. How terribly a convert like him can miss another person. 

In a sudden surge of affection, his arm wraps around Tiffany’s sylphlike silhouette, pulling her closer. The gentle brush of his fingers running down her spine makes the bubble of silent adoration burst with no warning.

„Fuck…” Tiffany mutters, her eyes scan the car as she blinks muzzily. „Where are we going?”

„Home.” His warm, steady voice a messenger of a smile, guiding her through the fog of her blurry reality. „Just close your eyes and breathe.”

Tiffany nods, seemingly relieved, her heavy lids follow the directions as if Ethan’s baritone were a spell-casting device. She snuggles closer, purring quietly. 

Unfamiliar with the intricacies of her inebriated mind, he continues the caress, hoping to transfer the comfort she needs through his touch. 

Much to his utter bewilderment, the result is entirely opposite: Tiffany jolts away with a horrified grimace, throwing arms in the air in what seems to be an act of defence. 

„Whoa, whoa…Keep your hands off me!” She fumes, unfiltered rage flashing in her emerald eyes too baffling for a quick assessment. 

At that, the cab driver clears his throat, shooting Ethan with a lethal glare through the rear-view mirror. 

Can this absurd situation get any worse? The answer is always: yes. 

Ethan’s first attempt at damage control is blocked before he manages to even utter her name.

„Tiff—”

„I have a boyfriend!” She interjects harshly, stretching out each word, the offence in her tone as dominant as her determination to keep her drowsy eyes open. „He’s going to freak the fuck out when he finds out some hunk is taking me home.”

Manifesting her panic-induced disgust, Tiffany immediately sweeps away from him. Slack-jawed, Ethan observes her delightfully clumsy moves with barely concealed fascination, unsure whether to laugh or interrupt this drunken performance.

„Some hunk?” Having no time to waste, he chooses the latter, though his question is wholly ignored much like his presence at the moment. 

„I’ll fucking kill Bryce.” She mumbles to herself while rummaging through her sparkly, shell-shaped handbag. 

A wave of relief washes over Ethan; his decision to come back to Boston earlier than planned proves to be one of the best he’s ever made. Her drunken stupor and the effort to act conscious may appear cute, but hammered Tiffany is a disaster waiting to happen and needs to be tackled and protected at all costs. 

Luckily, he knows just the way to escort her to safety. Not without self-sacrifice, of course—the task requires unlimited patience, and that is a virtue Ethan has failed to possess, making years of diligent practice look like an amateur attempt. 

But he’s always willing to be patient for her. Even if her liquor-fogged mind plays a nasty trick on him. 

„What are you doing?” He frowns in puzzlement just when she takes out her phone and waves it in front of his face, dangerously close to breaking his nose in the process. 

„Calling my man.” 

The nonchalant announcement is followed by furious tapping and swiping, lip-biting and a string of muffled curses. Then, eventually, Ethan’s pocket lights up and a loud ringtone conquers the comically threatening silence hanging between them. 

The sound confuses Tiffany even further, twisting her angelic features yet again. 

„Uhh, why is your phone ringing?” Her furrowed brow and narrowed eyes almost push Ethan over the edge, but he manages to suppress a grin and maintains his infamous poker face.

As collected as a world-beating diagnostician delivering the final diagnosis to his patient, he sighs heavily before revealing the truth to his plastered girlfriend. „You’re calling me. I am your man.” 

Predictably, his empty assurance is not enough to convince the ever stubborn Miss Addams. 

With a shake of her head, she corrects him, each word separated by unintentionally suspenseful pause as she weighs the meaning behind them. „No, no, Ethan is in Providence.” 

„No, he isn’t—not anymore.” The corners of his mouth quirk up, but she’s too distracted by her unreliable senses to notice the slight change in his demeanor. „You’d have known if you had checked your messages in the middle of wreaking havoc with Scalpel Jockey and Varma.”

At last, her scattered attention shifts to Ethan; curious eyes investigate his face despite the odds far from being in her favor. The conclusion she comes to, however, seems to be in his: she looks him up and down, something akin to recognition softens her expression, the glint of fondness in her eye making his lips twitch.  

Nevertheless, Ethan prepares for another plot twist, half-expecting an inventive panoply of slurred insults. Instead, Tiffany crawls back to him, holding his gaze with tangible intensity, her boozy grin widening his smirk effortlessly.

„Well, you certainly sound like him.” She admits, the tone of her voice still rather unconvinced. Her dense lashes flutter at him for a long, hypnotizing moment, as if searching for something only her brilliant, intoxicated mind can access. Then, merely a second later, she ducks lower to nuzzle his neck. „But you smell different.”

Ethan can’t hold his unassuming amusement any longer; he lets out a laugh, intent to ignore the arousing sensation of her skin against his. „I forgot my cologne, so I chose to use the one aunt Dina gave me last Christmas.”

She giggles in tune, her slender fingers now dragging along his beard with newfound adoration, piercing emeralds half-shut as she pulls his face close to hers. 

„Never wear it again.” Her whisper dives right in his mouth, their noses pressing against one another, lips all but brushing. „It smells like a suburban dad going through a mid-life crisis.”

„Duly noted.” He responds, putting everything at risk by tucking a stray lock behind her ear and letting his hand rest on her neck. „It’s Alan’s signature fragrance now anyway.”

Tiffany doesn’t flinch, which is undeniably a good sign, even if she doesn’t seem to listen to what he says. 

„I’d still let you fuck me, you know.” She blurts out confidently, perhaps a tad too loud, absolutely unashamed by another glare from the concerned driver. 

The ride takes a turn Ethan has definitely seen coming, but it doesn’t make anything easier for him. He draws in a deep breath, his fingers now freely raking through her voluminous hair. „We’ll get back to the matter when you’re sober.”

Her gaze meets his and the air instantly thickens, the overfamiliar fire erupting for just a second before Tiffany rolls her eyes in surprisingly well-received defeat. „Fair enough.”

Regardless of her reaction, the troublemaker minx in her cannot be underestimated, and Ethan is soon to be reminded of that fragile piece of information. 

„Want to know a secret?” Her alcohol-induced seriousness takes charge, unabashedly flirting with him when Tiffany wets her lower lip. He nods, following the sinful flick of her tongue, but remains fully alert. „I’m gone. Far gone.”

The confession elicits a generous scoff leaving his mouth despite his best effort to keep his saint-worthy composure. „That’s hardly a secret, Tiffany.” 

A peal of her melodious laughter fills the confined space, its rich sound—his favorite sound—almost reassuring their third wheel that whatever is happening between the middle-aged grump and his gorgeous, well-oiled companion is fully consensual.

She pats his shoulder, laughing like there’s no splitting headache rushing to behead her promptly. „You really are my boyfriend.”

„A shocking discovery, but I’m glad I managed to pass this rigorous test.”

The mockery is greeted with a sloppy kiss, her starved lips crashing into his with irresistible force, finding the perfect rhythm almost instantly. His strong hand travels to the nape of her neck, keeping her steady as she melts into him, allowing him to taste the night. 

Her small hand wandering down his belt brings the blissful moment to a halt. 

„Give me your hand.” She orders, and he complies as if under duress, watching her guide him under the sleek fabric of her dress, smoothly gliding up her inner thigh. 

He’s convinced that his willpower is stronger than the temptation, though Tiffany makes it unfairly hard to follow his own rules. 

„Here’s another secret: I’m wearing underwear. Like the good girl that I am.” Exulting in the achievement that is rendering Ethan Ramsey speechless, Tiffany bites her lip provocatively, moving his hand between her legs to provide proof. 

He quickly gathers himself, almost choking on his own words. „It’s bold of you to assume that this flimsy lace is going to grant you a place on the nice list.”

„Come on.” She pleads, her excitement inspired by a sudden outlandish idea helps Ethan’s cause; her hands fall on his shoulders just when his own is set free. „Tell me I’m your good girl.”

Ethan scoffs internally. She’s not a girl anymore, and certainly not a good one. But at that precise moment, staring into his soul while battling the urge to pass out on him, she might as well be anything she wishes to be. 

She’s everything to him. 

He strokes her cheek with utmost gentleness, an impish smile exploding on his face. „You’re my good girl.”

Incredibly pleased to hear the praise, Tiffany sighs happily, throwing herself into his embrace. „Did you come back earlier because you missed me too much?”

„Something of the sort.”

She cosies up to Ethan, whispering I missed you like crazy against his shoulder. His arms offer a shelter from the overwhelming sensations attacking her tired body. 

„You should get used to this. I drank so many shots I’ll probably die tonight.”

„No, you won’t.” He assures, brushing her face with the back of his hand. This time, his caress is most welcome. „I’ll take care of you and your colossal hangover in the morning.”

„Can you start now and stop the world from spinning? Your handsome face is…Blurry. As. Fuuuuck. No wonder I didn’t recognize you.”

„Close your eyes and think of the bed. We’re almost there.”

„Almost there.” She parrots, leaning into Ethan’s touch like a spoiled kitten, then lets out a long yawn. 

„Almost home.”

His addition sobers Tiffany for a second. „But…I am home.”

Her watery gaze finds his as she takes his hand and pecks on his wrist. „You’re my home.”

Flooded with sheer affection, Ethan’s chest rises and falls to the beat of her content heart, the irreplaceable feeling spreads like a soothing warmth of a life-affirming summer breeze.

He plants a soft kiss on her temple, his adoring smirk an invisible imprint of his devotion on her skin. „And you are mine.”

The brightest smile beams across her plushy lips in the most sincere reply. Her eyes slam shut again, and this time she doesn’t put up a fight to stay awake. 

Just as Tiffany slowly drifts off again, only two blocks away from their apartment, she begins to hum a well-known melody, slurring the lyrics with only one of the lines coherent enough for Ethan to decode.

To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.

______

A/N 2: If you made the connection between the fic title, the song Tiff drunkenly hums and E&T—I’m going to name my dog children after you kdhkdhdkb 🥰

Thank you for reading, hope you’ve enjoyed these two! ❤️

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #fluff and nonsense #i didn't proofread this #dr ethan ramsey

[yeoldontknow]

smoked peaches ↣ jhs (M)

↝ A/N: a sequel to Molotov Cocktail | because i truly could not leave these two alone ugh i love them. happy valentines day! i hope you enjoy!     ↬ DISCLAIMER: absolutely, under no circumstances should alcohol or cocktails be used in a manner such as this. food play is fun only when its safe, and cocktails dont really have any place in the bedroom. furthermore, essential oils should be used safely! ↝ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: established relationship au; pwp; smut; romance; fluff ↝ Summary: Three years into your relationship with Hoseok, you have learned what it means to be truly happy. With him, you are seen, understood, and adored - and not once, even despite all your flaws, has Hoseok ever asked you to change. So when Hoseok starts to become withdrawn and quiet during the brief hours you have with him at night, you assume it’s down to stress at work. You never imagined it would be this, something so much bigger than any obstacle you’ve confronted before or will again. Something that will last forever. ↝ Rating: NC-17 ↝ Warnings: explicit language; explicit sex; dom!jhs; dirty talk; food play (cocktails); unprotected sex; heavy petting; dry humping; blindfolds; biting; marking; oral (f); breast play; use of sex toys; clit biting; clit spanking; creampie; overstimulation; multiple orgasms ↝ Word Count: 14.5K ↬ written for the bon appetit collab with @jamaisjoons​ @yoonia​ and @chillingkoo​ \\ thanks to @jenmyeons​ for reading parts of this and offering endless encouragement <3 

‘God, I’ve missed this.’

Pulling back from your lips, Hoseok whispers his affection with unprecedented conviction, the longing in his voice so tangible your chest tightens in the wake of it. 

Unwilling to open your eyes, you remain still, luxuriating in the feeling of his breath as it wanders over your cheeks. The cascade of warmth is a tickle that tugs at the corners of your lips, a smile of pleasure emerging at the feel of his closeness. Languidly, he presses his fingers into the nodes of your spine, seeking out the pressure points that always ignite colours behind your eyes, his touch alone giving birth to little fires beneath your skin. Eager and lonely, you lean up, searching for his lips, his mouth, his tongue; searching for more - so much more. 

Hungrily, he returns to you, proving that he had not drifted far - not really. Bumping his nose against yours, he is playful, sinful, a paradoxical combination of both that has your grip on his neck tightening as he nips gently at your bottom lip. He’s smiling, too, a beam of delight against your lips that grows wider with the strength evident in your touch. Feather light, he drops brief, teasing kisses to your lips, not nearly enough for you to feel satisfied, and so you huff in frustration, wiggling to get closer.

Amused by your needy enthusiasm, he chuckles to himself quietly, a rumble in his chest that reminds you of thunder. This laugh is one of your favorites, the sound of a man contented by your presence - by the way your legs are draped over his thighs; by the way you have pressed yourself against his chest; by the way you are utterly, impossibly insatiable, matching his thirst equally, earnest in your desire to be encompassed by his embrace. 

Slowly, you open your eyes, wanting to see him, to chastise him for separating from you so soon, but are instead left bereft. Hoseok consumes your vision, his adoring eyes, his wet lipped, unwavering smile the only thing you see - all yours, all for you, as he rubs the tip of his nose against your cheek. City lights pour through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the pronounced length of his cheekbone. Even this late at night, the light still seeks him, his skin, nestling beneath his pores and offering him an otherworldly glow. The unnatural shades of the billboard signs, yellow fluorescent lights of the high rise apartment buildings, and the bright neon of the game arcades blend together, ensuring that he radiates with every colour and shape of the life you have built together among the clouds. 

Tonight, the billboard along the highway is a rich crimson, the persistent reminder that it is Valentine’s day flooding into the room. When you came home, Hoseok suggested leaving the blinds open, eyes full of mirth as he stated he to let the whole world in, tonight; with his arms around your waist, he said he wanted to show the world how love and romance really looks. Now, enveloped around you, you know he means it.

Tonight, he wants everyone to witness this - the possessive way his tongue explores your mouth, the unwavering grip he maintains around your waist as his hand drifts from your spine to the gaps between your ribs, and back again. Hoseok wants the world to see how years with the same person, the same body, the same routine diminishes nothing, perhaps, only causes the love within your souls to become insistent and ardent. It’s grown deeper these past few months, your yearning for him evolving into the very genetics of your DNA, a piece of your chemistry, eternally. 

Hoseok left the blinds open, and still he glows not unlike the rays of sun. Beneath your hands, he is resplendent, undiminished by the artificial radiance of neon. The moon hangs in the center of the sky, not yet at the height of her arch, but she has become washed out by the luminescence of the city. Hoseok is unmarred - late at night and still he outshines the universe, the brightest thing you have ever seen.

Your hand cups his cheek, thumb running over the bone to catch the light that clings to him. It hugs him in ways it does not hug you, a part of him that remains incandescent and unexplained. You’ve never been able to understand it, spent your days kissing and kissing at it in the hopes of sharing the luminescence he radiates. It never works, though he says you glow too, a radiance brought to life because he chose to love you in spite of all your incorrigible flaws.

Walking your hand along his cheek, you tilt your head and wind your fingers into the hair just behind his ears, heart stuttering in its rhythm as he sighs in pleasure. The dimples of his cheeks almost emerge, almost bloom to life, but he keeps them as a secret, choosing instead to rest his forehead against yours in devotion.

‘I’ve missed you,’ you murmur, not wanting to interrupt the peace that has come to occupy the four walls of your living room; the bone deep comfort that has blossomed between your chests.

Separating just slightly, he leans into your touch, craving more and more of your affectionate caress. ‘You’ve been busy with the auction.’

‘Not so busy.’ 

Shaking your head, your pout feels petulant, youthful in its disagreement. Letting your hand slip from his hair, you wiggle deeper into the hard muscles of his chest, blinking distractedly at him as his own fingers worm their way under your shirt. Gripping the collar of his black shirt, you sigh, a flush heating your cheeks as the simplest of his touches sends electricity down your synapses. To be touched by him, to be in love with him, is to feel and love absolutely everything, your awareness heightened to its peak.

Always, you prefer him this way - hair unkempt and eyes glossy with devotion; prefer the nights when has abandoned the suit and tie of his usual work clothes in favor of his old university shirts and grey sweatpants, discarding the persona of Jung Hoseok to unravel into your Hobi. It happens less and less these days, ever caged by the success and importance of Hopeworld, his chain, his business, as much a fixture at the Fairmont Hotel as the valet parking. 

When you met him, he was in a suit. When you fell in love with him, he was in a simple shirt and jeans, a smile tucked into the corner of his cheek that demanded you crave him, and now your yearning for him is relentless. 

Sustaining your childish pout, you drag your hand down his chest, tracing the shape of his pecs and ribs as you let the pads of your fingers find his arm, gliding against the vines of his tattoo. 

‘Sometimes,’ you mumble absentmindedly, watching the petals in his forearm disappear beneath your touch, ‘I come home and you’re not here. I’ve been busy with the auction, but it feels like I’m always missing you.’ 

Head tilting back against the couch, Hoseok sighs, lips downturned with regret. Still, his hold on you is unwavering, immovable, only tightening in the aftermath of your lament. 

‘I’m not mad,’ you say hurriedly, earnestly, voice thick with sincerity. ‘I just miss you.’ 

In truth, you are not angry, not even really upset at his long absences. If you’re honest with yourself, you couldn’t be more proud of the business he’s built with his own hands, relying on nothing other than the strength of his determination to succeed. Little distracts him from his purpose, unencumbered by the opinions of anyone other than himself. 

The lights of Le Bernardin seemed to dim as your father sat back in his seat, tapping the corner of his mouth with the expensive egyptian cotton napkin. Bitterness rose on your tongue, the flavor of your wine souring as you watched him posture the pretense of politeness for so long you wondered if he had even heard Hoseok’s announcement. 

‘I won’t help you,’ he announced, tone empty and expressionless save for the severity of the derision that swam in his eyes. 

From where you sat, you could feel the apathy, the admonishment and expectation that Hoseok would fail at opening, managing, and cultivating his own bar before he had even started. Thousands of arguments hung dangerously in the air, hovering above the table with threatening closeness. It was heavy, oppressive with reasoning and judgemental logic that he did not have a degree in business; that a mixologist was not a manager; that corporate holdings and the economic legalities that came with running a business were beyond him. It was not, you knew, that your father didn’t think he was smart enough - it was, you were certain, that he simply deemed Hoseok wasn’t worthy enough. 

Your father’s stare remained icy and unforgiving as you gripped Hoseok’s thigh, nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his trousers as your tongue prepared to sever your father’s iron will. After years of this sort of combat, you were used to becoming venomous, used to shaping yourself into a creature of malcontent, the spitefulness of your contempt the armor you regularly wore. For so long, you had worn it like a second skin, felt most like yourself  under its scathing anguish. For Hoseok, you would become monstrous, ugly; would grow fangs and claws and teeth in the glory of your wrath, but he gripped your thigh in kind reassurance and smiled as though hardly anything had happened at all. 

Settling back against your seat, you scowled unforgivingly at your father’s passive expression. He cocked a tempestuous brow at you, a challenge though not necessarily a warning, which you mirrored, always so good at looking exactly like him. 

‘It’s ignorant to presume someone would ask help from a person who is not willing to even offer it,’ Hoseok said patiently, amiably, so much better at different tactics of aggression. 

You never had it in you to adorn the sickly sweetness of polite averice. You’d never wanted to be misunderstood. 

‘Besides,’ he continued, removing his hand from your thigh to cut into his filet mignon. ‘That bar will be mine, not yours. You have a habit of claiming possession over the things you let into your life, and I’d rather burn in hell than watch you claim my name as another wasteland for your empire.’

Head whipping to look at him, your eyes went wide, suddenly so aware of all the ways in which light gives way to shadows, of the way light reveals absolutely everything. You’d grown used to the way rage gave birth to ugliness within you, but he wore his anger like a tantalizing weapon. You were moved by him, arrested into an uncharacteristic silence around your father, but Hoseok continued, magnificent in his slow reveal of his true humanity. 

‘The bar will be mine,’ he pressed, glancing up from his plate and undeterred by your father’s scathing glare. ‘The money will be mine. I’m just telling you to be polite, because that’s what good sons do even if their fathers are worthless to them.’

Two years later, and the money is indeed his - the money, and the glory, and all the fame that comes with a chain centered in the lobby of the most expensive hotel conglomerate. Two years later, and he has a chain in his name, a business of his own, a life of his own making, even if it meant that there are countless, painful hours in which he is not, and cannot be, with you. 

‘I know.’ His sigh is deep, a long huff of breath through his nose in shame. Staring up at the ceiling, he considers his words carefully. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been...’ For a moment, he drifts, lost in thought as he lowers his gaze to search your face, though for what you cannot be sure. His scrutiny is heated, intense, eyes roaming over your features over and over until you’re certain he could paint your likeness if asked. ‘It’s just been frightening,’ he announces, finally. ‘I’m not worried, really, it’s just the Hotel’s name is wrapped up into it, too.’

Peering at you carefully through his eyelashes, his grip on your waist tightens, and you feel him everywhere he is not. Hoseok roots inside you for answers to questions left unvoiced, reacquainting himself with all your intimate details. You are not certain what he seeks, why his apology is quite so sincere, and so you let your hand return to his cheek, smoothing all the edges out of his features. 

Eyes fluttering closed, he holds your palm there, and you find yourself distracted both by the softness of his skin and the way the light illuminates the tattoo adorning his arm. Idly, you wish you could stay like this eternally - together, unencumbered, enraptured. Valentine’s Day has never been worth celebrating, not to you at least, but he is worth celebrating, and so you lean forward, kissing at his jaw to remind him of this sentiment.

‘It’s your first time with an inspection of this size.’ Your suggestion is soft, a soothing cadence you hope is evident in the lilt of your voice. Walking your hand up to his temple once more, your card your fingers through his hair, relishing the thickness of the strands, offering tenderness where your words might not. ‘Your license is on the line. Trust me, no one understands better than I do. You don’t have to apologize.’

Months of this, months of coming home to an empty bed only for Hoseok to climb in later, when the hours night drip into the morning. Government inspections are not new, but now with three bars under his belt, and all the inspections happening at the same time, he’s been distant. Not on purpose - never on purpose, but you feel his absence like a blade whenever the house, the bed, your life is empty of him. 

‘Yes I do.’ Falling forward, he buries his face into your neck and breathes in deep, taking the scent of you into his lungs. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you smile at the feeling, blood warmed with rapture. ‘I hate not being home with you, but I promise it will be worth it.’ 

Hoseok accentuates his words by grazing his teeth against the tendon in your neck, his favorite spot to bruise. Usually, your skin is purpled by him, consistently red and aching with the marks of his teeth and tongue, but lately the visible proof of his attachment to you has faded. You’ve missed the burn of it, the stinging delight that would last for days. Latching his teeth to your skin, you shiver into his hold, pressing your fingers into the muscles of his back. The wet texture of his tongue against your skin has you shivering, a quake that starts in your bones first until even your heart is trembling with it. 

‘I know it will,’ you hum, stroking his hair, unashamed of the way arousal pools at your groin. 

Since dinner finished, you’ve been here, with him, kissing and kissing to reacquaint yourself with his lips. Your underwear has been damp since the first stroke of his tongue against yours, and you’re certain he’s felt you clenching around nothing, craving and anticipating the feel of him between your thighs. 

‘But I hate how this one is making you so anxious and quiet.’ Slowly, you take your time guiding one of your hands to the back of his neck, nails scratching into the soft, thin hair at the base of his hairline. Holding him in place, you revel in the feel of his mouth moving against your skin, in the way his shoulders expand and retract as he breathes as if making way for wings. ‘I miss my sunshine boy.’

Hoseok chuckles against your neck, replacing his tongue with a cascade of warmth exhaled from his nose. ‘I’ll repeat that you’ve been busy, too.’

An impish smirk unfurls in your expression, and gathering the strands of hair at the crown of his head, you tug gently until he is pulled from your neck, blinking at you with an innocence you know can dissolve in an instant. His lips are swollen and wet from kissing your neck, the base of your jaw; all red and pink, smooth skin so enticing and the sight only serves to invigorate the thought that burns behind your teeth.

‘My love,’ you begin, sweely, ‘I’m sure I could regale you with the legalities of museum auctions, but I think we both can agree there is something far, far more worthy of our attention.’

The pads of your fingers trace idle patterns over the tendons in his neck, down to the base of his shoulders, around and into his ribs. Reaching between your bodies, your curious fingers seek the hardness of his erection, the evidence of his intense arousal pressing vigilantly against your thigh. Cupping the semi-hard girth of his cock, you offer a gentle stroke as you twist your hand. Darkness lives inside his groan, equal to the darkness that clouds his eyes, half lidded as he looks at you in warning. 

The thin material of his fleece sweatpants does little to conceal the way the movements of your hand send blood and heat directly into his cock. Beneath your palm, it gradually hardens, straining against the cloth to be reunited with the feeling of your bare palm. You’re confident he can feel the heat that emanates from your core, your folds starting to leak with wetness each time he breathes through his parted lips. Each stroke has his exhale filling the silence, raising the hairs along your arms, his hips starting to thrust upwards into your hand.

It’s a dangerous game to play with him, a test of his control and dominance that always ends with you at the mercy of his lust. Just as quickly as it started, he presses one hand to your hip and taps your thigh with the other, an unspoken signal that he wants your thighs straddled on either side of him, your core presses against the tip of his clothed erection, your body against his, an unstoppable force of desire that succumbs to his will, only.

Quickly you adjust, releasing his cock only to replace the pressure of your hand with the pressure of your core, the heat from your folds and the dampness of your legging having you both exhale in unison. 

‘Oh, fuck,’ he moans, easing your hips down roughly against the tip of his cock. ‘Come here.’

Once more, he works his hand beneath your shirt, warm palm journeying the length of your spine until it is gathered around his arm and your neck is gripped by the strength of his fingers. Cupping his face, you press your mouths together, grinding your hips downward as you run your tongue over the seam of his lips. Instantly, he opens for you, tugging at your hair in a gentle reminder he wants you to move slowly, to let yourself enjoy the feeling of being consumed by him. Hoseok is unhurried in the way he explores the cavern of your mouth, the tip of his tongue curious as he thrusts the wet muscle in time with the slow grind of his hips. 

Your responding whimper echoes deep into his open mouth, and your hands move slowly down to his shoulders where you brace yourself, clinging to the parts of him that exude strength. His physical presence alone is a keen reminder you are whole and not undone at your very seams. 

All sense of time disappears as you suck at his tongue, and only when he pulls away to catch his breath do you latch your teeth to his bottom lip, pulling back to you with greed. His lips still taste of the whiskey he had with dinner, whiskey and the flavor that is only him, so unique and rich, your favorite sort of honey. 

The tip of his cock moves in a rhythmic motion, over and over, a slow drag against your covered slit. Every third movement, he rocks upward, pressing against your folds hard enough you gasp into his open mouth, only for him to retreat a moment later. A high pitched keening whine spills from your chest, and he laughs into you, pulling his tongue back to relish the way he has complete control of your responses. Digging your nails into his muscles, your brow furrows, doing your best to gather your words, your thoughts, amongst the insistent teasing pleasure. 

Falling forward, your forehead rests against his, and with your eyes closed your senses become heightened. You can see it, imagining this very scene as though you are both completely present in your body and apart from it, watching him grind into you as your blood races to your chest, your cheeks, your cunt. The whiskey on his tongue has your mind fogged, and the graze of his cockhead against your slit has your limbs feeling weightless. He’s always been skilled at this, at rendering you needy, silent in the magnitude of your wanting. You thought pleasure was never meant to overwhelm a person like this, an addiction to sound and touch and taste that exceeds all realm of perception.

‘I’m glad we did this,’ he mumbles against your lips, using his thumbs to work bruises into the flesh of your hips. 

All you can manage is a mindless nod, the motion sending your nose bumping into his as you press yourself harder against him. Smirking, he angles his face downward, kissing at the spot just below your ear. Electricity saunters down your synapses, and you thug your bottom lip between your teeth, uncertain how much longer you will be able to maintain this teasing game. You, above all else, are an impatient woman, deciding that which you crave most and claiming it for yourself. 

Now, you want him. You want him to lay you on this couch and peel your clothes off with his teeth. You want him, his cock, so deep inside your cunt you can taste him on your tongue. You want him, his skin against yours, with no space for air to slip in between. 

You have always been impatient, but Hoseok is a master of his self control, always more composed if not patient; always in command of his expression of thirst, and he pulls back slightly as he feels your slow wiggle of restlessness against his thighs. 

‘Never thought we’d be a couple that has to make time for something like this,’ he comments, as though you have not soaked the very tip of his cock through his sweatpants, as though he cannot feel it at all.

With each rock of your hips, your underwear slides over your folds. Now coated with the slick substance of your juices, the thick juices spill out from the sides and onto your thighs. Your leggings, too, are drenched, a sensation that would otherwise be uncomfortable were it not for the way Hoseok rolls up into you in time with the movement of his tongue over your neck. Your sense of awareness has scattered, absconded to the parts of your body where only his touch exists. He is all you can focus on, all you want to focus on, the feel of him on and against you deemed the most important of all.

It takes work finding words to muster a reply, and you hate that he is so skilled at maintaining stability in his voice. You are best at sparring matches, at defending your worth and value, a tension you have become expertly accustomed to. From the moment you first kissed him, felt his tongue at the tip of yours, felt his muscles beneath your fingers, you have learned tension of this kind is your great unmaking. 

Frustrated you huff through your nose, a noise of annoyance diminished immediately by a moan of ecstasy as the tip of his cockhead presses roughly against your covered clit. Scratching your nails into his skin and hoping the marks will last, you struggle to gather your composure, wanting to play his game as well as he. Yet, when you open your eyes, you are confronted with the impenetrable black of his dilated pupils - his tell - that he is just as ravenous as you. Always, he wears the light as though it was born from him, made by his joy alone, but when he wears the sheer darkness of his appetite he becomes utterly exquisite, a sinister promise of his wish to unravel you.

Swallowing thickly, you tilt your head to the side in mock consideration. 

‘I think every couple is at some point,’ you muse, feigning a pensive tone as you grind roughly into his cock. Hoseok bucks upward, whispering quiet expletives as his eyes widen. Your smirk of victory is a tempest, an ignition of gasoline to the fire he keeps beneath his skin, and he holds you in place against him, preventing you from moving. ‘They just don’t talk about it.’

Hoseok hums in consideration as he moves his lips to the center of your throat, right over the place where your voice echoes. As he drags his teeth over the tendons, your head falls back, clenching your thighs around his. 

‘I’ve missed you.’

He presses the words into your skin, embedding the rich tenor of his cadence directly into your blood. Your pulse quickens, directly responding to the feel of him replacing the oxygen in your vessels. Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging him upward and hoping to ease him back to your hungry mouth, wanting to kiss him again. But he pulls back, regards you through the length of his eyelashes and shifts his hips, moving the tip of his cock down towards the center of your folds. He lingers there for a moment, and you curse the clothing that separates you with a whimper of annoyance. 

His hands move from your hips to the ample flesh of your ass, where he grips your cheeks with vigor and rolls your body forward. ‘I have half a mind to fuck you right on this couch.’

Eyes fluttering closed, you lick at your lips, all swollen and red, sighing in pleasure. ‘Then why don’t you.’

‘Because I have another surprise for you.’

Abruptly you open your eyes, feeling the mood shift as your arousal is put on pause. Lowering your gaze, you eye him conspicuously, pulling back enough you are not longer in the throes of his orbit. With each passing moment, the adrenaline in your veins shifts from the eroticism of your carnal longing to dazed confusion, blinking at him as you catch your breath. 

Years with him and not once have either of you felt it necessary to buy gifts on Valentine’s Day. You are not a gifting couple, choosing instead to share all the little things that make up the life you have built: your time, a meal, hours in bed together, or hours alone - somewhere special or nowhere at all; a restaurant or your couch, each a persistent reminder that you have chosen one another. The small simplicities of your life and daily routine are more about your love than a gift of chocolate, a card full of words you would rather hear him say. Your commitment to him extends beyond a social media post, beyond a tagged location and the withering petals of discarded roses. 

For him to suggest this, after he has already prepared a meal beside you, after you have stained the wine glasses with your lips, after you have told him, repeatedly and ardently, that you love him is a shock to your system.

‘I…’ Your voice fades, the guilt gripping your throat. A lump forms, not of woeful regret but of fear, the utter horror of ever seeing him disappointed. ‘I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry...we said we wouldn’t. We aren’t the type?’

‘No, no,’ he shakes his head quickly, removing his hands from your ass to rub at your arms. ‘I don’t want anything. I’ve had the world since you ordered a negroni in the middle of summer.’

Cocking your head back, you laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. ‘I swear, one day you will move past that.’

‘Never.’ The brilliance of his smile would almost overshadow the intensity of his disagreement, but you find it a compliment, a reassurance that your idiosyncrasies are the things that endear him to you the most. ‘Most beautiful person alive to ever order a negroni.’

‘You’re just saying that cause you weren’t alive in the forties,’ you scoff, though you match his smile, always moved to delight by the sight of him.

Hoseok shakes his head. ‘Even then.’

For a long while, you simply stare at one another, luxuriating in this closeness as you remember: the night you met, the orange peel on the rim, Namjoon - who has become one of your closest, dearest friends - ordering the drink with surprise on his cheeks; Hoseok, leaning over the bar, close enough he could smell you, and both of you, drawn to one another’s orbit, lonely moons fated to collide. 

‘But no,’ he sighs eventually, the weight of it changing the mood of intimacy you had cultivated. Not eradicating it, not entirely, but something about the way he looks at you has your nerves resting on edge. ‘It's not a gift. Not really. It’s a drink.’ 

Leaning back, you settle away from his cock and onto his lap, curious and cautious. ‘For the new menu?’

‘No.’ Once more, he shakes his head, slowly, seductively. The movement of his head, the way the hair falls into his eyes as he smiles and smiles dances over your heart, a thunder against your sternum. ‘No this one is just for you.’

‘All these years,’ you smirk, ‘and still you think you can pull me away from my negroni?’

Now, it is his turn to laugh, a hearty sound that has you moving back over his cock, victorious. 

‘Baby, trust me, I’ve long since given up that fight.’ Again, he regards you, though this time you catch traces of all the thoughts that race through his head, a glint of affection matched with a glimmer of something hopeful, though you cannot imagine why he finds a drink so serious. ‘This is different. This drink comes with a set of requirements.’

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you tilt your head to the side in question, but he says nothing. Instead, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips as he taps his hands on your thighs, a signal he wants you to get up. Swinging your leg over his thigh, you settle on the couch, folding your hands in your halp expectantly, but he does not linger beside you. Rising to a stand, Hoseok grabs both your hands and pulls you up to meet him. 

‘What’s going on?’ you ask, glancing around the room, bewildered. 

‘So many questions,’ he sing-songs, pressing his hands to your shoulders as he turns your body you are facing forward, away from him, and begins walking you through the living room. 

Turning to look over your shoulder, you do your best to regard his expression but he lifts one hand and taps your cheek gently, wordlessly advising you to face forward. His thumbs rubs slow circles into your shoulders as he walks you to your bedroom, where he lowers his hands to your hips and pulls you against him. 

Immediately, you recline into the toned muscles of his chest, resting your hands over his as you sigh in delight. Relishing the closeness, you breathe together for a moment, enjoying the silence and the air of romance he so easily rekindles. It’s always been like that with him, so simple, all your passion and all your ardor brough to the surface the moment he lays his hands on you. 

It’s different in this room, where the blinds are closed, where the world is cast out. In the living room, your longing had space, room to breathe and crevices to fill. Now, it clings to your skin, cloying in the way it moves through your pores and into your lungs. Every breath you take is filled with his cologne, every exhale is an utterance of your need, a whine at the back of your throat that threatens to disrupt the quiet way you take your time savoring his attention. Still, he does not give you the opportunity to consider the room beyond these feelings, nor does he allow you to turn and face him, to regard the face you long to kiss and kiss and kiss until he is a permanent fixture in your spirit. 

Easing your hair over your shoulder, making space and granting himself access to the supple skin that so often goes untouched, he kisses deftly at the back of your neck as he moves a silk blindfold over your eyes, blocking your vision. The silk cools your heated cheeks, and in this darkness the smooth texture feels almost forbidden, clandestine in the way he removes your senses and demands that you trust him, implicitly. Raising your hands to touch it, you slide your fingers over and over along the threads as he ties it securely at the back of your head. 

Furrowing your brow, you cannot help the chuckle that blossoms at your sudden realization. ‘Is this one of your ties?’

Burying his nose in the crown of your head, he nods, nestling it into your hair as he breathes in deep. ‘Looks better on you, in my opinion.’ 

Instantly your mental image of the bedroom dissolves, fading into nothingness until your senses are overwhelmed with all things Hoseok: the rich clove and bergamot of his cologne, the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your back, his lips as he wanders down and down to the shell of your ear. Even still, you see him with your whole spirit, his smile against your skin entering your heart, taking root and filling the nodes of your lungs with visions of his euphoria.

‘I want you to strip,’ he commands, voice low and full of gravel. A growl lingers at the back of his syllables, and your mouth runs dry. ‘Get undressed and stay silent. I want you naked and waiting on the bed for me.’

Against the blindfold your eyes open, and your eyelashes struggle against their confinement, another wave of arousal dripping through your folds at the sound of his voice. You are aware of absolutely everything, all the way down to the fibers of your clothes, senses brought to attention by the implication of his words. Hoseok has adopted the tone he only uses when he means to make you kneel in worship, exerting his dominance as a show of the magnitude of his affection. So rarely does he speak to you with such power and control, your muscles tense in willing obedience. 

His voice saunters through your very existence, your nipples erect and sensitive as they press against the cotton of your tee shirt bra. You hadn’t planned on wearing lingerie, haven’t needed to since your first Valentine’s together when he said it didn’t matter what you wore or how you dressed, all he wanted was you naked beneath him and anything else deterring this was viewed, in his eyes, as an obstacle. Had you known he was planning something, you’d have planned, too. 

‘Be good for me,’ he whispers, nipping at your earlobe before he departs from the room entirely, your body shivering in his absence. 

The seconds that pass feel like an eternity, your heart racing as you gather the strength of your senses, reigniting the muscle memory of your bedroom. All over your body, you sense the energy of things, objects, certain you are near the bed without even feeling it. Diligently, you begin to undress, hands shaking as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Careful not to shift or undo the blindfold, your slow removal of your clothing feels ceremonious, a ritual of preparation for something holy. In the darkness behind your eyes, this room becomes your sanctuary, each removal a prayer of obedience and commitment. 

As you ease your leggings down your legs, the strong scent of your arousal reaches your nose, and you part your lips from the intensity. You’ve been on edge from the very moment you felt the first stirrings of Hoseok’s cock within his sweatpants, from the very moment your tongue met his. When he returns to the room, he will smell how terribly wet you have become, how much of a mess you have made of yourself just for him, because of him. 

Stepping out of your leggings, you reach behind your back and undo the clasp of your bra, each touch of your own fingers sparking a new world of lust as colours bloom behind your eyes. Your hands tremble, but your heels press into the hardwood of the floor, rooting yourself within the gravity to ensure you do not drift from the force of your desire. 

Discarding your bra, the air hits your breasts and you move to cover yourself, only to ball your hands into fists and return your arms to your sides. Hoseok does not like it when you hide, a habit you have learned to unmake beneath the heated intensity of his unwavering, loving gaze. With him there, you have learned not to cover yourself, but when there is only nothing, you wonder now why your first instinct is to hide, why the vulnerability of such exposure has you feeling young, unfamiliar with the significance of such eroticism. 

Relying on muscle memory, you move towards the bed and perch carefully on the edge of the mattress. The air in the quiet room is wrought with unprecedented tension, your senses scattered to every surface as your hair stands on end.

Even though it’s unnecessary, even though the silk blindfold is heavy against the bridge of your nose, thick enough to block out all the light, you still keep your eyes closed. The silence of your bedroom is deafening, oppressive in its effort to intensify the eroticism of this darkness. Gnawing your bottom lip, you strain to hear just what he could be doing in the kitchen - what else there is to be done - but you hear nothing. All the quiet seems to accomplish is heightening the ever growing reverberation of his command in your mind, an echo control that haunts even the marrow of your bones. 

Like always, Hoseok inspired the full totality of your obedience with just one sentence, stripping his voice of all sunshine, all warmth, rendering you naked down to your nerves; the only one to ever live inside you, so deep. Your neck still burns, right above your pulse, right where he’d kissed his words, the fire of his open mouth removing all your clothes before your shaking hands could undo the rest. The fervent laughter that always nestles in the end of his syllables, in the corner of all his smiles, was absent, and now you are left anticipating him, craving him, hoping that you will be good for him - that you will be the wick he decides to ignite.

Rolling your shoulders back, you raise your breasts and keep your posture straight, poised, hoping that he will be pleased when he sees you. You cannot remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly raw in your nakedness. When you came home, the apartment felt too warm, the heat raised to a limit that always makes you feel uncomfortable. Now, you are trembling within it, skin and nerves tender, forced to acknowledge the full length of your body; the supple texture of your sinew, the voluptuous curve to your breasts, the slope of your hips, the dripping folds of your sex.

In this silent loneliness, you are left to contend with the reality of yourself - to recognize all the pieces of you he adores.

Still, the anticipation of his touch, his breath, has your hands fisting in the sheets, and you laugh. He’s changed them, the fabric of the duvet softer, smoother than the thick cotton you often prefer. The texture against your skin raises gooseflesh along your arms, a shiver taking its time to walk up the length of your spine. All of this softness, all these delicate fabrics against your skin, and all they create is a cage of your longing. Too long have you been left wanting him, missing him, and now he means to entrench you in it.

Now, he demands that you experience just how badly, how desperately, he has been wanting you, too.

The bedroom door pushes open, a sound usually so innocuous, so meaningless, causing your walls to clench around nothing. Grimacing, you take in a sharp breath to apologize or comment on the messiness of this reality, but you remember that he told you to remain silent, and so you force your lips to close. The sheets will be stained by the end of the night - of this you are certain. Nothing, you’re sure, will wash away the remnants of your desire. 

The further he walks into the room, you are overcome with the intense aroma of peach and cinnamon. Such delicate scents overtake the space, maximized in their power, wafting over and into you, until you’re certain you could taste it on your tongue. Hungrily you salivate, and so too does the wetness between your folds seep leisurely through your slit, as if motivated by the ghost of flavor within your mouth. 

Accompanying this scent is the light clinking of glass, and your ears perk up at the first trace of noise. Hoseok remains silent, but you can distinctly make out the silver swizzle stick he uses to mix drinks gliding along the rim of a glass. Recently you’ve heard it in the late hours of morning, before dawn has the opportunity to kiss the sky. He stirs and stirs, your bed empty and your hand resting on the space where his body had been, mattress still warm. Usually, this very sound eases you back to sleep, a comforting night song that kisses your sense when he cannot. 

Now, the high pitched rattle is a sting against your nerves, a call to attention and reverence. 

But this too does not maintain your attention for long. There are other noises, other clattering sounds of metal, plastic, and something else you cannot quite make out that alert you to an assortment of items - a tray, a selection, and, suddenly, mist. As Hoseok approaches where you sit, a gentle, cool fog passes over your skin, and you reach your hand forward to let it slip between your fingers. It sticks to the all the minute, normally unnoticeable crevices of your skin before dissolving, a whisper of sugar and honey that settles against you as if by magic. Before you, hidden behind a blindfold, a rich meal, a just dessert, has been laid out, while Hoseok views you in kind.

Tendrils of mist add to the moisture and heat in the room, the sweetness raising the temperature against your skin as your arousal swirls expectantly in your belly. The darkness that surrounds you has your skin feeling tender, ripe muscle taught with wanting, and you lean forward, seeking the relief of Hoseok’s lips against your soft, malleable pieces.

Reaching forward through the mist, you seek the tactile solidness of his touch. ‘Hoseok?’ 

You cannot help the exclamation of his name, an oath of allegiance and questioning of what mystery he has brought into the room, hoping he will say your name to fill the room with his voice. 

‘Ah, ah,’ he cautions, and though the commanding nature of his voice still lingers, the sound of something other than your beating heart in your ears is an extraordinary relief. ‘I said to remain silent. Only speak unless I tell you to.’ 

Pouting, the retraction of your hand is swift, and your fingers furl into the bed sheets as you acquiesce to his wishes.

Hoseok moves the swizzle stick through the glass, once, twice, before he hums pensively. ‘Do you know why I became a bartender?’

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shake your head, certain that any answer you would give is not the one he is seeking. When you were new together and newly in love, you asked this question as you laid with him in bed, running your finger over his heartbeat. So much of your first start was centered around you, the war you waged with your father, your question of worth for things that chose you instead of you taking it as an act of defiance. You wanted to spend the rest of your days learning about him, learning his thoughts, his war, and his answer was a journey of money and consequence. 

Over time, you’ve learned the journey was one creation, of inspiration as much as necessity.

‘Do you have a guess?’

Parting your lips, you focus on finding your voice, the stimulation surrounding the darkness so potent all your words come slowly. ‘You like making things. You like pleasure.’

‘Good,’ he praises, and you preen delightedly, offering him a wide smile full of love and pride. ‘Do you know why I became a mixologist?’

Hoseok places the tray on what you presume is the top of your dresser across from where you sit, but you both feel and hear him move to the side where places something in the nightstand at his side of the bed. You focus your attention on these movements, letting your mind come to several of its own conclusions, all wholly unrelated to his question. 

Had he also stripped while he was away from you? Is the amber golden texture of his skin on display, concealed from you by a simple strip of fabric? How does his tattoo shift in this light, the blossom of the bird of paradise just as rich as the fruit that fills the room?

You imagine all of it - every color and texture and shape of his body, certain you have learned every nuance of his being down to the very bone. These thoughts entice you, but so too does the thought of another of his praises, an encouragement that has you hurriedly responding to not keep him waiting any longer. 

‘Passion.’

‘Close. Similar.’ Hoseok moves to the tray on the dresser, and you strain to discern the things he touches, unable to come up with anything beyond the obvious drink he had created. ‘It’s like perfumerie,’ he explains, shifting items along the tray and stirring the drink once more. ‘I think everyone, at some point, wants to bottle the thing they find most beautiful. They want to wear it, permanently. They want the smell to wet the tongue, to inspire the possibility of skin on skin, to provoke the curiosity of more. Mixology is like that, but you don’t wear the drink, you taste it. You have to hold it in your mouth, until it becomes a part of you.’

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you wait patiently for the closeness of his body in the ensuing silence and consider his explanation. He’s always been like this, passionate to a point of burning, his drive running deeper than you can ever comprehend. Every time you come close, it has changed, his every moment of creativity sparking a more enduring affection for his craft. 

Hoseok walks closer to you, but still chooses to remain just out of reach, far enough you can feel the magnetic chemistry of his closeness and your skin begins to ache. Childishly you raise one hand, reaching for him and hoping to pull him against your skin, but he does not move, only chuckles at your display of indignant neediness. Instead, he releases a slow hum of breath through his nose and taps the swizzle stick against the rim of the glass, delaying your reunion even further.

‘You’re like that,’ he continues, the rich intonation of his voice a thick syrup that molds over your skin. Placing the swizzle stick back on the tray, Hoseok inches ever closer, the pads of his feet against the floors a rhythm that incites a riot of excitement in your heart. With him, he brings more mist, more spice, more peach, all of it waftering onto your chest and mingling with the perspiration that has started to coat your sinew. A moan of thirst worms its way through your chest, a keening, tiny sound of impatient defeat.

Finally, when he is close enough the steady exhale of his breath joins the fog in tracing patterns over your sternum, your jaw, your lips; his presence, an instigation of juices that drip once more through your folds and onto the sheets. You want to say his name, want to talk, want to reach your hands out and cup his cheeks to bring his lips to yours, but with each continued speech, Hoseok sounds more and more serious, and you obediently remain quiet. 

‘That is what you are,’ he repeats softly. ‘A whisper that is always on my tongue. A taste I can’t seem to quit.’

He bumps against your legs, and immediately you spread them wide, luring him into your orbit. The act separates your folds, allowing more of your thick juices to drip into the bed and changing the scent that fills the room. The mist is persistent, a tingle of pleasure that walks down your nerves, and now with Hoseok between your thighs, the warmth that radiates from his aura overtakes your senses. He’s everywhere, nowhere, a ghost that haunts your bones and spirit, and you tilt your head back, looking upwards into the nothingness, waiting for his lips. 

‘I made this for you, because it is you,’ he murmurs, though the proximity of his voice is a wildfire. ‘I call this drink the Whisper Blend. It’s how you taste to me, how you make me feel. I wanted to bottle you for myself, to keep you with me, always.’

HIs hand comes to cup your chin, guiding you in a direction you imagine is perfectly poised to accept his tongue, his mouth, his soul.

‘I want you to taste yourself.’ All the gravel of his voice, arousal and seductive intent, reaches into the caverns of your heart, gripping you completely. ‘I want you to taste how you make me feel.’

Gripping the edge of the mattress tightly, you lean forward, pressing your chin into his fingers. Your nerves run haywire, electric and scattered, and you are certain that were it not for your bones your spirit would erupt absolutely everywhere to press itself against him. Hoseok takes a slow inhale, long and deep, and lowers his mouth to your lips. On instinct, you part for him, expectant and eager to experience the way he feels when that is all there is - no sight, no sound, just his touch, holding you because he can, and because he wants to. 

Still, he does not kiss you - not really. Gently, he exhales, and an abundance of peach fills the cavern of your waiting mouth, the rich flavor invading the crevices until it dissolves leaving only his breath. The cocktail smoke dissipates on your tongue, a sweet residue left behind that has you humming in pleasure. Pulling back, he breathes in again, the smoke shifting around your body as it is pulled into his mouth. When he returns to you, he presses his lips to yours, this time pausing in the contact of this kiss, before he exhales once again. 

Unable to help yourself, your hands come to cup his face, holding him there as you inhale, moving your lips in a slow, reverent motion. Again, the smoke dissolves into the ether, leaving just the distinct, sweet flavor of his mouth against yours. His fingers massage slow circles into the bones of your jaw and chin, his own sigh a waterfall down your open throat. When he pulls away, you suddenly feel disdainful of the tie that covers your eyes, wanting to take your time admiring him, the flush at his cheeks that you feel beneath your fingertips, the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.

The third time he returns to your lips after a full inhale of the mist, he comes to you and lets his tongue press languidly against yours amongst the smoke. You hadn’t expected the intrusion, moaning in utter satisfaction at the fulfillment of your desires. Idly, he strokes his tongue over yours as he kisses you, exploring the parts he had coated with sugar and peach. With each motion, your inner walls clench around nothing, folds slick with and sticky against the bed as your parted legs do their best to hold him in place. You’ve become utterly overcome with the intimacy of sharing breath, and sharing yourself, your heart racing to shatter the hard bone of your sternum.

Desperately, your cunt aches for this kind of attention, for the invasion of something solid and thick, stroking at the places that live deep inside of you. Focusing on the emptiness of your core, you moan dejectedly, walking your hands into his hair where you fist handfuls of the strands to deepen the kiss. This, he only allows for a moment, relinquishing his tongue only to bite at your lip before sucking eagerly at it. And all too quickly, he pulls away and guides your chin upward to carefully tilt your head.

‘Drink,’ he commands, pressing the cool glass to your swollen bottom lip.

With your eyes closed, it’s difficult to drink and anticipate the flood of liquid, but Hoseok maintains complete control, sustaining a slow flow of the cocktail into your waiting mouth. On impact with your tongue, colours blossom behind your eyes - rich crimson of cinnamon, pale yellow, purple for the floral of lavender, and clear white for the sharp bite of vodka that lingers after the sweetness fades. 

Hoseok has bottled a dessert, a warm summer that bleeds into the first chill of autumn. In a single glass, he has contained an aroma of life itself, a richness full of crisp dreams that refuse to fade over time, zeal and ardor, passion in a glass that overwhelms the difference between life and living. He said this was you, your taste, and you choke slightly on the drink as emotion wells in your chest, the action causing some of the cocktail to spill out from the corners of your lips, down your jaw as it drips onto your chest and breasts. 

Immediately, he pulls the glass away, and you catch your breath only for it to be swiftly taken away. Placing open mouthed kisses across your chest, he laps up the stray remnants of the cocktail, using the tip of his tongue to lave your skin clean. Your hands tremble where they hold his head, breath coming short and heavy in your lungs as he moves down, and down to the top of your breasts. He wastes no time in biting delicately at the supple flesh, leaving a mark against your body for only you both to see. 

Releasing his hand from your chin, his touch vanishes for just a moment before he swipes two fingers over your nipple, digits drenched with the cocktail. Swirling them over the sensitive, hardened bud, your body reacts instantly, invigorated by the sudden overwhelm of contact. Bucking your hips against the bed, you urge him for more, wanting his mouth where his fingers rest. Sensing your impatience, he drags his tongue down to the swollen bud and flicks it with the tip before rolling it between his teeth.

‘Lay back for me,’ he commands, pulling away from your breast, and this time you smirk. His voice is a rasp of taught strain, the edges of his control beginning to fray. ‘Lay back and spread yourself.’

Without any hesitation, you obey, releasing your grip on his hair to press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself back and back until the thick cushion of the pillows presses into the base of your spine. Spreading your legs wide, wider than you could before and wide enough you are confident he can see the way your slit glistens with slick, you rest your head against the headboard and lower two fingers to your core. Knitting your brow, the contact with your neglected folds as you gasping in relief, the pads of your fingers gathering all the juices that have gathered, smeared over your thighs, and still leaking from your center. Quickly, they become coated, this likely the wettest you've ever been simply from his endless teasing. Taking two fingers, you rub them over your slit before parting your folds, forming your fingers into a wide ‘V.’ Clenching your inner walls, more juices drip from your core, down your ass and into the sheets, forming a new stain for you both to admire. 

As you expected, the sight of your spread cunt has Hoseok growling, and you feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he joins you on the bed. Somehow, you sense that he crawls to you, a hunter on the prowl, and you imagine how he looks now based on the all the times you have seen him like this before.

With your insides still warmed from the cocktail, your skin begins to flare with heat, demanding the feel of his hands against your for fear of your bones coming undone. You can feel him between your thighs, the ripples of magnetic waves of his closeness sauntering through your muscles. So too does his breath tickle the supple sinew at the inside of your thighs, a cascade that seems to travel along your nerves and directly into your opened core. The texture of your fingers at the swollen flesh of your cunt is a tantalizing sensation, though it does not provide the relief you seek. 

This stretch is a display of your wanting, but it is not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that lurks in your belly, your core, all the way to the barrier of your cervix. Any other night, and you would demand he fill you completely, but even now you are uncertain you could gather enough strength to be so demanding. 

Impishly, Hoseok takes hold of your knee and bites at the inside of your thigh, so close to where you want him most, yet far enough you cry out in shock and frustration. Hands fisting in the sheets at the sensation of his teeth grazing over your skin, a feeling that travels all over your body, as though his teeth are everywhere all at once, your back arches off the bed, presenting your breasts to the open air. His name builds at the back of your throat, the only word you think you could manage, a short set of syllables full to the brim with your primal yearning. 

As if sensing your will to speak, always so aware and in tune with your needs and the responses he pulls from your body, Hoseok smiles against your skin, kissing and kissing.  

‘It’s okay.’ Your muscles clench, feeling his voice trickle into the marrow of your bones. He kisses his words into the apex of your thigh before running his nose up to your center, where he rests the tip at your parted folds. ‘Say my name.’

‘Hoseok,’ you exclaim, pressing your spine into the bed to shift your parted lips closer to his mouth. 

‘Fuck,’ he curses, releasing your thigh and pulling away. He shifts on the bed, reaching for something he unscrews not far from the bed. ‘My name sounds best coming from you.’

Rubbing his hands together, he returns to his position between your thighs, the blindfold preventing you from watching him. This is your favorite sight: him, between your legs, a hungry beast who regards you with his heart first. He looks good between your legs, even better with his lips covered in your juices, and so you wiggle your hips impatiently, running your fingers over your slit before pressing them inside, taunting him. 

‘I told you to be a good girl,’ he threatens darkly, pushing your hand away with his wrist. Settling between your legs, Hoseok finally holds your hips, fingers coated with an oil that sends a shiver down your spine. Through the aroma of peach and cinnamon, mint begins to blossom, clearing the air and sending tingles of excitement over your nerves, a winter on the brink of your bedroom’s autumn. 

‘Peppermint oil,’ he explains, rubbing his fingers into your muscles in a slow massage. Yet, there is no relaxation to be found. Lowering himself to your folds, he places a wet, open mouthed kiss at your slit, letting the tip of his tongue press at the seam of your drenched core before retreating. Crying out, you roll your hips forward, bucking up to seek his tongue once more. ‘I want you to tremble in it, the warmth and the chill. Do you know how often you unmake me? I want you to feel it.’

Again, he lowers his lips to your folds, stroking his tongue through your slit and against the sensitive walls of your core. A strangled cry rumbles through your throat, a moan of ecstasy at something thick and solid penetrating your core. Unfurling your hand from the sheets, you reach down and rest your hand at his head, intending to hold him there so you can rock your hips against his mouth, but he retreats immediately, clicking his tongue in derision. 

‘Are you trying to take control, baby?’ he sneers, his hold on your hips tightening as he rubs the oil deeply into your skin. ‘I know how much you hate to give it up, but tonight your job is to receive.’ You feel his eyes wander over your wanton form, studying the voluptuous curve of your breast, the part of your lips, the perspiration that has gathered at your neck and beneath your breasts. ‘You can touch me,’ he amends softly, ‘but no pressure. Just touch. I’m the one who dictates how hard and how fast tonight.’ 

With that, he returns his tongue to your slit, curling it inward to collect the juices that have gathered at your core. Returning your hand to his head, you card your fingers through his hair as your cry of ecstasy fills the room. Unable to keep yourself still, you roll your hips forward, into the stroke of his tongue to urge him deeper, and he growls, the vibration of his voice careening through your joints. 

‘Oh, fuck, Hoseok,’ you whimper. 

He sets a steady rhythm with his tongue, plunging your folds with a vigor that feels almost brutal. Having no real contact to your cunt for so long, wanting him for so long, and no longer being able to see him, you cannot remember the last time the feel of his tongue inside you was such an intense sensation. Warm and wet, the muscle explores your core, your walls clenching around it as a new wave of juices leaks from your cunt into his waiting mouth. It soaks the flesh of your ass, his lips, the bed. Over and over, he pushes his tongue into your cunt with unfettered ardor, thrusting ever deeper with piercing intensity, doing his best to collect every drop while simultaneously stroking every nerve that comprises your walls.

Tension builds in your muscles, thighs taught with the magnitude of your arousal as you drag one foot over his ribs, over the smooth muscles of his back. In silent praise, Hoseok removes a hand from your hip and walks it up your side to cup your breast. The oil at his fingers chills the swollen nub of your nipple, and you clench once more against his tongue, quivering with fervor. Between the knuckles of two fingers, he clinches your nipple, the slight pain of oversensitivity combatting the unbridled pleasure at your core so harshly you moan out his name, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes. 

Pulling his tongue from your folds, he moves it to your clit and begins the same attention, flicking it with his tongue. Shuddering, you fist one hand in your hair as your other clings to his for some semblance of sanity. But your Hoseok is always relentless in the way he delivers pleasure, in the way he chooses to pleasure you, and the remaining hand at your thigh drifts away for just one moment. The pressure does not leave the bed, and so you know he has not gone far, but against the blindfold your eyes widen into darkness at the sudden click of a vibrator.

Brows raising to your hairline, your breath catches. ‘Ho-Hoseok?’

Wordlessly, he simply rolls his tongue over your clit in time with the way his knuckles massage at your nipple. You hear the sound of the vibrator inching closer until, all at once, it is pressed to the barrier of your slit as he sucks harshly on your clit, nipping at it gently. The tremors from the toy ripple up into your thighs, juices spilling out from your slit as your arousal courses through the totality of your existence. You suppose you have always been in this state, have always been trapped in such a volatile state of craving, your spine pressing into the mattress to ground yourself to reality. 

Without any warning at all, Hoseok sucks deftly at your clit once again as he presses the head of the vibrator through your slit. Your walls part around the toy, its vibrations cascading even into your bones, and you clench around it, hoping to lure it deep inside of you. Biting your tongue, you keep yourself silent, wanting to say more than his name, more than just a few curses. Pleas for him to fuck you ruthlessly live and smolder to ash against your teeth, an impenetrable barrier of obedience you are unwilling to break. 

Palming your breast with the whole of his hand, he massages the oil into your skin, another shiver of frost against the bruising summer of your flesh that has you groaning. As you grind down against the toy, he proceeds to trace figure eights with the tip of his tongue against the hardened bud of your clit, thrusting the toy all the way into your cunt. The thick girth of the toy and the vibrations now filling the whole of your core have you releasing a scream of surprise, back arching off the bed once more as though preparing to sprout wings. 

Hoseok fucks the vibrator into your relentlessly, almost ruthless in the pace he maintains in time with the motions of his tongue and the hand at your breast. Your orgasm builds just as mercilessly, a tightening coil at the base of your spine that turns your muscles to steel. Juices spill over from your foils, the damp patch of sheets beneath your waist soaked, and you’re certain he must be soaked as well, the mental image of it inspiring a choked gasp within your lungs. 

He knows you like it this way, intense, unforgiving, each thrust bordering on painful to ensure that you will feel the ache deep within for days. Long after he is gone, you want to resonate with him, haunted by the ghost of his seductive prowess, unable to liberate yourself from his clutches. With each inward thrust of the vibrator, your walls clench, hoping to hold it in place as the whisper of your orgasm builds within your muscles. The heat is almost oppressive, your breath a heavy fire in your lungs, tongue slick with the embers of each howl of pleasure you have worked to contain. 

The vibrator is not set to a very high level, this toy one of your shared favorites. You have grown familiar with the sound and the shape and the feeling, but somehow no longer seeing the toy or seeing Hoseok as he uses it has every aspect of it feeling new, foreign, the level of this toy infinitely stronger than any other you might own. And, paired with Hoseok’s skilled mouth, you doubt anything could ever compare again.

The curl of your fingers into his hair is a give away, the muscles of your arm sore with the effort of not pressing him harder, deeper against you, and your hand quakes with the effort of remaining the pretense of passivity. Instead, you direct this motion into the roll of your hips, meeting the toy thrust for thrust as you rock against his open mouth, fucking both the toy and his tongue as he suck s your clit. Sensing your impending orgasm, Hoseok growls, the rumble joining the vibrator within your walls. 

‘Oh,’ you cry, soft enough you think it might be missed over the sound of his wet sucking and the thrum of the toy. But still this exclamation is a betrayal, and you are swiftly proven incorrect.

Releasing his lips from your clit, he rests his head against your bent thigh and breathes heavily. ‘Are you looking to cum?’

Unable to speak, you nod furiously against the pillow, the swell of your impending climax lurking just at the edge of your perception. Yet, he is dissatisfied with your silence, and abruptly turns the vibrator up to another level. The sudden increase in intensity sends a quake through your thighs, your hand releasing his hair as you slap the bed, groaning in response.

‘Talk to me,’ he urges, gentle yet still maintaining his tone of authority. ‘Use that pretty mouth of yours.’ 

‘Please, let me cum,’ you cry, caught in a battle of holding yourself back, panting into the open air and unashamed of how depraved you might look. ‘I need to cum.’

‘You know this is all for you, baby.’ Moving off your thigh, you feel his breath return to the wetness of your core, each exhale from his nose cooling the drenched spit and slick at your clit and slit. ‘Make sure to leave some for me though.’

Offering a rough flick of his tongue to your clit, he sucks at the bud and thrusts the vibrator into your cunt, turning up the notch one more time. The blunt head of the toy brushes against your spot, pulling a choked moan from your chest in surprise. Eyes wide, yet empty, you peer at the expanse of black in a daze, mouth opened in a silent scream. Your orgasm comes swiftly, violently, shattering all resolve you had managed to maintain. Rivulets of your juices spill from your cunt, and Hoseok’s lips suck diligently at your clit, occasionally letting his tongue drift downward to join the toy at collecting the traces of your cum. 

In the aftermath, you convulse into the bed, and Hoseok pulls the toy from your core. Crawling up the bed, lays his body over you and finally you can feel that he, too, has been naked this whole time. Skin against skin, he holds you against him, rubbing his hands over your ribs as you quake with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Limbs feeling boneless, heavy, you wrap your arms around his back and cling to him, tears drying against your cheeks. 

The head of his cock lingers at your entrance, threatening to breath through your sensitive folds. Burying his face in your neck, he breathes against you, tossing the toy to the other side of the bed.

‘I need you inside me,’ you announce, driven to a brink of insanity in the throes of your climax. Forgetting the rule to remain silent, you toss it aside, damning it, needing the girth of his cock bearing down at your cervix. 

‘Did I ask you to speak?’ he rasps into the tendons of your neck, where he bites.

‘No,’ you manage, ‘but I’m going to.’

Removing a hand from your side, he burrows his hand between your bodies and slaps at your clit. The sudden pain against your swollen, sensitive nub has you calling out his name. The sensation of your tenderness wanders all the way up into your throat, your lungs reverberating with the harshness of his slap.

‘You want me to fuck you?’ His words come with an impish smile, followed swiftly by a bite to your pulse that has your hips bucking up against his cock. 

The head of his cock protrudes deeper through your folds, but he pulls back and once more slaps your clit, a tap to the nub that has you groaning. 

‘Please,’ you whimper. ‘I can tell you want it, too.’

Gliding your hands down the expanse of his back, you palm the cheeks of his ass with your full fist, guiding him closer in the hopes of pressing him inside. Hoseok releases an expletive against the beat of your pulse, the flow of your blood rushing to his lips, hoping to be kissed. The feel of his teeth grazing over the thunder of your pulse has your legs widening to ease him deeper, muscles straining at their limit. Kissing down your neck to your breast, he sucks the erect nipple of your opposite breast into his mouth as the engorged head of his cock sinks deeper into your core.

‘Just fuck me already.’

Pushing down on his ass, you force him all the way into your cunt, pressing his head right against your cervix. His concentration snaps, his eyelashes grazing your skin as he squeezes them shut, shuddering against your hips and thighs. Feeling victorious, you smirk into the darkness, clenching your walls around his cock. Moaning your name, he rolls his hips forward in warning. Hoseok’s moan is an avalanche against your skin, an earthquake of violence that rumbles into your lungs. 

‘Don’t do that,’ he threatens. ‘I won’t last.’

Taking back control, you clench your walls again and meet the roll of his hips with yours, taking him deeper. ‘That’s the point.’ 

Bunching the sheets in his fist, Hoseok sets a punishing rhythm, thrusting abruptly against your cervix and ensuring your walls feel the veiny texture of him drag against the sensitive nerves. Unable to speak, you simply breathe together, sharing breath and sharing life, hoping that the smell of him remains on your skin for all eternity. Every thrust has your thighs shaking, the heavy sack of his balls slapping against your ass. The sound of it joins the moans you release with every press of his cock into your spot, your voice loud and unashamed. You don’t care who hears you, don’t care who you wake, you ensure the celebration of your voice rolls off his skin and into his heart with each gasp of his name. 

Hoseok moans in harmony with you, garbled and broken, as the vice grip of your walls clench his heavy cock. Pleasure ripples within and through you, spreading all the way from your core to the crown of your head, all your senses heightened. No trace of light penetrates the blindfold, and so your mind wanders to every fibre and sense of your body, aware of every texture of his cock, every press of his fingers into your skin, every burn of oxygen in the vessels of your blood. 

The wet sounds of your fucking only serve to reinvigorate the traces of your orgasm. It becomes impossible to focus on anything other than this - the rough pound of his hips against yours and the stretch of your walls around his heavy girth. The brutal pace of his hips sends the bed frame into the wall with each inward thrust, and you relish the pain that comes with his unrelenting force. 

‘Fuck, Hoseok,’ you cry out, digging your nails into strong flesh of his ass. You press crescent moons into the supple skin, leaving your mark against the sun. 

The perspiration that gathered at your hairline grows into beads of sweat, the exertion of meeting his pace causing your body to melt beneath his warmth. Hoseok pants his gasps into your skin, an added wetness as his saliva trickles from his open mouth and down your neck and chest. The liminal space of this fucking nearly unravels you, so used to the feel of his cock buried inside you while certain you have never experienced the totality of it quite this way. In the darkness, there is only this lust, only this passion, and the very weight of it consumes you from the inside, building your orgasm to new heights. 

Hoseok fucks you open, ensuring that no one will ever have you again - as if you would ever let them. Each brush of his cockhead against your cervix is a declaration of possession, a promise of an eternity with his marks against your skin and bones, and behind the blindfold you see your whole life stretch out before him from this moment up until the very last, when your atoms are scattered in their search for his. Reality beyond the border of your body dissolves, your universe beginning and ending where his hips meet yours, and the immensity of the love and lust you harbor for him nestles your impending climax directly at the center of your core. 

Thighs shaking, you clench around him again in warning. But as deeply as you know Hoseok, know the nuance and details of his very existence, he knows you too. Releasing his hand from the sheets, he scratches at your ribs before moving it between your joined bodies, using the blunt edge of his knuckle to massage your clit once more. Still raw and tender from your first orgasm, the contact sends a jolt of pain through your nerves, a yelp of shock bleeding into a cry. Your grip tightens on his ass, and your thighs close tightly around his sides, latching him in place. 

‘Let go of control,’ he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss at your lips with every word he speaks. ‘You’re close, I can feel it in the way you’re shaking.’ 

Certain that your reality is crumbling, your hands move from his ass to the middle of his back, clutching him as your whines increase in pitch and frequency. You feel yourself become dizzy, the scent of him, the scent of peach, the scent of mint, the scent of vodka all over your skin and all over him has your mind fogged with little other than the intense stimulation he provides. 

‘I’m gonna cum,’ you whisper, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

Your orgasm threatens to unmake your very existence, a silent revolution inside the marrow of your bones, and you fight it back just long enough to obey any of his possible commands. But still, it keeps you burning at the edge, a flame only the stroke of his cock against your cervix could coax into an inferno.

Pressing his knuckle deep into your clit, Hoseok urges you to cum without words, without encouragement or instigation from his authoritative tone, easing his tongue into your mouth. Stroking at the muscle, he swallows the scream of your orgasm as your release undoes your sense of reality. The world behind the blindfold erupts, a kaleidoscope of colour brought to life by the swirl of his hand against your clit and the piercing thrust he delivers to the barrier of your cervix, demanding entry to your womb. You want him there, want him inside you always, and you clench around him tightly as your orgasm overtakes your muscles. Your body is an earthquake caged in his arms. 

You, a perfume and a drink, a war and a victory, an earthquake and a hurricane, every season belonging to him alone. 

As you come down from your high, Hoseok only increases the pace of his thrusts, somehow gaining strength at the feel of your juices dripping around his cock. The stimulation stings, and he pulls his tongue from your mouth to let you both catch your breath, your whimpers of pain an echo of the intensity of his cock stretching your walls. The bulbous head of his cock is unforgiving, picking up speed as he breathes against your cheeks. Still, you can feel his own limbs begin to shake, and you attempt to soothe his tremors with tender massages of your fingers into the wings of his shoulders. 

Grunting with exertion, Hoseok becomes speechless as he chases his high, and the tingling pain that once lived at your core soon gives way to another orgasm within your belly. How starved have you been for him? How long have you wanted him? It does not matter, you think, the removal of distractions and the urge to focus only on him has your body pouring its lust into the feel of his cock at the entrance of your womb. Whining, you cling to him once more, joints taught in preparation for another, sudden orgasm. 

The feel of your walls gripping him so tightly causes his hips to stutter, and the incoordination of his impending climax overtakes the power of his movements. With your own orgasm readying in the base of your spine once more, you hold onto him tightly and roll up into his hips yet again, matching him thrust for thrust. 

Only three strokes more and you both come undone, the searing heat of Hoseoks’s cum filling your core as his body shudders in your arms.

‘Fuck, shit,’ he moans, burying his face into your neck as he thrusts each spurt of cum into your cunt. 

Wetness greets your cheeks, the tears from your eyes flowing freely, a surprise and a shock without any vision for them to blur. Together, you breathe in unison, riding the aftershocks of your orgasms until the walls of your cunt burn with the force of your clenching. He collapses against you, breathing heavily as your hand comes to stroke absentmindedly at his core. Every now and then, your walls clench, his cock presses deeper, his cum dripping from your walls to greet the mess you've made of the sheets. 

Time presses on, the world continues to turn, but behind your blindfold the universe is on pause, suspended in only this moment in which you are holding him, he is inside you - softening, but still yours - and there are no gaps between your bones for air to move between. Idly, you suppose this is the paradise many so often speak - an empty mind, a comfort in your limbs that comes only with immense peace, a contentment to your heart that says you are both seen and safe, with no difference to be found between the two.

Eventually, Hoseok removes his hand from your core, easing it up to the blindfold. You smell the traces of your juices on his fingers, and you part your lips, readying to taste yourself as he so often commands you to do. But he bypasses your mouth for the bone of your cheek, where he toys with the edge of the fold. Easing it away from your eyes, he pushes it back to the crown of your head, and you blink rapidly, readjusting to the world. Immediately, you lower your gaze to his face where he rests at your side. 

In unison, you smile at one another, everything looking precisely the same, yet wholly, irrevocably, different. 

‘Hello,’ he whispers, the intimacy of his quiet greeting causing your chest to swell.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you trace his brow with your thumb, smiling deliriously. ‘I missed you.’ 

This time, there is a difference to this missing, and he chuckles quietly at your joke. You luxuriate in the act of admiring him, taking in the depth of his features. Redness lives beneath his cheeks, a glistening sheen to his skin of perspiration; his hair has been mussed several times over by the fore of your hand and never, not once in the time you have known him, has he ever been so beautiful. Glancing down further, you regard his arm where it drapes over your waist, the tattoo that bleeds up his muscles and over into his back. 

All night you have pressed your fingers into the bird of paradise painted on his skin, but it was not what you saw or envisioned at all. It crosses your mind that perhaps what you envisioned was his spirit, the very essence of his soul - scatterings colours and energy that are both formless and yours.

Almost too soon, he looks away from you, turning to face to the right at the end table. With your vision obscured by the crown of his head, you cannot see what exactly he reaches for, and so you continue to admire the mess of his hair with a small chuckle. He takes his time gathering the item, grasping it tightly in his hand before turning to face you. Slowly, he eases his softening cock from your core, repositioning himself on the bed to linger at your side, legs sprawled carelessly over yours.

‘I don’t have a speech planned,’ he begins, suddenly sounding terribly disappointed. 

Furrowing your brow in worry, you regard him with confusion, cocking your head to the side patiently.

Hoseok raises his eyes to yours, his irises glassy with emotion. ‘We’re not the type, are we?’

Still uncertain what he means, you shrug in reassurance. ‘We’re not the type for a lot of things,’ you suggest, and he nods, seeming distant.

Moving his hand into your view, he reveals a small black box. Breath halting in your lungs, you regard it for a long moment, suddenly aware all over again of the weight that encapsulates the room. Using his thumb, he flicks it open, revealing a rich sapphire ring, dotted on either side with sparkling diamonds. 

‘Will you marry me?’ he asks, looking at you with an intensity you’re certain could rival the sun. 

He must expect you to be shocked, must expect you to have to gather your words, because your immediate, resounding yes, has him blinking wildly, in the same rapid fashion as when you were finally allowed to see again.

‘Yes,’ you repeat, sliding back against the bed to sit up. ‘Yes, yes.’ 

You don’t really think there’s anything else to say, not really. If the universe of your love could be contained in three simple letters, you would give them to him over and over again, until only they comprised your language, your alphabet. 

Wasting no time, he pulls the ring from the box and slides it over your finger, taking his time to let his fingers stroke over your skin. 

‘Mine,’ he mumbles to himself.

The word takes you all the back to the first time you slept with him, to a day when you had been burning with torment, wet from the rain and wet with a passion for a world you wanted to claim. That day, he asked you to be his, and you said yes, an echo of this moment in which you somehow knew it was the only choice to make. Your past self and yourself in this moment are one and the same, time becoming a construct that is meaningless when it comes to him.

‘I told you the first time I was,’ you tease.

‘I know,’ he says, leaning up to kiss deftly your jaw. ‘I just wanted to join you in the war.’

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[vibraniumphoenix]

until you came along. [ b.b ]

a dad!bucky barnes x fem!reader wherein bucky finally gets to meet his little one.

WARNING: bucky hinting about his past but aside from that nothing else! maybe this fic giving you baby fever idrk, time is set somewhere after the events of tfatws, and lowercase intended!

A/N: hi my baby fever is torture and im dragging you along with me. dad!bucky has been stuck in my head for so long now and i’ve been feeling guilty abt not sharing that with you. please reblog the post, it really means a lot!

---

if someone was to tell bucky from a few years back he would be an expecting father, he would probably chuckle bitterly as he turned down the idea; but here he was now, rushing in the middle of the car-filled streets of new york, to finally meet his new born baby.

he cursed under his breath as the cab he was in turned into another corner that had cars barely moving, fingers drumming against the sides of his thighs as he tried to calm himself down, his right arm pulling out his phone to see multiple messages from your mother, asking where was he as you were already in active labor一 that was several hours ago.

he and sam were on a mission, taking down some mafia gang that wanted to smuggle in illegal goods in trade for stolen a truck filled with stolen vibranium; his mind replaying how he didnt want to leave the hospital and stay by your side, but you pushed him to go, not expecting that the infant would arrive later that day.

as soon as he saw the tall building of the hospital you were at, he paid the driver and got out of the car, sprinting all the way to the entrance where his father-in-law was waiting, “i’m so sorry i couldn’t come sooner一” were the words that left bucky’s mouth until he was cut off, “it’s alright, you should head up, your little one’s waiting upstairs.” your father said, patting him on the back as he motioned with his other hand to go.

weaving his way inside, he quickly found your room and composed himself, standing up straight as he caught his breath, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on his clothes before slowly opening the door, peeking his head through its crack to see your sleeping figure on the bed, your mother sitting right by your side.

“bucky!” your mother quietly greeted, standing up to give him a hug. her smile was wide as she stared at his almost organized look, his hair still in a disarray from the rush he was in moments prior. “both of your angel’s are sleeping as of the moment, you should get some rest too, son. me and f/n will go home and set everything up for the baby” she calmly said, motioning the seat that she was previously in.

a small smile formed on his lips as he nodded, wanting to actually take a seat and be with you. “thank you for looking after her, ma.” he answered, hugging the woman tightly before letting go, waving his had as she left the room.

he quietly walked over and took a seat, observing the small sleeping figure inside the clear bassinet next to your bed, tears forming up in his eyes to see such a peaceful little face. gently raising a single digit over the crib, he gently caressed the baby’s hand which held onto his finger, “hey there, little one. I’m your dad.”

---

you stirred awake, body feeling extra sore still from giving birth, you were about to open your eyes when you heard bucky’s voice, “... and i was probably more scared than your momma could ever be at that moment, my little angel.” you opened your eyes a little to see bucky carrying the infant in his arms, sat down, slightly facing the window.

the warm rays of the early sun peeked through the blinds of the window, illuminating the peacefulness displayed on his face, “when your momma said that she had a suspicion you were in her belly, she was scared that i would leave ‘er, since we weren’t even into a year of dating一 little did she know that i feared what would become of us.”

your heart broke silently as you tuned into his confession to the baby, “i’m way older than your grandma and grandpa, i’m afraid that i could never see you grow up, i’m afraid that your momma would leave me for someone younger, that could be better a dad than old me.” his voice was soft, fragile almost as cradled your son.

“but i set those fears aside when i saw you sleeping in that crib of yours, lookin’ so angelic as you slept. i could have only wished to start a family before since i… i was considered to be someone so dangerous; i’ve always thought i would never find love but momma came along and proved me wrong, and now you’re here with me.” bucky continued, raising the small babe up to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“i’ve seen so much on this earth that i thought i’ve seen everything it has to offer. your dad’s cool since he got to fight such a big alien and so many bad guys before but i never really realized how much of life i missed until i saw you open your eyes and look at me. i’ve never deemed my life so… worthy until i you and momma came along.” bucky finished, bringing up his flesh hand to wipe the tear that had managed to escape, sighing softly.

you also brought a hand up, wiping the tears that you didn’t even notice away before quietly calling out your husband’s name, making him look back at you with a big surprise, quick to get on his feet and sat by your bed, his flesh hand holding onto yours as he leaned down to place a kiss on your lips. “how long have you been up, darling?”

you smiled tiredly, “just enough time to hear you ramble on to your son.” your tone light and teasing, making the latter chuckle in embarrassment that you had caught him being so soft, “who knew mr. bucky barnes could be such a softy.”

“for someone who just gave birth, you sure are in a teasing mood, baby.” he groaned, shaking his head at your antics. “i’m sorry i couldn’t be here for you when this little troublemaker arrived, y/n.” bucky apologized, looking at you with a small yet disappointed smile. “i knew i should have never taken up that mission.”

you squeezed his hand, shaking your head firmly. “no, james, don’t ever blame yourself for that.” you started off, “i said that you should go一 besides, you’re here now, with me and our little prince and that’s what matters.” you reassure him, bringing his hand up to your lips to place a gentle kiss on his already healing, bruised up knuckles.

bucky sighed softly, knowing better than to argue with you about that, “i know better than to argue with you about that, y/n.” he retorted softly, heart filled with love as his vision bounced from your featured to the sleeping one in his arms, gently exclaiming, “my god, i love you both so much.”

you laughed softly, warmth spreading throughout your body at the sight of the, now two, men in your life, “and we love you too, bucky. we love you too.”

---

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x fem!reader #marvel #mcu x reader

[strawwritesfic]

Thor Odinson x One-Sided!Asgardian!Reader: Don’t Walk Away

Summary: Even when you want your beloved to be happy, you’d rather he be happy with you.

Rating/Warnings:  All (Thor/Jane; set during canon events of Thor)

Challenge: “100 Drabbles of Randomness” by Miseria1 on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Don’t Walk Away

“Heimdall!” Thor shouted at the sky, and you waited with bated breath. How long until Loki’s plans came into fruition? Every second Heimdall waited to let you all back into Asgard could mean the destruction of an entire planet. As much of a warrior as you were, even you knew enough not to want that. “Heimdall!”

This time, the effect was instantaneous. The sky above the pattern in the dirt erupted in a multitude of colors and lights began to spill from the resulting hole. You, Sif, and the Warriors Three strode forward, already prepared to enter the Bifrost.  Only Thor hung back.  

“Thor?” you asked, and turned back just in time to see him in a lip lock with the scientist woman he’d been staying with.

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. Thankfully, the kiss did not last long. Thor was noticeably thrown by the event all the same, which only added to the deadened feeling in your chest that had started when you’d seen the way he looked at her. Years spent as his comrade, and yet you could not hope to compete with a mere mortal Midgardian.

“Thor. Let us go!” Fandral called.

Thor nodded and wandered toward your group–with many a glance back at Jane and her friends, you noticed.

“Is something wrong?” you murmured when he was close enough to hear you.

Thor shook his head. “Loki. I fear he is not right in his mind. If I were to leave Jane or Darcy or Dr. Selvik here…what of them? What if Loki sends reinforcements to Earth?”

You exchanged worried looks with the rest of your group. After a brief pause, Volstagg thought to offer:

“Perhaps one of us should stay behind.

“I’ll do it.”

The words were out of your mouth so quickly, you almost thought you hadn’t said them. All at once, every head spun around to stare at you. Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg’s mouths popped open. And why wouldn’t they be shocked? You’d made no secret of your crush on Thor, and here you were offering to skip out on a battle with him to stay behind and protect a woman he had deemed more worthy than you.

Even Thor looked a little confused by your behavior. “Are you quite certain?”

You hazarded another quick look at the group standing apart from yours. Even at this distance, you could see the love-light shining in Jane’s eyes. Your shoulders slumped.

“Yes. I’m certain,” you said.

“Then we leave.”

Thor clapped you on the shoulder and stepped past you. The other four followed suit while you took a deep breath, readying to return to the group of Midgardians. Then Thor startled you by calling over his shoulder:

“We shall return for you, [Name].”

You could only manage a small smile in return. “Make glorious battle.”

Thor nodded before disappearing into the Bifrost with your other friends.

“Miss Foster?” you said.

“Yes?” the woman asked.

“Follow me. I’ll get you to safety.”

But even as you led the three of them over another hump in the desert ground, you bit your lip and looked back, hoping all the while that he would return and beg you not to walk away.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #ficlet #one shot #avengers #marvel #mcu #thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #thor x you #thor x y/n #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x you #thor odinson x y/n #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #mcu x reader #mcu x you #mcu x y/n

[seungmvnnie]

Flipped

pairing; Chenle x reader

genre; enemies to lovers au, ‘American high school’ au, angst, fluff

word count; 10.8k

summary; ‘The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped.’ You had known that you were in love with Chenle, your next door neighbor, since you were 7 years old. Chenle wanted nothing to do with you. Until of course, ten years later he starts to realize that perhaps there’s more to you that meets the eye, unluckily just as you began to realize, perhaps Chenle was less than you had chalked him up to be.

warnings; insensitive language regarding illness, death, female reader, heavily inspired by the movie flipped, some scenes are near word for word from the movie, so credits to the movie for those parts, although parts of the main narrative differ, as well as scenes. A large majority of the characters are not similar to their real life counterpart. 

tag list; @sunflowerhae​ @byunbaekby​​ @mikasrecs​(if you asked to be on the tag list and i didn’t tag you, i’m very sorry, i was terrible at tracking who was on it cause im an idiot)

a/n; Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon Appetit.

It all began in the Summer before second grade. In Zhong Chenle’s eyes, it was the beginning of a decade of strategic avoidance, awkward encounters, and a lifetime worth of what he deemed to be, discomfort.

For you, it was true love.

The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped. It was something in those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you. Or maybe it was something about his smile. There was something about him which made you realize that at 7 years old, you had met your soul mate. His family had just moved into your neighborhood, a long cul-de-sac of identical, modern two-story houses, the majority of which had the same identical clean cut lawns and typical nuclear well off family who owned the house and prided themselves on how their petunias were better than the house across the streets. That was except for yours, of course. Deemed the ‘embarrassment of the neighborhood,’ the yellow paint on your house was flaking off, the grass dry and grey and the fence encasing the yard, which had at one point been white was now a dull grey, not to mention falling apart in some places. This was attributed to the fact that your father simply did not have the time. As a painter, he had to work extra hard to provide for his family, especially considering your mother’s situation.

It was a hot summer’s day, the day Chenle moved in. You could remember the feeling of the sun on your face as you basked in its warmth, the pavement on which you sat almost boiling as the moving van pulled up to the house opposite yours. You had recalled that your father had told you to always be kind and helpful, which is why you had thought it appropriate to skip across the road to the nice looking family and offer a helping hand.

Little did you know, your help was unwanted. Chenle remembered watching the girl skip – skip? As if anyone had done that since kindergarten – from the odd-looking house across the way and when she confidently stated,

“Hi, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Need any help?” He looked to his father for confirmation that this girl was strange. He noticed the judgmental look which was written on his father’s face as he surveyed the girl with the messy hair and grubby clothes, no doubt from playing in the unpleasant yard which she came from that juxtaposed with their clean, green yard. He recognized the exact moment that his father deemed them better than her, a switch in his face where he knew where she stood on the social ladder. Acting according, he too looked at the girl with disdain.

“There’s some valuable things in those boxes. Don’t touch them.” His father had scolded as you reached for one of the boxes that were stacked on their lawn.

“What about this one?” You suggested, reaching for another one. This was the moment that Chenle had realized that this girl could not take a hint. His father had pushed the box away with his foot before you could even touch it.

“Maybe you should run home? Your moms probably worried about you.” He sneered, staring down his nose on you. Resilient, you stared back.

“My dad knows I’m here.” You had replied simply, before turning to Chenle.

“Want to push one together?” You asked, pointing at one of the heavier ones. Chenle scrunched his face up at you, looking to his father for answers.

“I think your mom wants your help in the house, Chenle.” His dad had replied, not so subtly winking at him, as if to say, ‘escape from the crazy girl while you can.’

 He seized the opportunity, turning on his heel and running towards the house, where his mother stood in the doorway, when the most ridiculous thing happened. Not only did (Y/N) (Y/L/N) follow him, but you grabbed his hand.

“Oh, hello! I see you’ve met my son.” His mother had called out, a small smile growing on her face as she observed the sight of the two 7-year olds connected by their hands.

Chenle, having no clue how to escape the situation, did the most mature thing a 7-year-old boy could do. He hid behind his mother.

Who did you think you were? He had been here for less than 10 minutes and he had some crazy girl trying to hold his hand.

Of course, for you, you really had thought you were being kind. The boxes on the lawn did look intimidatingly heavy but you were sure with the help of the cute boy stood next to them, you could help get them into the house. You hadn’t picked up on the fact that it had taken Mr. Zhong all of 10 seconds to determine that you weren’t worthy of their time and when he had sent his son inside to help unpack, you thought maybe it would be a good idea to chase after him, see if he wanted to play for a bit before he was stuck unpacking boring boxes. You had grabbed his arm to stop him from running into his house, when he turned around and moved his arm out of your clasp, grabbing your hand instead.

You could remember vividly, the way your stomach had flipped as he stared at you with those deep brown eyes, and you had been so sure he was going to kiss you. He had held your hand! At 7, you had basically considered that a marriage proposal. If his mother had not have called out to you, you were sure you were going to have had your first kiss at 7 years old. The way he blushed and hid behind his mother was adorable, he was so shy.

That night you lay awake, thinking of the boy who was walking around with your first kiss.

If only he wasn’t so shy, maybe he would have. That was the moment you decided, you were going to do everything in your power to ensure that Chenle would not have to ever feel shy around you. He needed to know; he had a friend in you.

While sweet in theory, the reality of the situation was, Chenle believed he did not need the help of, what his father had referred to the evening after you, your two older brothers and your father brought over homemade pies, ‘trash like them.’ He especially did not need the help of the girl who embarrassed him on the first day of school. Yes, you had thought it appropriate, upon seeing Chenle enter the classroom of Mr. Lee on the very first day of school, to run up to him and give him a huge hug, which he of course, had struggled against. That’s what had earned him the reputation of being (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s boyfriend, a reputation he did not manage to shrug off until freshman year of high school, and he only got rid of through dating Lee Chaeryong for an incredibly brief period of time, who was perfectly sweet, but he didn’t find her particularly interesting.

For a while, he found dealing with Chaeryong’s insistence yammering about nothing he cared about a lot easier to endure than the lovesick eyes you gave him. The plan was, he would walk her to class a few times, sit with her at lunch and eventually, you would lose interest, he could break up with her.  It was all going smoothly, until his best friend, Park Jisung, suddenly decided to get a moral backbone for once and tell Chaeryong what Chenle was doing. Chenle reckoned it was just because of Jisung’s own crush on her, but either way, it had resulted in a very public breakup. A week later, you were back to obsessing over him, and once again he became, (Y/N)’s boyfriend.

 3 years later, their senior year, brought a lot of changes, the main change of which being Chenle’s grandfather had permanently moved in with their family. Chenle did not know much of his grandfather. An old surly man, he spent his days sat in the armchair beside their front window, staring blankly out into the empty street. Chenle’s mom said he did that because he missed grandma, although Chenle would not know as much he had very little conversations with him. The second change in Chenle’s life was more superficial as everyone was talking about how much (Y/N) had grown between the summer of junior and senior year – your face had thinned out, and you had a much more of a mature air about you and for a brief moment of, what Chenle had deemed insanity, he may have mistaken you as pretty. Of course, the second you had sent him the same goofy smile which graced your face every time you looked at him, and murmured the same,

“Hi, Chenle,” the pit in his stomach from the tired repetition of ten years returned.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He had replied, a tight-lipped smile sent your way.

 It is imperative to the justification of your side of the story that you understand that Chenle had never once openly rejected you, or even treated you rudely. You would talk to him when you could, and he would reply perfectly politely, which would only reinforce the idea that it’s not that he did not like you, he was just shy. On top of that, it was not as if you actively pursued him. You spoke to him like one would a friend as, how you saw it, everyone knew you liked Chenle, no doubt, including him. If he wanted to, he would ask you out. Other than that, you were content talking to him when you could.

 Other than your looks, a lot more had changed in your life. For almost as long as you could remember, your mother had been sick. There had been a time, a very long time ago, where you could recall how the same scalic motif would echo from the piano which now lay dormant, the thick layer of dust that had blanketed it over the years rendering it inoperable. Your life had been filled with hospital visits to a woman you had never really gotten the opportunity to know and who no longer knew you. You often grazed your hand over the ivory piano keys, and tried to flick through the penciled sheet music which hadn’t been touched since the last time your mom had last scribbled on them but to you it was a foreign language you could only hope to understand.

About a week into September, you had been ignoring your English teacher’s in-depth analysis of some Shakespeare scene and letting your thoughts and eyes wander to where Chenle sat two seats in front of you. His black hair had seemed even darker that day, contrasting with the white t-shirt and denim jacket he was wearing. You were so focused on the way his head would duck down to take notes, that you barely noticed the teacher who had slid into the classroom and leaned to whisper something in your teacher’s ear. It wasn’t until your teacher had called your name and Chenle had spun to stare at you alongside the rest of the class, his brown eyes meeting yours, that you had snapped back into reality, the heat of your embarrassment at getting caught by Chenle warming your face. Funnily enough, you had forgotten about your embarrassment when your teacher had called you out into the hallway, where your tearful father stood. He didn’t have to say anything. You knew.

The next week all blurred together into a flurry of emotions which you purposefully tried your best to forget. The funeral was huge, groups of people from your school coming to show solidarity, as well as the entire neighborhood, including Chenle and his family. You could not bring yourself to glance at him, not with your father crying quietly next to you. You did not know whether to cry for the woman you had never met before. 

  Your school allowed you the next few months off school, but you had returned after only one month and that month was the quietest your house had ever been. Your father locked himself in his room for the first two weeks, and your brothers oversaw making dinner for the family, which essentially meant the whole family was living off frozen pizza for two weeks. Your dad eventually emerged from his bedroom, but when he did, he was like a man crazed. He insisted that you did a spring clean (it was September) of the house and get rid of the clutter which had gathered from the many years of neglect. You were in charge of sorting through all of the things your dad wanted to give to charity, and you had invited your friend Shin Ryujin over to help. More like she insisted. Ryujin had been new to town in freshmen year and had befriended you before she had known of your reputation as ‘Chenle’s stalker,’ and she had been a fierce friend ever since. You had both been folding a pile of old clothes when your eyes fell on your mom’s old music stand accompanied with that oh so familiar stack of written sheet music under a pile of old toys. 

You didn’t want your mom’s handwritten sheet music to end up in a charity shop but your dad had insisted that no one was using it, and, unless you could think of someone else to give it to, it was going to charity. That was when, luckily, you remembered Chenle. He was a skilled piano player and singer, so much so, the whole school anticipated his performance in the Christmas Talent Show, which he had won for the past 3 years. Upon gaining your father’s permission, but against the wishes of Ryujin who had spent the past three years explaining how Chenle was terrible for you and you needed to, in her words, ‘Hoe it up,’ you made the journey across the road and knocked on Chenle’s door, clutching the music stand and sheet music to your chest. Luckily, he had been the one to open the door instead of his father whom you didn’t personally mind, but felt as though he may have disliked you. 

It had been early before school one morning, when you had knocked on his door. He was barely awake, the sweatpants and loose t-shirt he had worn for his pajamas still clung to his body. He hadn’t expected to be opening the door to someone from school, let alone you, awake and bright eyed. On a normal day, your chirpiness would have bothered him to no end, but today was different. He hadn’t seen you since your mom’s funeral, and he found that he had wounded up missing your ever-present annoyance. He didn’t know how reassuring that lovesick, “Hi, Chenle,” could be. He couldn’t understand how, in your absence, he found his eyes straying to your empty seat, or when he sat at his desk which lay in front of his window, his eyes would wander to where he knew your bedroom window sat. He had realized, in the few weeks that you were off, that your presence was more comforting that your absence.

His dad hadn’t wanted to go the funeral. Apparently, he didn’t see the point. It was his mother who had pushed them to go, saying how bad they would have looked if they didn’t show their faces. His dad had argued that he didn’t care how he looked to a poor dreamer and the ‘crazies he calls family.’ The only reason they ended up going was because his mom had said she was going with or without him and apparently that would look bad to everyone else in the neighborhood. Chenle didn’t see the harm; sure he didn’t like you, but you were always nice to him and it was only respectful.

“Uh- Hi, (Y/N).” He said, eyes wandering down your body to where you clutched the sheet music and back up to your face. Your heart had flipped, a sensation you were now old friends with and usually attributed to Chenle’s warm brown eyes which traversed your face, his morning voice only making him more attractive. Little did you know, Chenle’s biggest concern at this moment was less checking you out and more checking if you were okay, and judging by the tired bags under your eyes despite your outwardly cheery appearance, you didn’t look okay.

“Hi, Chenle.” For once, those two words didn’t make him want to rip his own hair out.

“Uh, these are my mom’s. My dad wanted to give them to charity but, I don’t know, I thought they’d be better with someone I know... and well, you’re kind of the only musician I know.” His eyes flickered down to the sheet music you clutched in your arms.

“Oh- Thanks?” The music stand looked to Chenle to be at least 30 years old and the yellowing sheet music did not look too enticing, but he reached out his arms for them anyways.

“She wrote the music herself. You don’t have to play it but, I don’t know, I just really didn’t want to see it end up in the back of some charity shop. At least I know, with your talent, it’s in good hands.”

“Oh, well thanks.” You sent him an awkward closed mouth smile before turning on your heel but before you could make the short walk across the road, he called out to you.

“Wait-”

You spun around again.

“Yeah?”

He had stood up from where he had previously been leaning against the door frame, his brow now furrowed.

“Are you- are you coming back to school anytime soon?” He almost cringed as he uttered the words. He always felt bad being nice to you, it felt as if he was giving you false hope. However, for the first time, it came naturally to him as opposed to the fake smile he would give you.

“I’m allowed off until January but I’m coming back next week. It’s just so... quiet at my house. I’m kind of sick of it at this point.” His eyes scanned your face again, in the way that felt as though he could stare into your very soul if he looked hard enough.

“Well, I hope you’re okay.” The sincerity in his voice echoed the sympathetic look on his face.

“Thanks. I’ll see you next week, I guess.”

“See you at school.” He closed the door and looked at the music stand he had left leaning against the wall, which, unfortunately, became the topic of discussion that night at the dinner table.

“I think it was very nice of her to give you that stuff, Chenle.” His Mom had said, the clinking sounds of cutlery against plates underlying the conversation.

“I’m not using them,” He replied simply, as he moved the vegetables his mom had forcibly placed on his plate around with his fork. 

“Oh, don’t be a dick, Chenle.” His sister nudged him, ignoring their parent shouts of, ‘language!’

“I’m not being a dick, they’re about 30 years old and I’m a piano player, I don’t use a music stand anyways.” He placed his fork down.

“Well, they’re not lying here and collecting dust. I’m honestly annoyed. Just because their house is all cluttered doesn’t mean our house has to be. You can go back and tell her you don’t want them.” His dad interjected, in that authoritarian manner he so loved.

“Dad, I can’t do that.”

“Eat your vegetables, Chenle.” His mom said, taking a sip from her way-too-expensive crystal wine glass. He rolled his eyes and picked up his fork again, purposely taking a bite out of the broccoli which adorned his plate.

“Why not? Are you scared of her?” His dad challenged, and Chenle couldn’t help but notice the broccoli which remained on his plate. Why did Chenle have to eat it but his dad didn’t?

“I’m not scared of her, it’s just- Her mom just died. I don’t want to be mean.” His fork stopped moving as his Father scoffed.

“Man up. You aren’t being rude, you’re being honest.”

“Chenle, vegetables.” 

He groaned, shoveling as much of the vegetables into his mouth as he possibly could in one go before sinking down in his chair. He didn’t have a clue what to do. On one hand, the music equipment was of no use to him, so realistically, it would make the most sense to give them back. But on the other hand, if he gave them back they would just end up with charity and while Chenle didn’t necessarily like the girl, he didn’t think he could be that insensitive. Which was why he had deemed it an amazing idea to ask the paragon of good advice, his best friend, Park Jisung, at school the next day.

“Dude, just give it away yourself.” Jisung had answered assertively, from where he had perched himself atop his desk during their break, opening the cupcake that Chenle had given him. It had originally been a gift from Chaeryong who had long since forgiven him since the Freshmen incident, and every now and then when she got bored, would return to her phase of crushing on him.

“What do you mean?” Chenle asked, ignoring the way he could most definitely see Chaeryong staring at him from behind Jisung’s head, taking a sip of the strawberry milk he had bought from the school vending machine. Jisung rolled his eyes.

“I mean, if you give it away to some thrift shop first, she’ll never know, and you can tell your family that you told her. Boom, both people are happy.” Chenle chewed at the straw of his milk carton. He wasn’t necessarily wrong; in giving the stuff away himself, no one got hurt and he wouldn’t get called a coward by his family.

“Jisung, you’re a genius. Come with me after school? We’ll drop by my house and I’ll drive us into town.” Jisung nodded, cringing as he picked the love heart candy off the cupcake.

Unfortunately for Chenle, he hadn’t seemed to realize that, sat with her back to him was Ryujin, who had overheard the whole conversation, mostly because Chaeryong had insisted they eavesdropped on them to see if they talked about her. Ryujin had let Chenle away with a lot over the years; he had ignored you, laughed at you with his friends, talked about you behind his back and while she would discuss how much of a prick she thought he was with you, you never believed her, or blamed yourself, or make excuses for him. Which was why she deemed it a necessary evil to send you a text saying, ‘Want to go thrift shopping after school? I’ll buy you coffee?’

She knew you would never turn down free coffee. And it actually had turned out you had multiple boxes to donate anyways, although shopping with Ryujin was always an experience. You liked clothes shopping as much as anyone, but Ryujin was crazy. She could take 3 hours to go through one tiny shop.

“Ryujin? Are you done yet?” You had whined, the cardboard coffee cup in your hand had been emptied at least half an hour ago, and you had finished looking for clothes an hour ago. She was especially taking her time today, deliberating every item of clothing she saw and the dark lighting was starting to hurt your eyes, the musky smell of cedar wood and laundry detergent was inviting at first, but now made you feel woozy.

“My feet hurt.” You complained again, only pouting at the joke glare she shot your way. The bell which jingled every time someone entered the shop that you had learned to zone out the past two hours rang again, but this time, Ryujin’s eyes flickered up and rested on the person standing at the door. You furrowed your brow and spun to see who she was staring at, and there stood Chenle and Jisung, both looking positively ill.

“Oh- Hi, Chenle!” You waved, a small smile gracing your face. You cocked your head slightly to look at the two boys who had lost all color to their faces. Chenle still looked as good as ever, and the smell of his citrusy shampoo paired with his expensive smelling cologne cut through the woody scent of the shop, his chestnut brown eyes which lay beneath his messy mop of dark hair bringing butterflies to your stomach the way they always did.

“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a-,” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as your eyes had fallen down to where he clutched the oh so familiar sheet music and music stand. Your smile dropped, the butterflies in your stomach mutating into lead.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked, quietly, ignoring the way Jisung almost ran back out of the shop.

“I- uh- well...” He looked down, staring guiltily at his hands and the rusty music stand he clutched.

“If you didn’t want them you could have said, you know. You didn’t have to go behind my back to give them away.” You snapped, and for the first time in your whole life, looking at Chenle made your heart sink instead of flip. 

“It wasn’t me! My dad said that he didn’t-” He stopped, as if he had caught himself.

“Didn’t what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, and glance to the side, almost as though he was refusing to meet your eyes.

“He said he didn’t understand why our house had to be cluttered just because you only started cleaning up your house and yard now.” He mumbled, and your eyes widened, and you put out an arm to stop Ryujin, who you could sense was about to jump on the boy.

“I didn’t think a bunch of sheet music was going to destroy your house that much.” You replied, letting out a huff and gulping away the lump in your throat, refusing to cry in front of him.

“I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” He mumbled, staring at his hands in shame. He had never wished that the ground would swallow him whole more in his entire life.

“You should have told me. Give them to the shop, honestly. I don’t care anymore.” You pushed past him, resisting the urge to throw the empty cardboard coffee cup at him.

“(Y/N)!” He called after you and you turned again, blinking back the tears which were gathering in your eyes, the constant chanting of, ‘don’t cry,’ becoming a sustained pedal in your head and realistically being the only thing stopping the tears from spilling.

“What?”

“I- I’m sorry.” His chestnut eyes you loved so much stared at you in that sincere way that felt as though he could stare into your soul if he tried hard enough, but for once, you could see a corruption in the honesty, a sort of rotten core to what you had previously thought was a pure center.

“No, you’re not.” You mumbled, before spinning back round and dragging Ryujin out by the wrist who had to drop the clothes she had clutched previously in a pile next to the door, having been given no opportunity to replace them tidily.

At first you had thought you were upset, the burning sensation in your chest was mistaken for sadness, but when you brought your hand up to your eyes to wipe away the tears which now fell, the downtrodden feeling switched into anger very quickly. Not only did Chenle lie and act as if he had cared about you and your family, but he had the audacity to talk about you all as if you were a group of hoarders who couldn’t keep your yard presentable.

You slammed your car door shut - while you had previously loved your run-down little jeep, you supposed perhaps the Zhong family liked to comment on that too - ignoring the comforting words Ryujin was uttering as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” You asked as you gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, turning the key in the ignition.

“Uh- I don’t think so. Why?” Ryujin replied, eyeing you warily.

“How do you feel about gardening?”

It didn’t take long for Chenle to realize he had traded in his old problems with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for a whole set of new ones. You had returned to school the next week, and the way you constantly avoided him was simply a reminder of how much of a jerk he had been. Not to mention when he woke up on Saturday morning to discover you and Ryujin in your garden pulling up weeds, the guilt panging in his chest as he watched you toil away.

Then one day a week later or so, he was walking back from playing basketball from Jisung when things got weird.

His grandfather stood in your front yard, a pair of sheers in hand as he clipped at the hedges which had grown over your windows, conversing quietly with you as you worked.

He had only ever seen his grandfather in slippers - where the hell had those work boots come from? He didn’t even know his grandfather knew how to use sheers let alone would willingly help a random girl from across the street. The more he watched from his bedroom window, the madder he got. His grandfather had said more to you in the last hour than he had the whole time he had lived with them. Chenle wasn’t even sure if he had ever seen his grandfather laugh before, but there he was, laughing at something you said.

You had been struggling with hacking away the hedge when his grandfather had approached you. Ryujin had abandoned helping you a while ago, but you still appreciated the help she had given you originally. You knew gardening wasn’t necessarily her thing. You wanted to think that the reason you had decided to fix up your yard was not because of what Zhong Chenle thought of you, but to make your house better in this new pre-mom times, as your brothers had begun calling them. After what he had done with your mom’s sheet music, why were you meant to care about anything he thought? But sadly, you knew deep down you did.

“Are you pruning that Hedge or hacking it to death?” You heard someone call out, and you swung around to see a man whom you couldn’t help but recognize as being related to Chenle. They had the same smile.

You laughed awkwardly, clutching the sheers a little tighter. 

“I’m Chenle’s grandfather. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come over and introduce myself.” He smiled again and outstretched a hand which you then shook.

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Are you planning on cutting these all to the same height?” He gestured towards the hedges. You breathed in, looking at the hedges which you had previously been ruining.

“That was the plan, but I might have to take them out. I’m not very good at this, if you can’t tell.” You joked.

“Oh, these are Hicksii shrubs. They should prune up nicely.” He replied, pulling out a pair of gloves he had appeared to have brought with him, and reached out for the sheers you had been holding.

You eyed him wearily, as he cut at the hedge. “Listen, Mr. Zhong, if you’re here because of what Chenle said, I don’t need your help.”

He leaned back and looked at you sincerely.

“I don’t know what my little shit of a grandson said to you, but I’m just here because of the crime you were committing on these shrubs.”

The previous reluctance you had felt was immediately relieved as you let out a sincere laugh, not expecting his crude language.

You both worked together on the yard for weeks, and the whole time you worked, you talked. Mr. Zhong was incredibly kind, and it was honestly nice to know that there was someone in that house who wasn’t watching and waiting for your families next screw up. He told you how you had the same spirit as his wife who died a while ago; apparently you both had the same strong will. Although the conversation that stuck with you the most was a few days into working together and he had tentatively asked you about what was happened with you and Chenle. You had explained the situation while you painted the wood you had bought together to make a fence.

“Well, do you like Chenle?” He had asked, and your face warmed, your hand which held the paint brush stilling.

“I don’t know... It’s something about his eyes, I guess.” You looked down, embarrassed. It felt really weird discussing this with his grandfather.

“But what about him?” Mr. Zhong had asked, his hand still as well.

“What do you mean?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing as you turned your head.

“Well - I mean think of it like this. Your father’s a painter, isn’t he? Well, a painting is more than the sum of its parts. You have to look at the whole landscape. A cow by itself is just a cow, a tree is just a tree, a beam of light is just sunshine, but when you put it all together - it can be something magical. Do you think Chenle’s more than the sum of his parts?” If he had asked you a month ago you would have said absolutely. Chenle was entirely more than the sum of his parts, in every conceivable way. But now you weren’t so sure.

“I- I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, Chenle was still struggling to apologize to you. He had spent all week trying to approach you at school, but when it came to holding a grudge, you were truly impressive. You always found a way to duck him, either turning in the hallway to walk the other way or having Ryujin exit through doors first when he tried to block them to confront you. And every time you were out in your yard, his grandpa was always there. It wasn’t until one day, on a cold Saturday morning towards the end of October, when his grandpa had gone into town to buy cream for his hands because all the yard work was starting to get to him, that he found his opening.

“It looks really good.” He commented, grabbing your attention from where you were watering the grass with a hose. You looked up at the boy whom you had dedicated your life to, who stood awkwardly behind the fence you had put up with his grandfather. You wished you could say he looked bad, but in a flannel shirt, black t-shirt and jeans he had never looked better.

“Thanks.” You said quietly, turning your back to him to continue your work.

“I- I’m sorry for what I did.” He piped up and you sighed before switching off the hose and turning towards him again.

“I don’t get it, Chenle. You could have just told me you didn’t need them. You didn’t have to give them away behind my back.” You looked at him, and for once, you were the one looking into his soul, not the other way around. You looked into those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you that belonged to the boy walking around with your first kiss and you thought that perhaps his Grandpa was right. Maybe Chenle wasn’t more than the sum of his parts.

“I don’t know - It was dumb. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t have said anything about your yard either. It wasn’t right.” You let your eyes rest on his face again. You were sure - Chenle was definitely less than the sum of his parts. You shrugged.

“Maybe it was for the best.” You turned back towards the grass, turning the hose on again as if to signal, this was the end of the conversation.

“I- I guess I’ll see you around.” He said, hesitantly. You didn’t even turn to look at him this time.

“I guess.”

He spun to make the short trek back to his house, but not without turning back to look at you one last time before opening the bright red door of his house. Your acceptance of his apology was not all he had hoped for, but at least now he could watch TV with his family with a guilt free conscious. although the atmosphere between his grandpa and dad was nearly palpable, especially when his grandfather reached for the cream on the table beside them to rub into his hands.

“That girl working you too hard?” His dad slyly commented, ignoring the foul look his grandfather sent him in response as he rubbed cream into his hands.

“’That girl’s’ name is (Y/N). And no, she isn’t working me too hard.” 

Chenle’s dad widened his eyes slightly, staring down into the brandy which he swirled in the glass he held.

“Do you not think it’s a bit, I don’t know, weird, that you have the time and energy to spend time with the girl next door but not with your own grandson?” He replied snippily, ignoring the way his mom interjected.

“-It’s okay, Dad-” Chenle began, but couldn’t finish as his father cut him off with a sharp, “No, it’s not.”

“Do you know why the (Y/L/N)’s hadn’t fixed up their yard until now?” His grandfather asked, more rhetorically than anything.

“Yeah. Because he’s too busy with his paint-by-numbers kit.” His dad answered, chortling to himself at his own joke, taking another sip of the brandy he was drinking.

“The illness Mrs. (Y/L/N) had was incredibly hard to treat, not to mention emotionally draining. Every penny they had went into hospital bills treating her, and even then, she had been in a coma for 8 years, and then unresponsive for another 5.” Chenle stared down at his hands, trying his best to zone out the argument, especially considering he had been the asshole who tried to give away this poor woman’s music.

“I don’t see what their vegetative mother has to do with their pride in ownership. Realistically, if she had looked after herself more, maybe they wouldn’t have been in this mess.” His dad had answered, once again laughing at his own joke.

“They don’t own that house, they rent it. It’s supposed to be the responsibility of the landlord, and it was nothing to do with how healthy that poor woman was, (Y/N)’s Mom had a blood condition that made her susceptible to strokes, and that’s what made her so ill.” Chenle’s mom sighed from where she sat next to him on the blue couch, before his father had the opportunity to reply and dig himself into a deeper hole.

“That poor family. We should have them over for dinner.” She announced, standing up, grabbing the still full glass from her husband’s hand as she moved into the kitchen.

“We are not having them over for dinner!” His father shouted from the living room.

“We should have them over for a sit down fancy dinner.” She replied, almost deliberately ignoring him.

“We are not - Hey!” He called out as he heard the buttons on the landline beep with each number his mother punched in.

“I’m sorry, I can’t here you over me inviting them over for- Oh hello, (Y/N), dear.” At the sound of your name, Chenle sank farther into the plush couch seats. He just wanted to watch television in peace.

“Shoot me now.” His dad mumbled.

“Careful what you wish for.” His Grandfather replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv and this time he was the one to ignore the evil look which was shot his way.

And so, dinner with the (Y/L/N)’s was in his imminent future, which only made things more uncomfortable at school. Much like when you had taken that month off in school, he found himself focused on the idea of you more than he had previously. He couldn’t get you out of his head, you and your poor mom. He thought he would apologize for the music thing, you would begrudgingly accept his apology, and you could live the rest of the senior year blissfully ignoring each other’s existents. While you had apparently stayed true to the plan, he couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted to find you in class. He had spent 10 years in the same class as you but he had never noticed how you automatically pulled your bottom lip into your mouth when you were focused on something or the way you smiled to stop yourself laughing when Ryujin mumbled some sort of snarky comment. In the same bout of insanity he had experienced at the beginning of the year, he may have mistaken your smile as being pretty. Except this time the insanity did not melt away into resentment, but instead grew into a roaring monster of butterflies anytime he saw you.

He was starting to think he was sick or something. It was like his whole life had been flipped upside down; in what universe was he the one with the clammy hands and racing heart around (Y/N) (/L/N), and she was the one ignoring him? He needed to talk to someone - and who better than the lord of advice himself, Park Jisung.

Luckily for him, him and Jisung were the first people in their home room class the day of the dinner; usually you were in early, but today you conveniently hadn’t been. “Dude, I need your help.” Chenle emphatically exclaimed, sitting down in his seat next to Jisung before explaining the situation.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? You hate her. You’ve hated her for 10 years.” Jisung blankly stated, and Chenle shook his head. 

“That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.”

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently, she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” Chenle defended, the stubborn side of him which was declaring, it’s been a decade, why stop hating you now, losing out to this new need to defend you.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.” Jisung replied, leaning back in his chair with confidence, as though he had just solved the world’s problems. Chenle’s eyebrows knotted together, cocking his head.

“What do you mean?” 

Jisung scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing since the last advice he had kindly bestowed on Chenle.

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?”

Chenle wanted to hit him. He was certain, he had never before in his life been closer to punching someone and God did Jisung deserve it. How dare he say that? He wanted to tell him that it was much more complex than Jisung’s derogatory simplification of your mother’s illness, and just because Jisung was failing biology did not mean he had the right to be going around and saying things like that about you. He wanted to tell Jisung to keep his stupid opinion to himself, but despite this intense fury he felt searing up his chest, all he could manage was a stiff laugh.

“Oh. Yeah.” He mumbled, not looking at him in case the smug smile which had graced Jisung’s face flipped the switch which would erupt the burning anger in his chest.

You had been running late that day. You liked getting up earlier and beating the traffic to school, now more than ever, with the sullen mood your house had fallen into, although with the dinner with the Zhong family in your near future, the three boys of your house appeared cheerier. Your father was good friends with Mrs. Zhong and she had always been a good neighbor, and your two brothers were old friends with Chenle’s older sister. You were only one against the idea, but realistically, what harm could one dinner do? You had woken up and been ready on time, but when you climbed into your sturdy little jeep and turned the ignition keys, the engine made an unfortunate spluttering sound, that rather sounded like it was simply giving up.

You had taken a stab at fixing it, popping the hood and pretending as though you had a single clue about what to look for, but upon realizing there was no hope you started glancing worriedly back at your house. Surely one of the three people who all knew all to drive would know something about what was wrong with the engine. Biggest problem was, they were all asleep, and if you woke them up, you might have lost a hand. You were heavily considering risking the hand when, by some sort of divine intervention, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Need help?”

You started, spinning to see Mr. Zhong, the familiar and kind old face smiling at you. You hated how similar his smile was to Chenle’s; he was simply a reminder of who you thought Chenle used to be. Nonetheless, you smiled and nodded, gesturing to the hood and taking a step back.

“Please. It’s all yours.”

He worked in silence for a moment, pulling at the machinery inside the bonnet.

“How old is this car?” He asked, and his muffled voice could not disguise the astonishment in his voice.

“Uh, I think the last person to drive it was my Mom, so, that should tell you.” You half joked, awkwardly watching him work until he indicated to you to try again.

You climbed into the car and turned the ignition, and it spluttered again, but this time the spluttering graduated into the unhealthy purring sound you were used to.

You rolled your window down, and called a gracious, ‘thank you!’ out the window, but before you could proceed the short drive to school, the man stopped you, leaning against the side of your car.

“Wait a minute, I want to talk to you about something.” You uncomfortably clutched the steering wheel tighter, raising an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘go on.’

“You and Chenle? How’s that going?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in a similar fashion, although his was more teasing where yours was questioning. Your heart leapt as your face warmed.

“Oh - uh. I haven’t really spoken to him since.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised.

“Why?” You asked, trying to discreetly gulp away your nervousness.

“Oh, he’s just been speaking about you a lot more, is all. Have fun at school.” 

Your five-minute drive to school was the most anxiety ridden drive you had ever experienced. What did he mean speaking about you more? He was asking about your relationship so would that suggest Chenle was saying nice things? Did Chenle maybe like you? Of course, the idea of Chenle having any sort of romantic feelings towards you felt nearly laughable at this point, but this glimmer of hope that had remained from the past ten years that maybe, just maybe, you had finally grabbed the attention of those sweet brown eyes simmered in your chest before you could push it away. He had treated you badly, you reminded yourself. You didn’t need him.

You stormed into school that morning, affirming that you did not need Zhong Chenle in your life, and if he did finally notice you, that was not your problem. But the little girl in you who had walked up to the door of your classroom to overhear Chenle say your name insisted on eavesdropping. And who were you to say no to her?

“... That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” You couldn’t stop instinctual fluttering of your heart. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your previous conclusion that he was not more than the sum of his parts was thrown out of the window and replaced with schoolgirl butterflies.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.” You rolled your eyes. Park Jisung was a self-righteous dick.

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” You had never heard him defend you before, and you couldn’t help the small smile which grew on your face.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?” Your previously elated heart dropped to your stomach as your face fell. Chenle wasn’t going to let him away with that, was he?

“Oh. Yeah.” He was. Zhong Chenle had the perfect knack of getting your hopes up, and just when your heart had warmed to him again, crushing it, and you were sick of it. You spun on your heel, making your way back out to your car without even thinking about it. You didn’t want to have to look at him.

You thought about the situation as you got ready for dinner that night.  You were sick of this stupid game of cat and mouse, where you inevitably always ended up hurt. And thinking back on the past ten years, Chenle had never been a good friend to you. Ever. He gave away your sheet music, he insulted you and now he was talking about you with his friends as if you were some sort of plague just waiting to infect him. You were sick of it and you were sick of him. Zhong Chenle meant nothing to you anymore.

You had half an idea to march out into the hallway where your father was calling you and tell him that you did not want to go, and he couldn’t make you. You drew together pieces of this declaration in your head before firmly making your way into the hall, entirely ready to tell him where the Zhong family could go, but then you saw his face. He had shaved for the first time in a month, the clothes he wore was ironed and smart, and you could have sworn he smelled better than he had in a while. Your previously parted lips closed again and instead of communicating your desire to be anywhere but the Zhong house, the corners turned slightly, mustering up the most sincere smile you could. You could suck up having to sit opposite Chenle for your family - They had gone through so much recently, you thought maybe you could deal with him for another night. 

Your plans to snub him was momentarily interrupted when you realized, as he stomped down the stairs into the entry way of the house, where your family awkwardly hovered, exchanging greetings with the Zhong family, he had worn your favorite jean jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans combo that used to make you melt at the knees. Like always, it made his dark hair seem darker, but you pushed back the bubbling butterflies. What he had done was unforgiveable.

“Why don’t I show you guys my room?” His sister had emphatically exclaimed to your brothers who glanced to your dad. He gave a disinterested shrug, and the three stomped up past where Chenle came from. “Chenle, sweetie, why don’t you bring (Y/N) up to your room? The adults can talk down here.” His mom suggested.

“No, Mrs. Zhong, it’s okay-” You began, but you didn’t get to finish.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, I know you won’t want to be stuck with the adults. Just no funny business!” You ignored the sly comment which Chenle’s dad mumbled under his breath about, ‘that being unlikely,’ and hesitantly made your way up the stairs, following in Chenle’s footsteps. His house was the exact same as yours - sure his stairs didn’t creak from years of you and your brothers abuse , and it was much sleeker - the black and white modern décor juxtaposed greatly with the warm, yellow tones of your own house, plus the fact they obvious could afford to have their carpet replaced with hardwood floors, but other than that, there was nothing spectacularly upper class about their house that would suggest they had any right to look down on yours. 

His room matched his personality to a tee. With grey-white walls plastered with posters of his favorite musicians and athletes whom you didn’t recognize, the room was small but clean and smelt like him. That familiar citrusy scent you associated with him filled the air, and past you would have been intoxicated by him, but current you knew better.

He sat down on top of the checked black and white duvet cover, (little did you know, he was secretly celebrating the fact he had happened to change the Stephen Curry bed sheets the day before) and gestured for you to sit down beside him. You remained standing.

“Uh- Hi.” He greeted, a softness to his voice you didn’t recognize but nearly succeeded in melting the barricade you had placed around your heart. Nearly. You didn’t respond, staring down at your shoes as if, suddenly your vans were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You look really pretty.” There he was again, trying to get your hopes up only to smash them again. You wouldn’t let him. Not this time.

“I know what you and Jisung were saying about my mom. And I’m done with you, okay? You can stop this act now.” You blurted out before you could even stop yourself.

Chenle’s face fell, and his head jerked to the side, almost as if you had genuinely slapped him in the face. He looked like a wounded puppy. Why was it so hard to stay angry at him?

“I- Look, (Y/N), it was wrong what Jisung said, I know. I wanted to hit him.” You raised an eyebrow, which sharpened your features and nearly made Chenle melt, both from the radiating heat of your anger and the sheer attractiveness of the action.

“You didn’t say anything to him. You just agreed and laughed. Like a coward.” You replied, simply.

“Yeah - I know. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, but look, I’ve had a recent... self-discovery and I like you, (Y/N). If you could just give me a second chance.” He pleaded, standing up to look at you sincerely. His honest, chestnut eyes did not hold the same rotten core you had seen in them a month ago in the charity shop, but you held your ground nonetheless. “Third chance, you mean. Realistically, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. We’ve lived next to each other for 10 years and we’ve had, what, two civil conversations?” Chenle was the one to look down at his feet now, focusing on the hardwood floors. You weren’t wrong - you didn’t really know each other. You relished in the silence as Chenle thought for a moment, before he mumbled,

“That doesn’t change how I feel about you, though.” 

“Well it should.” 

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by his mother’s screaming for them to come to dinner. You had turned and left before he even had the opportunity to draw breath and he was left alone in his empty room, which grey walls that had previously been illuminated with the presence of you had dulled in the absence of your vivacity. 

Dinner was a success for the most part, except for the torture of sitting across from you. He bore holes into the side of your head, but you were so skilled in acting as if he wasn’t there, he was starting to question his actual presence at the dinner table; if it were just you and him sitting there, he would have been convinced he was some sort of ghostly apparition.

“So, you paint, right?” His grandfather had directed toward your dad who nodded politely.

“Yeah, I always loved art and - well I couldn’t afford to go to college so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone and do something I love that I don’t need a college education for.” He replied, the bright look on his face when talking about something he loved was so similar to how you used to look at him that Chenle almost felt sick with guilt.

“And you make much money off of that?” His dad had commented, his knife and fork obnoxiously clinking against the plate. Chenle almost sunk down in his chair.

“I make enough.” Your dad replied, stiffly. He spoke how you spoke to him a mere 15 minutes ago.

“Didn’t you used to like art?” His grandfather had asked, turning to his Dad who shrugged, sipping from his expensive wine glass.

“I painted a little.” Chenle had never seen his dad so uncomfortable.

“No, I remember, you wanted to go to art school, right? But my daughter here talked you out of it.” His dad squirmed in his seat as his mother awkwardly laughed, avoiding the topic entirely and asking your dad another question about his job.

The more your dad discussed his ventures into the world of art, the quieter his dad got. He tried to plaster on a smile every now and then, but underneath, Chenle could tell he was sad. He thought about how his dad had always looked down on your family, and the countless times he had referred to your dad as being ridiculous, a low-life who needed to get a ‘proper job.’ He watched the man who had dwindled his life away and wondered, if he was simply angry at himself, as opposed to the kind family across the street. His father was a coward who didn’t chase what he wanted because he was too scared. Chenle swore to himself there and then, that he would not be a coward, like his father. He refused to become the bitter, jealous old man across the street. And so, late that night, after you had all left, he rifled through the papers on his desk and hatched a plan.

Patience and timing were key elements to Chenle’s plan - A month, to be precise. The day of the Christmas talent show. Everyone was excited to watch Chenle perform, especially now that it had been spread that he was dedicating his performance to someone in the audience. Pretty much everyone in the school who was attracted to boys were praying it was them. All except for you, who still hadn’t spoken to him since that fateful night in his bedroom and had resumed your strategic avoidance of him.

He nervously peaked from the side of the stage of the school theatre which had been transformed from it’s boring wood and red velvet into an explosion of tinsel and fairy lights, the excessive Christmas décor almost hurt his eyes. He stared into the audience past Chaeryong’s skillful dancing on stage, despite her optimistic glances towards him, as he clutched sheet music in his hands. He had enlisted Ryujin’s help to ensure that you were sitting in the very middle of the front row, despite her unwillingness. He had to promise her that if he broke your heart again, she had a free pass at kicking him in a very private place. His attention was only broken from the way you hid a laugh as Ryujin whispered into your ear, by Jisung frantically running up to him, whispering as to not to disturb Chaeryong’s performance.

“Dude! There’s a rumor going around that this mystery chick you’re playing for is (Y/N)?” Chenle simply blinked at him.

“And?”

“Is it true?” 

“Yep.” Jisung threw his arms in the air incredulously, whispering as loud as their setting allowed him,

“What the hell is the matter with you! You have every single girl on campus wanting you and you want (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Chenle spun to stare out into the audience again, turning his back to Jisung. “Leave me alone, Jisung. You wouldn’t understand.” He whispered back, watching and clapping as Chaeryong took her bow, exiting at the other side of the stage.

“You’re right! I completely don’t understand! Have you flipped or something?” Chenle ignored him, breathing out slowly, trying to calm his nerves. 

“This is it.” He mumbled, more to himself than Jisung, ignoring his friend who made a last minute attempt to grab him before he walked on stage.

The entire audience sat with bated breath, you included as he sat down at the piano, almost excruciatingly slowly. You stared at your hands, trying not to look up at the stage because you knew that he was probably about to sing some love song to Chaeryong, since his feelings for you had obviously dissipated since that night, and then they would kiss on stage and everyone would be happy for them. You included. Probably. If you were feeling in a particularly positive mood.

“Um, so I’m sure you all know, that I’m dedicating this performance to someone. Which I am, but I’m not going to say who. Yet. They’ll know who they are.” His smooth voice echoed throughout the entire auditorium, officially piquing your interest as you lifted your head up to look at him. He had already moved to face the piano, his fingers - which were unusually shaking - hovered over the keys as he examined the sheet music in front of him, pressing down the first chord.

Your stomach dropped, the familiarity of the scalic motif he played with his right hand causing you to audibly gasp. You hadn’t heard this piece since you were four. You raised a shaking hand to your mouth, ignoring the way Ryujin was almost definitely staring at you with concern. He had kept the sheet music. You had thought all the time, it was in the back of some shop, never to be played again. But here he was, playing your mother’s music in front of the entire school with pride, his skilful fingers dancing from note to note as if it were as simple as breathing, the music enveloping you in a blanket of comfort.

His playing ended too quickly, finishing with a short section you didn’t recognize and ending on a perfect and harmonious cadence. The audience tentatively applauded, the majority - as in everyone but you and Ryujin - more confused than anything, until he walked to the end of the stage, directly in front of you.

“My favorite color is red.” He stated, looking down at you in your chair.

“Wha - What?”

 “I am the worst loser ever. Seriously, if you play a game with me and you win, I will find ways to blame you for making me lose.”

“Chenle, wha-” “You said you didn’t know me, right? I’m terrified of spiders. I love basketball more than football but I’m better at football. You couldn’t pay me to take science the second it isn’t mandatory anymore. I talk in my sleep. I’m crazy ticklish. I would literally die for Stephen Curry. I’ve been an idiotic dick, for lack of a better word, for the last ten years, and if you let me, I would love the chance to get to know you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as you stared into those eyes - those once again dazzling eyes which bore into you, no evidence of corruption, the oh-so-familiar sensation of your heart warming to his words blooming in you once again, as if it had never left.

Your smile resonated within him and he questioned what the hell had he been doing the last ten years. How could anyone, ever want to run away from you?

“If you break my heart, Zhong Chenle, you have Ryujin to answer too.”

He chuckled, the sound of his laugh more musical than anything he could’ve produced on stage, and as you watched him, you came to the conclusion that Chenle was more than the sum of his parts, astronomically. You knew that Zhong Chenle was still walking around with your first kiss. But he wouldn’t be for long.

#nct #nct dream #zhong chenle #chenle #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #zhong chenle x reader #chenle x reader #nct fanfiction #nct dream fanfiction #chenle fanfiction #zhong chenle fanfiction #chenle fluff #chenle angst #nct fluff #nct angst #chenle reactions #nct reactions #nct scenarios #chenle scenarios #nct dream reactions #nct dream fanfic #chenle fanfic

[wdwmarveldisney]

could you write one with a modern au where the reader is a dancer and doesn’t have the typical dancer body like everyone else and is really insecure but race is there to comfort them?

Love?

Racetrack Higgins x chubby!reader

Summary: Three girls make your escape a little less freeing but a confession from Race brings back a little confidence and let’s a small dream come true.

Masterlist

A/N: So as a chubby girl who does musical theatre classes, this was a good outlet. Thank you so much for requesting, it honestly makes my day.

GIF isn’t mine

It had always been your thing. Something you had relied on since before you could walk. The amount of videos of you dancing was unreal. As soon as you were old enough, there you were in classes and on stage, light on your little toes. And slowly as you got older, you joined more classes and spent more of your spare time perfecting form and practicing every minute you could. It was an escape, one you had become so dependant on that it killed you when you missed a class. But things happen when you get older, you start to notice how judgemental people are and how pressuring they can be too. You may dance every day but you didn't have a typical perfect dancer body. You were slightly chubby and people noticed. And they weren't exactly quiet about it.

There was this group of girls in your dance class, the three were your basic bullies. They all found it hilarious when you danced, giggling and whispering behind their hands. It pissed you off. How could they deem you worthy of that treatment just because you were slightly bigger? You'd seen them whisper to others, point out little things and you tried your hardest not to let it get to you. But of course it did. And you had tried everything you could to lose weight but nothing ever worked and you had learned to just try to deal with it. You couldn't but every class, you tried. It had caused you to hate your dance clothes, to lose your confidence, to watch everyone as you hugged yourself to make sure they weren't looking. You were scared of people, everyone judging you.

Today, you were performing on stage in front of this massive crowd. you'd already done the tap number and the jazz and next you had your ballet solo. You were already uncomfortable enough over your leotard and your hair looked a little messy but you only had a minute until you were on so there was no time to fix it. As you slipped on your ballet shoes, there was a knock at the door. Glancing over, you saw Race there in his all his glory. Bright blue eyes, blonde curls and cheeky grin. You had known Race for a while now, being in similar classes at school and getting paired together sometimes in dance. You hadn't actually talked to him, like full conversation talk to him, until a year or so ago. You had both been paired in history and had to do a project over a two week period and you two became quick friends. Of course you had a small crush on him but so did like half the school. And he flirted with plenty of girls so you were just fine to keep the status quo. You were sure he had what those girls had said anyway, probably wouldn't ever go for you and maybe even agreed with them.

He grinned as he leant against the frame of the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "Just came by to wish ya luck. Break a leg," you smiled back, eyes drifting back to your feet as you tugged the shoe on. You knew he was still there so you sent another smile over your shoulder, "Thanks Racer, means a lot," you replied as you got up and jumped to make sure they were on properly. You heard him laugh and felt your stomach drop, arms coming up cross over your stomach. "Gotta go," you muttered to him as you made your way past and to the left wing of the stage. Shaking out your hands, you bounced on your heels as a smile took its rightful place on your face. It soon faded however when you remembered he laughed. He laughed. You knew it, he agreed with them. He agreed that you shouldn't be dancing, that you looked ridiculous out on stage and that you might as well give up. He agreed that you were pathetic for ever thinking that you looked good dancing, that you would ever make it.

You heard the song they were currently performing to end and watched them rush off to the right wing. You slowly headed to your mark and when the music started to play, all thoughts dissipating as you danced. The dance was one you had been practicing for months, you could do it with your eyes closed and  you could had it perfectly timed even with you did it no music. It was practically engraved into your muscle memory and didn't need much thought to what you did next. You were glad the lights were so bright, always happy with the way the audience's faces were blocked out. As you turned, you caught gazes with a certain blue pair that reminded you of what you didn't what to think right of at that moment. Trying to suppress the thoughts, you carried on with the leap. As you went, you could feel everything you were doing wrong and immediately went to point your toes more but that seemed to throw you off as you landed. You twisted your ankle as your foot touched the ground and you tumbled. The music faded as they realised what had happened and the lights dimmed for them to get you off without much without much hassle. You could to see the faces, people whispering one another and you felt the tears begin to well as you immediately got up and tried to walk off stage but it hurt too bad. You fell forward again but this time you grabbed ahold of two arms that happened to belong to a certain blonde beauty.

Oh great, not only did all those people see but also the boy you had a massive crush and was also one of your closet friends had had a front row seat. You looked to eyes, expecting amusement and maybe disgust but the only thing you saw was concern. You would've been confused if you hadn't been in so much pain. You barely registered him lifting your arm over his head and placing it over his shoulders as your dance teacher helped him help you off stage. They sat you down in the dressing room and you saw the three girls leave, giggling to themselves as they went. The tears seemed to get worse as your teacher left to get a first aid kit and an ice pack. Race stayed right by your side, holding your hand as he checked your ankle and completely oblivious to the tears that fell down your cheeks. Sniffling a bit, you caught his attention and quickly you wiped away the tears as you spoke, "I'm fine, you can go," the look he gave you was priceless, the complete disbelief enough to make you laugh a little even with how you were. Race shook his head as he stood and grabbed a seat and putting a cushion there for you to rest your ankle on. "You'se know when I said 'break a leg', I'se didn't mean it literally, right?" You giggled again, making him smile at you all goofily but the worry never went away.

He watched you shift and fiddled his thumbs before finally asking the question on the tip of his tongue, "What happened?" You stared at him, baffled by the words and you shifted again as you winced but still managed to say, "I got hurt," he gave you a look that clearly showed his frustration with the answer before he shook his head and rephrased. He met your eyes as he spoke, a sincerity in his voice that unsettled you, "I mean, I'se seen you do that dance a hundred times and you'se never done that before, what happened?" You scoffed and sunk into your seat as you stared at your swelling ankle. Like he cared. Why would he care about you? He liked dancers, people who were actually good looking dancers and everyone knew that wasn’t you. “I tripped, it happens,” you excused and this time he scoffed whilst moving to grab your hand again. He frowned and his eyes twinkled in the light and you felt your heart stop for just a second. “Not to you. You’se perfect at dancing,”

“Yeah right,”

“What’s that mean?” You avoided eye contact and began to pick at your leotard as you stayed in silence. Knowing he was waiting, you gave a small shrug and bit your lip, teeth digging in as hard as they could and you were worried you may bleed. Race moved his head slightly so he was in your eye sight and you huffed like a sulking child, “Just some stuff. I- There’s these girls-” Race sighed and you looked up at him, brows drawing together in confusion. He changed how he held your hand, grabbing it tightly in both of his and you placed your other hand on his in worry. Why was he looking at you all sad puppy like? “I’se heard what they was saying. It’s not true, you’se gotta know that! You are perfect, ya work hard, ya do anythink ya want, ya funny and sweet and kind and I loves you’se just the way ya are. Who cares ‘bout a little chub, I’se think it’s beautiful and cute,” you heard him laugh as your eyes went wide and your jaw dropped as you registered what he said. He meant as friends, right?

“Love? You, um, you said love? Did you know you said love?” He chuckled at that, moving slightly closer and reaching to wipe away any remainder of your tears whilst still holding your hand tightly. “Yeah, I‘se know. I loves ya,” you watch the smile falter as he glanced down and his shoulders tensed, “Would I, Uh, could I kiss you’se?” You grinned at how nervous he seemed, you made the Racer nervous. You couldn’t believe it. Deciding to mess with him a little, you shrug and pretend to think about it whilst pretending to not notice the growing smile and blush on his face. “Yeah, I think that’d be okay,” his grin matched yours quicker than you could process, loving and goofy. He shifted slightly and reached up to hold your cheeks before he leant in most of the way. You scoffed at the cheeky grin on his lips and he breathed out a laugh at that. “Just kiss me you idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he stroked his thumb across your cheek. You could see the mischief swirling amongst the blue and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh confident now, are we?” With that, you pressed your lips to his and you couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss when you heard the surprised noise from him. Slowly he melted into the kiss, one hand moving to your neck as yours went to his hair, fingers twirling the curls. After a little while, you pulled back from Race and you couldn’t help but giggle at the way he chased your lips. You were both so caught up in each other, you didn’t notice your teacher walk through the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry- Wait, are you two-? Finally!”

#newsies #newsies x reader #racetrack newsies #racetrack x reader #racetrack higgins #racetrack x chubby!reader #racetrack x dancer!reader #racetrack imagine #modern au

[make-me-imagine]

Weakness

This is for @gaitwae​ ‘s one shot event!

Required prompt: Loki knocks on your door, bringing with him a sense of urgency. Something has gone wrong. What is it? How do you handle it? Is Loki coming to you first, or are you the last resort? ((Inserted one word -“again”- to make it fit more into my dialogue))

Pairing: Loki x Gen!Neutral Reader

Triggers: None        Words: 1,664

Other Event Writers:  @bwemph @twhiddlestonsstuff @lucywrites02 @megthemewlingquim​, @trashywritestrash

Readers Taglist: @just-the-hiddles​

Marvel Taglist: @thebookbakery​ and @aquariuslavenderhoney​

If I missed anyone who is doing this I’m sorry! I took the tags from the originals event post list :)

**Lokis POV**

Loki stared at the screen, a mixture of anger and annoyance on his face as the aggravated alien yelled at him through the screen. Just one of the many enemies Loki had made along the years.

“You have betrayed me one too many times!” the alien seethed “And you have taken from me, stolen from me, and now I think I should do the same to you!” 

Loki let out a smirk, shaking his head “I assure you, there is nothing you could take from me that would hurt me”

“Oh really?” the alien sneered, his teeth showing with a dangerously confident smile.

Loki felt his heart jump slightly in his chest, surely he couldn’t have found anything to hurt him with? 

“Because I heard a little rumor floating around, that you found a little friend on Midgard, one you care for rather deeply” the alien let out a chuckle.

Loki tried hard to hide the fear he felt swell in his chest. Your face crossed through his mind. Surely they didn’t know about you, they couldn’t, how could they? Did they have allies, spies, on Midgard? 

Loki feigned an innocent expression, filling his voice with as much confidence as he would as he stared into the eyes of his enemy “I do not know of any rumors, but I can assure you that there is no one on Midgard I would deem worthy of my time” he lied. 

The alien moved closer to the screen, his eyes boring into Loki’s “We will see about that” 

Before Loki could respond, the screen went black as the transmission ended, leaving Loki alone on his ship as he stared out at the vast space before him. Only one thought crossing his mind. 

He needed to get to you before they did. He needed to save you. 

**Readers POV**

“What?” you asked with surprise, your heart leaping in your chest.

“You heard right” Fury said as he paced in front of you “We got word from Strange that Loki is on Earth”

You tried to process the information, “Why would he come back to Earth? And why doesn’t Stephen just trap him?”

Fury shook his head “Apparently Loki has cast some sort of spell to hide his whereabouts from Strange, and as for your other question, I have no idea. But apparently it’s got to be very important if he is risking getting captured” 

You sighed as you stared at the table you were sitting at. You had feelings for Loki, no matter how much you shouldn’t, you couldn’t help it. Working with Thor off world on occasion, you found a soft spot for his troublesome brother. Though you weren’t sure how he really felt about you. There was flirting, sure, and sometimes he even seemed to care about you. But he was still hard to figure out. 

Breaking from your thoughts you looked back up at Fury “Have you been able to get into contact with Thor?” 

Fury shook his head “Nope. And we have no leads on where he, or where Loki is or why he’s here, so, since you know him, at least more than most of my agents, I’m going to need you to keep your eyes and ears out. If whatever he needs or wants is important, he might come to you”

You nodded your head as Fury dismissed you. As you walked down the hallway your mind was filled with curiosity and questions. Why would Loki come to Earth? What was happening? 

These thoughts plagued you for the rest of the day, even as you sat at your kitchen counter, unable to focus on anything else. You weren’t sure how long you were sitting there before sudden knocking at your door made you jump in surprise. 

You don’t know how, but you knew it was him. It was as if you could feel his presence. You didn’t need to ask who was there, or look through the peephole to know. It was him, you froze in your seat for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Loki knocks on your door again, bringing with him a sense of urgency. Something has gone wrong. What is it? How do you handle it? Is Loki coming to you first, or are you the last resort?

Making a decision, you rose from your seat, making your way to the door, unsure of what string of events was going to play out once you opened the door. As you did, you were almost surprised to see a look of relief cross over Loki’s face when his eyes met your own.

And you felt a weird sense of relief knowing you were right about it being him at the door. But that feeling faded quickly when your mind filled with questions. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Loki was startled at your greeting, no sense of surprise, as if you knew he was going to come. You must have found out he was on Earth. You must have known he would come to you. 

Saying nothing he walked past you into your apartment, his eyes wondering around, noticing the small personal touches that made this your home.

“I’ve made a mistake and I am afraid you are going to be the one to pay the price” he turned and faced you after he spoke.

You hesitated for a moment after processing his words “What the hell does that mean? What have you gotten yourself into Loki?” you asked as you approached him.

He looked down at you, taking a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to word what he needed to. 

“I have...enemies. Many enemies; and they found out that I had an...allegiance with someone on Earth, and I think it’s you, well it has to be you, it certainly isn’t Bruce. They threatened to come take you, to...kill you, I assume.”

“Me? What, to get back at you for something? Why would they think I was important enough to hurt you by killing me?” 

Your words seemed to sting him. Of course you did not know how he felt. Besides the flirty banter, he never truly showed how much he cared for you. When he spoke next, his voice was so soft and sincere it seemed to cut right through you “Because you are important. To me. You are my weakness” 

He watched you closely as you opened your mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out, surely due to the surprise of his confession. Finally you managed to mutter out a few words “But, why me?” 

Loki let out a soft chuckle “How could it not be you? Besides my brother, you are the only other being in this whole universe I truly care for” he took a step closer to you, looking down into your eyes. Your breath hitched as he did this “And I need to keep you safe” 

You stared into his eyes for a moment; the tension being cut-off by the sound of gruff voices from the hallway. Both yours and Loki’s heads snapped in the direction of your door. The voices outside clearly not speaking any human language. 

Moving quickly to a nearby cabinet, you grabbed your hidden weapon. Loki quickly grabbed your wrist as he pulled you towards the window “It’s best we escape without being seen”

Opening the window, you both stared down, seeing the clear alleyway as you both climbed out to escape. Landing on the ground, you were taken by surprise when you were grabbed from behind.

Reacting quickly, you threw the alien away from you, with one swift motion Loki knocked it out before running past you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. 

“Where are we going?!” 

“I have a ship hidden nearby” 

After running through various alleys, you entered into a large empty lot behind some old warehouses. Seeing Loki tap something on the device around his wrist, you saw a small ship become visible in front of you. 

Quickly boarding the ship you watched the city below you become smaller and smaller as you began to fly off. Loki quickly fleeing towards the sky.

“Are we leaving earth?” you asked as you stood behind him in the pilots chair. 

“Yes. I know somewhere safe we can go” after setting the course he rose from his seat and turned to you. He met your eyes, he could see the apprehension in your gaze. Did you still not fully trust him? 

“Fury is going to be so mad” you finally commented as you looked out at the now darkening sky as you left Earths atmosphere.

Loki smirked lightly “I’m sure he will understand”

“I’m still not sure I do” you admitted quietly with a scoff. 

Loki studied you for a moment before he placed his hands on your shoulders, looking deeply into your eyes “Understand this” he hesitated for a moment “I truly care for your well being, and as much as you may not trust me, I will do my best to finish this, so that you can return home. Because I was telling the truth before, you mean more to me than I think I was willing to admit to myself.” He lifted his hand, stroking your cheek before he leaned down, pressing a soft quick kiss to your lips “I only ever want you to be safe.”

Your chest felt heavy, as you stared into his eyes “You’re wrong” you saw a flash of panic cross his face before you continued “I do trust you.” Relief crossed his face as he realized what you were saying. “And I believe you. And...I feel the same.” you admitted, feeling the weight on your chest seem to lift “And whatever you’ve gotten both of us into? I intend to help you fix.”

A smile spread slowly across Loki’s face as you spoke. Pressing a kiss to your forehead he looked back into your eyes “Let’s finish this then.”

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

If you liked this please consider reblogging, as it is the best way to help spread creator’s works past their followers. Liked and comments are highly appreciated as well!~

If you’d like to be added to a taglist (for any character or fandom) let me know!~

#gaitwae one shot event #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #marvel #avengers #thor #loki one shot #loki oneshot #oneshot #one shot #angst #loki odinson oneshot #loki odinson one shot #loki laufeyson oneshot #loki laufeyson one shot #event oneshot #fluff #loki/reader #loki x gen neutral reader #gender neutral reader insert #marvel oneshot #marvel one shot #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #avengers one shot

[bitch-butter]

hello! can i request "You didn't do anything wrong, there's nothing to apologize for" for any ship of your choosing? or any AU you want? i just really love how your writing flows, it's so cohesive-- don't take this the wrong way but like. i adore sitting down and actually analyzing your stuff structurally? seeing how it works and weaves together to make a whole just makes the shriveled up eng lit major inside me really happy.

w o o f this one ran away from me a little bit, it incorporates some Things I was thinking of re: forgiveness/webgott last month, and it's bit different than pure H/C but I hope you find something to like in it! Thank you for your lovely compliment~

Yes, it's webgott bc i am chained to The Rhythm

4. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

He cleared the drawer once more, eyes scanning into its dark corners for any sign of a missed sock, undershirt, some hidden treasure that he had many years ago deemed worthy of being put in the back of the underwear drawer. Raising his brows, Joe shook his head at himself as he closed it resolutely, tossing his bounty into his pack and stuffing the top with the sack that contained his bathroom shit.

Even remembering the days he used to be able to leave the house with just his keys made him want to sigh like a goddamn cow in the summertime. Now he needs the bag, the car, and Web just to go across the bay.

Speak of the devil, Web padded into the bedroom with his usual September expression: weary, exhilarated, slightly frustrated. Wordlessly, he crossed past Joe to the bed and slumped face-first onto it with a groan.

“Done?” Joe questioned, zipping up the bag.

Making a soft grunt of a sound, Web curled his arms around his head. “Done,” he said, face mashed against the bed.

“Well, get to it,” Joe said, stepping over to land a light smack against Web’s ass and grinning at the outraged whine he got in response. “Don’t want to be late,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stepped back out to the hall, making for the kitchen.

Even out here he can hear the sound Web makes, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No you didn’t!” Joe called back, grabbing the butter left on the counter and shoving it in the fridge, letting his eyes make one final sweep around the kitchen. “If you don’t show your reputation won’t ever recover.”

“Your mother loves me,” Web toned, and Joe couldn’t help a snicker as he moved through the hall back to the bedroom, where Web had at least moved to lay on his back, knees up. “She wouldn’t care, she’d probably let me move in with her if you ever kicked me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Joe stood at the food of the bed, arms folded. “Not with Yom Kippur, you’re not allowed to fuck around. She was happy you said you wanted to come, you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Heaving out a long breath, Web folded his hands behind his head, eyes lowered as he peered down at Joe. His knees tilted just so, his lips quirking, and Joe could see the fucking thought forming in his head before he had a chance to open his mouth.

“No.”

“We have time,” Web said, extending one leg to poke his toes into the left side of Joe’s stomach.

Clicking his tongue, he took hold of the other man’s ankle, giving it a soft pull and smiling in satisfaction as Web tried to pull it back to no avail. “If you think I’m going to miss my last fucking meal just to fuck you then you have another thing coming, alright?”

With a disgruntled twist of his lips Web pulled his leg in again, a little jerk that ushered Joe down onto the mattress as well. “You weren’t this dedicated last year,” he noted lightly, free of the reproach that might have accompanied the words if his family had said them.

Shaking his head, Joe decided to throw Web a bone and settled beside him, at least staying up on his elbows. “Different places,” he said simply.

Web looked up at him fondly, hand coming up to smooth over Joe’s hairline, sweeping it back and trailing behind his ear. “So, how will we spend tonight, then?” he asked quietly, eyes still following along where his hand moved. “If not in bed.”

Breath going slow with the contact, he tilted his head into the touch contentedly. “Well, tonight we’re going to eat like kings, Rach will probably be trying to get drunk in the pantry and hoping nobody notices, we’ll sleep in the attic, then tomorrow we spend a lot of fucking time at the synagogue.”

“And we don’t eat,” Web stated, assured.

“No eating, no drinking,” Joe nodded, brow furrowing at the sight of an eyelash on the other man’s cheek, reaching for it mindlessly.

Humming, Web closed his eyes to accommodate him. “Does this have a corresponding Catholic holiday I can retrofit in my mind?”

“I don’t know, you guys got a day where you feel really guilty about everything?” he asked, presenting the lash to Web balanced on the tip of his finger.

Blinking, Web frowned thoughtfully. “Birthdays.”

“Make your wish, you prick,” Joe grumbled, holding back his smile as Web grinned up at him, pausing momentarily before blowing the lash away into the room. Indulgently, he moved in closer, cupping the warmth of Web’s face in his palm and looking down on him with a feeling as close to serenity as he ever has here, in their bed, the sunlight coming in through their window.

Web returned his gaze, his own hand tracing along the back of Joe’s neck. “Do you confess?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“All together,” he corrected, absently rubbing at the spot on Web’s cheek where he had plucked the lash. “You recite it, while you do this,” he said, shifting gently to bring his hand down to Web’s chest, knocking gently against him, just above his heart, with a loose fist.

Web watched his fist, a bemused smile growing over his lips. “Why?”

Settling his hand over the spot, Joe rubbed gently at him. “To punish your heart.”

Smile stilling over his face, Web absorbed his words with quiet interest, eyes floating down along Joe’s neck to the dark burrow of his chest where it pressed against the bed. “Isn’t the sinning hurt enough?”

Trust Web to try to loop him into a conversation about semantics of all fucking things. He must be more anxious to start his classes than Joe thought. “I don’t know,” he half-shrugged, eyes on his own hand over Web’s heart. “If you’re the sort who doesn’t like hurting people, maybe.”

Web nodded, accepting, smile turning more wistful, thoughtful “That’s nice, to be able to get it all out of the way at once.”

“What, you turned in a paper late?” Joe teased.

Flicking behind Joe's ear, Web looked up at him balefully, just a touch of that familiar humor at the edge of his mouth, like a dimple made of light. “I’d apologize to you, obviously.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh, Joe looked discerningly down at him. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Web shook his head softly, hand curling around his neck once more and seeming to anchor him down even further, their faces close enough to see the earnest upset around the angles of the other man’s eyes. “You know.”

Web does this. Likes to see monsters where there are none, invent storm clouds heading for them, and it makes him behave like a child sometimes and a man others. He’s a contrarian, down even past his bones and into the dust of the universe that lived in his being, it is an unchangeable fact. Telling him that there’s nothing to worry about accomplished nothing at the best of times.

Not that it’s ever stopped him trying.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for a fucking thing,” Joe rebuked solidly, hand moving from Web’s heart to his head, fingers resting just north of the delicate point of his hairline. “Sincerely.”

“I do, I…” Web parried, eyes unyielding where they looked up into Joe’s, somehow free of the sort of conflict he contained when he started thinking he and Joe had different opinions. “I know that this isn’t easy, dealing with me. And you do,” he continued, and this close he can see the way his eyes are stuck on his lips, the thought filling him with affection. “And you’re amazing.”

Giving in, chest bowing in like the hull of a sinking ship, he caught Web’s lips with his own, a hot smack of a thing that stole his breath, gave it to Web, who in turn gave it back to him better, better. “You don’t have to apologize for living, doll,” he shook his head, their nose practically knocking. “That’s not the point.”

Web didn’t seem soothed by the kiss, still appearing occupied with some train of thought that sought to carry him off and away from Joe’s eyes. “I still think of it sometimes, you know.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“That day,” Web said, as though it should be evident.

He has to pause and think. They’ve lived a lot of days together, not just these ones that they’ve spent in this apartment, but the ones they spent as voices over the phone, words on a page, men in uniforms hiding from each other like chameleons. How is he meant to know which day Web means from the thousands they’ve had?

Looking down, the blue of Web’s eyes reminds him absently of Austrian skies. Mountains.

Yes. He knows.

“I think sometimes I should apologize to you and never stop,” Web said gently, managing to keep hold of Joe’s eyes as they blinked back and forth and back and forth into the memory.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Which isn’t to say he never does, but it’s been a time. If he concentrates he can still feel the sun on his neck, the unnatural sweatiness of his palms, how his face had somehow felt cold, waxy. Picturing the house, the dark guts of it with the man inside squirming like half-digested meat, still fills him with the primal sort of rage that only visits him in his dreams. All around the periphery of the memory is Web, that day he had decided that whoever David Webster was he wanted no part of it.

“It’s in the past,” he excused weakly.

Web pulled in a short breath, face carefully open. “I know it is.”

“So let it be.”

Frown deepening, Web’s brought his eyes back down, and even this small departure felt like shrapnel. Joe combed through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, jostling him enough to win his eyes back. Web opened his mouth, struggling, before settling into the intention. “Do you still think about it?”

“Of course,” he said dully, voice still caught somewhere in his memory.

“Do you ever think I owe you an apology?” Web asked, voice quiet and eyes steady.

The question drops through him like rain. He’s thought of that day hundreds of times, thousands. When he lets his mind walk back up that hill, shining in the sun like the cover of the storybooks his mother would read to him, it isn’t Web he’s thinking of. He thinks of a forest of trees, of the way that one can become millions, and those millions become legion. That day had been about a lot of things, he hadn’t ever intended for Web to be one of them.

Web has apologized to him in too many ways to count. But this memory is deeper than they are, the kind of wound that might close over but will still carry a piece of metal, even smaller than a sliver, nestled inside of them both.

Web gives him grief, for better and for worse. But he gives him peace, too. That’s all the apology he wants.

His silence has drifted over the room like fog, but Web looks at him with the sort of clarity that only a few years ago made him feel like a bug on a pin, but now simply makes him feel known.

“I’ll punish my heart for forgiveness tomorrow,” Web said softly, smile turning up his lips, hand against Joe’s neck.

Huffing, Joe shook his head, taking up Web’s mouth once more, briefly. “You have it,” he rasped, kissing just the corner of his lips, and then the soft heat of his cheek. “You’ve had it.”

Web smiled into the kiss, leaning up to press a matching one to Joe’s own cheek. “Good.”

Swallowing, he followed Web back down, their faces close. “Will you accept mine?”

A disbelieving laugh rumbled up Web’s throat, his head giving a dismissive shake as he gave Joe’s neck a hard rub. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he criticized, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

But they haven’t always been that lucky. This sort of luck isn’t a permanent state of being.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, before pausing momentarily. “Let’s say you forgive me for the first sin I haven’t committed yet.”

Laughing, Web took his hand from Joe’s skin, holding it up beside them in some offering. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Joe confirmed, taking his hand, giving it one firm shake, enough to gather up Web’s laugh, before bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across its back. “Now come on, let’s go.”

#technically ~rivers~ #prompt #ask #webgott

[xmyshya]

Shoved it: chapter V - Pop Shuvit

summary: You don’t like skaters. They’re unruly, misbehaved and rude. But this one encounter just might change your view. genre: fluff warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (seriously, make a dentist appointment), slow burn, mutual pining betas: @vanille–kiss​ you have no idea how much I love you and how grateful I am for everything that you do for me a/n: Written for ANILYSIUM (former HQHQ) Server Collab with the prompt “Meet Ugly”. Check the event’s masterlist here! This is the last part - honestly it makes me kind of sad... Thank you so much for reading <3 series navi: masterlist | previous wc: 1.7k

“Do you trust me?”

You don’t know what to answer because yes, you do, but is it alright to admit it? You nod anyway and grab his hand, and Suna pulls you up to stand on a skateboard. In theory he keeps it steady with one foot on it, you still have your doubts though. Oh well, word has been said.

“Stand still. And relax.”

Easy to say when he proceeds to stand on the board too, and he’s so close, and he has an arm around your waist, and he looks so good in his ripped jeans and checkered flannel, and he smells so nice, and you can feel his warmth on your back…

“Ready?”

You shake your head but he only chuckles; his body shifts and yours follows due to the grip he has on your waist, and the board rolls slowly. It feels weird, a little bit scary, so you clutch his forearm, making him hold you tighter in response. He’s silent until your muscles relax a little against him.

“I’m gonna speed up a little.”

This time you’re not affected as much. You suppose it must be difficult to maneuver like this, when Suna has to take additional weight and cubature of a passenger into account. But he’s not complaining, and neither are you.

“Let’s try a bit of turning.”

“Okay.”

Somehow it’s not so scary anymore, it’s getting exciting. Every twist and turn of his body pulls you too, every tilt creates a wobbly curved shift. It’s so fun.

Hearing you giggle makes his cheeks flush. Rin tries to convince himself it’s because his passion is liked by one more person, but the truth is… he loves the sound. Just like he loves the scent of your hair, and the warmth of you being so close as he guides you. He loves it so much, too much, that he feels like needs a break.

***

“Okay, your turn.” Nice diversion, Rintarou. “To move forward, you need to push with the backfoot, you brake by placing your backfoot on the ground, and turn by shifting weight from your toes to your heels.”

“Could you uhm… hold my hand?”

The diversion went to hell. He reaches his hand out anyway, his heart doing somersaults when you place yours on top. You look so cute with this wide grin, shiny eyes and a tiny blush. Even more so when you’re focused and determined, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

Right now, Rin doesn’t even mind running for you if it means not letting go of your hand, if it means seeing your face light up like this. His chest swells up with pride, it’s his hobby that brings you joy, it’s him who teaches you, and you’re riding visibly smoother and more confidently with every try.

“Suna?”

“Yeah?”

“When could we have lesson two?”

Oh god. He fell in love. Hard.

Back at home you can’t stop staring at your palm; the ghost of his touch still burns and tickles your skin. It’s incomprehensible why you did that, why you asked him to hold your hand. All you know is that you want to feel it again.

And maybe even more than that. You miss being close to him, the arm secured around your middle, the breath fanning your ear, his warmth, his scent, his voice… him. You miss him so much, despite seeing each other merely 2 hours ago.

Oh god. You fell in love. Hard.

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

“Okay, ladies and gents, today ‘m gonna teach y’all to ollie!”

Atsumu, ever the showman, exclaims with hands on his hips even though it’s only you. You can't help but snort as Osamu facepalms, and Suna only raises a brow. This will be exhilarating.

“So first, ya gotta pop yer board like this, and then slide yer foot up, and then push it forward. Remember - pop and drag. And repeat.”

“On it, sensei!”

The blond is very pleased with your nickname - his grin is wider than ever, and eyes glint with more mischievousness than usual. He’s doing this exercise with you, to both keep you company and to display how it should be done.

“Don’t stroke his ego like that, or he’ll be even more insufferable.”

Osamu huffs, making his twin gasp in offence and roll away. Now you’re here alone with two spectators, great. What makes this situation even worse is their silence, which makes you spiral into thoughts. Are they not saying anything because you’re doing well? Or because it’s so bad? How long are you supposed to keep doing this?

“Now try doin’ it in one swift motion.” The silver haired boy speaks, his twin nowhere to be seen. “A think ya’ve done this enough.”

First few attempts make you lose your balance a little, with no time to stabilise yourself in the middle. But it gets easier with time, each sequence smoother than the last one, until both boys hum in appreciation.

“Oi, oi, oi, what are ya doin’ with ma student?!”

Atsumu is suddenly back, and he’s not pleased with someone taking over his role. His brother is quick to talk back.

“Then maybe ya should take care of her, ya scrub!”

“Well, well, ya seem to be doin’ well!” The blond decides to ignore the response. “Now try to jump.”

“What?”

“Jump, ya know… like this.”

You’re still standing there dumbfounded, not really understanding how this is supposed to work. Osamu tries to weigh in, but Suna stops him and says to just wait and watch. It’s horrible, it’s not working, you can’t even lift off the ground, not to mention land back on the board.

“How can ya not… It’s the simplest thing! Look, like… like this.”

Blond Miya gets irritated, the other two boys nearly fall from the bench from laughter. Osamu finally decides to save the day.

“Move, ya idiot.” He shoves his brother to the side. “Listen, when yer standing like this, ya jump and pop the board while in the air. Yer other foot slides up to level it, and then ya land.”

Oh, this makes so much more sense. You succeed on the second try, making Atsumu groan and others cry from laughing too hard.

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

Rin is right next to you, in a secluded part of the park. The two of you are the only people around, which is both weird, because it’s such a warm day, and desirable, because at least you don’t bother anyone. And no one bothers you.

“Let’s start with the shove, yeah?” You nod. “First place your feet like this, stick your toes out a bit more, good. Now, you push the backfoot straight back, your frontfoot barely lifts off the board - that’s the key. Then the board makes an 180, and you land.”

He watches you try and fail, but it’s not like you make some serious mistakes, you just need to figure things out - how much force to use, how high to jump. So he starts mindlessly shoving his board around, staying close in case you need him.

Honestly he’s impressed with how quickly you’re able to learn, your eagerness and determination being a balm to his heart. He just wants to hug you, hold you close with his eyes shut, and breathe. Nothing more, just breathe.

In the meantime you managed to work out the part he had shown you - maybe it’s not perfect yet, but enough to step up your game. He tells you to do the same, but moving, a small but significant upgrade.

Suna has been watching you closely for a long while now, your skin burning wherever his eyes lingered. The alley you’ve been occupying is hidden in shade, but it does little to soothe the fire. You need a break, even if it’s for just 5 minutes.

Water bottle buried in the ground (not entirely, obviously) is pleasantly cool when you dig it out. You wish you could submerge yourself in it, maybe this would help. Thin streams of the liquid flow down your scorching skin, a contrast of feelings gives you goosebumps. Okay, you cheer yourself mentally, time to continue.

And you do, for the first hour landing on the ground instead of the board, having it upside down (how? It’s a mystery), or rotating it in weird angles. Rintarou is patient, observes your every move and offers suggestions that do help. Three hours later your efforts are deemed worthy of the next level.

“So now you have to combine that pop from the ollie with the shove, and you got it!”

“Easy to say…”

Rin laughs and goes to lie down on a grass, placing his backpack under his head, so he can still see you. You start moving, and call it instinct, call it intuition, one can even call it clairvoyance, but he already knows you’re going to fail.

He sees it all in slow motion, how you come close to where he is, how you flick your ankle and the board spins, but the angle is wrong, the pace of the rotation is wrong, everything seems wrong.

The least he can do is to minimise the harm; you’re right in front of him when you land awkwardly and tumble forward, right into his stretched arms. The impact makes him fall on his back with you on top, his arms secured around you.

“Oh god, Suna, I’m so sorry, I-”

You’re blushing like a tomato, your eyes widen in terror but you’re so damn adorable that his heart clenches painfully. He smiles as he brushes some loose strands off the way.

“You should watch where you’re going, could have hurt someone.”

It’s now or never.

His lips are so soft, you think before you even register why you can feel that. But when you realise… the time comes to a halt. The whole world ceases to exist, it’s just you and him, his arms embracing your figure, and his lips on yours. It only lasts for a few seconds before he pulls away and whispers

“...you punk.”

Taglist: @kageyamas-love @mikasbloodbag @underratedmage

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #suna x y/n #suna rintarou x y/n #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq fluff #anilysium server collab #shoved;it #mysh.whitedwarf.[hq]

[irasciblesoul]

PICTURE IMPERFECT.

@captbenscn​

Time has become a relative thing as off late.

He either has too much or not enough so he ignores the passage of time. Tries to pretend that he isn't wasting away in an assignment when in reality there were other places he would much prefer to be. Like back with Olivia, or spending with his mom who is technically living with him but he isn't home enough to see her. See Eli soccer games, have brunch with his daughters. Go fishing with Dickie, or simply have family dinner.

He is missing time with his family, that much was obvious but it was far easier to pretend that time is standing still  while he is in the mind of Eddie Wagner. Elliot has never been a fan of under cover work, the strife that comes with it, the damage that it can cause mentally something he had always been weary off. Especially after the one time he got shot in the job. If it wasn't for Olivia he would be dead... He owes her so many debts of gratitude. Many times before has the now captain saved him from drowning. A vast of different occasion that had time and time again solidified his feelings for her. The thought of marrying her soon still gets him so excited.  Even now as he moved around the ring, sparring with Reggie.

  "You looked way too pleased with yourself." Reggie commented and Elliot just shrugged. Slowly taking off his gloves. Once the task was done, Elliot, Eddie, turned to the other guy. "Well, I think I've been doing alright..." Trailing off, the detective reached for a bottle of water, taking a generous gulp while his hand reached for his back pocket, his phone. He doesn't unlock it right away, waiting for the other male to get distracted enough for Elliot to do so. "There's a lady." It was a statement that has Elliot looking at Reggie and that smirk upon his features. Thank God for a good poker face. "Not the right time." Was all Elliot said before he is throwing the bottle at Reggie who catches it with a huff, walking away from Elliot.

  It was the perfect opportunity.

  Unlocking his phone, Elliot went through his messages. Nothing worthy of note, not until he see the unknown number. He should know better. He should leave it to Jet to check it out but there's curiosity brewing in him, especially when this line was encrypted and nothing that Jet doesn't deem worthy should go in. But being who he is, Elliot open the text and the sight of it just made his stomach churn.  Self control is finite resource Elliot rarely had much of to begin with. His brain is trying to process the image, tries to detached Olivia from the other man that had dared to kiss her, but all he manages to feel is pure unadulterated anger.  Hands gripped the phone tight, right eye twitching just enough. Elliot is swallowing thickly, trying, extremely hard, to keep a leash on his anger but all he managed to do is punch the first thing he finds and thank God it was a punching bag.

  B R E A T H E.  B R E A T H E.  B R E A T H E.

  "You alright there...?" Reggie comes back, all dressed up and Elliot groaned. Right, he has things to do.

Taking a deep breath, the detective turned to the other. "I'm fine. So what's the plan for the evening?" He can't afford to lose it, not now.

  "We are visiting a few places, gonna collect some stuff."  

Elliot nodded, moving towards the locker room to get ready.

  By the time he reached Olivia's apartment, it was three am and Elliot was doing fairly better now that he did when he first saw the picture. He stood in front of the door, debating if it was a good idea or not to tackle this head on. Elliot shouldn't be here to begin with. As careful as he was doubling back and making sure he didn't have a tail, one never knew and he certainly didn't want to put Olivia in danger but his heart won over, drove him to her because he needs to knows, needs to see how she is doing. So taking a deep breathe, he knocks on the door. Somehow he just  knew she was awake. He could feel it in his heart.

#( Daybreak / Main verse. ) #A lot of context sorry. #captbenscn

[s4ijoh]

the theory of love. matsukawa issei

MATSUKAWA ISSEI X GN! READER

GENRE: soulmate au; (implicit) college au; fluff; crack-ish?

WORD COUNT: 2.2k+

WARNINGS: (minor mention of) nudity

in which you have a beauty mark in each eyelid…

what an odd place to kiss someone for the first time.

you wonder. all different types of sweet yet awkward scenarios on how this meeting with your soulmate would play out begin to surface — more precisely, on how this first kiss with them would play out. out of all places...

why would they kiss your eyelids?

these are certainly not the answers you should be looking to answer during class, you reckon, yet, betrayed by your own inner voice who, against your own will decides to take the reins of your mind, you find yourself drifting away from reality and diving deep into your own head, swimming in thoughts of soulbound lovers and silly first kisses.

a giggle threatens to slip past your lips yet it dies in your throat before it has the chance to escape. it is hard to know when to stop the train of thought before it derails and, as always, the same old question comes back to haunt you.

what is taking them so long?

the question could be worse, you reckon, much worse. when you were just a child, barely old enough to understand the theory regarding love and soulmates, you remember hearing these frightening stories about people who were deemed loveless. they were bound to spend their entire lifetime wandering the face of earth in an infinite yet fruitless quest to find their other half. how cruel, you mused, for the universe to deprive someone of love.

you also recall, at the age of twelve, now old enough to decipher those were not just some bedtime tales, feeling terrified upon the realization that you could be one of the so called loveless ones. were you? although it’s not exactly one of your most treasured memories, it is still fairly vivid in the back of your head — your eyes urgently roaming every inch of skin on your body in a desperate attempt to dismiss that possibility, only for the answer to be mockingly hidden out of your sight.

for the longest time, your pitiful self dwelled on the reality that you weren’t worthy of love only for your faith to be restored when recently, whilst doing your make up, you found the two tiniest, barely perceptible dots laying on each of your eyelids, the symbol of hope itself adorning your skin — the evidence that you were not alone in this world and that some deity from above had blessed you with someone to share your love with.

although in retrospect, the scenario turned out to be a lot more optimistic than what you had first expected and for that you should be thrilled, with each passing day, the hollow in your chest grows darker as you have spent the last six years yearning for the day you’ll cross paths with your soulmate.

your heart longs for its missing piece and unfortunately there is no map to lead you to it.

what if you only meet them by the time you’re too old, too tired to have any love left to give?

it certainly gets lonely when you’re left dealing with the hole on your heart meanwhile everyone around you seems to have found their other half by now. just today, yet another girl in your friend group found her perfect match — or so she thinks, its easy to mistake some random boy for your soulmate when your beauty mark is located on your cheek.

at least you can rely on the fact that the placement of your beauty marks doesn’t leave much room for mistake, thats a given. maybe you weren’t that unfortunate, after all.

“movie night at my place tonight?” you tilt your head up to be met with issei’s figure towering over you. as you slowly bounce back to reality, you shift your eyes to the clock ticking on the wall. you figure you were too lost in thought to hear the lecturer call it a wrap.

“makki’s out of town so you can crash in his bed”

you met issei and takahiro at the beginning of this semester and it turned out that there was more to the two quiet laid back dudes who always sat in the back of the class than what first meets the eye. the chronic bored expressions they wear on their faces at all times are quite deceptive for they are anything but tedious and just happen to be quite easygoing and match your level of sarcasm. the three of you clicked almost instantly. movie nights on friday were a regular but a sleepover? now, that's a first.

(mainly because, besides the two beds on their shared room who were almost a size too small to fit their gigantic limbs, the next best surface on their apartment to sleep on would be the floor itself.)

“just admit that you’re afraid to sleep alone in your room, issei” you begin to gather your things but not without taking a peek at him through the corner of your eye to check the look of amusement growing on his face.

issei keeps his collected demeanor, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance while smiling down at you in a relaxed manner “if you start snoring the same way you always do halfway into a movie, it might actually be scarier to sleep in the same room with you”

you scoff at his merciless comeback although unamused. you knew better than to expect him to give in to your teasing remarks without a fight

“it’s always the guys who can’t even afford a couch who think they’re funny, huh?”

to be fair, you were aware they had just moved in together at the beginning of this semester and the house decor was still a work in progress.

he lets out a lighthearted laugh at your comeback, accepting his defeat and you follow suit, smiling brightly and softening your features “you’re lucky we don’t have one or else you’d be sleeping there tonight”

issei pats your head softly before he adjusts the strap of the backpack hanging off his shoulder and begins to walk away, turning on his heel when he is a few steps away from you, remembering he has to let you know the details for tonight.

when he turns his back on you and disappears into the distance a smile creeps its way into your lips almost instinctively. (what a lost cause. look at you so oblivious to how your heartbeat seems to echo a little louder inside your ribcage or how your heart rate seems to increase it’s tempo whenever you are around issei. you're not a naive little child anymore; you should’ve understood the theory of how love works by now.)

some days on campus are busier than others and you have learned it's easier to daydream your way through boring lectures and classes for time seems to go by faster yet there is no better way to unwind than to spend a friday night on the comfort of issei’s and makki’s tiny cozy apartment watching lame cartoon movies in the tiny screen of a computer. it’s part of your routine now and you find it's also easier to go through an intense week of work when you have these weekly movie sessions with them (him) to look forward to.

issei walks through the door and into the room, grabbing a blanket out of makki’s bed before taking a seat next to you on his bed so you can share the bowl of sweet and salty popcorn he just popped in the microwave. you notice his feet peeking from under the blanket at the end of the bed whereas he's busy searching for a movie to watch on the computer that’s sitting on his lap — you make a mental note to gift him a bigger blanket on christmas since it is just around the corner.

you manage to convince issei to watch the grinch “to get into the christmas spirit” however, as soon as he presses play, your thoughts start drifting away. it has recently come to your knowledge that issei, just like you, still hasn’t found his soulmate — although he seems to be handling the situation a lot more smoothly than you. ever since the day you became aware of it, there’s this question that has been persistently lingering in the back of your head yet you have been hesitating to ask. you are unsure whether it is too early in your friendship to put your nose into more intimate affairs but then you remember it’s just issei, the worst he could do would be to mock you for your nosiness.

“issei,” he hums in acknowledgment while munching on the small pile of popcorn on the palm of his hand with his eyes still glued to the screen. “where is your beauty mark?”

the inquisitive look on your face morphs into one of confusion when he takes a glance at you with mischief gleaming in his eyes. why is he smirking? he pauses the movie, tilting his head back to shove the handful of popcorn into his mouth and placing the computer on the mattress before he stands up, your frown only intensifying upon the sight of him undoing his belt.

“issei!” you exclaim through a fit of laughter at the realization that he just pulled his pants down to reveal his bare ass to your once expectant eyes, your expression contorting to one of terror as you screw your eyes wide shut at his inadequate (yet all too familiar) antics. and here you stood thinking you had predicted what the worst case scenario could possibly be.

the wicked chuckle that erupts from his chest echoes through the dark room and you can hear him fastening his belt back on signaling it is safe for you to stop hiding behind your hands (not before you sneak a peek through your fingers though, just to make sure.)

“my soulmate will have to kiss my ass so I know they’re the real deal” the bed dips as he slumps, in a slouchy manner, on the mattress next to you, taking a glance to notice your eyes widening when he hears the gasp of disbelief that escapes your lips following his words.

“its a joke. you would’ve known that if you had looked” he chuckles still talking in that nonchalant tone of his whilst putting the movie back on.

“yeah. i figured, asshole.” you try to play it cool, brushing off the sound of your heart palpitating furiously against your chest.

half way into the movie and a bowl of sweet and salty popcorn later, your head starts to feel heavy on issei’s shoulder. he glances down at you only for his suspicions to be proven right — you have fallen asleep; just like he knew you would. he takes notice of the way you scrunch up your face, wrinkles starting to form in the corner of your eyes as you force them shut. the brightness of the screen is probably bothering you.

whilst issei wouldn’t trade his sweet bed for the world, given your tired state (and clearly out of courtesy), he can’t find it in him to disturb you so he decides to let you crash in his bed, he will take makki’s for the night.

“‘m going to turn this off” he closes the computer shut while whispering the words in a weary voice as drowsiness has creeped it’s way into his system as well.

“mhm, night” you yawn weakly while lifting your head from his shoulder with your eyes still closed as you manage to give him a clumsy goodnight kiss that lands on his ear before you move to a lying position and pull the blankets over your body, falling into a quiet slumber almost instantly.

his eyes widen in surprise.

did you just kiss him?

during the span of your friendship, neither of you have been the affectionate type sticking to a few sporadic hugs, which were rare nonetheless, yet he is not opposed to this new display of affection. he figures you must get clingier when you’re tired and it might have slipped out of impulse. now that he notices, this is the first time he remembers you kissing him and there is this foreign feeling flaring in the pit of his stomach at the possibility you might kiss him again. he lifts his weight out of bed and suddenly he’s paralized staring at the empty wall ahead of him. wait...

did you just kiss him… on his ear?

the world stops. his feet, although hesitant, are moving on their own as he feels a sudden magnetic pull to you and finds himself gravitating towards your sleeping figure lying on his bed. he crouches down next to you, silently admiring your features with mellow eyes and although his heart is a bit unsteady in his chest, he is overtaken with an inexplicable sense of tranquility. his heart can rest now, you finally found him.

that night you could’ve sworn you felt his lips lingering on your eyelids.

[a/n]: ayooo, just to let you all know that i finally made a google docs where you can sign up for my general taglist (even tho i post like once every two months but its wtvrrrrr, its wtvrr)

the amount of times i started writing this fic and deleted everything just to start all over again because i hated every single word of it… I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING NICE FOR MATTSUN !!1!!!😡 but ngl it was kinda worth the time because im sorta proud of it!

this is the v v v first time im writing for him, hopefully the characterization isnt off… n hopefully you enjoy!!!! ;)))

#matsukawa x reader #issei matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines

[mskatesharma]

entertaining a gentleman

Anthony is making his way back from the bathroom when he’s stopped by the wall of photos, one in particular catching the corner of his eye. He takes a step closer, and he can’t help the smile that overtakes his face.

It’s of Kate and Edwina, with a man Anthony assumes is their father, when Edwina was a baby. Kate is beaming at the baby in her arms, while Mr Sheffield is looking down adoringly at the two of them. Anthony can feel the warmth emanating from the photo, and he can feel it spreading through his body. It reminds him of the photos at his mother’s house, the ones that line the staircase, and the many albums she has lovingly put together, and he has the urge to go through them; to see his father’s smile as he’s surrounded by his family. He’s about to let his eyes roam to the other photos dotted on the wall when he’s interrupted by a low voice coming from behind the door to his right.

“Ohh, have you been a good boy then?” Anthony’s body pauses as he realises it’s Kate’s voice, before she continues. “Are you sure you’ve been a good boy? I’ve missed you, yes I have.” Anthony swallows as he moves closer to the door. “Don’t make me tie you up again, you made a mess the last time I let you off.”

ao3 link or under the cut

Anthony reels back from the door as it dawns on him exactly what is taking place behind the door. He didn’t think that Kate was the type. Yes, the woman may infuriate him like no other person he has ever met, and yes he thinks she is an utter menace who has no place in polite society, but he accepts one of her only redeeming features is how much she loves her family, and how important they are to her. And somehow, he didn’t think she was the type to entertain a gentleman in the middle of a celebratory lunch for her stepmother. He takes a step closer to the door.  

“Stop being naughty now. Oh, you think a kiss will make it better?” The reply is something low, Anthony thinks that maybe it’s a growl. “Are you my best boy? Yes you are. The best boy. But only when you’re good. Don’t look at me like that. Ugh, I know, even when you’re naughty you’re still my favourite boy; I can never resist that face. And I think you know that.” Well, clearly Kate has an intense affection for whoever she is with.

“You have me wrapped around my finger. You could do anything and I would let you get away with it. But we won’t tell Mary that, I think she’s still cross with you.” Anthony allows himself a small smirk at that; Mary is clearly not a fan of whoever Kate has in there with her. Well really, maybe he needs to reevaluate his opinion of the elder Miss Sharma; he didn’t think she would associate with someone her stepmother clearly did not approve of. 

He hears Kate giggle some more, followed by “ahh that tickles''. Anthony starts to begin to feel a little warmer, and his heart clenches when he hears Kate laugh even louder. Anthony hates that he’s imagined eliciting such a reaction from her in his many, many dreams of her, and here he is, hearing her give that to someone else. 

Would she call him a good boy is he asked? He cuts off his thoughts before they can go any further. Although, he admits, that particular phrase will probably feature in his dream tonight. Maybe they’ll even be some tied hands involved.

“You’re starting to be a naughty boy right now.” Anthony hates that his mind wanders to wanting to know exactly what action is occurring for Kate to brand her partner a naughty boy. Involuntarily, Anthony’s hand reaches up to adjust his collar. 

“No stop that. I said no.” There’s a muffled bang, followed by a crash, and Anthony’s spine stiffens. “Don’t do that, I don’t want you to do that.” There’s another crash, louder this time, the sound of something breaking, and Anthony’s hand flies to the door handle; ready to put a halt to something she clearly doesn’t want to happen. He doesn’t even realise he has burst through the door when-

“GET OFF HER!” SHE said stop…” Anthony’s voice trails off as he takes in the scene in front of him. “Oh for goodness sake, are you kidding?” Or rather, the lack of what he expected to see, because there is most definitely a scene before him. A chair with a broken leg, an upturned table, and broken vase litter the floor. And in the middle of the mess is Kate. Kate and her infernal dog, Newton, with his incessantly wagging tail. Anthony can already feel the colour warming his face.

“Anthony? What are you doing?”

“...”

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I er, I er thought…”

“What? You thought what?”

“Well, that…”

“What? Why did you burst in here like that? What exactly, did you think was happening here?”

“Well...that you were…”

“Were what?”

“I thought you had someone in here with you!” he finally barks.

“I don’t...what are you talking about?”

“I thought you had a gentleman friend in here with you...that you were entertaining him and told him to stop, but that he wasn’t listening.”

He would laugh at the way Kate’s eyes widened if he wasn’t too busy trying to fend off his own mortification. “WHAT?! It’s Mary’s birthday! Do you think I would sneak away from dinner for an extreme quickie in between mains and dessert?”

“Well not now!” Anthony can’t help but think he’s given Kate an unwanted peek into his sex life.

“Really, you don’t say.” And there’s her delightful sarcasm.

“Clearly it was just you and your stupid dog!”

“Newton is not stupid!”

“He’s not even a proper dog. He’s an overweight rat.”

“You take that back, you’ll hurt his feelings.”

“Good, maybe then he’ll learn how to behave in proper company.” As if to prove his point, Newton bounds over to him and raises his front paws to rest on Anthony’s legs. His tongue is hanging out, and Anthony can do nothing but roll his eyes in return.

“Newton knows how to behave.”

“Really? Then why is he in this room and not out with the rest of the party?” Anthony knows he has her when she breaks his gaze, and instead busies herself in righting the table, and picking up the broken bits of vase. “Nothing to say that?”

“I don’t deem it worthy of a response.”

“How convenient.”

“Yes, it is rather.” Kate deposits the bits of broken vase on the table. “I’ll glue it back together once everyone has left.”

Anthony simply “hmm”s in response, before asking his next question. “So why is Newton being kept sequestered in this room?” Kate glares at him, before sighing.

“Mary and Newton are not the best combination. Well, that’s not quite right. Newton absolutely adores Mary, maybe a bit too much, but the feeling is definitely not mutual. And so Newton tries a little too hard in trying to win her over.”

“So why did you bring him?”

“Because I’m staying here tonight and didn’t want to have to rush back tomorrow.” A silence settles over them, their eyes seemingly locked together and Anthony isn’t quite sure how to break it when Kate does it for him, her gaze shifting to her feet. “Thank you.”

Anthony quirks an eyebrow at her. “For what?”

“For coming in when you did.” Her eyes meet his again. “Even though it wasn’t what you thought, I do appreciate that you came in to stop what you thought was happening.”

“Oh, right. Well I didn’t really think about it to be honest, would have done the same for anyone.”

“I don’t doubt that, but thank you all the same.” Her smile is tentative, and Anthony’s own is hesitant in return, when a thought pops into his head. 

“I think those are the nicest words you’ve ever said to me Sharma.”

“Hmm, maybe. You did, however, insult Newton again, and I never forget an insult directed to my family. So I wouldn’t get used to it if I was you.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she’s actually very nice to him in the dreams he has of her, but Anthony somehow manages to reign in his tongue. Kate raises a brow, noting his silence, before he clears his throat and mutters a “wouldn’t dream of it.” 

She only laughs in response, and Anthony knows that tonight, like so many recently, will involve him trying to delay her inevitable visit while he slumbers. “Shut up Sharma.”

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate x anthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #kathony fic #kathony fanfiction #kanthony #my fic #newton is as much of a menace as kate #and we love him for it #i know this is stupid but it made me smile when i thought of it so #i'm sharing it with you #hopefully it puts a smile on at least one other person's face