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moni-logues · 9 months

Text

Across a Crowded Room

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Strangers-to-lovers, idolverse, smut

Word count: 10.7k

Summary: Dissatisfied and uncomfortable at a party where you don’t belong, in a country where you feel like you don’t belong, you see a man looking at you from across the room. Maybe he’s what you’ve been missing.

Content: alcohol consumption, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, I guess slight exhibitionism since it all happens up against a window lmao

A/N: Ok, so I 1000000% thought I had re-posted this here already?? but Lia has informed me that I have not and since I got a nice message about it on the old blog, I figured now's as good a time as any to repost!! The start of this fic is literally the first writing I had done for over a decade. I started writing even before I had a writing blog. Then the rest of it was written... last November? ish? idk. anyway, I read this myself the other day and it's alright! ETA: LOL, you can tell it's old because it's written in present tense LMAO

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You tug self-consciously at the hem of your dress; it’s a little too short for your liking, but Hanjae likes you in K-style clothes and, once you’re there, it’ll be fine. It’s always a little nerve-wracking the thought of going to a party where you hardly know anyone, but it always turns out fine. Fun, even. Positive thinking. You sigh and inhale deeply before leaving your apartment and heading down to the car he’s sent for you.

When you first met, you were both taken with each other. He was intrigued by your foreignness and enchanted by your clumsy negotiations in a foreign culture; you were reassured by his confidence and excited by the access he had to hitherto hidden worlds of luxury and indulgence. He wasn’t rolling with Elon Musk or anything (and you’d have had nothing to do with him if he were), but he lived with an ease and security that you yearned for. Which, you suppose, is why you’re still letting him parade you around at parties like this.

It was fun at first. You liked the attention – who wouldn’t? Instead of feeling freakish and out of place, you felt interesting and cherished for your differences. You felt like they were laughing with you when you told funny, embarrassing stories of when you’d got it wrong, or how you do things back home. It felt like people were fascinated by you and you were warmed by their curiosity. You didn’t mind when they reached out to touch your tattoos or asked personal questions, because they didn’t mean any harm. Hanjae gave you a social life that you hadn’t quite managed to create for yourself in this new place and got you out of your apartment, out of your comfort zone, and you clung to that.

Recently, though, you’ve been feeling different. When you show up to parties with him and see his friends you’ve met before, they’re surprised you’re still around. They joke to your face that they would’ve expected Hanjae to have moved on by now. They ask what his parents think (but you have never been introduced to them). They’re not so charmed by you anymore. These friends barely spare you a second thought once they’ve registered their surprise and the attentions of new friends aren’t as welcome as they once were. You started feeling uncomfortable with the way Hanjae paraded you around a couple of weeks ago and now, you’re frankly sick to your stomach. When people reach out to touch you, you flinch away; you don’t tell funny, embarrassing stories because you feel like you’re being laughed at; you stay quiet, for the most part, because your Korean is still not very good and, when they correct you or laugh at your mistakes, you don’t feel like they’re doing it kindly. Standing, mute, next to Hanjae while he laughs and drinks makes you feel like an object, a trophy, an oddity. If Hanjae were a Victorian-era Englishman travelling to the ends of the Earth to ransack a foreign place and bring home stolen goods, you were the buried necklace of an Aztec noblewoman he would give to the eligible girl in the manor house whose hand he is trying to win. He is showing you off because other people are impressed, but you no longer get the feeling that he is.

You hand over your phone and lip balm to Hanjae when you meet him outside the venue; this became a habit early on, so you wouldn’t have to hold a bag and he was happy to keep them in his pockets. Now, it feels a little bit like handing over your freedom.

“Cheer up!” he says as you lean back in your seat. “This’ll be fun, won’t it?” He smiles at you and tucks your hair behind your ear. He’s not a bad guy. He really isn’t. You’re not entirely sure if he even realises what he’s doing with you, if he knows that he doesn’t really like you but the idea of you, if he knows that there’s no future with you, if he’s realised that this relationship is rapidly approaching its expiry date. He’s been extremely good to you and you owe it to him to try. However much you want it to end, you don’t want it to end badly and you don’t want to hurt him; there’s no need for that.

You walk into the party amongst a sea of black suits. You scan the crowd, looking for other women you can compare your outfit to. A terrible thing to do, you know, but your insecurity needs reassurance that you’re dressed appropriately for this event. Hanjae is already leading you over to his friends, two of whom have brought their girlfriends, who are dressed in outfits similar to yours, so that’s something at least. You greet them brightly and Hanjae hands you a drink before launching into a conversation you can’t quite follow. That’s the other thing about these parties; they’re so loud, even if everyone were speaking English, you’re not sure you’d be able to hear them properly, so you hardly stand a chance in Korean. You’ve improved dramatically and can get by in your day-to-day life, but you don’t feel like you’re good enough yet to have a proper conversation, to really talk to anyone. It’s quite a lonely feeling and another reason you’ve spent so much time with Hanjae: he speaks fluent English; although he uses it less and less often these days and he gets more impatient when you need things repeating. You suppose it must be difficult for him, too, having to use a second language so much.

You gaze around the room, looking at nothing in particular. You sip your drink and wonder what everyone else is thinking about. You barely notice the looks you get anymore – most of them are meaningless anyway and people pass their eyes over you before turning back to their friends – but out of the corner of your eye, you see someone looking at you. You don’t recognise him, but you’ve never been very good with faces and the lighting is weird here. You raise your glass and nod slightly; even if you don’t know him, it’s nice to be polite. He looks a little flustered that you’ve noticed and quickly looks away, and then back again and raises his glass a little before turning and walking away. You smile, what a cutie.

Your glass is empty and your feet hurt from standing still for so long, so you tell Hanjae you’re going to get another drink. He asks you to get him a whiskey, so you traipse to the bar and order. You hand the drink to Hanjae without a word and wander off; there must be somewhere to sit in this place.

The main room is cavernous and you’re worried there will be no open doors to anywhere else. There is a small group of tables in one corner, but they are all already occupied. You look around as you walk, and suddenly bump into someone.

“Oh, so-“, you start to say, but you realise it isn’t someone; it is a mirror. The whole back wall is mirrored. For a moment, you are completely disoriented and slightly embarrassed, but as you edge along the mirror, you realise that the wall doesn’t reach the other side and the room continues beyond it. As you cross behind the mirror, the din of music and voices is subdued significantly. There’s another partial wall from the other side as though the room is zig-zagging. You’re wary of going too far, but the increasing quiet is soothing. You turn another corner and there’s a bench opposite a large staircase. You immediately sit down along its length and lift your feet. You wonder what the time is and how much more of it you’ll have to kill before you can go home. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, reminding yourself that Hanjae is a good man and you are very fortunate and suffering from very glamorous problems. A few months ago, you’d have given an arm and a leg to be at a party like this. Be careful what you wish for, you think to yourself.

As you fidget on the bench, you realise you are not alone. There is a man coming down the stairs. You take your feet off the bench and try to look like you’re doing something (what? What could you be doing? There is absolutely nothing to occupy you here!); you settle for just looking awkward. You nod your head and raise a hand as he reaches the bottom.

“Are you ok?” he asks. His hesitance reminds you of someone and you realise with a flash that he is the man who was looking at you earlier.

You clear your throat.

“네. 괜찮아요. 감사합니다,” you answer falteringly, embarrassed at having been caught hiding out. You rise to leave.

“오, 정말요? ……………?”

You don’t understand the second half of what he said and you curse yourself for having answered in Korean; if you’d just spoken English and pretended you didn’t know any Korean at all, this would’ve been much simpler!

“Sorry, I didn’t understand,” you tell him. “갈게요.”

“No, wait,” he cries, with more force than he intended. “You don’t have to leave.” He gestures to the bench. “I was also looking for somewhere quiet.”

He speaks shyly and you assume he doesn’t have much practice at speaking English and don’t have the energy for locking you both into a conversation where neither of you can quite understand the other. On the other hand, it would feel rude to just walk away now. You stand, not leaving but not quite staying, both of you trapped in an awkward moment that seems to last forever.

“You can leave if you want,” he says, finally. “I am going to stay.” He sits on the bottom step and takes a sip from his drink. “It’s ok, we don’t have to talk- but I can speak English a little bit if you want.”

You slowly return to the bench and sit down. You feel like you should say something, but your mind is blank. It’s like you’ve never had a conversation before in your life; what do people say? Does he even want you to say something? Why was he staring at you earlier? In the same way that everyone else always does or was there a specific reason? You feel your hands start to sweat and you inwardly roll your eyes at yourself and tell yourself to get a grip, literally nothing is happening.

He is looking out of the window and you are staring into the corner on the opposite side; you each take glances at one another, praying the other doesn’t notice. You can still hear the music from the party, quiet in the background, and you wonder if Hanjae has noticed your absence yet; you expect not. You glance at the man opposite you and catch his eye. You both chuckle awkwardly.

“I’m ________,” you say.

“Jungkook,” he answers.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.”

“I saw you earlier; I didn’t think we’d met before.”

“No, I’m not really invited to these things,” you explain. “I just tag along with my b-,“ you stop, the word ‘boyfriend’ weighing heavily on your tongue.

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

Dammit.

“Uh, Kim Hanjae?”

“Ah… Don’t know him.”

“He’s…” How on earth did you get to this subject so quickly? Do you really want to talk about Hanjae to this random man? More to the point, does this random man want to hear about your boyfriend and how you actually don’t want him to be your boyfriend anymore? Doubtful. “He’s nice,” you finish, lamely.

“Just don’t like parties?”

Part of you wishes you had just left when you had the chance. Then you realise how ridiculously you’re behaving; hating the party because no one will talk to you and, now, as soon as someone starts, you want to leave. ‘Get a grip, girl,’ you say to yourself.

“I like parties,” you answer, “but it’s-… I’m-… This-…” You pause as you try to work out how to give an honest answer that isn’t simultaneously dumping all your crap onto him. “These are all his friends; I don’t really know anyone here.”

He nods.

“I have a different problem: everyone knows me and wants to talk to me all the time.” He laughs. “I don’t like big parties. They’re… so much… too much.”

You nod. The two of you lapse into silence again, but it’s more comfortable this time. You’ve broken the ice a little. He seems nice and you feel a pang of sympathy for him: to be a big deal at parties like this sounds exhausting, especially if you don’t even like parties to start with. No wonder he’s hiding out with you.

“It’s hard for me to talk to people at these things,” you tell him. “My Korean isn’t very good and Hanjae doesn’t like speaking English when we’re with his friends because some of them don’t speak it.”

“I think your Korean sounds good.”

You laugh; that was a sweet thing to say given that he’s heard you say all of three words.

“It’s ok, but we couldn’t have this conversation in Korean. Sorry.” You smile weakly and feel pathetic; you knew it would be a process, moving to a new country and learning the language as you go, but you weren’t prepared for how embarrassed and ashamed you would feel all the time about your failings.

“Don’t be sorry!” He grins at you. “I can try my English! But, actually, it is not very good either. Sorry.”

You laugh again. Koreans and their modesty; his English sounds just fine from where you’re sitting.

“Did you move here recently?” he asks.

“About four months ago,” you answer. “I was… looking for something new, I guess. I don’t know… I needed new horizons, new experiences.”

“And how do you think about it now you’re here?”

You wonder if he knows what a loaded question that is. You exhale with a huff. Where to begin?

“It’s been harder than I thought it would be,” you tell him. “I feel very… different. Being looked at so much is not something I was used to… I think Hanjae likes it, but it’s awkward for me. I feel like…”

“An object.”

Your eyes meet and your chest is flooded with the warmth of familiarity. He’ll understand, won’t he?

“When we met,” you start, looking away self-consciously, “he was charmed by my foreignness, y’know? And he liked how different I looked and found it cute when I made mistakes in Korean and didn’t know things. It gave him clout, y’know? Dating a foreigner? I was spoilt by it, the attention; I thought it was for me and when he bought me dresses and took me to parties to show me off, I thought it was because I was special, not just because I was foreign. I loved it at the start.

“I think the appeal is wearing off, though,” you continue, stealing a quick glance to gauge his reaction. He’s looking at you patiently, intently, concentrating, probably, on understanding what you’re saying. “He gets annoyed sometimes now when I don’t know things and-“

You tell him everything. Once you start, you find you can’t stop. You don’t know whether to be angry or sad about it, so you vacillate between the two. Jungkook listens, never interrupts; he drinks and nods and keeps looking at you with those huge brown eyes.

“I know it’s over,” you say, resolute. “I just-” you realise it as you say it, “I’m scared that I won’t have anything if I don’t have him.”

He looks at you thoughtfully for a moment.

“But you met him in Korea, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you still have the person who moved all the way here to start a new life; that seems like a lot to me.”

For a split second, you don’t know whether to burst into tears or fling your arms around him and give him a kiss. ‘Is he looking at me,’ you wonder ‘or staring into my soul?’. You feel seen, seen for the first time in months. You decide then and there that you would walk on hot coals for this man; he’s got you whether he wants you or not. His kindness streams out from him like rays of the sun from behind clouds. Such a bright, young thing, hiding in the dark.

“What about you?” You ask. “You’re hiding back here, too.”

“Ah.” He finishes his drink and places the glass next to him on the step. “I prefer quiet places. I like to keep things small and…-”

“Intimate?”

You blush furiously as he looks at you. That isn’t what you meant and you’re not sure how he’s taken it.

“Yeah, intimate. Big crowds are not my thing.”

“Not when they forget that you’re a person, first.”

He nods.

You stand and move to look out of the window, closer to him. He rises, too, and stands next to you. Your arm is a hair’s breadth from him; you daren’t move.

“Do you like the view?” he asks.

“Actually, I don’t really like a cityscape. I prefer country views.”

“What are the views like where you’re from?”

No one has asked you about home like that. They ask for funny differences between here and there or ask you to debunk or confirm stereotypes, but no one has really cared what you actually think. You smile, picturing in your mind’s eye cloudy, wind-swept beaches, rolling hills, pier arcades, church spires and so much green. You tell him everything. You turn your back to Seoul and, leaning against the glass, describe the house you grew up in and where your grandparents used to live; you describe the places you took holidays when you were a kid and the specific smell of the sea that isn’t the same anywhere else in the world. He’s been to your home country before, but he hasn’t been to your hometown; he asks questions and shows interest and you realise how starving you’ve been. Starved of this sort of attention – focused, interested, penetrating. You’ve had a taste and you want more and more.

You ask him about Seoul; did he grow up here? No, he tells you about Busan in the South. He speaks slowly and thoughtfully about his childhood and his dreams and moving here at such a young age, growing up so far from everything he’s ever known. He’s achieved more than he ever thought was even possible, more than he had ever dreamed, he explains; sometimes he still can’t believe it’s real.

While he talks, you study his face. He’s happy now, but you feel for the scared, little boy thrust into the industry machine before he even knew who he was. Now’s not the time, you know that, but you want to gently crack him open like a soft-boiled egg. Such depth in his eyes, so much soul. You resist the urge many times to put your hand on his arm, hold his hand for a second, reach out and physically touch him somehow. You feel connected to him in such a way that you need it to be physical for a moment, to close the circle, to just… touch.

You’re still standing by the window, deep in conversation, when a man appears from behind the wall and beckons to Jungkook. They talk quickly and Jungkook returns.

“I’m going to get a drink.”

Your heart falls.

“Do you want one?”

A wash of relief. You shrug, sure.

“Ok, wait here. I won’t be long.”

He leaves and you turn back to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. You wonder what time it is, where is Hanjae, what’s he doing, is he even still here, has he noticed you’re missing, is Jungkook actually coming back? You take some deep breaths.

With no watch, no phone, and no clock in this dark, little hideaway, you have no way to tell how long Jungkook has been. One minute? Could be ten. You wonder if he’ll make it back to you; after all, he was hiding back here to avoid being grasped in the clutches of all the many, many people out there. Maybe he’s been waylaid. He’s got stuck with a chatterbox who won’t be quiet; he’s got trapped into a business conversation that he can’t leave. Maye he’s seen some friends and is having fun out there.

You sigh, knowing that if he doesn’t come back soon, you’ll have to go out there, too. Hanjae will be missing you, you tell yourself; it’s rude to abandon him completely when he’s the reason you’re even here in the first place. You take a deep, resolute breath and stand, smoothing out your dress. You bump into Jungkook as you round the corner.

“Oh,” he says as he sees you. “Are you going?”

He hands you a drink and you take it, the cold glass sending goosebumps up your arm.

“Uh, well, no, well yes, I was but I didn’t know if you were coming back.” You hope you didn’t sound accusatory.

“I’m sorry, it is hard to avoid people out there,” he replies, continuing around the corner and sitting on the bench. You follow him and he places a hand on the bench, indicating you should join. You feel bad; he shouldn’t have to apologise. You sit next to him on the bench and sip your drink.

“You can go back out there, if you want, you know; you don’t have to stay here with me,” you tell him. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“No, thank you!” he laughs. “That was enough. Maybe I will show my face again a bit later.”

“Good.” You spoke without thinking and are just about to regret it when he smiles at you.

“Yeah. Good.”

You place a hand down on the bench and he reaches out a finger to touch your bracelet. When you packed your whole life into one suitcase, a lot of brutal cuts had to be made and there are so many parts of your heart at home, abandoned by you, but not this one. It’s a tiny gold chain, with a tiny gold J attached.

“That’s not the letter of your name,” Jungkook says, still studying your bracelet.

“No… No, it’s from my best friend’s name,” you explain. “She gave this to me a long time ago; I like to wear it when I feel like I need her, to feel like I’ve got a little bit of her with me.” You rub your wrist, self-consciously, and wonder what she’s up to right now.

“Does it help?”

“No, not really.” You laugh, a little sad. “It reminds me that there are people in the world who love me, which is nice, but it also reminds me that those people are thousands of miles away.”

“All of them?” His penetrating eyes beam at you and you feel like no matter what answer you give, it’ll be the wrong one. You shrug.

“I thought maybe you told me a fake name before,” he admits, grinning sheepishly.

“Oh, I don’t think that would’ve ever occurred to me! Why, do you do that?”

He nods. He smiles but it’s sad, the mirth not reaching his eyes.

“Sometimes. But I wouldn’t get away with it so easily if I wore one of those, right?”

You unclasp the bracelet’s fastening and it slips off your wrist and, taking an end in each hand, hold it out to him. He looks uncertainly at you and you nod. He offers his wrist and you fix the chain in place.

“There’s no getting away from who you really are,” you tell him, knowing full well that it doesn’t matter where you go, ’cause there you’ll always be. He grins. “For tonight.”

“For tonight, I can be your best friend?”

You laugh and nod, thinking, ‘god, can he be my best friend forever?’.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, gently moving the bracelet around his wrist; you wonder what he’s thinking and take a sip of your drink.

A few minutes pass in a comfortable silence until Jungkook speaks again.

“I don’t have anything to give you.”

“What?”

“In return.” He indicates the bracelet. “I don’t have anything I can give you.” He takes off a ring and considers it. “I think they will all be too big.” He holds it out and you offer up your hand; he slips it onto your index finger and you lift your hand up, swirling the ring around so that it very nearly flies off the tip.

“Too big,” you confirm with a grin.

He pulls his sleeve up to reveal a watch and you notice the tattoos running underneath.

“I think this will not go with your dress, right?”

You nod absently, trying to make out what you’re looking at. You take the edge of his sleeve and lift it a little higher to get a better look and then become aware of what you’re doing and drop it, apologising instantly.

“That’s ok,” he says and he undoes the cuff, rolling the sleeve up to his elbow. He turns his arm slowly so you can get a good look (or as good a look as you can manage in the dark light). You nod approvingly.

“That’s why I was looking at you earlier,” he says, a little embarrassed. “I was trying to look at your tattoo.”

Well, that explains the intensity of his focus earlier. You turn so that he can see. You feel, for a second, his hand above your skin and your stomach clenches, praying he won’t touch you like everyone else does: ‘just please don’t let him touch me; please, please don’t let him touch me’. But the touch never comes. You sense his hand moving across your back and down your arm and you twist your head to see his finger, an inch above the skin, tracing the lines of your tattoo. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“What do you think?” You ask, turning your body back towards him.

“They’re very beautiful.” He looks you straight in the eyes as he answers and you’re struck again by the feeling of being seen and not merely looked at. Neither of you looks away this time. You hold the moment between yourselves, pausing time just for a second. You break the connection and look down, tracing a finger over your bracelet on his wrist. You know it’s only a coincidence that they share the same initial – it’s not exactly uncommon – but something about it feels right.

“Do you want it back?” he asks.

No, you don’t. Not yet. You feel like he’s wearing a part of you while he’s wearing it; he has accepted a part of you as a part of himself. You feel warm in the glow of that tiny, tremulous thread between you. You think, and the thought shocks you, that you would be alright he kept it forever. It’s immensely precious to you, so much so that you brought it with you thousands of miles away into your new life, but, somehow, Jungkook’s wearing it brings more to you, more comfort, more confidence, more certainty in the knowledge that there are people in the world that love you. Love is not diminished when given away, it is doubled. You suddenly wish that you did have something of his you could wear, if only for tonight.

The silence lapses and you talk, nursing your drinks, knowing that one of you will have to leave if either of you needs another. You forget the passing of time and everything outside of this little bubble. It’s the most fun you’ve had at a party for ages.

The man who appeared earlier returns and, once again, beckons to Jungkook. Jungkook stands and goes over to him and they, once again, talk quietly. Jungkook returns and the man remains.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Jungkook asks and you feel shattered all of a sudden. You had forgotten all about Hanjae, truth be told, and you are overwhelmed with guilt and shame that you’ve spent the whole night away from him, talking to another man. He isn’t my boyfriend, that’s what you wanted to say: he’s definitely not my boyfriend, or even if he is, I don’t want him to be and he won’t be for much longer! Why is Jungkook asking? Whatever bubble you were in has been popped from the inside. A part of you feels heartbroken and a part of you feels betrayed. It was just you and Jungkook; there’s no need to bring anyone else into this.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” you stutter in response. “Probably… somewhere…”. You have no idea where he will be; you assume that he is still here (you hope he is still here because he still has your phone), but who can say for sure?

“Do you want to leave with me?” Jungkook asks and you are stunned into momentary silence.

“What?”

“Do you want to leave with me?” he repeats. “We don’t have to go anywhere; I can take you home if you want, but would you like to leave?”

You feel like that is too many mixed messages to cope with right now so you nod dumbly and stand.

“Hanjae,” you say abruptly as your brain sputters back into gear. “He has my phone and my things.”

“Ok, shall I meet you outside? I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Breathless, you walk as quickly as you can back into the cavernous room, the noise building to a roar, the throng of people overwhelming. You stand on tiptoes and crane your neck, looking for anyone you recognise, cursing the organisers for the dim lighting and all men for their interminably boring black suits which make none of them stand out. You notice movement in your peripheral vision and turn to see a waving arm, beckoning you. It’s not Hanjae; it’s one of his friends.

“Where have you been?” they exclaim as you approach. “Han was looking everywhere for you; thought you must’ve disappeared! Anyway, he had to leave earlier – some work emergency – so he told me to give you these if I saw you.” He hands over your phone, lip balm, and a lipstick you’re sure isn’t yours. “He told you you can order a car if you like, but he won’t be back so you’ll have to get home on your own.”

You see that his friends clearly have no idea of entertaining you or keeping you company for the rest of the evening, which is just as well, given you were about to leave with someone else.

As you make your way outside, you look at the lipstick you were given. You try to think what might constitute a ‘work emergency’ on a Friday night; it’s not like the guy’s a doctor or fire fighter! You try not to let suspicion creep in, because Hanjae has never given you any reason to doubt his fidelity before, but then, you’ve also never considered it, because you’ve never really considered the two of you to be in an actual relationship. Maybe he hadn’t either. And if that’s the case, then there’s no need to be hurt or angered by it. But there is a niggle. There’s something crawling, digging up, trying to plant its seed in your heart. You decide if it’s going to happen at all, it will have to be tonight. As you approach the doorway, you stand to one side and dial Hanjae’s number.

“여보세요?” he answers just as you were about to give up.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh. Where are you?”

“I’m still at the party.”

“Oh. Where did you go? I tried to look for you earlier; I’m not there anymore. I’ve had to come to the office.”

“Yeah, I know; I found Seongyoung and he gave me my phone.”

“Right yeah, yeah.” He sounds distracted.

“So, are you in the office now?” you ask.

“Yeah, but I can’t see you; there’s been a huge mistake and it’s going to take a long time to fix.”

“Please; it’ll be quick. I promise.”

He sighs heavily but agrees. You hang up the phone with a small weight sitting in your stomach.

You turn back to the entrance and walk out, scanning for Jungkook. There are a few dark cars sitting in front of you but you have no idea if any one of them belongs to him. You hesitate, not sure where to turn, standing awkwardly in front of drivers and security officers. A door on one of the cars opens and a hand waves; you approach and Jungkook beams up at you from inside.

“Quick!” He reaches out to grab your hand and pull you in. He speaks quickly to the driver in Korean and turns back to you. “Are you alright?”

“Um, actually, can we go somewhere?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I… have to do something. It won’t take long, please.”

“Of course, that’s ok. Where do you want to go?”

You give him the address of Hanjae’s office building and he relays it to the driver. You sit, slightly on edge, compulsively flicking the edge of your phone case off and on, off and on. The building isn’t far and you sit in silence while Jungkook hums along to the radio. You are barely even aware of what song is playing. The driver slows and you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Just give me like, five minutes. I’ll be quick,” you say as you open the car door.

“It’s ok; you can take as long as you like. I will wait.”

You wonder what Jungkook thinks you are doing, where he thinks you are. You wonder if he knows. Part of you assumes he does, since he seems to intuitively understand so much about you. You enter the building and approach the reception desk. The woman behind it barely looks up as she opens the barrier to let you in. You’re not sure if she recognises you from times you’ve been here before or just does not care about her job. If you had to man a reception desk in an almost entirely empty building on a Friday night, you probably wouldn’t care much either. As you call a thank you to her and walk past, the lipstick suddenly flashes into your mind. Could it be hers? You suppose it could be. It could be anyone’s. It might not have anything to do with Hanjae at all. Maybe Seongyoung handed you his girlfriend’s lipstick by mistake. Maybe not. It won’t matter soon.

You reach Hanjae’s floor and can see him in his glass-walled office: jacket and tie off, sleeves rolled up, standing and on the phone. You walk with purpose to his door and wave. He gestures for you to come in, so you stand inside the door and wait for his conversation to end.

“What’s up?” he asks, putting his phone on his desk.

“I think we need to have a conversation,” you begin, your resolve holding firm for now.

“Right now? I really don’t have time-“

“I said I’d be quick and I meant it.” If you aren’t quick, you’re not sure you’ll be able to go through with it.

“Ok then, shoot.”

You hadn’t actually planned what you were going to say. None of the words sounded right; you wanted to be clear and direct but kind at the same time; is it even possible to tell someone kindly that you don’t want them to be in your life anymore? You clench and unclench your fist and decide to rip the plaster straight off.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I don’t think we should be together. I think we should end things. This is over.” The words tumble out without your being able to stop them. Hanjae’s eyebrows raise and he looks surprised.

“Oh.”

He looks a little dumb-founded but you had expected him to say more and aren’t sure what to do now. You open and close your mouth like a goldfish, waiting for something else to happen. You haven’t actually broken up with anyone before so you’re not sure how this usually goes.

“Can I ask why?”

“We’re not a good fit.” You hope that this will suffice but you know it won’t satisfy him.

“What does that mean? Don’t we have fun together? Don’t we like each other?” Ay, there’s the rub.

“Actually, I don’t really think you do, no.” You try to explain to him all the things you’ve been feeling recently; you try not to blame him for any of it because you don’t want this to turn into an argument; you tread as carefully as you can but you’re so desperate for this to be over now it’s started that you can’t stop your mouth running on and on.

“You’ve given me so much and I’m so grateful to you for that and I really value all the time we have spent together and I do think you’re a nice person and I don’t want to hurt you but… well, this is how I feel.” You feel a little breathless as you come to a stop. Hanjae doesn’t say anything for a while and you can’t read his face. You don’t know what he’s thinking and the longer the silence lasts, the sicker and sicker you feel.

“I’m sorry that you feel that my attention has been so unwelcome,” he finally answers, speaking slowly and coldly. “I don’t really know what else I could have done to show you that I value you: I buy you things, take you places, I introduced you to all of my friends, I show you off; is that not loving? You say you don’t even think I like you, but if that’s true, why would I bother to see you? Why would I waste my time with you if I didn’t? I hadn’t, until now, considered our time together a waste, but it seems as though my efforts have been just that. You’ve been feeling this way for weeks, have you? Well, why are you here, then? Why did you come tonight at all if all of my friends ignore you and all of my attention is so unwanted? If the time we spend together makes you feel so awful, why have you waited this long to say something? You disappeared very early this evening; I tried looking for you everywhere. You said you were getting a drink and then I didn’t see you again. Perhaps it’s not that my attention is unwanted but that you’ve found someone else whose attention you prefer? Were you just putting up with me for long enough to find a higher roller, someone richer, or more famous perhaps? Am I a step on your ladder to the top? You have never, until tonight, given me a reason not to trust you, but you have to admit that this is rather out of the blue and your behaviour at the party was… not very polite. You abandoned me-“

You scoff at that, unable to stop yourself. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. Hanjae raises his eyebrows and waits for you to explain yourself. You’ve no idea how. You say nothing. You’re the first to break eye contact and you look at the ground, then the window, the desk, anywhere but Hanjae’s face.

“Fine,” he says. “Have it your way. What a horrible boyfriend I was to you, to treat you to presents and dinners and parties, to be so impressed by you that I want to show you off to everyone I know, to speak English with you and help you with Korean, to help you get settled in, to give you a social life, to show you what Seoul has to offer, what I have to offer, to never treat you like-“

“A person. You didn’t treat me like a person, Hanjae. I’m not a prize to show off; I’m a person first, not an object.” Your heart is hammering in your chest and you can feel tears pricking in your eyes. How can you get him to understand?

“Oh, I objectify you?” It is his turn to scoff. “And yet I am the one who has been used.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“No, I- it’s- we- I-“

“Whatever, you can leave now.” He turns his back on you and picks up his phone again. He turns around with the phone to his ear and nods at the door, shooing you away. You turn around and leave the office on trembling legs. As soon as you step into the lift to go back down, the tears come. You’re not even sure why you’re crying; you wanted this after all. It was just horrible. You feel sticky with sweat all over, and shaky with the stress of it. You know that Hanjae isn’t right, saying those things about you, and he was lashing out defensively, but it hurt all the same. Or maybe he is a little bit right. You said yourself that he’s given you so much, access to things and people and places you wouldn’t have had otherwise; you said yourself that you enjoyed that. Maybe you are in the wrong, at least a little bit. You both are, you suppose. You exit the lift and walk briskly out of the office, not turning to look at the receptionist on your way out in case she sees you crying. You step out of the door and hide behind a pillar, catching your breath, drying your tears and trying to put on a happy face. Leaning against the cold stone of the wall, you close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“____?”

Shit. Jungkook is right there in front of you, looking concerned.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

You shake your head and hold up your hands.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You stand up straight and give yourself a body shake. “Honestly, it’s fine.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

You can’t think of much worse than going home to your poky apartment to spend the rest of your night miserable and alone.

“No… Can we, can we get a drink? Do you want to get a drink?”

Jungkook grimaces slightly. “Ah, that’s kind of difficult for me. I can’t really just go to a bar on a Friday night, y’know?”

Your heart sinks; of course he doesn’t want to go to a bar with you.

“We could have a drink at my house, if you want?” he offers.

Your heart rises. God, yes, please.

You drive back to Jungkook’s apartment in silence. The presence of the driver makes you feel somehow inhibited, self-conscious. You feel conspicuous, even though you’re sure the driver couldn’t care less about who you are or what you’re doing there. He’s just doing his job. You, nevertheless, don’t want to say anything yet, not until you’re alone with Jungkook. He’s scrolling on his phone, and you take the opportunity to study him more closely. His face changes with the changing light: suddenly brightly lit as you stop at traffic lights under a lamppost, then hidden in shadows. He has a kind face, open and bright, deep, soft eyes… You wanted to reach out a finger to trace his profile, the line of his lips, study him as if you were about to embark upon a masterpiece of him. Not that you would be able to capture his spirit if you tried. There’s a light in his eyes that seems to lie so deeply within them but shine so close to the surface.

You can’t work out what you’re feeling – too much, honestly. You need a minute to step back, step out of yourself – out of your life – to sort through everything that had happened. You feel a little as though you have accidentally stepped on a travelator and things are moving faster than you can keep up with. You wonder if you’ll regret any of this in the morning, if sleep will clear your mind and show your actions up as mistakes. You hope not. You think not. You catch the glint of your bracelet, still around Jungkook’s wrist and you nod to yourself. No, this – if this alone – is not a mistake.

When you arrive at Jungkook’s building, he shows you in and your mouth gapes. This was much bigger than Hanjae’s place. Wow. Just how famous was this guy? You are reminded forcefully of how little you actually know about him, whatever your feelings might be saying.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks, crouching in front of a cabinet. He opens the door to reveal all manner of spirits and liquors.

“Oh, anything,” you answer, without thinking. He laughs and you’re embarrassed by your answer but making another decision at this point feels impossible. You feel like a swan, calm on top, but flailing wildly underneath. You begin to think that maybe you should have let Jungkook take you home, so you could’ve gone to bed, or stared out of the window blankly until the sun rose. He’s too stimulating. Questions constantly rise to the surface of your mind like bubbles in boiling water: what’s his family like? What’s his favourite film? What’s his favourite food? Is he single? What’s he thinking? What does he want out of life? He’s already achieved his career dream so what’s his next dream?

He hands you a glass and you take a sip without even looking. It’s strong, good. You follow Jungkook to the sofa and flop onto it, thankful to be sitting comfortably. He asks if the drink is ok and you just nod and take another sip. You’re torn with conflicting desires: to stare at him endlessly, to fall into his chest and listen to his heartbeat, to tell him everything, to listen to him tell you everything, to kiss him, to never kiss him, to be his best friend, to fall in love with him, to fall in love with him and love him from afar from the rest of your life. It’s exquisite, the confusion, the keenness of your muddled feelings. You wonder briefly if you are just drunk but shake the thought from your head: you haven’t had that much to drink.

You drink in silence for a while and when you’ve finished, you stand. Placing your glass on the coffee table, you wander over to the bookcase, full of not books but DVDs and figurines. You scan the titles, your eyes not really seeing. They linger on a small figurine of a tiger at the edge of a shelf. You pick it up.

“Year of the tiger?” you ask, brandishing the figure at him.

“It is.” He stands and comes closer to you, taking the tiger in his hand.

“This is me,” you tell him. 24 years old, you were born two tigers ago. You take the figure back and wiggle it in his face. He laughs.

“I’m an ox,” he says, kneeling down. He opens the door of a little cabinet and reveals figurines for each of the zodiac animals. You laugh picking them up and inspecting them. He takes the ox from the cupboard and the tiger from your hand and puts them both back on the bookshelf. Feeling silly, you move the tiger and make a sound that’s neither quite a roar nor a meow as though the tiger is talking to the ox. Jungkook laughs and responds in kind, lowing deeply as he turns the ox towards the tiger. This is the sort of nonsense you need to lift you from the deep water of your confused feelings.

You move to the window as Jungkook refills your glass. It’s probably a good view that he probably paid a lot of money for but you can’t be enamoured with so many lights and so much modern architecture. You can just barely make out the dark shape of the mountains beyond and you smile; that’s more like it. Jungkook joins you at the window. You talk quietly; you don’t want to tell him that you broke up with Hanjae, because it implies something that you don’t really want to imply, but it comes out in the course of conversation and you actually feel relieved. You don’t know what Jungkook feels about it, if anything, but he seems pleased for you. You feel like everything is so fragile, delicate, precarious. You stay talking at the window for what feels like hours (maybe it is) because you feel that to move will be to ruin the moment somehow, force a shift in the atmosphere that you don’t want.

Your eyes settle on the gold chain at his wrist and your fingers reach out for it, toying with it. Jungkook’s hand moves, into yours, his fingers dancing on your palm. You flick your eyes back to his and he’s smiling at you, shy and sweet. You let him take your hand and suddenly it’s a handshake and you’re snorting, laughing, leaning towards each other as your shoulders shake. You lean your head on his shoulder as your breath comes back and Jungkook moves his hand to waist, pulls you closer to him.

He’s still smiling when you lift your head to look at him and you’re staring back at him, wide-eyed and unsure. He pulls you closer still, his arm snaking around your waist and he kisses you without hesitation. His lips are soft but he isn’t; he’s sure and confident and he brings his thumb to your chin to gently press down, gently open your mouth and let him inside. You’re responding before you’ve had the opportunity to think. Your hands grab at the collar of his shirt and you move against him, a leg between his legs, his bottom lip between your teeth. You’re dizzied and light-headed, grateful to the cool glass at your back and Jungkook’s arms secure around you.

When he pulls back, with apparent effort, he rests his forehead on yours, nudges your nose with his and looks at you from under his thick, dark lashes.

“Honestly, I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he says, his voice hushed in the silence of the apartment, and then he barely brushes his lips against yours again, as if he just can’t help himself.

If you were confused earlier, you aren’t anymore. The world around you has faded to a fuzzy, black blur, eclipsed by the soft bloomings of want in your chest.

“I’ve wanted you to do that all night,” you whisper back, aware only as you’re saying it that it’s true. You have wanted him to do that. You want him to do it again and then a whole lot more.

He takes your face in his hands and kisses you, lightly, gently.

“I don’t usually do this,” he says, eyes alighting on yours for only a second before he’s looking at your lips again. “It’s not… This isn’t like me but…”

“I know,” you reply. “Me, too.”

“I feel…”

“Something.”

“Yeah.”

Your heart skips a beat when he looks at you and the world holds its breath; you almost feel time slow down, the seconds that it takes for his hands to fall from your face, glide down your body, and encircle you again stretch into minutes. The distance between your lips – not even inches – stretches far into the horizon. You almost feel each of the chambers of your heart squeeze, a rush of warmth heating your cheeks, your chest, your core.

And then his lips are on you and you’re like a Catherine wheel, spinning and sparking and wild. Time snaps back like an elastic band and you’re frantic now, all hands and lips and tongue.

You slip your fingers into his shirt, flicking open the buttons, running your hands over his body, soft and supple and flushed. His hands push your dress higher and higher, over the slope of your hips and he lifts you, pushing you against the glass and pushing his body into yours. You can feel the arousal pooled at your core and you can feel him straining against his trousers. You’re wet like you’ve been waiting all night for it, like you’ve been anticipating this very moment since you first laid eyes on him. You push his shirt to the floor, watching it float down like a white flag of surrender: surrendering yourself to him, he to you, to this, whatever this is or could be.

“Oh, fuck, fuck.”

Soft whispers tumble from you as Jungkook’s fingers slide past your underwear and press into your wet heat. Your cunt squeezes against them and your hips cant towards him as he presses his thumb against your clit. Your whimpering, whining, mewling barely drowns out the squelch of his fingers working inside you, arousal dripping down his hand. You’re climbing steadily to your peak, moaning against his mouth as he rolls his tongue with yours. You pull on his hair, his head tipping back, his throat exposed. He looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a slack jaw. Then he grins, thrumming faster, pressing harder and you’re squirming. You let go of his hair to clutch around his shoulders, holding on hard as your own head tips back, thudding against the glass.

Jungkook brings his face close to yours and nudges your nose with his, gently guiding your attention back to him. He holds your gaze as your legs quiver and shake, as your breath hitches and you close your eyes, so, so close now.

“Look at me.” His voice is low, soft, but demanding. “I want to see you… I want you to look at me when you come.”

And you do. Your eyes don’t leave his as you fall apart in his arms, pleasure coursing through you like a lightning strike. You’ve barely finished before he’s crashing his lips into you, urgent and needy and then suddenly neither of those things. He slows. He removes his fingers from your soaking wet slip and he holds you close to him, just barely grinding his hips into you. His kiss is deep, languorous, like he’s really tasting you now. The quiet moan he makes as his tongue rolls with yours makes your heart skip a beat and you’re weak. So weak that, when he drops you, lightly, your feet returning to the floor, you almost stumble, almost fall. But he’s got you.

He pushes your dress back down, smoothing it out so he can unzip it. He finally breaks your kiss as he pulls it from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms. You’re braless and goosebumps sprinkle all over your skin, your nipples shivering to attention. You run your hands through Jungkook’s hair as he dips his head, lowers himself to kiss your neck, your chest, to run his tongue up the underside of your breast and suck your tight little bud into his mouth. The glass at your back is cold but he is so warm in front of you.

He drops to his knees, hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls them to the floor. You step out and he flings them away.

“I want to make you come again.”

He looks up at you and his eyes are wide, imploring, asking, seeking, searching and it’s all you can do to just nod. You’ve had one-night stands and hook-ups and situationships and even boyfriends who haven’t said that to you, who haven’t cared enough to try for one, let alone more.

He’s still looking at you when he puts his mouth on you and runs his tongue through your folds. You let your head fall back again, eyes to the ceiling. Jungkook grunts, the vibration against you a little shock. You look back down at him and he nods, swirling his tongue around your clit, and you understand: he wants you to look at him, he wants to see you and wants you to see him seeing you, as you have all evening. Because he does. See you. He sees you like no one else has. You can already feel it bubbling up within you. You can sense his soul reaching out to yours as yours reaches back to him. You think to yourself that you would probably have fallen in love with him even if he weren’t so good at—

“Oh, fuck, Jungkook. Fuck. Yes, like that.”

He’s fucking you with his fingers again with his mouth sealed around your clit, the soft plane of his tongue pressing against it, sucking and then lapping. You grab onto his hair, hard, grounding you, something, anything to tether you to this world as you feel yourself floating away.

He groans and you understand his instruction, having to drag your eyes back to his. His brows are furrowed, eyes shining bright. Looking into his eyes at this moment is like falling into an abyss. Tumbling and twisting, your body writhes with pleasure, shuddering against the window as you come again, a cry strangled in your throat, legs shaking and then you’re literally falling, sliding down the glass. Jungkook follows you down, his fingers still pressing against you as he kisses up your stomach, your chest, and then he’s holding you. You’re in his arms and he’s kissing you, your own arousal all over his lips and his tongue.

“You ok?” he asks, his voice thick and low.

You couldn’t speak. Could only take his face between your palms and kiss him again. He lifts you up into his lap, so you’re straddling him, knees either side of his hips, and you can feel him, pressing against his trousers, trapped and tensed. You sit down a little further and roll your hips over him; he groans into your mouth and his hands on your glutes squeeze tight.

“Jungkook,” you whisper and he whispers your name back. “Please.”

He lifts you from his lap and kneels up, hands working at his belt and his zip. He stands to shuck them down his legs and kicks them off. You look up at him and ask,

“Do you have…?”

He nods, crossing the room to his wallet on the sideboard by the door. You press your hands against the cool glass of the window, but rather than cooling you, it warms, too. There is heat all over you, burning around you.

Jungkook returns and falls to his knees, condom in hand. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and mumbles, rolling his eyes at himself as he stands once more to push them all the way down and off. You giggle, reaching out for him, rising on your knees as he slides the rubber over his length. He pulls you to your feet and cages you in against the window, lips capturing yours.

He bites down on your lower lip and you can feel him at your entrance. He’s rubbing his length along your slick slit and you’re whimpering, walls fluttering, heart racing. He breaks the kiss to look you in the eye as he pushes into you. A soft gasp leaves you and your hands circle tight around his biceps. You can feel him slow, his eyes watching you carefully now.

“No, don’t stop, don’t stop. It feels good. Please.”

He continues, still slowly, and, when he’s all the way in, he kisses you again, pressing his body against yours.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, but whatever you were about to say disappears into a moan as he drags his cock out and then pushes back in. He moans back and brings a hand to your breast, his thumb rubbing light circles against your pert nipple. You’re already not sure how you’re still standing and then he lowers his lips to your neck and sucks at just exactly the right spot. Your legs tremble and your cunt quivers and you feel his hot breath against your skin as he chuckles.

“You like that, huh?”

“Yes.”

He says no more and his lips return to the sweet spot on your neck. You cling to him, gripping tightly, every pass of the head of his dick against your g-spot a test of your strength, fading rapidly as you start to drown in him. He thrusts deep and slow with little grunts of effort, like he’s holding back.

“Jungkook, I—”

“Yes?”

He’s looking at you again and, up close like this, he takes your breath away.

“I want more. More. I-… I can’t stand, but I wan—oh.”

He doesn’t even let you finish before he’s grabbing you, his hands at the backs of your thighs lifting you, taking all your weight onto him. You wrap your legs around him and he moves faster now, harder, looking down at where he disappears into you. He’s more vocal, louder, as he fucks you into the window and the sound of him, his pleasure, his pleasure in you, stirs you. You’re fucked out and weak but your desire renews your force. You squeeze your walls against him and he curses.

“Shit.”

You do it again and a tiny chuckle bubbles up in his throat.

“Baby, you are dangerous. You’re—fuck, hngh—you’re going to make me come.”

He’s panting and breathy and his hair sticks to his forehead. You wrap you arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, his jaw, bite at his earlobe.

“Isn’t that the point?” you whisper.

A shudder runs through him and he growls, his grip on you tighter, even painfully tight. You pull back to look at him and his eyes are black, his jaw set, his brow furrowed. But he’s still looking at you; his eyes aren’t glazed, aren’t elsewhere, aren’t looking through you. He’s seeing you and you feel naked but not afraid, not exposed. You hold his face and kiss him and he grunts, groans; it’s open-mouthed and sloppy, your breath mingling as your tongues slide past and over each other.

He pulls away and rests his forehead on yours and his stare is so intense, from that alone you would know he was close. He’s cursing lightly, repeatedly, fucking you hard, and then he’s coming, too, with a shudder and an animal groan, guttural and low.

He lowers you both down to the floor and lays you down, kissing you lightly, almost politely, as he brushes your hair from your face. He turns away and stands, disposing of the used condom and grabbing the blanket from the sofa. You just watch him return to you, settling next to you on the floor, covering both your bodies.

You look at the window where your heat and sweat have condensed in an already fading cloud. You laugh and point it out; he laughs, too.

“It’s almost gone already,” he says, watching it shrink, disappear, self-effacing.

You hum. This is usually when you’d feel awkward, make a show of being polite, get up and go but you don’t want to leave; you want to stay right where you are and watch the sun rise with him. You want to yawn and stretch yourself like a cat before curling against him and sleeping through the morning. You want to kiss him both goodnight and good morning. You look at him looking at the window and imagine an entire life with him, spanning years and decades in a second. Your heart beats heavy in your chest and you wonder if he can feel it, if he feels it, too.

When he finally looks back at you, you know. He kisses you like you’re precious, gently traces the shapes of your face with featherlight fingers. You shiver and he pulls you closer into his warm body, pulls the blanket tighter around you.

“Y’know,” he says, pausing to kiss you again. “I’m really glad I went to that party.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts x reader #bts smut #mmm repost

793 notes · View notes

urfavlarry · 1 month

Note

This isn’t a request but like I had a thought and just wanted to share it because yes- imagine being like Tyler’s s/o and going over to his house. He thinks you’re here to spend time with him but nope, you’re here for Taylor and proceed to spend time with her. And like him unintentionally getting jealous of his sister because he wants attention (and hugs but he won’t admit that) but is being ignored for his twin sister- like he’s happy you get along so well but he wants attention! He exists you know! And like you and Taylor can clearly see he’s jealous but do nothing just to mess with him. Which makes him all salty and have a grumpy look on his face. And when you finally do give him attention, he may “unintentionally” be hugging you tight enough you can’t move away when Taylor asks if you want to do smt with her. Idk was just a thought I randomly had lmao-

Replaced!?

Tyler Hernández x gn!reader

warnings: swearing

A/N: I know this wasn’t a request, but I loved the idea so I just HAD to write it!

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╰┈➤ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🥀 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It’s been 3 fucking hours. 3 HOURS!!!! Tyler was laying on his bed in his room, looking at the wall, bored out of his mind. He thought after seeing your beautiful smile when he opened the front door that he would spend the day with you, cuddling or just doing ANYTHING! But instead you went to do fun activities with his twin in stead. He glared through the gap between his door, watching you and Taylor laugh at something Taylor said. He was fuming. He was the one that should be making you laugh. He should be the one that you should be spending time with. He loved you and his sister, but he just couldn’t help the jealousy that was slowly kicking in. He was happy to see you both having a good time, but 3 hours without giving your boyfriend attention is too long! He wanted your hugs, your gentle kisses. Anything to hear your sweet voice, your laughter. He couldn’t help the thought of just bursting into his sister’s room and carrying you away from her and caging you in his arms.

Meanwhile you and Taylor, unbeknownst to Tyler, you were laughing at him. Of course you noticed his cold stare, who wouldn’t have since his narrowed eyes were practically burning holes into your back. He looked like an angry kid who wanted to play with his friend at the playground but his mother didn’t let him so he was forced to just watch. You felt bad, but messing with him once in a while couldn’t hurt, so you decided to ignore his killer stare. If looks could kill, you and Taylor would be currently getting buried 6 feet under the ground.

Taylor decided to go get you both some more snacks, asking if you wanted to come with to the convenience store just at the end of the neighbourhood, but you decided to stay. You laid there in her bed, checking your phone when you suddenly feel a weight on your chest. You knew it was Tyler, who else would it be. Dark brown curls tickled your neck as he buried his face into your chest, mumbling incoherent things, probably complaining about the lack of attention he got the whole day. You decide to give in and give him some attention, making the boy smile against your neck, which didn’t go unnoticed by you. He slid his arms under you so he was basically clinging to you, whining for more. You wouldn’t catch him dead whining if anyone was in the room other than you, making you giggle at the thought of him being all embarrassed if Taylor just randomly showed up right now. You rub his back, his whole body relaxing and his arms visibly getting goosebumps from just your touch.

As if on cue, Taylor shows up and stops dead in her tracks after seeing the scene in front of her. She stifles a laugh and walks over to her bed, sitting down next to you. She giggles, watching the scene unfold. “So now that I’m here, could we do that thing I showed you earlier? I bought the things needed for it!” She asks and you smile, running your hand through Tylers hair. “Ty, can you let go now? Me and Taylor are still hanging out you know?” You say and he stands up, but just before you could even properly sit up, he lifts you up and carries you to his room. You glare at him, kicking your feet; “Hey!? What was that for?” You say and he lays you down on his bed, shutting his door and locks it behind him as Taylor tried to get in to help you out of this situation. He walks to his bed and lays down on top of you again, nuzzling into your neck. You go to complain but shut your mouth when he looks at you with hooded eyes, eyebrows furrowed, a face that made your knees go weak in just a second.

“She had you all day, it’s my turn to have some quality time with MY s/o!” He says and kisses your whole face then down your neck, making you squeal. “Okay, okay.. Fine.” You say with a smile and cup his cheek, kissing his soft lips. “Being replaced by my own twin is NOT fun.” He says and you giggle, accepting you’re probably spending the night to make up for the little mischief you caused.

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╰┈➤ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🥀 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

#tyler hernandez x you #tyler hernandez x y/n #tyler sbg x reader #sbg tyler x reader #sbg tyler #school bus graveyard tyler #tyler hernandez x reader #tyler hernandez #sbg x reader #sbg #sbg fanfic #sbg (webtoon)#sbg webtoon #school bus graveyard x y/n #school bus graveyard fanfiction #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard #webtoon #tyler sbg

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lilacsareinbloomagain · 6 months

Note

Ik you said you’re on break but that’s okay! I can wait lmao

I’m obsessed with your yandere lu writings. I would love a yandere Time x fem reader where he like extra creeps on reader? I’m talking like spying on them n shit and maybe stealing an article of clothing just bc it smells like them

Lord help me that sounds so weird

Why am I like this

Help

Thank you so much for requesting for my boy Time!

Notes: No no I like your way of thinking, give me your worst. Me, personally, I can be way worse than that lol

In fact, I may have accidentally made this creepier than I meant to, idk

By the way, when I said underpants in this I meant those white pants thing Link uses, which is probably called tights or something, but I didn't want you guys to read this and imagine reader with, like, fishnets by accident lmao

Time has anxiety and I'll not elaborate

I was gonna post this tomorrow, but ya know

TWs: Yanderism, stalking, suggestiveness, clothing stealing.

Yandere! LU! Time x Reader

In a way, Time was like a cat.

There was no way you could just ignore random articles of your clothes going missing every time you went to bath.

No matter where you went to clean yourself, it was like one part of your outfit was picked out by hand and evaporated, be it your undershirt, underpants, socks, and sometimes even your underwear!

You tried everything to prevent it, hiding your clothes, setting up traps… You only drew the line when it came to anything to do with poison, since you couldn't bear to possibly end up killing an innocent animal just for the sake of clothes.

Even if said clothes somehow always ended up randomly returning unscathed to the rest of your laundry.

Time and time again, this topic was brought up in conversations with the men you traveled alongside. Yet, for some reason, the matter was also time and time again swept under the rug. It never got solved, neither did it ever get discussed, more often than not.

Starkly different from your point of view, Time found it pretty cute how you got all fussy over some little clothes, clothes which he could easily just make you throw away and buy new ones, it's not like he was lacking the rupees for it, after all.

Yet, he couldn't find it within himself to keep pressing on that matter, not when you looked just so embarrassed protesting against the idea of throwing away your under clothes, stressing about how comfortable your clothes were and about how they were your favorite because of that exact reason.

From what he's noticed, you barely ever wore anything else, no matter how many clothes they could offer you, which was proof of just how much you adored that outfit, each part that composed it having been carefully thought out before being picked out by your hand back when they first went to the market to look for an appropriate Hyrulean attire for you.

It was more than obvious by now that you weren't planning on getting rid of it any time soon.

Still, despite all your best attempts to keep your clothes safe, you couldn't really stop them from randomly disappearing, that is, unless you stopped bathing, and that was something you obviously couldn't even consider doing.

So, you simply sighed with resolution as you took off your clothes to once again go into the river next to the camp, wanting to wash off any grime that may have rubbed on you from the last battle the Links went through before you guys left for the next village.

A little ways down in the same river, you knew the other men were washing themselves, that way, a scream would be all they needed know to come over to help you, should anything happen.

Not that anything had ever happened to you while you were bathing.

You kind of felt like you were being watched, but then again, you learned to not pay attention to that, after all, your brain always seemed to like playing tricks on you, be it making you think you saw the shadows in the corner of your eye moving, or strange noises coming from bushes, all of which always proved to be absolutely nothing at all. Especially the strangely distinctive smell of Time rubbing off on your clothes...

Besides, whenever you looked around yourself to see if your senses were correct, you'd only be able to hear the calm silence of the river waters, almost as if the fish itself held back from swimming every time you tensed up.

The regular calming ambiance noises returned when you finally stopped being paranoid, going back to washing yourself with a relieved sigh, knowing the feeling of being watched was just a product of your tricky mind.

Sound doesn't travel much underwater. Should it be sounds of heavy breathing, sounds of something much larger than the river fish swimming, or even the heavy sounds of metal boots sinking into the sandy floor of the river with every step their wearer took.

Time observed with certain amusement as you walked around the shallow part of the river, your head just above the surface, your feet dangling dangerously near the deeper part. One wrong step and you could risk drowning.

However, you seemed to be having fun while cleaning yourself, enjoying the cool, clean water. The elder, though, was having his own fun watching you.

He had to give it to you though, no matter what you did, your movements were always so captivating to him. He had already seen a lot in his life, many races, creatures and even monsters. Yet you had such a… Human way of behaving. Even if humans were so alike hylians, you still seemed different in a way, a very good way in his eyes.

What was even more interesting to him was the fact that you were still different from the other humans he'd met through his life.

More often than not your actions were unpredictable and random, not at all serious, it was like you somehow weren't very phased after getting kicked out of whatever universe you originally belonged in and into another. An universe that was extremely dangerous and distinct from yours. His universe.

You were very, very far from your home, yet he could still see some of it in the way you spoke, behaved and reacted to the things and beings around you.

Sometimes, he'd catch himself becoming infatuated again with the stuff that he was already used to, simply because you seemed so surprised and excited by them.

Things he saw in his everyday life and just happened to ignore. Places, people, animals, creatures, plants, you name it. You gave him a renewed view of life, the whole "enjoy the small things in life" a concept so simple that still managed to make him feel truly alive again.

When he was with you he felt like Hylia and the Golden Goddesses themselves were paying him back for all heroic deeds he performed. In his eyes, you saved him.

In no time, watching the stars with you became a new routine, you were always so interested in them, yet still didn't seem to mind when he preferred to do something else, as to avoid looking at the moon.

Therefore, counting and catching fireflies was the next best thing.

And before he even noticed, he had bought an extra satchel at the market just so he could collect and buy those things that reminded him of you, things he noticed you pointing out whenever you saw. Pretty rocks, shiny crystals, colorful shells, and even those silly little trinkets that, in his eyes were useless, yet brought happiness to yours.

You'd even managed to make him blush the other day, when you told him he was acting like a cat, placing gifts by your bedroll at night, while you were asleep.

Yes, you made him blush. Him, The elder, The Hero Of Time that was also The leader their group, a group made up of the strongest men known in the history of Hyrule.

But, in a way, you were actually correct.

Cats are very attached to their favorite person, enough to follow them around and watch them do the most simple things, like sleeping, or bathing.

He didn't feel like admitting to those things though, especially not to stealing your clothes.

At first, he assured himself that he was doing all that watching just to make sure you were safe, after all, bathing time was the only moment of the day when you were “fully alone” or so you thought. Time would never forgive himself if you accidentally got hurt because of his lack of attention to you, even if the “hurt” in question was merely a scratch on your knee from accidentally slipping while bathing.

He knew better than anyone that too much peace meant something bad could happen at any time, and too little peace was even worse! Therefore, there was no middle ground, you needed to be protected at all times. And the fact he also got a little fun out of guarding you didn't hurt anyone. After all, what the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel.

He didn't even try lying to himself about stealing your clothes, he wasn't that delusional, after all, liking your smell didn't sound like too good of an excuse to tell you, should you find out about that little habit of his.

In a way, he wasn't even hidden right now, per say, he was just not in plain view.

In fact, sometimes even hoped you saw him, so that he'd be able to stop just watching and join you already.

After all, you wouldn't be able to get hurt if he was right there beside you, right?

Let him keep pretending that's the only reason he wanted to join you in the bath.

#tw: yandere #yandere x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #linked universe x reader #yandere link x reader #lu time #lu time x reader #yandere lu time #yandere lu time x reader

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cummin-n-cryin · 1 year

Note

Hello! can I request a scenario where Jade, Floyd and Riddle (Separately) are being put in an arranged marriage (since the tweels are definitely in a mafia family and riddle’s mom would do that) but they are dating/in love with the (Gender Neutral) reader, whether the ending is happy or not is up to you

~Thank you for your request!

Arranged Marriage

Jade + Floyd + Riddle x gn!reader (all separate)

Tw: Arranged marriage, angst, suggested murder, family drama (idk if this is a proper tw but if people hate reading about family arguments or just arguing in general then here's your warning lmao), if I missed anything lemme know!

Wordcount: 1,410 + 1,503 + 1,207

Side Note: This doesn't take place in NRC so it's kind in the future I guess? Idk you'll get what I mean if you read it lol. Pretty angsty and might not be too accurate to the characters personalities but it was fun to try and write Idk if this is what you wanted lol but hopefully this turned out okay!

~Jade Leech~

Jade was on his way to meet up with you for the picnic date you two had planned together when he had gotten a sudden text from his parents telling him that they needed to have a long chat.

He wasn't too worried about such a text. It may be ominous to some but it was a typical text when his parents wanted to discuss their 'business' with him. They weren't going to just text him about what was actually going on. It would be quite embarrassing if someone were to look at his phone and find out about his family's business, wouldn't it?

So, he sent you a text explaining that he may be a few minutes late to your date. He smiled at your quick response. He was glad you were so kind and understanding.

Deciding to hide behind a tree a little way off the path he had been walking on, he called his parents. The conversation started normally, a casual hello and asking how they've been but he could hear the nervousness in his mother's voice.

"Mother, is something wrong?" he asked concerned. His mother was quiet for a moment before saying, "Well, me and your father have made a decision and we know you may not like it but, its for the family," she said.

"What do you mean?" Jade asked. His mother seemed to have a hard time finding the right words before she sighed and decided to be blunt about what was going on.

As her words hit his ears he froze. The words, "arranged marriage," echoed within his mind. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak as his heart felt like it stopped beating.

This... This has to be a misunderstanding.

He tried to regain some composure before responding to his parents. He told them how he can't get married because he's already in a relationship. He can't just drop you and go get married to someone he doesn't even know!

Jade tried his best to remain calm, "I'm afraid I can't accept as I'm already in a relationship with a very lovely person and I have no plans on breaking up with them for someone I don't know."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter," his father said on the line before his mother quickly interrupted, "We know that you're already in love dear and we're happy for you but sometimes things need to happen and-" Jade interrupted, "I understand. We'll talk more about it later I need to go," he said as he quickly ended the call.

He was shaking so bad he could barely stand. He tried taking some deep breaths to calm himself down. His phone suddenly vibrates and he looks down to see a text from you asking where he was. He smiled a little but as he goes to text you back, he suddenly feels something wet on his hand. Looking at his hand he sees what looks to be a droplet of water and he quickly touches his face, he's crying. He tries to quickly dry his eyes as he clears his throat to try and regain his composure.

He texts you that he's on his way and quickly heads back to the path he was walking. Eventually, he meets up with you and you both have a fun date together.

Jade won't tell you about what had happened. He tells himself that its better you don't know so that things don't get overcomplicated but in truth, it's because he's afraid of your reaction. Great Seven forbid you think he's actually in love with his wedding partner and decide to leave him. He can't let that happen. So, he keeps quiet and does what he does best. He pretends. He pretends that everything is fine and that there's absolutely nothing to worry about.

Later it would turn out that the marriage wasn't something he would be able to easily escape out of. Everything had been made official for the wedding and now all he could do was wait for the day to come. Of course, he had asked his parents why this was happening in the first place and he should've expected the answer but it still came as a surprise to him. Money and reputation. Of course, none of it had to do with love, in fact, they don't expect him to love his new partner at all. Sure, it would be great but it's not expected.

Great Seven help him. Jade understands why their doing this but even so, it still hurts. He almost feels like an object his parents are selling away.

He really tried his best to change his parents' minds but, in the end, he won't go against his parent's wishes. He won't run away from this even though he really wants to. Well, it's not like he really could. His parents and their connections would find him rather quickly either way.

While Jade wasn't certain about his future, there was one thing he was certain about. There was absolutely no way that he was going to break up with you. You've brought him so much joy and you've made him feel loved in a way no one else ever has.

The wedding date creeps nearer and while he grows nervous on the inside, he continues pretending that everything's fine. He truly hates lying to you but it was for the best. Sometimes you get very close to figuring out there's something wrong but he quickly distracts you so you won't catch on.

Eventually, he tells you that he has to go back home to visit his parents for a while. Unbeknownst to you, he's getting married.

And again, this is where Jade does what he does best. Pretending to at least like the bride is an easy feat. He has no problems dancing or even kissing them. However, that's as far as his masquerade goes. He'll pretend the reason as to why he doesn't want to get any more intimate with the bride is that he's just simply nervous and luckily, no one ever pushes him on the topic.

Overall, the wedding goes smoothly. It's a formal affair with very little excitement which leaves Jade quite bored at the end of it.

If he's made to live in the same home as the bride, he's very good at sneaking out unnoticed. He'll play the loving husband role as long as he needs to convince his new partner to not get suspicious of him. But as soon as he can, he's getting out of there to return to you. While he can't stay too far from his new home for too long, he'll do as much as he can to see you.

Even now Jade won't tell you of his marriage and if you notice that he doesn't hang out with you as often as he used to, he'll just say that work has been keeping him busy and change the topic. If he had the choice, he'd never tell you about his arranged marriage but he knows that there might be a day where he will have to.

And if you ever find out about his arranged marriage he'll sit down with you and explain the situation to you. He's afraid of your reaction but he really doesn't like lying to you.

He's just so worried that if you ever found out he's married you'll want to leave him and he loves you far too much to let that happen.

Jade will try to communicate with his parents. Perhaps he only needs to be married to this person for a certain amount of time? That would be ideal as then all he would have to do is wait and then he can leave without too much fuss.

But, if he's meant to be permanently married to them well... He may have to make a few decisions.

Jade is not against using much more darker methods to escape this marriage he's been forced into. He knows quite a lot about plants and there's some that would be very helpful in this kind of situation. Ideally, he wouldn't have to turn to such methods but, well, sometimes things need to happen.

Once his new partner is gone, he'll return to you as quickly as possible and who knows, perhaps this event is enough to encourage him to take your relationship to the next level.

~Floyd Leech~

Floyd was lounging around your apartment as he waited for you to come back from work.

He laid back on the couch as the TV droned on in the background. He was incredibly bored and started to space out, getting lost within his own mind when his phone's ringtone startled him from his trance.

He clumsily grabbed the phone off the table next to him, "Who is it?" he asked irritated. His tone quickly changed from irritated to excited as he heard his parent's voice on the phone.

The conversation was typical. His parents asking him how he's been and him reassuring them, especially his mom, that he's alright. But he could tell that something was bothering them, "Hey ma, is something going on?" concern laced in his voice. His mother seemed hesitant to respond, "Well, me and your father have put a lot of thought into this decision and we know that you may not like it but we have good reason-" Floyd interrupted, "Just say it mama." His mother sighed and told him what had happened.

As much as Floyd loves unexpected surprises this was probably the worst surprise he's ever gotten in his entire life.

"What?!" he yelled into the phone as he bolted up from the couch. The words, "arranged marriage," was loud in his mind.

"You're joking right?" he asked, desperately hoping that this was some kind of weird joke but they denied that it was a joke and they were completely serious. He started to panic. He couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. He was becoming overwhelmed as the situation became more real by the minute.

He tried to stay calm, taking deep breaths as he argued with his parents. "I'm already in a relationship! I'm not just gonna drop 'em for someone I don't know or even care about," Floyd said slightly panicking.

His father spoke calmly through the phone, "Floyd, you should know that sometimes we have to do things we don't like or want to do. That's how this business works and unfortunately, we sometimes have to leave people behind."

Floyd laughed bitterly, "This is so fucking stupid. Are you seriously telling me to break up with them?"

His father responded, his tone cold, "We don't care how you do it, just get it done. We don't need to make this more complicated then it needs to be."

Floyd ran his hand through his hair in disbelief, "No, no, no, I'm not doing that."

His father's voice was stern as he responded, "It doesn't matter if you want to do it or not. It's for the business, you'll understand later."

Floyd yelled into the phone, "You're really doing this to me?!" He couldn't keep calm anymore.

His mother spoke trying to calm him down, "Floyd please-"

Floyd interrupted yelling, "SHUT UP!" as he threw his phone full force into a nearby wall making a hole and shattering the screen.

Tears streamed down his face as his heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't calm himself down, he was beyond pissed. He grabbed a nearby chair and threw it in a random direction hearing something shatter. He couldn't stop himself. He grabbed anything nearby him and either threw it or slammed it into something else. He punched, threw, and tore whatever he could as he became blinded by his anger.

He didn't realize how long he was going at it until he heard you opening the front door to your apartment. He was breathing heavily as he sat himself on the now torn up couch.

He heard your gasp of surprise but didn't look at you, instead he hid his face in his hands.

"Floyd! What the hell happened?" you asked looking around at all the broken furniture.

He kept his face hidden in his hands as he mumbled out, "I'm sorry."

You sighed and sat down next to him on your now ruined couch. "Floyd-" you began but are quickly interrupted as he pulled you into a tight hug. As you awkwardly rub his back you feel something wet on your shoulder only to realize he was crying.

"What happened?" you ask him gently. He doesn't respond, instead he hugs you tighter as he silently cries into your shoulder.

After awhile, he pulls away from you rubbing his eyes, "AHHH- Shrimpy you won't belieeeeve it!" he says dramatically as he falls back on the couch, "My parents are tryin' to get me married to some idiot or whatever," he sniffles as he messes with the fabric on the couch.

"You're what?!" you yell in disbelief. "Wha- why?" Floyd shrugged, "Eh, I dunno. I'll ask em' later."

You look around at all the broken furniture, "I'm guessing that's what made you destroy my apartment?" Floyd sighed, "Yeah, I'll help fix it later."

You both fall quiet. You start to grow worried as you think about this marriage he's supposed to be in. You glance over at Floyd, "So, about that marriage thing..."

You're nervous as he sits up on the couch, "I'm not agreeing to it. It's just some stupid paper anyway. Stupid marriage keeping me trapped," Floyd grumbled out mostly to himself. You don't know why but his words made you feel a bit insecure, "Well if that's the case then in a way aren't I keeping you trapped?"

Floyd stared at you before letting out a small laugh, "Nah you ain't keeping me trapped Shrimpy. The difference between the marriage and our relationship is that I actually chose to be here with you and at least I can leave our relationship whenever I want."

"Hey!" you yelled incredulously, slapping him with a nearby pillow. Floyd laughed, "I never said I was goin' to leave!" You smiled, "Good because I don't know what I'd do without you."

Overtime, you can easily see the shift in Floyd's personality as he goes from his usual happy and cuddly self to irritable and barely seeing you at all. And when he does get the chance to see you, he cuddles you for hours on end before he disappears again.

Floyd really tried to stay with you but his parents had made their decision. He complains a lot to you about the whole situation telling you how he hates everyone and everything and how the only person he ever wants to marry is you. He guessed the money was too good to pass up and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. It made him feel like he was some object being sold and it pissed him off greatly.

Sooner than he'd like, the wedding date arrives and reluctantly he goes. He may hate his parents for this but he won't go against them. That doesn't mean he won't make things difficult for them and everyone else involved.

The wedding is a formal affair that leaves Floyd very bored. He wants nothing to do with his new partner but he can try to pretend to like them. He'll dance around with them but it's not his fault if his new bride almost gets their arm ripped out from it's socket. He'll even say his vows and kiss the bride even though it makes him want to throw up. But he'll do it for his parents and if it makes this whole event end faster then whatever, he'll do it.

If he's made to live in the same home as the bride, Floyd will almost never be home with them and if his family or his wife's family try dragging him back, he'll fight them the whole way there. Floyd makes it very clear to his new partner that he absolutely doesn't love them. There's only one person that he wants to spend the rest of his life with and it's you.

He doesn't get why anyone, especially the bride, would care about this marriage anyway. Both their families probably set them up for money reasons so why should Floyd care about it? If he could, he'd just say he doesn't give a shit and leave.

Floyd is more likely the one who'd kill their new partner. He absolutely can't stand being trapped and if he's supposed to spend the rest of his life with this person with no way out then he's gonna get irritated really quick.

He isn't heartless however, he knows that his new partner might share his feelings of irritation and that's why he'd much rather just get a divorce than go as far as to kill them.

But, sometimes we have to do things we don't really want to do.

Floyd will find a way back to you. Whether it be with clean hands and a bouquet of flowers to apologize for his absence or with bloody bruised knuckles and skin stuck in-between his teeth, he'll come back to you.

He may even decide to marry you as soon as he comes back! How cute! Besides, his parents can't force him into another marriage if he's taken, right?

~Riddle Rosehearts~

Riddle had met up with you in town to take a much-needed break from his job. Getting some fresh air was nice every now and then and it was a nice impromptu date for you two!

You both walked around the town picking up a few things here and there but mostly just spent your time window shopping. Until he suddenly got a call.

Riddle looked down at his phone. It's his mother. He really didn't want to talk to her right now but when you asked who was calling, he quickly tells you it's Trey.

"He's probably just checking in on me," Riddle awkwardly laughs before telling you that he'll be right back as he sneaks off to a more secluded area.

He walked into an empty alleyway. Looking down at the phone again, he grows nervous. He's hesitant to answer but nonetheless he does.

"Hello mother," he greets her with a steady voice. The conversation starts off normal. She asks him about his job and how he's doing. He tells her he's doing great but, the conversation becomes strange as she tells him that she's found him a new partner.

"What do you mean?" Riddle asks confused. "I mean I've found you a new partner and she's far better than the one you have now. She's a very lovely young lady, far more suitable for you," she says happily, "You both will be married soon so I expect you to be here when the date arrives."

Riddle was shocked. Is... this an arranged marriage? Is he being forced into marriage? He never thought his mother would do something like this to him. Not only that but she had the gall to insult you!

His mother continues speaking but he can barely pay attention as he's begins to panic. He needs to say something! He needs to convince her to not go through with it!

His voice is shaky as he tries to reason with his mom, "Mother, I am grateful but as you know I'm already in a relationship with someone and I love them very much. Why can't I marry them instead?"

"Them?" his mother asks snidely. "We both know you can't marry them." His mother continues on telling Riddle that you're unworthy of the Rosehearts name and how Riddle should only settle for the absolute best.

His heart breaks with each reason she gives. But as his heart breaks, his anger rises. How dare she say such things about you! You were one the best things to ever appear in Riddle's life and for her to imply that you weren't the absolute best made him flush red in anger.

However, before he could give her a piece of his mind, she said something that made him pause. "Besides, the marriage has already been finalized," his mother said nonchalantly.

A- already? No wait... So that means that...

Riddle is overcome with an immense feeling of dread as the realization dawns on him. It seems no matter what he does or says, he won't be able to change her mind...

"You... YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" he yells into the phone as he starts to cry.

His mother is silent for a moment before she speaks, her tone is cold as ice and it cuts him to the core, "How dare you talk back to me. After all I've done for you," she pauses for a moment before continuing, "I expect you to be here in the upcoming months for your wedding, understood?"

He swallows thickly, whatever courage he had shatters as he responds with a solemn, "Yes mother," before ending the call.

Bitter tears stream down his face as he falls to his knees. He hates himself for not having the courage to stand his ground against his mother, especially with how much was at risk. He thinks of all the things he could've said or done to possibly change her mind perhaps if he tried harder, he could have convinced her to let him marry you instead.

Riddle suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns only to see you looking down at him concerned, "Riddle, what's wrong?" you ask as you kneel down next to him.

He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He wants to tell you but he just- he can't.

Trying to wipe away his tears, he sniffles, "It's nothing. I just remembered something is all," he said. Riddle could tell you didn't believe him, it wasn't a good lie and he knew it but thankfully you didn't push it. Instead, you both continued on your impromptu date.

Riddle's personality change is obvious to everyone around him. He's absolutely miserable and it shows. His temper getting the better of him more often.

He really wishes he could run away from this. He wishes he had the strength to go against his mother. He wishes he was free of her control but it seems that no matter how hard he tries he can't seem to completely get rid of her.

He ends up overworking himself to distract himself from the reality he's in. He daydreams of grabbing your hand and running away from everyone and everything, far away from his mother. But he can't. He has to face reality whether he likes it or not.

Of course, you notice the way Riddle has changed and he appreciates the concern but he reassures you everything's fine, he's just been very busy.

When the date of the wedding arrives, Riddle is incredibly nervous but he won't run away. He'll try his best to like his new partner or at least pretend to. He may not genuinely love his new partner but he won't treat them harshly, they're a person too. It's only fair to treat them kindly after all, they were probably forced into this as well.

He may dance, laugh, and maybe even kiss his new partner but it doesn't feel the same as when he does those things with you. His heart belongs to you and by the end, he realizes that he misses you dearly.

Riddle will more than likely explain his situation to his new partner in hopes that they will be understanding and if they're kind enough, perhaps they'll let him stay with you.

However, if not then Riddle will try his best to see you when he can. He's not the best at sneaking out unseen but he manages.

At some point you'll figure out he's been married off or he'll go and tell you himself. He was far too afraid to tell you before, when the feelings of hurt were still fresh but while he might feel a bit better now, he's still hesitant to tell you about it. He's worried that now he's married you won't want to be with him anymore.

He hopes that one day he'll be able to get out of his marriage whether it be through divorce or by other means. He may even think of just running away and eloping with you.

Riddle swears that one day his mother will have no control over him. It may not be today or tomorrow but some day he'll run away with you and he'll never look back.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #jade leech #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #tw angst

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satrs · 1 year

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Heyyy I was wondering since it's like mothers day tmr

Could you do blue lock boys meeting your mom for the first time or like celebrating mothers day with her idk I thought it's a cute idea

Also Happy mothers dayyy

I loveee this!!! Tysm, happy mother’s day to you too and every mother out there🫶🏾🫶🏾

Son in law!

synopsis; meeting your mother for the first time!

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; Shidou Ryusei. Michael Kaiser. Itoshi Sae. Bachira Meguru.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ;0.8k.

Tags; mention of a stroke(once). mention of kids/marrige. fluff. nothin else me think

ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ 18+!

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

You were freaking out at first (understandable), but to your surprise, he was on his best behavior, amazing even.

He gets along with your mother very well, even brought her flowers and compliments her until no end.

"Now I know where your daughter got her gorgeous looks from."

Helps your mother with everything, bringing the food to the table, taking the dishes and cleaning them, all that.

Is all ears when your mom spills teaaa about your childhood. Intensely listens and snickers when she shows him embarrassing baby pictures of you, triggering you to pout with a frown on your face because you knew damn well he would tease you about it to no end.

You honestly fell in love with him a second time. And your mother sure did too.

She adores him. At some point, you even get jealous at how much of his attention is solely on your mother. But you're really glad it turned out better than you imagined (you thought he would be a literal menace and give your mother a stroke).

MICHAEL KAISER.

A TOTAL MOTHERS FAVOURITE I JUST KNOW IT. Everyyy mother wishes to have him as a son-in-law. And your mother is more than happy that he chose to fall in love with her child.

Doesn't even have to do more than greet her with a handsome smile, and kissing the back of her hand in a charming manner, and she's already giving you her blessing for marriage.

"Yes, when are we getting married, love? And your darling mother sure wants some grandkids, right?" His voice is drenched in charm, causing you AND your mother on the opposite side of the table to blush.

Won't shut up about his love for you. At some point, even makes sure your mother heard him say what he just said, LMAO. But your mom can see, and also hear from the way he talks to you, how much he loves you.

She's sure he's the right one and has not a single doubt about you both devotion for each other.

Already has the perfect marriage planned out in her head, fingers tingling to call up her connections.

Man. Just marry that man already and do your mother a favor.

ITOSHI SAE.

We got THE gentlemen of the gentlemen right here. He is kinda nervous to meet your mother for the first time, so he tries to do his best.

And with his best, I mean, buying ridiculously expensive gifts for her. Be it exquisite wine or jewelry from Cartier, he got it all.

You can only shake your head at his behavior, trying to explain to him that your mother will like him nonetheless, to no avail.

"I know, but, just to be sure."

And your mother was overjoyed when you both came over, almost jumping up and down as she got gift after gift from the young man.

He was actually pretty nervous??? But tried to not make it really obvious. It was kinda obvious. You noticed, but your mother didn't, too busy in inspection all the gifts he spoiled her with.

With time, he calmed down, less tense and cautious about the way he talks and what he talks about.

Your mother welcomed him in a heartwarming way, making him feel just as comfortable he is with you, all his worries flying right out the window.

BACHIRA MEGURU.

He's just the best. Literally.

You couldn't quite understand his worries, when he told you he fears that your mother might think he's an 'oddball' or 'weirdo'.

You assured him that your mother would love him just how you began to do years ago. He felt at ease at your words, taking a deep breath and checking himself in the review mirror of the car again before heading to the doorstep with you.

"I don't smell or anything, do I? Are the flowers alright?", you chuckled at his behavior, acting as if he was about to have an important job interview.

Well to him, it was an important interview, the interview of 'getting your mother to like him and maybe even accept him as her Son in Law in the near future'.

As soon as your mother open the door and embraces you and him in a tight, loving hug, all the nervous tension left his body in an instant.

He began to learn that he is a sucker for your mother's cooking. Babbles of how it's 'so good' and 'the best food he ever had' while still having chunks of food in his mouth, causing loud laughter to erupt from your lungs.

Most definitely takes the leftovers home with you, making sure to let her know again how delicious it was, causing your mother's heart to jump at the recognition of her lovingly made food.

ᵃˡˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ k-azus.°

#◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ #♡˳ᴮᴸᴸᴷ #lec writes!۵ #blue lock x you #blue lock #blue lock fluff #shidou ryusei #michael kaiser #bllk #itoshi sae #bachira meguru #blue lock bachira #bachira fluff #shidou fluff #shidou x you #sae #blue lock sae itoshi #itoshi sae fluff

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lightlycareless · 5 months

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Since Naoya dyes his hair, do you think his kids would have some sort of confusion(when they’re of a younger age Ofc) when others around them would say they have their daddy’s hair or do you think maybe for a period of time he’d stop dyeing his hair to match with his kids lol. Idk this is a silly thought 🙈

ahahhHHAHAHAH yessssssss This just gave me all sorts of ideas of how to embarrass Naoya as a dad lmao!! It's you know, mandatory. We've all felt that way once in our life!!

But let's start with one thing first 🤭

I want to say that he’ll grow out of it, but honestly, I don’t think so; that man was 27 and he still dyed his hair lol.

But moving on…

At first, yes. They’re going to be a bit confused as to why his dad has this bright yellow color on his hair, when everyone else’s is dark. But once they surpass that confusion, in true innocent nature, they’re going to be nothing but intrigued by it—and hey! Maybe they’ll say “wow, I want my hair like that too!”

Also, they grew up seeing Gojo, and sometimes Nanami (NOW I WANT TO WRITE HIM MEETING NAOMI someone coerce ME QUICKLY) so unusual hair colors don’t surprise them anymore lol.

But as always, when your children begin to grow aware of their surroundings, start questioning things… is when “issues” with Naoya arise.

In other words, the infamous “second-hand embarrassment” towards their parents.

Now, it’s happening for both you and Naoya no matter what you try to do to avoid it. But as of right now, it’s more onto him because he’s the most obvious out of the two.

I mean, the piercings… the hair—it’s screaming “please drop me off two blocks away from the school entrance so my friends won’t make fun of me.”

What they once thought cool, now they can’t stand the sight of it 😂 and it really, really upsets Naoya.

“Why do you paint your hair, dad…?” Naomi would ask one day, dying to do so for like… years now.

“Because I like it.” Naoya responds. “…why do you ask?”

She twists her lips, as if skeptical of his answer, before shrugging and leaving. He’ll tell you about this interaction later that day, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that Naomi once confided in you that she thought it was a bit… weird, mostly since it’s obvious yellow is not his natural color.

Yet, no matter how much you tried, he still gets to hear about it from someone on the staff and boy, does it finally break his heart.

“You don’t like it?” he asks Naomi one day after picking her up from school.

“…No one else has it.” She eventually admits. “My friends think it’s… funny.”

“Do you think it’s funny?” Naoya insists, Naomi simply looks away; she never liked being put on the spot like that, and the conversation ends soon enough.

He sighs, and all he could think of is:

«It’s already started, isn’t it?»

It’s certainly a long way from the days where Naomi was nothing but enthralled by his appearance, admiring him with those big adorable round eyes of hers as she reaches for one of his strands and pulls at it, as if trying to decipher whether his hair was real, or not—or how she’d do the same for his piercings, gently removing her little hands from them so she wouldn’t hurt him, reminiscing on the day you brought her press-on earrings so she could look like him.

Luckily for Naoya, that’s only one stage of their life, for when they grow a bit older and stop caring about those trivial things, they’d actually being to look up to him for advice on how to dye hair or where to get their ears pierced without having to worry about infections and such; the moment the tables turn and they begin to admire him for his style when he was younger, Naoya feels nothing less than amazing, and a bit cocky too 😂.

“Come on daaaad, tell me!! How did you manage to keep your hair with that tint and without it looking like trash???” Naomi would whine; no other color seems to have stuck the way she wanted it, always washing off after one shower or two. “Like, I remember that you even went on missions, and it would still look good!!”

“Ah, so now you like it? What about the kids that thought it was funny looking?” Naoya teases as if that hadn’t hurt his feelings; Naomi rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever… if you don’t want to tell me I guess I’ll just go with Gojo or something, I’m sure he knows a few places or some—”

“No, wait! Don’t go to him! I’ll tell you all you need to know!!”

Just to name a few interactions hahaha.

But either way, I feel that around… probably late 30s Naoya is going to outgrow the whole hair dyeing thing and just let his hair return to its natural dark color.

Everyone around him will take a while to get used to his new appearance, specifically his kids, since it was always blond for as long as they could remember… but they get used to it soon enough. As for you, though, you’re the one that likes it the most and you make sure to let him know whenever possible—he rewards you appropriately that night, I dare say, Naohime was born out of that lol.

“We finally look like a family.” You’d jest one day—as if all his kids didn’t look exactly like him: dark hair, golden eyes…

If anything, you’re the outcast here 😂

Ngl, I wonder what a much older Naoya would look like; would he still have piercings? Grandpa out there still rocking the blonde hair lmao!!!

Ahhh thank you so much for sending in this ask!! While writing this two ideas came to me on the type of dynamic Naoya would have with his baby when she's all grown up; one of them is sweet, the other one is a bit sad :'( we shall see which one I write first 😏

Once again, thank you so much for sending in this!! I had fun :> Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen #imagine if it was hereditary

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magicalgirlartist · 4 months

Text

[IDs are in alt text]

I finally drew the Toa Nuva as magical girls, as promised! I'm really happy with some of them. Some of them were easy to figure out and others were a struggle (Pohatu I'm looking at you lmao). Like I've said these aren't going to be in the Bionicle Sports Anime proper but I just like drawing cute dresses so here we are lol. Most poses are referenced from @adorkastock except Kopaka's and Onua's.

[Commissions open!]

Design notes under the cut!

I really wanted to commit to everyone having skirts or dresses, but for Lewa I figured maybe it was better to give him shorts so he's not flashing everyone while soaring through the treetops lol. Which is too bad because he would rock a skirt. JUST HIM THOUGH everyone else MUST wear a dress. This is not optional (I also wanted to avoid making anyone look embarrassed or upset to avoid the "haha man in skirt uncomfortable with it" thing because. Yeah)

This is also our first time seeing everyone next to each other with relative heights! Tahu, Kopaka, and Gali are all approximately the same height, Onua is a short king, and Pohatu and Lewa are the tallest. I base human Bionicle heights on vibes almost exclusively.

I didn't set out to give everyone white gloves and shoes, it just sort of happened. Initially no one was going to have white in their outfit except Kopaka, but it's a good neutral colour if used sparingly that helps break up some of the otherwise very monochromatic look I've given them. I also gave Pohatu a couple of orange accents because I felt like it :P

Each of them has their Nuva symbol in a different place on their outfit, like Tahu's boots and Lewa's earrings. I meant to give them each their elemental symbol as well, but the only ones who wound up with it anywhere are Tahu (chest and hair clip) and Onua (gloves and boots).

One of the hardest things for me when designing magical girls is shoes. Shoes are hard in general because I never think about them ever, but especially magical girl shoes. Gali's are based on one of Lagoona's sets from Monster High, and Pohatu's are inspired by the shoes and socks in Idol x Heroine Miracle Tunes. The other thing I have a hard time with is hairstyles and I just kept them the same for this lmao I really didn't want to make magical girl versions of all these hairstyles. In hindsight I do wish I'd put some braids or beads or something into Onua's beard.

I figure they all have their own callout when they transform, like at the end of his sequence Tahu would say something like "the raging flames of the inferno! Toa Tahu!" and Kopaka says like "the silent fury of the blizzard...Toa Kopaka." or some shit lol. And then once they've all transformed and said their piece they pose and go "Unity! Duty! Destiny! We are the Toa Nuva!" idk maybe it's the PreCure talking lol but yeah I do love a team callout

#bionicle #human bionicle #bionicle sports anime #art #fanart #digital art #magical girls

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 8 months

Text

Thanks (m, cold)

Hi guys, thank you again for voting on which scenario you wanted to see for this fic! It's a bit of a slow burn, and idk how I feel about the ending, but Elijah is staunchly miserable by the end so hopefully that makes y'all happy 😅 let me know if you like it 🫶

Ps I've been writing this for literally the past 12 hours so I cannot look at it anymore, I'll read it over and edit errors in the morning but I need to get it out before it drives me insane lmao. 5.5k words under the cut :)

CW: male snz, colds, coughing, fever, contagion

There was nothing quite as depressing, Elijah decided, as the days leading up to Thanksgiving dinner service in a restaurant. Well, unless you were Greyson.

“Goooood morning, boss! Two days til the Big Day; are you pumped?”

Elijah turned his chair slowly towards the door, where the chef stood grinning unironically. He thought, not for the first time, that Greyson was likely some sort of dog in a past life – a golden retriever, or possibly a lab. One of those ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ dogs.

“Am I pumped?” Elijah asked, glaring at Greyson. “For a day that should be spent drinking shitty beer and eating my weight in carbs spent instead putting on a fake smile for people who don’t even think of us as human? For people who go out to eat literally once a year, and make sure they do it on a holiday so they can feel powerful by forcing a restaurant to serve them, then complain about the price and stiff my servers? Am I pumped to barely break even, even though the restaurant will be packed from ten am until close, because those same people staunchly refuse to pay more than eighty bucks a head to stuff themselves silly? Am I pumped to listen to my staff complain all day, despite the fact that when each of them was hired, they were told in no uncertain terms that they would be working holidays?” Elijah clicked his pen closed loudly, stood to let Greyson through, and sat with him in tandem, his face set in anger the whole time. “No, Grey. I am not, in fact, pumped.”

Greyson broke their eye contact to wake his computer, the lecture obviously unexpected. “Clearly I should’ve read the room before opening my mouth,” he said, glancing back over at his boss briefly. “My bad, boss.”

Elijah, embarrassed that he’d let himself sink into such a state about something as stupid as a holiday service, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fuck. Sorry, Grey. You just caught me at a bad moment. I had two servers call out for today, I’m fuckin’ sweating because we really need everyone here for Thursday and neither of them are sure they’ll be good to come back in two days.”

“Hmm,” Greyson hummed, his eyebrows threading together. “That’s weird. I had Victor and Elise call out on my way in.”

Elijah felt his heart thump in his temple. “Did they say why?”

“I didn’t ask,” Greyson said, turning his chair to face his boss. “But I guess I should’ve. Did the servers say why they couldn’t come in?”

“Some sort of fever-cold thing, is what Jason said he had. Ashley just said she felt like shit.” Elijah pressed his fingers into his eye and sighed. “I need a cigarette. Care to join?”

Greyson, never one to turn down nicotine in any form, stood from his chair. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said.

The two of them walked through the empty kitchen in silence, Elijah entirely too wrapped in his own thoughts to continue their conversation. There was an ongoing joke, a trope, at this point, about holidays in the restaurant; everyone was always sick for them. Last Easter, the servers all had bronchitis, and a couple of Valentine’s days ago, Greyson had so many cooks call out with the stomach flu that they’d had to hire last-minute temps to fill in on the line. Despite doing nearly 300 covers, they barely made enough to cover the immense labor that seven temps on a holiday cost.

“Lij,” Greyson said as the two of them stepped out the back door and sat on the milk crates littering the loading dock, “it’s not going to be like Valentine’s. I can see your fuckin’ gears turning.” The chef pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, handed his boss one, and lit them both up. “Relax.”

Silence, once again, fell upon them as they smoked and watched fat snowflakes disintegrate on the asphalt. Elijah hoped that Greyson was right, that everything would be fine and he was overreacting – but he knew better than to hope. More likely than not, it was going to be what it always was on holidays: a shit show.

Matt and Mark, hand-in-hand until they spotted their bosses by the door, turned the corner and waved to their counterparts in tandem like well-trained circus animals. Elijah couldn’t help but smile as their fingers unwove from one another.

“Morning,” Elijah called, stubbing out his cigarette. Greyson did the same, and the two of them stood to let the younger men into the building.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Mark asked rubbing his hands together as he pushed the door open. Elijah shrugged as he held the door open for the other two and walked in behind them.

“My rage keeps me warm,” he said, prompting a laugh from Greyson and an eye roll from the younger men. “How’re you guys?”

Mark shot a look at Matt as they all walked towards the office at the front of the kitchen. “I’m well,” he said, pointedly. Elijah nearly stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed Matt glaring at his boyfriend.

“Matt…?” Greyson asked, an attempt at giving his sous chef a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was silence as the three of them turned, expectantly, towards Matt.

“I’mb good,” the sous said, his voice cracking on the second syllable. Elijah audibly groaned, Mark winced, and Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity.

“Well, you certainly sound great,” Greyson said, palming Matt’s shoulder aggressively. “Would you like to go home and sleep that off?”

“Yes, he -”

“Ndo,” Matt said, cutting Mark off and shooting him a look. “I wandt to help prep.I’mb – hh! hh’NGTSH-uh!” Matt turned and pulled his coat up over the bottom half of his face to sneeze, then quickly gathered himself and stood up straight. “I’mb fine,” he said, convincing no one.

Elijah closed his eyes briefly and sighed through his nose; fortunately or unfortunately, he knew exactly why Matt hadn’t called off.

The week prior, Elijah and Greyson had dolled out raises and bonuses for the staff; this year was Matt’s fifth as sous chef. Greyson had basically written a dissertation of why his sous chef should be given a new title – Executive Sous – along with a significant raise and bonus. It hadn’t taken much convincing; Elijah knew exactly how hard Matt worked, and staying at the same restaurant as a sous chef for five years was nearly unheard of in this city, especially for someone as young as Matt. He and Greyson had agreed that Matt’s loyalty to the restaurant deserved to be compensated, and had surprised him before his day off with the new title and pay.

Matt had been surprised – shocked was probably a better word for it, honestly – and had confided in Elijah after Greyson had dipped early to meet up with a date that he felt like he didn’t deserve the raise.

“You do,” Elijah had said, laughing lightly. “We wouldn’t have given it to you if you didn’t deserve it.”

The younger man had shaken his head. “I just… I mean, Greyson is here way more than me. I get two days off mostly, and he doesn’t let me work longer than ten hours. And I love it here, you guys don’t need to, like, worry about me leaving if that’s what this is about.”

Elijah had given Matt a confused look. “Greyson should be here more than you, first of all he’s a partner, not just the chef, and secondly, he gets paid very well to be here eighty hours a week. That’s his choosing. You’re his employee – if you were here as much as he was and getting paid significantly less, that wouldn’t be fair. And we’re glad you love it here, but that’s not why we gave you the raise. We gave it to you because you’re a hard worker, and you deserve to be compensated for what you do.” Elijah had smiled at Matt, patted his knee, and finished with, “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Matt had just smiled back and nodded, but Elijah knew he hadn’t changed his mind about ‘being undeserving’. Elijah knew, via background checks that were performed by his off-site HR company, and via Mark being a blabbermouth the second he got a glass of wine in him, that Matt had been a bit of a troubled kid; he’d been bounced from one foster home to another as a kid, and then one juvenile detention hall to another as a teenager. Only when he’d dropped out of high school and gotten a job as a dishwasher at a Denny’s did he finally decide it was time to shape up. He’d worked his way into the diner’s kitchen, then a slightly nicer kitchen, and when he was 20, he’d shown up at the front door of Elliot’s in an ill-fitting suit with a speech about how he was ready to work somewhere that he could hone his passion, even if they couldn’t pay him a dime. Greyson had hired him on the spot, not even consulting Elijah, despite only having been the executive chef for a few months.

Elijah knew Matt felt that he owed Greyson, not the other way around, and this promotion and raise was the nail in that coffin of doubt. He knew there was no way Matt would go home, no matter how shitty he felt.

Greyson just shrugged at his sous chef’s denial of being sick. “If you want to stay, I’m not going to make you leave,” he said, walking into the office and changing from his sweatshirt into his chef’s coat. “Just don’t sneeze on the food.”

Matt rolled his eyes and stripped off his jacket to put his own chef’s coat on. “Yes, Chef,” he said, coughing into his elbow. Mark and Elijah exchanged sidelong looks.

“Are you feeling okay?” Elijah asked his junior manager. Mark smirked, hiked his laptop bag further onto his shoulder, and started towards the dining room – his makeshift office.

“Never better, boss,” he said, pushing through the swinging doors. “Never better.”

***

“So, is he coming in tomorrow?”

Greyson lolled his head to the side, hands still on his keyboard, and deadpanned Elijah. “The fuck do you think?”

Elijah pulled a hand down his face and nodded. “Yeah, okay, just wanted to check.”

While Matt had been relatively fine the first few hours of the shift, by the time the last guests had eaten, the sous had been so staunchly miserable that Greyson had marched his ass into the office, thrown his jacket over his shoulders, and pointed towards the back door. “Go. Home. Now.”

“Chef, I – HTSHH! Hh-! GTSH-uh!” Matt wrenched to the side, collapsing into a post-sneeze coughing fit that made the cooks flinch from five yards away.

“You’re not fine,” Greyson insisted. “You’re sick, and you’re going to get everyone else sick.”

Matt nodded, miserable, and hung his head. “Sorry, Chef,” he muttered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Go,” Greyson said. “And come back when you’re well.”

Mark had taken Matt home in an Uber, and the cooks and servers had been able to leave relatively early, which left Elijah, Greyson, and a bottle of whiskey between them on the desk to figure out how they were going to handle the rest of the week.

Greyson sighed and reached for the bottle as he pushed away from his computer screen. He took a long pull and handed the bottle to Elijah, who followed suit. “I just… I don’t understand why he’d come in that sick,” Greyson said, pulling his hair to the top of his head and securing it with a rubber band from their drawer of office supplies. Elijah had to pull the bottle away from his lips to laugh. “What?” Greyson asked.

“You, of all people, can’t understand why he came in sick?” Elijah asked, incredulous. “You?”

“What do you mean me?” Greyson asked, snatching the bottle back. “If anything, he learned it from watching you.”

“Oh, spare me, Greyson,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “For awhile there, you literally came in sick three weeks a month.”

Greyson scoffed. “At least I’ve never passed out on the kitchen floor.”

“Yes, you have.”

“No, I almost passed out. You actually fuckin’ swooned. Collapsed in a puddle. Full damsel in distress.” Greyson took another pull and placed the bottle back on the desk. “So don’t come for me unless I send for you.”

Elijah guffawed at this. “Who taught you that saying?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.

“I heard one of the servers using it. I like it.”

“The servers are twenty years old, you dinosaur. The last thing they want is Grandpa Greyson using their jargon.”

“Fuck off, if anyone here is a grandpa it’s…” Greyson stopped suddenly, held up a finger, let his eyes flutter shut, then let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, that’s annoying.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, then raised an eyebrow at his boss, whose face had drawn into concern. “What?”

“What was that?” Elijah asked, glancing over at the bottle of whiskey they’d spent the past hour sharing.

“I just thought I was going to – oh,” Greyson’s eyes widened. “No, dude, relax, I’m totally fine. I feel great.”

“‘Buzzed’ and ‘great’ are two different things, Grey,” Elijah said. He reached up to feel Greyson’s forehead, prompting the chef to lean back in his chair.

“Great as in healthy,” he insisted, shooing Elijah’s hand away. “Seriously, I’d let you know if I – HRRTSHHH-ue!” He caught the sneeze in his elbow – barely – and choked back an irritated cough. From the crook of his arm, he heard Elijah swear.

“I’m going to end your fuckin’ life, I swear to God,” Elijah muttered, pushing the bottle further onto Greyson’s side of the desk. “You let me drink from the same bottle as you, you dick.”

“I’m fine, Elijah, Christ it was one sneee – hh! - hh…” Greyson tipped his head back in anticipation, then lowered and shook it when the feeling once again dissipated. “See? Totally fine.” He sniffled – convincing, Grey – and immediately changed course. “Plus, it’s alcohol. It’s an antiseptic.”

“It one million percent is not,” Elijah said, rubbing his temples in defeat. “Greyson, you cannot be sick. We cannot be sick. How the hell are we going to be able to run Thanksgiving?”

“Elijah,” Greyson said, “listen. I am fine. Everything is going to be just fi – ITSHH-ue!” Greyson pitched forward into his palm and cringed. Elijah, begrudgingly, slammed the box of tissues they kept on a side table in front of the chef.

“Bless you,” he said while Greyson cleaned himself up. “And, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: fuck. You.”

***

“Hhh-! Huh… hnnn.”

“Bless you.”

“Oh, screw you, Lij,” Greyson muttered for the millionth time that day. He grabbed what felt like his hundredth tissue and blew his nose – only for the feeling to reignite. “Huhhh! Hhh...hh… guhh.” Greyson rubbed his nose again and angrily spiked the tissue into the trash can beneath his prep station.

“Bless you,” Elijah said again, mocking.

“You kndow,” Greyson said, turning towards his boss, who was seated in the office, not looking Greyson’s way. “Karma is going to combe for you for being an asshole to mbe.”

At this, Elijah glanced towards Greyson. “Karma? No, karma is having a cold and not being able to sneeze because you let your friend drink out of the same bottle as you when you knew you were getting sick. That’s karma, and you got what was coming to you.”

“Fuuhhh! Huh! Hh...fuck,” Greyson grumbled, coughing into his shoulder.

“Karma is also giving your sous chef a lecture about being sick at work, only to be get sick and have to come into work because you’re technically the most well of all the sick cooks and chefs.”

“Are you finished?” Greyson asked, throwing his hands in the air. “I get it. And to be fair, I did ndot kndow I was getting sick.” The chef sucked in painfully through his nose and collapsed into coughs once again.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah mumbled. When it seemed like Greyson wasn’t going to be able to stop the coughing, he took pity and got up to make the chef tea.

“Here,” Elijah said, slamming a paper cup in front of Greyson. “Drink it. Sickie.”

Greyson, unable to come up with a proper comeback, just did as he was told. “How mbany on the books tonight?” he croaked. Elijah sighed, pulled up his phone, and slid it towards Greyson. “Fuck,” Greyson said when he saw the number.

“All the people in the city who aren’t coming in tomorrow decided tonight was the night, apparently,” Elijah said, taking his phone back and putting it in his pocket. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, in earnest.

Greyson nodded. “It’s ndot too bad,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Just wish I could fuckigg sndeeze.”

Elijah huffed out a laugh. “You’re sure you don’t want to call Matt in?”

“Definitely no – hh! Huh...hhhITSHHHZUE! Oh thank fuckigg God – HUHHESTCH-ue! Hh! Hnn...HuhhhETSCHH-ue! HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah whistled, long and low, and pushed the box of tissues towards Greyson. “Wow,” he said. “Bless.”

Greyson rolled his eyes as he took a handful of tissues and cleaned himself up. “See?” he said once he’d thrown them away and washed his hands, “Good as new. HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah chuckled. “Sure, Chef,” he said, moving towards the doors to the dining room. “Whatever you say.”

***

In his thirty-nine years on earth, Elijah had learned a lot about himself. He’d learned that he was a hothead, and he had to really think about the repercussions of what was going to come out of his mouth if he wanted to keep the person he was talking to in his life. He’d learned that he was incapable of whistling, juggling, or any other party trick – but he could pull out a fantastic rendition of Queen’s Somebody to Love during karaoke, and that was enough to make him seem like he was fun at parties. He’d learned that he loved to have his own space, and should he ever find a partner, he knew they’d have to have separate bedrooms. And he had learned exactly what it felt like when he was getting sick.

Like… really sick.

When Greyson said things like, “I didn’t know I was getting sick,” it truly did not register to Elijah. Maybe it was because Greyson’s illnesses always seemed to be some sort of mixed bag – starting differently every time, with symptoms that varied wildly – or maybe it was because he just didn’t tune in to how he was feeling. Greyson always said he basically tried to ignore his body until it forced him to pay attention; maybe that was something that Elijah needed to attempt. Because Elijah… Elijah knew exactly when and how badly he was getting sick every single time.

It had started that afternoon, mere hours after he’d given Greyson shit about exposing him to this illness, the way it always did – with the type of sore throat that made you feel weak in your knees. Elijah had swallowed, then immediately felt dizzy with the pain that surged in his throat. Oh, he thought, touching his neck. Oh, no.

He was, of course, a creature of habit and attempted all his usual ways to quell the pain – cups of tea hidden in paper sleeves, lozenges he hoped Greyson was too stuffed up to smell on his breath, handfuls of ibuprofen – to no avail. By the time dinner service came around he could hear the rasp in his voice and, despite the ibuprofen, could feel the ache in his joints that meant he’d already made it to stage two; fever.

This was how he knew he was going to be down badly. If he could ride the sore throat past the fever and straight into congestion, he might be able to get away with just a normal cold. But if that fever set in before any other symptoms, it was all over.

“Yo,” Greyson said, approaching his boss post pre-shift. “Cand we quickly talk about the semantics of tomborrow’s buffet before people get here?”

Elijah lifted his heavy head from his pre-shift notes and blinked in Greyson’s direction. “Okay,” he said, brilliantly. Greyson’s eyebrows knit together, concerned.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Elijah nodded slowly – surely, if Greyson was able to push through this illness with such ease, he was just being a baby about it. He swallowed through the knives in his throat and nodded.

“Just a headache,” he said. “What do you want to talk through?”

“Just wanted to see how mbany cooks you think I should have on the buffehh....ETSZHCHH-ue!” Greyson directed a massive sneeze into his elbow, and Elijah’s head about exploded with pain.

“Christ,” Elijah muttered, pressing his palm into his eye. Greyson muffled a cough into his sleeve and shook his head to clear it.

“Fuck, ‘scuse mbe,” he said, looking back at his boss. “Umb. Did I get you or something?”

Something like that, Elijah thought as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re just loud, and my head hurts.” He pulled out his phone, looked at the cover spread for the next day, and said, “Three cooks on the buffet. One for omelets, one for prime rib carving, one for dessert bar.” He looked up at Greyson for his confirmation. “What?” he asked.

“You just… look like you’re in pain,” Greyson said, carefully. “Did you take -?”

“Yes, I took ibuprofen,” Elijah cut him off. “Go make sure your guys are ready for tonight. Take a decongestant so they can understand you. I’ll be back there in a minute.”

Greyson pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. “Yes, sir,” he said, and left Elijah to brood.

By some stroke of luck, the third inevitable stage of Elijah’s illness didn’t hit him until after they’d finished service. He was checking the lead server’s station so she could go home, when suddenly it felt like a thousand bees collected in his sinuses.

“Yeah, looks good Riley, thanks, see you in the mo – IGTSHH-uhh! HSTSH-ue! HhhhINTSZH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side, the sneezes so sudden he barely had time to cover his mouth.

“Yikes,” Riley said, taking a step away from her boss. “Bless you.”

“Thanks,” Elijah muttered, pinching his nose to quell the itch.

“You pick up whatever has everyone else out this week?” she asked, taking off her apron. Elijah shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Have a good night.”

With all the servers gone, Elijah slunk back into the kitchen and sunk into his office chair, his head in his hands. He was not prepared to do a whole holiday service feeling like this. This was nightmarish, and he’d only felt sick for nine hours. Tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be -

“Hey, bless you,” Elijah sat up and turned around at the accusation to see Greyson standing at the office door with his arms crossed. “Could’ve heard those from fuckin’ space.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully. “Whatever,” he said, powering his computer up to finish the night’s paperwork. “You’re one to talk, I don’t think you’ve gone three seconds without -”

“HRRSHH-oo!” Greyson cut him off with a comically-timed sneeze directed into the collar of his shirt.

“-that,” Elijah finished.

Greyson grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. “Yeah, but it’s been well-established that I have a cold. I was under the impression that you were still -”

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh-! HuhhESTZHH-ue!” Elijah once again collapsed in on himself, head both buzzing and pounding, the explosive sneezes grating the back of his throat.

“- well,” Greyson finished, and moved into the office to sit by his boss. Just as Elijah looked up from his lap, Greyson slapped a hand on his forehead.

“Enough,” Elijah said, pushing Greyson’s palm off. Greyson put both his palms on his knees and gave Elijah a knowing look.

“So, you’ve been sick all day, or…?”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, clearing his throat, “I’m fine.”

“You have a fever, Lij. Like, a pretty significant one.”

He knew, and he had known, but the words made Elijah’s eyes well and his throat close all the same. God, he hated having a fucking fever and all the stupid, ridiculous emotions that went along with it. Elijah took a breath, closed his eyes to collect himself, and addressed the chef.

“I’m not feeling 100%,” he said. “But I will be fine. You are sick – if I’m not 100%, then you must be at like 10% at this point.”

“I don’t have a fever,” Greyson pointed out, taking Elijah’s hand and placing it on his cool head. “See?”

Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever. Still, you need to go home; it’s a big day tomorrow.”

“I will when you do,” Greyson said, shrugging. Elijah, completely spent, and done arguing, just turned off his computer – paperwork be damned for the night.

“Fine,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Let’s call it a night.”

Greyson, clearly confused, just raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Alright boss,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

***

If there was one thing Greyson knew about Elijah, it was this: if you wanted him to admit defeat, you had to corner him.

When he woke up at oh-dark-thirty that morning, Greyson felt lucky that he was no worse for the wear then he was the night before. Was he stuffed-up to the gills? Yes. Did he have an incessant, grating cough? Yeah. But ultimately, it was a cold, and he’d work through far worse many more times.

So, despite the fact that it was still dark out, Greyson donned his hoodie and set out for the restaurant. On the way to the early-morning subway, he called Matt.

“...Hello?” Matt answered on the third ring. “Chef?”

“Mbornin’ sunshine,” Greyson said, coughing into the receiver. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh…” Matt said, attempting to gather his bearings. “Better. Am I supposed to be at the restaurant now? I thought I was scheduled at eight.” Greyson heard him push back a blanket and plant his feet on the floor. “You sound like shit, by the way. Sorry about that.”

“Inevitable,” Greyson said, a brush-off. “And you aren’t scheduled til eight, but I have sombe very important, pre-work, Executive Sous shit I ndeed your help with.”

“Sure, boss,” Matt said, and Greyson could hear him changing clothes, using mouthwash, and whispering goodbye to Mark. “Anything you need.”

“Good man,” Greyson said, pausing at the top of the subway steps. “Could you pick up cough drops, Mucinex, and a hot water bottle, if you see one? Oh, and a real blanket. I’ll Venmo you some mboney.”

“Uh, sure, boss. Is this… for you?”

“Not for me,” Greyson said, coughing into his sleeve. “For Elijah. He’s down bad.”

“Oh. Oh, shit,” Matt said. “Yeah, okay, for sure boss. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, mban. Hey, I’mb about to head down to the subway, text mbe if you have any – hh! HTSHH-ue! Fuck, sorry,” Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Mbaybe grab more tissues while you’re there,” he amended.

“Sure, Chef. Bless.”

“You’re the best, Mbatt. Always knew you’d make a perfect number two.”

Greyson could hear the eye roll through the phone. “Don’t get sappy, old man,” Matt said. “See you soon.”

***

To say Elijah felt like shit would’ve been the understatement of the century.

When he woke up that morning, Elijah was fairly sure he was dying. The fever he’d crawled into bed with hadn’t budged, his sinuses were packed, and he’d officially acquired the final gem on his sick-as-fuck gauntlet: the cough. This day was going to be absolute hell.

Elijah did his level best to get ready for the busy service; he managed to take about half a shower before he had to sit down, dizzy from exertion; he’d gotten one contact in before sneezing so hard he almost poked his eye out and settled on glasses; he’d even found the strength to put on a pair of pants, though a button down was entirely too much for his shaking hands, so he settled on a cardigan that looked passable enough. God he hoped the servers – and Mark – would be able to hold down the fort out front, because this was nothing short of tragic.

Unwilling to deal with the subway and unable to drive safely in this state, Elijah settled on calling an Uber to work. It was early, a little before eight, but he knew if he didn’t get there now, he’d never make it.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” the driver said, leaving Elijah to immediately regret his decision not to drive. “Pretty early to be up and at ‘em. You heading to see family?”

Elijah cleared his throat as best he could before begrudgingly responding to the driver. “Ndot quite,” he said, his voice strained and congested. “Worki – HGSTHH-ue! HRSSH! ETSZCH-uh!” Elijah attempted to hold back the sneezes, unsuccessfully. Sans any tissues, he wiped his nose on his sweater sleeve. “Excuse mbe, sorry.”

“Working and sick on a holiday?” the driver said, shaking his head. “That’s rough, man. Bless you.”

Elijah’s face flamed, but he was in no state to deny. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Thangks.”

The rest of the drive was in blessed silence, and Elijah made sure to tip the guy extra for being exposed to whatever plague he was walking around with. When he finally pushed through the back door of the restaurant, Elijah felt like he’d already lived a lifetime today; he really wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to take.

“Elijah!” Greyson’s voice reached him before Elijah could even see his face. “Happy Thanksgiving, you sick old fuck!”

Elijah turned the corner and almost burst into tears – there stood Greyson, his face pale and nose bright red, and Matt and Mark looking no better, outside of his office; his office that had been, essentially, turned into a cozy-looking bedroom.

There were blankets on the floor, the chairs removed, and medicine on the desk. The harsh office light had been shut off, and instead one of the lamps from the host stand glowed gently from behind the computer. And, perhaps most heart-rendering, in Greyson’s hand was a bowl of steaming soup, and in Matt’s, a cup of tea.

“I know you hate working the holidays, and feeling like shit is just insult to injury,” Greyson said, setting down the bowl so he could guide Elijah into the office. “So we thought we’d mbake it just a little less shitty.”

Elijah allowed himself to be lead in, unable to find the words to thank his friend. He turned into his elbow to cough, a welcome respite from the tears he could feel threatening to spill over. “Grey,” he said when he’d gathered himself. “I… this is so… you guys…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head. “I don’t kndow what to say,” he said, looking up at Greyson. “Thangk you.”

“Ah, save it,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his friend’s back. “You’re always looking after us. Call it our Thanksgiving to you.”

Elijah smiled a little, punched Greyson’s arm lightly, and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Heading to see family? the Uber driver had asked him. Maybe he had been, after all.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #male ocs #original character

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deanbrainrotwritings · 8 months

Text

— THE BODY

SUMMARY : tish dared priestly to wear a dress to work in exchange for a week off. he looks so hot.

PAIRING : boaz priestly x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : nsfw (18+), smut, panty-kink, manhandling of priestly ;), sub!priestly or maybe he’s just being a feminist idk

WORD COUNT : 3.2k

A/N : title from close your eyes’ song. i’m still mad that he ended up looking normal in the end! there’s a bts reference on accident. also, also, i didn’t feel like writing this until I watched Rent, and I wanted to see jensen in a dress, lmao. anyway, i imagined him in this dress. we can also pretend it’s dean bc we all know he would. Xx

Priestly stepped into Y/N’s room, standing in the doorway like a toddler who had thrown up on themselves, waiting for her to look up at him. She was working on something in her laptop, her brows furrowed in focus, with her teeth pressing into her bottom lip.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, “hey, Priestly,” she greeted distractedly. “How was your day, baby?” Still staring at the screen and typing away with two open books surrounding her bed, he stared at her pretty face intently, hoping she’d turn to look at him. When he dropped his bag loudly on the floor and didn’t reply, she finally turned to look at him, confused and concerned.

She’d studied his face first, smiling softly at his appearance, his hair in a Mohawk sprayed red, the black eyeliner that made the pretty colour of his eyes pop, his cute beard, the way his lips were a little unnaturally pink. He’d probably used some of her makeup, the tint that made the colour of lips look a little more natural.

But what made her blink at him in surprise was the white dress he was wearing. Almost instantly, a little smirk tugged at the corner of her lip and she quickly admired the way the dress fell over the curves of his body, tight and short with a sexy little slit on the front of his thigh.

He blushed, scratched anxiously at his beard and waited for her to say or do something as he stood there in the mini lace dress. The only thing that was off to her about his lovely appearance were the white socks and the matching Converse he was wearing, but other than that, he looked unsurprisingly pretty. He’d felt confident the whole day, but now he felt embarrassed and naked, which was new because Y/N usually enjoyed all his fashion choices.

“Wow,” she finally said, chuckling. “Come here, princess,” she teased, shutting her laptop and pushing it away along with her books. He rolled his eyes, pouted and walked towards her. Stomping towards her was more what he did, childishly he slouched in front of her, but he let her have a closer look at the dress.

He chewed on his lip when she hummed and curiously reached out to touch the lace of the sleeves. She slid her fingers down the slightly flared long sleeve, her fingers pinching the scallop edge experimentally, which matched the hem and the collar that covered the tattoo of his neck.

She bit her lip, looked up at him with a seductive smile when she moved her hand to the hem of the dress where the slit was. She undid the rhinestone buttons to make the slit longer, higher so she knew he wasn’t wearing boxers. Her lips were pressed together in amusement at the thought, he knew it, felt his face heat up even more when she slid her hand up to the dress to feel the silky underwear he was wearing.

“Ooh, sexy,” she smirked at him when she felt the lace edge of the underwear on his hips. She continued to stare up at him until he averted his gaze and shifted shyly, his fingers curling tightly around the hem of the dress. She finally looked down, peaked at the beige colour of the bikini underwear that nearly matched his skin, and pulled so it snapped against his skin.

She looked up at him again, let her eyes trail up the seams that followed the shape of his Ken-doll body, when she realised she could see his tattoos and his toned muscles. “Wait, it’s see-through?” She asked excitedly, sitting up on her knees to get a closer look at his chest, and saw his nipples through the thin material.

“Okay, I’m gonna take it off now…” he told her shyly, but she stopped him.

“Nuh-nuh, you look so fucking pretty.” Her voice had a little bit of awe and a flirtatiousness in it so he froze, his lips parted and he nodded mindlessly when she smoothed her hands down his sides. “So, what’s the story?” She grinned at him, moved her hands under the dress again to rest her hands on his hips.

“Well, Tish dared me to—oh!” He moaned, closing his eyes at the feeling of her warm hand moving up and down over his semi-hard dick. She hummed for him to continue, didn’t stop rubbing his dick as it hardened more, so he looked down at her in surprise. “Well, they all wanted to see me go through with it… I think they doubted I’d go through…” he bit his lip, paused to hold his breath when she moved her hand over the tip of his cock, and he knew she could feel the silky underwear dampen with precum.

His mind was hazy, jumbled and unfocused so he couldn’t tell his story straight. He had no idea where to begin or what was important, utterly unaware that what he was saying made absolutely no sense. He didn’t care, and frankly neither did she. She gathered those bits of information and didn’t question it, because in the end, all that mattered was that he looked and sounded so hot.

“Um… I’d get a week off if I went the whole day…” He trailed off and pouted when she moved her hand out from underneath the dress. He enjoyed getting this reaction out of her, his breath almost instantly became hot and heavy, his skin flushed and warm following the blood that moved with the rapid beat of his heart.

“A whole week for me?” She asked, just teasing a little. She leaned forward to kiss his neck, revelled in the little hitch in his breath, in him reaching out to hold her hips. He nodded, saying nothing in response, only wishing to enjoy her kisses on his throat, the rough bites on his neck, and possessive suckling under his jaw.

“Fuck,” he moaned, letting her continue to kiss him and feel the white dress on his body. She traced the rhinestone buttons on his chest with her curious fingers, from where it started at the collar to where it curved up over his peck and then down toward the side of his chest.

She pulled away from his neck, moved her lips down to his nipples and sucked at them through the lace. He bit his lip at first, nearly wanting to silence the sounds that started to bubble up in his chest, but decided against it when her fingers moved to tease his other nipple, brushing and pinching until he arched his back and he groaned hotly.

“Is this yours to keep?” She asked, getting off the bed to stand in front of him and change the position. He moved back to give her some space and nodded quickly, about to respond to her with an obedient ‘yes’, when she manhandled him onto the bed. He moaned—surprised and pleased, looked at her from over his shoulder and then turned to lay down on his back. “You’re so good,” she praised, pulling the soft sleep shorts she was wearing down her legs.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, trying to kick off the damned Converse from his feet. He struggled to even get them to move past the heel, instead his socks started to shift lower, and he bit his lip in his struggle.

She chuckled, starting to undo the buttons from the flannel that she’d stolen from him. He was sheepish in his failed attempts to remove his shoes, so he quit trying to get them off, distracted by the sight of her in his clothes. She didn’t give him time to admire her nakedness, because she focused on undoing his shoe-laces and then she slipped the shoes off his feet as if he were a princess. He was sure his face had turned red in that instant, but at the same time, he really liked the way she treated him so gently compared to how she’d pushed him onto the bed.

“I can’t believe me in a dress is doing it for you,” he said breathlessly, lifting the dress up his hips, and then watched her take her underwear off.

“Baby, anything you wear does it for me.” Her response was so quick and earnest, it made him swoon. His eyes softened, despite being aroused, he felt a warm feeling bloom in his chest. That was the case, until she crawled up his body and kissed his dick over the underwear, her tongue running flat over his bulge too. His heart lurched excitedly and his toes curled at the feeling, at the sight of her between his open legs.

She kissed his thighs, the way he would before he ate her out, teasingly and lovingly. She worshipped his body with her mouth and her fingers followed, thumbs smoothing over his hips bones, moving the underwear out of the way tortuously to create just a fract of pleasurable friction.

She lifted the dress up a little more, kissed his stomach, his pelvis, and everywhere else except for where he was twitching and throbbing for her attention. He didn’t even want it to end, didn’t dare to beg because he loved the wordless praise, loved the way she sucked at his skin to leave velvet marks, and the way she licked at his soft flesh, tasting him with little moans.

“Please,” it came out before he could stop it. He tensed a little when she stopped because he was definitely enjoying himself, but she was going up, reaching for his lips. His mouth parted, ready for hers but he groaned in irritation when she kissed his chin instead. She teasingly nipped at his lip, felt him squirm beneath her, and rubbed her wet pussy over his dick.

“Shit,” he hissed, a smirk growing on his face, “if I’d known women’s underwear felt this nice…” he chuckled, holding her hips and guiding her movements, distracted with the way she finally kissed him.

He could feel her arousal seep through the thin material of the women’s underwear he was wearing. He felt so needy when his cock was wet in her desire and throbbing to be inside the warmth of her cunt. He needed to guide this, needed to cum so bad, he started to lick into her mouth as soon as her lips were pressed against his. But she simply didn’t give in to him and he couldn’t give a damn about taking control when she was making him feel good, now sucking his tongue into her mouth so he felt like he wasn’t breathing.

He only moaned loudly into the kiss and let her grab his wrists to pin them over his head. He liked this, chased after her lips when she pulled away to stare at him smugly. He didn’t care about control or ending the foreplay, he just wanted to feel her close, always. But her small hand around his wrists wasn’t enough physical contact for him, he wanted to feel her everywhere.

So, he whined at her playfully and moved his hips up into her with care, struggling to keep his hands above his head simply because he wanted to feel her soft skin under his hands. He was squirming, getting needier by the second, just admiring her and wishing she could just be plastered all over his body forever.

“Just… let me enjoy this,” she said mischievously. She looked so hot in his flannel, with the ripped up sleeves that nearly covered most of her upper arms, the way it fell off her shoulders sexily now that she’d unbuttoned it, revealing her bare chest. The only good thing about summer in California was getting to see her look more sexy than usual by dressing half-naked at home. Or even better, wearing just his clothes with nothing underneath.

He pouted, rolled his eyes, and turned his face to the side. Even when she started to unbutton the dress at the top, he pretended to be uninterested. Even once her soft lips chased the skin she uncovered. He felt her smirk when he wiggled under her, and he clenched his fists to stop himself from touching her, because she may not have said it, but he wasn’t allowed to touch her right now. Her tongue started lapping at his velvety skin, tracing the tattoos she could reach, sucking where his skin was unmarked by ink.

“Tell me you’ve enjoyed this enough…” he whispered. Desperate for more, more friction, more of her touch, more of her everywhere.

“Then I’d be lying,” she murmured against his skin, “I don’t lie to you…” She pouted innocently, her eyes shining playfully, but still she moved up to kiss him again.

His hands moved instinctively to hold her face, but he stopped himself halfway and gripped the pillow beside him instead. He squeezed it tightly, desperately trying to hold onto something when she sucked on his lip, her hands sneaking down between their bodies to pull the underwear he was wearing aside.

“But I do want to move on to the fun part,” she whispered. When she wrapped her hand around his hard cock, he moaned, his head pressing back into the mattress. She didn’t even care if the red hairspray would taint the sheets seeing him look this beautiful and needy. She just gave him little kisses that began at the corner of his mouth and started to spread his precum over the tip and down the rest of his cock. “I’m gonna sit on your face later, it’s just so pretty,” she mumbled against his cheek.

“Fuck… yeah,” he agreed excitedly, turning his face to the side, hoping to reach her lips. “Let me touch you,” he murmured, trying to get her lips closer, but she was moving back, torturing him with a little smirk. Her hand tightened around his cock, squeezing to draw out a grunt from him, her gentle fingers massaging under the tip. “Please, baby, let me touch you,” he whispered, sounding more wrecked.

Her stomach clenched at his voice, but instead of giving in and responding, she kissed him roughly. He took that as an invitation and let go of the pillow to hold her face at last. She didn’t force him away this time, let him tangle his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck, his tongue moving against hers deep in her mouth. His stomach was flipping excitedly at the taste of her, and his other hand began to move down her body, to slide his fingers through her wet folds.

They both pulled away at the same time to moan, his hand moving from behind her neck to grasp her thigh harshly instead. She panted on his lips when his fingers moved through her weeping cunt, sliding through the embarrassing amount of arousal that soaked her folds up to her clit. The feeling of how wet she was turned him on, all he could think was that he’d caused it, that and the flushed state she was currently in.

He slid his fingers through her wetness the way he’d do with his cock and brought them into her pussy, pushing deep so she stretched around his two fingers. He could feel her warmth and more arousal cover his hand when he pulled his fingers out and pushed them back into her. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, muffled her already soft moans with the dress he was wearing.

With her chest pressed against his, her nipples tightened when brushing against the lace of the dress and her walls fluttered around his fingers. With her hand on his chest, she sat up, moved her hand on his cock faster, twisting her wrist so deliciously he felt so close to his release and he didn’t want to stop it from happening, but he also didn’t want the pleasure to end so soon.

She ground her hips into his hand, getting her clit stimulated on his palm, and both of them looked away from each other to shamelessly watch their hands work between their bodies. Her small hand wrapped around him was slick in his precum, but not nearly as soaked as his hand was from her wetness. He groaned, grabbed her wrist to stop her from making him finish, and slipped his fingers out of her.

“Ready?” He whispered, patting the back of her thigh so she’d move closer, allowing him to fill her up all the way. She nodded, slipped out of the flannel, threw it over her books and lowered the panties he was wearing down to his knees. She snickered playfully, ignored his annoyed huff and the roll of his eyes when she finally lined the head of his cock with her entrance, slowly sinking down on him while biting her lip.

“So good,” she whispered distractedly, her breath catching in her throat the farther she took him into her cunt. She panted, ground her hips against his to adjust to the size of him, comforted by the way he brushed his thumbs along her hips. He waited patiently for her despite throbbing inside her, just slid his hands up to her waist, guiding her to lean over him slightly.

“I love you,” he breathed out, pulling her closer still, until she kissed him again. Her lips moved against his slowly, occasionally bumping against the labret stud, her nose brushing against the two nose ring hoops when she tilted her head. Once she deepened the kiss, her tongue slipped into his mouth, and she lifted her hips before she sank back down.

He moaned against her, squeezed her waist, and bent his knees but could only keep them apart a certain distance because the underwear started to dig painfully into the flesh of his taut thighs. It turned him on, both the knowledge of having worn panties, but also the feeling of being restricted. She knew that about him and he just knew that’s why she’d lowered the underwear where they were.

He thrusted up into her, met her thrusts slowly at first, until they both picked up the pace. With one of her hands beside his head and the other on his chest where his heart was, she stabilised herself. She felt every inch of him move in and out of her smoothly, then watched him crumble slowly almost as close as she was to her orgasm.

He was holding back and she knew it, brought her hand away from beside his head to rub quick circles on her clit. Right as her walls fluttered around him and she moaned his name, he came inside her, falling apart so prettily beneath her with a strangled moan.

“I love you,” she murmured, resting all her weight on him, finally returning his sentiment. He wrapped his arms around her, smiling tiredly, but otherwise felt so light and warm from his orgasm. Holding her was just a bonus and kissing her was the main treat.

He whined playfully when she shifted and started to pull away, pouted when she moved off his lap, but let her remove the underwear which was keeping him restrained. She threw it carelessly onto the floor and climbed up his body again while smiling softly and placed a kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering lovingly. “Never change, Boaz Priestly,” she murmured.

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