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welldonebeca · 6 months

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Housewife Halloween (II)

Summary: Sam hates Halloween. When he catches his girlfriend dressed up and playing as his wife, he realises the day might not be so bad, after all. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader WC: 1.3k words Warnings: Stanford times. Fluff. Wife kink. Roleplay. Dirty talking. Orgasm control/Delay/Denial. Vaginal sex. Clothed sex.

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The living room wasn't far, but it was enough for Sam to pretend this was the big home you were meant to have, with the comfortable couch and big master room he would make sure to christen by fucking you on every single surface.

He could hear you organising everything, sounding as eager as you always did whenever he dangled something in your direction.

So when you walked into the room, he knew you were trying not to run in his direction.

"Come here," he patted his thigh. "Take a seat."

You strode to him happily, sitting on his thigh, and he could feel the many layers of your skirt patting the spot over your skin.

"You look so pretty," he took a hand up to your shoulder, caressing the side of the sleeve of your dress. "You put so much effort into your outfit, baby."

Your cheeks flushed under his eyes.

"I just wanted to look nice for you," you mumbled.

Sam smiled and caressed your hair.

"Thank you so much, princess," Sam spoke gently. "You are always such a good wife for me, always making me so happy."

He took his lips to your leg, kissing it again as he pushed a hand between your thighs, caressing them and taking his other hands to your breasts.

"Sam," you whined, squirming on his lap. "My kiss..."

He squeezed your thigh.

"Your kiss?" he teased, sucking on the sweet spot on your neck. "But I'm already kissing you."

Sam smirked and moved up again, your noses bumping against each other on the way.

"You gonna keep being a good wife for me?" he asked softly. "Uh?"

You nodded, breathless, reaching for him, but Sam pulled back the littlest bit, just so that you wouldn’t.

"You're gonna keep cooking for me? Have everything ready for me?" he continued. "Gonna keep that pussy waiting for me, just for me? My mouth, my fingers, my cock..."

You whimpered, arching your back and pushing your chest against the hand he still had fondling them.

"I'm yours, Sam," you whined. "I'm your wife."

Finally - fucking finally - Sam covered your lips with his, practically devouring you with his kiss, tongue invading your mouth as you moaned and hand pushing further into your skirt, squeezing your thigh.

You were his wife. All his.

"My pretty little wife," he bit your lip. "Are you wet for me, baby? Is your pussy wet for your husband?"

You panted, but he didn't wait for an answer, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a finger into your folds.

"Of course it is," he whispered against your lips, rubbing your clit slowly and very gently. "Always so, so ready for me."

Sam smirked and raised his eyebrows when you suddenly closed it, trying to soften and muffle your sounds.

"No, no, baby," he pinched your clit, making you jump. "I want to hear everything."

You whined, squirming on top of him.

"Can't," you bit your lower lip, eyes opening to watch his face. "Don't want the kids to hear, can't wake them up."

His voice was still tense, and he had to hold himself back.

The thought of you fat and pregnant, round with his baby, tits full and leaking milk to feed his children... fucking hell.

Sam picked you up, throwing you on the couch by his side and standing on his feet, undoing his belt.

"I'll shut you up with my cock, then," he pushed his pants down, pulling his dick out and watching as your pretty eyes grew big, full of desire.

"Open up," he commanded, voice only a little bit over a whisper.

Your lips parted slowly, and your tongue darted out when his cock approached them, licking this head and making Sam exhale loudly.

"Such a pretty mouth," he whispered, tracing your lips with his dick. "Made right to suck my cock. Maybe then you won't wake the kids with your slutty sounds, uh?"

You nodded, and he watched as you rubbed your thighs together.

"What's wrong, baby?" he teased. "Your pussy's empty?"

You nodded, eyes big and pleading.

"I've filled it too many times, princess," he teased, dipping his cock into your lips.

Before you closed your lips around it, he pulled away.

You pouted, and he chuckled, tapping your lower lip with it.

"You want my cock, princess?" he teased, upping in his condescending tone.

Your cheeks flushed, and you squirmed more.

"Don't make me beg again, daddy," you whined.

Sam shook his head, scoffing.

"Awn, I got such a needy little wife," he tapped on your lips again with his cock. "That attitude won't get you any cock, baby."

He pushed his cock into your lips again and pulled away, too entertained with your desperation. It was truly adorable to see you reaching and chasing for him, trying to get him into your mouth.

You whined loudly, staring with pleading puppy eyes, and he scoffed.

He was surprised, though, when your eyes drifted closed, and you sucked in a shallow breath.

Sam's gaze darted down, and his lips curled in a growl when he saw your hand moving slowly under your dress, playing with your pussy.

He reached down for your hands and pinning them behind your head, earning a defiant look for you, and held your face with his fingers.

"Such a brat," he growled. "Alright, princess. If you don't want to say it, I'll make you."

Sam could see your lips curling in a smile before he pushed his cock into them, fucking your throat and groaning when he felt you moaning around him, sucking him and swallowing down around him.

He fucked your mouth until you were drooling and he was dripping from your saliva, pulling away before he let himself too far.

"As up," he grunted and sat down back onto his seat. "Over my lap."

You complied with a little giggle, lying over his thighs, raising your ass when he flipped your skirt up, exposing your ass in some cute panties that barely covered your ass.

"You want to be spanked, then?" he grabbed your hair, pulling it to make you look at him. "That's why you're being such a brat?"

"I'm your little wife," you giggled, shaking your ass. "I'm a good wife."

Sam scoffed, moving a hand down to your ass, slapping your flesh several times and licking his lips as you arched up to get more of his touch, pretty hands squeezing the fabric of his pants.

He slapped you until your ass was red, and your panties were visibly damp, and ripped your panties, ready to finger your pussy, when his eyes caught sight of something shiny just above it.

A butt plug, with a pretty pink gem on the end.

"I'm a good wife," you raised your ass, exposing yourself more to his eyes.

Sam growled, taking his hand down to it and pushing the toy a little more into your eyes, hearing a soft moan from you.

"Such a good wife," he grunted.

He pulled it back a little and then forth, fucking you with it and watching as you panted, moaning, squeezing his pant legs.

"Did you plan to surprise daddy at your pretty party, baby?" he cooed. "Tease me there by telling me you got your little ass prepared for your husband to fuck?"

You whined, shifting your weight, and Sam spread his legs a little more, letting you readjust yourself to rub your clit on his knee.

"Wanted to give you a gift," you whimpered. "To thank you for coming with me to the party."

Sam watched as you moved against him, precariously rubbing yourself on him as he fucked your ass with the toy.

"But we are not going to the party," he remarked.

You whimpered, and he watched your ass squeezing around the toy, licking his lips at your desperate little sounds and taking the toy back, surprised at its size.

"I'll be too busy fucking my wife's ass all night long to even go there," he pushed it all back in.

Your moans grew louder, any faux fear of waking up the kids lost as you were clearly on the way to an orgasm.

"After all, you were so careful stretching your ass, baby," he continued. "You got such a big plug inside. You really wanted to have my cock in it."

Before you could cum, he pushed you out of the way, lifting you from his knee and slapping your ass.

He watched as you whined and stomped, frustrated, but just kept holding you down.

"Sit on me," he commanded. "Let's use that pussy to wet my cock before I get it in your ass."

You lifted your skirt and Sam held your hips, helping you line up on his cock and moaning when you sat on him, pussy so wet and slicky he just slipped right into place.

"Oh fuck," he grunted.

Your fingers clenched on his thighs as you sunk on him and Sam Sam breathed in and out.

"Seeing you in this dress, God," he moaned. “Just wanted to tear it off of you and fuck you on the floor."

You moaned and Sam squeezes your hip with a hand, steadying you.

"Daddy," you whined.

"The things you do to me," he pulled you closer, and both of your moaned when you sat completely on him, back flush against his chest.

He placed his hand on your chest, keeping you close before taking his fingers to your pussy, playing with your clit.

You fell completely against his chest, moaning as Sam fucked you, holding you as you threw your head back.

"My perfect, slutty, little wife," he sucked on your neck. "That's what you wanted, baby? Your husband's cock fucking you open?"

He knew he was going to mark your whole skin, thankful for the weather going cold. You certainly had a scarf or a turtleneck somewhere, anyway.

"So loud, wife," he pinched your clit.

You yelped, throwing your head back and moving your hips against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Sam," you cried. "Sam, please, please."

Your pussy squeezed around his cock as you panted, growing wetter and wetter, but he just squeezed your clit, merciless.

"No, no," he moaned. "It's husband."

You cried out.

"Please, husband," you begged. "Please, wanna cum."

Sam adjusted himself, fucking you harder. Fuck, he loved to make you messy, get your thighs covered in wetness before even letting you cum, to make you look as dirty as he knew you felt.

"No, baby," he pinched your clit, again. "Not now."

Sam stopped fucking you, holding you close, and stepped your pussy when you tried to fuck back on his cock.

"Daddy," you cried.

"You are gonna cum with my cock in your ass," he bit your earlobe.

…

“Housewife Halloween” was posted on Tumblr on May 2022. To read it fully now (and the prequel, “Plough Pose”), subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month and I post 6x a week!

…

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simplifiedemotions · 5 months

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Roots

It started when they were forced to work together in a dingy office in the bowels of the Ministry.

Hermione expected his surly attitude:

A flush appeared in the hollows of his cheeks when she’d tried to direct his position. “I don’t take orders from you, Granger.”

She had anticipated that he would argue with her about everything:

“It must kill you to be wrong, Granger.” His cruel smirk appeared, though it was more strained now than when they were children. “Now what Ogden meant in the briefing was that…”

What she hadn’t expected, what opened her heart to a vulnerability she thought she should run away from, only because feelings this delicate were softer and more breakable than petals, was the ways in which Draco Malfoy could love.

A burning kind of love. A love that lights your soul but is liable to destroy it if the fire catches too much.

Still, she leaned into the heat that started at her fingers resting on his cheek.

She hadn’t expected his loneliness and only saw it because it reflected her own.

“I’ll be alone at Christmas.” He looked more surprised than Hermione did to have admitted it out loud. He flushed, his jaw tight, but Hermione pressed on before he could shut himself away again.

She admitted she felt lonely, too. More unbidden thoughts, spurting bitterly from her mouth like soured candy, that she preferred staying home alone on her sofa with some hot tea, over the tension that awaited her at a Weasley table that no longer felt welcoming once she acquired the title of ex-girlfriend.

He must have seen the pain shown on her face, because before she knew it he was drawing his wand from his robes and casting a spell.

“Orchideous.” A soft word under his breath as he motioned his wand in a circle. There was a flash of pink light, and then a single flower conjured from the tip of his wand.

Things she had not expected:

The soft, pink-petal flower beaming as if under the direct attention of the sun, uncaring if there was only one small window in the entire room.

He proffered the flower to her, and she took it, ignoring her trembling fingers as she brought the flower to her nose, her mouth quirking up without her permission when she took in the light fragrance.

There were several moments of quiet before Hermione said the only thing she could to disrupt the awkwardness: “I thought this spell was meant to conjure a whole bouquet.”

Things she had not expected: the way Draco Malfoy’s face softened when he gave someone a genuine smile.

“Funny thing about magic,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow and staring down his nose at her. “You can tweak any number of spells to suit your specific needs.” He leaned forward. “But if you prefer a bouquet, Granger, I can do that for you.”

Hermione frowned, flushing from her face up to the tips of her ears. “I didn’t say that.” She pushed from her desk, drawing her own wand, and she’d be a liar if she said it didn’t satisfy her to see Malfoy’s eyes narrow in apprehension.

She rolled her eyes and picked up one of her pens, pointing her wand at it and transfiguring the blue pen into a deep navy vase, then muttering a spell to fill it with water and putting the single flower inside.

She looked up at Malfoy and gave him a shy grin.

“Thank you.”

He looked away from her, clearing his throat before picking up his quill and continuing to work.

The next day, a whole bouquet of pink flowers sat in their own vase at the corner of her desk.

Things Hermione Granger did not expect: for there to be such an array of flowers in existence.

As well as the fact that it took her longer than she would’ve liked to guess that each of those flowers had special meanings.

A Black-Eyed Susan for justice, on the day she submitted her treatise on Werewolf rights.

A hoard of Bluebells on the day she’d been humbled by the Merfolk, who’d informed her that their fight for equal rights involved more than just raging at the system.

Butterfly weeds on the day she’d finally resigned to herself that she’d never get her parents their memories back. She’d cried in Draco’s arms when he’d told her how the weeds were slow to grow, but hard to die away once they rooted themselves to the earth.

That same evening, he’d handed her a bouquet of Edelweiss, a mountain flower meant to convey courage and devotion. She stared up from the furry white petals into Draco’s sad grey eyes, and resolved to keep looking at him for as long as she could.

This went on for at least a year. The amount of flowers he’d conjured was outrageous, but she’d be lying if she said she wanted him to stop.

She never was a good liar.

Hermione traced the delicate fold of the sunflower on her desk, wondering about a great many things close to her heart.

Instead, she said, “Do you wonder how magic might know how to create certain aspects of an item? It can create a flower, but how does it know how that flower smells? Or how its petals fold or sway depending on the pace of wind?”

Draco looked up from a scroll he had been focusing on for the last several hours, and she resolved not to tell him about the small ink stain on his cheek.

“I imagine magic is integral to imagination, in a lot of ways,” he said after a moment. “Take Muggles. They can’t see unicorns, and as far as they know, such creatures don’t exist. But that doesn’t mean they can’t conceive of them in their minds.”

Her heart picked up, and she could only smile wider when Draco scowled at her. Drawing closer to him, she put her hands on her hips and raised her nose in the air because she knew how much it annoyed him. “Well, according to Bateman’s theory…”

Things Hermione didn’t expect: for the evening to continue on. Their arguments about magical theory moved destinations. First, to the lift. The grates opened to a group of people waiting on the other side. Draco slid his palm against her lower back as they sidled inside.

Then, to the Apothecary in the Ministry, because Draco needed a Pepper-up potion, citing a certain curly-haired witch and her constant jabbering affecting his poor, tired body. He only laughed when she slapped him on the arm.

Then, to a Muggle pub Hermione had wanted to visit, ignoring Draco’s unamused look when he realised it was a pub themed around witches and warlocks during Christmas.

He vehemently refused the wizard cape the hostess offered to him, his displeasure written in his glower, even as they were given a table near the back and Hermione teased him incessantly about not getting into a magical mood.

They sampled eggnog and spiced rum, and Hermione relished the way his cheekbones turned red at the tips the more alcohol he consumed.

She only moved closer when he put an arm over her shoulders, enjoying the catching heat against her cheek.

Two people, backlit by low bulbs in front of Hermione’s unimpressive flat.

It was silly, the way her heart started pounding as her focus narrowed on him. Something in her wanted to devour, to fill some lost and now found aching want.

She wanted inside of him, through the hard marrow and narrow bones, past the veins that ensured blood pumped to his heart. The heart her hand laid on now, as she stepped closer and drew her face up; as she met his eyes and hoped to show the yearning in hers.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you, Granger?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her chin out. “Yes.” Smiling at his scowl, she added, “Please and thank you.”

She thought she knew the look currently simmering in his slate-grey eyes. It was the same look she held for him.

He grunted, clamping his jaw tight as if he could lock the words away, but he was about as adept at keeping his mouth shut as she was.

“Bloody witch, even the most mindless Weasley could see how I feel about you.”

Hermione gave him her most piercing glare. “And how was I meant to know that? Also, stop making fun of Ron just because it makes you feel better than him.”

Draco glared at her as he always did when she defended Ron, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hermione," he said, and his face wore an aggrieved look that would have offended her if he didn't seem so desperate. “You believe I gave you flowers every single day for several months just… because?”

She blushed and ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her embarrassment. “Well…”

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

Her heart stuttered. “Do what?”

“Look at me… like you don’t know…”

He stepped closer to her. Nerves rushed up and she stepped back, but that only served to pin her between the door and Draco, whose body was so warm she was sure she was burning up on the inside.

He set both hands on either side of her head, before leaning down until they were nose to nose, forcing her to look up.

Amusement danced in his eyes. “Do you always expect such things of me, Granger? Is that all I am to you?”

Expect? Oh, one day she should tell him about all the ways he was unexpected.

But for now, she was too busy pulling him closer and doing something unexpected of her own.

She caught fire, burning from the inside out but she only drew him closer. She trusted him not to leave her in cinders.

She trusted that he saw her as a phoenix, his slender hands leaving dragon-fire in their wake.

When she cut off to propose a theory of inherent elemental magic involving fire, he only told her to shut up and kissed her again, pushing her into her flat, kicking her door shut and herding her towards her bedroom.

She knew he’d listen the next morning, and perhaps even conjure a flower that would convey some related meaning to her words. And she’d smile again and let her warmed skin clear the air around her.

#dramione #dhr #dhr fanfiction #hermione granger #draco malfoy

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writingsofwesteros · 2 years

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Requested by @lflores2008: part for Corlys Velaryon where they now have two children together and she’s giving birth to their third child please.

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

“Is mama okay?” You could faintly hear your little girl whispering up to Corlys at the door of your birthing room. “Of course. I promise.” The deep voice of your husband whispered down to your little one. You bit into your bottom lip to keep the cries of pain from falling out of your lips. For your daughter’s sake.

A soft whimper finally escaped you and Corlys head snapped to you. His hand is gently stroking your daughter’s hair still. “Go to your brother and get some rest.” He gently whispered and pressed a soft kiss to her head. You were finally able to relax into the bed when your daughter moved from the room.

“Are you well?” He sweetly asked. Those eyes of his softened for you as he made his way closer. The door fell shut. “Yes,” You answered breathlessly as your hands tightened on the sheets. Corlys raised an eyebrow as his fingers gently moved locks of hair from your face. “You are always so strong.”

A soft blush came over your face at his words. Your hands reached for him to hold onto tightly. The pain is moving through you. You thought it would be easier now but it seemed they were all different; all painful. All had their difficulties, you thought as you tried to get comfortable on the bed.

He leaned in and gently captured your soft lips. His fingers returned to your hair as he settled beside you. Soft whines of pain escaped you easily now. “Are they well?” You asked about the children. “Of course. You just focus on yourself.” Corlys whispered sweet nothings into your ear as he stayed close.

The tears finally did fall. You were unsure if they were from the pain or your husband’s sweet words. Your hold on him tightened as you hid into his neck. His familiar, mouth watering scent moved over you. “It hurts.” You whimpered out the obvious but you couldn’t help yourself as you arched from the bed.

“Shh, it will be over soon.” He tried to comfort you. Corlys hated how weak he was in this situation. He rested his head on yours as you looped your arms around his neck and kept him close. Another cry of pain escaped you and you could feel the sheets only becoming more soaked with blood.

Your heart raced as you tried to keep the growing fear from overtaking you. You still grabbed Corlys, taking comfort from him. “Shh, so strong. I love you.” He whispered into your ear as you pushed. His words had you melting. It had taken a while for him to say the words, which just had it meaning so much more.

“I love you.” You whispered back to him as you took the courage and strength he could give you and pushed again. Gods, you could never get used to the pain but somehow his whispering of love helped it all. “You can do this.” Corlys continued to whisper and leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You could only whimper as the tears fell easily now. The pain only grew inside you as you fought against the fear. “Fuck.” You began to babble out now. You clutched Corlys with whatever strength you had left. “Nearly there.” Your husband continued to whisper sweet encouragement until the end.

Your child was soon making their presence known as Corlys gently left your side to move and take the babe. Your pains still came and your body slowly weakened as the moments passed on. “Y/N…” You could slightly hear Corly’s voice that was quickly becoming worried as he called your name again. And again.

Your vision was becoming dark now as the sheets continued to become bloody. The cries of your babe becoming so distant now.

“You love her.” Corly’s oldest daughter whispered to her father as they both watched over your sleeping form. He ducked his head at the words coming his way. He wasn't supposed to fall for his second wife. “Yes..” He finally admitted as worry for your state wrapped around him so tightly it was as if he couldn’t breath. “I’m sorry.” He whispered out to his daughter. “This doesn’t mean I love your mother any less.” Corlys began. “Father.” She began and gently took Corlys’ hand. “I know. You don’t need to apologise.” Corlys ducked his head as he tried to keep his emotions under control. “I don’t know what I would do if she died.”

The silence returned to the room before Corlys muttered. “If you could see to the children.” He whispered out. “Of course.” His daughter whispered with a soft nod of her head before moving from the room. The soft sounds you made as your eyes began to flutter had his heart racing in his ears.

“Careful.” Corlys gently moved to your side. He slowly knelt down beside you as his hand moved to cup your face. He wiped away the soft locks that had moved into your face with a loving touch. He leaned in and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut for a mere second.

“Is he well?” You whispered out; your voice croaking if only for a moment as you moved to sit up. “He is.” Corlys brightly smiled as he called for the midwives to check you over and bring in the babe. “I’m fine.” You whispered out. Your husband’s protective nature was well known and seemed to shine brightly for you.

Corlys only hummed and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before their son was placed back into your arms. “He’s beautiful.” You whispered and leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. His babbling continued and his chubby hands moved to grab your own little finger. A soft giggle escaped you at the act.

Corlys smiled and was about to speak when the sound of children’s feet rushing into the room echoed. You looked up; your smile only widening as your loves came quickly to the bed. “Another brother?” Your daughter grumbled as she crawled onto the bed. Your little boy moved to his father’s side.

“Yes, another brother.” You giggled and moved to present the babe to them. You watched your son gently press a soft kiss to his brother. “Good boy.” You hummed and moved to stroke his cheek. Corlys could only watch on lovingly. He knew Rhaenys would have wanted his happiness and their family to continue strongly. His heart lightened at the thought.

#corlys velaryon x reader #request

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demogordon · 1 year

Text

Lovecats

PART ONE

Pairing: Steve Harrington/GN Autistic!Reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Steve Harrington has hit rock bottom. His girlfriend dumped him, he didn’t get into any universities, and to top it all off, he’s stuck wearing this stupid sailor outfit every day. He just cannot seem to catch a break. Cue “Meet Ugly.”

Category: Fluff, Slow burn

Warnings: language (duh), very light blink and you’ll miss it mentions of Stancy

Notes: Reader in this story is based very strongly off of my own experiences with neurodivergence. Autism is a broad spectrum, and what is lived experience for me may not be for you and vice versa.

----

Steve chalks it up to his hair’s lack of its usual luster because Farrah Fawcett’s hairspray line has been discontinued. Girls just aren’t into him the way they used to be, and with every poorly hidden laugh or eye roll, he withdraws further into himself, the certainty he’d once had dwindling rapidly. After the astronomical failures of the morning, he needs a win. He’s ready to get back out there, in motion, but he’s got nothing. No future, no confidence, no “King Steve” persona. He’s not Mr. Cool or Mr. Funny. He’s bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, why wouldn't other girls see that too?

When a girl he recognizes from school, Shirley Something-or-Other comes in, wearing a powder pink shirt and a knee-length skirt, and a fluffy half ponytail, he allows himself to have some hope. His head floats away, envisioning Nancy again, in such a Nancy outfit, with such Nancy hair. The interaction goes disastrously. He tries to pull out the suave guy who used to get dates, adjusting his posture and giving her the classic Steve Harrington smile: boyish and a little lopsided.

“Ahoy,” he says. The girl just stares and blinks at him, rapidly batting eyelashes clumped with thick blue mascara.

“Ahoy,” she replies, raising her voice at the end as if she’s asking it as a question.

“What can I get for you today? A scoop of Strawberry Sails? Chocolate? Sprinkles? Maybe some good company? My number?” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, to invite her to laugh.

Instead, Shirley does that smile, saccharine but taunting, and the way she arches her eyebrows as he talks tells him that she’ll be telling all of her friends about this later.

Steve catches his first glimpse of you as she speedwalks out of the shop, cone in hand. He’s never seen you before. He’d definitely remember it. You’re sitting on the edge of the decorative planter outside of Scoops Ahoy with giant, clunky headphones on, legs and feet curled under you at an odd angle. In your hands, you have a thick book, but he’s much too far away to make out the title. Two children, much younger than you, run around wildly around you. He assumes they belong to you in some way, because of how much the three of you look alike.

Robin comes up behind him, too close, and leans over him, resting her chin on his shoulder. Breathing against his ear, she mumbles, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Steve wriggles away in annoyance.

“God, haven’t you heard of personal space?”

“Nope,” she says, ignoring his escape attempt, opting instead to follow him and obnoxiously crack her gum right next to his ear.

“What is wrong with you? Like, actually?” he snaps, scalp prickling with sweat as heat floods through his skull. It’s bad enough working here with stupid flimsy uniform shorts, a stupid sailor hat, sticky ice cream all over his hands, and being too hot and too cold at the same time without Robin breathing down his neck, laughing at him at every opportunity. It’s humiliating is what it is.

Robin hops up onto the counter and kicks her filthy converse sneakers up dangerously close to the open containers of ice cream. She squints, peering down her long nose at him. Her face softens, almost imperceptibly. Pretending like she hasn’t been making fun of him all morning, she says, gentler than usual, “You okay?”

Steve huffs miserably and drops his head down to stare at the ground.

“Is that so, big guy?” she says. Steve tries to blow her up with his mind.

“Oh, shit, twelve o'clock,” Robin exclaims suddenly, leaping off the counter. Steve realizes that you’re walking toward the Scoops entrance, guided by two very eager children. As you walk, you’re rummaging through your bag, and when you pull your hand out, you’re clutching a few dollars in your fist.

Steve leans across the counter as you fold and unfold the bills in your hands. You have giant, clunky headphones on, covered in funky smelly stickers. It’s kind of rude that you don’t take them off, he thinks, but you are cute, and besides, you’re probably listening to a great song.

He wonders briefly what sort of music someone like you listens to. The Cure, maybe. He can imagine you, flat on your back under the sun, listening to Robert Smith’s airy vocals, eyes closed, half asleep in the summer heat. Daydream you stretches backward like a cat, back arching off of the grass, arms spreading up and reaching above your head. He likes you there, in a park, maybe on a picnic.

Image in mind, Steve quirks his usual charming smile, the one that used to score him dates in high school but you don’t seem to really be looking at his face, just at the money in your hands. Once again, it’s something he might think was rude, except you seem nervously focused on your hands. You’re shy. It’s cute.

“What are you listening to?” He asks, only to be met with a furrowed brow. You look

confused like you have no idea what he could possibly be talking about. He points to his own ears, feeling the blood rush to his face and begin pounding in his head over the mall’s synth soundtrack.

“On your headphones,” he clarifies, feeling less certain and more embarrassed by the second. You’re still not quite looking at him, but your eyes are piercing, making his underarms and the small of his back prickle with sweat.

“Oh, they don’t do music,” you say, offering no further explanation of their purpose. You shift back on your toes, carrying most of your weight there and you frown a little.

“Could I get two cones? Um, one-scoop ones?” Your gaze drops to your feet.

“Yeah, sure, what flavor?” You turn to the children accompanying you with raised eyebrows like you’re not prepared for the question, which surprises him. You duck down a little to let the children communicate with you more clearly. Your listening face is intent and serious and you do little nods of your head to the rhythm of your quick blinking. When you stand back up, you shoot to your full height like a projectile before immediately ducking your head so you can avoid eye contact. Steve wonders if he smells bad or something.

“Two strawberry, please.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have ‘strawberry.’” He realizes immediately that this was the wrong joke to try to make when your face falls. You look legitimately distressed. Steve backpedals immediately.

“We only have Strawberry Sails.” Your face doesn’t relax. Your eyes have stretched wide, and Steve wonders what he possibly did to make the universe hate him so much that it sent him someone who would be this alarmed by his teasing. Annoyed is better than stressed or concerned or whatever emotional journey it is that you’re on. He resigns himself to the third You Suck tally of the day and sighs deeply.

“I’m joking, that’s just what we call it here. At Scoops Ahoy. It’s regular strawberry.” You let out a series of deep breaths that probably count as laughter. Steve pivots on his toes to go fetch the cones and get you out of the shop as quickly as he can to spare himself even more embarrassment. What happens next is inevitable, a combination of rushing about in a tiny space and attention to detail instantly results in disaster. In his hurry, he bumps his hip against the ladle stuck in the chocolate syrup and sends it clattering to the floor. The trajectory of the launch sends a spray of it across his chest and stomach and the front of his shorts. Shit. He pointedly does not look back your way as he scoops the ice cream.

“Alright, two single scoops of strawberry, that’s two-fifty,” Steve says, reaching over the counter to hand the cones individually to the children. You make no move to grab them, just hand him three crumpled ones that you’ve been desperately trying to smooth out. He reaches for the money but you interrupt.

“Oh, you’ve got something,” you say, and he goes to brush it off. “No, on your nose. No, other side.”

It’s a smudge of chocolate, of course, and since there's no saving his uniform from tonight’s wash, he wipes it off of his thumb onto his shirt. You’re smiling, so broad and big. It squishes up your eyes and crinkles your nose. You have a pretty smile. Steve wishes he didn’t get to see it for the first (and probably last) time after he’d already made a total fool of himself.

“Did I get it?” Steve asks, hoping that maybe he hasn’t and you’ll reach across and rub it off for him. No such luck: you shoot him a thumbs up. He exchanges your three one-dollar bills for fifty cents in change, which you deposit into the tip jar before turning and exiting stage left.

A sarcastic slow clap starts up behind him and he peeks over his shoulder to watch Robin presenting her whiteboard through the employee breakroom window. She takes her red Expo and adds three additional tallies to the YOU SUCK column. Steve protests vehemently.

“No. No, no! That wasn’t worth three! It wasn’t that bad!”

“It was absolutely that bad, but I can do a breakdown of where it all went wrong.”

“Please,” Steve sighs, intending it sarcastically. Robin is more than delighted to comply, either deliberately ignoring his facetiousness or ignoring it entirely.

“Well, first, you didn’t get a yes or a number. So that’s one YS. YS stands for-”

“You Suck. Yeah, I got it.”

“Two, you spilled chocolate sauce all over yourself. So now we have two YS points. And three, you scared our poor patron to death with that whole ‘we don’t have strawberry thing.’ What was that? So our total is now three.” Robin puts on a fake deep voice as she quotes him and she settles down enough to admire her board. Then Steve opens his mouth and only digs the hole deeper.

“You forgot that they laughed. After I spilled the chocolate.” As soon as he says it, he wishes he hadn’t. Robin’s eyes sparkle with mischievous (read: malicious) interest.

“Did they laugh?”

“Smiled, actually, but- You’re adding another tally aren’t you?” Steve whips around and Robin yelps, attempting to hide her board, which is difficult to do because of her position, half-hanging out of the window.

“No! I am not-” The argument devolves into a wrestling match over the board. Robin is surprisingly quick but Steve is stronger. Later, he insists that the only reason that she got it back from him was that Mike Wheeler decided that right then was the perfect time to start relentlessly dinging the bell on the counter for service. He’d actually let go of the board on purpose but Robin didn’t need to know any of that.

Mike stands at the counter, lips pursed and fingers drumming impatiently. Lucas, Will, and Max accompany him, which tells Steve that not only do they want a favor, they want it immediately. As he opens up his mouth to speak, Mike cuts him off.

“What happened to your shirt?”

Robin pokes her head back out of the employee window, feeling confident enough after her retreat to go back to making fun of him.

“We had a cute customer. Stevie here got distracted,” she crows excitedly. There is no need to fill in any of the gaps even though it’s not an entirely accurate recounting of the story. The boys giggle amongst themselves.

“Got distracted? What are you, five?” Lucas teases, only to immediately wilt under Max’s disapproving stare. “I mean, nothing.”

“You know,” Steve says, studying his fingernails as though the children are boring him, “I don’t have to let you guys into whatever movie it is this time.”

“Rambo Two,” says Max, easily the most excited by the prospect of an R-rated movie. She shoots stern looks at her companions, silently warning them that if they lose their privileges with Steve, they’ll be in for it with her, a far more serious consequence than Steve being pissy for about thirty minutes before he forgives them. “They’re sorry, aren’t you guys?”

Their mumbled agreement, one apologetic, the other disingenuous, is good enough. Steve guides them through the Employees Only door with an eye roll. As he holds it open and the group file in, ready for their espionage mission, Max stops.

“I happen to think it’s romantic to get distracted, just by the way,” she says and then scurries off to catch up with the others, who have already started loudly complaining about her lagging behind in the space of two and a half seconds. She’s a good kid, Steve thinks. She’s his favorite, though he’d never tell Dustin that.

“Yeah. You’re a regular Don Juan.” Robin’s sudden voice in his ear makes him nearly jump out of his skin. He brushes her off and whips around to finish out the shift so he can sit in his car in silence and wait for the kids to leave the movie so he can drive them home. There’s no way he’d ever let them walk home by themselves in the dark.

When he’s finally home hours later, he strips his sweaty uniform off, cringing as the damp fabric sticks to his back, and walks down to the laundry room in the basement in his briefs and socks. His parents aren’t home, it’s not like anyone will see him. Steve spends a few minutes scrubbing at the chocolate stains before giving up and just tossing it into the washing machine. You probably won’t come around again, he thinks to console himself. He’s never seen you before today, so hopefully, it’s a one-off because, God, as cute as you are, you are difficult to flirt with.

For the next few days, he’s right. You don’t come by, you don’t sit on the planter, and he doesn’t spill chocolate again. Until his Saturday morning, when you come in again, this time without headphones on. He notices that your gait is a little clumsy and awkward and you hold your hands curled in like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Okay, so, you are here, to stay, by the look of it. Maybe you won’t remember him.

“Oh, hi! You got the chocolate off your shirt.” Fuck.

#steve harrington x reader fluff #steve 😎#steve harrington x reader #steve harringon x asd!reader #asd!reader

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starsinmylatte · 2 years

Note

I just know someone has already requested this, but for the Silco kink list prompt thing?

Pregnancy/breeding!! (yelled the very basic bitch in a very basic way) I am a hot mess for the rat man and I neeeeeed it

Alrighty, Silco simps come get y'all's juice! Thank you, anon, my beloved, for sending in a request! 💕

This shall officially be part one of my Silco drabble game 😌. Let's kick this off with a bang, shall we?

I have a ton of requests for this particular kink, so please see this post for how I'm gonna handle it.

Pairing: Silco x afab!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) minors DNI I will disintegrate your kneecaps

Word count: 1.2k

Click here to join my taglist to be notified of future works

I have a ton of requests for this particular kink, so please see this post for how I'm gonna handle it.

Silco swore vehemently under his breath as Sevika shoved the doctor out the door. He dropped his head into his hands and sighed, pushing his greying hair back from his face.

“Of course, he’s right,” he muttered. “I don't know what else I expected him to say, but I’d prefer something in the general realm of what’s possible.”

He heard the door open hesitantly, but it clicked shut almost as instantly as it opened.

I need time to think….

Jinx was an enigma. She was only a child, but she was so drastically different from the other children that Silco was just lost for what to do. She obviously needed something, so he had jumped at the chance to discuss her situation with one of the marginally less shady doctors of the undercity. However, the so-called doctor had merely waltzed into Silco’s office and stated the obvious.

“She needs to be around other children. Not to replace her sister and friends, but to help her learn to socialize with other children again.” The man had said it so matter-of-factly that Silco’s first response was to arch an eyebrow in shock.

“Really?” he glared at the doctor. “That’s your whole theory? Did you just come here to state the obvious without any other suggestions?”

The man had the courtesy to look slightly ashamed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Silco cut him off with a wave of his hand, and Sevika threw him out of the chair.

That situation led the kingpin to his current predicament. For quite possibly the first time since becoming the Eye of Zaun, he was at a complete loss for what to do. There was a distinct lack of young children in his shimmer operation, and no sane parent was going to send their little ones off for a weekly playdate with the crime lord’s daughter.

Silco heard the door click open once again, but this time someone stepped inside. He lifted his head from his hands in annoyance to glare at the intrusion, but his harsh expression immediately softened when his fire and ice eyes met your gentle gaze.

The small, comforting smile that played across your lips melted his icy heart. You perched on the corner of his desk and offered him a glass of water, which he gladly accepted.

“For you. I know today’s been stressful, but you still need to take care of yourself.”

Silco couldn’t fight the small smile that pulled at the corner of his lips. It was all he could do to keep from melting into your touch when you caressed the side of his face. The scarred side. The ugly side. The side that only you could love.

You both enjoyed the blissful silence for a few moments before your curiosity finally got the best of you.

“So…. what did he say?”

His eyebrows furrowed in their usual surly manner as he pondered your question for a moment, unsure of exactly how to respond. Finally, he sighed and surrendered to the inevitable truth.

“You were right,” he murmured, voice soft and contemplative. “She needs to be around other kids.”

He held your hand to his face, savoring every second of your gentle touch, before grumbling in annoyance. “I just have no idea how to realistically make that happen.”

“I…. may have an idea…” you paused and looked down at your feet. Some small voice in the back of your head was screaming at you to shut up, but it was too late. You had already started to speak.

“We could have a child. Together.”

Silence filled the room as Silco just stared at you. His face was devoid of all emotion as his hand fell to the desk in pure shock, and yours dropped back to your side at the sudden lack of contact. Your eyes widened in terror.

Did I actually just say that?

Each second that ticked by seemed to last for hours.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Was I too forceful? Is it too soon? Does he even feel that way about me?

Silco’s fire and ice gaze was almost boring a hole into you with its intensity. “You want to have a baby…. with me?”

You stared at the man you were hopelessly in love with, but all of the words you wanted to say were stuck in the back of your throat. All you could do was nod as he slowly stood from his desk and crossed over to wrap a slender arm around your waist.

His other hand trailed up to tenderly cup your cheek, “I need to hear you actually say it.”

Silco’s warm breath caressed your face as he pulled you into his embrace. Warm. Safe. Loved. Long fingers ever so softly stroked the back of your neck before gently tangling in your hair. He gazed down at you, waiting intently for your response.

You looked into his eyes, and there was only one answer you could ever give him.

“Yes… I want to have a baby with you.”

His brilliant fire and ice eyes were already glazed over in a heady combination of lust, and pure adoration as Silco gently pressed his lips against yours. The scent and taste of him flooded your senses, sending your mind reeling. His soft, insistent kiss sent brilliant sparks of electricity arcing throughout your body, and your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation.

Silco himself was no less eager. With every light, teasing kiss, his hands trailed across your figure, hell-bent on exploring every soft and willing inch of your body. You keened as one hand stroked the swell of your hips and reached behind to cup your ass.

The push and pull of your lips began to grow more insistent. Your own fingers crept up his chest, softly tracing their way up his neck to dance across his fluttering pulse. Eventually, they splayed against his sharp jawline, cupping it, pulling him even deeper into a kiss that was swiftly becoming all-consuming. You couldn’t get enough of him, and you knew that you never would.

Silco’s tongue explored every inch of your mouth as you let out an honest-to-god whine at his continued ministrations. He chuckled at the sound, a dark, husky laugh that made your pussy throb with need.

Slowly, he trailed kisses along the underside of your jaw, stopping to worry the tender flesh with his teeth before sucking a dark bruise into your skin. You yelped at the brief pain, but Silco soothed the sting with a brief swipe of his tongue and busied himself with leaving open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck.

“Silco,” you whined, “I can’t hide that. Everyone’s going to see.”

The dark chuckle returned.

“Oh my lovely, I believe we are about to do so much worse than that. You said you wanted a baby, right? It takes two people to make that happen,’ he teased.

The hand that had been toying with the soft, plush swell of your ass slowly trailed up to rest against your lower stomach, stroking it lovingly. You felt his warm breath caress the shell of your ear as he spoke, “And besides….. if you’re carrying my child, I’m going to make sure everyone in Zaun knows who you belong to.”

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @thebeardedmoon @eriseffigy @dont-mess-with-my-fandom @redflamesbaku @my-awakened-ghost @agatemermaid @shadow-pancake9 @zaunsin @warpedbands @ironandglass @kemeso25 @nyx2021 @amyroswell @tinybookworm16 @dendrophileunsated @lemmielem

#it's silco hours babes #did I finish this instead of sleeping?#absolutely #silco #arcane #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco fanfic #silco fanfiction #silco x you #silco imagine #silco x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane headcanon #arcane fanfiction #arcane fanfic

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tinylethologica · 1 year

Text

beiguang drabble, non-vision au

“You don’t understand,” the woman in front of Beidou says, someone that Beidou would like to call a friend, except—

Beidou slams her hands on the table. “Ningguang!”

The table remains valiantly defiant against the full force of Beidou’s rage. The legs do not topple, though the intricate woodwork statue atop the table shivers, lacquered carmine red shaking—cut from the same shake of Ningguang’s head, white strands sent flying like the feathers Beidou could never quite catch in her palms when she docks, sea birds scattering into salt skies.

“You would—” Beidou quivers with a fury she hasn’t quite felt since the day she burned down Haishan’s entire fleet. A fool seeking death, until the very end. “You would send these people to their demise?”

“And if I would?”

Beidou resists the urge to shout louder. She softens her approach, because unlike the image her enemies enjoy painting, Beidou is not without tact. “These are honest men and women, Ningguang. Children. I am only asking for temporary lodging while I divert the pursuers. Please. There is no one else I could ask.”

Ningguang hums, taking a long drag of her pipe before exhaling. Wisps of hazy smoke writhes in the air, sweet and heady and hard to understand. Of course the tobacco Ningguang smoked had to be perfumed too, the scent layered in expensive secrets. “You should have thought better than saving them, then,” Ningguang says. “Did you think their lord would not retrieve what was stolen from him? That he would not give chase?”

“Better drowned in the ocean than with him as lord!” The curse comes out unbidden, an old saying from a village that’s now underwater. Better drowned in the ocean than to believe an outsider—and they’d paid for it, hadn’t they?

“So there is your answer, Captain,” Ningguang says. “As I've said before, the Jade Chamber island will harbour no fugitives. We remain neutral on all fronts… even with you.”

Beidou runs her hand through her hair, fingers trembling ever-so-slight, hoping Ningguang would not notice and knowing she would anyway. “You’ve not seen what I’ve seen on his estate. The scars on their bodies. The tremble of their voices. He is a monster to the people he has sworn to protect.”

“And when have the nobility ever kept their lofty promises?” Ningguang laughs bitterly, a knowing arch of her eyebrow. “The naivety of your heart is what has landed you in this trouble. I had no hand in your own undoing.”

“You must be heartless, then.”

“No. You merely do not understand, Captain Beidou,” Ningguang murmurs.

“What don’t I understand, Ningguang?” Beidou counters.

Ningguang presses her lips to her pipe, closing her eyes briefly before glancing out the window beside her. She leans back in her opulent chair, a tilt of her head as she stares at the pipe spinning atop her finger, scarlet as finely honed as any bloody sword Beidou has ever had the displeasure of meeting. Nary a glance at Beidou.

“Have you ever seen the corpses of a hundred thousand men, Captain Beidou?”

Beidou mutters, “I’ve seen an entire village drown.” A village of fools, who refused to believe the outsider girl when she’d warned them of the coming flood.

“And even then, it would not compare,” Ningguang continues, “to the sheer carnage of war.” She holds up a clawed hand when Beidou makes to argue. “You’ve fought for your life, your crew, I know. But have you ever had to wake up in the middle of a battlefield, crawl your way through maggot-infested corpses as though you were one of the maggots yourself? So many dead that you could not differentiate from friend nor foe?”

“...No. Have you?”

Because Beidou could blink and she would see it, the tight curl of Ningguang’s fingers, claw-like as they drag their owners forward, her hair a mess of disturbed silk. About to unravel.

“What does it matter if I have or have not?” Ningguang says, a lazy wave of her hand. “The Jade Chamber hears many stories. A part of the trade—and the scenario here could be as true as the sun rising in the east. Or it could not. It was merely to make a point. I wish to ask: what is war to you, Captain?”

Beidou makes a fist and touches her chest. “A vow to protect.”

“Wrong. It is senseless murder.” And here, Ningguang’s voice sharpens, dangerously thin, “And I will not have it on my doorstep, you see.”

“Meaning it’s fine elsewhere?” Beidou snorts. “Have you no compassion?”

“Compassion does not win wars, Captain.”

“I thought you wished to avoid war.”

Ningguang smiles, her lips a crescent moon threatening to wane. “I am at war with war itself,” she says. “Therefore, you must take your fugitives and leave at once.”

“I cannot convince you.”

Ningguang lays her hand over Beidou’s clenched fist, soft and comforting. An infection that threatens the stability of pillars that Beidou cannot compromise. “No, you cannot.”

Beidou sighs. She’d been expecting this outcome, truth be told. The reason why the Jade Chamber has survived despite its lack of strong military presence was its trade. All the secrets of the world, it was said, were within its walls. More like within the skull of its founder, Beidou thinks ruefully. But the price for the trade was neutrality in all things. Information could be bought and sold, but in affairs between others, the Jade Chamber never displayed support.

Fine. Even if Ningguang would not help, Beidou would. She’ll figure it out somehow. She always has. Hasn’t died yet.

Beidou stands. Just as she’s about to march entirely out of the room, Ningguang calls.

“Oh, and Beidou?”

After every meeting with Ningguang, Beidou vows to never look back. And yet, upon hearing Ningguang utter her name without any title attached, Beidou always does. Perhaps the true fool is me!

Ningguang gazes at her, finally. Red meets red, another front in the war. The slightest tremble in Ningguang’s shoulders, as though one more second of staring into Beidou’s eyes will end her.

Beidou says flatly, “What is it.”

“I hear Mondstadt is sunny this time of the year. Perhaps try your luck there.”

Beidou frowns. “Decarabian?” Perhaps not cruel, but certainly uncaring. Definitely not one to receive fugitives.

Ningguang merely looks out the window, the waters of the port glittering in greeting. Against watery sunlight, she seems so very ancient, a seer cursed with knowledge. “Mondstadt,” she repeats. Nary a glance at Beidou, yet again. “Then you will understand why I deny you.”

#beiguang #lethe writes #ningguang #beidou

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hollyharper · 3 years

Text

Arranged- Damien x Female Reader Part 2

You fidget with the folds of your dress during the elevator ride. The dining room is crowded. You stick to the outside until you find your parents. You tell yourself that you should still be mad, but you can’t stay that way, not when you're trembling so. They’re standing by one of the buffet tables, deep in conversation with a dark haired man. You know you’ve seen his face, but can’t place it, until a red-head takes his hand and leans against his shoulder. You recognize Barbara Grayson immediately. The man beside her must be her husband, Richard Grayson. Your mom gives a comforting smile as you approach.

“This is y/n.” She introduces you.

Mrs. Grayson smiles. “I’m so excited to finally meet you.”

“You’ve heard about me?”

“Quite a bit. Your parents speak very highly of you. You were Valedictorian and prom queen?”

“It was a small school.” You reply.

“Humble too. Your parents said you were smart and pretty. But, their descriptions fade in comparison to you.” Mr. Grayson smiles as he praises you.

You blush and duck your head to hide it.

“It was an honor to make your acquaintance.” Mr. Grayson nods his head to you. “I’m going to wait for Damian in the lobby, Babs.” He tells his wife, before pulling away for her.

Across the room, glass shatters. “Helena, be more careful!” Someone scolds loudly enough to fill the space.

Mrs. Grayson sighs. “And I better keep the girls out of trouble.”

“Have fun with that.” Mr. Grayson teases.

“When will he be here?” You ask, once both are out of earshot.

“Any minute.” Your dad states.

To give yourself something to do, you pour yourself some punch and try to name the people around you. Jason Todd stands to your left. Next to him is a dark haired girl. Maybe Helena Bertinelli. You’re not sure. You scan the room again. You pick out almost the entire Wayne family, from Selina and 7-year-old Helena to Bruce Wayne’s cousin Kate Cain. Bruce Wayne himself walks in. Damian Wayne struts beside his father. As in every photo, his expression is that of arrogant boredom. They greet other guests and slowly come your way. Your mom steps forward to meet them. Mr. Wayne greets her with a one arm embrace.

“It’s been too long, M/n.”

“It has.” She smiles.

“Y/n.” He gives you a courteous nod.

Bruce Wayne knows your name! You can’t believe it. Damian eyes you. He’s even more attractive in real life. In games with your friends, you can vividly remember calling him your celebrity crush, right after you had been told your first choice, Robin, didn’t count. You never would have guessed you actually meet him. His green eyes burn into yours.

“Mom,” You start to ask again when your assigned husband will come.

Your mother prompts you forward. “Introduce yourself.”

“That is her, correct?” Damian asks his father softly.

Bruce Wayne nods. Damian meets your eyes and extends his hand. You tremble as you take it. Instead of shanking it, he presses a soft kiss to it. His lips linger as he meets your eyes. You dip your head but don’t dare pull away. Both Mr. Wayne and your parents smile. Is this even real? Out of the corner of your eye, you see them slip away. This is him. It has to be. Damian bites his lip.

“I'm Y/n.” Your voice shakes.

Going into this you didn’t expect to be so scared.

His face softens some. “I am Damian.”

“I know.” You choke out.

He arches an eyebrow. You shouldn’t have said that.

“Come.” He speaks softly and offers his hand.

You refuse it, but follow him out a set of double doors and onto a patio. The door shuts and you’re alone. His expression relaxes.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“I-i…” You stumble helplessly.

“You don’t be nervous. I won’t bite.” It was supposed to be funny, but his face remains straight, and loses the humor. You falter more, then just bite your tongue. He tries to smile, probably to calm you, but his face can’t form the expression.

“How did my parents arrange this?” You whisper.

“Your mother was a friend of Father’s when they were children. She contacted him before your 17th birthday. He agreed to an arranged marriage because it would be “good for me”.”

“Good for you?” You echo faintly.

He nods. “It would make me “more stable” and “hopefully teach me to be more level-headed”, etc.”

You giggle slightly.

“Father said you would be a ‘“good fit” for me. I was told that you’re calm.”

Calm? Your mom had always been telling you to calm down. He had been told you were calm? Damian pats the bench next to him. You consider sitting across, but that would be too aggressive. You sit on the far end of the bench. After his openness, you find it easier to have a conversation with him. You find that you both enjoy art. He shows you photos of his work, and you can’t help but be blown away by his talent. Each brush stroke radiates with life. His faces are so life-like, even in photos you can see their chests rise and fall. As you leaned over to see the small screen, He wrapped an arm around your waist. You freeze at the touch. He lightly rubs up and down your back, until you settle back down. His voice quiets once you're closer. You continue to keep a conversation, but your eyes start to flutter shut. He brushes a hand over your hair.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” This time when he offers his hand, you take it.

Damian easily guides you through the crowd. Friends and family continuously stop you, but he makes each interaction short, and soon you’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the elevator. He walks you to your door and pauses.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You whisper, fumbling your keycard. It’s as if he’s a stranger again.

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” He tacks the last part on, almost nervously.

You smile and unlock the door, but slump against it when it closes.

#damian #damian wayne #damien x reader #Damien x feel are reader #arranged marriage #dick grayson #Barbara Grayson #barbara gordon #bruce wayce #Damien Wayne x reader #Damien Wayne x female reader #fan fic #fan fiction

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ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

Text

Stories of Paris

Part 4

Part One Part Three AO3

Masterlist

................................................................

Damian was unhappy with the fact that with ‘strangers’ in *his* house their nightly activities would have to carefully navigated. His father nor Pennyworth had not explicitly said anything about it, but he assumed it was because they all knew what was expected. So, being told to line up in the entrance hall by his father went down like a lead balloon.

His pout turned in widening eyes of shock as he witnessed the tall wiry young woman (and a large man he supposed) exiting the car. SHE was his father’s babysitter. This was who oversaw the European branch of W.E. The person who owned the largest portion of shares of W.E (after the Wayne family that is). He was doomed. Damain watched as his father soften as he saw the woman.

“Mari! You never seem to age!” he exclaimed as she gracefully walked up to him and into his embrace.

“Mon cherie! It’s miraculous isn’t it,” she drew back slightly to look over his shoulder, “I see you have taken found family comment to the extreme, but I suppose you were never one to do things in half measures. It’s good to be back here after so long”

Looking at her like he was a child with pleading eyes, “You are staying here, right?”

With a gentle smile with a smirking edge, “Yes. If I tried to leave for a hotel, I’ll end up having the shadows watching me all night. Plus, this place always did feel like my home away from home.”

Damian glancing at his supposed siblings to see that they were also in shock. Probably not for the same reason. Panicking with it all, as he saw his father turn to introduce them to the woman, Damian drew his katana and aimed it at her.

“YOU were fathers' babysitter!!! But... what... you’re younger than him!!!! .... You’re the Grand Lady Guardian... I *refuse* to return.”

Damian vaguely recognised his name being shouted at him, but all his attention was on the Grand Lady Guardian of the Miraculous who stood, rolling her eyes, before him. He could feel her power radiating off, surrounding them all.

“Petit Tresor. I’m not taking you back there. Did you not learn anything from my teachings? Did you not learn to read between the lines? About looking deeper than the surface. You are with *your* found family. THEY are what is important. Bruce may have picked up a lot of my unhealthy habits about vigilantism, but he made a point of understand a good support network and the importance of chosen family. Despite how he enacts the teachings.”

The Monkey with her came to her shoulder and raised his eyebrow at Damian. He finally understood why he was always her bodyguard now rather than the Cat, being that he was her husband.

“You can stand down Petit Tresor. League and Court business will *not* be found here. The League know what will happen if they cross the Court, and I made it very clear after our last encounter when they tried to manipulate us to their advantage.”

Damian assessed the woman before him as he withdrew his katana from her and starting to become aware of the others around him again.

“Why has he got a chaos shard within him Bruce?” The monkey growled looking at him with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Everyone in the entrance hall was frozen in shock and panic. What was meant to be a happy reunion had been derailed but now, suddenly, somehow gained an even sharper edge. Marinette and her husband were aware of their nightly capers, and they also knew of the League, they were involved in something similar and aware of chaos shards.

Damian watched as his father gulped as he looked at the Monkey and the Guardian. It wasn’t often his father showed fear, but it was clear on his face as she arched her eyebrow at him. His siblings all looked on in surprise and uncertain of what to expect. Only Pennyworth and Todd seemed to be handling the situation with any sense of calmness. Surprising for Todd...

“Mari... his mother... the league...”

At the mention of the league the Guardians eye twitch so subtly you’d hardly notice it if not trained and with a minute flicker of her hand, the Monkey flipped his phone out and was walking out back outside to call someone... Damian straining his ears heard Peg and plan 42c being mentioned by the Monkey to whoever he had called.

“They were warned. Tsk, Assassin’s bullheadedness. Kim will sort this out for me for the present moment and we will discuss healing at a later point. Anyway, mon cherie, you were about to introduce me to your children. Petit Tresor I know, and I believe that that is Jason, mon rêveur, in the background though he has grown so much since our last meeting. So, I could guess everyone else, but why don’t you continue?”

The Guardian stated as if the topic of what just happened was over, much to Damian’s surprise. He sheafed his katana but still was wary of the woman and slightly in awe. He had a feeling that the chaos and downfall of his grandfather may have due to her in some way. Slight fear and dread for his mother was building as well. He finally starting to understand the reason for her over protectiveness when she taught him in the league now.

“Right. Mari, this is Dick, Jason who you already met in person? Cass and alongside her Duke, Tim who you meet briefly in the W.E. meeting the other month, Steph who has wormed her way into the family and Damian you who’ve also already met?”

With a polite cough drawing attention to himself, Alfred spoke. “Perhaps, instead of having a mother’s meeting in the entrance hall, we retreat to the drawing room where we can have some refreshments. I am sure that Ms Marinette and Master Kim are exhausted from their travels. It is most unbecoming to stand around loitering, wouldn’t you agree Master Bruce?”

Bruce muttered something as his ears started to tinge red, Marinette turned to Alfred and smiled as she drew him into a hug while Bruce collected himself.

“Yes, right, that sounds like a fantastic idea Alfred. Mari, shall we?”

Bruce offered her an arm which she elegantly took as the took off in the direction of the drawing room delving into conversation with Bruce leaving behind a shocked collection on children in the hall. Alfred slipped off to prepare the refreshments.

Damian cringed as Dick exclaimed, “YOU GUYS KNOW HER?!?!?!!” which echoed around the manor as he finally processed what had just happened.

______________________________________________

Alfred smiled as the atmosphere within the Manor shifted over the last few weeks. It now had a different air about it. Master Bruce became less sullen and slightly less repressed under Marinette’s watch and the Manor started to feel lighter again.

Alfred had found great amusement when he stumbled in on Master Kim lecturing Master Bruce on being dense especially the “I know I’m dense but kwami Bruce! You’re worse than me realising all the competitions I got Mare rigged into was because I wanted to impress her! Let’s start at the beginning, ok?!”.

He hoped that Master Kim might be able to knock a bit of sense into his wayward charge. He knew Ms Marinette, though full of good intentions wouldn’t be able to with Master Bruce’s strange ability to pick up on the wrong message being given.

The highlight of the week was when he entered the family living room to find all his grandchildren looking pale as Master Bruce acted semi child-like in front of Ms Marinette. It was a delight to see Bruce act like the child that he knew he was reawakened again. Even if it terrified the grandchildren.

The whole family discovered that Bruce had been very selective of the stories and information that he had told them about Marinette. She had taken great delight telling them all about what teenage Bruce really was like.

About the time Bruce had a fan induced panic attack on meeting the Jagged Stone. Alfred was slightly aware of something happened but not the details.

About the time Bruce decided to practice parkour in the Manor gardens and ended up stuck halfway up the side of the Manor unable to climb up further or climb down. Alfed was positive he was unaware that Marinette joined him and had to coach Bruce down.

About the series of times that Bruce attempted to prove to Alfred that he had ‘outgrown the kitchen ban’ and had ‘observed Mari’s baking skills sufficiently’ to be able to try again for only the attempts to go south fast. Alfred grimaced at the memories that that bought up. He was glad that he’d got a good working deal with local kitchen fitters and suppliers given the number of fires.

It became a daily breakfast occurrence that Bruce mortified Marinette in his outfit for the day. The breakfast entertainment became watching Marinette tear into his fashion choice of the day, drag up some past clothing or costume disaster. She ended up moaning that he had learnt nothing from her rantings about clothes over the years and stare forlornly into her coffee cup. It was providing the bat boys a wealth of black mail material that Alfred had to on numerous occasions reel Marinette from her tangents.

The only time he let her completely go to town with was letting her regale to everyone about Bruce’s dramatic and insistent argument on fighting crime in Lyca, wearing pants on top of tights and with a cape, that he really insisted that he didn’t need to use Kevlar (that decision didn’t last beyond a few training sessions and one patrol night). Alfred was pleased with her ability to rein that disaster in quickly.

It was in the comfort of the kitchen away from the antics that happened Alfred mused and reflected on his notional niece's visit. Alfred wished he had thought to bring Marinette over sooner as he witnessed that fraught relationships between the Waynes soften. Issues didn’t disappear but Marinettes presence, and ability due to dealing with Akuma, helped mitigate situations which typically would have blown up. Kim always by her side would help soothe, distract, or explain to the puzzled Bruce the techniques Marinette was using to stop the escalation.

She’d slowly began charming and connecting with his grandchildren. Be it by giving Tim pointers on how to manage W.E board members effectively and playing video games. It was eerily like how she warmed Bruce up to her.

By Sitting quietly reading with Jason or playing chess and talking in metaphors about life, death and balance. Slowly having ‘healing sessions to calm the pit madness’ with meditation and grounding sessions.

With Damian she seemed to remind him of alternate grounding techniques which she’d shown him in the league. They seemed to spend time talking in hushed whispers about other stuff that Alfred wasn’t currently privy too.

Duke was with poetry and music. Cass with dance and gymnastics, silent subtle conversations occurred but seeing Cass smile and edge towards being more tactile made Alfred glow with warmth inside. Steph and Marinette commanded the kitchen numerous times baking pastries, waffles and other treats.

Dick took the longest to warm up to the woman, having heard and known about her for over a deacade but never met it was understandable. Alfred wpould never knew what Marinette had done but one day the hostility and coldness disappeared. A joy, childlike smile appeared on Dicks face every time she was in the room, and he’d follow her round like a loat puppy. Watching and mimicking her techniques to calm his brothers down.

How his grandchildren acted with Marinette in the activities brought echoes of memories of her with Bruce to the forefront of Alfred’s mind.

Sighing, in the short time the Manor felt warm and like a family, a home should feel like. Much like before his friends’ death. Schooling his emotions, Alfred set about to serve the family and Parisians last dinner together.

______________________________________________

Bruce tried not to sulk. Tried not to revert to the mind set of when Marinette originally disappeared physically from his life. Especially in front of his children but it was hard. She somehow always managed to take the overwhelming pressure away from him, like he could breathe and be.

Alfred was his father, in all the ways that counted, but the burden of death and saving the world was something Marinette understood at a deeper more personal level. Having her here made it feel safe to feel, that he would always be caught. That she would save him from the consuming darkness. She was the light in the world shining out in the Gotham gloom.

As expected, his children adored her in their unique ways. Following her around like little ducks scrabbling for crumbs of knowledge and titbits of information. Bruce lips twitched as he witnessed them behaving much like he used to. Taking the gems’ she passed on to them and ferreting them away much like he did.

“Master Bruce, I expect better behaviour this leaving gathering than our previous party, please.”

With Alfred’s comments Bruce gave into the feeling of pouting. Why deny how he felt toward the situation where he wasn’t in control. He pointedly ignored the stares that his children were giving him. Again.

“Mon tresor! It’s not like you aren’t going to see or speak to me again. We speak regularly as it is. It’s not the same as it was last time. You know this.”

“But Mari, it's nice having you here. This is your home.”

“Is he always like this Mare, Cupcake? How is it that all the kid’s you’ve looked after end up demanding you live with them?”

Bruce choked at Kim’s statement and the Wayne clan burst into laughter. Alfred let a small smirk grace his face.

“Oui, Mon Amour, He wasn’t happy last time I left at all. Be grateful I learnt to resist kitten eyes or we’d never have reconnected. Manon doesn’t count. She’s practically family as well with how close Maman and Nadja are.”

“What about Elle, Etta and Chris? What about Ivan’s and Mylene’s sproglian? Fang? Jagged’s second round of terrors? Luka and Jules too really.”

“Hush, Mon Amour, circumstantial evidence.”

Bruce observed Kim stare at his wife in disbelief before waving his hand around the room.

“What about these then. Don’t give me that look Cupcake. I’m gonna end up needing to fight the whole batclan at this rate to get you on a plane with me! Maybe I should give Peg’s the heads up that I’ll need his help.”

“I can assure you Master Kim that you *both* are free to leave. The young master's understand that they cannot kidnap you. It would not be becoming of them OR look good for the company for the family to kidnap its own workers.”

Bruce and his family guiltily ducked their heads at Alfred’s comments. When Alfred turned away to start talking to Kim, Tim leant in close to Bruce to whisper to him.

“Do you think we have the power to move her to being director of North America rather than Europe? Mari would be closer then? Plus, the guy in charge isn’t all he’s cracked up to be so the board would likely approve it.”

Bruce stared at his son at the ingenious and simple solution and smiled, before ducking his head when Alfred pointedly looked his way.

“We’ll discuss that concept later.”

Bruce gave Tim a subtle nod as if he was approving the idea. Technically he was but Alfred didn’t need to know that. Nor did Kim really, as he would fight him if he found out and he’d rather not deal with an ex-olympian superhero, even when he pulled his punches they hurt far more than the average persons.

Bruce sat back into his seat and smiled as the conversation and chaos flowed around him. His whole family finally together and he cherished it. He knew it wasn’t going to last much longer with the impending flight looming but for now he had a potential and creative plan to work on. If he framed it right it could also become the prefect family bonding activity that both Marinette and Kim thought he needed to do more of outside of vigilantism. And if the end result was that she moved closer, well, that’s just an added bonus in his eyes.

With that in mind, Bruce joined in with the choas enjoying the moment with his complete family. Nothing could take this away from him.

Tag:

@neakco @corporeal-terrestrial @jayjayspixiepop @lady-bee-fechin @prettylittlebutterflie

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emeraldiis · 3 years

Note

34 and 50 for smut dbf!bucky plz? 💞

34. “i’ve been waiting all day to do this.”

50. “i thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. i was wrong, it's your moans.”

A/N: hoo boy. i've never really explored huge age gaps in fanfic but this is pretty spicy

Pairing: dad's best friend!Bucky x Reader

Word Count:

Rating: Explicit (18+)

He was leering at you; had been all day. You suppose that it was only fair, given that you had picked out your tiniest bikini to swim in his backyard pool. You relax onto the stairs of the pool, tipping your sunglasses down just a bit to wink at your dad’s friend.

He was hosting a barbecue at his huge house. The property teemed with middle aged men, one of them being your dad, who had seemed surprised when you begged to go. You played it off as just wanting to swim and eat some good food, but in actuality, you wanted to get laid. By a man nearly thirty years your senior.

Ever since your twenty first birthday, when you and Mr. Barnes had shared one tiny kiss--something that he profusely apologized for--you had been crushing hard on the man. Christ, it was hardly appropriate. He used to babysit you for fuck’s sake, and now you were licking your lips at him, clad in a dark red string bikini.

Your dad had meandered off somewhere, probably gathered in the garage with his other friends to watch some sports game you had no interest in. Triumph surged in your chest when Mr. Barnes had opted to lounge in one of the pool chairs, subtly watching the water drip between your breasts. Pervert, you thought to yourself. But you couldn’t deny that you loved the attention.

Feeling bold, you raised up a hand and waved the older man over. “The water feels great! I’m sick of swimming by myself, get over here!”

You could see the warring sides of Mr. Barnes’ mind. Thankfully, after some deliberation, he stood and made his way over to the pool. When he stepped into the water, you pushed off from the steps and twirled gracefully in the water. Your hand shot up and splashed him while you giggled mischievously.

Mr. Barnes rolled his eyes at you. “What are you, ten?” He asked, making his way pff the steps into deeper water.

“I’d rather be ten, then like, a hundred,” you shot back easily. He didn’t act his age, always played along with your antics. Maybe that was why it was harder to see him as a grown ass man.

His eyes narrowed, and you gulped in fear. “You little shit,” the man said, launching himself toward you. You shrieked in mock fear and swam for your life. Mr. Barnes grabbed your ankle, forcing you to flip over to avoid sucking in a mouthful of water. You batted at his hand, laughing hysterically and splashing as much water as you could into his hair.

The two of you wrestled like school children for a moment, not caring that a few of the other adults side-eyed the situation like it was a disaster waiting to happen. You paid them no mind, relishing the fact that you had gotten the attention of your crush. “I’d drown you if your laugh wasn’t so cute,” Mr. Barnes said, flipping his wet hair away from his face and releasing you.

You giggled and ducked your face down, embarrassed. “Yeah, well, uh,” you paused. “Your face is cute!” Not waiting to see his reaction, you dove into the water.

When you rose, Mr. Barnes was looking at you with an odd expression. “Do ya really mean that?” He asked, testing the waters.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you took the plunge. “Yeah, Mr. Barnes. I’ve had a crush on you since, like, high school.”

His expression softened. “You know I hate when you call me that, makes me sound old.”

“But it feels weird to call you Bucky,” you whined petulantly.

Mr. Ba-Bucky raised his eyebrows at you. “What’s the matter, do you like knowing that I’m over double your age?”

You bit your lip again. “Kinda,” you whispered. The rest of the adults had vacated the backyard, leaving just the two of you. You watched as Bucky’s pupils dilated, and he inched closer to you. Then he stopped, seeming to break out of his reverie and shaking his head.

“This is wrong, we shouldn’t-”

With a growl of frustration, you marched over to him--as fast as the deep water allowed--and grabbed his face. “Just kiss me, idiot. Fuck morals, fuck me.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Bucky surged forward to kiss you, strong arms hooking under your legs and lifting you like you weighed nothing. Even more impressive was, he carried you while walking out of the water. You wrapped your legs around his waist and moaned into his mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair.

Bucky carried you inside, then down a hall, before finally reaching his bedroom. He set you down to close and lock the door, then slapped your ass, the wet material of your bathing suit sending sprays of water into the air. “On your hands and knees,” he commanded, motioning towards the bed.

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out, rushing to do as you were told. You situated yourself on the bed, face turning crimson as Bucky yanked your bikini bottoms down to reveal your dripping pussy.

“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” Bucky snarled, then buried his face in between your legs. You yelped and pitched forward, burying your face into the pillows to muffle your sounds. Bucky reached a long arm up to snatch your hair and yank your head back. “No,” he growled into your cunt. “I wanna hear you.”

You were helpless to obey. You moaned his name again and again as his tongue drove into your sex. Your walls fluttered around him, and your legs burned with the effort of not snapping them shut. “M-Mr. Barnes, Bucky, please,” you sobbed, not even knowing what you were begging for.

Bucky sat back and replaced his tongue with his thick fingers, expertly curling them just right to make your back arch and your mouth hang open. “Y’know,” he started, voice a lazy drawl. “I thought you laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong, it’s your moans.”

It was too much. His filthy mouth and those skilled fingers pistoning in and out of you sent you flying over the edge, a slave to your own endorphins. Your legs finally gave out, and you would’ve collapsed onto the bed if not for Bucky snaking an arm under your hips to keep you up.

You heard his bathing suit hit the floor, and felt something hard and pulsating caress your outer lips. “My turn.”

#dbf!bucky #bucky barnes #tfatws #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #fanfiction #smut #mcu #marvel

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hhjs · 3 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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welldonebeca · 2 years

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Housewife Halloween (II)

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