#it once took less than two minutes for her to kick me out of a lesson

[duskmite]

gotten really into non-english music lately and i am VIBING i love not knowing what the hell is being said!!!! it’s like rediscovering fall out boy and mcr

#personal #just to be clear i am NOT talking about kpop #it's mostly german stuff honestly #die ärtze and provinz and danger dan #plus mika's french songs #cerys matthews' welsh stuff #and some really pretty scottish gaelic songs #deutsch is what really gets me boppin tho #an extremely underrated language #my old german teacher and i were huge frenemies #she referred to us as 'meine beste klasse' #a blatant LIE #it once took less than two minutes for her to kick me out of a lesson #though obviously that's on me and not the whole class #still. she was a legend who threw the sickest class parties #sorry i gave you such a hard time frau m-b you're a real one <3

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 2 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 3

During the school day, she'd ignore you as usual. Wandering the halls of Northshore, you'd catch glimpses of her but no more than that. It actually felt like you were seeing less of her than usual. It was hard to avoid somebody in a school like Northshore, but somehow she managed it. You doubted it had anything to do with you specifically. She'd been acting off since you'd had dinner at the Georges'.

After school, those days you went to Regina's house to do their yard work, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Gretchen and Karen weren't around. Regina had taken her mom's place on the patio and bathed in the sun as you worked.

You hated to say it was distracting. Partly because the whole thing had thrown you off kilter, like why was she doing all this all of a sudden, and also because she was hot. There was no question about it. Regina George was hot.

You desperately tried maintaining focus on the chlorine you were pouring into the pool, pretending you weren't all too aware of Regina lying not too far away from you, in a skimpy hot pink bikini, large sunglasses covering her eyes.

"Regina! Oh, that's such a cute 'suit you got, where'd you get it?" You were distantly aware of Mrs George stepping through the sliding door to the backyard. Regina muttered something in return. You didn't have to look to see Mrs George wilt at her daughter's dismissal.

It pissed you off. Regina didn't have to entertain her mom's every whim, she could be a bit much, even you could admit that, but she didn't have to be so mean.

You walked over to them with the empty chlorine bag in hand. "Hey, Mrs George." You called as you approached. "Margaritas?"

"Hi, sweetie! I brought you two some, gotta stay hydrated in this hot weather. All virgin, of course!" Mrs George winked and offered up the tray she had in her hands. You smiled gratefully and took one of the glasses. You were actually quite thirsty and Regina's mom made the best (alcohol-free) cocktails.

"Thanks," You said before taking a sip. Mm, strawberry and basil. Yummy.

"Just leave it there, mom. She's gotta work and I'm busy." Regina pointed at the little table next to the sunbeds before directing her attention back to, uh, lying in the sun. She sure looked busy.

"Okay, honey." Mrs George smiled, but the chirp in her voice was strained. "You just call and I'll be right here, alright?" She looked from her daughter to you.

"You got it, Mrs George."

Once the older woman had ducked out of the door and closed it behind her, you turned to Regina.

"You don't need to be mean, y'know." You took a sip, watching the pink slush move through the swirly straw.

"Excuse me?" Regina craned her neck in your direction, looking very uncomfortable. You walked around to the sunbed next to hers and sat down facing her.

"She just brought us margaritas." You said, continuing to sip on your drink.

"Uh, yeah, and I'm busy." She huffed before reaching for her own drink. "Why she feels the need to bother me is beyond me."

"She's your mom and wanted to do something nice." You rolled your eyes, already sick of her attitude.

Regina didn't bother responding. You adjusted on the seat so you were sitting on it the right way, legs kicked up and leaned back. You decided to relax for a few minutes. It was still the beginning of the school year, September barely just started, so summer was still lingering warm in the air.

There was a robin's nest in one of the apple trees. Red-chested birds flew around, from their home branch to the bird pool, to somewhere you couldn't see and back. Soon it'd be apple picking season. For the last two years of high school Mrs George had given you maybe more than half the apples since she didn't know what to do with so much. Before that, it used to be you and Regina. Picking apples, sitting on the branches, peeling each and every one and boiling them into jam with obscene amounts of sugar. Looking back, you were pretty sure doing all those things without proper adult supervision was like tempting a tragic accident.

(To be fair, you had fallen out of those apple trees once before. You were maybe twelve and it was the middle of summer. You'd lost your balance and toppled onto your wrist. Regina had nearly fallen herself scrambling down to get you. She'd cried more than you and you were the one with a broken bone. She insisted you pick a pink cast. She was the first to sign it, too.)

Out in the sun, it was much hotter than under the partial shade in the yard. You chugged the rest of your drink before standing back up. You pulled off your shirt as you walked to the patio stairs, leaving on just a sports bra and your shorts.

"Jean shorts are so lame," Regina said behind you. You turned to look at her and found her looking at you from over her sunglasses. Her eyes raked over your body, no doubt judging how much weight you'd gained since she last saw you without clothes.

Fuck. Not like that. That sounded wrong. You had spent a lot of time at her pool, both of you in swimsuits, as kids. A totally normal, non-sexual setting.

You shrugged, pretending her wandering eye did not make you insecure. "I like my jorts."

"Your taste is questionable." Regina scoffed, a little smile playing on her lips. "At best." She added sassily. You had a feeling she was mocking you.

"Thanks!" You struck a little pose, cocking your hip and blowing a kiss her way, responding in an equally snarky manner. You knew you didn't stand up to her fashion standards. Loose jean shorts down to a little above your knees, basic brown slides, and now sans a raggedy, well-loved Queen tee was not exactly high couture.

"You're not cute, jorts." She leaned up on her elbows and pushed the shades up to her hair. "I think I saw this exact outfit on you, like, three years ago." She pretended to think, finger on her chin. "So, when we were thirteen..."

"Yeah, you probably did." You chuckled. "You also called me jorts three years ago. So, clearly, nothing's changed, right?"

You both damn well knew a lot had changed. Still, she entertained you with a seemingly genuine smile. You smiled back before turning away to retrieve some tools from the shed. There was a gap in the fence that needed fixing.

Then, for the following week and then some, as if the past years of her ignoring you hadn't happened at all, she started speaking to you. Not at school, though, never in public. Only Kylie and Mrs George were privy to your rekindled friendship. You weren't sure if you could even call it that. Was it friendship if it was conditional to time and place?

You couldn't find it in yourself to care too much, though. You had your own crowd at school. You had things other than the Georges' yard work to do. Sometimes you went skating with the guys, picked up shifts at the shop, did chores and yard work at home, played video games, and on rare occasions studied. You had a life outside of Regina George.

So what if when you fucked up a trick and looked around all frantic, checking that Regina hadn't suddenly spawned at the skate park and seen your epic fall. So what if you spent your work hours thinking about her, counting down the minutes until you got to clean the Georges' pool again. So fucking what you wanted to beat the shit out of Regina in Mortal Kombat.

Maybe you did care. You wanted to spend more time with her. Was that a crime? If you could talk during the several hours of the day, five days a week, that the two of you went to the same school, then that want would've abated. But you had to wait. Sometimes there were several days in a row that you barely got a glimpse of her.

You sounded pathetic. Gosh. You hadn't realized how much you missed her until you got a taste of what it was like to have her back. You couldn't even remember what had caused her sudden avoidance back then. Something with Janice and a sleepover. The details had gone blurry since then. You hadn't even been at the sleepover, but you'd heard something bad had gone down. Something that caused Janis 'Imi'ike to switch schools for the remainder of middle school.

Sighing, you let your pencil fall from your hand. You fucking hated algebra. Functional math, business math, that you could deal with, but derivatives and parables and all that stuff? No. Just no.

You rolled your chair back from your desk and decided it was high time for some relaxation. You walked across the hallway to the computer room, planning on fucking around on RuneScape.

Before you could get into gaming, though, you checked AIM and noticed you had a message. From Regina. What? You click the chat open and see that it's been sent a pretty long while ago.

> can i come over? daddys home

You stared at the uncharacteristic message. You two never spent time at your house back then. It was always empty and you didn't have the same fun things Regina did. Mrs George had been a significantly better cook, to add. Your toaster oven tater tots and dino nuggies couldn't compare.

But, hey, maybe this was the start of something new.

> sure > when? whenevr is fine w me

That could've all been one message but, well, here you were. You jumped in your seat when she responded almost immediately.

> omw

Shit. You shot up from the desk chair, sending it rolling to the other side of the room. You shut down the behemoth of a machine as fast as you could, which wasn't very fast, and shot down the stairs. The living room was a mess 'cause you'd spent the last few days pigging out in front of the TV, playing videogames and eating exclusively takeout.

You spent some time in the pantry trying to look for a garbage bag, time was running out, before rushing to the crime scene that was the couch. Styrofoam containers, probably some cutlery, empty bags of Cheetos and whatnot, empty cans, all that flew into the bag. You wouldn't have time to vacuum, so you just brushed the crumbs away into the couch cushions or onto the floor.

You were almost done when the doorbell rang. You had collected all the trash, but you still had to put away some of the still good leftovers. Didn't wanna waste those since you could eat it later.

"Hi!" You exclaimed, a little too riled up to seem sensible at the door. "I was just cleaning up."

"I see that." Regina drawled, eyeing the garbage bag as well as you. You'd completely forgotten about how you looked.

"Shit, sorry," You looked down at your body and the unfortunate clothes draped over it. Blue briefs with little Spidermen printed on them and a ratty grey hoodie with a devastating stain right on your chest. Your hair probably looked just as bad. You hadn't been bothered to fix up your bedhead, it was a goddamn Sunday.

"Don't worry about me." Regina, with her hands at her hips, looked at you expectantly. "So..."

"Yeah, uh, just stay here," You turned and put your sandals on. "I'll put this to the trash and, I still gotta put some things away and then you can come inside."

Regina just stared at you. You pursed your lips together and hustled past her, down the porch steps and toward the trash cans. By the time you'd hauled the bag away, you could no longer see Regina on the porch.

"Regina! I said don't go in!" You ran after her.

"Don't be ridiculous, jorts, I'm not afraid of a mess. Gosh." You could hear her from inside, probably taking her shoes off. That'd been a thing at your house always, but you didn't expect her to remember.

"Fucking- fine, okay, just..." You huffed as you spied her saunter into your living room as if she owned the place. She slumped down onto the couch, the very same you'd slept on the previous night.

You collected the food from the coffee table and moved it to the kitchen. You gave tentative sniffs to glean if they'd gone bad already. They'd only been out in the open for like, less than a day. So it was probably fine.

"When'd you order that?" Regina's voice came from behind you unexpectedly. You turned to her, caught with your nose in some noodles.

"Uh, last night..." You wiped at your nose with your sleeve.

She walked up to the container, right up in your space, and also gave it a sniff. Then she shrugged.

"I was thinking the same," You poured the noodles into Tupperware and shoved it into the fridge.

"Why's your fridge so empty? Has your dad gone bankrupt?" Regina stepped in before you could fully close the door.

"No, Reggie, he's fine. I don't have the money to stock up like your mom."

Regina turned to look at you, a displeased pout on her lips. She'd always hated it when you called her that. "I fucking hate that stupid nickname. And what do you mean you don't have the money?"

"I mean I don't have the money?" You paused in pouring beef and broccoli into another container, turning to look at her.

"Doesn't he send you money or make someone do it for you when he's away?"

You smiled a little bitterly. "He hasn't done that since I was, like, twelve." You paused. "Well, he's always sent me money but he used to have my babysitter buy groceries when I was way young."

Regina's lips twisted like she was genuinely thinking. You continued, feeling weird now that such a weirdly vulnerable conversation had been opened: "He sends me an allowance every week for groceries and school lunch, but it's not that much. If I didn't work at yours or at the shop I'd be toast." You grinned as you put on the last lid, moving to put the last two containers into the fridge too.

Regina didn't look all that amused. She was still frowning at your fridge, the rather pathetic state of it. You could admit it was pretty bleak. Two-litre bottles of various sodas, microwave meals, and an astonishing amount of condiments were not a sight that sparked hope.

"That's weird," Regina commented. "It's like you're poor but with a nice house."

"Gee, thanks so much, Reg, that makes me feel so good and seen." You drolled. "Oh, you think I have a nice house? That's nice."

"It's alright, I guess. Mine's better." Back to her usual, unthinking and overall not-that-nice persona. This was familiar territory.

"I would know. I work there." You motioned for her to follow you to the couch. "I'm gonna pick your apples soon."

"Daddy's home now. I don't know if you can." Regina sat with her shins tucked under her, leaning her side against the back of the couch. You sat a comfortable distance away, facing her with your legs crossed.

"What did your dad do again?" You asked, trying to remember.

"I don't fucking know." She gestured with her hand. "Human trafficking?"

"I hear it's a lucrative business." You grinned, enjoying talking like this with your old friend.

"We should start a company. Who'd you think would have a good price at our school?" She looked so excited at the prospect of talking shit about your peers. It was a little adorable, but in the way that a man-eating beast was. Like a devil cougar or something like that.

"I think that's eugenics, Reg." You muttered, jokingly wincing. "That's problematic."

"What, are you gonna sue me?" She leaned forward, inclining her head cheekily. "With what money?"

"With daddy's money, you fuck!" You laughed. "What money are you gonna sue me with? Wait, let me guess, uhh... Daddy's money."

"I'll have you know, it might be mommy's money." She widened her eyes dramatically as she began to tell the story. "I did some snooping around, and it just so happens daddy might not be the breadwinner after all, because-"

As Regina got into telling you about Mrs George's strange investments, which she and Kylie both had been pretty sure were pyramid schemes, you listened keenly and watched as she spun the story. She'd always been a good storyteller, good with performing and making the room pay attention to her. It was a shame she'd started to use her powers for evil.

Sitting here, Regina George on your dirty couch in her designer clothes and all, listening as she told you about the most mundane things in her life, made you feel warm in a way you hadn't in a long time. Loneliness was a quiet thing. It snuck up on you and you hadn't even noticed.

You hoped she wouldn't duck out of your life again.

Notes: Written late at night. My eyes don't work like they used to before. Might've missed some spelling errors or weird grammar. I'll return to it after I've slept. Also, in case you haven't noticed, this is firmly set in 2004. This story takes elements from both films, 2004 and 2024, but time-wise it is 2004. Another thing, I changed up the chapter titles. Originally, the first part was the prologue but then I thought about it and it really isn't like a prologue. So, that was chapter 1 and this is chapter 2. Bye-bye, party people.

Taglist: One person asked for this lmao, but I am but a servant of the people. Comment on this post if you wanna be tagged on the next part when it comes out. Disclaimer! Chapters will not usually come out this fast.

@autorasexy

#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls 2004 #mean girls fanfic #mean girls x reader #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #reader insert #no use of y/n #regina george #lesbian regina george #fic: yard work

[fictioninmyblood]

I Meant That Shit

Summary: N’Jadaka gets tired of waiting for Y/N to forgive him and come home, so he decides to let Killmonger bring her back, kicking and screaming if necessary.

Warnings: 18+, noncon/con, smut, D/s themes, Entitled and pissed Erik being devious. Shouldthere be a warning for angst?

A/N: This was supposed to be short, but here we are. Enjoy my sexually starved thoughts.

A/N: Also, idk if this needs to be said, but I write for my demographic - black females. This has been my disclaimer/notice.

A/N: My work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than this) without my explicit consent and recognition.

After his reluctant rehabilitation, there weren't many things that brought out his killer instinct anymore. However, it seemed that lately, despite all the sparring, therapy, and meditation sessions, Erik couldn’t shake the urge to knock some sense into his girl Y/N. 

A few weeks prior when she told him she needed space and couldn’t stay in Wakanda and ignore her life anymore, he said some things. She took it the wrong way and told him they were over, as if.

When she first left, Erik was sure she’d break down and FaceTime him or use the kimoyo beads he taught her to use. She was always more vocal about missing him, so he just assumed she’d break down and restart their communication. Imagine his surprise when a whole two weeks rolled by without so much as a text, call, or video chat. He was desperate for anything from her, even a verbal lashing, but by the time a month came and went, he felt like a fiend going through withdrawal.

During week six, his excitement to finally lay his eyes on Y/N was quickly cut short when he realized she was still talking to his family even though he had been getting the silent treatment. That displeasing information lit him like a powder keg when he saw another man in Y/N’s background, getting dressed no less. T’Challa dragged him from Shuri’s lab ready to bust a gasket when his babygirl asked Shuri to go into a different room and his little cousin actually listened! His whole family was against him again it would seem.

When T’Challa got him back to his room, all he did was pace. It was ten full minutes of the king warily watching his cousin stew when M’Baku walked right into the line of fire as Erik turned to beat the shit out of his cousin. T’Challa easily dodged the current threat on his life as the giant grabbed Erik’s hands in one of his, quickly disarming him and making the pouting man even more enraged. 

“You all have been talking to her this whole time?” N’Jadaka roared.

“Just Shuri and I. She made us promise to let you figure it out for yourself, but you’ve been failing miserably cousin! Absolutely clueless!” T’Challa replied.

Erik struggled against M’Baku’s vice grip to no avail.

“No shit Sherlock. I’m gonna whoop yawls asses. M’Baku let me go.”

“Not until you promise to have a conversation with your mouth instead of your hands. I am not prepared to get involved in another war between you two.”

Erik took a few deep breaths. “Fine, I’m good.”

Once M’Baku was sure there would be no immediate violence he let go.

“You better start explaining real fucking soon T,” Erik spat, pointing an accusatory finger at T’Challa.

“Okay! Okay! Y/N is struggling to accept that you actually want her around long term!” T’Challa word-vomited.

If the prince wasn’t already enraged, the king and tribal chief would’ve laid out in hysterics at how N’Jadaka’s face screwed up. “How sway! How?!”

“From what Shuri has explained and I’ve gathered in my eavesdropping is that she thinks you only want to claim her without actually growing with her. Everything is on your terms, your way, in  your time. She’s been far more  patient than most would be with you so I can’t say she’s wrong.”

Erik jumped at T’Challa, scaring him and the big gorilla chief. “I oughta beat you up for keeping your mouth shut.”

“She and Shuri threatened me within an inch of my life and they scare me more than you. Besides, according to them, you can’t keep relying on us to figure out what’s going on in your relationship and I couldn’t find a valid disagreement.”

Erik nearly did slap T’Challa at the last sentiment.

“Aye aye!” M’Baku shouted, getting between the two yet again, “He is being truthful now. That counts eh? And if I may interject, I think you’re aiming your anger at the wrong person.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Erik said, deflating under the weight of that truth, “but his ass still bout to pay me back and I know just how.”

————-

A few hours later…

“You know, when I told you that you could pay me back with The Royal Talon Fighter, I didn’t expect you to tag along.”

“Who else was going to keep an eye on our Wakandan technology or keep you from murdering anyone in the vicinity of Y/N, especially any man?”

Erik rolled his eyes and huffed. “I guess.”

“Or Y/N from killing you for just showing up jealous despite being radio silent since long before she left Wakanda.”

“Alright alright! You made your point. Damn! Just drive the fancy metal.”

—

Erik was all confidence until the second they landed in Atlanta. Yeah, Killmonger was out for blood and was ready to bring their girl back kicking and screaming if necessary, but Erik N’Jadaka Stevens? He was a nervous fucking wreck.

T’Challa and M’Baku’s words really struck a nerve and he had nothing but time to stew over them on the ride to your family’s hometown ranch. Before he met you, Killmonger made all the decisions, kept him alive and ahead of the game, whatever game he was surviving at the moment. He lived like that for well over a decade when he met you, but you didn’t bat an eyelash at his swift mood swings, his bloodthirst, or his possessiveness, often putting him in place. You handled him with love and care, showing him how to become the softer version of himself without sacrificing your boundaries too much. He was quickly realizing that he sometimes pushed too hard, took too much, neglected your requirements. It was your stern patience, however, that was enough to allow you to become the first person to get him the person instead of him the killer to come out and communicate, interact, and live rather than survive. 

You did it for him a second time around when he came out of cryo too. He hadn’t told you anything about how he would go about his goals, opting just to disappear and execute so it was a surprise of a lifetime to wake up to your beautiful Y/E/C. After getting over his initial anger over you seeing the worst of him, you were the first person he responded to or let touch him during his recovery. Even going so far as not allowing the medical staff to redress his wounds if he was awake.

Only your touch soothed him, only your voice gave him peace. You made him less of a killing machine and more human again, made him want to address the tsunami of emotions and trauma that he lugged around. He didn’t want to jeopardize your willingness to be that for him but he recognized how you were always giving all you had just to receive an inch of progress from him. If that.

Unfortunately, all of his introspection and nervousness flew right out of the truck T’Challa had them in when he saw you walking up to your personal guesthouse with a man in tow. Killmonger immediately took the reins pushing him and his feelings down into the abyss, and leaping out of the car before T’Challa could come to a complete stop with his cousin calling after him.

“Y/N!” Killmonger shouted from the end of the long-ass driveway, rage evident in his voice.

Y/N was haphazardly trying to get her drunk cousin up the stairs while nervously dropping her keys when she heard Killmonger. She’s only encountered him a few times since meeting Erik, after the first time she brought him back to himself, he did his best to keep that part from her. It didn’t always work since any repressed feeling or issue the man had was poured into his alter ego, feeding his desire to be wild and untamed in his decision-making. So she knew he was out for blood with just the sound of her name.

She got the key in just as Killmonger got to the beginning of her walkway up to the house. As quickly as she could, she pulled her cousin in, slamming and locking the door in her partner’s face, leaving the beast to bang on her door and demand entrance.

“I’m not dealing with your bulldozing tactics Kill! You can come back when Erik is ready to face his fucking feelings and have an adult conversation!”

“If you know what’s good for you and that nigga in there, you better open this ghatdamn door Y/N!” He roared in response.

Y/N’s cousin couldn’t stop laughing, no matter how much she waved him off. Getting trashed 3 nights in a row after a bad breakup and crashing with his favorite cousin after hearing how she was hiding from both the world and the love of her life as well didn’t prepare him for seeing her so out of character. One second she was fleeing from the man, the next she was big and bad from behind a locked door in all her 5’5” glory. It was comical as hell to him.

“You know you look constipated when you cuss? Like that stick in your ass is fighting every syllable.” He said, immediately dying in another fit of laughter at his analogy.

“Who the fuck is that in there with you, Y/N, and don’t fucking lie!”

“The next man. Nice to meet you. You must be the ex.” her cousin shouted out in a drunken slur to Y/N’s horror.

Yeah, she knew she wasn’t in the wrong, and there was no reason to defend herself against this man, but she knew not to press certain buttons once Kill made an appearance. Her cousin, unfortunately, had no discernment to see that he had just pressed the biggest red button Kill had when it came to her.

Y/N watched the myriad of emotions that crossed Erik’s face through the peephole, praying to every ancestor and display of the creator she could think of that this man wasn’t going to go full psycho-killer on them both. The last thing she needed was him taking several steps back in his healing just to unnecessarily add another scar, maybe 2 with how pissed he looked. 

Y/N turned back to her cousin, ready to kill him for putting her in even hotter water, only to find that nigga was sleep, leaving Y/N to deal with the consequences on her own. 

As soon as she had that thought her ears piqued, taking in how silent it had gotten. All she could hear was the crunch of gravel as T’Challa finally pulled in and got out. When she peeked outside the peephole again, she was met with a confused T’Challa looking for Erik.

A chill ran up her spine and her blood ran cold as she slowly turned to her current worst fear; Killmonger pissed as hell, staring her down with a knife to her cousin’s throat.

“Give me one good reason not to paint your brand new carpet with this nigga’s blood Y/F/N then fuck you on the new color.”

Putting her hands up in a placating manner, Y/N slowly inched towards Kill, stopping when he dug the knife just slightly deeper, exposing a thin line of blood, as her cousin slept unawares.

Donning a submissive voice as if she was talking to a wild animal, “Erik, baby calm down.”

“Don’t baby calm down me! You out here giving other niggas what’s mine? Mine Y/N!”

“That’s not–”

“Don’t tell me that’s not what’s going on when you’ve been M.I.Fucking.A. for weeks! And the first thing I see both on video chat and in person is you with some random?! I’ll murder every nigga to ever touch you, keep tryna play me.”

“Nobody’s playing you Daka, look closer, you know him. I promise I haven’t been stepping out on you.” Y/N continued on, internally rolling her eyes at the toddler temper tantrum she had to placate this nigga out of. “My stupidly in love, trying to escape his own heartache, and loves drama when drunk cousin that you have met several times was just egging you on.”

Kill looked closer to the man’s face and released the filter of rage clouding his judgment, upon closer inspection he realized they’d met at several of the many family gatherings he’d attended with Y/N/N. Slowly easing the knife from her cousin’s throat, Erik struggled to fight back tears at his behavior. He was proving he wasn’t good enough for her, he hadn’t actually changed all that much. Kill took the reins once again, unwilling to let him process his feelings of abandonment and betrayal just yet. Rushing towards Y/N, he laid the knife flat on the side of her face, taking up residence on the other side.

Biting a huge hickey along her jawline, before grasping her earlobe in between his teeth, Killmonger growled, “So if you ain’t been fucking him, who you been fucking?”

Although Y/N knew she logically had nothing to feel guilty about, how he was questioning her made her want to lie down and worship him as an apology regardless. She took a deep breath to center herself, understanding that any sign of nervousness would be taken as an omission of guilt.

Y/N ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulder blades to hold his face in her palms. He reluctantly released her earlobe to allow her to face him, naturally allowing the blade to rest against her neck ever so gently.

“N’Jadaka. Erik, baby? Look at me, I have been trying to live without you miserably for the last few weeks. I’ve only been going out since Y/C/N got here and I have to beg for breaks because I’m basically his chaperone. You believe me don’t you?”

Erik looked at her with suspicion clouding his eyes. He dropped the knife and held her throat in his hands, squeezing just tight enough to hint to either pleasure or pain, pushing her against the front door.

“Ion know. Why should I?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N took a chance and palmed his face, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. “Cause you know that no matter how much you stress me out, isolate yourself from me, or threaten anyone who seems to have more access to me than you, that I love your crazy ass.”

Erik squeezed a little tighter, not enough to hurt her but enough to reassert his dominance. Y/N put a hand over his, doing her best to ground herself in the feeling of his hands rather than how much she wanted to cum from the pressure of them.”

“Sorry,” Y/N squeaked out, “I love every version of you, no matter how threatening any of them may be and I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you?”

“Nah, princess, the other part.”

“No matter how threatening-” she started, but was cut off by the growl emanating from Erik’s chest and the pulsing release and pressure of him allowing her small gasps of air. “You know what I mean Y/N, don’t test me lil mama.”

Erik held his squeeze on her neck, tilting it ever so slightly to lick the side of her face and hold her earlobe between his teeth, tugging.

Y/N couldn’t hold back the guttural moan if she tried. Just barely keeping her eyes from rolling back and donning her sweetest sub voice, she said, “I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me big daddy. It literally makes me nauseous.”

Erik released her ear with a wet snap against her face, “It does?”

Y/N hummed and nodded her head as best she could in her current predicament.

Killmonger covered the forgiving face Erik started to make, replacing it with one of his stern, unyielding looks. “Then why you leave me and give me the silent treatment for weeks?”

Y/N whined at the tightening of his hands, closing her eyes to savor the pleasure only he could illicit lighting her body on fire.

Erik bit her bottom lip roughly, nearly drawing blood. “That’s not an answer.”

Losing the battle against her libido and subspace, Y/N whined again.

In a faux sweet voice Erik said, “Awww, is little mama already too far gone in her head thinking about all the ways imma mark you.”

Y/N nodded again, lost in the many images she’d acquired from her sexual experiences with Erik and Kill over the years.

“Good.” And with those words, Y/N was suddenly looking at Erik’s ass and the floor as he stomped upstairs to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

He tossed her on the bed and roughly stripped her of her clothes, halter top first, bottoms and panties all in one fell swoop last, leaving her heels on.

He positioned her over his knee and popped her cheeks until her bottom was flushed with his favorite shade of reddish purple and warmed his hands with the heat she emanated.

By the time he was done, Y/N wanted to be a ball of tears, but could only sniffle, her voice too shy to make an appearance when Kill took the reins of their scenes like this for fear of upsetting him further.

Erik used his knee to spread her legs open far enough to see her flower drenching her thighs in her nectar for him. He took two fingers to swipe some of it onto them for him to put in his mouth and savor, groaning at how much sweeter she seemed to have gotten since last he held her.

He laid her onto the bed and got up to undress himself, slapping her already sore ass when she didn’t move a muscle.

“You know what’s up. Face down, ass up lil mama.”

Y/N groaned but slowly inched her way into position. Already feeling like jello, she barely put an arch in her back, struggling not to lay back down and pass out.

Killmonger was not happy with that. After he’d removed everything except his grills and chain he let both his palms come down on her cheeks simultaneously.

Sounding more animal than human, “If you don’t assume the position like you got some sense, I swear to the gods Y/N.”

She was still lethargic, but was eager to experience less of his painful assaults and more of the pleasurable ones that she knew were around the corner. It took all of her strength but she was able to inch herself into position, deepening her arch just the way he demanded with her arms by her side and her cheek resting against the comforter.

“Good girl.”

With how pliant she was to his commands and the evidence of how much she trusted and wanted him dripping down her thighs, it took all of his restraint not to plunge himself into her until he felt her cervix try to push him back out.

Y/N smiled faintly at the praise, humming and wiggling her ass in response.

Killmonger grasped her wrists as he knelt to get up close and personal with his pussy. He spread her lips so he could get an eyeful of her throbbing clit and blew on it, eliciting a guttural moan from Y/N, before replacing his hand back on her wrist.

“Just you wait mamas, you gonna be screaming and crying by the time I’m done with you.”

He licked her juices on both thighs, leaving hickies all over them both before he finally put his whole face in her pussy and ate. If it wasn’t for the grasp he had on her wrists, she would have collapsed immediately.

Erik was a good kisser in general, but Killmonger was a master at french kissing, especially her pussy, until she was questioning whether or not she still wanted the pleasure. Those deep soul sucking kisses always made her question her sanity.

He slurped up and suctioned her clit into his mouth like that’s where it belonged, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until she came with a silent scream, without ever releasing her tiny bud. Then he released it with a pop only to hold her lips open and spit directly onto her hole, watching his saliva drip down onto her clit. He flattened his tongue and licked like the dog he could be until she was a whining, moaning mess, tears streaming down her face just as promised. 

Once the first sound hit his ears, she couldn’t stop the noises he was pulling from her if she was mute, let alone at the mercy of his insatiable thirst for her most animalistic responses.

Kill continued his assault with his tongue, moving through her folds in a rhythm only he knew. After he’d gotten two more orgasms from her that way, Y/N alternating between screaming and crying, he latched his plush lips back around her clit, assaulting the sensitive bundle of nerves, and plunged his two most trustworthy fingers into her, immediately finding her gspot and caressing it with an incessant ‘come hither’ motion until she was squirting and creaming uncontrollably. Not willing to let go just yet he dragged it out for what seemed like forever since she briefly lost consciousness and came to, lips still parted in the O of her silent screams, with his mouth still eagerly slurping up the waterfall his fingers were responsible for. All Y/N could do was turn her head the other way to watch what she could see of him, whining and moaning.

When she could barely release any more spurts he released her, licking his hand, fingers, and forearm clean as he slowly stroked his hard as steel member. 

In the great deep of her sex haze, Y/N mumbled, “He brought dick too? How are we gonna survive dick too when he almost killed us with just his mouth and fingers.”

Erik chuckled at her ramblings, proud that he was, as usual, responsible for her senseless words.

When his precum made an appearance, he swiped it up with his thumb and rubbed it into her pussy, almost immediately replacing his thumb with the tip of his dick. Wanting to savor this moment of finally being able to reconnect with his pussy, he played with her, just like that. Rubbing the tip of his dick in both of their juices, up and down her pussy lips, circling her clit, and coming to apply just enough pressure to her desperately clenching hole, only to rinse and repeat. On and on he went, teasing them both until his quietly whimpering babygirl was back to guttural whines.

He knew she was right where he wanted her mentally when she started begging.

“Please big daddy, I’m so sorry. Please baba E, please baba, please. Please please please please please pleaaaaaasssssseeeeee.”

When he was good and ready, he pulled her up by her throat until she was flush against him, licked her tears from her cheek, and forced her to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t do that disappearing and silent treatment shit ever again Y/N. You hear me?”

Y/N nodded and blinked at him with a puppy eyed look that damn near melted the ice caps of his attitude, but he was quick to remind her who’s big daddy in their relationship.

“When I told you, you were mine, I meant that shit mama.”

“Yes, baba,” Y/N squeaked out.

He tongued her down with one of his sloppy french kisses and as soon as he felt her body relax in his hold, he did exactly what his body had been begging for since the second he saw her. He pushed himself into her until he felt the tip of her cervix try to push him all the way back out, savoring the fucked out look she wore as her body spasmed with the unexpected orgasm, he held them there letting her ride it out. 

In this moment he was grateful for the years of curated discipline since the way her pussy clamped onto him almost triggered his own mind numbing orgasm. Although he successfully staved off his nut, he couldn’t stop the way all of his fight was knocked right out of him.  Finally rid of the aggression that his Killmonger personality oozed, Erik was able to finally take in his queen, his Y/N, in all her sex hazed glory.

When she finally came down from her high he started moving, giving her slow and deep strokes as he showered her face and neck with kisses, hoping his attempt at lovemaking showed her just how priceless she was to him, how desperate he’d been without her.

Kiss, “I’m sorry too mamas,” kiss “I know how much you love me and I don't understand why,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “insist,” kiss, “on pouring all of the best parts of yourself into me.” He couldn’t help but shed a tear at the relief he felt, having her in his arms again. “I promise to do better,” kiss, “to listen and pay attention more,” kiss, “to treat you like the empress you are,” kiss, “just say you’ll come home with me,” kiss, “promise you’ll take your rightful place by my side mamas,” kiss, “claim your right as my queen.”

Y/N was a moaning, whining mess, barely holding onto consciousness and shedding her favorite kind of tears, just as promised.

Erik tucked his face into her neck, struggling to keep himself from cumming too soon since her pussy was gripping him like a boa constrictor, indicating that yet another orgasm wasn’t too far.

He held himself in the deepest parts of her and put a little whine in his hips. “Please mama, come home with me.”

Just when he thought he could hold out no longer she arched into him and screamed yes over and over, overwhelmed with her orgasm, and squirted all over them both. Erik came in her almost at the exact same time, his orgasm nearly knocking him out with how it overcame him from head to toe. Both of them slumped into the bed.

—

By the time he finally started to get up, her screams had quieted back to whimpers.

Erik slowly and gently removed her heels from her feet, massaging the soles with just the right amount of pressure.

He cleaned both of them with a warm washcloth and ran the tub, placing some bubble bath soap, epsom salt, essential oils, and dried rose petals in the water. Wanting to balance out the intrusive way he barged back into her life, he lit some candles and incense as well, and placed his favorite body oil of hers on the counter.

When he came back to get her in the tub, she was silently staring into space in the same place and position he left her. After he got her to turn over and sit up, he scooped her into his arms bridal and brought her to the tub, gently placing her into the suds.

Once he saw her relax he went back to the bedroom to strip and change the sheets, wanting their transition back into the room to be seamless. When he came back into the bathroom her head was leaned against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, and tears were streaming down her face, alarming him to the fact that although he’d won the battle, he was still losing the war with treating his girl with the care she really was looking for from him.

Choking up himself, he kneeled next the tub and leaned over her face, kissing the droplets left behind.

“I’m so sorry mamas. You know that right?” His voice cracked at the end.

Although she started nodding yes, she ended up shaking her head no.

“Can you open your eyes for me please?”

Y/N shook her head no again.

“Pretty please?”

Again she shook her head no. She was too scared to look him in his eyes, anytime he touched her or they made eye contact she folded to his desires and needs, abandoning her own.

A little defeated, but determined to win all of her back, not just her body, Erik switched tactics.

“May I get into the tub with you and hold you?”

Y/N hesitated a few moments before she nodded yes. As soon as she heard the rustle of him standing back up she scooted forward allowing him to sit behind her.

Once he was seated, Erik gently pulled her into him, urging her body to use him as she did the edge of the tub. The moment she relaxed in his embrace, head lolling slightly to the left, he started kissing up and down her neck from where her ear met her face to her collarbone.

When he felt enough time had passed, he tried to get her to open up to him again.

“Lil mama?”

Y/N hummed.

“Tell me what’s on your mind please, I promise to listen.”

Y/N held up her pinky and asked, “Pinky promise?”

Erik locked his pinky with hers and brought her hand to his lips, softly talking against it, “Pinky Promise.”

She pulled her hand away, putting it back in her lap to join the other one, under the water.

Taking a deep breath she started.

“Am I a toy to be played with Daka?” Erik was ready to answer but kept silent, knowing she needed to get all of her thoughts out before he interrupted her. “To be taken out of storage to be used and then tossed aside when you’re not getting the desired result anymore?”

Rubbing the sides of her thighs and suddenly very scared, he said, “ no mamas.”

“Then why do you get to demand time and attention and energy from me, but when I ask for a sliver of honest communication, the smallest amount of all three resources you have to offer me, you shut me out? Why is it only okay for you to communicate what’s going on with you and us when you feel like it, when it's convenient? Why do I always have to beg for you to lean on me, to use me softly? Why do I have to beg you to let me hold you. Why don’t you ever just ask? Why do I have to grovel at your feet to be held by you? Why is the only time you make love to me when you’re trying to win me back? Why?” 

By the end of her list, Y/N was sobbing. Erik wrapped his arms around her body and tucked his chin in the curve of her neck and let a few tears drop himself before he answered.

“I don’t know mamas. I guess…,” he wiped the tears from his face and gulped down the rising tsunami of emotion that she so easily created with just a few sentences before he wrapped his arm back around her, “...I guess I’m just terrified.”

“Of what baby? Haven’t I been here? Haven’t I done the best to support you with all that I am, to remain honest with you and show you that I am loyal to our future?”

He kissed her shoulder and said, “you have. I just-”

Y/N pulled out of his arms to finally look him in the eye, “You just what? Aren’t my efforts to build a life with you enough?”

Erik palmed her face and gave her a deep kiss, hoping to transfer all of his emotion into it.

He put his forehead against hers and said, “I’m just so fucking terrified of losing you. To have the warmth of your love snatched away at a moment's notice. I’m terrified in a way I haven’t been in so fucking long that I just convince myself that its better to pull away and show you how unworthy I am of the full magnitude of your love.”

He pulled away and kissed her forehead, grateful she was finally looking him in the eyes again. “But this time of separation showed me I am nothing without you, just a hollow shell, no love to warm my soul and bones. Even the care and concern of my family isn’t enough to fill the abyss that’s created in your absence.”

Y/N swiped away the stray tears from his face, “that’s-”

“I know. Super intense.”

“Yes. But I was gonna say a relief to hear. You never really give me any verbal confirmation that you feel as deeply for me as I do for you unless I say I love you first.”

“I know mamas, but I promise to do better, be better, for you.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “No Baba. For you. You need to talk your feelings out loud so you can hear it too. You need to know that the only reason you’re able to love me so deeply is because you love yourself that deep, if not deeper, first. Understand?”

Erik smirked, yet again grateful that he had such a wise and loving partner who always held up the pieces of mirror he’d sworn he’d broken to pieces.

“Yea lil mama, I understand.”

“Good…,” Y/N kissed him again, deepening the kiss but teasing him slightly with how lightly she moved her lips against his. When she pulled away, she almost regretted bursting his bubble. “...cause I’m not going back with you until I’m ready.”

Erik’s face instantly fixed itself into a scowl. “But-”

Y/N held a finger to his lips. “I said when I’m ready, not never. I came home to get back to taking care of me, love me, and understanding what my needs are.”

His pout deepened.

“And I learned that I need to stop jumping when you say jump. So I go back when I feel that I’m ready, not because you showed up and demanded it of me. Okay?”

He was a little deflated, but still holding onto the hope of her eventually coming back with him.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until you’re ready.”

“But-.” 

It was Erik’s turn to hush her with a finger. “I already know what you’re going to say and my duties will be waiting for me when we go back together. Now that you’re back in my arms I’m in no hurry to lose the privilege again.”

“You’re not!”

“You’re right, cause I’m staying.”

All Y/N could do was chuckle, understanding that she’d lost this battle and relishing in the fact that she won the war. It seemed he was finally starting to understand what she needed because although she was indeed going to complain about him having responsibilities to return to, she really did need him to stay. That abyss he had was mirrored in her heart and only time with him would close it back up.

Both satisfied that they worked through the root issue, they went back to enjoying the bath, Y/N comfortably resting her head against Erik.

When they were all pruney and the water was verging on cold, Erik stood them up to drain the tub and turned on the shower to rinse them both. After he dried them both, he quickly lotioned his body with shea butter, grabbed the body oil and guided Y/N hand in hand, back into the bedroom.

He laid her on her back first to moisturize and massage her front, kneading out all of the tension she held. When he was working his way back up from her feet, he couldn’t help but get stuck between her thighs, using his thumbs to massage circles up them until he reached her pussy again.

Y/N slightly parted her legs, letting one bend and fall open for easy access. He immediately used one hand to part her lips so he could see her clit clearly.

Erik leaned down to softly kiss her clit a few times before he pulled away and used the thumb on his other hand to rub slow circles. He admired her form as he brought her to orgasm leisurely. 

He went back to massaging her thighs until she returned from the heights of her pleasure.

His voice was more gruff than he wanted when he told her, “turn over.”

She easily compiled and continued his massage, paying extra attention to her sore ass.

When Y/N was 2 more seconds away from sleep and he was satisfied with his work he urged her under the covers and joined her. She tried to grab his hardened member to return the favor but he grabbed up her hands, kissing them to soften the blow.

“No, I needed to show you how softly I can treat you, I don’t need to cum right now. Sleep.”

Y/N pouted and whined, wanting to feel him connected to her again.

She lifted her leg over his as they faced each other and inched as close as she could with her hands in his, feeling his dick graze her pussy lips.

Putting a little more base in his voice, “Ay! What I just say lil mama?”

She whined out, “I don’t care, I just need to feel you in me Baba.”

Erik grunted. 

Y/N donned her best puppy dog pout and begged with her words and body, wiggling in his hold and being able to feel the lightest brush of his hot skin. “Pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee?”

“Fine, but careful what you asked for…” he said, sheathing himself in one stroke and stilled her hips before she could start moving. “...you just might get it.”

He released her hands and tongued her down, palming her face.

“Sleep Y/N.”

“But,” she said, her face scrunching in confusion.

“You can keep me warm, but that’s it for now, okay?”

She started to whine again but was cut short when he wrapped the hand palming her face around her throat.

“Sleep mamas. You’re going to need all of your energy in the morning.”

She wasn’t necessarily happy, but she also wasn’t necessarily dissatisfied. She did get her wish after all.

“Ok.”

Y/N tucked her head under his chin and started to drift before she sleepily said, “thank you for showing me how much you care Baba E. I’m really happy you’re here.”

Erik kissed her forehead and squeezed his arms a little tighter around her.

“Thank you for letting me.”

He was answered with her cute snores and let the sound lull him into the best sleep he’d had in too long of a while.

#erik killmonger #erik kilmonger x reader #Erik killmonger x black!reader #black panther fanfiction #black panther #erik stevens #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #erik stevens x reader #fictioninmybloodworks #fictioninmyblood #erik stevens x black!reader

[vivwritesfics]

Hungry Like The Wolf

Chapter Seven

She hadn't seen her best friend, Lando, in years. She didn't run into him the last time she was visiting her father and she doubted she'd see him this time. Things were different now. She wasn't aware of his furry little problem. Just like she wasn't aware of the vampires plaguing the town.

1.4K

Vampire!Oscar x Reader x Werewolf!Lando

Series Masterlist

"What the hell do you want?"

Oscar stared down at Lando. He was taller than the werewolf, but not by a lot. Lando wasn't intimidated by his height, that much clear by the way he snarled.

But Lando dropped the snarl. "I think we should talk."

It wasn't what Oscar was expecting, not in the slightest. Maybe for Lando to launch at him, try and rip out his throat. A sigh left his lips as he let Lando into the house and led him through to his bedroom.

He might have been the first werewolf to step foot in the vampire house. Nest, some would call it. But Oscar hated that word. It made them seem less... human. But, really, how human were they?

Lando didn't much look around his room when he walked in. He sat on the bed and pulled his hoodie up to better cover his neck, something that wasn't missed by Oscar.

"What do you want?" Asked Oscar as he sat by the window.

He'd never seen Lando like this. He was always hot headed, pouncing before he could really think. But now he was quiet, contemplative. "You kissed her," he said.

Oh, that was what this was about. "I did," Oscar sat as he leaned against his extensive bookshelf (at least one hundred books filled it yet he hadn't touched a single one since the invention of the PlayStation).

"And then you kissed me."

He nodded, watching for Lando's reaction. That was something he'd always been good at, reading people. He waited for a look of disgust to cross Lando's face, but it was never there.

"And then I kissed her."

Oscar hadn't quite been expecting that. It wasn't exactly a surprise, just unexpected. "You did, huh?" He asked as he wiped the dust from one of the shelves with his finger. "Took you long enough."

Suddenly, Lando was standing, eyes flashing. "I kissed your girlfriend, who I just so happen to have been in love with since I was a kid, and that's your reaction?" He yelled. If the rest of the vampires in the house weren't listening before this, they certainly were now. "Be fucking human for once."

Oscar schooled his features, remaining cool and calm. "How'd you suppose I do that, Lando?" He strode towards him as guilt flashed behind Lando's eyes. "Is it such a fucking crime that I have a thing for the both of you?"

It, admittedly, wasn't a possibility Lando had taken into consideration. But then again, he hadn't thought he'd like kissing a male vampire as much as he did. Didn't expect to find himself wanting to again.

"Well, what are we supposed to do? March up to her house and say 'hey this is a bit out there but we both want to date you and we also want to date each other. Also he can't die and I turn into a fucking dog once a month'? If she doesn't kick us out her dad would get his gun," Lando said as he sat back down.

Oscar stared at him. For a full minute, as he went over Lando's words. "Did you just say you want to date me?"

"Huh?"

"You just said 'we want to date each other'."

"I said a lot of things, Osc."

Now, the two had never been in close enough proximity without tearing at each other for Lando to call him 'Osc'. He might have been a pale, undead being, but a blush still rose to his cheeks.

And, suddenly, Oscar was kissing him. He stepped closer and kissed him, dragging his pointed canines across his bottom lip. Lando didn't push him away. No, quite the opposite. He ran his hands through Oscar's hair, tugging enough to pull a whine from his lips.

But then Lando did step away. Rather breathlessly he stepped away from Oscar. "You gotta start warning me," he said as he wiped at his mouth. "Look, Osc...ar, I like kissing you. I think that's kinda clear. But dating you is a whole other..." He waved his hands around as he searched for the words. "But I'm not saying never. Take a guy out for a drink first, you know?"

The giggling laugh that left Lando's lips, Oscar could have listened to it forever. "Should we go tell her?"

"What are we gonna tell her?" Lando asked. His hand brushed against Oscars but he quickly shoved it into his pocket. They weren't quite there yet, and that was okay.

Oscar shrugged his shoulders as he led Lando out of the house. "What you said, I guess. That we want to date her and we also might one day want to date each other."

"And the bit about us being..."

"Leave that out for now," Oscar said quickly. He knew from the moment he kissed Lando, from the moment he started dreaming about the three of them together, that this conversation wouldn't be quite so easy for him.

Lando was a werewolf. A big, dangerous wolf who could come across as cute and cuddly. But Oscar? He had to kill to stay alive. How could he ever be loved?

He didn't let his thoughts stray as the two made their way into town. Crossing into the werewolf side of town didn't feel quite as illegal with Lando by his side. Lando, who was making talking so easy. Lando, who was still a little wary of him. Lando, who pushed past that wariness.

But here they stood, in front of her door. Oscar sucked in a breath, his pose mirroring Lando. Both of them with their hands shoved into their pockets. "Do you want to?" Oscar asked as he gestured to the door.

Lando looked up at the bedrooms. "We could just go to her window," he said.

"Yeah, and have Toto try to murder us."

"What're you so worried about? You literally can't die."

Oscar knocked on the door. It was hesitant and slow, and probably a bit ominous. But Susie didn't look wary as she pulled the door open. "Hello, boys," she said, stepping to the side to let them in.

"Hello, Mrs Wolff," they said in quick succession as they came to stand in the foyer. They wiped their shoes on the mat by the door and looked around the house they'd both been in many times before.

"She's upstairs," Susie said before returning to the kitchen, where she had her laptop open for work and Jake sitting beside her, colouring in a race car.

The boys looked at each other. This was it. They were really doing this. The two apex predators were terrified.

Lando led the way up the stairs. He kept his gaze fixed forward, only to keep his feet moving in the same direction. The steady, thumping bass of music filled his ears as he approached her door.

When he knocked, the music switched off. The boys spared a glance at each other, but only for a second. Because then the door was pulled open, and the minimal amount of courage they'd built up on their way up the stairs had flown out of the window.

Surprise was written on her face as she looked at them. "Hey guys," she said, brows furrowing. "I... thought you didn't know each other."

Oscar couldn't stop himself from looking at Lando. Lando, who looked guilty. "You told her we didn't know each other?"

"That was before..." He did that thing where he waved his hands because he couldn't find the word.

She let them into her room, shut the door behind them and sat on her bed. They could have sat, but they didn't. No, they stayed standing by her desk. "What's going on with you guys?" She asked as she folded her arms over her chest.

They couldn't say anything. Lando coughed. "After you," he said and nudged Oscar.

"No no," he said. "After you."

Lando sucked in a breath. "We... aren't human."

"Lando!"

Well, that certainly didn't go to plan."

a/n: this might be my favourite chapter i love these silly little guys

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Series taglist (CLOSED): @cmleitora

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#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri x you #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #landoscar #landoscar imagine #landoscar x reader #poly!f1 #supernatural!au

[convito]

Blasting Off To The Past: Chapter 1: The Customers Are Used To This By Now

Finished chapter 1 of my fanfic based on @yamujiburo's Jessie/Delia Pokemon comics. The fact that it's just the first chapter is a development that materialized roughly 5 minutes ago when I realized this thing is getting way too long to write all at once. It's just a fun little day-in-the-life story because I wanted an excuse to write these characters.

Here's the AO3 link.

Below is the full chapter text. Enjoy!

“Meowth, I demand to know why you just kicked me!” James yelled dramatically.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t waste my time kicking you!” Meowth

The lunch rush took its toll on everyone in different ways. For Delia, the strain kept her too busy to notice anything outside the restaurant. For Jessie, it meant Delia wasn’t looking at her.

In the case of James and Meowth, it was dealer’s choice. Today, that meant each blaming the other for the table leg they each routinely tripped over. Meowth’s thimble-sized temper had reached a boiling point. James was mad by association.

Delia had been holding down the kitchen until the commotion piqued her attention, prompting a peek around the corner into the dining area. She saw Meowth seething as his serving tray clattered to the ground, trading leers with James whose serving tray remained pristinely perched atop his fingers.

Then time stood still as she saw Jessie burst in with a face that gave her conflicting feelings, making a Beedrill-line for the bickering duo. How she heard the noise from across town would remain a mystery. The love of Delia’s life was a lit fuse heading straight for a flamboyantly colored powder keg. The focus now needed to be heading off the stormfront before it turned the restaurant into a restauNOT (she took a second to chuckle at that).

“Jessie. Babe. Sweetie.”

The red menace continued undeterred. Delia raised her voice.

“Jessie, stop! Jessie! Honey!”

Still nothing. Delia was desperate.

“STOP, DAMMIT!”

Jessie screeched to a halt, bringing the universe with her. She and her two partners in something or other all turned their heads toward Delia, three identical faces of exaggerated shock. Though Jessie’s sported a tinge of crimson.

“I… buh…” she attempted.

“Delia made a swear,” Meowth whispered.

James simply covered his ears.

But whether through shock or sheer force of Delia’s long-bided power, the situation was defused for now. The residual fallout kept things together until the restaurant finally slowed down. James and Meowth lost their abrasion around each other, more or less back to their regular selves give or take the occasional shared look towards Delia. Granted, not unlike their usual behavior.

Jessie, meanwhile, had stuck around to help however she could. At the moment, she was employing her puppy dog eye technique to try and soften Delia’s mood every time her wife looked her way. Despite coming across more like bewildered Magikarp eyes, which had Delia desperately suppressing a snort laugh at every turn, it probably would have worked even if she actually had been angry.

Eventually, closing time arrived. Jessie had finally released Delia from her fishy look and was taking a break from cleaning to watch James and Meowth. The other two former Rockets were Taurosing around with each other as they took the garbage out back. Delia noticed a wistful look in her wife’s eye. It was one she’d been seeing a lot of lately.

“You miss the adventure, don’t you?” Delia asked warmly.

Jessie gave a slight start at this before nodding. They’d grown to know each other well enough that it was no surprise Delia could read her so intimately.

“I know we weren’t the good guys going after the twe- eh, Ash and Pikachu like that,” Jessie seemed just a bit embarrassed, “but getting out there and traveling around really got my juices moving.”

“Even more than our little battling vacations?”

“W-well, I wouldn’t say…” Jessie hesitated, but she knew she never needed to hide anything from Delia, especially after all this time. “Kinda, yeah.”

Jessie’s regular trips out into the region with Delia to explore and battle gym leaders had very quickly begun to rank among the highlights of her life, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything, no matter how shiny. But…

“I just miss the camaraderie with James and Meowth,” she found herself gushing. “I miss the cartoon-level plans we came up with together, I miss the big Meowth balloon, I miss James’ camp cooking and Meowth’s snoring, not to mention-”

“I’m sorry, what was that about Meowth?”

“Oh, right, you never heard his outdoor snoring. Only happens when he’s camping. Real conker of a wavelength he could belch out, which you wouldn’t expect from a little fart like him. I think he developed it as a defense to make predators think a Snorlax is sleeping nearby or someth-”

“What?” Delia had trouble getting a word in edgewise sometimes, a trait of their relationship she oddly treasured. She liked seeing Jessie excited. “No, why would I ask to hear about…? Never mind, I meant the balloon thing.”

“Ok, yeah, that makes more sense,” Jessie admitted. “It was a thing of genuine beauty. A huge hot air balloon in the shape of Meowth. We even used official Team Rocket funds to commission it. They seemed cool with it.”

“I’d like to point out that they did very much fire you.”

“Oh yeah,” Jessie said with a guttural giggle. “Wow, things are definitely starting to make some more sense now that I say them out loud. But anyway, we used to go everywhere in that balloon. It was our own little home where we never had to deal with property tax. We’d sleep up there, have some fun by spitting off the sides, do… other things off the sides…”

“Honey, I love you but oh my god.”

“Hey, if you can think of other ways to handle being up in the air for days at a time…” Jessie’s old smug nature crept in, which she caught before going any further. “Th-the point is I just miss the balloon. It was sort of a symbol of that complete freedom we used to have. Nothing tying us down, literally. No rules. No responsibilities. No bosses or authori-” she paused, her expression that of a system reboot. “How did we not get fired sooner?”

“I didn’t realize how much you thought about that time,” Delia started to feel just a touch of guilt. Or was it jealousy?

“Not 'all the time' or anything. Some things just remind me of that past life. Like how James and Meowth have been sniping at each other a lot lately,” Jessie said with a look of dawning realization. “They must be feeling homesick too. Or, I mean ‘homesick’ I guess,” she made some halfhearted quotes with her fingers. A glance over at Delia dropped the fingers immediately as Jessie read her wife’s expression, as subtle as it was.

Jessie wordlessly walked over to Delia, not rushing, not holding back, simply going. She took her hands in her own and clasped them.

“I am happier now than I’ve ever been,” Jessie answered a wordless question. There was no need to explore the topic further. This is the most she’d talked about the old days since, she realized, that awkward time when she, James, and Meowth had shown up on Delia’s doorstep completely out of options. It was enough that she got it out.

Delia just smiled. It was a genuine smile, but one that obscured hidden depths. Depths that ironically flew right over Jessie’s head.

Once they finished closing, Jessie and Delia stepped out of the restaurant hand in hand, following James and Meowth who had apparently regained their passion for griping. Jessie paid little attention as they fired quips back and forth, sounding to her like synthesized speech from a Nintendo 64 game. She was content where she was, blissfully strolling home with the love of her life. No thoughts, just vibes.

If she’d only opened her eyes, she’d have seen the poorly-hidden look of sneaky determination emblazoned on Delia’s face.

-the next morning-

“Ash!” Delia burst into her son’s room. “We’re making a balloon!”

#hanamusa #pokemon #pokémon #delia ketchum #jessie team rocket #fanfic #i don't write stories #i only write banter #if a story materializes then it's by accident i assure you

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 03

note: this is part 3 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, slight jealousy, brief mentions of alcohol, sickness, academic stress, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, chan has a bit of a breakdown, bathing scene, nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, praise, possessiveness, biting/marking, the slightest hint of exhibitionism, chan is very needy, stopping in the middle of a scene, oral (reader receiving), lots of begging, crying during and after sex, nursing, handjob, aftercare

word count: 22.6k

There were parts of Chan in everything you did now.

It took a while, but eventually, it dawned on you with a strange sort of delight that you’d subconsciously taken on his habit of pressing his lips together into a thin line—when giving a quick smile, when lost in thought, and, most importantly, when silently dissatisfied. For such a subtle movement, you found that, at times, it expressed your frustration better than voicing it ever could. A Chan-like quality, through and through.

Likewise, he’d adopted your habit of reaching up to brush the tip of your nose whenever you felt self-conscious. Of all the quirks he could’ve picked up on, naturally, it had to be one he could make ample use of. Now, any time your gaze lingered on him for a bit longer than necessary (which admittedly, was often) his thumb would swipe over the adorable apex of his nose, a shy half-smile following the action like clockwork. It took some audacity, really, for him to steal a mannerism of yours and make it infinitely more endearing.

Even less obvious details were fair game for the two of you to snatch up, from mirroring each other’s walks, to parroting certain words and phrases. You’d melded into one another, so much that, in some cases, you weren’t quite sure which traits he’d gotten from you, and which traits you’d gotten from him.

You wondered if the marks you’d left on each other were what had landed you in the situation you found yourself in now.

“Betrayal! That’s what this is! A Sanrio pencil stabbed straight through my giant, loving heart!”

It had been a good five minutes of this. Changbin was back from summer break—skin tanned, hair fluffy, muscles somehow more defined than ever—and with the way his voice echoed shamelessly throughout the cafe, he was making sure everyone knew it. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to greet him properly before the one-man show (which you’d prepared for, but clearly not enough) began; starring none other than Seo Changbin himself, of course.

“Please calm down before you get us kicked out.”

“Calm down, she says!” he cried. “You’re a real scary person, y’know that? Hiding this from me, your good friend, Changbin—your best friend, Changbin—all this time!”

You felt a tinge of guilt for what wasn’t the first time. Despite the melodrama of it all, you knew that he had a point. There was no reason for you to have kept something like this from him for so long, especially when it involved not only one, but two of his closest friends.

“I’m sorry, Bin,” you sighed. “I really did wanna tell you. I was just worried it’d make everything so awkward.”

“Well, of course it’s awkward,” he agreed. “But I still want to know! At least that way, we can feel awkward together!”

Something about his reasoning made you soften. It was just like him, to be more concerned that he’d missed out on the chance of being a supportive friend rather than the potential mess that could stem from your involvement with Chan. You would probably do well to have a little more faith in people—a message the universe seemed to have been hammering into your brain a great deal lately.

“Maybe I would’ve told you if you’d talked to me more than once over your entire vacation,” you teased.

Changbin’s mouth fell open in protest, suddenly finding himself playing defense. “Twice!” he corrected indignantly. “And don't try to spin this on me! What about when you called me, huh? That was the perfect opportunity!”

“The perfect opportunity?” you echoed in disbelief. “In that case, I’ll be sure to follow up your birthday wishes next year with news that I’m dating your best friend.”

“Scary, scary person,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m almost afraid to ask for a hug—you’re not gonna put a knife in my back are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s in the air back home that makes you act like this?”

Still, you felt nothing but fondness as you leaned fully into him, letting it sink in for the first time just how happy you were to see him again. With the way his big arms squeezed around you, you knew he wasn’t truly upset either—even if, quite frankly, he had a right to be.

“I missed you, though,” you patted his back. “You and all your drama.”

“Well, I missed you too,” he huffed. Just when you thought he might be ready to drop the theatrics and move on, he pulled away from the hug, a horrified look forming on his face.

“Oh my God…have I been third wheeling this entire time?”

“Get in line, Seo Changbin.”

His nagging and whining eventually died down, morphing into more playful jabs as the two of you ordered your drinks and found a table to sit at. Exactly as you’d predicted, once he’d recovered from the initial shock, he was all proud grins and smug righteousness, preaching on and on about how he’d told you so from day one and how you should never doubt him or his genius intuition ever again.

“I was mostly joking when I said all that stuff about you falling in love with him, y’know,” he clicked his tongue. “Didn’t think you’d actually go and do it.”

“I’m not in love with him,” you tried to retort, but much to your dismay, your voice cracked right as you uttered the dreaded word.

“No way,” Changbin broke out into cackles of pure glee. “Don’t tell me you went and had a secret wedding without me, too?”

You shoved your straw into your iced coffee with a bit too much force, face heating up. “The more you laugh, the more you sound like someone who isn’t getting his belated birthday present.”

At that, he clamped his jaws shut, giggles halting with a speed that was almost impressive. “Sorry, sorry,” he gave you a sheepish grin. “Behaving, now.”

“How’d you find out, anyway? Did Chan tell you?”

“Nah. Though, I should’ve guessed just from the way he gets whenever you’re brought up. All shy and smiley, it’s honestly kinda nauseating.”

He scrunched his nose up in distaste, but the words had no real edge to them. In fact, there was nothing but affection there. It made your heart skip a beat, embarrassingly enough, to know that just the mention of you was all it took to have that kind of effect on Chan. Every time you thought you couldn’t possibly be more taken by him, he proved you wrong.

“If not Chan, then who?” you hesitated before asking. “Minho?”

“Hey,” the whine was back in his voice. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe I figured it out myself?”

You said nothing, smiling around your straw and sipping contently away at your coffee.

“Yes, it was Minho,” he grumbled.

Though you’d been expecting it, the confirmation still made your skin crawl, overtaking Chan’s warmth with a cold discomfort. You hadn’t seen or heard from Minho since your encounter in the convenience store a few weeks ago, and each time you thought back to him, the pit of unease in your stomach grew stronger. You wondered just how much he’d told Changbin. Judging by his behavior that day, he seemed to be aware of everything—whether he was the type to mince his words, or to expose it all without a care in the world, you weren’t quite sure. Even if you’d spent more time around the guy before he’d decided to switch up on you, you got the feeling that you still wouldn’t have any clearer insight into how his mind worked.

“Speaking of Minho,” you began slowly. “Has he…said anything lately?”

Changbin snorted. “He’s said a lot of things.”

“Sorry. I mean, like, about me.”

“I don’t think so,” he squinted, eyeing you up and down. “Why? Are you planning on picking off my friends one by one?”

It was lighthearted, just a joke, but it nearly made you grimace. You’d be glad to never even cross paths with Minho again if it meant avoiding that harsh, accusatory glare that had yet to fade from your mind. Experiencing it once was more than enough.

“C’mon, Bin. It’s nothing like that.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time.”

You gave a half-hearted chuckle in response, only noticing a moment too late how unconvincing it’d come out. It caught his attention, and he glanced up from his drink to give you a curious look.

“Everything alright?”

You were reluctant to confide in Changbin about the matter, both to avoid burdening him with something so silly, and because of the very unavoidable fact that Minho was just as dear a friend to him as Chan. He’d only just found out about your relationship; immediately piling its potential problems on him was the last thing you wanted to do. At the same time, however, you figured it was better to ask someone who knew Minho well before you jumped to conclusions. Not to mention, Changbin might genuinely believe you were interested in rounding up all his friends if you didn’t clarify why you’d brought up the subject of Minho in the first place.

“I saw him a few weeks ago, and he was being kinda weird.”

“No issues there.”

“Not in his usual way, though—at least, I don’t think so?” you tried to be careful with your words, acutely aware of how sensitive you may come off if you chose the wrong ones. “I just got the feeling that he doesn’t really like me all that much. So, I was wondering if he’s brought it up with you.”

Changbin frowned, taking a moment to mull over what you’d said.

“You think Minho doesn’t like you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “What’d he say to you?”

“Just some weird things about me and Chan,” you shrugged. “It almost felt like he was trying to intimidate me, or something. Like, he thinks I have bad intentions.”

A troubled look crossed his face—brief, but just long enough to foster your unease. He went quiet for a few moments, nibbling thoughtfully on his bottom lip, then, at last, gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Nah, that can’t be it.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Minho knows you’re not like that,” he said simply. “And he wouldn’t just hate you for no reason, either. Definitely not it.”

You made a small noise of acknowledgement, pretending to understand what he meant, but Changbin still seemed to sense that he hadn’t gotten through to you.

“You’ve seen the way he acts around us, right? He’s probably just messing with you now that he feels more comfortable,” his voice mellowed. “He might seem difficult, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s a pretty great guy, actually. Soft at heart.”

“I believe you,” you murmured. You didn’t doubt for a second that he was a good friend to Changbin and Chan; you’d witnessed it firsthand in the time you’d spent around them. The problem was, you seemed to have done something to land yourself as the target of his inexplicable wrath, and you weren’t sure how to get yourself out of the line of aim before his eyes pierced an arrow straight through you.

“Maybe you’re right. I must’ve just misunderstood him.”

“He’s easy to misunderstand,” Changbin reassured you. An unpleasant thought appeared to cross his mind, twisting the small smile tugging at his lips right back into a frown. “Just…don’t tell him I said any of that. He didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

“Of course not,” you grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Though you weren’t entirely sold on Changbin’s reasoning, it was at least worth a shot to reconcile with Minho before completely giving up on a positive relationship with him. It wasn’t even so much that you were hurt by his unexpected hostility, you just wanted to know what had caused it. You wanted to fix it.

In fact, you were determined to fix it. For both your sakes, and—most importantly—for Chan’s, you were going to make it right.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

College parties, as it turned out, were still very plainly, very aggressively, not your scene. Even with Chan and Changbin there, even with some of the most talented students on campus putting on performances that were, unsurprisingly, really, really good, even with the three-month long promise of getting to see 3RACHA live finally coming to fruition, you were having a hard time enjoying yourself.

You didn’t think it was possible to be experiencing this many different emotions at once. Every one of your senses was suffocated with something. The stinging smell of alcohol, the uncomfortable sheen of sweat on your skin, the perpetual ringing in your ears, the swarming mass of people, and the residual taste of artificial strawberry—the only refreshment you’d managed to take a few sips of before being swept away into the crowd over an hour ago. You were overwhelmed, you were exhilarated, you were anxious, you were impatient. You appeared completely calm amidst the chaos ensuing all around you, yet somehow, were more of a mess internally than even the most intoxicated of attendees.

You’d spent a majority of your time scattered, tossed amongst your friends at random intervals throughout the night. Fifteen minutes with Changbin before he and Jisung had retreated to the bathroom to practice their lyrics, twenty minutes with Iseul before she and her boyfriend had gotten into a heated argument about him not matching the energy of her dancing (something you were sure to get earful of later), thirty minutes with various friends from class before realizing in dismay that they consisted almost exclusively of touchy and crybaby drunks, and a mere five minutes with Chan.

Shortly after the party had begun, you’d arrived to find him already looking cheerfully exhausted. He’d been there for hours already, having offered to help the committee with all the setup and decorations for the event. Even once the festivities were in full swing, he was still dashing around the venue left and right, assisting with soundchecks and the transfer of equipment with hardly any time to prepare for his own performance, let alone to socialize. It warmed your heart as much as it tugged at it. Even on a night where he should be his own top priority, he was still bending over backwards to help everyone else but himself.  

It lasted until he was all but forced to stop, dragged away by Changbin and Jisung to set up for 3RACHA’s showcase. The moment you’d been anticipating all night—all summer, really—the sole reason you were even putting up with an environment so out of your wheelhouse to begin with, came at last. The three men shuffled on to the makeshift stage with an awkward sort of swagger that you only ever saw in them when they were together. It was like each one of them needed the other two with him to lock properly into place, to align their energies and bring out the best in each other like a finely-tuned machine. In a way, that in itself was a testament to the song they’d be performing.

The familiar sirens you’d heard countless times before, pumping through your phone speakers in a personal concert, now blared through the hall for everyone to hear. Chan’s eyes fell from the screen of his laptop where he’d been getting things situated, landing directly on you without even having to search the crowd. He gave you a grin, dimples flashing, and that was the last you saw of it for the next three minutes and thirty seconds.

You’d already had an idea of what Jisung was capable of based on the handful of 3RACHA songs you’d heard, but to see it unfold in person was something entirely different. The goofy, scatterbrained junior that always looked a bit on-edge every time you spotted him, now rapping at the speed of light with each word flowing like torrents in a stream. Something about the way he read the lyrics directly off his phone, even for a performance like this, made it all the more mesmerizing to watch. He was the kind of person you could tell was a hidden genius.

Changbin became every bit as fierce and intimidating as you’d initially believed him to be the first day you’d met. Voice raspy and eyes dark, looking straight into the crowd almost like he was challenging them with each effortless line he spit out. It served as a reminder that all his drama and flair wasn't just something you could tease him for; it was something he could own the stage with, as well. His pride radiated off of him in waves; not only in himself, but in them as a unit, and every ounce of it was justified in your eyes.

Undoubtedly the most drastic transformation, however, was Chan. From the moment Zone began, the boy you’d come to know seemed to go dormant for a while, replaced with something you’d never quite seen in him before—something approaching confidence. You thought back to that day in the library, where you’d tried to imagine in amusement how someone like him, who could hardly look you in the eye while playing snippets of his Placebo instrumental, could be the one behind such powerful lines. You didn’t have to imagine it now. He had the least parts out of the trio—you were certain he’d chosen Zone as a way to give Jisung and Changbin more time to shine—but he made just as great of an impact. You could feel the effects of it, on you and everyone else around you. There was no question about it; he belonged there.

By the time the performance was over, you could add a few new emotions to the ones swirling inside you: happiness, pride, and something else you couldn’t quite place. You found Changbin amidst the sea of people first, weaving and dodging through the crowd until you reached him, or, rather, crashed directly into him. His face broke out into a wide smile as soon as he realized it was you, barely getting the chance to say anything before you pulled him into a hug.

“So?” you could hear the giddiness in his voice as he gave you a tight squeeze.

“You killed it, Bin! That’s gotta be the best you've ever sounded,” you hoped he could hear your praises over the pandemonium. “You gonna remember me when you’re famous?”

He pulled away with a laugh, lifting his chin in—mostly—feigned bravado. “I’ll consider it,” his eyes sparkled. “Did you notice the new move I did?”

“Obviously,” you imitated his stylish salute with two fingers, and his smile grew even wider. “And what’s with that sound you made at the start of your verse?”

“It’s my new signature!” he declared.

“So cool! You’re so cool, Seo Changbin!” You threw a hand over your heart with a giggle, and he bumped his shoulder against yours, suddenly embarrassed.

If he said something in response, you didn’t quite catch it, effectively losing all focus the instant your eyes caught sight of a group of people gathered nearby. Chan was at its center, grinning from ear to ear as he tried to keep up with everyone’s chattering all at once. A visual of him you’d pictured so many times before, now right before your eyes—a charming, social butterfly who made befriending others look as simple as breathing. It truly sank in at that moment, that the boy who’d come to mean so much to you in so little time, had a whole other side to his world that you didn’t even know of. The view of his thousand-watt smile wasn’t for your eyes alone, the pieces of himself that he put into his music weren’t solely for your ears.

It made your heart sing; he should be adored. But at the same time, that sensation from earlier made its presence known once again. The girl next to him, the head organizer for the event, if you remembered correctly, reached out to touch his arm as she laughed. Her hand lingered for a moment too long, a look you knew all too well swimming in her eyes.

Oh. Suddenly, the mystery feeling wasn’t so much of a mystery anymore.

Something ignited deep within you, completely different from the familiar heat Chan set off in your skin. It was immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. You weren’t the type to bristle over something so small—at least, you’d never thought you were. You wanted to blame it on something; the fact that you hadn’t seen Chan for most of the night, the fact that it felt a bit too reminiscent of what he used to do whenever you’d dared to take your attention off of him for even a moment. But Chan would never even think to pull anything like that, it went against his nature. His nature just so happened to entail being adored wherever he went.

You knew it was nothing more than that same selfishness that had reared its head the night you’d first slept together. Not quite insecurity, and not quite jealousy. It was rooted in something much simpler: a matter of what felt right, and what didn’t. You’d wanted to be done with the troublesome feeling from the moment you’d first encountered it—to nip it in the bud before it sprouted into something uglier—but just like everything about your relationship with Chan, it was out of your hands. It was inevitable. With the wholeness that came with his presence, an emptiness was left in his absence.

“Oh my God,” Changbin’s exasperated voice cut through the music, and, in turn, the thoughts swarming your head. “Stare any harder and he might just burst into flames.”

You blinked, embarrassment increasing tenfold. “Sorry, Binnie,” you muttered. “What were you saying?”

He gave you a knowing nudge. “Just go talk to him so I don’t have to look at your lovesick face anymore.”

“Not lovesick,” you protested, but the way your eyes darted right back to Chan did nothing to help your case. You found him staring at you this time, his overwhelmed beam shifting into something softer, sweeter—a look of relief. He dismissed himself from the group just as your feet were preparing, almost reflexively, to pull you in his direction. You turned to give Changbin another apologetic glance, only for him to roll his eyes and gesture for you to leave.

“I need to find Jisung, anyway,” he told you. “Talking to more than one stranger at a time probably has him looking for an escape route.”

Promising to meet up with him again later, you parted ways, a strange sense of calm washing over you as you came face to face with Chan at last. The pungent smell in the air was replaced with his fresh citrus, the clamoring sounds around you suddenly much quieter in your ears, as if waiting with bated breath to hear what he had to say.

“Hey, you,” he grinned.

“Hi, Channie,” you held out your hands, skin tingling when he rested his palms against yours. Slightly clammy from the adrenaline rush of the performance, but soft to the touch. Warm as ever.

“So, were you ever planning on telling me that you’re a shapeshifter?”

“A shapeshifter?” he giggled, more melodic than any of the music you’d heard that night.

“Those moves? The growling?” you marveled. “Even the way you carried yourself; you really know how to put on a show.”

Chan’s fingers—topped off with black nail polish, you noticed for the first time—twitched in your hands, resisting the urge to reach up and adjust his cap, tug at his ear, swipe over his nose, do something to try and alleviate his embarrassment.

“Did you like it? Or was it too much? I know this one’s your favorite, so…”

…I hope I didn’t mess it up. You could hear the words on the tip of his tongue without him even finishing. They were clear in every nervous flicker in his expression, every awkward shift in his feet.

“Are you kidding?” you rubbed your thumb along the back of his hand. “You were made for this.”

The flashing lights around you illuminated his face just in time for you to see his eyes widen. It almost made you sad—the genuine shock etched into his features.

“Ah…” he ducked his head, speechless. Suddenly, you completely understood why he’d been reluctant to ask you to attend the showcase. You should’ve known by now; Chan didn’t have to play coy to endear you, he accomplished that just fine by simply being himself.

“You really think so?” He kept his stare glued to the floor.

“Of course. Everyone else can see it, too,” you added. “I’m really proud of you, Channie.”

His cap hid his expression from your view, but you were certain that his brilliant smile was there—the one you loved so much, the one so wide that it couldn’t be contained, swelling his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thank you,” it was meek, barely audible above the roar of the crowd. “That means a lot.”

You wanted to dip your head under the brim of his hat and meet his gaze, to let him know just how much you meant it. You wanted to kiss him, unconcerned with the people around you who might see—in fact, it only strengthened the desire, the chance to witness his cute, flustered reaction to a public display like that.

Your hesitation lasted a split second too long, however, as you spotted a fresh group of people approaching the two of you; some faces recognizable, some entirely new. You kept your smile as they made their way over with shouts and cheers, but your hand gripped Chan’s just a bit tighter.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Tonight was full of firsts for you, it seemed.

Attending a university party without leaving within the first hour, mingling with more people than you’d ever thought existed on campus, and now, as you currently were, lacking so much in self-control that you were pressed up against Chan in the venue bathroom.

You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up there, the only thing you were sure of was the slew of emotions leading into it. Chan could tell that you were antsy, and, maybe, he was feeling antsy too. The number of times you’d been separated throughout the night only to drift right back to each other was too many to count. It got to the point where the final time it happened, you’d opted for linking arms to avoid getting lost again.

You wanted to go home—you’d been more than ready to from the moment 3RACHA had finished performing—and you would’ve gladly left Chan to enjoy the rest of the event with his endless rotation of friends if it weren’t for the fact that every time you were apart for too long, he’d go looking for you. At first, you’d tried to tell him not to worry himself over whether or not you were having fun, but eventually, you realized with a flutter in your chest that it wasn’t just his usual attentiveness at play; he wanted you next to him.

When he’d asked if you wanted to retreat somewhere quieter for a bit, it had been innocent enough. You didn’t think he’d expected things to head in this direction—you certainly hadn’t. With your vigilance and his shyness, neither of you were exactly the type.

“This okay?”

“Mhm,” he breathed against your lips. The faint pounding of the bass outside could still be heard through the bathroom door, but you were much more fixated on Chan’s racing heartbeat.

“You look—mmph—so pretty tonight,” he slurred. “Been wanting to kiss you.”

His voice still had the faintest rasp to it after the strain of performing, exciting you more than it probably should’ve. “You’re so sweet,” you cooed, pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “How do you think I felt seeing you up on that stage?”

He made a soft noise, unable to protest when you took his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking delicately and making him melt into you. His mouth fell open for you to devour freely. His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly over your hips, rested on them at last. From the way his fingers constricted around your clothes, you knew he was itching to bring you closer; he always was. 

“You don’t believe me?” You pulled back just slightly, tugging at his plush skin between your teeth as you did.  He tasted sweet, even sweeter than usual. The same artificial strawberry you’d tried earlier in the night. Gently, you used your hold on his cheeks to turn his head in the direction of the mirror.

Chan’s eyes fell instantly, avoiding his reflection like second nature.

“Look at yourself, Channie,” you encouraged. “I want you to see what I see.”

A quiet whine built in his throat, but he complied nonetheless, meeting his own, timid gaze in the mirror. You let your hands slip from his cheeks to give him a clear view of his face, shifting your position so that you stood behind him, admiring the view together.

“Pretty boy,” you drawled, running your hands along his shoulders. “For someone who’s so good at reading people, you’re clueless about how bad they really want you.”

He tensed up, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “What?”

“You didn’t notice?” You tilted your head. “That's okay. It’s cute, actually.”

Your lips found his neck, breath fanning over his warm skin in a way that made goosebumps rise to the surface. Keeping your eyes locked on his reflection, you pressed a trail of kisses down his throat, doing little to hide how high your emotions were running.

“D-did something bother you?” he stuttered out, and if you hadn’t known him any better, you might’ve thought he was trying to tease you. Hearing him say it out loud nearly made you cringe at yourself. It was so trivial, so ridiculous. You didn’t want him to see that side of you—a side you’d hardly even known you had before tonight. Still, the burning sensation had grown too strong for you to ignore anymore, with each suggestive touch or longing glance thrown Chan's way serving as fuel to the fire.

“Why would I be bothered?” you said at last. “They don’t get to see you like this.” His breath hitched as you grazed your teeth along his skin. “Or hear you like this. Do they?”

“N-no,” he agreed. “Just you.”

Just you. You wondered if he’d said it knowing full well the kind of effect it would have on you.

“Do you like all the attention?”

He pressed his lips together, averting his eyes from the mirror again. It was subtle, but you could’ve sworn his hips jutted forward just a bit.

“I like your attention,” he said softly.

Another perfect answer from a perfect boy. Your hands fell from his shoulders, sliding down his body to give his waist a squeeze through the thin material of his shirt. “You deserve it,” you licked a stripe up his neck. “All of it. Who wouldn’t go crazy over you when you look like this?”

“I…” He bit his lip, no doubt to hold back what he really wanted to say. “Please, ‘m getting shy.”

You were almost tempted to grab hold of his chin and tilt his head up, giving him no choice other than to take in the breathtaking sight of himself. But judging by his bright red ears and restless squirming under your palms, he was flustered enough already—so much that you worried it may actually mortify him to face his appearance on top of your praises reverberating in his mind. Instead, you pressed more wet kisses to his neck, hands roaming further down his body and feeling up the expanse of his stomach, right above the waistband of his pants. He whimpered, pushing his hips forward much more noticeably this time.

“It’ll be bad if we get caught,” you hummed. “Keep quiet, Channie.”

Chan sucked in a sharp breath as you ran your tongue along his ear. You took his hoop piercing between your teeth, tugging at it in a gentle, but deliberate taunt.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “You know I can't.”

You smiled deviously around the silver. “I know.”

The sound of your voice was nothing short of intoxicating, smooth and sultry and pooling heat in his abdomen at an alarmingly quick rate. Your fingers traced over the buttons of his jeans, playing with them in a tortuous dance, but not quite popping them open. The material was already starting to feel tight around him, and when you fully cupped the area without warning, his mouth fell open to spill out a shaky moan.

Your heart jumped; he was so sensitive, reduced to the flushed, noisy mess you saw before you with just a few touches and kisses. You thought back to what he’d said that night—about how it’d been a while—a small part of you wondering if that was the real reason, or if he was just always this reactive. It thrilled you like nothing else, the prospect of him being so vocal, so vulnerable to every bit of stimulation no matter how many times he’d felt it before.

“Maybe that’s what you want? For everyone to hear all these pretty sounds you make for me.”

You dragged your tongue up from his lobe, swirling it around the shell of his ear and practically tasting the heat radiating off the reddened skin. Frantically, Chan tried to mask another moan, hands gripping the sink for support.

“No—ah—just you. Only for you.”

“Only me?” You gave him a squeeze, curling your fingers around his growing bulge and making him shudder against you. “Should I make sure they know that?”

He peeked up at last from under the brim of his cap, eyes already so foggy, lips already puffed. Your mouth traveled down from his ear, pressing a kiss right to the junction of his shoulder and neck. A light hiccup escaped him when your front teeth tickled the flesh, threatening to bite down in full.

“Can I?” you checked.

Chan leaned in further so that nearly all his weight was resting against the sink, knees weakening at the mere thought of what you were going to do. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Please.”

“It’ll show,” you warned, basking in the feel of his pulse beneath your lips.

“Please,” he repeated. “I want it to.”

Any composure you had left was no match for the desperation in his voice. He always knew exactly what to say—or, rather, anything he said was exactly what you wanted to hear, solely because it came from him. Without wasting another moment, you sank your teeth into his neck, wrapping your lips around the patch of skin to create a hot, delicious suction that nearly made Chan fold in half.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp cry escaping him despite his best efforts. You tightened your grasp on him in an attempt to keep him steady, but the added pressure to his length only seemed to make things worse. He whimpered something incoherent, hips rolling forward to grind into your palm—uncharacteristically shameless of him.

You sucked to your heart’s content, nibbling and running your tongue along the sensitive area until you were certain a mark would be left behind for days to come. When you finally released his flesh from between your teeth, Chan was all but panting, face scrunched up with pleasure and bulge twitching in your hand. You gave the mark a delicate lick, soothing the flared skin while he caught his breath.

“Mine.”

It sent a shiver down his spine. Just as you were preparing to sully a new spot on his neck, a sudden knock on the bathroom door made you both freeze in place. His body stiffened against yours, head shooting up in a panic.

“Is anyone in here?” a girl’s voice came muffled through the distant rumble of the music.

The doorknob wobbled, and you steeled yourself to respond, knowing that Chan was in absolutely no state to.

“Yeah, just a minute!” you called, throwing out the first excuse you could conjure. “My friend’s feeling a bit sick.”

Carefully, to avoid drawing out any more questionable noises from the boy, you pulled your hand away from his crotch and peeled yourself off of him. He straightened up as best he could, blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his eyes. Guilt pricked at you, among other things, for allowing the situation to get to this point, but even as Chan urgently tried to adjust himself so the hardness in his pants would be less obvious, he didn’t look upset—not in the slightest. He gave you a sheepish half-smile when he met your gaze, eyes gleaming with pure, unfettered adoration.

You smoothed out your clothes, trying to ignore the very prominent ache between your legs.

“Sorry, Channie,” you murmured. “I guess I got carried away.”

His fingers brushed tentatively over the mark you’d left, cheeks matching the shade of his ears. “S’alright,” he licked his lips. “I like it.”

He had to stop saying that—for the sake of your sanity, if nothing else. You cleared your throat, reminding yourself that there was, in fact, some poor soul out there waiting impatiently for the restroom.

“And all the…possessive stuff I—” you paused. “I hope it wasn’t too much.”

“Too much?” he cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t notice?”

A repeat of your question from earlier. You went quiet for a moment, trying to decode the meaning behind it. Everything that had transpired throughout the course of the evening flooded your thoughts at once: the fixed stares from across the room, the hand-holding, the arm-linking, the search for you every time you strayed too far. Butterflies fluttered to life your stomach the instant you wrapped your head around it.

“Oh.”

His giggles mixed with yours, light and timid. How very like him, to admit so openly to the exact feeling you’d been hoping to hide. Hiding with him was a fruitless endeavor, anyway.  

You rested your hand on his lower back, reaching for the handle with your other. “Look sick,” you whispered.

Chan leaned over slightly, masking both the lingering flush on his cheeks and the blossoming lovebite on his neck. On the opposite side of the door, you found none other than the event organizer standing there, watching the two of you inquisitively as you shuffled out of the bathroom. You gave her a polite dip of your head, and Chan offered a quick greeting as you ushered him along. You weren’t proud of it, but any self-consciousness you’d felt before was instantly overtaken by that selfish satisfaction.

As the two of you re-entered the fray, your hand slid down from Chan’s back, allowing him to walk normally again—or, as normally as he could when he was still very much trying to ebb the arousal you’d set off in him. He flexed his fingers as they brushed against yours, lacing them together before you could even think to pull away.

By some miracle, you managed to locate the other two thirds of 3RACHA with just a bit of sifting through the crowd. The relief was short-lived, however, alarm gripping you in its place when you noticed who was standing with them. Lee Minho.

It was no surprise that he was there, but you’d somehow managed to go the entire night without catching so much as a single glimpse of him. A part of you had been grateful for it, but the other part was also itching to see him. Ever since your conversation with Changbin, you’d become more and more ashamed about the way you’d acted with Minho in the convenience store. He’d rubbed you the wrong way, sure, but you were certain that your reaction had only made the situation worse. This was your chance to fix it, to dodge the arrow before he could finish drawing back his string.

“It’s completely different,” you heard him insist as you and Chan approached the group. He was engaged in what appeared to be a very serious debate with a very confused Jisung. “It’s like iced coffee versus hot coffee that’s been out for too long; they’re both cold, but one’s supposed to be, the other isn’t.”

Jisung blinked, lips parting and closing several times over the next few seconds. You’d never quite witnessed someone’s thought process unfolding in real time like that before. Even if you’d caught the full discussion between the two, the look on his face told you that you still wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going on.

“I’ll be honest, man, you lost me three analogies ago.”

Minho clicked his tongue, looking ready to drop another equally convoluted explanation. Instead, he fell silent when he spotted you, the delighted smirk of someone who knew he was being difficult transforming into something much harsher, much less natural. It nearly made you wince. You’d never been particularly close with the guy, but you’d thought you were at least reaching a point where he’d grown comfortable enough to approach you with the same casualness he did with the rest of his friends. It bothered you more than you wanted to admit, that the first sign of friendship sprouting between you had been trampled on for reasons that you didn’t even know, nor comprehend.

His stare flickered between you and Chan, and you prayed desperately that the dim lighting of the hall would be enough for the fresh mark you’d left on Chan’s neck to escape Minho’s scrutiny. He narrowed his eyes, and your heartbeat picked up. So far, not off to a great start.

Still, you swallowed—your misgivings, and your pride—and flashed him a quick smile.

“Hi, Minho.”

No response, just a nod. Something told you that you were lucky to get even that out of him. He turned his head, planning to continue his debate with Jisung without addressing you any further, but the other boy had already been sucked into a high-energy conversation with Chan and Changbin about ways they could improve future performances.

“Can we talk?” you tried to keep your volume low, just enough for him to hear without catching the attention of the others.

He studied you with an impressive lack of interest, and for a moment, you thought he might really go the rest of the night without uttering a word around you.

“Why?”

“I just want to clear the air. I feel like we kinda had a misunderstanding the other day.”

“Maybe on your end,” he said curtly. “I understand what’s going on just fine.”

You took a breath, forcing yourself to remain open-minded. “Maybe,” you agreed. “So, could you tell me what I’m missing about all this?”

Wordlessly, he brought his cup to his lips, fixing you with unblinking eyes the entire time he drank, like you might lash out and attack him if he let his guard down for even a second. You managed to hold his gaze, but that same chill from before began to creep up your spine. It was so intense—and for what? Anyone who saw the way he was looking at you might think the two of you were involved in some kind of centuries-long blood feud between your families.

Even after he’d swallowed, he said nothing, and you felt your patience slip just a bit.

“If I’ve done something wrong, or if I’ve upset you somehow, please let me know,” you added.

“Upset me?” he hummed. “Yeah, actually, you did.”

You tensed.

“When you said I wasn’t funny, it really hurt my feelings,” he announced. “Apologize with flowers and tears, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

It almost sounded like his usual manner of joking around, but your glimmer of hope was put out by that same, cold expression. You tried not to lose sight of your goal, clinging to what Changbin had told you in the cafe. He’s easy to misunderstand.

“Minho,” you began lightly. “I’m being serious here.”

His eyes glinted under the flashing lights. “So am I.”

You allowed your face to drop at last, realizing right then and there that he had no intention of even telling you what you’d done wrong—let alone giving you the chance to make amends with him.

“What, you don’t like that idea?” he feigned hurt. “Maybe you’d rather get on your hands and knees and ask for forgiveness?”

You bristled. “That’s enough.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. A look almost akin to gratification crossed his features, like a crack in your demeanor was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“Hm. Guess you’re not really sorry, after all.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, okay? Even as a joke.”

“I’d be glad not to talk to you at all,” he shot back. “But it seems you have nothing better to do than pick fights with me.”

Unbelievable. You had to stop yourself from clenching your fists, solely because of the fact your hand was still loosely clasped with Chan’s.

“Pick fights?” you repeated. “I’m trying to fix things between us!”

“There’s nothing between us to fix.”

The way he said it was strange, pointed. You were positive there was a deeper meaning to it, almost like he was implying that there was something for you to fix, just not with him. It planted an unpleasant thought in your mind—or, rather, watered the seed of an idea that was already rooted deep within it.

You’d managed to keep your voice hushed thus far to avoid causing a scene, but the building tension finally seemed to reach a tipping point, enough to catch Chan’s attention. He put his chatter with Jisung and Changbin on hold to give you a curious glance, and, as irritated as you were with Minho’s provocation, you smiled back at him.

“You alright?” he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, eyes darting momentarily in Minho’s direction. He’d turned away from you as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, going right back to talking with Jisung as if your conversation had never even happened. At least one part of what he’d said had been straightforward—he clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

“You’re friends with some pretty weird people, y’know that?”

Chan grinned. “Birds of a feather.”

Your spirits lifted a bit, taking comfort in the fact that he at least seemed oblivious to the altercation that had just taken place. Still, it was a shallow relief. You knew now, with complete certainty, that Minho wasn’t going to make things easy for you.

Of course he wouldn’t. Nothing was ever that easy.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One month into the fall semester of your senior year, the academic distractions that you’d been longing for all summer were now upon you. Perhaps, even, a bit more intensely than you’d have liked.

Your classes were manageable enough—a significant improvement over the hellscape that was Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics—but the amount of time and effort your research lab demanded more than made up for what might’ve been an easy final term. When you weren’t attending your lectures or completing assignments, you were practically living in the astrophysics lab; analyzing spectroscopic measurements, reconstructing images from interferometric data, observing optical maps of the interstellar medium, and, on top of all that, sitting through countless meetings with your team.

It was as fulfilling as it was exhausting, and though you were more than happy to finally get some hands-on experience in your field of study, you couldn’t help but feel a bit wistful about this new routine as well. Your Experimental Physics II section with Changbin only took place once a week as opposed to the biweekly Thermodynamics lectures, and that, coupled with the lack of study sessions and your limited free time meant you were seeing him much less often than before. It was even worse in the cases of Chan and Iseul, both of which you rarely saw on campus to begin with. Even with Iseul more or less still treating your apartment as her second home, and Chan being his usual, relentlessly considerate self—never going too long without checking in on you—they were both busy with their respective capstone projects as well, leaving your interactions fewer and further between in comparison to the spring.

You knew it wasn’t rational, but it almost frightened you how such minor shifts in your daily life could feel so jarring, especially when graduation, the greatest shift of all, was looming on the horizon. The sands of time were trickling along without a care in the world, changing things little by little until they were unrecognizable. Some for the better, some for worse.

You’d thought you were handling the gaps in your time spent with Chan fairly well; that was, until it dawned on you halfway through September just how often your mind would drift to him while working on your research. Every new set of spectral line data or roAp star photometric variations had you visualizing what his reactions might be—his gleaming eyes that captivated you more than any of the stars you were observing, his voice growing shaky with excitement as he tried to discuss your observations without pausing every few seconds just to gush about how cool it all was.

You weren’t pleased with the number of instances your lab partners had caught you grinning to yourself in the middle of running tests and collecting data, giddy over the mere thought of his presence. As it turned out, Changbin hadn’t been too far off when he’d labeled you as lovesick.

Summoned by your thoughts, your phone vibrated against your desk to signal a text from none other than Changbin. You placed down your pencil in defeat, accepting the fact that you weren’t going to be getting any work done at this rate—daydreaming about how often you were daydreaming about Chan should’ve been indication enough.

bin 😑 (2:03 p.m.) number 5???

You blinked at your screen, dumbfounded.

bin 😑 (2:04 p.m.) number 5 pls pretty pls

you (2:04 p.m.) i sent you number 5 yesterday?

bin 😑 (2:06 p.m.) oh ;;; number 6 pls~~~

you (2:06 p.m.) i think i deserve an honorable mention on ur diploma

bin 😑 (2:07 p.m.) get me thru this hmwk and i’ll make it happen one for you and one for chan ><

The thought of it nearly made you laugh out loud: Changbin, trying to charm his way through the dean’s office to make a proposal as ridiculous as that. You didn’t doubt that he might try it, or that he might actually succeed in doing so.

Shuffling through your papers, you snapped a picture of your assignment, barely managing to fit the entirety of the required work in one shot.

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) thank uuu oh speaking of chan lol u know he’s sick?

you (2:10 p.m.) what???

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) i knew it he didn’t tell you -_-

You felt a pang of worry, countless questions filling your head at once. It’d been a day or two since you’d contacted Chan, even longer since you’d seen him in person—definitely over a week by now. The last time you’d talked hadn’t been over a phone call like usual; you’d texted him just to see how he was doing, and after a short chat he’d promised to meet up with you sometime the next week. It had been unusual, but not unusual enough for you to overthink it, especially considering how swamped the both of you were.

you (2:12 p.m.) how long has he been sick for?

bin 😑 (2:13 p.m.) couple days? actually more like a week now

Worry twisted into a sense of dread. Why hadn’t he told you?

You didn’t have to question it for long. You knew why—anyone who knew Chan well enough could piece it together with ease.

bin 😑 (2:14 p.m.) he hasn’t gone to class for a few days ㅜ you should visit him if you can

you (2:14 p.m.) yeah, i definitely will thanks for letting me know binnie

If your homework had been an afterthought before, it was long forgotten now. You didn’t bother to clean up your workspace before rising from your chair, leaving the scattered notes and eraser shavings for you to deal with later.

You weren’t sure what you were experiencing as you made your way over to your kitchen, digging around for ginger and garlic and praying that you’d have enough. It was an overreaction, probably, but you berated yourself regardless; for not noticing that something was wrong, for not pressing harder when asking how he’d been, for not questioning the longer periods of time you’d gone without talking. You’d wanted to give him his space, but for it to go as far as him thinking he shouldn’t tell you that he was sick—sick to the point where he couldn’t attend class, stirred something awful in you.

The pot nearly slipped from your hands in all your haste to prepare your materials, and you took a breath, forcing yourself to relax before you set fire to your apartment. Still, the concern, the guilt, didn’t die down. You were so accustomed to being in-tune with every aspect of your relationships, be it friends, family, or romantic partners, making note of every little detail, every subtle shift; sometimes before they themselves could even realize it. But for what was neither the first nor the last time, you had to remind yourself that this was Chan you were dealing with. Of course he wouldn’t tell you—he wouldn’t tell you anything that he believed might cause you even the slightest inconvenience. He would do whatever it took, go to any lengths imaginable, just to avoid committing the unforgivable sin of letting you care about him. It was the complete opposite of everything you'd come to understand about the world, the people around you, and it put you in a position that you weren’t sure you wanted to be in.

You weren’t going to stand idly by, watching him board his openings shut before anyone could catch a glimpse of what was inside, watching him burden himself with the fear of burdening others. Whatever had happened in the past for him to reach that point, you wanted to suck it out like poison until there wasn’t a single drop left in his system. You were going to be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

His face was the last thing you’d expected to see when the door to unit 8-325 swung open.

Realistically, it shouldn’t have been. He did live there, after all. Like the annoying troll under the bridge that wouldn’t let you pass unless you answered his riddles three. It took everything in you not to make a face as you were met with Minho standing in the doorframe. He, of course, didn’t extend that same courtesy to you, eyes narrowing into an unmistakable grimace when he laid them on you.

“What do you want?”

“Hi to you, too,” you muttered.

His expression didn’t change, and, much to your disdain, you once again found yourself mesmerized by that gaze of his. You hated how effective it was; unreadable, yet communicating a thousand things all at once. Even if he really was as harmless as Changbin claimed, even if his cold glares and cutting comments were the extent of what he could do to you, your skin crawled all the same.

When you saw that he wasn’t planning on dignifying you with a response, you inched forward, expecting to be let inside. That would simply be too easy, though. Minho shifted so that his body blocked your path, pulling the door closer to him for good measure.

“Chan’s sick,” he deadpanned.

You paused, blown away for a moment by his audacity. “I know he’s sick,” you gritted your teeth. “I’m here to check on him.”

You might’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips start to twitch, but you tore your eyes away too quickly to be certain. The last thing this man needed was whatever kind of ego boost he’d get from you paying a little too much attention to his features.

“Not much you can do,” he dismissed, voice light and airy as ever. “Unless you think gracing him with your presence is gonna make him all better.”

It was your turn to shoot Minho a glare, foot darting out just in time to prevent him from shutting the door in your face. Wordlessly, you lifted the container of galbitang into his view.

He raised an eyebrow, the closest thing to a genuine reaction you could get from him. “Changed your major to the medical route?”

“I don’t see you doing anything to help him,” you snapped.

Your patience was already minimal when it came to this guy, but ever since you’d confronted him at the event in August, it seemed like he’d made it his personal mission to run it as thin as possible every time you interacted with him. It was kind of impressive, really, the way he knew exactly how to push every last one of your buttons with ease.

Fresh out of half-assed excuses, Minho shrugged, as if he’d never even cared in the first place. He let go of the door handle, and you took that as a sign to push past him and slip inside.

You removed your shoes as quickly as you could, not wanting to spend another second around him if you could help it. Knowing that Changbin wasn’t home, you stalked past the kitchen and through the living room, the soothing scent of freshly-brewed yuja tea flooding your nostrils as you did. It almost made you feel bad about what you’d said to Minho, but you knew better than to apologize for it now—if you’d come to learn anything, it was that your peace offerings would be met with even more hostility than your provocation. Instead, you padded down the hallway, heading straight for Chan’s room.

Careful not to lose your grip on the container in your hands, you managed to give his door a light knock. A few seconds passed before you heard a faint “come in”, muffled by the sound of what was sure to be a pile of blankets. You braced yourself, recovering from your Minho-induced rise in blood pressure, then slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind you.

Chan blinked his eyes open just in time to see you approaching his bed. They were foggy, even more exhausted than usual, and they widened slightly when he registered who was standing before him.

“Hi, Channie,” you whispered. “Were you sleeping?”

“N-no, I—” his voice came strained and hoarse, so different from his pleasant, melodic lilt that you had trouble believing it was really him speaking for a second. “I was already awake.”

You rolled his desk chair over to the side of the bed, placing your container of galbitang on his nightstand next to the half-finished cup of tea and army of empty water bottles. He watched, stunned, as you sat down next to him, still trying to process what was going on.

“Um…how did you—?”

“Seo Changbin,” you hummed.

A weak smile formed on his face. “Bin…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” he croaked, not sounding alright at all. “Guess when you told me to look sick I took it a little too seriously, yeah?”

You let out a light giggle, and he tried to join you, only to spiral right into a violent coughing fit instead. It made your heart twist with sympathy, and you reached out to brush back his messy curls, resting your palm on his forehead. His skin was burning, and not in its normal way—if you could even call the amount of body heat he carried with him normal. It was heavy and sticky and pulsing, like you could physically feel the ache plaguing his head.

“Ah, wait,” he warned. “You shouldn’t touch me, you’ll catch it.”

I don’t care. You almost wanted to say it without restraint, but you settled for something more tactful, something less pointlessly dramatic. “You wouldn’t get me sick, would you?”

He flashed you another feeble smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry you have to see me like this,” he rasped, shrinking into the covers so that his face was only half visible.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie,” you ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I just wish you’d told me. How long have you been sick?”

The feeling seemed to relax him, weary eyes drooping just a bit as your nails grazed his scalp. “It’s only been like this for a few days,” he hesitated. “But I first started feeling it last week. Minho thinks it’s the flu.”

You stopped combing through his hair, letting your hand simply rest atop his head. He seemed to sense your disapproval, eyes peeking up at you from beneath the comforter to meet your frowning face.

“It’s not that bad, though,” he tried to assure you. “Just a cough and some headaches.”

“Bin said you haven’t been able to go to class.”

Chan sucked in through his teeth; caught. You sent out a silent apology to Changbin, realizing a split second too late that you’d probably set him up for a scolding as soon as Chan could speak without sounding like he had gravel in his throat.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” he explained sheepishly. “Especially when you’ve been so busy.”

“I’m always thinking of you, anyway,” you countered, only half-joking. “So, please don’t hide stuff like this from me, okay? That’ll only make me worry more.”

For a moment, he stayed silent, and you got the feeling that your words hadn’t quite gotten through to him. Regardless, he eventually gave you a tiny nod.

“Promise?” you pressed.

“Promise.”

He didn’t hold out his pinky this time to seal the deal, but you chose not to dwell on it considering the fact that his hands were buried under layers upon layers of blankets. Instead, you gave his head one last pat and reached for the thermos on the nightstand.

“Can you eat?”

His face lit up at the sight of the galbitang. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I haven’t eaten yet today, actually.”

You frowned, biting back an exasperated comment. Even if his horribly skewed priorities frustrated you more than anything else—touching a part of you buried so deep within that you yourself couldn’t fully grasp it—you’d visited Chan with the intent of helping him, not lecturing him. There was no changing the outcome now, anyway. All you could do was try and make things a little easier for him, to balance out his determination to create new obstacles for himself as quickly as you could break them down.

“It should still be warm, but I can go heat it up if you’d like?” you were reluctant to ask, not keen on the possibility of seeing Minho again.

“No, no, s’alright,” he shuffled around in the sheets, trying to sit himself upright against the pillows. “I’ll eat it like this.”

As soon as his protective pile of covers slipped down his torso, he was shuddering. Even with the hoodie he was wearing, chills passed through his entire body, so strong that you could visibly see how his shoulders shook.

“Oh my God, Channie,” your voice softened to a tone that he’d only ever heard you use with him, one that soothed his pounding head. “You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

He attempted to say something in response—to deny it despite every cell in his body screaming otherwise—but between his sniffles and chattering teeth, it was hard to make out. You reached out with your free hand and pulled the covers back up his chest, draping them over his shoulders so that just his head and neck were exposed. Chan blinked at you, the confusion on his face morphing into subtle panic when he understood what you were planning.

“Ah…you don’t,” he coughed. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” You unscrewed the lid and unlatched the spoon from its side. “I want to, actually. If it’s okay with you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you—the flush that crept up on his cheeks, even more visible than usual with how little color there was to his sickly complexion.

“Okay,” he averted his eyes. “Yeah, thank you.”

You scooped up a portion of the soup, making sure to gather a good mix of ingredients for him, then brought it up to his lips. He blew out puffs of air a few times before taking the spoon into his mouth, still refusing to meet your gaze.

Despite his awkwardness, a cute hum followed. “This is really good.”

“That’s how I know you’re sick.”

He giggled gently, careful not to set off another coughing fit. “No, I mean it,” he licked his lips. “I can taste the flavor, even though my nose is all stuffy.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you smiled, dipping the spoon back into the container. “I kinda made it in a rush, so I hoped it’d at least be edible.”

Chan finally looked up, fixing you with a guilt-ridden gaze. “I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, just as you brought another portion up to his lips.

“The only person you should be apologizing to is yourself,” you said firmly.

A comfortable silence filled the room, with nothing but the sound of Chan’s slurping and wheezy breaths breaking it. Though the bashfulness was still there—it always was—he gradually came to relax the more you fed him, slumping his shoulders and letting out those content, satisfied noises that you’d come to love so much after each hot spoonful. The sight of him, disheveled as he was, made your heart feel strangely full, the ripples of worry fading out until it was calm and clear. He was being cared for, looked after; even if for just a moment. You decided right then and there that it was the only thing you’d ever ask of him—to dare to let you treat him with an ounce of the kindness he showed everyone but himself.

The steam, garlic, and ginger seemed to do their job in clearing up his sinuses a bit, as his sniffling grew more and more frequent until it was obvious he was having a hard time containing it. He had to refrain from ducking his head, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over him as you plucked a tissue from the nightstand and wiped his nose clean. Still, he thanked you quietly, sinking further into the pillows.

“Is there anything else I can do?” you sealed the now-empty container shut. “I can pick up any missing work for you tomorrow, if that helps.”

Chan’s eyes were half-lidded now, his weariness finally starting to catch up to him. “Nah, don’t trouble yourself. Most of my stuff is on my laptop, anyway.”

For the first time, you noticed the device amidst the blankets and sheets, teetering on the edge of his mattress in a way that made your adrenaline spike considering it was the precious amalgamation of all his blood, sweat, and tears since he’d entered university.

“Have you been working, even now?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I think staring at a screen just made my head feel worse. Gonna try again later.”

Before you could say anything else, he changed the subject, like he knew you’d advise against it the instant the words left his mouth.

“But how’s your work? Is the lab going okay?”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your lips. You might not have let him get away with it if he hadn’t asked about the exact thing you’d been dying to share with him since the last time you’d met up. Maybe that was what he needed, anyway—something to cheer him up and take his mind off the perpetual ache consuming his body.

“I’m observing a pair of binary stars right now.”

He perked up against the pillows, lifting his head so quickly that it actually earned a light hiss of pain. Still, his face broke out into a smile, exactly the way you’d dreamed of when you’d first analyzed the spectral lines.

“What kind?”

“Spectroscopic.”

His dimples appeared for the first time that day. “The closest pair!” he chirped. “That’s amazing, I wish I could see it.”

“I can show you their Doppler shifts as the next best thing,” you offered. “They’re so close even the telescopes can’t separate them. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Super romantic,” he beamed, eyes twinkling through the glaze of illness. That familiar warmth spread through your skin—just by looking at him, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. “Orbiting so close and so fast…you think they’ll change each other’s evolution?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

Like in the case of most binary pairs, one star burned brighter than the other—just the slightest bit. Even if the difference in them was miniscule, you had no doubt in your mind which of the two was Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Space talk could only mitigate the effects of the flu for so long. Chan’s half-lidded eyes eventually drooped all the way shut, his raspy but enthusiastic chatter dying down into barely-responsive mumbles, then, finally, soft, steady snores. It took everything in you not to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, already accumulating beads of sweat as his fever began to break. Even after all your recklessness in getting so close to him while he was sick, you figured that would be pushing your luck a bit too far. Instead, you ensured he had enough water for when he’d inevitably wake up parched, adjusted his pillows so that his head was properly elevated, and tidied up the mess on his nightstand as best you could.

Carefully, you tiptoed out of his room, taking one last look at his sleeping face before shutting the door.

As you entered the living room from the hall, you found Minho seated on the couch; presumably hard at work, judging by the way he was hunched over his laptop, typing up a storm with computer glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He didn’t even spare you a glance when you passed him to toss the empty bottles in the recycling bin. You’d long learned to keep quiet around him to avoid setting off yet another tirade of petty insults and icy scowls, and you would’ve gladly gone without a word if the memory of your earlier accusation wasn’t nagging away at you. That, and, maybe the affection that had bubbled up inside you upon seeing Chan had let down your guard a bit.

Against your better judgment, you mustered up the will to say it. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Minho’s eyes stayed glued to his screen. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Obviously,” you replied evenly. “I just mean I’m glad he has you.”

You were prepared to leave it at that, both to let him resume his work, and avoid the claws that were sure to come out if you kept pressing the matter. To your surprise, however, he piped up again just as you began making your way over to the door.

“If you’re expecting me to say the same about you, don’t hold your breath.”

You told yourself to ignore it, but with just a few words, he’d effectively frosted over all the warmth that Chan had kindled in your chest. Something snapped in you, making you spin on your heels before you could stop yourself.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Minho’s eyes flickered up at last, widening for only a split second before they narrowed again.

“That’s no way to talk to someone in their home,” he clicked his tongue. “If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d kick you out.”

You held your ground, refusing to feel embarrassed about your outburst no matter how much he provoked you.

“Answer me.”

Minho rose from the couch with a sigh, making it no secret what an inconvenience he found you to be, what an utter waste of his time it was to even address you.

“What makes you think I have a problem?”

You let out a bitter laugh. The absolute gall of this man.

“Don’t play dumb with me, okay? Changbin told me this is just what you’re like, but I haven't seen you treat anyone else the way you treat me.”

Minho was closer now, still a few feet away, but near enough to put you on high alert. He looked so unrecognizable these days, you’d forgotten what it’d ever felt like to be comfortable around him, to be in the same room without that unease spreading through your skin.

“You think you’re special?” he sneered. “Do your ego a favor and listen to Changbin.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he carried on, still managing to sound so carefree despite the venom in his words.

“Unless, of course, you’re the only one allowed to give orders here.”

You froze.

“What?”

“Hit a nerve?”

“What are you talking about?” You had to contain yourself, solely for the meager hope that maybe, just maybe, you might get a clear answer from him for once.

“I’ve seen your type before, too many times,” he spat. “Chan just can’t seem to break that ugly habit—falling for people who only know how to take advantage of him.”

You bristled, so enraged that you couldn’t even think to answer. All that filled your head was red, hot anger, defiance, and, buried beneath all that, fear.

Anger that he had the audacity to speak to you that way. That he’d passed such a cruel and absurd judgment without so much as bothering to get to know you first. Defiance that he thought he had you all figured out when he didn’t even know the half of it—of what Chan meant to you, of what you’d been through, of the people who had chewed you up and spit you out just like he was implying you liked to do.

Fear that he was right. Fear that someone else was capable of having those thoughts about you, that they weren’t just your own baseless inhibitions. The lingering effects of what he had planted in your mind, never quite uprooted.

“My type,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “Is just as capable of being taken advantage of.”

Minho crossed his arms, stare unbreaking as if inviting you to continue—to prove yourself to him. The thought alone made your stomach churn.

“You’re not as smart as you think,” you hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about me, and whatever happens between Chan and I is none of your business.”

He sniffed, unimpressed. “When you hurt him, it will be.”

He said it with so much certainty, so much confidence, you nearly believed it yourself. You clenched your fists, mustering all your strength to control the irrational amounts of rage bubbling up inside you. You thought of Chan, asleep in the other room amidst his nest of sweaty blankets and tissues, fighting off the flu on top of everything else he had resting on his shoulders. You thought of his exhausted face, paler than usual, and his cracked voice, still trying to reassure you even when he was in such a miserable state.

You took a deep breath, and you softened.

“I’m not going to hurt him.”

Minho said nothing. Maybe he thought it was too easy to counter, maybe he thought it wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Either way, you were done trying to make sense of him—done trying to defend yourself in front of someone who had long decided you were guilty.

So, he hated you. You could probably live with that. You didn’t exactly have a glowing opinion of him either.

You turned around, making a beeline for the door and slipping your shoes back on as calmly as you could. But, of course, it wasn’t over quite yet. Ending things on your terms, where you got the last say, wasn’t an option when it came to Minho.

“Running away from the fight you started again?” he called lazily. “This is getting boring.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Iseul’s sigh rang out through your apartment, so loud and so exaggerated this time that you couldn’t in good conscience brush it off. Half-amused by her transparency, you paused the show on your television, turning to give her a questioning look.

“Something wrong?”

“Look at that!” She gestured aggressively at the screen, where the male lead, soaked and forlorn with a bouquet of flowers in hand, was waiting in the pouring rain outside of his love interest’s home. “Where do I find someone like that, huh?”

You giggled, only to realize with a start that she was being dead serious. She pouted at you, and you cleared your throat, rushing to correct yourself.

“Are you still having problems wi—?”

“Yes,” she interjected, as if exasperated that it’d taken you this long to notice. “We had an argument earlier today. He called me needy, can you fucking believe that?”

You let out a hum of disapproval; you’d never really gotten a good vibe from this guy from the start, especially as Iseul’s boyfriend. He was far too emotionally unavailable for someone as expressive and sensitive as her.

“Why would he say that?”

“He’s just a dick. All I did was ask him to help me practice my marketing presentation—y’know, since you didn’t have the time to,” she added. You guessed it was probably just her frustration speaking, but something about the way she said it seemed off, like you were partially at fault for not being there to help her in the first place. “Then, after like two tries, he gets all annoyed with me saying I’m being way too nitpicky and wasting his time.”

You knew better than anyone how high-strung Iseul could be when it came to academics; it was the trait in her that had initially sparked your friendship, after all. She could be demanding, sure, but it was only because she cared so much about performing well. Being there for her any chance you got wasn’t even a matter of debate for you—it was the bare minimum, whether for a friend, or a significant other.

“Anyway, I’m still waiting on him to apologize,” she huffed. “I’m not the crazy one here, right? Like, do you think he has a point?”

“You’re not crazy.” You pressed your lips together, trying to approach the matter with caution. “I think you just have high expectations for people.”

“But that’s not a bad thing!”

“Of course not,” you agreed. “As long as you treat them with the same consideration.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “I could literally be the best girlfriend ever if he’d just let me. He literally never appreciates the things I do for him.”

“Maybe you just have different ways of showing your care for each other?” you suggested. “You can try bringing it up next time you talk.”

Iseul groaned, dragging her hands down her face, as if the thought of urging him to have a mature, emotionally open conversation with her caused physical pain. “I guess. If he ever even bothers to text me again.”

“How long has it been?”

She looked away, uncharacteristically meek. “A few hours.”

“He usually takes that long anyway, right?” you reasoned. “He’ll definitely come around, try not to stress too much about it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “I’m sick of thinking about it. How are things with Chan?”

It was the only detail of your life she ever really asked you about lately. You didn’t mind most of the time—you were more than happy to talk about him over other, significantly less pleasant things, but in this case, you felt a twinge of discomfort. You hated that the first thing that came to mind wasn’t Chan’s crinkled eye smile, but rather, Minho’s relentless death glare. The thought was unnerving enough for you to consider bringing it up with Iseul, just as a way to get an outside opinion from someone who wasn’t Changbin or Chan. Unlike them, Iseul didn’t know Minho at all, and you liked to think she was blunt enough to tell you objectively if you were in the wrong.  

“Pretty good,” you hesitated. “Well, there is something—”

“I’m sure they’re more than just good,” she interrupted again. “All you ever do is hang out with him these days.”

You flashed her a grin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Someone to entertain myself with once you’ve settled down?”

You were met with another huff. She crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing in a way that immediately told you she wasn’t in the mood to joke.

“Doesn’t mean you have to ditch me now that you’ve got yourself a boytoy.”

“C’mon, Iseul,” you tried to keep your tone light. “You practically live here.”

She picked at her fingernails in silence, and you felt yourself start to panic a bit, suddenly taking the implication that you’d been neglecting your friendship much more seriously. You hadn’t noticed a difference, save for how much busier your schedules were this semester—but that was inevitable given how hectic senior year was for everyone. As much as Chan consumed your thoughts (something Iseul was better off not knowing) you barely saw him more often than her; in fact, given everything he was constantly juggling at once, you probably saw him less.

“What are you always so busy with, then?” she questioned at last, the slightest bit accusatory.

“The same as you. Classes and my senior research.”

You couldn’t decipher why she looked so unconvinced by the explanation, like the idea of you being preoccupied with your own personal matters was somehow incomprehensible to her. She shifted around in her spot, clearly set on the idea that there had to be more to it than that.

“Fine,” she turned her head back to the television, still frozen on that same, pitiful frame from the drama. “I still need someone to help me practice though, and I’m definitely not asking him again. So, it’s gotta be you.”

“Sure,” you replied. “I can definitely find time.”

You wanted to believe that she was just in a foul mood because of the fight with her boyfriend—and maybe that really was the whole of it. Surely, she wouldn’t dismiss the past two years you’d spent helping and supporting her the very instant you had to focus on yourself for a bit.

Even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help but wonder for the first time if the scale between you and her was more out of balance than you thought.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October had arrived at last, bringing with it a pleasant chill in the air, early tints of orange on the trees, and a fresh wave of midterm exams. Most importantly, it brought Chan’s birthday. He’d recovered from the flu a mere few days before the third of the month, and you’d never been more grateful for the sight of his radiant smile and rosy cheeks, full of so much life that he energized not just himself, but everyone around him as well.

His birthday fell on a Tuesday, not exactly the most ideal time for a celebration between Experimental Physics II and The Life and Death of Stars, but you’d been determined to make it work. You would’ve made anything work if it meant getting to spend even an hour with him on the day where he was, for once, the center of the universe. A small get-together had been planned later in the evening at his apartment—actually a small get-together this time, as promised so seriously by Changbin—but you’d come up with an excuse to skip out on it. No matter how hard you wished it didn’t bother you, the idea of being under the same roof as Minho again had been all the reason you needed to keep away. You had no doubt in your mind that he’d do everything in his power to make you feel unwelcome, and you didn’t trust yourself to remain collected around the guy after he’d proven time and time again how talented he was when it came to riling you up.

The last thing you’d wanted was to cause a scene on Chan’s birthday; it wasn’t even worth risking. If you put a damper on his happiness simply because you couldn’t stop yourself from fighting with his best friend like two feral street cats each time you crossed paths, you’d never forgive yourself. Instead, you’d met up with him for lunch and pastries earlier in the day, with the perfect excuse to cover all the expenses for it—much to your delight, and much to his dismay. Even if you were a bit wistful about missing out on the real celebration later, Chan’s beaming face when he’d opened your gift, the best external hard drive you could afford, had more than made up for it.

It’d been a week since then, another week where you and Chan barely found the chance to lift your heads from the sea of work to check in on each other. You knew that he was especially overwhelmed. His sickness couldn’t have come at a worse time, leaving him playing catch up with all his missed assignments and lectures on top of the stress of midterms.

Your thumbs hovered over your phone screen, tapping against each other as you debated whether or not to send him a message. As if on cue, it lit up with a notification that made your breath catch.

channie 🐺 (1:03 a.m.) you awake?

you (1:03 a.m.) yeah hi channie

There was a delay before he texted again, three little dots appearing and disappearing below your chat bubble more than once, like he was repeatedly typing and deleting what he wanted to say.

channie 🐺 (1:07 a.m.) can i call you?

The question felt strange, unlike him. You’d grown accustomed to expecting his calls the very instant he’d find out you were available—more often than not, without any warning at all.

you (1:07 a.m.) do you even have to ask?

channie 🐺 (1:09 a.m.) i should probably start haha sorry

You frowned. Something was definitely off.

you (1:09 a.m.) nooo that’s not what i meant  ur calls are the best surprise

Another minute passed without a response, and you began to worry that you’d actually upset him. Then, your screen lit up again, this time to signal his incoming call.

He didn’t greet you immediately after you picked up like he typically did. You registered the subtle sound of whirring on the other end of the line, like a breeze was billowing through his phone speaker.

“Chan?”

“Hi,” he sounded out of breath. “What’s up?”

“I was about to check on you, actually,” you confessed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

Your heart fluttered, but it didn’t fully ebb the worry piling up inside you. “I missed you,” you murmured. “Starting to think dropping out isn’t such a bad idea.”

He chuckled—light, barely there. It was gone as soon as it came, as if not to overstay its welcome. The distant sound of a car engine met your ears, distracting you from what you’d planned to say next.

“Are you on your balcony?”

“Taking a walk,” he replied.

You blinked. “At this hour?”

“Yeah, couldn’t really sleep.”

For some reason, you felt a pang in your chest. You’d never heard him sound like this before. Blunt, sullen, defeated. A part of you, the hypervigilant part, wondered if he simply wasn’t in the mood to talk—but then, why would he have even asked to call you?

“Oh no,” you made a soft noise of sympathy. There was a pause as you mulled over how to approach it; whether to nag him not to get his adrenaline rushing so late, to offer words of comfort for whatever seemed to be bothering him, or to pretend like everything was okay, just to take his mind off of it. You didn’t want to keep pressing after you’d already asked once, but something was very clearly wrong; so wrong that Chan himself was making little effort to hide it.

“Do you want to look at the moon?”

A deep inhale. “Yeah.”

Wedging your phone between your ear and shoulder, you pulled up the blinds of your bedroom window and pushed it open, allowing the cool, October air to waft through your senses and drift over your skin. The moon was in its Waning Crescent phase, a thin, delicate slice of light illuminating the clear sky. You tried to picture Chan on the other end, the wonder in his tired eyes, the slope of his nose tilted upwards as he admired it like it was the first time it’d ever graced the night.

“Are you looking?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’ll be a new moon soon.”

“Yeah,” he said again.

A silence stretched across the call, not quite uncomfortable, but not quite serene, either. Even from afar, you could feel the thoughts buzzing in his head like they were your own, disturbing any peace the view might usually wash over him. His breathing, at least, steadied, and you guessed he’d stopped walking to get a proper look at the sky.

The two of you stayed that way for some time, long enough for you to start filling the gaps with his absentminded humming and sweet vocalizations. There was none of that today; just silence.

Then, you heard it. Faint, muffled, like he’d turned away from his phone to avoid letting you catch it: a sniffle.

“Channie,” you whispered. “Are you really okay?”

“Just my leftover cold, don’t worry.”

You kept quiet. You both knew he’d fully recovered well over a week ago.

“Sorry,” he said weakly. “Can I come over?”

“Right now?” You glanced at the time. It was already nearing 2:00 a.m., you didn’t want him to make such a long walk this late, especially not in his current condition. “Why don’t I come meet you?”

“No, no, ‘s alright.”

“Well, of course you can come. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended. It left you feeling heavy with unease, an emotion you’d never once associated with Chan. As foreign as it was, it made you all the more determined to be there for him, to take on some of the weight he carried everywhere he went before his knees completely buckled underneath him. In your eyes, he was just like the moon he loved so much—always shining down on you with the brightest side of him, and never allowing you to see the other. You wanted to break the tidal lock and see the dark side of the moon. To uncover all the hidden craters and basins and accept them as a part of him.

Not even ten minutes had passed before you heard a knock at your door, far too soon for him to have arrived by foot. It made you realize, with another tug at your heart, that he must’ve already been on his way to your apartment when he’d first called.

When you swung open the door, there was a short lapse before his smile came, strained, but relieved. His hair was tousled from the wind, eyes outlined with dark circles, and black jacket unzipped. It hung loosely off his shoulder, and when you pulled him into a hug, you could feel the chill from the outside air lingering on his skin. Even so, his persistent warmth still seeped through; it always did.

Neither of you said anything as you took his hand in yours, guiding him to the other room. You settled down next to him on the edge of your bed, facing the window where the moon was still watching over you. Chan kept his eyes firmly locked on it, but his fingers brushed tentatively against yours, tracing the lines of your fingerprints and palms as if to commit them to memory.

“Sorry for bothering you so late.”

“You could never bother me,” you said simply.

It was so immediate, so natural, it had him taken aback for a moment. He sucked in through his teeth, well aware of your gaze studying his side profile with growing concern.

“At the showcase,” he mumbled. “Did you really mean what you said?”

The question could’ve been in reference to anything, but somehow, that was all he needed to ask for you to know exactly what he was talking about.

“Of course.”

Memories of him up on that stage flooded your mind. His charisma, his passion, his belief in Changbin and Jisung and, for a fleeting moment, himself. Just thinking about it was enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin.

“When I saw you performing, all I could think about was how much you belonged up there.”

Chan’s breath hitched. At last, he turned his head to face you, that same look from the night of the party—the one that troubled you for reasons you couldn’t explain—crossing his features again. Hopeful eyes searched for any hint of insincerity, any shadow of a doubt, only to find nothing but raw affection.

He leaned in suddenly, brushing his nose against yours in a wordless plea, and you closed the space between you. His lips were the slightest bit chapped from the crisp autumn air, but their plushness was never lost, consuming your senses with that soft, irresistible quality you could never get enough of. He melded seamlessly into you, filling every gap and crevice, pulling you further in like waves lapping at a shore.

Chan turned slightly on the bed, angling his body to bring himself closer to you and pressing his thigh against yours. For such a simple touch, it made him sigh sweetly into you, lips parting to add a new degree of heat to it all. His fingers flexed in your hand, and you used the other to cup his face, holding him steady as he moved his mouth with increasing urgency. Cute, tiny sounds built up in his throat each time your tongue slid against his, growing louder and louder until he was all but whimpering into your mouth.

His desire, normally thinly-veiled by a layer of timidity, was on full display tonight—not quite pushy, rather, begging with every pucker of his lips and graze of his teeth for you to take things a step further, to let him fall completely into you. It was a lack of restraint you often had to build into, to guide him there yourself. You kept telling yourself to get a grip, to break the kiss and check on the boy who, just minutes ago, appeared to be on the verge of falling apart; but it was fruitless to even think about ridding yourself of a sensation so addictive. His free hand reached for your waist, hesitant as ever to grab on as tight as he needed to. Instead, he took your shirt between his fingers, playing with the fabric in a way that, strangely enough, was even more exhilarating.

The sounds spilling out of Chan became muddled together, and it took you a few seconds to realize that he was trying to say something to you.

“Please,” he whined. “Please, please.”

You ran your thumb along his cheek, unlocking your lips from his at last. “What is it, baby?”

“Need you,” his breath was shaky, lungs aching from the intensity of the kiss. “Can I make you feel good? Please, let me this time.”

You paused, pulling away to get a proper look at him. “Are you sure?” you frowned. “You don’t look well, Channie. Why don’t we talk?”

“N-no, ‘m okay. Just really need you right now.”

His gaze flickered down to the spot between your thighs, and he swallowed. It affected you more than you wanted to admit—the pure want in his eyes for something so selfless.

“I’ll be good,” he promised. “However you want it, I’ll do it. Please.”

You scanned his face a few moments longer, trying to put aside the arousal spreading through you at an alarming rate, just long enough to get a read on him. Your concerns were still very much there, but the look on his face told you that he wanted—needed this even more than you did.

Gently, you squeezed his hand one last time before unlacing your fingers. “Alright...if that’s what you want.”

Chan watched, mesmerized, as you repositioned yourself on the bed, resting your back against your pillows and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to tug them off.

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll do well. Promise.”

It nearly made you coo out loud. All this just to please you, just to satisfy desires that, unbeknownst to him, were already fulfilled just by being with him. Still, you knew Chan well enough to understand that it wouldn’t sit right in his mind until he gave you everything he had to offer. He’d give you his all if only you would let him.

Even as you slipped off your underwear, he stayed put, unmoving until you gestured for him to come over. He licked his lips, eyes shining in the low light when you spread your legs at last. Your heartbeat picked up as he settled between them, suddenly so close that you could feel each shaky breath of his tickling your sensitive skin. Tentatively, he placed his hands on your thighs, glancing up at you to ensure that it was really okay. You gave him an encouraging nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak when the only thing you could focus on was how dangerously close his mouth—his perfect mouth—was to your most intimate spot.

With your permission granted, he began pressing kisses to your inner thigh. They started off with that same shyness you knew, careful and reserved, but quickly became less and less controlled the more his mouth roamed. His lips were smoother now, wet and glossy, and they sent tiny jolts through your senses each time they came in contact with your skin. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought he was purposely trying to tease you, giving hints of what he could make you feel without diving in fully just yet. But the way he kneaded your flesh with the pads of his fingers, a low, desperate noise bubbling up inside him, said otherwise. He was appreciating every bit of you, basking in the moment, as if he may never get the chance to have his head between your legs again.

His sloppy kisses drew closer and closer to your heat, and when his lips came to hover over it at last, you had to stop yourself from pushing against his face right then and there. Delicately, his tongue slid out to glide from your entrance right up to your clit, ending it with a gentle flick that sent a shiver down your spine. He repeated the action almost immediately, a sweet hum escaping him as your arousal flooded his tastebuds.

Your hand fell down to his head, gripping his curls in a way that made his own pleasure spike, if the sudden whine he let out was any indication. He continued licking away, each intoxicating lap of his tongue growing more confident and making you ask yourself just why on earth you’d ever deprived yourself of such a feeling. It satiated a need that you hadn’t even known was there to begin with, twisted the muscles in your core with both tension and relief. If it’d been a while since he’d used his mouth like this, it certainly didn’t show.

“Am I…” he slurred. “Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you assured him. “My sweet boy, using that pretty mouth for me. Making me feel so good.”

Your praises earned a moan from him, so loud you’d think he was the one experiencing the hot, delicious rhythm of his tongue. The sound vibrated against your folds, making your toes curl and your nails dig further into his scalp.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you giggled breathlessly.

“Mm. Just wanna—mmph—please you,” he managed between licks. “Wanna be a good boy for you.”

Before you could respond, heart-shaped lips wrapped unexpectedly around your clit, engulfing it with his plush, wet warmth and sending shockwaves all throughout your body. Despite your best efforts, you gasped, barely able to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs around his head. He sucked eagerly, adding just the right amount of pressure that, if kept up, was sure to draw you to a climax faster than you’d ever experienced before.

“Just like that.” You let your eyes flutter shut. “Good boy. You were made for this.”

Chan dragged his upper lip along the sensitive bud, the tip of his nose brushing against it in a way that threatened to snap the tightening coil in your abdomen all at once.

“Made f-for you,” he stuttered out. “Please, tell me I’m good for you. Tell me ‘m okay.”

You weren’t sure if it was his own arousal becoming too much for him to bear, but his voice had become near-frantic, as did the strokes of his tongue. His movements grew sloppier and sloppier, drool mixing with your essence and nose dragging along your folds almost obsessively.

You ran your fingers through his curls, hoping to keep him grounded. “More than okay. You’re perfect for me, baby boy.” 

A broken whimper met your ears, driving you closer to the edge. “Yeah? ‘M doing well? Please, tell me I’m good,” he begged. “P-please, wanna be good enough.”

Amidst all his pleading and babbling, the words caught you off guard, pulling you out of your blissful haze all at once. Something wet dripped against your skin, warmer and thinner than any of the other fluids pooling at your core, and it made your eyes snap open in alarm.

“Channie?”

“I’ll do it right.” He didn’t look up, still working his mouth despite the choked noises building up in his throat. His hands pawed at your thighs, gripping and squeezing with so much urgency that you’d think he was terrified you might disappear. Another hot droplet ran down your skin, and as you blinked to refocus your vision, you finally noticed it—the trembling of his shoulders. “Just please, l-let me show you ‘m worth something.”

“Chan.” Panic gripped you, and you used your clutch on his hair to catch his attention. “Chan, stop for me, baby.”

Every one of your nerve-endings screamed out in protest as he obediently unlatched himself from you, releasing the mind-numbing suction of his lips. But your worry quickly overtook any of the remaining lust in your body. Chan sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to lift his head, and you slid your hand down to his dripping chin, tilting it up into view.

He was crying; tears trickling down his cheeks with fresh ones brimming in his clouded eyes. He squeezed them shut, unable to meet your stare, and your heart may as well have snapped in two.

“Oh, Channie,” you whispered. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” his voice failed him, anything he’d been planning to say fading out into a sob. “S-sorry, ‘m sorry.”

A lump rose in your throat, guilt flooding your chest. You’d known he was off from the beginning—you should’ve done something, you shouldn't have let things get to this point. This was Chan, after all. Of course he’d pretend that he was fine for you, of course he’d try to make himself useful to you instead. You should’ve known better.

Still, you kept calm, even if it was surface-level, you steadied your volume and relaxed your expression; something to ground him amidst it all. “Don’t be sorry. Come see.”

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, only for them to immediately glaze over again. The skin around them had turned red and puffy, and coupled with the exhaustion written all over his face, he looked positively broken. “Sorry, ‘m okay, really,” he tried to insist. “I just…”

One look at your outstretched arms was all it took for him to lose his last shred of composure. He surged forward with a hiccup, falling into you and burying his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms securely around him, the tear in your heart growing as you felt him shake against you with each gasp and sob that racked his body. His flow of tears didn’t stop, in fact, it only seemed to come stronger in your hold, warm droplets streaming freely and seeping through the fabric of your shirt. You stayed quiet for a bit, just allowing him to release as you ran your hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him.

“Why are you crying, baby?” you murmured again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I c-can’t fail,” he managed at last, barely coherent through the slur of his speech. “N-not again. I can’t.”

“Fail? Why would you fail?”

He didn’t answer right away—or, rather, he couldn’t, another feeble gasp effectively cutting off any response he’d mustered up. Despite the slew of questions his words unleashed in you, you remained patient, cradling his head with your free hand while the other continued to rub his back. For all its strength and broadness, it was more fragile than ever shuddering under your palm.

“It’s my last chance. C-can’t mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” you said firmly. Even without any idea as to what he was talking about, you knew that much was true. “What makes you think that?”

Another minute or so passed of him trying to gain control over his hiccups, just long enough to get a proper sentence out. “My mentor,” he took a deep breath. “My mentor rejected my project. S-said it needs a complete rework.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Why?”

You winced at how loud it’d come out, but the utter disbelief in your tone at least seemed to encourage Chan to keep going. He sniffled, still refusing to lift his head from the comfort of your shoulder.

“Just wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t say that.” The possibility wasn’t even worth considering to you. There had to be more to it; you refused to accept otherwise, not when you’d witnessed firsthand how earnestly Chan poured his heart and soul into every piece of music he’d ever created. “I know that can’t be it.”

A thought flickered to life in your head, one so obvious that you scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. “Did you have enough time to work on it?”

“I…” he began weakly. “I t-tried.”

“You were sick for over two weeks, Channie. Does your mentor know that?”

His breath caught in his throat, telling you all that you needed to know. “Don’t...wanna make excuses.”

“But it’s not an excuse, is it? It’s just the truth,” you reasoned. “You couldn’t even get out of bed. There’s no way you could do your best under those conditions.”

“I...I sh-should’ve—”

“You should’ve been getting enough rest. You should’ve told him what was going on.”

Your words seemed to reach him at last, cutting carefully through the thick fog of self-deprecation and sabotage consuming his mind just enough for him to really mull it over. He inhaled again, slower and deeper this time, but still not free of that painful tremor.

“M-maybe,” he rasped. “Maybe I did need more time.”

“There we go.” You combed through his hair. “Your best is more than good enough, Channie. Your mentor wouldn’t have done this study with you otherwise.”

You wanted, more than anything, to see his face as you spoke, to look directly into his red, watery eyes and let him know exactly how much you meant it. But you knew how vulnerable he must be feeling for you to even see him like this, so you let him be, hoping the message would get through to him nonetheless. “I’m sure if you explain it to him, he’ll understand. He knows what you’re capable of, and so do I. So please, don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”

Chan’s shoulders relaxed just barely in your arms. He nuzzled further into you, and little by little, the trembling under your palms came to a stop. Given how hard he’d been crying—even now, with new ripples of tears still trickling onto your clothes—you were certain there was something else brewing deep within him. This was only the tip of the iceberg, the breaking point. Even so, you didn’t press the matter just yet, instead choosing to nurture the hint of calm that had begun to creep up on him.

“Do you really think I can do this?”

Your hand slid down to the nape of his neck, playing gently with the wisps of curls that swooped out. “I know you can,” you murmured. “And even if I didn’t, you’d do it anyway. You were made for this.”

A sweet sound, something between a sigh and whine, spilled out of him. Under any other circumstances, you knew he wouldn’t accept it without a protest or two, but in that moment, he absorbed it wholly—clung to it, even. His head finally lifted from the mess of tears and sweat that had formed in the crook of your neck, only to fall right into your chest instead, not quite ready to face you.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and he scooted impossibly closer to you, his thigh brushing between your legs in a way that you willed yourself to ignore. “Why don’t we go wash up?”

He tightened his grip on you, another soft noise gracing your ears. “Can we stay like this, please? Just a little longer.”

You softened. “Of course. Anything you want.”

He slumped fully against you as you rested your hand on the small of his back, the last of his reservations effectively washing away. You played loosely with the hem of his hoodie, listening to the sound of his breathing and taking comfort in the fact that it was finally beginning to even out.

The two of you stayed peacefully like that for several minutes, that was, until something warm and damp spread through your shirt, immediately catching your attention. Not tears this time, rather, the feeling of Chan’s mouth pressing against your chest.

Your heart skipped a beat. His lips puckered faintly, forming a moist ring over the material, right around your nipple. Just as you were about to pass it off as an accident, it happened again.

“Is there something you need, Channie?”

“You,” it came muffled. He parted his lips, wider this time, nibbling delicately on the fabric. “Can I? Please?”

It didn’t take much thought for you to understand what he was implying. An uncharacteristically self-indulgent request, one that filled you with affection and pooled heat in your stomach all over again.

“You’re so cute.” You couldn’t help yourself, his transparency made you melt like nothing else—you only wished that it would extend to other aspects of his life, ones that you were equally as hungry for.

Careful not to disturb him too much, you slipped your hands under your shirt and wiggled out of it. Chan lifted his head, albeit briefly, to make it easier for you to unclasp your bra. The instant your skin was bared to him, he nestled right back into your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sending a spark of electricity through your body. He sucked gently at the bud, taking in your scent through his nose and exhaling contently. His hand, covered by the sleeve of his jacket, reached up for your other breast, pawing at it with timid fingertips before squeezing the soft flesh at last.

“My sweet boy,” you cooed. “My baby boy who works so hard he forgets to care for himself.”

He whimpered, puckering and unpuckering his plump lips in a way that would’ve made you rub your thighs together had he not been settled between them. You cupped the back of his head, and his eyes fluttered shut, a look of pure bliss crossing his face. The red, hot flush from all his crying was replaced with something softer now, a rosy shade dusting his puffed cheeks.

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you continued. “I hope you’ll see it one day. I’m so proud of you.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed, an especially high-pitched whine escaping him. For a moment, you worried that he may begin to cry again, then, you felt it—his bulge brushing against your leg. His hips rocked forward so subtly, you weren’t even sure if he himself was aware of it, but once you’d noticed, it became hard to ignore the spike in your adrenaline.

Driven on by the feeling of his tongue swirling hungrily around your nipple, you let your hand drift down to the waistband of his pants. His mouth fell open as you traced over his bulge, all but jolting against you. “A-ah, yes. Touch me,” he pleaded.

“My baby’s so needy today,” you teased, dipping your fingers into his underwear and wrapping them around his half-hard length. He tightened his hold on your chest, his low, drawn-out moan sending a delicious vibration through your skin. “But good boys like you get whatever they want.”

Chan unlatched his lips from your nipple, only for any attempt at a reply to be cut off as you began pumping your hand along his dick. The cool night air drifting through your window was no match for the heat building between your bodies; that same, inexplicable heat that always drew you back to him. His fingers flexed around the softness of your breast, and you realized with a soft giggle that he was subconsciously mirroring the pace of your strokes.

You stopped to roll your palm over the head of his cock, smearing the droplets of precum around to add a layer of slickness to your movements. The cry it earned was nothing short of heavenly, ringing out shamelessly through your bedroom and making your core clench. Chan’s hip shot up into your grasp, so overtaken by the pleasure that he forgot to keep sucking for a moment, instead letting his mouth hang as drool began to dribble from its corner.

“Does that feel good?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes,” he slurred. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You deserve it,” you guided his head closer to your chest, allowing him to take your nipple between his swollen lips again. “You deserve to feel so good, angel.”

A wet, sticky sound, mixing with Chan’s pleas, began building as you glided your hand up and down his cock more steadily. Despite everything, it flustered him the moment he registered it, legs squeezing together with a broken whine.

“You hear that? Even the sounds your body makes are cute,” you hummed. His eyes, already shut tight, scrunched up even further to form an adorable look of embarrassment. “My pretty boy. You don’t even know how perfect you are for me.”

“Please,” he mewled, almost unintelligible through the skin and drool occupying his mouth. “Please, ‘m getting close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, baby?”

He could only whimper in response, cock twitching in your hand as you added a delicious pressure to your strokes. He kneaded your chest with more vigor, leaning in to suck on your other nipple and sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. His mouth was like wet, warm velvet encasing the sensitive bud; you found it hard to believe that those same lips had been between your legs earlier, drawing you to a climax with a purpose that you could only describe as raw devotion.

“Gonna—!” Chan’s hips bucked up, his whole body tensing. “A-ah, please, can I?”

You swiped your thumb playfully over his slit, and he practically keened. It was cruel, probably, but his unrelenting need to please you, even amidst all the desperation clouding his judgment, only made you want to toy with him more. Still, you knew that given the state he was in, teasing was out of the question. He needed comfort, pleasure, relief—and all of it rested in the palm of your hands.

“Let me see you cum like a good boy.” You gave one final jerk of your wrist, sending him over the edge at last. His thighs clenched, voice catching in his throat for a moment before breaking out into a gasp. Even so, he kept sucking to the best of his ability, babbles of your name dying down into soft mewls as the last few spurts of his seed coated your palm. You held still to avoid overstimulating him, curling his hair absentmindedly around your index finger until his cock finished throbbing in your grasp. Chan blinked his eyes open, still hazy and puffy, just in time to see you remove your hand from his pants and spread your fingers, connected by thick strings of his release.

“Look at all that,” you marveled. “You really needed this, huh?”

A low whine built in his throat. He pressed his cheek into your chest, shying away from the messy view.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Mhm,” he managed a chuckle—quiet, still missing the jovial, melodic quality of his laughter, but even a trace of it was all it took to lift your spirits. Other than that, he said nothing, and you guessed he wasn’t entirely grounded just yet. You reached for a tissue from your nightstand, making a light grunt of effort with Chan’s full weight resting against you, and wiped down your hand to the best of your ability. As you leaned back against the pillows, your stare flickered down to the boy in your arms. He was an absolute wreck now; a sweaty, flushed, beautiful wreck of dried tears and drool gazing back up at you like he would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You did so well for me, Channie,” you praised. “Such a good boy.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his ruffled curls, you shifted beneath him, wordlessly urging him to let you wiggle off the bed. His reaction was immediate, sweater paws gripping your waist with an unexpected intensity.

“W-wait,” it was tinged with panic. “Don’t go, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you assured him, tapping the tip of his nose. “But we need to get you cleaned up, don’t we?”

He blinked a few times before the words seemed to get through to him. Then, with a slow nod, he hoisted himself off of you. It came as a surprise—though it shouldn’t have—how your body instantly longed for his warmth again. You took both of his hands into yours, almost tempted to push his sleeves back to properly lace your fingers together. But he seemed content with his palms covered like that, safe and secure in a way you didn’t dare to disrupt. With care, you tugged him up by his arms, letting him lean against you as you guided him to the bathroom. He didn’t let go of either of your hands the entire time, and, as awkward as the intimate gesture made it to walk, your heart fluttered.

You set the water to a warm temperature, watching Chan sway back and forth on his feet as you filled up the tub. His eyes were a bit more alert now, breaking the glaze that had encased them all throughout the night, like the reality of what had taken place was beginning to set in his mind.

“Wanna get undressed for me, Channie?”

There was a delay before he responded, long enough for you to give his hand a squeeze.

“Oh…yeah.”

Reluctantly, he released his hold on you, clumsy fingers fiddling with his hoodie in an attempt to shrug it off. With a fond smile, you reached out to help slide it down his shoulder. His arms fell limply to his sides, and you took it as a sign to keep going, slipping your fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugging it off, his pants and underwear following soon after. Even now, he ducked his head, unable to look you in the eye as you shut off the stream of water and ushered him into the tub.

As he sank into the warm pool, a sigh escaped him, so soft and relieved that you could practically feel the bliss rippling through his body. You sat yourself down on the edge of the tub, taking a moment to soak your washcloth before drizzling it with body wash—vanilla and cherry blossom, a blend of scents you’d quickly come to learn was Chan’s favorite. He loosened up the instant you came in contact with his skin, leaning into your touch. Gently, you began to scrub, lathering his broad back and shoulders with the sweet, flowery smell and admiring every curve and muscle in the process.

The rhythmic drag of the loofah and the gentle lap of the water had him reduced to putty in your hands in no time. He didn’t bother to resist the way his eyes drooped shut, each tranquil rock earning a small hum from him.

“Does that feel nice?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Channie. Your muscles are so tense,” you added. “I hope this helps a bit.”

He hummed again, tilting his head to the side as you moved up to the junction of his shoulder and neck, the comforting scent of your soap fully flooding his nostrils. Knowing how sensitive his neck was, you were careful not to press too hard around the area. It was horribly timed, but your skin tingled as you passed over the spot where you’d previously marked him—long faded by now, but you remembered the visual clear as day.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “About all of this.”

“Don’t apologize,” you ran the cloth along the slope of his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want you to hide stuff like this from me—isn’t that what we promised?”

He hesitated. “I…yeah.”

“Even big, strong shoulders like yours can’t carry everything by themselves,” you scolded lightly. It earned a puff of laughter, and even with his eyes still closed tight, he lowered his head sheepishly.

The question that had been lingering in the back of your mind all night—the question that had been eating away at you since you’d first met him, really, made its presence known once again. The missing piece of the puzzle, the hidden crater yet to be illuminated. You knew by now that Chan wouldn’t reveal it without a strong enough nudge, no matter how badly he wanted to. Even if it was threatening to burst out of his chest, just aching for a pin to come along, he’d use all his strength to keep in until you punctured it yourself.

“Chan,” you pressed your lips together. “When you said ‘not again’…can I ask what you meant by that?”

He stiffened under your palms, features darkening to form that same expression as all those months ago, when you’d first asked why he’d changed majors. You repressed the urge to take it back this time—you needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

“Spring semester of my senior year,” he mumbled. “I failed most of my classes.”

Something awful gripped you, so intensely that you stopped scrubbing for a moment. Failed. It felt so wrong coming out of his mouth, a word you couldn’t comprehend ever applying to him.

“I…I decided to change from astrophysics and try music. It was something I always kinda wanted to do, anyway.” He sounded so nervous—terrified, even—shrinking into himself as he spoke as if each sentence made him more and more vulnerable to some hidden assailant waiting to attack. You continued your ministrations with the hopes of easing his fears a bit, wringing out the washcloth before adding more soap and running it along his chest. Even through the rough material, you could feel how fast his heart was beating.

“My parents, they…I've never really disappointed them like that before,” his voice cracked on the word “disappointed”, like it physically pained him to say. “I still don’t think they’ve really accepted it. They still look at me like…like I'm…”

He trailed off. He didn’t have to say it for your gut to wrench.

“Maybe once I graduate, they’ll think I'm worth something again.”

“Please, don’t talk like that,” you couldn’t hide your own distress. “You’re worth something as you are. It’s your future, Chan, not theirs.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” he whispered. “What if I just fail again? I’m so…so scared that I’m making the wrong decision.”

“It must be scary,” you agreed, gliding the washcloth along the tense curves of his arms. “Really hard, too. But that’s because you’re carving out your own path. No one else has walked it before you to clear out the way.”

He went quiet, and you took it as a sign to continue, a chance to keep swinging at the seemingly indestructible wall of self-doubt he’d so carefully crafted for years.

“You’re not alone, either,” you encouraged. “Think of Bin and Jisung and all that faith you have in them. Think of how much faith they must have in you to follow you down that path without question.”

If only he knew—if only he saw the admiration for him written all over their faces, oozing from every word they spoke. If only he knew the admiration you’d felt for him as early as when Changbin had first told you about him choosing music composition. Daring to take a route that, in many ways, was more challenging than even the most horrific of astrophysics courses. Not only that, but daring to flourish, leaving room for flowers to grow along the way wherever he roamed.

When Chan replied, you could've sworn you heard the faintest glimmer of hope in it. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, start thinking of it that way,” you chided softly. “I know you can do it. Just because others want you to do something, doesn’t mean it’s right. What’s right is what makes you happy.”

He loosened up further, welcoming your cleansing touch and your words of compassion more and more openly. You washed him in silence for another few minutes, debating in your head whether or not to keep pursuing the matter, to peel back another layer of him and get to his core.

“Were you…unhappy doing astrophysics?”

“Not exactly.” You got the feeling he could tell what you were really attempting to ask him. “I meant it when I said I liked it. That’s…not why I failed.”

You made a noise of understanding that masked the countless other things you wanted to say. He jolted just barely as you ventured down to clean his stomach, approaching his most sensitive area with a touch as gentle as it was deliberate. Care with a purpose.

“The…the person I was with, at the time,” he paused—whether to gather his thoughts, or to gauge your reaction, you weren’t entirely sure. Your eyes widened just a bit, but you kept your hand stubbornly occupied, scrubbing over his sore thighs. Like clockwork, they nearly closed in on each other. “She had a lot going on. Her mother was really sick; in and out of the hospital a lot.”

Even as dread stirred within you, like you knew exactly where this story was going, you left him space to continue.

“She just needed some help with everything she was dealing with in her life, y’know? I wanted to help.”

“I know you did,” you murmured. It was a given, one of the few certainties in life. Chan would always help, for no reason other than the fact that he could.

“I t-tried to be there for her. Took her wherever she needed to go, helped with her classes, visited her mother, looked after her little sister when she couldn’t,” he swallowed. “Then, around May, things got really bad. Her mom needed treatment for a few weeks, so I spent most of my time at the hospital or taking care of her sister.”

Something about the way he phrased it made you feel compelled to ask, “Where was she during that time?”

“Dunno,” he chuckled, humorless. “But I can probably guess.”

You stole a glance at his face. His eyes were open now, locked on the bubbly water and refusing to meet yours, like he might break all over again if he did. “In the end, I guess I didn't prepare well enough for my finals. Didn’t pass most of them. So I figured, if I was gonna be taking more semesters, anyway…i-if it wasn’t going to be perfect, I might as well start from scratch, y’know? Do it right this time.”

“Oh, Channie,” you rested your hand on his head. “That’s too much. That’s way too much.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t h—”

“No, no,” you didn’t even want to give him the chance to second-guess himself. “Please, don’t hold back. I’m listening.”

He was sugarcoating it, you knew he was. Even now, two years into the aftermath and still suffering the effects of it, he was trying to dismiss it all as something casual.

“What about her? What happened?”

Chan shrugged, reaching up for his ear. You didn’t push him as he fiddled with the silver hoop, instead taking the opportunity to grab your bottle of shampoo and squeeze some of the substance into your palm while he found the will to answer.

“When she found out I wasn’t graduating, she ended it,” he said at last. “Think it was already over, anyway. She was with someone else a few weeks later.”

“Oh my God.”

Through the haze that had been filling his head the entire night, your emotions still reached him with ease. “I brought it on myself, though,” he added quickly, as if the excuse—had it been even remotely correct—would’ve made it any better. “It was all just my own stupid choices. I can’t really say it’s her fault.”

Yes, you can. It took every ounce of self-control to stop yourself from pressing your nails into his head, just to avoid hurting him. You weren’t sure what drove the urge most: sympathy, protectiveness, fury. You couldn’t even begin to fathom it—you didn’t want to fathom it. To be presented with a heart as pure and honest as Chan’s, a love so selfless and sincere, only to trample all over it like it was worthless.

Despite the whirlwind that had spiraled to life inside you, you settled for something softer, a tenderness that, clearly, had been missing from his life thus far. You rubbed the shampoo delicately into his hair, swirling the dark curls around in a way that sent pleasurable ripples down his spine.

“It’s not your fault,” your tone left no room for debate. “Someone took advantage of your kindness. But showing that kindness? How could that possibly be your fault, Channie?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. You wondered if it was the first time he’d been told anything like that—whether by himself, or anyone else.

“I never do things for people to gain anything from it,” Chan began, and you knew, more than anything, that he meant it. “But…”

He hesitated, giving a quick shake of his head, as if to compose himself.

“But it hurts to be used.”

“Yeah. I understand.” You understood more than he could know, more than you could say in that moment. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes again, and for his own sake, you scooped up a portion of water in your hands and began to cleanse his head of the shampoo, letting the streams mask any fresh droplets that may trickle out.

“She never really did anything like this,” he said softly. “Most of the time, she’d just leave.”

Everything clicked into place. All the missing pieces of the puzzle, all at once, with each realization serving as another pang in your chest.

“Chan. I need you to know, right now, that this is what you deserve. All of this, and more.”

Faint sniffles and dripping water echoed throughout the bathroom. In this case, you welcomed it over his usual protests.

“I see everything you do, for me, and everyone else. You never give up on people, even with more than enough reason to,” you ran your hand through his hair, watching the wet ringlets slip through your fingers. “I admire that so much about you, but you still need to think of yourself once in a while. It’s not worth it—it’s never worth it to give your all to someone who will only see the empty husk left behind.”

Vaguely, you saw it, the slow nod of his head. It filled you with hope, the possibility that he might start to see himself the way you saw him, even if just a glimpse. Just a glimpse of him was bright enough to pierce through any darkness.

“One day, all that kindness you put out into the world is gonna find you again. I promise.”

He turned his head to look up at you for the first time, eyes gleaming with something other than tears.

“I think it already has.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Neither of you said much as you continued bathing him, a quiet spell—comfortable, once more—passing between you and allowing everything that had been said to settle in your minds. You took your time conditioning Chan’s hair, giving each lush, beautiful curl the proper attention it deserved until you were fully satisfied. By the time you had finished rinsing him off, your legs were aching from sitting in the same, uncomfortable position for so long, and you were certain his were too. You helped him rise from the tub to the best of your ability, taking a moment to admire the streams of water traveling down his body before you passed him a towel.

As you re-entered your bedroom together, you immediately went to shut your window, not keen on creating even the slightest opportunity for Chan to catch another sickness. He was rocking on his heels again, looking seconds away from collapsing into your bed; he likely already would have if it weren’t for the fact that he was clad with nothing but a damp towel.

You dug around for a bit before locating a fresh pair of sweatpants he’d previously left at your place. When you presented them to him, he grinned for the first time that night.

“Been looking for these,” he commented. “They’re my favorite.”

“Well, they’re mine, now,” you teased. “But I can let you borrow them, I guess.”

To your surprise, he brought the garment up to his nose, and it took you a moment to register that he was breathing in the scent of your laundry detergent. It was almost ridiculous, how such a small action made you feel like your heart was going to erupt out of your chest.

The two of you settled into bed once he’d changed, and the exhaustion that had been gradually seeping down into Chan’s bones throughout the entire course of the night—even before that, probably—took over at last. You pulled the covers over your bodies, and he nestled into you before your head had even hit the pillow, his misgivings from your first night together nowhere to be found.

You prayed that he’d be able to sleep soundly tonight. His warmth washed over you, lulling you into dreams of your own. As you opened your mouth to wish him goodnight before your consciousness escaped you, you heard it. A mumble, just audible enough for you not to pass off as your own imagination.

“Think I love you.”

He was so drowsy that he may not have even noticed if you chose not to respond—you weren’t even sure if he noticed that he’d said it in the first place.

You rested your hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I love you, too.”

Something twisted deep within you as you returned his words. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because you did.

#bang chan x reader #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!skz #sub!bang chan #sub!chan #dom!reader #skz x reader #skz angst #skz imagines #bang chan imagines

[trashmouth-richie]

𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗

pt 2 of do you like the way the water tastes?

eddie x fem!reader

summary: eddie walks you home but doesn’t do what you expect, when you try to confront him it doesn’t go as planned.

Your work shoes were rubbing at your ankles, friction from the water and the inability to never really feel dry after spending the afternoon at the pool, prevalent on your reddening skin. 

  But you could care less. 

  Eddie and you had been walking home in small awkward silence for the last ten minutes. Every once in a while his boot would crack a rock down the sidewalk and you’d kick it back to him, playing again, like children. 

  The silly boy at the pool with you was now being coy, rosy cheeks hiding behind a curtain of curls when your knuckles brushed his while you walked. 

  He clears his throat a few times, maybe the chlorine was making his throat scratchy? Or possibly his bravado fell once the two of you were alone?

  Either way, you focused on the way his fingers went to his mouth to bite the nail in a nervous habit, the click of his tongue ring on the back of his front teeth in another little routine for him. The noise makes your belly burn. so you break the ice.

  You bump into his shoulder, one hand twirling the ends of your hair, the other taking advantage of the heated skim of his skin on yours, “really had me fooled at Benny’s.” 

  he chuckles quickly, exasperating a small snort that he covers with a cough, “ ‘m sorry, probably should have said something better than that— just thought you’d like to ditch work and swim with me— I mean us.” The pretty blush creeps across his cheeks again and you can’t help but grin. 

  “Well,” you joke, stretching an olive branch out to him, “I’m glad your sick little plan worked.” 

  The heat creeps up to his ears and he chances to look down at you. Your smile widens and his gaze has you turning away, suddenly sheepish. 

  His eyes never leave you, but his better judgment stops him from grabbing your hand.  “yeah,” he manages, hot tongue licking his own lips. Daring to stare at the way the sun catches on the slope of your nose and sweat beads on your cupid’s bow, “lucky me.” 

  —

  “No kiss or anything?” Stella squeals through the end of your phone a week later. 

  Eddie had walked you all the way to the door of your apartment building. The small talk was sweet along the way, and you thought when he paused on his way to leave and looked at your lips that he would lean into a kiss. 

  But he never did. And you felt stupid. 

  Surely he’d ask for your number? 

  But he didn’t do that either.

  Instead he leaned into the door frame, ghosted his nose along your chin and whispered into your ear, the same clink of his tongue ring on his teeth, “see you around, sweetheart.” 

  What probably took a matter of 5 seconds lingered on your skin for hours. His smell; all chlorine and cigarettes. The way his cheeks burned in a crimson tinged tan from the sun. 

  It was intoxicating. 

  Addicting. 

  And you were left confused. He had almost kissed you at the pool… so why was he shy when you were alone? And even worse, silent. 

  “Nancy Drew couldn’t crack this case,” you explained to your best friend, “I thought we would… I don’t know.. go out? Maybe sneak a kiss?” 

  You were annoying yourself. Why was this bothering you so bad? It’s not as if you had a ton of boyfriends in your lifetime, but you knew when someone was flirting. 

  And Eddie Munson was laying on the charm, hot and heavy. 

  “Maybe he has a girlfriend?” Stella quipped, “maybe he was just letting you down easy?” 

  Sweet Stella was always so genuine, she'd tell it to you straight but deliver it in sugary goodness. And even though she was sweet the words cut you like a knife. 

  “Fuck, who knows, I gotta go… see you at work?” 

  She says her goodbyes and you slam the receiver down, the ding satisfying to your ears. 

  Was Eddie playing you? Your stomach twists at the thought and you nearly kick yourself for letting him get the best of you. You didn’t even know him enough to be this upset. 

  Pushing him out of your mind the best you could for the rest of the afternoon you wait tables, pocketing next to nothing in tips because you won’t crack a smile. Coffee stains your apron, and ketchup coats the toe of your shoe, the smell making you gag in disgust. 

  Anything and everything that could go wrong at work did. At least to you. Stella and Dawn seemed to be having a great shift but you were brooding in your own head about the audacity Eddie Munson had to not even call, or have the balls to tell you that he wasn’t interested. 

  Being led on was worse than rejection. And this stung horribly, wedging the stinger into your chest further with every huff of annoyance you let out. 

  Stella’s smile cheers you up, her uniform cinching her curves in all the right ways, her pockets nearly bursting with loose change and folded bills in tips.

  “Maybe he’s shy?” She says over a shared cigarette in the back near closing time, her brain had been working overtime trying to make you feel better. 

  Shrugging your shoulders you scoot onto the plastic bucket you’ve used as a chair since starting at Benny’s junior year. “I dunno Stell, I feel like a giant fucking loser.” 

  It was true, you hadn’t heard anything from him since he walked you home. You even made an embarrassing call to Gareth to see if you would bring Eddie up. But he never did. You were annoyed with yourself for giving a shit when clearly he didn’t. 

  “Well how about this,” she says sliding down next to you, “I’ll close up tonight and you go home and rest. No sense in feeling like shit  and being at this dump .” 

  —

  The drive back to your apartment is short, and hot, the air conditioning that hasn’t worked all summer in your car suddenly driving you mad.  The old radio that fuzzed and only came clear in one station decided to quit indefinitely right in the middle of your favorite song. 

  Before the transmission is thrown into park, you’re on the verge of screaming, and when the key sticks in the ignition you slam your hands into the steering wheel. Could this day get any worse? 

  Frustration brews when you finally finagle the key just right so it pops out of the vice and your elbow catches the dash, hard. The last straw. 

Smoldering tears well in your eyes, but you swallow them down. And it’s in that moment that you decide you need answers right the fuck now. 

  —

  Forest Hills Trailer Park was on the outskirts of town, nestled up against a vast, thick tree line. You didn’t know which trailer was his, taking a chance on a tan one that had a van parked out front that looked similar to his. Only to be embarrassed beyond belief when an old lady with missing teeth and tight curlers cursed you out for interrupting Oprah, a slam of her shitty screen door in your face. 

  Stomping down the steps you narrowly avoid a nail on the second step. Causing you to lose your balance and topple over into barely-there grass covered lawn. Face first into the dirt.

  Great. 

  The drag of soil  and the pull of grass snapping from the earth rings into your ears and shoves under your nails as you scrape your hands on the yard of lot 11, pushing yourself up. 

  The first rogue tear slides down your dirty face and you don’t even bother to wipe it away. Simply shifting to sit on your butt while you dust gingerly at the gravel and fresh blood from your knees. 

  You were wrong before: today could get worse. Much worse. Coffee, ketchup, grass and dirt all paint your work uniform. You were a mess. A pissed off, mess. 

  You hear your name in a question. And when you look up there he is. The one you had been searching for. Standing above you with a concerned expression, trying hard to hide a grin. He’s wearing a bandana around his head, the pungent smell of grease and sticky oil wafts to you when the wind picks up and he gets closer, a socket wrench gripped lazily in his hand. 

  The dirt on your cheek and bits of twigs stuck in your hair only add to the messy glamor of how you already looked. But Eddie can’t help but stare, the same heat in his cheeks and swimming in his stomach from the day at the pool when you look up at him, tears ready to fall. 

  “Didn’t know Miss Jeanie had a granddaughter,” he says with a slight tease, “thought she was too damn mean to ever be married.” 

  When the scowl set on your face didn't budge he changed his tone, shifting his weight from laid back and almost cocky with a hip out to standing like he was getting scolded. Both feet locked in place and his head down, shoulders sagged, peeking at you through his bangs, he stammers, “a—are you okay?” 

  A loud sniff leaves your body as you shove yourself up from the ground, not seeing the hand Eddie threw out to help you, “yeah,” you spit, wincing slightly as the bend in your knees stretches open the broken skin, “just peachy, I try to spend my Saturdays falling down the steps of some rickety ass trailer in hopes of avoiding a nail through my foot.” 

  Eddie only stares, mouth set in confusion as he tries to think of a quick reply, something witty, maybe something to make you laugh, but you don’t give him the time. 

  Turning on your heel, you stumble over a rock but catch yourself. Again, not seeing the way Eddie had ran forward with an outstretched hand to help. You’ve never been more mad and embarrassed in your entire life, and all you wanted to do was get the hell out of here. 

  It’s not until you have the door of your car open does Eddie register what he wanted to say, “what are you doing here?”

  It comes out wrong, accusing compared to the way he thought it would fall flirty from his lips. And you’re stunned, the tears falling freely now. 

  “Fuck, I mean— shit—” he stutters through his explanation, tongue tied and twisting in on itself, “n—not like ‘what are you doing here?’ but…” embarrassment works up his neck and hides on the tips of his ears, “I—I meant, Uhh— shit, d’ you need a band aid?” 

  The tears make clean streaks down your face and you wipe at them angrily. “N-o I don’t need a f-frickin’ bandaid, Eddie!” You needed a hot bath, a nap, a fucking cigarette; anything but this frustratingly awkward conversation with you resembling a bum and Eddie looking like a Greek Mechanic God.

  “Well, you’re bleeding,” he emphasizes and points to the bloody scrapes on your knees. 

  You knew they were bleeding, they stung and burned with each step you took, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of helping you out. 

  “I’m f—fine,” you stutter.

  “Shh, c’mon sweet girl,” Eddie says, closing the steps between you both and shutting your car door, his forefinger curled to catch a tear from dripping down your cheek, “lemme clean y’ up and then you can tell me what brought this cute little face down to the slums.” 

  You had come here to give him a piece of your mind, demand to know why he was so hot and cold. Instead you had made a fool out of yourself, and were a blubbering mess. 

  —

  Eddie’s trailer was the one next door to Miss Jeanie’s. Misjudging the yard his van was parked in as hers, you silently kick yourself as you follow him up the three steps leading inside. 

  His trailer is welcoming in a young bachelor type of way. Comforting outdated trinkets, guitar amps and cords strewn across the surfaces— keeping the dust and empty beer cans company.

  “Sorry,” he says, picking up some beer cans and tossing them into the trash, “roommates a slob, have a seat Uhh— wherever,” he says gesturing around with his hands and disappearing down a narrow hallway. 

  You look around and take a seat at the table, “didn’t know you had a roommate,” you call out, looking around the small cluttered living space. Tapes and magazines cover the small table along with a faded green homemade ashtray filled almost to the rim. 

  Eddie comes bounding back down the hallway, carrying a small first aid kit and a washcloth, “I don’t,” he quips, delivering a wink that has your stomach somersaulting. And when he notices the heat rise on your cheeks, he gives you a toothy smile in an attempt to hide his own blush. 

  And it was like no time had passed. Like he hadn’t been avoiding you for a week, but rather that you were still swimming in the cool blue water of the pool, kissed by the warmth of the sun and his arms around you when he pulled you in. 

  His thumbs trace the edges of the kit in a nervous habit, “Alright, let's take a look at those knees,” he looks from you to the kitchen counter, “do you uh.. here—” with a sweep of his arm he shoves the magazines and scattered tapes in a dusty cardboard box and tossed it on the table, “sit up here.” 

  Quirking an eyebrow at him, you give him a puzzled expression, which he answers with a laugh, “Dr. Munson needs to be able to see what he’s doing.” 

  For the first time since arriving in the trailer park, you let out a small smile, “doctor huh?” you question hoisting yourself onto the counter. 

  Eddie works beside you filling a bowl with warm water, “shyeah, I’m the band's primary caregiver,” he explains in a mockery tone, “even gave myself stitches a few years back after hiding from the cops when Jeff’s party got busted.” 

  He extends his pale arm towards you brandishing the silvery crook of a scar on his forearm, “twelve stitches, not the prettiest thing but it did the job.” 

  The air of your giggle was exactly what he was looking for, and his dimples dip into his cheeks with a smirk, hiding behind uncombed curls. 

  Thick fingers open the lid to the kit and he pulls out the old packages of gauze and bandages. Dipping a washcloth into the warm water he whistles a tune you haven’t heard, wringing the cloth out, the water splashes gently into the bowl. 

  He glanced over at your cut knees and winced, “not gonna lie to you, ‘s gonna hurt like hell.” 

  Nodding with a sniffle you quietly say, “I’ve had scraped knees before… doctor.” The grin he tried to hide spreads and tickles the corners of his eyes. 

  “Just want my favorite patient comfortable,” he says leaning into the joke.

  “Favorite or only?”

  His laugh is loud and boisterous, a thousand leagues away from his gentle touch on the delicate raw skin as he presses the cloth carefully around the scrapes and cleans the wound. 

  “Both,” he says, looking up at you through the thick black weeds of his lashes, holding your gaze for a second longer than he should have, pushing the limits. “Ya gonna tell me what you were doin’ playing in the dirt by my trailer or should I guess?”

  “I— I was,” you think quick of a lie, but you almost tremble when his head lowers and his curls tickle the tops of your bare thighs, the feeling sends prickles of goose flesh in its wake. All senses on overload, and you squirm when his warm hand sits atop one of them. 

  “I heard that there was a place to rent here, and well yeah if you must know— I was researching that information for Molly and Gareth.” 

  The sensation is quick lived as he hurriedly empties the bowl and struggles to open the bandaid package, using his teeth instead and spitting the paper to the floor.

  “Really?” He questions, in almost a whisper, after expertly placing the bandaid over the cut. Leaning with palms on either side of you, his stare is playful, “cause Gareth told me they already found a place.” 

  Your blood runs cold and you can smell the brine of sweat on his bandana as he gets closer and boxes you in. Stuttering out a phrase somewhere between, ‘I-was-looking-for-my-other-friend’ and a muttered gasp, he only laughs. 

  The same click from his tongue ring you heard at the pool on the back of his teeth as he clucks his tongue sang in your ears, you’d do whatever you could to hear that again. Shaking his head, he looks at you with the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen, “you sure about that?” 

  Here he was again, laying it on thick and juicy. But two could play this game. 

  “Yeah,” you counter back, leaning forward into him, not giving him the upper hand but wanting to tease him— unable to forget the week of silence. 

  Whispering and curling your lips close to his ear you can hear the way he shudders, “thanks for the bandaids Doctor Munson,” your breath fans on his skin, and you ghost your lips across his cheek, “but, I gotta go.” 

  You didn’t. But the satisfaction of having him close and then you being the one to to push him away was fucking satisfying. 

  Eddie scoffs and pushes off from the counter, crossing his arms across the stained front of his once white shirt, “Two lies from those pretty little lips, sweetheart you’re just asking for trouble.” 

  “I’m not lying,” you say innocently, hopping down from the counter and walking towards the door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

  You were. 

  “That's three,” he says, eyes following you like he was lost. The flirty vibe he had been giving was falling away from him. 

  Turning the knob you glance over your shoulder, “looks like I’m out.���  

  In two long legged strides he’s beside you, pulling the door shut with a big hand over your own, his face looks almost flustered like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of you, “Go for a drive with me.” 

  “No,” you sing-song to him looking at your bare wrist as if you were wearing a watch, biting back with a teasing hint of venom of your sour attitude, “it’s late, maybe next week.” 

  He snorts a laugh and the dimples he had tried to hide earlier appear, making you almost melt into the worn linoleum. 

  “Ahh c’mon Pinocchio,” he teases, reaching to your cheek to brush a smear of dirt from it, “maybe a little fresh air will help you remember why you came here in the first place.” 

  “I’ve already ridden in that death trap on wheels, screw boy,” you say pointing a finger into his chest. 

  He crowds you again, licking his lips and biting his tongue ring through his perfect teeth to show you the silver bulb. 

  “Oh baby no, we aren’t driving the van,” his fingers wrap around the hem of your sleeve on your work uniform and he looks down at you with a devilish grin, “we’re taking my bike.” 

tag list: @em-guitar-pick @joejoequinnquinn @raven-rust @hiscrimsonangel @josephquinnsfreckles @strangerfreak @bebe07011 @b-irock @chloe-6123 @whenshelanded @take-everything-you-can @mandyjo8719 @parmawiolets @mommybaby-witch @hellfirefiend @nevermoreraven1 @emmaisgonnacry @secretdryrose @eddiemunson4life420 @littlegingerbat @tlclick73 @definitionwanderlust @yvedesi

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie fan fiction #eddie fanfic #eddie munson imagine

[stucky4evayall]

Eddie Brock x Pregnant Reader Imagines

When you first told him it was almost first thing in the morning and his mind wasn’t fully awake and functional yet. He was making breakfast when you told him and it took him a hot second to realize what you said.

“That’s great honey.” *five seconds later he realizes what you said*

“Wait what?!”

He’s so excited he actually starts to cry as he hugs you. (After he picks you up and spins you once in the air with tears in his eyes) Cause this was his chance! His chance to be the father that his father wasn’t! He’s hugging and kissing you and thanking you for this (writing this makes me wanna cry 😅🥲)

Venom already knew all this because this mf slithered under the bathroom door like a little snake and saw your reaction when the test showed positive.

Baby shopping with this man is like showing with a kid during at a toy store. He’s just so excited and wants everything to be perfect!

One day you went to lunch with Anne (if you befriended her, if not then another friend) Eddie decided to try and build the crib while you were out.

He struggled. Venom asked to help but Eddie first said no. Then he asked Venom for help. Then he called Dan. So now there’s two grown ass men plus a symbiot sitting in the not yet finished nursery, on the floor trying to build the crib.😂

When Anne (or other friend) and you return to your place you hear three sets of male voices arguing and walk into the nursery to see Eddie sitting crisscross, Dan laying on the floor and Venom in a glob in the corner connected to Eddie by a thread.

You ordered them all out and you and Anne (or bestie) built that crib in less than ten minutes, leaving the men speechless.

He just LOVES your baby bump and talks to it CONSTANTLY.

“Hey bud, all ya all nice and comfy in there?” “What are ya gonna be buddy?” “You need to calm down on the kicking kiddo, mama needs her sleep.”

Gets excited whenever your baby kicks or moves.

Gladly goes on grocery/late night runs to get whatever food you crave. (Venom even shares his chocolate)

When your water breaks he LOOKS calm, but inside he’s scared shitless.

Venom grabbed the bag and your stuff in the rush.

Held your hand and encouraged you the entire time. “Hey honey I’m right here okay, you’re doing so good.”

Silently bursts into tears when he heard your babies first cry.

When the doctors came in with your guys baby and handed it to you, Eddie kisses your forehead and just stared in awe at the little bundle of joy that you two created. “We did it hun, we did it.”

When you asked if he wanted to hold him he was a bit nervous. When he your guys child in his arms he started to cry all over again. He said he loved them promised that nothing bad was going to happen to them.

Eddie invited Venom (with your consent) to come out and see the baby. Venom moved up Eddie arm in his blob form and stared curiously at the child. “It’s so small and chubby.” With a tiny tentacle, he brushed the baby’s cheek and the baby moved against it. “I will protect this little thing with my life and eat whoever harms them.”

You both laughed at this and we’re glad that Venom loves your child.

#eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #venom and eddie #venom imagine #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock fluff #venom fluff #venom let there be carnage

[heartsforvin]

Heyyy loveee!!!🫶🏻

All your latest stories have been so beautiful and interesting, I love them!!😮‍💨

dad!Vinnie lives free in my head forever was so beautiful😭🫶🏻 If it's not too much trouble you could do another one where it's Vinnie and the Reader's daughter (or son) first day of school As if it were her first day in life and they take her to class and everything becomes emotional because her baby has grown quite a bit🥹💕

I hope you can do it if you want obviously, I send you all my love and I hope the work becomes less burdensome 💌🫂

ALL GROWN UP

this is sooo cute 🥹

thank you for the request !!!!

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; a bit sad, crying, use of pet names, pure fluff otherwise !!

summary; it’s your son’s first day of school and you can’t help but be an emotional wreck at the fact your baby’s growing up

ever since your son was born you dreaded the day he started his first day of school. he was a pretty easy newborn and toddler, so you figured the first days of school would go smoothly, right?

wrong. well, it went smoothly for your son and husband, but for you not so much.

you woke up to vinnie peppering kisses all over your face as he whispers for you to get up.

“c’mon, baby, i got wes all ready.” he told you as you slowly sit up and rub your eyes.

yawning, vinnie slowly drags you out of the bed. you slip on your slippers as you and vinnie make your way to the kitchen.

“mama!” your five year old son exclaims as he sees you enter the kitchen with his father.

you smile and ruffle his hair as he finishes up his breakfast. “what’cha got there, bubba?” you ask him.

“dad made me french toast with strawberries,” he replies with a smile. “said i need a good breakfast for today.”

you smile and nod. “first day of school, you excited?” you ask as you take a seat next to your son.

meanwhile, your husband is plating up more french toast with strawberries just for you. he hands them to you and kisses your head.

wesley nodded as he finished chewing his food. “so excited!” he exclaims.

he soon finishes his breakfast and vinnie goes to help him brush his teeth. you finish up breakfast yourself and decide to get dressed.

about ten minutes later the three of you were finally ready to leave. you helped your son slip on his shoes and vinnie helped him with his backpack before you headed out the door.

☁︎·̩͙✧

your foot anxiously shook against the car as the three of you were on your way to the school. vinnie held your hand, squeezing it occasionally to try and calm you down.

“you’re more nervous than wes,” vinnie lightly chuckled as he took a quick glance at you. “he’s gonna be fine, babe.” he reassured.

you smiled at vinnie then took a glance at your son in the backseat. he was kicking his feet while looking out the window.

you knew he was going to be fine. he’s never had a problem with other kids, and was honestly the most extroverted five year old you’ve seen.

ten minutes later you arrive to the school. vinnie parks the car and the two of you unbuckle and turn to face your son.

“you ready, bubba?” vinnie asks wesley as you watch your son grab his backpack.

the boy gives you both a smile and basically out of the car before he can respond. you and vinnie smile to each other before getting out of the car.

vinnie grabs wesley’s hand as you hold your hand in his, the three of you making it to the entrance of the school.

once inside and guided to the classroom, you can see the smile on your son’s face widen at your excitement.

you’re excited for him, proud of him, but a little bit of you is sad at this milestone. it’s a bittersweet moment to watch your son grow up, learn new things, experience life. part of you wishes you could just hold onto him forever.

rounding the corner, vinnie notifies you that the room you’re looking for is the second door to your left.

the three of you stoped a few inches from the classroom to say one last goodbye to your son before the end of the day.

you and vinnie crouched down to wesley’s height and smiled up at him. “you’re gonna do great, wes. mama and i wanna hear all about your day when we pick you up, okay?” vinnie says.

wesley smiles as he tugs on his backpack straps, ready to go into the room and finally start his first day.

he turns his gaze to you and sees that you’re crying. “don’t cry, mama.” he says as he hugs you tightly.

you hug him tightly even if the backpack on him is in the way. you laugh lightly before you kiss his head.

“i’m just so proud of you, baby,” you inform your son as you hold his face in your hands. “you’re gonna do great and meet some great friends, you got it?”

wesley smiles and hugs both you and vinnie. “i got it,” he smiles. “can i go now?”

you chuckle softly and ruffle his hair before you and vinnie tell him you love him. before you know it your son is in the classroom and the door is shut.

you and vinnie look into the window as he hugs you, kissing your cheek as he reassures you your son will be okay.

as the two of you walk back to the car hand in hand. its quiet for a minute before vinnie speaks up.

“you know what this means,” vinnie speaks. you already know where this is going, you playfully roll your eyes at him but let him continue. “now we have more time for ourselves.”

you laugh and hit his chest. “you’re insufferable,” you tell him. “you’re lucky i love you.”

vinnie laughs as he holds you tighter, the two of you getting into the car quickly after.

“as much as i love him, im glad it’ll just be us for a few hours now.” vinnie says as he starts up the engine.

you laugh again. “that sounds terrible, vin,” you tell him. “but i’m glad we do too.” you smile before kissing him.

you knew your boy would be just fine at school, that he’d make good friends and learn good things. you knew you’d be fine, too. you just might need a little more time than others.

hiii !!! i loved writing this , it was so cute !!! i hope you all enjoyed reading it !!!

oh also !! for some reason tumblr isn’t showing some of your guys’ users that are on my taglist. so i swear im not forgetting you, it just won’t let me tag you for some reason 🥲

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @forevergirlposts , @leqonsluv3r , @bernelflo , @visualbutterflysworld , @louloulemons-blog , @lovingsturniolo , @violet0182 , @laylasbunbunny , @hallecarey1 , @kriissy4gov , @supabhad , @slvthrs , @kayleiggh , @st4rswrld ,

#vhackerr #vincent hacker #vinniehacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie x y/n #vinnie x reader #vinnie hacker headcanon

[haddonfieldwhore]

lowkey - damian priest

damian priest x gn!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: langauge, drinking, implied nsfw, readers age isn’t specified but i wrote this as if they’re around rheas age so age gap warning just in case, scripted violence

after it being teased for the last few weeks on raw, you were finally going to be moving from nxt to the main roster and joining the judgment day, arguably the most powerful group in the wwe today. you were more than excited, considering that you would be in a group with your best friend rhea, as well as just some really cool, talented people. you had been friends with rhea since middle school, and had only met the guys in the group a handful of times, but you could already tell you were going to fit in well. however that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous to be making your main roster debut, tugging awkwardly at your ring gear as you stood with rhea in gorilla.

“you’re gonna do great, salem,” rhea smiled, using your ring name. your gear matched the judgment day colour scheme, black and purple with lots of chains and studs on your ring jacket. the judgement day would be going out first, and then kevin, sami, and jey would pick off the boys, and raquel would attack rhea. all you had to do was run out there and help rhea; easy enough right?

things were going smoothly, rhea and the boys wishing you luck as they passed by you on the way to the ring. damian patted you on the shoulder, and you looked up at the man who towered over you, like you were sure he did most people, standing at six foot five. you had to admit, he was incredibly handsome, his long hair and dark eyes suiting his features perfectly.

“you’re gonna do great,” he smiled, and you nodded, thankful that they all seemed to accept you into the group already.

“thanks. i’ll see you out there,” you smiled, and he gave you a fist bump with his massive hand, and headed out with the others. even though you were on opposite teams in the ring, even kevin, sami, and jey wished you luck as they passed through gorilla, as did raquel.

it felt like only 3 seconds had gone by, when in reality it had been about 2 minutes before your music kicked in, “the witching hour” by in this moment blared through the arena as one of the backstage crew members gave you your que to head down the ramp. you ran out, your anxiety not letting you look at the amount of people in the crowd as you got to the ring and slid under the bottoms rope, pulling raquel off of rhea. the two of you attacked her and chased her out of the ring, leaving just you and rhea standing there. you looked at eachother, and rhea made it seem for a second that she was going to attack you, but instead extended a hand for you to shake. you took her hand in yours, and the rest of the judgment day, who had also scared off their opponents, joined you in the ring. the moment finally sank in, and you looked at the thousands of people in the crowd, and your heart pounded in your chest, the judgment day music loud in your ears as you all exited the ring and headed up the ramp, damian and finn on either side of you with their arms over your shoulders.

once you had made it backstage, rhea stole you out of their grip, wrapping her arms around you in a hug and spinning you around, causing both of you to laugh.

“you killed it! that was great!” she yelled, and the guys agreed.

“how do you feel?” finn asked, and you took a deep breath as rhea set you back on your feet.

“i feel great! i would have been a lot more nervous if you guys weren’t out there with me, so thank you,” you admitted.

“no problem. we’re like a family, and now you’re a part of it too,” dominik said, and appreciated it more than you could say.

“priest, i think you know what time it is,” rhea smirked evilly. “it’s time to show salem how the judgment day parties.”

“say less,” damian laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder again as they all led you out through backstage, a handful of superstars congratulating you on your debut, before you got to your cars and left the venue. you and rhea were in her car together while the guys were in another, and as much as you already loved them, you were happy to have a moment with your best friend.

rhea passed you the aux chord and you turned on ‘cyberhex’ by motionless in white, and she nodded in approval.

“so now that it’s just us, how are you feeling after your main roster debut?”

“it was amazing. i have to admit, i am a little overwhelmed, since you and the guys are such an established group, but i’m also so grateful to be joining the judgment day. i just hope they like me,” you answered.

“you mean the fans or the boys?”

“both, but i meant the boys. they all seem really cool, i don’t want to intrude on the group, you know?”

“i get it. but they love you already. if they didn’t you would know,” she laughed, and you felt slightly relieved.

“thanks rhea.”

“no problem. you have your ‘initiation’ match next week, right? against raquel?”

“yeah. i can’t believe my first solos match on raw is against her,” you said; raquel wasn’t someone that would go down without a fight.

“you can do this. i know you can, and the rest of the judgment day knows you can too,” she said, parking her car as you had arrived at the hotel.

•••

one thing was for sure; the judgment day knew how to throw a party. it had been non stop celebrations for about 4 hours when you all calmed down and decided to put on a movie. there was only a small couch and an arm chair in the hotel room you were currently in, which was finn’s room. he was in the chair, you, damian, and rhea sat on the couch, and dom was sitting on the floor in front of rhea, who occasionally played with his hair. you knew the romance between them was just a storyline, but their real life friendship was adorable. you were starting to get sleepy as it was nearing three am, and you were cuddled under a blanket from your suitcase, since the a/c in the hotel room was giving you goosebumps, and you could feel your eyes getting heavy.

as damian shifted next to you, his hand bumped against your thigh, and he muttered a soft apology under his breath. the small amount of alcohol in your system gave you some extra confidence, you took his hand in yours under the blanket and placed it back on your thigh without saying anything, your hand over his to keep it there. he shifted again so his leg was against yours, and you cuddled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you let yourself fall asleep.

damian shook you awake gently a little while later, and pointed to rhea and dominik asleep in the one bed, and finn passed out in the other.

“i’ll walk you to your room, unless you wanna sleep on the couch,” damian offered quietly, as not to wake anyone up. he stood up first, pulling you up off the couch by your hand, and you grabbed your bag. it wasn’t until you got into the hallway and the door locked behind you that you realized rhea had the key card to your room.

“fuck,” you mumbled, and damian turned around.

“what’s wrong?”

“rhea has the key to our room,” you replied, feeling like an idiot.

“c’mon, you can stay in my room,” he laughed at you pouting, and started walking down the hallway. when he noticed you weren’t following him, he looked back. “no funny business i promise.” you rolled your eyes playfully, but hurried after him as he led you to his room.

“what if i want there to be?” you asked quietly, as you’d caught up to him. damian looked down at you, a little surprised, before placing his hand on your lower back and pushing you gently.

“then walk faster,” he mumbled, and you smiled as you finally reached his room. he unlocked the door and let you go in first, and you noticed that there was two beds. “did you enjoy your welcome party?” damian asked, and you smiled.

“definitely. rhea wasn’t kidding when she said you guys knew how to party,” you smiled, turning towards him.

“party doesn’t have to be over, if you don’t want it to be,” he said, his voice low as he stepped closer.

“what did you have in mind?” you asked, smiling as you felt his hands rest on your waist, pulling you against him. he leaned down to kiss you deeply, and your hands rested on his chest, his arms circling around you. damian backed you up until your legs hit the end of the bed and you sat down. he backed away, staring down at you.

“are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, and you nodded, your head surprisingly clear after the few drinks you’d had; the nap had sobered you up a surprising amount. you slid off the bed and dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs.

“i want to,” you assured him, and his head fell backwards as your hand slid over the front of his jeans.

“fuck,” his voice was deep as your hands fought over the buckle of his belt, damian eventually letting you undo it as his hands cradled either side of your head. “this has to stay a secret for now, okay?”

“i know,” you smiled. “it’s kinda more fun that way, isn’t it?” you asked.

“you keep surprising me,” he shook his head.

“is that a bad thing?” you asked, undoing the button on his jeans after successfully undoing his belt, and sliding the zipper down.

“definitely not.”

•••

you woke up to the feeling of someone trailing gentle kisses over your shoulder and up the side of your neck, and you murmured softly at the sensation, tickling slightly.

“good morning,” damian’s deep voice mumbled next to your ear, somehow even deeper than usual after just waking up. your legs were tangled beneath the covers, the white hotel duvet the only thing covering your bodies other than the purple love bites that were scattered across your skin.

“good morning,” you smiled, your eyes fluttering open as you rolled over to look at him.

“it’s only nine so i don’t think the others will be awake yet if we want to sneak downstairs before they wonder where we are,” he offered.

“rhea’s gonna figure out that i didn’t sleep in our room eventually. i’ll just tell her i slept in the extra bed. i have to say - this was kind of out of character for me; i don’t think she’ll expect anything as long as you cover those,” you smiled, poking one of the bite marks you had left on his shoulder.

“can do. as long as you hide those,” he pointed to the hickeys on your neck, and you laughed.

“deal. i do want breakfast though, so yes; we can head downstairs.”

“sounds good. you can shower first if you want,” he offered, and you smirked.

“you could join me.” you had no idea where your sudden boost of confidence was coming from, but you felt comfortable with him considering you barely knew him.

“i don’t know how productive that’s gonna be…” he trailed off, kissing your lips.

“is that a no?”

“that’s not what i said,” he smirked, and pulled the covers off of your bodies, dragging you towards the shower.

#damian priest #damian priest fic #damian priest x reader #damian priest imagine #wwe #wwe fic #the judgement day x reader #rhea ripley

[trashogram]

A Drabble for Octavia in the He Chose You universe (if you don’t know what that is, it’s just a Lucifer/Reader I’ve made — you’re the Queen of Hell) who deserves none of the BS she’s had to deal with in Helluva Boss.

Octavia knelt to sit on the playmat, long legs awkwardly splaying outward as she tried to get comfortable. Even if she managed to make her lower half unwind, the Goetian heiress couldn’t imagine her shoulders loosening in this expansive, unbelievable castle. It was even more opulent than her own home. Princess Charlotte watched her make the attempt with a wide, gummy smile from where she’d been trying to roll onto her tummy. Her mother, the Queen, had gotten up only a moment ago and was speaking in hushed tones with the person Via wished the least to see much less hear since she’d taken shelter in Lucifer’s palace.

Pudgy hands on chubby baby arms reached out and Octavia couldn’t help smirking. She reached back and allowed Charlotte to grab onto one of her talons, sharp point curled inward to prevent any injury to the fragile baby.

The baby yanked at her owl counterpart and babbled, until Octavia’s smile softened into something more genuine. It was as if Charlotte knew that Via needed distraction.

“Your majesty, I understand what you’re saying, but I must insist that I at least see my daughter.���

Octavia sunk down further onto the plush pink carpet at the sound of her father’s voice.

“It’s been days!” Stolas said, loud enough to be heard from behind royal walls.

“And as I said before, Octavia shouldn’t be forced to do anything that she’s not comfortable with.” The Queen countered politely, yet firmly.

“Mah!” Octavia’s gaze switched from the ground to Charlotte once again.

The threat of tears in the bird’s glowing eyes were forgotten momentarily as she watched Hell’s princess struggle to flip from her back to her belly. Octavia couldn’t help her frame from shaking with quiet laughter at the sight.

Charlie waved a hand again and her playmate finally took the bait and gently pushed the baby to maneuver onto her side. Charlie’s hooves kicked in the air for purchase as she flopped the rest of the way. She huffed in satisfaction before looking back up at Via with her round, ruby eyes, arms held out to grip and kneed at the fibers beneath.

Charlotte babbled before scooting up toward Via, moving like an inchworm just to get to her.

“What are you doing?” Octavia snorted, instantly stopping the Devil baby in her tracks by leaning over and plucking the tiny thing from the floor.

It was so easy, like picking up taxidermic armadillo paperweight to admire. Just a tad more wriggly and loud.

Charlie smiled widely again and lightly petted Via’s beak. “Mah!”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.” Octavia held the Antichrist close, for lack of any alternative. “You’re nuts, you know?”

The familiar whoosh and accompanying sparkling light of a portal opening up a few feet away had Octavia pulling Charlie to her chest tightly. It earned her a high-pitched bit of nonsense, but Via waited in fear for the figure on the other side to step through.

The becoming-familiar figure of Lucifer hopped through. “Hello girls!”

It took Octavia a moment to get her bearings. Charlie fussed in the owl princess’s loosening arms as Lucifer focused on the two of them.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry sweetie. Didn’t mean to startle you!” The King hunched in on himself to appear smaller, voice going low. “Mom said she had to step out and I got here as fast as I could.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” He continued. “Here, want me to take her?”

Octavia slowly gave Charlotte to her father, watching numbly as he lit up for the baby.

“Dah!” Charlie squealed.

“That’s right! Daddy’s here!” Lucifer kissed her brow, and Charlie was already enthusiastically babbling once more.

He looked back to Octavia. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long…?”

“No, he… he got here a few minutes ago.” Octavia answered.

Lucifer’s expression turned remorseful and subdued, even while Charlie grabbed at lapels. This was the fourth-going-on-fifth time Prince Stolas had come requesting his daughter’s return home, and the situation was becoming as sad as it was frustrating.

It was difficult for Lucifer personally. On one hand, he was a father, and he knew that he’d tear apart Heaven and Hell to keep Charlotte safe with himself and his wife. On the other hand, Octavia’s parents were definitely not Lucifer and his wife. Being around Stella and Stolas Goetia, especially at the height of their marriage falling apart at the seems and one attempting to kill the other — as well as the other flaunting their extramarital affairs (in front of Octavia for fuck’s sake) sounded like the opposite of safe.

“Hey,” Lucifer offered the Owl princess a hand while moving Charlie to his hip. “Are ya hungry? We’ve got a kitchen all the way on the opposite side of the house with anything you could ever want. Or oh! Maybe we could go to that arcade Mammon commissioned up here — Dag and Belphagor’s? I bet they have food, and non-rigged games! Well for us, anyway.”

Lucifer chuckled. And Via looked up at him for a long moment, sizing up the rather diminutive ruler of all Hell as he waited for her with utmost patience. Charlie mimicked him once she’d assessed the situation (as much as a baby could) and held out her hand to Octavia as well, with an energetic ‘Gah!’.

Via smiled before she took the offer. “Sure.”

#HCY #READER IS MOM AND LUCIFER IS DAD #Hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #octavia goetia #helluva boss #Frustration is my inspiration #This is pointless fluff crack idfk

[reddeaddamnation]

"Possession vs Obsession" - Sub-Zero x reader x Scorpion- Chapter II

Summary: An arranged marriage between clans in the name of peace ironically disturbs the peace of the two brothers who find themselves in a new feud. This time between themselves. Betrayal and heartache had been destined for them since she entered their lives. Y/N of the Shadow-weaver clan, promised to Bi Han, future Grand Master of the Lin Kuei, stands in front of the difficult decision- to end the war between their clans or end the war within the Lin Kuei temple.

The morning rays of the sun tickled Y/N's skin as they shone through the cracks of the wooden window covers. The Shadow-weaver awoke from her slumber, annoyed from the light, turning in bed left to right, in an attempt to escape the sun. Alas, it was in vain. She opened her eyes and slowly observed her surroundings. Bi Han was nowhere in sight. Who knows how early he had left. For a moment she contemplated whether she preferred it this way. Seeing him once per day for less than an hour seemed agreeable, as she could forget he existed for the rest of the time, for the rest of her life. It's definitely better than his snarky remarks and reminders how much he didn't want to marry her.

A light knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. Thomas Vrbada, her smoke wielding friend from yesterday stood on the other side, beaming as if they hadn't woken up less than 10 minutes ago. "Good morning, Y/N!" He greeted. His smile was contagious. The girl smiled back, tired and greeted him back. "Father said we need to do our best to accommodate you and not leave you behind from everyone else. He said we all have to train equally, so that includes you, too. So today you can spar with me." Thomas explained. "But I can only fight with what I learned from my clan." Y/N was no stranger to waking up early to fight. Shadow-weaver training was in a way quite brutal if she had to be honest.

She remembered her first trials. Making her way through the pitch-black caverns. She felt claustrophobic from how tight the hallways were. Not knowing which way to go. Feeling her way through the darkness, all while attempting to defend herself from "attackers" from the clan. Of course, they weren't going to kill her, but until she learned her way around, she endured quite the battter. At the end of her training, her skills as an assassin grew, the shadows bent and made way for her, followed her every step and protected her from attackers. She moved in silence, striking and disappearing at the blink of an eye. Became a master of her art. Now... fighting out in the open wasn't a foreign concept for her, but she would be lying if she said she was comfortable with it. These people were warriors. Not assassins.

"We can exchange experiences. I'm sure we have a lot to learn from each other." The boy suggested. "Alright. It is a new dawn for us after all." Y/N chuckled "It's time to start learning from each other instead of arguing who is superior." They shared a laugh "You took the words out of my mouth." Thomas remarked "I'll meet you in the training grounds after 15 minutes."

The training grounds were full of novices and masters. Even if they were busy with their own training, Y/N couldn't help but feel nervous being around so many people who could watch her at any given moment. She attempted to ignore her feeling and brush it off as her imagination, while she was busy defending herself from her friend. Thomas had great abilities and swift movement. He could vanish into smoke in seconds, evading many of her attacks. Little did he know, she could also blend in with the shadows around her. Using his confusion, she snuck up behind his back silently and kicked the back of his knees, making him kneel. "And I win." She smirked.

There was that feeling of being watched again. This time more intensely... more demanding... Y/N felt her body heat up as she turned around and met eyes with Kuai Liang who analyzed her every move from the other side of the training ground. His eyes were full of admiration, inviting in ways his lips could never speak of. His soft expression, unfazed by the fact that she had caught onto his staring, feigning innocence as he held her own gaze for what felt like eternity. No morning chills could dwindle the fire he ignited within her. Obviously, he had completely forgotten to supervise the trainees he was responsible for in favor of watching the Shadow-weaver's fighting style. Y/N was almost ready to go to him...

"Assassin." Bi Han's chilling voice made her freeze in place and made her break the eye-contact. He stopped near her and Thomas, eyeing the both of them. "What are you doing?" She rolled her eyes before shifting her gaze to him "Training, Bi Han." She answered dryly. The future Grand Master clenched his jaw, ready to spew another protest like he always does, but not at her. He was eyeing Thomas who had stood up and was dusting himself off, fixing displaced armor pieces. Bi Han then looked at his betrothed. For the first time, she could distinguish an emotion of some kind... a different kind of anger. You should be training with me. Oh, he was almost ready to say it. But he did not. His pride would never allow it.

"What can I help you with, Bi Han?" Y/N tried her best to remain polite, growing tired of his silence. "You and me are being sent on a mission together. Father's orders. We don't have a choice." Bi Han explained. "When have we ever?" Her comment made him bite his lower lip, trying his best not to say anything that would hurt his pride. "Are you going to be this smart mouthed the entire time?" He asked, voicing it as a warning. "I didn't say anything." Y/N shrugged her shoulders innocently. Again, a heavy silence fell over them, in which the man was calculating his words carefully. He let it go. "You have 30 minutes to prepare before we leave." Bi Han ordered "I hope you realize you aren't exempt from missions and work here, princess." Sneering the last word, he turned around and started distancing himself from her and his brother. "I never said I wanted to be." Y/N stated, loud enough for him to hear and scoffing in mockery.

"Good luck." Thomas snickered under his breath.

#mortal kombat sub zero #mortal kombat scorpion #mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #sub zero x reader #bi han x reader #scorpion x reader #kuai liang x reader #scorpion #sub zero

[fruitcoops]

Can you write another jealous sirius fic? I love your work!🫶🏾

Par for the course, this is less 'jealous' and more 'gently possessive', but yes I absolutely can! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove, but I once again tale the burden of a shitty OC. Enjoy!

TW alcohol mentions, mild drunkenness

The sway of his hips was something to behold. It was subtle (everything about Remus was subtle, if he could help it), but movement rippled from the strong arc of his shoulders and narrowed the world to a single place of fineness. His shirt was loose and casual; Sirius’ mouth watered at the thought of getting to touch the small of his back. It wouldn’t take more than a slip of his hand.

Remus meandered around the edge of the crowd in a winding path. Sirius hid a smile in the side of his hand. He caught a glimpse of pink cheeks when Remus turned his head at the change in music, lips forming a soft ‘oh’ of excitement—he picked up the pace with only a little wobble and Sirius couldn’t help a snort.

Please, let me—

I got this. Remus’ insistence had been adorable; the press of his entire palm over Sirius’ mouth, even moreso.

You’re drunk, honey.

I’m tipsy. A kiss to his forehead. And I’m fine.

He was fine. Remus didn’t really do ‘not fine’, didn’t like the cotton-mouth feeling the next morning, would probably commit a murder to avoid an unnecessary headache. But at this point in the night, he was certainly tipsy enough that Sirius questioned his ability to not spill water all over them both.

Lily’s hair flashed in a copper fan under the low light when James spun her. Her laughter spiked over the noise of the other dancers, unfiltered by the canopy above the dance floor. He leaned back in his seat with a sigh and followed Remus with his eyes as he bobbed and wove, all kinds of amber honey against his soft blue button-down. It was nothing fancy. They went dancing often now, and grew bored of dressing up.

Sirius thought he looked better than a dozen Stanley Cups.

He narrowed his eyes. It seemed those thoughts did not belong to him alone.

Remus hadn’t noticed yet; that much was clear from the tilt of his smile as he watched James and Lily dance before moving closer to the bar. Sirius suffered to take his eyes off the line of his jaw to fix on the other side of the bartop. The man there was watching Remus with absolutely none of the respect he deserved. That alone made Sirius want to kick his stool out from under him, but then the fucker stood up, and—

Someone’s hand was in his hair.

“Blegh—”

“Excuse me,” James said loudly, cupping Sirius’ face in both hands. “Hello? Captain RBF, you’re off the clock, I need my bestie for the evening.”

“Don’t say bestie.”

Lily’s palm moved down to clasp across his forehead, as if feeling for a fever. “Doctor, he’s dying,” she declared. “I prescribe one song, or two and a half minutes of attempted fun.”

“That might kill him faster,” James said, solemn as the grave.

“I’m having fun!” Sirius protested. “And—move, you’re blocking my view.”

James’ brow furrowed. “Of what? The best view is right in front of you.”

A disgruntled noise found its way out before words could; he batted them away, but they just settled down in the adjacent seats and squished him between their shoulders. He couldn’t find it in himself to be grumpy about it.

“Alright,” Lily sighed. Her nails drummed a gentle chime against her gin and tonic. “What are we grouching about tonight?”

“The—ugh, would you fucking look at that?” The man from the stool had nearly made his way to Remus by now. James and Lily shared a look in the corners of his vision. Sirius groaned and took James by the chin, turning his head toward them. “Look.”

“…I don’t see anything.”

“Are the glasses just for show?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Lily said suddenly, only to muffle a giggle behind her hand.

Sirius turned to her in dismay. “Don’t laugh!”

“Is that it?”

“It’s not funny!”

“Honey, you married somebody with a cute face and a rockin’ bod.” Lily reached out to pat the back of his hand. “This is the price you pay.”

James nodded, taking a slow sip of his lemonade. “It’s true. Basic risk-reward, my man.”

Public Shithead Number One sidled up to Remus at the counter. Sirius’ stomach turned. “Can I—”

“Bodily harm is forbidden,” James interrupted.

He chewed the inside of his lip. “…Can I—”

“Probably not.”

“It wasn’t bodily harm.” Mostly.

Lily flicked him on the shoulder. “How about we try putting on a happy face for a double-date and enjoying the show?”

“I’m gonna go get him,” he muttered, setting his napkin aside.

Four hands grabbed him before he could so much as stand. “No,” James and Lily chorused.

“That guy is going to flirt with him!”

“What’s gonna happen?” Lily asked. Her brow arched at a frightening angle. “Hmm? It’s Remus, dummy. He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass.”

“But he’s kind of drunk,” Sirius protested.

“So he probably won’t even notice any flirting. He’s oblivious enough when he’s sober. If you march over there, he’ll just be upset.”

Upset. God, Sirius hated it when Remus was upset. Any step past mildly vexed was devastating. And when he was otherwise having such a good night, looking so cute and cuddly with his pink cheeks, it was out of the question.

“Fine,” he managed. The table creaked when he rested his elbows on it. “But I’m keeping an eye on the shithead’s hands.”

Lily’s eyes gleamed with amusement as she turned to James. “Can you leash him?”

“Have I ever?”

“He’s making moves.” Sirius bit down on the inside of his cheek to control his scowl. Remus didn’t even like blonds. It was ridiculous for the shithead to even try, with his slacks and overbalanced swagger. The stretch of Remus’ shirt over his upper back while he leaned on the bartop was infinitely nicer to look at.

“Don’t explode, sweetheart.” Lily patted his shoulder, tapping away at her phone. “I don’t want to clean it up.”

“Look at him. He’s like a peacock—oh.”

The tapping paused. “Oh?”

“Remus noticed him.”

“Yeah, the guy’s practically in his lap.”

“No.” A grin budded in Sirius’ chest and bloomed across his face, urged on by horrible, giddy joy. “No, no, he asked Remus a question.”

Next to him, James straightened; the front legs of his chair hit the tile with a soft clunk. “Remus noticed him?”

Remus was fully turned to the side now, hands tight around two water glasses and face lit by more than just Edison bulbs. His profile was sharpened by the pale canvas backdrop as he leaned in slightly, flushed with excitement. The shithead looked thrilled.

Remus took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

“I love that little nerd,” Lily murmured, leaning into Sirius’ side with a hand to her mouth. “He’s so weird. What do you think set him off?”

“I have no idea,” James said through a laugh. “But I’ll pray for that poor soul.”

“I won’t.” Sirius squinted for a better view. The shithead’s smile was long gone. Before his eyes, the hand that had been itching to wander was shoved solidly into the pocket of charcoal slacks.

Remus Lupin was the greatest part of his life, the moon to his stars, the wing to his center, his favorite non-James individual. He was intelligent, hardworking, and handsome to a fault. Sirius constantly marveled at his kind heart.

When Remus had a touch more alcohol than usual, his helpful nature and brilliant mind tended to entangle the closest victim if they asked the right question, Cthulu-style. He’d spill anything: hockey strategy, random knowledge, government secrets.

By the looks of it, the shithead had asked a very interesting question, indeed.

He attempted an escape, but Remus touched him gently on the shoulder and snagged his attention right back. “It’s an art,” Sirius muttered.

James sighed. “I should save him.”

“No, no.” Sirius reached back blindly to pat his arm. “Leave it. For me.”

“You wanted that guy flayed on your doorstep five minutes ago.”

“This is so much better. I’ll get him in a minute.” Or three.

The song changed and Lily let out a soft gasp. “No, go get him, I want to dance.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but stood and brushed his hands off on his pants. “You hate it when I have fun,” he called.

“Sure do!” Lily chirped, raising her glass.

The crowd parted for him like warm butter. The wind was picking up, cool on his skin and ruffling the back of Remus’ hair where it was just starting to curl. He supposed that was the benefit of finding an outdoor space; no sweaty, crushing darkness to get stuck in as the night went on.

“—which is where I met Moody,” Remus was saying as he drew closer. His forehead creased. “Have I mentioned Moody?”

The other man looked vaguely terrified. “I…don’t know.”

Remus waved a hand. “It’s fine. He was my mentor out of college. Cranky bastard, fake leg, heart of gold. Anyway, I worked with him for a couple years, mostly on broken bones, but some tendon stuff. I told you about those, remember?”

The man’s throat bobbed. “Yes. Look, I was going to ask—”

“Oh, I can answer any of your questions,” Remus said earnestly. Sirius’ heart skipped a beat at the genuine hope in his voice. Fucking sweetheart. “Seriously, I—oh, hey!”

“Hi.” The small of his back was just as soft as Sirius knew it would be. His temple was a little warmer than normal when he brushed a kiss over it, but Remus pushed into it with a quiet hum, and that banished all worry from his mind in one blow. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, I made a friend. This is Derek, he’s so nice.” His blinks were slow, and he took a moment to focus when he looked up. A crooked smile followed on its heels. “Missed you. Got your water.”

“Thanks, loup.”

A faint cough caught their attention. Sirius twitched a brow; ‘Derek’ shuffled in place for a few seconds. “Is he, uh, yours?”

“My what?” It was best to keep it blunt in situations like this. Sirius felt for the man’s general confusion, but it wasn’t like he had missed Remus’ wedding ring.

“Husband,” Remus answered for him with a nudge to Sirius’ waist. “Duh.”

“I was asking your friend,” Sirius laughed, taking one of the glasses from Remus. Derek’s gaze flickered over them. He watched his eyes bulge when they landed on Remus’ left hand.

Huh. Perhaps he had missed the ring, after all.

“Yeah, I’m—” Derek patted his pockets as redness crept up his neck. “I’m just—I’m going to—sorry about that, excuse me.”

Sirius watched until his glossy hair was out of sight. Then, and only then, did he look back down at Remus. “You’re a terror.”

“Hmm.” Fingertips trailed over his belt; Remus nestled his cheek in the bend of Sirius’ neck. “I like these jeans.”

“I know.”

“I like this song.”

“Lily’s already dancing. Asked me to come find you.”

Remus smiled, and planted a sloppy kiss to the side of his neck before tangling their fingers. A long exhale warmed his skin. “You’re gonna love me forever, right?”

Sirius buried his nose in the top of his head and took a deep breath. He let his other hand settle at the back of Remus’ neck, drawing a happy noise from him. “I’m going to love you forever.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re not going to say it back?” Sirius teased.

Remus pulled his face free long enough to narrow his eyes. It did nothing to quell his grin. “Come dance with me, then we’ll see.”

A soft ‘I love you’ found them far before the end of the song did. Sirius closed his eyes and savored the shape of it, pressed against his lips like a prayer and a promise.

#remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #coops #jily #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fluff #drunkenness #alcohol #dancing

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Reunited

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: TLOU typical violence, mentions of injury, pain medication use, outbreak night events (from readers pov), sorry to the Joel and Tess shippers out there, Sarah’s death, angst but fluff

Word Count: 4k

Author’s Notes: FINALLY BACK!!! This writers block didn’t last nowhere near as long as the last one and it feels good to be typing this right now. I do think in the future I will intentionally take January off to reset and rest my brain. I hope everyone has been well!! This is my first ever Joel fic so please be nice!! Thanks to @clint-aww-no-barton​ as always! With a new wave of fans coming in if you want to be added (or removed) from my taglist please please let me know!!

ao3 link 

  The world was so broken. It had been like this for 20 years now, but every single time you moved outside of the walls of a city it hit you all over again. You panted as you moved one foot in front of the other, pain shooting up your left leg with each step. Boston was now maybe a mile away in front of you. You paused, taking it in, before making yourself keep moving. Finally you were in view of guards who came rushing to you, guns drawn as usual.

  “I’m not sick,” your voice betrayed you as you raised your arms.

  “Any exposed injuries?!” One guard yelled from the distance they kept.

  “No,” you spoke shaking your head with your word. “I think my left leg is broken somewhere. I’m not sure. I just know it hurts like hell.”

  The guards came to you then, calmly, which was not something you experienced often. You knew all the normal procedures that came next, but you couldn’t care less, you just wanted off your feet. They took you to a room once you crossed the walls, patted you down and scanned you, green shining back into the dim room.

  “Well, looks like you’re not sick. I’ll get someone to look at that leg.” One of the guards spoke with a sweeter tone than most.

  “Thank you,” your words came out soft and full of exhaustion.

  Water and a sandwich was shoved into your hands, which you devoured. The moment you took your last sip of water, a man walked in who was definitely a doctor.

  “What did you do to it?” He spoke softly as he moved your leg slightly.

  You let out a scream at the pain that shot through you, the guard in the room jumping.

  “Do that again and I’ll kick you in the face,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

  “I do have to do my job,” he snapped back eyeing you with a sharp look.

  “I did it after I left the last place I was at. I was being chased by infected and tripped. I was in pain but I had to get up and keep going.”

  “Well good news is, it’s not broken but you do have a severe strain, maybe even torn ligaments. I’m going to wrap it up but once you get into a room I want you off it.”

  “Yeah like that’s going to happen. We don’t have the luxury of things like resting anymore.”

  “You do and will.”

  You rolled your eyes but braced yourself as he started to wrap your leg. Your knuckles turned white and you swore you were going to break your teeth as you clenched them through the pain.

  “Come on I’ll take you to the apartment building you’ll be staying in,” the guard who had been keeping watch since you got here started to help you from the table. 

  “Easy easy.”

  You wrapped your arm around her and she held you tight against her as the two of you started to walk slowly and carefully. You were mostly silent as she walked you through the city. It all looked the same as the other cities you had lived, in just different faces. Eyes watched you, people paused as you passed by. A new person was in their midst and she was being helped by a guard. Finally the two of you came to the building and slowly made your way up the stairs inside.

  “I need a minute,” you panted as you backed yourself up against a wall just inside.

You rested your head back on the wall and closed your eyes, trying to calm your breathing and pounding heart rate. The pain still coursing through you had only slightly subsided thanks to the wrap now on it. You were going to have to find out how to get pain medication around here and soon.

  “You think you can move again?” The guard spoke and with your eyes still closed you nodded your head.

  The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion. Your eyes opened and before you could even push yourself off the wall you saw him. There was no mistaking him even after all these years. You felt tears spring into your eyes almost too shocked to speak.

  “Joel?”

  His name came out softer than you wanted but he still stopped dead in his tracks and then turned to you. You could see the hardness like armor around him but his face went from tensed to shocked. His eyes met yours and you could tell he couldn’t find his words. So many emotions came crashing over you and you wanted to fall to the ground, you wanted to cry but more than anything you wanted his arms wrapped around you. To be sure he was real. You pushed yourself off the wall and the two of you stood there for too long just looking at each other. No doubt he was thinking the same as you. Were you dreaming? You knew you weren’t. This was real. After all this time you had found your way back to each other just as you promised that night. 

*outbreak night*

  You had driven straight to their house. You didn’t even fully have the car in park before you were out of it and running towards it. The neighborhood was already in an uproar, along with the rest of the city and it seemed nightfall was making things worse. You noticed the door open and stopped short, slowly making your way inside.

  “Joel?! Sarah?!” You yelled their names but got no responses.

  You gulped, feeling your stomach fall, but no you wouldn’t believe the worst, not yet. Then it felt like everything happened at once. You heard a scream, turning and taking off back out of the house in time to see Sarah stunned into stillness as her neighbor went rabid. Just before she lunged at Sarah, before you could jump to her rescue, Tommy’s truck came crashing onto the curb, both men were out and Joel had killed the woman. Everyone seemed to freeze in that moment realizing what was happening was real.

  “You killed her…” Sarah let out a sob and Joel was to her in second.

  “I know baby girl. I’m so sorry but I had to,” he breathed and then he looked at you. “Are you okay?”

  All you could do was nod. Your heart was racing and you could feel the panic creeping up. You looked at Sarah and pushed it down then glanced back at Joel. The two of you communicated silently, that there would be a time to have your own moments later. What mattered now was getting somewhere safe.

  “Both of you get in. We gotta go,” Joel spoke suddenly and you all made for the truck.

  You slid into the backseat with Sarah who whimpered slightly as she grabbed your arm.

  “Hey it’s going to be okay kiddo. Buckle up,” you nodded at the seatbelt on her side.

  She buckled and so did you before you had grabbed on to each other once again. You tried to keep her calm as Tommy flew through the streets. Him and Joel kept going back and forth about where to go, which way would be better. Everything seemed a blur. A burning house to your left, a family pleading for help on your right. Every car in Texas on the highway that was your way out. Across a field with a sharp turn only to be met with military. Another jerk to the right and you were heading straight for the city. You could see the flames already licking the sky in the distance. You had no idea what was going to happen or where you were going to go. You held Sarah with a harder grip as Tommy flew into the city. Everything was pure chaos. Other cars flew around you along with people running from other people who seemed to be crazed. They were attacking people, killing then. And then ,moments later the dead got up and took off after more. You watched in pure shock and fear until your head flew forward with a sudden stop.

  “Tommy back up!! Back up!!”

  Joel was yelling. Tommy was yelling back. Sarah was speaking over them and you sat in silence. You looked behind you as Tommy flew in reverse and was met with a sight that finally made the entire thing click. Airplanes were falling from the sky, they came closer and closer to the ground until one hit and the entire world seemed to explode. You grabbed Sarah moments before something hit the truck and the world went black.

  “(Y/N).”

  The simple word snapped you back to reality. You gazed into Joel’s eyes and then you were moving to each other. He pulled you into his arms and you wrapped yours tightly around his neck. You buried your face in his shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of him. The tears ran down your face even with you trying so hard to hold them back.

  “I can’t believe this,” he spoke softly in your ear. “I…I didn’t…”

  “Think I’d ever see you again? I know,” you smiled, with a chuckle of disbelief as you stood back.

  His hands came up to your cheeks and his brown eyes searched your face over before making their way down your body. Then he snapped back up and his eyes went to the guard who still stood there, watching the entire thing.

  “I’ve got her from here. Thank you,” Joel spoke softly and he had you picked up bridal style in seconds.

  “Thank you,” you spoke softly to the guard as she handed your key over. With a soft smile she simply gave you a nod before leaving.

  Joel carried you up a few flights of stairs and then gently set you down keeping your weight on him. He dug out a key and unlocked the door and the two you stepped into, what you assumed, was his apartment.

  “Let’s get you propped up on the couch and I’ll get you some water and some medicine.”

  “You have pain meds?”

  “I got plenty of pain meds,” he smirked as he eyed you and carefully lowered you to the couch.

  You leaned back letting out a sigh with a slight smile at him. He picked up a pillow and sat it under your leg, earning a hiss from you.

  “I’m sorry,” his words were soft.

  “It’s okay,” you watched him.

  You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he moved around the apartment. You had waited for this moment for years. You had lost hope too many times to count, thinking he had to be dead or the world was still just too big to find him. When he came back to you his eyes met yours and he smirked his eyebrows pulling together.

  “What is it?”

  “I just…I never thought I’d find you again. I’m not missing a moment,” you spoke as you took the water and pills from him.

  “I…I still can’t really believe you are here. I have to be honest I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. What happened after we…”

  “Got separated?” A simple nod from him, as he sat on the coffee table across from you and took your hand. “I’ll be honest I don’t want to talk about that right now. I just…I just need to be. I just need to be with you. I need to know for sure you’re not going to disappear on me again.”

The two of you let out an understanding sigh and Joel nodded. “I understand. We will talk more later.”

  He brushed a piece of your hair back behind your ear and his fingers trailed down your cheek gently. Tears welled in your eyes and you forced them to not fall. The two of you just sat there, looking at each other until keys were turning in his lock. You looked from the door, back to him in question.

  “We have a lot to talk about. Just…it’s okay.” He rushed the words out, panic clear on his face.

  Then a woman was walking through the door. She stopped just inside her eyes glancing from you to Joel and back. Silence filled the room and dread filled you. He had moved on. He had found someone else and now you…you had came all this way for nothing.

  “Is this (Y/N)?” She seemed to smile just slightly, the corners of her mouth turning up.

  How did she know your name?

  “It is. Uh, this is Tess,” he spoke his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick of his.

  “Can we talk Joel?” She spoke before you could even utter a word.

  Joel simply nodded and walked behind her into the hallway. You knew you were going to hear every word they said and it made your stomach turn.

  “Tess I…she just showed up.”

  “Joel don’t it’s okay. I knew this day could always come. It’s always been her and it always will be. Let her stay with you and I’ll take her apartment.”

  “Tess…”

  “Joel you know I’m right. This…this was two lonely people keeping each other from falling apart. You still talk about her, you still call her name in your sleep. I know you still love her I can see it all over your face. It’s okay. We can still work together, but I understand. If it would have been….” She broke off for a second. “I know you would do the same thing.”

  Silence once again and you held your breath.

  “You’re right. I…I can’t turn her away. I…”

  “I know,” Tess spoke and you heard her kiss him whether on the lips or cheek you had no idea, but even in the moment it still made your stomach drop.

  The door opened and the two of them stepped back into the room. You didn’t realize until that moment that you had tears falling down your face.

  “I’m sorry,” your voice broke as it whispered the words to the both of them.

  “There is nothing for you to be sorry about.” Tess spoke to you and then she took your apartment key, that was sitting on the coffee table, and she was out the door.

  It shut behind her and you watched the door for a long moment before you looked at Joel. You didn’t stop the sob that broke from you and your hand covered your mouth. You had just came in and ruined everything he had. You felt sick.

  “I am so sorry Joel,” you spoke through the tears.

  He physically seemed to fall apart. Tears sprung in his eyes and he was down on his knees by the couch taking your face in his hands.

  “No no my sweet girl. There is nothing at all you need to feel sorry about. She was right. We were just keeping each other afloat and she knew if you ever came back to me that it wouldn’t be a decision. It has and always will be you. My love for you has never stopped. I just lost hope.”

  The he brought you to his lips and the two of you kissed. You melted into him and nothing else mattered anymore. You were with the man you loved finally. He pulled away, his forehead resting on yours as he wiped away the tears that had fallen.

  “Let’s get washed up and I’ll fix us some dinner and then we can get to bed.”

  “Sounds perfect,” you only whispered the words too afraid to really speak.

  You had no idea how two people separated for so long could simply fall back into line with each other, but it was easy for Joel and yourself. He had washed himself while you rested and then helped you to wash up. He had changed you into some of his clothes, promising to get you some more the next day. Then he fixed food for the two of you while you sat at his small table watching him. You both exchanged mellow stories of your time apart over the meal. Even with the events of the day it felt comfortable, familiar, normal. He helped you to bed and the two of you curled together on the mattress. He pulled you to him kissing the top of your head.

  “You want to talk about what happened now?” He spoke after a few moments of silence.

  You knew how it felt to wonder what had happened. You revisited that night entirely too often. Trying to figure out exactly what went wrong but the answer was simple. Everything had gone wrong. You had thought you were going to get out, up until the wreck.

*outbreak night*

  Your hearing came back first. Everything was muffled but the chaos was still rampant. You could barely hear your name being spoken by more than one person and then Sarah’s name. It was being repeated like a record player and finally you pushed the darkness of unconsciousness away and your eyes fluttered open. You were upside down, asphalt under your back and Tommy’s truck trapping you underneath it. You started to slowly move your limbs making sure nothing was broken. Your arm sent a shooting pain through you and you grit your teeth. At least it wasn’t your legs. You pushed yourself one armed out from under the truck meeting Joel and Sarah on the same side.

  “Can you walk baby girl?”

  You turned to Joel and Sarah and you glanced over them both. Joel was scratched up, blood coming from various places but all together he looked fine enough. Sarah on the other hand clearly had a twisted ankle. You grimaced at the sight, trying to move your arm. It wasn’t broke or at least not fully but you didn’t bother to keep pushing it. Sarah answered Joel with a no and he had her in his arms in a second. He turned to you glancing you over.

  “I’m fine. I think my arm is fucked but I’m okay.”

  Joel nodded and then turned to Tommy. Then in a second an ambulance came flying by wrecking Tommy’s truck further and separating the three of you from him.

  “I’m alright! Go! I’ll catch up with you!”

  “Tommy…”

  “Go!”

  Without another word the three of you turned and heading down the alley you had been trapped in. You stopped dead in your tracks when the sight in front of you opened up. Joel was next to you looking on in horror. A man was eating another and you gulped before he looked up. His body contorted strangely and then he was up.

  “Run,” Joel spoke simply and you took off into a restaurant.

  You flew through the place as fast as your legs could carry you, Joel and the sick man behind you. You flew through the place to a field on the other side of the city. Then there was gunfire and the man fell to the ground dead. You paused seeing a solider standing there his weapon lowered. Joel stopped beside you. Joel thanked him and then things seemed to move in slow motion. He spoke into his radio and your stomach fell to your feet. He seemed to argue with someone on the other side, mentioned a child and a woman. He wasn’t winning whatever that argument was and it was clear in his final words. You backed up and Joel glanced at you in confusion but then he seemed to freeze completely as the man brought his gun back up. You had no idea what happened in the next few moments. There was gunfire, you scattered falling to the ground and then there was Tommy in the distance, the solider dead. You slowly got up testing and checking your body. You hadn’t been shot and you let out a breath. You took off toward Joel and that’s when you heard him scream.

  “Tommy help me!”

  Sarah. No. You stopped just in front of Tommy. Joel held her and she didn’t look back at you. Her eyes were closed. She was gone. You fell to the ground, a sob ripping from you. And then you were crawling to him. You wrapped your arms around the back side of her. Joel and yourself held her as you both cried. Your heart had shattered. A part of you gone. A part of the man you loved gone. You were going to be sick. You turned quickly losing the contents of your stomach into the grass.

  “We have to go.” Tommy spoke slowly.

  You glanced at him knowing how right he was. You stayed too much longer and you would be dead.

  “Joel…Joel he’s right. We have to go. I’m so sorry. I know okay, I know. But they will kill us all if we don’t move.”

  You crawled back to Joel and he looked at you, so broken. You pushed away another sob trying to gather yourself for him. One of you had to be strong and in this moment you knew it had to be you. Joel lowered Sarah gently and looked at her. He kissed her forehead and whispered something to her before he gently laid her on the ground. You watched on helplessly. The three of you turned to each other for a moment before you started to once again move.

  “Well you know we went to that one town where all that salvage was…”

  “Trust me I recall clearly.”

  Now you could laugh a bit about it, but at the time you had been so scared. The two of you had gone to look for supplies and a whole pack of infected had found you. The two of you got separated and could never find each other. You remember going your separate ways to try and take care of the infected from each end. The last words Joel had spoken to you were that he would find you. He never did. You had gone running to find him and at first you had thought he was dead. You had checked every single last body in the area before you ducked into a building. You had slipped into a panic attack giving yourself a moment to grieve, to think of what to do next and then you made yourself move.

  “I made it out of Kentucky by the end of the week. I stayed in Ohio for several years. I lost hope. I lost myself for a long time. I self isolated and just tried to make it through. Then one day it was like this weird spark sent me forward and I felt more alive that I had in awhile. One morning I woke up and I just left. There was something there that was pulling me here. Now I know…it was you.”

  You looked up at him catching his brown eyes already watching you.

  “I thought I had lost you forever. I kept pushing, hoping one day I would find you again. That I would fulfill that promise. I felt like a failure because I never held it up.”

  “Joel…”

  “I got here and I did the same thing you did. I shut down and grieved you. Then one day I got up and made myself move on. I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice say my name.”

  “Let’s make a promise to each other,” you sat up gently looking down at him, his fingers brushing at your arm gently.

  “Alright,” he smiled, actually smiled, a sight you had not seen in so long.

  “Let’s promise to stay together till the end of time. Let’s promise to never ever get separated again.”

  “That is a promise I was already planning on keeping.”

  Joel’s smile widened and your own grew on your face before he pulled you down, connecting his lips to yours.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedro​ @scribbledghost​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @audreyshepbvrn​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @kaqua​ @novemberrain221​

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal fic

[harrysfolklore]

another year

a/n: hi guys happy new year ! this blurb is inspired by the songs “another year” by finneas and “new year’s day” by taylor ! i really hope you like it <3

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Glitter covered the floor as upbeat music played all over the rooftop you and Harry were currently in, a handful of close friends and family gathered to say goodbye to 2022 and celebrate the upcoming new year.

You had a lot to be grateful for as you took in the last moments of 2022. It was the year that made you realize that love is not something that knocks on your door, it just barges in, and as you reminisced about all the moments you spent with Harry this year, including your first 'I love you', first anniversary and first holidays together, you grew emotional over reading the last page of a wonderful chapter of your life.

However, you were excited for the new year that was about to start, knowing that it'll be filled with moments next to the love of your life. From a stranger's eyes, it would seem like yours and Harry's relationship took off faster than an airplane, but the way you could draw each other with your eyes closed proved that what you had was strong.

Your train of thought was interrupted by two strong arms wrapping around you and a familiar scent that you knew all too well, belonging to the man that made the last 365 days worth it.

"I was looking everywhere for you, thought you'd ran off to find another bloke to kiss when the clock strikes 12." Harry said as he leaned his cheek into yours, making you tilt your head and place a kiss on his jaw.

"I thought about it, but none of the blokes around the area have a bank account as fat as yours." you joked for a moment, feeling his chest vibrate against your back as he let out a small chuckle.

"So that's all you want me for, the couple of dollars I have on my bank account?" he joked back, putting an offended tone on his voice to go with his act.

"That and your fantastic arse." you made him chuckle again and place a couple of sloppy kisses to your check before falling into a comfortable silence for a bit.

You were in a less crowded area of the rooftop your friends rented for the celebration and the loud music that played on the dance floor was just background noise for you, and as you stood wrapped up in your love's arms, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, your only wish for 2023 was to spend every minute with him.

"What's on your mind?" Harry said after spending a couple of more minutes in silence.

"You know, just thinking about how believing that Jesus Christ was born to save us it's an awful lot of pressure for a baby and that's why New Year's is the superior holiday." you shrugged after speaking, making Harry let out a laugh once again.

"You're mental," he began, "Are you drunk already?"

"Nope, I've been having mocktails all night, I'm not in the mood to get hammered." you said as you turned around to have a proper look at him for the first time since he approached you.

He looked absolutely dreamy, cream colored trousers and black button up shirt adorning his body, along with his sparkling green eyes and red tinted lips from the glass of wine he had a few moments prior.

"That's good, saw NyOh barefoot in the lobby with her heels in her purse, she's hammered already and it's not even midnight" it was your turn to let out a small chuckle at the your friend and her way to celebrate the new year.

"Any resolutions for the new year, baby?" Harry spoke again, running his hands through your arms as a way to warm you up a bit, the chilly air kicking in and making goosebumps appear on your skin.

"I don't really believe a resolution's gonna change me," you began, "But I would love to be a bit more open to the though of failing, you know? I just want to be a little less of a perfectionist and let things be a bit messy if they have to be." you shrugged and a smile appeared on Harry's face, he felt proud of your statement.

"What about you, lovie?" you let him pull you into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and feeling his strong ones take over your shoulders.

"Honestly, to have the gorgeous girl around my arms next to me for another 365 days." his statement made your heart melt, your wish was the same as his.

"You're such a sap, you know?" you threw your head back to look at his eyes, the sparkle on them still present.

"And I love you more and more each day, you know?" and without further notice and before you could reply, he crashed his lips to yours, making you savor the aftertaste of wine from his lips, he moved his arms from your shoulders to grab your face with both of his hands, deepening the kiss.

You pulled away after a few more seconds to speak, "Easy there, tiger. You can't shag me before midnight." he rolled his eyes with affection for a second, placing a final peck to your lips.

"I can shag you whenever I please, thank you very much." It was your turn to roll your eyes and lay your head on his chest again, listening to his heartbeats softly and feeling his hand caress your hair.

"You know, you take the piss at me for being a sap, but right now I can't find poetic ways to say that I hope this lasts another year" he spoke again, letting his words linger in the air and making your heart melt once again.

"I have no clue of where I'll be next year, but I want to be next to you for as long as you'll have me, lovie." you told him withe the softest voice you had, allowing yourself to be vulnerable with him.

"Who's the sap now, huh? Aren't you just a softie, baby?" he teased you for a minute, kissing the side of your face obnoxiously and tickling your sides a bit.

"Let's gather with the rest, It's time for the countdown." you ignored his remark and grabbed his hand to drag him to where everyone was getting together to count down the seconds before 2023.

Placing yourselves next to Mitch and Sarah, Harry stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders, his tall figure towering over you.

"10..9..8.." Jeff, the host of the night, made everyone chant along with him, excited grin's on everyone's faces as they got eager for the clock to hit midnight.

"5...4...3...2...1! Happy New Year!" everyone around the room erupted in cheers and celebratory claps, Jeff even popping open a bottle of champagne.

Harry's hands on your hips made you turn around to crash your lips into his, and in that moment you knew you wanted to start all of your years this way.

"So, another year?" He breathed out, pressing his forehead against yours and his hands not leaving your face.

"Another year." you promised, and with that your lips were against each other again.

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[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: sharing a bed

It took all of ten minutes for Jason to cave and climb into Nico’s too-big bed. His weight dips the mattress to one side, and as he slides under the blankets, Nico gets hit with his fan’s frigid breeze. 

“Told you,” he mutters, flipping over onto his left side. He sticks his hand under his pillow. 

Jason makes a face, wrinkling his nose and giving Nico a sort of side-glare, before he settles fully down, hugging Nico’s spare pillow. “I don’t like disobeying Miss Sally.” 

Two months ago, Nico would’ve been right there with him. He’s lived under her roof long enough to know which rules they can nudge, though. “Percy constantly lets Grover share his bed.” 

“Percy and Grover are different,” Jason says, his voice just a shade above a whisper. “You know it’s different.” 

Nico shrugs. “Sally doesn’t know that.” 

Jason looks far less amused than he should. “I’m serious,” he says. 

This is what Nico gets for dating a serial rule-follower, he supposes. Rules are rigid and unbending, in Jason’s mind, no matter how insignificant. He approaches “entrance” and “exit” signs like he’ll get arrested for mixing them up. 

It’s something they’re working on, together. It’s something Nico can help with. It’s always tricky, with Jason, working around the thorny patches of his logic, but Nico knows firsthand that once Jason can tame that anxiety, he’ll feel so much better. 

Nico is also aware it took him almost half a year to even start changing his own habits regarding rules, or moreso his perception of them, and that was only after a few years of built up trauma around it. Jason has his whole life to unwind. 

But, there is still progress, which Nico makes sure Jason knows he’s proud of. It’s easy to start with things Jason wants that he sees as outside the rule-boundary, things like sneaking dessert out of the pavilion at camp so they can eat it somewhere peaceful, or sharing Nico’s oversized princess bed so he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor.

Sometimes it feels a little bit like treat-training a dog. Nico did something similar with Mrs. O’Leary and Cerberus, after all. It’s a guilty thought to have. Jason isn’t a dog, and Nico isn’t his owner, isn’t trying to train him. He’s just…he wants Jason to feel free. He hates when Jason mentally butts up against one of the walls of his cage and physically recoils from something that would make him feel better. Make him feel good, and human, and normal. 

“I want you up here,” Nico says. He matches the gravity of Jason’s tone, watches Jason’s eyes dart around, lit by the dimmed string of star-shaped lights over the bed. Nico reaches out, slowly, and pokes Jason’s wrist. “I know I’ll sleep better if you’re here.” 

Jason swallows. He shifts his weight on the mattress, his foot kicking out just barely into Nico’s space. “What if Miss Sally comes to check on us, and she sees-? Will she get mad?” 

“Maybe.” He wants to temper Jason’s fears, not lie to them. He hasn’t seen Sally get mad at anything other than when the dogs chew on shoes, or when he and Percy fight too loud in the backyard. This, something easy enough to explain, he doesn’t think she’d mind. “But she would never punish me, or you, over it. Over anything. The worst she’d do is give us a stern talking to, and maybe make us sleep on the couch next time.” 

“The couch is an option?” 

Ugh, no, the couch is not an option. Nico taps his fingers against Jason’s wrist bone and wrinkles up his nose, tucking himself up more in his comfortable blankets and pillows. 

Jason, finally, breaks into a little smile. “You’re spoiled now.” 

“Hush. I’m allowed to like having a bed, and I’m allowed to want to share it with my b..with my boyfriend.” 

The room hushes over, the sound of the fan hiding how hard Nico’s heart thumps. 

It’s still new, that part of this. It’s still hard to say it out loud. Pushing out of his comfort zone is something Nico is working on himself, though. 

Jason beams. He’s probably blushing, though it’s too dark to see and Nico’s half buried his face in the pillow to hide his own face.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. 

Jason turns his hand around and laces their fingers together. He finally lets go of the tension in his arms, lets himself sink into the bed. Nico feels how the blanket moves with it. 

“You’ve convinced me,” Jason whispers. “But if we do get caught, you’re doing the talking.” 

“Deal,” Nico says, and squeezes Jason’s hand. He peeks, just to see another glimpse of that smile. He likes Jason’s smile. It doesn’t even ache to admit it anymore. “Go to sleep, now.” 

“Can do.” 

(Sally pokes her head in at eight AM, after Nico and Jason miss breakfast. She blinks, at first confused to see the empty pallet at Nico’s bedside, then understanding when she sees the bed itself. 

Jason is fast asleep at the edge of the bed, peaceful and relaxed, hugging a pillow to his chest, the blankets tangled around him. Just over the slope of his shoulder, she sees Nico’s curly head of hair nestled close. 

She’s careful not to let the door squeak as she leaves them in peace.) 

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #sharing a bed #fanfiction #WAHOO #fluff we love fluff #jasico #jason grace #nico di angelo #pjo #hoo #this is part of an AU I have where Sally takes Nico home at the end of the summer alongside Percy after Chiron mentions that Nico needs #stability that Camp kinda can't provide. This would be set near the end of the AU after Nico is doing MUCH better #this is the AU where the clearest image I have is Percy and Nico wrestling violently in the backyard and Sally spraying them with a hose #while Jason and Annabeth watch on from the patio laughing