#because that shit is coincidentally the most expensive shit I own | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 9 months

Note

I literally fell in LOVE with the first prompt game so i basically screamed when i saw pt 2

Can i request IMG 1 #31, #34 and #44 for Changbin?

Do what ever u want with it, it'd be happy w/ anything🖤

SKZ Prompt Game

Prompts: "I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you."

"I might never get another chance to say this."

"I still remember the way you taste."

Relationship: Past Childhood Lover!FemReader x Crime Boss!Changbin

Genre: Angst, Light Smut

Warnings: Mentions of guns, violence, Criminal acts, Underworld Shit (clubs, prostitutes, drugs, illicit dealings, etc.). Knife Play, Dark Sex. Unprotected sex. (Wrap it kids.)

"I might never get another chance to say this-I love you."

"Why does it hurt so much to hear you say that?"

"Because you don't believe it?"

"Or because you don't mean it?"

********************************************************************************

It's been ten years since you last saw Seo Changbin.

Ten years, and yet the moment your eyes meet his across the packed club, it's as if it was only yesterday.

After all-the pain, the hurt, the betrayal-it's all just as raw as if it were.

You'd known it was a bad idea to come here.

Known it the moment your best friend had invited you to your mutual coworker's bachelorette party, using the excuse that you 'needed to find some new dick to obsess over.'

She's right of course, you haven't had a good relationship-hell, let alone a good lay in a couple of years if you're being honest-but the moment the limo had pulled up to the most popular club in town, you'd known you were in deep shit.

Forget the fact that it's run by one of the biggest criminal gangs of the city.

Forget the fact that it's strippers and drinks and loud booming music and swanky atmosphere are only a legal façade for the dark, illegal underworld shit that happens underneath.

No, all of that on it's own should've tipped you off to the fact that this was a bad idea waiting to happen, should've made you fight and protest a little harder as the already tipsy group of girls and your best friend had dragged you laughing and singing past the bouncer, who merely gave a wave of his hand and nothing more than a second glance, as if you had some special standing invitation.

But it didn't, and you had gone along with it as they all giggled over their 'coveted invitation' and settled in at your table right in front of the main stage, as women way too fucking hot to be real had spun their poles, and men way too fucking ripped served drinks off of glittering golden trays.

The biggest fucking red flag of all, though, the thing that should've sent you running back to the limo, demanding the driver take you immediately home, locking the doors behind you, was not the false over the top glitz and glam of the club, your friends already slightly inebriated state, or the drugs covertly being served alongside drinks.

No, the biggest red flag of all, was now staring at you, eyes locked from across the club, lips pulled into a thin, stern line, muscles practically bulging out of his expensive Armani suit.

Seo Fucking Changbin.

Your childhood lover and ex boyfriend.

The only man who had ever successfully broken your heart, shattering it so thoroughly that you hadn't had a fulfilling relationship since.

And coincidentally, the owner of this club.

Oh, and the city's biggest crime boss. Did you forget to mention that?

********************************************************************************

Fuck.

I haven't seen her in almost ten years, and now here she is, in my club of all places, fallen right into my lap.

She hasn't changed a bit-all big doe eyes and soft skin and perfect tits.

My dick twitches in my pants at the thought, and I release a long, slow breath, holding her in the line of my dark, hungry gaze.

Obsession curls tight around my chest, and a perverse sense of protectiveness itches at the back of my throat as one of the girls she came with leans over and whispers something in her ear, laughing, motioning to one of the passing servers.

She pulls her gaze from me for just a moment, following his movements, giving her friend a tight nod and a smile that plays along, though I can tell she's not really interested.

Still, watching her gaze follow the almost naked waiter makes me clench my teeth until my jaw pops.

As if she can still feel me staring, my eyes drilling into the side of her head, she glances back to me nervously, saying something to her friend under her breath, before she stands from the table and heads in the direction of the club's bathroom.

"God fucking dammit." I swear beneath my breath, and without thinking, push myself off my normal vantage point of wall, already making a beeline for the direction she had disappeared.

Of course she would run.

But now that I had her again, I wasn't going to let her go so easily.

Not like the first time.

Because now, unlike the last time she saw me, Seo Changbin didn't lose.

********************************************************************************

"Excuse me." You murmur under the loud thumping of the music, the bass shaking the floor and reverberating through the heels you wear.

The man leaning against the wall in front of the women's bathroom glances at you in disinterest, pulling the lit cigarette from his lips as he blows a stream of smoke into the dusky club air.

The woman hanging off his arm stares at you with open disdain on her pretty features.

You try again, louder this time, attempting to push past them now.

The more time you waste, the faster Seo Changbin is closing in.

"Excuse me, I just need to use the bathroom-"

A hand comes down on your outstretched arm-grip firm, fingers curling around your wrist-and you're caught off guard, stunned into terrified silence, as you look up and see Seo Changbin towering over you, an unreadable expression on his features.

He glances toward the couple blocking the bathroom. "Lino, you're in charge till I get back."

The man-Lino-smirks and blows out another puff of smoke, leaning his head back against the wall behind him as he nods. Your eyes are drawn to the bold, dark tattoo of a cat's gaping maw-sharp teeth dripping with saliva-that covers his throat. "Sure thing, boss."

Without another word, Seo Changbin turns on his heel, and begins easily pulling you along behind him through the throngs of people packed in the club.

"Hey, stop, my friends-" You protest, because it's the only thing you can think to say in your frantic, panicked state, but he doesn't give you a backward glance, and for the most part, neither do the clubgoers.

In fact, they seem to part for him, like his presence alone is intimidating enough to clear a path for the two of you.

It probably is.

He leads you around the bar, tugging you easily even when you struggle, and up a flight of stairs you'd never noticed before, tucked back behind the display of jeweled tone alcohols and glittering glasses.

It leads to a quiet, dark hallway lined with doors, and the music from below is a distant pounding now, as he strides to the last door and inserts a code on the keypad.

The lock clicks, and Seo Changbin shoves you inside.

You stumble a little at the forward motion, the release of his fingers finally from your wrist, but manage to right yourself, glaring at him as he leans against the once again closed door, muscular arms crossed across his chest.

When he doesn't immediately say anything, you take the opportunity.

"Funny, is this how you treat all your guests?" There is sharpness in your tone, but your words wobble just a bit.

You hide your trembling fingers in the folds of your dress, and force yourself to hold his dark stare.

"No." He remarks, face still unreadable, body unmoving. "Just ghosts."

His words send a painful thrum through you already stinging heart, but you don't let the reaction show on your face, tipping your chin up and staring him down defiantly.

Maybe a bad idea, considering the biggest crime boss in the city is standing across from you, locked in the same room, but you're angry, and you don't care if he knows.

"I'm leaving now. My friends will be wondering where I went-"

He scoffs, leaning more heavily against the door, as you take a brave step toward him.

"Pet, your friends were drunk when they stumbled in here. They're probably six shots deep with my table boys by now and don't even remember you exist."

The use of the old nickname makes your body stiffen and go cold, like you've suddenly been doused in freezing water.

"You're at my mercy currently, pet. Mine."

A shadow crosses Seo Changbin's face, and he pushes off the door, crossing the room to the desk, and as he passes you, you can't stop yourself from shrinking away.

He flicks dark eyes toward you at the movement, as he straddles the chair behind the desk, and you don't miss the way his inked fingers flex on the back as he settles, strong and capable of ripping you to pieces.

They've done it once, why not again?

"Ah." He muses beneath his breath, as if to himself, his eyes slowly flicking down your outline, and you resist the urge to back away beneath is penetrating stare. "So you are scared of me. Wise, little pet, I'm a dangerous man."

You tip your chin, and pray to god your next words don't tremble.

"I'm not scared of you. You've done your worst on me already, what else could you possibly take?"

His eyes flash dangerously, and his lips curve into the hint of a smirk that makes your knees weak and a chill run down your spine.

"Everything, pet, everything."

********************************************************************************

Fuck, she's even more addicting up close.

When I locked her in here with me, I didn't account for the fact that I'd be able to smell her perfume-faint whiffs of something floral-or see every flawless inch of her skin clearly, soft and spilling out of that tiny dress like it belongs to me.

And it does, she just doesn't know it yet.

It always has.

I adjust slightly on my seat, my hard on growing uncomfortable at the thought, and cock my head, studying her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with fast breaths, the way her pulse flutters against her throat.

She's scared, and it's intoxicating.

Still, she's a spitfire, and it's something I've always admired about her.

"What do you want, Changbin?" She snaps out, and I swear to god, hearing my name on her lips after so long is almost enough to make me come.

Instead, I arch a brow, and settle back into my seat.

"You." I reply back simply, bluntly, and watch the emotions flicker across her face at my answer-surprise, fear, anger.

"You had me." She spits back, hands clenching into fists, the movement rustling the thin slip of her dress against her thigh.

I resist the urge to let my gaze trail down to the swathe of skin I know has been revealed, but only barely.

She takes a brave step forward, eyes flashing.

"You had me, and then you threw me away, for this." She gestures vaguely at the room around us, the club below us, the music still pounding dully through the floor.

Anger threatens to crawl up my throat at her blatant naivety, but I swallow it down, and instead, say calmly, coolly, "I never stopped thinking about you."

"It's not enough." She hurls out angrily, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

She always was an angrier crier, something I'd teased her about for years, something that irritated her to no end.

"It's not enough, because you fucking broke my heart, Changbin, you stomped on it, shattered it, and ruined everything good for me ever again."

Something about her words catches my attention, alighting my interest.

Before I can ask her about it, she angrily swipes at her eyes and turns, stomping toward the door.

"I'm leaving. Let me go."

She tugs at the locked knob to no avail, and I tuck back a smile at how cute she looks struggling to get free.

Caught, little pet, you're mine now.

I reach into the drawer of the desk and pull out the dagger I keep there, calmly weaving it through my fingers, waiting for her to give me her attention once again.

She huffs out an exasperated breath, turning to me with fire in her eyes, "Changbin-"

She freezes the moment she sees the knife.

********************************************************************************

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He has a knife, and now he's going to kill you.

Your breath stalls in your throat, as Changbin flips the knife easily around in his fingers, seeming to admire the way it flashes in the low light of the room.

"I did it for you, you know." He muses, more to himself than anything, and you can't seem to take your gaze off the knife, swallowing hard against the dryness suddenly coating your mouth.

He glances up at you, and his dark eyes connect with yours, the knife stilling in his fingers.

Something jumps to life in your stomach.

"It doesn't matter." You manage to choke out, backing against the solidness of the door, your knees suddenly weak.

You hate to admit it, as he stands and stalks toward you, like a predator cornering its prey, that it's not entirely from fear.

"It does though." He remarks softly, closing in on you, expression serious, knife still dangling from his fingers. "Because some shitty street-fighting kid from the slums who could barely read couldn't provide for you, protect you, love you like you deserved."

He glances down, close now, the knife held between you.

Your breath is shallow, and your pulse is pounding.

"But Seo Changbin-crime boss, club owner,, millionaire-he absolutely could do all those things. All those things and more."

You swallow hard, as he glances up at you.

The heat in his eyes has warmth pooling between your thighs, and your next words come out on an unconvincing stutter.

"I'm not scared of you."

He smirks, dark brow arching.

"I know. But you're scared of the way my darkness coaxes your own to come out and play."

You jump as you feel the cold, flat edge of the dagger press into the skin of your upper thigh.

You gasp in a breath, and Changbin's eyes darken at the sound.

"Aren't you, pet?"

He slides the dagger slowly up your leg, rotating it so the sharp point pricks the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop the whimper that's threatening to escape.

"S-stop." You choke out, though your body is screaming, reacting, telling him to keep going, a direct contradiction to your shaky words.

He arches a brow, and keeps going.

"Funny, pet, isn't it-" He muses, still dragging the tip of the dagger across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "-how our words can tell one story, but our bodies betray us every time."

The dagger tip dips into the traitorous wetness coating your skin beneath the short hem of your dress, and you take in a shuddering breath, your chest brushing his.

Triumph flashes in Changbin's eyes, and he leans in, removing the knife, before he brings it up to your chest, flicking the pebble of your peaking nipples through the almost sheer fabric of your dress.

The action makes you gasp, bucking your hips and arching into him involuntarily.

"Ah. There she is. Come out to play."

You swallow, hard, and he leans close, his breath brushing your jaw, nose skimming your ear.

He takes a deep inhale, nose buried in your hair, and releases it slowly, making you shiver.

A growl builds in his chest.

"God, pet, you're like a fucking drug, you know that?"

He slips the tip of the knife below your chin, forcing you to drop your head back against the door, staring up at him.

His eyes are dark, swallowed entirely by his pupils, and it sends your stomach swooping.

He reaches out, letting his thumb drag roughly across the full plumpness of your bottom lip.

"I still remember the way you taste."

Something in his tone, in the way he says the words, tells you he's not talking about your mouth any longer.

The thought sends instant molten heat directly to your core, and a surge of dark confidence spiraling inside of you.

You arch your brow at him in challenge.

"Wanna test the accuracy of your memory then?"

********************************************************************************

God, she's fucking incredible.

Staring back at me like she's the one holding the knife, and it's not currently pressed to the soft, fleshy underbelly of her jaw.

My dick is so hard it's painful.

In a minute, I tell it silently, because there's still something from earlier, something she said, that I need to get to the bottom of first.

"Patience, pet." I murmur, a warning as much to her as to myself, as I take in a long inhale through my nose, and trace the column of her throat carefully with the sharp tip of the knife.

I don't miss the way her nipples harden even further with the motion.

"First, there's something we need to address."

"What?" She asks breathlessly, and the breathy quality of her voice has me groaning, digging my free hand into the door beside her head, if only to keep myself from bending her over the desk and taking her now.

"Earlier-" I grit out past clenched teeth, forcing myself to take an inhale once more and smooth over my expression. God, she's got me in a fucking chokehold, doesn't she? "-you said something about me ruining everything good for you ever again."

She flinches at the words between us, but I keep going.

"What did you mean, pet?"

At first, I think she'll resist, refuse to tell me, defiance flashing in her eyes briefly, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and she slumps against the door, letting out a long breath, something sad replacing the fiery look in her expression.

Fuck, I like the fire, bring back the fire.

This? This-melancholy, aching sadness? That's not the pet I know.

Another shuddering breath leaves her lips, and then she whispers into the stillness of the air between us, "I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you."

Well, fuck.

I tangle my fingers in her hair and yank her head back.

"Well, now you don't have to." I growl out.

Surprise flashes briefly across her face, and then my lips are on hers in a bruising kiss, my knife still at her throat.

Fucking hell, she tastes just like I remember-sweet and soft and god, so fucking responsive.

She mewls as I lick into her mouth, and the sound goes straight to my already painfully hard dick.

The obsessions curls like dark, thick tendrils around my chest, squeezing so tight I can hardly breathe, and I know, I'll never love another woman like I love her.

Mine.

I separate us with a tug on her hair, and she whines at the loss of contact, and fuck, she's pretty.

Her eyes glazed, her lips parted, slick and swollen from my tongue, hair messy and wound between my fingers.

So fucking pretty, my pet.

I flick underneath her chin with the tip of the dagger, jerking my head over my shoulder in the direction of my desk.

"Get on the desk. Now."

She lifts her chin, defiance flashing across her gaze. "And if I don't?"

Ah. There she is. That's the pet I know, her darkness matching my own.

I tug harder on her hair in response, and let the dagger dig deeper into her throat. A single droplet of crimson blood beads beneath the blade.

"Now, pet." I command darkly, and this time, she listens.

*******************************************************************************

You slide your ass back on the desk, careful not to disturb anything or knock it to the ground, but you shouldn't have bothered, because Changbin sweeps it all off with a crash as soon as he reaches you.

You start a little at the sound of shattering glass, but he ignores everything but you, eyes dark and predatory, knife still in his hand.

"Spread your legs." He commands, and you do so without much thought, because resisting him this long has made you ache.

His palms go on your knees, spreading you wider for him, and glancing down at you, he lets out a growl of frustration beneath his breath, before slicing your panties cleanly off with the knife in one smooth motion, throwing them aside.

"Changbin-" You gasp out, but he ignores you, tossing the blade aside before sinking to his knees between your legs.

"You know I don't like barriers, pet. I'm not a patient man."

He glances up at you, expression hungry, eyes dark.

A slight smirk curves his lips.

"Now, let's see if memory serves, hm, pet?"

And without warning, he drops his mouth to you.

Fuck, you forgot how talented Changbin is with his tongue.

You choke on your breath, arching your back, your fingers tangling into his hair, whimpers leaving your lips without your bidding, erratic and frenzied.

He doesn't stop until your legs are shaking and you're crying out his name on every other breath, coming so hard you see stars, and even then, he doesn't pull back until you're begging him to stop, body on the verge of collapse.

He sits back, large palms still on your inner thighs, and slowly licks his shining lips, holding your gaze the whole time.

A shaky, insane sort of laugh leaves you, your body jello, lying splayed on his desk, your ripped panties god knows where.

"So?"

He tilts his head, eyes darkening.

"Better than I remembered, pet. So much fucking better."

********************************************************************************

She sits up then, which, I'll give her credit for, because I really gave it my all, and her arms are visibly shaking, but the stubborn look is back on her face, and my god, it takes everything in my willpower not to immediately dive back between her heavenly legs and make her come until she's screaming my name again.

Instead, I wait, as she scoots to the edge of my desk and motions me forward with a crook of her finger.

Anyone else's head would be on the line if they pulled that shit with me, but not her, never her.

God, I'm fucking in deep.

"This is a nice suit." She muses, twisting her fingers through the belt loops, tugging me closer.

"You think so, pet?" I murmur back, not even bothering to hide my smirk.

"Mhm." She hums back, before something wicked comes across her pretty features. "It stays on."

Ah, dark little pet.

Her fingers make quick work of the zipper and closure, and I can't stop the groan that passes my lips as I finally spring free.

She doesn't miss the sound, tugging me back with her as she lays back on the desk, eyes flashing with triumph that goes straight to my already steely hard on.

"How long?" She asks, and I know what she's implying by the darkly mischievous look on her pretty face.

"Ever since you walked into the goddamn club, pet."

Fucking boner hasn't gone away since.

I groan again as she finally fists me, and the sound drops into a growl as she teases me, brushing me along the warm, soft skin of her thighs.

My hand comes up to clamp down on her own.

"Put it in, pet, or I'll do it myself."

Her brow arches in challenge, and god, if that doesn't turn me on.

"Condom?" She asks, and I immediately shake my head.

"No barriers, pet."

I see her chest rise and fall with a quick breath, as if she's fully taking in what that means, and then without warning, she slides me inside.

Fuck, if I don't see stars.

I could be inside this woman forever.

I brace myself on the desk and take in a breath, frozen for a moment, because now that I'm finally feeling her again, I feel as if I might explode, and I want this moment to last forever.

She shifts, clenching, making me let out a hiss through my teeth, and when I glance up at her, she's smirking.

It's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life.

She arches a brow in a challenge of her own.

"Move, Changbin, or I'll do it myself."

I growl, leaning forward to collar her throat with my hand, and as I do so, I thrust, making her gasp and arch against the desk.

"Careful what you wish for, pet."

She smiles, and I feel her darkness twine around my own.

It's the best fucking feeling in the entire world.

85 notes · View notes

alphadaddyderek · 3 years

Text

Dude, just get out! (we both live here dumbass!) (sterek fic, smut, college au)

Stiles was initially excited to go to college. The freedom aspect of it in particular is what Stiles was the most excited about. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad, of course, he does. He didn’t mind living with him, he liked seeing him on a daily basis. He’s all Stiles has. Well, Stiles has Scott, but Scott is attending university in Arizona of all places. Meanwhile, Stiles is going to NYU, so, there’s not a lot of opportunities to see Scott or his father in person.

Not to fret though! Stiles was ready like Freddy to meet new people and, hopefully, make new friends along the way. That’s what college is all about. Supposedly, Stiles wouldn’t know but if all the movies are to be believed then that’s what college is all about.

He and his dad spent days driving up to NYU and then spent hours moving Stiles’ belongings into his off-campus apartment and unpacking. Stiles got a full-ride —thank god— so there’s extra money for him to be able to live in an actual, nice apartment instead of the dorms. His roommate was nowhere to be seen at the time, but that was fine with Stiles. He’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know him. Stiles’ dad left to stay in a hotel for the night because there was no way he was starting the trek back to Beacon Hills this late in the day. So, Stiles was left to his own devices in his new apartment.

Well, he was for about twenty minutes, then his roommate came back and...he’s kind of a dick.

He has a resting bitch face and he hardly likes to talk. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the guy doesn’t like him or if he’s just the quiet type. He’s starting to think that the guy doesn’t like him because every time Stiles starts talking he looks annoyed. The dick’s name is Derek and coincidentally, he also goes to NYU. He did tell Stiles his major, but wouldn’t tell Stiles what his favorite color was, which is just plain rude.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t going to let this Debbie downer ruin his college experience, no way!

Stiles decides the best thing to do is to just ignore him. Which is hard to do because the guy takes up so much space, like, he’s actually huge. And he always seems to be in the apartment when Stiles comes back from classes. Which is weird because, dude, don’t you have classes to go to? Nonetheless, he’s always there which means Stiles has to see him all the time and Derek can continue being an asswipe for no reason.

For example, Stiles sometimes forgets to wash the dishes —sue him!— and Derek will chew him out for it. Stiles didn’t know Derek was such a neat freak, but now that he knows he’ll leave more things laying around because Stiles can also be a dick when he wants to be. Maybe Derek should learn to be more personable, then Stiles wouldn’t have to go out of his character by doing such petty things. They’ve only been living together for about a week and a half and there’s already a turf battle going on. Stiles isn’t sure who’s going to win this battle, however, the sight of Derek tripping over one of Stiles’ shoes and the subsequent curse that flies out of his mouth makes Stiles not even care in the end.

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

After about a month, it's way more than just a battle. The turf battle has evolved into a war and now, no one is safe.

Derek continues being yucky and Stiles continues to do things to intentionally annoy him, except, now Derek is doing things to annoy Stiles. Like, eating all of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts or, and this is a cruel one, flushing the toilet while Stiles is in the shower. Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek buys gross ass healthy food for himself, and Stiles couldn’t choke down that food to save his life. So, what can one do to even the playing field?

Derek is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some show about underwater caves. Stiles normally wouldn’t stick around because, despite what Derek might think, Stiles really doesn’t enjoy being talked down to by an abnormally grumpy man. This time though, Stiles sits down beside him. He can see Derek watching him from the corner of his eye, probably waiting to see what Stiles is going to do. Stiles likes to instill fear in Derek. Normally he acts like Stiles is nothing more than a bug he wants to squish under his overly expensive boot, but now? He’s worried. He should be. Stiles is going to pull out his ultimate weapon.

“So, whatcha watchin’?” Stiles asks, plastering a smile onto his face.

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles shrugs, smile still present. “I’m curious. This show seems interesting.”

Derek gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise, which is super insulting. Derek thinks all Stiles watches is Harry Potter, Star Wars, and superhero movies. Which is just wrong. But that’s okay. Stiles thinks all Derek watches are documentaries about how to be a functioning human in society, which, newsflash Derek, still needs working on.

A few minutes go by before Stiles decides to speak again. “So, you haven’t told me about your family.”

“That’s intentional.”

Stiles laughs. Derek thinks he can scare Stiles into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles has zero self-preservation skills.

“Come on Derek. We’re roommates. Don’t you want us to get along?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response —rude!— so Stiles speaks again.

“My dad is the sheriff of my hometown. Been that way for as long as I can remember. My best friend, his name is Scott, wants to be a vet. He goes to The University of Arizona. After that he’s not sure where he’ll go to get his DVM but he’s open to anything.”

Derek turns the volume up on the tv and Stiles bites his lip to stifle his laughter.

Ah, Derek. That won’t help.

“At first I was kinda skeptical about Scott becoming a vet. I mean, he’s a puppy himself, and I love him to death, but sometimes he’s ditzy. He’s a ditzy brunette. But after working at Deaton’s, Deaton is the town vet, for years he’s proved me wrong,” Stiles risks a glance at Derek and he’s scowling so hard Stiles is kind of afraid it’ll get stuck that way forever. “He and his girlfriend, Allison, are kind of having issues with long-distance but they’re high school sweethearts so I’m confident that they’ll work through it. They’re so cute together that it’s actually kinda nauseating. Like, sometimes their sappiness makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder when they’ll get ma-”

Derek abruptly stands up and walks out the room, slamming and locking his bedroom door, as if Stiles is the boogeyman who he’s trying to keep out.

Stiles snickers and grabs the remote to change the channel. Derek gets annoyed when Stiles talks, well, he shouldn’t have started this war then (it doesn’t matter that technically Stiles started it). Stiles has weaponized his ability to talk people’s ears off. So, Derek better watch out.

Hopefully, Derek won’t murder Stiles in his sleep.

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

Okay, so, Stiles thinks maybe this whole turf war thing is getting out of hand.

It’s been a total of 3 and a half months since they’ve been living together and Derek and Stiles are on edge around each other 24/7. Stiles has to shower around eleven o’clock at night so that Derek won’t burn him alive by flushing the toilet. Derek doesn’t have access to Stiles’ snacks anymore because Stiles hid them in the back of his closet. Derek stays in his room all day just so that Stiles won't have any opportunities to talk to him. They’re at an impasse, but Stiles has a feeling that the worst has yet to come.

A really bad feeling.

Stiles comes back from a particularly grueling day of classes to see Derek sitting on the couch...and he’s smirking.

That doesn’t bode well for Stiles.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Uh, hey dude. Why do you look like a supervillain?”

“‘Cause I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound good.

“Actually, I am a-okay. I really don’t need the surprise. I appreciate it though,” Stiles tries to make his way towards his room but Derek keeps talking.

“I normally don’t snoop through people’s things, it’s really not in my character, but after you left to go out last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was trying to ignore it at first, but after a while I went to see what it was. I was going to mention it this morning but you woke up before I did and by the time I had woken up you were already in class.”

Stiles had stopped in his tracks but he still hasn’t turned around to face Derek, because if Derek is going where Stiles thinks he’s going, Stiles is going to need to be able to book it into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek didn’t seem too perturbed by Stiles’ silence since he continues with his story. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was your laptop making that noise. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that porn was playing, but what I was surprised at-”

Oh god.

“-was that the video you were watching was titled ‘bear fucks twink with huge cock’. And now I can’t help but question your hatred towards me.”

Stiles’ face is burning. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life, which is really a great feat because Stiles doesn’t get embarrassed by much. It’s not that Stiles didn’t notice Derek was hot, like, come on now, Derek is gorgeous. He’s not that much taller than Stiles but the size of his biceps? They’re easily the size of Stiles’ thigh. Derek is bigger than Stiles in every aspect.

Well, he’s not sure about every aspect. Stiles has never seen Derek’s dick outright, but he’s seen him wear sweatpants, and ooh boy, that bulge gives Stiles the impression that Derek is hung like a horse.

Stiles still hates Derek because Derek still has his asshole-ish ways. Case in point: right the fuck now. But, you can hate someone and still want to fuck them, right? Hate sex exists.

Derek is patiently waiting for Stiles to respond, and Stiles has never been good at staying silent, so it’s only a matter of time.

Stiles finally turns around to face Derek and clears his throat. “That- that means nothing. People watch shit like that all the time. Plus, you hardly qualify as a bear.”

It’s a weak excuse but, hey, Stiles is grasping at straws here.

Derek tilts his head to the side in agreement. “True, but if that was the case, why do you seem so nervous?”

Stiles can’t think of a reasonable response in time and Derek knows it.

Derek smirks again and Stiles really wants to knee him in the dick.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. What the fuck is his endgame here? Why is he being such a dick?

Oh yeah, because Derek is a fucking asshole.

“Fine,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “I find you attractive. I watch porn about big, hairy men fucking twinks because I want you to fuck me. Are you happy now? Jackass.”

Stiles storms into his room and slams the door. That’s a perfect example of why people can’t be pretty and nice. It’s genetically impossible.

Stiles lets out a sigh and dumps his backpack on his bed before stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. He stands under the spray for ten minutes, just praying to the cosmic gods out there that a black hole will appear and suck the whole human race into nothingness. After waiting for a few more minutes, and his prayers going unanswered, he washes himself then gets out to dry off. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Derek standing outside his bathroom door. He shrieks (a very manly shriek by the way) and covers his chest with his arms, not that that’ll hide much.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek’s eyes do the slowest sweep in fucking existence down Stiles’ body and Stiles feels his cheeks flush. Ugh, why are the cutest guys always assholes?

“I came to apologize. I was being a dick-”

“What else is new?” Stiles interrupts. Stiles is rewarded with another smirk.

“-and I took it too far. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second. They’ve never apologized to each other when they did shit, and even though Stiles didn’t take it as far as Derek did, Stiles can’t stand here and act like he wasn’t also an asshole.

Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry too. I was also kind of a dick. Not as much as you, but still.”

Derek laughs a little, and Jesus H. Christ, how is a laugh sexy? “Apology accepted.”

Stiles holds his hand out for a handshake. Derek puts his hand in Stiles’ and they shake on their newfound not-friendship-but-also-maybe-not-complete-dicks-to-each-other-ship.

“So,” Derek starts after they drop their hands. “wanna have sex?”

Stiles might’ve actually choked on his own fucking spit, because what?

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex.”

“Where is this even coming from? You hate my guts. Every time I talk you look like you’re going in for a root canal.”

Stiles is so confused, he’s also getting hornier by the minute, but right now, the confusion is outweighing the horniness.

“I don’t hate you. Yeah you talk a lot, and it was so annoying at first, sometimes it still is, but I got used to your incessant chatter.”

Stiles knows he looks dumb, his mouth is gaping and everything. “I think maybe there was something in the water because I must be high. We’ve lived together for over 3 months and you’re telling me that you actually want to have sex with me?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. Just because you can be kinda annoying that doesn’t mean you’re not cute. Plus, people have sex all the time, that doesn’t mean we have to, like, date or whatever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek’s so romantic, how has Stiles been able to resist jumping his bones for this long?

“You just embarrassed the hell out of me, why would I ever want to have sex with you?” Never mind the fact that Stiles definitely does want to have sex with him.

“Maybe you don’t. If not, then fine. We can just go back to how things were. If you do, then we’ll have a great time.”

Stiles is still struggling to wrap his mind around all of this. Derek wants to have sex with him? In what universe does that make sense?

Apparently in this one.

Stiles does this sort of shrug that basically portrays well, what the fuck? Okay then. “Okay. I guess this is happening then.”

Derek smirks for like the fiftieth time in thirty seconds and if Stiles was a stronger man he definitely would’ve kneed Derek in the dick, but clearly, Stiles is weak.

Very, very weak.

“My room or yours?” Derek asks.

“Mine. Since it’s right there,” Stiles points behind Derek and, lo and behold, there’s Stiles’ bed.

Grabbing Stiles’ hand in a surprisingly gentle gesture, Derek walks the three feet from the bathroom to the bed to lay Stiles down.

Derek gets on top of the bed and is sitting on his knees by Stiles’ feet. He pulls his shirt off like he’s in Magic Mike or something before throwing it onto the floor without a care in the world. Jesus, it’s like his muscles have muscles. Stiles starts feeling a little insecure about his body. He’s got muscles, but, he’s not, like, ripped like Derek is. Stiles likes to think he has somewhat of a swimmer’s body.

Looming over him like a fucking creeper, Derek stares down at Stiles. “You know, you’re very pretty.”

Stiles refuses to admit that he blushes at that because he’s not pretty. If anything he’s handsome, some may even say gorgeous.

“Can you just get on with it?” Stiles throwing a scowl in Derek’s direction.

“Bossy. I kinda like that,” he strips his sweatpants off and throws them down too. Now he’s only in a pair of gray boxer briefs and, god, Stiles wants to suck his dick so badly. Which is weird because he’s really not all that experienced with blowjobs, he’s given maybe two blowjobs in his life. Whatever, Derek has a great dick okay?

Derek tugs at the towel around Stiles’ waist. “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods and then the towel is gone, and Stiles is laid bare for Derek to gaze at his leisure. And boy does Derek gaze. He does another slow sweep down Stiles’ body, except this time it’s even more intense because now Stiles is naked.

“You’re not a virgin right?” Derek asks while rummaging through Stiles’ bedside drawer and pulling out the lube. First of all, it’s rude to go through people’s stuff! Second of all, how the hell did Derek know his lube was there? Although, where else would lube be?

“Nope. There will be no deflowering of the Stiles today. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek shrugs before popping open the lube. “I’m not one of those weirdos who pops a boner at the thought of popping someone’s cherry.”

Stiles chuckles, like actually chuckles. Who knew Derek was even capable of being funny?

Stiles pulls his legs up and hooks his hands behind his knees. The position exposes Stiles’ hole to the extreme and it makes Stiles blush. Just because he’s not a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get nervous or embarrassed during sex.

Derek knee-walks closer to Stiles and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He puts one hand on Stiles’ right thigh while the other one gently and slowly breaches his entrance. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thicker than Stiles’ that’s for sure. Stiles definitely isn’t shy about fingering. He fingers himself all the time, but it’s been a while since someone else’s fingers were up there. Stiles is nervous and excited about it all.

Derek doesn’t spend too much time with the one finger, quickly adding a second one and that’s when it starts feeling good. Derek’s fingers are about an inch away from his prostate and Stiles is about to curse him out until Derek presses both fingers against his prostate and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop the loud ass moan that almost escaped his mouth. Judging by the look on Derek’s face, he knows he touched Stiles’ prostate, and being the asshole that he is, he has a cocky smile on his face.

After scissoring those two fingers inside Stiles for a few minutes, Derek adds a third finger. The stretch is definitely there, but hey, Stiles likes a little pain with sex. He can be kinky sometimes.

“Okay. I’m ready, come on,” Stiles says. He was starting to get impatient. He just wants to get dicked down already, damn.

Derek gently removes his fingers and gets off the bed to pick up his sweatpants. He reaches into the pocket and retrieves a condom out. Stiles’ mouth drops.

“So you just knew I’d have sex with you?”

“I didn’t know. I just hoped.”

That smarmy little bastard.

Derek gets back in bed and, finally, removes his briefs and...

Holy mother of god.

Well, maybe not the mother of god. That’s blasphemous as fuck. But! The sentiment is the same because wow. Stiles is glad he didn’t knee him in the dick because that dick is too gorgeous to cause serious injury to. He’s not like porn star big, but it is big and long too. And it’s uncut, which Stiles has a weird sort of kink about. He loves uncut cocks. Yeah, that’s a good-looking cock right there.

Derek unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his cock. He then grabs the bottle of lube that he placed on the bed and squirts more out before slathering a generous amount onto said cock. He makes Stiles move his hands before replacing them with one of his own, the other is at the base of his cock, lining it up to Stiles’ hole.

“You ready baby?” Derek asks.

“Call me baby again and I’ll dropkick you in the throa- oh fuck.”

Of course, Derek chose when Stiles was mid-threat to start pushing his cock inside. Geez, that is seriously a big cock, even the fingering didn’t make it burn any less. Derek gently pushes his cock in deeper before pulling it out, then he pushes it in a little deeper than he did at first before pulling it back out again. He repeats that until his cock is seated all the way inside, his balls to Stiles’ ass. Then he stops and waits. There’s sweat gathering above Derek’s eyebrow and some is even rolling down his temple. Needless to say, Derek isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to be. Which makes Stiles feel kind of great actually.

“Okay, you can move now,” Stiles informs Derek. And when Stiles says Derek goes to town, he really means that.

Derek puts his other hand behind Stiles’ left knee and pulls out all the way, not even the tip is inside, before thrusting back in. Hard.

Stiles’ breath gets forced out of him at the movement. This truly is hate sex, kinda. Derek said he didn’t hate Stiles, but he certainly doesn’t like him all that much. At least, not yet. Who knows what will stem from this. That’s something to think about when Derek isn’t pounding him into the mattress.

Derek delivers a thrust that nails Stiles’ prostate dead on and Stiles makes this super embarrassing sound, like a high-pitched keen. He knows he’s not going to live that down after this.

After that, Derek is consistent with the hard abuse on Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is getting close to orgasm embarrassingly fast. He isn’t too sure he’ll be able to last much longer. Although, Derek doesn’t seem like he’s going to be able to either. If the grunts and groans he’s letting out are anything to go by.

“Unh, fuck. Derek-!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come?”

Stiles frantically nods his head and grabs his own cock to start stroking himself. Derek thrusts harder if that’s even possible, and within a few seconds, Stiles is coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans and thrusts one, two, three more times before stopping with a deep, guttural moan. He almost sounds like an actual bear and Stiles can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek gives him a weird look but his lip quirks up in a maybe sort of smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin.

And since it’s already been established that Derek is an asshole, he grinds and his cock brushes against Stiles’ oversensitive prostate causing Stiles’ whole body to convulse. He slaps Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls out and lets go of Stiles’ legs. They’re sore from being in the same position for so long but Stiles can’t even care. He’s sated and all he wants to do now is take a nap. Stiles stretches his whole body like a cat while Derek disposes of the condom.

“Okay, that was fun. If you want to annoy me, I’ll be in my room.” And with that, Derek walks out of Stiles’ room to go to his own.

Derek was definitely a dick, but Stiles could deal with him. Especially if they continue to fuck like that.

Holy (not) mother of god indeed.

#sterek #sterek smut #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fic #sterek au #smut #My fic

139 notes · View notes

phantaloon · 3 years

Text

i really really shouldn't be saying this considering how shit is going on in my country at the moment, but holy shit y'all this is the only media site i trust at this point

basically, my country El Salvador is going through a really really tough political crisis, and it has been going since President Nayib Bukele came into power in June 2019, because, in a few words, he's an arrogant manipulative corrupt megalomaniac who's building a dictatorship

early this year, his party Nuevas Ideas gained control of both the Legislative Assembly and the Judicial Court, so like that one single party is in charge and has a majority of control of the entire state. And sadly, every single politician in that party is only a puppet who follows every single on of Bukele's orders, thus every single thing in my country is controled by what one man says.

What has he done the past two years? Engaged in insanely expensive projects that do not reflect what has been spent (stealing money from the state), made pacts with gangs (which are a huge threat in El Salvador) so that murders are not discovered while the missing persons cases keep growing and growing and growing, encouraged sexist homophobic behaviors and laws, and there are so many things that have happened i honestly can't point out right now because there's one thing going on that i just need to talk about

Bitcoin. If you've heard of bitcoin you'll know it's a currency that could plummet or rise in the blink of an eye, a network where stealing is as easy as a click, where there are no traces of money movements or transactions, it's all around unstable and dangerous

and yet, Bukele passed a law in June/July in which Bitcoin shall become El Salvador's official currency in about a week, despite the fact that we've been perfectly fine having the USAmerica dollar as a currency

Of course, people have realized how much of a problem that is, with Bitcoin, you could be a millionaire today and suddenly your money means nothing in a month, who knows how much you'll have then

Coincidentally, local banks have been experiencing crazy scams and robberies like never in their history, people go to the bank and no sorry you have 5 dollars in your account.

So the government comes, says how dangerous banks are, how your money isn't safe, how unreliable they are, but hey look at this shiny new currency we're gonna give you (don't worry about how you won't know how much money you'll wake up with tomorrow <3)!

So there's activists, trying to educate on how dangerous having Bitcoin as a currency can be

and this happened today

one of if not the biggest anti-bitcoin activist in El Salvador was detained this morning, with no charges, no lawyers, no explanations, just cops waiting for him outside the house he was staying at (not his own) as he went out

at this hour, the government has said HE has been behind the bank robberies, despite ALSO speaking up about how the banks most likely were working with the government to set up the whole bitcoin is better move

so now everyone is scared, because this guy has been speaking against the government since the start of the year, and now they've taken him in under false claims, so the government is now taking in people against it

and now everyone's scared to do it, my family won't let me speak up about everything going on in my country over at twitter, because fuck if they took an adult man with thousands of followers, who has a big media presence, can't they take everyone else who speaks up against them?

so here i am speaking about this on tumblr, because surely the police isn't keeping tabs on tumblr right?? they couldn't??

idk what my point coming here was, perhaps it was to vent about how scared i am of one day everything being controled by Bukele and Nuevas Ideas, maybe i just want the rest of the world to know somehow, maybe i want someone to know I'm scared, idk, but i am scared, because they're gonna start taking out activists now, they're displaying their power, showing how easy it is to just take us if we move against them

i ask nothing of anyone, maybe share if you can, because god knows how the whole bitcoin thing is gonna affect us, and who will go next?? what crime are they gonna accuse everyone else of?? what power move are they gonna do next?

#el salvador #thanks for listening to me rambling about something no one cares about #also sorry this is unnecessarily long #I'm really just very fucking scared #current news

21 notes · View notes

bangtann-bangdamn · 3 years

Text

Summary: You’re a P.I. dedicated to finding soulmates... despite your insistence that soulmates aren’t real.

Pairing: Jimin x gender-neutral reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy, Soulmates AU

Prompt: Soulmate AU

Word count: 1.1k

Warning: Swearing

“Soulmates aren’t real.” You sat down heavily at your desk as you skimmed over the mission brief your client had submitted. “Why do these people bother?” You tossed the paper onto your desk with a scoff.

Ever since the turn of the decade and some woman had convinced the nation that she saw her soulmate in her dreams every night and some crack-pot actually came forward, everyone had been obsessed with finding their own soulmate. Honestly, it was the most ludicrous thing. Couldn’t people see a hoax when it was staring them straight in the face?

Yoongi scoffed as he settled in the seat opposite your desk, raising his feet to rest them on your desktop. “Bit ironic, considering you run a P.I. firm dedicated to finding soulmates.”

“You think I’m going to turn down easy money?” you rolled your eyes. “Nobody is exactly in need of a P.I. these days with social media, but everybody is searching for their soulmate.”

It hadn’t exactly been your dream to open up the Soulmate Agency. Your father had been an excellent P.I., but that had been before Soulmate gate. Since then no one had really been all too interested in finding lost family members, distant relatives, or anything else out of the extraordinary but finding their dream person.

In short, you were running an extraordinarily expensive dating service. It was easy enough to do, too. People tended to have a good idea of what their ideal person looked like. You then made a rough sketch using your AI program and forwarded the image to Hoseok at the police station. More often than not, he had a facial match straight away.

You never promised to be successful, which helped a great deal. You only promised that you would put them in touch with them. You let them figure out the rest themselves.

Sure, your success rate baffled you. Over the few years you’d been doing it, you were always surprised when one of your clients invited you to their wedding, but you rationalised that they were strongly persuaded by the idea of an easy relationship after ‘soulmates’ became synonymous with the relationship.

Yoongi considered your words as you pushed his feet off your desk with a scowl.

“So you’re saying a stranger has never appeared in your dreams? You’ve never sat down and spoken to someone, felt the sun and moon align and everything felt perfect?”

“For fuck sake, don’t tell me you actually believe in this?” You leant back in your chair. “I thought you had more sense than that, Yoongi!”

“I never said I didn’t believe in it. It’s just uncanny, you know? All these people come in here looking for the one and you miraculously find their perfect match?”

You stared cooly at him. “Did you know the human mind can remember a strangers face? You might have seen them in passing, just a glace, but your mind remembers. All these people are doing is remembering a strangers face. That’s why they know who they’re looking for.”

“What about the couple that literally lived halfway across the world from one another?”

You rolled your eyes. “Namjoon loved to travel! He probably crossed paths with them at the airport and not even realised it.” You waved your hand in front of your face as if you were batting the idea away.

“I’m just saying, it can’t be coincidental that all these matches seem to work out. How many wedding invites have you received this month?” Yoongi nodded his head in the direction of your over-filled filing cabinet.

“Thirty-three.”

“I mean…”

You pushed your chair back, grabbing the sheet of paper from your desk. “Still doesn’t account for all the people who were disappointed by what they found. Now.” You held out the sheet for Yoongi to take as you rounded the table. “I do believe I’m not paying you to sit in my office. Go call Park Jimin and invite him down for a consult.”

Yoongi took the page with a salute. “Yes, boss,” He said with a roll of his eyes before he left your office. The door clicked and you were left contemplating your words.

You didn’t believe in soulmates. Not like the way the people who walked through your doors did. But you couldn’t deny the fact that the same stranger appeared in your dreams. You sat down heavily in your chair as your thought about the blond dancer with the cheeky smile and mischievous nature. Your subconscious knew you wanted someone who kept you on your toes, and that’s exactly what your dream man did. He called you out, got playful when you wanted to be lazy, made you laugh so hard you would wake up from your dream laughing.

But you knew that’s all it was. A dream. You turned your attention to your desktop, deciding that you would forget about your own dream and work on finding others. That, at least, was easier.

Occasionally, Hoseok wasn’t able to match a face on the database. It wasn’t impossible, although it was certainly rare. But you knew what to do when those cases arose - you went back to your client and asked them for more details. Where did they have their dream meetings? Did they have an accent? Did they talk about anything specific, like their job or a hobby? Anything that would help you narrow down the search. It was more time consuming, and your client certainly felt it when it came to the bill, but they were usually the clients who kept you updated on their relationship, whether you wanted to know or not.

You were deep-diving down an anime forum all because your client remembered that their match had mentioned a love for anime and the anime community, (yes, it was definitely a long shot but what else were you supposed to do?) when Yoongi opened your door.

“Mr Park is here to see you,” he drawled, clearly bored of answering and fielding your calls for the day.

You smiled as you grabbed his file. “Send him in.” Your eyes scanned Jimin’s details as your mind erased the details of your long-shot case to focus on your new one.

You sensed when he entered the room, but you were more focused on minimising your browser and pulling up your AI software.

“Mr Park, it’s a pleasure to make -” You finally turned your attention to him, eyes first landing on his blond hair that had been pushed back to reveal his forehead and strong eyebrow then slowly drifting down until they met his cheeky smile.

“Well shit.” You said as you dropped Park Jimin’s file onto your desk.

BGW Drabble Master List

Master List

#btsghostiemarathon #btsghostie #bts #bts au #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin x you #jimin x reader #bts drabble #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fluff

26 notes · View notes

peakascum · 4 years

Text

The Room Where It Happens

Request for: @slither-in-a-half I know this is a bit different than what you asked for and it’s way different than what I originally intended to write, but I really do hope you enjoy it!

Two politicians stand on opposites sides of each other for a Charity event, something to do with children or painting the Parliment’s ceiling. Thomas Shelby sips a chilled Merlot as he eyes the posh MP’s that mingle alongside him, noses turned up and head in their ass. In front of him lurks another MP, a much snobbier one at that, whom galavants his wife like a bloody medal. You don’t mind, at least not publicly. Always playing the trophy wife, always sporting a smile, always curtsying a ‘What a lovely evening’. Thomas knows he’s playing a dangerous game as he eyes your cherry red lips gulp down yet another glass. It’s the urgency in which you consume the devil’s drink that always catches his attention. He knows how soft your hands are and how delicately you maneuver them from the countless times you've touched his.

The condition of being stuck in a loveless marriage would drive anyone mad. Add a little bit of brute force and a make-believe smile, and that would be enough to send cries for help. Which you had done so on several occasions, but no one took them seriously; instead, they deemed you as a bored housewife. You had heard the tales, everyone had, of the countless wives of esteemed families that suddenly had public outbursts which were deemed as hysterical. You were familiar with the stories, about Mrs. Dormer’s dull complexion and Mrs. Hastings’ scarred wrists, all whispers of misfortune were now your reality.

Tommy and your husband had never seen eye to eye on any particular topic. Both were stubborn men who belonged to different political parties and lived completely different realities. Your husband was born with a silver spoon in hand while Tommy built his kingdom out of wooden sticks and cut stones. But those eyes, those adoring blue eyes wrapped you in from the first time they met. It started with stolen glances and escalated to a passionate night shared in his office as you delivered some papers on behalf of your husband. He decided you had the loveliest broken smile he had ever seen. The most delicate laugh and the wittiest humor, one he would not mind hearing time and time again.

‘Did you listen to a word I said Mr. Shelby?’

‘I- I don’t believe I did, no.’ He remarked, clearing his throat.

She smirked. ‘I-I-I’ She mocked. ‘Stuttering is for children and tight-lipped fools. Are you a fool Mr. Shelby?’

You exhaled words of pleasure in each others ears. Bodies molding together like clay and fingertips eager to explore. Exhaustion came after and a simple kiss was placed upon his lover’s lips as if it were already a routine. Both clinging to the affection you so desperately craved.

Months of passion were spent in secrecy up until the moment your husband caught on, almost crushing your wind pipe and blinding you out of rage. Not because he loved you, oh no, but because he craved power and dominance. A poor little rich boy does not share. So when the venue and seating were arranged for the gala he made sure to have Thomas Shelby in front of him, to taunt you, to dangle his prized possession in his opponent's face. To give you a glimpse into the life you wanted, yet gripping your thigh beneath the table as if saying ‘Don’t you dare’.

The torrid affair you shared with the Shelby man had ended a few weeks prior with a handwritten letter, but your absence from such events told him what he couldn't decipher from your words.

‘Dear sir,

It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I hope you understand my reason for ending this relationship. I love my husband, you see, and the idea of breaking this marriage is enough to make my heart weep. My whorish ways have brought misery to my house, but be not alarmed by this, for my husband is very generous and will gladly offer you a sum of money for your silence. You must excuse my behavior these past few months and, therefore, understand the severity of the situation.

Best wishes, Y/N.’

The letter sat in his pocket weighing heavily against the floor. He rejected the money, of course, but it didn't save his heart from breaking any further, and his mind from wandering to the atrocious acts your husband performed out of hatred. Thomas was a dangerous man, but your husband was worse, and his wrath would treble his political career, crease his business, and ruin his family. Polly had warned him many times about the dangers of thinking with his cock, but it was more than that. Arthur had payed for other whores to keep him company, but he could bed no other. It was the way you said his name in wonder whenever you saw each other after weeks apart. You were a wondrous creature shrouded in a mysterious, yet inviting, aura. One who sported a smile, such a sweet smile on those cherry red lips that made his own twitch and heart clench.

It was the way you grimaced as your husband squeezed your arm that made his feet have a life of their own. He marched confidently up to you both, eyeing him with brutality, but switching to you with softness. Your eyes widened pleadingly at him to stop, to stop at once, to turn around and save himself from trouble.

“Ah Mr. Shelby, what a pleasant surprise.” Your husband said, sporting a tight smile and a poised stance. Tommy nodded, “Mr. Crooke, Mr.s- Crooke”. Your eyes bore daggers into his. Your husband shook his hand firmly in a weak attempt to exhume further dominance, when, in truth, all of them knew who really owned the room.

“Excuse my wife’s appearance, say. She’s not been her best these past few weeks, isn't that right darling?” Your husband said as he ran the back of his index finger gently over your cheek. Your once shimmering eyes appeared lifeless under the yellowish glare of the chandelier- a shell of the woman you had been, the woman you should be. “Wonder why that is sir,” Tommy bit back. Your husband chuckled, “You’re a bold man Mr. Shelby.” The men stared down at each other down as men tend to do.

“So they say.” Tommy replied.

“You've caught my attention, Mr. Shelby,” your husband started, “and in a most ill-manner may I add.” Tommy quirked a brow and urged him to go on. “Mr. Shelby I do not think it is in anyone’s best interest for me to comment on my wife’s extra curricular, is it not?” Your posture remained stoic, eyes trained to the expensive champagne in your hand praying that somehow you could shrink ten sizes and bathe in it. Stretch your arms and do laps on the clear glasses that British aristocracy drank in sighs and content giggles. You had silly daydreams like these. Some not so silly. Ones drenched in crimson liquid as if you were a butcher at the end of your shift, only to look around and see your husband’s body displayed in all his fat glory.

You sucked in a breath and uttered, “Gentlemen you must excuse me, I need to use the powder room.” Your husbands hand stopped gripped your forearm as you made your exit, “Don’t be long dear.” He uttered menacingly.

You leaned up against the green wall that lead to a long corridor, away from prying eyes and the clink of heels against expensive tiles. Lungs heavy, hands trembling, and mouth parting like a fish out of water. You felt foolish. You had lived years below your husband’s scrutinizing thumb, surrounded by words of empty headed strangers on how lucky you were to have married such a bright and clever man. A man who rejoiced at the sight of her trembling figure and got off on her agonizing screams that left her feeling like a vegetable for days. A man who curiously spit false facts with such emotion that caught the ears of the rich and the weak. And then she met him. And then life ripped that away.

As if on cue, Tommy hurried towards her with that ever prominent scowl on his face, “Y/N, love-“

“No! No Tommy we cannot speak!” She pushed his hands away, further encouraging the scowl to become two tattooed lines in between his eyes. “Listen to me Y/N, stop fighting and fuckin’ listen ey?” He grabbed her trembling hands in his careful not to hurt her further. “What? What could possibly be so important to tell me right now that would make tonight’s punishment worth it?” You growled in contempt.

“In about three minutes I will go into a room with your husband to bargain your freedom.” He grabbed your plum face in his hands, urging for your eyes to meet, for a reassurance, a peace of mind, a promise.

“He won’t give me up Tommy, he won’t.” You noticed his eyes waiver in a way that only a heartbreak could cause. They were filled with urgency, a sense of dread, because how could you not trust him? How could you not see that everything he is and everything he does is for you?

“The greatest grief in my life will come if I leave you in the hands of that monster. All of this,” he said gesturing around him, “all of this is collateral, Y/N. I’ve accepted that risk of dying, I do it every day for stupid shit Y/N, for really stupid shit.”

“Oh God! Oh God!” You moaned, crying in despair. You shook your head as tears coated your frosted cheeks, unable to comprehend the thought of freedom and actual love.

The orchestra started playing in the dining hall soliciting the guest’s attention to a melodic grace. The violins struck their cords in an unruly manner, insisting on being heard. Your husband whistled as he came toward you both making you separate. “Mr. Shelby, I believe we have pressing matters to attend?” He said. In his shifty brown eyes lied an expression you could not read. And so both men entered the room with the big fireplace and oak chairs. The mahogany door closed with a thud that coincidentally resonated beautifully with the melodic sound of the band.

The doors opened just as quickly as they had closed. Or had the hours flown by? You couldn't tell. In the torturous time you had been left outside, a small crowd had gathered around you. Whispers of ‘mistress’ and ‘foes’ and ‘ruins’ had been said, but most just repeated the few phrases that could be heard from inside the room. The two politicians stepped out having reached a mutual decision. One having lost a sum of money that would leave him in financial ruin for the rest of his life. The other with promised assets that would change his family’s fortune and the value of his name.

Your eyes met the Shelby’s blue ones, a smirk adorning his features as he stared at you. His woman. “Now, what’s this I hear about you doubting me love?” He murmured. You shook your head in disbelief, a small smile itching to be seen as your eyes darted over to your husband. “I don’t- I don’t get it Tommy, what did you do?” You asked grasping the lapels of his evening suit. Your hands tugging and caressing them ceremoniously as anxious tears pooled in your eyes.

“Don’t concern yourself with business Y/N-“

“No! No, I will most certainly concern myself with business. Business that involves me. Business that has a means to freedom and life- a life Tommy, a-a life without fear.” She insisted, but he only smiled and kissed her lips gently, ignoring the ever growing fight that surrounded them. Your husband had drawn a gun in contempt, only to be tackled by Tommy’s men. He never was quick on his feet.

It happened months later in the middle of an uncertain spring, when his face popped in your mind again. You had seen him in the shadows and in every drunk that passed you in the street. You saw him beneath the knife of the butcher, when rain fell from parted skies, and in the ominous sound violins made when played. But worst of all, you had seen his face in Arthur Shelby’s as he screamed at you yet again for getting in his way. Most of the family had accepted your relationship, as they pitied your cold sweats and silent demeanor, but mostly because the deal didn't ruin the Shelby empire.

Once home, you stared aimlessly at the crackling fire, allowing the warmth to envelope you like a protective hug. Tommy made his way towards your figure and sat cross legged, whisky in hand. “Where’s your mind today, bird?” He whispered, tenderly stroking your pinned hair.

“Thinking about the night my husband sold me like cattle.” Tommy side eyed you, clearly tense about the topic. “Did he?” you pressed again, “no one’s ever told me anything about it. I know we technically won, b- but Arthur’s been up my arse again and I can’t, not for the life of me, continue to be a prisoner of utterly worthless and untrue remarks!” She grew agitated withe very word, but all were true, and he knew this. His hand continued rubbing circles in the back of her neck and chuckle, a small one, escaped his lips.

“Do you take me for a fool Tommy? Because I assure-“

“I don’t.” He cut her off. “You're no fool. I think you've proven that a few times now, right? You weren't a fool when you were with him and you're not one now.”

“Then what, Tommy? What could have possibly been said that guaranteed my freedom and his ruin?”

He sighed sensing her desperation, but he couldn't possibly tell her. In fact, he hadn't even told his family. Arthur’s distaste for Y/N was shrouded in mystery itself, more so a rendition of the protective older brother, a one man play. Any other man would have disclosed the information to a close confidant, but not Tommy- never Tommy. It is why under the fire’s glow and the tenderness of your flesh beneath his fingers, he promised himself yet again to never speak a word of it to anyone, not even you. It would remain an active memory buried in the inner, darkest corners of his mind. Each time he visited Mr. Crooke, in a most disclosed location, he would remember to discard the clothing used and have an alibi prepared. A pesky little thing he was, a washed up creature that would receive every punishment he gave; but no one should know, least of all her, because just like that night, no one else was in the room where it happened. No one knew the words that were spoken or how the deal was made.

Only assumptions were made. And with one last stroke of the cheek and a light kiss to the lips, Thomas Shelby and Y/N stood up in silent agreement and retired to their newly marital bed.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy x reader #peaky blinders tommy #Tommy Shelby x reader #peakascum #arthur shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby #John Shelby #finn shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #polly shelby

123 notes · View notes

everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

the art of making a move at a kegger

jj x reader

word count: 2877

warnings: drinking, cursing, and towards the end almost sexual content but not actually

synopsis: harboring feelings for jj + getting drunk doesn’t always equal the smoothest of times but it all works out in the end

requested by @maybebanks really hope you like it!

JJ wasn’t on your radar until he slept through three quizzes in a row during your 8:00 a.m. English freshman year. He sat across from you, and you thought he was pretty cute, even when he started showing up wearing Pike letters. Which coincidentally is when he started falling asleep during quizzes.

One morning, when the professor left the room and you were packing your backpack, you heard JJ clear his throat. You glanced up, unsure if it was for you or not, and caught him smiling at you sheepishly.

“Hey,” he mumbled, running a hand through his unruly hair, “I was wondering if you had the readings for Thursday, I lost the syllabus.”

You pulled out your planner, “Yeah, it’s Act 3 of Hamlet and a part from the textbook on dramatic irony, pages 176-179.”

He quickly jotted it down on the corner of his notebook and smiled tiredly at you, “Thanks so much, I can’t keep failing these fucking quizzes, my grade is cheeks right now.”

“Is everything okay?” you cautiously asked, you didn’t want to push but you were a little concerned about the cute boy.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, “Hazing shit, they’re making the new pledges stay up. I haven’t slept a full night in two weeks.”

“That’s, uh,” you weren’t really sure what to say, “not okay?” You settled on.

With a shrug, he tugged his backpack up and pushed in his chair, “Yeah, well, I guess it comes with being a legacy.” And then he was gone.

After that first interaction, you and JJ chatted every so often. Sometimes you’d let him cheat off your quizzes because they were pointless anyway and sometimes, you’d ask your professor to repeat one of the questions so he could get a second chance to answer if he was running late.

The last day of the semester he brought you coffee, “I just wanted to thank you for everything this semester, and I was hoping I could get your number so we can keep in touch.”

The next semester you had two classes together, much to your shock. When the two of you started to hang out outside of class to study for statistics, you learned some stuff about him. He was from the Outer Banks and he had a rough childhood. He was also receiving the Pell Grant so school was totally paid for, his only expense was the frat.

You also learned that the two of you were the same major and had to take all of the same courses, so the two of you decided to try and register for some of the same classes. It didn’t always work out, you had priority scheduling as a note taker for at least one class every semester and sometimes when JJ went to schedule, your section was already full. But sometimes it did work out.

Either way, the two of you always studied together. You used to go back and forth between apartments, one week was yours and one was JJ’s, until he moved into the frat house and no work was meant to be done in those walls. That atmosphere was conducive to parties only, something else JJ loved.

One afternoon, fall of your sophomore year, JJ balled up a piece of paper and threw it at you. It bounced off your forehead landed in your open coffee cup, and you looked up and glared at him, “Was that necessary?”

He gave you an innocent look, “Do you have plans next weekend?”

“I mean, we have a test the next Monday so I’ll probably be studying.”

JJ took the last sip of his coffee, “I have a formal and I need a date, wanna go?”

“Not particularly,” you responded with a shrug.

“No strings attached,” JJ told you, “promise. My friend from home, Kie, normally comes with me, but she has her own shit to do, and me and you get along. If you don’t go, I’ll have to take a stranger and then I’ll be bored.”

You’d been to some of the parties his frat threw, you knew he wouldn’t really be bored all night, he just didn’t want to have to actually work to get a date. Not that he’d have to work hard, his good looks would pretty much guarantee him a date. But you were a little intrigued, so you agreed.

“Great,” he told you, clapping his hands, “let me know what color your dress is and I’ll get a matching tie.”

“Fancy,” you told him with a smile.

“Kie loves matching, she’ll be proud,” JJ responded, and it made you really curious about Kie and the rest of his friends, but you didn’t ask.

Eventually you would get to meet them. JJ invited you to go home with him for spring break and he showed you around the Outer Banks, took you surfing, and threw a party that almost rivaled the ones his frat normally threw. Meeting his friends was nice, but really getting to know JJ was nicer. That’s when you started to complicate the ‘no strings attached’ deal, you felt yourself catching feelings.

By the time senior year rolled around, you were the most tired you’ve ever been. School was hard, having a job while doing school was harder and your social life was suffering. You still hung out with JJ a lot, mostly to study or to unwind and just watch TV, but he was really the only person you spent time with on a regular basis other than your coworkers.

Late on a Saturday afternoon, you were already in your pajamas, studying for an anatomy test, when there was a knock at your apartment door. Startled, you wrapped the blanket you were sitting under tightly around your shoulders and cautiously walked to the door. Peering through the peephole, you saw JJ standing there, looking at something on his phone.

You threw the door open, “What are you doing here?”

He looked up and smiled, “I’m here to kidnap you.”

“What?” you asked blankly, not really in the mood.

JJ pushed his way past you and sat on a barstool before answering, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how miserable you’ve been lately. When’s the last time you went out?”

And, God, when was the last time you’d done something fun? You sighed, “Fuck, I don’t know, like maybe a month ago when we went to that basketball game.”

With a hum, JJ stood up, “Get dressed, Pike’s throwing a kegger tonight.”

You didn’t even think twice before tossing the blanket onto the couch and going to your closet to find something to wear. JJ turned the TV on while you got fully dressed, minus makeup. Peeking your head out, you caught JJ’s attention, “Can I do my makeup at the house?”

He nodded, “Yeah. You almost ready because I’ve gotta pick up the keg soon?”

“Let’s go.”

JJ locked the door behind you and the two of you walked to his truck. The music blasted as soon as he cranked it up and he turned it down with a sheepish smile, “My bad, the song playing when I got here was a banger.”

Plugging your phone in, you put on the collaborative playlist you and JJ made together. He turned it back up a little and peeled out of the parking lot to the nearest liquor store where his frat normally got their kegs.

You bought cups at the convenience store next door while JJ loaded the keg into his truck, and a few pods because you were low and JJ was almost always out. JJ was leaning against the truck when you met him back in the shared parking lot, and he handed you a Twisted Tea, “For accompanying me on this adventure, madam.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you responded, cracking it open and took a deep sip before climbing back into the truck to head to the frat house.

JJ left you to finish getting ready while he helped everyone set up for the party. You joined him eventually, having finished your first drink, and helped lock all bedroom doors and put all valuables away.

By the time people started arriving you were happily tipsy, hanging onto JJ while he talked to some of his friends, sipping beer slowly out of your assigned cup at the house. You were over there enough that you’d claimed one of your own and all the other guys that lived there respected it for the most part.

The party started to pick up and one of JJ’s frat brothers called you over to attempt a keg stand. You’d always wanted to try but never had, so you handed JJ your cup and kicked your feet up, trusting the two guys were ready to catch you. They did and someone put the spout into your mouth.

A crowd gathered around you and started counting loudly. You made it all the way to a minute before kicking to be let down. Slowly the two guys lowered your feet and your vision swam while beer bubbled in your throat. You almost choked but managed to swallow while everyone cheered around you. JJ wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Not bad for a first time!”

He topped your cup off and guided you away. You cleared your throat, “Thought I was gonna puke for a second there.”

“You turned a little green when you first came down, how you feeling now though?”

“Feeling fantastic,” you told him earnestly, swaying in place.

JJ chuckled, grabbing your shoulders, “You got plans tomorrow?”

“Anatomy.”

“So that’s a no, I won’t cut you off then.”

“Don’t cut me off, please,” you told him seriously, trying to focus on his face.

He gave you a little two finger salute, “Aye aye madam.”

You lost track of how many drinks you had as the night went on. Sometime during the night, JJ disappeared and came back with something besides beer for you which was really nice and you thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He just laughed and squeezed your shoulder before going off to talk to someone else.

When the party started winding down, you attempted to find the Uber app on your phone to call a ride home. JJ tapped your shoulder, startling you, and in your clumsy, intoxicated state, you dropped your phone. It slid out of your eyesight and you glared at him, “Pick it up, J.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, amused.

“Goin home, party’s over.”

“Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Can’t make it up the stairs,” you told him seriously.

JJ raised his eyebrows, “You live on the second floor of your apartment building, at least here you have me to help you up the stairs.”

He had you there. So, you nodded and he took you to the kitchen for a clean cup. JJ filled it with water and made you drink two before leading you to the stairs. You lifted your foot to put it on the first step and almost fell over. JJ reached out but you shushed him, as if his silence would help you focus more on not falling over.

On the second try, you managed to climb up one step and immediately shuffled close to the wall so you could lean your whole body against it for balance while attempting to climb. It was a really slow process, but you were too stubborn to ask for help, and JJ knew better than to try to help you when you were feeling stubborn.

JJ stayed one step below you to help in case you started to fall backwards. Eventually you made it all the way up and immediately forgot which door led to his room. Huffing a laugh, JJ grabbed your wrist and led you to the second one on the left.

You sat down on the bed and went pretty much boneless at the comfort of finally not being on your feet.

“Fucks sake, dude,” JJ muttered, pushing you up into a sitting position.

“No,” you whined, fighting to lay back down.

It wasn’t hard for JJ to keep you sitting up, “You’re going to be so pissed if you wake up in your clothes with makeup on, you need to change and get ready for bed.”

He was right again, but you didn’t have the comprehension level to remember how to do that so you shrugged in response. JJ sighed and helped you kick your shoes off before going to get you a change of clothes from his drawers. You somehow managed to get your shirt off and your shorts unbuttoned, but he had to help you get the new shirt on and change shorts.

The guy JJ shared a bathroom with’s girlfriend left makeup wipes and JJ helped you get all your makeup off. You kept making faces to be difficult because you liked the furrow between his eyebrows as he tried to focus on being gentle.

“I will intentionally poke you in the eyeball if you do not stop,” he warned.

Pouting, you poked his cheek, “Don’t bully me, I’m drunk.”

He threw the wipe away and looked at you exasperatedly, “Brush your teeth, your breath smells like a liquor store.”

Giggling, you grabbed your spare toothbrush from the drawer next to his and sloppily started brushing your teeth. JJ was standing behind you and leaning on you, trapping you between the counter and his body so you didn’t fall over or sway.

The bright bathroom lights plus the water were clearing your brain a little, but you were still gone and not really able to focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. You leaned back to feel his chest moving as he brushed his teeth and giggled at the feeling.

JJ sighed again and gently nudged you out of the way to spit and rinse in the sink and you followed suit, having forgotten to do so yourself. You followed him out of the bathroom and grabbed his hand as he led you back to his room.

From what you could remember, JJ slept on the left, so you climbed into the right side of his bed and stretched out comfortably. He crawled in behind you a few minutes later, and you turned around to look at him. He had a small smile on his face as he looked back at you and reached up to push a piece of hair that had fallen in your eyes out of the way.

Suddenly, you were overcome by the urge that you’d been fighting for over a year and you leaned forward to kiss him. He froze and you almost regretted it until he started kissing you back.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours but could’ve only been minutes until he rolled the two of you over so you were on your back and he was hovering over you. Your lips were only separated for a few seconds before he was kissing you again, more deeply than before.

Sighing into the kiss, you brought a hand up to his head and ran your fingers through his hair. He groaned lightly at the feeling and you felt a hand creeping up your thigh. Before it could get too far, you nudged his shoulders back to catch your breath. He kept stroking your thigh and you shifted, “Hey, can we wait maybe?”

“Wait for what?” JJ asked you, confused.

“To fuck,” you told him bluntly.

JJ huffed out a surprised laugh, “Oh, uh, yeah definitely.”

You grinned at him sheepishly, “Sorry, you’re my best friend and if we’re going to do this, I want to be sober and you know, really ready.”

“Right, yeah, I totally get it,” he reassured you, dropping back down next to you.

You sighed as he wrapped his arm around you again. Lifting your head, you let it rest on one of his biceps and drank in his facial features. He held onto one of your hands and played with your fingers, not looking at you directly.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, feeling a little uncertain.

JJ looked at you, furrow back between his eyebrows but a little different than before, “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

“What?” you asked, feeling the urge to press the wrinkle until it went away.

“For forcing myself onto you,” JJ mumbled.

Suddenly it felt like you couldn’t keep up with the conversation, “Wait what?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes again, so you lifted his chin until the two of you were almost nose to nose. JJ shut his eyes, “You’re really drunk, I shouldn’t have ever returned the kiss because you might regret it in the morning.”

“No, I really do like you JJ, I just,” you paused, trying to find the right words, “I just want it to be special, I guess,” you trailed off, hoping it made sense.

JJ smiled gently and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “We can talk about it tomorrow, yeah?”

With a giant yawn, you nodded and the last thing you remember is him running a hand through your hair and tangling your legs together.

#jj maybank request #jj maybank #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #pike!jj #frat!jj

271 notes · View notes

wherevermyway · 3 years

Text

bound up // binchan // oneshot // 18+

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, BDSM, rope bondage, dacryphilia, degradation word count: 2,722 also on AO3

originally posted: 13 november 2020

Chan and Changbin had an unconventional relationship, and they had some peculiar ways of relieving built up tension. Sometimes, vanilla sex was too boring. Drawing out their orgasms in the oddest ways possible really bring them closer together and make them feel better in multiple different ways.

Luckily, their oddities fit well with one another.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“Is that tight enough, love?” Chan sarcastically coos, knowing that his lover can’t respond. If Changbin was honestly uncomfortable, he would have pressed the clicker he held in hands. Instead, the man bent in half, arms behind his back and tied up in an intricately woven criss-cross pattern in black rope, offers a strained grumble through his open-mouthed spider gag.

“It’s a shame you can’t speak, hmm? You’ve been so talkative lately, and it’s so nice to not hear you talk for once.” Changbin winces at Chan’s words, drool starting to spill from his mouth as he looked up to his senior.

Chan wore a proud, arrogant smirk on his face like he had gotten first place in a marathon, looking down at Changbin. His junior was being a bit too snappy and opinionated during rehearsals, and Chan knew this would be the perfect way for them to relieve some tension. “Shall we begin, my pretty little bratty boy?”

Changbin offers a weak nod, wiggling his toes around and adjusting the positioning of his arms as they pulled against the rope fastened to the ceiling.

“Remember to click if you need me to stop, alright?” Another nod in affirmation, paired with a tiny squeak.

The two of them just simply worked this way. They had been an unofficial item for nearly a year now, but they really preferred their unconventional relationship and unusual way of relieving tension. One night, when they were drinking on the rooftop and staring out at the Seoul skyline, Changbin blurted out how he had always wanted to try restraint play, but he figured he’d never find someone he trusted enough to try it.

“Why not me?” Chan slurred slightly, taking a drink from his bottle of strawberry soju. “We’ve known each other for years, dude. Not to mention, we’ve been sleeping together for, what, five months now? It could be fun.”

Changbin had shook his head in disbelief and stared wildly at Chan. “You don’t know what you’re doing, though.”

Chan offers a cheeky smile in response. “I never said that.”

This was their sixth restraint session, and they were getting bolder and bolder with each new session. Chan had just installed a seemingly innocent hook into the ceiling of their studio, something strong, yet easily concealable, and they were both dying to try it out.

Sure, their sex was satisfying enough, but to open up to someone and be so vulnerable with them was like ascending to another plane that was unattainable for most conventional relationships. Chan would bring Changbin down enough, knock him down several pegs to reset his arrogant attitude and pent up energy. Then, he would bring him back up to where he wanted to be as they cuddled in their dorm room and watched stupid videos on the internet, Changbin curled up against Chan, until they passed out together.

Chan’s embrace at the end of all of this felt so much sweeter because of the labour they went through to get to it. For Changbin to earn it. Sure, he could find himself in Chan’s arms whenever he wanted, but the way that Chan felt to him after their sessions was otherworldly.

“Alright,” Chan sighed as he sat down in the chair across from Changbin. He danced his fingers over the rope shears on the table, then grabbed a remote control, fiddling with his laptop with his other hand. Some background noise-type of lo-fi electronica quietly boomed through the studio’s speakers.

“I want you to be a good boy and press the clicker in your hand. Let’s see if I can still hear it over the music.”

Changbin does as requested, a couple of plasticky clicking noises coming from behind him. Chan nods and taps around on his laptop a couple of times until the music shifts to some other similar sounding song. “Now we can get started.” He leans back into his chair, bringing up the remote control to his face as he locks eyes with Changbin.

The two of them exchange an excited, somewhat nervous glance. A string of drool continuously spills from Changbin’s mouth, and Chan devilishly smirks.

“Three minutes, twenty five seconds until the next song.” He presses a couple of buttons on the remote control, and Changbin’s knees curl inward and his head drops. A throaty moan shakes its way through the younger man as he shudders at the sensation as the vibrating prostate massager quivers inside of him. “Like we discussed prior, you’re not allowed to come until the end of this playlist, and I’m not going to tell you how long the entirety of it is, only how long each song is. With every song, I’m going to up the ante. If you come before you’re permitted, there will be consequences.”

Changbin lifts his head, locking eyes with Chan before he nods once and drops his head back down. He tries to keep his pathetic mewls restrained, but some choked whines and whimpers still manage to escape him, causing Chan to nibble on his bottom lip in excitement. As the music played in the background, Chan grabbed a small candle off of the table next to him and lit it, preparing it for the next song.

Using wax wasn’t really something that crossed Chan’s mind, but when Changbin awkwardly gave him a couple of candles the day prior, he couldn’t resist the thought of adding it to the session he had in mind. “They’re special,” the younger man had whispered. “Don’t use these to make shit look pretty, because it’d be a waste. These were expensive and I don’t wanna waste them.”

Chan shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“Me,” Changbin furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips, his face flushed. “Use them on me tomorrow. That’s why I bought them.”

The tiny flame flickered and Chan smiled as he looked at it. There was twenty seconds left of the current song, so he stood up and held the candle, taking a few steps towards Changbin. “The next song is two minutes and fifty-five seconds. I think you’ll look pretty with your back painted in blue, hmm?”

Changbin tried to hum in some sort of response, but the spattering of warm wax to his back causes his soft murmur to turn into an unrestrained, loud moan.

“Now, now,” Chan tuts as he stops dripping wax onto the younger man’s back. “Everyone may be back in the dorms, but you never know who may hear you sound like such a needy whore. Do you want someone to walk by the door and hear you pathetically moaning for me?”

Chan doesn’t wait for a response he knows won’t come, so he tips the candle in his hand again, painting mindless patterns against Changbin’s skin, indigo blue spattering recklessly onto the roped arms of the bound man, against his own black button-up shirt. The wax would come off, Chan figured, and this was a small price to pay in order to watch his junior squirm.

The song was nearly over, and Chan brought the candle up to his face and blew out the small flame. Almost perfectly timed with the end of the song, he spun on his heel and walked back to the table, setting the candle down as the next song started playing. He started pressing buttons on the remote control again, causing Changbin to cry out again, curling his toes and shaking the ceiling rope a bit as his body convulsed. Saliva dripped from his lips, feeding into the growing pool underneath him.

“Four minutes, twenty-five seconds. Let’s see if you can hold out with this setting.” Chan looked over his shoulder, taking in the view of the mess they were starting to make all over the studio floor. Blue wax had splattered onto the hardwood floor, which would easily come off with a bit of effort. Changbin was twitching uncontrollably now, and precum was starting to add to the chaos painted on the floor.

Waiting for four minutes for the next phase was going to kill Chan. He reached a hand down to his pelvis, pressing the heel of his palm against his erection. Subconsciously, he looked to his laptop. Three minutes, thirty-seven seconds. A hiss escaped his teeth and he shook his hands away, trying to compose himself.

“You should know better than to talk back to me during practice, you know,” he groans, trying to distract himself by talking down to Changbin. “A dumb slut like you knows better, unless you’re specifically trying to rile me up so I treat you like this?” Changbin makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a moan, shaking his head and causing saliva to go flying from his mouth.

At first, Chan didn’t understand why Changbin asked him to talk down to him during their sessions, to call him such degrading things. However, for some bizarre reason, it was one of the things Chan loved doing the most. With each session, he looked forward to this more and more.

Two minutes, fifty-one seconds.

“Regardless of if you’re even capable enough to not come before you’re allowed to, I’ve decided I’m going to paint that pretty face of yours with my cum,” Chan’s breathing was heavy, his nails digging into his skin as he felt his cock throb against the cotton of his briefs. “I’m gonna make you walk around with my cum all over your face and show you off to everyone, show every one of our friends how much of a pathetic slut you are for me.”

Chan’s words were dangerously close to causing Changbin to prematurely come all over the floor. He buckled his knees and whined, tugging hard against the rope fastened to the ceiling. He regained enough composure to look up to Chan with teary eyes, tears spilling down his face, a pleading look in his gaze. It may not seem like it to anyone else, but this look was what made the degradation worth it to Chan. Changbin was beside himself, loving how he was being forced exactly into the place he wanted to be.

Another glance to the computer. One minute, twelve seconds.

It was early, but Chan slowly walked over to just in front of Changbin’s face. “Are you going to be a good boy and keep yourself from coming?”

A nod. A whine.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Chan whispers, reaching up to Changbin’s soft, black hair, and giving it a couple of gentle strokes. “But you’re going to stay just as you are a little longer and make yourself useful.” The elder knelt down, taking in the look of how the metal fastened to leather straps inside of Changbin’s mouth looked. He made a mental note to make sure to apply some more lip balm to the younger man’s lips as soon as they were done, as they were starting to dry and crack a bit.

They exchange a caring glance, something that couldn’t be hidden no matter how hard and stern Chan tried to act. Deep down inside, they both really did love each other. That couldn’t be hidden.

The song faded out and blended into a new one, and Chan smiled. “Five minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Once this one is over and I’ve come all over that pretty face of yours,” he says in a low voice, standing up and fumbling with his belt buckle, “I might let you come. We’ll see how much of a good boy you are while you get me off, hmm?”

Chan doesn’t bother removing his pants, only undoing them enough to pull his cock out. The cool air is enough to cause a shiver to run down his spine. He takes Changbin’s chin into his hand and guides his way into the younger man’s mouth. It feels a little different, knowing that there won’t be the added sensation of having a vacuum-like seal around him, but it didn’t matter. He was already so close to coming from watching Changbin writhe and listening to his pitiful whimpers and moans.

Changbin wastes no time guiding his tongue around the length of Chan’s cock. He acts as if his tongue was a paintbrush, painting swift, broad strokes of saliva against the warm canvas presented to him. Chan revels in this for a few moments before pushing in a bit more aggressively, needing more stimulation. As he hits the back of Changbin’s throat, he watches the younger man twitch, and he pulls back a bit.

“I’m gonna move. Be a good boy and stay still, hmm?”

Changbin lets out a muffled whimper, but doesn’t press down on the clicker, so Chan interprets that as an affirmation. He sucks in a deep inhale, grabbing a fistful of his junior’s hair and slowly increases his pace.

The music is more intense now. Chan specifically picked this bass-heavy song, imagining how it would feel to fuck Changbin’s dripping wet mouth. A pained groan leaves his lips as he starts to relentlessly thrust into the younger man’s mouth, the head of his cock rubbing against the firm tissue at the back of his throat.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Chan tries to stay composed as he whines. He doesn’t bother looking at the remote in his other hand as he aimlessly presses a couple of different buttons on it. Changbin nearly collapses onto the ground in reaction and Chan rubs his thumb soothingly against his scalp. “Not yet, not yet.” He’s not even trying to hide his pants as he fucks a little faster now. “I’m gonna come all over that pretty face of yours first. Gonna let everyone know you’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

Chan can’t help but gasp as his possessive nature slips out, but he doesn’t care. The way that Changbin gives himself up to Chan, trusts him so much, enough to restrict his movements and use him as nothing more than a glorified sex object makes him possessive. Protective. If anyone did anything to hurt Changbin, Chan wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

“Fuck,” the older man whines as he pulls out, right as the song transitions into the next bass-heavy song. He lets go of Changbin’s head and mops up some of the spent drool under his chin, using it as a makeshift lube as he pumps his cock. “Look at me. Show me how badly you want my cum all over your face like the cumslut I know you are.”

Changbin obliges, his eyes weepy and his cheeks tearstained.

That’s all it takes. Chan throws his head back for a moment before he forces himself to watch as his cum spills all over Changbin’s face. He pants and shudders a couple of times, nearly collapsing to his knees due to the intensity of his orgasm. “You’ve done so well,” he gasps. “You’ve earned it, so do it. Come. Just fucking come for me.”

Chan pushes a button on the remote control again, and Changbin’s back arches, a choked, guttural moan absorbed by the soundproofing on the walls. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, his arms staying in place thanks to the ceiling restraint. Chan watches as Changbin’s cock twitches, cum splattering over the dried wax and precum from earlier.

They take a moment to come back to reality, and Changbin finally drops the clicker from his hands. Chan bends down to the younger man’s face, undoing the metal fasteners at the back of the gag. “You did so well; I’m so blown away by you yet again. That was absolutely incredible. How are you feeling?”

Changbin pops his jaw a couple times and shakes his head. “That was great,” he sighs and looks up to Chan. “I’m not gonna lie, though, my jaw is killing me.”

The older man laughs, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “Well, I’ll untie you, get you cleaned up, and then you can have a well-deserved break. We can shower and get that wax off of you, then cuddle up under the covers all night. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds great,” Changbin weakly smiles. “I love you, but you’re cleaning all of this up, though. My arms are sore as fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chan rolls his eyes. “I love you too.”

#bound up #skz smut #skz fics #binchan #bang chan x seo changbin #seo changbin x bang chan #chan x changbin #changbin x chan #wherevermyway

39 notes · View notes

shewhorises-tjyj · 3 years

Text

Day 3: Teashop

I am going to be using “Bridgette” and Marinette. I know they’re the same person (Bridgette being a made-up name from the 2012 fandom) but this is the first thing that came to mind. Also, Bridgette and Marinette have don’t even know the other is alive (well, except when she sees Bridgette running after Felix. But she just chalked it up to a crush) same goes for Felix. She just sees his face from time to time because he’s a model {and actor. But he isn’t in a lot of films so he’s more famous for modelling} Oh yeah! Adrien does not exist or at least he isn’t mentioned.

It’s kind of switching from third to second to first person………So, it’s kind of messy.

“Felix!~” NOPENOPENOPENOPE.

He continued running (or well fast walking in other people opinion he was a Culpa there was no way he was going to be caught running!) her voice drew closer and closer as they ventured into a place he had never seen before but if this place could help him get away from ‘it’ he would take his chances of possibly getting lost and booked into the first store he saw. Coincidentally, it was a teashop. He quickly hid behind one of the walls and opened his eyes while panting before promptly freezing and tried to book it out the store when he heard a VERY familiar voice, “Feeliiixx!” before hiding behind the wall again. He noticed the girl looking at him like he was a madman (and okay, he probably looked like one) but he was overall surprised that she didn’t know him.

As the voice drew further away, he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and dropped to the floor. The girl then proceeded to help him up and brought him to a table and left the room to make tea while he went and examined the place and the girl. The place had a mix of Japanese and Chinese furnishture that made him feel like he wasn’t in France anymore and instead at a traditional Chinese/Japanese house and the girl looked similar to… his stalker fangirl… but with a few differences that differed her from the other. For one, she had shorter hair that was let loose, her clothes were a red turtleneck long-sleeve crop top with the shoulder area being cut off, the back having a hoodie, the black skirt starting at the bottom of the crop top and reached right above the knees, black leggings and white tall sneaker boots that looked designer.

She could probably be a model or actor if, for the fact that he memorised every model and actor there is on the planet so that if he were to ever cross one he would not be as cold as he is.

When the girl came back she poured him a cup of tea before introducing herself.

“I’m Marinette. What’d your name?”

She didn’t recognise him?

“Felix.”

“Are you okay? You seem like you ran a good distance to get here.”

“…just trying to run away from a…………… fangirl.”

“Do you even know your way around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“………uh….”

“I’m guessing you don’t” if anything, she seemed amused by this.

“I just ran. I’ve never been in this part of Paris before.”

“Do you want help to get back to... wherever you live then?”

“while that would be most convenient I can just call my driver to pick me up. Could you tell me where ‘here’ is?”

“the 1st Arrondissement, street cours la reine.”

“thank you.”

He took out his phone and texted his driver of his location and to come pick him up and placed it back down haven’t yet received a reply and took a sip of the tea and perked up. It didn’t go unnoticed by the girl.

“It’s a mix of mint and chamomile tea. It helps sooths the mind and muscles.” (or so I found on google)

“it tastes devine” (oh my god it’s so unusual for me to write so formally.)

“Do you own this place?”

“Oh no, I’m just helping my grandfather open the shop today. He fell ill and was unable to come today so I volunteered to help keep the shop open for the day, he’ll be coming tomorrow” (THAT’S RIGHT! I’M MAKING MASTER FU RELATED TO HER)

“I see.”

*ding!*

Picking up his phone again he saw he had received a reply from his driver who replied positively saying he would be able to come in half an hour and in that half hour he had made small talk with the girl.

Thirty minutes later, a car honk was heard outside.

“it seems that my driver has arrived, thank you for your hospitality.”

Then, she smiled and it seemed like it lighted up the whole room and possibly outside as it was getting dark out

“Your welcome! Let me show you out.”

Once outside,

“It’s late out, do you want a ride back home?”

“Ah! No thank you, my house is near here and it would be a bother for you.”

“I insist.”

“Really! I can get home in a matter of seconds!”

*sigh* “Alright, I hope you have a safe walk home.”

“Bye!” she replied waving.

When he got in the car, he thought back to the day. She was the most interesting he had ever met. she didn’t know who he was even though his face was all over the internet and Paris. And anything she said was not particularily boring and she talked about her dreams with such passion he had never seen before. Plus, she knew more than most people in the span of 40 minutes than people who’ve known him their whole lives except maybe Bridgette who knew what she knew she certainly was an interesting girl.

Wait- oh god that sounds so affectionate- shit- no- He DID NOT gain a crush in just 40 minutes of knowing her- wait- I didn’t get her number- NO!- oh god no he’ll never meet such an amazing girl again. She said her grandfather own the shop maybe I can ask him- NOPE that would just be weird. He was just a stranger and he was sure she wouldn’t talk about him. If he asks her grandfather, her grandfather will think he’s a creep and even if he got a chance with her, her grandfather will probably make her break up with him-

He was suddenly pulled out of his stuptor when his butler/driver announced their arrival at the family estate.

“We’ve arrived sir.”

“Huh, oh thank you Oliver.”

“Anytime sir.”

After that day, he started to regularly come to the tea shop in hopes of meeting the girl but to no avail (well he did end up getting on good terms with her grandfather which was good if he ever saw her again…) but on one fateful day, that all changed.

“Class, please welcome our new student. Marinette Dupain Cheng.”

1246 words.

(I searched up ‘most expensive neighbourhood in Paris’ and I got four different places so… I did what any one would do. I searched up ‘Wheel Decide’ and placed the four different locations in the wheel and spun it and got ‘7th Arrondissement’ (it’s near the Eiffel tower) and went to one of the Arrondissement next to it which was the ‘1st Arrondissement’ and picked a street which was just across the seine ‘cours la reine’)

@felinettenovember

#Felinette November #Felinette #felinette month 2020 #Day 3: Teashop

64 notes · View notes

yanderecandystore · 4 years

Note

How would Jack react to an artistic s/o, like he carries a sketchbook with him at all times and once Jack saw that he had at least a full page of just Jack doodles and sketches

Yo, hello there! I'm sorry for taking so long to answer you, I was trying to find the right time to write! :3

Do y'all mind if I changed it up a little bit? Changing a little bit of "reader's role" in this headcanon, instead of always being the "one of his gang's members" and such. I decided to add a little more than one page of sketches though •v• because I'm an ass.

Also oh my God, I'm sorry for babbling so much at the start ;-;.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

A cool and peaceful breeze in the middle of all Hell [Yandere!Delinquent OC Male artist!Reader - Headcanon]:

Let's set the stage, dear.

You're one of many students inside Saint Bernard's School for Prodigies, a place that since it's building process, was meant to be a safe environment to all gifted students, and even students that didn't seem to have any talent at all. It was built to be a welcoming place.

It was built to rival Amaryllis Academy. While Amaryllis was focused on a specific group of people (coff coff rich families coff coff), Saint Bernard's was supposed to be the… "Common crowd alternative".

It never got to the same level of development as Amaryllis did. Although there are rumours about the Academy being a breeding ground for prejudice and discriminatory behavior (involving a lot of bullying towards students that had paid their way into the scholarship), Saint Bernard's was basically disfuncional.

The only thing granting a base for it's failed and shaky structure, was government income and the rumours around the school. Student deaths, delinquency, gang fights, fragile authority that fails to reinforce school regulations, contraband inside school grounds, no security for both the faculty's staff nor the students, severe cases of bullying, etc, etc.

You heard that a billion times. And don't get me wrong, it is not like there aren't good people here, good people that can't afford a better place to go. But the bad overthrows the good.

So here you are, just another boy trying to pass through the school year like any other student. A guy trying to keep under the radar of… Basically, every single student and teacher in this place. You came with terms that, sadly, you couldn't trust no one here.

You saw what happens if someone like you starts to get comfortable around these people. They're brutal. The thought of getting out of this place has crossed your mind many times, but you don't really know where else to go. It's the nearest place to your house, and it's literally free to enter.

You're the silent type, you're not exactly antisocial by any means, you just prefer to be left alone with your pens and your trust sketchbook, although, it's kinda not having much space left, is it?

You don't have more money to buy a better set of materials, and to be honest, you're aware of how unkindly people would treat you if you bring something a little more pricey. There were students who were already picking on you for the fact that you just kept drawing and being a lazy bun, if they saw you with things that clearly looked (even a little bit) expensive you would never hear the end of it.

You remember seeing a poor girl (I mean literally) who had saved her money to buy a new pair of shoes, since her's were clearly old and tearing apart. Her tenacity was something really admirable, as she saved more than enough money to buy something actually good for her. Something she probably didn't seem to be accustomed with, as her reaction to getting her new shoes destroyed in front of her own eyes was absolutely heartbreaking.

Chills still run down your spine, as you remember one boy saying something like-

"- It's her own fault. She shouldn't have come to this place wearing that."

You really hate this place, the only shine of light though was what you heard another boy say.

"- Yeah, it sure is a poor girls' fault that a bunch of imbeciles are jealous of her accomplishments." That sarcastic tone was more than enough to get your attention, looking at the direction of the voices talking you saw the two boys that were talking.

One was clearly discomfortable with the situation, like he just said something stupid and is trying to not sound as bad as it was, and the other one who was not even looking at the asshole beside him, and oddly enough, he wasn't looking at the situation happening in front of everyone anymore. He felt like someone was looking at him, and coincidentally, there you were.

Of course, he looked at you like he would simply get up and beat the shit out of you for staring at him, he thought you had a problem with him, and he wouldn't mind starting a problem with you if that were the case.

The cold look was enough to send you the message, and not wanting to cause any trouble, you just moved your attention to somewhere else, ya know, like the girl suffering in the middle of the school's hall, maybe you shouldn't have looked at him for so long.

I guess you were just, caught up in his features?

Okay, maybe you have a problem now. You can't help but keep drawing him! Like, okay, you thought that maybe just one sketch would be fine. He has a lot of nice facial features and- and he is always with a closed expression. No emotions, just pure angst. You found yourself liking to draw him, and when you noticed, you had enough material to cover two pages. Two fucking pages filled with a boy don't even know!!

[Y/N], come on, get to your senses. You heard about the boy, he is one of the many delinquents running this place, if not the leader of one of the most influential gangs around this hellhole. Jack, was it?

Imagine having that guy and his gang come beat you up for being extremely nosy and drawing him so many times? You want to know what's worse though? One of these sketches were from a specific moment you saw this man without his jacket on, his shirt being see through and almost non-existent.

You need to burn all of them. Immediately. Or otherwise your school year will go from manageable to completely fucked. But some of these make great art studies tho-

"- Yo. I need to talk with you." Oh dear lord, your time has come.

"- S-Sup!" You try to hide the sketchbook before he notices some interesting depictions of himself. But honestly, it was too late boo, he already knew about it.

"- Mayday told me you've been stalking me." Jack said, not sounding even a little bit concerned about being "stalked".

You don't really know who is "Mayday", unless she is one of his gang's members. Actually, you may have a guess on who she is. You think you saw some girl giving you odd looks here and there, not really mean looks, but just "concerned looks", and now that you think about it, you saw her walking around with Jack.

Wait, was she the girl that got her shoes destroyed that day?

"- Oi! Aren't you going to say what the fuck is your problem?" While you were thinking about who that girl was, Jack took the opportunity to come closer and snatch your sketchbook.

"- Give me that. You better answer me or you won't see this until then." Jack had started to open the sketchbook up, to his absolute luck and to your demise, he opened up on that exact page.

"- Wait! Hold on, don't open it!-"

Too late though. His face said everything.

"- Woah. Interesting." Jack knows absolutely nothing about art and drawing and stuff like that. Yeah, he may know a couple of things about writing but, it's completely different to him. He is impressed with how talented you are.

That's so quite flattering details you managed to put in there, does he really look like that to you?

"- This is your work right? Is this why you kept staring at me?" He asks you, but honestly, what would answer? This guy has a whole group of people that can easily hurt you, so telling the truth can both free you and damn you.

"- Yeah, I did all of these… I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you, well, I mea- I'm sorry if it made you feel awkward, I just thought you were a interesting model I guess?" There is no imaginable way of saying this without sounding like an stalker, right? God, this is so embarrassing…

Jack is absolutely flattered by this. Oh, yeah, it's creepy as fuck, love. But does he really care? I mean, dearest, do you really know him?

Mayday wasn't the first one to notice you staring, of course he felt someone drooling over him. It facinates him how ever since that day you kept being more prominent in his life, or rather, in his mind, as he never really made a move to physically interact with you.

He is surprised by how his acting skills have improved, he thought that he wouldn't find a way to convince you of his surprise when noticing your drawings for the "first time". Throughout this whole time he has thinking about you, is funny to see that in a way you were also thinking about him. Well, partially, you probably saw him as only a way to improve your art.

And honestly, he doesn't mind being your muse.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #sheep's stuff #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc headcanons #yandere delinquent x male reader #yandere delinquent #yandere delinquent x reader #yandere delinquent oc #special delivery request #special delivery headcanons

59 notes · View notes

regrettablewritings · 4 years

Text

How They Spend the Quarantine (Tadashi Hamada, Lucifer Morningstar, Dewey Finn, Wade Wilson, Harley Quinn, & Benoit Blanc)

Just a fun (?? is that even responsible to say?) little thing I’ve been thinking about while slogging through this neverending hellscape of an extended lockdown.

Tadashi Hamada

When San Fransokyo was ordered to go into a lockdown, there were mixed feelings.

At first, Tadashi had a hint of optimism that this would mean more time to work on his prospective projects . . . But then he quickly realized that his projects mostly required tools and space offered by the campus. He could technically make do at home, but it wouldn’t quite be the same considering the garage was considered Hiro’s space.

Somberly had to clean out his lab and take whatever he could home.

Cue the rest of the group (sans Fred and Hiro) griping that at least his style of science could travel well enough to be somewhat continued off of university grounds.

Helps do delivery for The Lucky Cat. It helps him get out the house, and it’s simply helpful altogether.

Uses Baymax frequently to make sure everyone down to Mochi is sanitized, and nobody’s running a fever.

Nearly as frequent a sanitizer as Aunt Cass.

He starts most days prepared to be productive, only to stop and poke fun at Hiro, who’s almost always got his eyes trained on a video game.

Tadashi realizes three hours later that he, too, has been playing the game as Player 2.

Learned how to make facial masks with Aunt Cass. He already knew how to sew a little but frankly, making the masks made him realize he could have a new hobby on his hands. He’s currently trying to figure out how to make Mochi a little vest . . .

Lucifer Morningstar

B o r e d. A s. F u c k.

At first, he thinks everyone being forced to go home would work in his favor -- surely some rule-breakers would sneak out and try to bunk up with the Devil, right?

Well . . . Kinda? Once Chloe found out and scolded him about it, the idea died real fast. Plus, he realized he wasn’t quite fond of the possibility of being around someone who could pop up with a disgusting human sickness at any point during their time with him. Smearing their snot all over, coughing into his Egyptian cotton sheets . . . Nope, never mind, he is perfectly content having the penthouse to himself, thank you very much!

Except he’s not.

The poor bastard is going crazy by himself -- he’s just not used to being without some kind of company!

“At least in Hell, you could tell there were people around you based on the screaming!” he’d whine at his phone during his hourly video chat with Chloe.

Oh yes: The video chats. He tries to make them hourly with anyone he can get a hold of (namely, his long-suffering detective) but this clearly never plays out as he would like for it to: If he had it his way, everyone would respond in an instant and let him bounce mainly one-sided conversations off of them -- basically, what he did before all this went down.

What usually winds up happening is he gets hung up on or nobody answers him at all out of sheer annoyance over his clinginess.

Ironically, he’s not exactly crazy about when Amenadiel initiates those “family calls”. He insists it’s healthy and normal for them to do this and even calls Luci out on the hypocrisy, but let’s face it: Lucifer finds it obnoxiously gushy and weird.

He works his way into Linda’s video appointment books to help him cope with his boredom and admitted need for interactions. She doesn’t mind offering him counsel, but once Lucifer starts attempting to butt in during others’ appointment calls, it becomes an issue.

Has, at some point, gotten buzzed down in Lux and streamed himself attempting to pole dance. It drew quite a bit of attention.

He’s managed to gain a bit of a following and some companionship by streaming himself playing piano and singing. It’s not the same thing as having an actual audience, in his opinion, but it will have to do for now.

He’s never been one to binge with regards to TV shows or movies, but after the first week, he decided to binge watch every work action star Wesley Cabot was ever in.

Makes sure his staff still gets paid well. After all, he’s pretty well-off; there’s no need to make an innocent bartender’s life a living hell just because some other rich bastard fucked up, yeah?

Going off this, should he need to order to-go or anything, we already know he tends to tip as handsomely as he looks.

Dewey Finn

Kids were being sent to Horace Green on tuitions worth more than what some people saw in half a year -- of course the school was going to continue classes online!

While technically an afterschool instructor, the program is popular enough for parents to expect it to continue, and for Dewey to be kept on payroll.

Initially, he was pretty smug: He’s one if, if not, the youngest teacher-figure at Horace Green, so surely that means he’s more tech savvy than his older, stiffer coworkers, right? For once, he’s ahead of the curve!

Wrong: Figuring out Zoom was a headache, and then there was the realization of just how dependent his classes were on actual physical presence.

Plus, let’s be real: Dewey’s Internet connection was decent on its own, but craptastic when compared to those of his wealthier students. The lag is strong with this one.

Has definitely accidentally messed up the background on his screen. Somehow wound up with the Beetlejuice background and got so frustrated, he wound up keeping it there for two whole sessions.

In spite of the slight issues regarding lag, they pull through and try to resume lessons as best they can.

Tries to keep optimism by pointing out how this is a new form of entertainment they could be pioneers in.

Some days, it’s just going so wack or everyone’s so bleh that Dewey just assigns for them to watch a music documentary or something.

“Okay, kids, Mr. Finn’s hungover and clearly Summer is the only one who went to bed before 3am. So what I’m gonna have you do is watch . . . Prrrbbbb . . . Amadeus.” “How is Amadeus rock-related?” “It had a rock single, shut up. Anyway, we meet back next class and talk about what we saw, m’kay? M’kay. Over and out.”

Next class, he’s filled with dread as Summer produces an in-depth analysis of the relationship or lack thereof between character and the presence of talent as evidenced by Mozart’s abilities juxtaposed with his immature presentation and -- Dewey just can’t keep up. Sure, Summer, why not?

When he’s not busy teaching, however, he’s using the lockdown to work on some new material. Or just screwing around.

Otherwise, let’s be real, Big Boy’s living the high life in a place of his own: Playing video games (Animal Crossing, recently got back into Team Fortress 2, is trying to finally finish Ocarina of Time); eating a not very great diet; staying up late, napping at weird times; all in the name of quarantine.

If he orders delivery or to-go, he tips the best he can.

Wade Wilson

On one hand, murking never goes on lockdown. But on the other . . . He’s already technically not well, why risk that even with his mutation?

Oh, fuck I just remembered he lives at the X Mansion, never mind turn back turn back oh god give us free --

The situation is tense to say the least. There’s Wade, who’s sensible enough to know why the quarantine is in place . . . and then there’s everyone else, who knows Wade’s full of shit.

And by everyone, I “coincidentally” mean Colossus, Nega Sonic, Yukio, Domino, Cable, and Russ because the already small world of the sequel just got smaller by the fact that everyone is bound to a large but nonetheless single estate whose size has probably decreased from that of the First Class timeline.

You know those videos of the usual Quarantine Characters? Wade is somehow yet still unsurprisingly all of them, save for the frequent sanitizer. He raids the pantry frequently, sleeps at all hours, considers scooting a swivel chair down the halls exercise for the thighs, blasts video games, and so on.

Going back to the sanitizer thing, it’s not that he’s just not exactly known for being tidy. Colossus occasionally does drag him out of bed at a decidedly decent time (read: any time before 11am) to try and get him excited about cleaning up around the mansion, but it rarely ends well. At this point, the safest option is to just remind Wade to wash his hands for 20 seconds as necessary.

Has acquired a Switch and visits everyone’s island, often to bonk them on the head with a net or gift them with weird crap they don’t necessarily want. For the “friends” from Sister Margaret’s, he has somehow acquired their Dodo Codes. Nobody knows how he did this.

Facetimes Dopinder frequently.

“Precious, you’re the beacon of light in this cold, cruel world.” “I miss you, too, DP --” “Sshshsh! I’m having a moment . . .” *weeps*

On the many occasions he orders delivery, he tips by giving the delivery person something expensive from the mansion that they can sell. Prof. X is loaded, after all. Plus, he more or less isn’t even present in this universe, it’s not like he’s gonna miss anything he can’t see/probably doesn’t even know exists in his house. The problem is, Colossus does exist and does notice and does care when things go missing. Leading to many a delivery person getting caught up in shenanigans at that weird school in the boonies that they either don’t get paid enough to deal with or couldn’t pay to make up.

“Oh, pawn shops are closed?” asks the man who looks like a skinned avocado if avocados had human skin. “Don’t worry, lemme hook you up -- I know some guys --” “DEADPOOOOOLLL!!” roars a Russian accent from inside the house. “WHERE IS THE BRONZE BUST OF THE PROFESSOR!?” The poor delivery person’s eyes widen as they realize that the odd cargo they’ve been presented with apparently holds some value of some kind. But before they can flee, the avocado man blurts, “Shit! Leave the pizza in the bushes, look me up on my Youtube page, byyyeeee!!”

In his defense, Wade does hold up his end of the deal. Much like the Dodo Codes, nobody knows what strings he pulled. They just accept it and move on.

Harley Quinn

Surprisingly compliant.

She’s crazy, not stupid: Staying at home may suck, but what sucks more is making things harder on people who may not fair so well. Besides, she’s spent time in a maximum security prison -- she can handle staying cooped up in her own home. At least home has TV, books, and snacks.

When she hears people are still going out without masks or plotting to have a protest, she strongly considers firing up the old Fun Gun and popping the next sign-carrying Karen she sees with a tit full of cadmium yellow powder.

Seriously, stay the fuck home and fuck up your own hair; this is the perfect time to make mistakes with your looks, it ain’t like you got anywhere to be or anyone to impress.

“STAY THE FUCK HOME, BITCH!” P O W!!! “JUST GO GREY ALREADY, WE ALL KNOW YOUR HAIR AIN’T THAT COLOR ANYMORE, YOU’RE THREE YEARS FROM BEING IN THE GODDAMN AGE-BRACKET!!!” P O W!!!!

Only leaves her new apartment to grab groceries and to take Bruce on a walk. She actually refuses to steal or cause a scene during this shitshow because she may be a bad guy, but she sure ain’t evil.

So far, there haven’t been complaints about the fact that she’s walking a hyena down a public street. Maybe it’s because there’s hardly anyone out? Maybe it’s because Gothamites just can’t be bothered to be fazed by it . . . Or maybe it’s because she made him a little mask for his snout.

“In this house, we wash our hands for at least 20 seconds, kid.”

Lets the forest reclaim the earth, so to speak. She was never really shaving anything for anyone but herself before, but now it just seems especially pointless.

Spends almost every day in a kigurumi. To give her a semblance of routine, she has a pink bear one she calls her “Sunday Suit.” She doesn’t know it’s not Sunday because the days just blur but Cass just doesn’t have the heart to tell her; she seemed so proud of herself . . .

Like everyone else, she’s gotten Animal Crossing. She’s trying to create an all-preppy island with a few exceptions (Astrid = Aesthetic, m’kay?)

Tips nicely when ordering delivery.

Benoit Blanc

As young and spry in nature as the gentleman sleuth would like to think of himself, he would really rather not test the dangers of the situation and go about all foolhardy -- he’s staying home!

In theory, it’s only logical and therefore perfectly fine. But in practice . . . God, he wishes he’d invested more in things to occupy himself with when home.

It wasn’t that Benoit was never home, he just never felt too much of a need to invest in a fancy entertainment center -- the fanciest he ever got was an iHome.

The beginning of the quarantine served as the perfect time for him to read over case files, catch up on paperwork, even catch up on some reading he’d been putting on hold since God knows when due to cases popping up left and right. But that dried up quicker than he’d assumed, and that’s when he was faced with what a man of his mind dreads the most: Boredom.

Finally caved and decided to hook up Amazon Fire.

Expected to use the one-month free trial on Netflix and be just fine but once the lockdown in his area got extended and he realized he wasn’t going to be able to catch up with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend at this rate, he caves even further and buys a subscription.

Fully delights at the influx of platforms uploading Broadway recordings; when The Show Must Go On put on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, followed by The Phantom of The Opera, it was a treat, I tell you!

Sanitizes often, despite hardly ever leaving his house besides to have a smoke or to go grab groceries. Honestly, it’s less about cleaning at this point so much as it is finding something to occupy his focus when he feels there’s nothing else to so.

Takes zinc after every meal to help lessen the intensity of any ailment that might hit him.

Definitely owns a facemask. There’s a good chance it’s from Marta or one of his relatives, and there’s another good chance the pattern is as flamboyant as his clothing. He’s delighted.

Benoit tries not to rely too much on delivery, as he’d much rather just cook. On the rare occasion where tipping comes up, however, he gives as generously as he can.

Bonus: There’s a slight chance he might have acquired a companion to foster early on in the quarantine. Benoit hadn’t had a pet since childhood, a crime of which he was admittedly melancholic of his own involvement. However, his surprisingly busy lifestyle just wouldn’t suit a four-legged friend, now could it?

Well, now there’s time to. Besides, it would certainly ease the potential feeling of loneliness to have someone or something with whom he could interact with.

Admittedly, when shelters began encouraging people to invest time in taking home a companion, he’d been looking more for a comrade on the canine side of the spectrum -- but darn, if Duke wasn’t a handsome cat.

A lovely grey-and-white cat with eyes that matched his own, Duke has become the one Benoit monologues to (because in all honesty, the man is a performer at heart, in need of an audience to speak his mind to and portray a thought before). Plus, he doesn’t appear to mind it when Benoit finds himself belting out in tone-deaf notes to showtunes while washing the dishes: The mark of a true companion.

At this rate, he’s probably not going to keep fostering Duke when things calm down -- he’s probably going to just straight up adopt him.

Stay safe & healthy!

#just a dumb little thing #anyway stay safe and healthy #regrettablewritings #tadashi hamada imagine #lucifer morningstar imagine #dewey finn imagine #wade wilson imagine #harley quinn imagine #tadashi hamada #lucifer morning star #dewey finn #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc

176 notes · View notes

eryiss · 3 years

Text

Chapter Twelve - The Epilogue

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This is the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy it. I tried with a bit more character drama in this fic, and I hope it went well.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Twelve – The Epilogue

Wednesday 14th April 2021

Waking up with Laxus' arms wrapped around him was something that Freed was unwilling to give up. Because it came with a feeling of safeness, a comfort that Freed could hardly put into words. It was as if Laxus was enveloping all of his senses; the touch of skin against skin, the scent of Laxus' cologne against his neck. It was an incredibly addictive feeling, but Freed was all too willing to indulge in this particular weakness.

The sound of the other man groaning awake was drowned out by the blaring of their shared alarm clock. Freed watched with partial amusement as Laxus' sleeping face crumpled up into a frown and his eyes blinked open, grogginess and annoyance in his expression.

"Y'know," Laxus croaked, half asleep still. "I don't wanna sound like a kid or anything, but waking up every morning this early is kinda shit."

"I used to picture you as a morning person," Freed teased, though a yawn affected his tone. He shifted slightly to look up at his tried boyfriend and smiled. "How naïve I must have been."

Laxus laughed gently, wrapping his arms around Freed tighter and burying his face in his long hair. Freed sighed in content, unintentionally nuzzling his nose into the crook of Laxus' neck. He blinked a few times, knowing from experience that it would be very easy for him to fall asleep again. And, as much as he really wanted to do that, he couldn't.

A lot had changed over the last three months, for Laxus as well as Freed. The blonde had decided that, although he enjoyed being the town's unofficial handyman, he wanted something more structured. Using his work on Albion House as a sort of resume, as well as a strong reference, Laxus had managed to get a job working in construction management. It was a large and important step for Laxus, and despite the early mornings, he was loving his new work.

Freed's changes had bene more emotional, and insular. His therapy had been working very well, as brutal as it could be at times. He was being told the ways in which he could improve himself, and many of them were working. He felt better about himself, his confidence seemed less forced, and his relationships – platonic and romantic – felt more intimate.

He was still unemployed, though that was his choice. He was frugal and had enough savings to keep him comfortable for half of a year, meaning he had time to search for a job that truly suited his needs and wants.

A job that he would hopefully find in Magnolia, something he'd discussed with Laxus a month after their apology.

Their conversation had been a good one. Freed had partly assumed that it would only focus on their relationship, but it had thankfully been more than that. They'd spoken about Freed's living arrangements – as he could only live with Bickslow for so long – and what he was looking for in terms of work. They'd spoken about Laxus new job and what that meant for them. And they spoke about if it was the right time for them to start dating.

It wasn't, they decided. Laxus job had begun that week, and it was his priority. And as much as Freed's therapy was helping, he was still new to it. But they both wanted more, and Freed proposed the idea of him moving to Magnolia and looking for employ somewhere in and around the town. Laxus had jumped on the chance, and Freed had moved into Albion House within the week.

Having the opportunity to see Laxus as often as he did was great. And despite their initial plan to wait another month to see if they were ready, they found themselves dating within two weeks of Freed living there.

"Eyes open, Dreyar," Freed smirked a little as he saw Laxus' eyes drooping. "You have to leave in an hour."

"Don't care," Laxus grumbled as he hugged Freed tighter. The lawyer put in no effort to fight this movement, nuzzling Laxus' chest. "Don't know why you're so excited about waking up, thought you were dreading today."

"That doesn't change the fact I have to do it," Freed whispered with a laugh, pinching Laxus' forearm and smirking when his eyes shot open in a tired glare. "Though it's true what they say, bad things do come in threes."

Coincidentally, three things that Freed wasn't at all looking forward to had fallen on the same day. After traveling to Era each week for his therapy, Freed had decided to meet Magnolia's only therapist Porlyusica; with Laxus assuring him he didn't mind Freed seeing the same person he had. Along with his first meeting with her, he also had to attend a job interview for Magnolia's most reputable law firm; it was the second job interview he'd ever been to, and he was dreading it. The third thing he had to do was have an evening with Laxus and Makarov, which was not nearly as bad as the other two, but Freed had discovered a fondness for being dramatic.

"You really think Gramps is that bad?" Laxus asked with a laugh. "I could tell him that, imagine how hurt he'd be."

"I'm sure he'd forgive me," Freed chuckled, though there was a hint of bitterness in his words. "Even if his way of doing that is making joked at my expense."

"If you don't wanna be the punchline of his jokes then you shouldn't have told him to fuck off," Laxus grinned, pressing his lips against Freed's crown in a soft kiss.

"I didn't tell him to fuck off, I told him to mind his own fucking business," Freed laughed as he shifted so his face rested on Laxus' chest. "Which, in retrospect, might not have been the best thing to do to the grandfather of the man I wished to date."

"Maybe not your smartest choice," Laxus grinned. "You know he's forgiven you though, right? Like, before you even moved here we talked, and he said he had to respect you for sticking up for me, even if he was pissed off at the time. That's basically as close to him saying that you were right you're gonna get. He's just pissing you off because he thinks it's fun."

"If you insist," Freed smiled slightly. He believed that Makarov made jokes at his expense as a form of test for Freed, making sure that he didn't prioritise his dignity over Laxus. That was a mistake he'd made once before, and didn't plan on doing again, so he could live with the tests. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning," Laxus lied smoothly. "Let's sleep again."

To counter Laxus' insistence of them sleeping again, Freed removed himself from the blonde's grasp and left the bed; Laxus groaned at the lack of a warm body against his. With tired, slow movements, he moved to the curtains and opened them, giving him the idyllic view of the countryside. He opened the window and allowed the soft breeze to hit him, still enjoying the quietness of Magnolia even after living there for two months. Warm arms wrapped around him from behind tightly, pulling him against a strong body. A tired yawn hit his ears, and a laugh slipped through him.

"You will have to get used to waking up early at some point," Freed smiled, turning in Laxus' arms to face him. "I would have thought you'd be used to it by now."

"Thought I was, but normally you're sleeping," Laxus shrugged, a soft expression on his tired features. "It's kinda hard to get out of bed when your boyfriend is right there, looking all cute and shit. Not to mention naked," He grinned a little, and Freed chuckled. "In the past, all the good stuff happens in bed when you're naked. And when you're looking like that, anything could happen."

"Anything?" Freed chuckled. "You certainly are an optimist, aren't you?"

"Nah, I just know what you're like," Laxus grinned. "Yer just as bad as me, and you know it."

They moved in sync, pushing their heads forward and pressing their lips together in a soft kiss. It was slow, tired, and slightly sloppy, but Freed relished every moment. Burning adrenaline and passion was great, but there was something magnificent about having moments where, despite their tiredness, they could enjoy each other's company and their touch.

But the moment could only last so long, as Freed's phone blared to life in another alarm, this one he had set for himself so he wouldn't risk sleeping through Laxus'. The blonde groaned and pulled away, glaring at the device while Freed chuckled. He picked his phone up and turned the alarm off, smiling at Laxus.

"We have to start getting ready at some point," He chuckled. "As much as I'd like not to."

"Guess so," Laxus shrugged, sitting down on the bed, and groaning as he cracked his back. He glanced towards Freed a moment later and grinned. "You wanna shower first? It'll take hours to tame the rat's nest, won't it?"

"I was going to propose we shower together, actually," Freed grinned. "But after that comment, I think I can do it alone."

"Well, I mean you don't wanna be hasty," Laxus chuckled a little. "I might be able to help out."

"No, there's no need for that. After all, given how long it takes for me to 'tame my rats nest' I wouldn't want to force you in there for hours. You might get bored," Freed smirked a little, keeping Laxus' gaze. "After all, what is there to do in a shower with your very wet and very naked boyfriend to keep you distracted. No, I wouldn't force such boredom on you. I can lather myself up on my own."

"Asshole," Laxus grinned with a chuckle.

Freed went to walk to the en suite attached to his bedroom, but as he walked past Laxus his hand was grabbed, and he was pulled into the man's lap. On reflex he pressed his lips against Laxus', kissing him softly as Laxus pulled him closer.

They kissed for a short while, still tainted with their sleepiness. Once they pulled apart, they rested their foreheads together. Both men wore tired and somewhat lovestruck expressions, the incredible feeling of a soft and lazy morning kiss being new for them. Freed had wrapped his hand into Laxus' hair as they kissed and was now gently stroking it absentmindedly.

"Make sure that don't get too in your head about today," Laxus spoke softly, sincerity now in his tone. "I know you're nervous about the interview, but you'll be fine. And I know you already convinced yourself it's not gonna go well because you've not worked in criminal law before or some crap like that, but you're more than qualified to be there and you know it. You probably got a better degree that the guy who's interviewing you. So don't get all self-sabotaging, just show them how much they need you, okay?"

"I know," Freed nodded, smiling a little while leaning against Laxus. "Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for," Laxus shrugged. "You said the same thing when I went to my interview," He leant up and pressed his lips against Freed's again for a soft kiss. "And don't worry about Porlyusica. She's intense, and she can be kind of an asshole when she wants to be, but she's gonna help ya a lot."

"I know," He repeated, nuzzling Laxus slightly again but pulling away as the snooze alarm went off. "I also know that you're an annoyingly effective distraction when we need to get ready."

Laxus barked out a laugh, pulling Freed close again and kissing him, wrapping his fingers into his hair, and pulling at it. Freed grinned as he kissed back, cupping Laxus' chin and dragging him as close as he could. They remained kissing for a short while, before pulling apart with slight breathlessness. Laxus grinned a little at Freed's expression, despite being just as flushed as Freed was. He cocked an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

"You wanna reconsider you banning me from your shower?" He teased. "Because something tells me that you might."

"Animal," Freed said in response, grinning. "You utter animal."

And before Laxus could ask for clarification, not that he needed it, Freed grabbed him by the chin and pulled him into a hot, passionate kiss, and it was more than enough of an answer for him.

~~~

Sunday 8th May 2022

"Now, although we're here to celebrate my grandson, I think we should spare some congratulations for his boyfriend," Makarov spoke into the microphone. "Because with this job, Laxus will be doing less physical work, meaning he'll have a lot more energy to spend on his dear boyfriend. And after a year of putting on muscle on a building sight, I expect Freed has a lot of ideas for what that spare energy can be used for. Something I'm sure they're both incredibly excited about."

Laxus cringed, blushing as a cheer rushed through the crowd. He glanced towards Freed, to see him laughing and raising his champagne as if in a toast. Because Freed Justine was a traitor.

But Laxus couldn't help but smile at the reaction.

It was sort of a testament to Freed's growth, in a way. The fact that, in front of almost all of their friends and family, Freed was able to laugh at and indulge himself in a joke at his own expense; well, his and Laxus' expense. There was genuine enjoyment in his features as well, with honest laughter rather than forced politeness. When they had first met, he would have gotten either defensively angry or attempted to appear amused while a level of contempt grew in him. But now, his ego allowed him to take jokes. It was good, and Laxus enjoyed seeing it.

The reason for the gathering was Laxus had, after months of looking, gotten a new job. Again. Working at his construction company had been good and satisfying work, but it had awoken desire to move up the ladder. He was shockingly driven when he was enthusiastic about something.

And eventually he'd found a good job, and he was excited about it.

Having a degree in engineering, as well as work experience with Albion House and his time in construction, was instrumental in his promotion. He now was going to have a job as co-project manager in a new housing development three towns over. He was to direct the workmen on the site, while also being trained in the architectural aspects of the process with the intention being he earn a qualification in architecture by the time the estate was finished. It was perfect for him, and more than a step up form where he'd been working before.

It felt cliché to even think it, but as Laxus looked around to see the man he loved laughing with the people who had always been there for him, it felt as though the parts of his life were falling into place. It was a great feeling, to be able to sleep at night while thinking that his life was complete. Even if he had gotten there later than most might have, he was going to make the most of it.

"That's enough from me," Makarov said in conclusion. "This is all just to say, I'm very proud of the man you've become Laxus."

Makarov raised his glass of champagne, and the gathered crowd filling Fairy Tail's back garden mimicked the actions. They let out a cheer of a toast, all looking towards Laxus, who grinned sheepishly and tried to will away the blush on his face at the attention aimed at him. His eyes fell on Freed for anchorage, who was seemingly expecting this and greeted him with a soft, genuine smile that calmed the blonde.

Then he winked and the blush returned threefold, but Laxus could be annoyed about that later.

And thus, the party truly began. Drinks were pored, individual congratulations were made, and people enjoyed their time together. Throughout the night, people close to Laxus who had come to celebrate his new job congratulated him, all the while thanking Laxus for the work he had done for them over the years. It was almost emotional for him, to have people whose pathways he'd re-laid years prior, or people who paid him to remove the leaves from their guttering, treating him as if he were family. He supposed that it was one of the benefits of living in a relatively small village. He thanked them all politely and laughingly assured them that, if he had the time, he would still be happy to work on their houses should they need it.

As evening turned to night, the gathered guests slowly began to leave and return to their homes. Makarov claimed that the night was catching up on him once most of the guests had left, and retired to bed, leaving a small group of Laxus' friends sitting in Fairy Tail's beer garden.

Laxus sat on one of the picnic benches, leaning tiredly against Freed's shoulders as the alcohol in his system put him into a tired sense of lethargy; his sober boyfriend looking at him with amusement in his eyes as he stroked through the blonde hair. On the other side of the picnic table were Cana and Mirajane – now an official couple, though unwilling to admit when that had become true – who were in an equally tired state. Lisanna sat on the grass nearby, playing with one of the dogs at the adoption centre she now worked at. The only person missing was Elfman, who was obviously on his weekly Skype call with Evergreen despite both of their claims otherwise. Nobody called the two of them on their lies, because as fun as it would be, they seemed happy with their odd relationship.

"So, giving up your heritage and becoming an exec, huh?" Cana grinned, fiddling with an empty pint glass. "You're a traitor to your people."

"Yeah, most execs spend their days inches deep in dirt on a building site. I mean in a couple months I'll be like Freed used to be when we first met him," Laxus chuckled, and noticed the stroking of his hair slowing slightly. He smirked before continuing. "Nah, don't think I could get that far up my own ass."

"Hey," Freed attempted to sound offended, but was grinning when he tilted Laxus' head towards him. "I distinctly remember you being quite interested in me when we first met."

"Yeah, I guess," Laxus grinned back, and the stroking of his hair continued. "But I like you more now."

"Do you now?" Freed grinned. "Please, go into detail about why."

"Fuck me," Cana groaned "You two are revolting."

"You can fucking talk," Laxus snorted, looking towards Cana as she leant against her girlfriend. "I'll give you half the money in my fucking wallet right now if you ain't playing footsie under the table with each other."

"They are," Lisanna said as she threw a chew toy across and watching the dalmatian amble after it. "Have been since they sat down."

"Wow, I came here to support my friend and enjoy his company. And yet now I'm being attacked by everyone," Cana shook her head in an exaggerated gesture of being offended. "First from the never-ending gay honeymoon who never shut up about how in love they are," She gestured to Freed and Laxus, both of them chuckling at the title they'd been given. "And now from the woman who might one day be my sister in law. And all because I wanted to congratulate my very dear friend about his new job."

"And the free booze," Laxus smirked, and Cana cackled loudly, not bothering to pretend to be insulted.

"Fair," She cackled, looking over towards her girlfriend. "But I've gotten drunk enough, and it's pretty late. Ready to go home?"

"Yeah," Mirajane smiled, shifting to remove herself from the picnic bench they were all sat around. She walked to the other side, pressing her lips to both Laxus' and Freed's cheeks in a form of goodbye. "See you both soon. And good luck with your first day, I'm sure you'll be great."

"Thanks Mira," Laxus smiled.

"And if you fuck it up, you can always fuck your boss again. Worked well last time," Cana laughed, and Laxus glared while Freed chuckled to himself.

"Don't encourage her," Laxus grumbled over into shoulder.

"Well, you can't deny it. The last time you fucked your boss it worked quite well in the end," Freed chuckled, laughing happily when Laxus punched him in the arm. He pressed his lips onto the top of Laxus' head, then whispering softly. "Though if you do consider it, be aware I have a rather possessive side and will fight for you."

"That's hot," Laxus whispered back, leaning up and pressing his lips against Freed's and pulling him closer.

"This is a public space," Cana groaned, and Laxus pulled away to glare at her. Mirajane and Lisanna – dog now on a leash – standing either side of her, meaning it would only be the two men left from the party soon. "Nobody wants to see you tongue fucking each other."

"Then why are you watching?" Freed grinned.

"I preferred it when you were trying to get us to like you again," Cana smirked, and Freed laughed again. "Later blondie. Later fuckboy."

At their respective nicknames that they couldn't get rid of – no matter how hard Freed had tried – Freed and Laxus wished their friends a goodnight. They were soon left alone in Fairy Tail's beer garden, resting against one another as they enjoyed the silence of a village during the night. Laxus shifted slightly so he could look up at Freed, fondness painting his expressions.

"Thanks for the past few months," He said softly.

"What do you mean?" Freed tiled his head slightly, and a strand of hair fell and hit Laxus on the cheek. The blonde absently began playing with it.

"For being there, helping me find a job," Laxus explained, running the strands of green hair through his fingers. "For being okay with me quitting my job and being unemployed for a quarter of a year while I was looking."

"You did the same for me," Freed responded, smiling at his boyfriend's actions.

"Yeah, but you had savings and crap, and you had an idea of what you actually wanted to do. And we weren't dating when you quit your job," Laxus shrugged. "I never needed to support you or to talk about how the right job was around the corner or any of the crap that I made you do for me. So thanks for being okay with it all, and for not getting pissed off at me."

"You know it's not a problem," Freed whispered. "Though, I suppose I do have one regret about what happened over the last few months."

"Really?" Laxus asked, a flush of worry overtaking him.

"Nothing bad, mind you, so you can drop the expression," Freed chuckled, taking Laxus' hand in his own and stroking it absently. "It's just, some of the times when you needed a bit of enthusiasm, or just someone to talk to, it was over the phone. In retrospect it would have been considerably easier to do that in person. And, well, the best way for us to make sure that happens in the future would be to have you be around more often. And perhaps the best way to accomplish this would be to-"

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" Laxus cut in, sitting up. Cautious excitement filled him.

"Well, there's more than enough space-" Freed shook his head. "Sorry, I need to stop giving excuses in place of emotions. Old habits die hard I suppose. But yes, I want to have you live with me. Because I am in love with you, and I think living together would be incredible."

"You're serious?" Laxus asked again, grinning now. "You wanna have me live with ya? Permanently?"

"If you're ready for that," Freed clarified. "But yes, I'd like that."

In place of an answer, Laxus almost launched himself into Freed by kissing him hard. The force of the action made them both stumbles, taking them off the bench and onto the grass below. Freed laughed loudly as Laxus landed atop him, the sound slightly winded because of the weight on his chest. Laxus chuckled, pushing himself off of Freed while grinning.

"Just to clarify, was that a yes, or was that you trying to kill me to avoid an uncomfortable conversation?" Freed asked, rasping slightly, grinning.

"Shut the fuck up," Laxus said, though he was beaming, laughing boisterously as he pulled Freed up from the ground, so they were both standing. Freed had a similarly excited expression on his face, and the honest emotions of it made Laxus' heart nearly flutter. "And it's a yes, fucker. Of course it's a fucking yes."

~~~

Saturday 5th October 2024

Freed hadn't expected it, but he'd turned somewhat sentimental about his relationship.

A testament to this was how much he looked forward to Saturday mornings. He and Laxus had gotten into the habit of cooking breakfast together and eating it at their kitchen table, and despite how small and unimportant it might have seen to an outsider, Freed thought that it might be his favourite time of the week. It was certainly the thing he looked forward to most, and that his mind strayed to when he found himself bored at work.

Given both men now held managerial positions in their respective companies, they worked long hours. Freed had been the one to propose that, rather than working late, they enter work early each morning to have the evenings to enjoy each other's company. This meant that, although they woke up at the same time, their mornings were rushed, and they didn't have time to enjoy one another's presence before starting their days. It was the best way to stop their work life from affecting their relationship, but Freed did find himself craving the lazy mornings they used to share, hence why he liked Saturday so much.

They woke up together, laid in each other's arms for as long as they wanted, before stumbling down the stairs and cooking a large breakfast. Having pancakes and bacon while drinking coffee, looking at his boyfriend as he yawned, hair a mess and bags under his eyes, was heaven for Freed.

And today, he was in a particularly good mood.

Evergreen and Bickslow had come to stay at Albion House for the weekend, as they did a few times a year. He had kept his friendship with the two of them strong, with daytrips to the city being a regular thing, as well as video calls and near constant messaging. But having them in his home for the weekend was something he would always look forward to.

The two guests were still asleep, given that eight AM on a weekend was not considered sleeping in for most people on a weekend. But Laxus and Freed had woken early, and were now dancing around one another as they cooked, something they had grown to be proficient at.

To say that they had hit their stride as a couple was an understatement.

Freed carefully placed four rashers of bacon onto a frying pan above a gas burner, the smell of cooking meat filling his senses. As he gently prodded it with a spatula, large arms wrapped around him and a kiss was pressed into the back of his neck. He turned with a smile, looking to see Laxus wearing his nightwear and a large, fluffy, purple dressing down. Freed smiled a little at that, leaning against the man's back as he watched the food cook.

"Good morning," Freed smiled, turning a rasher over and relishing in the fizzing of the oil. "Is the hug solely for me, or to get closer to the food so you get it first?"

"It's for you," Laxus said with offence in his tone, though then laughed. "But if I can eat before Bickslow forces it down like a mad dog, I won't mind."

"I've made more than enough for all of us," Freed assured him. "Have you started on the pancake batter yet?"

"It can wait," Laxus mumbled, peppering kisses on the back of Freed's neck while smiling softly. Freed wore a similar expression. "I wanna make the most of you before they wake up. Don't wanna hear them bitching about how close we are and how much we're kissing. So I'm gonna get as many in before they show up."

"I suppose I can't complain about that," Freed grinned, placing the spatula resting against the frying pan. "Though their complaints haven't stopped you before."

"Doesn't mean I want to have an audience," Laxus grumbled, smiling as Freed turned around in his arms. He leant down so that their noses were resting against one another softly, smiling. "Because sometimes I want you all to myself."

"And forty-nine weeks of the year isn't enough for you?" Freed taunted.

"Fuck no," Laxus grinned, leaning down and pressing his lips against Freed's.

They shared a soft but passionate kiss for a short while, leaning against one another. Freed pushed Laxus' against the kitchen island they'd had installed, smirking a little when Laxus' hand began to play with his hair. When they pulled apart, both slightly breathless, they grinned at each other. There quiet mornings shared together really were incredible, and Freed certainly understood why Laxus didn't want to share it with their friends.

Unfortunately, their time alone could only last for so long, given their friends habit of acting like forces of nature when they wanted to. To prove this, they walked into the kitchen with the door banging loudly against the counter. The two men pulled away from each other, smiling resignedly.

"Get a room," Bickslow groaned.

"We had one," Laxus laughed. "You two just walked into it."

"In fact we had an entire house," Freed continued, pulling himself from Laxus' grasp to walk to the oven again. "You walked into that too."

"It smells divine," Evergreen praised as she sat at the kitchen table, glancing at herself in her compact mirror. She was the only person who had showered and dressed herself, something she did every time she stayed there. "Hopefully enough to distract me from sleeping on that awful sofa."

"I made it perfectly clear that I was happy to drive you to Elfman's house where I'm sure a bed would be waiting for you," Freed said plainly, removing the cooked bacon from the frying pan. "You argued against it; therefore the sofa was all that was left. And why you continue to be so peculiar around the poor man is something you've yet to explain to me. You've been dating for over a year now, it's hardly a scandal to want to spend time with him."

"Bickslow got the spare room," Evergreen huffed, ignoring Freed's comment. The lawyer sighed a little, wondering if he would ever get an insight to her relationship.

"He's not dating someone who lives here," Laxus laughed. "And doesn't have someone who'd take him to bed."

"Not that you know," Bickslow grinned, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked over the mounting food that Laxus and Freed had made. Before any of them could wonder if there was any truth in the statement, Bickslow kept going. "We're having Laxus' pancakes right; basically the only reason I come here?"

"We are, and I'm sure he'll be happy to make them once the bacon is done," Freed assured him then thought for a moment. "Although I'm not sure how many eggs we have, so we might not have that many."

"I can go check if she's laid any," Laxus shrugged, and Freed chose not to comment on the smile tugging at Laxus' lips.

"Thank you," Freed smiled, pressing his lips against Laxus' cheek as the blonde walked past him, pulled on his slippers and walked to the chicken coop in the garden, where their three chickens now lived. He shook his head at the enthusiasm that Laxus showed for their animals, given that Freed had initially been the one trying to convince him of them.

When he turned his head to his friends, Freed mentally prepared himself. Because what happened next was inevitable.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" Bickslow exclaimed, only whispering because he didn't want to alert Laxus to his annoyance.

"You can't just drop something like that on us!" Evergreen hissed, equally annoyed.

"What do you mean?" Freed smirked slightly as he began plating up food.

"We mean that bullshit you pulled last night," Bickslow snapped, crossing his arms. "We mean it's unfair that, after a perfectly innocent question about if you wanted to go out for dinner this evening, you decided that you couldn't because, and I quote, 'my funds are a little low this month because of the engagement ring.' And after you just casually mentioned that you decided to go to bed before we could ask any more questions."

"What other questions is there?" Freed asked, grinning slightly.

"What does it look like?" Evergreen said with exasperation in her voice. "When are you going to ask? How are you going to ask? Have you already asked and is this some nonsense where you don't tell us like those two women you're friends with?"

"Right," Freed nodded, glancing at the garden to see Laxus petting one of the chickens rather than looking for eggs. He had time. "I haven't asked him yet, hence why I didn't mention it with him in the room. I don't know how nor when I will ask him, all I know is that I will. I have faith that the moment will present itself and I'll be eloquent enough when it comes to it. And as for what it looks like, this is it."

Freed pulled out his phone, scrolled through his pictures, and opened the picture of the ring that he had brought. It was a simple obsidian band, made of simple geometric shapes. It was relatively minimalist, and Freed thought it was perfect for Laxus. He showed his friends it.

"Holy shit," Bickslow grinned. "Our boys all grown up."

"It looks great," Evergreen smiled, taking the phone, and zooming in on the picture. "It definitely suits him as well," She handed the phone back, and her smile was almost disconcerting. "You must have some idea about how you're going to do it?"

"Well, we've developed the tradition of hiking up the mountain every Christmas eve," Freed mused aloud. "I suppose if I can hold off from doing it until then, it would be quite romantic."

Stupidly, both of his friends let out a slight squeal at that.

"You're both ridiculous," Freed tutted slightly, though was grinning now. "I assume I can count on you both to keep this to yourself, right?"

They both agreed to this, and Freed turned back to the cooking he was doing. His eyes strayed over their back garden again, and he smiled softly as he watched Laxus attempting to access whatever eggs may or may not have been laid by their chickens. The chickens themselves were flocking to Laxus and either rubbing against him or pecking at him for attention; for whatever reason they had affinity for the man and loved his presence. He was laughing to himself, and it made Freed grin.

He soon watched as his boyfriend managed to leave the coop and the onslaught of attention from their chickens, and walked down their garden holding a small basket. It wasn't lost on Freed how cliché that they had become – keeping livestock while living in the country – but he found himself too happy to care.

"Only laid two," Laxus said as he walked inside. "It's enough, but we have to go to the store later."

"It doesn't shock me," Freed said, a slight tease in his tone. "You shower them with so much attention no matter what that they've got no incentive to lay any."

Laxus chuckled, and Freed passed him a mug of steaming coffee to warm him up. As Laxus cupped the hot drink, Freed realised that it would be very difficult indeed for him to keep the ring to himself before Christmas.

Because the man before him – dressed in an overly fluffy dressing gown, having just been accosted by adoring chickens, with red cheeks and mumbling through his pancake recipe without realising he was speaking out loud – was perfection. And to not shower the man with as much love and devotion as humanly possible would be incredibly difficult indeed.

~~~

Sunday 13th December, 2026

"I now pronounce you husband and husband," Mirajane declared. "You may seal your marriage with a kiss."

Laxus and Freed moved with practiced synchronicity. They both took a single step forward, placing their hands on the back of the other man's neck, and brought their lips together. The kiss was soft, chaste but filled with emotion and passion and devotion for one another. It was their first kiss as a married couple, and it was utter perfection.

As they pulled apart, the small congregation that sat in the cathedral applauded, with a few cheers echoing around the large room. Both men smiled without dignity nor care for their surroundings, unable to look away from each other's eyes. The room was filled, but it felt as if they were alone.

Similar to their practice-ceremony, they walked down the cathedral isle with their hands intertwined. Laxus was grabbing onto his husband's hand as if he was a lifeline, and the feeling of an equally strong grasp on his own hand was perfect. The blonde could think of nothing but the fact that finally, after six years, he was married to the man of his dreams. That for the rest of their lives, they were bound together through marriage. It was perfect.

Everything was perfect.

It had been a small ceremony, with not many people there. Freed had no living family and Laxus had very little, so other than Makarov it was essentially their closest friends. This suited them both, as neither particularly wanted a large public spectacle.

As they left the cathedral, they say that it had begun to snow gently. The hired cars stood parked a little while away, and their photographer – Reedus – was waiting for them. No bells rung, as was their instructions, and slowly people began to file out of the building so that the pictures could be taken. This all seemed to happen around the two men, with them both too enveloped in their own world of each other.

When the photography started, they followed Redus' instructions. Multiple pictures had been taken, all of which had Laxus and Freed in the middle while different selections of their friends gathered around them. On any other day Laxus might have found it all tedious and unnecessary, but he was too high on the elation to care.

Once Reedus had claimed that the rest of the photographs would include the grooms individually rather than together, Freed leant to Laxus and whispered.

"May I have a minute?" He asked softly.

"Of course," Laxus nodded, knowing what Freed needed.

He removed his hand from Freed's and allowed his husband – a shot of joy rushed through him every time he thought of Freed that way – to walk toward Evergreen. Laxus watched with a soft smile on his face as the woman walked to her car, pulled out a bouquet of flowers from her back seat, and handed it to Freed. The lawyer seemed to have thanked her, before walking to the cemetery attached to the cathedral.

This was why Freed had requested that they get married here, in a town neither near Era nor Magnolia. Initially Laxus had been confused as to why Freed wanted to wed in a cathedral, with neither man being religious, but it made sense. This was where Freed had been raised, and where both of his parents had been buried.

Between the photographs taken with his wedding party – Elfman as his best man, Cana his matron of honour – he found his eyes lingering on Freed, who was now crouched down before a gravestone. His lips were moving as if speaking Laxus smiled at the sight.

Freed really had made progress. It was incredible to see.

Once all the pictures of Laxus had been taken, Reedus asked whether Freed was ready to begin his solo pictures. Laxus glanced to see that Freed was still speaking to his parent's grave, and said that he'd ask Freed, but he might need some time. The photographer agreed and took a step back, deciding to take requests.

Laxus thanked him for his patience, walking towards Bickslow's car first where both his and Freed's coats had been stored. He was already feeling the cold, and suspected Freed would be too. He picked his out first, a large faux-fur lined thing that Freed often referred to as the cloak, given Laxus' tendency not to wear the sleeves. He also removed the red, almost Victorian styled jacket Freed always wore since he had brought it. He'd seen it at a thrift store of all things, and had fallen in love with it. Laxus always grinned at the memory, often teasing Freed with how he used to only wear designer suits.

He walked slowly to his husband, stepping on the gravel pathway to make sure his presence was known. Freed looked up Laxus and smiled softly, which Laxus returned. He placed the coat over Freed's shoulders and looked down at the gravestone, decorated with a new bunch of flowers.

'Here lie August and Myriam Justine, Loving Partners and Caring Parents.'

"You okay?" Laxus asked, and Freed nodded.

"I am. It's nice to see them. Even if I can't actually… see them," He spoke quietly, still crouching before the grave. "I should come here more often; it helps more than I remember. Though I'm sure you of all people know that."

"We could make time to come regularly, if you want," Laxus offered. "I still go to moms grave at least once a month."

"Perhaps," Freed nodded slightly. "Am I needed?"

"We can wait," Laxus shrugged.

"No, I've spoken to them for long enough. No doubt if they can hear me somehow they'd be bored of it," Freed chuckled, standing upright. "And that photographer was rather expensive, if I remember correctly, so I wouldn't want to waste our money."

"That's not important," Laxus said firmly. "If you need more time, you get it."

"Maybe another minute would be nice," Freed admitted.

Laxus nodded. Freed looked down at his parents shared grave, and Laxus wrapped an arm around his shoulder to silently show he was there. He stood beside his husband, the snow falling softly around them and making Freed look ethereal in his beauty. To be able to call this man his husband wasn't something that Laxus would ever take for granted, and he counted himself more than lucky that Freed had chosen to spend his life with him.

As they stood in silence, Laxus noticed that a few tears had begun to fall form Freed's eyes, but he didn't mention any of them. He pulled Freed slightly closer, and allowed his husband to silently cry at his parent's gravestone. This was something that happened every time either man visited the grave of their loved ones, and Laxus was glad Freed now felt he could express his emotions openly.

He pressed his lips against the crown of Freed's head softly, allowing the man to raise his hand to his face and wipe away the stray tears from his cheeks.

"You okay?" He whispered softly, and Freed nodded against him.

"I just needed to get it out," Freed explained softly, as he always did on the occasions where he cried about his parents. Laxus had assured him he didn't need to explain. "But I think I'm ready to get back to it now."

"You sure?" Laxus asked, and Freed nodded.

Removing his arm from around Freed's shoulders, Laxus took a step back. He watched as Freed looked down at his parent's grave again, a gentle and loving expression on his face. It was a look that Laxus adored seeing on his husband's face, and the honesty in the expression warmed Laxus more than he could describe.

"Goodbye father. Goodbye mother," Freed whispered. He placed a kiss on his fingertips and pressed them against the marble gravestone. "I love you both very much."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his breathing. Laxus watched from the side-line as he spoke again, his voice almost silent.

"And for all you have both done, thank you."

~Fin~

#Fraxus Day 2020 #Fraxus Day #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Event #Multichapter #Word Count 7.5k #Fuckyeahfraxus

15 notes · View notes

cle1024 · 4 years

Text

beyond the silver horizon | lfl

member: lee felix

genre: angst

summary: everything you told me, the words you whispered into that stinging winter atmosphere, was spoken far too late. mafia!au

warnings: violence, death

a/n: an anon requested mafia angst with felix, i hope this lives up to expectations <3 i got inspiration for this story after listening to seventeen from the heathers and watching a quiet place, i didn’t think a horror movie could make me that sad but i’m also a notorious crier! also i’m very sorry i disappear for such long periods of time i’m in my final year of school and suck at time management anyway love you

The sky pooled with the blue of faded jeans and snowcloud grey, the abysmal winter taking the common popularity far from the sandy miles and crashing tides. It was at its peak in winter, despite being a beach. It flawlessly transformed from a bustling getaway to a tranquil sanctuary, one you had come to share with another. Felix’s silver hair often matched that of the beyond skyline, the sun’s muted rays being overpowered by cool-toned clouds. Words often went unexchanged in such moments, as the two of you preferred to bask in all the peace and serenity. In those moments, you would feel free—no longer looking over your shoulder with caution, watching your friends walk out of doors they may never walk through again. Instead, it was just waves. Crashing water flowing back and forth, back and forth. They never went away. Felix had never spoken many words while you found yourselves sat on the cold sand together, though the few he aired always stuck in your mind. They were words you’d unknowingly yearned to hear, words that allowed you to escape to a fantasy each night as your eyes closed until the morning.

“Someday, we’ll go far beyond that silver horizon,” he had promised you, “we’ll leave it all behind for a new beginning.”

“You really think so?”

He smiled at you reassuringly as he nodded gently, “I know we will.”

The day Felix met you wasn’t unusual, nor was it anything special at the time. He couldn’t remember how he found himself caught up in the world of drug lords and shady business, but he remembered exactly when he laid eyes on you — four in the afternoon he witnessed Minho leading you to Chan’s office, neither of you with pleasant facial expressions. Minho looked bored, you looked irritated, he didn’t want to know how Chan looked. As much as he expected to watch you disappear into the confines of his boss’ office and never reappear, at five o’clock he observed you leaving the office with Chan, the man smiling with satisfaction, victorious. Felix could remember watching you navigate your way around the base for a few days before Changbin grew tired of the male’s intense observation, said he looked like he was “trying to turn the damn kid into ice!”

From what he understood, though never confirmed, you were down on your luck, broke, and made the mistake of robbing Minho—successfully, much to the dismay of the male’s ego. It didn’t take the bright haired male long to track you down and drag you back to base, not with the expectation of grievous punishment, but with the intention of acquiring you a job. Minho was frequently forgiving, unlike most, and considered you lucky to have chosen him instead of someone else—someone much more ruthless, bloodthirsty. Chan wasn’t hesitant in persuading you to join, Minho was one of the most perceptive people he’d ever met; he was observant, strong-minded, soft-spoken and thought in ways he had never once considered. And he was usually right, but Chan didn’t want to inflate his ego too much.

Three months into the job, as unconventional as it was, you spoke your first words to Felix. They were words he’d heard in countless variations prior, yet something about your voice resonated deep within him, almost as if a ray of moonlight had struck his soul and encased it.

“Chan said we have business together, can I trust you?”

“Always.”

Felix didn’t question you back, despite tradition. Somehow, he knew you’d give the same answer. It was laced in the gentle smile you futilely suppressed.

Trickling down the glass windows, beads of perspiration and rain water scattered across the window pane. Your eyes watched the droplets slide from their original position on the glass to the bottom, replaced by another splash of crystal liquid. Felix glanced at you momentarily; it was bizarre how things had changed so swiftly. Three months since the first time you spoke — the same amount of time it took the two of you to verbally communicate for the first time — yet it felt as if you were engaged in a three year long friendship. The two of you had found freedom, paradise, in the sandy shores of an unpatrolled beach, no matter how abysmal in appearance. The two of you were yet to experience a beach in nice weather, together at least, instead sticking to the depressing atmosphere of chilled winter days, the scenery a colour scheme suitable to Felix’s ash blonde, white, or silver strands of hair. It was coincidental to begin with, then it became an innocent rendezvous requested in moments of loneliness and exhaustion. The freckled male wished he could take credit for the organisation of such ‘bonding’, so to speak, but it was your proposal, spoken as poetically as ever — “perhaps we should make this our own utopia, hey? Watch the oscillation of murky water plunge into abysmal depths.” Felix wasn’t sure how to respond the first time around, the eloquence of your words stunning him momentarily. All his brain could think was: “yeah, whatever that means.” He had simply nodded instead. Though, truthfully, he didn’t really care what it meant. If it granted him time with you, he would be willing to make it a tradition.

That beach became your utopia, a hideaway from the consequences of the lifestyle the two of you found yourselves entangled in. Whether you sat under the shelter of Felix’s clunky black buick or amongst the scattered sand grains, the soothing sound of crashing waves washing the shoreline put the two of you at ease. It was escapism at its finest. Even when the topic of your line of work—if it could even be considered a form of employment—was brought up, it felt as if it were a hypothetical scenario. “If you were a part of the mafia, would you want to escape?” rather than “do you think we could ever escape being in the mafia?” You always answered no while Felix maintained hope, but you both seldomly pondered how you could escape a lifestyle that was so omnipresent.

The pair of you found yourselves sat within the same clean car three weeks later, travelling down a long stretch of smoothly paved highway with obscured chatter being emitted from the silver radio. It wasn’t for a blissful escape this time. Rather, a job—or mission, you still didn’t know how to appropriately refer to the actions you were sent out to perform. Felix knew more of the situation than you knew, mainly because you zoned out halfway through Changbin’s explanation of the whole situation. Then again, you didn’t really care to know the extensive reasoning Changbin had for why certain things had to be done, as long as you got the job done and weren’t fucking murdered for not doing so, you didn’t really care. You’d spent the majority of the four hour car ride staring out the window, watching cars wizz past at illegal speeds, even for a highway, and trees blur into green masses of indistinct leaves and skinny branches. It only became evident that you had reached some form of civilisation when the pine trees evolved into small convenience stores and quaint homes, then towering skyscrapers and elegant apartments. The buzz of the radio, a sound you’d become accustomed to over the hours, was intercepted by Felix’s deep voice, “we’ll have to leave for the museum at six tomorrow evening. I’ll explain the situation on the way, I know you weren’t listening,” he teased cheekily.

You smiled mildly with a roll of your eyes, “you’re the boss—oh, wait.”

Felix scoffed and smacked your shoulder lightly, “get out of my car before I throw you out and leave.”

“Shut it, Lix’. You love me.”

A shit-eating grin was spread across your face as you took your gym bag from the boot, turning on your foot to enter the luxurious hotel. Felix smiled fondly at you—shit. Perhaps he did.

The hotel room was what Changbin would describe as ‘comfortable’, but that chandelier-swinging prick was born into a lengthy ancestry of money—and criminal activity, though you supposed that was irrelevant. It wasn’t really, but it was a four-hour presentation you didn’t want to mentally sit through. Instead, you took in the opulent hotel room with awe and appreciation. White marble tiles spread along the floor, a light gold chandelier adorned with rhinestones dangled over the large dining table. The room was overboard in every possible way, though Chan had brushed it off as “getting into character”. You supposed that it would be more covert to retreat into a hotel equally lavish to the gala the two of you planned to intrude on. That part had almost slipped your mind—the whole criminal part of it. He’d subconsciously experienced the trip as a getaway. It wasn’t a work expense, it was a sumptuous getaway to escape that lifestyle, ignoring the stress of money, drugs, and being tailed by the police. It was freedom—except it wasn’t. It was nothing more than business; everything was just business. Felix, on the other hand, was painfully aware of the situation, in a way that you didn’t know or understand—not yet, at least. The male didn’t hold contempt towards the situation for being ‘just business’, he held contempt for what it should have been. It wasn’t the kind of goodbye he’d wanted to give you, sitting in an over-the-top hotel room preparing for a mission before leaving, for good. He had it all planned out, people who would help him—even Chan knew about the whole plot, for goodness sake, he’d sworn to cover it up as an untimely death. Though, as it drew closer, Felix couldn’t help reject the original plan. It was a solid plan, but it didn’t include you. How could he ever leave without you?

Felix, foolish as it was, didn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning around in the silky blue sheets, feeling them twist around his bare torso, felt much more comforting than sleeping—despite the fact he would escape from the thoughts he felt tormented by. At one point he’d left the room entirely, standing on the balcony as the cold air pricked at his exposed skin. It was winter, how fitting. He’d watched you lay peacefully in the sheets for a few moments, the steady rising of your chest putting him at ease momentarily, until those thoughts came creeping in again. In all honesty, he hadn’t even planned on telling you—or anyone. He would just slip away into the night, run as if his life depended on it—it did, he supposed. With a sigh, the male slipped back into the warmth of the hotel room, sliding the glass door closed to forbid the frosty air from plaguing the room and ruining your peaceful slumber. Fuck, he really couldn’t leave you behind. The frosty bathroom tiled stung the soles of his feet as he splashed water on his face, patting the freckled skin dry with the lightest touch possible, as if he would break if too much force was used. Felix had never felt so close to the edge — the edge of what, he wasn’t certain yet, but something told him he’d understand soon enough.

The sun was steadily disappearing behind the uneven horizon, and you were taking advantage of the last pungent rays of sunlight to prepare for the gala night—you supposed it was better to be early hours before you had to leave instead of minutes. Plus, Felix had encouraged you to do so and he had far more experience than you. He also had ulterior motives in the form of telling you heavy news and a proposal he prayed you wouldn’t reject. Truthfully, he hadn’t even considered how to approach the topic. Did he just spit it out: “I’m leaving”, or was that too harsh? Why did it even matter? It’s not like he would be around to watch the fall out—that didn’t make it any better, though.

“What time do we leave?” Felix’s thoughts were intruded by your querying voice. His head turned in your direction and, fuck, you looked beautiful.

“Uh- seven. Weren’t you listening to Chan?” The slight teasing edge of his voice prompted a playful smile to stretch across your face as you raised an eyebrow.

“When have I ever listened to Chan?” A deep chuckle vibrated in Felix’s chest as he shook his head gently. Of course you hadn’t, you remained as independent as ever, “besides,” you sigh gently as you move to sit next to him on the unmade bed, “the stuff he says just reminds me of the shitty situation I’m in.”

“What do you mean?” The freckled male raised an eyebrow in question. You laughed bitterly.

“The fact I’m a dimestore criminal and always will be. The only time it will end is when I’m thrown in prison—and I’d still be bloody miserable,” your words hung heavy in the air as Felix chewed on his plush lower lip. Fuck it.

“We could leave, together. You know. Start a new life, be happy.”

A sigh passed your lips, a mix of exasperation and misery, “Felix, you know this isn’t the kind of life you can just run away from.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Don’t you want to be free?”

“Living in fear isn’t living freely!” with slumped shoulders, a posture of defeat, the exasperation dissipated from your face, “you should know that by now.”

Mustering up the necessary courage, Felix allowed his deep voice to break through the tense atmosphere, “well—I’m leaving.”

You visibly froze, shoulders rigid and jaw tense as the news simmered in the air. The silence was thick, Felix could feel it melting through his skin and coating his bones, “I’m leaving tomorrow night,” it was the affirmation you didn’t want to hear. The news that, no, this wasn’t some sick joke, this was real fucking life and Felix was leaving you, “I know some people that can help me out, but—” he sighed with hesitance, “I’ll stay if I’m what you choose.”

Felix failed to realise it at the time, but from this distance, painfully aware of the emptiness of the grey grains of sand, Felix knew that the sandy shores were never his idea of paradise. It was the person who sat beside him, enduring the cold weather in a comfortable silence.

It was easier to put on a happy face than either of you had expected. Though, thinking about it, you weren’t sure why you had such little faith in your acting skills—you’d managed to hide your criminal occupation under a law-abiding facade, after all. Felix had briefly run through the plan, meaning he had told you to keep a low profile and follow his lead. You had assumed it was an ordinary job—steal their stash, take out anyone who got in your way, get the fuck out of there. Suffice it to say, you found yourself in awe at the beauty surrounding you. The museum was painted in tones of gold and white, with lush velvet lounges and curtains showcasing the large pristine glass windows. All exhibits were on display, allowing the museum to brag its gorgeous vintage paintings and unique bone collections — you were pretty sure you’d heard Minho brag the same thing, and you were absolutely certain you didn’t let him explain it any further than that. Feeling Felix’s hand brush gently against your arm, you turned your attention to the silver-haired male, suppressing the attraction blooming in your eyes. He looked marvelous. Hair swept back effortlessly with a crisp suit adorning his slim frame. To say he didn’t look intimidating would be a blatant lie, and to act as if you weren’t already immensely attracted to him would be pointless. With an internal reprimand, you raised an eyebrow at Felix, inviting him to proceed with his words.

“Just mingle for a little bit. Go through that door,” he discretely gestured his head towards a set of large dark oak doors, “about ten minutes after I do. Wait in the hall, and if anyone asks, you needed a break from socialising.”

Nodding with understanding, you watched as Felix sent a reassuring smile your way before sauntering across the large room, smiling and greeting other primly dressed men he probably didn’t know. An unpleasant thought plagued your mind, one you desperately wanted to push away from contemplation: as soon as this mission was over and you returned to the base you called home, you would have to watch as he walked away once again, a stride towards freedom. It was something he so desperately craved, you couldn’t bring yourself to take that away from him—no matter how much you wanted to. The sound of the ebony wooden grandfather clock was lost in the sound of absent-minded chatter and fake laughter, yet the hands still moved as each second, minute, passed by. Five minutes had passed. What was Felix doing? Six minutes had passed. Why did you have to wait so long? Seven minutes had passed. Was he in danger? Eight minutes had passed. Would you see him again? Nine minutes had passed. Why didn’t you agree to leave with him? Ten minutes had passed. You were tired of this life. The thought struck you as you clandestinely stride towards the large doors Felix had disappeared behind, pacing a few strides down the hall before leaning against the wall, waiting.

How much time had passed? You weren’t certain, it felt as if time had stopped moving since you leaned against the wallpaper-covered surface. Footsteps alerted you to another’s presence, your head turning in the direction to scope out a potential threat — though your shoulders relaxed as the familiar chocolate eyes of Felix met your own. Fixing your posture, you waited until he was standing beside you, “we happy?”

Felix smiled gently at your Pulp Fiction reference, “yeah, we’re happy. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Placing his hand on the small of your back, he prepared to escort you from the grand location, all the while you pondered why Felix needed a partner when he did everything alone. Though, your questions were answered.

“Not so fast, pal,” you had often feared being murdered by Changbin for not completing a mission, yet for some reason you didn’t fear the potential of being shot in the head by a rival gang.

“Ah, Mr. Hyunsuk, what a pleasure it is,” the freckled male’s response was short yet polite, a false smile stretched upon his face. How did he still look so angelic in the face of death?

“Yongbok,” Felix’s smile faltered, “let’s not pretend. Just return whatever you’ve taken from us and everyone will leave here safely.”

“With all due respect, I believe you’re wrong,” you spoke up — that was your job — “we’ll be keeping our new possessions and leave safely,” to jump in recklessly when things began going sideways. Then, guns were drawn. You can’t recall who drew first, who shot first, but you knew you and Felix had split up to take different vantage points. Peeking from behind the cabinet you crouched behind, you fired a shot towards the muscular bald man shooting in Felix’s direction, who narrowly avoided a bullet between his eyes. How many people had come? You weren’t sure, you weren’t counting. It was pure adrenaline, shooting almost blindly at those who threatened the success of your job. The sound of a gun jamming snapped you out of your daze, forcing you to watch as Felix struggled to identify the problem with his gun. Ah shit, you supposed it was time to do your job. Leaping from behind the bullet-riddled cabinet, you fired towards the moving human targets in rapid succession. One down, two down, a bullet fired into Hyunsuk’s knee, another into his hip. Another gun joined you, Felix’s pistol shooting at the men attempting to pull their boss from the fray.

The pain shot through you before you could process what was happening. It was searing, a deep burning sensation that had you clutching the spot in agony, struggling to stay on your feet. Vaguely, as if rooms away, you heard Felix’s gunfire halt as a thud echoed from the other side of the hall, then you heard footsteps against the polished floor. Rapid, either rushing to help someone or rushing to take their last breath. A pair of arms snaked around your waist and supported your back as you swayed, disoriented.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Felix’s gentle hold on you prevented further stumbling on your behalf. The words couldn’t form upon your lips, your eyes glancing around haphazardly, as if blinking more would help you process the situation you were in. His eyes trailed downwards, widening as he finally noticed the hand haphazardly clutching your abdomen.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” his speech was rapid, his gravelly voice coming out in a corybantic manner as he struggled to find the right action to take. There was a short period where he struggled, laying you down as he attempted to assess the bloody patch hiding beneath your stained hand. Weakened, you found yourself unable to fight off Felix’s movements as he peeled your hand away delicately, breath quickening at the extent of your wound. If he didn’t get you help in the next minute, he knew you wouldn’t make it, “ah, okay—shit. Just—keep your hand on there, pressure, yeah?”

There was no effort to move on your behalf, thus Felix’s hand found its way pressing atop your bleeding injury. Though, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as you smiled gently towards him, “don’t.”

Confusion laced his eyes, “don’t? Y/N, I’m not going to let you bleed out here. I’m not going to let you die!”

You only nodded slightly, “you are. You have to.”

His eyesight grew blurry, his stomach twisted in knots, the croaks of sobs were climbing up his throat as he mulled over your words. His voice quivered, “b-but, I can’t let you die. I need you.”

There were no words to respond to his statement, just a weak and gentle hand caressing his cheek. He could hear footsteps approaching, but he couldn’t find it in him to look away from you—he didn’t care if it was a fatal mistake or not. A deep breath filled your lungs, a stray tear leaking from your eye and sliding down your temple as you mustered up the strength to breathe out the confession you’d been suppressing for years.

It was gentle, angelic in the other’s ears, the words the both of you wished you’d said earlier, “you’re the one I choose.”

Not every story has a happy ending, but at least they have an ending. Even if it tore the soul from someone and stomped on it, that sense of finality was necessary. Felix had seen a lot of pain in his life, far too much loss, yet the final chapter of a story involving him—your story—had never felt so… wrong. Out of place, missing. It wasn’t the ending he wanted for you, though who was he to change fate? There was nothing Felix could do to go back to that time, to redo anything and everything to fix the ending. All he could do was think of how much he loved and lost in a matter of moments.

Sighing as he watched the waves carry your ashes past the skyline, Felix’s voice broke into the crisp air, “one day, I’ll meet you beyond that silver horizon,” he sniffled slightly as the autumn breeze caressed his face, “I know I will.”

34 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

My Favourite (Gigi x Nicky) - Mina

A/N: Im sorry it’s been so many queues! The next fic I write is gonna be reallly long and good and yes so I did this in the meantime. Definitely not my best work but I hope you enjoy it anyway :>

Gigi and Nicky have silently competed over the title of Arcelia’s favourite aunt for months now, until they coincidentally have to babysit her at the same time.

Gigi Goode was a reasonable woman. She was reasonable enough through her childhood that her parents declared that she was a gifted child, even though all she did was study and be a good kid in general. She was reasonable enough in high school that she managed to enter the most prestigious University in the country, and secured the valedictorian title since she went into her first class. And of course, Gigi was nothing sort of an unreasonable woman so she made connections everywhere - work, organizations, charity, so on. What mattered was that she made connections to smooth her life. A reasonable woman needed a best friend, someone to call when she felt down or felt giddy, and for her, the best friend came in the form of Jackie Cox. Tall, had an IQ of 148, liked to read psychological books for fun, and most importantly, she had dimples. The Persian was perfect as a best friend, Gigi adored that woman, aspired to be like her, even. She was successful, beautiful, and had a good sense of humor even though people around them didn’t find it funny.

The brunette had found a reasonable job with a more than reasonable pay, finally could afford the apartment she had aspired to live in since she was a mere high school freshman, and because she was a very reasonable woman, Gigi had planned to hit the club and maybe make out with a guy or girl – she wasn’t picky – because tonight was Friday night and she had made it through a very tough day at work. Some asshole didn’t turn in their report on time and left Gigi reeling because everything had to be delayed. That was fine. It had passed and everything was fine so she was allowed to treat herself to a nice make-out session.

At least until Jackie had called her and asked for her help. “We really can’t miss tonight’s banquet,” she said hurriedly, and Gigi had heard a child crying faintly in the background. “We can’t bring Arcelia because the invitation says no children allowed – “

“And why is that, by the way?” The brunette asked, putting down the tight red dress she was going to wear realising that she wouldn’t be having a make-out session tonight. “Isn’t it your own company?”

Jackie sighed into the phone, Gigi could practically hear the frown on her face. “I know. It’s – it’s ridiculous but Jan’s brother was supposed to go with her but he’s suddenly down with the flu and She refused to go alone. You know how it is.” she sounded so agitated that the brunette couldn’t help but felt pity for her.

“Is Arcie crying?”

“Yeah,” The Persian woman sounded so tired, and Gigi thanked God profusely that she didn’t have a child yet. ��She kind of senses that we’re going to go somewhere? She’s definitely handful.”

The brunette hummed, finally settled on a pretty black sweater after rummaging her closet. “You love her anyway.” She chuckled, fumbling through her purse to find her set of keys.

“Of course. I wouldn’t trade her even for the quietest kid. She – “ Jackie hesitated, “She said she wants a sibling, you know?”

“A sibling?” She had to swallow down her laugh, Jackie could hardly keep track of her wife, let alone two children.

“Yep,” the older woman simpered, “we aren’t ready, not so soon after adopting. We’re still adjusting to the life of parenthood, you know.”

“I know.”

Gigi was in the elevator when Jackie asked timidly, “You’re coming, right?” She could hear the worry in her voice, the sound of Arcelia squealing echoing through the microphone.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, “Be there in 10.”

“Thanks, Gigi.”

She was behind the wheel less than five minutes later. She truly didn’t mind that he had to babysit Arcie on a Friday night when she was supposed to be hitting on people at the club, Gigi adored that kid. It was starting to get repetitive, anyway, ordering a drink, chatting up the bartender, buying a drink for the most attractive person in the room, dancing, kissing, groping, and then the sweaty and sticky situation she would end up into by the end of the night. Perhaps it wouldn’t be repetitive if she had someone to take care of, someone who cared about her just as much as Gigi cared about them. But so far, she hadn’t found one. The people she went to dates with rarely got a ticket into the second date, because she would find them too boring, too daring, too pessimistic, too enthusiastic, and she was a reasonable woman who needed a reasonable partner, so she shrugged them off her shoulders and went home without looking back. Maybe baby sitting her friends kids gave her a sense of commitment, or maybe she just liked watching Arcelia smile.

She was reasonable. Very reasonable, in fact, that she grinned when Jackie opened her door with a distressed demeanor 10 minutes later. “Hey Jack. Where’s the baby?”

“Inside..” She answered, chewing on her. Gigi arched her eyebrow. “Hey, I’m going to apologize to you. You’ll forgive me, right?”

The younger woman tilted her head. “Are you not going to the banquet?”

If it was true, it was truly not a big deal for Gigi. Sure, she hadn’t gone to the club because of this but after thinking about it, she would rather soak in the bath up rather than going to a sweaty and sticky place. She had bought a book last week, too, so maybe he could catch up on her reading. Probably not.

Jackie sighed. “We’re still going. But,”

“Spill it. It’s okay.”

The other grimaced, and Gigi started to feel something stirring in her stomach. Definitely not something good. “Jan didn’t know I already called you to babysit,” she started, “so she texted Nicky to come over and she’s already inside with Arcie.”

Oh. Oh.

Gigi didn’t know what to do with the information.

Nicolette Doll, Jan’s best friend and by extension Jackie’s friend, a tall, thin French woman with golden blonde hair and a stupid accent. Gigi didn’t like her, and Nicky certainly didn’t like Gigi much either. They’d met many times, might’ve even been friends a couple years ago perhaps, and she couldn’t pinpoint when exactly they began to despise each other but the animosity was certainly there. Nicky was a bitch, controlling, ambitious and strikingly similar to herself, which the brunette hated her for. The only time they willingly interacted was when Arcie was involved, silently competing over the esteemed title of ‘Arcelia’s favourite aunt’.

Gigi was the favorite aunt because she bought her favourite chocolate milk last week, obviously. Nicky tried her best, she supposed, she wore daisy perfume and did funny voices for the characters in picture books, made macarons for fun, but of course the brunette was much more likeable or else she wouldn’t have been in the running for so long, and what Gigi wouldn’t give to knock her gigantic ego down a few pegs.

She snorted. She wasn’t going to let Nicky snatch up her hard-earned position. Gigi was Arcelia’s favorite aunt and God help her if she ever lost to Nicky fucking Doll. “Cool.” She replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I’m still going to babysit her.”

Jackie frowned, eyes clearly expressing her hesitation towards the idea. Gigi couldn’t blame her, really, because the last time they babysat together Arcie had cried so much that Jan had refused to talk to either of them for a week. But that was then, this was now and the brunette was sure that they could handle each other just fine.

“Don’t stress too much about it, Jack,” she grinned reassuringly. “Where’s my favourite niece?”

“She’s your only niece.” The Persian woman replied dryly, opening the door behind her and allowing Gigi to step through.

Their apartment was warm, a more modern place combined with little family touches that made it feel homey and safe. Normally Gigi would’ve thrown herself over the couch, maybe opened the fridge to check that the couple was still capable of buying food, but when she glanced at the love seat where Nicky sat covering her eyes delicately with her fingers and counting down from ten in that stupid French accent, Gigi didn’t even attempt to conceal her scowl.

“Hey Gigi, it’s been so long!” Jan beamed from the kitchen, a tiny dark haired child hugging her leg as she struggled to tie up her dress one handed “Someone’s been very excited to see you.”

“Hi honey,” Gigi beamed, grabbing Arcelia’s attention as she came running over to her instantly with a squeal. “and here’s my favorite niece in the world! How are you doing, sweetie? I haven’t seen you in a week and look at how much you’ve grown.”

The child giggled, gently tugging on the brunette’s hand. “Aunty Gigi, play with me! Dolly’s counting to ten while we hide my new teddy!”

Arcelia pointed to a tuft of brown fur sticking out from between some cushions, the tag of what Gigi knew to be a very expensive toy shop poking out as well. Shit, Nicky was pulling out the big guns. Fine, two could play it that game.

“She’s going to grow up spoiled,” Jan complained at the gesture, even though her wife was practically dragging her out the door. “You always buy her things. Why don’t you just have your own children?”

“It’s no fun,” Nicky spoke for the first time, eyes still covered by well manicured fingers. “My own kid requires me actually taking care of them. With Arcie, you two do the taking care and I can do the spoiling.”

The blonde huffed. “Whatever,” then, she kneeled down to speak to her daughter who was still hugging Gigi. “Hey baby, Mommy and Mom are going out now, okay? Be good with your aunts.”

Arcelia grinned, sticking out her tongue playfully.

Jackie bent down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Bedtime’s at 9, kiddo. ‘Ahbak. Don’t throw a tantrum when your aunties tell you to go to sleep.”

“I won’t” The child nodded determinedly, hands on her hips. Gigi laughed painfully, she knew from years of babysitting experience that was most definitely a lie.

“Be careful, okay?” Jackie looked back towards the two woman, lip again pulled nervously between her teeth. “Call me if anything goes wrong. And remember that she’s not allowed chocolate after seven. I’ll be re-“

“We’ll be fine Jackie, go to the fancy banquet or whatever.” Gigi rolled her eyes, shooing her out of the door and pulling Arcelia close to her side. “It’s not like we would ever fight in front of her” she scoffed, shooting Nicky a piercing glance.

“Merdé, of course not. You Americans worry so much.” The French woman remarked. She peaked through the gaps between her fingers with narrowed eyes “Arcie, I hope you hid Jeromeo well because I’m getting hungry!” She growled, stomping her feet against the hardwood. Of course Nicky had somehow made the kid name her bear fucking Jeromeo.

Arcelia shrilled, sprinting to go hide behind the kitchen countertop. “You’ll never find him!” she yelled triumphantly, dark brown hair peaking just slightly overtop the marble. “Not over my dead body!”

“We’ll see about that, petite fille. If I don’t find him, I’ll have to eat you instead!” Nicky grinned, jumping up off of the couch and almost comically pausing when she saw Gigi standing awkwardly to the side, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “Oh yeah, hi Gigi.” The French woman smirked, eyes bright and taunting while tiny strands of hair fell out of her loose ponytail to frame her face.

Right now, it was white blond, cut short to brisk the tops of her shoulders. Gigi could picture herself running her fingers among the strands, hands grazing her scalp and tugging softly. She scoffed to herself, no way in hell was she going to be running her fingers through Nicky’s hair anytime soon. Why would she even want to.

The other looked up, grin tensing into an offended frown. “Are you making fun of me?” She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

Gigi faulted, flinching at the angry tone. “Wh – how? I didn’t even insult you.”

The blonde didn’t stutter, tilting her head. “You scoffed. You think I didn’t hear you?”

Gigi scoffed again, just to prove that she could. She looked over at Arcelia, who had forgotten about whatever chasing game her and Nicky were going to play in favour whispering something to Jeromeo, petting his soft head carefully.

She studied the stuffed animals detailed embroidery, tan fur resembling the French woman’s own hair. “You bought her that?” Gigi asked nonchalantly, mind running through ideas of how she could top it. A toy boat, maybe? Some nice clothes?

“Yeah,” Nicky answered, looking caught off guard. “She actually declared me as the aunt of the week moments before you arrived.”

Gigi scowled, watching as Arcie swung the teddy around fondly in her arms. “Oh please. I’ll have the title by next week tops.”

“You really think I would let you do that?”The shorter woman asked sagely, raising a challenging brow. “I am her favorite aunt ever, so no matter wh-“

“I am her favorite aunt ever times a thousand, you fuck – “

“Fuck!” Arcelia giggled against her wrist, looking up at the two older women with a grin. Gigi gaped, staring down at her with horror and frantically waving her hands in front of the Persian child to will her to stop. Arcie only said it louder, smiling innocently while chanting the curse word around the living room like a nursery rhyme.

Nicky cackled, clapping her hands at Gigi’s misfortune. “Have fun explaining that, Miss Goode.”

She was fucked.

***

“Do you want coffee?” Nicky asked, pursing her lips and gesturing to the kettle sitting on top of the marble counter. Gigi looked up from the couch, smoothing down the layers of blankets and pillows while Arcelia fiddled happily on the living room rug.

The brunette glanced up, blinking, “Can you make me a hot chocolate?”

The older woman snorted. “I was generous enough by offering you a cup of coffee.” Still, she reached for the mason jar full of cocoa powder and carefully sifted it into a mug.

Gigi shrugged, pulling her gaze away from Nicky’s hands (dainty, elegant hands) back to the television. “It’s for Arcie, though.”

The Blonde tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, “You don’t want some?”

“No,” The shorter woman scrunched up her nose, “I need something stronger than hot chocolate.”

“What, like a drink?”

She hummed. “Yeah, can’t drink it with the little one present, though.” Arcelia looked up with a bright smile, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel. Gigi pulled her close, ruffling her dark hair.

Nicky sat down on the sofa after, setting the mug down carefully on the table and taking a sip of her own coffee. “What movie is this?” She asked as the intro music played, running her eyes critically at the screen.

“Frozen. You know, Elsa, Anna, all the magic shit.”

“Shit!” Arcelia giggled quietly, to enamoured with the movie to really pay attention. Gigi groaned, bringing a hand to her head in frustration.

The blonde laughed, throwing her head back, “Jan’s gonna be fuming if she finds out all the words you’ve taught her.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh, picking at the edge of the couch cushions, “At least I’m your favourite Aunt, right Arcie?”

Nicky clicked her tongue, “No way. I’m her favorite aunt, I won this week fair and square.”

“Fine,” The brunette sighed in defeat, rolling her eyes, “But we’ll see about next week. She obviously is gonna pick me.”

Nicky smirked, “You think so? I’d like to see you try.”

The blonde focused her attention back to the movie, not giving Gigi a second glance. The younger woman tried to do the same, but every few minutes she couldn’t help but gaze conspicuously in Nicky’s direction, eyes roaming the others features appreciatively. Gigi told herself it was because the French woman happened to have white blond hair, a very distracting color in the dimly lit room. Yes. Gigi was sure. Nicky Doll’s only attractive body part was her white blond hair. Soft, golden, white blonde hair.

Why was she thinking about Nicky Dolls attractive body anyway? Gigi shook her head, she was just tired because she had had a long day and needed something to relax and Nicky was right there, eyes narrowing in disdain because some character in Frozen did something stupid, lips pursed and bitten a diluted red.

“Why,” The blonde started exasperatedly, startling Gigi out of her thoughts, “does Elsa have to isolate herself in a fucking room?”

“Language,” The shorter woman chastised, glancing down at Arcelia who was slumped over her lap, eyes sleepy and unseeing. “She didn’t want to hurt her sister.”

“Oh s'il te plait, she already has gloves,” Nicky pointed out with a frown, leaning back against the sofa.

“It’s still dangerous.”

The blonde puckered her lips again, ready to complain but clearly thought better, instead running a hand through the child’s hair gently and leaning down to face her, “Hey, sweetheart, do you want a hot chocolate?”

Arcelia shook her head tiredly, eyes unmoving from the screen, so Gigi sighed and tried to enjoy the movie for her sake, even though she had seen in hundred of times before.

At least until Nicky complained again.

“Anna is the stupidest character I’ve seen, and I’ve seen plenty of stupid characters.”

“She’s not stupid!”

The blonde snorted into her coffee. “Falling in love with a man she met on the same day? Stupid, if you ask me.”

Gigi shrugged. “We don’t know about that, really. Don’t you believe love at first sight?”

“I don’t,” Nicky answered curtly. “Love at first sight means you only look at the person’s appearance, right? It means you fall for a person because of their looks, and not their personality.”

“So are you saying,” The brunette laughed a little, “that you’re willing to date anybody as long as they have a great personality?”

Nicky groaned, looking back at the movie. “I’m still shallow enough to prefer good looking woman, Gigi. And I don’t just fuck anybody. I’m not like you.”

She laughed again, leaning her head back against the sofa. “I actually wanted to get laid tonight.” Gigi reminisced, remembering the leather jacket she had left at home. She would’ve looked ravishing in that.

“I don’t need to know that, you dummy.”

Gigi didn’t answer, instead looking down to check on Arcelia, who was already sleeping. It was rather an odd position to fall asleep in, head resting on Gigi’s thigh while her legs tangled in between Nicky’s.

“She’s sleeping,” murmured the French woman quietly.

“No shit.”

“Should we take her to her bed?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “She’ll get cranky if she’s in that position too long.”

Nicky scooped the child up into her arms easily, hand brushing slightly against Gigi’s side. The blonde nodded, signalling to the younger to wait while she put the kid to bed. Gigi didn’t have to be told twice, her mind was reeling. She didn’t understand how she was feeling, heart racing although she couldn’t pin point why. Maybe it had all started when Nicky had touched her thigh, but she’d never felt so romanised by it…ever. Repulsed, sure. But this was an entirely new reaction and it bothered her, so so much.

Nicky wasn’t ugly. She was really attractive and even if the brunette didn’t like her, she had to acknowledge that. Nicky was so attractive, she looked like a model straight out of a fashion magazine that Gigi might’ve fawned over when she was younger and fuck did that make her head spin. Her lips were pretty as well. They looked soft. Gigi wondered if they felt as soft as they looked.

She was fucked. Especially when she realized just how much she wanted to kiss the older woman and melt into her embrace. She was extremely fucked, especially when said woman was in the other room and was coming back to sit next to her to continue watching the movie. With nothing separating them now.

“So,” Nicky announced once the child was taken care of, sitting elegantly back down on the lounge, “You believe in love at first sight, then?”

“Not really. But countless people fell in love at the first sight, so who am I to squash the theory?” Gigi shrugged, eyes burning holes into the television scream to avoid Nicky’s piercing gaze.

The blonde clicked her tongue. “There’s no theory,” she mused, “it’s just statements after statements and people can lie, you know.”

Gigi hummed, “But will we ever know?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I didn’t believe in love until recently, actually.”

Her heart stung at the hint behind those words, shoulders slumping in disappointKent although she didn’t really know why, “Did you finally find a girlfriend? Gee, took you a while.”

Nicky chuckled, picking at her cuticles with a sigh. “No, still single as ever.”

“Oh,” Gigi immediately relaxed, “Well, that makes two of us I guess.”

She knew she had stepped into personal territory, but Nicky didn’t seem to mind. “I want to find someone but I’ve been so busy with work, you know? And dating apps don’t really work for anyone, so..”

“Why are you telling me this? Ew.” Gigi stuck out her tongue, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

“Why?” The French woman raised an eyebrow, “You jealous?”

The brunette scoffed, but it didn’t sound as convincing as it should’ve. “No. Why would I be?”

“I don’t know,” the other replied, “maybe because you have a crush on me?”

Oh god.

Shit shit shit. “I don’t.”

“Gigi,”

The brunette didn’t move.

“Cherì,”

Gigi hesitantly looked up, the French nickname sounding warm in her ears. It felt weird, and yet familiar at the same time. Her breathing hitched when Nicky held her shoulders, expression unreadable and satire.

“You do, don’t you?”

Gigi still didn’t move, still staring at the taller woman in disbelief. She herself had only come to realize that fact just now, but how could Nicky –

Oh. It made sense now. “What am I thinking right now?” She asked breathily, eyes wide in terror.

Nicky looked dumbfounded, emotionless facade faultering. “What?”

“Answer me. What am I thinking right now?” There was no better explanation as to why Nicky was able to guess his feelings right away, plus that stupid French accent certainly added to the witchy aesthetic. Nicky was a fucking mind reader. Gigi was sure of it.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, by reading my mind?” She reiterated, waving her hands to encourage her to continue.

“Why the fuck would I be able to read minds?”

“You tell me!”

“No,” Nicky snapped, “I don’t read minds. You’re just an open book.”

“But,” Gigi narrowed her eyes, “You were able to deduce this five minutes after I realised it?”

The French woman’s jaw dropped wide open, eyes once again widening. “You mean to tell me you realized that you like me five minutes ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And before that?”

“I hated your guts.”

“I hated your guts too, by the way.”

Gigi smirked, lifting her chin, “Past tense”

The blonde rolled her eyes, “Can I kiss you?” She sounded depraved, fingers twitching on top of Gigi’s shoulders.

“What?! Why?!” The brunette jolted, recoiling backward.

The other woman sighed deeply, looking like she was contemplating her choice. Maybe she would’ve taken back the words but it was rather late for that. “That means I like you, you dumbass. And I know you like me back, you’ve been hinting at it for months and I was waiting for you to finally crack.

Gigi stared at Nicky in disbelief, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t give you any hints. What are you talking about?”

“You asked me to put sun screen on your back even though it was the middle of winter?”

“That’s a completely valid ask, you perv!”

“Okay, what about all the times you’ve laughed at my jokes.”

“Maybe I hated you but if you’re funny I’m still going to laugh.”

“When you winked at me during brunch”

“Crystal punched me seconds before that.”

“When you go to the vegetable section with me at the grocery store.”

“Because Arcie likes vegetables?”

Nicky groaned, face red in embarrassment. “I’m so humiliated right now, damn it.”

The brunette laughed, hesitantly wrapping her arms around Nicky’s waist. “No, don’t be. I still like you back, remember?”

The taller woman looked up and stared at Gigi with an open mouth, as though waiting for her to take it back. “Wait, you meant it?”

“Of course,” Gigi snorted. “Enemies to lovers, or whatever.”

They were silent for a moment, just basking in each other’s presence. Gigi’s eyes traced every line of Nicky’s face, wondering what would it feel like if she touched it.

“Can I kiss you?” The blonde asked quietly, rolling her eyes while Gigi giggled at the words.

It was a very sweet kiss.

And because Gigi was a very reasonable woman, she kissed Nicky back

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #nicky doll #gigi x nicky #jankie #lesbian au #fluff #enemies to lovers #mina #concrit welcome #submission #s12

65 notes · View notes

starlightkun · 5 years

Text

sleepless cinderella [dejun]

❧ word count: 14.4k

❧ warnings: none, besides cursing

❧ genre: fluff, childhood friends to lovers au, director dejun, journalist reader

❧ EDIT NOV 2023: a former member has been removed from this fic and series, please let me know if any continuity errors exist so i can fix them!

!this is part of a series, if you have not read the prologue, you will not know what is happening!

Dejun noticed this. There’s no way he couldn’t have, you were staring at him like he was the most wonderful thing you’d ever seen, and you weren’t even trying to hide it.

You were thinking about Dejun. Sure, before that night you hadn’t seen him in over a decade, hadn’t thought about him in almost as long. But now that you had seen him again, you found your mind caught on him. Who would’ve thought you’d ever see him after he suddenly disappeared from your life?

Not to mention that those eleven years had… treated him very well. To put it less eloquently, puberty had hit him like a fucking train. But that was only part of the reason why you found him popping into your thoughts every so often. Most of it was because you had suddenly rediscovered one of your old childhood friends. As you reminisced more and more in your memories, you were gradually remembering that he had been much more than just your neighbor all those years ago. He had been one of your best friends.

You could remember your sixth birthday party, smushing cake in each other’s faces; you could remember playing tag in your backyard and tripping and falling all over each other; you could remember claiming seats next to each other on the first day of school for six years straight; you could remember when he found out that his mother was pregnant with his little brother, he came crying to your house that his parents were replacing him, and you reassured him that they weren’t trying to replace him, and if they did, that you most definitely wouldn’t.

With a sigh, you realized.

You had to see Dejun again.

But how? The lounge was an option, but you couldn’t just go there hoping to be there coincidentally at the same time as him. However, it was also your only option.

As you changed from your pajamas to more acceptable clothes to wear out of your apartment, you also packed up your laptop to bring with you. If you couldn’t find Dejun, you could at least maybe get some work done as well.

You said goodbye to Xuanyi on your way out, who was getting ready to go into her own work. She poked her head out of her room as you had tossed your farewell to her over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

Realizing that you had already told your roommates that you were never going back to the VIP lounge again, you felt sheepish going back on your word. Instead, you fibbed, “Coffee shop. Going to try to get something written or researched.”

“Have fun.”

“See you, Yi.”

With that, you left your apartment.

The cab ride took so long you were pretty sure it would have been faster for you to walk. Definitely much less expensive, at least. After paying and stepping out of the taxi, you stopped on the sidewalks for a moment, patting your pockets. Shit, you forgot your VIP pass. And now you just looked like an idiot standing in front of a building that was too fancy for you and with barely enough money to get a ride back home. Definitely not enough for a full round trip to collect your pass and come back. Maybe you could take the bus, that would be a bit cheaper.

Grumbling, you were just turning around to start looking around for the closest bus stop when you noticed a figure heading in your direction. They had a dark baseball cap and dark face mask, presumably to cover their identity. But it didn’t work very well, considering his face was plastered on the billboard right behind him.

Yangyang stopped beside you, eyes crinkling as he greeted you. You guessed there was a smile concealed by the mask.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I forgot my pass,” you explained, eyes trained on the ground as you still weren’t quite used to talking to an actual celebrity who was not only extremely attractive, but extremely famous. What if paparazzi saw you with him? That could be dangerous.

“I have mine, you can ride up with me,” he offered, nodding his head towards the front doors for you to follow him in.

The two of you stepped onto the elevator together, and you watched silently as he tapped his pass to the sensor on the button panel. The elevator smoothly came to life, lifting the two of you up to the top floor.

“So you’re back,” Yangyang stated.

“Yep.”

“I’m glad you decided to come back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was pretty sure we had scared you off. I’m happy to see we aren’t as terrifying as I thought.”

You let out a light but nervous chuckle, “You kind of are… but I’m back anyway.”

“How are we terrifying?” Yangyang asked, seeming slightly offended.

“You’re not the usual kind of people I hang out with. Not to mention half of you seemed to hate me for no reason.”

“Oh don’t worry about them! Like I said, Hendery and WinWin have sticks up their asses.”

“And the pilot?”

“Oh, Kun? He was just in a bad mood because his father was there. They don’t really get along.”

“Got it.”

The elevator ding!ed before the doors opened, revealing the lounge to you once more. You’d forgotten how luxurious it was in there, caught off-guard again for a moment. Yangyang was completely unfazed, plopping down on the couch and finally taking his hat and mask off.

As he ran a hand through his hair to rid it of the hat hair, you sat at one of the high-tops, pretty much as far away from him as you could. Good god, he was attractive. No wonder he got picked for perfume ads and to be brand ambassador for designer brands, despite his actual profession.

“So any particular reason you came back today?” He asked as you set your laptop down.

You busied yourself with opening it as you replied, to avoid eye contact, “Uh, not really. Needed somewhere quiet to work.”

A slight fib. Saying that you were hoping to maybe coincidentally be there at the same time as Dejun sounded kind of pathetic when you thought about it. So instead, you just gave your secondary reason.

“What are you working on?”

Jeez, this guy was friendly.

“My article.”

“What is it about?”

And that’s when you let out your first sigh of the day. You still didn’t have a subject.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well what are your options?”

“Everything and nothing at the same time.”

Yangyang chuckled at this, and you felt your face flush from all the attention. You seriously were not good at this whole ‘talking to famous people’ thing.

“What kind of article is it? Like, a research article, or could it be an interview?”

“Whatever kind of article I want to write, actually. It’s the final one, so my professor gave free reign of the topic and structure.”

“Well,” the racer stood up, and you found yourself holding your breath as he walked towards you and sat in the stool across from you. “How about you interview me? Not to toot my own horn, but I think I could be a rather interesting subject.”

“Really? You’re just offering an interview to me?” You confirmed, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve done one, and I’d like to help you. If you want to interview me, of course. I get it if you want something more hard-hitting and grittier than some race car driver.”

“No, no, this is great, Yangyang,” you reassured him, scrambling to open a word document. “Thank you so much!”

“Of course.”

You’d barely named your new document and wrote the basics of your interviewee’s name and occupation when the elevator ding!ed again, informing you that someone else had entered the lounge. Fearing that it was someone else whose fame and popularity was also extremely intimidating to you—if Dong Sicheng walked through that door you were pretty sure that you might actually puke—you kept your eyes trained on your laptop screen.

“Hi, Xiaojun!” Yangyang greeted the newcomer cheerily, and you nearly got whiplash from how hard your head snapped up.

Exactly who you had been hoping to see. Xiao Dejun had walked into the lounge. Accompanied by the one person you had feared entering the lounge the most: Dong Sicheng, whose presence you had registered right as Yangyang gave him a bright hello as well.

“Hi,” you gave them both a half-assed wave, however your gaze never went to Sicheng. You could sense that he was annoyed at you being here.

“What are you two doing here?” Dejun questioned, taking stock of the scene in front of him.

Yangyang answered him, “Y/N needed a subject for her article, so I volunteered.”

“Didn’t your company ban you from interviews after what happened last time?”

“This doesn’t count!” He protested with a near whine.

Your eyes widened at this as panic seized you once again. Scrambling to make an intelligible response first in your head as the three men all waited for your reply, you finally were able to say, “I’m sorry Yangyang, I really don’t want to get you in trouble with your company. But thank you for offering to help me with my article.”

“Interview me instead,” Dejun coolly offered before Yangyang could even dignify your statement with a response.

Once again, you were caught off-guard.

“I don’t do interviews!” Sicheng hissed from where he had taken a seat on one of the couches.

“I didn’t offer for her to interview you, I offered for her to interview me,” the director scoffed. “Just because we’re working on the same movie doesn’t mean we’re the same person.”

Right, Dejun was directing Sicheng’s new drama. You actually just wanted to be able to reminisce and validate all your childhood memories with Dejun, but it seemed like you might get a lot more out of it.

“I’d love to, thanks, Dejun,” you accepted it before the actor could continue their bickering, and you found yourself mirroring the smile that flashed across your old friend’s face.

Quickly, you changed the title of your word document and basic details about your interviewee. This was going to be good, you could sense it.

Yangyang slid out of the seat across from you, nonchalantly opening it up for your friend. He wasted no time in replacing the other man.

“Before we start the real interview, do you think we could just catch up a bit?” He requested, almost seeming sheepish about it.

“Of course. It’ll take me a day or so to prep all my questions anyway.”

Dejun reached forward to close your laptop gently for you. When you raised an eyebrow at this, he admitted, “I could barely see your smile over it.”

“Because you’re short,” Sicheng snorted from the couch.

“Not everybody can be a giant, Sicheng!” Dejun shot back with a sharp bite to his tone. His friend had clearly hit a sore spot for him.

Sure, Dejun might not have gotten extremely tall, but you were pretty sure at least Ten was shorter than him. Maybe. But his less-than-playful reaction to Sicheng’s comment was enough that you made a mental note not to bring it up.

Your old friend took a deep breath before saying, “Do you remember my eighth birthday party?”

Dejun had really started with that? Your eyes widened in horror as you vividly remembered it.

“Unfortunately yes,” you wrinkled your nose in disgust at the memory.

“What’s with the look? I think it was funny.”

“It wasn’t when I got grounded for the next two months.”

“What happened?” Yangyang interrupted, invested in your conversation apparently.

Dejun had just opened his mouth when you kicked his shin, a deadly glare on your face. He yelped, shaking his head, “Can’t say. Y/N might knock out one of my teeth again.”

You argued back defensively, “It was loose and you deserved it anyway!”

“You knocked one of his teeth out? At his birthday?” Even Sicheng seemed interested in this story.

“Yep. I couldn’t pronounce my own name right until it grew back,” Dejun confirmed cheerily, to which you rolled your eyes.

“You didn’t mention the fact that you had pulled my hair first, so the only logical thing to do was push you.”

“Into a table.”

“It should’ve been off the playset.”

“Are you sure you two were friends?” Yangyang asked as he and Sicheng exchanged looks of disbelief.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Our parents made us apologize and everything was okay after that,” you assured them, giving the man across from you a pointed look with your next statement. “Dejun learned his lesson, never pulled my hair again.”

He teasingly reached out his hand towards your head, and you immediately slapped it away with a glare. Dejun chuckled, relaxing back into his seat again.

“Okay, how about that kickass science project we did in fifth grade?” He offered up a different, slightly better memory for you.

“When Mr. Xu robbed us of the first place trophy we deserved?” You confirmed your knowledge of it, getting fired up again.

“Minghao only won because he was his son!”

“Exactly!” You brought up the next memory, “Oh, do you remember the field trip to the aquarium?”

“Yeah,” Dejun nodded with a knowing smile. “We got lost and they had to shut down the entire place until they found us.”

“And we were in the gift shop—”

“Having a battle with stuffed swordfish,” he finished your sentence, the two of you laughing as you remembered the panic turning to anger when your teacher had finally found you two.

“We weren’t allowed to be field trip buddies again after that.”

In the middle of remembering when you two were twelve and were supposed to be watching Dejun’s little brother Chenle, and you instead lost him for nearly an hour just to find him eating snacks in the pantry, you were interrupted. Sicheng had stood up and cleared his throat.

“Xiaojun, it’s eleven.”

“Oh shit, is it?” He cursed, checking the time on his phone. It was indeed 11:01.

Dejun swiftly opened his phone to the contacts as he apologized, “I’m sorry Y/N, I need to get back to the set. Put your number in so we can set up the interview.”

“Ah, I understand,” you reassured him as you typed in your phone number, already looking forward to the next time you were going to see him.

“Okay, I’ll see you later then,” he gave you a final smile as he took his phone back from you and joined Sicheng on the elevator that the actor was currently holding up for him.

“Bye, Dejun. Bye, Sicheng.”

“Bye!” Your friend replied cheerfully while the actor grumbled something incoherent before the elevator doors closed.

“So… you guys were more than neighbors then?” Yangyang commented as soon as the pair had disappeared from your sight.

You tilted your head as you looked over to him, “What?”

“That night at the lounge, you had said that you two were ‘neighbors.’ I don’t think neighbors covers six years of being inseparable best friends.”

“I hadn’t seen him in eleven years at that point, it took me a second to remember all of that.”

“Got it,” he nodded as a grin flashed across his face. “You two were cute.”

“Excuse me?”

“Seeing old friends reminisce about their childhood is really cute to me. You guys had a lot of cute stories too.”

“Me knocking his tooth out was cute?”

“I was thinking more-so the aquarium story.”

After chatting with Yangyang for a little longer—during which your blood pressure around him finally began to decrease—you excused yourself, your reason being that you had to get started on planning your actual interview with Dejun.

“Wait—” you stopped halfway to the elevator to look back to Yangyang. “So what happened at your last interview that made your company ban you from them?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, crossing his arms childishly.

“Alright, okay,” you relented, definitely not close enough with him to press him for more information. “But it wasn’t like… illegal or anything, right?”

“No, not illegal. Just a mess.”

Pressing the button on the elevator, you gave a final goodbye to the racer before taking the smooth ride back down.

As you waited for the bus to get back to your apartment, you called up your mother, thoughts still on Dejun.

She picked up after a couple of rings, “Hello, sweetheart?”

“Hi Mom,” you couldn’t help but grin at her familiar voice, it had been a while since you called her.

“What's up, Y/N?”

“Do you remember the Xiaos? They used to live next to us when I was little.”

“Yeah, they had two sons, Chenle and… I forgot the other boy’s name but he was around your age, you guys were good friends.”

“Dejun.”

“Yeah, that’s it! Why are you asking?”

“You’re not going to believe this but…”

Through the bus ride up until you stepped foot in your apartment, you recalled the strange series of events that led to you reuniting with Xiao Dejun again: from the magazine, to the party, to Ten swapping out your tickets and somehow rigging the raffle, to your first terrifying encounter with the VIP members, all the way up to today, when you were able to get lost in your nostalgia and also set up the interview for your article.

“Wow, honey, that’s wonderful that you got to see Dejun again,” your mom’s smile was evident in her voice as you set your laptop bag onto your kitchen table.

Xuanyi was sitting there, and you took the phone off your ear to put it on speakerphone.

“I just got to my apartment, Mom. Xuanyi’s here too.”

“Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N!” Your roommate greeted your mom excitedly, and you heard a door slam open from down the hall.

“Hello, Xuanyi, how’s your fish? It's named Babyface, right?”

“Is that Momma Y/L/N?” Xiao burst into the kitchen, homing in on your phone on the table before Xuanyi could get a chance to answer.

“Hi, Chengxiao!” Your mother greeted your other roommate too.

Leaving the three of them to chat in the kitchen, you took your laptop from its case and plopped down onto the couch. You had to start planning for this interview.

With a buzzing brain and chest airy with anxiety, you approached the building housed at the address that Dejun had sent to you. Apparently, this was the best time for him to start the interview, on set. You were stopped by a man in front of the set of double doors that seemed to be the only entrance into the building.

“ID, please,” he requested.

Your fingers gripped tightly onto your VIP lounge membership card, which Dejun had instructed you to show at the doors, assuring you that you’d be granted access with it. The guard took only a moment to scrutinize it, stepping back to open the door for you.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you,” you nodded to him, taking light steps into the building.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you were greeted with organized chaos. There were so many people rushing around. You’d never really thought about how many people went into producing a movie but now as you looked over the swarm of employees, it was honestly terrifying. Especially because you couldn’t see Dejun.

Your eyes landed on your next best thing: Sicheng. He was seated in a chair beside a pretty woman, a makeup artist attending to his face. Knowing nobody else, you steeled your nerves and made your way towards him, further into the studio. His hard eyes locked onto you, watching with a raised eyebrow as you continued nearing him.

Stopping in front of him, you willed your voice not to shake as you addressed him, “Hey, Sicheng. Do you know where Dejun is?”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” He scoffed, gesturing to the makeup artist attending to his eye makeup.

“Oh, sorry for uh—sorry for asking.”

The woman in the chair beside him perked up to address you, “You’re looking for Director Xiaojun?”

“Yes, I am,” you were more than happy to focus on her friendly face rather than the pissed off one of the man next to her.

“He’s on set with Xukun and Junhui right now,” she gestured to a set nearly hidden behind the multitude of cameras and other equipment just off-frame.

How you hadn’t noticed it when you first walked in was beyond you, it was in the center of the chaos. Dejun’s forehead was barely visible over a low lightbox, however the two men that he was gesturing around to had no issue being seen despite the heavy equipment.

“Ah, thank you…” you trailed off, waiting for her to introduce herself.

She gladly did so, “Yuqi. Song Yuqi.”

“You seriously didn’t know her name?” Sicheng interrupted your conversation, making you more ticked off than nervous. He better not keep being like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m not very well-versed in dramas and drama actors.”

“Oh it’s quite alright, I don’t have an ego about it,” Yuqi reassured you. Her eyes drifted to Sicheng for her next statement, “Unlike some co-stars of mine.”

He sneered back at her pointed quip, and you held back a giggle at the truth of it.

“Anyway, thank you again, Yuqi.”

“Hey, what’s your name, by the way?”

“Y/N. Y/L/N Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

With a final polite nod to Sicheng, you refocused your attention to the set, desperately searching for Dejun again. You couldn’t see him, but the other two men were still visible, thankfully. As you got closer, you kept your sights trained on their heads, narrowly avoiding the other crew members bustling around.

Right as you got close enough that you were comfortable calling his name out, a familiar figure blocked your view, cutting you off from your task completely. A familiar figure you weren’t expecting to see here.

“Hi, Y/N!” That same bright smile was on his face.

“Oh, hey, Yangyang,” your gaze dropped to your notebook and pencil that you held even tighter in your grip now. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest star!” He informed you proudly.

“You act too?”

“Well, this is actually my acting debut—”

“As a nightclub patron whose only line is ‘One whiskey, please.’” Dejun’s voice was surprisingly tart as he broke into the conversation, appearing right beside you.

You could practically see Yangyang’s chest deflating as this was revealed. Then your eyes flitted over to the much more comfortable area of your friend’s face, your anxiety nearly fading away again. Except for the odd sternness across his features as he addressed the driver.

“This is my interview, Yangyang, remember? Or did that whole conversation go in one ear and out the other?”

The words were supposed to be joking, friendly banter, you assumed. Except they came out just harsh enough that they could be interpreted as a stinging insult.

Yangyang was unfazed, however, jovially pointing out, “These ears are what got me my first sponsporship!”

At your look of confusion, he chuckled, “I’ll tell you the story sometime, Y/N.”

Dejun pointed to the chairs that Sicheng and Yuqi had previously been sitting on, “Makeup needs you, Yangyang.”

The makeup artist waiting there had her hand on her hip, and her unamused expression was clear from where you were standing.

“Oh, of course!” Yangyang started half-jogging away backwards, still facing you. “You’re sticking around for my scene, right, Y/N?”

“Yangyang, watch—!”

Just before you could finish your warning, the racer had crashed into a crew member. That was carrying a tray of coffees. One cup went completely flying from the tray across the room, the others knocked to the ground and immediately crumpled under bodies.

As you watched the horrendous aftermath, Dejun tsked, “He is a hazard to have on set. Never hiring him for another cameo again.”

“How does he function for races or photoshoots then?”

“He’s never this excited for a race or a photoshoot.”

Yangyang was fervently apologizing as a stylist was now out, chastising him for ruining what you guessed was supposed to be his outfit for the scene. Which now had coffee all down the back. Not to mention, it was all over the crew member and the floor as well, and four people were now going to be missing their caffeine.

“Enough with the trainwreck,” Dejun took your attention away from the wreck, leading you towards a group of chairs on the edge of the set.

One was clearly labelled ‘DIRECTOR XIAOJUN,’ another ‘ASSISTANT DIRECTOR LIN,’ and a third on the other side of Dejun’s that was unmarked. He gestured towards it, and you found your eyes widening as you realized that he had reserved it for you.

“I get to sit next to the Director?” You questioned, hesitantly moving to be in front of the chair.

“What better way to get a feel for what I do than to be right there?”

“I won’t be in the way?” You still weren’t sitting in it, eyeing it warily.

“If you were going to be, I wouldn’t have stuck you there.”

“It’s true, Director Xiaojun runs a tight ship!” Someone had popped up beside your friend, startling you into nearly falling into the chair.

With amusement on his features, Dejun gently ushered you to sit down before introducing the man beside him, “Y/N, this is Assistant Director Lin. Assistant Director Lin, this is Y/L/N Y/N, she’ll be interviewing me for the foreseeable future.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Y/L/N,” Assistant Director Lin bowed deeply to you.

You returned it to the best of your ability still in the chair; it was so cramped between the equipment and Dejun that you couldn’t stand up to properly bow to him.

“Oh, you too, Assistant Director Lin.”

He focused his attention back to your friend, “We were ready for the scene, sir, however Mr. Liu’s coffee mishap has set the schedule back a few minutes.”

“Very well. Have Xukun, Sicheng, and Junhui review their lines one more time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the assistant director disappeared into the crowd of people.

Assistant Director Lin’s use of ‘sir’ when addressing Dejun, despite most definitely being older than him, as well as formal referral of you and Yangyang had caught you off-guard.

“He’s rather… mannered,” you commented, taking a moment to settle on the adjective you wanted to use.

“I gave up on asking him to stop calling me ‘sir.’ Oh, and he will only respond to ‘Assistant Director Lin’ as well. If I hadn’t been the one to review his resume, I wouldn’t know his given name.”

“What is it?”

“It’s… oh. Uhm—I forgot, actually.”

Meeting his eyes, you couldn’t keep in your laughter for long, giggles coordinated with Dejun’s.

As you sobered up, you went back to the real reason you were here, “Okay, one more question before official interview questions.”

“Shoot,” he sat in his chair finally, resting his arm against the armrest closest to you.

“What should I call you? Xiaojun, or Dejun?”

“Dejun, if you don’t mind.”

“All these people call you Xiaojun. The lounge members—your own friends—call you Xiaojun.”

“Xiaojun’s my professional name.”

“Is this not professional?” You tilted your head to the side, half-teasing him.

“Ah, you know what I mean,” he shook his head, light smile at your poking fun of his words. “You’re… you.”

“What?” The question came out as an airy chuckle, concealing how your heart had stuttered at the simple sentence that could hold so much sentiment.

“You’ve always called me Dejun, I’m not going to force you to start calling me something else now.”

“I’ll call you Xiaojun if that’s what you want.”

“No, I—” he paused, hand touching your arm for a moment. “I want you to call me Dejun.”

“Alright, Dejun. Now that that’s settled—”

A finger had just slipped under the cover of your notebook, primed to flip it to your first page of questions when someone shouted out ‘Ready!’

From directly behind you.

The voice reverberated through you as you whipped around to be faced with Yangyang. Yet again. This time in a different outfit than before. One that didn’t reek of coffee.

“Ready, sir!” Assistant Director Lin had appeared at Dejun’s side again.

This prompted you to look around the set, and you realized than that actors had taken their positions on the set, all the seats behind equipment had been filled by the operators, and everything was ready to go for the scene. You had been too enraptured by your conversation with Dejun that this all happened without your awareness. That was rather embarrassing.

Dejun was not caught off-guard at all, however, instead focusing his sharp eyes to the scene before him. You were pretty sure he was making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be, without a reference. Did he have all these scenes envisioned and memorized?

Wordlessly, he gave Assistant Director Lin a slight nod, to which the older man leaped into action.

“Quiet on the set!” He yelled out, a hush falling immediately over the entire sea of people.

You eagerly took notes of the process of getting ready for a take, watching as the assistant director took the clapperboard, then moved in front of the camera. He announced the date, scene, and take before snapping it and hurrying off-frame.

The scene started off with Yangyang’s short and sweet line before the camera panned to the actual main characters and their conversation. You didn’t know much about the plot of this drama, but from what you could tell, it was a sci-fi-esque take on a classic love triangle plot. Some rather interesting sub-plots were hinted at in this scene as well, and in the back of your head you hoped that you’d be around to watch them develop.

Except Yangyang kept doing something to mess it up. Either stumbling over his three words, tripping over the carpeting, accidentally hitting a low-hanging boom mic, or forgetting to keep quiet after he went off-camera. Dejun, with a prominent vein in his neck, called for lunch break after a near hour of these mishaps.

You looked at him with a sympathetic grimace as he grumbled, “I know it’s not even 11 AM, but I was one more shitty take away from strangling Liu Yangyang. I’m never letting him within ten miles of my goddamn set again.”

“It was nice of you to give him the opportunity, though. He seems really happy to be able to act,” you tried to put a nice spin on it, earning you a tense smile from your friend.

Dejun changed the subject to a more neutral one, “Unfortunately, a lunch break for the crew doesn’t always mean a lunch break for the Director. I have to go back over the takes to see if there’s anything viable. I also need to talk the lighting guys and set coordinators for the next scene we’re doing today— well, hopefully today.”

Sensing where this was going, you gave him a reassuring half-smile, patting his arm, “You go work, Dejun. I’ll go mingle with the crew. Understand all the people that help produce a movie, you know. It’ll help with the article.”

“Looks like you won’t get the opportunity,” he rolled his eyes at something behind you.

You turned around to see Yangyang approaching the two of you, “Hey Y/N! You going to eat with us?”

“Who’s ‘us?’”

“Me, obviously. And Sicheng.”

“So far not all that appealing.”

“I won’t take that as an insult, and instead continue my list; Yuqi, Xukun, and Junhui as well.”

Looking to Dejun one more time, who seemed reluctant but steadfast on his position of not being able to eat with you, you then shrugged, “Sure, yeah. I’ll eat with you guys.”

Seated at the edge of the table beside Yangyang, with a modest plate of food in front of you, you reviewed your notes briefly. Your ears were still listening to the conversation at the table, trying to figure out the dynamics and waiting for anything that could be pertinent to your article.

“So you’re a reporter, Y/N?” Yuqi’s voice snapped your full attention to the table of actors you were sat at. And the table of actors’ full attention to you.

“Ah, journalism graduate student, actually,” you corrected her gently. “I’m doing my final piece right now, and Dejun offered for me to do an interview with him.”

“Dejun? How exactly do you know our director?” Xukun spoke up, waving around a french fry almost accusingly.

Oh jeez, were you going to tell them the full story? Only one part of it? Which part, though?

The easier one, obviously.

“We were friends as kids.”

“And now?”

“What?”

“You said you were friends when you were kids. So, now what are you?”

You were taken aback by what Xukun was implying, gaze shifting to your plate, “F…riends?”

A thwack followed by a groan from him were audible, and you looked up to see Yuqi glaring at him, her hand poised to smack the back of her co-star’s head again.

“Don’t be a creep!” She hissed, turning sweet again as she returned her gaze to you. “Don’t mind Xukun, he’s too curious for his own good sometimes.”

The actors continued chatting as you listened in on it. You were full before you had finished your food, then got an idea. Excusing yourself from the table, you went to the buffet to fill your plate again, then scanned the room for a moment.

Dejun was still in his director’s chair, reviewing clips on a screen, his mumbles becoming audible as you approached him. He was too enraptured by his work that he didn’t notice you nearing him until you lightly tapped his shoulder. With an eyebrow raised, he looked up at you attentively.

“You haven’t eaten yet, Dejun.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. You’d kept an eye on him during lunch, and he hadn’t moved from his chair the entire time, nobody bringing him food either.

“Oh, thanks, Y/N,” he set his notebook aside to accept the plate of food into his lap.

“So have you been able to get anything useful?” You asked, referring to where the screen was paused over one of the many takes.

“Not really,” Dejun shook his head before stuffing a forkful of macaroni salad into his mouth. He reached forward to press play on a keyboard, the screen kicking into motion.

This was one of the better takes, where Yangyang had tripped over a piece of carpeting on his way out. A small ‘oof’ could be heard, but because this was the camera focused on the other three actors, you couldn’t see him trip.

“Couldn’t you just edit out that audio?” You suggested, not knowing much about editing film, but if Game of Thrones could regularly CGI humongous dragons, you were pretty sure a small noise could be cut out.

“Yeah, but there’s still something off about it.”

“Yangyang’s trying his best.”

“Not talking about him right now, actually,” he chuckled, taking a sip from his water bottle. “I have been a little harsh on him, haven’t I?”

“You might want to try to lighten up a little.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m saying that the feel of the scene isn't right. It's too blue.”

A thoughtful frown on your face, you said, “The scene doesn’t feel sad at all to me.”

“No, I meant literally blue,” Dejun chuckled. “The walls, the chairs, the stools, the bartender's outfit. It’s all too blue.”

He waved over a staff member you were pretty sure was a stylist, who had finished eating around the same time you did and went to her station. She hurried over. You expected him to ask her to switch out the bartender's outfit, but instead he requested that she make the three main actors' outfits more contrasting and less complimentary. Then he gestured for a lighting guy to come over, adjusted a few things there, and finally got a camera operator to adjust his filter setting to make it a little bluer.

“Wait, it was too blue, but you're making the video bluer?” You questioned, hand hovering over your paper as you had been writing this whole process down.

“Yeah, the scene as a whole was too blue. So I’m making the main characters warmer and stand out while turning up the coolness of the background to contrast it. The blueness and monotony of the background fits the dialogue and connotation a lot better than when everything was all blue.”

Despite taking in every word eagerly, you still found yourself at a loss when he had finished his explanation. He shifted in his chair as he chuckled awkwardly, coughing before apologizing, “Sorry if that didn’t make sense.”

“As long as it makes sense to you,” you shrugged, watching as the crew went to follow his orders.

After your first day on set, you’d gotten a lot of good information, but you couldn’t figure out what direction you wanted the article to go in. While Dejun was becoming a rather popular director, it wouldn’t do your writing skills any justice to write it out in a simple Q & A format, not to mention that he wasn’t popular enough that the average person would want to read it. A ‘Day in the Life’-type piece felt too trite, not to mention that it would only require you being with him for one day. And you definitely didn’t want to spend only one day with Dejun.

That was a rather selfish reason, you could admit to yourself as you transferred your notes to your word document that night, a fond and almost bittersweet smile coming to your lips as you recalled the day’s events through your transcribing.

A buzzing came from beside your notebook, and you looked over at your lit-up phone screen for a moment. It was an incoming call, the name making you a little more excited than it should have. You accepted the call, putting Dejun on speakerphone so you could return your fingers to the keys.

“Hey, Dejun,” you greeted him, peering at the time on your laptop inquisitively. “It’s almost two a.m., why the hell are you awake?”

“Oh, did I wake you up?” He asked sheepishly.

“No, I was already awake. But why are you awake?”

“I just got back from a late dinner.”

“Very late.”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, what’s up?” You figured he had a real reason for calling you, rather than to tell you about his very late dinner.

“Oh, uh tomorrow I have a nighttime shoot, so I figured we could get lunch, maybe? To continue the interview, you know.”

Your hopes fell out of your mouth with a disappointed sigh, “I can’t, Kunhang and Yangyang already invited me out to get lunch and I said yes. Maybe I could tag along to the shoot again? If it wouldn’t be a bother to you, of course.”

“When did he ask you to lunch?” Dejun focused on the first half of your response, rather than answering the actual question you had asked him.

“Yangyang? Oh, since you had stay after the shoot, I ended up walking out with him. Kunhang was already picking him up anyway, and it was kind of a spur of the moment thing but they mentioned that they were getting lunch tomorrow and I should come with them,” you explained. “I think I’m finally getting more comfortable around Yangyang.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the natural response when you mean a famous person for the first time in your life is to be super nervous. I can’t help it! Social anxiety. But he’s really nice, and since Kunhang is coming too, I think I’ll be alright. I wasn’t acting too weird today around him, was I, Dejun?”

“No, you seemed fine,” his voice was strangely hollow as he replied. “So you’re coming to the shoot, then?”

“If I wouldn’t be a bother to you.”

“You won’t, I’d really like having you there, Y/N. It’s going to be a cool scene, Sicheng jumps off a bridge.”

“Oh thank god.”

Dejun’s giggles through the phone speakers brought an affectionate simper to your face.

“So what time and where?”

“I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

You expected that next he’d hang up, but instead, he asked, “So why are you up this late?”

And you were glad that he did, not quite wanting to hang up yet, and more than happy to keep talking to him, “Typing up my notes from today.”

“Oh! Sorry, am I distracting you?”

“No, you’re okay. I’m almost done anyway, and it’s nice talking to you, Dejun.”

As you finished up the rest of your notes, you chatted with Dejun about this and that, and eventually fell asleep in your bed, cozy under your blanket and still on call with him.

In the morning, you woke up with a faint smile across your face and pleasant feeling already in your chest. Until you saw that your phone was at 8 percent battery. You’d forgotten to plug it in before crashing in the middle of your call with Dejun. And it was almost eleven in the morning. Yangyang and Kunhang were supposed to be picking you up for lunch at noon. Fantastic.

You left your phone plugged in as you scrambled to take a shower, dry your hair, find an outfit, all while fielding questions from your roommates. They just so happened to both be home the time that you were getting picked up for lunch by a famous F1 racer and his less famous robot builder friend, both of whom you had met at the VIP lounge you swore you’d never go back to or interact with the members of again. So yeah, you had some questions to answer.

Right as you yanked a shoe on, your phone buzzed from your nightstand. Chengxiao, who was already at the head of your bed anyway, rushed to grab it.

“It’s Yangyang!”

“Put him on speakerphone.”

You couldn’t even try to take the phone from her or make the call private, you still had another shoe and sock to get on, as well as a wallet to find in the mess of your living room. Not to mention that you imagined it was him calling to let you know that they were here, giving you even less time to rush out there.

As soon as she had accepted the call and deftly put it on speakerphone, you were greeted by the garish sound of yells, thankful that the phone hadn’t been pressed up against your ear; you would’ve lost some hearing.

“Hi Y/N!” Yangyang yelled in sync with Kunhang’s unenthusiastic deadpan. The call must be on Bluetooth in the driver’s car.

“Hi, guys,” you replied as you stood up, taking your phone from Chengxiao and unplugging it to take it out to the living room.

Chengxiao, and Xuanyi—who had been watching with amusement from your desk—followed you out there.

“We’re here!” Yangyang announced.

“I’ll be down in a sec—”

He cut you off, “No, we’ll come up and get you! What’s your apartment number?”

Your roommates looked at each other and you with wide eyes, presumably because they were about to come up to your humble apartment.

Normally, you would’ve insisted on just taking the short elevator ride down, but this would give you more time to search for your wallet that was definitely fucking hiding from you or something.

“601.”

“Okay! Be up in a bit!”

With that, they hung up.

You were still digging through your couch cushions when a resounding knock came at your front door. With a groan, you had to give up your search, not wanting either of your roommates to get the door. You held them back with a pointed look as you opened it wide enough for you fit your face and a knee through it, but not wide enough for your roommates to see all of them. The two men were waiting there patiently, greeting you with wide grins.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but I can’t find my wallet, so if you could just give me a minute—”

“I’ll pay for you!” Yangyang immediately offered.

“No, I couldn’t—”

“He’s paying for me,” Kunhang interrupted you this time, a slight snicker accompanying his words.

“Yeah, it’s fine!” The other man reassured you. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

You knew he was just trying to jest to make you feel less guilty, but somehow that comment made you even more-so. Looking like a gold-digger or exploitative person was not what you wanted.

After a second of deliberation, you sighed, “Okay, sure.”

Looking over your shoulder, you threw a goodbye to your roommates, “Bye Xiao! Bye Yi! Remember, I’m coming back late, please don’t hit me with a frying pan!”

“We don’t have pans,” Xuanyi pointed out.

“Right. See ya!” And with that, you shut the door behind you, now in the hallway with Yangyang and Kunhang.

At the restaurant, you finished putting in your order, taking a sip of your drink as you sat beside Yangyang, Kunhang across the table from you two.

“So, what are you doing after this that’s going to make you so late to getting home?” Yangyang questioned, waiting for you to finish swallowing.

“Oh, I’m going to Dejun’s filming again, to continue the interview. It’s a night shoot,” you explained. “Originally, he had suggested lunch, but since I was already getting it with you guys, we settled on the set again.”

Yangyang tilted his head to the side as he replied, “We would’ve been okay with you cancelling on us. It’s for your article, after all. That’s work stuff, we get that.”

“Thanks, I just hate being wishy-washy and flaky. If I make a plan, I like to stick to it.”

That was true, but in all honesty, you kind of forgot that seeing Dejun wasn’t just hanging out with your old friend again, it was for an interview, for your article that would determine pretty much your entire career. You needed to start getting serious about it, quick.

Speaking of cancelling things for work, in between finishing your entrees and your dessert arriving, Yangyang had gotten a phone call from his manager. Emergency meeting at his agency, he had to leave ASAP. Couldn’t even wait for his dessert to take it to-go or anything, instead offering it up to the two of you that were left, as well as throwing down some bills that you were sure would pay the bill and tip at least three times over. But you couldn’t debate that with him as he rushed out.

When your desserts arrived, you got an idea, requesting the waiter put Yangyang’s in a to-go box. You’d bring it to Dejun.

“What are we gonna do with all this money?” You questioned after the waiter had made you change, and you’d set down a sizeable tip, still left over with a lot of money.

“I’ll give it to him the next time I see him,” Kunhang stuffed it in his pocket.

“You’re going to keep it.”

“Yep,” he stood up, cracking his back before leading the way out of the restaurant. “So where am I dropping you?”

“You don’t have to walk me, I’m sure you have something to do, I can take the bus.”

“Nope, Yangyang texted me to make sure you got to the shoot fine, and unfortunately I owe him one. So, where am I dropping you?”

You checked the time as you stopped in front of the subway entrance. It was only a little after three, Dejun didn’t want you at the address until six, and if your mental map was correct, it was only a twenty-minute ride to get there.

“Uh, I guess my apartment,” you sighed, following Kunhang’s lead and walking down into the entrance. “Dejun doesn’t want me at the shoot until six, I’ll take the bus from there I guess.”

“Hmm… call him.”

“Why?”

“Do it, say that lunch is over.”

“And?”

“My point will be proven.”

“What point?”

“Call him.”

Begrudgingly, you did so, hoping you weren’t interrupting anything important. The phone rang twice before Dejun picked up.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you brightly. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uhm, lunch is over,” you stated, looking at the robot builder in confusion, still wondering what point he was trying to prove.

“You can come to the set now, if you’d like. I’m here already.”

Kunhang gestured victoriously at your phone as the subway car pulled up.

“Sure, yeah. Be there in a bit.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up, you read off the address to Kunhang as you tried to determine what point he was talking about.

“So… what did that prove?”

“Dejun’s a workaholic.”

“Oh.”

For some reason you were disappointed, kind of hoping that he was hinting at something else.

“A workaholic that makes a lot of exceptions for you.”

There it is. A few words whose implications made your stomach flip and your cheeks blush like a dumb schoolgirl with a crush. Oh god, a crush. Do you have one Dejun? You weren’t eight anymore, but that’s how you felt around him. It'd only been a couple of days, there was no way.

You needed more information.

“What do you mean? What exceptions?”

“Other than Sicheng and Yangyang, none of us have been allowed to step foot on Dejun’s set.”

“You’ve never visited him at a shooting?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s an interview, I’m sure that’s why he’s made an exception.”

“He’s done interviews before. At their offices.”

“What are you trying to say, Wong Kunhang?” You finally snapped.

This back and forth was killing you, especially because you had just sworn to yourself a couple hours ago that you were going to be serious and professional with this article. Which was going to be hard if you had a… a… crush on Dejun.

He had a shit-eating grin on his face as he shrugged, “Nothing.”

“You’re not very helpful.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Kunhang slowed to a stop a bit far away from the address Dejun had given you. Mainly because the address was a blocked-off bridge that had lights, cameras, sound equipment, police barricades and security cars in a radius around it.

“I would offer to walk you the rest of the way, but it looks like you don’t need me to,” Kunhang gestured towards a figure making its way towards you two.

Stepping away from your companion, you gave him a farewell, “Thanks for the company, Kunhang. I actually had a really good time.”

"Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a peach,” he scoffed before taking off down the street.

You met Dejun halfway, notepad and pencil out at the ready.

“Hey, Dejun. Thanks for letting me on set early, I hope it’s not a bother to you.”

“Y/N, you’re never a bother to me, stop saying that,” he reassured you, words sending pangs straight to your heart.

Professionalism, Y/N. Serious journalist doing an interview here.

“Right.”

He started leading you back towards the actual set, “So just Kunhang dropped you off? I thought you were out with him and Yang.”

“Yep, Yangyang had to leave lunch early. Speaking of—” you held out the small to-go box for him. “Brought you dessert.”

Okay, not so professional. Now was friend-time. When you got past the greetings you could start interview-time.

“Thanks, Y/N!” Dejun accepted it, opening the lid to peer in curiously, “Tiramisu. That’s Yangyang’s favorite dessert.”

“Yeah, he left lunch before he could get his dessert, might as well not waste it.”

Your friend had a strange look on his face before it broke into a smile, “His loss, my gain.”

As you took in your surroundings, you wrote down a few key notes. No actors yet, just the supporting crew. Although most of them were just hanging around, presumably either on break or already finished their part for setting up today. Dejun kept walking past the cameras, past his director’s chair, and past the groups of folding chairs holding staff members.

You briefly wondered where he was leading you, until he slowed to a stop right in the middle of the bridge, swinging a leg up to sit on the ledge of it. Still holding onto the boxed tiramisu.

He gleefully found the plastic fork you had also tucked into the box, taking a bite of it before addressing you, half-chewed dessert still in his mouth, “You just going to stand there?”

“Will I die if I fall off?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright,” you shrugged, hopping up beside him.

However, the bridge was curved, and you had ended up on one of the steeper parts of it, immediately feeling off-balance. Instinctively, you scooted towards a flatter portion of the ledge. Which just so happened to be where Dejun was. Before you could scramble back to your more precarious position, your friend had linked his arm through yours then continued to eat.

Now accidentally pressed up against his side, arms connected, and with your feet dangling over the almost peaceful river below, you were quickly beginning to realize just how hard it was going to be for you to be professional.

“Just like at your seventh birthday,” he stated, the memory coming back to you suddenly.

The two of you sitting at the top of the slides on your playset, your arms linked together, and one giant piece of cake with two forks sticking out of it between the two of you. You were pretty there was a picture of it somewhere in your parents’ house.

“Yeah, except we’re eight times higher and there’s no slide.”

“I don’t remember you being such a buzzkill.”

“We haven’t seen each other in eleven years ago, Dejun. People change.”

You weren’t sure why your words sounded much harsher than you meant, or why your chest hurt so much when you saw the momentary flash of upset across his face.

Quickly, you went to smooth over the moment with another memory, “You used to be the buzzkill out of the two of us, actually. Remember when your brother was born?”

“What?”

“I called him cute and you pouted for two hours until I said that you were cuter.”

“That’s not being a buzzkill.”

“Right, that’s being a needy bitch.”

“I was six!”

You giggled at his indignation of you calling six-year-old him a needy bitch, bumping your shoulder against his affectionately.

He shook his head at you before taking another bite of the tiramisu.

After Dejun finished the dessert, the two of you managed to get off the ledge without falling off the bridge itself, walking to find a garbage can for his trash. You brought your notebook and pencil back out, forcing yourself to refocus back on the interview. This was your entire future, you reminded yourself.

Scanning the questions you’d made from your previous notes, you picked one that had stood out to you, “So, colors are pretty important to you as a director?”

“Yeah, they are.”

At his full stop there, you raised your eyebrows a little, gesturing for him to expand on his answer. He sighed, as if he didn’t want to tell you anything more. After walking a little further from the set, he relented.

“Uhm, moods, feelings, people, and moments all have a—have a… color to me.”

This piqued your interest, and you listened intently as he somewhat reluctantly continued on.

“As a director, colors can affect people’s perceptions as much as dialogue. And I see it in my everyday life, too.”

“Kind of like synesthesia?”

He tilted his head back and forth with a thoughtful frown as he tried to find the words to describe it to you, “It’s not necessarily synesthesia. I don’t see them or have an actual sensory experience of the colors. I just kind of… feel them. Make an association between them and the person or moment.”

“I still don’t quite grasp it,” you admitted, much to his disappointment. “Give me an example! Uhm… what color is Yangyang to you?”

“Yang is electric green.”

“Why?”

Dejun’s lips had a smile tugging at them as he explained, “Partially for the paint job of his older car but also for his excitable but sometimes overwhelming personality.”

“Hendery?”

“Lilac.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his choice, making him chuckle before he explained.

“Because despite his rough personality, he has a certain softness to him when he wants. And he always makes the LEDs in his robots purple for some strange reason.”

“Ten?”

“Ten’s… emerald. It’s a pretty regal color for someone I’ve always considered to be a rather regal person. But in the right light it turns much lighter, like how Ten can flip the switch between serious surgeon and sometimes bothersome friend.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you suddenly remembered, “He was wearing an emerald suit jacket at the party I met everyone at.”

“An interesting coincidence.”

“Kun?”

“Kun’s sky blue.”

Thinking that maybe you could guess this reason, you blurted out, “Because he’s a pilot?”

“No, not because he’s a pilot,” your friend countered simply. “But, because the first time we ever talked in boarding school, I had just spilled my drink on my white shirt in the cafeteria and Kun offered me his sky blue sweater to cover it up with. Both Kun and kindness have always been sky blue to me ever since.”

“That’s really sweet, Dejun,” you squeezed his arm momentarily, the comment about kindness being the same color as Kun to him making your heart melt. “And what about Sicheng?”

“Sicheng’s a cool and light gray. Even though we don’t always get along, I still have a deep respect for him. And he has a certain personality that only some people can like, a lot like the color gray.”

“Aw—”

“If you tell him any of that, I’ll drop kick you to the moon.”

“Noted.”

Now out of VIP members, but eager to keep hearing these entrancing and mesmerizing descriptions of people as colors, you asked, “Chenle?”

A distinct smirk was on Dejun’s face now, “My little brother is pink, always has been. When our mom was pregnant with him, they thought he would be a girl and painted his whole room pink. When he was born, he obviously wasn’t a girl, but they kept that color on the wall anyway. And I’ll never forget the way it matched his rosy pink cheeks the first night we took him home from the hospital.”

You wanted to ask him what color you were to him, but nerves suddenly overtook you, closing your throat and choking that idea from you. Whatever kind words he’d say to justify his color pick for you would surely do your heart in for good.

So instead, you moved on to your next interview question.

Some time had passed before the actors began showing up and the sun started setting. The two of you were at the end of your questions, and you picked up on the fact that Dejun had gradually become less and less focused on answering them over the past thirty minutes. He seemed agitated about something, eyes constantly scanning the entrance and faces surrounding the set, brow furrowing deeply, and mouth etched into a small frown.

“What’s wrong, Dejun?” You asked bluntly, not needing to dance around the subject.

“Sicheng is late,” he informed you as he checked his phone for the tenth time in the past two minutes.

“How late?”

“Four minutes.”

“That’s not too bad, right?”

“This is the fourth time he’s done it during this production.”

“Oh.”

Knowing that you couldn’t add anything worthwhile to the situation, you decided to keep your mouth shut, looking for Sicheng as well.

A sleek black car pulled up much closer to the set than Yangyang had dared, and the back door was thrown open. None other than Dong Sicheng stepped out, eyes focused rather unenthusiastically on his phone screen.

Wherever he was supposed to go, he wouldn’t be able to, as Dejun barked out, “Dong Sicheng! I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Xukun and Yuqi, two other actors who had started towards the newcomer exchanged looks of ‘yikes’ before abruptly pivoting on their heel away from the whole spectacle that was about to go down. You expected Dejun to take the conversation on the outskirts away from the rest of the crew, or at least ask you to leave.

Instead, right as you stood to dismiss yourself from the vicinity, the director grabbed your hand with his, eyes never leaving Sicheng’s approaching figure as he pleaded quietly to you, “Stay, please.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t punch him.”

“Oh.”

Yet again, a stunned and useless reply.

Sicheng narrowed his eyes at you as he came to a stop in front of the standing Dejun and you, seated in your chair beside the director’s chair. You averted your eyes from him, and he apparently decided not to address your presence, judging by the fact that he went right into it.

“Yes, Director Xiaojun?” There was a mocking obedience in his voice, which irked you, who it wasn’t even aimed at.

“You’re late. Again.”

“It was five minutes.”

“It’s not about being late, Sicheng!” Dejun snapped. His chest heaved with a couple deep breaths as he was obviously trying to keep his composure at the obstinate actor.

There was a beat of silence, and you snuck a glance at Sicheng’s face. It was unimpressed, a clear challenge to Dejun, a snarky invitation to continue the argument.

And he did.

“This is about the blatant disrespect you have for me, your costars, and the crew who all have busted their asses for this production.”

“If I’m so disrespectful, why don’t you just fire me, then?”

“If your daddy didn’t own my ass, I would’ve kicked yours off my set Day One!”

At the mention of his father, Sicheng’s hands balled into fists, a vein becoming prominent across his forehead. It was now that you decided to interject, standing between them, facing Sicheng with Dejun almost protectively behind you.

“You two should take a breather,” you suggested quietly, looking to him with begging eyes.

As Sicheng took a step back, he spat out, “Thanks, Xiaojun.”

“For what?” He shot back over your shoulder.

“Now I know that this was just a pity role.”

Xukun and Yuqi had hesitantly been inching their way towards the three of you and decided now to usher their co-star away. You waited until he had been sat down in a chair by the makeup table to turn back to your friend behind you.

Taking a moment to organize your own thoughts, you simply requested, “Explain.”

And he did.

“Back in school—boarding school—I used to make these stupid little short films, with my friends as the characters. Sicheng’s dad at the time was an executive producer, and somehow he saw some of the films. I guess he really liked them, because he landed me an assistant director job right after graduation. With it, I was able to pay my way through college. Now, Mr. Dong’s actually owner of the studio, and is an executive producer on this film.”

“Why would Sicheng be pissed about that?”

“I don’t know. I just know that his dad has never hired him for a role or even asked him to read for one. Sicheng had to break into the business all on his own, which is part of why I have such respect for him: he wasn’t handed his career from his producer dad like a lot of people assume.”

“Have you told him that?”

Dejun was frowning again as he realized, “No, I haven’t told him that. And his dad didn’t even want Sicheng to read for the movie, but I insisted on it. Not because I pity him, but because he’s a good actor that would be a valuable addition to the cast. It had nothing to do with Mr. Dong.”

“And have you told him that?”

“No. But I really should, shouldn’t I?”

“I’ll go get him,” you offered, patting his cheek with a subtle smile on your face.

Approaching Sicheng, Xukun, and Yuqi, you directed your question only to Sicheng, “Are you ready to talk?”

His response was to stand up, looking to you as if asking you to lead the way.

Walking back to Dejun with Sicheng in tow, you took your seat once again. Neither objected to you staying.

“Did you know that I only showed your films to my dad hoping that he’d see how well I acted?” Sicheng blurted out, a biting edge still in his tone.

Dejun’s eyebrows shot up, “I didn’t.”

“That backfired on me, clearly.”

Feeling the tension go up again, you looked at the director insistently.

He understood your cue, voice tight as he said, “This wasn’t a pity role, Sicheng. I sought you out for this role specifically because I respect you as an actor and a person and felt that you’d be an irreplaceable part of the cast. Not because of your dad. And what I said earlier about how I would have kicked you off the set if it weren’t for your dad was out of line, untrue, and I only said it because I knew it’d piss you off. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sicheng admitted somewhat reluctantly after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. “I made the assumption that this was a pity role, and I’ve been holding a grudge against you because of how well my dad treated you in comparison to me, when it wasn’t even your fault. And I acted accordingly: being disrespectful to you... my co-stars… and the crew. An ass. I was an ass for no good reason.”

You had bated breath as Dejun stuck a hand out to Sicheng, watching intently as he accepted it, the two shaking hands politely. And you swore you could hear the entire crew let out a unanimous sigh of relief.

“Y/N!” Xuanyi’s head popped into your room as you put the finishing touches on your article, startling you into smashing your keyboard as you flinched.

You erased the accidental characters as you tried to control your heart rate, “Yeah, Yi?”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

The voice brought immediate joy to you without you even needing to look up from your laptop to see who it was. Xuanyi had disappeared from your doorway, leaving Dejun there, hesitantly standing in the threshold. You weren’t too terribly surprised at him coming by, he’d visited your apartment plenty of times in the time you’d been interviewing him.

“Dejun! Come on in,” you waved him in. “You’re here on a rare day that I don’t have dirty clothes strewn around.”

“Lucky me,” he smiled as he approached your desk where you were seated.

“I’m actually finishing up our article now. You can give it a read in a few minutes, if you want.”

“You’re done with it? Already?”

“I know,” you mimicked his surprised tone teasingly. “I’ve only been following you around like a lost puppy for the past seven weeks, Dejun.”

His amusement at your statement didn’t last long as he asked very seriously, “Are you sure you have enough information?”

“Your history and fight with Sicheng would’ve been enough. I also have a bit from beforehand and everything that’s happened since in the past five weeks.”

“You included the fight?”

“Mostly the good parts, I brushed over the actual fight itself and focused on when you two were in boarding school, and the make-up afterwards. Sicheng filled in some gaps for me.”

“He let you interview him?”

“He’s become a lot more pleasant since you two had your heart-to-heart,” you informed him, still seeing the conflict on his face, however. “I can take it out if you want me to, but I really think you should read it first. It’s only my second draft, I have a couple more meetings with my professor before I submit it.”

Dejun sighed as he looked to his feet, and you knew something was up. Realizing that you hadn’t invited him over, or been given a heads-up that he was visiting, you gazed at him curiously. This wasn’t about you including the fight in the article.

“Why’d you drop by, Dejun?”

“It doesn’t really matter now, since the interview’s over,” he mumbled.

“Tell me anyway.”

“Well—” he took a short, sharp breath. “The movie’s filming on-site in our hometown. And I was going to ask you to come with me there, but you don’t need any more information so—”

“I’ll go,” you interrupted him, feeling the giddiness creep through your veins at the thought of it. “If I won’t be a bother.”

Dejun’s eyes sparkled as he grinned, “Y/N, you’re never a bother.”

“So I can go? Even if it won’t technically be for the interview?”

“Of course you can.”

“Cool. When do we leave?”

“Saturday, and we’ll be there through Tuesday.”

“You’re my ride.”

“Duh.”

The first couple hours the crew spent in your hometown was just for them to get settled in at the hotels, but you insisted that you and Dejun stay at your parents’ house instead. However, you didn’t tell your parents you were coming home beforehand, wanting to give them a little surprise.

As you threw open the front door to your childhood home, your small suitcase and Dejun behind you, you called out, “Mom! Dad! I’m home!”

“Oh! Y/N?” Your mom’s voice yelled back from the living room. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to visit.”

You led the way further into the house, “Yeah, sorry! And I’ve got a Dejun in tow, too!”

“Xiao Dejun? That’s rather coincidental,” she replied as you finally made it to where her voice had been coming from.

And saw why it was coincidental. Chenle was sitting on your couch, cup of tea in his hand and wide eyes taking in the picture before him. You stopped in your tracks, Dejun stubbing his foot on your suitcase as he bumped into you, expletives stopping short as he too noticed his brother.

“Hey, Chenle,” he greeted his little brother curiously.

Your mother thankfully provided an explanation, “After you had called me about reconnecting with Dejun, Y/N, I decided to ring up Mrs. Xiao again. We got to chatting, and she mentioned how Chenle had an upcoming school break while her and her husband would be on a trip. And rather than having to cancel or change their reservations, I offered for him to stay with us instead.”

“Oh,” said Dejun.

“So he’s in your bedroom, Y/N.”

This time it was your turn to say, “Oh.”

“I can take the couch if Y/N is planning to stay here—” Chenle went to offer, but your mother cut him off sternly.

“Over my dead body, Chenle. That is not how we treat guests in this household. Right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you echoed, already dreading where you were going to sleep these next three nights. The terribly uncomfortable couch her and the younger boy were currently perched on. Your neck ached just thinking about it.

“The studio provided us with rooms,” Dejun rejoined the conversation. “We were stopping by on our way to the hotel.”

The studio hadn’t reserved you a room, as you specifically said that you were going to be staying at your parents’ house. And after you convinced Dejun that he could stay there as well—on the accursed couch, admittedly—he’d offered his own room to a cameraman that had previously been assigned a pullout couch in a room he was sharing with two other crew members. Neither of you had rooms.

He lied.

“Studio?” Your dad was suddenly there, and you realized with a start that he had been in the kitchen this whole time, hearing everything.

“Yes, Mr. Y/L/N, I’m a director, and the movie I’m working on is filming here. The cast and crew were provided with hotel rooms.”

Chenle piped up inquisitively, “Y/N, you’re in the cast and crew?”

“Not quite. I was interviewing Dejun,” you answered the younger brother absentmindedly, mind preoccupied with what the hell Dejun was trying to say.

“Was?” The boy had an expectant look on his face, seeming proud that he’d caught on to your choice of words.

Knowing where your family’s minds would go, you sputtered out, “Am, am. I am currently interviewing Dejun. Sorry, I’m tired from the drive.”

Great, now you were lying. No, not lying. You were… fibbing.

“We should get going anyway,” Dejun informed everyone. “My Assistant Director is going to go crazy if we’re not checked in within the next twenty minutes.”

Another fib.

“Assistant Director Lin is intense,” you agreed.

Not a fib.

“Will you two be available for dinner at least?” Your mom inquired, and you looked to Dejun. So far, he had all the right answers.

He coolly answered, “Y/N might if she doesn’t get roped into another cast dinner. All the stars are rather enthralled by her. I’m afraid that I have director things to do tonight.”

“It was good seeing you again, Dejun,” she stood to give her goodbyes. “Please stop by again before you all leave.”

You approached Chenle, who had also stood for your departure. Cocking your head to the side, you scrutinized him for a moment, “You’ve grown too much, LeLe.”

He had a wistful smile on his face at the childhood nickname you called him, “Nobody’s called me that in…”

“Eleven years?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, watching as your mom was still saying goodbye to his brother. “So are you really just interviewing Dejun or—”

“Interviewing,” you cut him off pointedly. “I’m a journalism grad student.”

Your father saved you from whatever Chenle was about to say next, giving you a tight hug goodbye.

As your father returned to the kitchen, Chenle was still there, informing you, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, Y/N. Do you think you’ll be back before then?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, make sure Dejun brings you to my graduation in a couple months, then.”

“I will,” you promised, hugging the young boy. “It was good seeing you again, LeLe.”

“You too, Y/N.”

Finally, you and Dejun were on the sidewalk outside your house, and you were able to vocalize your thoughts.

“Dejun—”

“I know.”

“We have nowhere to stay.”

“It’s a relatively small town, we should still be able to get a couple rooms at the hotel,” he reassured you, hailing down a taxi. “I’ll pay, since I got us both into this mess.”

“Actually, I did,” you corrected him.

The hotel had exactly one room left. Apparently, the cast and crew of the movie took up most of the rooms, while press and fans who had heard the movie was shooting there took up the rest.

Thankfully, it had two beds, so your heart was safe from the ‘we’re sharing a hotel room but oh no there’s one bed and we’re both too stubborn to let the other take the couch or floor so now we’re sharing a bed’ cliché. Chenle had only reminded you of the unfortunate crush you had on Dejun. Except it was more than a crush now, it was a genuine fondness, affection, and adoration for the man. You didn’t feel like a schoolgirl around him anymore, you felt like someone who was in a hopelessly one-sided romance.

You set your suitcase on one side of your bed as you sat down on the other. A groan unintentionally passed your lips, “I really am tired.”

“Take a nap,” Dejun suggested from where he was setting his toiletries in the bathroom.

“Don’t we have to go to set in like an hour?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Interview’s over, this isn’t a business trip for you.”

You caught his eye in the mirror, a teasing smirk splitting your lips, “Oh, then it’s for pleasure?”

He laughed, breaking eye contact and the momentary tension to organize his shampoo and conditioner on the counter, “You need a nap, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you relented, flopping all the way down onto your mattress.

It was your last day in your hometown. The past few days had been split between visiting your parents and hanging out with Dejun and the rest of the cast and crew. Not an even split. Admittedly, you were more often at Dejun’s side than not, fully relishing the fact that since there was no reason whatsoever to be professional, you could truly enjoy every moment with him. Not as interviewer-interviewee, but as… friends. A freeing but restraining thought, because you wanted to be something other than friends.

When you woke up that morning, you half expected Dejun to be gone, the past couple mornings had been early morning shoots, he would probably be down at breakfast already. Instead, he was in the bathroom, which you knew by the blinding light invading your tired eyes. You had to squint at him as you realized that he was washing his face, grabbing a pillow to chuck at him. It missed, hitting the doorframe instead. But it did get his attention.

“Close the fucking door,” you moaned, pulling the covers up over your face.

He instead shut the light off. “Did I wake you up?”

“Probably.”

“Sorry, sorry,” his voice traveled across the room as he did, now at his own bed.

You ignored his apology, rolling over and opening your eyes to look at him in anticipation, “So what’s the schedule for today?”

“Breakfast, driving, the aquarium, on-site lunch, drive back, dinner.”

“Ooh, you’re filming a scene at the aquarium?”

“Nope,” Dejun declared, piquing your interest. “Filming finished yesterday.”

“Wh—”

“Just you and me, Y/N. Some good nostalgia to finish off the trip with.”

You felt your chest swell at ‘just you and me,’ suppressing what would surely be a lovestruck grin threatening to expose your real feelings as you replied, “Are we going to have a stuffed swordfish fight again?”

“We at least won’t have Mrs. Chen giving us detention,” he answered. “Now come on, I want to be on the road in forty-five minutes.”

The aquarium was nearly as magical as you remember it being when you were a kid. Maybe because you hadn’t returned since that field trip, meaning that it was almost brand-new to you again.

You excitedly pressed your visitor sticker to your shirt, grabbing Dejun’s hand to tug him further into the building, “We’re finally field trip buddies again!”

“Finally,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand back.

You continued pulling him from display to display, careful to read the panels by the tanks before moving on to the next one. There wasn’t a single thought going through your mind that wasn’t about the sea life in front of you or the man still holding your hand. It was supposed to be just for a moment at the beginning, reminiscent of when you had to hold hands when you went off as field trip buddies. But neither of you let go.

The next display ahead of you was a tunnel under a tank, the majesty of it immediately surrounding you. The blue water reflected ethereal patterns across Dejun’s features as he looked around in wonder, reaching his free hand out towards the glass as a school of fish passed by. You couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than that, you thought to yourself quite clichély, watching his elegant fingers follow the orange fishes’ path across the tank. They swam right by you, which you barely processed in the edge of your field of vision as you were still entranced by the man in front of you.

Dejun noticed this. There’s no way he couldn’t have, you were staring at him like he was the most wonderful thing you’d ever seen, and you weren’t even trying to hide it. Why? Maybe you were finally over trying to keep it to yourself, or you were lulled into a sense of security from the closeness of the tunnel, or the feeling of his fingers laced with yours had made you forget that you weren’t actually in a relationship.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded incredibly loud as he said it, the tunnel completely void of any other patrons, and the water around you absolutely silent.

“Dejun.”

His name sounded incredibly loud as you said it, the tunnel completely void of any other patrons, and the water around you absolutely silent.

“I want to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want us to stop seeing each other now that the interview is over.”

“Of course we’ll see each other.”

“Because we’re friends?”

Through a wincing smile, you agreed, “Of course.”

“But I… want us to stop seeing each other… as friends.”

“Then as what?” You asked, needing to hear him say it, so you don’t assume the wrong thing and get your hopes crushed.

“Now that the interview’s over, it wouldn’t be unprofessional for me to ask you out, right?” He questioned, a sheepish smile coming to his face as he nervously scratched at the back of his neck.

“The article hasn’t been finished nor submitted or published, that could still be considered unprofessional.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck professionalism,” you snorted, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

A grin came to Dejun’s face as his other hand came to settle on the back of your neck, waiting to see if you’d stop what was about to happen. You didn’t. In fact, you sped it up, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to pull his lips closer to yours. There was no way to tell who had finally closed the distance, who had locked whose lips onto whose.

Not that it mattered, because you were kissing Xiao Dejun, and nothing else could ever matter to you again.

His mouth was passionate but tender against yours, and you felt dizzy with either lack of oxygen or happiness when you two pulled back from it.

“Bright yellow,” he stated.

With your faces and bodies still so close, you couldn’t process much in that moment, an airy “What?” being your response.

“Our first kiss. It’s bright yellow.”

Right, his colors.

“Oh?” You kissed him again, slightly shorter than the last, “And what about our second kiss?”

“Still yellow.”

Another kiss.

“Third?”

“Oh, a little less yellow maybe? I’d need another kiss for comparison.”

You were more than happy to comply.

Letting yourself into Dejun’s apartment like he’d instructed you to, you didn’t expect to hear a soft guitar melody to be floating to you from his bedroom. You followed the tune to see him sitting cross-legged on his bed, guitar in his arms and fingers deftly pressing down the chords.

He didn’t seem to be aware that you were there, eyes closed peacefully as he got lost in the music and mouth sometimes opening to let out a matching harmony. As you watched him play with his relaxed focus, you couldn’t believe that he was yours. You must have been a saint in a past life or something.

Dejun played what seemed to be the final note, and you finally let your presence be known, “Beautiful! Encore!”

His eyes snapped open, blush rising quickly across his cheeks as he set the guitar aside, “Oh, that was nothing.”

“I meant the guitarist, not the song.”

He chuckled, patting the space beside him for you to plop yourself down.

“Have you ever thought about acting?” You asked as he pecked your cheek in greeting.

“Not really, why?”

“Because you’re really pretty, a camera would be blessed to film you.”

“Y/N, oh my god, you can’t say stuff like this and not expect me to kiss you.”

“I know,” you grinned victoriously as his lips neared your own.

Right before they met, however, he suddenly pulled back, leaving you glaring and pouting at him. He pinched your jutted out lower lip teasingly, seeming very smug all of a sudden. Probably proud of himself for being such a tease after you got him flustered with your earlier flirting.

“You’ve never asked me what color you are to me. Why?”

“Honestly?” You reached out to take his hand in yours, letting his rub his thumb soothing patterns across your knuckles. “I’m afraid of what it’ll be, what you’ll say about me with it.”

“It’s nothing bad.”

“I know it’ll be really sweet, and that’s what I’m afraid of. That it’ll make me fall so deeply in love with you I’ll melt into a puddle.”

“Let me tell you, please.”

“Fine, fine,” you conceded. “What color am I to you?”

“A rainbow,” he declared, seeming very proud of his answer.

“That’s not a color, Dejun.”

“No, wait, listen. You’re every color to me, Y/N. You make me feel every emotion, every color; there’s so much dimension to you that you could never be confined to one color, and you make me feel whole and complete. Like how a rainbow is only complete with all the colors.”

Your cheeks were wet, you could barely see Dejun in front of you, and your mouth trembled. This bitch had really made you fucking cry over a goddamn rainbow.

Dejun chuckled lightly as he cradled you to his chest, stroking your hair gently and pressing adoring kisses to the crown of your head, “Oh, love.”

Love. That’s what you felt. Love for him, and he made you feel loved.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Dejun,” you mumbled, hugging him tightly. “But how dare you make me cry about a fucking rainbow, Xiao Dejun.”

For some reason, just then, as he continued holding you to his chest, a small chuckle bubbling through at your accusation, a childhood memory popped into your brain. Your very first one with him, “Do you remember when we first met? When you were moving in?”

“Of course, how could I possibly forget the worst day of my life?”

“I’m going to kick your teeth in one of these days,” you hissed, wiping at your wet cheeks with the sleeves of Dejun’s hoodie you’d claimed as your own some time ago.

“You’ve said that since we were five, and you still haven’t,” he giggled in your ear, lifting your chin up so your lips could finally meet his for the first—but not last—time that night.

route fin.

⤷ select another?

406 notes · View notes