#This was the first time I’ve been able to sit down and draw for a long time.
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I thought it would be fun to draw Eelektross and Chandelure inspired Subway Boss uniforms! Finding ways to incorporate the pokémon designs while still keeping the overall look of the uniform was really fun! It may not look it, but that pokéball in the background gave me way more trouble than it should have…
#submas#subway bosses#subway boss emmet#subway boss ingo#fanart#This was the first time I’ve been able to sit down and draw for a long time.#It was very nice.
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recently caught up with scoob and shag, so /obviously/ I had to add my blorbo in there
ko-fi | comms!
#her ballyhoo is called discretion shot.. I’m still working out the kinks but it’s very cool#amphibia#scoob and shag#anne boonchuy#hi guys I’m still alive ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ sorry for the radio silence haha.. life is kicking my butt right now#and this is the first time I’ve been able to sit down and draw for fun in … 2 months++? damn#anyways go read scoob and shag; it starts out silly goofy.. then it becomes BRILLIANT. stick it out.. it’s a great story#ysart
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Title: Intoxicated.
Pairing: Yandere!Fae King x Reader (OC).
Word Count: 1.0k.
TW: Non/Con -> Dub/Con, AFAB!Reader, Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships, Orgasm Denial, and Obsessive Behavior.
[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]
His chambers reeked of honey and lavender.
A stark improvement when compared to the raw stench of sweating bodies and animal fervor that’d hung over the celebrations still raging on in his banquet hall, but strong thick enough to turn your stomach, still choking enough to leave your head spinning, your vision distorted and dark around the edges. A thick, lilac smoke clouded the air, courtesy of the herbs smoldering in jars of stained glass on a nearby windowsill – only adding to your current haziness. It went without saying that none of it, of course, was aided by the clever, slender fingers slowly drawing lazy circles into your clit, the stimulation too much to block out entirely but not nearly enough to bring you any real satisfaction. It was hard to be frustrated, though, when you considered who that stimulation was coming from.
Aisling had positioned himself behind you, propped against the ornate headboard of his almost comically oversized bed. Two long, hoofed legs stretched out on either side of you – flecks of golden pollen still dusted over his dark fur. His chest was bear and cool where it pressed into your back, and his unoccupied hand alternated between wrapping snuggly around your midriff and prying your thighs apart when they attempted in-vain to shut. His touch, like most other things about him, left much to be desired. You’d lost track of how long you’d spent here, how much time had passed since he carried you out of those wretched rituals his kind called revelries, but couldn’t have been any longer than a few minutes, even if it felt like a small eternity lapsed by every time you let your eyes droop shut. He prided himself on his adeptness in all things frivolous and pleasurable, and you couldn’t imagine him taking this long to bring you to climax.
“I’ve grown quite fond of your meekness, you know.” His voice was a deep rumble, less a string of words and more a prolonged, inflected purr. Cold lips ghosted over the curve of your ear, and his fingers found a new pattern; one with enough force behind to it make your head lull forward, a slight whimper slipping past your grit teeth as the loose knot in your core began to tighten. “At first, it was rather irking to realize I would never be able to make love to you under the light of the full moon to the accompaniment of my finest bards, but I think I’ve come to like how—” A quirk of his wrist, a strange crescent-like motion. You withered against him, your hips bucking stiltedly into his hand. “—reserved your kin tend to be. It feels more intimate, locking ourselves away like this. Like we share a common secret.”
That fucking smell. The sickening sweetness of it seemed to claw and tear at your lungs, to lodge itself in the hollows of your skull and send a warm, steady pulsing down the length of your spine with every slight movement of Aisling’s fingers. You let your eyes fall shut, your hands kneading at the silk of his sheets as the knot sitting in your core coiled ever-tighter, as you came so, so close to that—
As Aisling pulled away, his touch skirting over the inside of your thigh before forcing two fingers into the dripping entrance of your cunt. You couldn’t bite back the fractured whine that bubbled past your lips, arching your back as he spread and curled his digits inside of you. “Still,” he went on, sighing in mock-disappointment. “I feel like our relationship has been far from reciprocal, as of late. I do adore taking care of you, and I don’t mean to sound unthankful, but—” Another pause, another sigh. “I am beloved to all folks of the land and air, worshiped by the valleys and mountains alike, and dearest to all beings with the wisdom necessary to appreciate true beauty. Why is it that the one I cherish most so evidently detests my very existence?”
“Be—” A broken moan cut you off, draw out by a particular scissoring motion of his fingers. It was a fight to find your voice again. “Because you’re a fucking prick.”
“Your honeyed praises will have to wait, for now.” The heel of his palm ground into your clit, but the friction was too soft, too half-hearted to do anything. His lilac smoke seemed to claw its way down your throat and dislodge a pathetic string of whimpers and mewls, filling the new vacancy with a sort of… a sort of liquid heat, strong enough to leave you panting and hot enough to have you squirming against him, eager to get that much closer to his frigid body. Your desperation earned a melodic laugh from Aisling, a tender nuzzling of his cheek against yours. “Oh? Do you have something you’d like to ask for, little fawn?”
He forced a third finger into your terribly empty cunt, and something inside of you seemed to break open. “Please, Aisling, I—” You paused, gasped as his fingers curved against the clenching walls of your pussy. “I need to cum. I can’t take another—”
Whatever you might’ve said dissolved into a broken, pained moan as he drew back entirely, his slick-stained hand moving to your chin and tilting your head back, his lips finding your own before your shock could fade into hurt. Pointed, cat-like fangs burrowed into your bottom lip as his rough tongue laved over your own, the gesture less of a kiss and more of an attempt to permanently attach a part of him to a part of you. His taste was one of fresh fruit and sugared cream, and by the time he pulled away, you were panting, heaving, clambering to stay as close as him as you possibly could, to get as much from him as you possible could. Aisling only laughed as you rushed to straddle him, taking your face in both hands and pulling you into another long, lingering kiss – his mouth just as sweet as his poisons.
“Such a beautiful song,” he muttered, pulling back far enough to speak, but not leaving quite enough distance to disguise the crooked smile spread across his lips.
“Perhaps, by the time we’re finished, you’ll love me enough to deserve to.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oc#yandere fae#yandere monster#yandere oneshot
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Prepared for Anything Part One
Danny stared at the ceiling, bored, as the creepy clown laughed manically at a camera. Danny hadn’t been in this dimension for two minutes, (he’d portalled directly into Joker’s hideout) before he was promptly tied to a chair. He could get out of it easily.
Thing was, there were others here, restrained more thoroughly than Danny. They wore colourful, armoured suits and were obviously the vigilantes/heroes of this. . .place—Gotham? Danny’d heard the name mentioned a few times now—This Freakshow wannabe was obviously one of their villains.
Danny had been hoping someone would show up without having to draw attention to himself. What was this dimension’s stance on halfas? Or ghosts?
But no one had come yet, it had been an hour, and he was getting stiff from sitting here so long without being able to move his limbs.
Danny heaved a loud, exasperated sigh-groan at the ceiling. The guy, face-painted like a toddler who’d gotten into their parent’s make-up, suddenly stopped monologuing.
Good. It was getting annoying.
“Are you done yet?” Danny complained much like the impatient teenager he was. “I’ve got crap to do, wrap it up, would you?”
Danny came here to explore. He was not exploring. He should be exploring and it was all this dude’s fault.
Danny supposed he could go all ghost on him and bounce, but he came all this way. It wasn’t much of hassle, but still. Danny was stubborn. He knew this.
The warehouse was silent. The creepo wasn’t talking, anymore, he wasn’t doing anything, and Danny deigned to lift his head from where it’d been thrown back on the chair.
The costumed people were looking at him in horror.
Danny wasn’t sure why.
The walking fashion disaster began to cackle with condescending amusement.
Yeah, okay, whatever.
Danny ignored the man’s delve into something about Danny’s impending doom, or threatening him with pain, and something, something, something. Something about broken this, burning that, yada, yada yada, when Danny got an idea.
Behind the chair where his hands were bound, knowing no one was behind him, he quietly broke the ropes on his wrists. The vigilantes—a red one with bandoliers crossing over his chest and one who wore a largely grey and black suit with an R emblem on the left side of his chest—were valiantly trying to dissuade the psycho to leave Danny alone, who now realized the said psycho was coming towards him, carrying a crowbar.
How original.
The Joker, as Danny heard someone call him at some point, he’s not sure when, leaned in close. His breath stank.
Danny made a disgusted face. “Do you not brush your teeth at all? Gross, dude.”
“You won’t be mak—“
Danny punched him in the jaw. The guy went down pretty easily.
Danny made an annoyed noise as he bent down to untie his ankles from the chair legs. He muttered to himself. “Stupid villains, always gotta get in the way, why can’t I just have one nice vacation, huh?”
“How did you do that?”
Danny looked up at the red one. “Do what?” He asked, standing and stretching with satisfying pops.
“Get free.”
“Oh. . .” Danny reached into his hoodie sleeve and pulled out a small hand saw. He guessed he coulda used a knife, but it was the first thing he'd thought of.
The guy spluttered. “You just keep a saw in your sleeve?”
“Yep.” Danny popped the P. No need for them to know he can make portals. As tiny as needed. “You guys want help out of those, or what?” Danny gestured to the chains keeping the two bound on the floor.
“No, Joker’s goons outside probably has the keys, we have back-up. . . .coming. . . .where did you get that?”
Danny didn’t miss a beat as he crouched to get a grip on the chain with the large pair of bolt cutters. “Ah, ya know, never leave home without a good pair of bolt cutters.” He offered. The room they were in was pretty bare, saying he found it “lying around” wouldn’t work. It’d be pretty obvious.
“That is absurd.” The younger one said. “Where did they come from?”
Danny snapped the red one free and moved onto the angry eyebrows one. How did they still emote so well through those masks? “Just had it on hand.”
“But wh—“
“Oh look! There ya go! I gotta go, nice being held hostage with ya’ll.” Danny ignored their calls for him, climbing out of the nearest window and disappearing.
#danny phantom#dpxdc fanfic#crossover fic#dimension travel#BAMF danny fenton#tim drake wayne#damian wayne
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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄
𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : kyojuro sure likes to stare, doesn't he?
:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, pre-established friendship, background obamitsu meddling.
:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 : 1.4k+
Kyojuro, bless his heart, is so hopelessly attracted to you in ways he’s never experienced.
Everything about you draws him in, from your striking beauty to your quick wit, how despite your snark you always treated others with compassion. You were fast friends, not that Kyojuro was particularly difficult to get along with. You’d even argue that such a person as him was impossible to dislike, at least without feeling guilty about it.
He was blunt, genuine, and brimming with so much enthusiasm it tended to unsettle some. But never you. You would look upon him with quiet acceptance, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t seem to mind his complete disregard for eye contact or his erratic conversational skills.
You just get him, he muses. And he’s never felt a kinship like that with anyone.
Kyojuro has always felt like he was moving faster than everyone else, both in mind and body. The man couldn’t sit still or shut up to save his life, or so the other Hashira would say – endearingly of course. No matter the sentiments his comrades held for him, none of them seemed to keep up quite as well as you did. Which is why he presumed you worked so well together.
He could blabber on about anything and have you following along just fine. Though after a few roundabout conversations ranging from swordplay to street food, he musters the confidence to ask if he talked too much for your taste.
You only quirk a brow and snort, “Pffft, of course not! I like listening to you talk.” and you see something shift in his gaze, the softest shade of pink tinting his round cheeks.
It’s around there when the staring starts.
It’s a subtle change at first, catching his wide-eyed gaze from across the training field. Feeling his eyes upon you as you shared meals together. Stumbling over your words when you realize for the first time that he’s actually looking you in the eye as you talk.
It’s a new and exhilarating feeling to be able to admire those honey-colored eyes fully fixated on you for a change. Too often you found yourself staring back. And the way he brightens when your eyes meet sends your fickle heart into pesky palpitations every time. You swore his pupils bled further into his golden-red irises every time he spotted you.
The idea of his eyes dilating at the mere sight of you endears you even more fiercely to him. As if such a thing was possible. You’re already attached at the hip, not to mention the dozens of joint missions you’ve taken.
His exuberance could be trying when your objective was to blend in, but his swordsmanship more than made up for it. He was incredibly good at taking the edge off when tensions were high, he was an emotional pillar of support, and you were honored to have his focus.
The beloved Flame Hashira was enthusiastic about many things, but you most of all it seemed. You’ve been told by several other Hashira that you were one of his favorite topics of conversation. The image of him gushing about you to other people is as embarrassing as it is flattering.
“Y/n is so easygoing, I cherish their company!”
“Did you know Y/n makes the best rice cakes?”
“Y/n is such a fierce swordsman, I am honored to fight at their side!”
“Y/n this, Y/n that. You’re all he talks about you know,” Iguro points a finger in your face one morning.
“So I’ve heard,” you hum, hand perched lazily on the hilt of your sword, though you’re unsure of precisely why he’s telling you this. Your eyes stray to Kaburamaru, who only flicks his tongue at you, leisurely slithering down Iguro’s shoulder from his coiled position around his neck.
You’ve always known the Serpent Hashira to be abrasive and confrontational, but the sudden interest in your relationship with Rengoku was uncharacteristic. Especially since he usually disregarded your presence unless he had something to criticize. You didn’t dislike him, but you wouldn’t say that you were close.
Did he know something you didn’t?
You try not to make assumptions based on the worries of others, but Kyojuro’s childhood friend approaching you out of the blue to tell you something like that? It makes you wonder just what sort of things Kyojuro has been saying about you to warrant such an interrogation.
Was Iguro trying to discern your intentions as a way of looking out for him? Perhaps your feelings for Kyojuro weren’t as internalized as you’d thought.
“Is this your way of saying you’ll snap me like a twig if I break his heart?” you ask, lips curling up into a sly grin, head cocked to one side.
Heterochromatic eyes blink in surprise, and then narrow.
“You catch on quick.”
“You can relax, Iguro. I won’t hurt him.”
“Few can be entirely sure of that. For your sake, I hope that’s the truth,” he waves you off, turning away in disinterest upon hearing your response.
The encounter leaves you with mixed feelings. Would Iguro have asked if he didn’t already know how Rengoku felt in return? It's an unsettling and gnawing feeling. Not the idea that your feelings could be returned, just the uncertainty of it all. If Iguro noticed it, why didn’t you?
“Iguro approached me earlier,” you say as you sit across from the flame-haired swordsman, currently having lunch at one of your favorite spots to eat.
“Did he now?” Kyojuro acknowledges, eyes still closed as he stuffs another bite of octopus into his mouth. His round cheeks puff out cutely, the image of a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts forming in your mind.
“He told me you talk about me a lot.”
“All good things of course!” he assures, seemingly unbothered by the news.
“That’s the thing,” you chuckle nervously, poking at your food with your chopsticks. Kyojuro’s eyes fluttered open, now focused on your fidgeting hands. “He seemed concerned that you had feelings for me beyond friendship.”
It’s silent for a moment, and you stuff food into your mouth to escape it, eyes focused on your plate. You can feel his gaze, but you’re too intimidated to meet it.
“Would that be a bad thing?” for once, Kyojuro sounds nervous.
It's a subtle strain in his tone that others who didn’t know him as well might have missed. But years of close proximity have made you perceptive to the almost invisible chinks in his armor. Kyojuro was heavily guarded for being such a friendly man, always eager to lend a hand or ear when others were in distress, but quick to clam up when it came to his own problems.
Your heartbeat skips, excited and terrified. Was that a confession? Were you reading too far into things? Was the question rhetorical? All these questions well up inside until you feel like you’ll burst.
You can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.
“You’re so hard to read,” you lamented, nearly jumping out of your skin when his fingers brush yours from across the table.
“Perhaps If you looked at me, you’d have an easier time,” he laughs, and your heart already feels lighter at the joyous sound.
The anxiety in your tummy melts into giddiness, and you demurely tilt your head up to meet his eyes. They’re crinkled fondly, pupils large, and fully fixated on yours. His golden-red eyes consume yours, inspiring your fingers to twitch against his. You can only compare such an expression to a smitten puppy.
You suddenly feel silly for entertaining any doubts that the Flame Hashira was any less enamored than you were.
“To be completely honest, I have been interested in you romantically for quite some time now, and at a loss of how to contain such strong feelings,” he confessed, and suddenly a lot of things started making sense.
He stared at you so much because he liked you. He talked about you so much because he liked you. He let you tag along to missions he could have easily handled on his own because he liked you. Iguro approached you because he noticed.
“Then no, I don’t think that would be a bad thing at all.” You turn your hand with your palm facing upward to accept his own into your grasp.
Kyojuro’s smile widens, and he nearly shakes the entire restaurant with the volume of his declaration of, “WONDERFUL!”
“See, Obanai? I told you they just needed a little push!” Mitsuri gushes from across the restaurant, just her green eyes and the top of her head peeking over the menu.
#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes#kyojuro rengoku x reader#rengoku kyojuro x reader#kyoujurou rengoku x reader#rengoku kyoujurou x reader#rengoku x reader#kyojuro x reader#kny x reader#demon slayer x reader
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𖤣.𖥧 Flowers for You 𖥧.𖤣
Pairing: Halsin x Reader / Tav
Summary: Halsin admits his feelings for you.
Warnings: Fluff. Kissing. Yearning. Admission of feelings. Sex is implied but not described, so 18+ just to be safe.
WC: 1700
A/N: This fic is inspired by the amazingly sweet artwork by @pani-artz found here! Please give your love and check out their other art. 💕
This one got away from me a bit, but I’ve been obsessed with the idea of Halsin in bear form giving Tav flowers and obsessed with this art! Just a cute little cheesy feelings admission fic for ya’ll. I hope you enjoy! 🥹
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
You let out a long sigh, your eyes tired from studying the map. You were trying to figure out the shortest path to a village over a mountain pass, but the surrounding craggy terrain was making it difficult.
You stepped away from camp for some peace to ponder the routes. Everyone was vocal about their opinion on the fastest way, through varying levels of danger and difficulty, and it seemed like the discussion wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
The bickering began to give you a headache, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to make a clear decision while frustrated.
You rested your head against the tree you were sitting up against, pondering the options and trying to figure out how to get everyone to agree on which way to proceed.
You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the tranquility of the woods around you, hoping it would ease your mind.
You honed in on birds chirping and flitting between branches. A stream trickled nearby, crystal water pouring over glossy stones. The scent of wildflowers and grasses tickled your nose.
Your heartbeat slowed, your mind clearing.
Your eyelids felt heavier, your body relaxing into the soft earth beneath you, the smooth bark of the tree cool against your back.
You unwound further, the tension in your head leaving. Your thoughts began to wander, fantasizing of a comfortable bed and hot bath.
You imagined sinking into warm water, your aching muscles needing the relief.
A pair of large hands slide over your shoulders, beginning to knead the stress away. A low whisper at your ear, lips at your neck, the hands moving lower to caress you.
Someone else is in this bath with you, and the person takes the form of Halsin. He’s there, his golden hair down and wet, holding you close to him, kissing you with passion and urgency. Your hands wander over the broad expanse of his chest, memorizing every scar.
This exact fantasy plays in your head every night as you lay in your tent. You’ve been trying to keep these feelings at bay, but it was getting more and more difficult as the days passed. You were falling for the kind druid. How could you not?
You haven’t felt this way in a long, long time. These feelings don’t come easy to you, but somehow everything was easy with Halsin.
He was always so thoughtful, so understanding. He doesn’t hesitate to heal you, check you over for wounds. You often spoke late into the night, talking of past adventures like you have been friends for centuries.
You couldn’t help but think, or hope, that he felt the same about you. You have been hesitant to make the first move, not wanting to make a fool of yourself. You have resided yourself to fantasies, at least for now.
Heavy footsteps startled you out of your daydream. You froze, eyes snapping open, lumbering steps drawing closer.
You peeked over the map, scanning the forest around you. Twigs cracked and bushes rustled as something large made its way toward you.
You slowly reached to your side where your dagger was sheathed, staying completely still otherwise, holding the map up with your other hand.
A massive bear head emerged from the brush, golden eyes immediately locking with yours.
Adrenaline pumped through your veins, gripping your dagger, sweat beading at your forehead. If you stood still, maybe it wouldn’t perceive you as a threat. You swallowed, waiting for the bear to move first.
The bear stared right at you, and a familiar deep, rumbling grunt of your name came from the bear’s mouth.
You blinked a few times. Did you just hear your name?
Halsin.
It was Halsin.
You couldn’t help but let out a relieved laugh, slumping back against the tree.
“Halsin!”
You released your dagger, setting the map down next to you. “You startled me!”
“I apologize, it was not my intention to alarm you. I often forget this form can be intimidating.”
Halsin’s deep timbre floated through the air, resonating in your head.
The adrenaline left your body as Halsin lumbered fully into the clearing.
“Don’t apologize, I was lost in my thoughts. The quarreling in camp was beginning to give me a headache.”
Halsin made a huff that sounded like a chuckle if a bear could do such a thing.
“That is exactly why I went roaming, myself. The wind, the trees, and the birds all offer cures that medicines or other concoctions cannot. Only out here can you achieve pure harmony and clear one’s mind.”
You always loved the way Halsin waxed poetic about nature. While others may scoff, you listened and agreed wholeheartedly. You admired his passion.
Halsin shifted on his massive paws.
“I also wanted to make sure you were faring well. You left camp abruptly. I followed your tracks.”
You felt a flush of embarrassment, realizing you may have stormed off a little more dramatically than you thought.
Also, Halsin was following you?
“I don’t mean to intrude on your solitude but…”
Halsin tilted his massive head back, motioning to a bush behind him.
“I was foraging for medicinal herbs to resupply my stock and found something I hope you’ll enjoy.”
Halsin turned away from you momentarily.
You sat forward, wondering what he was doing.
He bent his head below the bush, turning back around to face you.
In his mouth was a bundle of wildflowers in different colors and variety. Each was different and vibrant in its own right.
Heat crept up your neck, blushing your cheeks.
Halsin took a few large steps toward you, placing them gently at your feet.
“These are…for me?” You questioned, hoping you weren’t misinterpreting this gesture.
Your vision flitted from the flowers to him. You were always in awe when he was in wild shape, witnessing how he harnessed the power of nature and extended his strength into a physical embodiment of it.
Though he was a beast, when you looked into his eyes, it was still him.
His gaze softened as he nodded, watching you gently pick up the bundle, admiring the gorgeous assortment.
“These flowers produce a calming tea when dried and prepared correctly. It is a favorite recipe of mine, one that I tend to make for myself when I’m feeling overwhelmed. I hope I could show you how to prepare it. Also…”
Halsin paused, something tender flashing in his ursine eyes.
“Their exquisite beauty reminded me of you.”
Your heart leaped in your chest at his bold admission.
You smiled, your headache now long gone. “You…really think that of me?”
You’ve spent so long fighting, beautiful is not something you’ve thought of yourself in some time. Hearing Halsin say it with such sincerity stirred your heart in a way you haven’t felt before.
Halsin took a few steps back from you, his stare not leaving yours.
“The most brilliant of sunrises or the most magnificent hues of a sunset do not compare to you.”
Suddenly, leaves whipped around, and Halsin’s bear form was bathed in golden light. You watched as he transformed, slowly standing upright as the fur fell away and revealed the man underneath.
He held out a large hand down toward you, offering to help you up.
You took his hand, calloused and warm, and he pulled you up with ease.
“Halsin…” you started, your heart feeling as if it might burst out of your chest at his heartfelt words.
“I cannot lie to you. I wish to spend more time with you and see no better time to start than now. Your friendship means a great deal to me, but I long for more. I could not wait longer to tell you.”
Halsin’s hand squeezed yours lightly.
“I believe you do as well. Unless I am misguided. Tell me now, and I will step away.”
Halsin was not a daft man. He catches your stares or the way your cheeks bloom a deeper color when he speaks to you. He notices how you stand closely to him on the battlefield, often putting yourself in harm’s way to protect him without a second thought.
You were unlike anyone or anything he’d experienced in his long life. You were everything to him. He finally felt like he was in the right headspace to admit it, and give you his full attention and heart if you’d want it.
He knew you had your burdens, though. The tadpole in your brain, trying to be the leader that everyone needs, trying to solve every problem and save every person. He would understand if you said no, and would continue to stand by your side as a friend.
Halsin was gazing at you with so much admiration, that you felt as if you were floating. You picked up a hint of hesitancy, as well.
The large man was putting his heart on his sleeve, the flowers representing the start of something beautiful and new in chaos, and it was up to you to accept it.
“Yes.” You whispered, “I want that and so much more. You are not misguided.”
A large smile graced his features, his eyes shining.
Halsin leaned down, lightly touching his forehead against yours, bringing your hand to his chest, and you could feel the fast thrumming of his heart under your fingertips.
“I am happy to hear it.” He whispered, his lips close to yours.
Halsin let out a soft sigh, bringing his free hand to cup the side of your face.
“I have been wanting to express my feelings to you for a long time.” His voice was low. “May I kiss you?”
You nodded, squeezing the stems of flowers in your one hand, while your other was still enveloped in his against his chest.
“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”
The words barely left your mouth as his lips captured yours, fervent and passionate, better than any dream.
His lips were soft and purposeful, both of you pouring your long-held emotions into the dance of your lips.
Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, you both pulled away for a much-needed breath.
“So many nights I laid awake, desperate to feel your lips on mine, dreaming of how you’d taste and feel…none of those fantasies were even close to the real thing.”
“How many nights did you dream of me?” You asked, leaning your head against his chest.
“Since we first met.”
“I admit I dreamt the same of you, Halsin.”
Halsin laughed, a pleasant rumbling in his chest.
You looked up at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Well then, my flower, we must make up for all the lost time.”
Before you could answer, Halsin scooped you up in his arms bridal-style, silencing your surprised squeak with his lips, more hungry than before.
“What about making the tea?” You gasped between his kisses, wrapping your arms around his neck for purchase.
“When we are done, we can brew it and enjoy it under the stars. Though, by the time we are finished, the sun may just be rising.”
Your body ignited with his words, feeling him smile against your lips as you kissed him with urgency, suddenly needing to feel your entire body against his, needing to feel every part of him.
You knew he felt the same, and he kneeled to lay you on the soft grass, caging you in between his thick biceps.
As his body pressed to yours, your worries and frustrations melted away with every touch and pass of his lips and fingers and sultry praise of your magnificence.
Halsin was true to his word, you explored and worshipied one another until the stars began to fade and a new day was rising, ready to face the world stronger together.
-ˏˋ⋆ Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆ˊˎ-
#halsin x you#Halsin x reader#Halsin x Tav#bg3 x reader#bg3#Halsin fanfic#halsin silverbough#halsin#Halsin bg3#bg3 Halsin#bg3 fanfiction#owlwrites#Baldurs gate 3#x reader#Halsin fluff
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omg I'm obsessed with your latest "don't fucking touch me" prompt. Would you continue it?
Hello! I know this is actually from earlier in the week than the one I answered a couple of days ago, but I was saving it because, while I don't exactly have a continuation, I do have a little stobin interlude I wanted to share
I'm still working on the "fix it" part of this idea, but at least in the meantime Steve gets a hug?
[Part 1]
It isn’t unusual for Steve to show up at Robin’s house well after any reasonable guest would come knocking. It isn’t unusual for him to do it by climbing the side of the house and knocking on her window (she hasn’t told him that her parents don’t really care anymore if he’s there in the middle of the night; she figures the physical activity counts as some kind of jock enrichment). Unfortunately, it isn’t even unusual for him to appear out of the dark because he’s upset.
What’s more unusual is the way he sits silently on her bed after she’s let him in, the way he’s almost folded in on himself, the way he won’t quite meet her eyes – as if there’s anything he can or even needs to hide from her.
What’s fucking unheard of is the way he starts crying when she pulls him into a hug, his face pressed to her shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist like she might disappear if he doesn’t hold on.
Robin doesn’t even understand what’s happening at first; she can feel Steve shaking against her as she rubs a hand up and down his back, but when his shoulders start to heave like he’s having trouble drawing in breath, a cold bolt of uncertainty lances through her gut. She tries to pull him back to look at him, to see what’s wrong, but she only gets him far enough away to hear one very quiet sob before he’s hiding his face again and she realizes–
“Oh. Oh, shit– okay, this is happening. Okay.” Robin resolutely does not panic as Steve sobs into her shoulder, even though crying isn’t something Steve does (not that Robin’s ever seen, and she’s seen Steve through a lot); instead, she goes back to rubbing a hand up and down his back, bringing her other up to pet his hair, and tries her best to project literally any kind of comfort. “Okay, you’re okay – well, you’re obviously not okay, but I’ve got you. You can just let all this out and when you feel up to it you can tell me what’s wrong because you’re kind of freaking me out, but not until you’re ready, okay? I’ve got you.”
She feels maybe her success is mixed, but Steve doesn’t complain and he doesn’t seem to be made more upset, so she can’t be doing too badly.
All told, Steve’s breakdown is unsettlingly quiet. Robin tries not to think about why he can cry so silently, and instead focuses on finding the transition from actively sobbing to sniffling and trying to catch his breath. The next time she tries to pull him back, he lets her, still not quite meeting her eyes and automatically bringing a hand up to wipe at the tear tracks on his face.
Robin has seen Steve all manner of beaten and bloodied and bruised, but somehow, sitting here in her room, still half-curled into her space with his face blotchy and wet from crying, she thinks this might be the most upset she’s ever seen him. She can only imagine what’s happened to cause it – at least until she can get him to tell her.
“Get it all out?” Robin asks, as gently as she’s able (she’s never been great at gentle, but Steve’s used to her by now, she thinks he’ll get it).
Steve shrugs, but then gives a little nod.
“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to give you some tissues so you can clean yourself up, because I love you, but I’m not going to wipe your nose.” This gets a congested laugh from Steve, and Robin allows herself an answering smile. “Then I’m going to go downstairs and get you something to drink, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, because I am this close to being seriously alarmed.”
“Sorry,” Steve says gruffly, ducking his head, moving to pull away.
“Nope, we don’t do sorry here, nothing to be sorry for,” Robin insists, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and keeping him close. “I just want to know what’s wrong, okay? I want to help. So here.” She shoves the box of tissues from her bedside table into Steve’s lap and gets up with one last squeeze to his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
Robin slips out of her room and sneaks down to the kitchen (her parents don’t really care about Steve’s late night visits, but they will be grumpy if she wakes them up), poking around quietly for some kind of suitable post-breakdown sustenance. She ends up with a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and a half-eaten package of Oreos from the pantry – the late night snack of champions, she decides.
Back up in her room, Steve has shucked his sneakers (no shoes on Robin’s bed, it’s a cardinal rule) and settled himself up against the pillows; his face is dry and his eyes aren’t as red, but the tiny smile he gives her when she passes over her spoils still makes him look just as sad as before. Still, Robin valiantly lets him get through half the bottle of Gatorade before she elbows him gently in the side, demanding answers.
“Right.” Steve caps the bottle and rolls it nervously between his hands, watching the highlighter fluid yellow slosh around inside. “So, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing Eddie?”
Robin’s heart sinks. “Oh, shit, did you two break up?”
“Actually, it turns out…” Steve clears his throat. “It turns out that there wasn’t anything to break up. Apparently, we’ve been friends with benefits this entire time and I’m just a delusional idiot who made up an entire relationship in my head. So there’s that.”
There is nothing Robin can think to say to that. There’s entirely too much to unpack, and none of it makes sense.
“What,” she finally manages, a little flat.
“Yeah, he said that, uh. I’m not the type of guy you have a relationship with, and that I’m hot, but I’m just a good friend, and we’re just having fun.” If Steve’s voice cracks on the last word, Robin doesn’t mention it.
In fact, she’s too busy being consumed by rage to really notice. “He said that to your face?” she demands.
Steve clears his throat. He won’t meet her eyes. “Not– not exactly.”
“Steve.”
“The guys were over, and I went out to get some air, and that’s… what I heard Eddie saying to them when I came back in,” Steve says. “So now they know how pathetic I am, too, which is. Great. That’s fucking great.”
The world goes still. Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense. Robin reaches out and squeezes Steve’s wrist. “I’m going to have to leave for a few hours, okay?” she says. “I have to bike down to the trailer park and fucking kill Eddie.”
In a flash, Steve twists in Robin’s grip and grabs her by the wrist in turn. “Don’t leave,” he says quickly.
“No, he doesn’t– he doesn’t get away with this,” Robin hisses. “He doesn’t get to do this to you and not face consequences!”
“He wasn’t trying to– I mean– I was the one who–”
“Are you defending him right now?”
“No, I just– fuck.” Steve lets go of Robin and shoves both hands up into his hair, grabbing and pulling. “I already feel enough like some fucking – loser reject, okay? I don’t want to be alone right now. Please just… stay.”
The rage doesn’t abate (if anything, there’s probably more of it), but Robin’s priorities do rearrange, and she settles back on the bed next to Steve. “Fine,” she huffs. “Munson gets a stay of execution.”
She pushes the package of Oreos into Steve’s lap and orders him to finish the Gatorade. She doubts if he’s going to escape tonight without a migraine, but dehydration on top of stress will only make it worse.
They sit quietly for a while, munching on cookies, shoulder to shoulder on Robin’s bed, before Robin breaks into the silence.
“You’re not a loser, Steve. You’re my best friend, and you deserve to be loved, okay?” she says softly, reaching over to wrap her hand around his wrist again. “And one day it’s going to happen. I’m choosing to believe in love, too.”
For a long moment, Steve says nothing. When he finally does speak, his voice has gone a bit rough. “If you make me cry again, I’m dumping what’s left of the Gatorade over your head.”
Robin snorts, squeezing Steve’s wrist. “There’s that mean girl I know and love.”
Steve laughs, too, small but sincere, and Robin takes it as a win.
Part 3
#platonic stobin#steve harrington#robin buckley#stranger things#solar wrote#answers from solar#anonymous#I hope this is okay!#as I said earlier this week; I would definitely like to continue that idea I'm just still kinda working out how...
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hey! sorry if you’ve done this already, please ignore. pls could i request hotch with reader who’s recovering from a (major) surgery? thank you 🫶
“Is it hideous?”
“Yes,” Hotch says, though he doesn’t look at the bandage nor the wound. “You’ll be marred forever, likely.” His hand cups your cheek, and his thumb draws teeny lines across the apple of it. “Unsightly.”
You laugh into yourself and let your eyes close under the pleasure of his small touch. The hospital room is quiet, private even, though that’s soon to change. You’ve been informed of another visitor who will need to share your room in an hour. Visiting hours will be over shortly afterwards.
“Are they sure I can’t come home?” you ask.
“They need to do so much,” he says unhappily.
“I don’t want to be alone when it gets worse again.”
Hotch speaks softly. “It might not get worse again. But if the pain is too much, I’ll stay. They won’t be able to force me out.”
“You’ll abuse your power.”
“Only for you,” he says sincerely. His kiss says as much, so gentle and slow to your chapped lips. It’s as chaste as they come but you’d needed it. Your shoulders relax as he sits up again. “I know you feel off kilter, you’re going to, because this isn’t a small thing to recover from, but I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach me if you need me.” He tucks your blanket back over your chest, but he’s sitting on it, and it doesn’t have much give. “Will this be enough? I’ll bring the nurses a fleece tonight after I’ve gone to give to you. This isn’t going to be warm enough.”
“I feel too hot.”
He feels along your forehead softly. “You feel perfectly normal. Don’t worry.”
Your chance of infection is high. Surgical infection especially. You won’t know you’re sick until your vitals tank, and then it gets dangerous.
Hotch frowns at you. He, as always, how tiresome, looks handsome. His hair has grown unkempt to his standards but perfect to yours, dark strands falling down over his forehead. His eyes are darker, shadowed by the lack of light, shades down and the privacy curtain still drawn. You can’t tell his pupil from the iris, not where his gaze is pointed.
“Don’t forget,” he says. “Drinks in the drawer so you can reach them. Your chapstick is in with your glasses. There are face wipes if you start to feel the need for them–”
“I won’t forget.”
His hand smooths down to your neck. “The chocolate is in the top drawer too.” His fingertips draw lazy circles into your neck, brushing against the rumpled neck of your pyjama top with every revolution. “Your phone is charged, and there’s a charging bank–”
“In the top drawer,” you finish for him. “Thank you, Aaron, I promise I know.”
He folds when you call him by his first name. His frown falls away, his eyes softer and lighter as he lifts his head to the frail shaft of light coming in through the curtain. He’d take your breath away if you weren’t feeling as shockingly frail as you are.
“You’re doing so well.” He clasps your shoulder. “A few more days and you’ll be home. We’ll both be feeling better, and Jack will fall to pieces in sympathy and keep you company in bed all day.”
“What about you?”
“Me too, obviously,” he says quietly. “Move over, honey. I’ll start now.”
You shuffle over one centimetre at a time and he doesn’t rush you. Eventually, there’s room for the two of you to squeeze in shoulder to shoulder, where he takes your arm into a careful hold and hugs it to his chest, his lips to your cheek.
“You okay?” he asks. “Out of ten.”
“Five. And a half.” He kisses your eyebrow. “Seven,” you correct.
He kisses you again, but you’re feeling shitty from the surgery and seven is as high as you can go.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble
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Eddie is pacing, going to Tarja’s room and back to the kitchen where she’s sitting with a smile puffing her cute freckled cheeks and kicking her little feet back and forth.
He checks she has everything she needs, clothes, pajamas, scrunchies, and her drawing book. He makes sure he packed her Toothless toothbrush and her plushie. She’s been on a ‘How To Train Your Dragon’ phase for a while now.
He’s not usually that nervous about her leaving to stay at her father’s for the week.
But she’s not usually this excited either.
See, her asshole of a father, has a new boyfriend, and apparently, he’s amazing and Tarja loves him. And she can't wait to spend more time with him.
And Eddie, he’s kind of curious and not jealous. At all. Really. He’s just curious about him, he just can’t understand how his asshole of an ex can be dating someone that’s supposedly nice, funny, and caring. Someone who talks to his kid when she’s upset, picks her up from school on time, and spends time playing around with her outside when she gets the jitters.
Tommy, his ex, is an awful person. He was the worst thing that happened to him and Eddie would’ve loved to never see him again, he just happens to also be attached to be best thing that ever happened to him, his daughter.
A one-night stand that asked him for marriage after he knocked him up, (because his father forced him to, but Eddie found that out on the divorce) that Eddie had only agreed to marry because he was scared he wouldn't be able to afford to take care of a kid alone.
He filed for a divorce so quickly after, that it was almost an annulment. Thankfully, Tommy wasn’t as bad of a parent as he was a husband, determined to be better than his own old man. So Eddie had no problem sharing custody with him. They agreed on a visitation schedule without issues and they have been civil for the last six years.
And then Tommy got a new boyfriend. And Tarja loves him. And Eddie is not jealous. He’s not.
He’s just nervous because he’s coming to pick her up and he’s going to meet him for the first time and finally see what all the fuzz is about.
The doorbell rings and Eddie checks the time and grumbles when he sees he’s pleasantly on time. Tarja jumps off the stool and runs to the entrance, “Steve!” she screams excitedly as she opens the front door.
And Eddie stands there with a little backpack that is also shaped like Toothless as the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen in his life kneels in front of his daughter and hugs her close.
“Hello, little dragon! I missed you!” he greets her and Eddie does not notice how beautiful and melodic his voice is while Steve holds Tarja’s shoulders as she jumps up and down excitedly telling him everything she’s got planned for them to do with a soft smile on his face.
And then Steve looks up and Eddie sees the warmth in his pretty brown-green eyes and he feels like he just missed a step going down the stairs. He smiles dumbly back at him as Steve gets up with Tarja sitting on his waist and extends a hand to him,
“Hi! You must be Eddie! I’ve heard so much about you!” Eddie shakes his hand and gets stuck thinking about how soft they are instead of answering so Steve keeps talking, “Only good things!” he says nervously and Eddie shakes his head and stops thinking about the two moles on Steve’s left cheek and smiles back.
“It’s nice to finally meet you! Tarja won't stop talking about you” He says and hopes it doesn't come out a little bitter.
Steve smiles bashfully and pokes Tarja’s tummy, “Yeah, she’s a little chatterbox isn’t she? I heard she got that from you” he quips.
Eddie frowns about to jokingly act offended but Steve’s eyes go huge and he blushes, “Oh! No I meant that as a good thing! I love it, I love her, I mean-” he stammers and Tarja giggles at his nervousness and Eddie melts a little.
After they exchange information, just in case, Eddie needs to remind himself, and Eddie gives Steve Tarja’s backpack there’s not much more to say so he hugs her kid and kisses her goodbye.
Steve picks her up again, “C'mon let's go,” he tells her and then purses his lips a little, “Tommy is probably waiting” he sighs warily, and oh, that’s interesting.
He waves Eddie goodbye wiggling his fingers cutely and Eddie waves back and closes the door and frowns at it,
“Man… why couldn’t I have Tarja with Steve?”
👉 next part
☕🥐💕?
#steddie#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#trans eddie munson#just a funny little thing teehee#i wrote something#was naming her tarja because of nightwish a good idea? well see i guess
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𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠~ Matt Sturniolo
Summary: You finally decided to get your first tattoo. But what if your tattoo artist senses your nerves and tries to make you feel better?
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), exhibitionism, hand kink, breath play if you squint, needles, pet names, degrading and praising, Dom!Matt, fingering, oral (female receiving), p in v
Word count: 2k
——————————
I looked into the small mirror one last time to make sure I looked presentable before exiting my car.
Today is the day- I was about to get my first tattoo. I’ve been looking forward to it since I was 13, maybe even younger, and my dreams will finally come true.
My legs were shaking slightly from excitement and nerves as I entered the building and made my way upstairs.
The arrangement of the main room was rather dark. Long curtains were covering huge windows that were spread all the way along one wall, and the black drawings decorating any free space on the walls were a perfect finish to the whole vibe.
My eyes scanned the room for a few more seconds before landing on the main desk- specifically on a person sitting behind it.
The man’s gaze was fixated on the computer screen as his fingers swiftly clicked the keyboard. He was wearing a black sleeveless shirt that exposed his slightly toned arms covered in tattoos. His hair was a perfect length, long enough to sit gently on his forehead but short enough to not cover his vision. Dark, circular glasses were sitting on the bridge of his nose. The sight alone made my heart skip a beat and I knew that I’ll be fucked until the end of the appointment.
I approached the desk and that’s when he looked up at me with his blue eyes. I swear I could see them wander down my body for a moment before he cleared his throat.
,,Hey, what can I help you with?”
,,Hello, I actually have an appointment for 6:30. I figured I’ll be a few minutes earlier just in case” I offered him a smile which he returned.
,,oh yeah! You must be y/n, nice to meet you. I’m Matt and I’ll be taking care of you today” he straightened his hand into my direction. I shook it and couldn’t get over how soft and big they are ,,why don’t you follow me to my station and we’ll get to work, sounds good?”
Before I could start my answer he already stood up from the chair ,,yup sounds great!” he smiled at me once again and led me to a different room.
His work room was no different than the lobby- dark and fancy looking. The nerves that were rooting inside of me were showing more and more. I started to play with the hem of my skirt and balancing from one leg to another.
,,Okay so you can make yourself comfortable while I pull up the project from my shelf. Where’d you like to get the tattoo again?”
,,Right under my collarbone. It’s cute and minimalistic so I thought it’ll be a good idea you know” I tried to keep the conversation going.
,,I got ya. Do you have any other tattoos or is it your first one?” He asked while preparing the equipment.
,,No, it’s my first one. I’ve always wanted one so now that I’m finally able to I decided to fuck it and come over here. Now that I’m about to get it done I’m scared” I laughed slightly after realizing that I’m rambling from my nerves.
Matt offered me a soft smile and got closer to me. He started to slide the straps of my top and bra to get a better access to my collarbone. His hands were slightly grazing over my skin and the rings he was wearing left a cold feeling over me. A breath got stuck in my throat at his action, but I tried to cover it up with a cough.
,,Alright, I’m just going to put a stencil on your skin so there’s nothing to worry about. Just try not to move to much, alright sweetheart?” He spoke softly while clearing my skin with an antibacterial gel. His voice as smooth as butter. I wonder if his tongue would also be this smooth on my pu-
,,Earth to y/n, are you okay? I asked if you’re ready for me to start tattooing you?”
,,I- yeah you can start please” I looked away from him, my cheeks burning from the image that my mind just put me in.
,,thank you, I’m just gonna get into it, if you need a break just let me know. First tattoos are always scary. Been there, done that”
He put his left hand dangerously close to my boobs. He had to stretch the skin for a better access, but it still made me wet. The veins that ran through his hands were right at my sight now and I couldn’t get enough of looking at them.
That’s when I felt it. The sensation of a needle with ink being stabbed into my skin. To my surprise the pain was not the only thing I could feel. There was also something else, was it a pleasure? I moaned at the two sensations mixing together and my eyes widened.
,,Sh sh shhh, you’re doing so good princess, so good for me” Matt whispered- almost whimpered- the praises to me. I could feel the hand that was just holding my skin crawl down to my thigh, really close to my dripping core since my skirt as ridden up. He started rubbing small circles on my leg and his other hand was tattooing me like nothing was happening. Like the sexual tension and filthy activity and thoughts were absent.
I could help myself though. I kept squirming in my seat and groaning every time he pressed the needle into my skin.
,,I think I should distract you from the tattooing. A good orgasm would do it for you, wouldn’t it baby? Do I need to touch you or can you cum just from the pain? I know you’re enjoying it, you’re just a little slut”
,,I mmmmm, please touch me Matt, please” I whined and looked straight into his eyes.
,,Good girl, asking me so nicely. How can I say no to such a pretty girl” he smirked darkly and his hand started going further under my skirt, finally reaching my dripping core.
,,Really? No underwear? Such a whore, you’re practically begging to be fucked. Now, you’ll let me finish the tattoo for the next 10 minutes and don’t you dare to cum. Understood?”
,,Yes sir” my mind was already going foggy and him slightly rubbing against my pussy, so when he put two of his digits into me and I let out a loud moan, he wasn’t surprised at all.
The 10 minutes felt like hours. Matt kept mindless thrusting his long fingers inside of me while being focused on his work. Not cumming was a real challenge to me considering that a wet dream of a man was sitting in front of me and touching my body.
,,Okay, and you’re all done. Normally I’d give you a mirror to see the tattoo right away but I’m so desperate to make you come so you’ll have to live in a mystery for a bit longer” with that being said he removed his fingers from me and licked them clean.
Before I could even say a word, his face was already pressed to my pussy, eating me out as his nose perfectly bumped into his clit.
I was a moaning mess. My hands made their way to his hair, pulling him deeper into me. He was like a starving man that hasn’t eaten for the past week. As my orgasm was approaching I closed my legs around his head, definitely cutting his access to air. It was so unbelievably hot, especially since his eyes never left mine. It only took him a few more licks before I was squirting all over his face and the chair I was sitting in.
,,SHIT I’m so sorry oh my lord I didn’t mea-“ I was cut off by his lips being pressed to mine, tasting myself off of his tongue.
,,no need to be sorry sweetheart, that was the sexiest thing I have ever seen” he gave me a cheeky wink and pressed his lips to mine once again.
,,I’ve got a deal for you. I get to fuck you right now and you can walk out with a free tattoo and my number. How does that sound hmmm?”
I actually couldn’t believe my ears, but who I was to resist a hot man who wants me? So I wasted no time and started rubbing his bulge through his pants, as a sign that he can do whatever he wants to me.
,,that’s what I wanted to see” he groaned at my action and placed his hands under my shirt. His palms playing with my boobs and twisting my them.
He definitely noticed that it’s my sensitive spot because soon he was taking my shirt off and throwing it across the room, his plump lips attacking my nipples.
The feeling was unbelievable, but I couldn’t help but want more. I took the matter into my own hands and started to unbuckle his pants, taking it off right with his boxers.
,,you’re a needy slut holy shit. If you want to act like this then fine. I’ll fuck you like one”
The next thing I know is that I was turned around and my whole body was pressed into one of the big windows. It was already getting dark and the studio was on the second floor, but it didn’t change the fact that the street was still busy and if someone looks up, they can easily see what’s going on here.
It only thrilled me more though. I swear Matt was making me learn so much about myself tonight.
His hands found their place on my body, one was on my hips when the other one wrapped right around my neck. The hem of his shirt was in between his teeth and his glasses were slightly fogged.
Wasting no time, he pushed his dick into me, stretching my walls to an unbelievable level. I let out a scream, but he paid no mind to this and immediately started thrusting deep inside of me.
,,I know you like it rough so take it like a good girl. Take the pain of my cock drilling into you. What would all of those people think if they saw you right now? They’d probably take you for a slut and they wouldn’t be wrong”
I couldn’t say anything at that point. All of this was too much for me to think straight and all that was on my mind was that I was already close. Matt could feel me clenching around his cock and brought his hand to rub my clit.
His peace never slowed down and before I knew it, I was cumming all over his dick. His thrust didn’t stop after this thought. He kept going and going until he reached his high and came on my back.
We were both panting from exhaustion and bliss. I couldn’t help but let out a slight chuckle at the whole situation.
,,So, now that you fucked me senseless, can I get your number that you promised me so we can go one a date?”
The silence was broken by our laughter.
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Tattoo artist Matt has finally made an appearance!!! Next up we have that youtuber dating thingy so bare with me😚
Not proofread sorry!!!
Tag list (lmk if you wanna be on it!!!!): @st7rnioioss
#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo#smut
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You In My Arms
Chapter 10: I'm Yours
full masterlist || haechan masterlist || YIMA chapter index
summary: During those first few months of your relationship, you and Haechan explore each other and adventure into new areas with each other. Not without some bumps along the way.
length: 15,168 words
tags: friends to lovers, general perversion, smut, public sex, period sex, somnophilia, light consensual non consent, voyeurism, exhibitionism, etc.
previous chapter || next chapter (Coming Soon)
Falling in love isn’t just about having sex. Obviously. But for you and Haechan, it is a big part.
You have a healthy, active sex life.
Over those first couple months of your relationship, it’s hard to keep your hands off each other.
Whether in private or in public, it doesn’t matter for either of you. At first, you definitely don’t care who sees.
Like when you go over to Haechan and YangYang’s apartment, and after you’ve made a delicious dinner, Haechan fucks you against the sink in the kitchen, his hand over your mouth to keep your moans from echoing out of the room to where YangYang sits on the sofa. His back is to you, but all he’d really have to do is just turn his head and he’d be able to see you getting railed. Not that you care, and not that you think YangYang would really care if he caught you. Haechan has told you about all the times that he’s pretty sure YangYang let him listen to him have sex, that he even left his door cracked open for Haechan to watch.
There’s a time when you sleep over at Haechan’s, and in the morning he neglects to warn you that a visitor has arrived. YangYang isn’t there, so you feel comfortable enough to walk out of Haechan’s bedroom to where he stands in the kitchen, to draw him into a kiss, to let him lift you up to sit on the countertop, and you urge his fingers between your thighs.
Of course, that’s when Renjun emerges from the bathroom and finds Haechan two fingers deep in your pussy.
“Embarrassed?” Haechan teases, kissing you on the cheek, his kiss only serving to deepen the heat of your blush. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, right?”
Renjun laughs at that. “Should I return the favor, Haechan? Watch you with her since I know you watched us?” He gestures between you and himself.
Haechan’s hand that rests on your thigh tightens. He leans over you a bit possessively, staring at Renjun until you lift a hand to Haechan’s cheek.
With your fingertips pressing against his cheek, you guide his attention back to you, his lips down to yours.
Before you meet Haechan’s kiss, you groan, “Go away, Renjun.”
He laughs again. “You know, I was invited here by your boyfriend to go eat breakfast.”
Haechan’s lips twitch into a smile. “Plans changed. You can’t have any of what I’m going to eat.”
Then it is your turn to laugh as Haechan ducks down to kiss and nip at your throat. You grasp his shoulders, ignoring the way Renjun grumbles, “Gross,” before he turns and walks out of the apartment.
Haechan and you have sneaky sex at work too.
One horribly stormy day, the two of you are coming back from lunch when the power goes out in the building, stalling the elevator you’re in like a perfect sexy cliche. You take full advantage of it, and you sink to your knees for him. Haechan cums on your tongue and your chin, and then he spends the rest of the time that you’re trapped in there to kiss the taste of himself from you.
There’s a late evening when you’re both still at work even though on a normal day you’d have left hours ago. You’re in the break room when Haechan sneaks up behind you and pins you against the countertop. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all day,” he groans, “This dress looks too good on you, baby.” You stand still, sinking into the feeling of his hands on your body, lifting the back of your dress up, and neither of you make any attempt to hide what you’re doing.
There are still a few people left in the office even at this late hour, but they’re all bowed over their work at their desks, not paying any attention to you and Haechan in the break room with the door nearly shut. But anyone could walk in at any moment, and that possibility sparks a thrill inside both of you.
“Let them know,” Haechan says directly into your ear. “Let them all know that you’re a perfect angel for me, letting me do whatever I want with you, whenever I want.”
You didn’t really consider Haechan to be a jealous man, but it certainly drives him a little wild when Yuta gets a little too flirtatious with you one day. Haechan knows about that brief little history you have with your coworker — you’ve both been perfectly open and honest about your sexual histories — which just invites enough jealousy in him that Haechan stays late with you that day so he can fuck you at your desk. He presses between your shoulder blades until your chest is flat against the desk, and with each of his deep, brutal thrusts your hips slam against the edge of your desk, hard enough to bruise. You love it, though; you love the way that he tries so hard to make sure that you don’t forget about him (which there is absolutely no risk of), and he tugs down the neckline of your dress, biting down on the soft part of your shoulder to leave a mark, as if laying his claim on you.
During spring, right in that pocket of time when the days are finally warming up, when the air buzzes with insects and the heady scent of blooming flowers, freshly trimmed grass, and new green things sprouting, you and Haechan start to explore public exhibitionism a little more. Lunch dates in the park on warm days mean cute little sundresses that are easily flipped up for Haechan to finger you right there in the middle of a wide grassy stretch with passersby none the wiser.
Warmer days mean that you break out some strappy tops, which are easier for you to slip off your shoulder, freeing a nipple or even the whole breast for Haechan to stare at hungrily while you sit across from him at an ice cream shop.
You know people have to spot the two of you as you play these risky games. But if they do, no one makes it obvious.
Until one day.
You know for certain that an older man — mid-forties and handsome, his hair just beginning to get a bit silver at the temples, wearing a suit that is perfectly tailored to him — catches you during brunch one morning.
It’s a small, crowded cafe. You’re in the back corner, but there are still a decent amount of tables around you, enough that it’s quite risky when you lean forward with your elbows on the table, revealing to Haechan the way that your dress has “accidentally slipped” and both of your tits peek out over the top of your dress.
“Goddamn it,” Haechan groans. “You’re gonna do this to me now?” He glances around. “We haven’t even gotten our food yet.”
“And?” You do your best to maintain a face of perfect innocence even as your nipples grow hard beneath Haechan’s attention and the cool air of the cafe. “That just means we have more time for fun.”
You slide one foot out of your sandal, and you lift it into Haechan’s lap. He reaches down, curling his hand around your ankle as your toes explore along the length of his thigh, dipping against the front of his pants until you find the rise of his cock. Of course he’s already half-hard from the sight of your tits. And as you caress him with your toes and the arch of your foot beneath the table, as he keeps looking at your tits, Haechan only grows harder.
You pull your dress back up over your chest when the waitress returns, sliding your brunch onto the table, replacing your half-drained mimosas. But you leave your foot in Haechan’s lap. There’s a table cloth draped over the table anyway, so it’s not like she notices anything amiss. But after she walks away, after one of the few tables around you in this back corner finishes their brunch and leaves as well, you tug your dress down enough that your tits are at risk of spilling out. You keep your foot moving over Haechan’s erection straining against the front of his pants.
Someone nearby loudly clears their throat, but you don’t look away from your plate. Haechan however tenses up a little, his hand squeezing your ankle. But he doesn’t push you away, doesn’t tell you to stop. So you keep going, eating and enjoying your brunch while you also enjoy getting your boyfriend off.
Haechan ordered more food than you, so he takes longer to eat. You’re completely finished when he’s only about halfway done. And since you are somewhat bored, you pull your top back up and instead put all of your attention into what you’re doing in his lap instead. Haechan, to his credit, only twitches a little when your toes suddenly find the zipper of his pants, when you pinch the zipper between your toes and drag it down. The button fastening his pants is a little harder to navigate, but luckily he helps you out with that, reaching down and quickly flicking it open so you can get your toes there to stroke him over his underwear now.
“What is it that you want here?” Haechan asks. He glances around, his eyes lingering a little extra long on a table to your left.
“Take it out,” you tell him.
Haechan’s attention lowers to his plate, his lips curving upwards as he asks, “And then what?”
“Then that’s up for you to decide.” You draw your foot out of his lap. “But if you finish your brunch and finish yourself, I may have a special gift for you later.”
Usually Haechan is in charge of special gifts for you. You don’t usually give him things, rather allowing him to dote on you. Over the weeks that have suddenly stretched into months since this relationship began, you’ve fallen a lot more comfortably into the idea of Haechan being in charge, Haechan being dominant. Not that he’s extremely dominating or anything like that, but he likes taking care of you, likes being in charge and seeing you submit to him — though sometimes that means fucking you until you’re crying and letting him do pretty much anything he wants until you spit out a safeword; sometimes it means something entirely non-sexual like just letting him baby you and take care of you after a long day with cuddles and a nice warm shower; and then in either a sexual or non-sexual situation he gives you gifts, just little things that range from a snack to a sex toy.
But overall, you’re not the one with special surprises for him. So this catches his attention.
You can tell the moment when the hand Haechan drops into his lap frees his cock. You can tell by the ease of his shoulders, the quick flicker in his eyes when he glances around at the surrounding tables. He’s tucked up beneath the table cloth, but you’re sure he’s wondering if they can still tell what he’s doing. This is more exposure than Haechan is used to. Typically it’s you exposing yourself while Haechan watches or touches. The roles are reversed this morning, and you can’t even see him touching himself really. But you can see it in his face, you can see the movement in his arm, feel the shuffle of his feet beneath the table as they bump against yours in an effort to maybe hide his actions even more beneath the table, and you can hear the way his breathing changes as he strokes his cock with one hand while attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy by continuing to eat his brunch with the other hand.
You watch Haechan’s expression, noting the way that he’s quickly edging up to his breaking point. He drops his fork to his plate, lifting his hand instead into a fist in front of his mouth. His eyes snag on yours, telling you without words that he’s about to cum.
Your elbow knocks into your own plate, dislodging your utensils. The knife falls to the floor, and before Haechan has time to react, you drop to the floor. Your fingertips bump against the knife, pushing it deeper under the table, and you sink beneath the table cloth on your hands and knees. And come face to face with exactly what you’d hoped to see.
Haechan’s hand looks beautiful as he pumps his pink-tipped erection.
To his credit, Haechan only barely flinches when you lean in, lifting a hand to take over from his, and you put your mouth right over his tip to suck. Just a couple pumps of your hand along his length, and Haechan cums, spilling on your tongue.
You’re a good girl, as he tells you all the time, so you swallow it all down.
You even tuck his cock away again before grabbing the knife from the floor and climbing out from under the table into your seat.
And that’s when you notice the suited older man watching you. Haechan spots him too. You both know you’re caught, and Haechan immediately blushes with embarrassment.
It’s when the man doesn’t look away that the blush fades from Haechan’s cheeks, and instead anger begins to paint his expression. By that point you’re sitting fully back in your seat, your back to the man, and the pair of you are waiting for the waitress to come back after you’ve given her Haechan’s card to pay. But it’s clear in the way that Haechan keeps looking over at the man, with your boyfriend’s expression growing darker and darker, that the man is still looking.
Haechan is not an overly jealous man – he has admitted to you on more than one occasion that he still sometimes thinks about you with Renjun, even rewatches that video in his phone when he can’t be with you, and it’s not jealousy he feels in those moments but intense arousal – but sometimes he can’t help displaying a bit of jealousy and possessiveness. And that morning is one of those moments.
The man gets up to leave before the waitress returns with Haechan’s credit card. You watch Haechan’s expression as he looks the man up and down as he approaches your table on his way out, and then to your surprise the man pauses right beside you.
You’re tense. Haechan looks ready to spring.
The man slides some cash onto the table right in front of you. And then he touches your shoulder, saying in a greasy tone, “For the show, darling.”
Haechan shoves angrily back from the table, but his face is impassive as he reaches over and calmly removes the man’s hand from your shoulder. “Don’t touch her.”
The man snorts derisively.
The waitress obliviously slides Haechan’s card back onto the table and bustles off to one of her other tables. You grab the card, grab the cash the man slipped you, and you stand up.
“For the record,” you tell the man, “I’m not a whore, but I will take your fucking money.”
You pocket Haechan’s card and the man’s cash, step clear around the man, and take Haechan’s hand.
You leave the cafe quickly, hoping to get clear away from the man. This is of course a risk of doing anything sexual in public — getting caught by a pervert. It was one thing when the pervert you hoped to be caught by was Haechan, but a perfect stranger who feels entitled to come up and speak to you? To touch you? To pay you as if you’re a common whore?
Haechan fumes beside you the whole walk back to where you parked your car. And as soon as you’re alone behind the cover of your car’s tinted windows, he reaches over the center console and cups your face in both of his hands, dragging you into a ferociously possessive kiss.
You lay off the exhibitionism for a short time after that. You take the time to truly savor having each other in the privacy of your bedroom or his. You kinda chill it on the crazy sexual hormones then for a bit as you slip out of the honeymoon phase of your relationship where everything still feels brand new and exciting and you’re both constantly horny for each other. Instead, you focus a little more on work to aim for a promotion that Taeil has been hinting someone will be receiving. And when that time arrives, and the promised promotion is given to you over everyone else, you celebrate with Haechan.
You take him out to dinner somewhere nice where the two of you gorge yourselves with delicious, rich food and sweet wine. For dessert, you feast on each other at home in your apartment, savoring each last bit of each other until you collapse in a tangled heap of sweaty limbs in your bedsheets.
You don’t leave bed the next morning, just pick up where you left off the night before. You forget everything that morning except for the taste of Haechan’s skin, the feel of him inside you, the sound of his breath and his moans and your name from his tongue.
Both of you are still deeply caught up in each other, though in a more gentle and intimate fashion as he holds you against his chest beneath the covers, rolling his hips forward while he buries his face in your hair.
To anyone who might happen upon the scene, it could maybe almost look like you’re just spooning while oversleeping late into the morning.
Or at least that’s what you hope it looks like when your family surprises you by dropping in for a somewhat unannounced visit.
Truthfully, you’d just forgotten that you had plans with them that day, that they were in the city to visit with you. You’d thought any plans you had would be much later in the day, but also you had certainly lost track of time all tangled up with Haechan.
So when your bedroom door suddenly opens and you look up into the faces of your parents and one sibling, you pray to every god that anyone has ever believed in that your family members don’t realize that Haechan is currently balls-deep inside you.
It’s your dad that reacts first.
He laughs and then backs out of the room, pushing your sibling behind him, pulling your mom along too. The door closes.
“Fucking shit. Oh my god. Haechan….” You make a valiant attempt at suffocating yourself in your pillow.
Haechan laughs a little, although the sound is halfway between amusement and awkwardness. He pulls out of you, rolling over to the edge of your bed. He starts getting dressed, but you don't move until Haechan slides back in bed with you, his hand stroking along your spine.
“Let’s go face your family.” He whispers, placing a kiss right behind your ear. “Maybe they’ll be so proud of your promotion they’ll forget what they just walked in on.”
Doubtful.
“I can’t go out there,” you groan into the pillow.
Haechan makes a sympathetic noise. “Should I at least go introduce myself?”
You twist around, catching his hands in yours. “No! You can’t go out there either!”
Now he fully laughs at you, dipping down to kiss you briefly. “You’d rather we stay in here and they think that we’re still having sex even though they’re sitting in your living room, baby? Come on, get up.”
You get dressed quickly, and you leave the bedroom first. Haechan lingers behind.
Your family is arrayed on the furniture in the living room, and you curse yourself mentally for ever giving them a copy of the key to your apartment. Your sibling is still laughing, and your parents are silently communicating with each other through a series of facial expressions and direct eye contact.
Only once you sit down across from them do any of them actually look at you. And a second later when your dad’s eyes slip behind you toward the direction of your bedroom door, you know that Haechan has emerged.
“This is Haechan,” you announce, “My boyfriend.”
That causes a few raised eyebrows. You’ve mentioned Haechan several times over the years, and within the last couple of months you’ve definitely mentioned that you’re dating someone. You’d just not ever told them that Haechan and your boyfriend were one and the same.
Haechan comes to sit right beside you, immediately reaching for your hand to hold one in both of his. You try to tuck away a rising smile as you notice the way his fingers are trembling nervously.
“Hello,” he nods, greeting your family. “Nice to meet you all.”
You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, glancing over at you. Now you really smile at him, unable to hold it back. Yeah, this is kinda awkward having your family meet him right after they walked in on you together, but with Haechan by your side, you know it’ll be alright.
And it certainly is.
Haechan charms them spectacularly. It probably helps that he spends the entire day praising you, boasting to them about how you just received a promotion at the Moon Corporation where you work together. Apparently his constant adoration of you makes the fact that they walked in on you and him this morning okay. How can your parents disapprove when Haechan puts on his best face with them?
He makes recommendations for a place for all of you to grab dinner later that evening, and he compliments both of your parents and cracks jokes with your sibling, and every chance he gets, he holds your hand or puts his arm around you, looking hopelessly devoted and in love with you.
He completely wins your family over.
Later that night after dinner, Haechan goes back to his own apartment. Tonight you’ll be sleeping separately for the first time in weeks, and the thought of that is slightly upsetting, but your family comes back to your apartment with you.
There’s some maintenance thing that your dad agrees to help you and your roommate with, and she’s better with tools than you are. She’s back at the apartment by that point, so she assists your dad with the project. Your sibling watches, and you and your mom sit in the living room to talk.
“He’s nice.” Your mom has been quiet for a while when she says that, and after a split second pause, she clarifies, “Haechan. He’s a good boy.”
“He is,” you agree. Nevermind all of his qualities that you’re quite intimate with that would definitely make him fall into a Not Good Boy category if your mom knew about them.
She smiles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this with anyone before. Smitten. You’ve always kind of had a look in your eye when you’ve talked about him. Even years ago, when you went away for school, you would FaceTime us and tell us stories about your friends, and you would get this smile on your face when you mentioned him.” She laughs lightly and gestures at your face, “It’s the same smile you’ve had all day when you look at him. Back then I knew it was only a matter of time, but I never thought it would take this long for your little crush to become something more.”
“Trust me,” you sigh, “Neither did I. I was resigned to just being his friend, but then he finally made a move.”
Your mom nods. “How long has it been?”
“A few months.” You can’t believe that the time has passed by so quickly. The first kiss still feels fresh in your mind, the first date like it’s just happened although the temperature has long since turned from the bitter cold it had been that night.
“You look happy,” she comments, and you notice a shimmer of emotion in her eyes as she says, “I’m so happy for you. He seems really good for you, and even if your dad teases you about him, just know that he really likes him too.”
That blooms a warm feeling in your chest. Not that you need your family’s approval to validate your relationship with Haechan, but it certainly still feels really good to know that they’re happy that you’re happy with him.
“Just, please,” your mom laughs, “Don’t think I’m rushing you when I say that I would love some cute grandbabies sooner rather than later.”
“Mom!”
With the pair of you taking a step back from the riskiness of public sex, you decide to instead explore some other interests of yours and his in the safety and privacy of your apartments.
Haechan wants to try out a bit of consensual non-consent, which here means him surprising you while you’re asleep, doing what he wants to you — light touches to turn you on without waking you up, his fingers buried inside you while he feeds you just the tip of his cock.
You were intrigued by the idea of being a toy for him, so you agreed on the condition that you wanted to know afterwards what he’d done.
Haechan filmed it so you could see how he took his time exploring your body, leaving hickeys scattered across your belly. He played with your tits for a while before he started to finger you, and that was when he finally hit the point where he seemingly couldn’t take it any longer, and he just had to feel your lips around his cock.
You’d woken as soon as he came down your throat, startled awake, coughing and gagging on the taste of it.
You’d returned the favor a few days later, curious about what it was like to play with someone sleeping.
Haechan had stayed out late the night before, letting himself into your apartment at half past three. He’d passed out on your bed, and stayed in exactly that position from that moment until even after you woke around eight o’clock.
He was unaware of the world around him, and when you knelt on the floor beside his side of your bed, he’d not even twitched as you pulled away the covers to free his dick to your access. You kissed his thighs and hips, stroked your fingers along his inner thighs.
And then you’d given him your mouth. Kisses along his cock from balls to tip. You’d used your hand to touch him too while you moved your mouth to his chest to tease his nipples. Haechan’s cock swelled in your hand, and you couldn’t help but feel powerful to have him reacting to you like this even while he was asleep.
Is this how he felt when he did this to you?
You blew him, pausing when he would move or when he would make noise. You didn’t want him to wake up yet, you wanted to savor this opportunity to do what you pleased with him. Such as when you got him flat on his back, you kneeling between his legs, your tongue tasting the salty precum at his slit, and you’d slipped a wet finger down to just glide over his asshole.
Haechan had moaned, loud enough that you thought he’d woken. But a moment later he’d settled again, and once you were satisfied with how hard he was, you dug a condom out from beneath your bed, and you climbed up to straddle his cock. You put the condom on him before you sunk down on Haechan’s cock, and you were glad you’d thought of the condom.
The moment that Haechan registered the weight and warmth and tightness of your pussy swallowing his cock, he woke up. His hands grasped at your hips, he thrust up into you, impaling you on his cock. He made it clear that your moment of being in charge had passed.
Quite literally, Haechan flipped things around.
Your shoulders hit the mattress, and he fucked you as if he hadn’t been asleep just moments before. Haechan fucked you while he scolded you for being a slut, for having fun with him while he slept, degrading you which only excited you more.
In the end, it turns out that you both kinda like that sort of sleepy sex.
You explore angry, hateful sex, too.
Your first big argument comes in late April at Jeno’s birthday party. You and Haechan turn heads with the ferocity of your argument, but fifteen minutes later, you’re fucking Haechan in the bathroom, riding him on the toilet until he picks you up, spins you around, and fucks you against the bathroom wall. He’s rough in exactly the way you wanted him to be when you angrily dragged him in here, when you attacked him with biting kisses.
He leaves bruises at your hips, yanking at your hair, he even closes a hand around your throat, applying pressure just perfectly to make your body thrill with excitement, your orgasm overtaking you. You like it a little rough and angry, the way that he bites and pulls and grabs in the moment, followed by tender kisses and apologies, a warm embrace and a conversation about how to resolve whatever your argument has been about.
You explore the properly dirty type of sex, too.
On the most brutal day of your period, you’re absolutely miserable. Cramps and a headache, emotional and horny and hungry. All the worst of your symptoms it seems are rolled into this one day.
But Haechan is the best.
When you’re laid up at his apartment in his bed, he gets up to grab snacks to satisfy your hunger. He gets a heating pad to help your cramps, a cold compress for your headache. There’s not much he can do to help ease the annoying mood swings you’re dealing with, but the horniness….
“I don’t mind,” Haechan tells you when you whine about how what you’re craving isn’t the snack he just brought you but rather an orgasm. “I can help you with that, babe.”
You move the cold compress away from where you had it covering your eyes. “Don’t be gross, Donghyuck.”
He makes a face at the sound of his full name. “It’s not gross,” he argues. “I’m not gonna eat you out, but I don’t see why I can’t help you cum if you think it’ll make you feel better. We have a variety of options.” He holds up his hand, ticking the options off as he lists them. “You can just dry hump me, ride my thigh. I could just use my fingers. I could get one of your toys. I could just fuck you; I don’t mind getting a little messy.”
You just stare at him for a moment, dealing with an internal conflict of giving in to your base desires and letting Haechan get you off, or you could save yourself the embarrassment of Haechan getting disgusted the moment that your pants are off.
“Please?” Haechan asks, “You know I love you. I just want to make you feel good.”
“And this has absolutely nothing to do with how horny you were complaining you were yesterday before I told you I’d started my period?”
Haechan’s grin grows. “I didn’t say I was offering for only your benefit, angel.”
“Go grab a towel at least.” You roll your eyes a little, but inside your heart is racing with excitement. In the past, the guys you’ve been with have all been utterly disgusted by your period, bummed out that they wouldn’t be having sex with you for a week because period sex would be too gross. You’ve never had a guy be as attentive to you during your period as Haechan has been over these months you’ve been together, and certainly none of them have ever been as interested in having period sex as he is. But you shouldn’t be too surprised. He’s a pervert, enjoying these things others often find off-putting.
When Haechan returns with a towel, you rearrange so you’re lying on top of the towel.
“What would you like?” Haechan asks, kneeling there patiently. “Which of the options?”
You roll your eyes at him again. “Just come kiss me, then I’ll decide.”
Haechan lets you take control. He sinks in against your side as you curl an arm behind his head, drawing him in deeper for your kiss. He drapes an arm over your belly while you lift a leg to curl it over his hip. The two of you tangle yourselves together, sinking into the kiss and into each others’ bodies. You play with Haechan’s hair as you kiss him, languid kisses tasting sweet and syrupy, building the heat between you. You can feel him growing hard against you, you can feel your heartbeat throbbing between your legs as your arousal grows. And when you’ve finally reached the point where you can’t just lie still anymore, you start rocking your hips.
With your leg slung over Haechan’s side, his thigh is bent forward between your legs, and when you rock your hips, you’re rocking right against his strong thigh.
You sigh into the kiss, and Haechan smiles.
“Does it feel good?” He kisses the corner of your mouth, and when you nod, he says, “Keep going.”
And you do. Your body moves on autopilot, like you’re starved and insatiable, just taking what you need, what your body desperately craves. You hump Haechan’s thigh as he sponges kisses along your jaw, as he murmurs praises and encouragements. “That’s a good girl,” he breathes against your ear, and, “Just like that, angel.”
Haechan lets you take what you need, and when the sweet friction from humping his thigh carries you over the edge with a cry, he drops his hands to your hip and keeps you moving until you’re whining from sensitivity, but you’re still not finished.
“More,” you beg, twisting your fingers in the front of his shirt. There are tears burning from the corners of your eyes as you keep grinding against Haechan’s thigh, but it’s not enough. You still need more.
“I can give you more.” Haechan rolls you over flat onto your back, and he pulls away from you which is the exact opposite of what you were asking for. He reaches down and pulls his shirt over his head, and then he reaches for the waistband of the sweatpants you’re wearing, and when you lift your hips, he drags them down your legs. The tank top you’re wearing is next; Haechan draws it over your head, tossing it aside in the same moment that he kisses you again. His hands rise to your bare tits, drawing a new whine of sensitivity from you.
“Careful,” you moan. “They’re sore.”
“Sorry, baby,” Haechan apologizes, lowering his head to place a kiss over each nipple. And then a little kitten-lick to one, his lips and tongue warm and soft against your sensitive nipples, his hand gentle and warm on the other breast.
Your tits are so sensitive it doesn’t take long for your heart to be thundering, your body pulsing with hot need, your chest arching against Haechan’s lips.
All it takes is a desperate whine and your hand lightly pressing against the top of his head for Haechan to leave your tits and start mouthing his way down over your ribs and your belly. And then he reaches for your panties to remove them.
“Wait,” you exhale, grappling for his wrist.
Haechan freezes, face hovering above your belly, his fingers tucked into the elastic of your panties ready to pull them down. He looks up at you.
“You don’t have to do this,” you reassure him. You don’t want him to feel like he has to have sex with you just because you’re horny right now. You’re gonna be a mess down there.
Haechan just smiles. “You’re not making me do anything I don’t want to do. This isn’t gross, which I know you’re worried about. It’s hot. I promise.”
You let your fingers go loose around his wrist, but Haechan waits until you nod, until you murmur, “Keep going,” for him to move again. He pulls your panties down, and you wish you could say that it was super weird and uncomfortable to have your boyfriend’s hand between your thighs removing your hygiene product. It should feel awkward as Haechan does that, but looking down at his face as he looks up at you while smoothly doing just that, you’re just lost in the moment.
Haechan climbs off the bed for a moment, walking over to the en-suite bathroom. You don’t even want to think about the fact that he’s going in there to dispose of your used sanitary product, because if you think about that for even a second you’ll be too embarrassed. So you think about the sound of Haechan rummaging around in the bathroom for a moment, and when he comes back, he’s brought a condom with him.
“For a little more ease of cleanup,” he explains. “I don’t want to have to clean period blood off my dick. No offense.” He’s teasing, but you groan and cover your face with your hands. Haechan laughs, reaching for your wrists to pry your hands away. “I’m only joking, babe. Do you still want to keep going?”
Of course you do. You’re a bit embarrassed, but more than that, you’re still incredibly horny.
“Yes, I want to keep going.”
You eagerly pull Haechan back between your legs, barely waiting for him to stop and roll the condom down his length. But then he’s there, and he’s sinking into you, and you forget everything else. You forget your headache, your cramps, your hunger. You forget every mood other than just this — the arousal, the love, the endless need to just have Haechan.
You can’t even say that it’s weird or all that different to be having sex while on your period. Haechan doesn’t make it weird, so it’s not weird. And even if there is some slight discomfort for a moment, it goes away, quickly overcome because of Haechan’s hard-earned knowledge of what you like. Sure, it’s a little messy, and you’re glad you put the towel down, but it’s not the massacre you’d been imagining. It’s as wonderful as you could’ve hoped for.
“See, no problem,” Haechan had told you afterward.
You continue exploring kinks and fetishes, trying things out, falling deeper in love with Haechan, in awe of this pervert who loves you and you love in return.
You never have to question if you love him. It’s just something innate, something you know as well as if it were just always a part of you, just built into your DNA. And you know he loves you too. Haechan doesn’t miss any opportunity to tell you so, not since the first time you said it to each other. You don’t question it.
As spring begins to bridge into summer in May, there are questions.
Your lease on your apartment is about up. Haechan’s is up at the end of June. So the question of moving in together properly comes up. And with that comes more talking, discussing, theorizing and dreaming and just lots and lots of future-talk. Talks about wants and desires.
One day during May, you’re shopping together, looking for new clothes to wear on the trip you’ve planned to take with your friends in July. The shopping center you’re in is busy, full of other couples, of young families. The shops all have vibrant, summery displays and bold signage announcing sales.
You pass by a nice menswear shop, their window display showcasing a stunning tuxedo and a row of groomsmen in dapper suits.
“I want to get married,” Haechan says casually as you pass the shop together. “I’ve always thought that I can’t wait to be a husband and a father someday. I’ve never given too much thought to the actual details, honestly, like the wedding or any of that. But being a husband, having a family, being a dad…” He smiles brightly, then says, “I want to raise a kid who knows that I’ll always be there for them, love and support them unconditionally. What about you?”
You’ve talked about kids with Haechan before. In vague terms. Like when you would be out together and see a baby or little kid, commenting on the kid being adorable, laughing at their behavior. When a coworker had a baby and she brought it into the office to visit, you’d both taken turns holding the baby and talked about it later.
But you’ve never really talked about wanting kids. More specifically, you’ve never really talked about wanting to have kids together.
You certainly never told him about your mom’s comment from just after they first met him, the comment about wanting cute grandbabies from you and him. It’s a comment she’s reiterated a few more times to you since then.
Haechan is looking at you, waiting for you to say something.
“I think most girls dream of their wedding, a spouse, a family. I used to look up wedding dresses online when I was still far too small to even know what kind of dress I could fit into someday. I would picture my celebrity crushes waiting for me at the end of the aisle, flower petals cascading from the sky.” You laugh, and Haechan smiles right along with you. “I used to think up lists of baby names and imagine what it would be like to hold a little life in my arms that I’d created.”
You wonder if Haechan notices all the past tense in the way you’re speaking. The hesitance when you speak of children.
Babies used to be something you were once so certain of. When you were young, before your eyes had been entirely opened to the world, it wasn’t something you ever thought twice about. Of course you would someday have babies. Why wouldn’t you?
But growing up meant seeing things from different perspectives, having realities laid out before you. Some people couldn’t have babies, some people chose not to have them. Sometimes terrible things happen. Sometimes pregnancy can feel alienating. You’d heard of childbirth as a blessing and a curse from friends, coworkers, acquaintances over the years, and as time passed, as you moved through your life and reached the point in time in which having a child would be appropriate, you still weren’t sure what you wanted.
Did you hope to become a mom? Did you want to carry a child if you could? Having a child in your life, especially with the right person beside you was an obvious yes, but sometimes you weren’t entirely sure if carrying a child was the right option for you; maybe you would give birth someday, maybe you would adopt, or maybe it just wasn’t in the cards for you.
Right then, with Haechan still looking at you, you only know that you want him.
Always.
Everything else can wait.
“I don’t mean any of this right now, by the way,” Haechan clarifies a few moments later. “Just… putting it out there.”
And you felt the usual sunshine-warm glow in your chest, thinking that this conversation was a good sign. These future talks you’d been having were a good sign.
The thought of getting married to Haechan makes you giddy. Is he thinking of marrying you too? Is he making plans, and that’s why he’d mentioned it?
You wrap yourself in that warm feeling and let it carry you through the next few days.
Work is busy throughout the month of May. So busy that you don’t get to see much of Haechan inside or outside of work. You have to travel abroad for research purposes, and the distance makes your heart ache. You hate being apart from Haechan, hate that you’re stuck in another country with only Johnny as a companion for two weeks in the middle of the month.
Long distance isn’t really anything you’ve had to try before, but you try to make it work. You call Haechan, he calls you; you exchange messages as often as you can. But there’s a time difference, which means that he’s often asleep while you’re awake, or you’re bogged down with work when he’s free.
“I miss you,” you sigh over the phone late one night once you’re tucked back in your hotel room for the night.
It’s eleven o’clock at night in London where you are, but it’s early back in Seoul, and you know your call probably woke Haechan up. He just mumbles something sleepily into the phone.
“I’m back at the end of the week.” You fight back a yawn. “I’m thinking of taking the week of your birthday off, honestly, because I’m sick of seeing Johnny’s face.”
That at least draws a little laugh from Haechan. “I’m already taking that week off,” he murmurs, “Take it off with me.”
“Should I?”
Haechan hums a small sound of agreement.
“If I do take it off, what should we do? Should we take a trip together? Get out of the city for the week?” You cradle the phone against your cheek, trying your best to not look at the time displayed on the clock sitting on the bedside table. You have to be awake in a few hours for a breakfast business meeting, but you want to have a moment with Haechan.
Haechan is quiet for a few seconds too long, and you wonder if he’s fallen back asleep.
“Hyuck?” You keep your voice soft, just in case.
“Uh, I’m not sure about any plans yet.” He clears his throat. “I don’t…. I don’t know. Listen, I’ve gotta go. I just realized the time and remembered that I’m supposed to head into the office early today.”
Abruptly, he ends the call.
Weird.
You try not to dwell on it too much as you settle in to sleep. You try not to let the memory of it bother you in the morning, or throughout the rest of the day. But it’s difficult to brush off the weirdness of Haechan’s behavior ending that phone call when his behavior over the last few days of your business trip is weird too. Long gaps between responses to your messages, excuses to not answer your phone calls.
And finally, at the end of the week, you and Johnny fly back to Seoul.
Haechan picks you up from the airport, sitting there waiting in a pick-up zone. He waves at Johnny cheerily enough as your coworker heads off for his own pick-up. He kisses you like he’s never missed anyone more, and he holds your hand the entire drive back to your apartment, listening to you chatter about the two weeks you were gone in Dubai.
“Oh, and Taeil approved my days off!” As he pulls in to park, the words fall out of you excitedly, and you squeeze his hand. “So whatever you want to do for your birthday, babe, let’s do it!”
Haechan’s fingers wiggle against yours. He looks around, checking his mirrors as if to make sure that he’s within the lines. “That’s good, baby,” is all he says. His eyes dart towards yours and then away again, and he withdraws his hand from yours to turn the car off.
Odd.
You continue to try not to let it bother you.
You try to ignore it, to just pretend like Haechan isn’t acting distant over the next few days. You tell yourself that it’s just the stress of work because in this interim week between your trip and his birthday week, Haechan has several important meetings and three separate project deadlines. Obviously, that is where the majority of his focus is all week, and that’s why when you ask him to come look at a new apartment availability with you, he tells you that he can’t.
You look forward to Thursday. His heavy workload — the last big meeting and project presentation of his falls on Thursday, so he should feel that relief and hopefully get over this strange distance that has grown between you this week.
After Thursday, it’s just Friday, which should be smooth sailing right into the weekend, and then, luckily, it will be Haechan’s birthday week, the exact day landing on Tuesday. You’re ready to spend the week with him, to give him a birthday to remember.
Thursday evening as you finish up in the office, you make up your mind to go over to Haechan’s tonight.
You’re going to pick up some food on your way. You’re going to shower and steal some of his comfiest clothes (although you do have a decent amount of your own clothes stored at his apartment) and eat together while you watch a drama. You’re going to start this weekend a little early with relaxation tonight, and you’ll take it easy tomorrow.
He’s already home by the time you’re leaving the office (a call with the team in Dubai meant hanging around the office a little bit later than you’d have really liked), and when you arrive at Haechan and YangYang’s apartment, he’s in his bedroom, playing games online.
Haechan offers up his cheek for you to kiss, hums an acknowledgement when you mention that you brought dinner but you want to shower first, and then you notice the way his eyes keep darting away from the game he’s playing to follow you around his bedroom as you strip on your way to the bathroom that’s not even connected to his bedroom.
And several minutes later when you return, he’s done playing the game, but he’s still sitting in the desk chair, on his phone.
Again, you notice his eyes following you as you move around. You notice the way his lips part when you drop the towel you’d had wrapped around you, the way he can’t look away as you stride around fully naked towards his closet. He watches you sort through his T-shirts and find one you like. Haechan makes a small throat-clearing noise when you bury your nose in the fabric, breathing in the smell of him before you pull the shirt on over your head.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you bend over, flashing him your ass beneath the shirt. You’re maybe doing this bit on purpose, stepping slowly into your panties, sliding them up your legs, all while bent over and showing off your ass and pussy to him.
But when you straighten up and look back at him, Haechan looks away, back down to his phone.
His phone seems to hold a lot of his attention, you notice as the night continues.
You sit out in the living room together on the sofa, eating the food you’d brought, watching a drama together. Or rather, you’re watching the drama while Haechan looks at his phone with an empty sofa cushion between you.
It feels like miles of blank space.
And you can’t pretend anymore that you’re not bothered.
Usually Haechan would be the first one to close that gap, unable to resist touching you. He would usually have to have a hand on your bare thigh or his arm around your shoulders to brush his fingers up and down your upper arm. He would have to pull you into his side or against his chest or drag you down so you’re both lying down with him spooning you from behind.
But tonight.
It’s you, him, and his phone.
You sigh loud enough it should’ve caught his attention.
He taps his fingers against the back of his phone, glances up at the drama playing, and then looks right back to his phone.
The longer this goes on, the more you feel like he’s just avoiding you. The more you begin to think that maybe the distance between you this last week and a half hasn’t solely been because of work. But what is it? Is there something on his mind that he just isn’t telling you? His silent distance, specifically his distraction with his phone, bothers you more and more the longer it goes on. One episode ends and a new one begins, and Haechan is still looking at his phone, still ignoring the heavy way you sigh in a subtle grab for his attention.
You begin reading into the silence, seeking answers, seeking attention.
So you do the one thing you know will grab Haechan’s attention and hold it.
Sex.
Haechan is slouched down on the opposite end of the sofa from you, his head propped up on a throw pillow against the arm of the sofa. His phone still holds his attention, but as you climb forward, climbing up the length of his legs, Haechan looks up at you.
At last.
“What’re you doing?” His smile grows slowly.
“I think it’s pretty clear,” you tell him, coming up to straddle his hips, sitting down right in his lap. You slide your hands up his chest. “I had my dinner, now I want dessert. I want you, Haechan.”
Haechan tsks at you. His phone calls to the side, forgotten on the cushion at his shoulder.
“Always horny, aren’t you, my love? What am I to do with you? Just give you what you want?” As he says it, Haechan reaches for your thighs, smoothly dragging you from your spot in his lap now up his chest while he slides even lower to be lying flat on his back. “Baby, maybe I want a taste of my dessert,” he croons, his hands making quick work of pushing up the oversized shirt of his that you’re wearing.
His hands are on your chest before you can get a word out. His fingers tease your nipples, palms warm against the softness of your breasts.
His phone vibrates at your knee. Once, twice, a third time.
Haechan is finally distracted by you and doesn’t seem to notice the notifications lighting up his phone screen. But you do. Who is texting him?
You risk a glance towards the illuminated screen, and see a cluster of message notifications. For a split second, your heart does a weird flippy floppy act, and then you read the name at the top of the notifications: Eomma-ya.
His mom.
Another one comes in, but you can’t read the messages themselves, and at this point you don’t need to. It’s not any of your business, and you relax, letting some of the tension ease out of you, your body reacting eagerly to Haechan’s touches now that your worries have been somewhat assuaged in knowing that it’s just his mom that he’s been messaging.
Haechan, all of his focus on you now, pinches one of your nipples in a way that sends a jolt of lusty heat right down to your core.
You whimper quietly, just “Haechan” before all words melt on your tongue when Haechan drags your panties to the side and starts touching you. His fingers tease along your slit, never giving you quite what you want. He keeps it going until you’re dripping, arousal clinging to his fingers, a few drops leaking down to dampen the front of his shirt. And all the while he’s doing this, Haechan watches you with this amused, almost predatory look.
He watches and waits until he can see that you’re right there on the edge of cumming, and he withdraws his hand. He waits a few moments while you whine and squirm on top of him, and then his fingers are back, drawing intense circles on your clit, edging you right back to where you were before but then he backs off again. Several times he does this until you’re actually starting to get pissed off, but then instead of pulling his hands away from you, he slides down fully onto his back on the sofa, and Haechan drags you up until you’re straddling his face.
“Go on, baby. Take what you want.” Haechan licks his lips as he says it, and then he leaves his mouth parted, pink tongue laying against his plush lips.
There’s only one thing you want in that moment and it’s to sit on his face and ride his tongue until your body goes numb from the overstimulation of orgasming. You want to cry his name, to squirt on his tongue, to leave your taste in his mouth for days.
Haechan moans when you sit on him, his arms wrap around you, holding you against his mouth as he eats you out, as you ride his tongue.
You alternate between tugging at Haechan’s hair (which only makes him moan exaggeratedly against your pussy) or clenching your hands in the shirt you’re wearing. Occasionally, you’ll look down and find Haechan already watching you, his dark eyes drinking in the awed look of pleasure on your face, or staring at your tits if you’ve got your shirt lifted that high. All you know is you feel high, electric, like your body and the entire world are just static, and each stroke of Haechan’s tongue is a shock to your system in the best way.
Your first orgasm feels weak, just a pulse of sweetness, barely enough for you to really feel before Haechan is doubling down, hands gripping your thighs to pull you down more heavily onto his face. Like he wants you to just suffocate him like this.
He doesn’t slow down at all, moaning against you as the taste of you continues to leak across his tongue, and you can’t help yourself as you essentially fuck his face, rocking your hips to feel his nose against your clit and his tongue buried deep inside you.
He’s moaning and you’re moaning, and it’s no wonder that neither of you hear the door to his apartment open until it’s too late, until YangYang is standing there in the door just staring at you losing control of yourself as another orgasm — this one so much more intense and fantastic — crashes through you.
He watches, and you notice him, but you decide not to pay him any attention. He can stay or he can leave, it really doesn’t bother you either way.
Haechan’s fingers only slightly loosen the tight hold on your thighs as he licks you through your orgasm. His cheeks are sticky against your thighs, lips sliding against your labia from where you’d squirted. You easily slide backwards, collapsing to sit on his belly. You let your shirt fall down to cover your panties again, and you push your fingers into Haechan’s hair, lower your head to his, and you kiss him, not caring about the mess you’d made on his face. You can taste yourself, but you don’t care, and besides, it seems like Haechan likes that.
Somewhere, YangYang clears his throat.
“Stay or leave, dude,” Haechan mumbles against your lips, the words just loud enough for YangYang to hear. “We’re not stopping.”
You don’t know what decision YangYang makes. You don’t hear anything to indicate one choice or the other, and you don’t look around the room either. You just sink against Haechan, sucking on his tongue, at his bottom lip, using your tongue to clean the taste of yourself from his chin.
Haechan twists you beneath him so he’s on top, pressing you into the sofa, and he peels your shirt off, tossing it over the back of the sofa, and then he has unrestricted access to your chest. Haechan attacks your tits with lips and teeth, his hands giving attention where his mouth doesn’t.
It’s all a hot blur of lips and skin and teeth and high heat when Haechan’s pants disappear between one breath and the next, your bodies colliding, and his cock filling you smoothly and perfectly. You clutch at his shoulders and bite at his neck while he fits into you, and you arch against him, trying to pull him closer, wanting him to smother you now between the somewhat rough material of the sofa and the smooth press of his skin.
At one point, he pulls away from you, and you sit up to follow, letting him manhandle you around onto your knees, facing the arm of the sofa as he fits himself against you from behind. He grips your arms up by your shoulders, and the way Haechan thrusts into you is so deep and rough that your teeth clack together and tears burn in your eyes, but you love it. You love the raw passion as he fucks you, and the way that he soon wraps his arms around you, drawing your back to his chest as he rolls his hips forward, dragging his cock in this gliding motion inside you, a slow, smooth pull in your belly that has you cumming again.
Haechan mouths at your throat while your walls pulse around his cock. You can feel sweat clinging to your skin, both from yourself and from him. His tongue drags up the line of your throat, from the base all the way up to just beneath your ear.
When Haechan takes your earlobe between his teeth, a pathetic sound spills out of you, one that you’re not even sure where it came from because you’ve never heard that sound before.
“He’s still watching,” Haechan whispers, his words right against your ear. “YangYang pretended like he just went to his room, but the door is still cracked open, and he probably doesn’t know that I can see his shadow pressed up against the door, watching.”
Your eyes flash open, shooting a look right towards YangYang’s door. It does stand partially ajar, but you couldn’t say if YangYang is standing there or not. He could just be making it up for your benefit, knowing how much you love the idea of being watched, how long it’s been since the two of you did something even slightly exhibitionist.
One of Haechan’s hands slides up to your throat, his skin burning against yours as he applies the perfect amount of pressure. “I don’t care if he watches,” Haechan growls, “Just so long as he knows who you belong to. Just as long as he knows this is just a pretty show, a one time ticket to view. Because whose are you, angel?”
His hand releases a little, and you breathe in deeply, more than happy to profess, “I’m yours,” with a sigh.
“Good girl.” Haechan brushes a kiss to your cheek. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Haechan.”
He lets you fall forward. Your ass is still lifted, but your cheek rests against the arm of the sofa as Haechan keeps thrusting forward, and you can feel yet another orgasm building inside you, the heat swelling in your belly as a tingling sensation spreads.
“That’s right, baby. We were made for each other. You’re mine.” He rolls his hips forward, grinding his cock in deep, a hand flat on your tailbone. “Fuck, say it for me?”
“I’m yours,” you whimper, already feeling the druglike pull of your orgasm as your vision whites out.
Haechan keeps moving, his movements speeding up as he races to follow you to his orgasm, and as soon as you realize that, a bolt of panic passes through you.
You lift onto your elbows. “Pull out! Pull out,” you moan, pulling yourself forward off his cock even as Haechan jerks backwards.
Your pussy clenches uselessly around nothing as Haechan’s cock leaves you, but a second later you feel the warm streaks of his cum paint your lower back, his moans accompanying the sensation.
Haechan falls over you, his weight only there for a moment before he’s shifting onto his side, his arms wrapped around you to pull you back against him. From this position, you have a clear look at YangYang’s door again. Now, it’s clearly shut.
“God, I’m glad we did that,” you sigh, “I was tired of you ignoring me for your phone. What was so interesting anyway?” You ask with a laugh, trying to keep it sounding lighthearted as you reach up to push your fingers into Haechan’s hair.
He tucks his face between your neck and your shoulder, humming a noncommittal sound. He just holds you like that for a little while until you swear it feels like your heartbeats and your breathing have synced with each other. It’s only after several minutes that he lifts his face from your neck.
“I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to be angry,” he says.
Already, not off to a great start.
You tense up, holding your breath. A feeling like an ice cold rod sets itself rigid down your spine. Why does he sound so serious? He was just texting his mom; you saw the new messages coming in from her, so what about that could make you angry? What is he going to say?
Haechan sighs, lowering his chin to rest on the curve of your shoulder. “I’m going home for a bit, a few days,” Haechan tells you, “To Jeju. My mom still lives there, and she wants me to come visit for my birthday this weekend.”
You almost let out a sigh of relief. You know that he can probably see the way that you actually relax, shoulders sinking down now with ease into the cushions. He’s just going to go visit his family for his birthday, and it’s probably about time. He’s told you about them, and you know he hadn’t seen them in a while.
It’s a good thing.
“Why would I be angry about that?” You lift a hand up to touch his hair as he lowers his mouth against your shoulder.
Of course, you wanted to spend his birthday with him. His first birthday while you’ve been together like this, but if he was going out of town and just wanted to spend time with his family, you understand.
“You took the week off,” Haechan says slowly. “You took it off at least in part because it’s my birthday. You wanted to make plans, but now my mom wants to decide on some different plans.”
You nod, wondering if that was all he had to say. That’s nothing big. Is this why he’s been distant since last week when you mentioned making plans for his birthday week? Had he already known that his mom wanted him to visit? Was he worried you were going to be upset that he’s going to Jeju? Or maybe he’s wanting to ask you to come along, to finally meet his family? The fact that he’s not saying anything, although you can almost hear his mind silently buzzing with unspoken words, reinforces your theory a bit.
But if he’s not going to ask then you will.
“When do I finally get to meet your family anyway?” You twist around to face him, trailing your fingers up his chest.
Haechan grabs your hand, pulling it away from where you reached his face. He clears his throat and looks over your shoulder into the middle-distance.
“What?” You laugh, twirling your fingers with his.
Haechan clears his throat again. Opens his mouth. Closes it. He mumbles, “I’m going to tell you something else. Please don’t be angry.”
The fact that he’s repeating that plea doesn’t bode well at all.
“Donghyuck?” An uncomfortable weight begins to settle through your belly. What’s his deal right now?
Silence for a beat.
He swallows hard.
“I haven’t told my family about you. That we’re… together. They don’t know I’m seeing anyone at all,” he blurts. And then as an afterthought, he tacks on, “Like I said, please don’t be angry.”
Don’t be angry.
Are you angry?
The feelings flooding through you don’t quite feel like anger — not that bright, burning bite of emotion — but something heavier and deeper, something that slides through your veins like an oil slick.
What does he mean he hasn’t told them about you? That they don’t know that you’re…. Together. And the way he’d hesitated when he said that?! What does that mean?
He’s your boyfriend! So what was with the hesitation?
You’re almost living together. Spending pretty much every single night together at one apartment or the other, with plans to find an apartment — and now you remember him backing out of the apartment viewing you’d found the other day — and move in together. He’s met your family, who adore him. You’ve talked about the future: marriage, family, kids, and dreams.
You’re in love with him and he often tells you he loves you, too.
But Haechan hasn’t even mentioned your relationship to his family.
You can’t believe it.
You draw yourself away from him, lifting yourself off the sofa.
“Are you mad?” Haechan asks again. You feel his fingertips brush against your tailbone.
“Am I mad? Are you fucking kidding, Haechan?” Ah, there you can feel a bit of anger flickering to life in your sternum, catching at the tail ends of your words.
Haechan can’t even look you in the eye as you stand above him.
“You haven’t told them about me? Can I ask why?” You’re trying to tame the anger in your voice, to keep that fiery heat from swelling inside you to an inferno, but it’s not working. “Is it because of me? You don’t actually want to be with me?”
“That’s stupid, of course that’s not it!” Haechan stares up at you, shock in his eyes before he looks away again, down at his hands. “I haven’t told them about you, about us, because I don’t want them to judge.”
And that only incenses you further.
The sound that leaves you is anger, frustration, and hurt all blended into one. A scream and a shout, a cry as you search the floor for the shirt of his you’d borrowed earlier.
You find it halfway tucked beneath the end of the sofa, and you snatch it up, drag it on.
“You don’t want your family to judge me? Fine. I guess it seems that you’ve already decided that they’ll find me lacking.” You know you’re shouting, but you can’t help it. Tears sting at your eyes, burning as the words fly from your mouth. “Fuck you, Lee Donghyuck.”
Behind you, there’s the sound of a door opening, and then YangYang’s voice asking, “What’s going on?”
You snort, spinning around to head for Haechan’s room, leaving him and YangYang behind in the living room. You can hear them speaking as you dig around in Haechan’s room for a clean pair of pants for you to wear.
When you walk back out a moment later, your bag on your shoulder, both of the men turn to look at you.
“Where are you going?” Haechan asks.
“I’m fucking leaving.” You stride past him.
“Fuck, Haechan,” YangYang groans. “I told you not to fuck things up with her! What the hell did you do?”
Before you reach the door, Haechan calls out your name. You pause, hand reaching for the door handle, waiting, but he doesn’t say anything else, and you don’t turn to look at him.
You wait, seconds tuck by, and still he remains silent behind you.
He can’t even ask you to stay? Not even that?
You open the door, and you leave.
Haechan doesn’t follow.
Friday morning, you call in sick to work.
In a way, you are sick.
You don’t want to see Haechan today, but at the same time you don’t not want to see him either. The two conflicting desires leave your stomach in knots.
He’s going to leave for Jeju today, spend the whole weekend and his birthday there with his family and not thinking about you. And you already know you’re going to spend the whole week only thinking of him. Maybe you’ll get drunk tonight and tomorrow and Sunday too. Or maybe every day of the week, since you’ve got the whole thing. Maybe you’ll drink until you can forget that Haechan doesn’t love you as much as you thought he did, that he must not actually dream of a future with you even though you’ve both talked about it.
You spent the whole night crying and choking down a quart of ice cream with your roommate and her partner comforting you.
You miss Haechan.
It’s been twelve hours and you miss him because you never argue with him and then don’t immediately make up. You’ve had big fights, but up until last night you’ve always made up shortly after. You’ve lived by the rule of never going to bed angry.
But last night you were angry and upset when you finally fell asleep, clutching your phone and wondering why he hasn’t called or texted.
Friday morning ticks by and you mope in bed, glancing at the clock, knowing you should get up, that you should shower and eat. But you can’t.
You ignore a call from Yuta at work, ignore a couple texts from YangYang. You consider letting your phone just die or putting it on do not disturb, but you can’t deny that you’re really hoping that one time when the phone rings or buzzes with a message notification that it’ll be Haechan.
He really just let you walk out of there last night.
He really hasn't told his family about you.
You roll over and hide your face in your pillow.
Some time later, a series of buzzes from your phone draws you out of the light doze you sank into. Your heart lifts, and when you check the screen you see….
YangYang.
What does he want? Why is he calling?
“Mm?” Is all the sound you can muster when you deign to answer the call.
“Hello?” YangYang says. “Are you there?”
“What, YangYang?” You hate the way your voice sounds right then. Like it’s clear that you’ve been crying all night and periodically over the past few hours.
You can hear YangYang walking around, trying not to make noise. And then he whispers, “I think you should come over here. He’s about to leave for the weekend.”
“Excuse me?” What exactly is YangYang asking you? Does he think that because he watched the two of you last night, because you let him watch last night, because you and Haechan had a big fight last night that you’ll just sneak over there to hook up with him as soon as Haechan leaves for a few days?
“What?” YangYang asks, and then a brief pause before he exclaims, “Oh! No, like…. I don’t mean….” He sighs, then clarifies, “I really think you should come over here, and Haechan is about to leave for Jeju, and I think you should go with him. He told me last night after you left what the real problem was. I thought you’d just finally found out what a freak he is, but he assured me that you know and you don’t care. That he’s just a fucking idiot who hasn’t told his mom that you’re his girlfriend. There's an obvious solution here.”
You grunt in acknowledgement. “But you’re the one asking me, not him.”
“Just come over.” YangYang’s tone doesn’t leave much room for arguing. “He’s an idiot, but surely you knew that before you started dating him. Come over, talk to him, and go with him.”
“I’m hanging up,” you force the words out just a split second before you end the call on YangYang.
You lie there for a few minutes, holding your phone, staring up at the ceiling. Thinking.
Is Haechan, like, fucking embarrassed to be with you? Is that why he hasn’t told his family about you? Why would you want to show up right before he leaves on that trip, to argue with him some more about it? You don’t want to ruin his trip, even if you are upset with him right now.
And why should you go without him making any sign of apology first? It’s YangYang reaching out to you, not Haechan, and that doesn’t feel right either. If Haechan isn’t going to make the effort to say that he’s sorry, that he sees the wrong he’s done in this situation, then why should you put in the effort?
You lie there for a little while longer, turning your phone over and over in your hands.
Your phone buzzes with a message, and you turn it over quickly just to see that it’s a message from YangYang.
“Don’t know if you’re on your way over, but he just left.”
Your heart does a strange tumble in your chest.
Not that you were really thinking about going over there, but it gives you a strange feeling to know that it’s not an option anymore. Haechan is gone, on his way to Jeju island.
But something about that is the impetus you needed, and you finally lug yourself out of bed and into the shower.
Maybe you should just text Haechan, you think as you massage your shampoo through your hair. Just open up that pathway with him so he knows you’re not totally pissed off to the point that you want to break up. Because you definitely don’t want to break up with him. He’s Haechan, the love of your life.
You spend the rest of your shower drafting up different versions of the message you want to send him, so as soon as you step out of the shower, you reach for your phone, ready to send the message.
But then you see you have several notifications. A couple texts. Three missed calls.
All from Haechan.
Then, somewhat muffled by distance, you hear a thud and your phone rings again. Haechan.
And the thudding noise again, but you now recognize it as knocking on your apartment door.
You don’t even bother to dry off. Instead, you just wrap the towel around you and beeline straight for the front door. The knocking continues as you approach.
Through the peephole you can see Haechan standing there, his phone pressed to his ear while he knocks with the other hand. You can see his lips moving, and through the door you hear his muffled voice saying, “Come on, please. Please don’t just ignore me, baby.”
Your phone rings again in your hand.
Haechan drops his head against the door.
The moment you touch the deadbolt, Haechan straightens up, and when you pull the door open a few inches, you can see him standing there and looking at you with heavy emotions weighing down the corners of his mouth.
“What, Donghyuck?”
His lips, which had begun to lift into a smile, sink once more. You know he doesn’t like when you use his real name, especially not when the tone you say it in is sharp and hard, not at all softened by a smile as it usually is with him.
His eyebrows furrow together a bit. “I’m sorry. I came here to say I’m sorry. All last night after you left, I kept thinking about you, about how I made a mistake. How I wanted to get out of bed and come over here to apologize and make things right. But I figured that you wouldn’t want to see me.”
Frankly, if he’d shown up last night, you probably wouldn’t have even granted him the courtesy of opening your door even this much. But right now you open it a few inches more, with your body barring the way.
“Do you realize how much it hurt me to hear you say that, Haechan? To realize that I love you so much, that all of our friends and my family know that we’re together, that you and I have discussed the future and have made tentative plans to move into a place together, but you haven’t even told your family that I hold even a small place in your mind? That makes me feel like shit, Haechan. How am I supposed to take anything you say seriously now? Do you mean it when you tell me you love me? Do you really want to move in together? Do you mean it when you tell me about how much you want to get married and be a dad, and if you do mean it, do you mean you want it with me?”
Silence follows your words for a moment. Haechan stands there in front of you, wringing his hands together.
“I’m an idiot,” he says finally. “I just… I know I should’ve told them about you. But there’s some things that I just want to hold close, and you’re one of them. Because I’m embarrassed. Not by you!” He quickly says, looking up at you with wide eyes. “I’ve never…. I’ve never brought anyone home before. They’ve never met anyone I’ve been in a relationship with, never seen me with anyone in a romantic way. That’s what I’m embarrassed about. They’ve never seen this side of me, this totally over-the-top in love side. Not to mention that I’m embarrassed by how for years we were just friends, but when I realized I had feelings for you, I fell so hard and fast.”
“You are an idiot,” you agree. “Do you think it wasn’t embarrassing for me? To have my family walk in on us? To have to introduce them to you minutes later? As soon as I told them your name, I could tell that they were laughing because for years, Haechan, I’d been talking about you. My mom teases me about it later that night. But never once, not for one minute, did I think it would be too embarrassing for them to know that I was dating you, that I’m in love with you.”
Haechan lowers his head.
You tighten your hold on the towel you’re clutching around yourself. “But you have to see this from my side, right? You’ve been telling me that you love me, but then you tell me that I’m a huge secret from your family, they’ve never heard about me. You have to see how I would take that, don’t you? How I would hear that and believe that I’m nothing more than a fun fuck for you, a way for you to get kinky?”
“No,” Haechan interjects. “No, you’re not that. You have to know that.”
The way he’s staring at you tears at your heart. You’ve pretty much already forgiven him. You don’t want to be mad at him, after all, and he’s made this effort to come here and apologize. But, you’d like to see him grovel a little longer.
Haechan says, “I was just embarrassed to realize I was so dumb and blind for so long, to go from telling myself that all the feelings I had for you were only friendly to suddenly being so in love with you and wanting you so much that it hurt me to watch anyone else touch you or look at you for too long. I love you, I want you. I want to live with you and be in love with you for the rest of our lives. But I need you to forgive me for being ridiculous. There’s really only one way to make things right, isn’t there?”
Haechan takes a half-step backwards.
Your heart lurches in your chest as he begins to sink down on one knee.
You open the door fully now, staring in unmitigated shock at Haechan as he lowers himself down.
“Lee Donghyuck—“ Your tone is one of warning.
He glances up at you. His lips tilt into a smirk, and he drops the other knee so that he’s just kneeling on the floor in front of your door. He folds his hands together, looks up at you with amusement lighting his eyes, hands lifted in a pleading manner as he begs, “Will you please forgive me, baby? My angel? Forgive me and come with me this weekend. Come meet my family.”
With a groan, you reach over and shove at his shoulder.
Haechan laughs, dropping down to sit on his ankles.
“You’re a dick,” you whine.
“What? Did you think I was going to ask something else?” Haechan laughs, still looking up at you.
You simply roll your eyes at him, turn around and walk away into your apartment, leaving the door open behind you.
Haechan calls out after you, “What’s your answer?”
“Just come inside!” You’re already walking into your bedroom, already reaching for a bag and some clothes. You hear the apartment door close, and then the sound of his footsteps crossing the floor. “Are you at least going to give your mom a heads up that you’re bringing someone with you?”
Haechan leans in your doorway, watching as you collect clothes and fold them nicely into your bag. He hums a little sound, “I may have called her earlier. I told her that I’ve been seeing a girl, and she asked me a thousand questions about you, and I told her that you’re coming home with me this weekend, so she’ll be able to ask you everything.”
“And what if I’d told you no? What if I really was ignoring you and just never answered?” You glance over at him, and Haechan is just watching you with this gentle smile.
“I didn’t want to even consider that possibility,” Haechan says with a shake of his head.
You walk away to your bathroom, gathering your toiletries together.
While you’re in there, Haechan says, “I love you, you know that, right? Like, I’m so in love with you, I’m sure I’m gonna catch shit about it this weekend from my mom and my siblings. They’re gonna tease the hell out of me, especially once my mom realizes who you are. Like I said yesterday, and never really got the chance to explain, I feel like there’s gonna be some judgment this weekend.”
You pop your head back out of the bathroom. Yes, that statement from him the night before had certainly triggered some of the more heated emotions that sent you walking out of his apartment. So right now, hearing it again, you can’t help asking, “And what does that mean?”
“Nothing bad.” Haechan rolls his eyes with a good-natured smile. “You’re wonderful. I don’t think they would find you lacking. If anything, they’re going to judge me against you and wonder why the hell you would put up with me.”
That’s bullshit. “As if. Haechan, you’re perfect. I’ve heard the way you talk about your mom, and I know you, so there’s no way that she doesn’t believe you’re perfect.”
Haechan snorts. “I know you think I’m perfect, angel, but not everyone feels the same. Especially not when you’re there with all of your… you-ness.”
“Meaning what exactly?” What does your you-ness mean? Is it a compliment?
Haechan stands there for a moment as you emerge from the bathroom to pack your toiletries into your bag, and you can see him mulling over the words, rolling them around in his mind and on his tongue for a moment before he finally lets them out.
“You are perfect. Like actually. I’m good at imitating perfection maybe, but you just… are.” Haechan sighs suddenly. “Everything about you just fits into this bubble of perfection in my mind. You’re an angel in my eyes, and I know you know it.”
A warm glow through your chest, melting the last bits of icy bitterness remaining from your fight yesterday.
And you dissolve just a little more when Haechan walks closer, when he clutches one of your hands, bringing it to his chest, against his heart.
He tells you, “You’re beautiful, kind, hard-working and smart. You’re one of the only women in our company, the best in your area, and you just keep excelling. When you got that promotion, oh my God. I’m so proud of you, proud to call myself your boyfriend. You’re living your dream, and I wish I could do that.”
It is your dream to be working this job, to have a successful career in this field. You know that Haechan enjoys his work in this area too, but after that night of your first date, when you’d encouraged him to sing, you’d reawakened his youthful dream of being a singer, one that he hasn’t made much progress towards achieving, though not from lack of trying.
Haechan’s heart beats steadily beneath your hand. He holds your gaze as he continues speaking from the heart.
“I couldn’t possibly find anyone in this world to love me better than you. You’re a daydream, and my favorite wet dream, to put it bluntly. So, yeah. You’re perfect, my angel, and as soon as my family realizes that you’re the one I’ve been telling them about for years now, the friend I met as a freshman, my mom is gonna call me an idiot for waiting so long to realize that I was in love with you.”
That makes you laugh, genuinely laugh from the belly.
You pull your hand away from his chest so you can instead throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him into a tight hug.
“You are an idiot for waiting years to realize that you were in love with me.” You crush yourself against him, unable to disagree with his mom’s hypothetical words. “I had a crush on you from day one, Haechan, and we were friends for so long. It’s only because of you that it took us so long.”
Haechan makes a face. “I don’t know about that.”
You scoff. “It’s true. You were so blind to me for years, and now look at you.” You pull back from the hug so you can see his face. “You’re a total sucker for me, wrapped around my finger.”
A slow-growing smile appears on Haechan’s face. “Oh? I am wrapped around your finger?”
You nod.
Haechan tsks at you. “I think you’re mistaken, angel. You’re the one wrapped around my finger, baby, and sometimes around multiple fingers.” As he says it, Haechan tightens the arm around your waist. He touches his lips to your ear. “You’re often wrapped around my tongue, like last night.” he croons.
You shiver a little, recalling the pleasure of riding his face on the sofa last night. But you don’t have time for that sort of distraction right now. If you’re going to make it to Jeju island today, you should probably be leaving soon.
“Just admit it, baby,” Haechan is still saying, “If one of us will do anything the other asks of them, it’s you.”
Again, you scoff. You push out of his hold. “Why don’t you take my bag while I get dressed.”
You’re still just wearing your towel after the shower. And you don’t think traveling to meet his family in just a towel would give them a very good first impression.
Haechan grins, pecks a kiss to your cheek, grabs your bag, and heads out your bedroom door.
a/n: Haechan in the story is a bit of a dumbass tbh, like??? Just tell your family about the woman that you're literally so in love with!!! But... anyway, you'll get a little bit of his POV in the next chapter about that! You'll also be getting more of totally, fully, completely in love Haechan waxing romantic about Y/N.
I can't believe that next chapter is gonna be the end already, I feel like I just started writing and posting this fic not too long ago!
As always, your likes, reblogs, comments, messages, stream of consciousness thoughts about YIMA are greatly appreciated! Thank you!!
previous chapter || next chapter (Coming Soon)
#haechan smut#nct smut#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut#nct#haechan#lee haechan#lee donghyuck#yima#nct 127#nct dream#nct 2023
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Never Listen To Venkman
Egon Spengler x Reader
(With platonic!Peter Venkman)
Prompt: When you and Peter are left alone to experiment with a suspicious, blue, viscous slime, things go south and Egon comes home to you having a paranormal induced panic attack.
Warnings: panic attacks, autistic meltdowns, sensory issues, detailed descriptions of sensory issues, feeling uncomfortable in one’s own skin.
A/N: Back in my Ghostbusters era. It is contractually obligated that I must re-obsess every time a new movie comes out. I’ve loved Egon since I was a little kid. I can’t believe I’ve never written for him. The italics are flashbacks. This is crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.
The reader is intended to be autistic, but can be read any way you’d like. Anyone is allowed to relate and see themselves in the reader wether they’re autistic or not!
You were sitting at your desk with in your small shared lab with Egon in the firehouse when you heard footsteps. You thought you had been home alone until Peter walked in.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were going on a double date with Winston while Ray and Egon were at the movie.” You questioned him, putting down your pen. You had been taking notes on a new kind of slime the boys had found. It was different from the other slime they’d found last month when Vigo was trying to take over. While Vigo’s slime was pink in color, this slime was blue and had a more viscous consistency.
“Oscar had a fever, so Dana and I decided to cancel. She thinks he’s getting his first tooth.” Peter smiles. Despite the jokes he’s made and the amount of times he’s said he was nowhere near ready to be a father, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy being back with Dana again and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love Oscar just as much as he loved her.
“Did Winston still go?” You ask.
“Oh, yeah. He’s probably back in her apartment with the bed rocking as we speak. No way he’s coming home tonight.” Peter laughed at his own joke as you cringe.
“You’re disgusting.” You roll your eyes.
“What are you up to tonight? Got a hot date with a slime? Not too different from your usual dating life.” He chuckles.
“You’re such a dick, Venkman. I figured while everybody was out tonight I’d try to find out SOMETHING about this new slime. Egon and I have been studying it for two days and we have literally nothing.” You gesture to the blue goo on your desk.
“Do you need help?” He asks.
“Are you offering to help me on your night off?” You ask, shocked.
“I’ve got nothing better to do.” Peter shrugs.
“Are you gonna take it seriously?” You hesitate.
“I’m always serious!” Peter bluffs. Peter was never serious. Egon was always serious. His bluntness and black and white thinking had always been a comfort to you. He wasn’t some puzzle you had to figure out. He just was. Being with him wasn’t a guessing game the same way it was with Peter.
“Somehow that’s hard to believe, but I could really use your expertise in parapsychology, so I’ll say yes.” You sigh. You know this probably isn’t the best idea, but Peter knows more about this topic than you do. You’d be stupid to reject his help.
“If you’ll be the subject, I’ll run the experiment.” He says, taking out the helmet with wires.
“Okay.” You agree. Once the helmet is on you should be connected to a series of machines able to read the energy of your emotions, as well as the slime itself, giving you a more direct connection without touching. Peter starts asking you a series of questions, trying to draw different emotional responses.
“Think of a time when you were happy, really happy.” He prompts. Your mind, wandered around the room, trying to think of something, when your eyes landed on Egon’s book sitting on his desk.
It made you think of the first time you realized you had deep feelings for him. While you’d always thought he was attractive, you realized your feelings were deeper than you thought, far beyond a harmless little crush, one day when he let you borrow his book. As you read his notes in the margins you were able to analyze things like him, see the world through his eyes. You saw how his brain connected and processed things. You always liked the person he’d shown you, but writing in the margins is different. When you take notes in a book, you’re not putting on a mask for people to see. Notes in the margins are just for you. There’re your unfiltered thoughts. Seeing who Egon was when nobody was watching was different. He was funny, smart, deep, curious, not as confident as he pretended to be; he didn’t censor himself in his books. He wasn’t quiet in his books. Reading his margins felt intimate.
“You’re thinking about Spengler, aren’t you?” Venkman teases.
“Why would you say that?” You look at him, embarrassed.
“Because you’re in loooooove!” Peter mocks.
“Can we change the subject?” You practically beg.
“Think of a moment where you were uncomfortable.” Peter prompts.
“This conversation.” You fiddle with your fingers.
“No, really. I wanna see how it reacts to discomfort.”
“Fine.” You sigh. You think back to one of your many lab accidents. Working in a lab with sensory issues is never easy and that was something you and Egon both struggled with.
You think back to the day when you superglued your fingers shut by accident. You got them apart, but you couldn’t get the the residue off. You started to hyperventilate, on the verge of tears. You wanted to hit your hands on things, but you knew that wouldn’t help. You couldn’t peel off the glue without peeling off your skin.
“What’s wrong?” Egon looked at you puzzled, and a bit worried.
“Superglue! I- I- I can’t get it off!” You shake your hands, violently, your whole body is tensed up.
Egon quickly takes a bottle out from his desk drawer and runs over to you. He grabs your hands.
“Look at me, (Y/N). It’s okay. I’ll take off all the residue.” He promises, giving you a soft smile. Despite not liking seeing you in such discomfort, he forces the smile to help calm you down. He begins to massage the liquid from the bottle onto your fingers with a rag.
“See, it’s okay. It’s coming off.” He continues to speak softly, calming you.
“What is that stuff?” You ask.
“I wish I could say it’s some sort of fancy, scientific, protective disinfectant, but as it so happens it’s only nail polish remover.” You both chuckle quietly. “Janine gave it to me the last time I got superglue on something and couldn’t get it off.” He smiles down at your hands, still focused on getting the last little bit off.
“This slime is so different from the mood slime. I thought I saw it let go of a bubble, but it’s mostly doing nothing. I think it might be dead. I think it might be time to bury it in the backyard.” Peter begins to fake sob.
“Knock it off.” You laugh. “What backyard? This is Manhattan!”
“You should try touching it.” Peter suggests.
“Egon, said I should under no circumstances touch it directly, especially while he’s not here.” You inform him.
“Well Egon, is being overprotective. Nothing bad happened when everyone else touched the pink slime and I accidentally ate green slime once.” Venkman says.
“What do you mean accidentally?” You ask.
“It was our first mission. Slimer ran through me. It was a whole thing. I think you should touch it… You might be able to figure out what it is before Spengler gets back…” He tries to change your mind.
“You’re sure there were no serious side effects from touching the other slimes?” You ask, hesitantly. Egon would be annoyed if he found out you went against his pleas to keep your hands away from the plasma, but you wanted to impress him.
“Nothing serious. I grew an extra pinky, but they cut it off.” He jokes.
“Haha, very funny, Venkman.” You roll your eyes.
“Fine.” You sigh, taking a deep breath before plunging your hand into the blue viscous goo. “Oh…This is literally fine.” You feel no effect, but when your heart rate picks up you realize you spoke too soon. You fall onto the floor, knocking over the slime. You feel like your heart is racing, like it could beat out of your chest and you can’t suck enough air into your lungs. You’re terrified.
“(Y/N)!” Peter yells, rushing to the floor to help you. He tries to touch the the hand not covered in blue slime, but you push him away, sobbing. You don’t want him anywhere near you. You’re slipping away from reality into a deep state of panic and paranoia.
“Please! No!” You sob. It’s the only thing you can manage to get out. You barley recognize Peter anymore. He doesn’t feel like a friend. He feels like a threat.
“Honestly, the movie was quite terrible. Ray stopped for a 99 cent pizza on the corner. What did you- (Y/N)?!” Egon speaks as he enters the room, cutting himself off when he notices you’re in distress.
“Pete, what happened?!” Egon questions once he sees Venkman.
“We were doing an experiment and they touched the goo and they just started freaking out. They won’t let me near them.” Peter tells him, obviously shaken. You hear the two men, but you don’t process them. It’s like you’re underwater.
“This is different from their usual sensory issues. I think they’re having a panic attack.” Egon kneels in front of you. “(Y/N), you’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in the firehouse. I’m here.” He tells you slowly.
“I- I can’t breathe!” You gasp for air.
“Your lungs are expanding and contracting at a rate too fast for your body to intake oxygen. I need you to try to breathe slow and deep with me. In…and out. Nice and slow.” He prompts. “Peter, I need latex gloves and towels.” Venkman could have made multiple jokes about Egon’s command, but looking at you this way made him uneasy. It wasn’t the right time. After being handed the gloves, Egon slipped them on and got to work cleaning off your slime covered arm. You begin to sob, overwhelmed by the feeling of the slime, the latex gloves, and the towel. It was difficult to handle on top of your panic attack. “Peter, we need to get them into the decontamination shower.”
“No!” You gasp between sobs.
“Come, on. I’ll go with you. We can get all the plasma off of you.” Egon speaks softly, but with a gentle urgency, as he tries to coax you to the shower. You shake your head no. “Are you against touch right now?” He asks.
“They did not like when I touched them.” Venkman warns.
“Only you-“ You break out in a sob. It doesn’t even cross your mind that you may be offending Peter by only wanting Egon. Luckily he’s not offended. Egon begins to take off his glove to provide skin to skin contact on the arm not drenched in slime in an effort to comfort you.
“Aren’t you worried about getting that stuff on you?” Venkman questions, worried Egon will shutdown like you.
“I’m getting in the decontamination shower anyway.” Egon shrugs, turning to you. He takes your hand in his, softly rubbing the top with his thumb.
“But- but your clothes will get all wet!” You sob. You knew Egon had his own sensory issues. You’d often have to help him when his long sleeves would get wet during experiments. It would drive him crazy. He avoided puddles like the plague and always had an umbrella nearby.
“Try not to worry about me right now. I just want you to focus on your breathing. I can always change my clothes.” He smiles. While it hurts him to see you so distressed, he was happy to know you cared about his comfort. “Let’s go shower. You can’t leave all that slime on you. I believe it’s worsening your mental state.” You nod, still crying.
“I’ll get them under the shower, I’ll need you to turn it on. Make sure not to touch the slime. I got a minuscule amount on my finger and it’s making me rather anxious. I can only imagine what this amount is doing to them.” Egon tells Peter. He helps you to stand, walking your trembling form over to the shower. “There we go. Just a few more steps. You’re doing wonderfully, (Y/N).” Egon softly attempts to comfort you.
Once you’re under the shower head, Venkman turns it on. Both you and Egon jolt at the sudden water pressure. He tightens both his jaw and his grip on you, holding his eyes shut tight. He can’t stand the feeling of his wet clothes against his body, but he’s brave for you. Once adjusted to the water, Egon begins to wash the slime off your body with care. Peter leaves to go upstairs and get you some towels. You feel the panic and paranoia start to leave your body. Despite still being incredibly anxious, you were starting to phase out of your slime induced panic attack. You lean against Egon, struggling to hold your own body weight. Maybe you’ll be more embarrassed tomorrow, but right now you just needed to be held. You were craving pressure on your body. You felt as if you would float off the ground if you weren’t held down. Egon wraps his arms around you, bringing you closer. He places a kiss on your forehead before placing his chin on top of your head. You snuggled into his chest, finding his pulse. You didn’t have the time or the bandwidth in your brain to think about what the kiss meant. You just wanted to be close to him.
“You’re okay, (Y/N). You’re safe.” Egon tells you. You’re not sure if it’s for your benefit or his. It’s for both, really.
You’re quiet for most of the night, unable to bring yourself to speak. Egon doesn’t mind. He thinks a verbal shutdown is more than understandable after the night you’ve had. After the shower, you follow Egon around the fire station. You don’t want to be alone right now. He doesn’t mind. He puts out some of his clothes for you to wear; pajama pants and one of his soft sweaters. He goes to leave the room for you to change, but you stop him.
“Can- can we just like? Turn around?” You ask. “I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s okay. I just really don’t wanna be alone right now.” You voice is hoarse from crying.
“Of course.” He smiles, turning around.
“I’m decent.” He informs you after a minute of rustling.
“Me too.” You tell him and you both turn around.
“I’m sorry.” You tell him, near tears again. You feel awful for how tonight went. This was supposed to be the boys’ day off. Egon gives you a sad look.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You were just trying to help. Venkman told me he put you up to it anyway.” Egon sighs.
“I probably shouldn’t have listened to him.” You let out a sad chuckle, one tear slipping past you, down your cheek. You wipe it quickly.
“Never listen to Venkman.” Egon gives a sad laugh.
“At least we figured out what the slime does… Egon, can I ask you a question?” You hesitate.
“Well, you just did, but yes.” He smiles, joking to lighten the mood. You smile at him.
“Why did you do all that? You took off your gloves, putting yourself at risk and then you put yourself through sensory hell just to get me cleaned up.” You question him.
“Isn’t it obvious? (Y/N), I care about you.” You look at him, thinking about the tone in his words. You can’t quite decipher it, but there’s something else there. Is it possible he could feel the same way about you that you feel about him? “You should get some sleep.” He interrupts your thoughts. “If you’d rather not be alone, you may sleep in my room tonight. I would find it beneficial to monitor you overnight to watch for long lasting effects, anyway.” He adds.
“Only if that’s okay with you.” You hesitate.
“Of course it’s okay with me. I just suggested it.” He smiles.
Once you’re settled into bed, Egon turns off the lights and climbs in next to you.
“Egon, I’m still anxious.” You blurt out into the dark.
“Do you need pressure?” He asks.
“Yes.” You say, hoping he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he scoops you into his arms. You cuddle into his chest, surrounded by him, surrounded by safety. You know this should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird. As Egon kisses the top of your forehead again, bidding you goodnight, you wonder what this all means. You wonder what you are to each other. You feel you’ve crossed the line as friends, but you’re too tired and too awkward and too anxious to talk about labels. You and Egon never quite fit into boxes as people anyway. Your relationship didn’t need to either. Whatever this was between you was comforting. It was safe and it was going to help you sleep tonight.
#egon spengler#egon spengler x reader#peter venkman#peter venkman x reader#ghostbusters#ghostbusters x reader#ghostbusters fanfiction#ghostbusters fanfic#ghostbusters imagine#ghostbusters oneshot#egon spengler fanfic#Egon Spengler fanfiction#egon spengler imagines#Egon Spengler oneshot#harold ramis#bill murray
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sleepy
in which your boyfriend comforts you after a restless night.
pairing: joshua x gn!reader
words count: 1.6k
content: comfort, fluff
warnings: talk of insomnia, eating, talk of drinking, petnames (for reader: babe, baby, sweeheart / for joshua: josh, love), skinship (cuddles, kisses)
note: hi!! the joshua brainrot has been hitting hard lately; im kinda in love,, thank you so much @goblinvern for proof reading this for me 🫶 you're the absolute best! minors are allowed to interact with this post but please don't follow or i'll hard block you. enjoy and don't forget to leave a like/comment/reblog!
note 2.0: i wasn't planning on posting this fic before the new year, but since i had it sitting in the drafts and it's joshua's day, i thought it'd be a good timing to post it now~ i hope everyone will have a good 2024 and happy birthday to shua!! 🫶
You were pretty sure if people would have to describe you, they’d use that word: admirative. You were one to always be left in awe at people’s talents, whether it be singing, drawing, dancing or truly anything else. Even though you were creative yourself, you’d always be admirative of what people could create out of their minds only. But if you had to say the one skill that would leave you speechless, as it is not one you possess, it’s being able to function with little to no sleep.
Okay, let’s redo this. If you’re being truthful, people would more likely describe you as sleepy. You were someone who always loved sleeping; however, sleep did not like you. You were never like one of those people who could sleep anywhere and through anything, you were rather on the more sensitive side when it came to sleeping. Over the years, you had put together a very strict routine you had to follow every night to ensure a restful sleep. But oh, if you had the bad idea or the bad luck to skip or miss a step? You’d end up falling asleep at 1 am and waking up at 5 am. And that’s exactly what happened yesterday night. Now, you’re used to this so surely you would know how to handle your own state and have the most productive day despite your tiredness. However, because the world never gives enough hardships to one, you were sometimes faced with a special kind of tiredness. A tiredness that would make you stick to anyone’s side. A tiredness that would make you hug a person and never let go. And when that happened, well, no amount of self-knowledge could make you change for the day. But maybe you have something to thank the world for: it gave the loveliest and gentlest boyfriend ever. And he loves cuddles.
10 am – 5 hours since I’ve been awake. He should be awake pretty soon; you think to yourself. Here you were, perched on the kitchen stool, an empty bowl of cereal in front of you, waiting for your boyfriend to wake up so you could cuddle. When you first woke up, you had hoped you would fall back asleep immediately, even though that rarely happened for you, so you didn’t even think of cuddling. But when you realized you would not fall asleep, you decide to get up and go about your day, already looking forward to your afternoon’s nap. All you did was settle down on your couch and put on your favorite show – The Vampire Diaries and around 9am, when hungriness settled down in the pit of your stomach, you got up and made yourself a bowl of cereal. You don’t know what triggered your need to hug your boyfriend – maybe the chill air that settled in your apartment as winter is coming closer or maybe the fact that you haven’t seen him a lot lately, but all you have been thinking about since then was him. Him and his arms enveloping you. Him and his scent making your head spin. Him and his fingers playing with your hair. Him, him, him. Now, you could have woken him up but knowing he came back home around 2 am – as he was out drinking with Jeonghan – you didn’t find it in you to ruin his sleep.
“10:30 am – he really should be awake by now,” you say out loud before you hear the water running in your bathroom. You slowly lean and peek at your hallway only to see Joshua walk down towards you – more like, towards the kitchen, his hair sticking out in weird angles while he rubs the sleep away from his eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he calls out to you once he gets closer, “Since when have you been awake?” he asks, worries written all over his face. He knows how much you struggle with sleeping.
“I woke up around 5,” you mumble as he starts making himself a cup of coffee. At your words he turns around to look at you, gives up on his coffee and comes around the kitchen bar.
“Oh babe,” he says, his hands reaching for your face, cupping your cheeks gently, “Is it because of me? Did I wake you up?” he questions, his eyes searching yours for an answer.
“No, you’re fine. You know how it gets for me sometimes,” you reassure him, your hands holding on his wrists.
“Okay, okay,” he says, “What can I do? Do you want to stay in bed while I clean around? Today is cleaning day, right?” he asks, trying to come up with a way to make today easier for you.
“Well, cleaning day is reported to tomorrow,” you chuckle, lighting up the situation, “but there’s something I’d really like,” you mumble, trying to work up the courage to ask him for cuddles.
“Yes, tell me. Anything for you,” he nods, his hands now resting on your neck, his fingers playing with the little hair at the back of your head.
“You promise you won’t make fun of me?” you ask him, holding out your hand in a pinky promise.
“Of course. I promise I won’t make fun of you,” he states, as he meets your hand in the same promise, a glint of mischievousness appearing in his eyes, “You want cuddles, don’t you?” he asks in a smile.
“How did you know?” you gasp, not knowing what could have given you up. But truly, Joshua knew as soon as he looked at you. He couldn’t pin point what gave you away either but he’s sure it’s there somewhere, in your shiny eyes, in your slight pout or maybe it’s the way your body is leaning into his, faster, closer, than usual.
“You always ask me to not make fun of you before asking for cuddles,” he chuckles, trying to come up with an answer without giving away how much he loves you, “and I always tell you I will not. Never.” He says, planting a kiss on your forehead, “Especially not when you’re being so open with what you need. You know I’ll always try to provide whatever you need for you.” Okay, he thinks to himself, maybe I did give myself away with that one.
“Thank you, Josh,” you murmur, your hands finding his shirt, as you pull him towards you so he can stand between your legs, “Just like this. For a few seconds.” You tell him, your voice even quieter as you bury yourself in his chest. You feel his arms reach behind you, rubbing your head and your back in slow motion, bringing you the comfort you were wishing for. Your body slowly relaxes, your hands untighten against his shirt and your breath becomes slower, little sighs leaving you as you realize that this is feeling rested. This is what love feels like. This is what home feels like.
“Feels good?” he whispers, his hand now drawing circles on your back, your response coming in the form of a nod, “You want to move to the couch?” he asks as you mumble yes against his shirt, slowly leaving his embrace. You look up at him, your eyes meeting as he reaches for your face, slowly coming closer to your lips. Just as you close your eyes and your lips are about to meet, he whispers something about the couch and suddenly you’re hoisted up in the air, his arms around you.
“There we go, baby,” he says as he kisses your forehead, blush creeping on your cheeks at how much he’s covering you with love, “Hold on tight,” he whispers, your arms finding rest on his shoulders as he holds you closer to his chest.
He slowly makes his way to the couch, the slight movement of his steps almost lulling you to sleep, to that state you always struggle to find on your own. And yet with him, it’s so easy. So easy you find yourself sleepier than before, as Joshua sets you down on the couch, his arms open to allow you the rest you deeply deserve. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, his heart like a lullaby to you while he strokes your hair out of your face.
“You’re good now?” he whispers as he plants another kiss on your head.
“Hm, yeah. Thank you, love,” you whisper, already feeling sleepier than a few minutes ago as he strokes your back.
“Please, don’t thank me,” he starts, “always come find me when you can’t sleep, okay? Call me and I’ll come running. Tell me and I’ll drop everything. Wake me up whenever and I will give every ounce of sleep to you.” he says, your eyes looking up at him, “You need to promise me, okay?” he asks, his hand already out in a pinky promise.
“I swear,” you answer, your hand locking his into a promise. You take a hold of his hand quick enough, playing with his fingers before you start leaving kisses on his open palm, his knuckles, the tip of his fingers, “I love you.” you whisper as you let his hand down, your fingers still intertwined.
“I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with something you can’t describe. Perhaps it is love. “I love you too. So much.” He tells you, sealing his love with a kiss on your hand as your eyes feel heavier than before, sleep and warmth slowly invading your body.
It’s when you feel your body getting heavier, Joshua’s heart beats fading in the background as his hand never stop rubbing your back that you realize you should have added cuddles with Joshua as a crucial part of your night routine. No matter how many tips you will try to sleep better – earplugs, sleeping masks, white noise music, nothing will ever compare to Joshua and the comfort, rest and love he brings you. And maybe after a few years, you’ll be able to only have one step in your night routine.
thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it 🫶
#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#seventeen reactions#seventeen fluff#seventeen comfort#svt#joshua#joshua fluff#joshua x reader#joshua imagines#joshua scenarios#joshua comfort#joshua hong#sammy's works
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Be Still
(Gif Credit Joel-Miller)
Joel Miller x fem!reader
The Last of Us (Show/Game)
1.4k Words (3rd POV)
Summary: It takes her a while to see what’s happening to him. Joel is having a panic attack.
(I’ve never written so fast but had to after watching ep 6!!)
It happened twice before she realized what it was.
At first she worried it was a heart attack. That Joel was having a heart attack in the middle of the forest and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t a knife wound or gunshot, nothing she could patch up and stitch together. She hadn’t been a doctor in any life, was more skilled in killing than healing, and they didn't have medicine to give him.
His age had never been a thing she cared about or was too concerned with. The world wore them down equally, harshly, and he always seemed to defy the number. Was stronger than anyone his age like through his rage he could defy his body.
It wasn’t a heart attack though.
She could see the bright whites of his eyes, the way they unfocused and his breath would hitch under the press of his hand against his chest. The shallow breaths coming in and out in frantic off-kilter beats. It wasn’t the cold like he tried to play it off as, wasn’t his age or at least not entirely.
Panic attack. Joel Miller was having panic attacks and was trying his best to hide them.
They’d started after a few close calls. Ellie getting hit or her almost getting her head shot off. Running from a small horde that had built up inside a locked shop they’d inadvertently let loose. The more close calls they had, the more she could see his anxiety build up. And now it was flooding over, manifesting in a way she was startled to see in the man who always seemed like an impenetrable fortress.
He was never afraid. But that was fear in his eyes as he rubbed his hand over and over against his chest, staring at the infected at her feet sporting a new bullet hole. So close. It’d been so close to her. Had dropped out of the second floor window of the cabin they stood outside of. And she hadn’t reacted fast enough but he had.
Her eyes took in the way he stared, the hollow blank gaze, the twisting of his lips as they shook. Panic. There was panic and fear there.
“Ellie, go clear out that shack and start laying out camp for the night,” she ordered and tried to keep her voice steady, not wanting to give away that anything was up, “We’ll clean this up and patrol the grounds real fast.”
The teen sighed audibly and tucked her gun away into her pocket overdramatically, not noticing Joel’s silence as she walked towards the small open shack a dozen yards away. The house the infected had come from was dilapidated, all the windows broken and looking like it was sinking in on itself. Not the safest.
As soon as the girl was a good distance away and out of direct view, she walked towards Joel slowly as if approaching a skittish animal. His breath was a wheeze in the silence and he almost jumped when her hands reached out and touched his cheek.
“Sit, come on. Nice and slow, just sit on the ground,” she coaxed him, cupping his face and drawing his attention away from the dead body. His eyes were glazed but he sank to his knees, hard and crunching the dried leaves. He was still upright, not allowing himself to fall onto his heels and sit completely, so she followed his lead.
Knees to knees, her breath mingled with his and one hand went over the ones clutched to his chest, “Come on, Miller, I need you to take deep breaths in and deep breaths out. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”
He was shaking, fingers digging into his shirt like he wanted to try and claw his heart out. His beard was rough against her palm, the silver hairs catching the dying light. Joel looked so lost. He never looked like that, was a constant pillar of confidence against the world. Unshakeable. To see him look that way, scared for the first time in a long while, had something twist inside her.
His breaths were still shallow, lips quivering, so she mimicked the routine. Loud breaths in, deep sighs out, “You gotta breathe for me, Joel. In and out, real steady.”
Awareness was slowly seeping into his eyes and her fingers slipped between his, clutched in his grasp. He focused on her and started to breathe, swallowing heavily. They were broken, stuttered gasps but he was trying. Her hand stayed on his cheek and she could feel each attempt, see the color and life come back to him.
“There you are,” she whispered with a gentle smile, one that was usually reserved for Ellie. Joel never liked things gentle, rejected softness, so she had never offered it. Everything between them was rough, brutal, from the way they fought to how he would smash his mouth against hers during those tiny moments of privacy.
They had hated each other and then…they didn’t. But it was never gentle, wasn’t love or even affection.
She didn’t expect to be the one to keep him from breaking apart.
His breathing was getting steadier, more confident. She almost smiled wider, “Okay. Go over the supplies we have in the first aid kit.”
A furrow appeared between his brows, the first hint of Joel coming back, “What?”
“Just do it, Tex,” it was a command but stayed coaxing, soft even as his fingers gripped her own so hard her bones protested. His eyes flickered all over while he struggled to think and her forehead came to rest against his, “Five things then in the kit.”
Their matched breathing warmed her and with a stutter, Joel started listing things. Gauze. Tape. Needle and thread. Scissors. Tweezers.
“Technically, that’s six,” she smirked and was pleased that by the end of the list, his breathing was back to normal and he was no longer shaking.
“You can’t have a needle without thread. It’s one item,” Joel huffed roughly, not much humor in the comment.
Silence took them over and neither moved. She knew his knees had to be hurting against the cold hard ground because hers were starting to, but she didn’t want to be the first one to pull away. She’d stay kneeling there all night if it was what he needed because somewhere along the lines of months they’d all been traveling, Joel had become one of hers. Not only Ellie, but this gruff older man who bit off her head yet gave her the bigger pieces of jerky and would sometimes stop her to kneel and tie her shoes for her. He took care of them both.
In the dark he shared his favorite bands growing up and in the light acted like the sight of her made him angry.
And now holding him after seeing him deal with a panic attack, she wondered how much of what he felt was hidden under layers and layers. If she’d ever actually get to know Joel and not only what he wanted her to see.
Because he wasn’t unstoppable, wasn’t fearless. He was petrified.
Slowly, she leaned forward and grazed his nose with her own. The prickle of his mustache and beard against her skin drove tingles across her skin, his breath warm against her lips. He didn’t stop her, didn’t shove her away and walk off even after she’d witnessed a vulnerability. Instead he leaned forward and met her lips with his, the barest of touches. More a press than an actual kiss. It was the gentlest thing she ever felt from the man and it seemed to do more than all the times he tasted her skin and pressed his tongue against her.
She pressed harder, kissed him deeper, and tried to pour out everything she knew he would reject out loud. You’re okay. I’m okay. I’ve got you.
His hand gripped hers but softened in answer.
They wouldn’t talk about it. She knew as much not to push that. But he didn’t try to play it off and instead let her keep that secret of his and take on its burden. It was one of the few things they shared and she would guard it, guard him as fiercely as that little girl.
Even after she broke their kiss, gave him a small smile and helped him get to his feet so they could go check on Ellie, he didn’t let go of her hand.
#raicodoll writes#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x oc#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#tlou#the last of us#tlou spoilers#the last of us spoilers#joel miller x feral reader#series: feral#oc: red#this stuck in my mind hard#def as someone that deals with panic attacks
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It's You - Choi San | First Kiss
Pairing: San x Reader
Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF's Lil Bro!AU
Series Rating: M (18+)
Drabble Warnings: angst!, mutual pining comes to a head, or more accurately to lips, aka kissing
Word Count: 1.8k (ok it's a little more than a drabble)
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me
Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend's little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That's it. How did this happen?
A/N: Hi, I'm back. This is the first vignette that's not from an ask but just from my own head. I just really wanted to write their first kiss, so I did! I hope you enjoy. 🥰
Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕
It's You Masterlist 🐈⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈⬛ Main Masterlist
A few weeks after Halloween, Hongjoong invites everyone to a friend’s deejaying gig on the other side of town. Your roommate opts out, saying she’d rather spend one of her rare nights off at her boyfriend’s, so you, San, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong check it out together.
After the gig ends, your ears still ringing, feet aching from all the dancing you did, the four of you make your way home. Wooyoung and Hongjoong both seem hyped from the show, talking excitedly as you wait for the train. You watch them with a fond smile, leaning against the wall and taking turns lifting your feet to take some of the pressure off.
San joins you. “You okay, Noona?”
“Yeah. Just wore the wrong boots tonight,” you say. “Didn’t realize we’d be dancing so much.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess I could’ve warned you,” San grins. “Sorry. We’re not the type to sit through a set.”
“Clearly,” you reply, smiling back. Honestly, you’d been pleasantly surprised at how well San and his friends dance. They were so free with their movements and their energy had been infectious. You couldn’t have stood still if you’d tried.
Of course, now you’re paying for it, wincing as your throbbing feet scream at you. You shuffle again, and then, ever-so-gracefully, you lose your balance, tipping over, letting out a loud expletive that draws everyone’s attention.
Hongjoong and Wooyoung cackle as San grabs your arm, pulling you back upright.
“No worries, Noona, I’ve got you.”
He murmurs the words reassuringly, arm sliding from yours to loop around your shoulders, squeezing you into his side, but only for a second, before he scolds the other two for laughing so much. You giggle along as Wooyoung and San pretend to fight, but your heart’s not in it, because it’s still yearning painfully for San to hold you again. Every time he touches you - hugs you goodbye, cuddles with you on the couch, even the briefest moments of contact like just now - it leaves this black hole inside your chest, an endless gnawing need for more and more and more.
At some point, you won’t be able to withstand it anymore. You’re not sure what will happen then.
The train car is crowded when your group enters. Unfortunately for your tired feet, there's nowhere to sit, and blessed little space to stand, so everyone splits up, trying to find room for themselves. Except for San, who guides you towards the opposite doors with a gentle touch on your back, and then stands beside you, reaching overhead to hold on while your hands curl around a pole.
Some creepy guy already too close on your right leans over, trying to get an eyeful of your chest, and San smoothly slides around, blocking you from the asshole’s view. You smile gratefully, and he gives you an intimidating look but undercuts his mean mugging with an eyebrow wiggle, and you giggle, which then makes him grin, a chain reaction of happiness that leaves you buzzing.
The gentle sway of the car as it hurdles down the tracks shakes you. You bump into San with a horribly steady rhythm, feeling sheepish for not having a strong enough core to keep yourself upright and balanced for more than a second at a time. He just laughs, finally throwing an arm around your back to help.
His hold is light, leaving a big sliver of air between you, a respectful distance that frankly makes you wish he’d be disrespectful. But he maintains it, supporting you in the most polite way, and somehow it still makes your heart jump fast as the wheels spinning beneath your feet. You turn your head, focusing on the window on the door, watching your reflection as the dark tunnels roll by.
At the next stop, more people pack themselves into the car. The small bubble of space around you pops as the wave of humanity rolls you into San, and you bring your hands up, bracing yourself against his chest, eyes widening at the solid warmth beneath your fingertips.
“Shit, sorry, sorry.” You apologize profusely, trying to step away, but the train jerks again, jostling you, and San tightens his grip, pulling you back into his arms.
“It’s ok,” he mutters, in a quiet voice. “I told you. I’ve got you.”
When your gazes meet, it’s like the air has been sucked from the car. Something shimmers in his dark eyes as they roam your face, and you utter his name unthinkingly, a tiny “San” just slipping from your open mouth, but it feels like a rogue confession of something you’ve been denying for so long. You’re not sure if he heard it but he definitely saw it because he’s been staring at your lips for a few seconds now.
You lean in at the same time he tilts his chin forward, and your mouths meet in the middle. A light kiss, feather soft, like testing the waters. The next one lingers, his lips firmer against yours. His hand splays on your back. You twist your fingers into the front of his t-shirt.
A third press weakens your knees, as his mouth slots against yours. Lips move together, part, allowing him to breathe in your little gasp.
The train emerges from the tunnel, and suddenly the lights in the car blast on as it comes to a slow stop at the next station. Immediately, you spring back, and so does San.
His expression is searing, and you glance away, looking to see if any of your friends are nearby, but the only one you can glimpse is Hongjoong. He’s got his back to you, a few feet and a dozen people away.
When the train starts up again, a few riders lighter, San loosens his grip, hand gliding up to a spot between your shoulders, far from the small where it had just been resting. By the time you reach your stop, his arm is more hovering than touching.
You and San find Hongjoong a few feet ahead of you when you depart. Wooyoung’s still on the train, since his place is closer to the next stop. Hongjoong slows his quick stride enough for you to catch up.
“You guys up for some ramen?” he asks, like he always does on late nights like this. You and San look at each other, and you don’t know if it’s the dim streetlights or what, but you can’t read his expression.
“Nah, I’m good,” San answers.
“I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” you start to say at the same time, cutting off to let San finish and then repeating yourself with a nervous laugh.
“‘Kay.” Hongjoong bears the rejection with his usual nonchalance. “I’ll see you later.” He crosses the street, heading for the convenience store on the next block.
And it’s just the two of you now, walking in silence. Two more blocks and you’ll be home. One more block. Just up the stairs now. Key in door, door closed, shoes off.
You stare at each other. He blinks first.
“Should we - “
“Did you want to - “
“Hey guys.”
Your roommate comes padding out of the kitchen, cup of tea in hand.
“Hey!” you nearly shout. “I thought you were staying over at Jongho's?”
If she’s surprised by the volume of your voice, Haneul doesn’t show it. She shrugs. “Yunho was being annoying, so I left.”
Yunho is Jongho’s roommate. He’s rarely at their apartment on the weekends. Just your luck that this would be the one night a year he strikes out and goes to his own bed instead of someone else’s.
Or maybe it’s for the best. Because it’s not too late to stop now before you do something else. Something potentially foolish. Let it just be a kiss. A one-time loss of rationality. Of caution.
Even if you can’t stop thinking about that night at the bar. Sitting there with San’s arms wrapped around you just felt so right.
Even if it’s been ages since you felt this way about someone.
Even if you’re pretty sure you’re falling for San.
“Are you going to bed or are you gonna stay up for a bit?” Haneul asks, taking a seat on the couch.
“Um…” you fight the impulse to glance at San. “I don’t know. I’m not really tired or anything….” Truth be told, you’re a little wired now. “Why?”
“I was thinking of starting that new drama Jongho told us about. Wanna join me?” She pats the space next to her.
San mumbles something about taking a shower. You watch him leave the room, and it feels like whatever happened on the train is already fading away. Did it really happen, or was it just a dream? Are your fantasies bleeding over into your waking hours now?
San joins you and Haneul near the end of the first episode, taking a spot on the floor in front of the couch so he can stretch out. He looks so soft, with his dark hair freshly fluffed from a towel, dressed in his favorite hoodie and sweats, and it’s a struggle to keep your focus on the television and not wonder what would’ve happened had Haneul not been home.
Part of you wishes San would catch you looking. But you’re not sure you could handle it if you met his gaze right now and didn’t find what you were hoping to find.
It’s actually a little odd how quiet he is, staring so intently at the show that you are completely ignoring. Is he doing the same thing you are, replaying the moment in his mind? Trying to freeze it in your memory?
Your stomach drops as you consider another possibility. What if he thinks the kiss was a mistake?
By the time the third episode is over, you’re exhausted, from your night out but also from the mental gymnastics you’ve been performing, silently twisting yourself into knots thinking about San and the train and what could happen versus what should. So you excuse yourself for the safety of your bedroom, where you can dream in peace.
Nero’s already curled up on his favorite spot on your bed, right next to where you lay your head. He cracks an eye open as you flop down beside him, and you reach out to give him an apologetic scritch, when you catch a scrap of paper poking out from beneath him. A note, with San's handwriting. He must’ve slipped it on your pillow after his shower. The first sentence sends relief flooding through you.
I don’t regret it.
But it’s what’s written next that has you rereading the note over and over. It’s a simple sentence, just a pleading command, but to you, it’s a revelation.
Please tell me you want more too.
If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕
Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee
© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.
#ateez x reader#ateez angst#ateez fluff#ateez fanfic#san x reader#choi san x reader#choi san fanfic#fic: it's you#bff's lil bro au
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Perfect Anyway
Request from anon: ‘you flinched’ with Reid x Reader plsss
Spencer Reid x GN!reader
Summary: Wounds don’t always heal perfect, but Spencer makes sure you know just how perfect you are.
A/N: Thank you for the request! This could be platonic or romantic depending on how you read it. I hope you like it either way!
CW: reader is held by an unsub, gunshots, cuts and scars, Spencer helps reader change their bandages because its is my favorite display of affection in fiction whether it’s platonic or romantic
---
You looked down at the crime scene photos in front of you, hoping to find a pattern. There were a few you had already spotted- the victims were all high risk, all dumped in similar locations, and the killer used the same method every time.
Having worked at the BAU for over a year now, you were used to seeing these types of things. Photos of bodies, detailed files on murders, and horrifying signatures weren’t accompanied by the same churn in your stomach that you’d had during your first few cases. Everyone on the team had been upfront about how working this job could cause you to become desensitized to the worst of humanity- and how that sometimes felt as if you were being deprived of a bit of your humanity as well.
But this case brought all your humanity back to you as you saw a pattern you couldn’t ignore- all of the victims looked like you. From their hair color and skin tone, all the way down to body shape, you fit the unsubs type like a glove. Victim type, of course, was one of the first things the team identified when the case came in, but no one on the team had the courage to verbalize that all the victims looked as though they could be related to you.
It was well known throughout the team that you weren’t an easy person to spook, but the steady rhythm of your heart was beginning to speed and sputter. Adrenaline pitched you forward in your seat and you had to catch yourself from biting at your nails or twirling your pen.
“(Y/L/N),” Hotch said. “When I say that the entire team needs to go to the hotel and get some sleep, that means you too.”
“Yes, sir,” you said. “I’ll clean up and be right out.”
“Don’t keep us waiting too long,” he warned. It was a fair warning- if he hadn’t come to get you, you probably would have been staring at the photos all night trying to piece something together. You gathered your files and shoved them in your bag, taking one last long look at the evidence board.
“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice came from behind you, causing you to jump and turn.
Yeah, this case was definitely spooking you.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the officer said. He was taller than you and buffer than you, but his face and haircut showed his young age. “I just wanted to know if you have found anything yet. I’m just a beat cop, so they don’t tell me anything.”
He approached you slowly and easily, so slow and easy that if you weren’t a profiler you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You felt the pressure of his nearness and his gaze coming down on you.
“Nothing yet,” you said, though that wasn’t true. Over half the profile was finished, but there was a small voice in your head telling you that something wasn’t right about the situation happening. “Sorry. Hopefully the team will have something by tomorrow. Goodnight.”
You turned to leave no faster than you normally would so as not to cause suspicion- so far everything the unsub did was controlled and organized with no sign of falling into disevolution any time soon. Even if the officer was the unsub he wouldn’t dare stray from that control unless he was in the position where his psyche would snap.
And it did.
He seized you from behind, bringing a knife towards your throat to control you. With the other hand he yanked your gun from its holster and tossed it away, though you wouldn’t have been able to grab it anyways. You yelped as the blade grazed your skin just enough to draw blood from a cut across your collarbone.
“I’ve been sitting here all day,” the man whispered in your ear, his breath hot on the side of your face. You wanted to turn away from him, but the knife pressed against your throat kept your head still. “I’ve been watching you work… going over those photos again and again. I didn’t know whether you were testing me or whether it was a gift to see such a beautiful specimen examine the art I would turn it into.” He caressed your face. “The other ones weren’t so lucky.”
“Drop the knife.” You had never been so damn thankful that your boss was a stickler for punctuality. Hotch stood in front of you, gun drawn. Reid was next to him, his revolver in his hand as he slowly moved around so they had the unsub trapped at two angles.
Hotch moved forward. “You heard me,” he said sternly. “Drop the knife and let Agent (Y/L/N) go. You’re not getting out of this.”
“But I’d get to see them.” The hand that the unsub was holding the knife in was shaking now, causing the blade to bite into your skin. Hot blood ran from the cut it was creating. You only hoped now that you’d live long enough for that cut to become a scar. “I’d get to see them as artwork one last time.”
“They’re already artwork,” Reid said. You gazed towards him, but his eyes were locked on the unsub. “You see- there’s already blood drawn on their collar. Look.”
The unsub looked down at the shallow cut that he never intended to make, but was a result of his haste.
Reid made eye contact with you as if he was trying to silently communicate something. “They aren’t a blank canvas anymore. You can’t make them look perfect.” He looked back at the unsub. “You messed up.”
In the shock of the statement the unsub faltered in his hold on you. You slipped sideways out of his grasp and fell to the floor.
There were one, two, three shots and a body hit the floor behind you.
You scrambled to get away from the unsub, even though he was dead, needing to get as far away from him as possible. Suddenly someone else was grabbing you. You went to pull away but-
“(Y/N)- (Y/N) it’s me.” The softness of Reid’s voice helped calm you and turned to look into his hazel eyes. They were wide with worry and concern.
You threw your arms around him, pulling him against you as you felt your body shake with the fear that paralyzed it before. Reid held you tight, rubbing a gentle hand on your back to soothe your nerves. “You’re safe (Y/N). You’re safe.”
---
You got on the jet the next morning and opted to sit alone on the couch instead of at the table with the others. There were bandages over the cuts on your skin. They didn’t hurt, but they needed to be re-dressed with cream and fresh gauze every few hours to promote proper healing. Hopefully, they would scar over into thin lines, just a shade lighter than your skin, hardly noticeable unless you knew they were there- but the chance of the skin healing darker, or with wrinkling, or bulging was far higher.
The clatter of something hitting the floor caused you to flinch away from the sound, looking up from the book you were reading in an attempt to distract yourself. Rossi’s pen had rolled off the table. He leaned over and grabbed it without a second thought, but someone was looking at you.
It was Reid.
You averted your eyes from him and back towards your book, but it was too late- he had already seen that your shell had a crack. He walked over to you, his gait long and lanky as always.
“I thought you were playing cards.” You glanced at him.
“You looked like you could use some company,” he said.
“I’m fine, Reid.”
“You flinched.”
The pause that filled the air wasn’t any more still or any more quiet than how the jet was before, but it felt like it.
“And I came to remind you to change your bandages.” He changed the topic, breaking the tension.
“If it’s a few hours late it won’t kill me,” you said back, trying not to look up at him. “I need a bigger mirror than the one in the bathroom anyways.”
“I can do it,” he said. You didn’t even have time to argue before he was opening your bag and pulling all the supplies out. He carefully removed the old bandages and pulled wipes out to clean the sites. “I didn’t mean it, you know.” He pulled an alcohol wipe from a disposable packet and began to carefully sterilize your wounds.
“Didn’t mean what?”
“The thing about you not looking perfect.”
You snorted. “It was true for the unsub. And it’s true now. These could scar over really ugly.”
“Or they could scar over beautiful.” He carefully dabbed healing cream over the site.
“And if they don’t?”
Spencer placed a clean bandage on top of the dressing before looking you in the eye. “You’ll look perfect, anyways.”
#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x platonic!reader#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds x platonic!reader#criminal minds
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