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ch4mpagnedrought · 3 days

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compensation

[full series]

mdni ! art donaldson

summary: you and art cant help but try and compensate for everything you’re missing out on now that tashi and patrick are together.

ever since tashi had suggested a game of tennis for her number and patrick won, its left you and art to roam around the stanford campus like two little lost puppies, begging for their attention when patrick comes to visit tashi.

patrick has made it impossible to get a hold of the girl, her dorm room always locked and her absence in the daily work-outs the two of you usually have made very obvious. not to mention the betrayal art must be feeling, having his best friend be only in the adjacent building to him, but never coming to actually see him.

you’ve had to find ways to preoccupy yourselves, and stop you from going on an angry rampage, like;

hitting racket to ball in the middle of the court, not even bothering to play a real game. “my prof is making me rewrite my whole assignment this week.” you complain, aiming the ball at the green fencing at the sides and watching it bounce back in art’s direction for your own botched version of squash. he laughs loudly, “who knew you were so bad at everything besides tennis.” you shoot him a scowl and his eyes widen, shoulders shrugging unapologetically as he swings his arm once again.

spring fading into summer means that evenings still have a little light in them, and you fight the urge to lie straight down on the tarmac and look up at the greying sky. the light breeze washes through art’s strawberry blonde hair, swaying it to the side to expose his brows that furrow when you let the ball bounce away between your legs, looking at him with a tense expression. the thought that tashi and patrick were somewhere doing god knows what (you knew what) and completely ignoring you made a reappearance in your head suddenly, and it boiled your blood. “ugh! im gonna kill them!” you huff out, grabbing the ball from the ground and stomping to where you left your stuff. art’s arm finding the both of your shoulders, “ditto that.”

having lunch at the food hall together: waiting in line for the same exact salad that you get every day, curtesy of your game-preparation meal plan and taking a seat on the bar stools that overlook the rest of the campus. stabbing your fork into the frail pieces of lettuce in your plastic bowl, art taking another bite of his churro in silence and licking away all the rouge sugar particles from his lips. “you know, patrick didn’t even bother to call me about his visit.” art says, taking off his red baseball cap just to put it back on his head again. “what a dog.” you scoff, shaking your head and taking a sip of your smoothie that tastes a little grainy from the protein powder. you would’ve continued to rant if you hadn’t spotted tashi and patrick walking hand-in-hand in the distance, all smiles and giggles; it makes you sick. “look.” you point it out to art and he mocks patrick in a high-pitched voice, “hey tashi aren’t i so cool? i play pro and i’m totally not cheating on you.” you chuckle, leaning over to snag a bite of his churro.

and confiding in each other in art’s dorm late at night, when the haunting noises coming from the other side of your wall get too much.

his room is surprisingly so…boyish. a couple posters of tennis stars on the walls that seem so out of place, like he put them there for the sole purpose of taking up space. his medals are hung up on the corner of his wardrobe, tinkering on the edge and there is an unidentified pile of clothing in the corner.

his sheets are a deep maroon colour and you lie flat across them, both of your heads leaning on the single flat pillow he owns, legs crossed. his ceiling has remnants of a water leak the university tried to paint over and you study it from below. “i wonder what they’re doing right now.” art hums, putting his hands behind his head, and letting you rest your head on his bicep.

you shoot up, glancing down at him, one brow lifted and eyes narrow, “i can tell you exactly what they’re doing right now,” you say, scrambling up onto your knees, “’patrick i need your racket right now!’’’ you moan tauntingly, rolling your eyes back and crossing your arms over your chest. art cackles, stomach contracting and grabbing onto your shoulder for support. his hand is pumping warm with blood, hovering over your skin for longer than socially acceptable, and his fingers caressed by the long strands of your curly hair that fall at your sides.

running over to his room meant that you hadn’t had enough time to grab a change of clothes to sleep in, so he graciously lent you one of his t-shirts, a navy one with white embroidered writing that you hadn’t bothered to read, which prods at the aching in his head to see you without it.

“when was the last time you slept with someone?” your question catches art off guard, lying back down next to him and watching the blush creep up onto his cheeks, eyes darting away somewhere to think of an answer. “oh come on, was it that unforgettable?” you laugh. he knew when exactly when the last time was, but the thought that him sleeping with someone had crossed your mind, putting the idea of the two of you together into his own had clouded his head, making it unbearably difficult to think, or speak.

“maybe last month” art estimates when the last time he saw the girl in one of his classes that he casually slept with from time to time, your expression remaining unchanged, which whirls something inside of his stomach. you nod, smile spreading across your lips, and eyes glancing down to art’s partially parted ones. art adjusts himself, propping his head up with his hand and looking down at you, “when was the last time that you slept with someone?”

its unclear to him whether you're joking with your response. “ask me that tomorrow.” it spins his head until he sees double, having to shut his eyes for a second to regain consciousness. your nonchalant smile quite frankly irks him, because you seem so unaware of how he is sliding the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, preparing just incase you decide that you want to kiss him. or the fact that he moved his leg upwards along the bed to cover his raging boner at just the mere idea of you and him together.

the shirt he lends you rides up on your hips, obviously showing off the black panties that you’re wearing and the neck-line hangs low enough to show the indent of your collarbone that he imagines licking a stripe over.

you thrum, looking up at art through dark eyelashes, “isn’t it so unfair how tashi and patrick can ignore us just to get at each other?”

he got the hint, every crumb you’ve put down he’s followed and scooped up all in one go, sighing out a weak, “yeah” that sounds more like a whine, and leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

the taste of your lip gloss he had missed sweetens his mouth immediately and the faint smell of a chocolatey lotion on your skin sends him into complete overdrive, left hand desperately reaching for the side of your face to take you deeper into him. he sinks himself down, pressing his chest into yours and disconnecting his lips to breathe out a groan at the sensation of your boobs against him like a boy who's never felt them before.

his face is burning hot, lips even hotter as they move simultaneously with yours, covering the perimeter of your mouth with long and drawn out movements to fully get the taste of you hes been dreaming of ever since that hotel room. his hands roam down to the curvature of your waist, taking a strong grip to it to make sure his fingerprints forever remember it, then down to your hips, kneading the flesh.

with him over you, he pulls away from your arms that are wrapped around his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt to unveil your midriff and the black lace that frames your lower waist, your thighs pressed together to catch the heat that he manifests within you, “oh my god.” it might just be the lewdest sight he has ever seen, along with your swollen lips that are glistening with his saliva.

he can barely keep away the moans that try to escape his mouth when he lowers himself down to you, eager lips pressing into your hip, lapping at the surface of your skin with a desperation only art could have, along the hem of your panties, and back up your stomach while your fingers entangle with his blonde locks.

your pulse quickens, exhaling his name out when his finger pulls your underwear to the side, letting the air hit your leaking core, a smile playing at art’s lips. “please, please art.” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the sensation of one of his digits swiping through your folds overcome you.

he nibbles at your inner thighs, soft licks soothing the area as one of his fingers slides inside you, while the other gropes at your breast through your shirt. his mind is completely consumed by you, watching every change in your expression with his fingers pumping in and out of you, flush on your face and brows knitting every time he draws back.

your legs instinctively move over his shoulders, trapping him around you to continue the motion and giving him the chance to tilt his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the thigh that is thrown over him. “is this okay?” he asks, caressing a hand down your calf and watching the way your hand reaches out to grab him by the wrist.

“lie down art” you keen, his eyes narrow and he pulls back with a sense of confusion that is overrode with your impatience, ushering him below you. so he does, leaning against the headboard whilst you throw yourself onto his hips, his jaw tilting upwards to unconsciously fulfil the want of his lips devouring the whole of your figure.

the shirt he lent you doesn’t last long, ending up in the pile on his floor and letting him ravish in the sight of your bare torso. he gasps out your name, wandering hands reaching out to massage your breast, flesh filling out the gaps between all five of his fingers. “take this off” you strangle out, gesturing to the shirt he is wearing, disheveled hair falling back into his face that burns hot when you let your eyes roam down to his abdomen. even the weight of your ass pressing into his dick through his shorts is teetering him to climax, hands not knowing where to put themselves when he wants to grab a hold of all of you.

your fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts that he is wearing, pulling down his boxers at the same time and freeing his erection to slap back onto his stomach, recalling something patrick said about the time he taught art to jerk off. the palm of your hand ghosts his cock, restraining yourself from taking it into your hands there and then, “can i?” even the way you sigh out the question has the hairs on art’s arms standing up and mouth swallowing saliva in anticipation. “yes, yes.” he whines, brows furrowing up at you and all of his muscles tensing.

with a gentle touch, he guides you above him, his hands at your sides as you spread yourself open for him, sinking down only to the tip before he grabs your waist and pauses in the position. he looks like a little helpless, bottom lip between his teeth and an alarmed look in his face that says if you go any further he’ll come right now. “i’ll go slow,” you whisper, a small smirk on your face that’s hard to resist when his shimmering eyes try to find the last slither of dignity within him, “i promise.” you smile reassuringly and he glances away, the flush in his cheeks getting a little deeper.

you keep your promise, slowly lowering yourself down onto him, goosebumps fevering your skin and palms laying flat across his abdomen to steady yourself.

taking him in completely, you whimper out his name and his hands journey to graze your back, up to your shoulder blades where he presses them into you to pull you into him, mouth suctioning down the valley of your breasts. his moans vibrate back into your skin when you pull back up from him, stimulating every single nerve ending in his length like it never has before. you set a pace, slow and steady for art, snapping your hips down onto his in a way that knocks the wind out of you each time, gasping for air. he keeps you close to him, rolling his hips to meet you in the middle and put some of that athlete stamina to use and murmuring your name with every movement.

his finger moves your hair from your shoulder, so he can press soft pecks onto the surface, whilst you clutch the wooden headboard, growing impatient and consequently pounding him into you. his moans purr into your ear, grabbing onto your ass to keep you still as he thrusts himself into you from below and shakily calling out an, “im gonna come.”

you nod, clasping around his biceps and leaning down to nip at his neck, losing composure the more your walls contract around him. you ignore the muscles in your legs that ache and your lungs that can’t seem get a hold of the air that is shared between you to continue to mercilessly plunge him deeper into you until it feels like you’re melting into one another, a shudder sending itself down your bare back and deepening the heat that builds in your core.

art is panting, popping your tit into his mouth one last time before falling still, twitching inside of you and releasing all of his seed into you until it overflows from below. your name echoes out of his mouth, whimpering and whining it out until he can open his eyes back up and centre his vision on you burning every last bit of energy to bounce on his dick.

you lean forward onto him, eyes rolling back into your head when reaching your climax and pressing your burning cheek against his face to feel all of him. he brushes his hand down your back comfortingly, you heaving into the crevice of his neck that glistens with sweat and feeling your walls contract around him the last couple times.

art sighs your name out, pressing his lips into your cheek and letting a smile spread across his face when you brush the dampened hair out of his forehead to get a better view of his eyes.

your body feels limp, falling back down next to him with a post-sex fatigue that follows you all the way into the next morning, where you sit at a table in the food hall, thanking art for bringing you some breakfast and trying to ignore the echoing of all the noises he made last night in your head.

“fuck i really need to work on that assignment today” you groan, taking a bite into a slice of honeydew with your head in the palm of your hand. art watches and nods, a false portrayal of an active listener when what he’s really focusing on is the way your lips curl around the slice, biting off a chunk and closing your lips around it in a way that makes him reminisce that he was right there too only a couple hours ago. “i can help.” he offers, truly from the kindness of his heart that kindly wants to spend the rest of his life looking at you.

“you wish.” you scoff, “i’m not allowed to be alone in a room with you anymore.”

art takes a swig of his water to hide the grin that spreads on his face, and when he makes eye contact with a random student from across the hall he feels like they heard that too. he wishes they could hear, and know that you, the best tennis player stanford has probably ever had, are having to physically restrain yourself from him.

“what are you smiling about?” the familiar voice of patrick calls out from a few strides away, in a pair of indigo levis and a white tee, grabbing onto arts shoulders and lowering himself down to his level to grab his chin playfully. art swats him away immediately, pushing patrick down into a chair. and tashi grazes your shoulders softly with her hand when taking a seat next to you and stealing a piece of your fruit from your bowl, “good morning.”

“morning.” you sigh out, taking a sip of your tea and hoping that it isn’t totally obvious that you slept with your friend. but tashi takes notice of the slight frizz in your hair, a dishevelled-ness that is never usually there, so it wasn’t her intention to call you out in front of the four of you when she asks, “why do you look hungover?” she even moves a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at the colour under your eyes. your brows furrow, eyes glancing to the left of you at the two boys whose expressions couldn’t be anymore different. art’s poker face is awful, he’s trying to keep his face composed but his posture slumps under the weight of patrick’s hand that spreads across over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of your breakfast to act like your lungs aren’t constricting and you aren’t going into fight or flight, “late night i guess.”

theres a moment of silence, everyone in their heads peacefully while you wish you could get into art’s and find out what he’s thinking about your pathetic lie.

“nice shirt.” patrick says.

“thanks." you reply, swiping over the embroidered ‘mark rebellat tennis academy’ with a finger and looking up at patrick, who meets your eyes with a knowing smirk that makes you feel silly for not assuming that patrick would have memorised art’s whole closet, or recognise the school they went to.

and when patrick squeezes art’s shoulder and asks whether he is “up for a game?” you suddenly become hyper aware of how much his gaze slips past art’s eyes and down onto you as they stand up from the table, eyes squinting and a stupid smile on his face. the combination is so piercing you’ve become aware that even if tashi believed your lie, and art thinks he’s got away scott free—he knows, and he’s letting you know.

his hand ruffles the hair on art’s head, arm falling over his shoulders and drawing him into himself, “we have a bunch of catching up to do, art.” he keeps art close to him as they walk away towards the tennis courts, leaning in to whisper something into his ear after the both of them briefly turned around to wave you and tashi goodbye.

tashi seems unphased by their behaviour, continuing to braid a small of piece of your hair that she unconsciously started. “you know patrick’s about to tell art all about your get together.” you chuckle and tashi scoffs, leaning back into her chair, “he wouldn’t say anything” she reassures, “also we didn’t even do anything.” she adds in quickly, stealing another piece of watermelon from your bowl and taking a bite to avoid talking about the topic like you hadn’t just done that. you smile at her, and she widens her eyes to let you know that she’ll tell you all about last night later.

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” you shake your head, stealing back the half-bitten melon from in between her fingers and finishing it off.

#art donaldson #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers

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rikigai · 2 days

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off and on— sim jaeyun

pairing: boyfriend!jake x afab!reader

genre(s): angst, smut

content/warning: cursing, unprotected sex (pls dont!), hickeys, makeup sex, jake calls reader doll, toxic relationship, creampie

[requested]

word count: 1.3k

author's note: it’s been such a long time since i’ve written something but here i am, finally deciding to post thiss. please lmk if i missed any warnings + not proofread!

“THEN GO FUCKING FIND SOMEONE ELSE” you scream into your phone before ending the call with jake on the other end, slamming the phone onto your couch’s cushion. tears begun to stream down your face, recollecting what had just happened.

earlier in the day, you were walking around campus with jake by your side. classes had just ended and you two were making your way to his car. on the way there, you two ran into some of your batchmates.

“you two back together again?” asked theo. “probably are” belle mumbled under her breath. you weren’t stupid enough to not notice what had been happening around you, but you decided that keeping your mouth shut would be the best out of your options. “ah, no no. y/n and i are just friends now, actually” jake responds, quickly letting your hand go. you subtly look at him in disbelief as you two walk away.

when you two were at a distance far enough from belle and theo, you came at jake for what he said. “you know what, i’m taking the bus home, ‘friend.’” you said in a sarcastic tone, walking off before jake could even snap back at you. he proceeded to his car, slamming the car door close in frustration.

the ride home was silent, at least to you. you sat by the bus’ window, staring at everything that had passed by. sounds of conversation around you, of cars driving along the highway surrounded you but all you could hear were jake’s words that kept repeating and repeating itself, almost like a broken cd.

you got off at the stop nearest to your apartment. you walked a block and finally reached. as soon as you got home, you plopped onto the couch, physically and mentally exhausted from what the day had brought you. suddenly, your phone rang. it was jake. he called you to fix things, but it had only gotten worse from there. “listen, y/n. it was a question i didn’t expect. i just didn’t want them to think-“ jake said over the phone. as much as you were tired, you still had gotten yourself worked up over the lame excuse jake was about to make. “didn’t want them to think what?” you monotonously said. “i didn’t want them to think that we’re an off-and-on kinda couple. i wanted them to-“ he continued before you cut him off once more. “oh quit the BULLSHIT, jake. YOU know yourself that we are off-and-on time and time agai-“ “OH WILL YOU STOP CUTTING ME OFF Y/N? YOU NEVER LISTEN. maybe we wouldn’t keep FIGHTING if you weren’t fucking bipolar.” he said. “THEN GO FUCKING FIND SOMEONE ELSE” you responded. call ended.

and there you were, crying on the couch. you stare at the wall you had in front of you, then at the plant that stood by the window, then at the carpet laid out on the floor, then at your phone that was previously slammed onto the couch. the tears in your eyes burned and you began to sniffle.

bzzzzz. your phone lit up.

“y/n”

bzzzzz. you phone buzzed again.

“i’m otw rn to urs. we need to get this shit over with”

it was jake. he wanted to fix things with you when all you could do was stare at his messages and continue to cry. you didn’t respond nor open his messages. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to, there was no need to anyway.

not after long, you heard three soft knocks on your wooden door. “y/n?” jake called out. you get up to walk towards the door, wiping your tears away and fixing your hair. you open the door to see your boyfriend, standing there. jake looked down on you, seeing how red and puffy your face had gotten. without saying a word, you walk back into your living room, and before you could sit back down onto your couch, jake says “y/n, i’m so sorry.” you could feel tears forming in your eyes, blurring your vision. he walked closer towards you, rubbing your back and running his fingers through your loose ponytail. his touch only made it worse. you couldn’t contain it anymore.

you burst out sobbing and faced jake, burying your face into his chest as you let out all the frustration, anger, and sadness. your shaking only made jake even more worried, pulling you closer into his embrace. “i hate you, i hate you” you cry, muffled. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i love you” he repeatedly would say, leaving a kiss on your forehead. he then left pecks on your tear-stained cheeks. you were still so caught up in the pain you felt. you quietly mumble “fuck you, jake. fuck y-“ when he brought his lips onto yours. you were shocked to say the least, but not in a bad way.

his hands found their way onto your waist, lifting up the loose shirt you wore, while yours were rested on his shoulders. it wasn’t just a kiss anymore.

jake’s lips made its way down onto your neck, leaving traces of red everywhere. “there’s no more denying you’re mine now, right? friends don’t give each other hickeys, do they?” he said with a smirk plastered on his face. his hands slid down to your hips, toying around with the waistband of your bottoms. he looked at you, waiting for your response before taking them off. you eagerly nod as he slipped them off, leaving you with only your top and bra on.

it wasn’t long until both your shirt and your bra were found somewhere discarded on the floor, along with jake’s clothes as well. your hands were positioned by his nape as you two continued to kiss. he lifted you up, wrapping your bare legs around his torso. he brought you two to your room.

jake laid down onto the mattress, bringing you on top of him. you straddled his hips, feeling how hard he was. you pulled his boxers down, revealing his cock that was leaking with precum. you pump it a few times before lining it up with your entrance, slowly sliding down and taking his length in. your eyes squeezed tight as his hands pressed down on your hips, his cock sinking deeper and deeper into you. “sh- shit” you curse out.

you take some time to adjust before you begin to slowly move your hips. you lay your hands flat onto jake’s chest as he thrusted into you from below, following the movement of your hips. moans escaped both jake’s and your lips. he gripped tightly onto your hips, guiding they way you rode him.

jake flipped you over onto the bed, with him now on top of you. he lined his length once again, entering your cunt and he gave it one deep thrust which sent a wave of pleasure all throughout your body as his cock hit a spot which made your legs feel numb. his breath hitched as he continued fucking you from below. you moaned his name out with the sounds of the creaking bed filling the room. jake picked the pace up with your legs shaking. you could feel his cock twitch inside of your walls as his thrusts grew sloppy.

“fuck- i’m close jake- ah-“ you stutter, feeling your high coming in.

“cum for me, hm?”

you came undone as jake continued to drill himself into you. he reached his high, piping his hot cum into you, filling you up. he pulled out with the white fluid spilling out. he pushed it back in with his fingers as he rubbed your clit. you let out a whine, still sensitive from your orgasm. jake plopped down beside you, panting.

“friends don’t have makeup sex, do they, doll?”

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snapscube · 3 days

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are there any ways to make ffxiv level grinding easier? i'm trying conjurer at the moment and i find the level grinding to be very tedious at times

im going to assume you’re asking cause conjurer/whm isn’t ur main and u don’t have access to the MSQ experience, which would be my first suggestion for anyone looking to level up of course. just play the MSQ. but since, again, im assuming this is an alt job, here are some tips (you should be doing these anyway tbh)

1. buy a shit ton of boiled eggs cheap from any city’s food vendor and always have ur food buff on, that 3% exp bonus adds up

2. get ur hands on accessories that give u an exp buff on top of that. this includes things like the “brand new ring” or if you’ve preordered dawntrail you can use the azeyma’s earrings for an exp buff lasting all the way to 90

3. if you’re in a free company, use company actions to have “the heat of battle” running in the background as you level, which is a company-wide exp bonus. if you’re not in a free company, then by leveling up your grand company squadron (the little AI bot characters u can take into ARR dungeons) u can unlock “squadron missions”. one of these missions will reward you with a set of scrolls that give you the same exp bonus as the heat of battle, no free company needed, but it only lasts a couple hours as opposed to the heat of battle’s 12+. u can stock up as many as u want though, it just takes a bit for the bots to run the mission.

4. DO YOUR ROULETTES. the roulettes that are going to give you the absolute best bang for your buck in terms of leveling are: leveling (duh), main scenario roulette, frontline (this one is very easy to ignore but you really shouldn’t, it’s a TON of exp), and alliance raid. these should get you at least a full level or two every day at higher levels, and sometimes way more if you’re early enough. but half of them don’t unlock until 50.

5. do wondrous tails! if you’ve finished heavensward and you have idyllshire unlocked, you can also unlock wondrous tails! wondrous tails is a book with a weekly checklist of duties to take part in, and each one grants you a sticker. if you get all 9 stickers from doing any duties in the set, you can then turn the book into rewards. this is the important part: a finished wondrous tales book will give you EXACTLY HALF of the exp required for your next level up, no matter what number it is. and this exp bonus will apply to whatever job you TURN THE BOOK IN on. doesn’t matter how or as what job you did the duties themselves as, just equip the job right before you turn your book in and viola. free half a level. you do this every week, it’s very easy!

6. leveling white mage (or any healer) specifically, your main focus if you’ve run out of roulettes and are just wanting to get the absolute best exp bang for your buck in the shortest amount of time possible: do dungeons. just run your most recently available dungeons as much as possible. dungeons give a TON of exp, and healers have easily the shortest queue times of any role in the game. repeat ur most recent dungeon unless the level number ends in a 0. level 50, 60, 70, 80, and 90 dungeons give crap exp because they were designed with level caps in mind. they give other good rewards sometimes, but while you’re focused on leveling, avoid those.

i hope this was at all helpful haha. other readers feel free to post more leveling tips in the replies if i missed anything.

#ffxiv

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m-inluv · 3 days

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KUROO TETSURO is a very busy man. being a sport promoter is a hard-working job in terms of schedule — having to find various endearing sport events and sponsors who will agree to take part and finance these social event — which consumes a lot of time and humain energy.

and while tetsuro is grateful for the way you support and understand that his work takes a lot of him he still feels guilty for leaving you alone most of the time — especially now that you’re six months pregnant with his son.

over the last couple of weeks your husband and his coworkers started working on a very special sporting event, the ‘FIVB Beach Volleyball World Championships’, the double-gender world championship of beach volleyball. despite this championship being in a bit more than a year it is by far the most important worldwide volleyball event happening in the following year.

which is why testuro has been working harder during the last few days, his schedule being filled with meetings to discuss with a bunch of different sponsors — on who gets to sponsor what.

so when tetsuro finds himself having a ten minutes break between two meeting he immediatly turns on his phone, checking for any texts or missed calls from you — to which he does find a few texts.

wifey ♡ babe babyyy testsuro !! pls reply as soon as you can :(

tetsu •ᴗ• sweetheart is everything okay ? are you hurt ? fuck did you burn the house down ? wifey ♡ babyyyy yuh uh everything is fine !! and i only burnt homemade caramel once :( i just can’t write it over text… call me !!!

the raven-haired man stands up from his seat, excusing himself as he pushes the nearest door open with one hand, the fingers of his free hand swiftly tapping over his phone’s screen as he clicks on your contact id — dialing your number. he then places his phone over his ear, leaning his back against the wall behind him as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

as soon as tetsuro hears some shuffle from the other line of his phone he speaks up, not even letting you greet him properly. “sweetie, is there a problem ?” his tone is worried as he waits for your answer, hoping that everything is fine — that you’re alright.

“tetsu—” you start before letting out a laugh, which kinda helps your husband calm down for a bit. “i told you that everything is fine, you don’t have to worry”

on the other end of the phone you can’t help but smile at your husband’s worry for you, which doesn’t fail to make you remember how much he cares about — something that only increased as soon as the first symptoms of your pregnancy appeared. “what is it then ?” tetsuro’s booming voice immediatly brings you back to earth. “it’s just. . . i have a brilliant idea !” you joyfully tell him. the raven-haired man pauses at your exclamation, searching for any guesses of what that idea might be. . . until a grin appears on his face as he finally comes to realization. “is it another wild craving of yours, princess ?” he lets out a chuckle at your answer, laughing to himself as he hears you sigh from the other line of his phone. “my cravings aren’t weird !” you protest, the pout on your lips evident in your tone, which makes your husband’s grin even wider. “so, i’m craving nachos—” you say before the raven-haired man cuts your sentence mid-way. “oh, from which place do you want it babe ? i can get it delivered at home—”

“no ! i want sweet nachos.” you state, a huff leaving your lips.

your husband stands there, a dumbfounded expression written all over his face as he stares ahead of himself, his brain malfunctioning due to your words. any of his coworkers who would pass by would think that something is wrong with him, like he just heard one of the dumbest things on earth — which he kinda did. “sweet nachos— angel that’s not even a thing !”

“but it is a thing since i just invented it !" you exclaim, your voice full of confidence — as if you didn’t imagine the weirdest ‘dish’ in the whole word. "the base is made of chips — not any kind tho, only the original pringles — with a bunch of m&m’s, reese’s, chocolate syrup and whipped cream.” you say, taking the time to explain this whole snack of yours in details. "whipped cream as to be on top of the chips and in a small cup on the side, okay ?"

tetsuro licks his lips as he notes all of the needed ingredients in his minds, shrugging his shoulders before realizing that you can’t see him and speaking up. "yeah, sure. do i need to stop by the grocery store to get the ingredients or not ?" he asks, which you answer with a simple ‘yes’. He hangs up the phone a few seconds later — after kissing you goodbye through the phone of course — and steps back inside the building for his last meeting of the day.

when your husband finally exits his work building — by 8:45pm exactly — he walks to his car, a white Mercedes-Benz CLE 200 Cabriolet. he opens the front door for himself, dropping all of his papers on the passenger seat next to him. he turns on his car, pressing on a button — making the roof of the convertible disappear inside of the trunk.

after about twenty minutes — and a stop at the grocery store — tetsuro finally parks his car in front of your shared house. he steps out of the car, a brown paper bag in one hand and his stack of papers in the other, a sigh leaving his lips as he pushes onto the front door’s handle, entering your residence.

“i’m home, sweetheart !” your husband calls out to you, taking his shoes off and walking towards the living room.

he smiles as he sees you laying on the couch, your head propped on one of your arms as you watch ‘from up on poppy hill’. he chuckles softly at the sight in front of him, placing his papers on the coffee table and bending over to get a proper look at your face. you glance up at his face when you finally notice his presence. you immediatly lift you head off your arm, a smile making it’s way on your lips as you sit up on the couch, puckering your lips for the raven-haired man to kiss you, which he glady does.

“how was work, baby ?” you ask him, looking up at him while slightly tilting your head to the side. “there’s a some oyakodon and rice in the kitchen that you can heat up in the microwave and the pan.”

“god, princess, i’m gonna wife you up again. . .” tetsuro mutters, resting his forehead against yours before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

he breaks up the kiss and stands up, affectionately flickering your forehead before walking back to the kitchen, turning the lights on. tetsuro notices the bowl of rice on the counter and grabs it, placing it next to the pan. he tears a bit of paper towel with his fingers, damping it with some water before placing it over the bowl. he turns on the microvage, putting the rice to reheat. your husband smiles when he sees the oyakodon heating in the pan on low heat before turning it higher.

he sighs, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt onto his biceps before turning to the paper bag with the groceries he did ealier. once all of your craving’s ingredients are — finally — placed in front of him, tetsuro can start preparing your snack.

he opens the tub of unflavored pringles before placing some chips onto a plate, some whipped cream on top along with chocolate syrup before scattering m&m’s and reese’s on top of everything. he grabs a small cup, pouring some whipped cream inside.

when the time alarm goes off your husband opens the microwage, carefully grabing the rice cowl — without burning himself — before taking the damp paper off the top of the bowl. He moves the pan off the heat, pouring the runny mixture on top of the white rice that he garnishes with green onion, sesame seeds and a bit of togarashi.

in a swift move tetsuro snatches a pair of chopsticks, placing them between his fingers before grabbing both his bowl and your plate, tuning the lights off before walking towards the living room.

“here you go, sweetheart.” he tells you, handing you your plate while you thank him, your bright smile making your eyes squint and your head tilt.

you slide off the couch, now sitting on the floor as you place a pillow under your ass and behind your back, putting your plate on the coffee table in front of you. tetsuro slips down on the floor next to you, slightly bending his upper-body above the table, gathering some of his food between his chopsticks and taking a bite out of it.

you squeal as you takes one of the chips between your fingers, shoving it inside of your mouth. you can’t help the sigh of contentement leaving your lips at the salty and sweet taste you’ve been craving all day. You take another one, doing a small dance of happiness.

“i gotta say, princess, your food taste was already strange, but now ?” tetsuro says, whistling, only for you to slap the back of his head, a huff leaving your lips as a pout tugs at your lips, only for it to be wiped away by your husband’s lips on yours, to which you gladly kiss him back.

#✎ — mai’s writes #my very first fic !!#٩( ᐛ )و #i hope it’s well written tho. . .#it’s supposed to be proofread as well !!#i’m shaking so bad (ó﹏ò｡)#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader

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charlieleclerc16 · 23 hours

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Lost and Found*

Summary: Charles and Y/N have been best friends since they were little kids but they lost track of each other over time. When Charles is in town for his home race they finally reunite and their meeting is sweeter than ever.

Pairing: Bestie!Charles x You

Word count: 4.4K

Warnings: Smut, fluff, cute. There might be some unprotected action in there, I'm sorry.

It's been a very long time since you last saw your best friend. It has been years, which is a shame, but there were reasons. The biggest reason was that he was travelling all over the world for the World Drivers' Championship, and that caused his schedule to be incredibly full. There is also the fact that, because he is rarely home to begin with, you don’t get many chances to see him.

Charles always tries to keep in touch, even with the crazy life he leads. But that might mean only brief texts and the occasional phone call. Sometimes not even those. The last time you heard from him was six months ago when he called to ask how your family was doing. He sounded so tired but excited. You talked for an hour, and it was almost like the last years hadn't happened.

With the new season starting up and him being back on the road, you decided to contact Pascale and see if she could get you in for the Monaco GP. This is an amazing opportunity for you to finally see your best friend and to surprise him with your presence.

The excitement about race day has been building up inside of you ever since you decided to do this. You know you can't expect much attention from Charles after the race, but you're looking forward to seeing him and getting to see him drive. You haven't seen him in person in two years.

You take a shower and then put on the black top and red high-waisted jeans that you have planned to wear to the grid, gotta support Ferrari. When you get into the kitchen, you realise that you are too nervous and excited to eat, so you settle for a banana. You check the time and are happy to notice that you still have some time left to spare, so you go into the living room and switch on the television.

There are no good shows on, so you switch to the music channels and find one that is showing a rerun of an interview Charles did a couple of years ago. The whole country, how small it may be, always turns into full mayhem when it’s raceweek. You smile as you watch him talk. Even after all these years, it's still the same Charlie. He's still your Charlie. You feel a pang in your heart when he smiles his cheeky grin at the interviewer, and you realise just how much you miss him.

As if reading your mind, your phone vibrates on the coffee table. You reach for it and see Charles' caller ID on the screen. You pick up and bring the phone to your ear.

"Charles?"

"Hi, baby!" He sounds excited. "Did I call at a good time? Are you busy?"

"No, I'm not. I was just watching TV." She decides to not tell him that she is going to see him in a couple of hours.

"Oh, what are you watching?"

"Um, an interview. It's not important. What are you doing? Shouldn't you be getting ready for the race?"

"I have a free half hour, and I'm hiding, so nobody can find me. I really needed to talk to you, and I couldn't wait anymore."

"Why did you need to talk to me? Is something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing like that. You're coming to the track today, aren't you?"

Your eyes grow wide and your stomach somersaults. How did he know? Did his mother give something away?

"How...how did you know?" You finally manage to say.

"I'm not stupid, Y/N. I know how you talk when you're nervous and when you're not. When I talked to you about my home race last week, your voice didn't sound like usual. You sounded nervous, and it was pretty obvious that you were going." He laughs on the phone.

"Wow, I'm not very subtle, am I?" You feel stupid.

"You really aren't." His voice sounds warm and inviting, and you feel a shiver running down your spine.

"So, why did you want to call me, if it wasn't to tell me not to come?"

"Oh, I would never tell you not to come. I really want you to be there today."

"But… Don’t you have a very busy schedule? You probably won't even have time to see me."

"Don't worry, baby. I will definitely see you. If I don't, you should find the backstage area and tell them to let you in. I already told the security team your name. They'll let you in."

"Really? Charles, you're crazy. You have a race to prepare for. You shouldn't let random fans into your private space."

"But you're not a random fan. You're Y/N."

"I'm glad that you still think of me like that, even though we haven't seen each other in a while."

"What do you mean?" Charles sounds confused. "Of course, I still think of you as my best friend. Nothing can change that."

You feel a lump forming in your throat. You don't want to cry, not now. Charles means the world to you, and he will never know. You are not the kind of girl who confesses her love to crushes, not even when they are her best friends.

"Y/N, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. I was just thinking about something."

"Well, stop thinking. We're going to see each other in a couple of hours." He is smiling; you can hear it in his voice.

***

When you enter the city centre, the excitement inside of you is unbearable. The atmosphere is incredible, and the streets are so crowded and so full of life and happiness. Everyone is happy to be here, and so are you.

You find your way to the Paddock Club, which thankfully Pascale got you an access pass to because you would’ve never been able to afford this. As you wait for the race to start, you keep looking around trying to find familiar faces and wondering what Charles is doing right now.

The sun was shining brilliantly over Monte Carlo, its rays dancing off the azure waters of the Mediterranean as one of the most anticipated events of the year, the Monaco Grand Prix, is about to begin. Your heart is racing almost as fast as the cars that would soon tear through the narrow, winding streets.

Charles was starting from P1. Your Charles, the pride of Monaco. His Ferrari sat poised and ready, a crimson beast waiting to be unleashed. As you watch the big screen showing the last preparations for the race, you can’t help but feel a swell of emotion. You are already so proud of him.

Soon the camera pans over the cars lined up at the starting line showing the drivers walking to their vehicles. He climbs into the car, and the mechanics begin their final checks. The roar of the engines filled the air, a symphony of power and precision. The grid is set, and the lights above the starting line begin their countdown.

Red. Red. Red. Green.

The cars surge forward, a blur of colour and sound. Charles holds his position, deftly navigating the treacherous streets with the skill and grace of a dancer. Every corner, every straight, he is in perfect harmony with his car.

From the paddock, you watch every moment with bated breath. Your fingers are crossed, your heart lodged in your throat. Lap after lap, he maintains his lead, his driving a masterclass of control and speed. The crowds roar, the tension palpable as the race unfolds.

As the laps dwindle down, you find yourself almost unable to watch. He is so close, so close to his biggest dream. The pit stops have gone flawlessly, the strategy executed to perfection. But Monaco was a track where anything can happen, and the slightest mistake can spell disaster.

Then, with a grace that seems almost effortless, Charles navigates the final corner and speeds down the straight towards the finish line. The checkered flag waves and the crowd erupts into a frenzy. He has done it. He won the Monaco Grand Prix.

Tears of joy stream down your face as you watch him cross the finish line, arms raised in triumph. The team explodes into celebration around you, but all you can see is Charles. He climbs out of the car, drenched in sweat and triumph, and your eyes meet across the chaos.

His gaze pierces through you, sending a shiver down your spine. And then, he smiles. That dazzling smile that has captured the hearts of millions. And in that moment, you know that your heart belongs to him, forever.

***

It's been hours since the race ended. After all the interviews, the podium, the celebration, Charles was finally able to get some free time for himself. His eyes are roaming the room, looking for a familiar face, but he can't find you anywhere. Maybe you left without saying goodbye. He feels disappointed. He wanted to see you and to hug you.

The door opens and someone enters the room. Charles doesn't bother to look up. He is too busy feeling sorry for himself. But then your voice is what catches his attention. "Hi, stranger."

He looks up, and there you are, standing in the doorway. He is not dreaming. You are here, in Monaco, and he has just won the race. Life couldn't get any better than this.

"Hi, Y/N." He stands up and walks towards you.

You are speechless. Seeing him winning the race made you so emotional that you had tears in your eyes. Now, standing in front of him, all those feelings come rushing back. "Congratulations on your win. I'm so proud of you." You say as he pulls you in a tight hug. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close. You close your eyes and breathe him in, his familiar scent surrounding you.

"Thank you. I'm so happy that you're here." His voice is muffled against your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up into his warm, brown eyes. There is something in the way he is looking at you that makes your heart race. You have never felt more alive, more connected, than in this moment. You feel as if he can see into your very soul, and the intensity of his gaze takes your breath away.

"Me too." You say softly, your voice barely a whisper. He leans in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You close your eyes and allow yourself to fall into the moment.

Just as you're about to kiss him, he pulls back with a chuckle as if he only now realises that you are in a room full of people. You look around and see his family and the Ferrari employees as well as the security guards who are probably watching the two of you like hawks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise..." He begins, his cheeks flushed.

"It's okay." You say, taking a step back and running a hand through your hair. "I didn't realise either."

The room falls silent, and you can't help but wonder if everyone heard your exchange. You feel your face flush, and you turn away, avoiding Charles' gaze.

"We should go somewhere more private." He whispers in your ear, making you blush. You nod and follow him out of the room. The security guards let the two of you pass, and Charles leads you down a quiet hallway. You follow him in silence, your mind racing. You can't believe what just happened.

When you reach a secluded area, Charles turns to face you, a sheepish grin on his face. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there."

"You didn't. I just...I was surprised."

"Good surprised or bad surprised?" He looks nervous, and it makes you smile.

"Good surprised. Very good."

"I'm glad." He reaches out and takes your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours as you continue to make your way outside. "I've missed you so much, Y/N."

You smile up at him, feeling your heart swell with emotion. "I've missed you too, Charlie. More than you can imagine."

As you step out into the warm Monaco air, you can't help but think how lucky you are to be here, with him. He is the best friend anyone could ever have, and you feel honoured that he considers you his best friend. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes yours in return. You know that, whatever happens next, you will always have each other.

Charles brings the two of you to a halt next to where his bicycle is stalled. "I totally forgot I came here by bike." He says, shaking his head. "Do you wanna come with me, or do you prefer to take a taxi?"

"No, no. I'll come with you." You don't want to spend a single minute away from him.

He smiles at you and nods. He climbs on the bike and motions for you to sit on the top tube as his bike doesn't have a rear rack. You hop on the top tube and wrap your arms around his handlebar for balance. "Jesus Christ, this feels dangerous."

"Just trust me." He says, a twinkle in his eye as he closes his arms around you to grab a hold of the handlebars.

"You sure we'll both fit on the bike?" You ask nervously.

"Of course, we'll fit. Come on." He starts pedalling and soon the two of you are zipping through the streets of Monaco, the sun setting in the distance.

You lean against him, feeling the warmth of his body, and you close your eyes. For the first time in years, you feel completely and utterly content. As the two of you ride through the streets of Monaco, his arms basically wrapped around you, you can't help but think that this is what happiness feels like.

"Charlie, where are we going?"

"Home." He says it so casually as if it's obvious that you belong there too.

You stay silent for the rest of the journey. You just want to enjoy the moment, savour the feeling of his body against yours. When you finally arrive at his apartment, the sun has almost disappeared from the horizon, leaving behind a pink and orange sky.

"Here we are." Charles says as he helps you off the bike. You can't help but notice how his hand lingers on yours, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. After a brief loss of contact to lock his bike, his fingers intertwine with yours and he guides you inside the apartment complex.

The elevator ride is silent, but it's not awkward. It's a comfortable silence, the kind you only share with your best friend. When the elevator doors open, Charles leads you down the hallway to his apartment, his hand still holding yours.

When he unlocks the door and ushers you inside, the first thing you notice is how big the apartment is. It's luxurious, just like he is, and you can't help but be a little jealous. He leads you into the kitchen, which is modern and well-equipped. "Make yourself at home. Do you want something to drink?"

"Just some water, please." You say, your mouth suddenly dry. He nods and busies himself at the sink. You take the opportunity to look around, taking in the sleek furniture and artwork adorning the walls.

When Charles returns with the glass of water, he can't help but notice the awe on your face. "What is it?"

"It's just...this place is so fancy. It's amazing."

He smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Well, I'm glad you like it. Maybe I could give you a tour later."

"That would be great." You can't hide the excitement in your voice. You take the glass of water from him and sip it slowly, trying to calm your racing heart.

Charles walks over to the living room and you follow him like a lost puppy. It's when your eyes fall on the black grand piano that you gasp. "Wow, you have a grand piano!"

He turns around, a grin on his face. "Yeah, I love to play the piano. It's a good way to relax after a long day."

"Can you play me something?" You ask, unable to hide your excitement.

"Sure. What do you want me to play?"

"Anything. Surprise me." You say, smiling at him.

He walks over to the piano and sits down on the stool before he pats the empty space beside him. "Come, sit next to me."

You make your way over to him and sit down, feeling a little nervous. He begins to play, his fingers dancing across the keys. The melody is beautiful and melancholic, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You're completely mesmerised by him, by the way his fingers move so gracefully, by the look of concentration on his face.

As the music swells around you, you feel a sense of calmness washing over you. This is what you've been missing, what you've needed all this time. You lean your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the music.

"What is this song called?" You ask, your eyes still closed.

"I don't know." He whispers. "I made it up."

"You're so talented, Charles." You say, unable to hide the admiration in your voice.

He turns his head slightly and his lips brush against your forehead. "Thank you."

You open your eyes and look at him, the emotion in his eyes mirroring your own. You can't help but feel as if the world has stopped spinning and that it's only the two of you in the universe, in this moment.

He leans closer, his lips ghosting over yours. "Y/N, can I kiss you?"

You nod, unable to speak, and he closes the distance between you. The world around you fades into nothingness as his lips brush against yours. It's soft at first, tentative as if testing the waters of this new, uncharted territory. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more urgent. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of familiarity and excitement. You can feel the years of friendship and unspoken longing in every touch, every movement. It's as if the floodgates have finally opened, and all the emotions you had both kept hidden come rushing out.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads rest against each other’s. The room is silent except for the sound of your rapid breathing and the faint echo of the last note Charles had played.

"That was..." You begin, searching for the right word.

"Yeah." Charles smiles, a blush rising to his cheeks. "That was incredible."

You laugh softly, leaning into him and resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and holds you close, the warmth of his body soothing you. You sit there in silence for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to each other.

"Hey, are you tired?" he asks.

"No, just relaxed."

"Okay. Well, I have a question for you."

"Ask away."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you love me."

Your eyes fly open, and your heart stops. He is looking at you, his expression serious. You swallow hard and try to think of an answer. But your brain doesn't cooperate, and you can't speak.

"W-what are you talking about?" You stutter.

"I'm talking about the fact that you are in love with me."

"No, I'm not. Why would you think that?"

"Because it's obvious."

"Oh."

"You look shocked whenever I flirt with you and after that so happy. It's the same look I have when I'm thinking about you." You can't believe what he is saying. Does he really mean it? Or is he just playing with your emotions? "Why didn't you ever tell me? Because of my job?"

"No, it's not that. I just...I didn't want to ruin our friendship. You're the most important person in my life, and I didn't want to lose you."

"Oh, baby. You will never lose me."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He cups your face with his hands and leans in again. Your eyes flutter closed, and his lips touch yours. The kiss is slow and gentle. His lips are soft and taste like mint. You feel a tingle in your stomach, and you can't help but sigh. His tongue darts out and caresses your lips. You open your mouth, and he slips his tongue inside. Your tongues tangle together, and the kiss becomes more passionate. When you finally pull apart again, you are breathing heavily. He smiles and strokes your cheek.

"You are so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?"

"Charles..."

"No, it's true. And you deserve to be told how beautiful you are every day."

"Oh, Charles."

He pulls you into his arms and kisses your temple. You lean against his chest and breathe in his scent. It feels so right to be here with him. After all these years, you finally feel like you belong.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks.

"About the fact that I don't wanna go home."

"Who said you have to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stay with me tonight."

"Really?"

"Yes. Stay the night. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay."

He stands up and takes your hand. You follow him down the hallway and into his bedroom before he sits you down on the bed. He sits down next to you and strokes your cheek. You look into his eyes and see the same desire that you feel. You lean in and kiss him. His lips are warm and soft, and his tongue feels amazing. Your body is tingling, and you can't get enough. You wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. He pulls you closer and kisses you passionately. Your bodies are pressed together, and you can feel his arousal. You moan and rub your body against his. He breaks the kiss and looks at you. His eyes are dark with lust, and his pupils are dilated.

"Mhm, Y/N. You're driving me crazy." He pulls you into his lap and kisses you again. His hands roam your body, and you arch your back. He slips his hand under your shirt and cups your breast. You gasp and close your eyes. He squeezes your breast and rolls your nipple between his fingers.

"Oh God." You moan.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes. It feels so good."

He keeps massaging your breasts while kissing your neck. You grind your hips against him, and he groans. You can feel his erection, and it turns you on even more. He moves his hand to your other breast and starts massaging it.

He pushes you onto the bed and gets on top of you. His hands move under your shirt, and he pulls it off. You arch your back and expose your breasts. He licks his lips and leans down to kiss your nipples. He sucks on one and flicks his tongue over the other. You moan and dig your nails into his back.

He moves his hand down to your pants and starts undoing the button. He pulls them down, along with your panties, and tosses them aside. He looks at your naked body and smiles.

"You're so beautiful."

He leans down and kisses you. His tongue darts out, and he runs it over your lips. You part your lips and let him inside. He explores your mouth and moans.

"Mhm, I want you."

"Then take me." You say.

He pulls his shirt off and throws it aside. He undoes his pants and pushes them down. He kneels between your legs and looks at you. You can see his erection through his boxers. You bite your lip and reach out. You run your hand over his bulge and feel the heat. He groans and closes his eyes.

"Y/N."

"Yes?"

"I want you so bad."

"Then take me."

He quickly pulls his boxers down before he grabs your hips and pushes you further onto the bed. He lies down on top of you and kisses you. His erection rubs against your core, making you gasp.

"God, you're so wet." He moves his hand between your legs and strokes your clit. You moan and buck your hips. He positions his cock at your entrance and pushes in. You gasp and close your eyes. His cock fills you up completely, and you feel complete.

He starts moving slowly, and you cling to him. He kisses you deeply and groans. He moves faster, and you cry out. You wrap your legs around his waist and arch your back.

"Yes, Charles. Right there. Please."

He pounds into you harder, and you feel yourself approaching the edge. You never had sex that felt this right.

"I'm gonna come."

"Come for me, baby."

You scream his name and climax. Your body trembles, and you shudder. He moans and buries his face in your neck. You feel his release, and he collapses on top of you.

"God, Y/N. That was amazing."

"It was."

He rolls off of you and pulls you into his arms. You snuggle against his chest, and he kisses your forehead.

"So, this is where we've been heading since day one, huh?" You chuckle.

"Well, yeah. I just didn't expect it to take twenty years."

"Yeah, me neither."

"And I also thought we'd be more cautious about it." Charles laughs realising he completely forgot to use a condom.

"I don't know, I just didn't care."

"Yeah, me neither."

You kiss his cheek and rest your head on his chest.

"Charles?"

"Hm?"

"Will we be able to make this work? I mean, with our lives and everything?"

"We'll figure it out. I'm not letting you go."

"Good."

You close your eyes and listen to his heartbeat. He is holding you tight, and you can't imagine being anywhere else. You kiss his chest and slowly drift off to sleep in his arms.

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hoseoksluna · 2 days

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CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you.

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance.

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic.

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner.

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within.

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home.

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes.

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties.

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life.

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you.

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind.

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders.

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head.

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman.

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid.

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened.

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence.

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again.

How inspiring.

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home.

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?”

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather.

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect.

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly.

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.”

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man.

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road.

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward.

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same.

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness.

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.”

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire.

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…”

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin.

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.”

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most.

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again.

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard.

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.”

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue.

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good.

And you tell him.

“I want you to help me.”

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze.

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots.

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely.

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck.

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you.

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.”

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest.

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan.

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.”

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest.

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life.

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?”

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.”

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed.

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating.

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough.

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch.

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.”

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it.

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.”

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?”

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death.

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.”

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message.

Why does this feel better than if he gave in?

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?”

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.”

Fuck.

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness.

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans.

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible.

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you.

With words, this time.

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.”

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.”

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain.

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it.

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh.

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that.

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries.

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there.

And you would—had he not buckled you in place.

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody.

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you.

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him.

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.”

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts.

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?”

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers.

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning.

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.”

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level.

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way.

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing.

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder.

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.”

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible.

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again.

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.”

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether.

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone.

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.”

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by.

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.”

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length.

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal.

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.”

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?”

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.”

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?”

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now.

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.”

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date.

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him.

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum.

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand.

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight.

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago.

You’re so satisfied that you could cry.

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it.

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside.

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you.

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper.

“Swallow it, baby.”

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after.

“Good girl.”

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.”

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?”

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed.

“You do, baby.”

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once.

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray.

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit.

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy.

He’s Father.

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands.

Your heart quickens, abnormally.

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil.

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum.

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering.

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with.

Sunny side up it is.

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it.

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs.

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?”

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten.

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him.

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it.

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away.

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon.

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems.

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers.

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees.

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month.

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days.

You’re not letting go of him.

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner.

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck.

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around.

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest.

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him.

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them.

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again.

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?”

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him.

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay.

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry.

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it.

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue.

And you do.

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper.

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso.

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before.

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?”

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand.

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?”

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.”

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro.

“Put it in my ass, then.”

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly.

“What?”

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?”

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is.

It’s what propels you to get on your knees.

“Baby.”

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder.

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.”

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat.

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?”

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time.

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

“Down the hall. First door to the right.”

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is.

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own.

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling.

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before.

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too.

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face.

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.”

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves.

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face.

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?”

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t.

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura.

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking.

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.”

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond.

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.”

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore.

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back.

You come and you don’t stop.

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer.

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God.

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.”

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders.

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.”

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises.

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?”

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.”

A hum. “Oh, yeah?”

There he fucking goes again.

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.”

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say.

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing.

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do.

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in.

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way.

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed.

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.”

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.”

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you.

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him.

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do.

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out.

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake.

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created.

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again.

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet.

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?”

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him.

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.”

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat.

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?”

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him.

“Say them again.”

You speed up your movement.

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.”

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations.

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.”

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?”

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently.

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?”

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle.

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek.

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves.

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.”

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk.

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?”

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins.

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.”

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane.

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do.

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes.

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

#hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective

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enwifen · 3 days

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… 𝓚iss me ౨ৎ

🫧 𓂃 (추) kisses can be scary, especially when you have no idea how, but when your best friend offers to show you the ropes you wonder… how bad can it be?

a fic about jakey and kissing cause meife wants to be kissed (sigh)

warning: suggestive at most, making out wc. 1.8k

When Sim Jaeyun became friends with you, never in his life could he have imagined the current situation that the two of you were in.

A random episode of Friends plays on your tv acting as background noise. Closing your eyes, you attempt to stop the tornado of thoughts chaotically swirling in your mind. Jake eyes you curiously, noting the way your eyebrows pinch together slightly which was a telltale sign that something was bothering you.

“You okay?” Your eyes shoot open which startles him a little.

“Yeah, fine.”

Jake gives you a ‘I know you’re not fine so tell me what’s up’ look. “Seriously, I am.”

“Y/n.”

“What!”

Jake sighs softly “Tell me what’s wrong.” He can see all the emotions wash over you, your mouth opening and closes as you try and find the right way to voice your thoughts without sounding like a mess.

Sitting up from having your head in his lap, you switch to facing Jake sitting cross legged on the couch. “I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

Nodding slowly, confusion is evident on your friend’s face. “Right… what’s wrong with that? Plenty of people our age are in the same boat as you.”

“Well— yes but, I’m scared that when it comes to it, I’m gonna be an awful kisser.”

“You can’t be that bad, either way it’s expected since it’ll be your first, all first kisses are bad.”

“No they’re not.” Jake squints at you before laughing.

“Yeah? And how would you know?”

Realising the irony you quickly backpedal. “I meant I don’t want mine to be bad.” The corners of his lips turn downwards as he nods, understanding where you’re coming from. A small beat of silence passes.

“What was your first time like?”

A smirk makes its way onto Jake’s lips. “Woah are we still talking about kisses here— ow!”

Still armed with your weapon (a fluffy pillow) you flinch at him in an attempt to be threatening. “You know what I mean!”

“I do, I do, lemme think…” he trails off, looking up as his memory takes him back a few years. With Jake’s gaze averted, you’re able to admire him a little (platonically, of course). His fluffy bangs hide his brows that are bunched together in thought, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth — a bad habit you noticed he had. “Ah! I remember, it was about two years ago.”

The fluffy pillow serves as a source of comfort as you hug it to your chest. “You remember my ex, Ahrin, right?” Of course you did, you never really liked her all that much. She was whiny and took up all of Jake’s attention, the period of time that they were together was the longest you had went with seeing him so irregularly.

Not that you wanted to be in her position or anything. You just missed your bestie. So much so you lost sleep at night due to how much you would cry but, like, aren’t all friends like that?

Don’t all friends do that?

Don’t they repeatedly check their phone to see if the other had texted; typing and deleting hundreds of messages only for them to be left unsent? Even after the last time they had spoken was just a couple days ago?

Don’t they apologise for leaving you on delivered for so long and spend hours promising to make it up to you, calling you ‘baby’ and ‘love’ because they know you like it?

And don’t they come over the very next day because he couldn’t wait a day longer, hugging you as if his life depended on it.

Maybe they do all of that, maybe they don’t. You and Jake did though.

“…so yeah, I guess it wasn’t terrible but- are you even listening?” Jake asks in slight disbelief, finally glancing at you who seemed to be zoning out.

“Huh? Oh- yeah! Of course I was.”

“Repeat what I just said then.” He deadpans and you’re caught, slumping in defeat.

“Whatever- my first kiss was with Ahrin, it felt kinda good back then but looking back it wasn’t that special.” Jake shrugs though you sense there’s a little more to the story.

“So you didn’t… feel any fireworks?”

He snorts at that “you watch too many movies.”

“Is that a crime? Not my fault I enjoy romanticising things… especially firsts.”

“Romanticise all you want, as long as you know none of it’s real.”

You mimic Jake’s tone earlier “and how would you know? Have you kissed anyone besides Ahrin?” Jake shakes his head and for some reason that makes you happy.

“Did I manage to ease any of your worries with my story- well I guess you didn’t listen, huh.”

“I did!”

“Oh yeah? Where did we kiss then?”

You blush, immediately giving yourself away again as you name the first thing that comes to mind. “The school library…?”

“You really think I’m that much of a nerd?” Your silence makes Jake reach for the pillow in your lap to deliver a blow of Karma though you successfully manage to block it in time, letting out a squeal.

“I surrender!” Jake grins and puts the pillow down.

“Anyway, like I said, don’t work yourself up so much about first kisses… you could always redeem yourself with the second.”

Biting your lip in thought, you nod “I guess you’re right…”

“You’re still worried about it, aren’t you?”

Guilty again, you nod.

“Babe, I promise it’s not that deep- I could even help you out if you wanted.”

You blink once. Twice. Three times for good measure.

What did he just say?

Chuckling softly at your reaction, Jake repeats himself. “I said that I could help you out… if you wanted, like, teach you how to kiss or whatever.” He adds, trying to seem completely casual as if he didn’t just basically ask to blur the already fuzzy lines between you two.

An itch in your throat causes you to swallow, trying to digest your best friend’s proposal.

He was someone you trusted a lot, Jake wasn’t some mediocre looking guy either — he was attractive, and you’d be damned to turn down the opportunity to have your first kiss with him.

“Okay.” Jake looks surprised for a moment but his shock is quickly replaced by a warm smile. Just that alone is enough to comfort you, easing the nerves that had begun to make your body feel like it was vibrating.

He shifts a little on the couch to sit more comfortably before patting his lap, gesturing for you to sit. It’s not like this would be the first time but, now with the given circumstances everything felt different. The poor pillow is tossed aside as you climb into Jake’s lap, rough denim of his cargos brushing against your thighs.

Anxiously you look up at him, clutching the fabric of his sweatshirt. He smiles again, reassuring you with his warm hands gliding up and down your sides in a comforting manner.

“We’ll start off slow, okay?”

“Okay- wait.”

“Hm?”

You reach back into your pocket and pull out a small tube of watermelon flavoured chapstick. Sure this was just practice but the next worse thing after being a bad kisser was having chapped lips. Jake watches, amused until you tuck the tube away. “Good to go?” You exhale.

“Yeah.” Jake advises you to take a few deep breaths before starting. He gives you as much time as you need, even breathing with you because, frankly, he’s kinda nervous too. Not so much about kissing but more, wanting to make sure to give you the experience that you wanted. Yes it was ‘just practice’ but this was also literally your first kiss so, Jake had to take this seriously.

“First, try leaning into me.” Slowly you do, now close enough to where your foreheads are touching. As pretty as Jake’s hair was, it was a little itchy- but not uncomfortable, maybe ticklish? Focus!

Jake chuckles a little deeper than usual. “I can practically hear you overthinking, relax.”

“I’m trying.”

“We’ll try harder.”

Worry evaporates as you get used to being so close, reminding yourself that it was just Jake, just Jake who was inches away from your lips, just the same, good old bestie Jake.

You rub your lips together in anticipation, eager to progress onto the next step. Jake initiates the kiss, tilting his bed to leave a soft peck on your lips. It was barely there, barely even lasted a second but you still felt it and boy did it leave you buzzing. Like a bee to a flower, eager for more pollen.

“You try.” He whispers, licking his lips. Greeted with the sweet yet artificial taste of your chapstick. Jake is patient, not commenting on the long pause until you finally close the gap between you two. Yours was definitely longer than Jake’s, maybe lasting .5 more seconds.

“Sorry…” Jake smiles wide with a slight shake of his head.

“No, no, you’re good… how.. how did that feel?”

“Nice..” you mutter, shy. You’re rarely ever shy in front of Jake — this guy had practically seen all sides of you but now? You guess he was bringing out a new side of you even you didn’t know existed.

“Good, that’s good.” He mumbles. Time seems to tick away impossibly slowly. The room is silent except for your breaths, Netflix questioning whether or not anybody was still watching when the only thing you were watching was Jake and vice versa.

“Now try doing what you just did but longer.” You oblige, pressing your lips to his again. Plump and pillowy would be the right way to describe Jake’s lips, plump, pillowy and red, most likely from how often he bites them.

This time you only pull away once you need a breath but two fingers grabbing your chin gently pull you in again and you can’t find it in you to stop him. It’s now that you realise kissing isn’t as complicated as you had thought, following Jake’s lead of some sort of pattern.

One long kiss, pull away, a few shorter kisses, pull away and… that’s it, you’re kissing him.

Somewhere along the way you grew even more comfortable, arms now wrapped around his neck whilst one of Jake’s encircle your waist, his other up as his hand cups your cheek. How long you’ve been like this you don’t know but you’re certainly not complaining.

There were tons of other kisses out there but you were perfectly content with these ones for now. Safe and comforting — not at all intimidating like you had previously thought.

After a particularly long pause in activity, Jake rests his forehead against yours again. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

He opens his eyes to give you the same look he did earlier. You smile until your nose scrunches and giggles escape.

“For real this time… now kiss me.”

#enha fluff #enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x you #enha jake #jake fluff #jake x reader #enhypen jake #jake sim #sim jaeyun fic #sim jaeyun fluff #sim jaeyun

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folkloresthings · 24 hours

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from the kiss prompt list maybe for anthony bridgerton the prompt "one is on the other's lap, holding their face between their hands, kissing them and instantly forgetting everything else in the room with them". mayhaps anthony x wife! reader?

i adore your work sm. 🩷

[ one is on the other’s lap, holding their face between their hands, kissing them and instantly forgetting everything else in the room with them ] with anthony bridgerton.

the reality of life as the new viscount and viscountess bridgerton had hit both you and anthony a few weeks after returning from honeymoon —— in italy, neither of you cared for responsibilities or business, too tangled up in newlywed bliss. every moment not spent exploring could find the couple under the sheets of their rented estate (or, rather, any other place they could find).

but now, settled back into a routine at bridgerton house, the business of every day had stolen you away from each other. other than the late nights and early mornings, it was rare to find a moment alone. anthony had many duties as viscount; an estate to run, bills to pay, messages to receive. and you — well, you had never been a viscountess before. there was everything to learn.

thankfully, violet was more than willing to pass on her years of knowledge. every day was a new lesson, from the running of a household to the planning of a ball. your mother-in-law was wonderful company, but day after day of taking tea with her only made you miss your husband’s company more.

one afternoon, when violet was preoccupied with francesca’s appointment at the modiste, you took the chance to sneak away upstairs. the floorboards creaked under each step you took towards anthony’s study, the door just a little ajar to the room. peeking around quietly, your eyes fall upon your husband bent over a stack of papers, quill etching furiously.

your knuckles rapp on the wooden door to catch his attention. “am i disturbing you?”

anthony’s lips instantly pull into a smile at the sight of you, fresh-faced and anxiously looking across to him. “not at all, dear. come in.”

clicking the heavy door shut behind you, your feet carry you across to the desk, stood just beside anthony’s chair. a hand rests on his shoulder, squeezing at the loose cotton there.

“much to do?” you query, peeking over his head to catch a glimpse of the records.

“too much,” he grumbles, slumping back in the chair, fingers coming to pinch the bridge of his nose before they rub over his tired eyes.

with a swell of your heart, you take the opportunity of his relaxed frame to slot yourself between the desk and chair, gently sitting yourself down onto his lap. like second nature, anthony’s hands slip around your waist, thumbs brushing against the soft silk of your dress.

placing a hand on each cheek, anthony’s eyes flutter shut as he relaxes into your delicate touch, his tense shoulders giving way to exhaustion. ducking your head down, you catch his lips in yours, soft in their pressing to the sweet taste of tobacco and whiskey. anthony melts into the sweet kiss, a small hum of contentment bubbling from the back of his throat.

“you really ought to—” you whisper, parting from his lips to try and coax him away from his work for a while. but the kiss was doing just enough to let him forget the mountain of work he had waiting for him, and he didn’t want to remember it all just yet.

a small gasp leaves your lips when he grasps onto your waist, tighter now, pulling you back down to the previous position of your lips atop his. he silences your advice with a simple kiss, knocking the breath from your chest, hanging onto the moment of peace your lips brings for just another moment.

when he finally finds it acceptable to part from you, he no longer has any interest in finishing the tasks of the day, only in you. his hands wander along your middle, eyes heavier when they graze along the bare skin of your neck.

“you really ought to take a break,” you finally revive your earlier words, a small smile tugging at your lips, thumbs still smoothing along the soft skin of his cheeks.

“you are right, darling wife,” anthony murmurs, rising from his chair and sweeping you into his arms in what seems like one easy move. it pulls a giggle from your throat, adoring nuzzling into the nape of his neck. “and i have something very enjoyable in mind.”

feeling his feet carry you both along the familiar path to your shared bedroom, his plan becomes quite obvious. and who were you, his sweet wife, to deny such relaxation?

#🌙 ﹐ drabbles.#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton drabble #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #polin #colin x penelope

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thrown-away-opinions · 3 days

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Fuck, I missed Killdozer day, so this will be slightly less impactful. Anways...

On this most sacred of days, the 20th anniversary of the Killdozer, I implore all of you to shit all over anyone who tries to ummm ackshually about Heemeyer's story. The majority of the spin on the story that claims Heemeyer was the cause of all of his own problems and that he spontaneously decided to self-sabotage until he went mad and decided to Killdoze his town largely comes from a single guy, Patrick Brower. Brower is not only someone who has made a career off the Killdozer story, but also one of the people Heemeyer was directly aggrieved with because, despite saying he was going to cover Heemeyer's story about his issues with a corrupt and abusive local government, he just conveniently never followed up on that story until it became the career-making Killdozer story much later, where he conveniently tweaked little details about the story to downplay the Grandy City Council's part in driving Heemeyer to "unreasonable action" in retalliation for their horrendous mistreatment of him over a couple acres of land.

Brower has reported a lot of contradictory information, while also neglecting or misrepresenting other information to make the narrative spicier. He turned the whole thing into a documentary, a movie, and a book and all of those things are slanted against Heemeyer so it looked like he was just an insane jackass who snapped for no good reason.

At the same time, with the Killdozer being kind of a meme and a "don't tread on me" quasi-libertarian/anarchist symbol, contrarians have come out to try and add more negative light on the story, painting Heemeyer as an unhinged asshole who was just attacking the city at random, and for no good reason, which simply isn't true. This recontextualizing of the event is done entirely in petty retaliation because they just don't like seeing their perceived enemies enjoying anything. So, they have to come up with additional spin on the narrative so they can say "There! Now you can't have any fun or talk about how local governments are full of petty tyrants!"

The Killdozer story is one that shows what happens when people in power feel like they are exempt from the consequences of their actions. When they believe they can simply bend and twist the law and the zoning codes and every little bit of pointless bureaucratic red tape to get whatever they want for themselves and their cronies at the expense of anyone unfortunate enough to be in their way. In almost all cases, these sorts of people go unpunished for their entire lives. In this one single case, someone was pushed too far and decided to take extreme, unreasonable action, and that's something to think about and remember.

#killdozer

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veryberryjelly · 2 days

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I sent a request but forgot to say who for😭, would I be able to request the prompt 27 and/or 28 for theo nott x f!reader? Thank you so much ❤️❤️

theo nott x fem!reader

prompts ; ' legs being held apart by their hands ' + ' nibbling their ear gently '

kinda a pt 2 to this fic x

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 !

somehow the best day of your life had stretched out into the longest in the best and worst way possible.

you had spent your entire day surrounded by your closest friends and family, celebrating your union to the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.

but that day was going on for just a smidge too long when all you could think about was taking theo back to your hotel room and celebrating your first night as a married couple.

no one seemed to want to leave. even as 10pm rolled around everyone was still partying pretty hard.

you had sat yourself down a few minutes ago after dancing with your girlfriends and you could only watch in adoration as everyone continued to dance.

and then your eyes locked on theo.

your husband.

the slight smirk on his lips as he approached you set your stomach on fire.

there would never be a day that you didnt feel like this just from the sight of your boy.

when he finally came to stand infront of you, his hand lifted to tilt your chin up slightly.

" how's my wife doing ?" he questioned, a smile lighting up both of your faces.

" i'm doing fine, how's my husband doing ?"

" wishing people would get tired of dancing already "

a laugh bubbled up from both of you.

" i can't take this much longer, teddy. you look too handsome in your suit..." your voice was almost whiny as you looked up at theo. you would think at your wedding you would've gotten to spend some time with him but with so many guests it was hard to get a minute alone.

" c'mon, sweetheart. " he said quietly, his hand dropping from your face to offer it out to you.

you didnt hesitate to take his hand as he lead you out of the hall and into the garden. the fresh air seemed to get rid of every ailment you had previously been feeling.

the slight pinch of your shoes, the minor headache you'd had from your hair and the loud music and the pins in your hair.

theo lead you to the end of the garden, setting his jacket down on a stone plinth before helping you up onto it.

" missed you today, gorgeous " he admitted, one of his hands coming up to brush your hair from your face, the other resting on the fabric of your dress, pulling it up slightly as his hand travelled up your leg.

" missed you too, handsome. thought i'd get to see more of my husband on our wedding day. "

it was nice to know that you had both been feeling the same way today. the most you had seen eachother was during the photos and then at the meal, but since then you'd been overwhelmed by loved ones.

his lips slotted over yours and your arms lifted to wrap around his neck while his other hand dropped to your other leg.

with both of his hands he made quick work of pulling your dress up to the best of his ability, his hands moving to hold your legs apart so he could slot easily between them.

his kisses were soft and passionate, both of you clearly just wanting to bask in each others presence.

as he pulled back, a slight laugh slid over your lips when you saw your lipstick smudged around his mouth.

even with the new band on his finger, it was nice to see a more obvious reminder that this was your man.

you began to trail a line of tinted kisses along his cheek, the feeling of his palms against your thigh spurring you on.

when you reached his ear you dipped your head slightly and bared your teeth, taking his earlobe between them and biting down slightly, eliciting a soft groan from your husband.

he lifted one of his hands from your leg to push lightly against your chest.

" not now, baby. we gotta get through the rest of the night, and then i'm all yours "

while that idea sounded lovely, the rest of the night seemed like it would take forever.

" you sure we can't just make an irish exit ?" you asked causing the smile you fell in love with to bloom across his face.

" we can't make an irish exit at our wedding, but i promise when we get back to the hotel, it will be just me and you until we head to the airport "

oh, the airport. your honeymoon.

the image of lounging on a beach with theo seemed to distract you enough for him to get you off the plinth and lead you back to the party, the smear of your lipstick on his face the only evidence you had ever been gone.

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raya-hunter01 · 16 hours

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Not My Sister's Keeper Pt. 6

Roman X OC(Kara)

Jey Uso X OC (Tia)

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; sex, fluff, couple arguing, Jealousy, infidelity, pregnancy

Roamn’s wife recently left medical school and returned home to save her marriage. Upon her return, she finds out things are not what they seem. Her sister is pregnant by her best friend Jey Uso, who is also Roman’s cousin, and her husband is acting suspicious.

What happens when a conversation overhead on a baby monitor blows her world apart?

Six Months Later

Pensacola, Fl

Roman's House

That’s it….Ten years and it’s over just by signing some papers," I said as my mom sat beside me while I looked at a copy of the divorce papers.

“Roman, you messed up and what you did was unforgivable. This is all that should matter to you right now,” my mother said placing Logan in my arms as I sat her on my lap.

Her little smile as she put her tiny fist in her mouth made my heart smile.

“I know princess, granny needs to hurry up your bottle, don’t she?” I said chuckling as she laughed at the sounds coming out of her mouth as I gently bounced her on my lap.

“Granny only got two hands and she’s coming.”

“I’m just kidding Ma, I’m happy you here and don’t know what I’d do without you and Ma Rebecca. I just hoped that Kara and I could have work things out, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Son, I’mma need you to snap outta this because this little girl needs her father, and she needs you focused on her. She already ain’t got a damn mama if we keeping it real,” my mom said cutting me deep with her words, but it was true.

I had got Tia transferred to Raw to get her outta my hair, which has been a godsend. She sees Logan whenever the mood hits or she needs something. She still won’t sign over her rights…

“I am focused on her. I’ve gotten my schedule lighter. She going to start traveling with me..I got that part mama; I just need Kara now.”

“Roman! Kara is not going to help you raise a baby that is not only a reminder that you betrayed her, but its mother is her sister! Now you starting to scare me with your delusion. It’s over son and you set this all in motion…

"Mama, I know-"

"Deal with it and figure out a way to get that fool to sign over her rights. Hell, call your lawyer back and tell him you want to go for full custody and don’t give her no money,” she said, giving me Logan's bottle before leaving the room without another word.

“I guess it’s just us, huh, baby girl?” I asked feeding her as she gripped my hand greedily sucking her bottle

Taking my mother’s advice, after feeding Loogan and burping her, I quickly shot my lawyer a text to go ahead with getting Tia served.

Hopefully, he could get it done today before she leaves out for Raw later on today.

After laying Logan down I went on Instagram and saw Jey had posted a live and had pinned it to his page. Being nosey, I clicked on it and instantly wished I didn’t.

Jey was filming the highway, the road almost seemed deserted the Boston skyline in view. I knew it well from the few times I had visited Kara.

As I was about to get off, I heard a familiar laugh as Piece of my love by Guy began playing in the background.

“It's 5 am, we out here Boston! What ya’ll know bout ridin’ round the city, listening to dat good old school music, just vibin’ wit yo’ people,” he said turning the camera on Kara who was driving and dancing in her seat.

“You can have a piece of my love,” she softly sang shooting Jey a quick glance with a smile when she saw he was recording her.

“It’s waiting for you,” Jey said slyly finishing the lyric without missing a beat as Kara laughed and turned her attention back to the road shaking her head.

“You ain’t ready for this Mr. Fatu,” Kara muttered under her breath as I growled.

“A’ight now, you know I stay ready,” he said chuckling, turning around showing Trin asleep with her head in Jimmy’s lap. “What’s up ya’ll,” Jimmy said nodding his head to the music.

Damn, I kinda miss the days of my cousins and I traveling and just vibin' without a care. It made the time go by and if I’m honest I missed them all.

“We’re almost there,” I heard Kara say as Jey flipped the camera to show his face. “A’ight, we out ya’ll, we gettin' ready to turn it in. Been a long ass flight, and we bout to all get some sleep,” he said abruptly ending the live.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered trying not to disturb Logan as she slept.

He just won’t give up, what right did he have even being in the car with her? A car I paid for…Sleeping in the house I’m paid for…

Damn, why couldn’t he stay away from her?

---

Kara’s Condo

Boston, MA

Kara’s Pov

“Jey, if you ask me one more time if I really want to come tonight I’mma slap the fuck outta you,” I said as he held his hands up in surrender.

“Aye, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I know Tia gon’ be there,” he said as I shook my head.

“I’m going to watch your Raw debut, I ain’t worried about Tia and whatever drama she got going on,” I said reassuring him as he gave me a hug.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered giving me a kiss on the cheek

“Ya’ll drive safe, I’ll see you in a bit,” I said as he picked up his bag, heading for the door.

“Sis, you comin’ right?” he asked as Trin smiled.

“Yes, I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll ride with Kara over there,” she said as he gave her a thumbs up before leaving.

“He’s such a goof, should have seen him in the car rental place,” Trin said as I laughed pouring us a glass of wine.

“Trin, he means well, don’t do him like that,” I said as she chuckled.

“I know he does and look at you defending your man.”

“He isn’t my man Trin.”

“You know I can’t wait for ya’ll to finally get together. Especially since you’ve already test drove the merchandise.” Trin said as I coughed, almost spitting out my wine as she laughed.

“I can’t believe you,” I coughed as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Aye, just calling it like I see it. You were riding him like you were at the rodeo weren’t you?”

“It was good too…Ugh, see, I hate I even told you. Now I’m thinking about it,” I laughed as Trin sipped on her wine unbothered.

“I’m just sayin’ if you need that itch scratched, Jey’s a willing participant.”

“Trin, in all seriousness though, I’m just trying to focus on getting back to me right now. I got a lot of shit to process before I even think about being somebody’s girlfriend.”

“I get it, you don’t want to take that energy and resentment into a new relationship,” Trin said as sighed in relief, someone finally got what I had been trying to say.

“Speaking of Roman, these the divorce papers, huh,” Trin said picking up the stack of papers off the table.

“Yep, it’s a done deal. I can breathe now,” I said sitting next to her and sipping on my glass of wine.

Roman and I went through therapy as suggested by our lawyers. It was terrible but I made it through. Roman was upset that I still wanted to go through with the divorce, but he didn’t contest it anymore.

“I can’t believe he sent you flowers,” Trin said reaching over to look at the note that was attached to the bouquet of red and white roses.

“Thank you for trying, I know I didn’t deserve it. Just know I will always love you and I’m always here. Maybe we can be friends someday -Roman.”

“Damn……Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?” Trin asked as I sighed putting down my glass.

“I think I forgave him the moment he broke down and cried in therapy about what happened. The more he talked, the more I realized at first, he was a victim in Tia’s game.”

“I can see that, but what about after the first time?”

“That’s where he has to take accountability, he made some choices that he’s going to have to deal with the consequences of and it’s no longer my problem,” I said as Trin nodded in understanding.

“Now…Tia on the other hand, I’m avoiding that bitch like the plague tonight. I don’t want to go to jail,” I said as Trin laughed.

“I feel you cause even though I got bail money you too cute for jail,” she said as I held up my glass and we toasted.

“Here’s to Jey and a night of celebration,” I said honestly happy for the first time in a long time.

I was going to see Jey tonight and for tonight none of the drama with Tia mattered. This was about Jey and his new beginnings as a singles wrestler.

-----

Monday Night Raw

Jey’s POV

“Man, I can’t believe I’m here,” I said nervously pacing as Jimmy shook his head at me.

“Aye, calm down and enjoy this moment. You gon’ be fine,” he said as I saw Tia coming over.

“Ah hell,” I whispered as Jimmy turned around chuckled. “You already know she gon’ try you.” Jimmy whispered as I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Man, I ain’t got time for this shit,” I whispered as Tia smiled walking past Jimmy as if he wasn’t there. “Well hello to you too, Tia,” he said as she shot him a sly smile before turning back to me.

“Hey, Jey long time no see,” she said with a flirty smile.

“You just really have you no shame,” Jimmy asked as she rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m just talking to him, no harm in that,” she whispered as I looked at her in disbelief.

“Jimmy, give us a minute, Uce,” I said as he got up and left us alone.

“Jey, I just thought since you’re going to be on the Raw brand we could catch up some time,” Tia said as I looked at her like she was crazy.

“Uh, I don’t even like you like that,” I said as she walked closer.

“I’m just trying to welcome you to Raw, I know it gets lonely on the road. Maybe we could reconnect and make some magic happen,” she said touching my chest as I backed away.

“Tia, I think you need help…Like mental help, your obsession with Kara and the people she loves ain’t normal,” I said trying to wrap my brain around how crazy she was.

“I’m not worried about her, I know I’m the better woman and you know it too,” she said trying to put my arms around her as I backed away with my hands in the air.

“Look, don’t ever try me like dat ever again. You know I love Kara and unlike Roman I’m hip to your bullshit. Stay away from me and Kara,” I said as she frowned.

“Kara don’t love you, if she did, ya’ll would have been together years ago,” Tia said spitefully with a smirk.

“Tia tend to your own business, and be a mom to your child. You know the one who hasn’t heard from you in months while you parade on this show and in the streets like a cat in heat,” I said as the smirk fell from her face.

“I have settled that with her father and it’s none of your concern. Still, Kara’s lap log I see,” Tia said as I chuckled.

“Still jealous of your sister, I see,” I said as she slapped me.

“Tia…… Get some help,” I said taking myself out of the situation and walking away from her. “Jey! I’ll see you soon, the road gets lonely!” she yelled as I kept walking.

I needed to get ready for the show and I didn’t have time for her craziness.

“Hey, what was all of that Jey?” Tom, who was one of the higher ups asked, stopping me before I got to my dressing room.

Great, the last thing I needed was him taking this back to Paul causing an issue. I just got here and didn’t need no drama.

“Uh, just some personal stuff, but I took care of it,” I said as he nodded. “Well, that was really unprofessional how she was acting. That was sexual harassment.”

“Look, I gotta get ready for the show. It’s all good Uce, I took care of it” I said trying to get him to drop the subject, but I knew by the look on his face it wasn’t going to be the last I heard about it.

---

Monday Night Raw

Kara’s POV

“Mom, you don’t have to throw me a party,” I said as Trin, and I pulled into the building.

“Sweetie, you got accepted back into medical school. We are celebrating and that’s final,” she said as Trin smiled.

“You know we game for barbecue, yo’ daddy can throw down. I’ll get Jimmy to do that Samoan dish you like too,” Trin added.

“The one with the pineapple chicken?” I asked as Trin nodded… “Oh, I’m there,” I said as Trin, and my mom laughed.

“Thanks for the reinforcements Trin. Sweetie, Logan will be here on Friday, but if you’re uncomfortable Janice can get her,” my mom said as I sighed.

“Mama, I will be fine. I know it’s your weekend to have Logan I wouldn’t do that,” I said as the line got quiet.

“I don’t want you to be overwhelmed baby,” my mom said as I gave Trin a small smile.

“It’s ok mom, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Enjoy the show baby, and I’ll see you Thursday, love you.”

“Love you too mom,” I said, hanging up and taking a deep breath.

“You know it’s ok to not be ok,” Trin said as I parked the car.

“I’m ok…I just don’t see myself being heavily involved in Logan’s life. Does that make me a terrible person?” I asked as Trin looked at me with a sad smile.

“No, it makes you a person that has been hurt and your feelings are valid, but I also know you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if that baby needed anything you would make sure she had it,” Trin said as I bit my lower lip trying not to cry.

“I would, but I don’t see myself babysitting and doing all the other auntie stuff, it would be a constant reminder of everything,” I said as Trin nodded.

“Maybe as time passes you will feel different,” Trin said as we walked towards the talent entrance.

“I don’t think so Trin, even though she’s not to blame for what her parents did.” I said as Trin showed her ID and we got our passes from security.

“Well, let’s just enjoy tonight and worry about everything else later,” Trin said as we headed inside to get ready for the show.

“You won’t hear no complaints from me,” I said happy we could just go enjoy the show. No more Roman, Tia, or Logan talk.

------

Monday Night Raw

Jey’s POV

Man, the crowd is on fire and rocking, but it’s only one face I’m looking for right now and I can’t find her. Finally, after Sami left the ring, I spotted Kara in the third row wearing my hoodie.

Trin was beside her in a ball cap and her reading glasses, I had to give it to them they blended in well with the crowd. I’m glad too because the last thing I wanted was someone to take pictures of them and posting it online.

I can see the headlines now “Roman Reigns ex-wife attends Raw with TNA superstar Trinity.”

Getting out of the ring I signaled for Kara to head backstage as she nodded and whispered to Trin.

Once I saw them grab their things, I slowly made my way up the ramp. Everything was finally sinking in as the crowd continued to sing my music and I wanted to take it all in.

Tonight is something I will never forget, giving them one final wave I went backstage into gorilla and was met with a round of applause.

“Welcome to Raw Uce!” Cody said giving me a hug.

“Thanks, man I’m glad to be here, Uce,” I said looking around for Kara but didn’t see her. Where are they? I know they had their passes.

“Hey, don’t freak out, they made it back. Kara just didn’t want people in ya’ll business. Go down the hall and make a right, she’s there waiting for you,” Cody said as I smiled.

“Aye, good lookin’ out Uce,” I said shaking his hand before going to find Kara.

Rounding the corner, there she was leaning up against the wall with her hands in her pockets.

“How did I do?” I asked as she looked at me with a smile, running towards me and jumping in my arms as I held her close.

“Amazing, I’m so proud of you,” she whispered against my ear as I sighed holding her tighter.

“Thank you for ridin’ wit me and believin’ in me.”

“E le aunoa ma le faavavau” she said as felt my heart swell.

“Always and forever,” I said as she looked at me with a shy smile.

Our moment was short lived as I saw Jimmy and Trin heading towards us. “Aye, that was awesome Uce,” Jimmy said as put Kara down and Trin came over to give me a hug.

“Alright now brother-in-law. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Thanks, sis,” I said watching Kara as Jimmy put his arm around her as she welcomed his embrace, leaning her head against him.

Releasing Trin from my embrace I saw a look of confusion pass Kara’s face for a second before she tried to play it off.

I looked over my shoulder and there in the corner hiding behind the curtain was Tia.

She was watching Kara like a hawk, almost envious. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t clicking in Tia’s head.

“She just won’t get the hint, huh?” Jimmy asked as I shook my head signaling for him to shut up.

“Get the hint about what?” Kara asked as I lightly pushed Jimmy.

“I handled it, why you even had to bring it up,” I hissed as he shook his head.

“Look at that fool over there staring at us, does it look like she understood what you said,” Jimmy countered as I sighed.

“I handled it, Uce.”

“Uh, can somebody tell us what’s going on?” Trin asked as Kara looked at me.

“Look, Tia came on to me, I shut it down, we exchanged some words and that was it,” I said as Kara chuckled, shaking her head at Trin, who seemed nervous.

“Now, remember what we talked about earlier Kara,” Trin said as Kara looked at her with a smile.

“Oh, I remember, I’m just gon’ go holla at her for a minute…. Excuse me,” Kara said walking towards Tia who was smirking.

“Kara it ain’t worth it,” I said as she walked up to Tia. “Hey sis, long time no see, it’s been about what…Six months,” Tia said with a smile.

Kara’s POV

“Yea, it has, and I see your still up to the same bullshit,” I said wanting to smack the smirk off her face.

“What? I just offered Jey a good time, the road can be stressful, especially on the man. You know that better than anyone right?” Tia asked as I chuckled at her lame attempt to rile me up.

“You should know by now offering your services to taken men never works out in your favor though, does it? I mean you get so desperate you let men call you by their wives names while they fuck you.” I said not caring who knew at this point.

“Damn…You get down like that Tia?” Jimmy asked as Trin sighed. “Jurdy, I’ll fill you in later, be quiet," she whispered as Tia had the nerve to look embarrassed.

“He’ll come to me…They all come to-”

“Look, I’mma keep it short and sweet because I don’t have time for your games.”

“Oou lil sis is hot because she knows if I want Jey, I could take him.” Tia said as I chuckled as I felt Jey behind me.

“Keep your distance, Tia,” I said as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she muttered as I felt the urge to knock her ass out.

“Tia! Come near him again, and that last ass whoopin’ I gave you will feel like a walk in the park…Try me.” I hissed as Jey gently grabbed my hand unclenching my fist.

“Kara, let’s go” Jey said as I refused to move. “I look forward to it,” Tia taunted as Jey shook his head trying to put a little distance between me and Tia.

“Man, gon’ wit dat bullshit, Tia. You done did enough now,” Jey said as I stepped into her space as she nervously bit her lip.

“I’mma stomp yo’ ass in the ground, keep coming at me like you crazy.”

“Aye, Tia, I know you a couple chocolate chips short of a cookie, but you better find you something safe to do. That ain’t the move baby girl,” Jimmy said as Tia growled.

“I hate you bitch!”

“Hate….Nah, you love me….Love me so much you wanna be me and apparently want every dick that’s ever been inside me too,” I said casually as Jey cleared his throat putting his arm around my waist trying to hold me back.

“Been inside you! Twin, you done hit the homie and ain’t said shit!” Jimmy exclaimed as Trin sighed.

“Jurdy, read the room, keep up, and shut the hell up,” she said as Jimmy got quiet.

“You nasty bitch!” Tia shouted as I smirked at her. “Nah, that would be you and your sour-ass pussy,” I said, as Jey pulled me close steering me away from Tia.

“A’ight, let’s go ma. We need to talk,” Jey said as I looked back at Tia as a stagehand approached her.

“Tia, bossman wants to see you,” he said as Tia plastered on a smile following him.

“I’ll see you soon Jey,” she laughed as I tried to get out of Jey’s embrace.

“Fuckin’ parasite,” I hissed as Jey pulled me into his locker room, locking the door behind us.

“Are you done?” he asked as I rolled my eyes irritated as hell.

“No…..She always is up to something, I just don’t understand,” I said as Jey took off his black jacket, tossing it on the couch.

Damn, he looked fine as hell…Focus Kara, you're mad right now.

“Don’t let it bother you, the stuff she doin’, it don’t even matter.”

“What do you mean it don’t matter? “I asked as a look of determination adorned his handsome face as he slowly came towards me, almost like a lion stalking its prey.

“You ain’t slick, you know what you be doing wit ya chest and tattoos all out,” I said as he laughed. “I'm serious, you can stay over there, sir.” His smile making it hard for me to stay angry.

“I ain’t doin’ nothing,” he whispered closing the distance between us as I tried to remain strong.

“Yes, you are, Jey,” I whispered, feeling like my heart race as he caressed my face with his hands. Closing my eyes, I felt the tension leaving my body simply from his touch.

“I’mma need you to realize something important,” he said as I melted even further into his touch.

“What do I need to realize?” I asked, his lips dangerously close to mine. “I only want you; I’ve always only wanted you,” he whispered our lips meeting in a searing kiss.

It had been six months since the last time our lips touched and the

Feeling lightheaded I clung to him as our tongues fought for dominance, with Jey winning in the end as I whimpered in need.

He had me Feenin’ for more as we reluctantly parted to catch our breaths.

“Kara, you ain’t gotta worry about Tia, I ain’t Roman. I ain’t jeopardizing being with you for nobody,” Jey said reassuring me as I nodded.

I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until now.

“Jey, I don’t want you to feel obligated to do all this. Visting me every week, being there-” I started as he cut me off with a gentle kiss.

“When you’re ready, I’m ready. I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he whispered wiping my tears I didn’t even know had fallen.

“You ain’t gotta cry no more, I got you….Until my last breath, I got you.”

“I know,” I whispered leaning against his chest enjoying being wrapped up in his arms.

Damn her..Damn me for allowing Tia to rile me up. I was making strides, but everything still had me fucked up.

Damn Tia and Roman for that matter….

“Do you want to go out with us to eat?” Jey asked as I chuckled looking at him. “Nah, ya’ll can go eat, I got to finish an assignment. Someone had me chauffeuring them around this morning before daylight, even had to take them at a rental this afternoon,” I joked as he laughed.

“Aye, we said thank you. But real talk, tomorrow I wanna take you out and spend some time wit you before we leave out on Wednesday,” he said as I smiled, actually looking forward to it.

“I’mma hold you to that,” I whispered, ignoring my vibrating phone in my back pocket.

-----

Kara’s Condo

Roman’s POV

“Pick up the phone Kara,” I muttered dialing her once again as it goes to voicemail.

“It’s your girl Kara, I’m busy so leave your message at the beep and I’ll get back with you.”

“Kara, just please call me back..I..I need to see you.”

Ending the call, I dialed her right back but this time it went straight to voicemail.

“Did you just ignore my call? Are you with him?…..You are…. Your with Jey ain’t you? Is he kissin on you?......Is he holdin’ you like I used too, dickin’ you down like me. Hmm….Hmm…..Answer the damn phone Kara!” I yelled, hanging up trying to calm myself down.

I tried to wait, but she playin’…Pulling out my spare key to her condo I let myself in.

Did she know I had a key? No…. But that is beside the point.

I felt resentful as I took in how she had the house decorated so welcoming.

“My beautiful family tree,” I muttered reading the letters above the painted tree on the wall of the living room. Pictures of her parents, her brother, even pictures of her and Jey throughout the years. Hell, Jimmy and Trin made the family tree wall.

“I can’t believe this shit,” I hissed, walking into Kara’s bedroom, getting even more pissed seeing Jey’s bag beside her bed.

“In my fucking house,” I muttered looking around the room.

That live from Jey rattled me so much this morning, I charted my jet this evening and flew straight here.

He really been in here, layin’ in this bed with Kara…My Kara…. I don’t give a damn what no divorce papers say…She’s still mine.

I needed to know how deep this shit was getting between Kara and Jey and I needed to know now.

Fucking him one time to get back at me is one thing but actually being in a relationship with him is taking shit too far.

Hearing the door open, I sat in the chair by the bed. I didn’t care who was with her, we were going to talk.

“I’m fine Jey, I just got inside,” she said as I snarled. “I’m going to shower and finish up my assignment. Just bring me back a fry and a ginger ale. I’m not that hungry, it’s late.”

“Really? Oh, he just Mr. perfect, huh. Doin’ late night ginger ale runs,” I seethed quietly hearing the happiness in Kara’s voice.

“Ok I’ll see ya’ll in a few,” she said, ending the call as I heard her moving around the hall.

“That man,” I heard her sigh as I felt the jealousy within me burning deep.

I had to stifle a groan as she opened the door and I saw she had taken off her shirt. “What tha shit!” Kara screamed, covering herself with her shirt as I stood up.

“Kara, where you been?” I asked as she looked at me in confusion. Almost like she thought she was hallucinating.

“What the hell are you doing in my house Roman?!” Kara yelled turning on the light.

“I wanted to see how your little visit with my cousin was goin’ but you ain’t answered my question. Where you been, because Raw ended about two hours ago?” I asked, walking towards Kara as she put her shirt back on.

“First of all, who da fuck do you think you are! We’re divorced, where I am and who I’m with is none of your damn concern. Now how did you get in here?!” Kara yelled pissed off as I scoffed.

“I had this made before the landlord gave you the keys. I mean did you really think, I was gon’ let you be out here and not check in on you.” I said as she reached for the keys, but I put it back in my pocket.

Kara’s POV

“This ain’t checkin’ in, this is stalking. You shouldn’t be here at all! Give me the keys Roman!” I yelled, still in shock I had found him in my bedroom, sitting in here like a fuckin’ serial killer.

“Have you slept with Jey since that night?” Roman asked as I looked at him like he was crazy.

“That is none of your business, give me the key, Roman!” I yelled as he ignored me.

“Not until you tell me, then I’ll give it to you.”

“Have you been drinking?” I asked, smelling the alcohol on his breath as he came a little closer.

“I ain’t drunk, I am in control Kara. I got this shit, I only had a brandy on the plane.”

“I can’t tell you flew from Pensacola to Boston to ask if I’m fucking your cousin,” I said as he rolled his eyes.

“Are you fuckin’ him, it’s a simple question?!” Roman yelled as I sighed rubbing my temples.

“Answer me, Kara.”

“Do you see a ring on my finger..No you don’t because I am single. You made sure I became single when you stuck your dick in my sister and got her pregnant!” I screamed as Roman came even closer.

“Are you fucking Jey? It’s either yes or no Kara.”

“It’s none of your business, just give me the keys and leave Roman.”

“Just answer the question, Kara!” Roman screamed as I looked at him like he was crazy.

“Roman, I’mma need you to calm do-”

“I have tried and tried to get back together wit you and this is the thanks I get! You out here with him in MY HOUSE that I’M PAYIN’ for!” Roman ranted as something inside me flipped.

“It’s MY HOUSE and I don’t owe you shit! Get out!.....Now Roman!”

His arrogant stance as he refused to move pissed me off even more. He really thinks he can control me..

“I ain’t leavin’ till you answer me,” he said as I nodded in understanding.

“Ok, I see I’mma have to remind you with who you dealin’ wit,” I said leaving the room.

“Where you goin’ Kara, I aint done talkin’ to you,” Roman said walking behind me as I went into the kitchen.

“I told you to get out, but you trippin’. You trippin’ hard but let me help you out, let me get on your level,” I said reaching in the drawer pulling out my large chef’s knife as Roman growled in frustration, but backed up a little.

“Really, so you gon’ stab me Kara?” he asked as I pointed the knife in his direction.

“Roman I promise you, we gon’ be on an episode of The First 48 if you don’t leave the keys and get outta my damn house!” I screamed as he sighed, reaching in his pocket putting the keys on the counter.

“Kara, we need to talk about Je-”

“I don’t want to talk to you…I want you out!” I cried as Roman sighed, turning around to leave. A wave of relief washing over me as I heard the door close.

Trying to control my tears I tried to take a few deep breaths as I looked at the keys on the counter.

He really had keys made to my house and came in here trying to tell me what to do.

Another reason I didn’t want his money everyone was advising me to take. He thinks he owns me.

“Definitely getting the locks changed,” I whispered heading to lock the front door, stumbling back in shock seeing Roman with his hands up in the air being held at gunpoint by Tia.

“Oh, hey sis, come on in and join the party, I mean you are the guest of honor after all,” Tia said as Roman looked back at me. His remorseful gaze pierced my soul as she smiled, pointing the gun at me.

"Oh, my God."

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stardustlixie · 3 days

Text

cry me a river [h.hj x reader]

trope: enemies to lovers, uni au

word count: 13.6k

warnings: not much, arguing and bickering obvi, like one badly written breakdown, mentions of abuse but no serious descriptions, a little ateez slander i'm sorry someone had to be villain, that's it i think, lmk if i missed something

Some say a child’s mind is like a blank book, and what's written in it has lasting impact, but you'd say it's more like wet clay, writing on paper can be erased, or cut down, or covered, but what about fingerprints on clay, what about the shapes it was twisted into? those cannot be undone, not without breaking.

And you're a living example.

You were the 12 year old who was told love was something you'd have to earn. You were once the 12 year old crying when your father burst out telling you ‘second is just the first loser', you were the 12 year old shaking, lest the test paper with an 82 on it warrant physical pain.

You were the 13 year old who spent their birthday evaluating what made up a human's worth. Kindness, faith, and community were things that your mother would have said, but certificates, achievements and excellence would be your dad's answer. And for the next 8 years, it'd be yours too.

Young minds are beautiful places, but they trust to a fault, taking whatever is presented to them as absolute truth, often hurting themselves to a point where they find themselves unable to trust when older. And yet, painfully unable to shake the beliefs embedded in their psyche.

Your father isn't in your immediate vicinity to remind you that you're not lovable if you don't have something to offer and he'd be surprised if someone ever loved you for who you are. But his voice still lives in the back of your head, it's enough reminder of your uselessness without Hyunjin exiting.

Hwang Hyunjin, how you hate his guts and how your father would have loved him. All things good: funny, smart, popular, skilled, but most of all, the best at everything.

Always first, always a step ahead of you, prettier than you, smarter than you, more friendly than you.

More than you.

Being the best comes easy to him, hell, everything comes easy to him. Especially making you feel small. He sucks the oxygen out of any place you are in.

It seems like his only purpose in the universe is causing you problems, putting you down, destroying your self esteem, getting into the most sensitive corners of your mind and evoking intense emotions that you didn't even know you were capable of feeling.

He brings out the worst of you, makes your insecurities pop out like bright red on a white canvas.

Maybe it's you who's fragile. But not being affected is difficult when most of his attacks seem to mirror your father's statements.

You don't like Hwang Hyunjin. You know it, Felix knows it, Minho knows it, Hyunjin knows it, the entire campus knows it.

You don't remember when exactly Hyunjin got to this point, but it didn't start like this.

It seems like forever but it's been just about a year since you met him at that party. It's no question that he's good looking, but he had an allure to him that day. Though he was reserved at first, you both soon began to get along and your friendship began to turn into a playful rivalry.

The light hearted competition in everything was welcome at first, but there came a point where it wasn't light hearted anymore. And maybe one of you unknowingly crossed a line or two, but you were hurling sharp insults at the other in only a couple of months of meeting.

You were enemies before you were really friends.

But you blame him for that. You weren't at fault when you recieved your first semester grades and first thing he said was “Seems like second is what you'll always be.”

You weren't over reacting that day when he suggested getting drunk at a party was your only chance of getting laid because “Your personality will distract any sober person from your looks, no one would stay with you long enough to reach that level of trust.”

You weren't overreacting when you'd grabbed him by the collar and told him “Talk to me about trust when someone shows interest in something other than your reputation or face. Talk to me about human connection when you know what it fucking feels like.”

That was probably the harshest thing you'd said to him, and you knew that, because this was his fragile point. He brought it upon himself though. He wasn't seen around for a week after that. But then he was back, the same, with remarks on everything about you, not always prime hurtful, but always unwelcome. There was nothing you did that deterred him from being so disruptive. So you learnt to let it be.

But your friends didn't get the memo. They seem to get along with him really well. To this day they've been trying to get you two to ‘settle your differences’. You reckon they'll get tired one day.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

This was a bad idea. They should have given up after two of their previous attempts.

Closed rehearsal room and your friends who thought of inviting the bane of your existence to join for a dance practice session.

“Darling you're not even trying,” he condescends, “though I don't think it'd make much of a difference if you did.” There goes that smirk.

Felix pauses his movement momentarily to look at the situation, but Minho, ever the strict teacher, orders the three of you back into position. It's been an hour of trying to come up with a choreography for a song of his choosing and you'd be worried about his disappointment in the lack of progress if you didn't have a 5 '10 problem to deal with.

Whose idea was it to attempt getting you and Hyunjin to be friends?

You've been trying your best to focus on the instructions Minho gives but Hwang Hyunjin can be really, really annoying when he needs to be. And you're reaching the brink of your already limited patience.

“That's it, Min. I don't know which of you two decided this was a good idea but I really hope this guy isn't in this room the next time I am. I'm not doing this anymore.” You declare and walk to get your bag when, ofcourse, Hyunjin comments.

“Oh come on,” he fakes a pout, “you're disappointing your best friends. And me.” He says, like he matters.

“Well then,” you glare him down, done dealing with him for the rest of your life, “cry me a river and drown in it.”

He winces and puts a hand over his heart like he's hurt, before laughing, “As you wish darling.” You're very close to snapping but you just take a few steps towards him till his back hits the wall. “Shut up, will you?”

“Oo, how scary.” His hand reaches out but you smack it away before it does anything, your attention would be on his red ears if it wasn't on that stupid smirk.

And as you walk out you swear to yourself to wipe it off his face someday.

When Minho and Lix brought him along and introduced him to you, he was nice, polite, quiet almost. But now it seems like he is on a personal vendetta to get on your nerves.

His attacks go from just annoying to ignorant to personally hurtful when no one's looking. And you hate him for it.

Felix keeps attempting to get you and his bestfriend to not be at each other's throats all the time. You can't say it's working but you've gotten more used to having a constant source of irritation around.

Is there more layers to your hatred of him than just this? Yes. Would you ever admit that? Probably not.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

The next you see of him is in your dorm, on your dinner table. Actually your trio’s table but he doesn't belong here either way.

He lifts a hand and waves, mouthing a ‘hey there’, to which you flip him off. You reach the table and just stand beside your friends till they feel obligated to provide an explanation. Felix speaks up first, keeping his mug aside,“Hi yn!” but completely ignores your apprehension, prompts you to sit down instead, which you do with a huff.

You don't spare him another glance but you can feel his eyes focused on you.

“Answer a question l/n.” He seems to be studying your stance for some reason. “What even is the point of you?”

You take a deep breath. You don't wanna smite him in your own kitchen. “You ask me that like your own life has any meaning.”

“So you don't have an answer?”

“Do you get off of the annoyance you cause other people?”

“Probably. You're my favorite though.” He winks and you have to use the entirety of your self control to not break his jaw.

“You done?” Minho says to Hyunjin, though it feels as if he's addressing you both.

“There’s a group dance competition in late November,” he sees both you and Hyunjin open your mouths but he cuts it off early, “it outright says groups of four or more.”

“Then I'm out.”

“So am I.”

“You both calm your asses right now,” Minho gives a look that promptly gets you both settled in your seats, though he ignores Lix’s giggle, “the prize money for the winners is huge.”

“And I know you don't need the money like us,” he looks at Hyunjin, “but Hongjoong is bringing his team. I'm sure you'd like to participate.”

Hyunjin nods his participation but Minho isn't done. “If I see whatever problem you both have with each other becoming a problem to practice..” He concludes himself with silence and you swear Hyunjin gulps as you hold eye contact with Minho, as if challenging him to finish.

You've known him since his shy highschooler days, you're not about to be intimidated by this doe eyed example of a man.

“I think they'll manage!” Felix cheers Minho so he disrupts whatever staring contests you both are in. Conveniently dragging him out and inconveniently leaving you and Hyunjin together. This is the first time you're alone with him in a couple of months.

You get up as if he isn't sat across from you to make yourself some tea. It's almost done when he speaks.

“So…. truce?”

“I’m not acting friendly with you just because that rodent wants me to” you clear and set down a mug of tea on the table with some force, “don't make yourself comfortable.”

He looks nonplussed at the cup in front of him and looks back at you.

“You were staring at Lix’s tea like a dying man. Drink it. Or don't. Whatever.”

“Aww you do care about your arch-enemy after all!” He makes a face that makes you wanna hurt him.

You walk out.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

“But wouldn’t that seem like piracy in dance? A dancepiracy?” Felix exclaims, in his usual manner of what-even-is-his-vocabulary when Minho has all of you gathered in a practice room on campus.

“Lix, I'm sorry, what?”

Hyunjin enters, a bit late as he always is, “Hi-”

“Don't talk to me.” You cut him off and receive an eye roll before walking off to Minho and he beckons the two of them to do the same.

“Alright, let's decide a general vibe we're going for and then we'll pick a song based on that.”

“How about a contemporary mix?” Hyunjin says, and before Minho can say something, you do.

“You're so clueless it's almost cute. You're gonna fight Ateez, with contemporary?” You scoff like it's the most ridiculous thing you've heard and he gives you an offended kindergartener look.

“Alright break it up, we'll club every idea together and then eliminate.” Minho says, already getting tired of the setting. How will he do this for a few more weeks?

Almost half an hour passes before the animated discussion about concepts, styles and which one of those could be used by potential opponents ends and you all try to decide on a song.

“But if we do Charisma we're gonna run out of energy pretty quickly and the power of the song is gonna overrule the moves.” You say and for the first time, Hyunjin agrees, so Minho has to drop it.

“We should try k-music, how about Overdrive? The one by I.M.?” Hyunjin says and you almost pat him on the back.

“That, Hwang, is probably the only good idea you've ever had in your life. Let's do it.” If hyunjin replies, it is tuned out by the sounds of a happy Felix.

☆

“Hyunjin if your hand touches my face one more time I'm gonna rip it off!” Minho says, much to effect, Hyunjin shudders and his hand never reaches a foot’s radius of Minho again. He looks hilarious like that, cute even. Wait. No.

“Alright, that's probably all we can do today, I want all of you here tomorrow at 5pm. Don't be late, Hyunjin.”

“Hey, why are you pointing me out?” Hyunjin whines and you reply for Minho.

“Because you're the only dumbass who ever actually is late.”

“You say that like your middle name is punctual.” He retorts and he looks unreasonably attractive while doing so. You hate him for that.

“And? I've hardly been late to anything dickwad.”

“Oh well, I might be 15 minutes late to practice but I'm still better than you aren't I?”

“Oh fuck off,” you scoff. “You're about as better than me as I am better than Kirsten Dodgen.”

“Come on, instead of making excuses, how bout you dance better ln?” He scoffs.

“How bout you shove your attitude up your ass, Hwang? Bragging doesn't make you superior.” He bends down to your face in the most condescending way ever. “Having something to brag about is what makes me superior, darling.” You're done with him.

“You'd be so much more likable if you weren't an utter bitch.” You see his gaze drop and you find yourself scoffing. If he chooses to make a conversation escalate he should deal with what's to come.

Before he can say something in return though, Minho interrupts him and drags him out. You walk out before Felix gets the chance to lecture you.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

You're in your common room snacking as Minho and Lix argue over their makeup styles.

"Lemme do your makeup please?" Felix asks for the third time, giving Minho his best puppy eyes, and he is close to cracking, but he has a little bit of dignity left, so he turns to you for help. "Only if yn says so."

"I think lixie's style would look quite pretty on you Min." You munch on a chip, Felix jumping up with a 'yes!' while Minho just looks at you, betrayed. You give him a small smile as an apology.

You are lost in thoughts of how much you adore these two, heart warming at their silly dynamic when you hear a knock on the door.

“I'll check it.”

Out of all the people who could have possibly been at your door for any possible reason, it has to be Hwang Hyunjin.

“Why are you here?” He doesn't give you a direct answer, which isn’t like him, but just looks at his shoes.

“Can I talk to Lix-”

“He's not here.” You know he is, Hyunjin knows too, but you're not very keen on letting him in. But he doesn't try to force it, he looks almost desperate when he replies.

“Please just let me talk to him for a moment?” Hyunjin isn't usually polite to you, so you don't actively block him and step aside to let him enter.

Felix is doing Minho’s eyeshadow when he sees him, mutters out a greeting, and only senses something is off when he pays attention to Hyunjin’s face.

“What's up, hyun?”

“I- uh this is kinda weird but, there's a spare bed in your room right? Since your dorm is for four people.”

“Jinnie hyung what happened?”

“Well they're doing some emergency repair work in my room starting today evening and me and Jisung need a place to live for like a few days. Hotels are expensive.” Hyunjin looks the most embarrassed you've ever seen him, you don't know why but you definitely don't want him to stay.

“Jisung already found a place and uh, it's just for a few days-”

“It's ok hyung you can stay in mine.” Felix smiles at him and tells him to go get all the stuff he'll need for those few days.

As soon as he's out the door you start, “Felix, what the fuck? Did you just invite him to stay over?” He sighs and gives you a look.

“Look he's my best friend, he's not that bad, besides he's gonna be in my room and I'll keep him in check I promise. It'll be fine.”

You didn't think it'd be fine. With Hyunjin around it'd never be fine. But you can't think of any way out other than shutting yourself in your room. That works fine for a few hours, Hyunjin brings over his stuff and you can make out sounds of the three boys playing games and goofing around. But you are human. You're hungry.

You try your best to tiptoe to the kitchen, and you get in safely, but on your way back, you slam into Hyunjin. How fun.

“Come on, yn, at least walk properly.” He brushes himself off like he just touched dirt, and something about that gesture gets to you. In a moment he's shoved against the wall and his breath is knocked out of his lungs. You have him by the collar.

“What is your problem with me, huh?”, you interrogate, his ears are red but his face is unyielding, “why do you insist on being such an asshole to me? What have I ever done to you?” He gulps but his gaze on you doesn't falter. In another world you'd see what your hand around his neck would feel like.

“You're the one who likes acting superior, someone has to remind you you're not.” He says and some thread of resolve deep within you snaps.

“Look Hyunjin, I don't know what deep insecurity of yours makes you hostile towards me. But I'm tired of this,” you glare, “I'm tired of you.”

“You think you have the right to say that huh?”, he scoffs at you, “you were so nice at first why did you decide to hate me all of a sudden?” It's ridiculous how he almost looks hurt. It draws a dry laugh out of you.

“I'm sorry but I should be the one saying that. Because you were the one who decided to be offended in secret and suddenly start sounding like my-” you almost say it, the reason his words affect you so gravely.

“Like your what?”

“Nevermind.” You let go of his collar and step back, he's not worthy of hearing about your reasons. He stays in place, staring at the ground, when you're about to walk out he speaks.

“It's because I hate you.” He says, you turn to him as he continues. “Rephrase, I hate how nothing budges you. You make me think of everything in my life that's out of my control. You're this seemingly perfect human and nothing gets to you. I wanted to see how far you could be pushed before you break. But you didn't, you never do. And honestly, you make me insecure.” His gaze is fixed on the ground but the irony of the situation gets to you.

A laugh is drawn out of you at the prospect. “That's low, even by your standard, Hyunjin.”

“I wanted some confirmation that you're human, that you have insecurities and fears and triggers, but you never show them.”

“Haven't you pulled enough of my triggers already? Why’re you so hellbent on creating problems for me?”

“Because I don't wanna be less than you,” he says, and the irony makes you wanna strangle him. He mutters a curse. “I have a question. Why did you say that last year?” He asks, much to your confusion.

“Say what?” You ask, he inhales deeply and bites his lip, you're momentarily distracted despite the situation.

“That party at Seungmin’s after summer? I heard what you said.” He looks almost vulnerable but you still don't know what he's talking about so he continues.

“You were talking to someone that day, I heard my name so I was curious, you said I remind you of all the bad things in your life. That you hated me. And you'd been acting so harsh with me that week.”

“What?”, it takes you a moment to register what he's talking about, “oh. That.”

“Forget it, it wasn't about you.” You say and he smiles at the ground, “So you do hate me.”

“No, it's not that-”

“Then what is it?”

“I-, it's my dad. I don't wanna talk about it in detail but you're everything he's ever wanted of me, you remind me of him and you talk the same way. That summer was when I told him I'm not taking his shit anymore. I was telling Minho about it.” Hyunjin looks stunned at the confession.

“I don't hate you, you know? You just seem like someone too good to be a friend of mine.” He says and you laugh.

“You're so dumb Hwang Hyunjin. I don't forgive you but for the sake of our friends,” you look up at him and he's never looked so expectant, “truce?” His expression changes and you can sense the teasing coming your way.

“Did you just say that? You do like me that much huh?” You slap his arm.

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

“Oh, by the way, Lix is playing Moana in a few minutes, he said it's one of your faves, go sit with them, he'll like it. I'll fetch snacks like he told me to.”

You end up watching the movie with them, your snacks are attacked, you discover that Hyunjin does have a sense of humor.

The next day is smoother, you didn't expect Hyunjin to stop being a loudmouth, and he doesn't, but it's more bearable than before, it's not quite friendly yet, you both need time to work to that level after the spontaneous truce, but it's bearable.

A group study in the library that all four of you agreed to just turned into a heated debate about literature and he may beat you in a dance competition but you'd be damned if he ever beats you in a debate.

“I may have mistaken the quote for a Khalil Gibran one because it was similar but you quoted Oscar Wilde in a hetero scenario. Come on. You didn't even know what place Odesseus ruled or why Troy happened.” You're in disbelief.

“Ok fine. You got me. I know nothing about literature, especially Greek. Happy?” He admits defeat and you've never felt better.

“Oh, very happy.” You're sure the grin on your face is annoying the hell out of him.

You all get home groaning about not wanting to work to make dinner. One thing none of you expected though, is that all of you will miss the snowstorm alert and the notice of classes being canceled.

“GUYS WE'RE FUCKED!” Felix shouts from the couch where he and Hyunjin are playing a game as you and Minho cook, everyone gathers around the boy as he reads out the alert emailed to all students. Minho groans, you sigh and Felix sits dejected.

“Why are you all so down? It's just a snowstorm.” Hyunjin says and Felix fills him in about the deteriorated condition of the heater and the potential threat of a power cut. Also the inevitable delay that will happen to his dorm’s repair work.

The dinner is silent not just because of the news but because Felix and Minho know tomorrow is your birthday.

Felix and Hyunjin are just done doing the dishes when the younger perks up, “I know what to do! WE'LL MAKE A WARM PILLOW FORT IN ONE OF THE ROOMS!”

“Lix I don't think that's a good idea.” You're not very excited to do this with Hyunjin around but Minho makes it worse.

“See that makes sense, if all of us sleep in one room it'd be warmer.” You know there's no going back from that so you assist in moving mattresses and blankets to make the nest looking thing ‘for the slumber party’ as Felix says.

Someone's (yours) laptop is propped up on a piece of furniture and a Disney movie, this time of Hyunjin's choosing, is played.

Looking at it positively, there's snacks, you're warm, everyone is having fun while there's a snowstorm outside, you have no classes for two days. It's not that bad.

No one knows who falls asleep first, but there's no power when you wake up way too early, you wish yourself happy birthday and get up for tea when you're ambushed. Minho seats you back down as he and Felix softly sing the Happy Birthday song in the dark, Hyunjin shifts and wakes up, confused very much at the strange spectacle.

Phone flashlights are turned on when a Felix-made box of brownies is passed to you, Minho lights a mini candle that you blow out and make a wish.

“You'll have to wait a little longer for your gifts, though.” Minho says as he gives you a hug.

The day starts early and the power comes back on in a few hours as the storm calms down. You're told to dress up for the gift giving and Hyunjin is made cameraman.

Felix gives you a novel you've been wanting for a while along with a beautiful necklace and Minho gets you perfume and calligraphy pens. Hyunjin apologizes for not knowing it's your birthday but you tell him you don't mind.

You're not allowed to help when Minho dictates Felix and Hyunjin as they make some of your favorite food. The spectacle is amusing as can be, Hyunjin is absolutely clueless about cooking and looks lost while Felix runs about trying to manage his tasks as Minho is busy at the stove. The meal is one of the best you've had in a while.

This is how you like your birthdays, homely, cozy and a little bit silly.

You didn't expect even a birthday wish from Hyunjin so it's certainly a surprise when he finds you later in the evening and hands you a small painting of a chrysanthemum.

“I don't know what to give you so I made a painting of your birth flower, but I know you like blue so I made it blue.”

“I don't- I didn't know you paint so well Hyunjin, this- it's lovely, you didn't have to. Thank you so much.” He just gives you a small smile, which you return.

The flower is beautiful and you notice it's the exact shade of blue as your outfit. You'll keep the painting safe.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

There's a couple of weeks left for the competition but your team is making great progress, you're all skilled, Minho is a great mentor and you find that Hyunjin's choreography style is quite similar to yours.

Speaking of Hyunjin, you've been getting along with him better. His jokes aren't as much attacks as they are annoying, he's dramatic and he's stupid but he's also quite thoughtful. Maybe he isn't all that bad.

Hyunjin makes a very unfunny joke and you lightly punch him in the ribs, looking up to find Minho giving you a suspicious look. “What?” He doesn't reply.

When you're all packing up to leave practice when Hyunjin speaks.

“I think we're friends now.” His tone is of false disbelief, he almost looks cute with that exasperated expression.

“God don't say that. I still wanna kill you every time I see you.” You say, but you're laughing.

You wanna kill him, but you also kind of wanna kiss him.

Wait. No.

He's invited over to the dorm today despite his dorm having been fixed long ago. He's bringing Jisung with him, Felix and Jisung are already friends and Minho has taken a unique liking to the boy.

The offer is of studying together and then later hanging with snacks to find an excuse to ditch a party none of you wanna go to.

“I call dibs on the big chair!” Jisung yells and Felix claims the next best spot in his own room. Hyunjin settles on the floor because you claim Lix's bed before him and Minho claims another place.

You throw a folded blanket at him, “Cushion your ass Hwang,” you smirk, “if you have any that is.” Jisung snorts in the corner. “Don't insult the man’s cake like that, yn!”

A few hours pass with Jisung and Felix chatting between their work and Minho giving them endearing looks, you and Hyunjin just work but you can't help but notice how his eyes flicker to you every other minute.

You find yourself staring at his lips as his tongue reaches out to wet them, you involuntary mimic his action. He's beautiful, undeniably, but he looks so soft in his pastel blue sweater that you almost forget you used to hate him. You wonder what his hugs feel like.

Wait. No. No, you don't.

You run to your room to fetch your strawberry lipbalm.

“Hyunjin put your laptop down for a sec,” he throws you a questioning glance but complies, the other three are too busy to notice what you're doing, the pad of your ring finger swipes the tinted product across his slightly chapped lips, “There.”

You don't realize what you've until he gulps, “Shit, I'm sorry, I should've asked-”

“Thanks.” He looks a little red and you figure it's the embarrassment of it all.

☆

You run across Hyunjin again, as he's returning from the kitchen and you're heading there, you walk towards him, not knowing what you're gonna say when the glossy red tint on his lips is so, so enticing. He doesn't protest when your hand is on his face, examining it.

“The shade suits you.” His breath is uneven and he gulps, you notice his eyes darting down to the same shade on your lips. You don't know why you do it, or how you'll explain it.

But you kiss him, his lips are every bit as soft as you imagined them to be everytime he bit them. You think you've fucked everything up until he kisses back uncertainly.

You part and your eyes drop down, so does the hand that was previously on his face.

“I-”, you curse your words for failing you at that moment and the thousand jumbled thoughts in your head that make it difficult to think.

“This never happened.” You say, finally, as you step back.

“Consider it forgotten.” He confirms.

Him and Jisung leave after almost an hour, you won't be able to sleep today.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

You said ‘this never happened’, you don't have any explanation of why it proceeded to happen many times afterwards. You would talk about it if only you understood what you're feeling, but you don't. And it's not messing anything up and none of you is ready to give the other an explanation.

There's two days left in the competition, and the preparation is finally done. All of you are satisfied with the final choreography and the decided outfits. Maybe you're a tad bit too interested in the pictures Hyunjin shows of him in his outfit.

Minho insisted for a last run with counts before the hour ended. You look at Hyunjin’s form as he dances, he has complete control over what beats he does and doesn't hit, he looks the best here, you think, in his element. Besides there's certain thoughts you have about his tank top and sweaty body, thoughts that you don't wanna acknowledge. The song ends and Hyunjin stops moving, much to your disappointment.

You look straight at him as you play 'Industry baby' and raise an eyebrow at him in challenge. “You first.” He accepts. The things you do to get Hwang Hyunjin dancing again.

Minho and Felix both cheer on as the dance battle continues. You beat Yunho on this song and both of them know it. You see Hyunjin's eyes widen when you hit a beat in the chorus with your entire body. He whistles and you take that as an ego boost. The battle was in your favor.

“Admit I'm better than you,” you say to him, he laughs in response, but not in the mocking way you're familiar with.

“It'd be a cold day in whatever hell you came from before I do that.” He raises a brow at you though he's smiling.

“Gotta tell my dad to turn the AC down.” You deadpan and the three boys snort.

“Are your trauma jokes always necessary?”

“No but they're funny so..”

☆

You're at Hyunjin and Han’s dorm after practice and for a godforsaken reason, Minho and Felix are both somewhere else while you sit awkwardly in Hyunjin's desk chair with your drink. He's still in the shower, you were all previously in this room but the three decided to leave you alone with Hyunjin. They're doing that a lot these days. Hyunjin's blow dryer is loud.

He steps out and you almost choke on your boba. He's shirtless. You look in the opposite direction as fast as you can.

“Don't worry, darling, you can look. I know I'm irresistible.”

“Shut up before I throw my boba at you.” but you look anyway, he somehow looks better than what you'd imagined was under his tank top.

This time you let your eyes trail over him, from collarbones to the slightly visible v-line above his sweatpants, just to see who looks away first. He feels your vision on him like it's cold winter air, but doesn't look away.

You take that as a challenge, you put your drink away and walk to him. He doesn't look away. Your hand finds his waist, he inhales sharply and you pull him to you. Your other hand finds his nape when there's barely any distance left between you. He still doesn't give up.

“It’s almost like you want me to do something,” you let your eyes run shamelessly across his skin, “tell me to stop.” He doesn't, so you kiss him. And he kisses back, this time with certainty. You let the feeling soak into you for a moment. It's him who takes it further, and you retaliate, you bite his lower lip right when you give his hair a little tug and he gasps into your mouth, his hands roam your body and you let them.

You push him back until his knees hit his bed and he lets himself fall, his hands find your waist again as soon as you're straddling him, this time your hand is on his neck instead of his hair, you let him kiss you once more before your lips are attached to his jawline, then down to his collarbone, your teeth nip at his skin and your hand presses at the sides of his neck experimentally, his arms tighten around you and he moans. You peel yourself away from him to look at his face, the redness from his face has bled down his neck to half his chest. Cute.

“You're.. extremely red.” You say.

“Shut up.”

“Like.. cherry red.” You tease.

“Go to hell.” You laugh but gasp when he pulls you down to lay over him and engulfs you in a sort of bear hug. It feels surprisingly nice.

“I can't go back home right now but your company is a better substitute for hell don't you think?” He pushes you off of him at that.

“Hey I was kidding-”

There's a knock on the door and Hyunjin runs for his shirt and you run to fix your hair and grab your drink.

“What’re you guys doing in there with the door closed?” It's Han. You'd strangle him if he wasn't Minho's favorite.

“Mind your own Jisung, I just got out of the shower!” Hyunjin yells, “And y'all were the ones who left me alone here what the fuck Han?” You add.

There's things one only notices when they're very, very close to someone. Hyunjin has a faint mole under his left eye.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

It's competition day and you have a problem. In the heat of the moment, you'd forgotten how low cut his stage outfit was. Now you're trying not to look as Jisung and Felix interrogate Hyunjin about where he got the hickeys from. He doesn't give anything away, thankfully, you're not ready to explain something you're not even sure about, but Minho has been awfully quiet and you think he's suspecting something.

All thoughts leave your head as you hear the host of the evening start introducing the event, the order of performances is announced and Ateez is called on first, everyone expects them to win. There's a few more teams before you and your team is close to the last, you count a few possible opponents who are good competition, like the Soobin and Yeji’s teams, you know most of the participants from Uni.

Watching others perform, you can feel the familiar pre performance adrenaline taking over. You love it. This rush is part of the reason you do dance competitively.

Hyunjin comes up to you and gives your hand a little squeeze, “let's kill this yeah?” “Oh we absolutely will.”

And you do. The cheers get louder as the performance progresses and choosing a song this heavy on beats may have cost all of you your lungs during practice, but you move like you know each other's bodies and Ateez doesn't look so smug anymore. The hyped crowd is all so worth it.

As Felix predicted, the bridge is the part which gets the loudest cheers.

There's only two performances after yours and the results come in soon after. The host thanks the sponsors and announces the positions bottom to top. Yeji’s teams is runner up.

Soobin’s team is third. The boys hug each other before they run to collect their prize, their friends cheer for them. But your heart starts beating violently soon afterwards, you're standing behind MinLix, so Hyunjin takes your hand, he's jittery so you let him.

Ateez, Hongjoong’s team, is second. You heave a sigh of relief and Hyunjin relaxes, though he doesn't let go of your hand. Ateez boys look upset and you suppress the urge to smile.

Your team is announced first place and the four of you jump in joy and you hear Jisung screaming from the audience.

☆

You're all dizzy with laughter when Jisung excuses himself to go to the bathroom and MinLix leave to find a friend. Why do they keep doing that?

Ateez takes this as an appropriate time to approach you two, though they don't even acknowledge your presence. Yunho keeps looking the opposite way, he always does that around you since he was beaten in the dance battle.

“You won't always keep winning Hwang.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes at him but looks uncomfortable, you identify this boy as Wooyoung. A more slender boy? person? human? approaches next with shocked eyes.

“Is that a hickey, Jinnie?” Though he uses a nickname, it's clear that he means nothing good when he pokes Hyunjin's collarbone with his finger. Hyunjin mumbles a ‘shut up’ but they ignore him. Hyunjin looks like he'd rather be anywhere than here. The next one to say something is Hongjoong, you've seen him around. He's no good.

“Looks like the pretty boy has finally found himself a girlfriend. Or did you find a sugar daddy, Hyunjin? Where'd you get the hickey from?” The whole group snickers behind him and Hyunjin is clenching his jaw. He looks angry and you decide to do something.

“Well he got it from me. You got a problem with that?” You raise a brow at the man, he's barely taller than you.

“Oh come on, l/n. Everyone knows you hate him. Why defend him just because he's on your team?” You take a step further, and look directly at him.

“Are you calling me a liar, Kim Hongjoong?” He smirks back at you and you never thought any smirk except Hyunjin's could ever make you this angry, but you wanna punch him in the face right here.

“No, l/n. I'm just saying that's a little difficult to believe considering you were at each other's throats not long ago. If you want us to believe, why don't you give us some proof, eh?” He sneers, clearly expecting you to falter and deny the whole thing.

You laugh at his face, “You want proof huh? Well, how about this?” You turn and kiss Hyunjin, with your arms around his shoulders and his around your torso. Deep enough to make them uncomfortable.

“Alright we get the point. Enough. You're in public, l/n.” When you part, Hyunjin smiles at them in a way you know will piss them off. Because it did the same to you not long ago.

“Well you're the one who wanted proof Kim. Now fuck right off. If I see you bothering my arch enemy again, you won't be allowed into the art history class anymore. Mark my words.”

You drag Hyunjin to a quiet corner, away from the crowd and shoot a text to the other boys telling them to meet you both at Hyunjin's dorm.

You check up on the boy and he looks miserable. “Hey. You fine? I'm sorry I should have let you deal with it without interfering.” You apologize but he shakes his head.

“No, that was really funny, I'm sure it pissed them off, just- I'm sorry you had to witness that.” He looks dejected and you can't find it even in the cruelest parts of you to not help him.

“Hey. Listen. I don't care what they think of themselves but they don't deserve to make you feel bad about anything. And I don't think any less of you because they decide to be assholes, if anything I respect you more now.” He gives you a small nod and a smile, this time, an actual, genuine smile.

“Would mind if I just..” he wraps his arms around you and his head comes to rest on your shoulder, “stay like this for a bit?” You hug him back and nothing needs to be said for a while. Hyunjin's hugs do feel nice.

When you bring him back to his dorm, the joke on the tip of Jisung’s tongue doesn't get the chance to escape. He looks concerned for Hyunjin, that's the first time you've seen the boy serious. They exchange glances and it's like he just knows what happened.

The evening is a quiet sort of celebratory, and you find yourself trying to avoid Hyunjin as much as possible. How are you going to explain anything you're feeling to him when you can't even explain it to yourself? Minho and Jisung make everyone ramen and a sleepover ensues. You're all in Jisung’s room, him and Minho in the same bed, you, Felix and Hyunjin on the floor. Why Hyunjin's not in his own bed is weird to you. Maybe sleepover spirit.

When you wake up to get water you find Hyunjin isn't in his place anymore. He isn't in the kitchen either. You're avoiding him but you don't wanna be the prime suspect if he's found dead.

You roam around and find him his room, sketching in the faint light of his night light like the lunatic he is, you smack the back of his head, you forgot how dramatic he can be, and you have to cover his mouth so he doesn't scream. “Shut up, you idiot. It's me,” he licks your hand, “eww. Filthy.” You wipe the hand on his shoulder.

“You literally made out with me in public, how's that filthy?” You notice what he's wearing, a white shirt, with the first two buttons undone. You smack him again.

“You idiotic dunce! Do you wanna catch a fucking cold it's literally late November!” He winces and reaches for the sweater beside him, you try to see what he's sketching but he hides it with almost superhuman speed. “Chill Hyunjin, I don't wanna spy on you.”

“Why are you awake?” He asks.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.”

“Samesies. Though unlike you, I don't voluntarily ruin my eyesight when I wake up a bit too early.” You gesture to the lack of light and he sighs.

“What do you do then?” The question catches you off-guard, it sounds genuine and for some reason you answer it genuinely.

“I write poems. In light.”

“Poems about what?”

“That's none of your business.” Your voice suddenly sounds cold and you curse yourself for turning out so hostile with your reply.

“Sorry. I won't intrude-”

“No. I- I don't like sharing it. I don't like sharing at all actually.”

“I get that. There's parts of me I don't like sharing either. Don't feel bad about it.”

“Why didn't I ever notice how thoughtful you are?”

“Maybe cuz you never tried to.” He presses his lips together and you suddenly feel bad about yourself.

“Hey,” he says, “I wanna say sorry. I know how much of an asshole I've been to you. It doesn't deserve much forgiveness but it's bothering me a lot. So I say it again: I'm sorry for everything I've said and done.”

You search your brain for any reasons to not forgive him. But with the way he's been the last month, you don't find any. “I forgive you.” You say, and it's like some invisible tension is released from his body. He smiles at you. “Thank you.”

“Hyunjin?”

“Yes?”

“Let's get to know each other more.”

“How?”

“I'll ask a question, we both answer it, then you ask one.” He nods, so you ask.

“What's something you'd do if money wasn't a factor? I'd be a philosopher or a writer.”

“I'd be an artist or a dancer maybe. If you could live in one fictional universe, which one would it be? I'd love to be in the Harry Potter universe but the author’s racist.”

“I think I'd like to live in either Dan Brown's or Rick Riordan’s books.”

“What's something you wish more people in the world understood?”

That night you feel closer to him than you've ever been. You discover Hyunjin is an incredibly sentimental person, he also is a romantic, he's an only child, his parents are divorced, he has a dog back at home. So many things you never knew about him. He's flawed, you're flawed, but he’s not a bad human being. You hope you aren't one either.

Ofcourse him being a thoughtful person doesn't rule out the annoying ass he is.

You both don't go to sleep again, you chat while he continues his drawing and you scroll through your notes app editing your writings. You find yourself enjoying his company. Two months ago, if someone told you you'd find peace around him, you would have laughed.

☆

The five of you seem to stay together almost all the time now that Jisung is also a part of the group. The text comes when you're all out eating a few days later. Minho is offended when you forget to answer his question in favor of staring at your phone. When he sees your expression is when he realizes something's off.

“What's wrong?” He says, and everyone’s eyes are on you.

“He wants to meet me. Tomorrow. He's coming here.” Minho doesn't need another word to understand what you're talking about, but the rest of the boys stay confused. Yet no one questions why you excuse yourself in the middle of the meal to go back home.

Minho doesn't disturb you when you lock yourself in the room you both share, choosing to sleep in Felix’s room instead. He knows you'll need to deal with your father alone. Even if the man refuses to let you be when you've practically abandoned him.

The next day you leave the house after they're both gone for their last classes. You don't expect the meeting with your father to be anything good, but you know that he'll hunt you down to your dorm or lectures if you don't go where he wants you.

He never is genuinely happy to see you, you learnt to tell his expressions apart when you were 8, and his smile right now is definitely a fake. He orders a coffee for himself and you politely deny his offer to get you one as well.

He says the same thing he does every time you meet him, trying to convince you of God knows what. You're tired of having this same conversation over and over again.

“Don't do this to me. You're my child.”

“I’m not just your child, I'm a person. You've done enough damage. Stay away from me.”

“But how can you leave me alone? I'm getting older and I have no one to rely on-”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I'm sorry! Ok? But you don't respect me, can't I even want respect and company from my child?” The statement makes you wanna punch him but you just laugh.

“Don't start talking about respect. Respect is earned, and you did nothing to earn it. And if you couldn't give me the love and support you should have given your child, at least give me the privacy and independence every human deserves.”

“But-”

“I told you that day. I don't know you anymore. It'd be wise of you to stay away from me if you don't want the police called on you.”

He tries to say more but you just walk out of the cafe and back to your dorm. You know he won't follow you. He's too egoistic for that.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

Minho hasn't slept in his own bed for two days, and you haven't seen sunlight in quite a while. The stream of texts your father sent you after your meeting, accusing you of being an ungrateful offspring and a useless human were much more depressing than the real conversation, the one you didn't allow to happen. Finally blocking him felt good nonetheless. You're tired of the responsibility of interacting with him.

You get out of bed and your entire body feels stiff, and your eyes are glitching. Maybe keeping the blinds down for two whole days wasn't a good idea. And you smell. But you still can't find the willpower to shower.

There's a knock on your door. Minho.

“Yn? You there? I need something from my closet.” You open the door for him and his demeanor softens at your state. He knows you since highschool, he's the only one who knows what's going on and the extent to which it matters.

“Hey. Why don't you go shower, hm? The boys are all outside, they're concerned cuz they haven't seen you for some time but I'll tell them not to worry, ok?” You probably should shower. You nod at him and step out to go to the bathroom.

Your body feels a lot better afterwards, but the world still sort of feels colorless, you decide to go get some food other than the snacks you lived on for two days. Maybe some actual food will make you feel better. There's a sticky note from Minho addressed to you on the microwave.

‘your meal inside :) finish it all’

You smile. He never stops taking care of all of you, that's how he shows you love.

The meal makes you feel a little alive, but the color in your world is still absent.

The boys ask you if you're ok on you way back to your room, you give them a small smile and true to Minho's words, none of them tries to dig you for information. You do notice the unexpected concern on Hyunjin's face. Weird.

Maybe you should go to your classes tomorrow.

☆

The crowd of the noon classes will never be something you like, but at least your first class is something you like and share with Hyunjin and Felix. You zone out somewhere in the middle of the lecture and your brain, your actual enemy, decides to give you thoughts about your upbringing. No matter how hard you try to focus on something else, your mind gets stuck on how unfair your father always was to you. How he deserves to die alone. How you don't feel sorry for saying that. Your lungs have been restricted since that day, but it's becoming more difficult for you to breathe every minute. You need to get out of here. You really need to get out of the crowd before you start hyperventilating.

Hyunjin saw you hurriedly ask the professor to excuse you, he asked the professor to let him go after you, and seeing how you looked, the professor let him.

You haven't had a meltdown in a long time and your lungs burn as your breathing becomes labored, you find a quiet corridor to hide from the footsteps behind you.

Your legs go weak and the weight of the ceiling doubles and presses down on your head. You drop to your knees.

“Yn!” His hand is on your shoulder and you swat it away before you can even comprehend it. Things are too fast, way too fast for your brain to help.

“Get away!” You can't have him here right now, not when you're vulnerable and he has the power to rip you apart. Your brain doesn't trust him with this.

“Let me help-”

“I don't need help! Es- Especially from you.” You never see the hurt that flashes in his eyes because something that feels like a strong blow to your chest knocks the air out of your lungs. You clutch your top, even the fabric feeling like a restriction on breathing.

You hear him mumble a ‘fuck it' before he knnels down beside you and you're pressed to his chest in a protective hug. Your mental barrier collapses.

Tears escape you like a dam overflowing, your brain not functional enough to form a coherent sentence. Years of bottled up hurt, the emotionally overwhelming events of the last few days and the unpleasant reminders of everything you lack flow out in ugly sobs as Hyunjin runs a comforting hand across your back. No questions asked. You surprise yourself with how broken your crying sounds.

Your breathing is choked and painful, quite like your life in your childhood home. But there was no one to help you calm down there, no one telling you ‘its okay, you're safe, try to follow my breathing hm?’

You follow his instructions the best you can, calming down enough for some air to flow into your lungs. He makes you drink water and runs to the lecture hall to fetch both of your backpacks. He takes you back to your dorm and gets you a snack without asking a single question. He deems your own room too depressing for you to stay in so he brings you to the kitchen. He observes you carefully until he's sure you're fine.

“I know you don't trust me to help you,” he sighs and regret washes over you like a wave, “forget about the rest of your classes today, get some rest. I'll go back now-” He reaches for his backpack when you speak up.

“Hyunjin- wait.” He says nothing, but just looks at you, wanting you to continue.

“Stay,” you say, your eyes still burn from the crying and you don't want to feel alone anymore, “please.”

He sighs and sets the backpack down.

“I don't want you to tell me everything, but I can't help if I have no idea what's wrong.”

He lets you reach out to hug him, you ignore all the confusing feelings in the back of your head.

“I'm sorry. Even talking about it reminds me of the details. And that usually ends up worse than what happened a few minutes ago.”

“Mhm.” His hand pats down your messed up hair and you don't remember a touch ever being this comforting.

“It's my dad. I met him a couple days ago, he tried to get me to stay around because apparently he doesn't wanna die alone. But I refused and walked out. He resorted to his old behavior and flooded my texts with all the things he always keeps saying about me. About how I'm useless, no good at anything I do, disrespectful and not worthy of any love and things like that. It got to me more than it should have, but hey, I finally blocked him.”

“I'm proud of you for doing that. And let me tell you something. You're incredibly good at everything you do. You're so smart, and such a good dancer. I was so jealous of you when I first met you.” He says, and you believe him despite your brain saying he's lying to you.

“Your friends all love you so much. Would you really let a man with no company tell you whether you deserve love or not?”

“But I haven't earned it. I've done nothing to deserve that love.” He makes a disbelieving sound at the statement.

“Love isn't something you have to earn, it's something that is given out of will. And if someone gives you their love without you asking for it. Then you certainly deserve it. Whoever tries to tell you otherwise is lying to you, ok? It took me a while to understand this but trust me. It's the truth.” You nod into his shoulder before you break the hug to look at him.

“Since when do you care about me, huh?” You joke, not even expecting an answer but he gives you one.

“Since when? I don't know. All I know is I care about you a lot. I don't like seeing you hurt. Which, again, makes me feel guilty as fuck for acting like I did to you. I don't know why I was so selfis-”

“Shh, it's in the past now, we're even. I don't mind having you around now.”

“Is that you being soft for me darling?” There goes his teasing, this warrants the punch in the rib you give him. He grunts in response but laughs anyway.

“Would you find it funny if I ask you for cuddles right now?” You say, and he looks surprised, but happy nonetheless.

“I'd find it adorable.” You drag him to your bed.

“We need to make your room look less depressing after this okay?” He says and you nod before you let yourself fall on top of him, getting an ‘oof’ in reply before he arms come up to hold you.

You feel puzzled about this whole situation with him and matter how much you like it, you need to clarify it.

“Hey, Hyunjin?” He hums.

“This, whatever it is, do you want it? Should we like, talk about it?” He doesn't get angry like you expected him to, but replies calmly.

“I like whatever it is. If you wanna talk about it, we should. I'm not sure I even have a name for it though.”

“I don't have one either. I don't really understand feelings. But I don't want this to stop. Do you?”

“No. No I don't.”

“Minho knows something's up with us.”

“I know, I've seen him looking at us suspiciously, though I don't think he hates it though.”

“He's my insurance. Just know he'll murder if you decide to become a bitch to me again.”

“I won't. Promise.”

☆

You're both up before the other occupants of your dorm come back with Jisung inevitably tagging along. When Minho comes back the first thing he does is check up on you. You tell him about the little breakdown and Hyunjin helping you. He stares at Hyunjin for a good minute as if gauging him for signs of danger but then shrugs and thanks him.

You explain your complicated relationship with your father in minimal detail to the other two boys just so they don't worry too much in uncertainty. It is decided that everyone will go out together to eat and celebrate the upcoming winter break.

You don't go home for winter break, but Felix and Minho do, so does Jisung, so it's just you and Hyunjin together for Christmas. You don't hate the prospect.

Two days after the three boys are gone you two decide it's better staying in one place than continuously having to meet each other to prepare for the celebration. You don't hate this either.

Hyunjin is fun to be around, he's hilarious on top of being beautiful, you're almost sure you have feelings for him, feelings of what sort and how deep, that you don't know. Maybe you'll add one more poem about it to the collection that has been growing everyday.

You learn he's much more affectionate than you thought he'd be, he's almost always close to you. He isn't clingy per se, but he's always close. Like right now.

You're trying one of Minho’s recipes and he has got you convinced there's flour on your face, though you're sure you've added more flour to your face in your attempts to remove the original bit because he's laughing like you're a clown.

“Hyunjin if you're not helping I'm going to the bathroom to wash it off-”

“Wait.” He cups your face and swipes his thumb at your jaw to get the first bit off, he's closer than he needs to be, though you don't think you care. The second bit of flour is on your forehead apparently, that's where his hand is even though his eyes are on your lips. You're almost certain he wants to kiss you. So you do the next reasonable thing.

Put flour on his nose and run.

“Hey! Not fair!” He tries to catch you but fails, and like you're toddlers, a game of chase starts.

“Come back here!” He laughs and you return it.

“Nope. Not coming back there.” You run up to Lix's room.

“Alright have it your way.” He grabs a pillow and before you can tell him no, you're in the middle of a pillow fight. He tries to hit you on the head but misses, and your pillow lands square in his face. He recovers soon after though, and somehow manages to snatch away your pillow and pin you down on the bed.

You're both dizzy with laughter. “All I wanted was a kiss! The betrayal! I want payback!” He complains like the dramatic toddler he is. “Well deal with it Hwang. You're not getting any kisses on Lix’s bed, have some shame.” You push him off in a moment of weakness and take off again.

“NOT AGAIN!”

“The stuff in the oven will burn dumbass!”

The dinner is made and eaten without incident, thankfully. You make Hyunjin sleep in Felix's room, being pretty doesn't give him an automatic ticket to yours, you like occupying all the space by yourself.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

You're cold. Too cold. It's almost as if the coldness has seeped into your bones. With every moment the pressure on your body increases, you feel like you're drowning, when your eyes open all you see is a distorted sheet of blue. You are drowning. Your body is slowly sinking deeper. The pressure is pressing down on your brain and your ribs, you call for help but your words aren't heard, not even by you. You scream but no sound escapes your watery prison, you strain your throat with how hard you're trying to make a sound, to scream for help-

You wake hyperventilating, like you always do from this same nightmare. It takes you a good minute to catch your breath.

The next thing you do is calculate how much self respect you can sacrifice from your dwindling resources to fall asleep again. Because you certainly won't be able to sleep alone for the rest of the night.

His door’s open. Maybe disturbing him a little wouldn't hurt? Well that would be the case if he were sleeping.

“Are you fucking nocturnal?” You say, and you watch him jump and the phone fall from his hand.

“God who even lurks in the dark like that? How do you not make a sound? Are you a vampire?”

“I dunno. Instincts. Not a vampire though, sadly. Why’re you up?”

“Can't sleep. You?”

“Stupid dream.” You seat yourself beside him. You both seem to have something against sleeping properly.

“Wanna talk about it?” He's put his phone down, you notice.

“Only if you tell me why you never sleep.” He contemplates for a moment then shrugs.

“No details but nights never meant good things for me growing up. I'm a light sleeper and on the bad days even footsteps wake me up. Sometimes I can't sleep at all.” He shrugs.

“I can sleep most nights, but I have this recurring dream where I'm drowning for some reason. I can't sleep after waking up from that one. Why are nights bad for you? Memories?”

“Yeah. I don't like talking about it.”

“You wanna try going back to sleep or you wanna do something else?” You ask.

“I’d go back to sleep but it seems impossible now.” You don't remember ever relating to him as much as you do right now.

“C'mere.” You gesture to the space beside you, to your surprise he doesn't protest. “Talk to me about anything until it's morning or one of us starts feeling sleepy.” And he does. Your discussion goes from fiction to emotions to the way people behave and then back to anime then to art to poetry and then what not. But when you wake up, there's so much light in the room that you're almost sure it's noon. And you can't move.

“Hyunjin. Wake up.” He doesn't. “Hyunjin! You stupid ferret, get off me.” He budges a little at that. So much for claiming to be a light sleeper huh? You need to push him off of you before you can get up and check the time.

11:40 am. Wow. That's a solid 7 hours of sleep.

You get up to clean up and find something to eat. By the time you shower and dig into your bowl of cereal, Hyunjin finds his way to the kitchen with a puffy face. Adorable.

“Good Morning, ferret. Sleep well?” You joke.

“Very well actually, why're you eating cereal…. sitting on the table?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, “seemed fun.”

You're never witnessed an actually groggy Hyunjin before this and it's hilarious. He's dazed and almost hit his head on the counter. Thrice. It's almost surprising that he manages to get himself water without breaking anything.

“You left me alone.” He complains when you're done washing your cereal bowl.

“Well I'm sorry but I had to. I was hungry.”

“No fair.” In a few seconds you discover handling the weight of a tall guy is quite a task. Is it a hug or are you being crushed to death? You're not sure. “Ok I'm sorry let me breathe please!”

You can finally breathe when he lets go of you, “Now go shower. Your breath’s nasty.” He doesn't reply but just messes up your hair before running off.

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

You should have known. Maybe you can't let good things happen to yourself without attempting to destroy them.

“You're not the brightest outside class, are you Hwang?” You're watching him struggle with figuring out what spice is what.

“You only say that cuz you're jealous of my class smarts.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Oh please, you were behind me by a whole grade in two classes last semester.”

“That wasn't my 100%, I had stuff to deal with.”

“All excuses, aren't they?”

“Everything is a competition for you isn't it?” He sounds disappointed but you're not the bigger person.

“Isn't it for you too?”

“No it isn't. Forgive me for not wanting to compete for everything in my life.”

“Why? Scared?” The conversation escalates before you realize it and you blame your tendency to argue with him.

“Why are you so obsessed with being the best?” He's no longer calm.

“You tell me. You were the one mocking me for always being second for a whole damn year!”

“Oh come on, there's more to it! Why are you so fragile about it?”

“You and your taunts are all there is to it and I'm reacting like anyone would. Why were you so insistent on beating me in everything?”

“Oh, come on! There's definitely stuff you're not saying, why can't you open up to me?”

“I don't want to say anything. Why the fuck do you even want me to open up to you?”

“Because I want to fix this!”

“And why does fixing it matter?”

“Because I like you god damn it! Are you that dumb?”

“Bullshit. You suddenly like me after a whole year of hating me huh?”

“Why else do you think I'm doing this? Why else would I agree to this?”

“Maybe cuz it'd make for a very funny scenario don't you think? ‘Hey look at them developing feelings for me just because we stopped trying to kill each other’ sounds hilarious doesn't it?” You don't even know where all this is coming from but you never completely ruled out the prospect of all this being an act on his side.

He didn't think so, that much is visible on his face when you finally find the guts to look at him. Fuck. You just can't stop hurting people in your life huh?

“I'm sorry.” You apologize before you turn to leave, but he doesn't let you. Instead of being angry like you thought he'd be, he just pulls you into a hug. The gesture does something to you that you can't quite figure out.

“Let go of me.” You don't want him to, but you can't find the courage to face this. You're too weak.

“No. I'm not letting you go anywhere.”

“I don't deserve this Hyunjin. Staying for me will get you nowhere. You're stupid if you-”

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… what?” That's not a confession one would expect out of him. But you can't say you didn't do the same.

“You heard me. And I'm not letting you leave without even trying.” You've never heard so much emotion in his voice, even in the few months that you both spent together, you're sure his eyes would be glossy if you look at him now. So you don't.

“But-”

“We need to sort this out, yeah? You can't keep running from everything.”

Your tears always choose the worst time to appear.

“I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't-, I'm not…… used to feeling this way ok?”

“I know. And that's fine. I never expected this to be easy. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry I- I want to trust you. I want to. But it's so difficult..”

“I don't blame you. We both barely know about the things that we had to deal with. Trust doesn't happen without communication does it? That's why we need to talk to each other. About everything. Even the stuff we don't like sharing. Nothing will work without that, right?”

It feels like he knows how to take your jumbled up mess of thoughts and feelings and make sense of it in ways you don't even understand. So you talk, about everything you don't like sharing, about your fears and their origins, about the troubles you have with trusting people, about the insecurities you relate to your image, about the pressure you keep putting on yourself to be the best there is and why you do so.

And he does too, about the way he feels out of control of everything and why that happens, how it feels like an obligation to put his own feelings aside and live by the reputation expected of him, about why loud footsteps or just loud sounds scare him, why yelling brings back bad memories, how he feels like he's carrying a heavy weight from his past along with him wherever he goes, how his coping mechanisms have caused both of you damage.

And by the end of the conversation it doesn't feel so difficult to trust him anymore. He wouldn't hurt you, not on purpose at least. If he does, well, maybe you want to take the chance. For the sake of it. Maybe you don't hate the feeling of vulnerability.

“If I fuck this up,” you look at him as you speak, “promise me you'll leave.”

“You won't. I know.”

“I hope you're right. I'm sorry for being so stupid.”

“If we want this to work the first thing you'll have to do is stop apologizing for everything.” It's almost like you're a toddler being scolded.

“I'm sorr-”

“Not again.”

“Shit my bad-”

“Hey!”

“Okay! I get it! No saying sorry for everything.”

“Good.”

You like his hugs. They're warm. But you also like chaos. So you pinch his waist, the boy is dramatic, of course he jumps and looks at you with the most disbelieving wide eyes.

“What was that for?”

“That was for being stupidly pretty.”

“So we're doing compliments now, darling?” He's never gonna stop doing this is he?

“If you use the tease voice I'll pinch you harder I swear.”

“Not sure I'd mind,” before he can finish the sentence though, you have him trapped between your arms and the dinner table, he seems quite happy with it, “you seem to like me quite a lot, don't you darling?”

“And? What if I do?”

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

Your roommates expected to find stuff when they returned from their homes, but stuff definitely didn't include you and Hyunjin arguing over who gets the last piece of cake. The fight seemed…. unserious.

They definitely didn't expect it to end in you and him sharing the last bit. You and Hyunjin. Sharing. Unheard of.

The real surprise came when they were done unpacking. You caught Felix in his room.

“Hey Lix, guess what?” Poor sweet soul of his, already interested in what you have to say.

“What?”

“I'm dating someone.”

“WHAT? Who?!”

“Try guessing.” He looks confused but attempts nonetheless.

“Soyeon?”

“Look I mentioned her being hot one time. That don't mean I'm dating her.”

“Then who?”

“Who did I spend winter with?” He gives you a look that says ‘bitch tf’.

“Oh come on. I may be a little clueless but there's no fucking way you're dating Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Oh yeah? Why don't you go ask him? He's explaining the same thing to Minho right now.”

You find them in the kitchen, and as you expected, Minho looks like it's a normal day for him. No surprise at all.

Felix however, is quite close to losing it.

“Hyunjin. Tell me they're making a fool of me.” He says, but Hyunjin stays silent and you fear Felix is actually on the brink of insanity.

“What the fuck.” It's almost a whisper when he says it. Both you and Hyunjin cannot hold back your laughter. Their reaction was exactly what you predicted.

Minho is the one who speaks up next.

“Come on, Lix. These two weren’t even that subtle. Where'd you think Hyunjin got that hickey from? Just a few weeks after these two stopped fighting? Why do you think I insisted on leaving them alone together?”

You knew it was his plan. How else would you end up alone with Hyunjin at the most convenient times ever?

“Lee Minho you little fucker, you better sleep with one eye open.” You joke.

“Look at how ungrateful you are. I helped you and you give me death threats? Betrayal,” he's smiling at you, when he turns to Hyunjin however, he looks murderous, “if I hear you hurt my best friend in any way, the world will run out of places for you to hide in. Trust me on that.”

“Enough Min, you'll scare away my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend huh? That felt nice to say.

“Now who's gonna tell Jisung?”

“Let's all just head to his dorm. Help the boy with unpacking too.”

“You seem keen on meeting him, Min. What's the matter?” The question only gets you elbowed in the rib.

Jisung's reaction is as loud as you anticipated but he doesn't seem too surprised, you ask him why.

“Oh Hyunjin always rants about things, I'm his roommate, I figured something was up with you.”

Later, when you have your boyfriend to yourself, you decide to ask him about it.

“So, about what Jisung said”

“Don't believe him, I beg you.”

“Save the begging for other things, I'd say it's pretty plausible, considering you rant about a lot.”

“I do NOT monologue about my crushes, case closed.” Hyunjin really needs to control his fidgeting if he wants to get away with lying.

You cup his face, “Why are you denying it? It's adorable.”

“Not funny?”

“Maybe a little funny.” The urge to kiss his nose is strong, so you don't fight it. You die a little when he scrunches up his face on reflex.

He's adorable and maybe you're a little obsessed.

“I can't believe cornering you somewhere is all it takes to make you blush!” You laugh, because you have him cornered right now. Against his desk this time.

“It is not!” He defends himself to no avail, it makes you laugh, you're growing increasingly fond of him.

“Such a pretty liar, huh? Quit trying to deny it, love.” That's the first affectionate nickname you've given him. And its effect is visible, if the smile on his face is anything to go by.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“How demanding.” But you do it anyway. And he takes it forward, like he does everytime, this time you're not confused. You want him. He wants you. And it's the best feeling ever. If he walks out of this room with hickeys later on, you don't need to act clueless. He's yours.

But with the way his lips attach to your skin, maybe you'll be the target of your friends’ judgemental glances as well this time. You don't mind. You're his.

If Jisung comes knocking now you're pretty sure you won't hear it over Hyunjin. The boy is sensitive.

☆

“Maybe getting those two together was a bad idea, I can hear them and I'm sitting in a different room!”

“Leave them alone, let's go to ours. We can't keep sitting here any longer like we're not hearing anything.”

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

Hwang Hyunjin, how you love him and how his existence is a slap in the face of your father. He's everything good. But first off he's yours. And he loves you. Maybe clay doesn't need to be broken to be fixed, maybe if you just paint over the fingerprints and love the shapes as they are, you'll see some beauty in it. Hyunjin sees beauty in you that's for sure, he never seems to get tired of drawing you, being someone's muse is a wonderful feeling. He's your muse as well though, with the entire collection of writings he's prompted by simply existing. You recited some to him one day, maybe you'll give him a handwritten version of the rest on his birthday.

☆

You think it's ironic, you're back where you started, movie night in your dorm. Only this time you're tangled up with Hyunjin and the three boys are in a weird heap of limbs. Whatever they are, they're your friends. You're not gonna judge.

But they will definitely keep judging the PDA Hyunjin makes them all witness.

“You're both disgusting!” It's Jisung, and he's pulled back to sit by a worked up Felix. “He meant disgustingly cute!”

“Why are you running damage control? They are disgusting.” That's Minho, just trying to eat his pudding.

This is how you like stuff, cozy, homelike, and a little bit silly.

☆

“HWANG HYUNJIN DID YOU EAT THE LAST CUPCAKE?”

“I didn't know it was yours!” You will chase him around the place until you get payback. You can hear the other boys laughing their asses off at how terrified Hyunjin is.

He tries to take off in the opposite direction of you but is a few seconds late.

“Caught ya! Now apologize!” You pinch his ear and his yelp is the most amusing thing for Jisung, it seems.

“Ow! I'm sorry your majesty! I will never touch your food again.” You almost think you've won before he runs off. You catch him again, obviously. This time in your room.

“You little thief Hwang, I hate you.” You're out of breath and you're laughing. “Hate and love, same thing aren't they, darling?” He will never stop with that teasing tone.

“Hmm, maybe you need a better lesson. You're lucky you're pretty, love.” His hair is messed up and he's slightly out of breath, there's a lopsided grin on his face. He's probably the prettiest being to ever exist.

You lean close and the expression on his face shifts a little, he looks a little doubtful, uncertain, almost vulnerable.

“Do you really want me?” He wants you to affirm it, to assure him.

“You know I do.”

☆⋆｡°⁠☆

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