#in the same bed anymore. he's pillow literally falls apart and instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ptergwen · 3 years

Text

love is more than a word

w/c: a very ouch 3.6k

warnings: so so so much angst and an unhealthy (ish) relationship

summary: after nearly four years together, peter has stopped trying

a/n: listen y’all i don’t know what came over me when i made this but i think it��s the saddest thing i’ve ever written? uh try to enjoy tho

you never thought this would happen, but you’re getting tired of peter. it isn’t your fault. that cliche it’s not you, it’s me line doesn’t apply here.

at first, you actually did find yourself believing the it’s me part. you’d came to the conclusion that you expect too much from peter. he goes to class, he works, patrols, sometimes parties, takes you out when he can. he’s got a lot going on for a full time college student, which is a busy life to lead on its own.

it’s why you don’t complain when he wants to spend the night in and order a pizza instead of cooking together like you’ve been wanting to try. it’s why every time your friends ask you two to hang, you have to reluctantly explain that peter is passed out at eight o’clock on a saturday.

there’s a lazy “wanna make out?” some nights, if peter isn’t yawning when he steps through the front door. even that has lost its enjoyment. kissing peter doesn’t give you the rush it used to, the taste of his strawberry chapstick not flooding your senses and intoxicating you. it’s become predictable. comfortable. boring.

peter is boring.

you’ve slipped into unspoken routine. say your hello’s, work on separate assignments in different rooms. peter eventually yells something like “babe, you hungry yet?” across the apartment, his passive way of asking you to make dinner. you usually order takeout because why make an effort if he doesn’t?

you might watch one of the ten movies peter has liked since before the start of your relationship. he’ll usually fall asleep during it. no surprise there. his overpacked schedule exhausts him, which you’ve talked to him about spreading himself too thin. peter is too nice and can’t say no, so this is where it leaves him.

the main reason you’ve stayed with him is that he can’t take care of himself. he’s clueless about paying the bills, sorting his laundry, simply remembering to drink water. peter wouldn’t be able to go a week without you. he even says it himself.

“crap, i totally forgot about these,” when you picked up his special ordered textbooks from your school library. “can food go in the garbage disposal?” a rare time you didn’t wash the dishes. “thank you, y/n/n. you’re literally a lifesaver,” whenever you do a task for him that someone in their 20s shouldn’t need assistance with.

you didn’t used to mind much. he watches over the city every night. you felt you should return the favor. spider-man could use some help, too. after the almost four years you’ve been together, peter has become completely dependent on you. it only got worse when you moved in together your junior year. you’re concerned how he’ll manage later in his adult life.

you’d think he’d be a little more passionate about your relationship considering how much he needs you. you know peter still loves you, of course he does. that’s not what the problem is. he’s become content with the mutual feeling, so he doesn’t try anymore. he expects the spark to keep itself lit.

no more random joke of the day texts that he used to send you. he stopped surprising you with your coffee order in the morning, the one that he memorized the first time you two went to a starbucks. what you initially found most endearing about peter was that he remembered every little thing you told him.

he put whatever energy he had into showing you that he listened. he’d do it all with rosy cheeks and that toothy smile of his. it seems now like he’s under the impression that being in a long term relationship means none of that matters anymore. there’s no need to impress you, keep you guessing, make you feel special.

tonight is your breaking point. as you go over all of this in your head while peter lays peacefully next to you, you can’t take it. you’ve been making so many excuses for him. you lie to yourself. you’re desperate to believe this is okay and normal and you can work this out, and you can love whatever version of him this is.

but, you can’t. you can’t do it. you need to tell him now because if you sleep on this, you’ll end up feeling bad and be stuck under these suffocating blankets forever.

“peter?” you whisper his name, your back turned to him in bed. you haven’t cuddled each other to sleep in a while. his arms don’t make you feel held now, they make you feel trapped. you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore his look of hurt when you reject his open embrace.

“peter?” you speak louder after a moment of silence, except for his occasional snores. a loud one escapes him before they stop altogether. his eyes stay shut as he mumbles out a, “uh... huh?” your heart is thudding through your entire body. you take a breath in from your nose. “i wanna break up.”

the breath you let out next is one of relief, those three words that have been scratching your throat for months finally out. peter slowly turns his head over his shoulder. he blinks rapidly at your motionless figure. you’re still not facing him.

“what?” is all he says. his voice is surprisingly steady, the confession not yet registering with his sleepy mind. his eyes are burning into you. “i wanna break up,” you repeat and squish your face further into your pillow. peter suddenly sits up, flicking on the lamp on his side. he tries to sling an arm around you. you move further away until you’re at the edge of the bed.

“i’m serious, peter. everything we had, it’s gone.” your words cut through him harder than literal knives he’s been stabbed with. “i- i don’t understand. where is this coming from?” he rakes a hand through his mess of curls. you turn onto your back, looking up at peter. his eyes are fixed on your lower half.

he’ll most definitely cry if he meets your eyes. he really doesn’t want to cry, not ever again when you won’t be here to make him feel better.

“it’s been coming,” you almost scoff at him as you prop yourself up against your pillows. peter’s teeth tug at his lower lip. “all we do is this.” you gesture to your bed, slapping your hand down at your side. “i get tired,” he speaks quietly, refusing to look at you. “i know you do, peter. i know, but you’d be a lot happier if you ever listened to me.”

your statement comes off as condescending to him. he works up the courage to look you in the face. “are you kidding? all you do is boss me around, and i take it. i’ve never once complained.” anger is coursing through his veins and voice. at the situation, that he’s about to lose the one stable part of his life. you’re getting pissed, too.

“that’s because you can’t do anything yourself!” you throw the blankets off you and swing your legs over the bed in one motion. peter hops out of bed entirely. “my whole life, i’ve been on my own half the time,” he spits as he comes over to stand in front of you. “sorry for taking you up on your offers to help.”

your peter would never spew that shit out. he wouldn’t guilt you for something he’s in the wrong about. this peter takes you for granted. he has no clue how fucked he’d be without you.

the first time you spoke to peter was on your way to history 227. you’d recognized him from your class, much more interested in the pretty boy taking notes with his tongue stuck out than whatever war your professor would lecture about.

he was carrying some books, a pencil case that didn’t fully zip, and a five subject notebook. you watched him do his balancing act through the halls until his legs started to wobble. a knowing smile on your face, you tapped his shoulder. it was a gentle one so you didn’t scare him and make all his things fall over.

“can i carry something for you?” you laughed out and pushed one of your backpack straps up on your shoulder. peter only stared at you, his doe eyes prompting you to reach for his pencil case. “uh, no, it’s fine. i got it. see?” he proved that to you by hiking everything up in his arms. he gave you a smile of his own.

“are you sure? we’re going to the same place,” you’d checked again and pointed at his impressive pile. “i’m not gonna steal your sharpies.” “really, i’m fine,” peter insisted with a heart clenching chuckle. “you can have one, if you want,” he offered and attempted to unzip his case, one handed. you put your hand over his to stop him.

“wait until we get to class,” you let go of him, leaving the tips of peter’s ears a shade of pink you’d later fall in love with. “i’ll sit with you.”

peter was once determined to do things on his own, to be self-sufficient. it used to be something he was proud of. now, he’s completely incapable of holding his independence.

“we’re done, peter.” your tone is short, you getting to your feet. “you’d probably forget how to fucking breathe without me, but call it bossing around, i guess,” you laugh bitterly and go over to your drawers. peter’s face falls as he grabs your wrist, stopping you when you pass by him. “where are you going?”

no answer. you pull yourself out of his grasp with your lips pressed into a stern line. peter follows you step by step over to the dresser. “wait, wait. don’t leave, baby. please,” he begs you, getting onto his knees beside you. you’re pulling random clothes out as quick as you can. a science t-shirt peter outgrew is in your hands.

peter used to give you all his old clothes. the signature smell of his cologne lingered no matter how many times you washed them. they kept you calm on nights he was out late patrolling or away on missions. peter would sport a smirk whenever you wore them out in public, pulling you closer to him and complimenting the look.

it started when he was packing for his first mission since you two had begun living together. he’d realized he became too buff to fit in some shirts. remembering how many times you’d giggle at their funny sayings, peter gave them to you. you threw one on and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. it became your tradition.

peter would set off for a new continent, but a piece of him would stay home with you.

the stretched out hoodies and ripped sweatpants just sit in your drawer now. another meaningful thing discontinued. whatever he doesn’t want goes to may for donations now. the memory of what they used to mean to you makes a fit of rage burst through you.

you slam down his ‘find x’ shirt in the space between his knees and yours. you’re on a mission of your own this time. you aren’t going anywhere until you get rid of all the stuff that went from him to you.

“y/n, don’t do this. i- i love you. i love you.” peter chokes out, tears filling his eyes. his vision is clouded while you toss more clothes to your side. “i love you, y/n/n,” he whimpers again, and this time you briskly push the drawer shut. the whole dresser shakes. this is the most emotion either of you have shown in the past few months of your relationship. it’s a little too late.

“love is more than a word, peter. you have to back it up with actions.” you’re doing your best not to cry. the memories of how loved peter made you feel play in your mind. he briefly wipes under his eyes and shakes his head. he’s so oblivious. “i thought i- i did.” “exactly, you did. you gave up at some point.” your voice gets weaker as a tear drips down your chin.

you didn’t plan on breaking down when you imagined this moment. part of you wishes you could give him another chance. most of you knows it wouldn’t do any good for you or peter. you’re not right for each other anymore. he outgrew some sweatshirts, you outgrew him.

that takes you all the way back to it’s not you, it’s me. it’s really both of you.

for the last time, you pull peter in for a hug. the two of you need this. he loops his arms around your back, keeping them loose around you as he tucks his face into the side of your neck. you’re a mix of tears and sharp breaths with your chin on his shoulder. you bring a hand up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of curls.

he sobs right into your ear, effectively destroying whatever composure you had left.

even though you’re not in love with peter, you haven’t stopped loving him. somewhere inside of him is the goofy boy who asked you out on a post-it during class. the kindhearted man who gave so much of himself to the world and saved enough for you. the one whose fingertips left goosebumps on your skin with every touch.

seeing him like this, having caused it feels like a dull pain rippling in every part of your body. you’ve been there to soothe him during countless breakdowns over the years. you managed to stay strong for all of them. this is the only exception. he lost people, felt down about life, made mistakes. you were there to pick up each piece and put them back together.

the one mistake peter made that you can’t fix is not loving you right. you became his rock, his anchor whenever he let grief and sadness rule over him. you’d get him back to himself. he could’ve at least bought you flowers once in a while, or done anything that showed his gratitude. every iteration of awful put together isn’t enough to describe how he feels.

“i’m so- i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i don’t deserve you. i never have,” peter murmurs as he cries, wetting your skin that his face is still pressed into. your fingers pull roughly at his hair. hot tears overflow from your own eyes. “i should’ve done more.” his voice cracks on the last word. “that’s all i wanted to hear, pete,” you breathe out and pull away from him.

“does that mean you’ll stay?” he croaks, arms still wound around your body. his eyes are hopeful when they lock with yours. a frown pulls at your lips. “only for tonight. i should... one of us should sleep on the couch.” “oh,” his voice is gravelly, so he clears his throat. “i’ll do it.” you’re not going to fight him on it for once.

peter removes his arms from your waist, you sitting back down on your thighs. you give him a blink and you’ll miss it smile because you can’t keep one for long. it’s to let him know you’re not mad. you were at the start of this conversation, then he took accountability. you also came to terms with the fact that the downfall of your relationship was a joined effort.

there are more factors than peter not giving you what he should have. time, different goals, new outlooks on life. you can’t hate only him because a whole bunch of things lead to this.

instead of a smile, since he physically can’t put one on his splotchy face, peter brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of your lips. he gets up to leave the room, but you stop him with a “wait!” he freezes in front of you. you get out a hoodie from his pile of old clothes and stand up. “it’s cold.” you put it in his hands, earning a grin that he didn’t think was possible.

“thanks, y/n,” peter sighs and holds the hoodie against his chest. “goodnight. um,” this is the part where he’d usually say i love you. “sleep well, okay?” the replacement stings for both of you. you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without hearing that phrase first. as much as you didn’t feel it anymore, you’d become used to it. “you too, peter. night,” you say softly.

you head back to your bed while peter walks out the door. he glances at you once, and you’re already settling under the covers. he shuts the door behind him before finding his way to the couch.

your bed has always seemed too small. it’s gigantic without peter. you aren’t sure how you feel about that yet.

peter lays across the couch, the hood that doesn’t quite fit him pulled over his head. he’s only wearing it because you gave it to him. you doing that not even five minutes ago was how you backed up your love with actions. it’s so easy. silent tears spill from his eyes at the realization.

he wishes on every star that he could’ve figured out he wasn’t doing enough sooner. you’d be together right now, had he just caught on. there was a time he prided himself on knowing you fully and completely. how to turn you into the shy one with certain combinations of words, what your schedule was each week so he could plan his free time around it.

your relationship became something he thought would last unconditionally. if only he was able pinpoint the exact moment he went wrong.

you’re right in the other room. he can go in there and bawl, plead for you to take him back. how could he do that and claim to love you, though? you’ve made it clear you‘re over him.

the best way for peter to show you he loves you is by letting you live your life, without him in it.

you don’t see peter again for weeks. he moved back in with may, and you got to keep the apartment. you were the one who took all the care of it, anyway.

your semester ended at the perfect time because peter isn’t in any of your new classes. the city is too big to bump into each other. you’re free from the hold he had on you, which would’ve been four years long since yesterday. you’ve been good at picking up his broken pieces for too long, and now it’s time to pick up your own.

for all the hangouts you missed on his behalf, you made up for it. you called mj the day after your breakup and met for lunch. she never explicitly said it, but she took your side. peter had a feeling because when he had the same idea as you, to lean on his friends for support, she never reached out.

betty is indifferent, ned stays cordial with you. his real loyalty is to peter. you can’t blame him.

peter hasn’t been doing well since you broke up. he’s not eating enough, he can’t focus on work of any kind. you were right when you said he would forget how to breathe without you. he often wonders how you’ve been.

he finds out today.

you’re walking around campus, heading in the direction peter just came from. he has a class in the building your last one was. the two of you are on the same sidewalk, opposite sides. he almost doesn’t recognize you.

mj is on one side of you, a guy he’s never seen before with an arm around your shoulders. you’re all laughing about whatever dumb thing your professor said during the lecture. your hair, which is done in a new style, flows behind you in the spring breeze. a smile takes place on your glossy lips. the smile is directed towards that guy. your new boyfriend, peter assumes.

you look amazing, and not only physically. you seem happy with your small group of people. peter hadn’t been able to give you that happiness in years, so it’s nice to see you got it back somehow.

he must have stared too long because you notice him. you fall behind mj and your potential boyfriend, both of them wrapped up in discussing your next project. peter stops walking. you do the same. he’s not sure if he upset you, or what’s going on. his instincts tell him to apologize. his mouth stays closed.

that infectious smile of yours appears once again. you thought about peter yesterday, it being your anniversary and all. you’d only let yourself remember the good things. they outweighed the bad ones when you look back on everything.

“aye, grandma! get over here!” mj calls to you, your boyfriend nudging her side. “take your time, y/n/n. i’m not in a rush to write seven long ass pages.” you laugh to yourself at the two of them. peter fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. it’s from the drawer of things you used to wear. “one sec!” you yell back.

“hey,” you turn to face peter, who’s giving you a tight lipped smile. “how’ve you been?” “i’m okay. just, you know,” he shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. there’s a short silence before peter says, “you seem good. really good.” he smiles for real this time. “yeah, i am. i hope you are, too,” you tell him and genuinely mean it.

you’d like to catch up soon, but it’s not right yet. you both need more time. “i’ll see you around?” you’re already starting to walk, backwards so you can see peter. “uh, sure. bye,” he gives you a quick wave and continues on his way.

you get back to mj and your boyfriend, his arm returning to your shoulders. they waited for you by the stoplight. “what’d ya get up to over there?” he teases, mj suspiciously watching your face for any tells. you carefully think through your answer with a grin. “love.”

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #spiderman #marvel #peter parker angst

1K notes · View notes

spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

I turn and reach for you

Summary: Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

Tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations TW: past non-con drug use mentioned once in passing

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This feels the "Nightmares" square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card, and was written for this prompt by @i-write-whump. Title from a poem by Devon Strang.

After Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, he stays with Derek. Nobody on the team wants him to be alone, and he’s always felt the most comfortable with him, so it makes sense. Besides, he’s got the space.

Spencer sometimes wonders whether the team pushed so hard for it because they genuinely believed that, logistically, Derek was the best option, or because they could also see the slow-burning romance simmering under the surface of their relationship. They’ve always had a special friendship, but Spencer can feel the growing tension: the deep and intense looks they share mid-case, the lingering touches on backs and arms, the affection leaking into each ‘pretty boy’ and every ‘Der’.

Perhaps if Hankel never came into the picture they’d already be together — it really had felt like they were on the precipice of something special — but it’s three months later and Spencer’s still sleeping in the spare room; there’s still just as much will they, won’t they lingering in the air between them.

He tries not to mind too much. After all, he’s never had so much free access to the man he’s pined after for years now, and they’re living in each other’s pockets. Almost every waking hour is spent in one another’s company: they cook together, eat together, watch films together, and neither of them are showing any sign of getting sick of it. But every time they’re cooking pasta and Derek says something ridiculous, Spencer wishes he was allowed to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; every time they sit down to watch something together, he wishes he could burrow into his side and rest his head in the crook of his neck.

(Sometimes, Spencer wishes he could rewind to the weeks immediately after the Hankel incident when Derek would carry him around the flat to keep him off his broken feet; when he could press his face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of complete and utter safety.)

It’s almost torturous, being so close yet so far.

He isn’t quite sure why the nightmares start so late. The nights during the first couple of months are blissfully dreamless, so exhausted from the physical and emotional trauma that sleep was a tantalising escape, but once he’s back in the field, once normal life resumes, everything changes.

The first time he wakes up sweating and panting, heart pounding as he tries to convince himself that he’s no longer in Hankel’s clutches but is safe and sound in Derek’s apartment, he dismisses it as a one-off. He hasn’t had nightmares yet, so why should they start now? He doesn’t go back to sleep that night, too shaken to relax back into the comforting embrace of sleep, too afraid of deception: that he wouldn’t sleep dreamlessly but that the nightmare would be waiting for him once again.

The second time worries him. He gets up this time and gets a glass of water as quietly as possible, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter as he ponders what this could mean for him. The thing is, they’re so incredibly vivid. It really feels like he’s back at the mercy of a three-in-one torturer armed with drugs and belts and guns, genuinely unsure of whether he’ll ever see his family again. He doesn’t go back to sleep this time, either, instead pacing around the living room until Derek wakes up. He lies that he’s only been up for half an hour, and Derek believes him.

The third time solidifies for Spencer the fact that this is a problem. Three is a pattern, everybody knows that, and Spencer spends the rest of the night scouring the internet for studies conducted around delayed trauma responses and discovers the prevalence of delayed-onset PTSD. He’s tempted to contact a professor he met during his third PhD who specialised in the psychology of trauma, but he thinks better of it. Admitting these nightmares would be admitting defeat.

This is something he has to deal with alone.

(He ignores the truth that it’s more fear than anything else that keeps him from telling anyone: fear of being seen as weak, fear of nothing changing, fear of voicing his trauma out loud. It’s easier to pretend it’s about independent agency.)

It doesn’t affect him too much at first. Sure, he’s scared to go to sleep and he sweats so profusely that it soaks through his bedsheets almost every night, but he’s managing. He’s okay. He contributes just as much to their profiles and takes down unsubs without flinching. He dances around Derek like they have done for over a year, and he sits through Dr Who marathons with Penelope just fine. So what if he’s a bit tired? He’s stared down some of America’s Most Wanted and interviewed famous serial killers, he can cope with a little fatigue.

It doesn’t stay that easy for long.

Soon everybody’s asking about the bags under his eyes, his slower reaction times when they visit the gun range, his twitchiness around the team.

“Are you sleeping okay, Spencer?” Penelope asks him one day, brushing a curly lock of hair behind his ears as they sit side by side on the sofa next to a conked out Derek.

He can’t nod his head quick enough. “Yeah! Yes, uh. Yes, Penelope, I’m sleeping fine, I promise,” he says as convincingly as he can, flashing her a smile. He hates lying to her, but he can’t let anyone find out, he just can’t.

Slowly, he begins losing his grip on reality. He’s almost delusional from the sleep deprivation, and he starts seeing Hankel everywhere he goes. He’s stood behind the fridge door, in the foyer of the FBI Headquarters, in the toilets of a local police station, stood right behind the unsub they’re currently trying to talk down, goddamnit.

He’s beyond exhausted, but some nights he still refuses to sleep, too afraid of what awaits him in his dreams, too afraid of the fear he knows he’ll carry into the next day, too afraid of feeling weak again. Helpless. Completely and utterly without agency.

He sits up with his back against the headboard, the main light off but the lamp switched on, scrolling through as many scholarly articles as he can read in a night, drinking cup after cup of steaming black coffee. Most nights he makes it through till morning without sleeping a wink, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from drifting off The nightmares on those nights are the worst.

He isn’t okay and people are starting to notice. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him right now, but he knows it won’t be long before Penelope organises an intervention that Hotch hosts and Derek directs. The worst part about it is that he feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen. He’s headed straight for complete and utter collapse, and the only possible way to stop the train in its tracks is to reach out and get help, the one thing he can’t get himself to do.

And he isn’t even really sure why.

It all comes to a head on a warm night in July. He’d fallen into bed that night deliberately, actually intending to sleep for once. The bone-deep tiredness had finally caught up to him and he didn’t even care that he was walking straight into the arms of Tobias Hankel, if it meant he got even an iota of refreshing sleep, then it would be worth it.

But he isn’t quite of the same mind when he wakes up at two in the morning like he does almost every night: soaked in sweat with his heart going a million beats per minute, with only one difference. Tonight, he’s crying.

Maybe it’s the emotional turmoil of the last few months catching up to him, or maybe it’s just the severity of this particular dream, but whatever it is, he can’t seem to stop even once he’s awake. Sobs wrack his shoulders as he cries miserably into the pillow, finally letting out the emotions he’s kept bottled up so tightly, and he’s almost wailing after a couple of minutes of anguish.

All he can think as he cries helplessly is how badly he wants Derek. He wants to be wrapped up in his strong and safe embrace, he wants to feel the movement of his soft goatee against his cheek, he wants to inhale the comforting scent of his sleep t-shirts, he wants the warmth and solace that only Derek Morgan can give him, and in that moment, emotionally distraught and so incredibly sleep-deprived, he decides to get it.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and down the hall, stopping once he reaches Derek’s door. He hesitates for only a second before he pushes it open slowly, allowing the light from the lamp they keep switched on in the hallway to gently illuminate the shadows of his bedroom.

“Spencer?” Derek asks groggily, immediately sitting up and wiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

At the acknowledgement of his tears, Spencer starts to cry harder, and as embarrassed as he feels, he can’t slow the steady stream of tears rolling down his face as he stands in the doorway like a child in their parents’ room.

“Spence,” Derek says again, gentle and sympathetic, “come here.” He lifts the duvet up and scooches over slightly as if to make room for him in his already spacious king-size bed.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, though, and he stumbles forward, collapsing into bed and wrapping himself around Derek instantly. His arms come up to circle Spencer’s waist, caressing him gently as he holds him close to his body, shushing him quietly.

“It’s okay, Spence,” he murmurs. “I’m here now, alright? We’re gonna fix whatever it is, I promise you. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

He lets himself cry and cry and cry until his tears are dried up and he’s hiccupping from the force of his sobs. He would feel terrible about the damp spot left on Derek’s t-shirt, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he continues to lie there on Derek’s chest, listening to his softly spoken assurances and losing himself in the sensation of Derek’s fingertips caressing the skin of his waist.

After a couple of minutes of silence, interrupted only by the odd hiccup from Spencer’s tired lungs, Derek finally asks the question. “What was that all about, pretty boy?” he asks with a tenderness Spencer isn’t sure he’s ever heard before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Been having nightmares,” Spencer whispers, keeping his eyes closed against Derek’s imploring gaze.

He feels Derek tense beneath him, his fingers briefly pausing before resuming their comforting patterns on his waist, and a heavy breath escapes his lips. “For how long?”

“Last couple of months,” he mumbles, and somehow another tear manages to escape Spencer’s screwed up eyes.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I suppose that explains a lot. We’ve been so worried about you, Spencer. We had no idea what was going on but we could all see you withdrawing, and it wasn’t exactly a secret how exhausted you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says sadly. “I should’ve pushed harder to figure out what was going on with you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” Spencer says, suddenly desperate to explain as he shifts slightly to look Derek in the eye. “I was so scared and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak or I couldn’t do my job anymore, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Spence,” Derek says soothingly, “but you’ve told me now, haven’t you? And I’m going to do everything I can to get you some help. We’ll fix this, baby. I promise you, I’m going to make sure you’re happy and healthy again if it’s the last thing I do, okay?”

Spencer sniffs a little, wiping tiredly at his eyes as he blinks up at the sincerity on Derek’s face. For the first time in far too long he manages a smile. “Okay.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Spencer’s smile widens and he buries his face in Derek’s chest again as his cheeks flush red. “Please.”

Months later, they’ll realise they never officially asked one another to be in an actual, exclusive relationship. Months later, they’ll know instinctively and with absolute certainty that this night was the night that changed everything for them, and exactly one year later, they’ll celebrate their first anniversary on that date.

Tonight, though, they sleep curled up next to one another in Derek’s bed, and although Spencer doesn’t fall into the same dreamless sleep he grew used to immediately after Hankel, for once he isn’t haunted by nightmares, but dreams inflected with hope for what the future holds for them, and he’ll take that over dreamlessness any day.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @ @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist)

#my writing #moreid #derek #spencer #derek morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fanfic #moreid fanfiction #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #userpenemily

157 notes · View notes

kyojurouwu · 3 years

Text

han seojun sleepover headcanons.

listen to what to do (feat mark) by henry.

˗ˋˏ author’s note ˎˊ˗

come and get your seojun love and appreciation. this one is for @seojunly who asked for sleepover hcs! 🤗 imagine sleepovers with the one and only han seojun who happens to be your childhood bestie. i focused more on 20s ver seojun but there are also flashbacks to childhood and high school days. it ended up being a hybrid of both scenario and headcanon. enjoy!

sleepovers are actually almost a weekly occurrence. most of the times it’s not really planned. you hang out with each other and suddenly it’s too late to leave and you are forced to crash. (also seojun just flat out refuses to let you leave after a certain hour, he would try to make you stay or he will walk you all the way to your apartment, there is no in-between)

even if it’s something that happens this often, don’t think for one minute that seojun is not losing his mind over it. you are best friends, right? it’s normal right? but when you fall asleep on him while watching netflix? when you cuddle closer and hug him? his soul leaves his body and he never had to urge himself to keep his self-control more.

when you were younger you used to have sleepovers all the time as well, but when it was at his house his little sister was in the picture and it was more like a hangout than anything. and gowoon liked you as her sister and wanted to spend time with you so he was often third-wheeling and sulking in the corner.

it doesn’t help that you are so unaware of his struggles. you unknowingly make his brain turn off every time you lean over him for something or put your hand on his thigh to support yourself. whenever your hands meet in the bowl with popcorn you turn to him and smile, sometimes he annoys you and holds your hand but you think nothing of it because he loves to tease you - but he is spazzing out about holding your hand.

if you order pizza he always leaves the bigger pieces to you and even has less and gives you the last one, because he loves seeing you enjoy your food.

he can actually make a lot of dishes and flexes that anytime you come over because you are only ever confident in instant ramen as to not set fire to your kitchen (you are just more of a baker, which he doesn’t mind because he has a sweet tooth and when it’s made by you? his heart is sold.)

it depends on how tired you are, but sometimes you keep dishes overnight and sometimes you do them together and it does feel homely. working in sync and moving around each other with a practised sense of familiarity. you jam out together to your favorite songs but more often than not you stop singing and listen to him with a smile. when he notices he is a little bashful and pokes your forehead telling you to “not slack off”.

when you were little, you used to be afraid of the dark and even had this small light, but even then you sometimes couldn’t fall asleep and seojun noticed that and would tuck you in really tight. (“no monsters can get you now, i will fight them off for you.”) you giggled and held out your hand to him shyly. he got so used to holding your hand while you dozed off that it was weird when he slept on his own.

he likes to tease you about it now that you are older. asking if you need his hand to sleep comfortably, resulting in getting whacked by a pillow.

maybe you have a toothbrush at seojun’s because you do this so often and it makes him smile every time he sees it. he makes faces at you through the mirror when you brush your teeth and hopes it will make you laugh and often you almost choke because when it doesn’t work he is not above tickling you. (he is a bully sometimes.)

when you were in high school he would always make you sleep in his bed and take the couch instead. but now when he’s all grown up with bigger bed it’s always quite a fight. with you telling him it’s okay, you can fit. and him being like? i’m a guy, how can you be so calm with sharing a bed?

and it’s like a lightbulb is lit and you realise. it’s not like you don’t see his visual, because how could you not? it’s more like … you try to overlook it to stop having thoughts that are not in childhood friend spectrum. things about how squishy he looks when he wakes up with his bedhead and puffy cheeks. how his voice gets deeper when he greets you in the morning. how he definitely put on some muscle when you end up leaning on him and maybe you walked in on him once or twice when he was changing his t-shirt. you try not to think about him borrowing you his clothes to sleep in, because you shouldn’t be thinking that! he is your best friend!

it ends up with him on the couch again, regretting having morals and staying away. but maybe one day you drink a little too much because your friend was celebrating getting promoted and she makes you drink to loosen up. it goes on for longer than it should’ve and seojun being the worrywart he is ends up calling you to check up on you. when you answer all giddy and giggly he knows right away you are in no condition to walk home. he wheedles the location out of your drunk self and tells you to stay put.

he shows up out of breath because he ran most of the time, too nervous you might try to meet him halfway and end up getting lost on the way. after he literally picks you up (walking is not an option with your level of intoxication) and piggybacks you home he is ready to tuck you in and be on his way, but… you end up holding him back. “can you hold my hand? i’m scared.”

seojun’s heart does a flip and he gulps so loud it echoes through the apartment. “are you scared of the dark again?” he wants to tease but holds out his hand anyway and you grab it happily and you shake your head no to his question. confused he asks what is that you’re scared of then. and the answer shakes him up to his core.

“i’m scared you might end up hating me.” you take a deep breath, looking away. “for liking you more than a friend.” after that you end up knocking out and he is just sitting there with his free hand on his face as if it could stop the blush. he let’s out a sigh, whispering “you are so unfair.” while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and lying down next to you.

you wake up with a massive hangover, but that almost doesn’t register because you are tucked into someone’s arms and you can’t remember anything. you panic for a split second before you recognize seojun’s face few centimetres away from your own. his eyes flutter open as if he sensed you waking up. and you expect him to pull away and apologize (this did happen sometimes when you both actually fell asleep in the same bed or on the couch and usually he jumped out of the bed faster than you could say his name). this time he doesn’t move, only gives you this unnerving stare that a man who just woke up shouldn’t be able to muster.

“do you remember anything?” you try to ignore the close contact and keep your cool, racking your brain for answers. you remember your friend pouring you drinks and remember laughing when your favorite song came on before you realized it’s your ringtone. you remember seojun’s voice and how he smelled like he came straight out of the shower, you remember almost falling off his back when you thought you saw a stray cat and tried to jump off. you remember your head hitting the pillow and… oh god, your face goes red.

“did...did i really make you hold my hand?” seojun nods. “and… is there any hope you didn’t actually hear me say that .. thing?” seojun chuckles, enjoying his upper hand.

“i could never hate you, you dumbass. i’m in the same boat.” that takes a while to register in your hangover state. but seojun doesn’t give you the time. he kisses your forehead and holds you closer.

“now we don’t have to fight over sleeping in one bed anymore. i’ve always slept the best with you next to me anyway.”

#true beauty #true beauty headcanons #true beauty tvn #han seojun #han seo jun #hwang inyeop #hwang in yeop #true beauty seojun #han seojun reader insert #han seojun x reader #moon writes to the stars

650 notes · View notes

hxlyhead-harpies · 3 years

Text

The Only Exception

Request: @durmstrange hello!! can I request a song prompt for George with the only exception by paramore? 🧡 love your work so much!

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: (Y/n) swears that she will never fall in love. George is determined to change that

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: None that I can think of

(gif from google)

You watched as George’s chest rose and fell in the rhythm of his breathing. His eyes were closed and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as he dreamt, the warm early morning sun gracing his features. You studied him from your side of the bed, one arm slipped under your pillow and one caressing George’s arm. You smiled as he slept, in awe of the fact that you were so lucky. And a warmth filled your body as you gazed at him, an indescribable feeling that filled your senses and made your brain and heart feel like they were on fire. It was a feeling that you had so long avoided and so long swore that you would never feel. But here you were, next to George, feeling overwhelmed by a feeling you had always said never existed. Love.

You were eight years old when your dad had left, leaving the broken shell of your mother behind him. He had cried as he walked out, regretting the action that put him in this position. A drunken night after work he had broken the vow that he had made to his wife all those years ago. Through broken sobs he swore that he still loved her and proclaimed it as she threw his belongings at him, screaming at him to get out of the house. You had watched from the top of the stairs, your head poking through the bars of the banister, tears sliding down your cheeks.

Your parents had always seemed so impossibly in love; the lingering touches and sweet kisses that they shared and the way they looked at each other led you to believe that they were the epitome of what love was. But you watched as they yelled and fought and decided right then and there that you were wrong. People who loved each other couldn’t cause this type of pain. And if what your parents had wasn’t love, you knew that the feeling didn’t really exist.

You stalked into your room and pulled out the storybook your father had gifted you for your seventh birthday. Your parents used to read it to you before bed, you snuggled between the two of them as they told the epic stories of romance and intrigue, always pointing to the princess and her savior and saying, “look! It’s just like Mommy and Daddy!” You threw the book in a box of your father’s belongings, waiting for it to disappear forever in the same way that your father had. Because that was all that love was, a fairytale.

Your father was gone from your life. You never saw him again. Your mother never remarried. She swore off romance and every night after her third glass of wine she’d stumble into your bedroom and reminded you that she would never ever fall in love again and that you should never let yourself try. You took her words to heart.

George had dropped, quite literally, into your life during your fifth year at Hogwarts. You were shelving books in the library when he turned the corner into the aisle you were standing in. He looked over his shoulder as he ran and turned just in time to see you pressed up against the shelf with your eyes wide. He tried to stop himself before he crashed into you but ended up slipping on the floor underneath him. He tumbled down, just barely missing you. You gasped and set the books down quickly. You reached down a hand and asked him if he was alright. He just looked up at you and beamed.

“I’m alright now that a pretty girl like you is offering to hold my hand,” he said with a smirk. You retracted your hand and furiously attempted to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks. George just smiled at you before hopping up and brushing off his robes. He sent you a cheeky grin before leaning against the shelf next to you.

“The name is George Weasley,” he said proudly, “what’s yours?” he asked. You ignored him, not trusting the fluttering feeling in your stomach.

“Oh come on now, what is it then?” he asked again. You rolled your eyes. Before he could push anymore, Professor McGonagall appeared behind him and pulled George out of the library by his ear. George laughed before sending you a pointed look.

“I’ll see you around!” he shouted at you with a wink. You froze, staring at the spot he once was for minutes after he was gone.

After that day, George seemed to become a constant in your life. He popped up everywhere; he waved hello to you from across the great hall and would flop down next to you when you studied in the courtyard. You acted annoyed when he would bother you, rolling your eyes at him when he tried to make you flustered and swatting his hand away when he tried to sling an arm around your shoulder. But secretly you enjoyed it and that scared you. You couldn’t let yourself get too close and you couldn’t let yourself feel too strongly for him. So you kept your distance. George swore that he would crack you one day. He longed for the moment you would truly laugh at his antics and not pretend that you hadn’t heard him.

Over the summer and winter holidays, he sent you letters. They were funny and full of jokes and stories of his family. You devoured them within seconds of them being delivered, soaking up every word that George intended for you. With the letters, you could be private about your affection towards him. When he spoke to you in person you hid your ever-growing crush, trying to protect your heart from inevitable heartbreak. But with the letters, you could hole yourself up in your room and be the true blushing mess that he made you. You never responded to his letters, afraid that you’d somehow admit that he was all that you thought about.

In your sixth year, George asked you to the Yule Ball. He had come up behind you in the library, not unlike the way he did the day that you met, holding a modest bouquet of daffodils. He stood in front of you, a stuttering mess, and practically begged you to accompany him to the dance. You said yes, but only under the condition that you’d be going as friends. George had frowned at that, it clearly not being the answer he had hoped for, but agreed.

You fretted for weeks about the ball. You were nervous, to say the least. You didn’t want your true feelings for George to be discovered. As much as you liked him, the memories of your parent’s final fight made you feel like you had to keep him at arms length.

When you had descended down the stairs in your golden dress, the look he gave you made all of that fly out the window. When you walked to meet him, he raised your hands to his lips and kissed it, murmuring that you looked beautiful. And as you spun around the Great Hall with George, you found yourself not thinking of the inevitability of heartbreak, but only of the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist and the feeling of your head on his chest.

That night when he walked you back to the common room he told you that he wished that you could have come to the ball as more than friends. You shyly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before hesitantly agreeing. His face broke out into a gorgeous grin before he leaned down and ghosted his lips against yours.

One night towards the end of your sixth year you sat in the owlery with Geroge. His head was in your lap and he toyed with your fingers as you recounted your day to him. After four months of officially dating, you were still getting used to calling George your boyfriend and the little intimacies that came with giving him that title. The way he’s brushed your hair out of your face or put a hand on your knee when you sat near each other. You always felt startled by the way he looked at you, pure adoration shining in his eyes. You felt just as deeply for him as he felt for you, yet you couldn’t help but feel scared. Because deep in the recess of your mind you always reminded yourself that this type of feeling never lasted.

You continued to relay the story of how Snape had managed to make a cauldron explode during class when George sat up suddenly. You paused in the midst of your story, furrowing your eyebrows at his abrupt movement. George looked at you with a flushed face and nervous smile.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the blush across his pale, freckled skin only deepening. You froze, your throat constricting with panic. He looked at you, waiting for you to reply, but you couldn’t. It felt like the walls were closing in and a hole began forming in your chest. The four-letter word brought back every painful memory of your past, reminding you of every moment that your parents had said it to each other before breaking their own hearts.

George’s face filled with concern as your breathing picked up. He cupped your face gently.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was shaky with worry. He wiped away the tears that you weren’t aware had fallen.

“George I-” you said.

“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything back,” he said quietly. You averted your gaze.

“Thank you. But I- I just can’t say that. And I don’t know if I ever will be able to,” you said tearfully, preparing for him to scoff and shatter your heart into a million pieces. Instead, he pulled you into a tight hug and stroked your hair.

“I’ll wait for the day that you’ll be able to. I’ll wait for forever if I have to,” he said softly.

George told you that he loved you often, never expecting a reply in return. He didn’t quite know why you couldn’t bring yourself to repeat the words back, but he loved you too much to worry about it. He knew that you felt deeply for him, and that was enough.

And with every day you felt yourself fall for him more and more. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that you loved him. But you didn’t know if you’d ever have the strength to admit it out loud.

The night before George left Hogwarts he had tearfully bid you goodbye, promising that he’d think of you every second that you were apart. He told you about the flat above the shop and how there was a space in his bed meant just for you. He’d slipped a key into your hand and told you that when you were ready, he was waiting for you. You had smiled at him and gave him a fervent kiss, hoping that it conveyed the words that you were too scared to say.

After you finished your final year you had shown up promptly at the front steps of your new home. After months of exchanging letters, you were finally going to see George again. You inserted your key into the lock and stepped into the shop.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed,” a familiar voiced called out. George sat behind the register, his back towards you.

“Oh, I guess I’ll have to come back later then,” you said with a smirk. George’s shoulder’s tensed at the sound of your voice and he promptly spun around to face you. A smile broke across his face and he hopped over the counter and ran to meet you. He scooped you up in a hug and spun you around. He peppered kisses across your face, murmuring that he loved you in between each one.

And now you laid beside him as he slept, his legs hooked with yours. You brushed your finger along the bridge of his nose, causing him to stir. His eyes slowly fluttered open and his gaze snapped to you.

“Good morning beautiful,” he said softly, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand. You leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. You took a shaky breath and looked him in the eyes, summoning all of the bravery that you could muster.

“I love you, Georgie,” you whispered. George’s eyes widened and tears began to form. He pulled you in, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck.

“I love you too, (Y/n),” he said softly, his voice airy. You had always guarded your heart and set rules to keep yourself safe. But every rule had an exception, and for George, you’d always make an exception.

#George weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley/reader #george weasley/you #george weasley x oc #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfiction #geaorge weasley fluff #george weasley angst #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine

1K notes · View notes

wonlouvre · 3 years

Text

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 4.1k WARNINGS: orphanage, mentions of abandonment and lost of parents

author’s note: just a little filler chapter as we continue reading on the progress of their relationship! thank you so much for waiting! i hope you enjoy reading

six: hustle and bustle | masterlist

When Wonwoo went to college, he moved out from the Royal Residences and rented an apartment with Soonyoung and two other friends of different majors. That period of his life where he was swamped with school works and other official duties, had given him the smallest of chances to go home and sleep for more than two nights in the bedroom he had since he was a teen. From then on, he managed to handle most of his activities on his own. He was assigned a staff that would help him navigate through his busy lifestyle and that was about it.

Their Majesties were not bothered at all by their son’s independence although, oftentimes they felt terrible because of how busy they were, they lacked the time to spend with their only child.

It was a challenge for the Royal Family to apply the definition of “family” in their own context, but in the end, they made it work. The kingdom was flourishing meanwhile the family is loved and supported more than ever.

Their Majesties knew of their son’s wishes to marry his past girlfriend and they were more than ready to support him. But then again, he was young and when they heard their decision to go their separate ways, they were also there, ready as they will ever be, to support him.

Wonwoo wasn’t impatient to find love again. Most especially when he landed a job at the Royal Hospital of the neighboring kingdom. If he was driven to excel as a student, he was more than driven to be the best that he can be when he worked full-time.

Occasionally, your arrangement with him crosses his mind. He likes you. He really does. He likes how you message or call him. He likes how you smile and talk to him. He likes seeing you and having you around. And just recently, he likes holding and kissing you.

He’s just worried that maybe because of this whole arranged marriage thing, the two of you are moving too fast. Or that maybe, this is just an infatuation that may vanish anytime soon.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of such thoughts so early in the morning when you’re here with him but he can’t help it.

Wonwoo was the first one to wake up and the sight of your back greeted him. An elated smile is drawn on his face when he remembers the night before. He still remembers the feel of your lips and breath against his. It makes him wonder if he’d get to feel them again today. He yawns and reaches his hand out to your back, gently running it against the t-shirt you borrowed from him. A low chuckle then escapes his lips as he tries to figure out how you even got on the edge of his bed when he clearly remembers how he locked you in his arms last night.

After a moment of just listlessly playing with your hair and back, he finally scoots over and completely wraps his arm around your waist. He tugs you close to the middle because he’s sure one more movement in the wrong direction, you’re going to fall over.

His action caused you to wake up. Wonwoo meets your bleary eyes and he’s immediately apologizing with a guilty grin.

“Sorry. You can go back to sleep,” he says and fixes the hairs that’s covering your face.

You sigh and close your eyes again before sinking further back on the pillow. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know either,” he answers sheepishly. “But, it’s early. Too early to leave the bed.”

You give him a look of disbelief before pulling yourself up, much to his dismay. A few stretches of your neck and arms helped get rid of your drowsiness. As you stand up to go to the bathroom, the Prince remains sprawled out on the bed with arms now behind his neck, just watching you fondly.

“Have you been awake all this time?” You ask while gathering your dress from the rack, contemplating if you should wear it again instead of being seen with the Prince’s clothes. “You looked like you’ve been creepily staring at me.”

Wonwoo scoffs at your remark and finally stands and follows to where you are. He finds you standing in front of the sink and fixing your hair. With crossed arms, he leans his broad shoulder against the doorframe. His mind goes blank again with thoughts filled by you only.

“You didn’t deny it,” you say and pick up the toothbrush you used last night. “And you’re doing it again.”

Wonwoo snaps out of it and rolls his eyes. “I think you’re liking it though.”

You tried to fight against his claims but your mouth was muffled by the foam of the toothpaste. Wonwoo laughs at your struggle and walks towards the sink as well to mirror what you’re doing. Your playful glare was returned by Wonwoo with a wink. You fake a disgusted gag and the two of you just laugh altogether.

Wonwoo’s concerns earlier were thrown out the window the moment his eyes saw your smile and ears heard your laughter. He’s confident on how his heart fluttered at the thought of sharing every morning like this with you. A few banters or bickering here and there but if it ends up with a warm hug and breathtaking kiss then he won’t complain.

“I have to go back to my room,” you say as you wipe your face with a towel. “For real this time.”

Wonwoo pouts and holds your waist. “I told you it’s still early.”

“Wonwoo, it’s already seven thirty in the morning,” you tell him after giving the clock on the wall a quick glance.

Wonwoo doesn’t relent and wraps his arms around you. “And? Don’t people sleep in while they’re on vacation?”

“Let’s just meet at breakfast,” you dodge his question and untangle his arms from your body, to which he protests against. “Wonwoo.”

He doesn’t let you go as you walk towards the door. You’re dragging a six foot tall baby giant and you don’t even know if you can actually reach the door at this rate.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Wonwoo, please—”

“Aha!” The door suddenly opens and to your dread, it’s the Queen. “I knew I’d find you here!”

What ensued in the early hours of the morning is something you wish to not be spoken about as you and Wonwoo carried on with breakfast. The Prince still insists that he locked his door and you are a witness of that, in spite of getting lost in each other’s heated kisses last night. But then again, his mother is the Queen and it’s no question that she’d have keys to every single room of the Royal Residences.

Plus, Her Majesty was more than pleased to see the two of you getting along so well that you even share a room and bed together. You apologized profusely at the breakfast table but all you remember is her dropping it by saying how welcome you are to stay at Wonwoo’s bedroom from now on and if you wish, she’ll have your luggage moved right this instant.

Wonwoo was embarrassed, but he doesn’t disagree with his mother’s suggestion. He knows she’s joking so he played along even though it earned him a painful pinching on his thigh under the table.

His Majesty already left by seven sharp for his scheduled meeting with the cabinet members hence the absence at breakfast.

After a hearty breakfast and relentless teasing, you and Wonwoo proceed with the agenda for the day. The Queen gave a short briefing on what the day has in store for the two of you. She regretfully informs you on how long and tiring it might get, but assured you that it will be only for today and afterwards the two of you can have the freedom to explore and do whatever you want for the coming days.

You and Wonwoo have had similar busy days even before you got engaged so this is something you’re already used to. It’s just that this time it’s a different load because you’re doing it together as a couple. You must say it’s nerve wracking, but Wonwoo is here and he will be with you every step of the way.

The Queen excused herself a little while later, leaving you and Wonwoo remained seated to wait for the staff to finish preparations for your departure.

As you look around the pristine garden, Wonwoo catches you by surprise with a kiss on your shoulder. You could barely feel it from the button up you’re wearing, but let him be nonetheless. He leans his forehead on said shoulder and you do the same to the top of his head.

“Still sleepy?” You ask and you can feel him nod.

“I can already see myself falling asleep in the car.”

You snort at his dramatics and lightly tap his cheek.

Wonwoo then abruptly lifts his head up and juts his lips in a pout. “We should have slept in.”

“Her Majesty will not hesitate to wake us up,” you remind him while shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

“No she won’t!” He insists and holds your hand. “She’d think “poor babies, I should let them sleep.””

You let out an uncontrollable giggle. “That’s not how it works Wonwoo. For one, we’re literal adults in adult bodies and second, we can’t escape this whether we like it or not.”

Wonwoo couldn’t argue with you anymore so he opted to narrow his eyes at you instead. He attempted but Jeongyeon’s arrival cut him off. She happily announces that the car is already at the front and that you’re good to go. Wonwoo mumbles “we’ll talk about this later” to you when he stands up and takes your hand.

You just nod your head to let the baby in him win.

Timely enough, Wonwoo’s alma mater is celebrating its founding anniversary and they invited the “Royal Couple” - as they call the two of you these days - to say a few words of motivation to the student body, most especially those who are about to graduate.

It was only supposed to be Wonwoo, but when the news of you joining the Prince for his homecoming spread, they didn’t think twice to invite you as well. You were more than okay to just let Wonwoo do his thing and watch from the sidelines or through a livestream, but you considered that it’s only right and polite to introduce yourself properly to your future husband’s people.

So far, the people from yours and his have been very welcoming and supportive of your union. However, you can’t be complacent because a minor slip up by public figures like the two of you will not be tolerated by the people who have the potential to be cruel.

The university’s biggest auditorium was booming and vibrating from the loud cheers and claps of every student and school official present when your arrival was announced. Men and women alike cheered specifically for their Prince and senior who returned the enthusiasm welcome with a strong wave and bright smile.

You do the same beside him until you both reach the designated chairs near the stage. A bouquet of flowers was presented for you by some students to which you gladly accept. Wonwoo keeps your hand clasped with his, only letting go to shake hands with his previous professors.

Shortly after, the crowd quiets down and the president of the university stands at the podium and officially opens the program.

You’re nervous. That’s the least you can say out of all the emotions that’s running through you at the moment. You think you look awfully awkward and stiff with your posture and you’re afraid that this could be on the front page of every newspaper the next morning. Your appearance should be the least of your worries right now, but you can’t help but feel conscious.

Wonwoo must have noticed because he took hold of your hand that’s placed on the arm rest, giving it gentle squeezes and a quick kiss. This is him letting you know that he’s right here and that you’re okay. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been holding your breath all this time. You exhale and squeeze his hand back. It makes you wonder if he felt as nervous as you are now when he made similar appearances back at your kingdom.

“Thank you, your Highness, for accepting our invitation,” the dean of the Medical and Health Sciences department, who took the microphone after the president’s opening, says and claps at your direction.

You and Wonwoo stand up to wave once again to the clapping crowd, their energy not dying anytime soon.

Wonwoo is then invited to go up the stage to grace the students who have been waiting to hear his voice since the program started. He takes the microphone from the dean after he shakes his hand.

“The last time I was here, I was about to graduate,” he starts and the expecting crowd listens. “I was younger and you know, really excited and relieved that school is finally over and I’m free!”

The students laugh and so do you.

Wonwoo continues, “It didn’t cross my mind that I’ll be standing here again and be embraced by your kindness. I will make this short as I’m sure that you’d much rather prefer the festivities outside instead of being here,” he tries to humor and the students disagree with him.

“The people first,” he emphasizes and points his forefinger up, “As someone who is delegated to do various activities responsibly, I do it not for my image or the cabinet or even my family. I do it because of the people, because of you,” he says and gestures his hand to them.

“Likewise, as a doctor, I do my job responsibly with the people I’m serving in mind. I do it for their well-being, safety and overall survival. That’s my purpose and I hope that as you have yours, you remember to be selfless because that’s what we need the most. I congratulate you in advance, for those who have only started and for those who are about to cross the finish line. Congratulations because I know and I believe that you’ll do well and even better. Just hang in there a little bit more and take breaks if you need to. I hope to see you around someday, wherever it may be.”

You don’t know if it’s your imagination playing tricks on you, but Wonwoo seems to be dashing and blinding as ever. The way he stood and spoke gracefully made him shine as if he’s the only light that’s being illuminated inside this auditorium.

Wonwoo ends his speech with a sincere thank you and a polite bow. The crowd claps and cheers for him (for the nth time). The school officials went to the stage and gave him flowers as well, to his surprise, before proceeding to have their pictures taken to commemorate the event.

You clap just like everyone else and watch Wonwoo with your smile never disappearing. It didn’t take long for the Prince to search for you and meet your eyes. With a wide smile, you give him two thumbs up. In response, he charmingly winks at you.

You can’t believe you like this guy.

I like him, you realized.

You’re just realizing that now after doing almost everything with him. Holding hands, sharing kisses here and there, hugging each other’s warm bodies and even spending the night together.

Yeah, I like him.

Lunch had to be short because you have one more place to visit. Jeongyeon mentioned that the drive could last approximately forty minutes to an hour. If you want to get back to the residences before it gets too dark, you need to get moving. You just grabbed a honey bread, which was Wonwoo’s recommendation since it’s his favorite and it’s the kingdom’s famous delicacy. You accompanied it with a cup of tea meanwhile Wonwoo got himself a cup of coffee.

The two of you ate your quick bites inside the moving vehicle and it was a stretch to not spill your beverages. The driver had to slow down every once in a while, but you and Wonwoo just giggled like some teenagers out on their first date.

Twenty minutes in the drive, Wonwoo is already passed out with his head laid on your shoulder while his fingers are interlaced with yours. You’re not sure if Wonwoo is tired or if he’s just really a sleepyhead by how much he’s been sleeping since the two of you arrived. Well, it’s only your second day. But you clearly remember how he slept on your way here, then today on the way to the university and now to your next destination.

Nonetheless, you let him be because this will last for two weeks only and after that, he’ll be back to his hospital duty schedule. And you won’t deny, he is definitely cute with his mouth ajar.

You have been to an orphanage several times before. Usually it’s with your parents as an official duty and other times, it’s just you. After witnessing various cases involving children at your internship at the Supreme Court, a purpose arose.

Children in your kingdom, like in any other kingdom, are beyond valued and laws are enacted to emphasize that value. Any crime committed against children is corresponded by punishments, regardless of who and what you are.

You haven’t handled a case firsthand and you hope to never do so.

This visit is nothing new to you and Wonwoo. But the heartbreak each time you step foot at such a place is something you’ll never get used to.

The children of the orphanage were nothing but full of joy when you and Wonwoo stepped out of the car. Their smiles and waves were enough to put a smile on your faces and lift the heavy burden of today’s affairs. Some of the kids ran to the two of you and handed flowers and small trinkets as gifts. One of them proudly said that they made it during their arts and crafts classes. While the others agreed saying how they made it just for you.

You and Wonwoo have your hearts swelling in adoration.

Hand in hand, you and Wonwoo followed the head caretaker as he toured you around. The facilities were of great condition, making it a healthy environment for the children as they play, study and grow. Right now, the orphanage only offers elementary education as there is only a small number of orphaned teenagers. But that doesn’t mean that they are taken care of any less.

A lot of changes and improvements have been made as the kingdom made an effort to protect the welfare of children in the country. According to the caretaker, there has been a spike of abandoned children on the streets from the previous year and to say that they are alarmed is an understatement. Volunteers, mostly teachers from elementary schools, protested and appealed to the kingdom’s cabinet members to do something and accordingly enough, they did.

It was a gradual process and it still is. But to them slow is better than unmoving.

After the program where the children presented a play of the turtle and the hare and the older brothers and sisters performed a dance number, you and Wonwoo were led by the caretaker to the gallery where photos that dated back to the establishment of the orphanage were displayed.

The photos hold memories of past volunteers and children who used to live here. Some stories of the children before were saddening. They didn’t only lose their real parents, oftentimes they also lose the second chance of having one. Some do get adopted meanwhile some grow old here, considering the orphanage as their sole family. It was difficult and eventually, the orphanage faced trials that almost caused its closure.

But the perseverance and sacrifices of the people here fought against those trials that helped the orphanage’s service to continue to this day.

“These are the children who got adopted this year,” the caretaker shows you a framed photo while the Prince spoke with the volunteer doctor about the health and wellness of the children.

The kids in the photo donned innocent smiles as if they were smiling directly at you. You touch the glass of the frame and try to embed their faces on your mind just like how you did to those you have met today.

You pray that they get to be happy forever.

You don’t get to see the sunset as much. The sunrise, maybe. But sunsets are a rare sight for you because of how late you stay at your office every day. So when Wonwoo suggested to stop by the nearest beachside and watch as the sun sets, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Wonwoo is the opposite. The sunset is closer to his heart because that’s usually the time where he catches a break. He’s go-to place to take in the majestic view is at the hospital’s rooftop. Sometimes Soonyoung accompanies him with dinner and sometimes he’s all by himself with a warm cup of coffee.

It’s a bit cold as you walk barefoot on the sand. It’s a relief that you’re wearing the pants that Jeongyeon prepared for you among the other options.

Wonwoo’s holding your one hand while you’re using the other to carry the heels you wore today. Security is lurking around as they give you the space and free time that you need. Today has been eventful but fun. And ending it with a peaceful walk on the beach only comforts you further.

“You were cool today,” you speak up against the sound of the waves and bump your shoulder to his. “Earlier at the university.”

Wonwoo smirks, but hangs his head low. “I’m always cool.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

After a few hundreds of steps, Wonwoo pulls you down to sit. He keeps his hands locked with yours as you take the last minutes of the ablaze color of the sky which is also reflected on the water.

“What do you think of going to my family’s vacation home tomorrow?” He asks while smiling at you.

You pretend to think for a second. “I really can’t say no to that, can I?”

Wonwoo purses his lips. “No, not really.”

“Well then, I think it would be lovely,” you finally answer.

Wonwoo took advantage of you facing him and stole a kiss from your lips. Your eyes widen with the fleeting contact while your cheeks burn in spite of the cold breeze coming from the ocean. The Prince laughs at your reaction and pulls you closer to him with his arms wrapped around your waist.

“From my memory of last night, you kissed me first.”

You threw daggers at him with your glare and hit his arm. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What? You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” He acts hurt and clutches the middle of his chest. “I’m hurt, Princess.”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter under your breath and Wonwoo grins in victory.

“You started it so you’re gonna have to keep your end of the deal,” he whispers as he snuggles his face to your neck. “You’re marrying me after all.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wonwoo suddenly draws back and gazes into your eyes.

“What?” You ask, confused.

“Kiss me.”

You push him away and stand up. “You know what, it’s getting cold. I want to go back to the car.”

“No!” Wonwoo holds onto your calf to prevent you from escaping. “You have to kiss me first!”

He seems to have forgotten that you’re not the only people enjoying the beach by how he’s acting and it’s starting to get embarrassing. He doesn’t seem to care as well because he remains persistent, hugging your leg and whining against it.

“Okay, okay!” You appease him and secure your hand on his cheeks. “Just one and we’re leaving.”

Wonwoo promises with a nod and stands up. He wraps his arms around your waist again, hugging you close to his chest. You rest your hands on them and stand on your toes to finally reach his expecting lips.

You give him a quick close-mouthed peck and that’s it.

“You call that a kiss?” Wonwoo teases, tightly holding you because he’s not taking any chances of you escaping him again.

“I’m starting to dislike you,” you say while pouting.

“Not if I do this,” he refutes and pulls your chin up so that he can lean down to kiss you fully.

Just like that, Wonwoo steals your breath again and you don’t even know anymore if it’s doing your heart good or not.

You’re guessing it’s the former.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo seventeen #fic: ifliys

358 notes · View notes

wasabito · 4 years

Text

hate to love you | dabi x reader

18+, minors dni please!

wordcount: 2.4k

tags: smut, rough(ish) sex, fingering, slight choking, Dabi’s lowkey manipulative

synopsis: did your traitorous heart make the stupid decision to fall in love with him again, or had you always been his to keep?

“You seriously can’t keep coming here whenever you feel like it, Dabi,” you whisper while scrubbing at your weary eyelids, “If someone sees you, you’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble.”

A true statement and yet it takes no further prodding or convincing at all for you to crack open your window at three in the morning, and allow your ex to clamber through the fire escape. There are sirens blaring in the distance; the high-pitched wailing of fire trucks are a familiar sound, especially in this part of the city. You’ve told yourself that intrusions like these are exactly what you deserve for not cutting him off like the cancerous leech that he is.

Willpower alone can’t keep you from wrinkling your nose, considering how his clothes smell of ash under a faint layer of nicotine. It tells a far better story of his recent crime than anything he could ever say out of his mouth. These days you don’t bother asking. There isn't much of a point in doing so when all you are sure to receive is another sugar-coated lie.

“Don’t be like that, doll face,” he smirks. “I’ve gotta lot more tact than you’re giving me credit for. ”

Terrible, you think. And shameless too. Yes, Dabi is undoubtedly these things, but for all of his depravity and lack of care, you still can’t find it in yourself to turn him away.

He cracks a little smile at you, like he’s read your very thoughts. “What? You don’t trust me anymore?”

You don’t respond, and simply climb back into bed, pointedly ignoring the dark stain of blood on his coat. He may have your heart, but your trust is something you vow to never let him have again. With classes resuming for the semester, you are far too preoccupied with internships and scholarship applications to entertain an ex-boyfriend slash wanted criminal, especially one recently associated with The League of Villains.

It had been different back when he was just some nameless petty criminal, but these days his face was plastered all over the news. That wasn’t the kind of person you ever foresaw yourself getting involved with and yet here you are.

You hear the rustling of clothes and figure he’s probably going to steal one of your oversized hoodies again, all the while leaving his bunched up coat in the laundry bin for you to take care of later. It would give him all the more reason to return to your apartment under false pretenses.

Over the past few months you’ve learned to anticipate his tricks, it’s the only way you can keep yourself from living the rest of your days behind bars. Aiding and abetting is what this is… if you were to ever be caught, you’d have to say he forced you. That you had no choice. That you feared for your life.

“You seriously mad at me or what?” He drawls. The thud of his heavy boots echo through the room, but a quick glance over your shoulder tells you that he’s merely taken them off. Dabi pins you with a stare, brows quirked like he’s genuinely confused, if not mildly annoyed, but that doesn’t shake you. You only freeze when you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his knee.

The warmth of his breath ghosts your cheek as he says, “Scoot over.”

Is he serious right now? Why should you let him back into your bed after all he’s put you through?

“No.” you turn away, “Just take whatever it is you need and leave.”

There is silence for a few seconds but you know he hasn’t moved yet, not even an inch.

“C’mon, angel,” he pokes your side playfully, gazing unwaveringly at you from under his hooded eyelids. “I’ll be out of your hair before you even wake up.”

Chewing your lip, you heave out a sigh, and shift forward to make enough room for him to join you. No matter what you’ve said in the past, he’s always been the one in control. You feel like such an idiot, merely posturing while Dabi holds the reins.

He slides in behind you, pressing his body against yours; his arms looping around your waist in a way that is so familiar a pleasant hum nearly falls from your lips. You realize belatedly that he’s shirtless and the fabric of your tank top is far too thin to block the feel of hard sinew and muscle pressed so nicely against your back. Your shaky resolve crumbles to ruin in the presence of his blue flames.

Dabi continues to chat you up, regardless of your lack of response. You’re surprised. He isn’t usually so talkative, but apparently outmaneuvering the cops and getting away scot-free has a way of raising one's spirits.

Your body is slotted against his like a puzzle piece, like you are made for one another. Mid conversation his warm hands palm the fleshy skin of your stomach, giving you a soft caress. So caught up in the feel of it, you almost miss his next words.

“—missed you.”

Your thoughts stutter. For the briefest of moments, you think the words have come from you, but they surely haven’t.

Dabi presses a light kiss to your neck, as if to show that he means it—that in the month spent apart, he had missed you more than anything. And you can't help but shiver; you blame the staples on his chin that are cold in contrast to the heat from his mouth.

His kisses become firmer, and more intentional as he lures you into a feeling of contentment. Your body remembers him oh so well—and it wants what it clearly shouldn’t have.

“We aren’t together anymore, Dabi,” you rasp, “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

And why not, a tiny voice chimes in the back of your head.

There are several, logically sound, and pragmatic reasons as to why you shouldn’t let Dabi fuck you into next week. It’s a shame, really, you’re far too tired, far too bewitched by this man to really sum up the effort to name them. Not even for your own sake.

“Just a quickie,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One of Dabi’s hands dip between your thighs and he knows he’s won when you part them without thought.

He squeezes the fat of your thigh like he’s done so many times in the past, fingers digging deliciously into your skin. “Mine.”

His fingers encourage you to loosen up a little, as he grinds his clothed dick against your ass.

The trail of kisses start from your shoulder and lead up to your jaw. All the while, Dabi keeps his other arm around your waist to hold you close. He sinks blunt teeth into the crook of your neck, licking languidly at the crescent shape left behind. He continues to nip and suck on the skin there until your heady moans leave you breathless and whiny. But none of it is enough to get your attention off the way he prods you with his index and middle finger through your shorts.

“You sound so sexy, baby.” he chuckles, “You gonna make more of those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

You don’t have an answer, simply put, you can’t think of anything else right now, other than the hand slipping past your panties, rubbing slow circles against the hood of your clit.

“Da-Dabi, please... more,”

At the sound of your wanton voice, Dabi sinks two fingers into you, thrusting his long digits, and coaxing you until you’ve soaked them with your juices. In response, you grind down against his hand, thighs clenching. He hits you with a series of slow pumps each time his wrists twist. You reach forward and grip his hand, wanting nothing more but for him to curl his fingers and hit the sweet spot.

“I know, babe, I know.” He murmurs, kissing your neck, but instead of continuing, Dabi pulls out you. He shifts until he’s quite literally looming over your form.

Though the room is mostly dark, the street lamp outside your window casts a slant beam of orange light into the bedroom. It’s more than enough for you to see Dabi’s grin, and the way his lips pull back to reveal a row of perfect teeth.

He’s handsome, even with the scars, and damaged skin. You could even argue that Dabi is increasingly more handsome because of them.

“You’re lookin’ at me pretty funny,” he says while straddling your hips. “Got something to say?”

You’ve been more silent than usual during this entire exchange, barely saying more than a few whispered pleas for more, but the heat in your belly grows. Heart pounding and tongue dry, you somehow manage to maintain eye contact.

Dabi was your first. The first person to make you feel wanted and alive. The first to bring you to the precipice of mind-boggling pleasure until you were quite literally seeing stars. It’s true that he was an asshole, and it’s true that this new route he’s taken scares you more than anything. But when you look at him, your heart insists that this is still the same man you had fallen for.

“Handsome.” You mumble, averting your eyes. “I was just thinking… about how handsome you are.”

At that admission, you take his fingers, the same he’d just fingered you with, into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, sucking lightly. Dabi shudders. His blue eyes seem to glow with want and... something else that you can’t describe, but it’s tender and unguarded.

Dabi pulls his fingers from your mouth, replacing them his own. His lips shift against yours, tongue prodding until you open up. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against your chest, dragging him into your orbit. You aren’t certain when he had become the very moon on its axis, keeping the tides and seasons of your earth in perfect rhythm, but you do know that the emptiness you feel without him isn’t normal.

Fumbling hands follow the shirking of jeans. At some point your thin little top is pulled off and tossed into a corner. And soon enough, he’s pressing himself into you. The tip of his cock is just barely past your folds before you’re taking him in.

“Fuck!” Dabi braces a hand on your pillow. The other rests on your throat with a slight pressure, enough to make your walls clench around him.

It’s been a while for your ex; you can tell by the way he keeps his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway, because you’d thought he would have moved on to someone else by now.

Dabi’s brows are pinched, and he’s being rougher than usual, still you get the sense that he’s savoring this. Like it’s his last meal. Like he may not ever get a chance like this again. It’s ridiculous for you to lament the final nail in the coffin of your relationship with Dabi, especially considering all the shit he’s caught up in now.

But, unfortunately, your heart operates on a separate plane from the rest of you.

It wants what it wants.

His hips snap forward, knocking into yours in a rapid pace that has tension knotting in your gut. You wrap your legs around his hips, high off the feeling of him so deep in you. The drag of his cock in your pussy has your toes curling. The pleasure is so much you can barely think. His groans and your choked back whimpers fill the room. You even attempt to bite into the back of your hand, just to keep them at bay, but Dabi isn’t having any of that.

“Don’t you dare hold back. I wanna hear you tell me how good I make you feel.”

The look in his eyes is so fervent and heated and feral, it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core. Your thighs are coated in your own slick enough for him to slip in and out with ease. He smirks, licking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, eager to get you off. Your hips jerk in response to the way he’s rubbing and fucking you all at once.

“Dabi,” you cry out. “Yes!”

Sweat licks at your brow causing the little fine hairs around your hairline to stick to your skin.

Dabi presses his face right into your neck, and with each throaty groan that escapes his lips, you feel your gut twist with yearning. You reach up and grip his hair, causing him to groan even louder as he fucks you into oblivion.

“You feel so fucking good, angel, goddamn you’re gripping me so damn tight, fuck—” his babbling continues and you know he’s getting close. Dabi knows it too, so he slows down enough for him to reach around his back and grasp your ankles from around his waist. “You want me to fuck you harder? Hm?”

“Please—I want you so bad.” You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more. Hearing you say those words makes Dabi chuckle.

He parts your thighs as far they can go, pinning them to the mattress. You hadn't thought it possible, but in this new position he sheathes himself even deeper than before, so much so, that your pussy milks him for all he has, walls spasming uncontrollably around his cock. The cry that falls from your mouth is smothered by a pair of lips.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and soon Dabi’s hips are stuttering against your own. He pulls out quickly, cumming all over your stomach, with a growl and a stroke of his hand.

For a moment the room is silent, save for your harsh breathing. Dabi collapses at your side, all fucked out and sweaty. His eyes never leave yours, even as he battles with fatigue.

As for you, the ache between your legs is a pleasant one you don’t bother complaining about as you clean yourself in the bathroom.

Upon return, you find that Dabi is sitting up in bed with a contemplative look on his face. You don’t ask what he’s thinking, instead you pull him into your arms and allow his head to rest against your chest.

If this is your last official night together, you’d rather spend it in his arms than alone.

🖤

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #spicy.writings #reader got that gorilla grip lowkey lmao #tw manipulation #tw choking

692 notes · View notes

luvcilfer · 3 years

Text

𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞!

Hq boys + naps!

the boys with a significant other who loves to nap

a/n: totally not inspired by me taking a nap like every. single. day.… what pshhhh. also, this is so long I wasn’t expecting that ahhh >:P

→ Sakusa Kiyoomi, Oikawa Toru, Tsukishima Kei

𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢

he’s not the type to take naps often, if ever. he has a schedule he likes to stick to and really dislikes ever straying from it.

which is why when you two first started dating, he was shocked at how much you slept. he didn’t understand how someone could just decide to sleep in the middle of the day and wake up at the most random times which then left what was planned to the unexpected

he eventually gets used to it, finding comfort in your delicate snores and peaceful face

very rarely takes up your offer to nap with you. like literally almost never naps with you. it took this guy months to finally get comfy with you and cuddle in your sleep at night, but just can’t be bothered to indulge your desires during the day

when you get those occasional bad naps that leave you waking up sweaty with a headache and your shirt sticking to your back, he immediately goes to scold you on how naps aren’t even that great and just mess up your sleeping schedule

however soft little omi will still bring you a damp towel to wipe away your sweat and to try to alleviate your headache (mostly because he just doesn’t want to touch you when you’re sweaty but also wants you to feel better fast)

will insist the sheets/blankets be washed immediately if you did end up sweating

but on the rare days where he does find himself feeling a little more tired than usual and is not particularly busy, he’ll make an excuse like “want to watch a movie?” to lure you into his plan

He had just gotten home from another gruesome practice with the black jackals and all he wanted to do was take a nice long shower and go to bed. About a week or two ago he had started waking up earlier in order to get more practice time in since the team was facing a difficult opponent in the coming weeks. You didn’t mention it to him but you could see how his movements had become slightly more sluggish than his usual self.

“Hey omi, how was your practice today” you smile at him from your comfy spot on the couch. He notices you still in your shorts and his t-shirt you wore to bed so he figured you just worked from home today. “The same as always babe, nothing new” he contently sighed, ready to be enveloped in your arms.

While he goes to take his shower, you decide to get up from the couch and move into the office to get some more work done on your computer before your daily nap. When Sakusa finally comes out, he doesn’t see you in your usual spot and unconsciously frowns, no longer having an excuse to lie with you anymore.

He spots the door to the office open and starts to plan how to clandestinely get you to suggest a nap. He finally settles on asking you “hey babe, you want to help me analyze the opponent team’s last game?” You were a little surprised he asked. Yes, you go to every single one of his games and have some knowledge of the sport but you weren’t the best at giving helpful commentary.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” you smile after a moment and start to save your work and clean up the small mess you had created. You walk into the living room where Sakusa usually watches all of the matches but you don't see him sitting on the couch intensely staring at the screen as he commonly does.

“Omi?” you call out, “Omi where are youuu?” you say in a sing-song manner. You can already hear some cheers coming from the tv in your bedroom so you start to make your way into the room until abruptly stopping at the door frame to stare at the picture in front of you.

Sakusa was already watching the match, however, he wasn’t sitting at the edge of the bed. Instead, he was leaning against the bed frame with the outline of his stretched out legs peeking under the covers. “Omi,” you laugh, “what are you doing watching it here? And why are you so far from the tv, you can barely even see the plays that well.” He does a small huff and rolls his eyes, “are you going to watch it with me or not?” he asks, cleverly avoiding your questions with the teeniest pink tint reaching his cheeks. The idea of you finding out he wants to initiate a cuddle and nap session with you has him suddenly feeling a bit shy and awkward, so he masks it with his cool and collected persona obviously.

You climb into bed with him and lean on on the bed frame just like him, but also being considerate and giving him some space. Sakusa turns his head over to look at you and raises an eyebrow, followed by a small pout. You think you know what he’s thinking so you scooch over a bit farther which erupts another sigh and eye roll from Sakusa.

Finally getting impatient he huffs out “ugh, just come here already.” He lifts himself up a bit in order to loop one arm around your waist and the other under your thighs and he plops you down right next to him. You’re suddenly filled with delight and can’t hide the huge smile that’s overcome your face as you scoot yourself lower down to not be leaning on the frame any longer. You interlock your legs and let your arms wrap his torso as you lay your head on his firm chest and close your eyes. Sakusa is finally at ease as he senses your gentle deep breaths reach his body. Trying his best to not move you too much, he starts to remove his shirt which results in disrupting you when your droopy eyes open. You look up at him and see a sheepish smile and small blush decorating his face as you finally sense his smooth bare skin under your arms. A confused expression etches itself onto your face as a blush makes its way to your cheeks as well.

𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐮

he’s more of the tender type so he’s really understanding whenever you just want to stay in and cuddle into slumber

he finds it so cute how you’re always so sleepy and just ready to pounce into bed under fluffy covers

it works out because the two of you can get some much-deserved rest after overworking yourselves (although Oikawa would never admit and claims he just does it to please you)

sometimes he even falls asleep before you do, unconsciously wrapping his arm around your side and pulling yourself into him so he can use you as a pillow

truly is just a big baby that loves physical attention so he’ll immediately get happy whenever he’s not busy and just sees you waddle up to him with a big blanket enveloping your body and only allowing your face to peek through

that being said, he does become whiny whenever you’ve been sleeping for too long and he suddenly gets bored

he’ll proceed to poke and prod your face until he sees your face contort from mellow to a grumpy and sleepy expression (which he finds adorable)

if that doesn’t wake you up he’ll whip out his phone and start taking silly selfies with your sleeping self

he’ll even go as far as looking around the place for a marker to draw on your face purely because he misses you being awake and giving him his much-deserved attention

it’s safe to say that when you wake up and notice “property of Toru” in big red letters on your forehead, he got attention from you, just not what he was looking for

You and Oikawa had spent the morning practicing volleyball with his nephew at a park close to your shared apartment and had just gotten home after dropping him off with his mom. The morning was filled with you running back and forth from Takeru to the ball he frequently hit too hard or bumped the wrong way.

Oikawa had gotten the easier job of just setting the ball to him and correcting him on his form every now and then while you had to be ready to sprint for the ball unless you wanted to be met with teasing jokes from both Oikawa and Takeru, the latter being heavily influenced by his uncle.

When you finally got home you drank some cold water, allowing its iciness to refresh your mind and body, and changed into some comfier clothes while Oikawa went to shower. You were both starving from all the previous physical exertion so you made some snacks for you two to enjoy.

Too distracted in making the food, you didn’t hear the water shut off and Oikawa making his way to your bedroom to lie down. After finishing your portion you went to check on Toru only to find him snuggled under the covers clutching your favorite squishy pillow. You had to admit he looked extra adorable with his slightly parted lips and long eyelashes.

So you did what any sane person would do and did a little run and jump plopping down right next to your now awake boyfriend. “y/n-chaaan,” he whined, “why’d you wake me uppp. Come here and lie down with your pretty boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky behavior and snatched your pillow back from between his arms. “Fine,” he huffed out, “I’ll just get a new pillow” he announced and jumped on your body toppling both you and him down to the bed as he rubs his hands up and down your sides and starts giving you kisses all over your face, from your nose to your eyes to your cheeks.

“Ugh, Toru get off of me, you’re too heavy” you whine as he pulls back and pouts at you with big puppy eyes. He suddenly got a cheeky smile and flips you two so that your knees are now straddling his waist and he wraps his arm around your back to pull you into his chest. He knows your sides and neck are extremely sensitive so he starts rubbing his nose on your neck while squishing and tapping on your sides, throwing you into a laughing fit.

But Toru underestimated you and you snaked your arms up to his armpits tickling him as well. You both can’t hold in your laughter and are just squirming with the biggest goofiest smiles adorning your faces.

You two finally settled back down with tears in your eyes and ragged breaths escaping your mouths. Oikawa's arms once again snake around your waist and pull your body on top of him as he carelessly drags his fingertips along your smooth skin making random shapes and movements.

After Oikawa wakes up to your tangled bodies he stretches and gently places you off of his own to go busy himself with some tasks he has to finish. But he quickly got through with all of them and even began to tidy around the house but you still weren’t up yet.

“What is taking y/n so long,” he muttered to himself as he walks into your bedroom. You’re still cuddling into your pillow with a pleased look on your face, no doubt having a nice dream. He slowly makes his way onto the bed and lies down on his stomach, propping his elbows up and his face into his hands as he stares at you.

Oikawa soon starts to poke and pull your cheeks in the hopes of waking you, but to no avail, you stay sound asleep. He boops your nose and starts to count any little beauty marks on your skin while truly letting your beauty become engraved in his mind. He turns to lie on his back and lifts your hand with his own comparing the size difference and enjoying the smooth delicate feeling they bring to his own rougher hands.

He pulls out his phone and starts whipping out the silly faces for the camera, posting every single one of them on his social media for the world to see. He poses with the peace sign out, his tongue out, him squishing your face, him licking your cheek, literally any pose he can think of.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a stray marker-like thing lying on your vanity and curiosity gets the best of him. He picks it up and swatches a bit of the red pigment on his hand before turning to your peaceful face and getting to work.

“Toru, baby, what time is it?” you yawn rubbing your eyes. When you wipe some hair out of your face you see that your fingertips are suddenly colored red. You walk up to your mirror and notice the big bold letters spelling out “Property of Toru” your boyfriend so sweetly decided to decorate you with.

“Toru! You better get your ass over here!” you yell as you abruptly heard a high pitched squeal and laughs being drowned out by the pattering of Toru running away.

𝐓𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐞𝐢

like Sakusa, he doesn’t really find naps to be all that enticing and doesn’t like to veer off from his plans for the day

he’ll sometimes get annoyed at the fact that you’re always sleeping but he enjoys the days that you two can spend together alone without having to be surrounded by other annoying people so the annoyance soon dissipates

sometimes he’ll have some work that had to be taken home to review and he’ll find comfort in your blissful sighs in your sleep as he reads some article

literally will glance at you hugging your pillow tightly a million times until he finally decides to just stare at you from his side of the bed with a soft smile on his face

will sneak a picture of you to tease you with when you wake up (however, he secretly makes it his wallpaper on his phone)

he’ll never admit to it but he actually really likes when you’re out in public and he suddenly feels your arms envelope one of his in a hug

when he looks down at you and sees that you’ve got that dazed look with the droopy eyelids and tired eyes he just wants to take his hand and squish your face (don’t ask why, idk either it just fits)

and then on the way home and he feels your head droop and rest on his shoulder while you guys ride the train he’ll rest his head over yours too

sometimes though, he’ll find himself sitting up so your neck is resting on his arm now and won’t be bent, preventing you from waking up with any discomfort

since his arm movement is limited, he’ll place his hand on your waist and pull you in tighter so you’re now resting atop his chest

It was the weekend and you and Tsukki decided it would be nice to go into town to get some things needed for your apartment. You two woke up early and got some breakfast in a nice little cafe that was quiet and tranquil. Heading to the shops, you all walked around hand in hand looking at decorations you could buy for your home.

“Look Kei, what about this!” you awed at a big cookie jar in the shape of a baby panda. “We don’t need anything fueling your sugar addiction y/n,” he rolled his eyes as he took the jar out of your hands placed it back on the shelf, taking your hand back into his. “So mean Kei,” you pouted and started walking ahead of him.

After browsing through some more stores you finally agree that you’ve gotten everything you guys needed and commence your walk back to the train station. Taking your time with your walk, you two admire the scenery of cherry blossom petals drifting through the slight breeze that ruffles both of y’alls hair. With his free hand, Tsukki moves to fix your hair back to its previous neatness and caresses your face, allowing the pleasant ambiance to be absorbed.

“Oooh Kei, let’s go there pleasee!” you beg as you tug at your boyfriend’s sleeve with one hand and point to a small ice cream stand near a quaint bridge. With the hand not being tugged by you, the one still carrying your shopping bag, he pinches his nose and sighs. He still lets you drag him to the small stand however and buy him his favorite ice cream flavor.

A little further up the path was a small bench that allowed you and Tsukki to rest and place the shopping bags down.

“Hey Kei guess what,” you goofily smile at him. “Yes, y/n?” he turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sleepy,” you giggle knowing it will probably cause him to roll his eyes or let out a sigh. Both things ended up happening.

“You know I was just waiting for you to mutter those words this entire day. Come on, loser let’s go home,” he says while throwing away the trash for both of you.

The train station was now closer in view and as more and more people made their way towards it, the space started to become more condensed. It was easy for Tsukki to see over all the commotion and traffic of bodies due to his tall stature but you were having a little harder of a time.

“Kei,” you called out to him while falling behind and he finally notices your struggles. He steps back to get closer to you and you wrap your arms around one of his, snuggling your face into his arm and looking up to him with big doe eyes. He couldn’t help but feel his heart clench as he let a smile make a way onto his face and kissed the top of your head.

Once seated on the train your hands grab Tsukki’s much larger one and play with his fingers, waiting until your stop. Tsukki was pleased with your touch on his body but a few glances your way and he could tell you were just about asleep already. You bring one of your hands up to cover your yawns and lean into Tsukki’s shoulder.

“Tch, what did I tell you about doing that, idiot.” He quickly sat up in a straighter posture and his hand gently grasped your neck to move it into a more comfortable position on his chest while his other hand moved towards your waist, giving you a slight squeeze.

You could hear his heart beating from where your head was resting on his chest, and the small circles he was drawing onto your skin was making your cheeks heat up. As your eyelids started to become heavier and heavier, the last things you felt was Kei’s plush lips on your head and the words, “who let you be such a cute idiot.”

#sakusa x reader #oikawa x reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu x reader #sakusa hcs #oikawa hcs #tsukki hcs #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa toru imagine #oikawa imagine #sakusa imagines #tsukishima imagine #this is really mediocre lol but i'm still gonna post

381 notes · View notes

cyllaeth · 3 years

Text

play with fire

find on ao3

This is going to be a fun ride.

The silence in the car is scary because itʼs uncomfortable and that has never been a problem before. Buck shoots a quick glance at his friend. Eddieʼs eyes are fixated on the road, his jaw so clenched, Buck swears, he can hear his teeth gritting. His hands are on the steering wheel but his grip is so tight, his knuckles are white. Yeah, heʼs definitely mad.

The problem is that Buck doesnʼt know why Eddie is so furious.

Fine.

Maybe he knows. But that doesnʼt mean he understands. Heʼs never seen Eddie that angry. He remembers vividly when Eddie snapped at him in the grocery store right after the lawsuit—but itʼs just a pale comparison to his rage now. It doesnʼt make sense—because Buck didnʼt do anything stupid like another lawsuit—he just... He just did his job.

He risked his life to save someone elseʼs but he does it almost on a daily basis; Eddie does the exact same thing and yet, Buck has never snapped at him. So why is it different now?

Because you almost died today says an annoying voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his sister.

Because you almost died in Eddieʼs fucking arms.

Buck tries to ignore it; he has to ignore it because if he doesnʼt, heʼll drown in guilt and shame. And probably wake up some long forgotten demons.

He canʼt re-live it again and again.

When they stop, he realises, theyʼre in front of Eddieʼs house and heʼs genuinely surprised his friend brought him here.

“This isnʼt my apartment.” He blurts out. He knows itʼs probably the dumbest thing he couldʼve said but he doesnʼt understand why Eddie took him to his home if heʼs pissed off at him. Itʼd be definitely easier to cool off if the source of his anger wasnʼt there, right?

“Like hell Iʼm letting you stay alone after the shit you did.”

Thereʼs something in Eddieʼs voice that makes Buck squirm. He sounds angry, sure, but also hurt, broken. Resigned. He sounds exactly like when Shannon died.

Buck knows that because he was there. He remembers how mad Eddie was at his wife for leaving him and Christopher again, this time for good.

Eventually, Eddie gets out of the car and goes to the house. Buck quietly follows his best friendʼs footsteps and he flinches when Eddie drops off his bag on the floor.

“You can take a shower if you want, Iʼll make up the bed.”

He knows Buck too well; he knows that Buck hates the specific smell of the hospital and always tries to get rid of it as soon as possible. Buckʼs really grateful for that also because he can simply postpone their argument, just for a little bit. Maybe shower will help him cool off because heʼs irritated too but he doesnʼt truly want to fight with Eddie. He goes to the bathroom, takes off his clothes and steps under the shower. He lets the cold water run down his body and he really tries to calm himself; there was enough drama today and yeah, he almost died so he deserves to have a moment of uninterrupted peace. Or so he thinks. Heʼs getting more and more cold and he knows he should get out before Eddie will storm inside and drag him out of the shower. Buck wouldnʼt be even surprised if his friend did something like this.

Then, with a long sigh, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He quickly rinses himself with a towel and slips into his most comfortable clothes. Whatʼs a little funny and maybe even ironic, his favorite grey, worn out t-shirt is actually Eddieʼs and it even smells like him.

Crap.

He really needs to finally leave the bathroom and face his friend but heʼs trying to delay the inevitable by thoroughly brushing his teeth. And then, he doesnʼt find anything else he can do so he goes back to the living room. Heʼs quite surprised that he doesnʼt see the pillows or blanket on the couch because he thought heʼs gonna sleep there and heʼs even more surprised he doesnʼt see Eddie there. He finds him in the kitchen instead, leaning against the counter and nursing his favourite beer. Thereʼs a glimpse of hope in Buckʼs chest that maybe Eddie cooled off a little, that maybe he realised he has exaggerated and his anger isnʼt completely justified. Heʼs wrong, though. Eddie is not even slightly less annoyed and it takes Buck one look at his best friend to realise that.

He sighs again because Eddieʼs anger starts to get on his nerves. He moves closer until he stands against Eddie and looks him in the eye.

“Do what you have to do, letʼs get this over with.” He says with a tiredness in his voice. The only thing he wants right now is sleep, he wants to fall asleep and forget about the whole world for a couple of hours. “If you want to yell at me then be my guest and do it. I donʼt even care.”

“Oh, so now youʼre annoyed at me? Really?” Eddie asks wryly and sets aside the bottle with a little too much force, it almost smashes. Neither of them care anyway. Theyʼre now standing against each other, so close they almost hear each otherʼs heartbeat and they fix each other with a glare.

“Yeah, I am. You act like Iʼve done something wrong, like I wasnʼt supposed to do this and—”

Heʼs cut off by Eddie who lets out a humourless laugh and answers in a higher voice than usual.

“God, do you even listen to yourself? You went to that building all by yourself, you disobeyed Bobbyʼs specific orders to not go there because youʼre you and youʼre above all the orders, right? It doesnʼt matter if Bobby did it because he didnʼt want to risk one of us dying there. But you just couldnʼt listen.”

“Funny thatʼs coming out from the man who cut his rope and almost died in the well.” Buck interjects viciously because heʼs truly angered by now.

Something flashes in Eddieʼs eyes but Buck canʼt name it. He doesnʼt even have the time to think about it because his best friend doesnʼt back out.

“Itʼs not relevant now, weʼre talking about today and your stupid, reckless behaviour. What were you thinking? Or-Or maybe donʼt. You probably werenʼt thinking at all. Obviously. And it almost cost you a life! Your life! How can you be so reckless?!” Eddie shouts and the pain in his voice is very noticeable but Buck pretends to ignore it.

“Iʼm a firefighter. Itʼs kinda in a job description, donʼt you think? Sometimes I have to be a little reckless. Besides, I did save a life and I didnʼt die either, right? Otherwise I wouldnʼt be standing there and listen to you being all pissed.” Buck shrugs like itʼs nothing, like he really doesnʼt care about his life. Itʼs probably another thing he shouldnʼt have said because Eddie straightens up and now, thereʼs almost no space between. For the second Buck thinks Eddie will lash out and just hit him. He kinda wishes he did. But Eddie only sighs heavily and rakes through his hair with frustration.

“God, youʼre driving me crazy, Buckley. Youʼre so dumb and stubborn and you donʼt even stop for a second to think about the consequences of your actions. You donʼt even care what would happen if you actually died, do you?”

Thereʼs something in Eddieʼs voice, something hard to catch and name that stops Buck from responding immediately. His words are ringing in his ears because they are annoyingly true. He didnʼt think about the consequences of his eventual death. He literally just stormed inside the building to find a man despite Bobbyʼs direct order to not go there because it was already too dangerous. He did it anyway, he managed to save a life but he didnʼt manage to get out in time and the whole building just collapsed. He doesnʼt remember much but he certainly remembers being held out by Eddie and his donʼt you dare die here, you dumbass.

It mustʼve been scary, he admits, and he thinks he understands how Eddie mustʼve felt because he also saw his best friend almost dying. But the anger? He still doesnʼt get it.

“Iʼve had a few close calls during the years. Why is it so different now?” He finally asks.

“Because Iʼm in love with you, you asshole!” Eddie cries out. “And you just keep dying on me and I canʼt take it anymore!”

Buckʼs brain short-circuits. He mustʼve died after all, right? There is no real possibility Eddie just told heʼs in love with him. Thereʼs no possibility he may actually reciprocate his feelings. Thereʼs no way itʼs not just his hallucination or some kind of weird dream in his afterlife. But he desperately wants to be the truth, desperately needs validation for his thoughts. So he does the first thing that comes to his mind: he grabs Eddie by the collar of his Henley and crashes their lips together. His friend is definitely surprised, even shocked and for a moment, he does nothing. Buck already starts to panic because he thinks it’s real and he might’ve misheard everything or even projected it and just destroyed their friendship. But then, Eddie suddenly changes position and pushes Buck until he leans against the counter. And when he kisses him, all thoughts and doubts are completely gone from Buckʼs mind. The only things that matter are Eddieʼs lips on his, Eddieʼs hands on his body, Eddie utterly focused on him and that desperate need to fulfil their desire. Buck mightʼve kissed a lot of people in his life; he has had both awkward and amazing kisses but they cannot compete to make out with his best friend. It feels entirely different, maybe because Eddie loves him back. They break apart only for a couple of seconds to take a breath; Buck sits on the counter and brings Eddie closer by the belt. He canʼt take his eyes off him; Eddie looks wonderful with already swollen lips, flushed cheeks and a spark in his eyes. He probably looks no better but he doesnʼt even care.

“I know youʼve probably already noticed but I love you too, asshole.” He says in a teasing voice, inches away from Eddieʼs lips.

“Well, I mightʼve suspected it when you kissed me but itʼs nice to actually hear it. But donʼt even think that you say you love me, bat your eyelashes and kiss me this way and I wonʼt be angry at you.” Eddie warns half-seriously.

“I can try.” Buck just smirks and kisses him again. This time, he also quickly unbuckles the belt Eddieʼs wearing and starts to lift his shirt. His friend doesnʼt even protest, he lets him do whatever he wants and thatʼs why his Henley ends up somewhere on the floor. Then, the blonde moves from his lips to his neck and slowly makes his way down, planting kisses on his chest. Itʼs crazy how quickly their anger turned into lust. Now, the tension between them is much better, more exciting, easy to resolve.

Eddie lets out a loud moan when Buck—this sneaky bastard—grabs his ass and squeezes it.

“Youʼre a menace.” He hisses.

“Oh, you should wait with the sweet talk after Iʼm done with you, Diaz.” Buck grins and he doesnʼt stop with the teasing. He unzips Eddieʼs jeans painfully slowly and Eddie almost whines to hurry up. The younger man notices it and winks at him before he adds. “Although Iʼm not sure if youʼll be able to talk at all.”

“So maybe quit talking, Evan, and show me your skills?”

“As you wish, Edmundo.”

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 fic #lucy writes #lucy's attempt to write

63 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Go the Distance

Prompt: Hello, I absolutely adore your work 🥺😍🥺 your Sanders Sides angst is just so goooood!!! If you're up to it, I'd love to request a fic <3 Virgil has noticed [side(s?) of your choice; they're all good choices, I can't decide ;-;] has been distant and avoiding him and he just can't figure out what he did wrong but it's actually because [side] loves him and are trying to take some time to 'get rid of/push down their feelings' The angster the better but don't push yourself ^ Feel free to add or change whatever Have a great day and no worries if you don't do this 💜💜💜~@im-an-anxious-wreck 💜🖤

Thanks for the prompt babe you’re the best

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, some lite™ angst

Pairings: prinxiety, background platonic dlampr because found family dynamics motherfuckers

Word Count: 4191

Virgil and Roman's relationship hasn't always been, well, great. But it's been getting better!

Or, at least, it was.

Listen, Virgil knows he and Roman haven’t exactly had the most…painless history. Virgil’s introduction to the series was Thomas telling Roman his dream was to get rid of him and, well, Roman was first and foremost loyal to Thomas. Then the whole…insult thing, ducking out, and the absolute mess of the callback wedding debacle, it’s not exactly been smooth sailing.

But—okay, and maybe they’d been a little harsher about things than absolutely necessary, and maybe Roman got hit with the consequences of their fights more than Virgil, and maybe Virgil hadn’t exactly been…overwhelmingly accepting of all of Princey’s little ticks.

But they’d still been talking!

After the wedding, no one was on good terms with anyone save Patton and Janus—and wasn’t that the shock of a lifetime—and Remus and Virgil. Because they made the smart choice and decided ‘nope, fuck that, I’m out.’

It was a good choice. You have any idea how high their scores are in GTFO now? The first rundown’s a fucking cakewalk.

Anyway.

They’d been talking! Virgil still doesn’t know exactly what happened right after—he saw the video, of course he saw the video, but Roman sunk right to his room and there’s a good twelve hours between that and the next time Virgil saw him—but Roman had come out and approached him!

Probably because he was still hurt by the end of the video—which oof, Virgil does not blame him for, that was harsh—and his only options were Logan, Virgil, and Remus and Logan, um, didn’t want to see anyone for a while and Remus is Remus.

Side note: those two have been getting on better. Something about their twin Creativity thing meant Remus knew that Roman was hurting bad before even Thomas did.

But Roman did seek him out, asking him quietly if he had a moment, just a moment, to sit together. Virgil had shrugged and passed it off as nothing only for Princey to literally sit on the floor and not make a fucking noise. He’d frowned and poked his shoulder, asking if he was alright.

“Perfectly fine, Dark and Stormy,” Roman had said lightly, “and I’ll leave you in a moment.”

“But you’re…” Virgil had waved to his silent form. “…not acting like you normally do.”

Roman had laughed. “And here I thought I’d never hear you say you missed me being loud.”

“Now let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Sure enough, a few more seconds had passed and Roman had gotten up, quietly bid Virgil good day, thanked him, and left.

You bet your ass Virgil sunk straight into Patton’s room to ask hey what the fuck did you do to Roman.

Patton had sighed and said that they’re not sure what to do now—‘they’ being Janus and Patton. Virgil, still recovering from the whiplash of those two being close had shaken his head and told them to get it the fuck together.

If he sunk into Remus’s room to ask how to take care of Roman, that’s his business. It’s also his business if he tackled Princey in a hug two minutes later.

So. Talking.

Roman, for all he talks, doesn’t really say much. The few things he does say are easily passed off as jokes, off-handed comments that no one really pays much attention to.

Not that anyone pays nearly enough attention to Roman, come on, guys, he makes it easy.

But Roman talked to Virgil. He’d come in and sit and Virgil would sit next to him, trying to make sure his arm didn’t burst into flames from where it was pressed against Princey—the dude’s a fucking space heater, okay?—just to listen. Some of the time it was Disney rants—okay, most of the time it was Disney rants—but some of the time…

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

Roman looked down at his costume. Today was repair day, unofficially called when Virgil’s hoodie ripped during the night and Roman’s sword cut through his sleeve. Virgil looked up from his own mass of fabric, needle stuck in carefully so he wouldn’t prick himself. He frowned at the look on Roman’s face.

“What’s up, Princey?”

“Do you think my logo looks bad?”

Virgil blinked in shock. Roman didn’t look up and see the surprise on his face, instead running his thumb slowly over the patch on the costume.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Princey?”

“It’s so complicated,” Roman said, still looking down, “Logan and Patton have really simple ones. You have a pretty simple one.”

“Janus doesn’t. Remus doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but they’re…”

Virgil frowned deeper, putting his hoodie on the ground and shifting closer to Roman. The prince didn’t even look up, still clutching his logo in his hands.

“They’re what, Roman?”

Roman swallowed. “…allowed.”

A growl sounded from Virgil’s throat before he knew what was happening.

“And you’re not?”

“Hmm?”

“And you’re not allowed, Roman?” Virgil gripped his shoulder. “Look at me, Princey.”

Roman looked up. Virgil swallowed another growl at the despondent look on the prince’s face. Instead, he gripped Roman’s shoulder tighter.

“No one,” he said firmly, “is allowed to tell you your logo is bad. You hear me?”

Roman blinked.

“I mean it, Roman,” he said, softening his voice a little, “it’s you. It’s yours, no one’s allowed to tell you it’s wrong.”

“So that’s…okay?”

“Yeah, Princey, it’s okay.”

“Oh.” Roman looked back down at his costume. “Okay. Thank you, Virgil.”

“Anytime.”

Virgil would come to be astounded at how much he means that.

Because, really, now that Roman’s talking? Virgil’s fucking shocked that they didn’t realize how much Roman actually has to offer.

First off, Princey’s smart as hell. Sure, L’s the resident braincell but you can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time.

If Logan tries to tell you he’s not a dumbass sometimes he is wrong.

Roman can puzzle solve with the best of them. Do you have any idea how much brainpower it takes to write a story? A script? Understand how all those moving parts fit together and make sense as a whole? Virgil sure as hell didn’t. He spent one afternoon trying to help Roman only for it to end up as Roman explaining what he was doing and Virgil frantically trying to keep up. Don’t even get him started on how impressive the Imagination stuff is.

“It’s my job, Fall Out Brood,” Roman laughs every single time Virgil expresses how fucking cool this is, “have to be good at something.”

And Roman is. He’s good.

Second: Patton may be the heart, Logan may be the brains, but no one is as good at reassuring him as Roman. Probably has something to do with the Creativity gig. Roman had asked, politely, if Virgil would be comfortable telling him what to do when he gets really anxious, whether to leave him alone, get him somewhere safe, get him things, what have you. Virgil had told him, bemused, only to be shuttled into somewhere that screamed safewarmcomfortableeverythingisokay the next time he had a panic attack. Roman, with the lack of shame truly becoming of a theatre kid, had no problems cheering him up by loudly declaring he would fight whatever shadowy figures plagued his little nightmare, swatting at the air with his sword until Virgil’s sobs had turned into giggles. He never made Virgil talk about anything if he didn’t want to, didn’t try to sit and work through things if they weren’t ready, and never touched him unless he’d gotten the okay. The first time Virgil told him he’d be fine with receiving hugs in the aftermath was the warmest he’d felt in years.

Princey gives really good hugs.

Third: Roman’s fucking funny.

Remember the whole ‘smart as hell’ thing? Know how Logan’s funny as fuck too when he lets himself be?

Virgil’s lost count of how many times he’s had to gasp out for Roman to shut the fuck up because his sides hurt too much from laughing. He ends up sprawled across the fucking floor or the couch or Princey’s bed, dying very happily but painfully because Roman won’t stop making him laugh.

Most of the time it’s due to something they’re watching and Roman’ll notice some detail that he picks apart until they’re both howling or Virgil will make one sarcastic comment that turns into a full fucking bit for like…ten minutes. Roman will just keep riffing off of the smallest thing until he’s laughing too hard to keep going—not very likely—or Virgil will flail out desperately and smack him—much more likely.

Princey said he makes fun of the things he loves.

…maybe that’s why he doesn’t make fun of Virgil anymore.

Virgil curls tighter around the pillow, clutching it to his chest. As he rubs his cheek against it, he grimaces. It’s too rough. It’s not warm enough. It doesn’t smell right.

They’d been talking. It had been good.

But that was before.

Before Roman had cautiously approached Logan with an apology, the offering of a new planner for him, the promise to listen to him, hear him out, give him space to speak. Logan had accepted.

Before Roman had opened the border between his and Remus’s side of the Imagination, sending a little puppy scuttling over to his brother’s castle with a note, a dagger, and a vial of acid. It returned as a kitten with a beautifully poisonous rose.

Before Roman had finally, finally, after days of trying, opened the door when Patton knocked, letting him come inside so they could talk, about everything that happened since…well, ever. They hadn’t stopped hugging long enough to walk down the stairs.

Before Roman had let Janus, Janus, take care of him.

And now…

Now Roman didn’t want to be in the same room as him.

It feels as if they’re walking on eggshells around each other again, Virgil appearing in a room only for Roman to completely disappear, getting up and leaving a conversation entirely just to avoid him, Virgil knocking on Roman’s door only for Roman to shout that he’s busy, not to come inside, Virgil, trying, trying to figure out where Roman’s gone, what’s happened, only to receive the cold shoulder.

A problem none of the other Sides seemed to be having.

He clutches the pillow to his chest.

Did he—did he do something wrong?

Does Roman—does Roman not like him anymore?

Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed so hard about talking to the others. Roman needed space, needed time, he didn’t need someone else breathing down his neck. He should’ve let Roman set the pace, listened more, been kinder to him when he needed reassurance.

Maybe he shouldn’t have made Roman think it was his fault that the others were taking so long, or suggested that if he wanted things to get better he should try talking first. Roman had been taught by everyone else that things were his fault already, Virgil didn’t need to jump on that train too.

Maybe he should’ve been kinder to Roman, less focused on making the others understand that they hurt Roman. Everyone in the Mindscape knew that Roman was hurt, Virgil should’ve helped fix that, taken care of Roman, not pushed the blame onto everyone else.

Maybe Roman didn’t like what he had to say about Disney films. They were Roman’s comfort watches, the last thing he needed was for someone to cruelly rip away his enjoyment of one of the few things he could enjoy.

Maybe Roman didn’t like Virgil’s way of taking care of him. Virgil never pushed, never did Roman the courtesy of asking, like Roman did with him, just assumed he knew best how to comfort someone and left it there. Roman might’ve needed more hugs, more time, less distraction, just something other than what Virgil gave him.

Maybe Roman didn’t like how much Virgil ended up hoarding him to himself. Not letting him go to the others for comfort, just to work things out. Maybe he thought Virgil was just keeping him upset so he could hang out with him more.

Or maybe…

Virgil muffles his sob in the pillow.

Maybe Roman needed or wanted him anyway.

Maybe Roman was just waiting until he could get the comfort he actually wanted. Maybe he waited until the others were easier to talk to so he could go back to what he really needed. Maybe Virgil was just a placeholder until Roman could get hugs from Patton and Remus, talk with Logan and Janus, not him. Never him.

Maybe that’s…okay.

It’s not, it won’t be fucking okay for a long time, but one day, it will be okay.

Virgil curses and throttles the pillow in his arms, wishing for it to be real, to be warm, to be a chest of white and gold and a splash of red, for it to wraps its arms around him and say it’s okay, shadow-ling, I’m here, I won’t leave you, shh.

But it’s just a pillow.

Has his room always been this cold?

Have Disney movies always looked this flat?

Has music always sounded this gray?

Has Virgil always been this alone?

He can hear them in the living room below him. He can hear Roman and Logan throwing quips back and forth, can hear Remus tackling his brother into the wall, and Roman protesting. He can hear Janus scolding Remus and checking to make sure Roman’s not injured, can hear Roman wave him off gently and go right back to verbally sparring with Logan. He can hear Patton laughing too hard, falling off the couch and begging the two of them to let up, let him breathe, can hear Roman coo and call him sweet, adorable, in that soft voice he only uses when he’s talking to someone he cares about.

Can’t hear any of them worrying about where he is.

Maybe it’s better this way.

He got greedy, took too much of what was never his to take, what wasn’t given to him freely. He latched onto the first thing he thought was for him and didn’t stop to think that it wasn’t. He may think he’s been included in the famILY but he knows he’s still an outsider.

He may be Virgil now but deep down he’ll always be Anxiety.

So here he will stay, in the cold of his room, in the dark of his face smushed into a pillow that will never be real. He will stay and he will be happy.

But not today.

He sniffles and smears his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie, not bothering to pull away from the pillow long enough to wipe tears properly. His limbs start to protest as he hugs it tighter, tighter, tighter, but it’s no use. He can feel his own arms through the pillow. There isn’t enough—there’s too much give in the pillow. It’s just a fucking pillow but it’s not enough.

Another laugh from downstairs and Virgil growls, burying his head in the pillow until he can’t hear himself think.

Can’t hear anything but his own muffled sobs ringing in his ears.

Can’t hear anything other than the thought swirling around and around his head that he’ll never be enough, that he’ll never be wanted, that he’ll never be anything other than Anxiety.

Can’t hear the soft knock at the door.

“Virgil?”

The voices in his head must be getting pretty powerful because he’s certain he can hear Roman calling for him. He buries deeper in the pillow.

“Virgil? Virgil, can you hear me?”

Yes, he thinks, yes, I can hear you, which means I’m not crying hard enough.

“Can I come in, shadow-ling?”

Yes, he thinks, come in and make me forget that you don’t need me anymore.

He must really be losing it because he thinks he can hear the door open and close again with a soft click, followed by a sharp intake of breath and a soft coo.

“Oh, shadow-ling,” the imaginary Roman murmurs, “come here, little Stormcloud.”

Oh, his imagination is being cruel to him right now because the sensation of warm arms around his waist and shoulders fucking burns. He buries his face in the pillow until he can’t tell which way is up anymore, not sure how he’s tricked himself into imagining Roman’s cradling him but too unwilling to let the illusion go.

“That’s right, Stormcloud, relax for me, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh, you’re alright,” the imaginary Roman keeps whispering in that cruelly soft voice, “you’re doing great, shadow-ling.”

Virgil wants him to be real. So bad he aches from it. But he knows he’s not.

What happens next breaks his fucking heart.

The imaginary Roman kisses him.

It’s chaste, a barely-there brush of his lips against his forehead but it tears a whine out of Virgil’s throat before he can stop it. The imaginary Roman hushes him gently, pressing another kiss to the part of his cheek not buried in the pillow and it taunts him with how real it feels. The slightly chapped lips, the warm rush of air as Roman breathes, the light brush of his nose as he pulls away.

It’s too much.

It’s too much and he wants it to be real so badly but he knows the instant he pulls away it will vanish and that might just break him.

Then he realizes the imaginary Roman is talking to him.

“Breathe, Stormcloud, you’ve got to breathe,” he coaxes, “I know it’s tempting to stay buried in a pillow all day, but you can’t breathe properly like that, sweetheart.”

No, no, don’t call me sweetheart, I’ll break.

“Shadow-ling, Stormcloud, my darling,” the imaginary Roman says instead, “come on…”

Well, now he’s disappointing imaginary Roman too. Figures. He can’t do anything right.

“Of course you can,” the imaginary Roman pleads, “just breathe for me, shadow-ling, I’m right here, I’ve got you, you can keep your eyes closed if you need to, just breathe.”

Another whine. Another kiss pressed against his head. The whine grows louder.

“Shh, shh, my darling,” imaginary Roman murmurs, “breathe, come on, just—trust me, okay? Can I ask that of you, Stormcloud?”

And goddamnit, this is why Virgil can’t do anything.

Virgil trusts him.

So he prepares himself for heartbreak and lifts his head.

“Thank you, shadow-ling,” imaginary Roman—wait, he’s still here?—murmurs, rubbing his back, “there you go, now just breathe—oh! Oh, come here, lean on me, I’ve got you.”

Having listed to the side horribly, Virgil lands against a solidwarmsafereal chest and—and—

“R-Roman?”

“Yes, my darling,” not imaginary Roman says, still kissing Virgil’s forehead, “I’m here, I’m here.”

White-hot rage burns Virgil’s tears.

He lets out a yell and shoves, not caring that it throws them both horribly off-balance, threatening to send him tumbling to the floor. He hears Roman cry out, trying to keep ahold of him, but he scrabbles and gets his hands around the bedpost and pulls.

“Virgil—Virgil stop, you’re going to hurt yourself—“

“Why do you care?” The rage coats his tongue. “You fucking left, you—you—you fucking didn’t care about me anymore, you decided you didn’t want me anymore and you fucking left so don’t try and care now!”

“Virgil—sweetheart, I—“

“Don’t fucking call me that!” He keeps his eyes squeezed tight. “You didn’t give a fuck about me when you left, when you got your fucking family back, you think—you think you can just waltz back in like you didn’t abandon me?”

“Virgil—“

“Because you did, Roman!” Virgil blindly shoves at where the prince was before, knocking him into the wall. “You fucking left me as soon as you got the others back like I—like I never did anything for you and now you—now you can’t even look at me.”

“I’m looking at you now.”

Virgil laughs.

He throws his head back and howls until his chest and throat ache.

“You didn’t give a shit when the others started talking to you. You just fucking up and abandoned me like you never cared about me in the first place. You replaced me with them or—or abandoned me as your placeholder and I’m fucking hurt, Roman.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Silence.

Virgil’s heart stops.

No.

No, no, no, no—

He fucked up.

He fucked up so bad.

Roman left.

Roman’s not here anymore.

Roman left again, he made Roman leave, he—he fucked up so bad, he shouldn’t have yelled, he’s fucked up, he hurt Roman, no, no, no, no—

On instinct, his hands hook into claws.

Only to be caught by warmsolidreal hands and brought to something soft.

“Don’t,” comes Roman’s softsaferealhurt voice, murmuring in his ear as he holds him still, “don’t scratch, sweetheart.”

“Don’t—“

“I know, I know,” Roman says immediately, “you said not to call you that. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”

…what?

“I didn’t realize I was hurting you,” comes the voice again, “that’s no excuse, I know, but please, Virgil, I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to abandon you.”

Virgil swallows. “What the fuck do you call it then?”

“I didn’t want to push my luck.”

What?

“You were being so good to me, Virgil,” Roman murmurs, oblivious to the internal struggle Virgil’s currently facing, “so kind, so supportive, that I…I realized I wanted to ask more from you. Things I had no business asking. And the longer you kept on being you, the harder it was to resist the urge to push and risk shattering everything you’d let me build with you.”

“What—“ Virgil swallows— “what the fuck did you want?”

Roman stills in front of him. With his eyes still shut, he can’t tell what’s going on, but when Roman speaks next his voice is hoarse.

“Before I ask,” comes the whisper, “I want you to know that you have every right to say no. You can push me away, shove me out of your room, stay angry at me for as long as you want. I’ve hurt you, badly, and I have no right to ask this of you. I want you to know that. That I’m okay with you asserting that right.”

Fuck, Princey.

“…what do you want?”

A pause. Then a soft rush of air, right on his face.

“May I kiss you, Stormcloud?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

“R-Roman?”

“That’s it,” Roman murmurs and oh, his mouth is right next to Virgil’s, “that’s what I want, shadow-ling.”

He shifts a little until Virgil can feel Roman’s warmth.

“That and everything that goes with it.”

“Why—why did you leave? I-if that’s what you wanted?”

“Because that would mean to push,” Roman says immediately, “and the last thing I wanted was to push you away. I thought if I could…rein it in, control it, I could…I wouldn’t hurt you.”

A soft chuckle.

“Look how well that turned out.”

“But the others—“

“I needed Remus to tell me what was going on,” Roman says wryly, “Janus to point out that I was okay in wanting something, Patton to help me figure it out, and Logan to kick my ass into doing it.”

“To…to ask me?”

“Yes, Stormcloud,” comes the whisper, “to ask you.”

“And if I say yes?”

He can feel Roman’s lips turn up.

“…then I’ll kiss you, Stormcloud.”

“Are you really here?”

The question bursts out of him before he can stop it, immediately biting his lip in reprimand for letting it.

“Open your eyes, Virgil,” Roman says softly, “look at me.”

He shakes his head, not wanting it to be imaginary. Not now, not after this. Roman squeezes his hands.

“Look at me, Stormcloud,” he whispers, “look at me.”

Fuck it.

Roman smiles at him, real and warm and soft and here. He squeezes Virgil’s hands again and takes the smallest step closer.

“I’m here,” he says, wrapping Virgil’s arms around his neck, “I’m right here, shadow-ling.”

He’s here.

This won’t fix everything. But it’s one hell of a start.

“Ask me again.”

“May I kiss you, Stormcloud?”

Virgil shakes his head. “Not like that. Ask me properly.”

Confusion dances on Roman’s face before realization hits. His smile widens and he brings a hand to Virgil’s head. Virgil clutches Roman tight as he gets dipped into the prince’s arms. Roman leans forward until his mouth almost catches Virgil’s.

“May I kiss you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic remus #sympathetic deceit #romantic prinxiety #prinxiety

145 notes · View notes

magicforjournals · 3 years

Text

The Green Dress (A Story About Loki) Chapter 4 : A God’s Lips

RE-UPLOAD - Last upload was missing some parts, my bad!!

Warnings : Explicit (18+)

It’s early in the morning, way earlier than you usually wake up. You barely slept last night; nerves, anticipation, fear even, just twisting your insides and preventing you from getting any kind of rest. You know you’ll eventually have to get up and get ready for work but, you’re just lying in bed, still shell-shocked at the conversation you had with Loki last night.

After receiving his email, you had sat in the shower, letting the hot water hit your skin, for what seemed like hours. Had Loki just asked you on a date? That… That meant he wanted to see you again, he thought of you just as much as you thought of him. He craved your presence just as much as you craved his. You had revelled in the thought of being important to someone like him, a literal god. Finally, you had gathered all of your strength to get out of the shower, grab your phone and sit on your bed to reply to his email. You felt it impersonal to accept an invitation to a date over email and had decided to give him your phone number instead, offering him the option to call you. Within minutes, your phone rang. Heart pounding and hands shaking, you had answered his call. The sound of his soft, deep voice through the phone made you shiver and instantly soak. You wanted him, you needed him. Your conversation, although brief, had been wonderful. You both had agreed that you would be making dinner, and he was to meet you at your apartment at 6 o’clock. You could barely utter a word when he wished you goodnight and sweet dreams before hanging up. You had laid back on your bed, trying to catch your breath. You had just invited a god to have dinner in your home. It wasn’t just any god, it was Loki. Loki who had kissed you with such passion, it had left you weak in the knees for days. Loki who, by only speaking, could make you so incredibly wet. You had slid a hand down your body, imagining it was his hand instead of yours, grabbing your breast, rubbing tight circles on your clit. It didn’t take long for the orgasm to rip, burning hot, through your entire body, making you spasm in pleasure as his sultry voice still rang in your ears, and you had to bite down on your pillow to muffle the loud moan that escaped your lips as you came.

As you lie there thinking about last night, you tell yourself it’s only a couple of hours before you get to see him again. Jumping out of bed, newfound energy bursting through your veins, you get ready in a flash, speeding through breakfast and cleaning up. You call yourself a taxi and get to school way too early, eager to start your day. As promised, your car is waiting for you in the parking lot, however, you see Nat getting out of it as you start walking to the school entrance.

“You’re here early”, she says as she catches up to you, following you inside. There were usually no visitors allowed unless the principal approves it, but since the school is funded by Tony and that Natasha is an Avenger, they never had a problem with her coming in before or after classes. Regardless, she never came during school hours, knowing her presence would be a distraction for the kids.

“Yeah, I could really sleep last night,” you say with a smirk.

“Oh…” She says, intrigued. “Oh, I know that face! What happened?!” She then presses you.

“Well….”, you tease, walking into your classroom. “Loki emailed me last night to ask if we could have dinner tonight.” Nat’s mouth falls open as she hops on your desk, her usual spot to sit.

“Did you say yes?” She asks.

“Yeah, he’s coming over tonight. I’m making him dinner.”

“Holy fuck, you’re joking!” Natasha screams so loud, you have to shush her. “You’re having dinner with Loki Laufeyson TONIGHT.”

“I know, I know. Be careful, he’s the god of mischief,” you say, mimicking her.

“Oh, well yeah obviously! I’ll have my phone with me if there’s any problem, just use the emergency button.” She reminds me. “But I meant you’re having dinner with the man who pinned you against a wall four days ago and kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before. The same man you told me you could not stop thinking about.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your face turning red.

“Are you excited?”

“I’m nervous! I haven’t been on a first date in almost a year Nat! What if he doesn’t like me anymore in the end? There’s something different about him and it terrifies me. If you think about it, I’m just a simple mortal.” You tell her.

“Please, you’ll be just fine. Loki seems very interested in you.” She reassures you. “And you know, I was thinking last night… Loki has been good for a while now… maybe being with you would really change him. I know I have some preconceived notions about him, but everyone is allowed a second chance. I was, so was Bucky and Bruce too…” She trails off. Talking about him was still a sore subject. Bruce had been missing since Sokovia and it had left a gaping hole in our hearts, especially Nats. Over the years, you had watched their relationship slowly flourish, they were quietly flirting and often seeing each other in secret. He was the first man she ever let get herself get close to, and he cared so deeply about her and was terrified of ever losing her. And when he never came back, and when no one could find the Quinjet, Natasha could barely leave her bed. Getting her back on her feet was one of the hardest things you had ever done.

“Hey,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her, rubbing her back.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready, just give him time.”

“I know,” she says, hugging you back. “I just miss him.” We all did.

You stay like that, holding each other in silence for a while.

“I should go,” Nat says, hopping off your desk. “You call me tonight if there’s anything, right?” She adds, looking you in the eyes.

“Yeah, of course! How are you getting back?” You ask.

“Sam is picking me up, he’s on his way now,” she replies, checking her phone.

“Say hi for me! I’ll call you later ok?”

“Will do! Keep me posted. Love you, bye!” Nat yells as she walks out. You giggle to yourself, unpacking your stuff and getting ready for the day, Tuesdays are your favorites.

The day flew by so fast, it left you a little dizzy. Your students left a while ago and you were finally done cleaning up the mess of the day. You look down at your jeans and there are some mud stains all over them, the WWII reenactment of the day having left its mark. Nonetheless, your students enjoyed it, and you tell yourself to add the activity to the memory board you have in class. As you glance in its direction, you see that the clock above is showing 3:45, and you panic. You didn’t realize how long you had spent cleaning.

You pack up your things as fast as you can, almost running to your car. You need to get home quickly, Loki is coming over in two hours, and you have to make dinner and get ready. You desperately need a shower after running around outside in the mix of snow and mud all day.

Getting home in record time, you drop your bags by your desk. Running to your bathroom as you throw your hair in a bun, you take the fastest shower you’ve ever taken, scrubbing down as quick as you can. Thank heavens you had washed your hair the night prior. Once you get out, you check your makeup for any touch-ups and add a small line of liner and lip gloss. Shaking your hair out of its bun, you like the way it looks and decide to leave it as is. Still wrapped up in your towel, you make your way to the kitchen to start prepping the food that needs to begin cooking immediately. You get everything else out and organize your kitchen. Again, you thank your lucky star that you’re a neat person and you don’t need to clean your apartment before Loki gets here. With most of the dinner cooking, you head to your bedroom to get dressed. Opting for black lace underwear, you open your closet and sigh loudly. What are you going to wear? Why hadn’t you picked out an outfit this morning? You had all the time in the world to get ready? Grabbing your favorite pair of light jeans, skin-tight and which do wonders for your ass, you start browsing through your shirts to find something… anything. You suddenly hear something bubbling and grab an old band shirt you usually sleep in, slipping that on before running to the kitchen to make sure nothing is burnt to a crisp. You’re not the best cook in the world but you can manage to whip up a couple of great meals. Thankfully, nothing was burning, but there were a lot of dishes to take care of.

You were washing the last bowl when you heard the building’s buzzer ringing. Your head whipped around towards the digital clock on your microwave to see it showing 6 pm on the dot. SHIT! You didn’t see the time fly by, and Loki was already here AND you were not even dressed. Shit, shit, shit, shit… Ok, it’s ok. You walk over to the intercom and buzz him in. A little time goes by and you hear a shy knock against your door, making your heart almost jump out of its cavity with how fast and hard it’s beating. Hand on the door handle, you take a deep breath before opening the door.

There he was, standing in front of you, handsome, beautiful as ever. His dark hair combed back, as it was last time you saw him, his green eyes sparkling with joy, his devastatingly stunning smile. He was there. Right in front of you.

“Hi,” Loki says, his smile widening. “These are for you”, he adds, handing you a bouquet of white and pink lilies.

You gasp. “Oh thank you. How did you know lilies are one of my favorite flowers?”

“I guessed, a very fortunate guess as it turns out to be.” You think you might as well die, combust on-site, from how warm he makes you feel.

“They’re beautiful, thank you so much.” You repeat. “Please come in! I’m so sorry I’m not dressed yet, I just finished the dishes.” You apologize, cheeks burning red as he steps to stand in front of you in the entrance.

“I think you look perfect,” he whispers, stroking your cheek slowly. You sigh in content, eyes closing, as soon as you feel his skin against yours, unknowingly leaning into his hand. You both stand there, taking in each other’s presence, for what seems like hours.

“Let me take your coat,” you whisper softly, looking up at him.

“It’s ok darling, get those flowers in some water,” Loki whispers back, your knees buckling under the weight of the nickname.

You slowly nod against his hand still on your face and regretfully make your way to the kitchen, Loki following closely behind. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the back of one of the barstools, as you’re putting the flowers in a vase. Pretending to be focused on the flowers, you let your eyes wander his body, starting from his thighs - the rest being cut off by the counter -, up his waist, stomach, broad shoulders, arms, and back up to his gorgeous lips you crave to kiss, his nose you want to feel nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and his eyes… your own forest you’d run through forever. How could one being be so beautiful? Loki was breathtakingly beautiful, tearing your eyes away from his face was a strenuous feat. Turning your attention to your dinner, you opened the oven to check on the food. You jump and gasp when you feel Loki moving closer behind you, his hand snaking up your hips.

“Do you need help with anything?” He asks, his sultry voice making you dizzy and immediately wet.

“N-no, I have it a-all under control,” you stutter, shooting up from your bent-over position. Loki’s hands are still on your hips when you turn around to face him, resting your hands on his firm chest. You’re standing so close to each other you could tilt your head up and kiss him if you wanted to… and you desperately want to.

“I… umm… should go get dressed.” You choke out. “Can you… keep an eye on the... uh… oven?”

“Of course.” He replies, one hand moving to your hair, tucking a strand of it behind your ear.

You give him a smile and head towards your bedroom, where you collapse on your bed as soon as you reach it. Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you, with his voice, his touch, and his eyes. Every time he spoke, the heat in your belly sparked up to a hellish blaze, making you weak in the knees. He’s waiting for you out there, don’t be a coward, get up, you finally tell yourself. Taking your shirt off, you walk to your closet to figure out something to wear, yet again.

“Oh! I am so sorry, I should have announced myself,” Loki says from your bedroom door, and you jump, grabbing the closest piece of fabric to cover yourself up.

“Oh God!” You scream, your hand flying up to your chest, heart pounding. With a single step, Loki crosses the distance between the two of you, his palms up as to hold you, but he stops himself.

“Hey - hey there, it’s just me. I am so sorry I scared you darling.” He whispers softly, trying to calm you down.

“I- uh, it’s ok. I just didn’t hear you coming.” You say, trying to slow down the cascading beat of your heart. And then it hits you. The piece of fabric you had grabbed to cover yourself with was the cream coloured blouse you had bought months ago but never wore for the simple reason it was way too sheer. So sheer in fact, it meant that Loki could clearly see through it, he could see your naked stomach and black lace bra. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned bright red, scrambling to find something else to cover up with.

“I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize you could see everything.” You apologize profusely.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his tone of voice stopping you in your tracks. You turn to look at him and you see his eyes exploring your body, admiration pouring out of them. He steps closer to you, grabbing the hand you were using to search with, and running his up from your wrist to your shoulder, slowly tracing your collar bone, before making it way up your neck, gently across your cheek and getting lost in your hair. You moan softly under his touch, the blouse falling quietly on the floor as you reach for him with both hands.

Before you know it, your lips meet, sending jolts of electricity through your body. You reach your arms up and wrap them around Loki’s neck, pulling him closer to you. Your sudden burst of passion makes him groan under your touch and he deepens your kiss, teasing the tip of his tongue in between your lips as he pins you against the wall, igniting a burning desire in you. You feel his hands slide from your hair slowly down to the small of your back, resting there for a moment before cupping your ass and he lifts you up in his arms. You gasp against his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, surprised at his strength. He keeps kissing you as he walks you over to the bed, laying you down gently. For a moment, you’re both just staring at each other, eyes full of desire and catching your breath.

“Are you sure?” Loki asks, brushing hair out of your face and then carefully brushing his thumb against your swollen lips. You part them, taking his thumb in your mouth and slowly sucking on it as you nod. The soft moan that comes out of his lips as you suck on his digit sets off an even hotter fire through your belly. Loki crashes his lips against yours, his hands roaming your body. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and biting love marks all over it, as you fumble around with the buttons on his shirt, the task being a lot more difficult with this man’s lips all over you. As soon as the shirt falls open, you’re frozen, your eyes roaming his strong, sublime body, hands running over the contours of his stomach, absolutely mesmerized.

“You’re so beautiful,” you echo Loki’s words.

Capturing your lips again, he starts kissing down your neck again, making his way to your chest. Slowly running his right hand up your body, he cups your breast as he licks the other one through the lace of your bra and you’re moaning, your back arching under his touch.

“That’s where you’re wrong, you are beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, making you shiver. “So beautiful, how could I ever live without you anymore.”

Loki begins kissing his way down your stomach, undoing your pants slowly and brushing his lips across your lower stomach. You whimper as he pulls your jeans off and comes back up, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your panties, kissing your thigh as he slides them down too. His hands are back on your inner thighs before the rest of him is, and you’re throbbing, clenching, soaking even more, just knowing that his fingers are inches away from where you need him most.

“Is this ok?” he asks you softly, feeling his hot breath between your thighs.

“Yes.” And his tongue is on you, parting you so incredibly slow, you think you might pass out. You’re wet, you know that, and he knows that too as he moans against you, licking small little circles around your clit. You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, every bone in your body fighting against the urge to scream out his name. You feel his nose pressed up against you as he’s devouring you like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have, his hands gripping and squeezing your thighs, your hips, your waist. He slowly retreats, letting his fingers tease you for a little as he flashes you a quick smile, eyes burning with desire, and you feel a thick single finger slide excruciatingly slow inside of you.

“Fuck!” is all you can manage, every other word and sound stuck in your throat.

Loki starts pumping his finger, in and out, out and in, getting faster and faster, adding a second one and sucking on your clit so hard, you’re about to cum. You grab fistfuls of his hair as you arch your back into him, begging him to keep going, to lick you more. You scream as you cum all over his fingers, the orgasm sending violent spasms throughout your entire body. As you’re trying to catch your breath, his mouth leaves you, making it harder for you to breathe, and he kisses you. He tastes like you, and all you can think about is wanting to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. Sitting up on your elbows, still kissing him, you bring him closer to you, sliding your lips from his mouth to his ear, catching his ear lobe in between your teeth and whispering softly, voice still rough from your orgasm.

“Please… let me touch you.” He groans against your neck and flips you, so he’s lying on the bed. Loki grabs your face and kisses you passionately as you unbuckle his belt and take his pants and briefs off. You’re astonished at how big he is, thick and long, already hard for you. You kiss his stomach as you slide a hand down, wrapping your fingers around him as he throbs, and slowly start pumping your fist. The sound that makes his way from his chest and out his lips is almost enough to make you cum again, and you slide your mouth down, licking that small bead of precum from the tip and wrapping your mouth around him, sucking softly. Loki moans your name, grabbing a handful of your hair, as you start bopping your head, accentuating your movement with your hand. Before long he’s pleading for you to stop, his hips spasming, making him thrust into your mouth. Retreating with an audible pop, you giggle as you take your bra off before climbing on top of him, his dick throbbing against you. As Loki wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, he flips you again, running his hands along your curves while a happy moan escapes you. Slowly, he slides the tip of him between your lips and you gasp at how thick he is, but you’re still wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. You hold there for a moment, gazing in each other's eyes and in one swift movement, he buries himself deep inside of you, a growl slipping through his lips.

“F-fuck darling, you feel so good.” He moans as he starts to thrust in you, shattering your entire world. You can’t formulate words, all you know and all you’ve ever known is that nobody has taken care of you like Loki is doing right now. You want this moment to last forever, him inside of you, your bodies interlaced, lips pressed against each other’s, your choked out breaths matching the beating of your hearts to the rhythm of your desire for one another. Everything you’ve ever known ceases to exist, but the two of you, in that moment, as Loki makes love to you passionately. He’s rolling his hips, hitting a spot in you you didn’t know could get you so close to the edge of insanity so fast.

“Loki, fuck! I-I’m gonna…” you start.

“Wait for me,” he moans out after you, pumping his hips harder into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other lost in your hair. “Fuck”. And you do, until his last powerful thrust and you cry out as you feel him explode inside of you, your orgasm ripping your body to shreds from the sheer intensity of it.

You stay lying there for a while, him still inside of you, your arms wrapped around him, as his head rests against yours. Gently, he rolls off to the side, pulling you into his and kissing you deeply. You sigh in pure bliss as he kisses you, resting your hand up his sweaty torso, following the movement of his breaths.

“I think we might’ve overcooked, possibly even burnt, the food,” he whispers in your hair, and you feel him smile.

“Worth it to me, was it not to you?” You tease, kissing him again.

“I’m hurt you would even question it, my beautiful girl,” his reply sending butterflies through your stomach as he kisses you back with infinite softness.

You are lost in the moment, wishing you could forever just kiss this God’s lips.

Taglist : @kingtwhiddleston

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki x you #loki smut #marvel #natahsa romanoff #mcu #marvel fanfic series #reader insert #green dress #green dress a story about loki #tom hiddleston #avengers #sam wilson

79 notes · View notes

tenderlyrenjun · 3 years

Text

the one with the morning classes

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ psych major!Yangyang x art history major!reader

↛ ↛ older female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, yearning, best friends to lovers/ish, smut (18+) - there is literally sex in every scene, best friend!ten on both sides, study dates, love confessions in bed

↛ word count: 11,9k (I am so sorry lmao)

part one > part two > part three

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, i will block you

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into your skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you – shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine, knowing that you have an easily swayed mindset right now. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit with his index and thumb. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by the call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You partially expect Yangyang to get up. Instead, he comes down, brushing your hair over your shoulder and pushes you into the blanket. You stretch your arms away from him to redial Ten’s number, although your hands (and thighs) start shakily with his moves. The line rings four times before Ten answers, and you sigh, half-disappointed, half-orgasmically.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers sarcastically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang ruffling your bedsheets. He is trying to get at your t!ts and you let him, propping up into a true doggystyle. Ten doesn’t appear to discern anything, so you keep the phone on mute – which is necessary because you buck your hips at Yangyang, getting his tip angled on your g-spot. He outlines your n!pples, fingers squeezing over your areola. You almost moan again, but Ten reminds you about his presence: “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?” Why?

The silence is deafening, all excess noise stopping, until it is just your heavy breaths and small wet noises. You widen your eyes, thinking that Ten discovered your current … entanglement, so you grab Yangyang’s hand, to suppress anymore sounds. It makes you lose balance temporarily, but expectedly he catches you, by the waist. He waist a few seconds, then drops his wrist to your clit, lightly sliding up and down without thrusting his d!ck. You let him continue, panting with your lower abdomen quivering. He has to stop though, because his exhibitionist tendencies might expose you two. You take his hand off your clitoral hood and kiss his inner wrist before sucking his fingers clean. He shudders his hips. You bite your lip. He smiles. Then, he takes his hand back, planting it into the mattress for extra support so that you can actually answer this call, that the two of you keep forgetting about.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory, nearly shouting. You can hear him breaking through your bubble. It is just that you are a bit distracted at the moment to really recall any memories. You cannot be entirely held accountable for Yangyang’s big d!ck.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis slowly into your ass harder, to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten outwardly tells you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without the morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a sweater to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connections you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. You pout, and pull his phone between the two of you, showing him that Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you think.

Yangyang approaches your face, millimeters from your lips. He waits for you to flutter your eyes closed, anticipating a kiss, then runs into the shower. It takes you a minute to join him, and when he sees you, smirking, like you have some dastardly revenge plan in the works, Yangyang shuts the glass door, isolating himself in the cold shower. He holds on extra tightly so that you cannot get in. You look hot when you are annoyed though – he needs to annoy you more. It is even more fun to mollify you. He pulls you into the shower next to him by grabbing your ass and makes out with you against the wall for a few seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him.

This time, Yangyang finishes first, hopping out to sprinkle the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so Ten does not get too suspicious. If he has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts the powder back on the shelf and wanders into your room, towel wrapped loosely around his waist – even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the time you stole them, or a couple mini getaways that you two have taken. After he changes into an outfit that he can actually wear in public, he picks out an extra one of his over-sized shirts and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band tees. It is another plus that you share the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends catch onto the coincidental similarities.

Yangyang likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM. You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (mostly because he also likes to wear his favorite shirts), but you look cuter than him, in his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he rummaged through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might be a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there isn’t enough time to cook anything, not that he actually could; eh, he’ll end up buying something on campus. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate for him, one strawberry for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing some last-minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, ergo he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture materials to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. You two had a semi-date then. He wonders if it can happen again, today. Ten interrupts the thought though, before it can develop into a real plan, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times.

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification center for any missed calls. You have three. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, Yangyang deduces, and if he was Ten, he would be damn suspicious at this point.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So,” Ten sings while glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for – hopefully, not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, his eyes landing on Yangyang and eying him down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they mutter, looking away.

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang barely notices when they pull into the drive-thru on 1st, too busy scrolling through Instagram while you and Ten talk about an EDM festival coming this weekend. He only picks up his head when you lean over the gear shift, blocking the GPS from his view (in the middle seat) – he was monitoring the distance to make sure that you get to class on time.

“Can we get two breakfast sandwiches, an iced coffee with 2% milk, and an iced London fog latte, extra pump of vanilla, with coconut milk?” You turn to ten. “Want anything?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows. Neither of them looks at Yangyang, and he lowers his phone, knowing that he is about to be caught in a lie. He didn’t think that Ten would ask anything because of the time crunch. Evidently, he was wrong, and now he doesn’t know how to unspin the lie.

“Who are you ordering all that food for?” Ten asks.

You look at him skeptically, a what the fuck hanging palpably in the air before you point to the backseat. “For the baby.”

“Not a baby,” Yangyang pipes up, voice cracking. He tugs on the collar of his shirt, smiling embarrassed.

Ten turns on his side, back facing the window as he stares between the two of you, ultimately settling on Yangyang. “I thought that you said you already got breakfast at Allen’s.” Ten rotates to you. “That’s why he’s in the neighborhood, right?”

A huh, yeah. Yangyang almost tells another lie but the monitor clerk asks if they want anything else, and they are holding up the line with an empty lane in front. Saved by the bell intercom. Ten orders an extra americano, then you all persist through the awkward silence until reaching the front window. You pay with the app as Ten passes out the round of drinks like a bartender. Yangyang pokes his paper straw through the lid. You can’t baby him if he does everything himself first.

“Uh, are you good?”

Yangyang looks up. You have your iced latte between your legs, holding it at the top of your thighs on your crotch like an ice pack.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ten enunciates, putting this drink in the cup holder, “people only put ice on their private parts when they’re sore.” He widens his eyes, posture stiffening and he points at you. “Did you have that guy over? The best y-“

“You don’t –“ You hold up a hand, physically interrupting him. Yangyang should have known that Ten would never seriously suspect him as your fuck buddy; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. “- have to repeat it. I just feel sore.”

Yangyang smirks at that, but he has to hide it when Ten looks at him, pinching his cheeks down like a Tim Burton character. The look in Ten’s eyes is confused again, and he knows that one of two questions is going to come out: if he met that guy that you’re sleeping with, of if he is the guy that you are sleeping with. Fortunately, Yangyang sees the navigation touch screen, and the time is two minutes until eight and you are five minutes off campus. Ten has to drop the conversation and speed to the art building so that at least you get there on time. The extra few minutes he has to spend alone with Ten gives him the idea to cool things off with you for a few days.

That sounds bad, like he is blowing you off, but honestly, you agreed.

Yangyang caught you in front of the communal office space for linguistics GTAs, a few minutes before office hours ended. He snatched you into a supply closet, dragging you by the waist, and covered your mouth to prevent you from screaming bloody murder. You two acknowledged the thin ice that has been melting for a couple weeks now. And he brought up taking a break from seeing each other for a while. At first, you thought that he was breaking up with you – or as close to breaking up as possible, because still, you are not dating. But then, he saw your face and reassured you that he does want to keep seeing you, even in secret; maybe next time, you two should talk about your relationship.

Friends do not need to see each other every day, you know. Or, like, at least, casual friends don’t. Sure, you FaceTime Ten all the time and Yangyang lives with Xiaojun so he sees his best friend daily by default, but you two are not similarly close friends, especially not when other people can perceive how you two interact. No one has to know just that you see Yangyang just as often, in person. And you do it because, well, because you like him – which explains how he ends up back in your bed by Wednesday.

“I’m gonna be late again.”

“No, you won’t.”

Yangyang reaches around your collarbone, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip until he can comfortably hold your jaw. He draws you in for another kiss, his eyes mirroring yours - distracted, enamored, aroused. You cautiously spin around, throwing your arms around his neck to avoid getting swept away, which seems impossible because he holds you securely, at your mandible and the beltloop on your waist. He inhales upon the next embrace, closing his pretty mouth over your philtrum like a slow bite – like several slow bites. You meet him, every time, at the end of each kiss when he shifts onto his toes, getting too tall for your lips, and pull him back on the ground to get more. He moans, after you start roaming your hands under his shirt, running your nails over the crevices in his body like a memorization technique for an early class you don’t have.

You feel hungry, for love, wanting to feel warm. The sun will not rise for another half hour, but he is the warmest thing in the room, even though you are fully dressed, not expecting to be late like two days ago. He copies your moves, unbuckling his hand like a belt, sliding it under your shirt and palming your b.oobs. Then, you squeal, giggling breathily, when he spins you around again and smacks your ass, pushing your thighs into the mattress that you two are standing over.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers in your ear, sucking upward on your external jugular vein.

“No.”

Yangyang stops, deadpanned. He hits your butt again, like a punishment – his favorite kind of punishment, it seems because he repeats it every morning like a bad kind of player, the rich one who goes to bars and unexpectedly falls in love with an attendee, as if it is a coming of age Netflix movie. He repeats it again until you fall on your hands over the bed. You look behind your shoulder at him, jaw dropped. And he takes no time to interpret it, stumbling next to you.

You roll over, led by your hips, so that you can match him, latching onto his face with your hands on his cheeks. “Of course, I trust you, dummy.”

He looks down still, picking at the seams of your jeans. And you detect his teasing tone, easily, because he goes directly to your inner thighs, tracing up along the thread until he reaches your zipper. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, then make him look at you. He has that kicked-puppy expression in the way the outline of his eyes falls below his eyebrows, but the glint and the gummy smile have you knowing otherwise. “Yes.”

Yangyang pops your pants button undone, mischievously pulling his lips into a dramatic pout. “And you’re not lying to me?”

“No,” you emphasize. You brush his hair back, scratching your nails along his scalp, behind his ears. His smile cannot help itself, breaking out in a way that has you completely immersed. It reminds you of that time when you went go karting with Ten and a few others. You were undoubtedly a bad driver, bumping into the track walls, even during the straight lanes. One time, you made a particularly excellent sharp turn, surpassing Johnny to the finish line. Unfortunately, you were completing lap 3 of 5 and him 5 of 5, but Yangyang still congratulated you afterward – in bed. He also lit up, when you two were just laying under the covers, staring at the ceiling because the stars were too far away. You held onto the arm around your waist, laying on his naked shoulder as he told you about wanting to be a race car driver as a kid, then an automotive or aerospace engineer as a teenager, before he settled on psychology. He kept talking, as if crafting this beautiful galaxy. That is when you knew.

“Prove it.”

“What?” You sit up and straddle him. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Yangyang starts begging for affection, slithering his hand down your stomach, into your underwear. He pulls you into his chest, giggling when you topple him into the pillows, clearly not having estimated the force. You like that you never have to beg for his attention. He always, for some reason, notices you, and it is so hard not to pick up on it. You wonder just how no one has learned about you two yet. It’s not like you are being subtle. Although, the smallest acts he gives you can be found under subtle in the dictionary. Like now, he tucks your hair behind your ear, gaze flickering from his hand across your cheek to your eyes. You kiss him again – only a brief peck, because he inserts two fingers inside you, making you gasp sharply enough to break.

“Can I confess something?” you ask, suddenly braved by an idea to prove that you do trust him.

Yangyang stops fucking you, his fingers flexed still. He scans your face for an actual lie but knows that he will never find one, mostly because he already knows the next few words out of your mouth; he has felt the same way for months. And maybe, at this point, he owes you some explanation, for keeping his own confession unspoken. He wants to give it to you first, before your own declaration. It is something that he thinks he should do, like a societal norm for the guy to confess – that is what all the romantic movies say, right? Well, there is Princess Leia and Han with their whole I love you and I know dynamic, and while that was really cool in the scene, Yangyang has a fixed scenario in his head.

“I love you,” he blurts, quickly, sitting up.

“You love me?”

His heart drops. You are not supposed to surprised. He was nearly 100% confident that you had fallen in love with him, too, but this might confirm that so much was in his head. You keep staring at him, jaw slacked and hands on his shoulders. Only when he starts pulling away do you react, catching his hand.

“I really like you,” Yangyang reiterates, self-pouring salt into his bleeding heart. He hesitates for a second, unsure if he should even be vulnerable again, but what does he have to lose? “I –“ He swallows, still looking into your eyes – “I love you.”

Then you kiss him.

And he lets you kiss him.

He lets you kiss him because of the way you cradle his face, like he is made of glass, like he is the most precious crystal that you have to protect. Your lips get softer when he wets them with his tongue, after feeling confidence in your embrace. You kiss him in a way that takes away the word the love, wrapping him in a security blanket to return the warmth.

“I love you,” you whisper slowly, barely audibly enough for him to hear it over the smack of your tongue as you lower to him. You pause, mouth slightly ajar on his. “Too.”

Yangyang peers at your closed eyes, almost willing you to open them so he can tell you, again, that he loves you, so he can see your reaction when he really tells you. He grabs your face and sits up again. You roll your head to the side, like you anticipate his kiss. He gives it you, simultaneously returning his hand into your pants.

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it right now?” Yangyang asks you with a sense of urgency.

You turn around, fumbling around for your phone, which is now somewhere mixed in your sheets. The two of you had spent a good ten minutes remaking the bed after the night you had, and currently, blankets are strewn across, folded into messy piles. With the thought distracting you, Yangyang slips two fingers past your underwear again, twisting the crotch area with his thumb for easier access. You pause, sighing heavily, hand bunching up the linen as he scissors you.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, slightly stuttering at the end, hesitant to add a term of endearment. Even with the confessions you both just gave, it does not define your relationship and he doesn’t know how to broach it just yet, only wanting to kiss you closely and hear all the love sounds that he feels deprived of.

“It’s 6:21.”

“Good,” Yangyang whispers in your ear as he prepares you to take him. “We have time.”

Yangyang redirects your face to his, tilting your chin up as he leans to the side, almost inhaling your lips. Upon another kiss, he adds his tongue, tired of the light pecks. They don’t express his affection as much as he wants, because small embraces end quicker, causing you to withdraw – which is the furthest desire from his mind, especially considering that he just confessed, multiple times. He curls his tongue, placing only the tip beyond your lips. You check him, trying to catch his tongue but merely snagging his spit. He smirks because you whine again. Was that not enough? Obviously not, he notes after you pull back, breathing on his lips, making him chase you. Your breath sounds rapid and rough, and he wants to alleviate your nerves. Yangyang extends his neck again, craning to meet your lips. He gives you a second to recover, to prepare, panting the faintest ghost kisses across your lower face. Your hand comes above his shaking heart, stopping there as you bite your lip coyly. He wonders if you want to stop. Both of you just acknowledged a lingering more-than-friends adoration.

But then you slide your hand under his chin, making him really look at you.

“I love you,” you repeat.

The repet!tion exceeds his own confession, and he isn’t sure whether to confess again, but you take the initiative for him, rocking side to side like ridin’ d!ck bicycle. Yangyang parts his lips just enough to blow small, uneven breaths. He feels you open his jeans while shifting over one of his thighs, his fingers still trembling inside you. Sex with you always feels so reciprocated. Your nails graze his c.ock erect, your hand tightening at the tip, where you push your thumb on his pre-cum. It gives almost the same sensation as your tongue and the sensation gets more intense. He starts thrusting in tandem, making you clench, around his bicep, for support. When you start flicking the flesh on the underside of his penis (the part that connects the shaft to head), he stops your hand.

Yangyang comes forward, caressing your mouth and massaging your clit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“So cum,” you taunt him, smirking into the kiss.

Your resolve temporarily falters, dripping into a moan that he swallows up wholly. He keeps sinking his fingers at different depths, at a fast and shallow pace, waiting for you to reach the same point. You certainly feel wet enough. He touches that spongey tissue area in your p.ussy that has you seeing stars. You moan his name over and over again, until the two syllables become a tongue twister. He disentangles your tongue, using his own. All those years tying cherry stems in his mouth as a teenager really paid off. He starts making a come-hither gesture, simultaneously flirting with your lips. After your hand ceases, exclusively squeezing his base, right above his balls, Yangyang slows down, slipping his fingers away from your G-spot, up and over your clit, your orgasm weakening.

“Ugh,” you grumble.

“We have time,” Yangyang tells you, “to have sex.” He looks at you through his eyelashes, gradually lowering his head under your shirt, his shirt. After Monday, he wondered if you ever owned any shirts yourself, or if you donated all of them once you ‘discovered’ his closet. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I want you.”

He doesn’t know whether to clown you or flirt with you. The first option would make you laugh, but the second would get him laid. Luckily, you decide for him, shimming out of your jeans and panties, then you slide his pants down to his ankles. He wraps his hand around your throat, drawing you to his lips, and he unintentionally squeezes when you settle on the tip of his c.ock. As you ride him, your walls hug his d!ck nicely, giving it a nice tight feeling that he can’t help but moan at. You straighten your back to gain some height over him and slip your tongue in his mouth. His hands reach out to your ass, guiding your hips forward in waves. He starts breathing heavier and his grip gets stronger.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.”

Yangyang kisses you, pulling your words into his mouth, “So cum.”

“Fuck.”

He chases after your high, under the guise of helping you ride out this orgasm, getting his d!ck to twitch deeply inside you. When his hold gets too firm, you whine, suddenly over stimulated. Your nails dig into his bicep roughly, barely soothed by the t-shirt he still wears. He thrusts asynchronously with you before coming undone and dragging you into his chest. You feel warm and sweaty in this post-sex glow, your hand and head resting on his chest. He traces little hearts on your inner wrist, not wanting to let you go completely.

“You need to stop picking my underwear if you’re just going to destroy them,” you joke, kissing him on the cheek. “I have to double wash these thongs you know.”

“Can we –“ Yangyang swallows a lump in his throat. He feels like he is pulling you impossibly close, even though you are not moving away. “Can we go back to that thing you were saying earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“The,” he pauses, indecisive whether he actually wants to bring everything up right now. He ultimately decides for it. “Part with the ‘I love you’?” He knows that his voice sounds smaller than normal and that his eyes are shifting nervously at yours, but he wants to hear it again, wants the validation.

“Right,” you understand, nodding your head equally slowly. You straddle his lap again, and he immediately balances you by the waist, wanting to keep that impossibly close distance. “I’m – I’ve fallen –“ You swallow, looking away, but he needs you to look at him. Because if you can’t say it to his face, how does he know that you’re not just saying it out of obligation? Thankfully though, you see to be on the same wavelength, returning to his eyes, and his breath hitches, abs shaking in anticipation. You confidently give him the sentiment, “I love you.”

Yangyang tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, watching the way his fingers finish, stroking along our cheekbone. “I know,” he whispers coolly, leaning into your ear. “It’s hard not to love me,” he changes the subject, “I’m the best.” You scoff and push his chest, but he fastens an arm around you as equally fast, smiling too wide. He is a little sorry, for ruining the moment, but his laugh isn’t convincing at all. “I love you too.”

Sex, you think, feels infinitely better once the weight was lifted off your chest, once the spoonful of love was added. And the way Yangyang keeps kissing you, absolutely obsessed with holding your waist, tells you that spoonful is a misnomer, too small. The measurement for an entire ocean might be a better description. Still though, you would never call describe sex as love making, especially not to his face. At that point, you would be faced with an ‘oh, my god; that’s disgusting, man’ – not that you mind entirely, because the teasing smile he uses is so, so important to you, and sex feels just like that – the love part, not the disgusting thing. Although, sometimes he can be quite disgusting, yanno. Ah, he just makes you want to skip class and stay in bed beside him all day.

Except, both of you know how bad of an idea that is, with midterms are right around the corner.

Despite that, he spends the night at your apartment again, staying up until 3AM even though he has abnormal psych at 8 on Thursdays.

“I need a study break.”

You roll the cover of your design textbook towards your spiral notebook and toss the pile onto the floor, kicking the blankets off your feet. Yangyang barely spares you a glance, too absorbed in his case study. It is the last of five, and he only has the results, psychometrics, and summary statement left to write for this one before he is completely done for the week. Similarly, you have an exam on Joseon architecture later today and you are a third of a chapter away from catching up on reading, but honestly, fortresses get annoying to look at, especially when you have to compare militia structures against lower-class housing. So, you infiltrate Yangyang’s personal bubble, sliding an arm over his hips and your head into his lap.

“Does this mean I have you join you?” he teases, already putting away his pens. He pushes all his study materials by his feet, never leaning too far up, to keep your head in place. It gets even more comfortable when he relaxes again, resting across the pillows. You close your eyes, melting, when he massages your scalp, like he immediately knows where every knot or corner of tension are.

“I would really appreciate it, if you joined me.” You sigh. His touch is heavenly, and it makes you tighten your arm over his pelvis.

Eventually, Yangyang goes back to his homework, this time reclining in a way that lets you curl into his side. And you aren’t actually asleep, just mildly daydreaming with your eyes shut, thinking about literally anything (Yangyang) other than structures. When he raises a book midair, in front of his face, you move positions, sprawling across his chest, leg coming between his thighs. You (purposefully) annoyingly stick your head under his cheek, to ensure that you, at least, moderately block some of the passage.

Yangyang giggles. “Am I officially joining you now?” He puts his papers on your nightstand and wraps an arm around your shoulders, luring you to his lips. Your leg slithers above the waistband of his joggers, and he helps you straddle him again, sinking into the mattress to get a good view of the way you look in his oversize hood, in only his oversized hoodie. “You’re clingier.”

“Than what?” you ask innocently, rubbing his shirt fabric along his chest. You start pouting, as a response to his silence. Does he not want to cuddle? You shake your head. No, he does, given the way he pushes up the hoodie and yanks you further up his lap. “We cuddle the same amount.” You lower toward his ear, holding his neck in place, and whisper, “Do you not want to? Because I can leave.”

Before you can even think about getting off, he kisses you, sitting up. “Don’t go.” His hands come under your ass, squeezing as your arms circle around his neck. “It’s just –“ He bites his lip, suppressing a whine, which you can feel clog his throat. “You can’t sit on my lap like this. I’m getting hard.”

“Again?” you taunt. He slaps your butt, rather harshly, leaving a warm tingling sensation that he kneads away. You grind into his touch and kiss up his neck. “We can try the Pomodoro method.” You blow into his ear, shakily, as his hand presses particularly rougher. “I’ll set a timer for 25-minutes.” You look at him with chaste, despite the way you are purposefully making his blood rush. His fingers move to the edge of the hood, lifting it slightly. “Think we can have fun in just 25 minutes?”

“Mmmhmm,” he agrees early, nodding his head forward to kiss you. You don’t let him meet you though, not that you think he really noticed, what with being distracted by your very naked legs. He slowly sits up, all the way, and you feel his d!ck twitch against your thighs.

“Or do you think we won’t be able to finish?”

Yangyang throws you onto the bed and removes his shirt in one fell swoop. “Bet?”

“Missionary?” you ask, almost sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re getting more vanilla.”

Yanygyang gasps, then whacks your butt. “Take that back!”

You prop yourself on your elbows, eying all the naked parts of him up and down, from his low waisted briefs to his well-defined pecs to the rather cross sulk on his lip. “Make me.”

“Don’t have to.” He takes away your smirk, displaying it across his face. You tilt your head to the left, expression slacking blankly, but you catch on, feeling his fingers outline your sides. He slips his thumb between your lips, pushing it slowly until you basically give him a finger job, like a preview to the actual head he wants. “You’re already prepped.”

Your eyes flicker up, purely, as if he is about to ruin you for the first time. It’s his favorite part whenever you blow him – you looking into his eyes, taking every inch of him. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your lip down until he lets go, your lips smacking together. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling empty, even though neither of you have really done anything yet. “Are you going to fuck me then?” Your voice sounds so harmless, now lacking the bite as you mentally anticipate his d!ck to stretch you open right now. He shakes his head, no. “So what –“

Yangyang spreads your legs a little wider, strictly, darting in the direction of your main bullseye point. His touches remain light and teasing, not getting there yet, responding to all the little mannerisms that make your lower body so rhythmic. He rubs a finger, swirling the ends of his movements to get your hips riding his digits. You whimper breathily, voice cracking at such a high pitch. He sweeps your bottom lip, pressing his tongue softly, making you wish that he would fuck you already. It is insanely evil, for him to give you a preview of the intense foreplay without actually doing it, barely giving you the imagery of it all. You clutch his shoulder, to steady him for a constant kiss and to actually get on his slender fingers. But he never lets you. Instead, he pulls you by your ass, one-handed, forcing you to roll your hips on the silhouette of his d!ck. Fuck, how can you even feel his c.ock? His joggers are so thick. He maintains the stupid, inhumane taunts, kissing the air between you two, caressing everywhere along your hole. A few minutes pass without him changing the routine, so you reverse the positions, throwing him on your mattress and straddling his lap like a stripper. And with almost the same level of experience, or confidence (you hope it’s confidence), you seesaw over his d!ck. He swiftly locks your arms around his neck and his behind your lower back, palming your ass. You look into his eyes for a second, then kiss him roughly, smashing your lips on his.

“You’re. So. Eager. Today,” he says, muddied by elongated spit noises. His eyes are flittered closed as he smiles smugly, accepting your style of manhandling. Your embraces are light and rapid, doing everything in your power to prevent him from straying too far. But his abs get too shaky, too firm, the familiar build up washing over him, so he has to pull away. When he does, you try chasing him and he brushes your hair behind your ear, slowly stroking your jugular vein like ticking baby hairs. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too.” You peck his lips, now sitting sticky on his lap. He looks so pretty, eyes glazed and lips slightly parted. You just have to kiss him again.

Yangyang bends your back to the comforter, guiding you by the throat, simultaneously pushing his pants mid-thigh, c.ock bouncing more freely. It slaps your p.ussy, naturally twitching aroused. He is so close that when he pumps himself a few strokes, his knuckles rasp along your clit and you buck your hips for more touches. You feel his wet tip run along your slit, and you just know that his hand locks above his balls, right around his base, ready to push in. But you stop him.

“Let me ride you,” you pant, slowly opening your eyes.

He nods his head enthusiastically, and you pop off his head. You turn around, back facing him as you take off the hoodie, leaning down to graze your n!pples on the blanket.

Yangyang wails. “That’s not fair. I want to see.” He takes off his pants, to be as equally naked.

You redirect his attention back to your p.ussy, using your first two fingers to pinch your clitoral hood and gently tug it up and down, over his d!ck as you back into him. He lets out a loud moan at the sight; it takes everything in him to not thrust, listening to your command ordering him to wait. You brush your hair over your shoulder again and look at him behind your shoulder, sultry. Your mood changes are so sexy. His body moves automatically, hunching over your spine to litter you with kisses, his hand trailing behind his saliva. You take that palm and put it on your t!t as you grind his c.ock between your ass cheeks, sliding it to the most sensitive nerves of your p.ussy. He aids your building orgasm with two fingers, leaning his metacarpal inside of your thigh to rub circles specifically under your nub.

“Oh my god,” you exhale, walls throbbing in a vacuum of emptiness, needy.

You sit up and push him onto the pillows by his chest, then reach behind to grab his c.ock erect. His breath thunders, encouragingly. He waits for you to do something, scanning your bare back for every little love bite and mark. You slowly descend and use your knees to bounce, ass swirling between his thighs. Your hips oscillate from outward jumping to figure eights, to rocking sideways. And his favorite position seems to be when you take all of him, gyrating shallowly, letting only about an inch leave your p.ussy before you slam back down on him. You mimic his slaps, taking your hand off his inner thigh to grip your ass, dragging your nails up, leaving a tingling sensation. He rolls his eyes to the back of his head, recording the moment in his brain forever, then slaps your jiggling flesh several times. This position gets his big c.ock deep within your p.ussy, causing his balls to bump against your labia. Then he starts thrusting with you, pounding his hips up.

“Fuck, Fuck, Yanygang. Mmhm.”

He copies your expletives, adding some bad girl’s and other lewd nicknames, before slamming with some finality. You think that he is about to cum, but he withdraws, making you whine sharply. Yangyang flips you onto your back, immediately attacking your chest. His hands support you like a wired bra and shakes them, pushing the pads of his thumbs into your sternum so that your hardened n!pples remain level with his mouth. He licks one lightly, circling around the areola, then latches on, sucking with his tongue flattened under your skin. You arch your back to him, drawing him close. He repeats the action on the other, but longer, as he pinches and kneads your b.oob.

“Come on my d!ck again, you dirty little girl,” he orders, voice low and hoarse.

“Then stop pulling out,” you whisper, similarly breathless.

“Okay.”

You lean away from him, supported with your hands on his thighs, spinning your hips in circles and side to side. His hands squeeze your waist, jostling you to his chest brutally.

“Don’t do that,” he growls, teeth barring before he kisses you again, croaking the moan in your throat. He drags you close, fingers digging into esophagus so that his tongue and reach inside.

Your grip scratches on his triceps, pink lines haunting his skin. You keep bouncing up and down, until his chokehold drops. His mouth falls open, releasing strings of curses after gasps. He spanks you hard, twice, then grips your ass, jerking it savagely. You change the motion, grinding in tiny, little, miniscule circles. Your thighs shiver, your entire body following. He rotates his d!ck, thrusting asynchronously. And you claw through his hair, tugging the strands rougher and rougher as your abdomen keeps tightening.

“Almost, almost,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

Yangyang pulls your bottom lip with his teeth. “Me too.”

You begin slowing down, no longer able to bounce up and down, choosing to rock back and forth. Then, everything stops for just a second, your walls compressing his springy c.ock until you break. All of his muscles grate against you, making you feel each ridge and movement. He follows your orgasm, feeling the way you milk every drop out of him, sucking his entire length balls deep. Your whine sounds like a treble, harmonizing with his lower moan. And you two spend another moment in cowgirl position, collecting your breaths, basically fused together.

“I love you,” Yangyang repeats. Ever since yesterday morning, he has been throwing out the sentiment spontaneously whenever he can: during sex, after sex, while cuddling, in the middle of study dates, behind his cup of coffee at the physics café in the afternoon when no one else is nearby. He follows up with another confession, “I want more than 25-minutes.” And it catches you off guard, considering his previous statement and the other, in the midst of sex, or love making, as some people would call it.

“The 25-minutes is just for right now,” you reassure him, gently patting his cheeks. “We have to study. I still have part of a chapter left to read.”

“Then say it back.”

You pull his face to yours, brushing your noses together. “I love you,” you tell him slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“So, spend the night at my place tomorrow,” he requests. His arms come behind your lower back, his eyes pouting like a lamb.

“Of course,” you answer impulsively, immediately going to kiss him after. Then you pull away, stopping him on the shoulders. “Wait. You have roommates. You have six roommates.”

“Four,” he corrects you – Sicheng graduated last year and moved in with Yuta. “We’ll be fine. Dejun is going with Kun to some conference; I don’t remember what. Hendery is staying at an AirBnB before the EDM festival this weekend. Lucas is …” Yangyang bites his cheek, trying to recall his roomates’ schedules. “I think he’s going on a date. I don’t know, but he bought roses and they’re sitting in the fridge. And Renjun … Renjun …” Yangyang swallows. He almost forgot about the tidbit that he learned at the Halloween party last weekend.

“Renjun what?” you ask, pecking him lightly and chastely.

“Won’t be there either.” Yangyang stops you. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

You sense the serious tone and straighten up, clasping your hands around his neck. “What’s up?” you prod slowly.

“Did you really like him?” he questions so softly that you almost do not hear him. “Renjun?” he clarifies after you stay quiet (even though it was just a few seconds).

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, not entirely sure if you even want him to hear you, the ambience settling into something melancholier. “But I love you.”

It seems like he ignores you.

“Why didn’t you get with him?”

“You don’t mean that.”

You shake your head, pulling back, your eyes painfully dry. All the fuzzy spots from your orgasm earlier connect the dots in your head, and you wonder what this is, if he doubts you, doesn’t trust you.

But he agrees, “You’re right. I just … I mean, why are you with me instead?”

“Instead?” you ask. You come back to him – it’s always him, and you hold his face, making him look at you. “I’m not with you instead of Renjun. There’s no compet!tion. I love you,” you enunciate the confession again to really emphasize it.

“But –“

It doesn’t seem to stick. And you sigh with your entire body, slumping away from him. “Does it really bother you that much?” You shift around, biting your lip while his soft c.ock scrambles inside you. He meets your eyes this time, scanning your pupils for more reassurance. “You are kind and smart and hard-working and insanely talented, and … and I love you.” He stays quiet, and you almost throttle him, needing a bit of affection too. “Say it back,” you beg, differently from minutes ago. You drop your forehead on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yangyang seems to understand and reciprocates, “I love you too.”

You pull yourself to face him and beam, mirroring his tender gummy smile. Then, you kiss him again, toppling him into the pillows. He rolls you over, causing you to giggle loudly as he peppers small bites along your cheeks, across your nose, and whispers the same confession on loop.

“I love you,” he ends, kissing you deeply. He comes up for air, inhaling sharply. “So, stay the night with me tomorrow – tonight. At my place.” He brushes your hair away from your face, to get a better look at the sweet glaze in your eyes. You think that you fall in love a little more, especially with all his domestic acts.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Okay.” He nods his head, smiling wider, if possible, and kisses you over and over and over again.

Funny thing about Fridays: Yangyang doesn’t have a morning class, doesn’t have class at all actually; meanwhile, you have another art history class, at eight. The damn class is 90-minutes, so it is held three times a week. His lectures, you recall bitterly, go on for 2-3 hours each, granting him the three day weekend that every college student desires, pushing his classes to the first four business days of the week. That means he can stay up all night Thursday to Saturday, gaming for long hours into the night – not that you get to see it often, because when you do stop by the frat house, you spend time with anyone else. And usually, someone is visiting at the same time. You know, you write yourself into Xiaojun and Sicheng’s pool compet!tion, or watch moves with Lucas, but tonight (really morning, considering that it is 1 A.M.), you sit with Yangyang in his wide gaming chair, thumbing at The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (BotW) while he plays Overwatch with Haechan and Jeno. Thankfully, you don’t have any major assignments due later or any in-class presentations, so you can just curl up next to your boyfriend and pull an all-nighter, stealing snacks and drinks from his new mini-fridge so that you can avoid accidentally bumping into one of his roommates. Although, you Uber’ed to his place with a box of friend chicken and side dishes.

After the same gold lynel kills of Link for the third time in a row (the one in the Hebra region, outside the shrine, that has a sword you want), you lazily toss the controller onto his desk. Dying again and again gets frustrating, and you need to relieve the buzz. So, you turn to Yangyang, who looks to be in the middle of a campaign (is that what his levels are called?), and start asking him questions about his video game. Like, you know how sometimes people get so desperately horny that they ask their partner to explain Overwatch to them? Yeah, that is exactly how this feels, as Yangyang’s distracted voice describes his location and next move. And it is no wonder that he is a psych major – he is good at communication.

“What does that character do?” you whisper-ask, while the screen refreshes after he wins a battle.

“That’s an attacker.”

“A huh,” you nod along. You vaguely know what that means, based on the t!tle and all your years of the Club Penguin Card Jitsu game. “And that one?”

Yangyang removes his headset to around his neck and faces you, grinning sideways. “Are we sharing interests right now?” He pushes your legs apart, then straddles you over his thigh. His desk separates you and the game, pressing a fine line between the bones in your spinal cord. He turns the microphone down, muting himself from his friends. It is one thing for the two of you to be alone in the frat house and another for his close friends to physically hear you in his arms. “Or are you just needy for my attention?” Yangyang pulls one hand on your skin, rubbing small soothing circles. “That’s a sign of a relationship, you know.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “Like a date.”

You push him against the chair cushions, scrunching your nose at his laughter. “As if we haven’t done that already,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes for emphasis.

“What?” he asks. “Go on a date?”

You nod your head. Neither of you really call these types of things dates, but they are. Sometimes you also hang out in public, alone, maybe holding hand or kissing, even though lately it seems like you stay inside and study and have sex all the time. Actually, there is a rave going on this weekend with one of your favorite DJs – one shared equally by the two of you. You have yet to invite Yangyang, but now seems like a good time.

“You don’t really care about my games,” he pouts, “Do you?”

“I’m sorry,” you agree, pouting with him. “I don’t speak nerd.”

Yangyang gasps, sitting up straighter. “It’s not a nerd thing! It’s a game of strategy!”

You shake your head, still not understanding. “I don’t speak virgin either.”

He slaps your ass. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Am I supposed to be the virgin, in this scenario?”

“Are you becoming a born-again virgin?”

You shrug. “What would you do if I did?” You completely straddle his lap, scooting up his thighs until his d!ck sits at attention between your abdomens, and you whisper in his ear, “Would you leave me?” You bite his ear, softly licking the external side then blowing on it. “Would you ruin me? Take it away?”

“Virginity is a social construct,” he reminds you, growling. He slips his hands into your underwear. “I’ll ruin you right now.”

Except, another round on his game loads, and you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder opposite the microphone so that he can play, despite the insane wetness soaking your underwear right now. Then, two more games go by and you want his attention. He asked you to stay the night with him, and this doesn’t necessarily feel like that. So, you get off his lap, slithering down his legs onto the ground, onto your knees.

First, you untie his pants and spring his d!ck out. It’s not difficult, because (1) he has pyjama bottoms on, and (2) he manspreads like a motherfucker, giving you easy access. Then, the blow job starts. You lick your palm a couple times and angle his tip in your mouth, starting soft. His legs tense momentarily, making you consider stopping, but a hand appears, pushing you halfway down his length.

“You look so pretty down there, angel.”

He obviously did not actually look at you; you know because he usually makes eye contact when he is close to cumming, enjoying the way your eyes glass over. And because his keyboard continues clicking.

You continue on that way – keeping one hand squeezed halfway down his d!ck; hollowing your cheeks, adding extra suction all over his tip; flattening your tongue on the underside and rolling it like sushi at the very top. Despite his d!ck being fully erect in your mouth, his attention is less than enthusiastic, fingers working diligently on those numbers. It gives you an idea. You start bobbing your head faster, in tune with his typing, egged on by his compet!tiveness. And when his voice goes up an octave, your grip gets tighter, only slacking when you drop back down halfway. His groan echoes in your ear, sounding like he lost (whatever that means), so you pull off. He breathes a little bit harder after the smacking sound falls from your lips, preceding all the fluttering little kisses down his shaft. You hold his d!ck up and lick one stripe up between his balls, and he shouts at his friends:

“Alright! I’m done for the night. Play tomorrow. Bye!”

Yangyang pulls you to your feet, standing with you. He scans your eyes, pulling you closer and closer, debating whether to kiss you or not; he never really kisses you after you suck his d!ck, unless he eats you out too.

“Bed now,” he orders you in whispers, patting your butt a little too hard. You fall onto his queen-sized mattress stomach down, bouncing with his fluffy duvet. He kneels next to you, lifting his sweater off your thighs and spanking you again, three times. Each smack precedes a loud, high-pitched gasp. “You’re so needy.”

“Fuck,” you mutter at a particularly hard hit, his hand slipping to the wet p.ussy lips that need some friction. “Is that a bad thing?”

A door shuts loudly down the hall, making you two straighten up in attention. You prop yourself forward on your elbows, staring at the door. Yangyang watches your reaction, his ears alert and back facing the door. You hear Hendery walking up the stairs, something jangling with him, like keys or plates. A second pair of feet march with him, making you look at Yangyang. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head; he thought everyone was going to be gone this weekend, which does not apparently start on Fridays for his roommates.

“You’re going to need to be quiet,” he whispers. This is nothing new. The two of you constantly fuck, like rabbits, regardless if anyone can hear you, but Hendery is two rooms down and Yangyang is sliding two fingers knuckle deep until hitting the urethral sponge. His curling has your thighs tensing to the point of shaking. As he settles between your legs (not letting up on the pressure), he taps your sternum twice, telling you to keep still and quiet.

But you moan. It just comes out, not something that you can control. Especially when he nips all around your clit, lip biting at your skin and sucking small bruises. He keeps going like this, nodding his head for more vibrations everywhere except the most sensitive spot. Your breath gets more labored, breaking loudly.

“You need to be quieter,” he reminds you.

“Mmm, I can’t. You’ll have to move slower.”

Yangyang speeds up his fingers. “Not a chance.” He swipes his thumb across your clit once, then twice, then harder, giving it a little pinch. “Even if you cum, I’m still going.”

You whine, disagreeing. “Mmm mmm, you can’t say things like that. Fuck –“ He starts crawling over your body, peppering light touches along your stomach, around your b.oobs, above your collarbone. “- I want to cum.” You mewl, again frustrated, because he pulls his fingers out. He gestures you to shush, putting them in your mouth. With his hands occupied around your face and throat, his d!ck jostles, sliding between your p.ussy lips without actually entering. “Please,” you beg, “I want to cum so bad.”

“Ugh,” Yangyang moans in your ear, this time guiding himself inside your warm and aching hole. “I know,” he tells you. “I can feel it.” He rotates onto his side, propping up one of his legs to get into an easier position where he can pound you better. You grab one of the pillows, briefly arresting it with your nails acting like handcuffs before settling it under your oblique. The new angle puts Yangyang right back at your G-spot, his tip abusing the sponge harshly. “You’re milking my c.ock, huh? You’re – You want me so bad, huh?”

“Mm hmm, yeah,” you agree. His gaze fixates on the way your ass claps against his pelvis. He doesn’t even have to lead you anymore; you start backing up on him, motivated the rougher he tugs your hair. “Please, please,” you chant in whispers. He spreads your cheeks, obsessed with the disappearing act you pull, needing to see it more.

“Fuck,” he groans. He cups your b.oob off the mattress, supporting the other one with his arm, and pinches at your n!pple, swirling it around between his thumb and index finger. “Come on, pretty girl. You need to cum?” You nod your head fervently, face warming intensely. “So, cum on my c.ock. You can do it; come on.” He drops your chest for your neck, pushing your head into the blankets so he can kiss you again, incoherently vibrating broken praises on your lips.

“Yangyang, Yangyang, I’m – I’m – Harder, please. I’m so – Oh, fuck.”

He moans your name seconds after, spilling into your pulsating core, and relaxes, chest falling into an equilibria rhythm with yours. His c.ock softens, finishing its workout, so you swing your leg away from him and spin around, placing a hand on his chest. You stare at him for a little bit, like watching the sun set. He peaks an eye open, then closes it quickly, teasing you because he knows that you saw it.

“You’re going to get cross-eyed staring at me,” Yangyang jokes.

“Then let me get cross-eyed,” you counter, slithering an arm under his head like a neck cushion.

“That’s disgusting.”

You scoff, pulling on the ends of his hair. “You’re disgusting.”

He smacks your butt lightly. It is definitely his favorite punishment. “And you can call it a kink, fyi.” He opens his eyes in time to see you pout, and in return, he pecks your lips, pulling away just as fast.

You look over his shoulder at the time: 2 A.M. and bury your face in his chest. “We need to stop sleeping so late. My body can’t handle this.”

“My body can handle yours.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, even though he would not be ready to go again, at least for twenty minutes.

You chew on your lip a little bit, then repeat a post-sex tradition (well, it has essentially become a tradition this week). “Can I ask you a question?”

Yangyang kisses your shoulder, wrapping a leg around yours to keep you locked nearby. “Of course, anything.”

“Do you want to go to the rave with me, this weekend?”

“Like,” he processes, still hidden the crevice of your neck, “as in a date?” He lays across your arm, and you notice the glint in his eye. “Are you asking me out? I was supposed to do that!”

“Oh?” you return the tease. “We can just not go then, and I’ll wait for you to ask me out.” You start getting up, but he drags you back down, tugging specifically on your hand. He kisses you as a confirmation that yes, he wants to go; he wants nothing more than to go on a real date with you.

#wayv #nct yangyang #wayv yangyang #yangyang #yangyang smut #wayv smut #nct smut #yangyang fluff #wayv fluff #nct fluff #yangyang imagines #yangyang x reader #liu yangyang #wayv imagines #nct imagines #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #/mine

356 notes · View notes