#my throat is going to close up from milk one day and i will laugh at the face of god when i go to hell for dairy crimes

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. ��You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

#hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #hyunjin imagines #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #k-labels #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #hyunjin fluff #skz scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x you #*writing #*oneshot

[mawrmyy]

sugar 'n cream

Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings:

18+ !!! minors dni please !!! smut, messy blowjobs, f!masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff, writing soft!husband!joel has become my brand at this point, pet names (angel, baby, perfect girl), lmk if i missed anything :)

You’ve fallen into a routine of waking up to the smell of brewing coffee every sunday morning.

Today is no different. Your eyelids flutter open gently, the burnt, earthy smell climbing upstairs to your bedroom. 

You linger in it, let yourself sink deeper into the white sheets as the scent envelops you, the familiarity of it feeling like a warm embrace. 

You can’t help but smile. You know he’s downstairs, probably pouring the dark coffee into two separate mugs; one for each of you. He knows exactly how you like your coffee, but he never gets it quite right. 

You love him for that. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your knuckles, you begin to get up, the sheets rustling and twisting beneath you as you do. The floor tiles are cool against your bare feet, jolting you further awake as you tiptoe downstairs, hand lightly grazing the railing.

He’s there— broad shoulders facing you, muscles moving beneath his shirt as he pours the last drops of coffee into one of two mugs on the counter. You see him eye the sugar, contemplating whether or not to attempt sweetening your drink just how you like it. It makes you smile. 

You decide to help him solve the dilemma, walking towards him. 

He’s so warm. You feel the heat he radiates before you even wrap your arms around his waist, pressing a sweet kiss between his shoulder blades before resting your forehead there. He hums, and the vibration of it sends shivers throughout your whole body, you’re sure you feel him in your bones. 

“Mornin’, Baby,” Joel says softly. You hum in acknowledgement, unmoving from your position against his body, whining in protest when he tries to change positions. He chuckles, gruff and hearty, and you give in, loosening your grip on him. He turns over in your arms as he leans his back against the counter, and you lean your chin on his chest, looking up at him. He’s smiling at you, and it’s so soft and sweet, you’re sure your heart is going to burst out of your chest. 

Joel ducks his head down and kisses you, one big hand coming up to cup your cheek. A content sigh leaves your throat, and you feel him smile against your lips as his thumb softly caresses your cheekbone. 

You miss the warmth of his mouth as soon as you break apart. You grumble, your head nestling against his chest, ear against his thrumming heart. 

“Wanted to wake you up with coffee in bed,” Joel says. “Been workin’ real hard this week, Baby. Thought you could use the extra sleep.” He’s right, of course. He always is. He knows you so well, your Joel, always attentive, listening to your constant rambling and ranting as he holds you close to him on the couch after every long day. He’s so sweet, so good to you. 

You lean up, kissing him once again, this time shorter and sweeter. 

“I love you,” You tell him, because it’s true. He smiles, tugging you a little bit closer to him. 

“Never know how much sugar to put in your coffee, Baby,” Joel tells you. You huff out a laugh, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his body to pull out a milk carton from the fridge. You feel Joel’s gaze on you, burning a hole through your head as you pour the milk into your coffee, the dark brown shade of it softening to a lighter, caramel-like color.  

Before you can reach for the drawer to pull out a spoon for the sugar, Joel’s handing you one. It’s a normal teaspoon, but it looks comically small in his large hand. You take it from him, mumbling a thank you, Baby as you sweeten your coffee. His hand, the one that was handing you a spoon a moment ago, falls to the small of your back, and you revel under his touch. The two of you take a sip of your coffee simultaneously, and you smile into the mug as both of you find the other’s eyes. 

__ __ __

Joel likes his coffee black, black, black. You don’t understand why someone would choose to drink something that tastes like charcoal and burnt shit out of their own free will, but right now, as you kiss him, your tongue against his, you think you might not mind the flavor. 

He’s got you pushed up against the counter, marble digging into your lower back as he trails open-mouthed kisses up and down the column of your throat. His hands rest on either side of your hips, thumbs drawing circles on your waist. You’re breathing him in, holding the back of his head in the palm of your hand as his mouth nips and licks at your throat, kissing every sliver of bare skin his lips can find. Lost in the moment, you let your mind go completely blank with nothing but Joel.

Your man.

Your big, strong, capable man, always so good to you, so selfless. You know for a fact that he’d give you the world— he’s just waiting for you to ask him to. 

Your body moves on instinct, sinking to your knees before you even realize what you’re doing. Worshiping Joel is muscle memory at this point. Your hands travel up and down the outsides of his thighs, the fabric of his jeans rough and dry against the palms of your hands. You had asked him once, who the hell wears Jeans on their day off? He’d just huffed out a laugh and kissed you sweetly, and that was the end of the conversation.

Your fingers work at his belt, shakily unbuckling it, pulling it loop by loop before letting it fall to the floor beside you. Joel is looking down at you, eyes wide and dark and full of love and everything else that’s unsaid. His hand cups your face and you melt into his touch, nuzzling against him like a housecat basking in the warmth of a fireplace. 

“Baby,” Joel says from where he stands above you. His voice rasps around every vowel, lust dripping from it like honey. “Y’don’t gotta do that, c’mere. I’ll make you feel real good, Darlin’. Let me make you feel good.” You smile up at him, at your man, always putting your pleasure before his own. You shake your head softly, unbuttoning his jeans.

“Wanna make you feel good, Joel.” You say as you work the zipper down. His eyes never leave yours. Not as his pants fall around his ankles, or as you plant a kiss on his tan thigh. Not even as you palm his half-hard cock through his boxers, cupping him through the fabric. 

“Always taking such good care of me,” You say as you begin to pull his boxers down, kissing the newly revealed skin of his soft tummy. “Let me return the favor.” You keep tugging his boxers off slowly, pressing your lips softly to every inch of bare skin your greedy mouth can latch onto. You smile to yourself as you feel Joel’s breath hitching, the uneven rise and fall of his stomach against your curled lips. Your own breath catches in your throat as soon as Joel’s boxers fall to his ankles, his cock standing hard and proud before you, a bead of precum on the tip. 

This isn’t anything new. You and Joel have been together for a long time now, finally tying the knot last autumn after dating for five years. He takes such good care of you, showing his love in ways that range from sending you pictures of every heart-shaped object he comes across, to fucking you deep into the mattress until you’re screaming out his name. But still, you almost never get to love on him like you wish you could. He’s always so preoccupied with making you feel good, he doesn't realize that seeing him come undone for you has your sweet cunt clenching around nothing. 

You reposition yourself on your knees, making yourself as comfortable as the cold tile will allow, before taking Joel’s cock in your hand. He groans at the contact, your warm hand closing tightly around the thick base of him. The sound spurs you on, and you lean in to press a sweet kiss to the leaking tip. Joel’s hand flies to your hair, fisting it tightly. 

“Shit, Angel,” His voice is deep and gruff. You keep pressing feather-light kisses along the length of his dick, riling him up. “Fuck, go easy on me, Baby. Don’t tease me— shit,” You take him into your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, tongue rubbing the sweet spot right beneath the head. The groan that Joel lets out is so primal and animalistic, you’re sure it’s been brewing in his chest for a while now. His hips stutter as he holds himself back from fucking your throat, and you take him deeper, mind hazy with the need to make him feel good, craving his sweet moans and groans. 

Joel is muttering about your perfect lips, and about what a good girl you are, taking him so well. His praise spurs you on, has you moaning and humming around his cock. 

But it’s not enough. You need more of him.

You pull your lips off of his dick with a wet pop! sound, spit dripping down your chin. Joel loosens his grip on your hair, confused. 

“Want you to fuck my throat,” You blurt out bluntly. Joel’s eyes go wide at your request. 

“Fuck– R’you sure?”He asks. You nod enthusiastically. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” He says, a little softer. His hand comes to rest on your cheek, his eyes wide with affection and worry. You hum, nuzzling into his touch, a smirk gracing your lips.

“Someone’s self absorbed,” You joke. Joel snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Goddamn smartass,” He replies, and you laugh. You press a light kiss to his lower tummy, his pubic hair scratching against your skin, before looking back up to him with a soft smile.

“M’serious,” You tell him. “Want you. Want all of you.” Joel inhales deeply.

“My perfect fuckin’ girl,” He says, and you beam. And after a moment– “Shit, yeah, okay.” It’s all the confirmation you need before taking him into your mouth once more, cheeks hollowing as you relish in his bitter flavor. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head once again, pulling you closer to him until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. His nostrils flare as he grunts, eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but moan at the intimacy of it, at the warm weight of him against your tongue. 

You can tell your sounds spur him on, giving him more confidence as he bucks his hips against you, making you choke around his cock. 

He looks so beautiful like this, with his tousled hair and his coffee-brown eyes watching you in awe, you can’t help but let your hand slide down beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers running through your slick folds, drawing small circles on your clit. 

He looks like an Adonis, like an ancient Greek statue carved from the finest marble. You run a hand up and down his thick thigh, your other hand still toying with your cunt. You sink a finger into your dripping hole, making you moan even more enthusiastically as you bob your head up and down Joel’s cock. He’s close and you know it, the rhythm of his hips uneven as he fucks into your mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth slightly agape and yes, he looks so handsome like this, you feel yourself clenching around your finger before slipping another one into your tight hole. Joel’s always been better at this than you, his fingers thicker and longer, hitting all the right spots inside of you. You can’t help but wish it was him, fucking you deep and slow, thumb circling your clit while two fingers pump deep inside your pussy, making you gush and cream around him. But no, this is about him, now. You swirl your tongue around his heavy cock, pulling your head back slightly to suck at the sensitive tip. Joel lets out a broken moan before pulling you against him, your nose against his soft belly. It’s a sweet burn. He’s so big, you feel tears beginning to blur your vision as you breathe deeply through your nose. 

He finally lets you break away, and you gasp for air. You smile up at him, practically glowing, the hand that was previously buried between your plush thighs comes back up to stroke him, the mix of your spit and your juices coating his dick as your hand tugs at him. 

“Want you to come in my mouth,” You say, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of the shaft. “Wanna taste you.” Joel curses under his breath, something you can’t quite make out. You smirk, before taking him into your mouth again.

“Girl of my- fuck- girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” He says, and you hum around him. He gives two hard thrusts into your tight throat, before his hips still completely as he comes. You’re pressed against him, your eyes screwed shut as you focus on breathing through your nose, not wanting to break away before you get to taste all of him, every last drop on your tongue.

Joel’s hips jerk as his cum paints the velvet walls of your mouth. The flavor of him is bitter and salty, something you can’t quite put into words. 

Something that’s all Joel, all yours.

You slowly pull your mouth off of his softening cock, swallowing every last drop of his release, all while never breaking eye contact. Joel’s breathing is heavy and his eyes are wide, watching your every move with utter fascination and adoration. You give him a small smile as he brings his thumb to the corner of your lip, swiping up a leftover drop of his come and pushing it slowly into your mouth. It’s a welcome intrusion, and you wrap your lips around the finger immediately, tongue circling the pad of it. Joel grunts, before helping you up so that you’re standing again and kissing you deeply, has hand on the back of your head. You can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He still tastes like coffee. He tastes like coffee and Joel and a hint of you, reminding you he’s all yours.

“I love you,” You tell him, and he smiles.

“Love you too, Angel,” He replies. “Fuck, love you so goddamn much.”

__ __ __

whew! this one took a while to write cause i was sick for the longest time and couldn't really think about sucking dick...

thank you for reading!! i'd love to hear what you thought, and constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

picture I -- Spotify on Pinterest picture II -- TheLastredemption on Pinterest picture III -- вишневый котик on Pinterest

#smut #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #the last of us 2 #fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou smut #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #tlou2 #joel miller x you

[princessbrunette]

if anyone understands having a tricky relationship with their father, it’s nate archibald. ౨ৎ

somethin small i wrote abt nate bc a few people asked. cw: daddy kink, daddy issues, smut

that distant stare of yours, that pout as you stare out over the city from his apartment window. he knows it all too well. approaches you softly with a slight sympathetic pout of his own, running a hand over your head and bringing your cheek to his chest so he can kiss the top of your head. he couldn’t give you a better father, but he could give you that guidance and love you crave so much. he could do better.

so he gives you everything — you want that dress costing an arm and a leg? it’s already hanging in your side of the closet at his apartment. you too sleepy as you sit at the kitchen table in the morning after a long night with him? he’s forking up a perfect biteful of pancake and bringing it to your lips with a grin, happy to do so. he never gets mad when you snap at him, something deeper clearly triggering such a sudden reaction— only frowning and shaking his head, closing in on you to thumb at your cheek. “whats with the attitude? somethings on your mind. talk to me.” he coo’s empathetically.

it’s not just you that noticed— blair’s smug but somewhat gleeful smile as she totters alongside nate on the street, nudging him with a sharp elbow through her maison margiela coat. “well, you know how thrilled i am for you to finally be tugging along a girl of taste. even if i have to watch you treat her like you snatched her from the cradle yourself.”

he huffs out a laugh, shooting her a confused glance, walking alongside her with his hands in his pockets. “what are you talking about? she’s like one year younger than me. nearly two.”

“age isn’t nothing but a number, nate— i’m talking about the coddling, tell me — does she call you daddy in just the bedroom or do you extend that to all hours of the day?”

“jesus— need i remind you of boundaries blair, what i do with my girlfriend is none of your business… but— no, she doesn’t call me that.”

but it stayed bouncing around his brain like a ping pong ball. started noticing all the little things, how much more you’d cling to him after an argument with your father. selfishly, he almost started wishing you’d fight more— just so he could dote on you like that. the whole ‘daddy’ thing wouldn’t be so weird right? the thought of it had him reaching down to readjust in his tight suit pants, clearing his throat. uncomfortable? yes. but sexy, crazily so.

maybe he could milk it out of you. enforce a little more guidance until you’re putty in his hand. it wouldn’t be hard, he saw the way you’d blink at him all doe eyed when he’d tell you not to stay up too late, both thumbs stroking your cheeks. he’d speak slower, calmer, stand closer, make him the only thing you can see, think about even. he was gentle, loving, held eye contact super well — too well, made your face get hot and wanna look away. made you wanna shrink, go all mushy in your brain. “hey, look at me when i talk to you sweetheart. i don’t bite, you know.” he smiles, and there’s no threat present but god you’d never disobey him. never your nate.

it finally slips out when he’s got your thighs pinned open, strong arms wrapped around them whilst he sucks on your clit. he was always good at that, making you cum. nate knew just how to destress you after a long stressful day, far too stressful for his sweet girl. he laps you up, pressing thick fingers deep inside gummy walls, dribbling over your slit.

“nnnnnn—” you can’t even get his name out, clutching a pink throw pillow.

“i know, baby.” he hums.

“daddy!” you cry, and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid as if he was expecting it. if you’d been more with it, you would have seen him bite back a proud chuckle, shoulders relaxing just a little. he keeps at it, stroking the inside of your sensitive thighs.

“thats right. tell daddy how it feels.”

#nate archibald prompt #nate archibald smut #nate archibald drabble #nate archibald x reader #gossip girl smut

[justporo]

i came uP WITH ANOTHER JUST NOW Tav has a bad dream about Astarion dying and is getting irrationally protective- Astarion must find a way to reassure that no, he is NOT going to randomly keel over, and after proceeding to Make It Worse with things like "it was just a dream" ends up resorting to trying to make Tav laugh to lighten the mood

My dear mushy, yet again you present me with a wonderful idea. This struck a chord with me for the last few days because I was feeling a little anxious and thus very much in the mood for some angst. So here you go! Also remember how I said I was taking a breather? I am! But I still love writing too much to not do it… Also this very self-indulgently helped me with some of my anxiety these past days. (Note tho: I am neither diagnosed with anxiety or a an expert, I can only describe what I can relate to and can imagine, just to put it out there)

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Talk of trauma and nightmares, descriptions of some violence and death

Wordcount: 2,3k

Tav wakes from repeating nightmares about Astarion. She sneaks out of bed in an attempt to hide it but gets caught by Astarion who immediately notices something is wrong and wants to comfort her.

It‘s where my demons hide (I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you)

You woke from your trancelike meditation. On your back, you felt paralysed for a moment, your heart still heavy with dream images that filled you with icy dread. You couldn’t move and felt a single hot tear running down your cheek as a silent sob left your chapped open lips.

The images were still vivid in front of your eyes: Astarion, full of blood, falling over, his face distorted in pain, agony and desperation in his ruby eyes, panickingly grabbing for you; and then: life leaving his ruby eyes until they were only hollow.

And in your dreams you screamed and raged with all your force trying to reach him in time, to prevent what was happening, to at least hold his head in your lap as life passes from him. Never reaching him before it was too late.

The nightmares had come for quite some time now. They always followed the same pattern - and so did you: waking up in the middle of your ‚night‘, freezing from cold sweat, tears running and desperately trying to not wake Astarion.

Because you knew it wasn‘t real. There he was, right beside you. Softly breathing in his own dreams. His face so peaceful and relaxed.

You felt an incredible urge to grab him and kiss him awake to truly know he was there and fine. You just wanted to know that whatever you had dreamt: it wouldn‘t happen, it didn‘t happen; he was alive and well and next to you.

You sat up and felt the goosebumps all over your body and you shuddered. Starting to rub your arms you looked over to where Astarion was. And he was indeed peacefully slumbering - or deeply meditating as was the custom for you elves. You spent quite some heartbeats to watch him - how his chest slowly rose and fell, how a single white lock fell onto his forehead, how his facial expressions softly changed as he was dreaming.

Your heart ached and you couldn‘t shake the dread that kept hold of you. It sat deeply in your bones by now, hands around your throat and closing it‘s fingers. You quickly started to get out of bed, grabbing Astarion‘s shirt that was still laying on the floor in front of the bed and threw it over your head. You felt that the sobs were coming and you wanted to be out of here before the vampire caught onto it - he had enough to deal with, so you wouldn‘t burden him with your brain harassing you with its bad, irrational nightmare fantasies.

The soft pat-pats of your naked feet being the only sound as you walked, you left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. There you grabbed some of the leftover milk from the day before and then went into the living room. As you lifted one of the thick brocade curtains you saw that it was already pretty dark outside. Some blue was still to be seen in the sky but it was surely and quickly to be chased away by the moon and the stars.

You drew the curtain away from the tall window and sat down in the alcove. Drinking your mug of milk your mind was still on your nightmares. You felt the wound up coil of anxiety in your stomach - it was bad this time. It surely would take some time before you would have calmed down completely. The tension was still way to present this time, making your foot that was on the floor tap nervously while you kept feeling restless.

„My sweet, it‘s way too early to be up…“ The voice of your subject of worry made you whip your head from looking out the window to Astarion. He was standing in the doorframe, sheets messily wrapped around his hips. He looked very drowsy and tired and not fully awake - a very rare look and mood for him.

„Also is that my shirt you‘re wearing because rawr, if I dare…“, his words trailed off when he realised that something was not quite right.

He saw the tension in your body, noticed the unnecessarily hard grip on your mug and your restless foot. Immediately, he was fully awake and rushing over to you: „My love, what is it, what‘s wrong?“ He sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap - no room for protest. His ruby eyes were clouded with worry, brows furrowed and his mouth in a tense line.

You tried to just shake your head and smile at him to assure him that everything was fine, you‘d just woken up a little early. But your body was traitorous, your eyes filled with tears and you could feel your chest start to heave - the urge to let out your sobs and howl in agony almost unbearable.

And as Astarion softly moved a strand of your reddish-brown hair behind your ear and then let his thumb softly wander over your cheekbone, then over your lips and then placed it on your chin lightly, it became too much to bear.

Sobs came and shuddered through your whole body, tears flowed openly. Astarion grabbed you and held you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him back hard - really having to feel that he was there. The vampire carefully placed his chin on the top of your head and softly swayed you from side to side. He said nothing for a while only humming softly - an old elven lullaby -, knowing that nothing he could put into words would make a difference in this very moment - he just held you. Because he knew what it felt like and had had to go for it alone, two centuries of nightmares, and he‘d never wish on another living soul having to go through something like this with no one there to spare you a little solace. This and the way you could feel his chest slightly vibrate while humming calmed you down slowly.

„Having nightmares again?“, Astarion whispered softly when the acute shudders of grief had calmed down a little. You burrowed your wet face at his chest, not wanting to admit that he had caught you. „Don‘t deny it, my love, don‘t think I didn‘t notice you getting up in the middle of the day and sometimes only returning hours later“, he continued. You could basically hear that his brows were furrowed. With a soft nudge on your shoulders he pushed you a little from his chest so he could take a look at you: „I‘m not one to pry and I respect your privacy, Tav, but I‘m worried. When was the last night of a full rest for you, hm?“ His eyes were so full of warmth and worry that you were sure yours were immediately filled with immense guilt. But you were still reluctant, having promised yourself to keep these problems your own.

Astarion softly cocked his head. „Don‘t you think, just a little bit, my love, that I deserve to know? Wouldn‘t you like to know? I bet if it‘d been me you would have already wreaked all Nine Hells‘ havoc upon me to find out what‘s bugging me“, he said while his tone turned sassy slightly. One eyebrow was raised, signature smirk was now turned on at least to half force.

And he knew you well and he was right, that bastard.

You cleared your throat. „It‘s nothi-“, you started. Astarion‘s face immediately dropped: eyes half-lidded, lips pouting. „We can play this the easy way, my heart, or the hard one - I have all the time in the world“, he threatened but his tone was still soft.

You sighed in desperation and looked up to the ceiling. Then you let your gaze drop. You had withdrawn your arms from around him and now nervously pressed down on your one palm with the thumb of the other hand. „I keep dreaming you‘re dying - and I can‘t do anything about it“, you admitted flat-out but did not look up.

„That‘s it?“, Astarion responded. Now you looked up - did he just say that like it was nothing? You kept staring at him in confusion and you surely felt anger rise up inside you. The vampire‘s gaze jumped from yours to the side and back, obviously not grasping what was so harrowing. When you kept staring, he said: „Well, do you have any idea how often I dream about stuff like that happening to you - and me for that matter? And I‘m here, am I not? It‘s irrational, nothing is wro-“ „You insensitive prick“, you yelled and weakly hit him on the chest with your flat hand.

„Do you know how it feels? Watching you die - vividly- over and over again! Covered in your own blood and I can do NOTHING! Only watch you as the life flows from your body…“ The tears were back and you could see how through your blurring vision Astarion‘s face changed from surprise to shame.

He pulled you in again: „I‘m sorry.“ This time he borrowed his face in your hair - you could feel how his face scrunched in agony as he kept squeezing you. „I‘m so sorry, I… didn‘t know how it is for you…“

You lifted your head from his chest with a gasp. The sobs had subsided once more and you were now at this awkward hiccupy phase of a really bad cry. „It‘s like… something burning in my chest“, you said, emotions still crushing over you, wanting to let it all out this time; to rid yourself of it if possible. Your hands rose to your chest, one grabbing the other. „Sometimes it‘s constant, for days on end, a constant buzz. Sometimes it claws its way up to my throat and I feel this pressure. And it‘s just sitting there, reminding me of the fear I have. And at worst it‘s like this impending doom - it holds my heart in its hand and it squeezes from time to time to make me hurt and my heart can only flutter against it like a hummingbird in a cage that‘s way too small. I don‘t know how it feels for you, but that‘s how it is for me…“ You squeezed your hand so hard it hurt - but still not even remotely close to the hurt you felt in your chest sometimes.

Astarion softly grabbed your hands with his and looked at you, sorrow in his eyes. „Well, if it wouldn‘t be so sad that would almost be poetic“, he replied with a sad smile. „I know the feelings you describe well. Too well. Perhaps I‘ve grown too accustomed to it to no longer relish their absence“, he explained his eyes slowly drifting from yours into a gaze that was a thousand leagues away. And now you understood his reaction a little bit better: his was one of an animal knowing nothing but abuse and imprisonment. While yours had barely scratched the surface of the sorrows of this world.

„Astarion“, you whispered softly, withdrew one hand from his and touched your fingers to his face, pulling him back to you - to the here and now.

The vampire closed his eyes for a short moment. When he opened them again he‘d come back to you. „It was still an insensitive reaction of me, for that I apologise.“ „You shouldn‘t have to feel like that or even get used to it. And I‘m sorry I shouted at you“, you answered with a whisper. You felt guilt now.

„No, my love, it was absolutely right to call me out on that and if it helps: it‘s getting better. Slowly, but better. And I‘m sure these storm clouds will pass for you too“, he answered and pulled your face to his, leaning his forehead against yours and his hand softly cupping your cheek. Warmth filled his ruby eyes again and a soft smile danced on his lips.

„Now, I propose whenever you wake with a horrendous nightmare you poke me in the side so the following yelp and curse tell you that I am still very much alive - or unalive for that matter, you get it - and myself and here with you. Promise?“, he spoke and his eyes widened as he made you look into his eyes.

„Only if you do it too“, you answered as you felt some more sobs threateningly bubble up in your chest; this time they weren‘t in sorrow though.

„Only if you promise to not smother me with your pillow when I raise you from your precious and much needed beauty sleep, my love“, Astarion answered with a big smirk now. You pushed away from him but couldn‘t stop yourself from laughing at the banter: „You‘re such a dick sometimes.“ Astarion just laughed dirtily in response - nothing you didn‘t tell him at least three times a day. „Yes, and you‘re a hag sometimes, my sweet“, he replied with a grin, fangs showing, ignoring the obvious contradictory statement he had just made.

You stuck out your tongue at him and as you did it you realised that he must‘ve very well known what he was doing. The tension and anxiety had actually left your body for good. You hoped it would stay this way. And you hoped Astarion might feel the same. Grabbing his hand, you leaned back against his chest, snuggeling up to him. You pressed your spread fingers against his, watching how his hands and fingers were quite a bit larger than yours.

There was still much to talk about, to unravel, to work through; for both of you - but maybe not tonight. Maybe it was enough that you unraveled just a tiny piece tonight. You had so many more nights to slowly get to the rest.

Astarion stared at your hands that pressed together, obviously lost in his own thoughts. But then he smiled and crossed his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly: „Now, promise?“ „Promise and promise“, you replied solemnly and waited for Astarion to say it back. „Now, you say it!“, you said pushingly and squeezed his hand.

The vampire rolled his eyes but with a smile on his face, twisted your joint hands and pressed a kiss on the back of your hand: „Promise!“

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #baldur's gate iii #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #poro writes #request

[vanteguccir]

Petals of death | Matt Sturniolo | Part 2

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

Warning: Stomachaches, lung aches, nauseas, mentions of one-sided love. ANGST, with a happy ending.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N woke up the next day with a ray of sunlight filtering through the small slit in the black-out curtain that was left open, bathing the room in a soft, comforting light. For a moment, she felt disoriented, but soon, the familiarity of her surroundings enveloped her mind, reminding herself of where she was and the events of the previous night. A shiver ran through her body due to the vivid memories of the attack.

The girl sighed, closing her eyes and lazily stretching out on the mattress, feeling genuinely rested for the first time in what seemed like months, a sense of peace and security enveloping her body.

Deciding to face the day in a different way, Y/N got out of bed carefully. She swept her eyes around the room, noticing that Matt was no longer there, the muffled sound of cutlery echoing from the kitchen alerting her to his presence there.

The girl walked slowly towards the kitchen, where the tempting aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her, her eyes finding Matt, who had his back turned to her, fiddling with some items on the counter between the sink and the stove, probably preparing breakfast.

"Good morning." Her voice came out in a shy whisper, her arms crossing around her torso and a small smile forming on her lips.

"Oh my God, you scared me." Matt brought his hand to his chest, just above his heart, as his body quickly turned to face her.

"Sorry." A nasal laugh escaped Y/N's, her palms momentarily rubbing the sides of her thighs, wiping her sweaty palms on her pajamas pants.

"Come, sit down." The brunette pointed to one of the chairs around the central table with his chin, turning back to his initial task.

Y/N slowly walked towards the table, her eyes traveling through the kitchen and living room quickly, thanking mentally that Chris and his girlfriend weren't there, probably in his own room. A feeling of nausea rose from the pit of her stomach at the possibility, making her shake her head quickly, shaking off the haunting thoughts.

Matt brought the girl a steaming mug of coffee, accompanied by a small plate with two slices of toast and butter, placing them gently in front of her seat.

"Here's your breakfast." He smiled childish, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as his hands made jazzy gestures towards the itens.

"Thank you, kind sir." Y/N let out a low laugh, taking a small bite of her toast. "Wow, what are you, Auguste Gusteau?"

Matt smiled at her joke, a red blush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh, I try." He shrugged, pretending to throw his fake long hair back, eliciting a new laugh from the girl.

As they enjoyed breakfast in comfortable silence, Y/N couldn't help but remember the heartfelt confession Matt had made the night before when he thought she was asleep. Her mind flashed back to the soft words he had murmured, expressing his true feelings.

Her eyes stared at the bottom of her plate as her mouth chewed on the small pieces of toast, weighing the possibilities.

"Matt." She called in a whisper, watching the boy, who looked up from his bowl, chewing the milk and cereal mixture slowly, a small "hm?" escaping from his throat. "Would you like to go out today? With me?"

Matt's eyes widened slightly in surprise, his jaw stopping its movements instantly, swallowing abruptly the entire contents.

"Sure!" His voice sounded high-pitched. "I mean, sure." He nodded using a more casual tone, smiling sheepishly. "What do you want to do?"

"Can we go to that amusement park we passed in front last week?" The girl proposed, looking at him with expectation written in her eyes.

"Of course! Let's go then." Matt nodded quickly, rising from his chair and taking the empty plate in front of her along with his bowl of cereal, putting them in the sink.

"Wait! Now?" She widened her eyes in surprise, placing her coffee mug on the wooden surface again, her mouth opening slightly.

"Uh, yeah... I mean, only if you want." The brunette added, turning on the sink tap and starting to wash the dirty dishes, avoiding looking at the girl behind him, feeling the skin of his face burn with embarrassment.

"Okay."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N knocked twice lightly on Nick's bedroom door with her closed fist before slowly opening it. Her eyes traveled around the room, finding Nick sitting at his computer desk, probably still editing the podcast or writing a new script for the next video.

"Hey Nick." She smiled, closing the door behind her back.

"Look who decided to show up." Nick replied in an amused tone, looking up from his computer screen to take a look at her. "Did you get any rest?"

"Yeah, I had a little attack earlier in the night, but Matt helped me." She walked slowly to the boy's closet, opening it and running her hands through the ones she left there.

"Do you want to stay here with me today? I still need to finish this." The boy asked, turning his eyes back to the screen in front of him as his hands lightly adjusted the headphone around his neck.

"Well, Matt and I are going out today." She confessed, trying to sound casual, keeping her eyes fixed on the clothes.

Nick froze momentarily, his hands hovering above the keyboard as his mind seemed to work fast. It wasn't at all unusual for Matt and Y/N to hang out - even though Nick was almost always with them - but at that moment, he could feel a hint of something different behind her sentence.

"Is that so?" He asked suggestively, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Where are you guys going?"

She blushed slightly, feeling shyness at the situation, an air of confusion and excitement surrounding her mind.

"To the amusement park." The girl shrugged, selecting the pieces she would wear and finally turning to Nick.

"Hey, that's great! Have fun." The brunette smiled genuinely at her, the meaning behind his words echoing through the walls of the room.

"I will, Nick... I will."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sun shone in the blue sky as Y/N and Matt walked from the parking lot towards the amusement park, their hands almost touching from their proximity. Y/N's heart beating wildly in her chest, a mixture of nervousness and hope filling her heart.

The sound of laughter and lively music echoed in the air, creating an atmosphere of excitement and joy around them, along with the delicious smell of food and the sight of colorful lights flashing everywhere.

Y/N felt enveloped by the magical atmosphere automatically, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts about Chris that persisted in haunting her mind.

Matt noticed her momentary hesitation, even if it was almost disguised, his right hand landing gently on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" He asked, worried about her distant look. "If you want, we can leave-"

"No! No, it's okay." She smiled small, shaking her head, trying to dispel his worries. "I'm fine. Just a little nervous, that's all..."

Matt smiled, his expression softening with understanding.

"Don't worry, nothing will happen... I'm here with you." His voice sounded calm and comforting.

Their eyes met momentarily, pupils fixed on each other, and the world seemed to pause its rotation. All the fear and nausea that Y/N felt seemed to dissipate. A small smile grew on her face when she saw Matt move his eyebrows slightly, with an amused glow that tried to convey some kind of reassurance to the girl.

Y/N looked away seconds later, finally able to observe every detail around them carefully.

"Wow." She opened her lips slightly, her eyes moving quickly without knowing exactly where to look at. It had been so long since she had done something like that.

Matt smiled, watching her delighted expression for a few more seconds before finally taking his eyes off her, feeling his heart speed up.

"Where do you want to start?"

The two decided to start with a roller coaster, and while they waited in line, Matt kept a light and relaxed conversation, helping Y/N to relax little by little, her anxiety slowly decreasing as they shared laughs and hidden glances.

When it was finally their turn, they boarded the cart, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through Matt's veins as Y/N felt more than ready, the adrenaline would serve her well at that moment.

Screams were shared as Matt raised his arms like a child, and Y/N let out loud laughter, their hair mixing against the wind.

The rides were complete, and soon, they disembarked. Y/N felt euphoric, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body as she bounced with each step, quick words escaping her lips, explaining every sensation she felt.

Matt observed her with a wide smile, his eyes shining with his excitement and his heart warming immensely. He felt his hands tingling, silently begging him to pull her into a kiss.

As the day progressed, they continued exploring the park, enjoying all the attractions it had to offer while eating sweets and, on Matt's side, gaining teddy bears on the little games, giving them all to the girl.

Despite the doubts and fears that still hovered in her mind, Y/N was able to relax and forget about her illness for a few hours.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

In the days following their "date" at the amusement park, Y/N and Matt continued to get closer in a different way more and more. Matt showed his affection in many ways, through small gestures and acts of service that did not go unnoticed by the girl.

In one morning that she had slept at the triplets' house again, after a significantly difficult night of meltdowns, Y/N woke up on Nick's bedroom with a mug of hot cappuccino on the bedside table next to her side, prepared by Matt before she even woke up, along with a small pink post-it containing a heart and a small "good morning" written by a glittery pen.

During other days, they shared laughs and lively conversations, Matt always there to listen and support the girl through Hanahaki's ups and downs.

Y/N lost count of how many times he accompanied her back to her own home, and there he would help her with simple tasks, such as folding clothes or making dinner for her, demonstrating his care and attention in every small gesture.

At night, before bed, when she decided to spend the night with Matt, the boy would tuck her into his arms, offering comfort and security while she drifted off to sleep. His touches were soft and comforting, conveying a sense of peace that made her feel loved and protected, something she never thought she would feel.

Over time, Y/N began to notice these subtle signs of affection, recognizing Matt's love and dedication in a new and profound way that slowly cut the thorns from the roses in her lungs, showering them with a secret passion.

At first, the girl resisted, fearing that the love she knew was growing in her own heart for the boy would only fuel her illness, but as Matt enveloped her in his warmth, she began to blossom in a different way.

Her heart, once a devastated field of withered petals, now opened like a flower blooming in the sun. Hanahaki's flowers began to slowly wither, replaced by a new type of flowering: that of required love.

Every moment shared between the two was a blessing, a relief from the pain that had consumed Y/N for so many weeks. Matt's soft touches and gentle words healed the wounds that Chris had caused, even if unconsciously.

It was just another peaceful night that the two spent together at the triplets' house. Matt and Y/N enjoyed their favorite food delivered by a delivery service while watching a movie that had recently been released on Netflix.

The proximity of their bodies on the soft couch made the girl's heart beat fast in her chest, the tension increasing with each passing second as her mind created millions of scenarios of how she could even open up to him.

Matt gave her a worried look, noticing her stillness.

"Are you okay?" He asked after swallowing the bite he was chewing of the fast food, his voice soft and full of concern.

Y/N turned her head to him quickly, frowning before nodding, feeling nervous.

"Yes, I'm fine... Actually, there's something I need to tell you." She admitted slowly, her voice shaking with anticipation.

Matt stopped his movements, resting the burger in his hands on the box it came in, focusing all his attention on the girl, his blue eyes brimming with curiosity.

"I actually need to tell you something, too." The boy muttered with a playful smile on his face.

"You can... you can go first." She asked, raising her right hand and pointing towards his chest momentarily, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Matt took a deep breath, pressing his lips into a thin line as he gathered the courage to finally express his feelings while looking into her open eyes.

"You know, we've known each other for so long, right? And from the first moment, my heart hasn't stopped beating faster than normal whenever I'm with you." Matt said cautiously, watching her reactions carefully. "And then I found out that you were hurt badly because of my brother... I swear my heart broke into a thousand pieces, and I realized how much you really meant to me. I remember the exact moment it happened. You were so pretty-" He interrupted his sentence, widening his eyes. "Not that you don't look pretty now, you definitely do, you always look pretty, stunning even-"

"Matt, you're rambling." Y/N interrupted him in a whisper, feeling her face burn with shyness.

"I'm sorry! What I'm trying to say is..." He hesitated, taking a deep breath and reaching out his right hand, taking Y/N's one, tracing her knuckles gently with his thumb.

Y/N's breathing seemed to catch, her heart beating so hard she felt like she could hear it in her ears, goosebumps traveling up her arms as her eyes focused on their intertwined hands.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Y/N's chest bloomed in a good way. She felt as if all the roots and branches within her lungs retracted until they became dust, finally feeling as if she could breathe again.

"Matt, I... I love you too."

"You do?" The boy's voice came out at a higher volume than previously used, his posture straightening up and his fingers squeezing Y/N's hand in an involuntary act of nervousness.

"I do. You know, I've been thinking a lot about us lately, and..." She began with a deep breath, her eyes meeting his, her heart warming almost automatically upon seeing his dilated pupils holding so much love. "I thought I would never be happy again... that I would be doomed to suffocate on the petals of my own disaster forever."

She paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"But then you started helping me along with Nick, and every gesture of care, every word of affirmation and every comforting touch made me feel loved in a way I never even imagined I would feel one day." She continued, her eyes shining with the intensity of words. "This is so cliché, but you showed me that I could be loved by someone."

"How did you...?"

"I heard you talking about how you felt about me in that night that I slept in your room and had that crisis in the bathroom." The girl said, watching Matt's eyes widen momentarily as a reddish hue took over his milky skin, an embarrassed smile spreading across his cheeks.

"I didn't know you were awake." He let out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

"I know you didn't." Y/N smiled teasingly. "Why don't you give me that kiss now, huh?"

Matt rolled his eyes at her advance, bringing his upper body closer to hers slowly, resting his weight on the back of the couch with his free hand.

Their gaze met momentarily while their breaths intertwined in a synchronized rhythm. The soft touch of hands still together sending a pulsing electricity through their bodies, while their hearts beat in unison.

A shy smile plays on Matt's lips, a mix of nervousness and anticipation hanging in the air. Then, without wasting time, the boy moves forward, touching her lips in a soft and passionate kiss.

A wave of heat and ecstasy washes over them, every cell in their bodies vibrating with the intensity of the moment. They lose themselves in each other's sweet taste. Their once joined hands now travel through their bodies freely, exploring waists, hips, and shoulders.

The world around seems to disappear, leaving only the feeling of their closeness to each other, as if they were the only two beings in the universe.

The sound of the house's front door opening and closing seconds later seems to wake them up, their tongues separating from the addictive dance as their bodies snuggle against the couch upholstery again.

Y/N's cheeks burned with love and shyness while she felt like her heart wanted to jump out of her chests and probably intertwine itself with his. Matt took a deep breath, a completely goofy smile resting on his face as his blue eyes carried a dazed look.

They felt like teenagers again.

The figure of Chris climbing the last few steps of the stairs with his girlfriend behind him appeared in their vision. Matt swallowed hard, ready to help the girl next to him if a crisis came. Despite her earlier confession, he couldn't help but feel insecure that there was still some remnant of love for his brother within her heart.

But the crisis never came.

Y/N briefly greeted the couple, smiling truthful at the sight of them crossing the room towards the stairs that led to Chris bedroom, before looking at Matt again. Her left hand reached for his one, intertwining their fingers before lightly squeezing them three times.

I love you.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @iammattswife @prettydollie @imwetforyourmom @sturnzsblog @h3arts4harry @thebottledwatersupplier @bellasfavbisexual @soso-scarlettolivia

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt x reader #matt au #matt fanfic #matt #matt sturniolo angst #fluff #angst #hanahaki #chris sturniolo x reader #unrequited love #required love #matt sturniolo x reader fluff

[softdykellie]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ illicit affairs | ellie w.

PAIRING : dealer!ellie x fem!reader

SUMMARY : ellie williams has been in love with her best friend for as long as she could remember, there was only one problem: her girlfriend. that is until reader finds herself needing some comfort.

WARNING : cheating and somewhat nsfw!

WORD COUNT : 1,027

Your head was in Ellie’s lap for the fourth time that week, the familiar smell of weed and sandalwood overwhelming your senses as she exhaled the cream smoke facing towards the ceiling. Abby had cancelled on you again, urgent basketball practice, desperate excuses, bashful nicknames, a promise that would not be kept of making it up to you. Ellie passed you the blunt placing it right between your softly opened lips and watched with eager green eyes as you inhaled, her teaching, as you could finally avoid the embarrassing coughs rejecting the substance from your throat. Nothing could get past your best friend, especially not the tears that prickled your eyes in abnormal gloss.

“Hey” she said softly, taking hold of your chin between her fingers, squinting eyes as you exhaled directly at her face as a failed distraction tactic “Abby’s a fucking asshole, alright?”

“Don't talk about her like that” you defended instinctively.

Ellie raised both her hands in defense before snatching the blunt from you and placing it down, unusually letting it go to waste and bringing a pout to your face in response “All I’m saying is if I had a pretty girl like you waiting for me to get back every day I would do absolutely nothing of my life except going home to you”

You had kissed once, years back. Two sixteen year olds who had gotten into the liquor cabinet blissfully unaware of when to stop, challenging each other for one more chug. When the world spun out of control, a staring match bloomed for grounding. She’d figure you’d both burn out laughing at the nothingness, but your irises turned out to be magnets. Twenty seconds you stood in silence, basking in each other's personal sunlight beaming of indecipherable desire. You leaned in first, she remembered. Strawberry lip gloss like an ode. She still licked her lips after every taste of strawberry milk– remnants of you. You never spoke of the kiss again.

“She's got half the cheerleading squad chasing after her at every game, way prettier girls at every corner-”

“They've got nothing on you, have you seen you? Fuck, you are breathtaking. I'm a fine arts major and half a blunt away from going asthmatic, trust me I know breathtaking when I see it”

“What did you lace your smoke with, I think it's messing with your brain”

“I’m not being funny” she said seriously, scooting in a way that forced you to sit up from her lap and face forward. You weren't entirely oblivious to the romantic undertones of your friendship with Ellie, it had been there long before either of you fully knew what it meant and it would likely stay long after you have decided to act as if it wasn't there, this was just the first time you felt impulsed to act on it. The way she looked at you drew shivers up your spine and tired your eyelids, feeling completely seen and understood under the warmest gaze. You had thought yourself insufficient many times, unloveable a hundred more, and though not fully anyone's fault but your own, those doubts seemed to only slip away when Ellie had you trapped by her gaze. You watched intently as she lowered her eyes towards your lips. Your voice reacted before your body could.

“Ellie we can't-”

“Shh” she mumbled, leaning in “tell me when to stop”

Her lips ghosted over your own and you closed your eyes at the feeling of her warm breath so close, you were only children when your first and only kiss had occurred and Ellie has had plenty of experience afterwards, nowhere near as shy as you had remembered her to be. Her nose caressed your own in the lightest of touch and her hands reached up behind your neck, gripping you. You whispered her name in disapproval as it was all you could bear to do with the fast approaching lump in your throat blocking all senses. She hushed you again, leaning against your face and getting abnormally close to your ears, taking a strand of hair and placing it behind it.

“Tell me to stop and I will” she whispered in a low voice.

Before you could process anything her lips sucked in your earlobe softly, you let out a gasp that only made you feel her smile against your skin, slowly trailing wet kisses down your neck stopping by the clavicule. She stopped herself to look you in the face, demanding softly you opened your eyes and against all judgement you complied. Inches stood between you, there was still time to look back. Except maybe you didn't want to. You were desperate for attention and there it was, being handed to you on a silver platter by someone you so dearly trusted. It had been the second time you were first to lean in. You captured Ellies lips in the softest of kisses, melting into her touch that held you at the waist as though any gust of wind would carry you away from her reach. Soon enough the kiss was hungry, desperate even, your hands at her hair pulling it down, letting her groans echo inside your mouth, she leaped you into her lap and traced the arch of your back underneath the oversized shirt you wore till it reached and undone the clasp of your bra.

“Breathtaking” Ellie mumbled against your lips, grabbing a fistful of your breast and squeezing it, proud of herself at the moan you let out. She kissed down your neck once again, pulling on your shirt so you'd raise your arms and allow her to pull it off you. She wanted to hear her name come out of your lips, wanted to claim territory in every inch of your skin and dip herself between your legs with such earnest desire you'd know deep in your bones your girlfriend had never touched you this way.

And then your phone rang. The pet name baby lighting up your screen. You looked between your phone and Ellie for a moment, and then you picked up.

“Hi, yeah, I'll go find you. I missed you too.”

#dealer!ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams #softdykellie #ellie x fem!reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction

[leiswxrld]

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒.. “shit- baby what if someone catches us”

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Bill Kaulitz x black fem reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: smut, p in v sex, blowjob, doggy style in the changing room, reader being literal feral for him, cock hungry , you guys could get caught, not proof read 🤧

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1188 words

𝐀/𝐍: A Bill Kaulitz smut 👏🏾 bye bill is such a cutie, managed to come up with this on the spot and write it in a day proud of myself 🫡

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒: @cafekitsune for line divers ❥

It was safe to say you had never been this turned on in your life.

Yes you had watched bill’s concerts with the band before but this particular concert had you wanting to be on your hands and knees and milking him completely dry.

He was wearing all black as usual but something just stood out to you, the way he sang like his life depended on it.. the copious amounts of sweat dripping down his forehead, the fact he had quickly flashed the crowd, showing his tone body to the audience something he had never done before.

It had you going completely feral.

When the band said their final goodbyes, he made his way back to his changing room, you were already there waiting for him.

“Oh shit- you scared me, how did you get here so fast” he says, putting a hand to his chest to indicate that you had really given him a jump.

“Oh nothing I just wanted to congratulate my boyfriend before he got back” you say, stalking your way towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He notices this and looks up into the mirror to see your eyes had darken from the usual colour as if you were being controlled by something.

“I know that look.. you know we can’t do it here” he says rubbing your hands before gently removing them from his waist. you look at him innocently, through the mirror and turn him around so that he was facing you and gently press soft kisses on his neck making sure to create reddish bruise’s all around.

“I don’t know what your talking about bill I’m just congratulating you on today’s performance” his breath jerks, eyeing you suspiciously as he rubs the sides of your waist.

“You’ve never congratulated me like this before, it’s just like any other concert what’s so special about this one”

You let out a sultry laugh as if he had asked a stupid question, “what’s so special…is that you looked so fucking sexy up on stage baby, I barley could contain myself” you say tracing the outline of his chest with your finger.

His eyes widen, watching you get on your knees and he begin’s to panick trying to push you off as you unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants along with his boxers. “Shit- baby what if someone catches us… you know how loud I get”

“Then you’ll just have to learn to shut up”

His cock hits the bottom of his abdomen, the tip leaking precum. you licked your lips in excitement going straight to work, swirling your tongue around the mushroom shaped tip before engulfing the entire length into your mouth.

He lets out a muffled moan as he brings his hands to his mouth, watching the door fearfully as your head bobs up and down his cock. You look up at him and grin, moaning as the oscillation’s went to his dick. “s-shit baby I didn’t know I turned you on this m-much” he whimpers, his eyes watering.

You were giving him the most toe curling head he had ever received and he was enjoying every last second of it. you were drooling all over his length as it dripped down your chin and onto the floor.

Bill was moaning so loud, that he could be heard from outside, that’s how you knew he was close. You bobbed your head at a faster rate and moaned briskly,

“shit..shit..shit”

bill let’s out a groan and comes down your throat. You don’t think he had cum this hard before, heedless amounts of cum going down your throat and you continued to suck him, until he was milked dry.

“fuckkkkkk” he wailed, falling onto the desk behind, you stood back up, licking the cum that was on your lips and fingers like ice cream.

You kiss him once more, letting him taste the saltiness of his cum that surrounded your mouth and showing your needyness and deprivation for him before pulling away the string of saliva connecting your lips, breaking.

“I want you right now bill please” you whine, giving him more kisses on his neck. He couldn’t resist you, especially if you were this needy and desperate for him.

“We have to be quick I have to meet up with the others in 10” he says, pulling you toward him and bending you over the desk. “How wet are you for me…hmm?”

“So wet for you bill” you say, grabbing his fingers and laying them against your wet cunt. His breath hitched, feeling the wetness coat his fingers and noticing that you were not wearing any panties, underneath the short plaited skirt.

“Just want it in me… please” you whine, putting your fingers to your clit and rubbing slowly.

He was so hard for you that he could feel the overwhelming pulses in his cock intensify, watching you play with yourself. “So fucking sexy”

He grabs your love handles and positions you, teasing your folds with his cock-head, tapping it ever so gently before easing himself into you. He heave’s, the tightness of your inviting warmth nearly making him spill into you, “Jesus- your so tight”

You moan, resting your head on the desk as he begins rocking his hips into you, the wetness of your pussy being so much that it felt like a strong vice tugging on his length, “oh-ssshit” you slur, feeling already cock drunk.

He began pounding into you, making your toes curl as it hit your g-spot every time. You’d moan ‘yes’s’ and ‘more’, the feeling of an orgasm trickling up, your hands gripping the table like your life depended on it, the vanity’s desk banging and shaking against the wall.

“Look at me baby…look how fucking beautiful you look”

Dazed, you look up and make eye contact with bill in the mirror, watching yourself get fucked like a common whore, in a dressing room knowing that anyone could come in and catch you both in the act.

He grabbed your throat and kissed up your ear, whispering praises and sweet nothings. Your walls tighten around his length and bill knew you were close,

“Come for me”

“nghhhh- coming” you wheeze, your vision going crossed eyed as you cum on his dick, slumping on the desk with a whimper. “Where do you want my cum baby…shit….tell me”

“In me… cum in me” he listens to you, shortly after coming inside of you with a loud moan, his load filling you up as most of it spilled out of your warmth, letting it drip down your thighs.

You felt bad for the person who was going to have to clean the room after your little escapade as they were going to be met with the displeasant surprise.

He takes short breaths, the high coming down as he pulled out and carried you over to the couch. You were far too gone to even react or say anything just resting your head on his chest, letting him play with your hair.

“I love you so fucking much” he confesses kissing your forehead,

“I love you too”

#bill kaulitz x black reader #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz #black reader #black reader smut #tokio hotel #smut #bill kaulitz x black fem reader #reader #leiswxrld #leiscoven #bill kaulitz smut

[jungle-angel]

A Boy And His Critters (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob think your oldest child might be an animal whisperer

Warnings: Mentions of birth, pregnancy, cuteness overload etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callmemana @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @bobfloydsbabe

It was late in the afternoon in early spring, on a day when the hawthorn trees in your yard had just begun to bud and flower. Your birdfeeder already had more than enough visitors, your three cats, Freya, Thor and Pumpkin, having eyed them from the living room window. Already there had been fifteen calf births within the last two days with Bob, his father and his brothers and sisters having to wake at some ungodly hour to help with the births.

You were in the living room of your home in Montana, the soft Disney piano music playing from the speaker on your laptop. Bob lay on the spread out quilt on the living room floor, one pillow under his head and the other under his tummy while he gently rocked Baby Rudy in his little baby hammock. The sun streamed through the windows as you sat close to your husband and baby, the other three outside with their grandparents or aunts and uncles while you were busy carding the freshly shorn sheep's wool from the week before. You set aside your brushes and quickly took a snapshot of the sweet sight, hoping to add it to the photo album later.

You heard a loud meow and felt that familiar bushy tail brushing against you, looking down to find Thor rubbing against you. "You need a good brushing," you chuckled, teasing him with the carding combs.

"S'it the cat again?" Bob mumbled with a yawn.

"Yep," you answered, getting back to your work. "Rudy asleep?"

"Mmmhmm," Bob answered. "M'gonna go see if Dad needs help and come back for a nap."

Bob rose from his spot and kissed you before heading out to the barn to see if his father needed any help. "Hey sleepyhead!" the older Floyd greeted, tipping his black cowboy hat a little.

"Hey Dad," Bob answered sleepily. "Everything good?"

"Yeah everything's lookin good," Joe answered. "The hands have it all down so we don't have to worry until the spring auction. The baby go to sleep?"

"Just went down for a nap," Bob yawned. "I think I might too, my eyes are starting to itch."

Bob and his father conversed back and forth, totally unaware at first of the clanking of a metal bucket and the hurried footsteps of five year old Auggie.

"Bud?" Bob asked when he finally saw. "Whatcha doin?"

"Nothin Daddy," Auggie chirped.

"Doesn't look like nothin," Joe chuckled.

"I gotta go milk the cows, Papa!" Auggie announced.

Joe and Bob were humored to say the least, more so when they saw Smokey, the crotchety old rooster weaving his way in and out from between Auggie's legs. They followed behind him to make sure he didn't get into trouble, when he approached the female dairy cow that Joe and Irene had taken in, singing in his chirpy little voice, one of the farm songs he had learned in his kindergarten class at the so-called "hippie school" he attended with the other Dagger children.

"Holy shit," Joe chuckled. "Get a load of this Bobby."

Bob was thunderstruck when he saw the old bat following Auggie into the barn with Smokey still clucking away between his little cowboy boots. Normally it would take two or three of the hands to lead her in, but here was Auggie, five years old and barely up to his father's hips, leading her into the stall with no issues.

"Un......believable," Bob laughed.

"How the fuck does this kid do it?" Joe wondered out loud, a broad smile on his face at the sight of his grandson.

Bob quickly pulled out his phone and began recording, hoping to be able to show the others when they had a chance to come by. Auggie chirped away as he milked the cow until a startled moo came from her.

"Sorry Peach, but that's what Daddy does to Mommy and it works."

Bob stifled a squawk in his throat but not before Auggie began yelling at him in his best Shrek voice.

"AYE! GET OUT ME FUCKIN SWAMP!!!!!"

"August Robert!" Bob laughed.

Auggie hurried over but Bob was in too good a mood to discipline his son. "Sorry for using a dirty word, Daddy," he apologized.

Bob picked his son up and kissed his cheek, Auggie's glasses falling slightly off the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad you said sorry, but Daddy should remember the rule the he and Mommy put into place."

When Bob was able to go back inside, he showed you the video including the one of Auggie's Shrek impression.

"You'd think he was an animal whisperer by the way Smokey follows him around," you laughed.

"Sometimes I like to think so sweetheart," Bob yawned as he lay on the couch.

You set aside your carding combs and the wool, covering Bob with the spring quilt and snuggling in beside him, the two of you proud as ever of Auggie.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x y/n #top gun maverick

[forlorn-crows]

kinktober day 20

(not so) dry humping. we already know who's the king of cumming in his pants. put a pretty water and air ghoul on top of him and he's a goner. and they're high? oh yeah, big boy's totally creaming himself

little dick mountain, they/them zephyr (dick/cock for their anatomy), transmasc dew (cunt for his anatomy)

Dew lets ribbons of herbal smoke seep out from his gills, giggling at the ticklish feel. 

“Showing off for us, are you, water lily?” Zephyr lilts, reaching out to run a finger along the curly fins on the water ghoul’s neck. Dew sighshappily, preening under their attention. 

Mountain hooks his chin over Zephyr’s shoulder and watches the smoke curl and dissipate around them. “Pretty,” he mumbles. 

“He is, isn’t he,” Zephyr purrs. 

“Pretty high,” Dew replies with a laugh, snuffing out the end of the joint. 

Mountain squints. Stares at the ashtray for longer than necessary. He grumbles a little into Zephyr’s hair. “Was’at th’ end already?” he slurs, brows knitting together. 

“Number . . . uh . . .” Dew sucks his teeth and lets his eyes droop, brain visibly buffering as he struggles to remember just how many they’ve shared between the three of them. 

Zephyr chuckles at the both of them. They relax further back into Mountain’s chest and pull Dew further up their outstretched legs. He happily makes himself comfortable on Zephyr’s lap, wriggling and readjusting until his legs fold pretzel-like to fit between the taller ghouls’ equally lanky limbs.

“You two are adorable lightweights,” they muse. They smooth their hands up and down Dew’s sides, earning a pleased hum from the water ghoul who promptly tucks his face into the crook of their neck like a milk-drunk kitten. 

“‘S not fair you just,” Mountain gestures vaguely with one hand, “make it disappear. Fuckin’ air ghouls.”

Dew huffs a laugh against Zephyr’s shirt. “Not fair,” he echoes. He wriggles his hips again, settling further into their lap and into the comfortable haze hanging between his ears. 

Zephyr can’t really hide—or help—the strained grunt that escapes their throat at the sensation of a pretty water ghoul squirming directly over their dick. Blame it on the weed, or blame it on the lack of substantial material between Dew’s sex and theirs, but Zephyr is instantaneously more lightheaded and significantly harder than they were just moments ago.  

Mountain’s nostrils flare against their skin, ears perking. “Mm, smell good, Zephy. Feelin’ good?”

Dew sniffs too, jolting back up from his draped posture and grinning wide when he feels Zephyr chubbed up beneath him. “I’d say they’re feelin’ real good, Mounty,” he drawls. He rolls his hips for good measure, wrenching a real groan from the air ghoul’s throat. 

“You would too with a pretty little water ghoul in your lap,” Zephyr retorts. They give a pinch to Dew’s side as payback. 

“Ohhhh,” Mountain says, neurons finally firing in the right series. He squeezes his hands around Zephyr’s middle and pulls them properly against his chest, rumbling contentedly as the bright honeysuckle scent of their arousal wafts over them all. “Wha’ if I have a pretty air ghoul in my lap?”

“Dunno, pet,” Zephyr breathes, dropping their head back against Mountain’s shoulder. Dew takes this as an invitation to melt his lanky body back against their chest, nuzzling his nose close to their pulse point. “What will you do?” they tease. 

And then they have the audacity to wriggle their own hips, grinding against Mountain’s lap until he groans too. “Fuck, Zephyyy,” he whines. 

“Zephyyy,” Dew snorts, mocking him lightly. But any menace is lost in the giggle he lets loose less than a second later—a giggle that morphs straight into a moan when Zephyr’s cock rubs just right against his clit through their pants. “Oh,” he gasps, humping right back. “That feels real nice.”

“Yeah, does,” Mountain groans, his own cock quickly filling out and the little head turning sticky. “Too—mmpf—too nice,” he admits. 

“Plenty to go around, boys,” Zephyr teases. They grind between the others, indulging in the lazy heat settling in their veins. A pleased purr kicks up in their chest. “Fuck, you two feel divine.”

Mountain noses along the wispy hair at their temple, mouth slightly parted as he huffs hotly against the side of their face. A high earth ghoul is an easily excitable—and sensitive—earth ghoul, so his hips are already kicking up in tempo underneath Zephyr’s ass. It’s rough and greedy, but it feels too good to even fathom stopping. 

Thoughts are in short supply between them anyway. Especially not when Dew starts bouncing a mere minute later like he can ride Zephyr through their pants. 

“Don’t—don’ do that,” Mountain whines. His arms wrap around Zephyr’s torso and he grabs Dew’s waist, but he does nothing to stop him from moving. If anything, he grips the little ghoul tighter, keeping him from slipping off of Zephyr’s lap while he ruts harder against their ass. 

The air ghoul gasps, caught between amusement and arousal. “Can feel how hard that little cock is, pet. Getting needy?”

“Likes seeing me ride you,” Dew pants, almost just as desperate. Almost.

“You are doing nothing of the sort.”

“‘lose enough,” Mountain wheezes. The water ghoul keeps glancing past Zephyr’s face, batting his eyelashes at Mountain and flipping his silver hair out of his face. And devils below if he would stop bouncing like that, maybe Mountain wouldn’t be so close to cumming in his jeans. 

“Mounty-y-y,” Dew sing-songs, voice bouncing in time with his body. “You got that look on your faaaccee.”

The earth ghoul shakes his head, biting back a childish nuh-uh. The look in question has his eyebrows drawn together, and his chipped fang poking over his bottom lip where he’s worrying it between his teeth. His eyes are droopy and red-rimmed, fighting not to stare at Dew or roll straight back into his head. 

Zephyr cranes their neck to run their tongue up the column of Mountain’s neck. They rock their hips back and forth between the two ghouls, slow and torturous. "If you cum, pet,” they rasp, “I bet our droplet will clean you up while I fuck his darling cunt. Won't you, Dew?"

Dew chokes. "What the fu—"

"Oh Lucifer," Mountain cries, voice cracking through breaks he didn't even know he had while his hips give a telltale stutter. Before he can gather the scraps of his remaining wits, he squeezes his arms around Zephyr’s middle and humps them rabbit-quick, creaming himself in no less than five thrusts. He shudders through it, whining high and wounded, cumming harder under the burn of embarrassment. 

“Oh, darling,” Zephyr groans, albeit with a slightly teasing lilt. “That sounded like a very good time.” 

“Shut up,” Mountain mumbles, grimacing at the way his cock twitches in the confines of his now sticky underwear. 

Mercifully, Zephyr leans forward so their ass isn’t directly on Mountain’s lap anymore, getting close to Dew’s face with a wicked smile on their face. Dew can’t help but giggle as they brush their lips over his. 

“Better get to work, water lily,” they croon. Zephyr casts a quick peek over their shoulder, winking at Mountain who’s still staring at them, slack-jawed. They turn back to Dew, pressing even closer and lowering their voice to a barely-there whisper: “Wouldn’t want your treat to go to waste, would you?” 

#the band ghost #ghostober #kinktober #fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #ghost fanfic #ficlet #mountain ghoul #zephyr ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #transmasc dewdrop #they/them zephyr #little dick mountain #mountain/dew/zephyr #zephyr/mountain/dew #dew/mountain/zephyr #dew/zephyr/mountain #mountain/zephyr/dew #i write these and then i hate them lmao #oh well #i love these three so it doesnt matter #era iii ghouls

[2cupids]

pairing: jaemin x f reader

word count: 1,003

genre: smut, slight angst

cw: implied toxic relationship, mean dom jaemin, jm calls you sl*t/wh*re, pet names (baby, princess), rough s*x?, light ass slapping, he pulls your hair, mentions of pregnancy, degradation, breeding, bad attempt at writing angst at the end.

a/n: this is my early valentine’s day gift to you all even though this isn’t romantic or lovey dovey. thank you to my love bambi @127kive for helping me w a certain part 🫶🏾. love y’all and please let me know your thoughts!

“you’re such a fucking whore. i leave for 5 minutes and you’re already throwing yourself at another guy?” he rasps, voice full of anger.

“it wasn’t like that jaem—“

he glares down at you. jaw clenched, gritting his teeth; he’s pissed. “you’re always bitching about how i should let you have more freedom. but every time i do, you always start acting like a slut again.”

you cry out in response to the initial strike but savor the delicious burn it leaves behind, completely forgetting that he was even talking.

you’re pleasantly surprised when you receive another slap to your backside, this one coming with a warning. “answer me when i’m talking to you.”

he refocuses his attention on abusing your hole, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your bedroom. “at least you’re good for one thing though.. everyone knows you can’t do shit else right,” he chuckles, a smile of pure enjoyment creeping onto his face. “you’re nothing but a stupid cock slut, you know that?”

you’re reluctant, a distasteful look making its way onto your face, nonetheless you still tell him what he wants to hear. “yes! n-nothing but a slut! s-stupid slut!”

his hands leave your ass, moving up to hold onto either side of your waist, tightly holding onto the delicate skin. his hands eventually move further down your body to your breasts, squeezing them and tweaking your nipples.

you drink in the feeling of his fingers on your tits, quietly pouting when one of his hands leaves your chest to grab a handful of your curls.

he yanks you up by your hair, pulling you flush against his chest. you gasp, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain which causes jaemin to laugh as he wraps his hand around your throat.

“the only way i can make you stop whoring around,” he mutters, warm breath fanning across your ear, “is to fuck a baby into this nasty pussy of yours.”

your breath hitches in your throat and your mind goes numb, nothing but his words replay in your head. the thought makes you whine and unintentionally clench around him.

he mumbles something under his breath and releases his grip on your neck, grabbing your jaw instead. he turns your head to the side, placing a lazy kiss on your lips, before pulling away, a thin string of saliva still connecting your bottom lips together.

he pushes you back down on the bed, snapping his hips into you. “maybe i’ll put a baby in you then skip town; disappear,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “what do you think people would say about you princess? hm?”

“jaemin—“

“they’ll say you’re a dumb little whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed and got herself knocked up.” he taunts, grinning ear to ear.

a whimper falls from your mouth. your bottom lip quivers and the tears lining your eyes threaten to slip out. his words are cruel. demeaning. and they should hurt you, but instead they do the exact opposite.

you muster up the courage to protest against him, in hopes of receiving more degrading remarks. you’re about to speak when you feel his hand toying with your clit and the sentence you prepared immediately leaves your mind being replaced by the feeling of his hand between your legs.

“you know.. i wasn’t even going to let you cum, but i love the way i love this pussy grips my cock, milking me.”

he continues messing with your sensitive nub while thrusting into you, never missing a beat. you feel your thighs tremble and your muscles tense.

“fuck! please don’t stop,” you beg.

he pinches the bundle of nerves between his middle and ring fingers, sending you over the edge. your eyes roll back as your core flutters around his member, a choked sob escaping your mouth.

you feel weightless, like you’re floating, you want to stay like that forever but you’re brought back to reality by the feeling jaemin’s hip driving into your now sensitive heat, chasing after his release.

“so fucking close,” he hisses, sweat from his temples roll down his face and onto his jawline.

his once rhythmic movements become sloppy and erratic. one hand stays latched onto your hip while the other pushes your face down into the comforter.

“gonna fill this pussy up real good,” he pants. “you’re gonna take it all, yeah? my little cum whore.”

you let out a muffled ‘yes’ and within seconds a loud groan resonates from above you and a warm liquid coats your insides.

he stays inside you, letting his cock grow soft before he finally pulls out. your legs give out and you collapse on the bed, jaemin doing the same just seconds later. neither of you speak as you both lay there in silence, tension looming in the air. you hesitantly turn on your side to face him, moving your body closer to him, cuddling up next to his side.

he pushes your body away, moving off the bed to grab his sweatpants that were discarded on the floor and making his way towards the door.

“you’ve got 10 minutes to get yourself together, i’m not done with you,” he snaps, “i meant what i said about putting a baby in you.”

without another word, he turns his back to you and walks out of the bedroom, leaving your limp body sprawled out on the bed. you lay there a little while longer, feeling the hot tears begin to form in your eyes. you pull yourself off the bed with the little strength you have left and head toward the bathroom, quietly weeping.

he doesn’t care about you. words can’t explain how much it hurts, but it would hurt you even more to leave him. why do you have so much love for him?

#nct smut #nct dream smut #jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #nct hard hours #nct dream hard hours #nct scenario #nct x black reader #kpop x black reader

[yellowbunnydreams]

Bunny Ears (Part 13) ~William Afton X F! Reader~

~POV: You finish your paper and have it reviewed only to recieve 30+ comments on it dragging it through the dirt and lighting it on fire. Edit; Finished and submitted, flipped off my computer~

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tag List: @ruh--roh-raggy @h4nluv @sleepy---head @do-double-g @confiscated-peaches-main @dij-ology @viviennemuerte @robin-the-enby @shari-berri @randymeeksisafinalgirl @hallow1090 @aponia-yue @likoplays @dilflover-3 @oak-leafs @phd-in-fuckery @weirdoartist21 @nicolezghostz @fauine

Sorry if I missed you on the tag-list!

CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 30's), divorce/processing divorce, Afton being a sarcastic hot ass, Henry being such a dad, grumpy x sunshine . Faz-Fuck TM. Cringe scenes ft. Henry.

The knocking at your door on your day off stirred you from your sleep. Groggily heading towards the door and opening it whilst rubbing sleep from your eyes with the heel of your hand. The knocks were too light for William, and you weren't expecting any packages, so there was some trepidation as you answered.

Blinking against the bright light, you were surprised to see the petite and lithe figure of Sarah Emily on your step. Blonde hair tied up neatly into a ponytail and wearing jeans with a white t-shirt, looking like a casual woman around your age unless you looked closely and could see the crinkles around her eyes from years of smiling.

"H-Hey! Um...Hi Sarah." You said after a moment of confusion, looking down at yourself and realising that you were wearing William's hoodie again and some shorts. Blushing at the fact this was the second time you had answered the door to somebody you knew whilst dressed in such a state.

"Well good-morning sleephead! I thought I would stop by and come see you." She laughed, giggling more as you gestured for her to come inside and shut the door behind her. Padding into your kitchen and taking out two mugs from the draining board next to your sink, turning on the kettle and finding your instant coffee and tea.

"Tea, coffee?"

"Coffee, milky with two sugars please." Sarah replied, amused at seeing you still somewhat out of it and wearing Afton's hoodie. She recognised it from the similar one Henry had, tucked away back in his closet somewhere in case he wanted to wear it one day. Not that he, nor Afton wore those kinds of things often anymore since the opening of Freddy's.

"So um...how have you been?" You asked, waking up a bit more as you grabbed milk from the fridge, making coffee for Sarah and yourself as you placed them on the counter. Leaning against the cool lino and feeling your attention wandering as you realised that Sarah had a slightly mischievous look on her face. "And I'm guessing this isn't entirely a 'I was in the neighbourhood' call."

"Good good, Charlie's been a little terror recently, but she's sweet otherwise. And you caught me! I wanted to know if you wanted a girly day out, and then, we go on that double-date I mentioned last time?" She asked, making you choke on your coffee slightly, nose burning as the action nearly made it come up through your nose. Coughing to gather yourself, you found yourself looking at your hand and the mug.

"I don't think I've ever...had a girly day? But I'd like the date later!" Sarah raised an eyebrow before she looked incredulous, her slender hand resting over her heart as she looked at you.

"You've never...NEVER... had a girly day out?"

"Nope."

"Get some pants on and get in the fucking car, we are rectifying this, now!" She exclaimed, downing her coffee and making you do the same, wincing as the heat slid down your throat before you half-ran to your room. Throwing on some deodorant, a subtle body-spray and some somewhat clean jeans and a t-shirt over your underwear. Dragging a brush through your hair and huffing as you almost tripped over yourself trying to pull on your socks and boots. Sarah standing by the door and your door keys dangling from her fingers, grin plastered on her face as you grabbed them from her.

"Why did we need to rush again?"

"Oh, no reason, but it was quite funny to watch." She laughed as you locked the front door, laughing harder as you gave her a stern look. Heading to her car and climbing inside, sighing as you rested your head against the seat and closed your eyes briefly.

~~

"William! How're you doing buddy?" Henry called as he opened the office door, making William jump slightly as he was disturbed from his intense concentration on some of the blue-prints in front of him. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he sighed and looked towards the smaller man. Noticing how his hair was loose and wild despite his professional appearance.

"You only call me 'buddy' when you need something Henry, what is it this time?" Henry placed a hand over his heart and pouted, dramatically leaning against the door frame and sinking against it like he'd just been shot before he stumbled into the office.

"You wound me! I don't do that! You are my buddy!" William scoffed and rolled his eyes at his dramatic business partner before looking back down at the plans in his hand. Scribbling on a separate piece of paper to note some measurements and calculations whilst he heard Henry lean against the desk. Almost hearing the smile in his voice as he spoke again.

"Anyway, me and Sarah are going on a date tonight and we were wondering if you and your little girlfriend would like to join us and make it a double date?" William sighed and set the papers down on his desk, looking over his glasses to see Henry's wild grin. Afton sucked on the inside of his cheek before replying, going to pick up the paperwork on his desk once more.

"Absolutely not, the last time you attempted something like this Henry, Sarah practically bit Clara's head off and you got so pissed you walked half an hour down the high-way before we found you."

"That was college! And secondly, you'll let your girlfriend down if you don't show!"

"I'm sure she also said no to this stupid idea."

"Actually, Sarah's gone to her house and they're having a little trip to get all dolled up for this date tonight." Henry smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as William dropped the papers and rubbed his hands over his face. Groaning loudly and leaning back in the chair, making it creak under his weight.

"You mean to tell me that Sarah, your wife, has kidnapped my girlfriend and is playing dress-up with her?" Running his hands through his hair whilst glaring at Henry, who nodded with the same, stupid grin plastered on his face. Afton groaned again and put his head in his hands.

"Fine, you sick bastard, I'll come. Just leave the address on my desk and tell me what time to be there."

"Don't forget to bring a condom William, I'm sure that afterwards you'll-"

"HENRY, DON'T BE A FUCKING PERVERT." Henry cackled at his friend's outburst, holding his hands up in defence, laughing harder as William reached into the drawer and chucked balled up paper at the man as he retreated. Leaving William to hide his face in his hands and groan in frustration, wishing his friend had at least asked him before kidnapping you via his wife.

~~

"What about this one?" Sarah asked you, showing you a swatch of an eyeshadow on the back of her hand and you hummed in thought as you looked at it. Shaking your head after a moment. "Oh come on," she groaned your name slightly as she put back the little tester tub. "you have to like something I show you!"

"I'm sorry Sarah, I'm just not...I don't really even do my own make-up. I wear mascara and some lip gloss occasionally, I don't do..this." You gestured to the large make-up counter that you were both at. Glancing over the bold and bright colours that Sarah seemed to favour, brow knitting together as you picked up a container and opened it, looking at the dark green shade inside before closing it and putting it back.

"Maybe we're doing this in the wrong order!" Sarah clapped her hands together before grabbing one of yours, dragging you behind her and almost tripping over your feet with the force the small woman was surprisingly able to move you with. You supposed that she was a mom, so perhaps it was from having to move a reluctant child...or Henry. You could also see Henry having to be dragged away from stores a few times by his wife.

She pulled you into a boutique in the mall, blinking as you adjusted to the new lighting inside and looked around. Spotting plenty of dresses lining the walls and making you groan. You couldn't remember the last time you'd found a dress you would even consider wearing, let alone wearing one, and they all seemed so formal, you'd hoped that you could get away with a nice top and some cleaner jeans for the date. Sarah seemingly had other ideas as she began browsing the racks.

Under encouragement, and a few teasing words, from Sarah, you began looking too. Hands idly flipping through the dresses and cringing as some of the material felt awful under your fingers, others just a plain ugly colour that you wouldn't be caught dead in.

"Can I help you find something?" The voice made you jump and you turned to see an elegantly dressed shop assistant standing near to you, heart pounding in your chest as you looked back at the dresses for a second, brow furrowed and a soft sigh escaping your lips as your shoulders slumped.

"I um..I'm going on a double date tonight and apparently I have to wear a dress..so..yeah. Just trying to find something I like honestly." You say, speaking quietly as your fingers scanned through the materials before the woman cleared her throat again, grabbing your attention once more.

"Well, what colour does your date usually wear?" They asked, making you pause only for a moment before you answered.

"Black."

"Well, I'm guess you're newly together, so matching might be a little much. But I can suggest some colours that work well and we'll figure out style from there." She smiled, making you give a polite smile back as she gestured towards another part of the store. Practised eyes scanning through the dresses and flickering back to you before her hands darted out to pick out a few dresses before taking you back to the dressing rooms, where Sarah was already admiring herself in a dark green dress that hugged her figure perfectly, a long slit up her leg and showing it off.

The assistant handed you the dresses and shooed you into a dressing room, pursing your lips together before you obeyed. Hoping that there would be at least one thing you liked amongst the pile.

~~

Sarah carefully brushed your eyelids with a careful precision that you were unsure you would have ever been able to manage. Feeling what felt almost like a brush-pen moving against your lid and out before you heard the click of a lid closing. Her slender hand grabbing your chin gently before you heard another lip pop, your eyes closed as you let the older woman manoeuvre you and do your make-up as she saw fit.

You jumped slightly as you felt a cool wetness against your lips, making the woman tut disapprovingly as she tightened her grip slightly and coated your lips, letting go of you as she spoke. "Press your lips together for me dear." Following her instructions and feeling some of the stickiness dissipate before your eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as you glanced up at her.

"Go on, check yourself out little lady!" She squealed, helping you to stand up in the tiny kitten heels she had somehow convinced you to wear as well. Focusing intently on walking as you walked up to the mirror that Sarah had placed on the floor so that you could get a better look at yourself.

Your hair had been set loosely around your shoulders, styled to perfection and looking glossy, healthy. You were surprised by how lovely the dress looked, a soft purple chiffon with translucent sleeves and a 'v' shaped neckline, allowing the swell of your breasts to be visible as well as the dip of your collarbones. The middle wrapping tight to your body to show off your waist before the skirt flowed down, coming to your knees and floating slightly like something you saw in fancy prom movies. It looked almost a similar shade to purple that you were sure you had seen William wearing before. And Sarah had masterfully applied winged eye-liner to your eyes, darkening your lashes with mascara and the faint shimmer of nude coloured eyeshadows could faintly be made out. Your lips glossy and tasting like almonds.

Stepping behind you, Sarah's blonde hair was tied up into a classicly braided updo, two curled strands framing her face as you noticed she had similar make-up to how you had it. The dark green dress from earlier looking stunning on her as she placed her hands on your shoulders, smiling brightly.

"You look gorgeous, dear."

"I feel like I'm a little girl playing dress-up." You sighed, smoothing your hands down your dress carefully and frowning slightly, making her tut as she took your hands, bringing them up and smoothing over your knuckles with her thumbs.

"You don't look like it. William is going to not know what hit him when he sees you." She smiled, making you blush and smile back, nodding your head as you allowed her to guide you through the house and out to the waiting taxi. She'd driven her car back home and gotten a taxi back to yours, calling for one to pick you up and take you out to the restaurant that apparently William and Henry were waiting at.

You shifted nervously in your seat, watching the streets blur past before Sarah gently nudged your bag towards you, smiling as you opened it and took out a little bottle of perfume. The only expensive one you owned, it was your signature one for more 'formal' occasions, and it seemed like as good a time as any to use it. Carefully applying it to your pulse points, the smell comforting and exciting as you put away the bottle. Sarah applying her own perfume and touching up her gloss a bit as the ride seemed all too short and all too long at the same time.

You made out Henry's car parked up, frowning as you noticed you didn't spot William's, stomach sinking as you climbed out of the taxi whilst Sarah paid before she linked arms with you.

"I told Henry to pick up William, they're both at the table and waiting for us." She reassured, noticing your worried expression with a comforting squeeze of your hand. Heels clicking against the concrete as you both headed inside.

It was far more formal than any place you'd been before. And your silly plastic bracelet felt out of place in there. You felt out of place in there. Waiters in white shirts and black pants ran about with towels over their arms, the walls wood panelled and the floor a beautiful, rich patterned marble tile. Your heart pounded in your chest as you allowed Sarah to drag you along.

Henry spotted the pair of you and gestured for William that you had arrived. Watching the pair of them squeeze out of the booth as you approached, your breath catching in your throat slightly.

Henry had his hair loose, revealing all it's fluffy, curled glory that was still cropped somewhat close to his head. Clearly freshly shaven and dressed in a dark green suit that matched Sarah's dress, crisp white shirt and a black tie, he looked ecstatic that he had matched his wife, seeing him tear up slightly as he caught sight of her.

But you lost your breath with William. Dressed head to toe in black. he had put on tailored black pants that seemed to highlight how long his legs were, as well as how strong they looked. Sleeves rolled up on the black shirt, tight across his broad chest in a way that made you afraid he would pop buttons if he flexed in the wrong way. His greying hair slicked back and his eyes slightly wide behind his glasses as he drank you in. You smiled as he raised his hand and you spotted the bracelet still on his arm, feeling comforted that he had continued to wear it despite the more formal setting.

His jaw fluttered slightly as he watched you approach. Wearing one of his favourite colours and the slight way you wobbled when you walked as you clearly tried to get used to moving in heels. He found himself feeling relief that you had worn the bracelet too, but his heart was pounding too fast in his chest as he took you in. You were a picture of beauty, and he reached out his hand as you came closer, taking your softer hand in his before he half-bowed to plant a kiss onto the back of your hand. Breathing deeply as he smelled your perfume and feeling his body aching with want.

"You look gorgeous, bunny. I should perhaps let Sarah have you more often." The teasing tone in his voice evident for the second part as you giggled, blushing and feeling the heat rising in your cheeks as he kept ahold of your hand.

"I-I don't think I need anymore make-up or dresses. But you look really nice." You swallowed, trying to change the subject back onto him. Seeing his cheeks heat up despite the stubble across his face. A lopsided grin being given to you as he gently guided you into the booth, still holding your hand as you settled in, his thumb running over your knuckles adoringly.

Henry called your name and you glanced at him, seeing his eyes still watering as he looked between you and your held hand. "You look great. I hope this isn't too short notice or strange, but I wanted to take Sarah on a date and then it occurred to me, I should invite you guys along too!" Chuckling and sniffling as he tried to not be too emotional as William remained close to you. Sarah rolled her eyes slightly, but the smile on her face told you that she wasn't really annoyed, kissing Henry's cheek before she picked up a menu to glance over.

"Thank you for inviting me, I really appreciate it. And I hope that it's as fun for all of us." You smile, seeing Henry's lip quiver at your words. Nodding his head before he looked at the menu, trying to distract himself.

William brought your hand to his lips again, giving your hand a squeeze as you leaned in and gave his knuckles as kiss in return. Smelling his warm, spiced cologne as you got closer, making you feel dizzy as you turned your attention to the menu. Still holding onto him as you browsed the options.

It was going to be a long night, but you felt a little more confident to face it with William by your side.

#steve raglan #william afton #william afton x reader #springtrap #steve raglan x reader #fnaf movie #springtrap x reader #william afton smut #william afton x you #fnaf x reader

[armoricaroyalty]

Previous | Chapter Start | Beginning | Next

Transcript under the cut.

The Passionflower // Armorican State Visit - Day 4

JULIÁN | …I’m not going to kiss and tell. I’m a gentleman. GERMÁN | Bullshit. And come on, man. I’m not asking for the play-by-play just…y’know. Are you going to see her again? JULIÁN | Uh...maybe?  JULIÁN | [sighs] I had fun, but... GERMÁN | But? JULIÁN | So how do I measure up? VIVI | To my husband? JULIÁN | [laughs] No, I’m confident I’m a better lover than him. JULIÁN | But am I the best you’ve ever had? Flatter me, beautiful, I'm very sensitive. VIVI | [chuckles] Fine. VIVI | You're the best I've ever had. [chuckles] Best of two. JULIÁN | Wait— JULIÁN | How was I supposed to know she was a virgin? GERMÁN | She’s got a child, doesn't she. JULIÁN | Fine. The nearest thing to a virgin. JULIÁN | [sighs] I feel like a dirty old man. GERMÁN | [laughs] Hey man. If the shoe fits… ROSALIND | He’s really milking it, isn’t he? MARY | Oh come on. It was your idea. You told him to do this. ROSALIND | I told him to propose, not to shove it down everyone’s throats. MARY | I think you’re jealous. ROSALIND | Of course I'm jealous! He stole my ring! MARY | Stole? You gave it to him. ROSALIND |I had to! The engagement would have been obvious as a diversion if he’d gone out and bought a ring from some Uspanian jeweler. ROSALIND | [sighs unhappily] I wanted to see you wearing it. MARY | …maybe it’s for the best. MARY | Don’t get me wrong. It’s a beautiful ring, but. Ah. It’s not really to my taste. ROSALIND | … ROSALIND | Well, we’ll have to pick out something together then, won’t we? [ROSALIND’s phone vibrates.] ROSALIND | Hold on...oh no. Shit. MARY | What is it? MARY | Let me see! ... Oh no. Shit. ROSALIND | I'll speak to my father. We need to change our flight. EMILY | ...this trip has been incredible. Honestly, it still feels a little unreal. VIVI | Yeah? EMILY | Yeah. And...I've been meaning to ask you. How did you adjust? EMILY | I mean, with your background, it must have been a struggle. Like, I'm used to the lifestyle, but no one really knows what to expect, do they? VIVI | [sighs] EMILY | Do you have any advice for me, since we're going to be sisters and all? VIVI | No. EMILY | Uh...no? VIVI | What do you want me to say? EMILY | I just thought that you might— VIVI | Figure it out. I did. VIVI | ...even with my background. EMILY | What? Oh, Vivi, I didn't mean it like that— VIVI | Whatever. It's fine. EMILY | I'm sorry...Please don't be angry with me. I want us to be close. VIVI | I said it's fine. VIVI | [sighs] I can't wait for all this to be over. I want to go home.

#armorica story #chapter 3 #behind the scenes #armorica collabs #nexility sims #character: julian reyes #character: german reyes #character: vivienne meijer #character: rosalind st. fleur #character: mary yokoyama #character: emily chandra #character: andre st. fleur #character: barbie bermudez #character: beatriz reyes #character: leonor reyes #character: lorraine rodchester

[quotedfictions]

In The Dark

Synopsis: During reach out day, Tyler Galpin's old friends decide to take advantage of you and Eugene, a frail witch and the bee club president, while your boyfriend Wednesday is stationed in the chocolate shop of pilgrim world; only when everything goes dark in your eyes does Wednesday feel that something has gone wrong.

Themes: Male Wednesday Addams, Protective boyfriend, bullying, witch's, vampires, romance, caring boyfriend.

Warnings: Physical assault, verbal assault, bullying, general violence, profanity, name-calling.

Note: This does not follow the out reach day episode this is just a made up scene of my own imagination that is based off outreach day, I did, however, have to re-watch that episode to get the bullies right.

Wordcount: 880

Reaching Jericho, you are immediately ripped from your boyfriend as you head towards Pilgrim World with Eugene; it wasn't long before you reunited with each other; you lean over and whisper, genuinely curious about where his previous assignment went. "I suppose you finally convinced Enid to switch assignments with you; how on earth did you do that, if I might ask?" Wednesday Glanced at you while walking with you and the group. "I told her she would have the opportunity to partner with Ajax, and she took it." You nod in understanding and continue with the group as you get closer to the assigned job.

You soon reached your destination as Wednesday made his way to the front, you couldn't quite catch what he was saying to the group leader, but you could hear the group leader loud and clear. You all would be working in the chocolate factor; you despised milk chocolate, the scent, the texture, the taste. It could never compare to dark chocolate. Soon after being requested to change into the clothes once worn by the people who massacred and slaughtered your people, you sat with Eugene as he ate an entire tray of the chocolate handouts. "Eat too quickly, and you'll vomit, Eugene." the boy didn't listen.

As Eugene gives up on eating the last two pieces of fudge and goes to put his retainer in, one of the three boys that had approached you two from behind rips him up from under the armpits, and another grabs your arms from behind, holding you back. They forcefully carry him over to the pillory as you try to squirm and wiggle free "Eugene!" you call out, but he can't hear you anymore; you are disgusted when the boy next to walker starts talking. "Look at this greedy little freak." The more you struggle, the stronger the boy's grip; you then stop and burst out laughing when Eugene regurgitates the fudge he just ate onto the boys, but you would soon regret laughing.

"What are you laughing at, freak?" the boy holding you grabs your throat tightly, shutting you up and constricting you of air as you pull at his hands, gasping for air. "let go… of… me," you inhale with each word before the boy standing next to mayor walkers son slaps you so hard that your vision starts to blur, you struggle to pull his hands away from your throat, soon losing consciousness from the lack of oxygen. The last thing you remember is seeing and hearing Eugene calling out your name in concern, albeit unbeknownst to you, catching the attention of a particular goth boy.

When you awake, you cough and rub your throat before noticing you are in Nevermore's infirmary, your boyfriend reading a book beside you. Although Wednesday doesn't show any physical concern, his actions speak louder than any facial expression he'll make and much louder than the blunt riddles that leave his mouth. You figured he was the one to bring you here. Still, no doubt after causing chaos in the town square, catching the faint smell of burning metal, a broken down building, and bow rosin. "ah, your awake, good; I was wondering how long it would take for you to retake consciousness after being tortured by amateurs." you laugh dryly, your voice not entirely back from how roughly the boys from pilgrim world grabbed you.

Wednesday closes his book and places it in his bag before putting the back of his hand against your forehead, then pushing you back down into a lying position. "you have a fever; I suggest you continue to lay there, although you might not listen to me. If you would like, I can carry you back to the dorm, cara mia." your face heats up from his words, and you nod gently before croaking out a few profanities of protest to the unexpected and atypical behavior from your boyfriend. "holy shit why are you being so fucking strange today." Even though he could hear you perfectly fine, he pretended not to listen to a single word and proceeded to lift you from the infirmary bed.

When he lifted you, your head started spinning, and you hid your face in his chest, the black of his uniform shading your eyes from the light. When you opened your eyes, you seemed to have been fine, waking from the darkness of unconsciousness. Still, as you lifted higher into the light, you realized that your nervous system and eyes had not yet adjusted from being in the dark for so long, causing a slight sensitivity to the surrounding light sources. "Wednesday, cover my eyes, please. The lights are bothering me."

The boy understood, knowing that lights can be a bother no matter what you wake up from, whether from passing out or a decent night's sleep. "Just say when you are no longer in the dark, y/n." Wednesday made sure you knew that he would take the black cloth off your face when you were ready, carrying you back to your dorm only to discover that you had fallen asleep along the way, comforted by his cold embrace. The boy watched over you for the rest of the evening, knowing now that you would always sleep in the dark.

End.

#male wednesday #wednesday addams #x reader #female reader #Male Wednesday x reader #fanfic #fan fiction #fem reader #reader insert

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Home to Me

Warnings: angst, character death, spoilers for Trigger Point | Word Count: 3.6k~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Billy W Taglist

Billy Washington doesn’t open up to people easily.

But he remembers the day well. It was Halloween.

 The nights had drawn in, making it pitch black at 5 o’clock every day. It was a Sunday, people had celebrated early on the night before, so the roads were mostly clear.

Billy’s flat was nothing glamorous. Function over fashion was definitely the phrase he’d use to describe it. But it was a home, all for himself, and that felt like some kind of achievement.

 He locked his front door, pulling a jacket over himself and shifted down the stairs, meaning to go out and grab some milk before the corner shop shut early. The steps that led up to his flat door were steep, borderline not fit for purpose, and a strain on his balance as a tall guy.

 But nothing threw him off more than rounding the corner, walking past Flat 4 than seeing a tall pile of boxes, and a pair of legs that seemed to sprout from underneath it.

 “Jesus” he whispered, shocked.

 A head had poked from around the boxes. She smiled politely and grinned in a sort of apology.

 “Sorry, didn’t even see you”

 Billy shook his head, clearing his throat. His hair suddenly felt like it was sticking to his face annoyingly, even though it was cold.

 “S’alright” he murmured as he shuffled by, watching as she stacked the boxes in front of the door and fumbled with a pair of newly cut keys, “You alright with those?”

 She opened the door, using her foot to push the boxes inside, “Oh no, I’m alright, thank you though” she smiled politely at him, and it made Billy’s neck go all hot.

 She introduced herself that day, extending her hand out to him. And when Billy shook it, felt how soft her skin was, he felt like a teenager all over again.

 They chatted idly and clumsily, as strangers of the opposite sex often do, about her moving in by herself. Her job. Where she was originally from. Where he was from, when she’d asked. Billy hadn’t realised the tiny smile that had come to his face listening to her. And before he knew it, half an hour had gone by, and he knew the corner shop was shut.

 He sighed quietly looking at the time on his phone.

 “What’s up?” she asked,

 Billy shook his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket, “Lost track of time, shop’s shut. Sunday, isn’t it”

 Her mouth opened without a sound at first, realising that he had somewhere to be, and she had kept him.

 “Sorry! I didn’t mean to keep you” she apologised quickly. Billy huffed a small laugh and shook his head, insisting it was no bother and that he’d just gone out for milk.

 “I’ve got some milk, you know, just to get you by til tomorrow” she offers kindly, pulling her freshly opened bottle of milk from her fridge.

 Billy had refused the first time. But felt both too humbled and awkward to refuse it again when she offered. So he smiled boyishly at her, his shy demeanour somewhat juxtaposing his tall figure and took the little tupperware of cool milk in one hand.

 “Thanks. Really”

 She nodded once, smiling at him kindly.

 They bid one another goodnight, and he didn’t miss the bashful manner in which she looked down as she closed the door.

 In his flat, Billy smiled at the kettle boiled, holding the tupperware of milk in his hands. It felt somewhat personal, despite knowing little about her in principle. But he cherished her generosity.

 Though their flats were right next to each other, he didn’t hear much of her. He only heard the closing of doors, the hum of the electric shower, and every now and then, the loud hiss of the kettle. It was in the solitude Billy was presented with that he wondered if she was as lonely as him, living by herself and doing everything around the flat.

 Every now and then, when he’d opened the balcony doors to smoke a cigarette, he’d look at her window. Most of the time, it was cracked open, with a soft light coming from it as well as the low vibrations of whatever was on her Spotify playlist.

 Watching someone else live their life like this seemed intimate.

 But there was something comforting about a fellow human living a similar life to him.

 He had to confront the fact though, that she wasn’t similar to him.

 She would be in her kitchen, washing up, as she heard a loud female voice from Billy’s flat. The woman sounded older than him, and the tone of voice she used was scathing, so she thought it might have been either a sister or a mum.

 The woman never stayed long after the shouting match. And it was followed by a loud thud to the wall. She assumed her neighbour was so aggravated, that he punched the wall.

 Not even the spin cycle of the washing machine could drown it out sometimes.

 For the entirety of November and some of December, she rarely saw him. Only passing glances in the hallway and saying the occasional greeting with a smile. Billy seemed a detached person, perhaps by nature, his eyes never really left the floor. But sometimes, when he said ‘hi’ in the hallway, his eyes would meet hers, and she would see a glint of someone underneath who just needed the comfort, without judgement, of another human soul.

 It was one weekday in December that Billy knocked on her door again.

 “I just wanted to apologise…for the noise”

 She smiled at the front door. He looked so little, despite his stature, like he wanted to disappear into himself.

 “It’s alright” she answered, “Are you okay?”

 He’d met her eyes when she’d asked. And she knew from the look on his face, that he didn’t even need to answer.

 “Yeah”

 No.

 Her eyes softened and she stepped back, holding her door open.

 “Do you fancy a cuppa?”

 Billy’s eyes darted about her face, half-shocked she’d even offered. She laughed and added, “I don’t bite, promise”

 Where his flat was messy, but still somewhat void of any personal items of value. Hers was somehow cosy, a bit cluttered, but he couldn’t judge, he’d caught her off guard.

 He’d sat with her, nursing a mug of tea in both hands despite not needing to, and told her as much as he was comfortable.

 That the woman was his sister, and she was just getting increasingly pissed off with him the older he got. Billy had divulged that he was having difficulty finding stable work and right now was on agency, which wasn’t much, but paid the bills.

 She listened intently, asking the occasional question, but spent most of their time together just absorbing the information he gave. And some of the information he didn’t give. Too guarded and afraid of judgement.

 But Billy felt lighter in his chest, even just a little, when he saw that she did not judge him and that she wasn’t just sitting there idly, bored out of her mind. She had actually taken the interest in him to listen and ask as much as she expected he was willing to answer.

 Something had changed that night. Billy had felt the heat rise to his face, when she bid him goodnight and said that, “You’re more than welcome to come over any time”

 She’d even offered to give him her number, in case he wanted to talk, but didn’t feel like doing it face to face.

 He stepped back into his flat, sighing, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was here he realised, in his own scent of his living room, that she must have burned some scented candle, as the smell of pine needles had clung to the fabric of his shirt.

 His phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.

 Just so you know it’s me x

 He smiled, and felt a warmth in his chest.

 December and January were mostly spent like this. Once the rush of Christmas and New Year was over, spent with their respective families, the two neighbours returned to each other, settling into a new sort of routine.

 It was easier and more practical to heat one living room as opposed to two, so most nights, Billy Washington found himself in her flat. Sometimes smothered in blankets on her sofa, the idle sound of her TV in the background as they talked.

 Billy was never the one to approach women, especially ones he was interested in. But she had presented herself as a friend, and perhaps it was because Valentine’s Day had come and gone already, having seen the couple’s fawning over one another through the glass windows of restaurants, but he looked at her and began to feel a tightness about his chest.

 He would watch the way she laughed, how her eyes crinkled up depending on the joke, but none of it was ever fake with her. She was like an embodiment of comfort, warm and inviting, and in the loneliness that winter was sometimes associated with, he found himself smiling more often in her company.

 When the weather became warmer in March, they endeavoured to take this blossoming friendship outside the confines of the flat. It became a regular thing. They’d wander to the pub, do the pub quiz, inevitably lose due to being a team of two, and drown their loss in a few drinks. And by the time they’d walked home, pausing in front of her front door, they were both pink in the face from drinking and giggling like school children.

 He thought about reaching out and touching her hand with his. Thought, in the buzz of the alcohol, what it would feel like to kiss her.

 But he settled for thinking about it.

 “Night” he said, disappearing up the stairs.

 Once she’d locked the door of her own flat, she could feel her own heart hammering in her chest. Perhaps it was the alcohol.

 With Spring came the first signs of strain.

 As well as the familiar female voice, it was accompanied by two others, who she supposed were his parents. All having a go at him.

 She didn’t deny that Billy was impulsive and perhaps not the brightest when it came to peer pressure, she’d heard him several times come in on a Monday morning at 4am, having been out for the entirety of the weekend and didn’t doubt he’d been talked into an extended night out.

 But she also knew that Billy craved acceptance. In all aspects of his life. But none more so than craving the acceptance that he associated with love from his parents. He had told her as much, how he saw the looks of disappointment on their faces the multiple times he’d been rejected from the army. When really, had he really wanted to be in the army in the first place? Or did he just want to follow in his sister’s footsteps, hoping it would be enough to earn their pride?

 He came over one evening and shared pasta at her dining table and told her how sidelined he felt.

 “Well, what do you enjoy doing?” she asked.

 Billy furrowed his brows, stuffing some sauced penne into his mouth before replying, “What do you mean?”

 She shrugged, “You like fixing up your car. I dunno, might be placements or something that will train you up”

 Her heart sank a bit when she saw his expression. Like he hadn’t actually wanted any advice at all and just wanted a chat.

 “Sorry…” she murmured quietly, looking into her bowl, “I just-I don’t know, trying to help-”

 “Just leave it” he responded, quiet but stern.

 So she did.

 She began to realise as they rolled through the warming May days that she felt something like protectiveness for Billy. The kind of feeling that couldn’t just be chalked up to liking him as a friend. He had mood swings that could last for days, depending on what happened to him. She thought she could do nothing but just be there for him, and every now and then he did come to her, knocking softly, late at night.

 That’s when Billy began to crave the comfort of her embrace. And she was more than happy to accept that challenge. The challenge of comforting Billy Washington. Sometimes without words. Sometimes she would just sit with him on her sofa, running her fingers through his rapidly growing blonde hair. Billy would hum contently, as if the touch would lull him to sleep.

 June arrived. And it was hot and sunny. But it was when she didn’t hear his door open for a few days and could hear him inside his flat, that she began to worry.

 “Billy?” she called at his door, knocking incessantly.

 No answer.

 She sighed and flipped the doormat over, slotting the spare key into the door and pushing it open.

 His flat, as she expected, was a tip. She didn’t even bother looking into his kitchen. She went straight for the bedroom.

 She’d expected him to be in bed, but he wasn’t. He was sat, clothed in joggers and a visibly old shirt, looking with a spaced-out, distant expression to the empty corner of his room.

 “Billy…” her gentle voice didn’t even seem to reach him.

 She didn’t even ask what was wrong, perhaps she knew he’d tell her when he was ready. All she did was kneel on the bed behind him and hug him. Billy had inhaled sharply, as if trying not to weep, and lowered his head, looking into his lap, not wanting her to see him so vulnerable.

 She’d heard of the bomb threats all over London. Just hadn’t realised his sister was involved in it. The most recent one, in a block of flats, scared Billy to death, and he’d struggled to pull himself out of the hole of grief he’d found himself in, despite his sister being alright. His sister’s long-time friend, Nut, was taken by the blast.

 Nobody need tell her. She knew, that Billy was afraid.

 His hand reached up to hers, covering it. A silent act of thanks.

 He was grateful for her.

 They spoke, still embraced, in hushed voices, as if he were so fragile that the volume of speaking plainly would make him crack. She stroked his hair, comforted him with her words and actions, and kissed the top of his head. And at the soft, gentle notion, she swore she heard his breath hitch.

 But she must have imagined it.

 When Billy left for the funeral, she had done his tie for him and sent him on his way, saying he could text her if he needed to.

 She didn’t receive anything all day. It worried her a bit, but she knew that he needed space, he had a life of his own that didn’t involve her and hadn’t wanted to intrude.

 Until she woke at 8am the next day, to his sister shouting at him once again. Louder than she ever had before.

 All she could make out was ‘grow up, Billy’ before she stormed off, making her presence known down all the stairs.

 He didn’t come to her, so she knocked on his door.

 “What did you do?” she asked. Looking at his bloodied, barely-bandaged hand.

 He was quiet, tetchy, like he’d done something wrong.

 And when he reluctantly said what he’d done the night before, after having far too much to drink, she couldn’t hide the shock and disgust on her face.

 “Billy…” she pleaded, “Just-why?”

 He’d already been in a row with his sister, and didn’t feel like repeating it.

 “Maybe you don’t know as much about me as you thought” came his quiet reply.

 She furrowed her brows at him, frustrated, “I know enough to know that this isn’t you”

 She tried to muster up the most stern voice she could. She loved him, she knew this, but she couldn’t deny that his actions and what he’d done and been arrested for, filled her with grief. It was not something she was interested in excusing for him, nor something she was willing to cast aside in the interest of comforting him.

 There was nothing to say. And she hoped that with some time by himself, he might come to his senses. So she left.

 In the middle of the night, unable to shake her thoughts, she texted him.

 Please look after yourself, Billy.

 He’d read it, but didn’t respond.

 For Billy, the same one she’d comforted, hugged and kissed his head, to do something so uncharacteristic made her heart wince. She knew he was impressionable, but without knowing the wider story, couldn’t put two and two together.

 In the days that followed, she noticed he was going out more often, rather than coming to see her. One afternoon, her window wide open in the London heat, she spotted Billy next to his battered Vauxhall, with another man, older and portly.

 She squinted when she saw him and Billy chatting in a friendly manner.

 Something squeezed tight about her heart. It didn’t feel right.

 And she knew her suspicions were right, when the man watched Billy walk back to the block of flats, his eyes travelled up to see her there, watching him. The man had somewhat of a cold stare about him, and didn’t wince away when their eyes met. Rather, he kept his gaze for a moment and turned to walk away, tugging his cap over his head.

 A feeling of dread pooled in her stomach.

 Billy was usually so kind-natured, naiive if anything. Is it possible that he could be getting into something just to feel a sense of belonging?

 At the weekend, she knocked on his door.

 He looked dishevelled, more than usual. And his arm was across the door, with no intention of inviting her in.

 “I’m worried about you, Billy”

 “Then don’t”

 His words were uncharacteristically harsh, and it was like an ice hold dagger was put right through her.

 You don’t mean that.

 She plucked up the courage to step forward, taking his large hand in hers. Those butterflies she felt when she first met him and really got to know him, now felt so heavy. Surprisingly, he let her take it, and there was a film over his pale blue eyes, like he was desperate to just fall into her arms like he had done before. Let her run her hands through his hair.

 He wanted so badly to just kiss her and forget about everything else.

 And yet, he felt as if he didn’t deserve her.

 That was the feeling that shadowed the rest.

 She squeezed his hand tight, and willed not to cry.

 “Don’t shut me out, Billy. Please” she said in a hushed voice. And Billy half-thought he was between heaven and earth when her lips kissed his cheek. The action was so soft that he shuddered noticeably and wanted to weep.

 She gave him a sad smile, and reluctantly slipped her hand from his, taking the warmth with her.

 8th July.

 Billy’s birthday.

 He always said, fucking hate chocolate cake. I’d have a Victoria sponge any day, but nobody bothered to ask what I liked so I always made myself sick eating the ones mum made.

 She thought the cake looked like shit, but she tried her best. At least it tasted good. And when she knocked on his flat door in the early afternoon, her heart soared when the door opened, but immediately sank when she saw who had answered.

 A woman, who had Billy’s blue eyes, some grey hair at her hairline, opened the door with a polite smile. This must be his mum.

 “You alright, duck?”

 She nodded once, “Uh yeah, was just expecting Billy I-” she said quickly, “It is his birthday, isn’t it?”

 “Yes darling but he’s not here. Come on in, I’ll pop the cake in the fridge, he can have it when he gets back”

 The flat hadn’t changed inside. It was somehow messier than she’d last seen it and she wrung her hands nervously.

 Down the hall in the living room, an older man, who she presumed to be his dad, stood in the doorway and was about to say something, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the screen and furrowed his brows.

 “Lana? Hey, hey, calm down. What’s wrong?” he asked hurriedly. On the other side a woman she recognised to be his sister’s voice was shouting, borderline screaming. It was something akin to watching horror unfold on a person’s face. And all she heard his sister scream down the phone, was Billy’s name. Billy’s dad stared ahead distantly, only looking to his wife with a sombre, shocked expression.

 She swore her heart went cold.

 Billy Washington doesn’t open up to people easily. Something that she, in her time of knowing him cut unbearably short, was forced to come to terms with and yet had seen glimmers of that contradiction. She had been close enough to see his soul, but never close enough for him to bare it completely, and yet, she was thankful that he had even taken the first step to begin with. That he was stronger than he allowed himself to feel. Stronger than he really believed himself to be.

 She wept looking at the last text she ever sent him. A happy birthday message. One that would forever remain unread.

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Billy W Taglist: @fan-goddess @assortedseaglass @chainsawsangel​

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

dividers by @firefly-graphics 

#billy washington fanfiction #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington angst #trigger point bbc #trigger point billy washington #trigger point #billy washington trigger point #trigger point series #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters

[nakachuchu]

CHAPTER NINE: GREED

Golden Child series

SYNOPSIS: Things were peaceful and you could feel something changing.

READER: female

WORDS: 1k

WRITTEN: 08/29/2023

Since your incident, you were holed up in your room or the library. But unlike your previous depression with Emi's death, you were more than ready to become the best sorcerer you could be.

Emi fought for you to live, and you would honor her by doing whatever you could to prove that you deserved to be a Special Grade sorcerer.

You trained for weeks and read books on everything known to the Jujutsu world. You would go on low-level missions, then beg Yaga for more to the point where even Gojo was getting a bit worried — and Gojo never got worried about just anyone.

He had to consider you a good friend to be truly worried about you like he worried about Geto.

"You trying to kill yourself again?" Gojo asked as he pressed the cold juice can to your cheek.

Your body tensed and you automatically jabbed your fingers into his ribs.

"That hurt!" he screeched as he pulled your hands out.

"It was cold!" you retorted defensively.

You were sitting on the floor of the library with books sprawled around you. There was a notebook and colored pens on your lap.

Gojo was leaning over you like a giant, blocking your light.

Gojo and you got closer after the incident. He started bothering you since the first day you decided to go to the library.

Every day, like clockwork, he would show up with a treat for you. It wasn't until he bought you mochi that you realized you never had sweets before.

There was never a need or craving for you to eat sweets before, which is a heinous deed for a man who loved sweets as much as he did.

You began to look forward to the sweets.

"What's this?" you asked as you looked at the packaging of the can.

"Milk tea with jelly," he replied as he grabbed the can from your hands and opened it.

"Hey!" you shouted as you hurriedly stood up and attempted to grab the can from him.

He drank from it while skipping away from you. You chased after him, annoyed that he was interrupting your studies.

Suddenly, he stopped skipping, making you skid to a halt. You eyed him, reaching your hand out to grab the can from him.

"You sleep yet?" he asked as you wiped the opening of the can with your sleeve.

"No," you answered before sipping from it. "It's good," you murmured.

"Course it is. I personally picked it out for you."

You stared at him and blinked before walking back to your circle of textbooks.

"Don't ignore me."

If it was one thing you learned about Gojo, it was that he enjoyed attention. If the attention wasn't focused on him, he would throw a fit like a child.

"I'm not ignoring you. I just didn't know how to respond," you replied as you sat down.

Gojo followed after you, sitting on top of the table instead to look at you from above. You looked better than when he first met you.

Your eyes seemed brighter and you talked more. He knew that the incident with Ayumi contributed to that, but he wanted to know why it had to go to that extent.

He didn't know anything about you and he knew he didn't have the place to ask. The two of you weren't that close. He knew Nanami before you, and he still didn't know Nanami's parents' names.

“It's my birthday, ya know,” he said.

“Is this a ploy for my attention again?”

“It's really my birthday,” he said with a pout.

A soft chuckle left your mouth.

As soon as it did, you went silent before looking at Gojo in surprise. He had a similar expression on his face.

That was the first time you laughed.

You cleared your throat and looked down at the book. “Happy birthday. So, where’s Ieiri and Geto?" you asked, eyes glued to the words in front of you.

"Shoko's with Yaga and Suguru's on a mission,” he responded, amused.

"Why aren't you on a mission?" you asked, feeling heat crawl up your neck.

He was hoping you wouldn't ask, but either way, he wouldn't tell you the truth. He wanted to keep you in the dark a little longer.

"I've been having the shits lately."

Your hand stopped writing for a moment, then resumed. "That's gross."

He shrugged. "It's just how it is."

Gojo watched as you studied. He didn't understand the point of you studying. He believed that improving as a sorcerer meant going out in the field or practicing physically, not by reading books and taking notes.

And you weren't that stupid. You knew now how Gojo was as a person, and that he thought what you were doing was stupid.

But you knew that there was something behind your life. You thought you were normal before your parents' deaths, but you knew something bigger was at play.

"If I turned evil, would you kill me?" you asked quietly.

He didn't answer for a moment, which made you look up at him. His glasses were tilted down, making you realize that he had been staring at you this whole time.

"I'd have to," he responded.

You hummed. "Good."

His lips twitched. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

You blinked, biting back a smile. "Dangerous things, Gojo."

He hopped off the library table and knelt in front of you. You couldn't help but keep eye contact with us. His blue eyes shone brighter than anything in the library.

"Remember, Ama, you don't get to die without my permission."

When did you give him permission to call you by your first name? You had no memory of ever doing so.

“Since when did we make that deal?” you asked, breathless.

He smirked. “You just don't remember.”

“You're a manipulator.”

Gojo Satoru was a master manipulator, but you didn't even know half of it. He wasn't interested in you much when the two of you first met, but now he knew how interesting it was to be around you.

“And don't you ever forget that, Ama.”

You liked how your name sounded on his tongue.

TAGLIST: @sleepydang @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @the-fab-killjoy

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader

[sergeantxrogers]

| denouement|

“Rogers, I swear to God, if you do anything to hurt her-”

“I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. It’s still my job as her father to warn you. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you.”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: This is mainly just fluff

Note: This is part four of a mini-series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

__________

Gucci Guilty Pour Homme.

That’s what your shared apartment smelled like, every day, for the past year, ever since Tony introduced Steve to the world of designer cologne. 

The bed sheets always smelled like lavender and patchouli, and the scent of citrus and wood lingered in his wake in the bathroom. It quickly became one of the only scents to bring you immediate comfort, caressing your mind and soothing your nerves with the promise that Steve was somewhere nearby. 

You smiled to yourself as you closed the door after him, sending him off to the facility and staying behind to do some cleaning. A soft burst of air wafted over you, filling your senses with all things Steve, and you sighed.

You couldn’t keep your fingers still. They were practically vibrating at your sides as you strode through the compound, going head first straight towards the living area. You knew that was where he would be; where they would all be.

You heard your father calling your name behind you, but it was like he was miles away. Your only focus was getting to Steve after a month without him - a month that felt like a century. 

You burst through the automatic doors, FRIDAY announcing you and your father’s arrivals, but your ears were ringing far too much to focus on the AI’s voice. Instead, your eyes scanned over the group of Avengers staring back at you with slight concern painting their features. Movement caught your eye, a tall figure and a head of blond hair jumping up off the couch and turning towards you. 

“Y/N,” you heard someone say - it might have been Nat. You weren’t sure, because the second you made eye contact with him, it was like someone reached into the cavity of your chest and pulled out all the air from your lungs. 

Your breath got caught in your throat, and you felt the familiar sting of tears prickling your sinuses and behind your eyes. 

You watched Steve’s lips. They moved in slow motion, mouthing your name softly as he outstretched his hands towards you. The movement triggered you to move, taking large, quick steps toward him, almost running, until you reached him, and threw yourself into his arms. He exhaled roughly with the power of your hug, then inhaled shakily as he wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck, wetting it with tears you hadn’t even noticed were falling. 

You were so close, you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, heavy and full. It wasn’t close enough. You whispered his name, and he only nodded into your hair. 

Inhaling deeply, you almost laughed. The familiar scent of Steve Rogers was something you could never forget, yet it felt new and invigorating every single time. 

“Y/N.”

You swallowed heavily, and reluctantly peeled yourself away from Steve. You made eye contact with your father, a stoic expression on his face. You began to step away, deciding any more PDA with Steve in front of your dad wouldn’t help your case, when you felt his warm fingers interlock with yours. 

You looked up at him, and he gave you a soft smile, giving your hand a squeeze. It was his way of letting you know everything was alright. 

You sang softly to yourself as you worked, enjoying the quiet 40s tune bleeding through the little radio you kept in the kitchen. 

Emptying the rest of the grocery bags, you began setting everything away where it belonged: cereal boxes in the pantry, milk and juice in the fridge, chocolate chip cookies in Steve’s favorite cookie jar he had made for you when he decided to try something new by taking up pottery (it didn’t work out, but you insisted on keeping the jar, with yours and Steve’s initials painted on the bottom). 

Putting the last of the dairy in the fridge, you closed it, and only then noticed the neon sticky note on the door. Your smile grew when you read the note in Steve’s neat handwriting. 

Be ready at 7 pm. Wear something nice, I have a surprise for you - Stevie

Even when he wasn’t with you, he managed to make you blush.

_____

“Clint, I still don’t understand why you’re so against this,” Nat’s voice carried through the air, and you heard your father sigh heavily. 

“It’s just- I never thought- I knew she’d start dating eventually, it’s just that Rogers was the last person I expected.”

“Why, though? Capsicle is, like, the perfect choice.”

“Tony-”

“No, seriously - he isn’t America’s Golden Boy for nothing. He’s the literal picture of everything good and great and wonderful and blah blah blah,” Tony said, and you swore you could here the way he rolled his eyes as he spoke. You bit back a laugh, not wanting to expose yourself. 

You had asked FRIDAY where Steve was, and the AI had informed you that he was in an important meeting with your father and the rest of the team. With a bit of coaxing and begging, you had managed to find out the subject of the meeting was actually you, and with a bit more pleading, FRIDAY had told you which meeting room they were in. Which was how you found yourself in your current situation, standing as still as a statue in the hallway, careful not to move and risk being seen through the glass doors that did little to block out sound. 

Really, you’d think someone as rich as Tony Stark would have soundproof doors to his meeting rooms. 

Little to your knowledge, Steve’s superhearing had let him know exactly when you had come and hid on the other side of the doors. If he focused hard enough he could hear your steady heartbeat, and the inhale and exhale of your breathing. Even without his enhanced senses, he was so in tune with your body, he’d be able to feel the worry and anxiety radiating off of you even behind the wall. 

Vision’s deep, steady voice was what you heard next. 

“Although I wouldn’t quite use Mr. Stark’s exact... terminology, I do agree that Captain Rogers is a textbook example of what a good man should be, therefore there should be no reason for you to... ban this relationship of theirs.”

You heard your dad sigh, and you could picture him in your mind pinching the bridge of his nose as he mulled over Vision’s words. 

“Rogers... Rogers, I swear to God, if you do anything to hurt her-”

“I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. It’s still my job as her father to warn you. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you.”

You heard a soft thud, and you guessed Steve clapped a hand on your father’s shoulder. 

“Clint...” Steve began with a lowered voice. “I promise you, with every fiber of my being... I want nothing but the best for her.”

Your father sighed. “I know. So do I. Which is why I’m allowing... this. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re good for her. I see how much you affect her, positively. And I hate seeing her upset.”

You couldn’t help the smile from growing on your lips, nor the happy tears forming in your eyes. 

“Alright,” Tony’s voice cut through the silence. “Now can someone tell the pipsqueak to stop eavesdropping and come in already?”

_____

Gucci Guilty. Lavender Downy fabric softener. The color blue. Bing Crosby and Billie Holiday. Peach rings and chocolate chip cookies. The American flag. 

Over the span of a little over a year, your brain had accumulated a list of things that it always associated with Steve Rogers. Your entire life was stained with the essence of Captain America and everything that made him him. 

And of course, everywhere you looked, without even realizing, there were signs of him infiltrating your life and making a home in your heart. To anybody else, these things were unimportant, practically nonexistent. But to you, they were everything. 

His running sneakers always haphazardly resting by the door. His toothbrush next to yours on the bathroom sink, and his body wash in the shower. The scratches on the hardwood floor from all the times he pulled his chair out and pushed it back in when you’d have dinner together. Cookie crumbs always on the kitchen counter by the cookie jar no matter how many times you told him to wipe them away. The picture of him and Bucky, framed, sitting right next to a picture of you and him, underneath the TV. His shirts and hoodies hanging in his half of the closet, behind a sliding door. His cologne on the vanity. 

Signs of your shared life were all around you, surrounding you to the point where you felt uncomfortable if something of Steve’s was out of place.

You felt lucky.

“What’re you so smiley about, babydoll?”

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up from the bathroom sink, meeting his eyes in the mirror. You hadn’t even realized he had come in. Steve wrapped his arms around you from behind, securing you in his grip, resting his chin on your shoulder. You gave him a small shrug and a shake of your head. 

“Nothing specific, just...”

“Just...?”

You shrugged again, then turned in his arms to face him. Your hands rested on the back of his neck, scratching at it softly as you scanned his face. 

“Just?” he repeated, and you smiled again. 

“Just thinkin’ about you, that’s all,” you said in a voice hardly above a whisper. Steve tilted his head, expression softening. Bringing a hand up, he ran a knuckle softly against your jaw.

“You have no idea how glad I am Clint had a secret family he never told us about.”

That elicited a laugh from you, bubbling in your throat and spilling over your lips. Steve almost wanted to drink it. 

He smiled in soft amusement, then pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re everything to me,” he mumbled against your skin, and you melted deeper into his arms, body molding against his like it always did. 

You only nodded, burying your head into his chest, focusing on his heart beating against your ear.

“I’m glad the universe sent you to me,” you whispered, and he inhaled deeply. 

“Me too.”

__________

TAGLIST:

@a-ngeli-que @maatsim @agirlinherhead @s-katergorl @ace-27749 @leyannrae @tailsoflightning @acidwidow @angelofthorr @gallysonegoodlung @creatingjana​ @seitmai​ @i-loveyoubutyourenotmine @inlovewfictionalmen826 @multinci @peaches1958 @loaksmuntxa @rosedpetal @spookyparadisesheep @talesofadragon @wbyss @wintasssoldier @onelemonoat @buckybarnesandmarvel @epiphany-of-a-madwoman @shortnloud @saltedcoffeescotch @emturtles @little-blue-fishie 

#marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader age gap #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #captain america x you #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers x barton!reader