#of working for less than half what i would get if it gave me normal orders

[fiendishfables]

Can I please request dom! Lucifer eating you out? I just know that man is very talented with his tongue

a/n: say less, really; short and sweet lovin' from Luci

warnings: nsfw, eating out, cursing, dom dom Luci

words: 676

additional notes: Thank you all so much for 110+ followers! It means the world to me that you guys enjoy my writing so much!

"Luxury of the King."

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

The white, silk sheets beneath you rustled softly. Gentle puffs of air left your lips, saliva coating their plush surface in a light layer. The familiar black dots began aligning along the edges of your vision. Chest rising and falling with erratic patterns; a light sheen of sweat adorning your brow, seeping lightly into your hairline. You felt and looked like the epitome of an absolute wreck.

And it was all because of the man who's head was currently buried between your legs.

Despite your clear state of overstimulation, he was a relentless predator. Well, his forked tongue, rather. It worked against and inside you, like you would be the last thing it ever got to taste. Flicking against you, tasting all of the sweet nectar you had to provide for him. He was determined to eat you dry.

"I-I'm sorry, darling. You just taste s-so...fuck...so damn good."

His mouth continued its assault against you, making sure to take his time and devour you all in the same set of actions.

If he could just stay in between your legs all hours of the day, oh how he could die a happy man. No worries or strife, just you splayed out for him, presenting yourself as a canvas for his tongue to travel. He gulped at the thought.

You truly were the best luxury a king like himself could have.

Lucifer knew he didn't deserve you. He always asked himself how he got so damn lucky with happening upon you, but he never got too curious upon questioning, nor greedy when it came to your services. This was enough to take him all the way to Heaven and back. What more could he possibly ask for, other than your lovely company?

He noticed how your hips were now beginning to move more, as if trying to get away from his relentless tongue. Just the thought of your sweet taste being abandoned from his warm, forked muscle made his pupils slit and eyes narrow. In response, he placed a gentle yet authoritative hand on your lower tummy, pushing your trembling hips downwards to the mattress; that's where they were to stay until he was done with you. You were a gift from Heaven he was sure, and Hell be damned if he didn't savor it. Just thinking that seemed like madness. Lucifer wanted to taste everything you had to offer him. Every. Single. Thing.

"Stay still. Don't you dare try to move away from me." He growled, voice dropping much lower than its normal octave, causing you to flinch in surprise. His head had come up and out from between your legs, almost enticing a whine from your throat at the loss of stimulation, yet a sigh of relief at the same time for the smidgen of a break you were currently being blessed with.

The sudden change in his attitude was a bit of a surprise, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't hot as hell. The puppy dog side of your boyfriend was what you were most used to, so seeing him act this way instead was a very nice change of pace. You could never be scared of him; your safe word was always at your disposal if you felt he was being too demanding or rough, and he knew it too. So unless you used it, he would continue with his advances.

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and offered the best nod you could manage with the state you were in, letting your head fall back to its original position on the fluffed pillows, lungs grasping for any sort of air they could muster up.

He gave a low nod back, a sly smile gracing his lips as he licked around them in order to clear off the remnants of your juices that he had yet a chance to devour like the other servings he managed to obtain.

"Good..." He said with a pointy smirk, before lowering his head once again to get right back to work.

#hazbin hotel x you #xreader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #lucifer #lucifer hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader smut #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #smut #dad beat dad #hazbin hotel oneshot #request #hazbin hotel request

[bagofshinyrocks]

Snow Angels... Kinda

Prompt: Simon is sent outside to shovel the snow from the driveway, and the little one joins him. Whether or not he's of help to his dad is another matter entirely. [Requested by @ertepla]

Featuring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Spouse!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: expletives

Simon was usually the monument of speed and efficiency. Grocery store runs were completed in less than ten minutes, didn’t even need to call you for clarification. Could get dressed in all his winter attire in about 2 minutes, starting in pajamas and ending in what you called a tactical marshmallow. And the snow in the driveway stood no chance once he whipped out the shovel.

Except when it came to your son.

He had to set a timer when it was time for the boy’s baths, otherwise he and the one-and-a-half-year-old would spend an hour splashing and dunking toys.

Making dinner was still speedy, but if your son was strapped to his chest, both of them would get distracted. The boy would try to stick his hands in everything, and Simon would let him.

“He’ll be pissed off if I don’t let him eat plain flour, and he’ll be pissed off if I do let him. In one of these cases, he’ll learn that he doesn’t like plain flour.”

The little shit kept eating plain flour.

And even if Simon did everything wrong when distracted by your baby (not that he ever did, the perfect bastard), you’d never wish it any different. The gentle side of him was one of your favorite parts of him, and your son had never seen any other.

The pediatrician noted that your baby knew a good many more words than the average kid his age, and you (to Simon’s embarrassment) chalked it up to how much Simon spoke to him.

You heard the rustling of Simon’s winter gear, and immediately your son perked up. 

“Dada?” he shouted.

More rustling and Simon looked in the doorway.

“Wassit, munchkin?”

You watched as the boy scrambled towards him, giggling.

“Do you want to help Dada with the snow?” you cooed, beaming.

Simon scooped him up and plastered his face in kisses. “Aw, little man’s always so helpful.” He glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. “But it’s almost his bedtime, innit? Alright if he comes with me?”

“Please. Tire him out so he’ll go to sleep.”

Simon chuckled and gave the boy a little toss in the air. “Let’s get you all bundled up, yeah?”

Simon took his time to bundle the boy up, with a sweater, a waterproof snowsuit, boots, a hat, a scarf, and mittens. The boy could barely walk in shoes, and you imagined there would be a lot of snow piles with a baby-shaped belly flop.

Simon would get two or three shovelfuls worth of snow into a pile, and then pause to see what the baby was doing. Putting snow in his mouth, and then spitting it out and whining at the temperature. Climbing up or sitting down in the piles. Trying to take the shovel from his dad.

Your husband sat the boy on the blade of the shovel and skidded him along the driveway. You could hear both of them laughing from inside.

Simon was about halfway through when your son tried walking again. Leaning onto furniture worked, but leaning into piles of unpacked snow was not helpful. With a squawk, he fell sideways into a pile.

Your husband turned at the squawk and belly laughed at the scene. Two kicking legs and nothing else.

He walked over and grabbed one of the flailing limbs. The boy’s snowy face came into view as Simon lifted him out of the pile with one hand, dusting him off a bit with the other. 

Normally, a baby would cry. But his dad was laughing and asking his son cheerfully about what he was doing. And so the boy laughed and squealed and clapped his mittened hands.

“Simon Riley,” you hollered from the kitchen window.

He turned with a grin and gave the boy a little swing.

“Don’t you dare drop my damn baby.”

Simon pretended to do so, lowering the boy, and then pulling him back up. Then lowering him, then pulling him back up. Both of them laughed and laughed, and you pretended to gasp each time.

An hour later, the boy was fast asleep in his crib.

“Aw, he snores just like you,” teased Simon.

You swatted him. “Piss off. Good thing it’s not like yours, or the whole neighborhood would hate us.” 

The two of you left the nursery and went to your own bedroom, where two heating pads lay in your respective spots.

You crawled into bed with a quiet sigh, and Simon did so with a loud series of groans and grumbles. You kicked his thigh. 

“You’ve been a dad for a year and a half and you already sound like one.”

“Hell you talkin’ about?”

You imitated the noises he made earlier right in his face, and he covered your face with a pillow.

“My fuckin’ back hurts.”

“The baby’s that heavy that you hurt your back?”

“What? Nah, he’s easy to carry. Could throw him 50 meters. No, the snow is heavy.” He sighed and settled on his back, letting you curl up around him. “And I’m an old man, now, lovie.”

You hummed and closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his chest through his shirt and the steady beat of his heart. Then his chest jerked up and down rapidly with a chuckle, and you opened an eye in faux annoyance.

“Sorry, lovie, just remembering how he ate shit in the driveway.”

You both snickered at the Loony Tunes-type scene from earlier.

“The driveway is clear, but all the ground around it has his belly-flops and face-plants.”

“They’re snow angels, honey.”

A fresh bout of laughter at the comparison.

Posted: 2023 Dec 11

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 fluff

[motherlvr]

hi:D can you do miles!42 with a reader who doesn't really like getting told "watch who ur talking to" or smth bc most fics abt miles!42 is like that and nooo i won't ever let a man say that to me😭 and they like, know how to defend themself so they're pretty independent if thats alr ofc!

ngl i loved writing this, tysm for the req!

wc: 2.1k

pairing: E-42 Miles Morales x Strong, Independent! f! reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of rivalry tbh, cursing, Miles is mean in this one, but gets character development, reader knows how to fight, baddie ong, reader doesn't take miles' bs

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

"You gotta be shitting me." Mumbling under your breath, your eye involuntarily twitched. You glared at Miles like it was his fault for putting you in this situation.

Your glare was reciprocated as he said, "I ain't happy about it either, princesa." You hated when he called you that. It rolled off his tongue with such distaste. "Yeah? Glad we got that in common then." You snipped, irritated.

Miles Gonzalo Morales was a dick. To put it kindly.

He was a stuck-up, close-minded dick. It's like his sole purpose in life was to irk you. The two of you have never been on good terms. He tested your patience every waking moment.

But unfortunately for both of you, your Spanish teacher paired you up as partners for a major project. It would count for a good portion of your grade, so not doing it wasn't an option for you. You had less than two weeks to finish the project, and you weren't going to waste it.

You'd much prefer to do the project alone. One thing you've learned is: if you want something done correctly, do it yourself. And to never put it solely in the hands of a man. But the project was a requirement for the class, so you had no place to argue about it.

Thankfully, today was just a planning day. So it wouldn't be as painful, you hoped.

You showed him a plan you had thought about within only a few minutes and asked, "Thoughts?" He took a short glance at it and told you, "That's trash." A vein almost popped out of your head. You snapped, "You got any better ideas then?"

"Yea, anythin' other than that." He told you mindlessly. You had half a mind to make his braided head become real familiar with the cold surface of his desk. Around ten minutes later, he had finally come up with something. It wasn't that great, but at least he was semi-cooperative. You took one look at his plan and decided to turn the tables on him. You said, "You couldn't have come up with anything better? Shit's worse than my idea."

You could see him grip his pencil just a bit tighter, no doubt irritated by now. "Nah, watch your mouth." He told you, and you were unsure of how serious he was being. "Watch my mouth? You needa watch how when you turn around, one of your precious braids will be gone." You said as you made a snipping motion with your fingers. He protectively grabbed onto his braids, "Yo chill, ma."

As Spanish class progressed, everything only went downhill from there. He always seemed to hate every idea you had or had something to say. He groaned, "Woman, I swear. Your ideas are shit." Your former hopes of a peaceful partnership were long gone.

His choice of words alone irked you as you replied, "See, that's what you're not gonna call me. And if we're gonna be partners, you need to act decent for once. Get it together, Morales." You set clear boundaries as you pointed a finger at him. Surprisingly, he obliged. He looked like he made a revelation as he shook his head. "Nah, you right. That was outta line." The moment was oddly tranquil until he opened his mouth again. "I meant: I swear, your ideas are fucking terrible."

From that point further, the hopes of having a normal, mature, conversation were fleeting. The majority of the class was spent bickering rather than working on the task at hand.

You were one of the very few people that tested him. You gave him a challenge, while most people wouldn't utter a single complaint.

Eventually, at the end of the class, the two of you finally landed on an idea to carry out. A true miracle.

The next week in Spanish class passed and the days were cutting it closer and closer to the deadline. But there was still much work to be done. So, begrudgingly, you both had to work on it out of school. After Spanish, you were packing up your things when you asked him, "My place or yours?" His response was immediate. "My place. I'll give you my address. Come over after school, 'ight?" He said, writing down his address and handing it to you.

You accepted it and said, "Alright. Are your parents good with me coming over?" You questioned if he even had the decency to check first. Although you couldn't stand him most of the time, you didn't want to intrude on his family. He shrugged it off, "Yeah my ma's good with it. Already told her."

He wasn't about to tell you that his mother demanded the project was done at his house so she could keep a keen eye on the both of you.

You were dreading the final bell of the day. Spending more time than legally required with Miles wasn't your ideal image of fun. As the school day ended, you walked over to Miles' house.

Knocking on the door, it was soon opened by no one other than Miles' mother. She was expecting you, as a smile adorned her face. You greeted her, "¡Hola, Señora Morales! Gracias por invitarme a tu casa." (Hi, Mrs. Morales! Thank you for inviting me to your house.)

She widened her eyes at you, "¡Claro! ¿Cómo estás?" (of course, how are you?) She asked you with a sweet smile. You replied and reciprocated a smile, "Bien, ¿usted?" (good, you?) To which she responded, "Muy bien, gracias." (very good, thank you) As you put down your things, you noticed Miles was standing only a few feet away. His mother pulled Miles to the side and whispered, "She speaks Spanish, I like her." Not wanting to give away that she was a loud whisperer, you concealed a small laugh. It's a wonder how Miles turned out like that. His mother's wonderful. You knew she raised him better.

After his mother was done speaking to him, Miles led you to his room. His mother called out, "¡Deja la puerta abierta!" (leave the door open!) "Si, mami." He said back in an unusually nice tone.

You previously believed Miles Morales was a universal dick. But you soon realized you were somewhat wrong. He was a dick. To everyone except his mother, it seemed.

As you both settled down to start working on the project, you grinned at him like you had just found out a Federal-level secret. "You're such a momma's boy." You said.

His head whipped to you like you knew something you shouldn't. "No one would believe you." He said. You teased, "Oh, everyone would. Trust."

This was the most civil conversation the both of you have ever held within your whole history of knowing Miles. The afternoon was sprinkled with light-hearted jokes here and there, and it wasn't as painful as you initially believed. Needless to say, being forcibly confined in a space with Miles went much smoother than you could've ever anticipated. The project was progressing for once. And so was your relationship with Miles.

A few days later, you were in a better mood than regular. Within the past few days, Miles has been more tolerable. Maybe even likable. Apparently, you were in too good of a mood. You must've appeared too approachable today.

As you were walking in the hallways of school to your next class, a guy you didn't recognize slung an arm around your shoulders and said, "Hey, what's good jit?" You immediately pushed his arm off. He reeked of an excessive usage of cologne. You winced at his stench. "Don't call me that." You assertively said. But he only took it as a challenge. He said with a wink, "You tryna play hard to get? Alright, I'll play along."

"I'm not 'playing hard to get'," You mocked with air quotations. Dumbing it down, you continued, "I don't want you." Could a girl make it any more obvious?

Your words went straight over his oversized head. He said with a disgusting smirk, "I can change your mind." Your face visibly grimaced at his desperate attempt, "Not even baby Jesus could change my mind."

He was starting to get agitated at this point, "Nah, why you trippin', girl?" he said. You immediately retorted, "Why can't you take a damn hint?"

"C'mon, I know you want me. Gimme a chance." He said. You were sick and tired of this interaction, so you just decided to walk away. Turning your back, you tried to escape this conversation. But he grabbed your hand to prevent you from leaving. "Aye, where you goin'?"

You tried to be patient. And where did patience get you? Nowhere. In your mind, this guy was way too testosterone-deficient to be talking tough to you. There was nothing worse than a teenage boy. More importantly, a boy that didn't know what 'no' means.

And in an instant, the sound of a slap resounded throughout the hallway.

He looked like he was about to start crying. Holding his cheek in pain, he sneered, "Fuck you, bitch. You ain't shit anyway. I ain't even want you." But as you tried to walk away once again, he placed a tight grip on your shoulder to prevent you from escaping.

Miles was skipping class and wandering in the hallways when he saw you. From your body language, he could tell you were uncomfortable. His eyes glanced toward the guy's grip on your shoulder, and Miles suddenly understood the situation. He could see where this was heading. Or at least, he believed he did. Miles was about to intervene when within the blink of an eye, you had flipped the guy on his back and onto the floor.

You told the boy on the floor, "Don't try that shit again. With me or any other woman, got it?" Groaning in agony, the guy whimpered in response, and you took it as a 'yes'.

The guy was no André the Giant, but it impressed the hell out of Miles nonetheless. Since when could you do that? He questioned himself. Miles had to prevent his jaw from dropping. He was suddenly glad he never pushed you that far. You walked away unbothered as if nothing had happened. He gained a newfound respect for you. But that would have to stay unspoken.

Once Spanish class rolled around, you realized it was the second to last day you had to finish the project, so you were working extra diligently in Spanish class. You told Miles, "Alright, I finished decorating it. What do you think?" showing him the project. Not that you cared what he thought, but it would make this whole process much easier if he wouldn't shit on your every move. You've had your daily dose of asshole for the day. Almost an overdose, really.

A few moments passed by where he stared at the project, and then back to you. Fully expecting Miles to be his usual asshole self, you said, "Spit it out. What is it?" You waved your hand in front of his face. He swatted your hand away and replied, "I ain't gonna hold you, it's a pretty solid project so far."

You raised a brow at him, and suspiciously asked, "Really?" This was the first time he didn't have any retort to say. "Yeah, I think you're great, ma." He said. You cheekily grinned at him as he tried to correct himself, "I meant, great at the project. Yeah. The project." He almost stumbled on his words. He never did that. He was always collected. What was up with him? It was definitely a sudden change, but you weren't complaining.

There was only a small portion of the project left to do by the end of the class, so Miles suggested finishing it at his house.

This time after school, the both of you walked together to his house. As you worked on the project in his room, you noticed he wasn't getting much done. It seemed like he was in his head, whatever goes on in there. As you glanced up, he locked eyes with you. You hadn't a clue what he was thinking.

You originally would've preferred to do the project yourself, but if you had to have a partner, you believed the work should be divided equally. You weren't going to carry the whole project on your back.

"Why're you slacking, Miles? Our time is limited, y'know." "Ion know. Mind's elsewhere." He shrugged. It was subtle, but you noticed his glance travel to your lips. You grinned and took the opportunity to tease, "What, you want a kiss or somethin'?" You said it mainly as a joke. Sure, maybe you liked the way he gave you a challenge everyday. You wouldn't blatantly admit it, but it was refreshing to be with someone that actually cared about their work. But much to your surprise, he ran his hand over the back of his braids and said. "Shi, maybe it would motivate me. You feel me?"

Not expecting him to agree, you said, "I mean, alright. If you get off your ass, maybe I'll give you one." You tried to say as casually as you could. But you couldn't deny the fact that you were growing fond of him. You were internally conflicted as you wanted to hate him, but couldn't. In reality, it was far from hate.

Miles couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment his detest for you faded away and was replaced with something different. An emotion he rarely felt. Seeing you singlehandedly take on a guy was only fueling it for him. He quickly started working harder on his part. You mentally praised yourself. After a few silent moments, he spoke up, "Yo, I'm basically finished."

He was bullshitting, and you knew it. As you looked at his part of the project, he still had a good chunk to finish. But you caved and moved closer to him. Holding a hand to his face, you peppered a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely avoiding his mouth.

As usual, he had something to say, "Don't play, mami." He resisted the urge to press his lips to yours until they were numb. You simply smiled at him and replied, "Yeah? Keep workin' and you'll earn a real one."

Immediately, Miles got right back to working on his part of the project without another complaint. You've never seen him work so studiously.

Pleased to say, with your motivation, Miles was more productive that day than all the other days combined.

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taglist! please lmk if u want to be added 🫶

@l5byrinth @iamspooderman

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales spider man #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #spider man #prowler miles #friends to lovers #miles morales prowler #prowler x reader #atsv prowler #prowler!miles x reader #miles morales #prowler miles morales #miles morales x fem!reader #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse

[minniesmutt]

♱ ━━━━━━ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 

♱ ━━━ CONTENT: INDIRECT MENTIONS OF MURDER, GUN MENTIONS, THREATS ON READERS LIFE, MENTION OF PROSTITUTES, STD MENTIONS, NON-SEXUAL NUDITY, FINGERING, EXHIBITIONISM/VOUYERISM, QUICKIE, PROTECTED SEX ♱ ━━━ WC: 2.6K ♱ ━━━ PAIRING: CHAN X READER ♱ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog ♱ ━━━ a repost from my old blog

     “So, I fucked a mafia boss?”

     “More or less,” Changbin replied

     “That’s kinda hot,” Y/n shrugged

     “Congrats Chan, you didn’t scare her off,” Seungmin gave the leader a thumbs-up

     “Can I get an explanation on the ‘Chan’ part? That’s the thing throwing me off.”

     “Did you tell you his name was Chris?” Felix asked

     “That’s what Changbin and I heard last night, or, early this morning?” Jisung stated

     “That’s embarrassing, damn.” Y/n sighed

     “I can kick them out still,” Chan told her, praying she’d tell him too

     “No, I want more of an explanation.”     Y/n was persistent, that was for sure. Felix took to explaining the current situation; alias’, how they all met, fell into crime and violence together, etc. Leaving out what they actually had done and what they did every day. The club front and mentioned a few others they had because eight people running one club were suspicious.

     “Wow, okay that’s a lot,” Y/n sighed, taking in the information she had just given

     “Chan,” Changbin said

     “Yeah. You guys get to work.”     The words left his lips and the seven guys made their way out of the penthouse, leaving the two. Chan sighed and turned from where he stood next to the counter to stand between her thighs, hands pressing against the cold counter. Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

     “I didn’t plan to tell you any of this,” Chan brought one hand up to hold her chin between his thumb and pointer finger

     “Is this the part where you tell me I can’t go back to my regular life? That I know too much?” Y/n was half joking. She’d read a couple of mafia lover books before, if they were anything like real life, she could guess what was coming.

     “You either stay with us or we make you disappear.” The look in his eyes was serious. Y/n just smiled at him.

     “You know, normal people don’t smile when their life is on the line,” Chan notified her

     “Well, guess I’m not normal then. You’re stuck with me.”

     “Y/n, please tell me you’ve thought this through.”

     “What? Stay with a hot gang leader who’s very sweet and has some funny friends who are equally as attractive or die?”

     “You’d be giving up you’re whole life, friends and all, princess. We can’t risk you running to the police.”

     “Chrissy, babe. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m not entirely right in the head. I don’t think a sane person would be as calm as I am about this whole thing. I swear I won’t go to the police or tell my friends about this. Most they will know if you’re a club owner and ask for free drinks. Do you want me to make a blood oath to you or something?”

     “No, you don’t need to go that far. It’s… It’s a lot more than me.”

     His head dropped as well as his hand. Laying on her thigh, “You wouldn’t be the first person we’ve brought into this. It usually doesn’t end well when they agree to stay.” 

     “Hey,” Y/n grabbed his face and made him look at her, “What aren't you telling me?”

     “Besides that, my friends are just as smitten with you as I am, if you stay with us you are going to get caught up in everything.”

     “That seems like a given. But I think eight hot men are good bodyguards.”

     “Just how fucked is that pretty little head of yours?”

     “I'm sure you'll figure it out soon,” Y/n pulled him in for a kiss.

     Chan laughed a bit as he kissed her back, gripping her hips, and pulled her closer to the ledge of the counter. Y/n pressed her torso up against his bare chest, hands wandering down to his shoulders and gripping his biceps. “You sure you wanna stay?” Chan pulled away from her lips.

     “Yes, Chris. Now stop worrying and fuck me again.” 

     Chan smiled, “You know, the guys are gonna want you too, right?” he leaned in and kissed down her neck

     “I don’t mind getting passed around,” Y/n chuckled, “But can you share?”

     “I can,” Chan answered, snaking and hand from her hips to under his shirt.

     He pushed his finger between her folds and let his thumb slowly run circles along her clit. Y/n laid her head back on the cabinet behind her as he pushed two fingers inside of her, slowly pumping them in and out of her.

     “Fuck Chrissy.”

     “Love when you call me that,” His voice was muffled against her neck. 

     “Chan! Do you not have you’re fucking phone on you!” Minho’s voice rang

     Chan sighed, not once even stopping his ministrations on her, “What is it now?”

     “Felix got into the cameras at the docs. A bunch of lower-grade thugs go—” Minho walked into the kitchen, “Before I go further, what are we doing with her?”

     “She’s staying with us,” Chan didn’t miss the smirk on his friend’s face.

     “Well, lower-grade thugs got their hands on some bigger-grade guns and ballistics—” Minho explained the situation but Y/n wasn’t paying much attention as Chan slipped a third finger into her and pressed harder on her clit. Chan’s attention wasn’t even on her anymore, he was fully involved in his conversation with Minho. She bit her lower lip to keep her moans at bay.

     “Don’t be quiet on the count of me kitten,” Minho stated, smirk returning to his face.

     Her eyes flickered over to the other man. The moment she caught his gaze, she clenched around Chan’s fingers. Minho’s eyes drifted across her body as he continued speaking with Chan. Eyes lingering just a tad too long on her exposed thighs. 

     “Find the guys and call me, I’ll handle it from there.”

     “You going to have your phone on you this time?”

     “Yes, now go.” 

     Minho smiled, leaving the two of them. Chan turned his attention back to the woman in front of him. His lips went back to her neck while his fingers picked up the pace inside her. 

     “You like being watched when you’re getting fucked,” Chan chuckled 

     “Don’t know what you mean.” His fingers left her seconds later, making her whine

     “I felt you clamp around my fingers when Minho walked in. Don’t play dumb,” Chan pulled himself out of his pants.

     “I could say the same for you. You didn’t stop fingering me when you were talking to him,” Y/n added as he opened a drawer and rummaged around before pulling out a condom, “Do you just conveniently keep condoms in your kitchen?”

     “You never know where you’re gonna fuck, might as well be prepared,” Chan smiled as he tore open the wrapper, rolling the rubber onto his cock

     “Thought you didn’t bring others home.”

     “Princess, we’ve all used prostitutes before,” Chan explained as he pulled her down from the counter, turning her around so his back was against his chest.

     Before she could even comment, Chan pushed into her in one fell swoop. Y/n let a high-pitched moan fall from their throat as leaned forward, putting her hands on the counter in front of her. Chan smiled, holding onto her hips and leaning forward, “So pretty,” he whispered against her neck

     He pulled back and thrusted back into her, not at a slow pace but also not at a fast pace. His lips left kisses along her neck, hands traveling away from her hips and pushing the t-shirt up. 

     “Faster,” Y/n groaned as his hands groped her breasts. 

     “Not yet princess,” Chan chuckled and his fingers tweaked her nipples

     Y/n gripped the marbled counter as her head hung low, deep shallow breaths falling from her lips, slightly pushing herself back onto him, meeting his steady thrusts. 

     “Trying to fuck yourself on me, Princess?” Chan gave her one rough thrust that stopped all thoughts in her head

     Chan was quick to learn last night the effect he might have had on her. Now he was certain of it and it made him smile. 

     He stood straight behind her and grabbed her hips again. He pulled back to the tip and quickly and roughly fucked back into her. Laughing at the curses that fell from her mouth. One hand moved down from her hips to rub her clit. The bit of pressure made her walls clamp around him and the knot in her stomach tightened faster between his thrusts and his fingers.

     Chan’s thrusts were making it hard for her to do— let alone think of —anything. Hands slipping from the counter a bit, taking Chan’s notice. He moved his other hand up from her hip up to the column of her throat. He had a loser hold there as he pulled her back against his chest. Y/n grabbed onto his arm to ground herself, just a little.

     “Even prettier like this,” Chan chuckled before she came undone on his cock. Chan thrusted up a few more times before coming in the condom. 

     Both caught their breaths before Chan pulled out and tossed the condom in the garbage. Y/n leaned against the counter before she was scooped up into his arms and carried back into the large bedroom. 

     “Don’t forget your phone or Minho will kill you,” Y/n giggled as he brought her into the bathroom 

     “I’d like to see him try,” Chan replied. He set her down on the counter before turning on the facet in the tub. Chan stepped out momentarily and came back with both their phones. 

     “Oh shit. Where was mine?” Y/n asked

     “On the floor in your bag by my bed,” Chan answered

     “Didn’t know I dropped it last night. Whoops,” Y/n grabbed her barely alive phone to check her messages 

     “We were both busy,” Chan smiled as he kissed her neck before going back to fix the bath for them. 

Karina: Im so fucking pissed. That dick was terrible last night and now I’m hungover as fuck Seana: I’m assuming none of us came last night then Karina: probably not Y/n? Did you go home with anyone last night

     It was pretty obvious that her two friends she was hanging out with had just gotten home. “Am I allowed to tell my friends I fucked the club owner?” Y/n asked

     “As long as that’s all you say,” Chan replied

     Y/n smiled at him. 

Y/n: I did!  Seana: oh bitch. who? Y/n: the owner 🤭

     Chan came up and stood between her legs and watched her screen 

Karina: no way! I don’t even think the employees have seen the owner. How do you know the guy wasn’t lying? Seana: someone’s jealous 🙄 Karina: im just saying. it’s unlikely 

     “Karina seems like a bitch,” Chan noted

     “She’s been worse.” Y/n sighed

Y/n: If this penthouse is anything to the money that club brings in 👀 Seana: YOU’RE STILL THERE Y/n: He knows how to make a girl cum and I didn’t have to tell him to put a condom on. fuck yes I’m still here Karina: damn. didn’t wanna go raw 🙄 Seana: that’s why you have an std, dumbass Karina: UNCALLED FOR??? Y/n: gtg. talk later 😉 Seana: have fun babe 😉 Karina: does he have friends?

     “I stand by my previous statement,” Chan said as Y/n set her phone to the side

     “Yeah. I just keep her around for entertainment at this point.” 

     “Bath’s ready Princess.” Chan slid his hands under the t-shirt she had on

     “Join me?” Y/n asked, hands wandering down to his sweats

     “Of course,” Chan slipped the shirt off and tossed it to the ground. Y/n pushed his pants down before he took over. Y/n hopped off the counter and Chan guided her over to the tub.

     He got in first and laid back against the porcelain as she got in and laid against his chest. His arms wrapped around her body. 

     “How do you feel about working in the club?” Chan asked after a few moments

     “Gonna make me a bottle service girl?” Y/n chuckled

     “No. People talk, I need you to listen. You’ll have a front job in management as well. You’re here, I might as well put you to use,” Chan explained 

     “Being you’re fuck toy isn’t a job?”

     “You’re human, princess. Not a doll for us to play with whenever we want.”

     “What exactly would I be doing for all of you then? You mentioned the others wanting me.”

     “We haven’t explicitly talked about it, but from the way they were looking at you earlier, I figured they’d all taken a bit of an interest in you. If I’m correct and they are, you’d be shared between all of us. In return, we’ll provide you with everything you need.”

     “Like a sugar baby? That’s what this sounds like to me.”

     “Whatever you want to call it love. But, you’ll also be an informant for us. Men don't talk to us but give them a pretty face offering a drink and they’ll spill anything.”

     “But don’t sleep with the enemy? Come back to each of you every night?” 

     “Hm. Not every night. I’ll provide you with your own place in the building, we’ll all have free reign to your place as well, but you’ll have the same to our places as well. Some may be a bit more clingy than others so beware.”

     “Do you own the building too?”

     “Yes. It is usually the eight of us that just live here, but now,” Chan leaned down and kissed her shoulder, “You’ll be here.”

     “Sounds like fun.”

     Chan smiled, kissing up her neck before his phone rang. Chan got up from the tub and stepped out. He made his way over to the counter and picked up his phone. “Hello?”

     Y/n enjoyed the warm water, sinking lower. Relaxing her muscles from all they’d been through last night and this morning.

     “Alright. Get over to mine to watch Y/n, I’ll head down there.”

     Her head popped up at the mention of her name. “Where are you going?”

     “Work. Minho and Jisung are coming down to take care of you until I get back. I’m sure Minho will give you some more details on the arrangement,” Chan grabbed a towel to dry off and walked out of the room to get dressed, “I’ll have them take you to your place to pack up what you need. I should be done by the time you get back to have your new place set up,” Chan called from inside the room

     “Alrighty,” Y/n spoke, washing herself off. Chan brought in a clean t-shirt for her and cleaned up the clothes on the floor before he kissed the top of her head, “I won’t be long princess.”

     “Have fun,” Y/n replied. Chan patted the top of her head as he walked out of the bathroom. He sent a text to his two friends telling them to take her to pack her things. He made a quick stop in his closet again to grab his gun from its safe. 

     He made sure it was locked again before he left his room. Minho and Jisung walked in from the elevator. 

     “She’s still washing up,” Chan told them as he headed to the elevator. 

     “Got it, boss,” Jisung said

     “I told her about the arrangement as well.”

     Both the men smiled at the mention. They could have some fun with this.

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[velvetures]

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

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[yujification]

press your number — hwang yeji

desc: It’s lewd and messy when Yeji finally slides it all the way in. Soft squelching sounds, that of which derived from the silicone stretching her pretty cunt out. You moan, a sharp whine coming from the back of your throat as she sits on your waist, biting your lip gingerly. “Fuck,” You swallow. “Good girl. Just like that.” You give her ass a nice hearty smack. She swats your hand away. You were only being kind, after all.

cw: strap sex, strap sucking, praise, unnie kink, cunnilingus, lowkey manipulative!yeji, gratuitous smut, kind of pwp

wc: 2.4k

note: i got crazy writers block halfway through…. um this is super half-assed…. my bad! + i pulled out the proper punctuation for this one plz dont ask why ….. i was feeling diplomatic

Groupmates doesn’t always equal teammates. In fact, your relationship with Hwang Yeji was more like something akin to a rivalry— always at each other’s throats with knives and blades (and tongues) waiting to slash (or lick).

It hurt. It hurt your heart how much she hated you and hurt your head even more.

“I have needs,” Yeji whispers, licking a stripe up the valley of your breasts, tasting of pure, unsaturated skin and flesh. Of salt. Of innocence. “And… when your unnies have needs, you need to help, yeah? I would’ve helped you. Do you need me to help you? Help you learn?”

It felt wrong, almost. Chanting her name, almost like a prayer, begging and pleading for release while Yeji buried her face between your thighs. You wondered if she cared. If she gave a shit how wrong it was.

It was mostly you doing the dirty work anyway, using Yeji’s thick, jet black 7-inch of silicone and thrusting into her rhythmically, drool loosely hanging off your lips and dribbling into her mouth and hair. You felt like it was a part of you. Like the strap-on was your own, like you could almost feel her tight, virginal cunt clenching around it. Neither of you had ever been with anyone else before. Being an idol meant limited social interactions, let alone time with normal civilians long enough to fuck them. You had to help each other, is what Yeji always said, but as far as you were aware, the others didn’t have late-night meetings like this. Yuna had admitted that she had kissed Chaeryeong before, years ago, but it meant nothing. This wasn’t kissing. This was raw. Felt real. Maybe too real.

“Feels good, unnie,” you whisper, burying the cock deeper, and letting Yeji adjust to it’s size.

Yeji grunts. It’s low and throaty and leaves you dripping. You shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you do, but it wasn’t like she would know anyway. “Is that a question or a statement?”

A statement. You play it off. “It was a question,”

“Sorry. Do you feel… good? Unnie?” There are awkward pauses between your words.

“Y-Yeah. Feels fine.”

Just fine.

You can feel it. You can feel when she comes, and not even in some bullshit spiritual way. You feel it. You don’t remember Yeji being a squirter, but suddenly she is, her juices leaking all over the silicone. You pull out, and almost want to take the strap off and lick everything off of it. You imagine it tastes good. Clean and salty.

You don’t. It’s too many boundaries to cross in one night.

“Another?” you ask, letting the one word speak for itself while your fingers hover over the clasps of the toy.

“Quality over quantity,” Yeji says, a little too blunt for comfort. You want to be offended, but you aren’t.

“Am I getting better?”

“You’re regressing,” But you know she’s lying.

You scoff. “You came in two minutes,” and it’s truer than ever. Maybe even less than that. You’d always had good waist control, and maybe that’s what made you such a good dancer. “I’m obviously not getting worse. That was quicker than last time.”

“Freak. You’re counting?”

“It’s only an estimate.”

Yeji adjusts herself. “Fine. Fuck me again, then.”

“Quality over quantity.”

Touché. Always witty, never afraid.

Any other girl would pout. Beg like a dirty whore and get on their knees. Anyone would kill for a chance to be with someone as high profile as you. Yeji, however, couldn’t care less about how much money you have or how many fangirls you have lined up just waiting to suck your strap clean.

“I want quantity. I said, fuck me again. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You won’t. You’ll obey, but not as easily as usual. Not as much as Yeji wants.

“Ride me, then. I want you on top, this time.”

Yeji meets your request with a bitchy eye roll. “Fuck, yeah, okay,”

And it’s always that easy.

You settle on your back and Yeji straddles you. She’s wetter than normal. Her folds shine in the light, nearly glistening with heat. They’re swollen too. Puffy and needy.

She lines the silicone up with her entrance and sinks, and the words come out embarrassingly fast, “God, you make unnie feel so fucking good,” and she doesn’t stop them, pushing nearly half of the length into her before stopping, taking a breath.

“You can do it,” you encourage, hands firmly on her waist,

“Stop talking.”

It’s lewd and messy when Yeji finally slides it all the way in. Soft squelching sounds, that of which derived from the silicone stretching her pretty cunt out. You moan, a sharp whine coming from the back of your throat as she sits on your waist, biting your lip gingerly. “Fuck,” You swallow. “Good girl. Just like that.” You give her ass a nice hearty smack. She swats your hand away. You were only being kind, after all.

At the very least, it isn’t an attempt to be romantic. She hates corny shit, and this isn’t corny. Well, maybe it is— but not in that way. It isn’t cheesy. It isn’t stomach-churningly cute, or soft, or sweet. You’re fucking your leader with a huge piece of silicone and praising her for her good work. God knows she needs it. It might inflate her ego, and she might use this moment against you, but sacrifices have to be made for a good time. And this? This is a good ass time. For you, at least. With her reactions, you’re not certain if it’s reciprocal.

“I feel full,” Yeji notes, breath shaky, slowly quickening her pace, rolling her hips onto the strap as it slides in and out of her. “Think I’m gonna come,” She huffs.

“Already?” You want to laugh, but you don’t. It’s ironic how cruel she is to you, how ruthless and mean and intense your work relationship is, but how easy it is to break her. How quickly you can make her lose it. How you can ruin her and she wouldn’t even mind.

Yeji moans. It’s loud and rough and Ryujin is sleeping just one thin wall away, and if that doesn’t wake her up, you don’t know what will. Nothing will get Yeji to shut up, not even you, but you make an attempt anyway.

“Shush, unnie,” you urge, brows furrowed in frustration as you impulsively and autonomously buck your hips up into her.

It only doubles her reactions.

“You only, fuck, you only make it harder when you do shit like that,” She hums, rocking on you, breath coming out in short gasps.

Finally coming down, Yeji climbs off of you and stands. Her knees shudder under her weight, understandably. Her cunt aches.

“I’m gonna go piss and get dressed. We have practice in thirty. Be ready.”

Another order. She’s good at giving those, evidently.

-

The next time it happens is a little less planned. Fuck it— not even that. It’s not prepared at all. It started off innocent, at least. If you get arrested for indecent exposure and get kicked out of your agency, you have an excuse. It’s her fault. It’s always her fault. Hwang Yeji is always to blame. She makes you like this, a horrific mess and a trainwreck of an idol.

“I could lose my job,” you say. “My life would be over,” you say. “All your fucking fault,” you say. You say, all while spilling your saliva all over her lips, messily pressing your lips to hers while you brush her wet and wispy red hairs away from where they stick on her cheek. You’re in full hair and makeup and wouldn’t like to ruin it, but maybe it’s a little necessary. Such an irresponsible leader, letting you ruin yourself in the bathroom of a music show. She doesn’t even seem phased with her clit against your skin.

Lucky for you, Yeji’s stylist wasn’t quite finished yet. Her makeup wasn’t finished below her nose and she was still wearing the clothes she came in — well, only half of them, anyway. Her skirt was splattered across the tile and her panties dangled off of one knee as she sat on your now bare thigh, A fistful of orange hair was left tangled in your hands, spilling out of your palms as she rides against your thigh. You always want to praise her. Tell her that she’s a good girl for letting you fuck her so close to showtime, but it almost aggravates you how careless she is. You could get caught. Not just by a groupmate— that wasn’t your concern. Sure, it’d be awkward for someone to catch you in such a… compromised… position, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. They’d keep it a secret, you were sure of it. Worst case scenario was your manager. God forbid he walk in. You were confined to a stall, sure, but it didn’t even matter when you were cursing and whining into Yeji’s slutty mouth, nearly begging her to keep going. Freak. How were you even getting off on this? She wasn’t even doing anything to turn you on, and somehow, some way, you were turned on anyway. Women tend to have that effect on you.

Yeji stopped rather abruptly, words still hesitating to come out. Your fingers duck down and push generously against her clit.

You aren’t trying to embarrass her, of course not. But, it feels a little good to make her shy, shuddering needily against your thigh. “Good fucking god, unnie,” you breathe, licking hotly up her neck, damp with sweat. “So fucking wet, all for me?”

She covers your mouth with the palm of her hand, eyebrows threading together in a twisted furrow while she lazily humps against you.

When she comes, it soaks your thigh, thick wetness dribbling down your leg and dripping onto the floor. “You made such a mess, unnie.”

You aren’t trying to embarrass her.

Of course not.

-

Yeji hates it when you sleep in her bed. She doesn’t think you’re unhygienic, or anything. You’re fairly certain she would let you sleep in her bed after you fuck her if it weren’t for the fact that you kick. When you’re asleep, you destroy her just as bad as you do when you’re awake. Roughly slamming your heels into her knees, elbowing her in the jaw. The rule is no marks. No bruises, no hickeys, no bites. Even if they’re done deep in slumber. Nothing.

You’re both a little distracted. You feel a teensy bit gross, too. The strap is on Yeji this time, and she isn’t even really doing much— because she never really wants to do much.

Goddamned pillow princess.

(You don’t mind.)

The silicone comes out of your mouth with a sharp pop, saliva pooling on the corner of your lip. You can’t even get mad at Yeji, because she’s unbelievably nice when you take her down your throat. She knows it isn’t the most comfortable.

“You’re so cute,” she whispers, scratching at your chin softly like you’re an animal. Something about it is a little domestic, really. You’re like her pet, in a way. Always ready to obey her even if it means discomfort or displeasure. Who are you kidding? Fucking your leader could never bring you any sort of displeasure.

Is she even getting off on this?

“What’s the point? Of this? Of all this sucking? You can’t feel it. I can’t really feel it.”

“Preparation. Tolerance building. You’ll never be able to handle something bigger if you don’t get used to this first.” Yeji claims, hands smoothly tousling your hair.

A brow of yours shoots up. “I’m the one who fucks you, usually, though.”

“Not always. Can you just take it like a good girl and be quiet? Open wide, please? For unnie?”

The conversation ends with an eye roll, your mouth open, and Yeji’s hand on your jaw while she slides it past your tongue. It’s wet and warm in your mouth. And still, a little gross feeling. Who were you to object?

“You’re something else,” Yeji whispers. “So obedient. I used to wonder why you never reject, but I understand now. You have a crush on me, don’t you?”

You gag a little. Not from the dick halfway down your throat. More from the downright ridiculous words coming out of Yeji’s mouth.

“Don’t be crazy, unnie,” you whisper as you pull back, a string of saliva between your top lip and the silicone.

She scoffs.

“Okay,” and she pats your thigh and lifts you onto the bed.

“Unnie, I can’t take all of that. Not down there.”

Yeji cocks her head. “Sure you can.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you…?”

Yeah. You do. You’re not sure what it is that you do, but you do.

“Okay,” Yeji unclips the strap from her waist and lays it gently in the drawer it came from. A little too gently. Like she gives a fuck about it, or you, or this.

Her tongue feels good on you. All over you, in fact. While it drags down your body, from your collarbones to your stomach, tender strokes of the muscle, flexing around the softness of your skin and down to your sweet cunt. Her tongue glides between your folds, lapping up your juices like a crazed animal that had been without water for months. She hadn’t done this before— but you felt a tightness in your stomach that wasn’t unfamiliar, but wasn’t something you were used to.

Her mouth alternates between sucking at your clit and fucking her tongue into your hole, sending you onto a frenzy of flexing your abs and thighs, back arching against the bed as you writhe. A cold hand settles on your waist and the other situates on your thigh, holding your leg over Yeji’s shoulder. It’s new. Fresh, and soaking, and so, so good.

“You taste so good,” Yeji mumbles into your pussy, mouth burrowed between your legs. She’s better at this than you thought, and it almost makes you wonder if she makes other girls’ thighs shake like this. If other girls experience her tongue on them like this. Whether you’re the only one doesn’t bother you— you’re just curious. You don’t question it.

And when you come, everything feels like levitating. Some sort of telekinetic force lifting everything from the floor. It’s ridiculous, maybe. Oh, well. Looking up at you as your stomach and chest rise and fall like a tidal wave, Yeji smiles, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

She’s something else.

#kpop smut #girl group smut #smut #girl group x reader #fem reader #idol smut #idol x reader #itzy x yn #itzy x you #itzy x reader #itzy smut #itzy x fem reader #hwang yeji #hwang yeji x reader #hwang yeji x fem reader #idol x fem reader #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #yeji x reader #yeji x you #itzy yeji #yeji x fem reader #hwang yeji smut

[hornedqueenofhell]

Steddie Sick fic pt. 2

Pt 1

“Eddie!” The kids shrieked as they all ran to the unconscious Dungeon Master’s side. Dustin knelt down and reached for Eddie’s forehead, yanking it back seconds later. “Shit he’s burning up.”

“He’s sick.” Gareth huffs as he helps the kid shift Eddie onto his back. The metalhead’s breath is rattling in his chest and he’s covered in a layer of sweat.

“Why didn’t he cancel then?” Lucas asks, looking at the older kids.

“Because he’s a stubborn ass who doesn’t know how to ask for help.” Gareth turns to the others, “Can one of you get him home?” His mom had the car tonight.

“Jeff rode with me and we still have all those stupid boxes of my dad’s shit in the back.” Frank said with a shrug, “Besides he probably shouldn’t be alone if he’s sick man, you know Wayne works nights.”

“Okay but we can’t take him and what are the kids going to do, strap him to their handlebars?”

That caused all the kids to glance at each other before turning to Will, “Is Jon still coming to get you tonight?” Mike asks.

“Yeah, and I know he doesn’t have a shift tonight.” With that settled Dustin gets up and goes to his backpack. He pulls out a walkie talkie and after fiddling with it a moment he starts speaking.

“Steve, Steve come in, over.”

Steve? How was Steve Harrington going to help here?

“I’m heading out the door Henderson don’t worry, you guys ended early tonight.” Dustin normally would ignore Steve until he used proper radio etiquette but Eddie took precedence. And besides, Steve’s little ‘secret’ isn’t so secret when he leaves his books open on the Family Video counter.

“Actually we need your help, over.”

The response was immediate and tense, “Code red help?”

“No, no, leave Lola in the trunk. Eddie is sick and passed out, no one else can help him.” Dustin turned back to Eddie who now had a wet rag on his head courtesy of someone.

“Who’s Lola?” Jeff asked the other kids who just rolled their eyes, except Will.

“Steve’s melee weapon, he named her Lola.” Well that cleared up exactly nothing.

“Because you have lifeguard training dumbass!” Dustin says, the others having missed Steve’s reply.

“Lifeguard certification does not equal a doctorate Dustin! What about his bandmates, why can’t they take him?”

Huh, Steve Harrington knows they exist, and not just in a they’re also in Hellfire kinda way. This day just gets weirder and weirder.

“No one has a ride or space available. Please Steve, he’s got a bad fever and his breathing is really shallow. There’s no one at home to keep an eye on him.”

The line goes silent for almost a minute and a half before finally crackling to life again, “Low fucking blow Henderson,” The ex-jock hisses out, “I’ll be there in five. Who is taking you brats home?”

“We’re going to bully Jon into doing it. Thanks Steve.” He shuts the walkie off and puts it away before going back to Eddie. 

The older man had sort of regained consciousness by now but whatever he was mumbling wasn’t coherent. Seems he’d gone delirious from the fever.

Less than five minutes later, Jesus had Harrington floored it all the way here, the old King of Hawkins High strode through the drama room doors. He ruffled Dustin’s hair before quickly going to Eddie’s side. After also checking his temperature and his pulse the brunette turned to the band.

“Has he had anything to eat or drink today?”

The other two shrugged and turned to Gareth, “I gave him some water and crackers at lunch since he didn’t have any food with him, also brought him some tea before we started tonight. I don’t know about anything else.”

“Okay, thanks man. Dust,” He pulls out his car keys and hands them off to the other teen, “Get the back door open for me please.”

The kid runs out to do as requested, Steve turns back to the other kids, “If you haven’t yet, let Jon and Nancy know what’s happening. I don’t want one of you stranded here while I get Munson settled.”

Lucas nodded and went to do as the older boy asked. The Coffin boys knew Steve was a babysitter/overbearing sibling figure to the kids, the way they sang his praises, but this felt like a commander giving orders and everyone followed them like their lives were on the line. It was weird.

“Give my best to your families, I’ll be there for Saturday dinner kay?” He pats Will’s shoulder fondly and then turns back to Eddie.

“Okay Munson, are you with me enough to hold onto me?” Steve coaxes Eddie’s arms into looping around his neck, he’s not expecting one to immediately curl into his hair and tug weakly. Whatever face Steve made as he held back from making any kind of sound besides a pained grunt seemed to amuse Eddie greatly as he started giggling.

“Yes, yes you’re very funny.” Sighing, Steve digs his arms under Eddie and scoops the metalhead into his arms. Eddie lets out a very soft ‘whee’ in response as he’s lifted and his head tucked into Steve’s shoulder. There’s a small smile teasing the corner of Harrington’s lips. He stands and makes sure Eddie isn’t about to fling himself out of Steve’s arms before he starts walking back out to the parking lot. The rest of the group scrambles to pack their shit away and follow after them.

Pt 3

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #will byers #lucy sinclair #mike wheeler #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #stranger things unnamed freak #corroded coffin #sick fic #emt!steve #steddiefic chronicles

[hazbinhappy]

If you’d like, what about Vox x a reader who’s very wary of men and it took Vox a long time to gain their trust because of this. - @am-i-interrupting

A/N: felt this in my damn core

You drop into hell and I won’t lie I think hell’s gender population is definitely more men ✋😐🤚

Anywho! You drop for whatever reason probably a dumb one because the Divine Judge was feeling silly and nitpicky

You work for Velvette in this case!

It’s not like you work for her because she’s nice, no it’s for the pay and there is wayyyyyy less men than anywhere else in Hell and that’s a win

One day she mentions that they’re doing a “Vee’s Specialty line” and that she needs you to help design the outfits

you were originally wary of this and when it came to designs you simply just emailed them solely to Velvette, but she texted explicitly "These are shit!! Vox is on his way to "consult" be here ASAP don't want him here longer than he needs to be"

you kept your distance, but quickly took the clothes he gave for inspiration

you vaguely heard Vox speak to Velvette about your weird behavior, but she was half listening

Vox checked in occasionally about how the designs were coming along because he's a damn control freak

you barely responded, often in short words or sentences

actually requesting that he emailed you instead (which he actively ignored and kept coming in person)

if you've played animal crossing new horizons think of Sable! you have to keep talking to her daily for her to open up

now i'm not saying that works here obviously (if it was me i'd be pissed off)

but occasionally he'll get a full response from you

you find it odd how interested he is in the clothes that are based of his likeness (Valentino just gave his designs the okay and left it at that)

soon enough you come to feel weird when he doesn't visit you at his regular time and feel sad and like something is missing

once the clothes are finally out to the public he has no reason to visit you until Velvette excitedly (while still being mean) that Vox is finally upgrading his wardrobe like the old man he is and that you're in charge of it

....yay more work

jk you're not ecstatic about the work in the slightest, but it means your routine is back to normal

he's probably the guy who is allowed within a normal vicinity of you that actually can get a full conversation

i wouldn't say y'all eventually date, but you guys definitely become borderline friends/acquaintances!

probably would take an eternity to date each other

but guess what! y'all have that

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox

[nhlclover]

bruised | arber xhekaj

word count: 0.88k

summary: arber gets bruised from a fight during a game, leaving you frantic for answers and reassurance.

warnings: mentions of blood, fighting, semi nsfw toward the end?

notes: repurposed and old + deleted fic so if it’s familiar that’s why :)

You paced around the kitchen, your phone tight in your grip. Yours and Arber's text messages open on the screen, your four consecutive texts going unanswered. The TV was now playing SportsCenter, the Habs game having ended about an hour ago.

As per usual, you spent your evening after work watching your boyfriend's hockey game. However, instead of watching a productive game including garnering an assist or a shot blocked, you watched his night come to an end earlier after he was skated off the ice following a fight at the end of the second period

Nothing much had provoked the fight, the previous period and a half being rather tame. However, after a couple of less-than-favourable games from the team as well as his time on ice being reduced, Arber’s frustrations had hit a boiling point.

Arber had laid a couple of hits but after being knocked down next to the boards, Arber charged after his attacker, cross-checking him from behind. The two of them exchanged a couple of jabs, with Arber’s opponent getting in a few more than he did resulting in a rare defeat, before they were separated by the officials. As he was skating off, the camera gave you a good look at his split brow and bruised face, blood leaking down his face and dripping onto his jersey.

You found that you stopped paying attention right at that moment, your focus solely on the wellbeing of your boyfriend. You’d seen him get in fights before but not once had you seen him get in a fight that resulted in such damage to his face. You sent a text a few minutes after watching the altercation, expecting him to reply a little later. When you didn’t get a reply, you sent another text, hoping the first one just got lost in other notifications. Normally, Arber would send you a text right after he gets out of a game, letting you know he’d be home shortly.

Almost an hour and a half after the game had ended, you heard the front door open. The sound of shoes shuffling against the hardwood in the hall echoes through the house, accompanied by the sound of his bag slumping to the floor. He finally comes around the corner, meeting you in the kitchen with a nervous expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” You ask, approaching him and examining the wound in his brow that has begun to cause his eye to swell. It’s been properly stitched up and cleaned by the medical staff.

He lets out a sigh of relief, hands settling on your waist. “I’m fine, y/n.” He says.

“Are you sure?” You ask him again.

“Yes, one hundred percent they-”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shout, slapping his chest.

“Ow, what the fuck?” He asks, dropping his hands from your waist and instead protecting himself.

You groan loudly, stepping away from him and pacing around the kitchen. “Why the fuck did you fight that guy?”

He sighs, pulling his beanie off and running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know…” He huffs. “I was pissed, I’m not doing jack shit when I’m on the ice. I didn’t know what else to do, I had to make an impact somehow.”

“Well, you can't just lose your temper like this every time you get upset!” You shout. “You know how stupid that was? You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“Y/n, I wouldn’t have gotten that badly hurt they wouldn’t-”

“I don’t give a shit, Arber!” You interrupt, your voice getting increasingly louder and your breath more ragged. “On top of that, you don’t even text me to say you’re okay!”

“Okay!” He stops you, coming over and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in tight. He shushes you, attempting to soothe your ragged breaths. “I’m sorry. I should’ve texted you when I got out. It’s just… you know how stressful it's been… not putting up points and not getting any ice time. It's not helping me especially when I’m trying to stay up with the Habs.”

“I know,” You say softly, nodding against his chest. You stand in his arms, your temper coming down.

“I’m sorry, again.” He says.

“I know, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have been that upset.” You reply.

“No you had every right, I shouldn’t do stupid shit like that.” He says. You chuckle softly, leaning back and eyeing his wounds once more. You wince at them, knowing they’ll be much worse in the morning.

“I hope I didn’t piss you off too much,” Arber says. You give him a look and Arber can read it. However, Arber plays dumb. “What’s that look on your face?”

“You know. Don’t make me spell it out for you.” You say, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I don’t. I think the fight knocked out a few brain cells.” Arber said, feigning confusion.

You rolled your eyes, going up on your tip toes to bring your lips to his ear. “You know I want you.” You say in a whisper.

A smirk pulls on his lip. Arber bends down, picking you up, and throwing you over his shoulder. You squeal, feet kicking, as he walks down the hall to your bedroom.

#arber xhekaj #arber xhekaj x reader #arber xhekaj imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #montreal canadiens #hockey imagine #habs

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 2

WC: 757 CW: Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Doubt, Jack and Maddie Fenton's A+ Parenting Masterpost

Worse than— no, not worse than. Nothing was worse than being constantly forgotten by everyone he cared about. Nothing was worse than knowing he was only worth knowing when he’d died. An issue was that Danny still had the same need to protect people even without the ghosts attacks. Day in and day out Danny felt an aching hurt in his chest at not doing anything to help. Working as a receptionist at a slightly rundown construction firm wasn’t the worst job, but it felt like it was slowly killing him. It felt like his core was shriveling up.

Danny knew he needed to make a change. At a loss of what to do and short on options, Danny had enrolled in the paramedic course at the local community college. He excelled at it.

It turned out all those years of patching up his own wounds gave him a pretty good head start on his classmate. So good, in fact, that his instructor recommended him for a job in Central City when he graduated with honors. It was bittersweet to know that when he wasn’t constantly harnessed by ghosts, he could actually do really well at school.

His parents missed his graduation.

His move to the city was done alone (his rented u-haul filled with what he could cram into it) and with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. It felt like a second death leaving the only home he had ever known behind.

It felt like relief.

(He didn’t know which was worse.)

Central City was better and worse than he expected. The constant noise rattled him until he got used to ways to combat it: earphones, white noise machines, a cheesy little indoor fountain. The anonymity soothed him— no one paid attention to him in the city. Slowly he carved out his place.

He was part of the city’s emergency response team. Their primary job was working to secure the city and her people during villain attacks. Secondary to that they did follow up with victims, held community events to spread awareness about everything from emergency prep to smoke detectors, and helped with rebuilding efforts.

It was rewarding work and Danny’s core sang for it.

It was a little exhausting to have to run right into a villain attack on his day off though. Good thing he always kept a mini kit in his bag. What sort of emergency response team member would he be if he didn’t listen to their own advice? It was a really nice little kit too— ultra compact but it contained gloves, pipettes of water, disinfectant, a range bandages, a suture kit, a snap light, and even a shock blanket. Danny added a few extra gloves to it too.

As he ran towards the sounds of disaster, Danny felt a brisk wind breeze past him— and then blow back again— as the Flash (one of them, Danny hadn’t been around long enough to tell them apart) backtracked.

“Kid—” Oh, it was the older one then. “—you should be heading the other way. Lummox is up ahead—”

“I know,” Danny snapped, not stopping moving. “I’m a field medic. I’m on my way to help, and you’re not going to stop me.”

The Flash seemed at a loss for what to say for half a beat. “Okay. Sure. Want a lift?”

“What?”

“I can get you in a second— literally— but I’m leaving you on the edge of it all.”

It would be convenient. And it’s not like he couldn’t trust Flash. Danny slowed to a stop and shrugged. “Sure, onward, Seabiscuit.”

“Who?”

“Famous race horse? Cause you’re going to carry me? Never mind. Just pick me up, dude.”

Danny ignored the look he got from the Flash and clung on for dear half-life. Fuck the Speed Force felt weird. He was pretty sure it was less than a second to get there, and Danny didn’t quite stick the landing, but he got his feet under him fast enough to rush in to help.

Eventually Danny required an extra vest from the team that came in and just blended into the background of other medics. It wasn’t a bad day— no lives lost and all the injuries were relatively minor. (He even got some overtime payment, which he wasn’t going to sneeze at). Danny figured it was just part of being in the city, occasionally running into villains and heroes even off the clock.

He didn’t expect it to really happen again.

(He should have known to never have expectations.)

-----

AN: Still moving along with this odd little thing! It's been fun to write a Danny in a very different place than my other fics- mentally and physically! Just to be clear btw- Danny is in a bad place at the start of this fic which is putting a negative light on how he's seeing things. Sam and Tucker just... moved on with their lives. Those sort of high school friends you liked a lot but drift away from. Without the history of ghost stuff to bind them, it was just part of life to them. Danny just has a different memory history so it hits harder for him/feels harsher.

Stay delightful, darlings!

Due to the new post editor and shadow banning, I'm no longer tagging people! To be notified, subscribe to this post:

#dp x dc #Danny Fenton/Wally West #eventually #Danny Fenton x wally west #abson #quick death

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

We've created a Monster Pt.II

Diavolo laughed at the screen of his DDD, hurriedly gesturing for Barbatos to join him.

'Come see this, Barbatos, Lucifer just shared the most delightful video!'

'I'm sure it must be of great importance for you to neglect your paperwork, my lord.'

Sheepishly, Diavolo turned to screen toward him, presenting the still image of an envy demon dwarfing their powerless exchange student.

'Oh my, lord this image is far from amusing.'

'Trust me, just press play.'

So he did, and was very much not expecting what came next. 'I see, it seems MC has grown rather more capable than I gave them credit for.'

'According to Lucifer they were rather unbothered by the threat, he even called a family meeting to address the event and MC just...laughed them off?'

Barbatos couldn't help but smile. 'How remarkable, expected though. MC has seen demons far more frightening than a lesser envy demon.'

'That's what they said to the brothers, though Lucifer seems to find it far less amusing than we do.'

'I imagine, it is not the sort of scenario he would find at all pleasant. Threat to our young human cause him a great deal of unrest.'

Diavolo grinned a conspirator's smile. 'Just him?'

'...fair point.'

'Why are the incantations so long? I'm trying to light a candle not summon a hurricane.' MC huffed, slouching into the armchair with the grimoire laid open across her thighs. 'It's like a religious text.'

'Magic's way of making sure you mean to get what you're asking for.' Solomon's smile was beguiling, almost sweet, but not.

He's a menace, and no one knows that better than MC, who's been taking magical instruction for him for months.

The sorcerer crossed his legs, flipping through a new spell book MC brought over from Satan. 'So, I hear you had some fun at RAD this morning.'

MC rolled their eyes, reluctantly going back to memorising incantations. 'You too? Does the entire Devildom know about that by now?'

'I'd say so, everyone who matters at least. We haven't told Luke, poor thing would loose his mind if he had actual proof of how dangerous the devildom really is for you.'

'I'm not in any danger, you're starting to sound like Lucifer.' MC huffed. 'Next thing I know you'll be off on a lecture about my lack of self preservation and needing to be careful.'

'I would never, watching you get in trouble is my favourite pass time.' He winked teasingly, kicking his shows up on the coffee table. 'I am curious though, what was going through your head when he threatened you? I remember being a little intimidated the first time a demon tried to kill me.'

'I'm honestly surprised you remember your first anything anymore.'

'Don't change the subject.' Tutted Solomon with that congenial smile of his that was neither friendly nor threatening. 'What were you thinking?'

MC sighed, closing the grimoire and turning their attention to the plate of cookies Luke left for them. 'It was annoying, I went into RAD early to get ahead on a project I was supposed to be working on with Simeon. Could have expected that reaction when I told him Levi wears envy way better. That time he tried to kill me gave me nightmares for days.'

'...MC, how many times have those lunatics nearly killed you?'

'Pfft, you think I keep count? Between Beel's tantrums, Mammon's schemes and just existing in Lucifer's radius I nearly die at least twice a week. It was way more when I first met them though.'

Solomon had to resist the urge to gape. His sense of normal may be a few thousand years past twisted, but this is... odd even for him. A human this young should not be this comfortable with domestic danger, let alone love those who put them there.

Several, times, a week.

MC carries on eating their cookies happily, reaching for another one when their eye catches something on the table, half hidden behind a book, but that beastly silhouette is unmistakeable, and they immediately curl into the chair as though they've been burned.

Pitching a whine to alert the house, their wide eyes fixate on the eight legged monstrosity, arms coiled tight around themselves as their skin immediately begins to crawl and twitch as though being assaulted by hundreds of the tiny beasts.

'What?! What is...oh, hello there.'

Solomon is almost left a aghast all over again. Here sits the most desensitised human he's ever met (besides himself), curled up in a ball, over a spider.

Fair be it a decent sized spider, probably the size of his thumb, but a mere spider nonetheless.

'You looked a 20-foot snake in the eye, you take Cerberus for evening walks with Lucifer...' he trailed off, carefully nudging the arachnid into an empty glass and caging it with a book '...and you're afraid of a spider?'

'Fuckin' right I am! And I'm not going to justify it to you so get rid of it before I set you on fire!'

Solomon laughed, and laughed until he couldn't hold himself upright anymore, wiping a tear from his eye, but when next he looked up, MC was still staring at the spider, eyes so full of genuine terror and brimming with tears, he felt guilt strike him.

'This...genuinely frightens you, doesn't it?'

MC nodded, lip jutted in an involuntary pout, skin raised in goose bumps. 'I wish it didn't.'

'Alright, I'm sorry. I'll get rid of it.'

And he did, and made a point of making sure everyone knew about MC's phobia, and didn't make fun of them for it.

Was it ironic that someone who looked death in the eye and waved was afraid of spiders? Absolutely, but no one chooses fear over comfort, and MC has chosen to be brave one too many times for anyone to begrudge them one or two irrational fears.

#obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me undateables

[darylas]

Chapter 3 - Ghost of a Chance

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader first ♫ previous ♫ next ao3

You go on a double date to distract yourself from thoughts of Bucky, a task made more difficult when he is sitting in the same pub.

4.2k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Non-consensual use of drugs, Attempted sexual assault, Mild violence

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: Please read the warnings! MAJOR tone shift coming in from the north. I promise next chapter will be lighter!

“So, how long have you been in merry old England?”

“Less than a month, though it doesn’t feel that way,” you answered, swiping your thumb across the condensation that had formed quickly on your glass in the humidity of the pub. You were sat across from Lieutenant Tom Foyle, a pilot in the 351st. His dark hair was styled neatly with pomade, his handsome face clean-shaven. Next to you sat Millicent “Millie” Vance, another Red Cross girl who had somehow roped you into being one-fourth of a double date. 

“Oh? Does it feel longer or shorter?” Tom asked. He seemed genuinely interested in your answer, as he had with everything you’d said that evening. He had kind, curious green eyes that made you feel like the only person in the room. 

You looked down at your glass, half empty. “Both. Neither. To be completely honest I’m not quite sure. The work gets so repetitive that time seems to stand still some days, but other times it feels as though the clock is ticking faster than a runaway train. I suppose there’s nothing like war to make time feel rather short.” You gave Tom a reassuring smile, ending your little monologue before it grew any more depressing and soured the whole evening. “Sorry,” you said, holding up your glass. “It appears that gin makes me a tad melancholy.” 

The blond pilot sitting across from Millie spoke up. “That’s funny, it makes me giddy. Of course, that could just be our present company.” He leaned forward, addressing Millie. “I told Tom that you had to be the prettiest girl this side of the ocean.” 

Millie grinned and replied, “Glad we’re not on the other side of the ocean, then,” causing the pilot, Dan, to let out a surprised wheeze of laughter.

While Dan continued his boisterous flirting, saying something about Millie having wit as well as looks, Tom leaned toward you, filling your nostrils with the pleasant scent of his aftershave. He smirked and said in a low voice, “I believe his exact words to me were, ‘What a dish!’.” 

You chuckled softly, pleasantly surprised that you were actually enjoying yourself. “I suppose we can’t all be Humphrey Bogart.”

“Sure, we can.” Tom cocked his head slightly to the side and spoke with Bogart’s deep and gravelly voice. “We’ll always have Paris.”

You laughed as he sat back in his chair with a smile. “You saw Casablanca?” you asked him.

“Yep, right before flying over. I’d go see movies whenever I could.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Used to think I could be an actor. Wouldn’t that be something? Seeing yourself on the big screen?” He certainly had the looks for it. 

“Maybe after the war, you could pursue an acting career. I’m sure Hollywood would snatch you right up.” Tom smiled bashfully at the compliment. “I actually wanted to be in movies myself when I was younger. Particularly musicals. I’m not much of a dancer but hell, neither is Bing Crosby, and he gets away with it.” You took another sip of gin, inwardly wincing. It was stronger than the drinks you normally favored, but Dan had ordered a round for the table. You had never liked when a man ordered food or drink for a woman, but you didn’t want to embarrass Millie by declining. 

“I’d see your films over Bing’s any day,” responded Tom, who managed to combine flirtation and authenticity with such ease that you were beginning to feel skeptical. You couldn’t help but glance toward the back of the pub, where Major Egan had been sitting with some of the other men for the past hour. You were surprised to find him looking right back at you. He gave you a small smile and a subtle nod. No wink, no devilish grin. Curious. Reflexively, you smiled back, then looked away. 

Much to your annoyance, John Egan had begun to appear in your thoughts almost regularly and uninvited. Ever since that night at the club, he had gotten under your skin like a persistent itch. An egotistical, irritating, handsome, intriguing itch. You kept these thoughts to yourself, as you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his asinine attempt to insult you into a conversation almost worked. By the same token, you were still wary of him, knowing his track record with women. 

You knew, not so deep down, that you had agreed to come on this double date to distract yourself and perhaps meet someone else to occupy your thoughts. Someone like Tom, who picked up his glass and said, “To our Tinseltown dreams, then.” 

You clinked your glass with his and said, “To Bing Crosby and his two left feet.” 

Millie spoke up. “You know, our Red Cross canary here sings an old Bing song just beautifully. The one from that short with Mary Kornman. Anyone who’s ever made coffee and doughnuts with this one in the morning has heard her sing it.” 

You shrugged one shoulder. “Anything to distract me from throwing that blasted doughnut machine out the window. I swear, my poor old Zippo is more reliable than that thing.”

“I thought you said your lighter doesn’t work anymore,” said Millie. 

“Exactly,” you replied, to the laughter of your companions. 

Tom, with laughter still in his voice, looked at you and said, “I’d sure love to hear you sing it sometime. After all, when some bigshot movie producer calls to ask me about your talents, I want to give him an accurate description.”

Dan scoffed. “Why would a movie producer call you about her?”

Tom lightly smacked his friend on the shoulder. “Why would anyone call you about anything?”

Dan’s blond mustache twitched as he smirked. “You’re hilarious. Anybody ever tell you what a gasser you are?”

There was a brief pause, during which your traitorous eyes suddenly flicked back to that table in the back of the pub. Major Egan was not looking at you this time, his attention currently fixed on his friend Lieutenant Curtis Biddick while he seemed to be mimicking various boxing forms. Egan laughed and hollered with the rest of the men at the table. He looked younger when he laughed, less like a commanding officer and more like a carefree young man. You assumed he shouldered a great many cares, and that the weight of them would only increase as the war continued. The humidity of the pub had caused a few curls to come loose over his forehead, the fire behind him giving his skin a warm glow.

“I’m sure the pianist knows it,” said Millie, breaking you out of what you could only describe as a trance before the Major caught you staring.

“Knows what?” you asked, praying to high heaven you weren’t blushing.

 “The song! You could sing it here!” 

“Oh, Millie, please. Most of these boys hear far too much of my caterwauling back at base. They come here to get away from that. Besides, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m in the middle of a date.” You gestured between yourself and Tom. 

Tom smiled. “As much as I’m enjoying said date, I think the one thing it’s missing is a beautiful song sung by a beautiful lady. And I think all the guys in here would agree with me.” 

“I don’t think they would-”

“What, you want me to take a poll?” asked Millie, teasingly. “Dan, sweetie, would you mind?”

Alright, maybe she wasn’t teasing. Dan stood up and shouted, “Gentlemen! Who wants to hear our 100th canary sing us a song?” His question was answered with a chorus of affirmative shouts and whistles from around the pub. 

Tom looked at you and grinned. “Sounds like you better head over there.”

You grinned back and let out a resigned huff of breath before standing up. “I suppose orders are orders, Lieutenant.”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky heard your laughter from across the pub. His eyes immediately turned towards you as the sound reached him, his instincts taking over before his thoughts could catch up. He’d seen you walk in with one of the pilots in the 351st, decked out and chatting with Millie Vance. You were smiling at that pilot now; not the plastered-on, rehearsed, all-American smile he had grown used to seeing at Thorpe Abbotts. This was the real thing, and it was beautiful. What would he give to be the reason for that smile? To be the one to make you laugh like that?

He would fly through a thousand miles of flak. 

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. He might just be the most pathetic man in the entire fucking world. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he was so keen on someone. You had to be some sort of siren, luring him out to sea with your alluring voice, only to drag him down, down, down, to the depths of the ocean. He was surprised to find he didn’t mind. With a barely concealed smirk, he realized that being eaten alive by you would not be a terrible way to die. 

You had glanced his way once or twice, no doubt feeling his eyes on you. He had tried to look away, to focus on the stories told around the table, but he simply couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept falling back on you. He had never seen you without your Red Cross uniform, and the dress you were wearing had clearly been custom-designed to drive him crazy.

Bucky was grateful for Curt’s loud voice and enthusiasm as he talked about boxing. The distraction was a welcome one, though he supposed that you were the true distraction in this case and not the other way around. 

“I can’t believe Buck didn’t come,” said Curt, finishing off his whiskey. “He knows exactly what I’m talkin’ about. The high guard stance ain’t shit in the ring. It’s all about-”

“Gentlemen!” called a voice from across the pub. “Who wants to hear our 100th canary sing us a song?” The place was filled with the sound of whoops and hollers from nearly every table. Bucky watched you grin at your date–Foyle–and stand up before walking to the piano.

Curt didn’t miss a beat before saying, “Uh oh. Look out boys, you might see Bucky cry. The music really gets to’m.”

“Yeah, the music’s lookin’ like a solid sender in that dress,” said Hambone, earning a round of laughter from the table. 

Bucky smiled good-naturedly, used to the ribbing at this point. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. Since when is a guy not allowed to appreciate a beautiful dame, huh?”

"Bucky, you've been eyeing her all night," Jack interjected. "You stare at her more than Douglass stares at that photo of Betty Grable he keeps in his pocket." Another round of laughs. Bucky took a long sip of whiskey as Curt patted him on the back with a grin.

He watched you lean down to speak softly to the pianist before standing up straight and clearing your throat. “Don’t you boys hear enough of me as it is? I don’t know what’s gotten into you; well, I suppose I have some idea,” you said, tapping your nail against someone’s glass to make a plinking sound. The crowd laughed, many raising their drinks. “I’m going to sing an old song, but I asked my new friend Alan here to keep it short. I have a drink of my own I’d like to get back to.”

Next to him, Curt laughed before leaning over and saying, “She might be too much of a firecracker for your sorry ass.” Bucky elbowed him in the arm, making him laugh harder. As the pianist started playing a slow, pleasant melody, Curt leaned in again and said, “Or…she just might be perfect for your sorry ass.” Bucky furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at his friend, who smirked and shrugged. “What? I get sappy when I drink.” Bucky didn’t have time to reply before you began to sing.

I need your love so badly

I love you, oh, so madly

But I don't stand a

Ghost of a chance with you

You sauntered between the tables as you sang, the patrons smiling up at you. Bucky preferred when you sang slower songs like this one, the drawn-out notes more sensuous and poignant. As you came within ten feet of his table, you stopped moving. Your eyes met his and lingered for a moment as you continued your song. He was spellbound.

I thought at last I'd found you

But other loves surround you

And I don't stand a

Ghost of a chance with you

You walked back to the piano, leaning elegantly against it as you finished the last line of the song. Applause rang throughout the pub and you nodded graciously before shouting, “How about my new friend, our amazing pianist, Mr. Alan Bennett?” The applause and shouts continued as you said “Thank you; enjoy your evening,” then headed back to your seat. 

When Bucky saw you smile once again, genuinely, at Foyle, the spell was broken. No, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of that smile yet, but your shared moment just now gave him a glimpse of hope. You had looked at him differently then, not with contempt or that devastating neutrality from before, but with something else.

Christ, he really was pathetic, knowing that look would be all he thought about for the rest of the night. He deserved the boys’ ragging, as well as another glass of whiskey.

═════ ♫ ═════

You listened to Millie tell an amusing story about an old neighbor back home as you finished your drink. Even though you weren’t currently talking, you noticed Tom stealing frequent glances at you. You smiled encouragingly at him before fanning yourself with a napkin, the heat in the pub somehow having gotten worse. 

As Millie continued her story, your thoughts drifted to Major Egan. When your eyes met his grey ones during the song, you were struck by the tenderness and reverence in his gaze. He hadn’t looked at you like a prize, like an object to be used until he grew bored of it. You had held that gaze for longer than you intended; it didn’t change, but you felt like you did. 

For that brief moment, no more than five seconds, you were no longer in the pub, but somewhere else entirely. You weren’t sure exactly where you were during this momentary lapse of reality, but you knew you had gotten there through his eyes. You had always heard of getting lost in someone’s eyes, but in that moment, you didn’t feel lost. Instead, you felt as though you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

Perhaps you should get to know him better.

Perhaps it had just been a man watching a woman while she sang. 

All of these confusing thoughts were beginning to give you a headache. 

In fact, the noise of the pub seemed to grow louder by the second, and the lights seemed to get brighter. You squinted. 

“Honey, are you alright?” asked Millie. You hadn’t realized she’d stopped talking. You gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yes, yes I’m fine. I think the crowded room is getting to me. I might need to step outside for a moment; get some fresh air.” You scooted your chair away from the table.

Both men stood as you did so. Tom pushed in his chair and came around to your side of the table, looking concerned. “Can I accompany you outside? I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Of course. I’d appreciate it, actually.” You looked at Millie. “We’ll be right back.”

As you stood up, you lost your balance and braced your hands on the table, causing the legs to make a loud noise as they shifted. You flushed with embarrassment as multiple patrons looked in your direction, some sniggering to each other. Millie put a delicate hand on your arm. “Are you sure you’re alright? I think we need to head back.”

You waved her off. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine. I just stood up too fast. A few minutes of fresh air and I’ll be good as new. Don’t you dare move; this is your one night out. I’m fine.”

Millie continued to look at you with skepticism and concern, but Tom offered you his arm and you took it, walking toward the front of the pub with slow, deliberate steps. 

Suddenly, you were outside the pub, still holding on tight to Tom’s arm. You breathed in the night air, hoping it would clear your head. It didn’t. 

“Feel any better?” asked Tom. 

You looked at him and were alarmed to see that you were no longer outside the front entrance, but alone with him around the side of the building. You couldn’t remember how you got there, but Tom’s arm was still in your grasp. You continued to cling to it, as your dizziness had gotten worse and you were afraid you might fall flat on your face if you let go. 

“No, I….don’t,” you answered, having difficulty forming the words. This sudden ailment was clearly something that needed more than fresh air to fix, and you knew it was time to call it a night. Could you really be this drunk? Yes, the gin had been stronger than what you normally drank, but you only had one glass.

Tom looked at you with concern. “I’m so sorry. Are you feeling well enough for the trip back? It would probably be safer to book you a room for the night.” He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“I think I’d like to…to go back to base and get in bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked softly, brushing the backs of his fingers down your bare arm.

“Nnnn…no.” The pain in your head was worsening, your mind telling you that you needed to leave. Now. 

Tom spoke your name, his voice still soft. “I think that you and I go together so well. You’re incredibly witty, charming, and so lovely.” You felt him stroke the side of your face. You went to push his hand away, but it was gone when you lifted your hand to your face. “I’m curious to see if our compatibility goes beyond the conversational level, aren’t you?”

When you looked at him again, your head spinning with the effort, his handsome face still held the same charm and sincerity from before. 

“Tom, I want to leave. Right now!” You wrenched yourself free from his grasp and turned toward the street. Your movements had been too sudden and you stumbled forward, haphazardly throwing your hands out to avoid falling on your face. You closed your eyes and braced for the feeling of asphalt on your palms, but it never came. When you opened your eyes, you saw the dark olive drab of a military uniform and felt strong arms around you. Of course Tom had easily caught you. You prepared to scream for help—

“The hell is going on out here?” 

The person who’d caught you hadn’t been Tom. It was that major. He stood with you still limp in his arms, Millie close behind him looking panicked. 

He looked at you, then at Tom, then back at you, his expression quickly morphing from confusion to alarm. You must have been quite a sight. 

With urgency in his voice, he spoke your name. “Are you alright? What’s the matter?”

You stood up, another wave of dizziness crashing over you as Millie rushed to help you. “I think I’m…quite unwell, Mister…sorry, Major…” You looked at him quizzically, his name escaping you. Why couldn’t you think of his name? His face had been in your thoughts constantly over the past few days. 

The man reluctantly removed his arms from around you and allowed Millie to support you. “It’s Bucky. But you still only call me Major Egan, remember?” He looked terribly worried, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to address it. Your only concern right now was getting away from Tom and into bed. You were so tired. When you didn’t respond to him, stumbling once more into Millie, his expression changed again to one of fury. He turned toward Tom, who had begun inching his way out of sight. 

Bucky moved fast enough to exacerbate your dizziness, grabbing Tom by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him against the wall. “You put somethin’ in her drink? Did you do this to her?” The quiet, menacing calm of his voice was a stark contrast to his violent actions. 

Tom had the good sense to look frightened for a moment, before flashing his handsome smile at the seething major. “I was just offering to escort her back to base,” he said. “Clearly the poor thing can’t take her liquor. I didn’t do a damn thing to her drink.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” replied Bucky, before he let go of Tom’s jacket and punched him in the face. Hard. Millie shrieked.

Tom fell to the ground in a graceless heap, his nose bleeding and misshapen. Putting a hand up to his nose, he yelled, “What the hell was-”

“You need to get the fuck out of here right now or your nose won’t be the only thing I break tonight.” Bucky’s fist was clenched, blood on the knuckles. Tom scrambled away and was soon out of sight. 

Bucky turned back toward you and Millie. “She needs to see a doctor,” he said to your friend. 

Millie let out a sigh and replied with a tired voice. “No, she doesn’t; not right now anyway.”

Bucky gestured furiously at you. “Look at her!” You frowned and looked away.

Millie spoke with a cold gravity you had never heard from her before. “I see her, Bucky, and unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this. I know how to help, and I’m taking her back to base. Her symptoms should be gone tomorrow, but she needs rest.” 

Bucky said nothing for several seconds, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He said quickly, “Alright. Fine. But if anything, anything, seems off, you take her straight to Smokey, understand?” 

“I understand. I’ll take her tomorrow, just to make sure everything’s okay.” Millie began leading you toward the front of the building and the street, with Bucky following close behind. Eventually you were back in front of the pub.

Bucky looked at you, began to reach toward you, then put his hand in his pocket. “Let me take you home. Or would a room here be better?”

You stiffened.

“Excuse me?” you said, your head pounding.

Bucky looked taken aback at your sudden tone. “I just wondered if it would be better for you to get a room here for the night so you can rest.”

Son of a bitch. 

You pointed a finger at his chest, missing and poking his shoulder. “You. Is this what you wanted?”

Bucky furrowed his brow and shook his head. “What are you talking about? You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I saw you. I saw you looking at us…looking at mm..me. Was this part of your plan?”

Millie, who had her arm looped through yours, put a hand on your shoulder and said, “Honey, I know you’re confused, it’s not your f-”

“Did you think that you would play the knight in shining armor and that...that I would fall into your arms, overcome with- with gratitude? You thought I would g..go to bed with you?” Bucky shook his head vehemently and opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going. “I knew it. I knew that a dance would never just be a dance with you. I knew it.” You swayed, but Millie tightened her hold on you and you stayed upright. “I knew it,” you said to her. 

She rubbed your back soothingly. “Okay, honey. Let’s get you in bed, alright?” She turned to Bucky and spoke so quietly you couldn’t hear her over the noise of the music inside. You watched as Bucky nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. He looked back at you, nothing but concern in his eyes. But that’s how Tom had looked.

Fighting the pain at the front of your skull and the increasing urge to vomit in the nearest waste bin, you let go of Millie’s arm and took a wobbly step toward him. He removed his hands from his pockets, ready to catch you again, but you stayed upright. You said to him in a low voice, “I think you’re despicable.” The major said nothing, still watching you with the same worried look on his face. Inside the pub, you heard the pianist start playing “Blue Skies”, followed by at least two shouts of Bucky’s name. “Sounds like you’re missing your ‘signature song,’ Major. Please, don’t let me keep you.” 

With that, you allowed Millie to once again wind her arm through yours and lead you away from the pub, hopefully on a path toward your bed. She sighed. “Don’t worry, I told him you didn’t mean a word you said.” You frowned at her, confused. “I’m so sorry; if I had any idea that Tom was such a…” She sighed again. “Never mind. It does no good to apologize to you now when you won’t remember it. We’ll talk again tomorrow.” 

As you made your way back to your barracks, fighting sleep the whole way, all you could think of was a slow song and two grey eyes staring into yours.

#guys i wasn't kidding about the tone shift but I promise things will get better! #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

[phantoms-lair]

"Okay, I can see why your astrology loving self likes it here," Tim elbowed Danny.

"It's astronomy and you know it." Danny said, fake offended.

"Yeah, I will admit I'm surprised by how good the internet is here. I wasn't expecting that out of rural Kansas."

"Well, think of who they have to keep in contact with, and how far away." Danny pointed out. "Honestly, pretty sure Bruce is responsible."

"Wouldn't be surprised."

"Hey Danny!" Elle hovered over the two of them. "Let's go flying!"

"We've got a guest you know." Danny gestured at Tim with his thumb. "Be kind of a jerk move to fly off without him."

"Can't he fly?" Elle asked. "His hero name is Robin, right?"

Elle looked like she was ten, but Tim had to remind himself she was less than half a year old and often surrounded by metahumans. "No flight. All my powers are up here." he said, tapping the side of his head.

"You're psychic?" she asked.

Danny laughed and Tim rolled his eyes. "No powers, just smart." he clarified. Then he looked back at the stars. "It would be interesting to see what it would be like to have powers, but like most of the family, I'm a normal human."

"No one who can lie to Batman with a straight face is normal." Danny pointed out.

"If he wants to know what it's like to have powers, why don't you show him?" Elle asked.

"It's rude." Danny said, sticking his tongue.

"Not with consent."

"Not with permission." Danny pleaded. "You are too young for me to want to hear you use the phrase 'consent'."

"Missing something." Tim pointed out.

"Overshadowing. If I take control of you I can channel my powers through your body. But like I said, it's kind of rude."

Tim wasn't sure 'rude' was the word for stealing someone's bodily autonomy. But Elle did have a point of her own. There was a world of difference between doing something with or without consent. "Okay, how would that work?"

"How would what work?" Danny asked.

"The overshadowing thing."

"Oh, it's er," Danny was fiddling with his fingers, suddenly nervous. "It's kinda creepy."

Tim gave him a flat look. They'd covered Danny referring to himself as 'creepy' enough in Gotham that he wasn't amused.

"It's basically possession. I would seize control of your body and channel my powers through it. Normally the person getting possessed is sort of put to sleep and only has vague impressions of the time they were controlled. But a person with strong enough willpower can resist and be aware." Unsaid was that pretty much everyone in Tim's family would be able to hold onto their awareness.

"Could you cede control once you had it though? Possess someone but not control them?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never tried it." Danny admitted.

"Then lets try it," Tim suggested.

Danny looked at him like he was crazy. "Why?"

"Two reason. The first is it will see how well I do if a ghost tries controlling me. The second," he shrugged, "I'm not a metahuman and will probably never be one. And I'm okay with that, but it's been interesting to see what it feels like to be one, you know?"

Danny pursed his lips and Tim wondered if he was crossing a line. Being a metahuman hadn't exactly been a fun experience for Danny, after all.

"Okay." Danny said reluctantly. "But you don't get to blame me if you don't like it."

Or he could just still have issues with the thought of people rejecting him for his powers. "Fair. We've got Elle as our witness that this was my idea. I could talk to the Kents beforehand too-"

"Not necessary!" Danny shuddered.

Tim felt his heart droop. Deep down Danny still didn't trust they'd keep caring for him. He hated what the Fentons had done to Danny's self esteem. "You don't have to if you don't want to." Tim softly reminded him. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable either. But I trust you, you know?"

Danny swallowed heavily. "Okay. If you're sure."

It felt cold, at first, like a chill up his spine. Then Tim felt his mouth move and vocal chords activate independently of of him. "Okay, so this is overshadowing." His own voice said. "So I guess, try to do something and I'll try not to stop it?"

"Do you have to talk out loud?" Tim asked. "It's going to look like I'm talking to myself."

"I guess that works. And yes, no psychic connection for this. Sorry."

"Weird," Elle observed. "I've seen some recordings of overshadowing and usually the person has the eyes glowing the ghosts color when control, but the glow fades when they resist control. But the eye glow didn't go away when Tim spoke."

"He's not resisting me, I'm letting him have control, it's different." Danny insisted.

"Maybe I should start resisting you. Just to see if I can." Tim suggested.

Elle giggled. It really did look funny with him talking to himself.

"Okay," Danny raised Tim's arm and clenched his fist. "You try to open your hand and I'll try to keep it shut."

Tim had to admit just feeling his arm move like that was mildly panic inducing. He'd managed not to be carded by Hatter but imagined this was what it felt like. He struggled to move his hand only to have it firmly stay in place. He struggled more, eventually sending his arm into erratic fits, punching himself in the face. "Owww" he moaned as

Elle doubled over in laughter.

"Healing factor should take care of it in a few minutes. Unless you want to stop now." Danny rubbed their injured nose.

"No, I mean, I think I want muscle control back, we can work on resisting stuff more later. But I want to see what having powers feels like!"

"Which one do you want to-"

"Flying!" Elle interrupted gleefully.

"I think you might have an ulterior motive." Danny said dryly. "You up for flying, Tim?"

"Yes please," Tim answered, trying to hide how excited he was to try.

He's seen others fly, several times, but it wasn't something he's ever thought he could do except on a hang glider or something.

"We're going for invisibility first." Danny warned. "Since we don't want to be seen."

If getting possessed had been a shiver up his spine, becoming invisible was like being dunked in cool water. Not frigid, but a definite chill ran across his skin as it vanished from sight. Then Tim felt gravity lose it's hold on him. Without any form of propulsion he lifted up about a foot in the air.

"We're going to start low and slow." Danny assured him. "So if anything goes wrong you aren't going to fall too far." Gently he leaned forward and glided effortlessly through the air.

"Do you think I could do this myself?" Tim asked.

"No clue, let's try!" Danny seemed to be warming up to the idea of testing with Tim's lack of a bad reaction to being overshadowed.

The floated in place and Tim tried to move their shared body. But while he could mover his limbs with ease, Danny's power couldn't be interacted with. "Doesn't look like it, sorry."

Elle looped back around. "This is low and slow is kiddy stuff." She groaned.

Danny gave her a mild glare. "You are three months old. You have no right to complain of kiddy stuff."

"If anything I can more." Elle countered. "Come on, can we at least do tag or something?" Tim shrugged. "Sure, tag sounds good."

~

"Does she normally smoke you this bad at tag?"

"No." Danny grumped.

Tim sighed. "Sorry. Having to plan out our strategies is letting her hear us. If you took full control-" "Then you wouldn't be in the game, I'd just be using you as a meat suit for no reason." Danny pointed out.

Tim thought for a moment. "Danny, can you put your shield in a bubble around us, so Elle can't hear us planning?"

"Sure, but it's going to be obvious."

"That's fine, we're just planning the planning." Tim assured. Danny raised the shield "We're planning to plan? Seems redundant."

"We're planning the things that will let us plan in plain sigh without your sister knowing." Tim corrected. "So our main issue here is we've got two minds that need to collaborate. Even if we split the division of labor of you powers me body, we each need to use both. You can take control of my body if an opportunity needs it, but I can't take control of your powers, so that what we need more communication for."

"Elle hasn't developed much beyond the standard, so we can keep to those. So, intangibility," Tim tapped the ring finger of his left hand twice. "If I make that motion, it means I'm asking you to use intangibility, if you do it it's warning me you're using it and I don't have to flinch away. Blinking twice will work the same for invisibility and..." Tim thought a moment more. "Tongue for flying." "Okay, I get eyes for invisibility and hands for intangibility, why tongue for flying?" Danny asked.

"Because it can't be seen. So tongue on the roof of my mouth acts as the taps or blinking, but can also be used to indicate direction in three dimensions." Tim demonstrated by holding his tongue to the roof of his mouth, then pressing it to the left side of his cheek."

Any more discussion was interrupted by Elle knocking on the shield. Danny dropped it to reveal his younger sister looking annoyed. "Are we playing or what?" Dany smirk and cracked their shared knuckles. "Round two begins now."

~

Alfred stood on the porch with the Kents while Martha rang the bell to call the children in. It had been a lovely visit catching up with them while Tim spent some time with Danny and Elle. It warmed his heart that despite moving to Smallville and possibly adding Kent to his name instead of Wayne, Danny and Tim were still very much brothers.

(One of the contingencies, if the Kents hadn't felt able to take in the boy, was for him to be officially adopted by Tim as a Drake, allowing him to still be a part of the family without feeling an unwanted connection to Master Bruce. But that plan was scrapped when Danny became publicly known during the Seige of Gotham. It was for the best, Danny truly needed more adults he trusted.)

It wasn't unexpected to see the children approach from the air. What was unexpected was there was only two of them and Master Tim seemed to be flying of his own volition. A raised eyebrow was all it took to remind the children that this wasn't an ordinary situation either.

Tim felt his shoulders hunch and his cheek flush as Danny's self-consciousness expressed itself in his body. Danny separated from him and opened his mouth, probably to apologize, but Tim wasn't going to let him. "I wanted to know what it was like to fly." he said, cutting off any apologies for his existence his brother might make.

"Indeed." Alfred said simply. "And how did that work out?"

"Quite well. I can better coordinate flying members of the team now, as well as Danny and I worked out a simple non-verbal code in order to plan around Elle while she could hear everything we said to each other. It was a productive endeavor."

"More importantly, Master Tim." Alfred's eyes crinkled into a smile. "Did you have fun?"

Tim felt himself becoming bashful now, ducking his head. "Yeah." He answered. "I did."

Good. Just as Danny needed the occasional reminder they were cared for, Tim needed the reminder that he was more than his use.

"That's something." Pa rubbed his chin. "Don't suppose you'd be willing too take me up there too. "I'd love to be able to go flying with Clark."

Danny's face turned red, and he half hid behind Tim's shoulder.

"It's okay if you're not comfortable with us for that yet." Ma said kindly. "We know you haven't know us as long as Tim."

"S'Okay." Danny muttered.

"You can take Pa and I'll take Ma. We can all go flying!" Elle cheered.

"When your brother's ready," Ma gently admonished.

"With that we must be off." Alfred apologized. "While I treasure these times, it's not fair to Miss Gordon to have to run herd on our family all evening without backup."

"Give Bruce our best." Ma patted Tim on the head while Pa and Alfred shook hands.

"I will. See you soon Danny."

"Yeah." Danny smiled at his brother. "See you soon."

It would be sooner than either of the two thought

#Ghost Writing #Taking Flight #DCxDP #Any guesses what they forgot to take into account? #That's going to lead to needing to share a body in the near future?

[throneofsapphics]

Hi I love you I hope you’re okay

Will you please write how reader is struggling with an ED and manorian or rowaelin figure it out and help her?

Thank you and mwah

keeping the demons away 

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: Rowan and Aelin figure out how to help you. 

Warnings: eating disorder, rowan having no tact, toxic parent, not proofread  

A/N: thank you for the request! I hope you’re doing okay <3

It wasn’t exactly that she didn't want to eat. In fact, she wished that she could - that she could hit that level of normalcy and ease everyone else seemed. But, everytime she went to pick up her fork, her mothers voice would echo in her mind; you can’t have that, that’s not good for you, if you eat that you’ll die young, and the image of her snatching the fork and plate away from her- dumping half of it in the trash, played in her mind. 

She would pick up a fork, forcing the food to her mouth and hiding her grimace. A few bites later and you’d be done. It came and went in waves, sometimes you’d be able to eat regularly for a few months before it would “come back” as she called it. Each time she thought you’d finally beat it - that you’d finally conquered the demon resting on her shoulder - it showed her that it was more resilient than you’d hoped.  

But - she was so good at hiding it after all of these years. Good enough nobody had noticed. Or she thought. 

“You haven’t been finishing your food. Recently.” Rowan commented one night.

“Not hungry.” she answered automatically - the excuse she gave when anyone commented on it, and normally worked. But, Rowan woke up that day ready for a fight. 

“You haven’t been hungry for a month?” Aelin shot him a glare, but he ignored her. 

“I eat.” She countered through gritted teeth. 

“Less than half of your food.” 

“Rowan.” Aelin warned. 

“I’m fine.” She aggressively stabbed a potato, raising it to her mouth with an indignant look on her face. 

“Now eat the rest of it.” 

Her knuckles went white around the fork, pink starting to spread across her cheeks as she felt the tips of her ears burn. Then, Rowan and Aelin were caught in a staring contest, communicating in that strange way of theirs. She took the chance to shove her chair back, rising to flee the room like a coward. Without looking at her, Rowan’s hand closed around her bicep, tugging her back down to her seat. 

“Did you think we’re stupid enough not to notice?” He finally turned to her. Aelin winced. 

“I’ve never said you’re stupid.” She commented dryly, trying to force some amusement into her voice. This conversation is the last one she wants to be having today. Or any day. In fact, it’s the thing of her nightmares. 

“Every couple of months, you switch back and forth. You’ll eat normally, and then barely touch your food.” 

“That’s none of your business.” She finally snapped at him, shaking off his grip. 

“If something’s wrong with you, I’d say it is.” 

“Nothing is wrong with me,” her voice rose. 

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Aelin said quickly. 

“Then what way did he mean it?” She ignored Rowan completely, speaking to Aelin instead. 

“We want to help,” she said gently, “we care about you.” 

“I’ve been trying to fix this for years. What makes you think you could?” She could tell that, but she was past the point of anger, past the point of reason and talking quietly or nicely. This thing that happens to her pisses her off beyond reason, and coupled with Rowan’s complete lack of tack or subtlety, it sends her over the edge. 

“So you admit there is something wrong.” 

“Rowan. Shut. Up.” Aelin said through gritted teeth. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he did. “Just, tell us why. Please.” 

She’d never been able to deny her anything, especially if she said ‘please,’ so the whole story came tumbling out. The things her mother used to say and do, how it’s like a small demon on her shoulder, how the memories replay her mind and as much as she try she can’t get them out of her head.” 

“Your mother’s an idiot.” 

“Excuse me?”

He sighed, and pointed to some of the food on her plate. “That won’t make you die young. It’s fine to eat any of this, your body needs it.” 

“I know that. It’s not that simple.” Aelin pursed her lips, looking at Rowan. To him, it probably seemed that simple. Hungry? Eat. Like everything could be fixed with a few words. “It’s been like this for years, it won’t change overnight.” 

“Then we’ll help you.” Aelin decided. She looked at her, wanting to shrug off her help and insist she could do it on her own, but once Aelin set her mind to something there was no stopping her so she resigned herself to two fussy fae watching over she for gods-know how long. 

-

“I’m hungry.” Aelin announced, midway between lunch and dinner, and reached out a hand to you. “Come eat with me.” A small smile curved on her face. She carefully marked her place in her novel before taking her hand, letting her drag her to one of the smaller hearth rooms. Cozy, warm, and non-imposing. Not a dining or sitting room, not a designated place for eating, just somewhere … comfortable, was the best way she could describe it. She disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a tray loaded with all of the snacks either she or Rowan had noticed her eating. 

The thoughtfulness of it brought a smile to her face. 

Then, she brought out the competitive side of her - saying she wouldn’t be able to catch a grape or a piece of chinese, or other things in her mouth. Before she knew it, she was full - and laughing, picking up the poor pieces of grapes that didn’t quite make it to her mouth. 

“We could leave them for the cats.” Aelin murmured, pointing to one of them. 

“Do cats even like cheese?” 

“Bait for the mice.” She shrugged. 

“There’s no mice in the castle.” She protested. Not that you’d seen, and she hoped there weren’t any.  There were good and bad weeks, but the bad ones became less frequent - and they seemed to notice it before you, sometimes. Like they’d picked up on the signs of it. She knew when they had, because they’d get extra fussy - Rowan staring at her until she finished her plate, or Aelin dragging her into Orynth to try some new food from one of the vendors. But, she didn’t complain. Their tactics kept that little demon at bay, and her mothers voice out of her head.

#rowaelin x y/n #rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin #poly!rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x reader #throne of glass imagine #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader

[nochukoo97]

Bet gone wrong

Pairing: Jungkook x oc

Summary: you regret placing a bet on a math question with your boyfriend, not knowing how much of a math genius he was.

Warnings: oc cries, but jungkook is soo soft with her after that, apologetic gguk, happy ending 😊

Word count: 1.2k

Your boyfriend was an avid fan of horror movies and thriller shows, you on the contrary, were beyond terrified of anything related to the dark and horror. Every time the two of you had movie nights, you would beg Jungkook not to watch another one of his jumpscare, horrifying, absolutely petrifying, made-you-almost-cry shows that he had a strong passion for. However, tonight was different…

“Come on! Kook please!” you plead to your stubborn boyfriend who did not want to hear your cries. “But baby, the bet was that the winner gets anything they want, it’s only fair!” your boyfriend argues back, as he turns on the TV and switches to his Netflix account. You groan into his shirt as you continue to ramble on about changing to another genre, one that is not so…. life threatening…

Normally, putting bets on random things was a very common practice between you and Jungkook, it simply made normal mundane things more fun for the both of you. However, this bet in particular made you regret bringing it up that afternoon…

“Kook! Wanna bet?” you run up to your boyfriend as he was busy squinting through his reading glasses, typing out something on his laptop. Jungkook peared from the laptop at you, cocking his eyebrow in question. “I bet that you won’t be able to solve this maths question my professor gave me today, he said it was many grades above our level, and so far I have not made any progress besides three equations!” Having said that, you push the piece of paper over to your boyfriend whose attention is now diverted to the long maths question that took up half of your A4 paper. As he scans the question, he looks back at you for a second and says, “First, what’s the reward?” Oh poor you, here's where you went absolutely wrong, “Anything. I’ll do anything you want.”

To your horror, you watch as Jungkook skims through the question with ease, scribbling down god knows how many numbers and finishing the question in less than five minutes. Your mouth gapes as you see the answer written down, “135”, and as you recall, the answer was indeed 135. How did your boyfriend just solve the question you’ve been spending all day attempting, in under five minutes? You have no clue, but also have no time to think about that before Jungkook cockily says, “My reward is that you have to watch the latest horror show with me”

A wide grin spreads onto your boyfriend's face as you begin to whine in desperation. No way were you going to watch another horror movie after the last time Jungkook had to follow you everywhere you went because you were so scared to death from that stupid clown show he had made you watch, saying it was not scary at all. Jungkook was a big fat liar.

“Babe! Please I’ll do anything else please please ....” You continue to whine and tug at his shirt as he just ruffles your hair in an attempt to soothe you. Obviously that would not work when your mind was going crazy on thinking about the number of jumpscares you were going to face in this so called “enjoyable” show, as said by your boyfriend. “Come on! Trust me this is not as bad as ‘It’! Plus, you have a strong muscular boyfriend to protect you!” Jungkook tries to reason, as he clicks play on the video.

After a few minutes, you peak out from your boyfriend's chest, watching a little of the show here and there. It’s actually not so bad. You thought. Or so you thought. Because as the girl was walking through the abandoned house, a huge gnarly monster jumped out from a dark corner, causing your heart to drop, and a high-pitched scream to erupt from the depths of your throat. Upon seeing your reaction, Jungkook laughs quietly at his girlfriend, not thinking much about it. However, you buried your head in his chest, attempting to make yourself forget about the jumpscare.

You aren’t sure if it's the stress from college, or the fact that you barely got any sleep the previous night, or if you just were not prepared for this and got absolutely scared to your wits from the jumpscare, but without warning, you feel tears threatening to fall from your eyes, as you hide your face in Jungkook’s chest.

Your boyfriend doesn’t think much about it, only rubbing your back, offering some comfort before going back to watch the horrifying show. Not until he feels his t-shirt slowly getting wet, and feeling warm stains run through his shirt, causing some parts to stick to his skin. Immediately he pauses the show, and the silence fills the air, until he hears small sniffles and hiccups coming from you, slightly trembling in his grasp.

“Oh my goodness, baby, baby, are you okay?” Jungkook softly says with worry in his voice. “Baby I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry” He rambles out as he tries to search for your face. However, you begin to realise that breathing has now become a struggle for you as your breaths increase in speed and your mind fills up with anxiety and fear to the point you could not think straight. “Oh shit, oh shit baby nonono” you hear your boyfriend now frantically saying. “It’s okay, just breathe for me yeah? Shh it’s okay slow and steady breaths okay?” He says as his hand begins tracing circles into your back.

Your sobs slowly die down to sniffles and hiccups as you finally remove your face from your boyfriend’s chest. Jungkook holds your chin as he searches your face with worried eyes. He pecks your forehead, then your nose, and says, “Baby I’m so so sorry it was my mistake I shouldn’t have forced you if you were really uncomfortable I’m so sorry my baby” He rambles on and on. By now, you’re feeling much better and so you chuckle a bit at how caring and concerned your boyfriend was being.

“It’s okay koo, I’m fine now.” you say as you lean into Jungkooks face, connecting your lips and giving him a short kiss. Upon hearing your words, Jungkook sighs in relief and kisses your temple in apology. He switches the show on Netflix to the recent kdrama you two had been watching, 2521. You smile and whisper a “love you so much” in his ear as you snuggle closer to your boyfriend. Sensing that Jungkook still had some regret and sorrow for making you so worked up, you card your fingers through his hair, pecking his lips and staring lovingly into his eyes.

The two of you spent the rest of the night binge-watching the series and you did not feel scared at all with Jungkook holding you in his arms the whole time.

note: helloooo another one shot! i am soo bored so im uploading so much! i just write and post write and post HAHHAA but its so fun!

#bts jungkook #jungkook smut #boyfriend jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook x oc #jungkook #jungkook comfort #bts ff #bts #bts fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader

[cafeseoulmate]

Why We (Don’t) Work

i'm okay with being by your side for as long as i can hide what if i told you that i've fallen?

featuring: music major!beomgyu x fine arts major!gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst, childhood best friends to lovers, neighbors to lovers au, idiots to lovers au, high school au, college au, band au, hurt/comfort, slice of life, slowburn, mutual pining, 5+1 & nonlinear format

wc: 13k

warnings and other notes: cursing, alcohol consumption, reader is implied bi/pan, two jokes about murder, mention of the flu, brief mention of making out, cliches, inaccurate portrayal of a painting & sculpture double major, idk where this was going tbh

I. WE'VE BEEN FRIENDS FOR TOO LONG

The idea of friends eventually becoming lovers, especially those who have known each other for a long time, is okay in your opinion. In theory, the principle of falling in love with someone whom you've previously built a relationship with is not that great but not that awful either.

It's reasonable, practical and natural even in many situations. You would know from the amount of friends you've watched over the years who only started seeing each other romantically after a few years of getting to know and being comfortable around each other platonically.

You just figure that it's not for you and Choi Beomgyu, the nuisance who's been affectionately stuck to your hip since your days at the neighborhood playground.

For starters, you've known him for far too long. Not that love is supposed to have an expiration date, it's just that most people who start off friends—like your college friends Yeji and Ryujin who started dating before your junior year—usually take less than a decade, and that is really pushing it in your humble opinion.

Beomgyu's known you since the time you were sporting bowl cuts your mom fashioned with your kitchen scissors, probably and unconsciously even longer than that given that your respective moms have also been close friends since you were toddlers. You've pushed each other at the swings and the slides more than any of your other childhood friends, have gone to the same schools together spent most of your non-holidays with each other since kindergarten, and even live in the same university dorm at the present.

You both had almost 16 years to bring up anything remotely close to romantic feelings with each other and the closest to romantic-leaning affection that you got from him was the time he gave you a bouquet of roses, and he didn't even buy it for you originally.

It was in your 10th grade, when Valentine's Day gifts have finally reached normal status among the consciousness of your teen peers. Since Halloween, Beomgyu had been saving up his money to buy Yeeun from Class 4 a bouquet of roses—bribing you to pay for his lunch two out of five days in the week, singing and dancing his ass off at his family's Christmas and Lunar New Year parties for money, and working the afternoon shift at the neighborhood guitar store—only to chicken out at the last minute because Jaehyun from Class 6 had asked Yeeun to be his girlfriend in a very public proposal at the soccer field.

In a small class reunion last Christmas, Taehyun had asked about the whole ordeal, supported by the drunk cheerings of your former classmates at the memory of Beomgyu handing you the abnormally large bouquet by the school gate during dismissal almost five years ago.

"What else do you want to know about that?" You asked with a frown, feeling light-headed from all the barbecue and soju yourself. It was finals week for most of you as well, somehow making all the shots of peach-flavored alcohol taste sweeter and the stories bitterer. "You all know how it went: Gyu chickened out and didn't want to waste his hard-earned money on a girl who got a boyfriend that same day so he gave it to me before we went home."

"You also gave me half of the money to buy it! That's also an important detail!" Beomgyu slurred out to your right, leaning his head on your arm with a giggle and making you roll your eyes. "I thought, 'ya, this person bought me lunch for three months they kind of bought this bouquet so I'll just give it to them. That's only fair!'"

Yunjin raised a finger this time, as if making a shushing motion in the air as she took a long sip of her soju bottle across the table. "Okay but!" She exclaimed after slamming her bottle down, momentarily covering her mouth as she hiccuped before continuing. "You...you could've just gave it to your mom or something!"

"Auntie's allergic to flowers." You pointed out. "My dad also forgot to buy my mom flowers that time so I gave it to him when I got home. I technically saved two lives that day.”

"So it didn't spark anything?" Jeongin pointed to you then to Beomgyu who was contemplating on falling asleep on you by that point, clearly uninterested in this conversation you've had with the rest of the world a million times already. "Not even a little bit?"

Of course there were times over the years, at least on your part—moments where Beomgyu spent an hour too long in your childhood home when he just told you that his parents wanted him to come home at a certain time, filled a day with questionably sweet gestures only to bribe you with trouble after, or comforted you too well in your darkest moments among others that made your heart flutter more than it's supposed to.

You never told anyone about how on that day, you plucked out a single rose from the bouquet before secretly handing it to your dad as he cooked a quick Valentine's Day dinner for your mom. There was no denying that, even if he gave it to you under pitiful circumstances, it was still a sweet gesture. After Yeeun, he thought of giving it to you, the next immediate person and his best friend.

The red rose drank fresh water by your windowsill for three days until Beomgyu invited himself over for a cram session when you ended up hiding the flower shamefully under your bed and convincing yourself that you were just momentarily blinded by the principle of the gesture.

Though it accidentally wilted after you've forgotten about it amidst your busy high school schedule, you still keep the petals in a box under your bed as a reminder of all those moments you've thought you were starting to feel something for your best friend, only to snap yourself out of it after. You even had one of the petals made into a resin necklace by Yeji when she picked up on the hobby, wearing it everyday since without Beomgyu ever asking about it’s significance.

He just thinks you got it from the congratulatory bouquet the boys all pitched in to give when you won a sculpting competition at the university museum.

But as mentioned, you've mostly come to terms with the fact that you've known Beomgyu long enough to let a lot of opportunities to pass by, even if it pains you. Though romantic love doesn’t have to have an expiration date, you think you’ve been around your best friend long enough to know and accept that nothing is going to happen.

So to keep up appearances, you shook your head in front of your demanding friends that night at the reunion and teasingly pushed the sleeping Beomgyu to Taehyun's shoulder, much to everyone's disappointment.

"I've known him for all my life, literally. If something remotely romantic were to happen, it should've happened years ago." You grimaced before downing another shot of peach soju, that particular shot stinging a bit too much for your liking.

"But that's, like, the tricky thing with friends: you never really know when things are starting to be something else with one or both people." Sieun pointed out with a pout.

"Oh, I can assure you, it's not like that with us." You waved your hand dismissively in response before quickly going back to gathering your next mouthful of lettuce wrap. “Anyway, you guys have known us pretty well too. We just don’t match that way.”

Next to you, Beomgyu groaned seemingly in agreement as he stirred on Taehyun's shoulder, moving to lean on you again. "You're all so fucking noisy." He mumbled on the nook of your neck, hands encircling around your waist as he then pointed at the jug of water on the table. “If Y/N says it's not like that then it's not like that. So let me sleep and let Y/N eat their food!"

You shrugged at Sieun and Yunjin, smoothly shifting the conversation's focus to Sieun after before filling in a glass of water for Beomgyu as he’s requested.

"You're going to have a nasty hangover later, you know." You pointed out to him, making sure to keep your voice low knowing that he's sensitive to noise when he's drunk.

"You'll take care of me." He replied confidently with a boyish grin, more as a statement than a question. "Can I sleep over your dorm later? Hyuka won't let me in the room like this and Ryujin's already on vacation anyway."

You then rolled your eyes, knowing full well that you don’t have a choice anyway. "Sure, sure."

II. WE HAVE SHIT TASTE IN PEOPLE (AND IT WOULD BE AN INSULT TO OURSELVES IF WE START LIKING EACH OTHER)

The first time someone directly and publicly questioned Beomgyu's relationship with you, however, was at the traditional secret gathering your classmates had arranged in your two-day senior retreat just four years ago. On that night, after a whole day of tedious team-building activities and an evening of getting lectured by your teachers on house rules, most of Class 2 gathered at the boys' shared room for swiped alcohol and midnight snacks.

At that time, it was Daehwi who had asked and the context was the equally traditional game of truth or dare. When Beomgyu was picked for the second time that night, he surprisingly chose truth, prompting the question everyone has apparently been asking among themselves.

"Would you date Y/N?"

Beomgyu laughed. It was always his instinct to laugh whenever his own relatives asked the same question or when you would tell your own similar experiences but also because he saw you throwing your head back in laughter as well from where you were seated between Yunjin and Ryujin.

But what really solidifies this question as an inside joke between the two of you was the time when you watched When Harry Met Sally together at a sleepover in Beomgyu's house a year before the class retreat.

It was the classic friends to lovers romcom that you ended up watching in that particular sleepover in the first place because Yunjin mentioned that it reminded her of you and Beomgyu. So of course it had to be brought up before you could accidentally fall asleep on Beomgyu that night, you pointing to Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan before smacking Beomgyu in the head and asking the exact same question the boy would face at the senior retreat.

"Without thinking about all the gross couple shit like kissing or whatever," You gagged between your question, making Beomgyu roll his eyes and scoff. "would you date me?"

"First of all: gross—"

"That's why I said without all the couple stuff!"

"Still gross! Why would you think of that question!"

Back to the class retreat, once Beomgyu had calmed down from laughing and before Jeongin or Hueningkai could start leading the teasing on how you and your best friend reacted to the question in the same way at the same time, he said, "Y/N has shit taste in people. It'd be an insult to myself if they start liking me, even more if we do date."

You laughed even harder, repeating the words back to him. "Ya, you have shit taste in people too!"

Daehwi almost did a whole spit take with his glass of Cola while hearing your exchange. "Damn, you two are brutal with each other!"

Taehyun told Beomgyu later on that he felt as if that particular answer could be misinterpreted as the latter being mean to you. But your best friend was quick to explain that it's something you actually talked about in the aforementioned sleepover. You also backed him up on this over breakfast the next day when you sat with the two boys.

On the night of your sleepover, after you asked the question and Beomgyu was done making his teasing disgusted faces in front of you, he had said the exact same words for the first time and even elaborated on it.

And like Daehwi, you also almost did a spit take hearing it for the first time but your own glass of hot chocolate.

"You had a crush on Yeonjun two years ago before he was cool and you dated that annoying what's-her-name from the softball team who, by the way, cheated on you before you could even celebrate 100 days." The blunt 11th-grader Beomgyu said in front of your surprised face on that sleepover. "Ah, and don't get me started on that time you were swooning over that asshole Taejoon from Class 7 last semester because he sat next to you on the bus when I got the flu? You were crushing on a guy who thought he was jack shit and played with a lot of girls while I was almost dying in the hospital! Shit taste and inconsiderate!"

You and Beomgyu also did not forget to mention to Taehyun about how you almost smothered Beomgyu to death with a pillow in response, pausing the movie so Meg Ryan didn't have to see the crime you were about to do before tackling your best friend on the bed.

"Hey, Yeonjun's cool and Minji from softball really is an asshole but I didn't know Taejoon had a reputation in Class 7 back then! I just thought he was cute and really polite to the old ladies and the kids on the bus!" You retorted aggressively, smacking Beomgyu's face repeatedly with the Hello Kitty pillow he lent you for that night. "And I visited you with the boys and Yunjin after school while you were sick to catch you up in class, you ungrateful brat! I have shit taste but I'll never be inconsiderate to you!

"While we're at it, you also have shit taste, mind you! Pining after girls like Yeeun and Rina right when they start dating other people! Ah, and you dated that girl, Areum, in the 9th grade too even when everyone kept telling you that she was trying to get to Soobin through you! Shit taste and idiotic!"

Your college years would not spare the both of you from having more strings of failed romantic relationships just as much as it did not stop all the questions from friends, both new and old, about Beomgyu's relationship with you so the answer always remained the same: both of you have shit taste in people so dating each other would be somehow insults to yourselves.

But there are times, of course, when it would just be you and Beomgyu alone and, instead of the usual jokes and banter, he allows himself to be just slightly honest for the sake of his sanity and to make sure that you never feel as if he has some hidden ill-intent in always jokingly bringing up the uglier sides of your dating history.

In another sleepover at his house last summer, he didn't fight you when you decide on watching My Best Friend's Wedding and blurted out halfway, "As your own best friend, I think you deserve the best."

Though no one did a spit take this time, you did momentarily freeze while trying to tuck yourself in under the weighted blanket you were sharing. On his laptop perched comfortably on a foldable table, the movie was coincidentally at the part where Julia Roberts was delivering the iconic, "Choose Me” speech.

“I'll have to say this quick or I'm just going to have this massive coronary and then you'll never hear it and.....and....you have to. This is, by far the dumbest thing I've ever done in my entire life.” Julia Roberts dramatically delivered on the laptop screen as if filling in the silence. “Ugh—so dumb in fact—uh—that I can't...... oh but I'm gonna.”

“What’s wrong?” Her male lead, Dermont Mulroney, asked and Beomgyu felt like he should be asking that question to you when your silence started dragging on for too long.

When you did regain your composure, you chuckled nervously. "I-I mean yeah, I know, but...what's with that all of a sudden?" You furrowed your brows up at him.

And like he was mirroring you, Beomgyu also paused for a moment as he too contemplated on why he said it out of nowhere.

Meanwhile, Julia Roberts just continued delivering her lines flawlessly, filling in the silence between the two of you. “Michael......I love you. I've loved you for nine years. I've just been too arrogant and scared to realize it and, well, now I'm just scared. So I, I......realize that this comes at a very inopportune time. But I really have this gigantic favor to ask of you.” Though the sound coming in on your respective earphones was only at 75%, suddenly it felt louder the longer that Beomgyu didn't speak. “Choose me? Marry me. Let me make you happy.”

Beomgyu scratched the nape of his neck and smiled sheepishly, turning away for a second as you finally pause the movie and the light illuminates the side of his face a little too brightly.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re gonna pull a Julia Roberts right now. You know—“

“What? No!"

“Then answer the question!”

"I just remembered, you know, how we always say that we won't date each other because we both have shitty taste in people and everything." He shrugged when he did explain himself, unconsciously sinking lower on the bed as he pressed his back harder on the bed frame behind you. "And I know it's a joke and all but I—I also think that you deserve better than someone like me...or Yeonjun, Soobin, Tae, and Hyuka.

“Though I guess it is hard to find someone better than us, especially me and Soobin, I think you should still look for someone who’s really kind, smart, and will never give you a hard time. You deserve someone who looks out for you and makes you feel like home but also like you’re flying.

“Someone who’s funny too but not too funny to upstage me! Just enough to get you through the dark times because you do get really stressed out these days. I—I don’t know, I guess I was just thinking about—about that, yeah…”

You relaxed your expression as he spoke, though a small pout remained. "Okay..." You pressed play on the laptop again with a laugh. "Random but okay.”

“I give my whole heart out to you in a speech and that’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say?” You scoffed and playfully nudged him away, earning you a dramatic wince from him. "With how you generally act around people I like, it's not that hard to figure out that it's because you think this way."

“Yeah but, I don’t know, maybe say it back to me too and comfort my lonely, lonely heart?” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in response.

“I think that’s a you problem. We all tell you to just get yourself out there then you reject every person who throws themself at you.”

The boy feigned a glare next. “I’m going to kill you in your sleep later.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes, moving carefully on the bed to face him fully. “You deserve someone infinitely better than me too. Someone gorgeous—not just pretty!—and smart enough to keep your dumbass in check and just overall awesome, but not too awesome, of course! I’m literally the coolest person you’ll ever meet…ever!”

"Oh you flatter me, Y/N!" He exclaimed dramatically with his hands to his chest, smiling when you snorted and turned your attention back to the laptop again to press play on the movie.

Though he partly thinks otherwise—that it’s impossible that there’s someone out there infinitely better than you overall—he does agree that you are the coolest person in his life.

"You're so annoying." You mumbled under your breath and he quickly retaliated by pinching your cheek affectionately. "Ya!"

"You love me."

"I know right, how will I even find someone better than you?" You teased but Beomgyu's observant enough to understand that you only mean it halfway.

"Maybe you won't?" He teased back with a wink. "I know for sure no one's better than you."

"Shut up."

III. WE ARE EXTREME OPPOSITES (AND WE ANNOY EACH OTHER A LOT)

If you were to be asked about the things that annoy you about Beomgyu and vice versa, you both would probably need a month of preparation and a year each just to list everything you've come up with. Sure, you’ve known each other for a long enough time to be comfortable in each other’s presence but that doesn’t make everyday perfect as there are still instances when you get the undeniable urge to smack him in the head or dropkick him for being insufferable.

If you were to make a top five shortlist, however, the fact that Beomgyu has no concept of personal space when it comes to you would take the cake—pinching your cheeks, holding your hand whenever a remotely attractive person passes you by, always putting his legs on top of yours, hugging you to death, and always headlocking you when you meet up among others.

But beyond that, ever since he got comfortable with initiating skinship with you around the 3rd grade, he's also somehow managed to convince himself that he had the right to be all up in your personal business too even when you didn't want him to—from simple things like stealing your food, spamming you with messages the second you don't reply as quickly as he'd like, to always having insisting that he accompanies you whenever you mention going to a new place, online stalking anyone you find interesting, randomly popping up at the studio in the Fine Arts department, and loosely keeping tabs on people you hang out with.

There have been times, however, when Beomgyu’s nosiness has actually saved you from a date or unwanted attention in public and even comforted you. In elementary and high school, whenever you’re allowed to pick groupmates, he’s always ready with gossip about everyone’s work ethic for some reason. Whenever a creep at the mall or at a party would try to hit on you, he’s always by your side ready with a glare and all intent to report the creep to the authorities. And even when he’s a shit drunk, he’s always aware enough to defend you whenever your friends pick on you.

But more importantly, as the more reserved person between the two of you, Beomgyu’s always the one who’s forcing you to open up to at least one person when you’re down (aka him).

The first sleepover that the two of you ever had was in the 6th grade when Beomgyu invited himself over to your house and stayed up with you until 3 AM to finish a Science project your three other groupmates basically gave up on. You never asked him to do it, just complained about it over lunch once, then suddenly he was barging in your house with his own stationary and your Science teacher already notified of how your groupmates have been slacking the past two weeks.

“Why did you do that?” You pouted after turning in your finished paper online. Fortunately for the two of you that time, it was a Friday and sleeping in wasn’t going to be an issue, especially for 6th grader Beomgyu who had the tendency to sleep the whole day. “I could’ve just told Mrs. Kim on Monday myself.”

Beomgyu shrugged as he fluffed the pillows and arranged your plushies on the bed. He hasn’t had his sudden growth spurt at that time so fitting in your old bed frame was still fairly easy then. “Knowing you and how long your groupmates have been bailing on you, you’d probably chicken out if Yunjin or I don’t do it ourselves or push you to do it.”

“No—“

“You know I’m right.“

You glared at him then, standing up from your desk to punch his arm. “I hate you.”

But he only rolled his eyes. “Then next time, I’ll try to not meddle that much anymore. Just…when our classmates are taking advantage of your kindness like this again, report it immediately, okay?” He nagged, his voice soft while his expression was determined. “Even if you don’t tell me directly, I know you’ve been having a hard time with that even more this year for some reason and, knowing you, you’d rather suck it up because you think you’re bothering people when you bring it up when you’re not.”

“That’s not true.”

“Y/N.” He squinted his eyes and pursed his lips.

You scoffed, climbing in the bed and laying down on the side next to the wall. “Okay, maybe sometimes it’s true.”

“Y/N.” He repeated your name in the same tone, lying next to you with your teddy bear in his arms. "Ms. Fluffy doesn't think so and I kind of agree with her."

You rolled your eyes in response, Beomgyu catching the gesture before he could turn off your bedside lamp. “Fine, fine. I admit it, I wasn’t—I wasn’t planning to tell Mrs. Kim because I thought my groupmates would get mad and think of me as a nuisance.” You winced at the admission, lifting your blanket up to your nose.

But Beomgyu was quick to stop your hand, flicking your forehead after. “Stop doing that. You literally did half of your paper, even the parts you weren’t assigned to. You’re far from a nuisance.” He retorted, tucking Ms. Fluffy the teddy bear next to you. “And Mrs. Kim’s job is literally to make sure we’re not having a hard time learning, she’d understand.”

That time, and most times when Beomgyu would be the one nagging you, you felt like shrinking under his fierce gaze. “I don’t want to get into trouble with anyone in class—“

“I’d fight anyone off for you if that happens."

“But I can handle myself if ever!”

“Now, you’re just contradicting yourself.” He pointed out with a chuckle, settling down next to you. “Just...next time, okay? You should never suffer in silence by choice, you’re better than that.”

You had no choice but to nod in agreement and fulfill your promise that very next Monday, talking to Mrs. Kim yourself to elaborate on the incident further with Beomgyu holding your hand the entire time.

Most of the time, it's sweet and thoughtful that your best friend looks out for you out of genuine concern. You can’t admit it to his face, knowing he’ll tease you endlessly for it, but you like Beomgyu having his full attention on you most of the time and how he can literally rival your family as the person who knows you best.

But alas, there are still numerous instances when it's caused you more harm than good to disastrous levels.

At the top of your head, there was that incident in the summer before your sophomore year when Yeji first set you up on a blind date with Theo, a friend of a friend from the Vocal Performance department.

You even made sure that Beomgyu wouldn't get anywhere near your bowling date, threatening all of your mutual friends to keep the agenda a secret over message (and free food for Taehyun and Hueningkai) and scheduling the date on the same weekend Beomgyu was going to take an exam for one of his summer classes.

However, when Theo briefly left you alone in your lane to buy snacks, a familiar mop of brown hair, black hoodie, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses suddenly whooshed in your peripheral vision, followed by two figures in hoodies you unmasked at the end of the night as Yeonjun and Soobin.

Another annoying thing that Beomgyu does is that when he’s “investigating” something—whether it’s a friend’s date or that time everyone thought Taehyun was secretly seeing someone—he always brings the same get-up of hoodie and thick-rimmed glasses along as "disguise." It's a stupid idea that first came to him when Yunjin went on her very first date in high school that he never bothered to change even when everyone started catching on, making it easier to spot him in your surroundings.

Though he didn't approach you until you approached him back in your dorms, it was still unnerving to spot him, Yeonjun, and Soobin playing five lanes away from you and your date. Their glances felt heavy on your back as the night went on.

"He was literally in two of your classes last semester. It's not like he's some stranger to you." You frowned at Beomgyu after letting Yeonjun and Soobin go with an earful of a speech of their own. Though you and Theo agreed that you clicked better as friends, you still lectured and nagged at your three friends in your dorm's communal kitchen with Beomgyu staying an hour longer than the other two. "How did you even get to the bowling alley? I thought you have an exam tonight?"

"My exam was only until 7 PM so I got Yeonjun to drive us to the bowling alley as soon as I got out. It was a celebratory thing for me too! That English final really kicked me in the ass, if you must know." Beomgyu answered with a pout, hands deep in his hoodie pockets and his glasses slipping on his nose. "And even if I do know Theo in passing, I don't know him that way. He’s more Yeji’s friend than mine. What if he was a shit dude when it comes to dates? What if he stood you up tonight or something?"

"You say that for all the people I like."

Beomgyu waved his hand dismissively in defense. "I only say that to the objectively trashy ones and the ones I don’t know enough about. Theo’s under the second category.”

"Still! You get what I mean!" You frowned as you smacked him on the back of his head, earning you a wince from him. "Gyu, once, just one date where you leave me alone. No disguises and no spam texts. Can you do that?"

There's a long pause that followed after with Beomgyu opening his mouth a couple of times only to close it back again, keeping you on edge for what felt like forever but was only for around five minutes.

He never told you what he was going to say at first or if he was even thinking of something else to say, you can just easily infer that it's different from what he actually ended up saying with the way his expression softened right before he finally spoke.

"Only if you tell me more about these things before you actually go on them. Even just the basic things are fine.” He frowned this time, crossing his arms. Even without you scanning every inch of his face, his expression easily gave away to the fact that he was thinking of saying something else but was trying his best to hold back. “I’m...I'm worried, okay? I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

"You know I can handle myself. We've been through this hundreds of times, I'm not that kid from the 4th grade who couldn't tell on my shit groupmates." You interjected, crossing your arms in front of the taller boy. "Anyway, if I ever need help, you're always the first one I'll call, you already know that."

He pouted down at you. "Sure?"

And you nodded with a laugh at his ridiculous expression, uncrossing your arms as you couldn't fight the amusement creeping up on you whenever Beomgyu tries to act cute anymore. "Positive."

So on the next two blind dates that Yeji set up for you that summer, you were pretty sure that Beomgyu only kept tabs on you through text as the hoodie and glasses were nowhere to be seen when you and your dates went out.

♡

On Beomgyu’s end, if he were to pick a top one habit of yours that he finds the most annoying it would be your tendency to hide your artworks from him until it’s finished when he’s always showing you his drafts.

Much like how you often try hiding your burdens, troubles, and blind dates from him, you often ban Beomgyu from seeing your drafts and sketches until the work itself is done which, as a fellow artist, makes him want to sneak up on you even more.

Especially when you think that you’ll be working on a particular project for a long time or if it’s in a medium you haven’t tried before, you’d often be blocking Beomgyu from seeing a peek of your plans out of a weird superstition that you might not finish anything if you hear a comment from him too early.

As your musician best friend who’s always showing you his own work even when it’s still disjointed lyrics and melodies in his head, Beomgyu sometimes thinks that you don’t trust him enough in something important as your own art. Without you knowing, it hurts him a bit sometimes because it’s as if he can’t be useful for you in that sense when you're always his most trusted critic when it comes to his music.

“It’s not like I can possibly make a bad comment.” Beomgyu insisted sometime during midterms as you talked over your senior thesis projects over dinner. It was almost 2 AM in your dorm’s communal kitchen, your mugs only half-filled with lukewarm chocolate when the boy asked if he could take a peek at your sketchbook after letting you hear some of his new music. “With you and your art? Impossible to make any bad comments I’m telling you!”

“Eh, but—“ Maybe it was the tiredness from having been up for 24 hours straight, trying to stay on top of your piling requirements, that unlike your usual response to Beomgyu’s pouting and puppy eyes, you decided to blurt out, “I just—I don’t know…I think too highly of your opinion.”

Beomgyu was effectively rendered frozen and speechless, missing the way you slouched your shoulders and hid your face behind your hair after your confession. “I—what?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.” You deadpanned, taking another sip of your chocolate next to him. At least with your shoulders touching, you couldn't see the way his expression unconsciously softened while listening to you. "It's already embarrassing enough as it is."

“But…but why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you think highly of my opinion? It’s just me.” Beomgyu chuckled nervously, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment as he spoke. “Not like I’m a professional artist or whatever.”

“Do I really have to say it?”

Beomgyu nodded, pursing his lips. "I'm being serious right now." He pretended to squint his eyes and furrow his brows and you rolled your eyes in response.

With a sigh, you then answered. “It’s exactly because you’re you. You’re Choi Beomgyu, the annoying kid from the neighborhood who just decided one day that he’d join me at the plastic tables in the playground when he saw me drawing flowers on my mom's notepad. The one who bought me my first oil paint set for Christmas in the 7th grade because he said he noticed how much I enjoyed it in our Art class. The one who always adds more compliments to my work along with actually helpful feedback even when I ask for criticisms only because he’s too nice for his own good but he’s also very intuitive.

“You…annoying as it is, you’re kind of very important in my art and it makes me nervous sometimes to show you anything before it’s complete because I think it has to be perfect and totally not disappointing even when you first see it. I only want you to see good things from me...”

While the silence that followed felt like an hour for you, it felt like forever in Beomgyu's mind as his thoughts flew to the memories as you mentioned them.

Much like you, he can also vividly remember how exactly you befriended each other at the playground then, when he complimented your doodle of the daisy bushes by the swings because you drew them a little too well for a five-year-old with broken crayons and an unsharpened pencil. You even complained to him that you can render the flowers better if you just didn't forget your sharpener at home, leading to a whole conversation that you continued at the swings where he offered to push you for the rest of that afternoon.

He remembers that 7th grade Christmas when he picked your name for the class Secret Santa and didn't even have to read more on the wishlist below your name because he was already set on buying you an oil paint set and some brushes to go with it outside of the classroom. He knew you were saving up to buy it in the summer yourself but he also knew that it'd make you even happier to get it six months earlier so it was easy for him to take money from his own savings that were supposed to go on a new ukulele.

But more importantly, his mind lingers to a memory you didn't mention, to that day outside of the teacher's lounge when you were first filling in your college applications. While your other friends were talking animatedly about what they were planning to do after your high school graduation, you were unusually quiet next to Beomgyu as you filled out your application which quickly prompted him to ask if you were okay.

"What did you put in your program?" He had asked after, leaning his head on your shoulder only for you to cover the top half of your application with your hands. "Ya, I want to see!"

"No, it's embarrassing!" You protested, moving the form away from his peering eyes when his hand tries to reach for it. "You'll know later anyway if I pass Seoul University!"

"You mean 'when' you pass." He corrected, resting his chin on your shoulder this time before peering up at you. "And why are you embarrassed over your program? It's not the most embarrassing choice you've made in front of me."

"Ya!"

"So what is it?"

You leaned away from him and Beomgyu found it weirdly strange to be on eye-level with you while seated after he's suddenly grown almost a head taller than you over the summer. "I might...do a double degree on Painting and Sculpture."

"What's embarrassing about that? If anything, I'd be surprised if those two are nowhere near your top five options." He raised a brow almost instinctively. "Y/N, a double degree's impressive as hell!"

"It's just that..." You stumbled shyly over your words, scratching the nape of your neck. "I don't know, it's a shot in the dark. It's not like I'm that good like how you're great with your music."

"That's bullshit. You've always been talented and hardworking when it comes to your art. If anything, it's me who's always trying to catch up with you." He countered immediately, sitting up straight with a serious expression on his face. "And it's something you love and want to learn more of so why would it be embarrassing? Be confident and own your passions, Y/N."

"They might not actually see that if I don't do well in the exams and the portfolio I turn in. For all we know, I suck compared to other people."

"You literally just won a mural competition last summer." Beomgyu rolled his eyes. "Admissions would be dumb to reject you."

Looking back on that memory almost four years ago, the revelation of what you really think of him makes Beomgyu's head spin that he had to quickly snap himself back to reality when you downed the last of your chocolate and mumbled how opening up was a mistake to yourself.

"I'm going to bed." You announced, rubbing your eyes tiredly and clutching your mug to your chest.

Before you could leave the table, however, Beomgyu quickly grabs onto your arm. "Wait, wait, no!"

"I'm tired as shit. You can rub my emotional comments on my face tomorrow morning."

"It's not that." Beomgyu frowned, tugging on your arm for you to sit down again. When you hesitantly follow along with him, he then continued, "It's just...is that why you tried hiding your application form from me back then?"

"I mean, I wasn't as confident in myself then as I am now and I had my other doubts about taking the program itself but...yeah, I guess." You shrugged slowly, looking everywhere but him. "I also thought that if I take both Painting and Sculpture, I have to make you proud no matter what."

On any other day, he would've teased you for it but he knew you'd probably smack his head on the table in that moment. So, instead, he held back on a smile and nudged you gently on the shoulder. "You make me proud no matter what you do." He assured. "And, if you must know, I also think highly of your opinion on my music...I guess we just show it in different ways.

"And if you're not ready to show me some of your new projects yet, it's okay. I can wait for all of them because I know they'll all turn out great."

You then looked up at him with raised brows. "Even if I make you wait until graduation for some of them?"

"I might ask Ryujin or Soobin to take photos of your progress for me if I have to wait that long." He joked, making you chuckle. "You know, the usual."

"Sure you will." You scoffed before picking up his mug on the table and standing up again. "Dude, come on, we really have to go to bed."

IV. WE KEEP SECRETS FROM EACH OTHER

It's not to say, however, that there aren't any instances when your roles are unwittingly reversed. Beomgyu also closes himself off from you and everyone else from time to time and you naturally end up being the nosy one banging on his door and demanding for him to at least let you know that he's eating well.

It's often when Beomgyu's stressed—when there's too much work to be done, especially in his music, or when he suddenly finds himself in a problem that he unusually doesn't share with you at the first encounter.

In these moments, you usually start noticing a week before he could even lock himself in his room and isolate himself from all of your friends. Especially since university began when you'd mostly meet in the day at lunch with your friends, he'd stop pestering you to elaborate more on a story you'd tell half-heartedly but he'll still hold your hand under the tables in front of all of your friends, squeezing it more often than usual out of anxiety.

And his smile never reaches his eyes when he's stressed, the same way his laugh would be quieter, an easy giveaway that he's going through something he's decided to keep on his own.

So as someone who's noticed his patterns over the years, you let him be at first, squeezing his hand back and initiating all the jokes in the group for him to finish with the punchline so he doesn't linger too much in his own thoughts.

Then when Hueningkai or Soobin do message you that Beomgyu hasn't left his room except to go to only half of his classes, you're quick to come up to his dorm with takeout and whatever project you're working on, knowing that what he really needs best in these moments is company.

There's times when Beomgyu acts extra bratty and doesn't let you in his personal space for a couple of days, a week at most like the time he was so stressed about Toto getting sick back in your Freshman year. It takes a lot of time out of your week and money from your weekly allowance buying him food but you wait patiently by his door anyway, catching up on your studies on the hallway floor if you're at the dorms or outside his room back in your neighborhood and occasionally knocking on his door to ensure that he's still alive.

But when he does let you in, opening the door just wide enough for you to see his bloodshot tired eyes and a blanket over his head, you take the initiative to open the door wider and hug him before anything else.

You almost never initiate skinship as much as you never share things until they're prodded out of you by Beomgyu, he knows that well so that's exactly what you do when you first see him in this state. All the time.

You don't speak until he lets you go and you're allowed to occupy his space with him. Back in your old neighborhood, you would put your things on his desk next to his own and work quietly until he decides to open up to you on his own accord.

Since college started, however, things have been slightly different in that once you're in the room, you'd sit on his bed first and let him hug you until he's ready to talk. If his roommate, Hueningkai, would be there at the end of the day, you'd throw a shoe at the younger boy and ask him to come back after dinner with the promise that you'd play Mario Kart with him the next weekend.

When Beomgyu's stressed, he likes it better when it's just the two of you, your exact opposite since you'd rather have all of your close friends with you on a hangout when you're in a similar state of mind.

The most stressed Beomgyu has been in college was when he was finishing the first official album for TXT, the band he formed with Yeonjun, Soobin, Taehyun, and Hueningkai in the summer before your freshman year. It was in the second semester of your junior year, when both of you were also preparing for internship applications on top of academics and the clubs piling one on top of each other that you sort of saw this coming as soon as you felt stressed out yourself.

Beomgyu only let you in his dorm room on your fifth day of camping out, crying out his frustrations on your shoulders for almost two hours that you had to change into one of his shirts after and ask Hueningkai to bring up a whole pitcher of water for your best friend to drink over dinner.

"I—I...I just...I can't! I can't finish the songs! I'm going insane!" He exclaimed on your shoulder, his cries muffled against you but you don't mind as you continue rubbing his back in circles and reminding him to breathe. "And...and nothing's been going my way these days! Not in my classes, not in the radio show or on the soccer team! I'm just...I'm just so out of it, Y/N!"

You hummed comfortingly, carefully moving both him and yourself so you're both sitting up properly once more. You then pointed to his open laptop and computer screens on the desk across the room with a small smile, "I can see your progress from here, though. You've been doing well. You're trying and getting things done, that's what matters."

"It's not all that good..."

You shook your head almost immediately, handing him another pack of tissues you've brought with you before discarding the used ones in the nearby trash bin. "Yes, it is! I've heard the drafts before you locked yourself up in here, they're all great." You retorted, tilting your head when he buries his face in the crook of your neck once more. "I think I like Thursday's Child Has Far To Go and Maze in the Mirror the most. They're very you.

"And about your classes and clubs, just take your time with them. Soobin and I e-mailed some of your profs already, Jeongin and Tae are handling the radio show well, and I'm sure Sunwoo and the rest of the soccer team would understand your absence for now.

"For now, just do what you want to do. Rest if you want to rest. If you want to focus on the band, then that's fine too. Everything will align themselves in time, just please don't forget to take care of yourself."

"And if they don't? Align themselves in time, I mean?"

His breathing was ragged then from all of the crying and his eyes the reddest and puffiest you've ever seen them. You figured from then on that you really hate seeing Beomgyu cry in frustration the most.

"They will, I promise. They always do with you." You replied without thinking, hesitantly patting his head and gently wiping his tears with your thumbs. "And you know I'll stay with you here until you're satisfied with your progress. Or at least for a couple of days because I have tons of presentations next week."

He sniffled a bit, spraying his hands with alcohol and adjusting the blanket wrapped around him. "W-What are you going to work on in a bit?"

You scoffed, already expecting that he'd ask. "I brought a project for my Sculpture II class, if that's okay. I also brought newspapers so I don't make a mess on the floor." You answered anyway, chuckling when his eyes immediately lit up. "You've been bugging me about it so I thought I can show you the my progress just this once to cheer you up."

And as if a light switch was turned, the glossiness previously in his eyes suddenly looked like sparkles as he sat up straight. "I could smother your face in kisses right now."

"Wipe that snot off of your nose first." You pretended to cringe when he dramatically opened his arms wide and puckered his lips. At that moment, you immediately knew that he was feeling a bit better, at least. "Geez, sometimes, I think you just sulk sometimes to get me to come here and show you my works early."

"I'm not that evil!" He pouted, taking the weighted blanket off of his back and getting off the bed. "Though, now that you've suggested it..."

A pillow then quickly landed on his face. "Choi Beomgyu!"

So you spent three nights at Beomgyu and Hueningkai's dorm room, working on a bust of Yeonjun (it's a long story involving you losing a bet to him at your last group hangout) on the floor while Beomgyu finished the final edits to TXT's songs. You then go back to your own dorm room before breakfast to freshen up for your class then come back again after your classes, often around 4 PM.

And when Beomgyu finally caught up with his classes and extra-curriculars, he surprised you with an invitation to TXT's surprise album launch over a month later.

Another thing about Beomgyu is that he's strangely great with surprises, preparing elaborate plans for occasions like your birthday, the holidays, or when he's bounced back from a difficult situation right under your nose.

Initially, the boys only told you that they'd release the album after finals week and play it at the year-end school festival, the first time they would be performing a full set of original songs. Though you, Yeji, Ryujin, and Yunjin insisted that they should do a proper album launch, all five of the boys just kept saying excuses or shifting the topic to something else.

On your last official school day for that semester, however, you suddenly received a notification from TXT's social medias about a surprise album launch at a cafe you frequent with all of your friends and a personal message from Beomgyu telling you to come over 30 minutes before the show.

So in retaliation, you made sure to stop over at the nearest flower shop with the girls and surprise Beomgyu with at least a congratulatory bouquet of roses, the same size as the one he gave you all of those years ago.

Said bouquet almost getting ruined when Beomgyu hugged you the moment you entered the cafe.

"You came!" He exclaimed giddily on your neck, almost toppling you to the ground as his arms encircled your waist. "You came! You came! You came!"

You scoffed, taking a moment to regain your footing as you rested your cheek against your best friend and carefully held the bouquet behind his head. "Of course I'd come. I'm your number one fan."

"Sure you are." He feigned a sniffle before tilting his head away to press a kiss to your cheek. "But still, thank you for coming. This means a lot to me."

"I know."

"You helped finished this album."

"I doubt that. I just worked with you in silence for three days straight."

He shook his head fervently, pulling away from you fully by then and leading you to the makeshift stage across the room. "You helped me refocus and get back on my feet so I can finish everything. I think you helped big time." He retorted before picking up his guitar from its stand. "Anyway, I have another surprise!"

"I only got you one." You feigned a frown while shaking the bouquet in your hands, making him chuckle before occupying the empty high stool next to him. "I'll have to get back at you again after this."

"You're already doing so much for me coming here tonight. And you bought me really expensive flowers!" He assured, strumming the guitar a few times. When you then opened your mouth to retort, he quickly interjected, "Anyway, I wrote this song for you! I'm still thinking if I want us to perform this later but I really just want to play it for you right now before anything."

So in the middle of that cafe, while your friends ran around preparing the decorations and doing soundchecks, Beomgyu sang his song, "Nap of a Star," with his guitar on his lap and his phone with the lyrics on the music stand.

"I can see even without you in front of me. I feel you, even without saying anything. Because I believe in you, even if I'm anxious

"I can touch even without you in front of my eyes. I reach even if you go far away from me. Just by remembering you, my heart always dances like before

"I want to become your nap and dream together always as if nothing happened. The evening sunset and the darkened night sky, my heart is full of you."

He occasionally giggled and fumbled on the guitar a bit everytime he glanced over in your general direction but he finished the song with you nearly in tears, something you instinctively hid by smacking him in the arm once the guitar was out of the way.

"You jerk! You wrote that for me? Are you sure?" You exclaimed, rapidly blinking back tears. "And I only got you flowers today! God, you're making me look like a bad friend!"

He rolled his eyes, getting down from the high stool and standing in front of you. With your own chair's height, you were easily at eye-level with him as he smiled at you. "I already told you, just coming over to hear us is already enough. Don't worry about it." He assured. "Anyway, what did you think of the song?"

"It's beautiful, of course." You scoffed half-heartedly, making him chuckle. "Was that night walk in the lyrics about—?"

"That night walk at the art fair? Yeah." He grinned shyly, rubbing the nape of his neck.

Once, in the 9th grade, you had a big fight with Beomgyu over Areum, at that point his ex-girlfriend. What you both do remember the most about it is how it happened on the week before a planned trip to an art fair in the busier district of Seoul that you were really excited about.

Though you were pretty sure that you weren't on speaking terms with him that time, he still showed up at the bus stop on the day itself, prompting you to apologize to each other before heading to the art fair together.

"You were crying like shit in public that we had to move to a more secluded area because people were looking. Then, you almost choked me to death with your hug." You recalled in confusion. "Not like I was any better but..."

"I put it in because I really thought our friendship was over then." He explained with a pout. "Then the first words we told each other when you saw me at the bus stop were apologies and...ah, it's very cheesy but I just think back to that time whenever I miss you. I think it's one of those moments I remember when I think of our bond."

You smack him again, this time directly on his chest, but the tears also flow freely this time. "God, you're so...you're so poetic and annoying! And you're making me cry!"

"I take that as a win." He laughed deeply as he hugged you, one hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other cupped your face and wiped your tears gently.

"How can you even say those things without crying? We've been friends for almost 16 years, damn it, Gyu." You mumbled in his plaid shirt, hugging him back. "I-I really love the song…”

"Years of practice on how to say it properly, actually." He joked half-heartedly, rubbing your back even more and mumbling to a passing Soobin something about the last preparations for the album launch. "That's why I do all the talking for us."

V. I LOVE YOU TOO MUCH

Your thesis for your Painting degree, you realize right before the Winter break this senior year, is the perfect surprise to get back at Beomgyu. While you've briefly mentioned that you'll have to take an extra year to complete your Sculpture degree's senior thesis, you're focusing on your Painting degree in your 4th year and have miraculously kept it under wraps from everyone including your best friend because everything's been hidden in your laptop and at the studios.

At the same time, it sort of fits. Though overall, most of the studies, actual finished works, and research you've done so far for your thesis are focused on human relationships overall, traces of Beomgyu have been slipping in here and there, reminding you that it's quite hard to paint anything about your friends or your first love without him.

He's in the series of studies you did of all of your friend groups, in a watercolor rendition of the faces you remember from your old neighborhood's playground, and even in a charcoal rendition of your favorite romance book characters as your thesis advisor suggested that you try and explore.

And he's in even more finished works and abandoned sketches way before that, some you unconvered in your old binders while researching for your thesis.

It could just be the extra hustle and bustle of your senior year, with you and all of your friends busier than ever as you work on your final year. Not to mention, you still have to prepare balancing a job at the university museum with your fifth year classes next year and Beomgyu's been busy putting out new music with TXT and discussing a junior producer position at an entertainment company.

But it's been almost a whole month since you last went to a proper lunch (one that isn't jut coffee and convenience store ramen) with any of your friends which is a whole record for you and Beomgyu, in particular. You're probably just missing the guy a bit too much these days that even just getting his daily cheer up messages has been messing with your thoughts all over again.

(Not that it doesn't mess you up on any normal day. It's just a tad bit extra now that you haven't seen his face around in a while)

So when you brought up to your thesis advisor the idea of painting a portrait of Beomgyu, the studies of which you would gift him for Christmas then remake as a proper oil painting for your thesis after the Winter break, there wasn't much of a complaint on her part.

Hell, you might even suspect that Prof Kim, a mentor whom you've also had in past studio classes, has been secretly rooting for you this whole time after years of always seeing Beomgyu randomly pop up around the department building.

"And what kind of relationship will a portrait of Choi Beomgyu represent in your exhibit?" She asked on Monday with a teasing glint in her eyes, a copy of your project research in her hands.

Your face heated up in an instant as you fumbled over your words, something you quickly excuse as a reaction related to the snow outside. "I—well...I'll figure that out later which I know is a cop out answer academically but I'll connect it to something in my RRL later, I promise!"

Prof Kim chuckled, closing her binder. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Personally, I think you already have it in your RRL and project proposal, you just need to make a more explicit mention of your friend in the paper moving forward since he'll be a subject in one of your finished works."

You nodded sheepishly, quickly gathering your things and standing up to bow at your advisor. "I'll e-mail you my progress again next week before the break!"

"No, no, it's okay! Just e-mail me after the holidays, I won't deduct grades or anything!"

A few days later, you're on the floor of your dorm room with Ryujin and Yeji cramming their own choreographies for their respective senior theses in another corner of the room while you finished your second study of Beomgyu, using your most recent photos as a reference.

The small 12x16 canvas you were working on sat comfortably on an equally small easel on your work desk, another canvas of the same dimensions drying by the windowsill next to a pile of old photos at the same time. Since your thesis would only require photos of your studies, you figured that you can give all of them to Beomgyu then make an extra oil painting of the two of you, knowing that he'd probably shy away (after making egotistical jokes, of course) if it's all just him.

"So what would the final painting be?" Ryujin suddenly asked as Yeji pauses the music for a five-minute break, approaching you as she drinks a bottle of cold water. "They're all so different."

You glanced over your shoulder and frown. "That's the thing, I'm not really sure how I want to paint him in the final work."

"Why?" Yeji asked this time, sitting cross-legged on a nearby mat.

You shrugged in response. "I don't know. Honestly, I thought if I do some studies, I'd get a clearer idea but I'm already three paintings in and I still have no plan of action for the one that actually counts to a grade." You sighed, turning your attention back to your unfinished painting.

"At least you have the Christmas gift ready!" Ryujin half-heartedly joked, sitting on an empty chair next to you. On your peripheral vision, you also caught Yeji nodding with a hopeful smile. "You don't have to paint the final work until after the break, anyway."

"Yeah, but it's the one that's going to be displayed at the exhibit at the end of the year." You pointed out matter-of-factly, carefully finishing the last layer of your painting. "And it has to be perfect."

"Maybe you can work something out over the break? You're going home to your neighborhood with Beomgyu and spending more time with him, anyway." Yeji suggested next. "Maybe then you'll have a clearer idea, hm?"

And Yeji was definitely right, as she always is, when you do go home to your old neighborhood with Beomgyu after the last official school day of the semester and find yourself hanging out in his childhood bedroom on the days leading up to Christmas much like the old days.

The idea comes to you on the afternoon of Christmas Eve almost two weeks later, when you invited yourself at the Choi's once more to listen to TXT's new songs and catch up with Toto. You sat cross-legged on Beomgyu's bed with your own earphones connected to his laptop and a live-sketch of the boy in his favorite green plaid shirt and freshly cut and dyed black hair on your lap.

Glancing over at him and seeing the way his eyes sparkled as you listened to "Way Home," it was a rather quick revelation to you that the best way to paint your best friend is in his most comfortable state. Just like this: when it's just the two of you drawing and listening to music, basking in the comfort of each other's company.

So you looked back at him again as the song transitioned to "Blue Hour," trying to take in as much of his features in that moment as much as you can. The faint sunlight coming in through the fogged up windows, Beomgyu's messy hair and skewed reading glasses, his hand propped up on his desk as he rested his cheek on his palm, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration as he worked only to consciously soften them when he looks at you, the way he talked animatedly about certain parts of the song with a boyish but proud grin on his lips.

Before you can even listen to the third song, you were already placing your hand on his upper arm and asking him to stay still for a moment.

"Why?" He asked, blinking twice while his hands go to pausing the song on his laptop anyway.

"I'm trying to memorize your face in this light." You answered absentmindedly, turning to a fresh page on your sketchbook and looking at him for a minute longer before removing your hand from him. "Okay."

"Okay?" He chuckled nervously. "What was that for? Are you going to send the mafia to kill me or something?"

You rolled your eyes, folding your knees closer to your chest to hide your sketchbook as you start anew. "It's a secret."

He then tried peering over your shoulder, moving the chair he was sitting on closer to the bed. "Are you drawing me?"

"Maybe." You teased with a smirk before pulling the sketchbook closer to your chest when he tried peering again. "Play the next song, Gyu."

Painting him in another solo portrait then on one of the two of you after that was relatively quick and easy as you finished your final gifts on Christmas Day while Beomgyu and his family went to a reunion out of town. While the last painting study, the one you'll render to a bigger canvas after the break, is him looking back at you fondly on that Christmas Eve afternoon, the additional painting of the two of you was from a candid photo Taehyun took when Beomgu played you Nap of a Star.

So now, here you are, in your room this time with the portraits gift-wrapped on the foot of your bed while your best friend handed you a late Christmas gift of his own.

"I was going to make it on my computer at first since everyone was sending in pictures on chats but then Yeonjun said that it might end up looking like the slideshows you have at funerals even with my superior editing skills." Beomgyu explained with a nervous chuckle as you unwrapped the gift, finding a thick scrapbook of all of your memories and mementos growing up. "Since everything else of you that I have—the pictures, the craft store receipts, Lotte World tickets, and everything—are all in boxes at home and at the dorms, I just thought I'd print the pictures I got from our friends and instead of scanning the things I already have then make it into a physical scrapbook.

"You did always say that you want to make one someday but we never really had the time so I thought I'd start it for you and, surprisingly, there are too many things in my own space that are yours or remind me of you."

You browse through the abnormally thick book in surprise and amusement, not even knowing that Beomgyu's kept even the simplest scraps of paper related to you after all these years. From the pictures his mom took of the two of you for every first day of school until the 12th grade to the candid photos he's taken of you over the years on his phone (regardless of how unflattering they are—you make sure to smack him in the arm everytime you come across one as you continue browsing) to notes you'd leave on his locker whenever he missed school and all the Christmas tags you've put on your previous gifts, it's the most detailed history of the two of you from when you met up until the present, complete with small captions handwritten by the boy himself.

So much so that you even linger on some of the pages you never thought you'd see, including the sketch you drew that day on the playground, the first note he passed you in class in the 1st grade, and a copy of the front page of the Science paper you crammed with him in the 6th grade.

"How did you even get some of these?" You ask, pointing to a photo of the two of you from your first Christmas together you somehow forgot existed. It was in the 1st grade when the Chois had to cancel going to their annual family reunion because of Mr. Choi's work so your families ended up watching the neighborhood fireworks display together. "I don't even think I have a copy of this!"

"That's from my mom! Also took her a long time to find on her phone." Beomgyu grins before turning to another page just full of flattened flowers, mostly daisies and roses. "And these are from all the bouquets you've bought me for recitals, graduations, and our first album launch! I kept at least one of everything because I wanted to use them in a project someday but I wasn't really sure what until I got the idea to make you a scrapbook."

"How did you even decide to give me a scrapbook for Christmas? And going through all the trouble of asking everyone we know for extra pictures? I thought you were busy with the band and your thesis?" You ask next, turning to the last page and finding a bunch of old letters and old invitations, the one from your senior prom standing out. By this point, it was hard to keep the stray tears at bay as you sniffle, making Beomgyu laugh before passing you tissues.

You went with all of your friends back then but you only danced alone with Beomgyu, somehow deluding yourself into thinking that he would confess and reciprocate your feelings.

But he never did, holding himself back from saying anymore in front of your house and simply kissing your forehead at the end of the night, and that was probably the only time you cried over the boy for that reason.

Beomgyu scratches his head and smiles sheepishly before slowly gesturing over to your wrapped gift for him. "A-Ah, well...Ryujin may or may not have mentioned something about you slaving away the past few weeks for your gift."

Your jaw slacks. "Are you serious?"

Before you could protest even more, however, Beomgyu's quick to raise his hands up in defense and interject, "Well, to be fair, I got the original idea of a simple scrapbook with everything I have way before Ryujin approached me! Then she mentioned sometime ago how hard you were working on my Christmas present that I had to up the stakes and ask for more pictures and stuff from everyone else after.

"And it wasn't that time consuming, actually! Everyone was happy to share photos and even some stories about you which I wrote in some of the entries because I thought it was sweet. Just...I want you to feel absolutely loved with this gift.

"And I mean, isn't it also nice seeing us from other people's point of view?" He points out next, flipping back to the pages mainly dedicated to photos of you and your mutual friends mixed in with photos they took of you. "It's also kind of a gift from everyone else in that sense."

You wipe another set of stray tears, making Beomgyu pout and reach a hand up to help you.

"Are you okay—?"

"I love it so much." You sniffle, smacking his arm before hugging the scrapbook to your chest. "Thank you, Gyu."

He heaves a sigh of relief, clutching his chest with his free hand. "There are still some blank pages towards the end. I figured you can put your own stuff in it if since I know you keep some things in the box under the bed." He suggests, patting the bed as if to gesture to the boxes you keep under it. "Or if you want, we can just fill it with new stuff later."

"Will you help me add in my own things?"

He nods with a bright smile. "We can do it before dinner with your parents." He then reaches towards the opposite end of the bed and picks up his gift, shaking it in front of him and asking next, "Should I open my gift in the meantime?"

"Yes, please. I can't be the only one crying right now." You nod with a chuckle, moving the scrapbook to your bedside table and helping him remove the tapes all over his gift.

"Before you make your usual complaint that it's too much, it's also actually part of my senior thesis for my Painting degree. Remember how I mentioned last time that I decided to make two separate theses for my programs? So, these are studies for one of my final paintings." You explain as the paintings come into view, Beomgyu's eyes widening and his jaw slacking in an instant.

"Woah..." He breathes, laying the canvases next to each other gently. “This is...this is amazing!"

"And there's one of the two of us. Look." You point at the last painting with a small smile. "The reference is from a photo Taehyun sent to our chat after the album launch."

"A-And...and where are the other portraits from?" He asks in a lower voice after a moment, eyes sparkling when he looks up at you again.

You gulp down any feelings of wanting to melt on the spot, pointing to each painting as you answer, "The first portrait's from a photo I took at your last gig, the second one's from last summer when we went to Haeundae beach, and the third one's from just the other day when you were letting me listen to your new music."

He points to the last one shyly, his cheeks flushed pink as the two of you look over at the painting of him listening to music on his headphones with a small smile on his face. "This was in my room?"

You nod, equally shy now that he's asking the questions upfront. "I-I just figured...you looked so warm and cozy then and that's always how I remember you so...yeah. That's also the one I'll be painting in the final work that's going in my thesis."

"Really?" His eyes widen even more, to which you simply nod once more before briefly looking away from him.

"Yeah, because my thesis is mostly on human relationships and, really, the rationale in all of these paintings is that I wanted to portray you as how you are in my eyes which is—"

Before you could even finish your thought, however, Beomgyu's oversized hoodie engulfs you and his lips land on your cheek. Then he gives you another peck, this time on a spot just slightly higher on the same cheek.

Then another, and another, before moving to another cheek. "You're amazing. I love you so much." He whispers against your skin dangerously close to your lips, almost as if he was telling you a very important secret.

And you know he means it differently than the other times he casually says it to you when he doesn't laugh excitedly between his words or jokingly force you to say it back as he would often do.

Instead, he punctuates the declaration by cupping your face gently and repeating the words again. "I love you so much. I love you the most." He sighs, meeting your gaze desperately.

And it's probably the years of knowing him that he doesn't have to elaborate on it further for you to catch on. At the same time, you feel a weight lift itself off of your shoulders at this, one that you haven't even realized you've been carrying along with you this whole time, hugging the boy back tighter with your arms on his waist in response.

“Can I?” He asks next, stroking your cheek with his thumb as his eyes momentarily flickers down to your lips.

You nod with a soft hum almost instantly, tilting your face as he closes the gap between your lips.

Beomgyu kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world for him to do, his lips feeling comforting on top of yours as he conveys every built up feeling and all the kinds of love he’s had for you in the past 16 years and receives the same back from you.

And all negative thoughts you’ve had, worries that your best friend will never look at you the same way you’ve always hoped for him to, are immediately thrown off the window and replaced by the assurance that Choi Beomgyu, the nuisance who’s been affectionately stuck to your hip since day one, is in love with you.

"I love you." He repeats, voice muffled towards the end as he gives you another fleeting kiss before rubbing your noses together. "You know what I mean, right?"

"I love you too." You reply on your own accord, panting slightly as you fill your lungs in with air and biting your lip as you feel your face heat up after. "I outlined it out at the bottom of our painting too with my signature, in case you didn't spot it."

"Ya, I did." He chuckles sheepishly, briefly moving to sit away to put your paintings on the side of the bed. Before the space he previously occupied in front of you grows cold, his arms are back around you once more as he tackles you down on the bed. "I'll hang all of them in my dorm when we get back."

"You can't nail things to the walls then graduate. That's not how it works." You laugh with a shake of your head, encircling your arms on his neck as he props himself on his elbows on top of you. When he laughs along, something in your heart stirs happily at how the two of you could go from intimate to casual so smoothly, assuring you that nothing much is going to change—just now with more-than-friendly kisses and the assurance that your best friend feels the same about you. "Anyway, they're all small enough to go on your desk at the dorms and at the studio."

"Then I'll put them on my work desk at the studio. Everyone has to know I have a really talented partner."

"Partner?" You scoff teasingly against the sudden rapid beating of your heart, playfully pushing him away. "I'm your significant other now?"

"Didn't I make it clear enough with the kisses and the hug? Not even with the fact that I've been sticking by you my entire life?" He feigns a pout as he easily rolls the two of you over with you comfortably on top of him now. "Should we make out instead?"

Your face heats up more at the comment, eyes widening when he does press a longer kiss on your lips and even manages to open your mouth while you’re distracted. "That's also not how it works, Gyu!" You manage to successfully push him away and roll your eyes, hiding your face in his chest in embarrassment.

"Then will you be my significant other? I'll take care of you like I always have, just with more kisses! Maybe some other things too like just five seconds ago." He dramatically asks with a smirk, teasingly prying your hands away from your face. "What? You wanted me to ask!"

"What happened to having shit taste in people and dating each other being an insult, then?” You tease one last time, making him groan. "Or not liking anyone I like, hm? You’re kind of contradicting yourself here.”

"We’re contradicting ourselves. I think I know enough Math to know that negatives cancel each other out." He retorts before leaning down for another kiss and resting his head on your chest after.

"But you suck at Math.”

"Do you want help with the scrapbook or not?"

VI. (epilogue) MAYBE WE WORK A LITTLE TOO WELL

A big bouquet of red roses and sunflowers is dropped in your arms by Beomgyu for the second time in your life, purposeful this time as he follows it with a an extra daisy tucked in your ear and a kiss.

"Congratulations on the exhibit, baby!" He greets you giddily after with a grin and a soft pat on your head. "I’m so proud of you! You’ve worked so hard!”

"Ew, ew, ew, not in front of us, please." Hueningkai complains, hiding behind Yeonjun and Taehyun as you lead your friends around your thesis exhibit. “I’m a child!”

You roll your eyes, draping your free arm around Beomgyu's waist anyway as Ryujin and Yeji wander off to the portraits you made of your family while the boys approach your studies on your high school and college friends.

"I have another surprise, by the way!" Your boyfriend speaks up again, taking out his phone and placing an earphone on your left ear. "I may or may not have gotten the idea from that time you were finishing up your thesis in the studio."

"I'm fucking scared." You joke, adjusting the earphone anyway while he wears the right bud on his right ear. "What is this?"

From what you can remember of those all-nighters two weeks ago, you brought your remaining works in his studio to work with him in the same space. While Beomgyu was winding down from having just finished his own thesis and recording the demo for a new song, you were trying to work quietly in your own corner, alternating between singing TXT's old songs to yourself or mumbling about how you were going to present the written part of your thesis to Prof Kim.

You also remember making out on the studio sofa while you’re on break but you’re pretty sure (well, you’re hoping your boyfriend's not insane like that) that it’s not anything remotely related to that in particular.

Beomgyu then takes your hand, leading you to where Yeji and Ryujin are. "Let's start here. I followed your gallery's pamphlet but modified it a bit towards the end so we'll end up in the painting you made of us."

And when you do stop in front of the painting series, that of your family over the years, Beomgyu's pre-recorded voice rings through your ears.

"Hello and welcome to "Why We Work,” a senior thesis by artist and my beautiful, beautiful partner, Y/N Y/L/N." Beomgyu proudly announces in the recording, making you laugh out loud in an instant. Faint in the background, you can distinctly hear Maze in the Mirror's instrumentals playing. "Y/N, baby, are you tuning in? Congratulations on finally finishing your Painting thesis! I made you an audio guide!”

You smack the real Beomgyu on his arm as you try and regain your composure. "Ya, you brat! What is this?”

He only giggles in response, making a shushing gesture dramatically. "Shh, just continue listening in. I made it for the whole gallery."

You roll your eyes but tune in anyway, responding well to the commentary as you walk with Beomgyu and even discussing some of the works yourself live and more in-depth.

“This was really sweet of you.”

“It is sweet of me, you’re welcome.” He teases, earning him another smack on the arm.

taglist: @wccycc @4beomy

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